#and conversely this is why it takes me so long to ink anything bc i have to deal with The Stabilizer Making Things Difficult (tm) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

specialagentsergio · 3 years ago

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love, in ink

summary: Spencer wants to do something special to commemorate your relationship. (or, reader and spencer get a couples’ tattoo)

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: tattoos & tattooing, one very light sexual reference bc i'm a hoe

a/n: i recently got my first tattoo and i’ve been absolutely obsessed with tattoos ever since, so here you go. location and design was purposefully left vague so you can imagine anything you want, but i do write reader as already having at least two tattoos.

word count: 2.9k

masterlist

Spencer’s been thinking about it for years.

Two years, eight months, and twenty days to be exact.

Looking back, four months and ten days was pretty early to be thinking of something so permanent. But he couldn’t help it—contrary to how he thinks people perceive him, he’s a romantic. A bit of a hopeless one, really.

In any case, he had been right. Almost three years after your first date, you’re still together and absolutely in love. You live together, your lives are inseparably entwined. Every day has been an affirmation of the conclusion he came to three months into your relationship—you’re the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

So really, four months and ten days wasn’t all that early to think of getting a tattoo with you.

He doesn’t have any, but you do, and he’s always loved them. He likes running his fingers over them, pressing kisses to them, rubbing moisturizer into them, and aiding you in making sure they’re all well covered in sunscreen before you’re going to be outside for a while.

He’d never really considered getting a tattoo until he saw how much you loved yours. It’s one of your favorite forms of self-expression, you’ve told him. You say the body art helps you feel more confident, comfortable, and at home in your body. Confidence in your body—that’s definitely something he could do with. But above everything, because it’s something you love, and Spencer loves you, it’s an experience he wants to share with you.

He brings up the idea over dinner forty-five days before your three-year anniversary. You’re reading while you eat—a common occurrence in your home for the both of you. He spins his fork in his hand a few times, then carefully sets it down and says your name.

You hold up a finger to ask him to wait; he watches your eyes move across the page as you finish the paragraph you’re on. Your attention is on him as soon as you’re finished. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” He’s nervous—he knows you love him, but what if you say no anyways? What if you don’t want to get a tattoo with him? They are permanent, after all. “It’s… I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admits.

Your eyes widen when you pick up on his anxiety. “Oh god, are you breaking up with me?”

He nearly chokes on the water he’d nervously sipped. “Wha—no, no!” he rushes to assure. “I—I love you. I don’t—I don’t ever want that.”

You take in a deep breath, carefully putting your book aside. “Alright. Okay.”

“Why would you think I was breaking up with you?” he asks, concerned about the conclusion you’d jumped to. “Are… are you not happy? Are things not good between us, for you? I thought—well, think, they are. Maybe I’m wrong? I could be. I’ve never been the best at reading social clues. Have I missed something? I’m sorry if I have. I--”

“Spence, Spencer.” You interrupt his nervous rambling and reach across the table, placing your hand on top of his. “Things are great between us for me. I love you, too. You were just so serious when you said you wanted to talk, it caught me off guard. It’s… not an uncommon way for a conversation about breaking up to start.”

“Oh. Sorry. I—I didn’t realize it could come off like that,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay. As long as we’re not breaking up, I’m happy.” You give his hand a squeeze before leaning back in your chair. “So, what is it you want to talk about?”

“Right.” He squares his shoulders and wipes his damp palms on his pants. “Our three year anniversary is in forty-five days, and I was thinking to celebrate, maybe we could… get a tattoo together?”

Immediately you break into the most beautiful smile—he’s happy to have an eidetic memory when it comes to moments like this. “Really?” you ask, body tense with excitement.

“Yeah. Really,” he confirms. “I, um… I guess you’re on board, then?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh, Spencer this is so exciting! Your first tattoo!”

He doesn’t bother to correct you about calling it his first. He’s got no plans to get more, so this could very well be his only tattoo. But he doesn’t want to dampen the moment, so instead he says, “I don’t really have any ideas for it. I just want to do it with you.”

“Wait here.” You disappear into the bedroom and return with a folded piece of notebook paper. It’s worn and wrinkled, the edges curled in. He unfolds it carefully to find the page covered in your handwriting. Some of the writing looks more rushed than other parts. Some sections are in blue ink, some are in black. It’s clear you’ve been compiling this list for quite a while.

He reads it at his normal, rapid pace, but it takes him a few moments to understand it. “Is this a list of…?”

You nod. “Tattoo ideas.” He looks up at you in… well, in awe, and you shrug. “I don’t want to just get your name on me, as nice as it is.”

“How long have you been working on this?”

“Um.” The answer seems to embarrass you a little. “A… a couple of years.”

“Years?” he repeats. “But you never said anything.”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured into getting a tattoo,” you say. “Since they are, you know, permanent.”

“Relatively.” He looks back to the paper, running his fingertips over the indents left by the pressure of the pen. “They naturally fade with age, and can age prematurely through sun exposure.”

“Yeah. Listen, it’s okay if you don’t like any of my ideas.”

Spencer shakes his head—he likes a lot of them, but he already knows which one he wants—he knew as soon as he read it. He points. “This one.”

You bend down to see it and smile. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

---

You handle pretty much everything, contacting one of your favorite artists and pitching the idea. You’ve been tattooed by her before—specifically, she did his favorite of your tattoos. So he’s happy to have her do this one, too, putting down the deposit without hesitation. The artwork she sends back is everything he pictured and more. She’s taken the idea and brought it to life better than he could ever hope to. A few tweaks here and there, then the date is set. You’ll be getting tattooed the Friday before your anniversary.

Yours will be done first, near the end of his work day—when he arrives, you should be just about done. It’s not exactly how he imagined it happening, but you said it would be better this way. If he sits and watches you get the entire thing done, you think he’ll end up psyching himself out about his own tattoo.

“Is it really that bad?” he had asked.

You shrug. “Well, it’s pain, so it’s obviously not super fun, but it’s tolerable. You overreacted when I stubbed my toe last week, so I think it’s probably best if you’re not there watching me the entire time.”

“I don’t like seeing you in pain,” he defends sheepishly.

“Exactly. I’ll keep you updated with texts and pictures, though, okay?”

He agrees, because honestly, you’re probably right.

Getting into bed with you the night before he asks, “What does it feel like? Besides it just hurting.”

“It’s different for everyone. It also depends on where you get it.” Spencer bumps your arm with his nose, silently requesting for you to adjust your position in a way that allows him to press as much of his body as he possibly can against yours. You place your hand in his hair once he’s settled, as usual, then continue. “It does kind of… vibrate. That’s something I didn’t expect going into my first tattoo.”

“Vibrate?” he repeats. “That’s… well, I guess it makes sense, considering how tattoo machines work.”

“Mm-hmm. But I wouldn’t worry about that part if I were you. Last time I checked, vibration isn’t a sensation that bothers you.” A very slight tug on his hair. “The opposite, actually.”

The squeak he makes is involuntary. “I, um… okay. I’ll—I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’s treated to a little laugh, but then your tone changes. “Seriously, though, Spencer. It’s okay if it ends up being too much, or just not for you, and you can’t finish the tattoo. Or if you just don’t want to finish it. I won’t be mad.”

He’s taken by surprise at first. It is a worry that he’s been harboring, that all the sensory input will be too much, but he’s never said anything about it, so how did you know?

Then again, it’s you. Of course you know. You always do.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

---

“Hey, how can I help you?”

Spencer looks up from his phone to the woman who’s just come into the front of the shop from the back. As promised, you’d kept him updated on your tattoo process with texts and pictures.

“Um, I—I have an appointment?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but he’s really nervous—you were definitely right to have him come in later than you so he doesn’t have enough time to get really worked up.

“Who’s it with?”

“Megan.”

She glances over her shoulder. “Megan is currently with someone. I can go ask her how long the wait will be.”

“No, it’s okay, she’s working on my partner. We’re—we’re getting tattoos together,” he explains.

“Oh, fun! I’ll lead you back, then.”

He follows her to an open doorway. Your body is still and unmoving; Megan is hunched over your skin. You smile when you see him. “Hi, Spencer.”

“Hey. Um, how’s it going?”

You sigh. “Well, to be honest, I think this is going to be my last tattoo.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Megan says without looking up.

The little angry huff you make before replying with “I know” makes him smile, and his nerves settle a little. “Why do I do this to myself?”

Spencer can tell it’s just a rhetorical question, asked in good humor, but he can’t stop himself from answering it regardless.

“There are many different reasons that could drive someone to get a tattoo despite the pain, including the adrenaline and endorphins the body produces in response to pain, stress relief, and the need for creative expression.”

“Stress relief?” you repeat. “I haven’t heard that one before.”

“It is a strange concept at face value. An example, though, would be getting a tattoo to mark the end of a difficult period in your life. Some people get them to symbolize personal difficulties or trauma, or to memorialize people they’ve lost. It can be a form of catharsis that helps them process painful emotions, memories, or other stressful feelings.”

Your head tilts as you take the information in. “That’s interesting.”

“Alright.” Megan leans back. “It’s done. Go take a look.”

Spencer follows you to the full length mirror. “Oh, wow,” you breathe out as soon as you see it. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Spencer.” You touch his arm. “What do you think?”

It takes him a few moments to answer because he’s been overcome with emotion. He’s overwhelmed with just how much you love and care for him to have permanently embedded a reminder of him into your skin. “It’s perfect,” he whispers.

“It is,” you agree.

You return to Megan and she takes a few photos of the tattoo, promising to text them to you, then gets started on the aftercare. “You know the drill,” she says, but still gives you the instructions for what to do as the artwork heals. He only barely registers what she’s saying—his eyes are glued to the tattoo.

“Okay, let me get everything switched out and cleaned up, and then we can start on yours, Spencer.”

“Hmm?” He tears his gaze away to find Megan looking at him. “Oh, right. Okay.” He sits off to the side with you while she disposes of supplies, replaces them with new, sterile ones, and wipes everything down.

She works fast—before he knows it, Megan has shaved and cleaned his skin, and has him in front of the mirror as she places the stencil. It takes a few tries to get it just right. He apologizes when she has to print the stencil again, but she waves him off. “It’s your tattoo and it’s going to be on you forever. I want you to be one-hundred percent happy with the placement.”

His nerves spike back up when he’s settled down and all ready to be tattooed. You sit in a chair on the opposite side of him than Megan, and when you offer your hand, he grabs it immediately.

“Breathe, baby,” you say gently. “Try not to tense up too much.”

He does try, but still jumps a little when Megan’s gloved hand touches him. “Sorry,” he says breathlessly. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” she reassures. “I won’t start until you’re ready.”

“I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay. I’ll start with just one small line.”

It’s a strange sensation, unlike anything he’s felt before, but it’s… not horrible. He’s been scratched by cats in the past, and it feels kind of like that, but hot. There’s the vibrating you had mentioned, too.

“How was that?” Megan asks.

“Not so bad,” he answers honestly.

“That’s great. I’ll keep going then. Settle in. Just let me know if you start feeling funny or if you need a break, alright?” At his nod, she goes to work, and he switches his attention to you. He knows he shouldn’t, that it’ll probably come back to bite him in the ass, but he can’t stop himself from teasing you.

“I don’t know why you were complaining earlier,” he says in his best innocent voice, with his best innocent expression. “It’s not that bad.”

The way your mouth drops open just a little bit is adorable, and so is the noise of disbelief that follows. “Yeah, okay. Tell me that again at the end.”

“I will,” he replies, mentally adding probably not to the sentence.

You roll your eyes and let go of his hand to sort through your things. You give him a lollipop when you find it.

“What’s this for?” Suckers aren’t really his favorite candy.

“Your adrenaline is probably going to drop now that the tattoo has started and I don’t want you to pass out,” you say. “The sugar will help prevent you from getting lightheaded.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

The tattoo goes well overall, he thinks. It’s definitely painful, but like you said, it’s tolerable. He’s certainly felt worse. Near the end, though, he really starts hurting, and a grimace slips across his face.

“She’s almost done,” you reassure. He hasn’t been looking at it, but you have. “Also, what was that you saying earlier?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “It’s not even the needle, you know. It’s the paper towels.”

“A lot of people say that,” Megan says. “Just a few more minutes left.”

He spends those last few minutes questioning every decision he’s made in his life that has led him to this moment, and swearing to himself that he’s never going to do this again. But then it’s over and he’s looking at in the mirror, and it’s suddenly like the past five minutes never happened.

Spencer loves it. He absolutely adores it. Not just the art itself, but how it looks on his body and how it’s making him feel.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask, making him jump a little. He’d been so fixated on the tattoo that he didn’t notice you joining him.

He ponders for a moment to find the right words. “I’m beginning to understand why you like doing this so much.”

You grin. “It’s great, huh?”

“It is, yeah. I kind of want to touch it; is that weird?”

“No, but don’t,” you reply. “It’s an open wound.”

“I know.” He looks back at Megan. “This is perfect. Thank you so much.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she says. “Thank you for trusting me with your first tattoo.”

When he drags himself away from the mirror, she goes over aftercare with him, and he listens more intently this time. A few things are going to be a little inconvenient, he thinks, but it’s more than worth the trade off.

You take his hand as you leave the shop. “I’m so happy that I got to do that with you.”

He squeezes your hand back. “Me too.”

You reach the car, but before he can move towards the passenger side, you pull him in close. “I love you.”

His free hand comes up to cradle your cheek. “I love you, too.”

You kiss him, soft and sweet. “Happy three years,” you say when you pull back.

“Here’s to three more?” he offers, a little nervous, but mostly hopeful.

Your smile leaves no room for doubt. “I like the sound of that.”

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

hit up my inbox if you wanna talk tattoos bc i fucking love them. what do you see spencer getting with his partner?

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor , @spencerreid9

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #fluff #my fic #tattoos rlly are a rabbit hole for some of us like i already have an appointment for my second one lol

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luffles424 · 4 years ago

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In Between

☼ Pairing: Jungkook x reader (x Jungkook ?)

☼ Genre: college au, twin au, smut, mostly pwp but there’s like, some plot at the end

☼ Count: 7.1K

☼ Warnings: unprotected sex (stay safe!), creampie, spit-roasting, double penetration, oral (m & f recieving), ass eating, hair pulling, some spanking (+ 1 (one) thigh slap), dom/sub undertones, threesome, tattooed JK (cause that’s a whole warning itself), thigh riding, marking, piercings 🤪, slight nipple play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, fingering, praise kink, dirty talk, manhandling, both shy jungkook and bad boy jungkook bc i’m clearly a glutton for punishment 🤪🤪, the boys don’t fuck each other, they’re solely there for READER

☼ Summary: When you agreed to go to Jeongguk’s frat party, you certainly hadn’t expected it to end with you end his bed. And definitely not the involvement of his twin.

The bass thumps through the house. You press your back to one of the walls in the living room, cup clutched in front of you like it’ll protect you. You’re really not sure why you agreed to come to a frat party, a BTS frat party no less. Well, you kind of do, the sweet pleading look Jeongguk had given when he’d asked if you’d come had any resolve of yours very quickly and effectively crumbling. You definitely hadn’t expected him to be any part of a frat, let alone invite you to one of their parties. And you’re slightly unsure why he asked you here at all, but you have a few ideas. One you favor the most, backed by the way he stammered through asking you to come when you talked after class. You hoped he’d asked you here as a date, or at least to ask you on a proper date.

The problem though, is now you are here at the party, abandoned by your friends as they slipped away to dance, and a certain boy missing. You’d looked for him when you’d arrived and made your way to get a drink, but you saw not a single glimpse of him. You figured you’d have better luck finding him if you remained in one spot, allowing the party to pass you, and hopefully Jeongguk as well.

You’re not alone for long when you feel a presence beside you. Turning, you see the man you’ve been looking for and you smile at him, before fully taking him in. He looks different than he did the day before in class. His glasses are gone and his hair seems longer and much more like he just rolled out of bed rather than being carefully styled. Or it could just be the way the hair is styled that makes it seem so much longer than before. His jeans are dark and ripped, and you’re not sure if there’s more skin or fabric. A dark T-shirt stretching tight over muscles draws your attention to his arm and the dark ink that covers the skin on display.

Had he always had those? You rack your brain, trying to think if you’ve ever seen Jeongguk in short sleeves or if maybe you just weren’t very observant, though you think even if he had only worn long sleeves, you still would’ve noticed the letters inked across his knuckles. But did he really get all those tattoos in the day it’s been since you saw him last? He smirks at you as you look him over, obviously pleased to have already caught your interest.

You reach out and poke a tattoo on his forearm. “How long have you had these?”

He shifts closer to you, leaning in as he speaks. “These? Had em for ages. Do you want to see the rest? They’re much more interesting, but we’ll have to go upstairs.” He winks.

You frown, taking a small step back. He’s acting so different from how he acts in class and you don’t know how to handle him now. A call of your name has you turning, brows knitting together as you watch… Jeongguk(?) approach, clad in an oversized yellow shirt that seems much more typical of him. You turn back to the tattooed man for a moment as the other finally reaches you.

He smiles, something that quickly drops once he sees who is with you and how close he is. “JK, leave her alone.” He huffs.

JK, apparently, chuckles, pressing closer to you and slinging an arm around you. “Chill, lil bro. She was pretty interested in my tattoos. I was just sharing.”

Jeongguk’s face twists as he turns to you. “I’m sorry about him. I think he was dropped on his head as a child.”

“You have a twin? How did I not know that?”

Jeongguk’s head tilts in confusion. “You didn’t? I was sure I’ve mentioned him. Well, probably complained about him.”

“You did, you complained about your brother. But you didn’t say he was your twin.” You stress. One Jeongguk was enough. But two? That was lethal.

“Y/n, huh?” JK pauses for a moment and you can hear the grin curling his lips when he starts speaking again. “Isn’t that the name of the girl you have your massive crush on? The one you asked me for advice on?” JK presses himself to your back, startling you slightly. “Oh, I can see why little Gukkie is interested.”

Jeongguk flushes red all the way up to the tips of his ears. He quickly shakes his head, holding his hands up. “That’s not true. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He quickly babbles out.

A flash of hurt goes through you, but it’s gone quickly when you really look at how Jeongguk is behaving. He looks nervous, eyes darting around, landing on anything but you and he was incredibly quick to deny it. You’re fairly positive that he’s lying. You want to go easy on him, but you can’t help maybe teasing him just a little bit.

“Oh, no? That’s kinda disappointing. I was hoping you had asked me here to tell me that you felt the same way.” You pout.

You hear JK smothering a laugh behind you before his arm is snaking its way around your waist. He hooks his chin on your shoulder. “That’s a shame, little bro. But it’s alright. I can keep Y/n here plenty entertained tonight.” Something dark crosses Jeongguk’s face and JK steps forward, forcing you against Jeongguk and effectively trapping you between the twins. “Unless… You’d like to join us, hm? Because maybe you’re lying about having feelings for our cute little princess right here?”

Your entire body heats at the idea of having them both. While you like Jeongguk a lot, you can’t deny it would be incredibly hot to be fucked by them both. You look up at his face, his eyes are slightly glazed over and you think he might be thinking that same thing. Or maybe he’s just thinking about having you. He swallows and JK is reaching up to grab your chin, holding it as he pulls Jeongguk down and forces your lips together.

There’s a gasp against your lips but JK doesn’t release either of you until Jeongguk finally gives in to the kiss, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. The kiss is far sweeter than how it started, JK’s fingers rough with each of you. But Jeongguk kisses you like you’ll shatter if he moves wrong and warmth floods you at the gentleness of him. You feel a rumble in JK’s chest where it presses to your back and then his lips are brushing against your ear.

“What do you say, princess? Wanna come upstairs with us? I’d say we don’t normally let a girl come between us, but I think we can make a special exception for you, given the circumstances. You look so pretty trapped in between us.”

You whimper, a sound that’s swallowed by Jeongguk as his tongue slips into your mouth, kiss growing heated with JK’s words. Your mind reels as two hands slip beneath your shirt, resting on the bare skin of your waist. Could you handle both of them? Would it fuck up whatever possibility there was between you and Jeongguk? Did you want to risk it?

JK chuckles in your ear. “Well, Gukkie? Think you can share for the night?”

Jeongguk finally pulls away from your mouth, eyes clouded with lust when he finally blinks them open to look at you. He searches your face for a moment before swallowing. “This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go.” He murmurs, dipping in for another kiss.

You smile against his lips, hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “You mean you didn’t have some grand plan to have a threesome with your crush and your twin?”

He makes a face, cheeks flushing. “No!” He pouts.

“If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to. I’m sure JK can go find something else to occupy himself with.” You hear a hum of confirmation from behind you.

Jeongguk searches your face again and then glances behind you to look at JK. They share an unspoken conversation before JK is releasing you to take your hand, Jeongguk grabbing the other, and leads you up the stairs.

The trek down the upstairs hallway is brief, JK pulling you both into a bedroom. There’s two beds on opposite walls and the way the room divides shows just how different the two occupants are from each other, although there are certainly some surprises, like the extensive camera equipment spread out on JK’s desk or the set of boxing gloves hanging on the back of Jeongguk’s desk chair. It makes you want to get to know them both more.

Your observation of their room is short lived as JK is quick to tug you over Jeongguk’s bed, at least you’re assuming it’s his bed since this side of the room uses more of the lighter colors that Jeongguk wears often and not jet black like the other bed. He pulls you close, hands cupping your jaw as he pulls you into a kiss.

For all that the hands and lips on you are shaped the same, the kiss is wholly different from the one you shared with Jeongguk downstairs. JK kisses you hungrily, like he’s trying to absolutely devour you. There’s nothing tentative in his movements as his tongue swipes across your bottom lip to get you to open up to him. You whimper, hands coming up to fist in his shirt, desperate for something to help keep you a little more grounded. You get lost in the kiss, the rough press of his lips and the way his fingers dig into skin that you forget that Jeongguk is in the room too until he’s pressing himself to your back, lips trailing across your neck to your ear.

“You didn’t forget about me now, did you, princess?”

You shudder between them, helpless to give any response as JK doesn’t relent in his pursuit to kiss you completely senseless. Teeth nip at your neck as Jeongguk chuckles and then hands are sliding beneath your shirt, skimming up along your ribs to rest just beneath your breasts. You squirm, or at least attempt to, because the second you try to shift to find any sort of relief, the hands under your shirt slide down to hold tightly to your hips as a foot nudges your stance wider and JK is settling his thigh between your legs. You moan as your clothed core is pressed to firm muscle and thoughts of cumming against the thick corded muscles fill your mind.

Jeongguk gives your hips a squeeze and then he’s guiding you in grinding against JK’s legs, damp panties adding to the drag and friction against your clit. Needy moans stick in your throat as JK finally pulls away from your lips, continuing your mindless, guided rutting against his thigh. His eyes are hazy and you watch with fascination as his tongue darts out to swipe across his kiss swollen lips. He winks when he catches your lingering stare.

Jeongguk gives a firm grind of your hips and, now unmuffled by a kiss, you let out a loud moan that has JK’s gaze dropping to watch your jean clad center rubbing against his thigh. Your hips twitch, fighting to grind yourself against JK to completion, but Jeongguk is surprisingly strong and keeps your hips going at the pace he deems fit for you.

Jeongguk chuckles in your ear. “I think someone is enjoying watching the show more than he is in participating. Maybe we should make him go sit on his bed and watch.”

JK’s eyes darken as he glares over your shoulder at his brother. He removes his thigh from between yours, leaving you whimpering at the loss. But he’s quick to move on, stripping your shirt from you and displacing Jeongguk from your back. His lips press to your cheek before trailing down your neck, leaving stinging nips as he reaches behind you to deftly undo your bra and slide it off of you. His hands are quick to replace the material, groping at the flesh.

He looks over your shoulder with hooded eyes. “Give a guy a hand, Gukkie, and get her pants off?”

Jeongguk must make some sort of face at the request, or more likely the way it was phrased because JK smothers a laugh against your collarbone. Jeongguk complies though, hands brushing the bare skin of your waist before slowly sliding down until they are met with denim. He makes quick work of the button and zipper, fingers slipping beneath the fabric as he pushes it down your thighs as far as he can reach. You’re about to attempt to kick them off when Jeongguk’s finger skim lower as he drops to his knees behind you, breath ghosting across the back of your thighs, causing goosebumps to break out across your skin. He helps you out of your pants before his hands slide slowly back up your legs. They stop just below your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh and you gasp.

JK laughs, nipping once at your neck before lifting his head to grin at you. He gives your breasts a squeeze as his eyes drop to stare at the flesh as it moves beneath his fingers. “You know, for all that we’re twins, we do certainly differ in some ways.” His following grin is lecherous as his eyes drift back up to yours. “Because while I’m more of a tits guy,” he punctuates this with a quick pinch to your nipples before continuing, “Gukkie is a huge ass guy.”

As if in response, Jeongguk’s hands slide just a little further up, groping your ass over the lace of your panties. One hand leaves before it’s quickly coming down in a slap, barely cushioned by the flimsy fabric still covering you. You hear a pleased rumble behind you, the hand back to rub over the stinging area before repeating the process just to watch the flesh of your ass jiggle.

JK captures your lips in a kiss as one of Jeongguk’s hands slips between your thighs, fingers pressing against the soaking fabric coating your slit. You jump slightly when you feel his lips brushing your skin as he goes to speak, not realizing just how close he was.

“I don’t think she minds that we like different things, JK. In fact,” he presses his fingers to your clit and you gasp against JK’s mouth. “I think she rather enjoys it.”

JK pulls away to smirk at you before he’s dropping slightly to take a nipple into his mouth. His teeth tease at the bud before letting his tongue lav over it and sooth the slight sting and then he’s moving to give the other nipple the same treatment. He kneads your other breast, switching every few seconds from one nipple to the other. Never giving you time to get used to or fully enjoy his mouth on you.

Jeongguk pulls his fingers away and you’d whine at the loss if not for the fact that he removes his hands to pull your panties down and off of you, leaving you completely bare between the two still fully dressed twins. There’s a groan, though you can’t tell exactly which twin it came from, as JK finally drops fully to his knees before you. His hands squeeze at your thighs before his thumbs pull your pussy lips apart to fully expose your glistening cunt to him.

He lets out a pleased hum. “My, Gukkie. You’re right, she seems to be enjoying it quite a lot.”

Jeongguk’s hands knead at your ass again. “Let’s see what else she enjoys.” He quips before his hands are pulling your cheeks apart and cool air is being blown across your asshole.

You shudder and teeth nip at the flesh of your cheek. You’re fairly certain that if it wasn’t for the hands holding you up then you would’ve collapsed from the combined stimulation. JK presses a gentle kiss to your belly, drawing your attention down to him just as Jeongguk’s tongue presses hotly to your rim. A moan bubbles out and JK grins as he watches you struggle for words or coherent thought.

He holds eye contact as he adjusts his grip on your thigh and then your leg is being lifted and set on one strong shoulder. Jeongguk’s tongue circles your rim, face pressed closer thanks to the way the new position opens you up for them both. JK keeps one hand firmly pressed to the thigh on his shoulder to keep you stable as he leans forward to press his tongue to your clit and you’re helpless to do little more than moan.

You slide your fingers into his hair, though you’re not sure if it’s to keep him close or to keep your balance and grounded as the two work in tandem to eat you out. The two work with a scary amount of synchronicity and you’re not sure if it’s because they do this often or if it’s just some twin thing. You can feel your orgasm steadily building the longer their mouths work and then someone’s fingers are circling your entrance before one slips inside.

Your hands tighten in JK’s hair and before you can wonder for too long as to whose finger is in you, the other joins and slips a finger in as well. Your toes curl in the carpet as their fingers move in counterpoint, each adding another finger as they go and the stretch adds to the pleasure coming from their mouths, the coil in your belly tightening.

You whine, muscles tensing as you feel the telltale signs of your impending orgasm. JK smiles against you as his lips wrap around your clit and sucks. You cry out, knees nearly buckling as pleasure crashes through you. Jeongguk is first to pull away, giving your ass a quick nip, as his and JK’s fingers continue to pump inside you as you ride out your orgasm. They eventually slip from you and he stands, pressing himself to your back as JK continues to stretch your pleasure out for as long as he can until you push him away when it begins to be too much.

He pulls away panting, looking up at you with dark eyes and a slick chin. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. “You cum so prettily for us, princess.” He coos as Jeongguk guides you to lay out on the bed, much to the relief of your shaking legs.

He crawls between your legs, pressing kisses to your belly and up to your breasts where for every nip of the skin is followed by a soothing kiss.

You tug at his shirt. “Guk…. You too. Wanna see you.”

He gives you a shy smile as he sits back on his heels and tugs his shirt off, dropping it to the floor. You blink at him, he’s far more bulky than his baggy clothes let on. Firm muscles making you want to sink your teeth into them. You push yourself up to your knees, eyes still fixed on his chest and your plan to mark up the pretty unmarked flesh is interrupted by a laugh from beside you.

You look over, a rush of embarrassment filling you when you realize that you’d forgotten about JK, who seems to have realized that. When he sees that he has your attention back on him, he slowly strips his own shirt off. He’s as toned as Jeongguk, although from JK you had expected it more than the other, but where Jeongguk’s skin is smooth and unmarked, JK’s is covered in ink in a myriad of colors and shapes. The tattoos that you’d seen covering his arm stretch up and across a shoulder and back down his chest and ribs. There’s clearly multiple pieces, made up of different hues and styles, but on him they all mesh together to form one cohesive piece of nothing short of art.

He smirks at your wide eyed staring and he makes a show of undoing the button and zipper on his jeans and slowly pushing them down thick thighs. Your eyes widen at the immediate unobstructed view of his hard cock that greets you the second the denim is pushed down far enough, thanks to his apparent dislike of underwear. He’s thick, more average in length, but you know that it’ll feel amazing once it’s inside of you. And as your gaze drags to the tip you gasp at the glittering silver piercing at the head of his cock that shines with precum.

He smirks, kicking his pants off completely and then reaching for himself to give his cock a slow almost lazy stroke, thumb brushing over the metal and you’re fully enraptured by the glinting piece of steel. He comes closer and the only way you can describe it is that he’s stalking towards you. Cupping your jaw, he tilts your head up and brushes his lips against yours.

“Did you like what you saw, princess?” You give a dazed nod and JK chuckles, tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip, just barely grazing yours in the process. “Then I have quite the pleasant surprise for you.”

He climbs back up onto the bed, ignoring the questioning look you shoot him, and positions himself behind you. Hands gripping your hips, he pulls you flush against him, cock pressed firmly to the line of your ass and you can feel the warm ball of his piercing searing into your flesh. You’d rather it be your tongue that was touching it. He groans, indulging in a momentary pause to simply rut against you, relishing the friction against his aching cock. But as quick as he started, he stops, a monumental feat of self control and hooks his chin on your shoulder and directs your gaze forward towards Jeongguk, who’s staring at the both of you with a look that seems to be a mix of envy and lust.

“Gukkie, why don’t you strip for her now.” It’s spoken like a request but it comes across as more of a command.

Jeongguk looks shy for a moment, hands fidgeting before he’s standing from the bed and slowly shucking his jeans. But where JK pulled them down to tease and entice, Jeongguk is timid. He hesitates for a moment with his underwear before he takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut and shoves them off.

His thighs are just as thick as JK’s and they’d be so distracting if it weren’t for the glint of metal on the tip of his cock that catches your attention more.

“Holy fuck…” You mutter, attention entirely taken by the sight.

JK chuckles. “See, princess. Pleasant surprise, huh?”

You swallow and nod, words completely robbed from you as you watch Jeongguk start to fidget again as he stands there being devoured by your gaze. You finally gather enough brain cells to mutter a soft, ‘both?’ which leaves JK chuckling and Jeongguk looks mortified.

“I lost a bet! He thought it’d be hilarious if we got matching piercings. I didn’t know he meant this kind.” You can see his hands twitch like he wants to cover himself up as he explains and the flush resting high on his cheeks slowly stretches down his neck as he speaks.

“Can I touch?” Your voice surprises both you and Jeongguk and he blinks at you for a moment before hesitantly stepping to the edge of the bed.

You reach out, fingers trailing across his stomach before lightly brushing along his length until you reach the warm metal. You swallow, suddenly wanting nothing more than to lean forward and taste it, feel the tang of metal mixed with the saltiness of his precum. Instead, you wrap a hand around the base, giving him a full pump, thumb brushing against the piercing and you delight in the way that it leaves him shuddering. JK presses his lips to your neck as you slowly jerk Jeongguk off, making sure every upstroke has you brushing against the metal, an area that has clearly become more sensitive thanks to its new addition.

JK’s hands trail down your stomach until he reaches your pussy, fingers lightly brushing against your still sensitive clit, causing your grip to tighten around Jeongguk. His smirk presses against your shoulder and his fingers travel further down to your entrance, slipping two inside. You moan, free hand reaching back to hold onto his thigh.

He starts a slow pace with his fingers, lips trailing up to your ear. “What do you want, princess? You’ve got both of us to do whatever your little heart could desire.” He coos.

You whine, looking up at Jeongguk, whose eyes are squeezed shut as you work his cock. “Wanna suck Jeongguk’s cock,” you murmur.

Jeongguk’s eyes pop open and he groans as he is met with the sinfully innocent way you blink up at him. JK’s hand tangles in your hair and he pushes you forward, stopping only when Jeongguk’s dick sits less that an inch in front of your parted mouth. Your breath ghosts over the tip and he shivers.

“Go on, princess. Taste him.” JK instructs and your tongue darts out, swiping over the tip and you clench when your tongue bumps the piercing.

Jeongguk gasps, hand joining JK’s in your hair and that’s all the encouragement you need to finally wrap your lips around the head of his cock. Your tongue circles the head once before finding its way to the ball of the piercing that sits at the tip and playing with it. Jeongguk hisses above you, hips stuttering like he wants to thrust deeper and pull away at the same time. Humming in delight, you sink further onto his cock, relishing the way the metal drags across your tongue.

JK’s hand slides from your hair, trailing along your spine to rest on your hip as he drags your ass more firmly against his cock. His fingers continue to pump, eventually slipping a third into you.

“What else does our princess want, hm?” He coos from behind. “Wanna get fucked while sucking Gukkie off? Be stuffed full by two cocks?” You whine, fingers digging into his thigh and he chuckles. “We need an answer sweetheart. Gotta tell us if you want it.”

You pull off Jeongguk with a gasp, taking a moment to breath as JK’s fingers refuse their relentless pace in your cunt. But it’s slowly becoming not enough for you. You need more. You push your hips back against him. “Fuck… Fuck me… Please, want it…”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers free.

He lifts your hips, positioning himself at your entrance, just close enough that you can feel his piercing brushing against you with each slight movement. You can hear the smirk in his voice when you don’t move. “Don’t forget about Gukkie, princess. He needs your attention too.”

In response, Jeongguk’s hand tightens in your hair and he pulls your face close again, one hand wrapped around the base of his dick so he can press it to your lips. Your mouth opens and Jeongguk smiles at your obedience without evening being told first. Your tongue darts out to lap at the head.

He groans. “What a good girl you are. Didn’t even have to be told to open up for me.”

You preen under the praise, missing the smirk he shoots behind you. Hands manhandle your hips for a moment and then JK is thrusting fully into you, jolting you forward onto Jeongguk’s waiting cock, effectively stifling your moan as your walls stretch around his girth.

JK’s cock twitches where it’s buried balls deep in you, holding still while he lets you adjust to him. “Oh, dude. Fuck, she’s so wet. You like being between us, princess? Taking both of our cocks, hm?”

You gurgle an affirmative around Jeongguk’s cock, feeling helpless as two sets of hands start to direct your body, pushing and pulling, one cock always filling you. You squirm, trying your best to contribute something, but your movements only earn you a swift swat on the ass.

JK’s hand soothes over the skin. “Just let us take care of you, princess. Just let yourself feel good.”

You whine, but comply, letting the pleasure from feeling so filled wash over you. One of JK’s hands leaves your hip and when it brushes over your stomach, you assume he’s going to play with your clit. A startled noise leaves you as his fingers completely bypass your clit, instead pressing at where your pussy stretches around his cock. You squirm at the sensation of his probing fingers and Jeongguk pulls you off of his cock, tilting your head up so he can watch the way your eyes squeeze shut and you moan as JK’s finger wiggles in alongside his cock.

His mouth presses to your neck and you feel the hot air as he hisses when you clench. “You like being stuffed full, huh, princess?” At your frantic nod, he chuckles and continues as a second finger slowly gets worked in. “Do you wanna be stuffed completely? Think you could take us at the same time? Two thick cocks stretching your pretty pussy? Filling you to the brim?”

When you don’t respond, Jeongguk’s hand tightens in your hair and you blink blearily up at him. “You have to answer him, princess.” When all you do is nod, he tuts. “Use your words, princess.”

You swallow, words momentarily robbed form you as a third finger slips in. The stretch is so much, you mind blanks entirely. Until a hand comes down on your thigh and snaps you out of it.

“Answer, princess.” JK murmurs and it sounds like a threat.

“Yes, please… want it, want both of you… Please fuck me…” Once the words are past your lips, pleas flow quickly from you as you babble, overcome with the need of being stretched to a point you never imagined.

Twin chuckles greet you and then JK’s fingers are slipping out of you, quickly followed by his dick. You whine at the sudden emptiness, wanting him back and filling you. Jeongguk cups your cheek, pressing a kiss to sooth you as JK moves away from you.

“It won’t be long, princess. Don’t worry, we just need to get you in a better position.”

JK moves towards the end of the bed, tugging you along with him and allowing room for Jeongguk to climb up and lay down. JK helps you straddle Jeongguk’s thighs, hovering over his cock. He shuffles close to your back so he can speak in your ear as you look down at Jeongguk spread out beneath you. He looks beautiful like this. Jeongguk’s hand comes to rest on your thigh as the other slips beneath you to grab hold of his dick, holding it steady as JK lowers you until you’re fully sat on it.

“He’s wanted this for so long. Waxed poetic about how pretty you are. I bet he thinks you’re stunning right now, sitting on his cock like this.”

Your hands come to rest on Jeongguk’s stomach, squirming with the urge to just fuck yourself on his cock. To ride him until you’re both boneless and sated. JK seems to read your mind, hands tightening where they rest and holding you firmly in place.

You whine as the seconds continue to stretch and they both do little more than sit there. You dig your fingers into Jeongguk’s stomach. “You’re suppose to be fucking me.” You don’t mean for it to come out so whiny and petulant, but it’s hard not to when you're in your current position.

JK hums behind you. “I’m just letting Gukkie enjoy your tight little cunt before we make it even tighter.”

He lifts your hips until only the head of Jeongguk’s cock remains inside before forcing you back down, making both you and Jeongguk moan at the feeling. He keeps you going, keeping you at the pace he sets no matter how you try to make him speed up. His pace allows you to feel the drag of the piercing against your walls with every thrust, so similar but different from when JK was just inside you minutes ago.

When you begin to grow restless, he presses a kiss to your shoulder before pushing you forward until your chest is pressed to Jeongguk’s, who takes the opportunity to press his own kiss to your lips. Jeongguk’s eyes sparkle as he stares up at you, hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. JK shifts you around, pulling you most of the way off Jeongguk’s dick.

His hand runs soothingly over your ass. “Princess, tell us if it’s too much, okay? We’ll go slow, we don’t want to hurt you.”

You nod and wiggle your hips. “I’m ready.”

There’s a snort and then you feel the blunt head of his cock pressing where you’re already stretched around Jeongguk. After a moment of prodding, the head pops in and you gasp at the extra stretch, burying your face in Jeongguk’s shoulder. A shudder wracks your frame and you take a deep breath to relax. JK doesn’t move an inch once he’s inside, giving you plenty of time to adjust and Jeongguk slips a hand between you to rub at your clit as a distraction.

You pant, forcing your focus on the way Jeongguk’s fingers circle your clit and the pleasure that he’s slowly building up with the action. The stretch hurts just slightly, neither of them far enough in yet to truly be stretching you but it’s still more than you’ve ever had before. But beneath the slight ache, you feel so delightfully full and you know that once they’re both fully buried in you that you’ll feel even fuller. You almost wish that they would just push all the way in now, let you feel the full stretch already. You squirm, trying to get more of them inside of you and you’re met with twin groans.

JK’s hands make a weak attempt at stopping you from sinking onto their cocks further. “Princess, go slow… Don’t hurt yourself…”

You shake your head quickly, lifting just slightly before sinking further onto their cocks. “Doesn’t hurt… feels so good…” You moan. And it’s true, Jeongguk’s fingers on your clit have effectively brought your pleasure to the forefront and all you want is for them to fuck you stupid. Neither seem inclined to do that just yet though, too focused on ensuring that you’re not hurt so you take it upon yourself to continue to fuck them deeper.

You glance over your shoulder at JK, drinking in the way he’s visibly tense to keep himself from moving. He alternates between squeezing his eyes shut and staring in wonder at the way your cunt stretches to take them. You wiggle your hips, sinking just a little further until they're both buried as far as they can get. You relish the clench of his jaw once he’s fully inside of you. It takes JK a moment, but when he notices your eyes on him, you smirk at him.

“That all you got, tough guy?”

His tongue pokes at his cheek and his fingers dig into your skin. “Watch yourself, princess. Are you ready?”

“Fuck me already.”

You turn back to Jeongguk, face contorted in pleasure much like JK’s. You’re about to speak when JK pulls almost completely out before slamming back in, robbing you of words as a moan is forced out of you. Jeongguk’s eyes trace over your face as JK starts a fast pace, drawing more moans and whines from you. One of his hands tangles in your hair and he pulls you down for a kiss, but you’re both far too lost in pleasure for the kiss to be good. It’s messy and uncoordinated, more of lips and tongues pressed together as you moan into each other's mouths. His other hand slips away from your clit to rest on the small of your back and you feel him shift slightly so he can thrust up into you, his pace much more subdued than JK’s, but the drag is wonderful all the same.

Even with their different paces, they work well together, leaving you feeling full and pleasure making your toes curl.

JK’s hand slips around your front, fingers quickly finding your clit and taking over where Jeongguk stopped. “Fuck, princess… you feel amazing… Can you cum for us again? Cum around our cocks and get us all nice and messy?”

You whimper as his fingers twist and if you weren’t pinned between their bodies, you would be writhing with how good they’re making you feel. A new orgasm quickly rising in you. Jeongguk tugs on your hair, pulling you away from his mouth once you can do little more than pant against his lips and tilts your head to the side so he can suck marks onto the skin of your neck.

“Come on, cum for us, princess.” Jeongguk murmurs, tongue hot where it traces the marks his teeth left.

You whine at the overload of sensations, both cocks stretching you out and JK’s relentless thrusts, his fingers toying with your clit, Jeongguk’s teeth on your neck. You cum with a gasp, body shuddering at the sudden, overwhelming pleasure. Your mind goes delightfully hazy as your pussy gushes around them, clenching rhythmically as JK’s pace slows only marginally. You faintly hear someone swearing as you drop your forehead to rest on Jeongguk’s shoulder, strength nearly completely gone. You feel boneless and if it weren’t for the hands on you then you would just completely collapse atop Jeongguk.

Jeongguk presses a kiss to the side of your head, seemingly amused. “Fuck, you did so well, princess. Think you can take just a little more for us?”

There’s a groan behind you and JK’s hips stutter, rhythm faltering for just a moment. “Fuck… You’re unbelievably hot. I’m actually a little jealous that Gukkie gets you all to himself after this.”

His pace picks back up and Jeongguk manhandles you so he can speed up his own thrusts, each man chasing his own high now. You whimper as overstimulation takes over, every drag of their cocks against your walls sending jolts of nearly painful pleasure shooting through you.

You almost want to protest, but it still feels good, even with the slight too-much feeling that clings to every rock into your clenching core. The room is filled with your whines and the slick sounds of them fucking into you. JK’s thrusts pick up speed and you can feel another orgasm quickly rising within you again, nearly blindsiding you with the suddenness of it’s appearance. You didn’t know you could cum again so quickly.

You reach out blindly for Jeongguk’s hand, grasping it tightly once you find it. “Gonna…” you slur out, words abandoning you as they don’t slow their motions.

“Fuck, again? You already soaked us once. You gonna cum again for us, princess? Like our cocks that much?”

You whine at JK’s words and Jeongguk gives your hand a squeeze. Jeongguk’s lips brush your ear. “Come on, baby. Let go for us and we’ll fill you up just like you want. All messy and dripping with our cum.” Your pussy clenches at his words and he groans beneath you. “You like that idea, baby? Be so full and dripping? Do you want that? To be our messy baby? You have to cum for us first.”

Your orgasm crashes over you, more intense than the previous two and you shudder almost violently as you squirt again, making a mess of the three of you. Jeongguk groans beneath you, hips slamming into you one last time as he cums, your name whispered into your hair. JK’s pace picks up, now unhindered by Jeongguk’s movements and a handful of thrusts later, just as Jeongguk begins to whine with sensitivity at the continued friction against his softening cock, cums.

You all remain frozen like that for a while, breathing slowly evening back out. JK is the first to move, slipping out of you and climbing off the bed. You whine at the loss and the way the Jeongguk slips from you as well, leaving you feeling empty. You feel Jeongguk lift his head but you’re too tired to do anything else or see what he’s looking at, even as sweat is beginning to dry uncomfortably between the two of you and you can feel cum beginning to slowly drip from your abused cunt. Jeongguk’s hands rub comfortingly on your back as his head lays back down, seemingly content with whatever he was looking at.

You startle when a moment later a damp cloth brushes gently against your folds, taking care to clean as much of the cum from your pussy and thighs with minimal touching to sensitive areas. You whimper slightly and both boys immediately shush you with comforting words.

“JK’s just getting you cleaned up.” He chuckles slightly as he presses a kiss to your hair. “Did you know you could squirt?”

You shake your head shyly, letting the both of them shift you so you’re stretched out on the bed, JK’s hands rubbing along your legs to soothe any aches there may be, before his hands leave you. Jeongguk keeps you pulled close to him, hands seemingly reluctant to give up contact with you. JK drapes a blanket over you and Jeongguk, who fusses with it until he deems it to be covering you suitably. “I’ve never done it before.”

JK pipes up from somewhere behind Jeongguk. “Well you did it twice,” he groans at the memories. “It was hot as fuck.”

Silence settles then, broken only by the sound of fabric rustling and then a few moments later, JK is leaning over Jeongguk to press his own kiss to your head and then he’s playfully ruffling his brother's hair. “I approve very much of your prospective girlfriend.” You hear him move towards the door of the bedroom. “Don’t fuck it up, cause I will swoop in to steal her.” He pauses for a moment as he opens the door, the sounds of the frat party downstairs filtering back into the room. “Get some rest, princess. Good night.” He murmurs before slipping out and back to the party.

#btsguild #magicshopnet #ksmutclub #ficswithluv #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jeongguk x reader #jeongguk smut #jeongguk fanfic

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theoriginalladya · 4 years ago

Note

Intimacy Prompts #20: a hand written note for rydenko.

from this list

on AO3 here

Thank you so much for this one! Sorry it took so long - I had an idea, but I got side tracked by other things! :) Enjoy, my friend! And thank you for asking about them!

Setting: Andromeda Galaxy

~~~

It all begins as a joke.

Once his status as Pathfinder is officially recognized, the Initiative administrators cannot act fast enough to guarantee they have Kaidan Alenko on their side. As the Nexus slowly opens, finally coming out of hibernation, the administrators agree they need to do something. So, they give him an apartment.

Scott has his father’s quarters back on the Hyperion, most of the others have their own quarters or stay on the Tempest, but all Kaidan has available to him is a cryo-pod, one that’s no longer useful now that he’s awake. He doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t even drop a hint. Tann reminds him of others back in the Milky Way, even acts similarly, but he’s a crafty one, too. In a move that is supposed to look as if the Initiative cares about their Pathfinders, they assign their lone Pathfinder an apartment. Whether or not they actually do care about him and the role is beside the point.

Kaidan, who detests being used as a political pawn but recognizes he can do nothing about it, hates it on sight.

Okay, so maybe hate is too strong of a word. It isn’t the orchard back in the BC Interior, that’s for damned sure, and it’s a far cry from shared barracks during his Alliance years. He has a room on the Tempest, so it he has some choice about where he can stay. But this… this tiny cubicle that they are calling an apartment? Four walls, open spacing, barely any room to turn around without bumping into something? There is absolutely nothing homey about it. Home, is something he’s still searching for.

That lasts about three weeks, until the day Scott drops by when Kaidan isn’t there and instead of messaging him to meet up elsewhere, leaves a handwritten note slipped beneath his door. Kaidan almost misses it when he gets back after his meeting with Tann, Addison, and Kesh. Just a small slip of paper – where had Scott found actual paper? – written in black ink. A hint of white on an otherwise light-colored floor which is barely discernable. Something about it catches the corner of his eye, though.

K – Stopped by to see you. Catch you later. Scott

Kaidan reads it twice, just in case he’s having hallucinations thanks to the burgeoning migraine before setting it on the corner of his desk, thinking to send a reply via omni-tool. But the meetings with Tann and the others are taking their toll, and even with SAM’s assistance, the pain is such he forgets until the next morning, at which point he decides to just head on over to the Hyperion instead.

Of course, Scott isn’t there.

Scott – Was in the area and thought I’d save you a trip. Better luck next time, right? Catch you on the Tempest. K

The Tempest is scheduled out the next morning and, as typically happens aboard the ship with last minute things to do and distractions of all kinds, neither he nor Scott thinks to mention the messages to the other; almost an ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ sort of thing. End of story.

Except, it isn’t.

The weeks pass, more notes appear at the apartment and on the Tempest or Hyperion. Small ones. Silly ones. Eventually, Scott starts leaving small sketches of different people on them – quick things, some cute, some ridiculous, but always they leave Kaidan smiling.

A caricature of Tann speaking with Addison and Kesh mimicking him behind his back even as Tann’s head is blown up twice the size of the others.

A small cartoon of Suvi in the galley, laser focused as she points to different Heleus rocks and explains their different tastes to a very confused looking Drack while Lexi stands in the doorway scolding her.

A stick figure sketch of Kallo and the several of the Tempest at various stages of the ship’s development.

Kaidan cannot hide his amusement at a more realistic looking sketch of Cora and Liam as they lean against one another in the back seat of the Nomad, fast asleep. He remembers the incident clearly, from their last visit to Elaaden. Even as he stares at the sketch, he swears he can hear their soft snores echoing in his ears as he tacks it to the wall over his desk next to the others.

Not to be outdone, Kaidan starts leaving quotes in his messages to Scott; from books, movies, and other inspirational sources he’s come across. He’s been collecting them for years, long before he ever left for BAaT. Most are saved on his omni-tool, but he has two small, leatherbound journals filled with the most meaningful ones he’s come across. They are about the only thing he was able to bring with him from home when he joined the Initiative.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. (1)

The pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity. The optimist sees opportunity in every difficulty. (2)

We may encounter many defeats, but we must not be defeated. (3)

Fear profits a man nothing.(4)

With each successive note between them, Kaidan learns a little bit more about Scott. But the whole situation changes drastically after their adventures on the archon’s ship. On the way back to the Nexus and after Lexi has cleared him, Kaidan does something he hasn’t done in centuries, if ever…

~~~~

The buzzer to his Nexus apartment sounds, but Kaidan doesn’t bother to answer it. It’s Scott, and the man has his own key. The buzzer, he supposes, is Scott’s polite way to warn him that he’s arrived. The fact that Scott uses does it now of all times tells Kaidan something more; Scott is pissed.

Well, I probably deserve it after what happened.

He’s tempted to not answer, to see if Scott leaves a note, but decides not to risk it. Opening the door, he steps to the side to allow the younger man in. Scott remains silent, though his body language screams in a way that Kaidan easily recognizes. Taut, tense, his lips tightened in a thin line, the way he won’t look directly at Kaidan… It’s one side of a conversation Kaidan’s been on many times, albeit hundreds of years before and in a different galaxy.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” Scott demands, blue eyes sharp and snapping with anger. “Any idea what could have happened back on the archon’s ship if SAM hadn’t been able to resuscitate you? You-you could have died back there!”

Opting to let the younger man get it out in one fell swoop, Kaidan bides his time. Well, except for one point of clarification. “I did die.”

Scott growls in the back of his throat. An honest to goodness growl. Kaidan can’t help the small smirk that twists at his lips as a result. When Scott steps forward, invading his personal space, Kaidan does something he usually doesn’t do; he goads him. “What? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“Not helping the situation!”

Kaidan isn’t certain if he should be worried that SAM is, so far, remaining silent in his head. “I needed to get us out of there,” he argues instead. “How else was I going to –?”

“You? Why did it have to be you? Why is it always you?” Scott tosses his hands in the air and turns away, frustration building until his biotic corona flickers around him. Still grumbling to himself, he turns back, glaring at Kaidan. “What the hell am I going to do if I lose you like that?”

Kaidan sucks in a breath, recognizing the pain. Sure, things between them have improved since their arrival in Andromeda – no place to go but up, right? – but this…? This is a reinforcement of what he’s hoped for ever since accepting Alec Ryder’s offer.

Or am I reading too much into this?

On their private channel, SAM replies, “You are not, Kaidan.”

Scott still prowls around the room as Kaidan asks, “Can you come over here for a minute?”

“Why? So you can die on me a third time?”

Petulance is not a good look for Scott, and Kaidan has to bite back a laugh; as much as he wants to set it free, it would do more harm than good just now. “I want to show you something.”

Scott grumbles some more, even as Kaidan heads on over, but eventually he follows. When he arrives, Kaidan hands him the letter. “Read this.”

The blue-eyed glare returns, heavy with suspicion. “What is it?”

“Just read. Please.”

Scott waits another moment, two, then drops his gaze and starts reading. For several minutes, Kaidan waits patiently, watching. The letter isn’t long, but Scott is taking his time reading it, but Kaidan knows when Scott reaches the end because the younger man’s spine stiffens, his shoulders roll back, and his head snaps up as he darts a quick look up at Kaidan. “Today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.(5)”

When Scott says nothing else, Kaidan prods, “So, what do you think?”

Scott is quiet for a minute. It’s difficult to read his reaction because he keeps his back to Kaidan the entire time, slightly hunched in the shoulders, utterly quiet. “Do you mean it?” he asks, voice soft as if having trouble pushing it out.

“I always try to say what I mean, Scott.”

The younger man turns around, his face a surprisingly neutral mask. Considering how difficult that has been for him in the past, Kaidan is impressed. “So, you’re saying you consider yourself the luckiest man on Earth or, in this case I guess, the Nexus, because you survived?”

Ah, so that’s the problem. Reaching over, Kaidan settles a hand on Scott’s cheek. Scott leans into it, then apparently thinks better of it or at the very least realizes what he’s doing and pulls back. But that’s okay. Kaidan now has a far better sense of what he is working with. Running his thumb along the corner of Scott’s lips, he says quietly, “I am the luckiest man in Andromeda because you are here with me.”

Tension immediately flows out of Scott and he visibly sags a bit. “And you really mean that? Because look, I get that my Dad talked you into all of this without checking with me first, and –”

Kaidan slides his thumb over the top of Scott’s lips to silence him. “I really mean that. This has nothing to do with your dad, but everything to do with you….”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(1) The Godfather, part II

(2) Winston Churchill

(3) Maya Angelou

(4) 13th Warrior

(5) The Pride of the Yankees

#intimacy prompts #ladya writes #rydenko #scott ryder #kaidan alenko #straight on til morning #mass effect #mass effect andromeda #mallaidhsomo

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livelongdolan · 5 years ago

Text

Teacher’s Pet (G.D. & A.D.)

Summary: When you encounter a new teacher your freshman year of college, Grayson gets a bit jealous but there’s another feeling brewing inside of you. *This is a fanfic including Grayson Dolan and Adam Driver*

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: threesome smut, spanking, choking, just everything honestly lmao

A/N: i sent morgan an ask and i could NOT get it out of my head so this is what happened (btw this is dedicated to her bc she’s my fellow adam driver lover @vinylhazza hehe ily, also to my best friend Joie bc she helped me with the storyline uwu ily)

Tags: @vinylhazza (idek anyone else who would like this but lmk if u wanna be tagged!)

You had always had friends that were older than you, so when you got into college you already knew about one of the professors you’d end up having freshman year. You were majoring in anthropology and the one in charge of the class for the first year was Professor Driver. Your friends had snuck pictures of him in class, talking about how attractive he was constantly but also how incredibly strict he was. You never really understood their infatuation until you walked into his class for the first time. The way that his nose curved, along with his jet black hair and hazel eyes had you hooked, not to mention how broad his shoulders and torso were. Friends of yours knew that you had changed your mind about him but what you didn’t know was that your best friend and soon to be boyfriend Grayson had noticed too. He sat next to you in the same class and watched the way you practically drooled over the tall man dressed nicely in a casual suit. But it also didn’t help that you constantly talked with him after class about how handsome the older man was.

“Gray I’m serious I think he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” The two of you are walking side by side after leaving the class and you can’t get your mind off Professor Driver.

“Really? You see me every day Y/N” He smiles, half joking. You playfully hit his shoulder and just laugh at his comment.

“Oh my gosh don’t even get me started on his body. His shoulders? Crafted by the gods Grayson I’m not even kidding. He’s just so…” you pause for a moment, trying to think of the perfect word to describe him “...big. Like massive. He could throw me around like a rag doll.” At your comments Grayson pretends to throw up, slight jealousy brewing in his stomach but he’s not letting it show just yet.

“Y/N he’s our professor, you're gross.” He laughs but there’s slight meaning behind his words. You decide to ignore it and the conversation topic changes after a few more laughs from you.

The next day the two of you walk into class, going through the classwork as you steal glances at the man at the front of the class. You make eye contact a couple times but look away quickly at each occurrence. After receiving your essay tests back from the week before you noticed that you had many more comments on yours than anyone else had, scrawled in purple ink. You showed your paper to Grayson and he gave you a look of surprise.

“Maybe he has a crush on you.” Grayson jokes. You shove his arm away and laugh, not realizing how loud you’re being.

“Miss Y/L/N. Care to share what you’re laughing about with the class?” Professor Driver’s voice carries loud across the classroom, booming off the walls into your ears. You instantly feel your face heat up at his comment.

“No Professor Driver sorry.” You mumble just loud enough for him to hear.

“Then I suggest you don’t laugh in my classroom. Keep it outside.” He speaks in a stern voice, sparking slight excitement mixed with fear inside of you.

You simply nod in reply and smile at Grayson, making sure to stay quiet the rest of the class so as to not get in trouble again. After the lecture is over, you let Grayson know that you are going to stay behind to talk to Professor Driver. Although it isn’t his official office hours, you know he has time before the next class ends so he stays in the same room. You decide to take this opportunity to apologize sincerely for being loud in class as well as ask him about the notes left on presumably only your test. Walking towards his desk, you grip your essay in your hand and approach his desk where he is sat grading.

“Professor Driver?” You ask, trying to get his attention.

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N?” He responds, still keeping his eyes focused on the grading at hand.

“I just wanted to let you know that I am truly sorry for what happened in class today. I’m just good friends with Grayson and we got carried away and I laughed too loud I promise it’ll never happen again I just-”

“Stop. It’s okay. Just as long as you don’t do it again we won’t have any problems.” He interrupts. “Now is that all?”

“Um no,” you pause for a moment, gathering your thoughts, “I actually wanted to also ask about my essay.”

Before you can get any further he interrupts you again.

“You know the rules. Talking about assignments is for office hours, not for time when I am working on your other assignments. You know where the clipboard is so sign up for a time and I’ll get to you.” The entire time he is still focused on the papers in front of him where you notice that there are no comments on anyone’s assignments, furthering your confusion.

“But-” You try to speak before you are interrupted for the third time.

“Y/N.” He says your name in such an intense manner that butterflies start up in your stomach. “I told you what to do. Follow the rules.”

Feeling intimidated, you simply nod your head and make your way out of the classroom.

About a week passes by before there is an opening in office hours. Since the professor is so strict about everything and grades so harshly, everyone is trying to salvage their grades. A couple days before you are supposed to meet, Grayson tells you that he needs to talk to you after school and that it’s very important. You meet him outside the library, where you usually meet, and start walking around campus before stopping in front of a small group of benches where people typically eat their lunch or study.

“Listen, Y/N, I need to tell you something. It’s been weighing on my chest for a while and even if it doesn’t turn out to be good I just need to get it all out.” He explains. You simply nod your head in response, allowing him to continue.

“I like you. More than a friend. I like you and I want us to be together if you feel the same way.” The words spill from his mouth quickly as if he’s scared of saying them.

“You like me?” You say in disbelief, not fully believing it since you’ve never seen him in that way before. He simply nods, shying away from saying anything more. “Why me? Like we’ve been best friends forever what changed your mind?”

“Well to be honest with you, when I heard you talking about our professor I got this really jealous feeling in my stomach and it wouldn’t go away so I just went home and thought about it for a bit and realized that I like you I guess.” He lets out a slightly awkward laugh. “And why shouldn’t someone like you? You’re beautiful, smart, and I don’t know I guess I just found something in you that I never noticed before when you talked about him. Sooo…”

“I’m honestly not sure how I feel about you Gray, but I wanna explore this. I think it could work if I just figure out my emotions. So how about we just spend some time talking and stuff before becoming official?” You question, hoping he says yes because you honestly felt guilty about being so attracted to your shared professor still.

“Yes of course Y/N. No rush at all.” His smile is as bright as the sun at the news and the two of you continue your walk, the casual banter usually shared between the two of you having a new feel to it after his confession.

The next couple days before your meeting with Professor Driver, you and Grayson spend almost all of your time together and you are definitely getting feelings for him. With each brush of your hands together or an accidental bump into the other, you feel your attraction growing to be as strong as his yet still not enough to be official yet. You had never noticed how attractive he was before all of this had happened though. Of course you had always known he was a handsome guy simply because his features were nicely arranged but you found yourself just wanting to look at him a lot of the time. A couple times he caught you, laughing and grabbing your hand to intertwine it with his as you continued whatever you had been doing. You were definitely in it now. But what about Professor Driver?

It was finally the day of your meeting with Professor Driver and you regretted wearing the skirt that Grayson had wanted you to wear for him, simply because you knew how clumsy you were and didn’t want to accidentally flash your teacher. Although in your mind deep down you knew it wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.

After classes were over for the day, you instructed Grayson to wait at the bench right outside of the building so that you could get in and get out fast, returning directly to him. You made your way into the lobby, continuing down into the familiar classroom. Professor Driver was sitting at his desk on his computer, presumably putting in grades or something else having to do with all the grading he’s been doing lately.

You knock slightly on the door and he motions to come in. You walk in and sit across from him in a plush chair with wooden arms, immediately putting your essay on the desk in front of you.

“So I was just wondering about my essay test because I noticed that, at least from those around me, I am the only one with extra comments added. I got a good grade and the comments are positive so I was just wondering why mine has comments and others who did just as good do not.” You speak concisely as to make sure things are fast, not wanting to spend any more time around the temptation that is your professor longer than you have to.

“Well, I saw that you have potential. The students I believe have potential, I actually put extra work into and make sure I add what they have done right and wrong to improve them as students and people. You just happen to be the only one with potential in this class therefore you are the only one with extra comments. Your essay was the only one to fully address each thing I instructed you all to address and with the work you do in class I see that although you do spend some time messing around with Mr. Dolan, you get your work done and you always hit the nail on the head.” As he speaks he almost unnoticeably glances down at your chest, where your cleavage was showing due to the low v-neck of your shirt. You take notice but leave the looks to your imagination, a red blush covering your face and moving down your neck at his compliments.

“Thank you so much Professor Driver. I really appreciate your kind words.” You smile sweetly at him.

“It’s no problem Y/N” he uses your first name once again making butterflies arise in your stomach. “Good girls deserve praise.” He is barely speaking above a whisper but you still hear him, the words instantly affecting you. You clench your thighs slightly to keep your arousal at bay.

“What was that Professor?” You pretend as if you didn’t hear him, hoping it was just your mind playing tricks on you.

He looks you up and down before gazing directly into your eyes.

“I think you know what I said. I can tell by the way you’re clenching your thighs together Y/N.” It hadn’t registered that he was tall enough to see clearly over the desk. You immediately move your legs apart quickly, accidentally giving him a peek of the pink lace panties you were wearing.

“I-i’m sorry Professor I didn’t mean anything by it I’m kind of seeing someone I just-” Before you can finish your sentence, Grayson is walking up to you. You hadn’t realized that he’d come inside to check on you and heard what just happened.

“Yeah you’re damn right you’re seeing someone. Me. So why are you” He looks pointedly at the large man sitting in the chair across from you “saying things like that to her? Doesn’t seem very professional of you to say, does it?”

The professor is taken aback by Grayson’s words but simply looks up from his sitting position.

“You’re simply too young to know what she wants. You can’t pleasure a woman without experience.” The words fall freely from his mouth as if he hasn’t a care in the world and he returns to grading the papers in front of him.

Grayson’s mouth opens quickly in shock before he closes it again, responding angrily.

“And what the fuck would you know about pleasing a woman? Don’t think you’re all big and bad just because you’re an old man. And not that you need to know, but I have plenty of experience thank you very much.” Grayson moves closer to you as he says this almost as if he’s protecting you.

Professor Driver places his pen down before pushing his chair out from his desk and standing to his full height. Your breath is caught in your throat as you see how much taller the man truly is compared to Grayson. It’s not a lot but considering the circumstances it’s enough to make a difference. Grayson’s head tips back a bit as to make eye contact.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about so I’d be quiet if I were you.” The professor warns. “You probably haven’t even made her wet yet,have you? But I had her clenching her thighs together with four simple words. So tell me now, Mr. Dolan, exactly why you think you have experience?”

Grayson is almost at a loss for words but an idea springs to his head. He reaches over to you, wrapping your hair around his fist and pulling you towards him causing you to let out a small whine at the pressure on your roots.

“She’s mine. It doesn’t matter what the fuck you say.” Grayson’s eyes are red with anger. The bigger man steps forward so that you are now stuck between the two of them, tension so thick you couldn’t even cut it with the sharpest of knives. The two large men sandwiched you between them as angry glares are shared, the amount of testosterone elevating due to the threat of the other male. You looked between the two, having to tilt your head back to see both of their faces before you realized the expanse of their chests on either side of you. The way that they had you, you felt more like a prize to be won than an actual person. You weren’t complaining.

“How about we let Miss Y/L/N decide? We can both fuck her and she’ll chose who she likes better. Although I think it would be a waste of time since we all know it’s me.” Professor Driver proclaims. Grayson reluctantly agrees as he turns you towards him.

“Mr. Dolan. Go lock the door and pull down the curtain.” The professor’s eyes are trained on you as he says this, large hands moving down to your waist and pulling you towards him. “Gonna be a good little girl for me, huh?” He whispers in your ear, sending chills down your spine as you nod your head.

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ do what you say.” Grayson argues, observing already what a grasp the older man has on you. The same man’s movements stop and he holds on to you. You look at Grayson with pleading eyes.

“P-please Gray. Lock it and close the c-curtain. I need you.” Your words are filled with a deep whimpering hunger that you can no longer control. Grayson gives in since you said it and does as he is told. As he is walking away, the professor leans close into your ear.

“You are allowed to call me anything you want. My name is Adam if you’d like to call me that but I prefer something a little more fun.” His lips are ghosting across your ear as he speaks, your knees going weak at just his words. Grayson returns quickly, grabbing your forearm and pulling you into his chest, before kissing you passionately. His lips are rough against yours and you can feel the anger in each movement he makes. Before you know it, Adam is behind you placing his hands up your skirt to take down the lace beneath. He rids of the small piece of fabric and lifts your skirt, large hands canvassing your ass before placing a harsh smack across it. You moan into your kiss with Grayson, letting him know the amount of pleasure you’re receiving from the admittedly more experienced man.

Grayson moves away from you and pulls your shirt over your head, throwing it behind him along with your bra before kissing all the way from your neck down to your nipples. He takes one into his mouth, kneading and pinching the other with his other hand. While all of this is happening, Adam is removing your skirt and reaching his hand between your legs from the back to rub at your sensitive core which caused his hands to practically drip with your arousal. Before Grayson is done the professor pulls you towards him by your hips and turns you around by your hips, lifting you up. You wrap your legs around him, your core rubbing against the material of his button up, neither one of the men having gotten undressed yet.

“S-sir please. Need more” You whine, burying your face into Adam’s neck and biting on the skin there. He lets out a grunt at your teeth against his skin.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll take care of you.” He reassures you, sweeping everything off of his desk and placing you on top. Grayson moves towards the two of you to keep himself included but he has no idea how to get access to you in the position that the older man has put you in. As Adam is unbuttoning his pants to be able to slide into you, Grayson takes his chance and moves towards you, crouching down after pushing the professor away and licking up the juices dripping from your core. Adam steps back, slightly impressed by Grayson’s willpower but still wanting to win you over. He lets Grayson continue, walking around to the side of you and moving your chin to face him. You come face to face with his huge cock and almost gasp in amazement of how big it is. He’s definitely the biggest you’ve ever seen.

“Open your mouth princess, take me in.” He demands softly, using his thumb to open your mouth for you before sliding himself in. The combination of him in your mouth and Grayson’s mouth fixed on you has you moaning around your professor so much to the point that after a bit he almost comes. He pulls out of your mouth and moves back around to where Grayson is.

“Move.” He demands, feet planted firmly as to assert his dominance over the younger man as he unbuttons and takes off his button up shirt. Grayson heeds what he says and moves to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

“Do you want my cock in you, dirty little girl? You want me to fill you up, huh?” Adam asks, rubbing his tip up and down your folds to tease you before you answer. You pull away from Grayson’s kiss as he moves down your neck, gripping your hair tightly before moving his other hand to grip your neck.

“Y-yes please sir. Please.” You are almost crying at how desperate you are to be filled, pleading eyes looking directly into Adam’s. He smiles at your begging and plunges all the way into you, making you shout out in a mix of pleasure and pain. Grayson comforts you, leaving soft caresses all down your body. He even tries to rub your clit when your hips buck up but Adam smacks his hand away, instead pressing his forearm against your hips to force them to stay down.

“You say you’re experienced but don’t even know not to let her be such a greedy little bitch? Yeah okay.” Adam snarks, Grayson simply ignoring him and standing up so you could suck him off like you had done to Adam earlier. You open your mouth and take Grayson in as Adam pounds away into you in a way so good you can’t even begin to explain. Your legs are shaking with each pump he takes in and out before you finally are about to release around him.

“You need to ask my permission to cum, baby. If you want it you need to beg it’s not just gonna be that easy.” Adam’s previously stern voice turned a bit sweeter at these orders, knowing it would be difficult for you to keep everything in considering how hard and fast he was going. You pull away from Grayson and he continues to stroke himself next to you.

“Please Adam please let me come. Please I’ll do anything. Anything.” The last word comes out as nothing but a whine as you clench around him.

“C’mon kitten. Cum for me. Cum around my cock.” He only goes harder and faster as he says it, both men now being close to finishing. Grayson soon finishes, his liquids landing across your chest and seeing him is what sets you off. You cum around Adam, your walls clamping down around him so hard that he cums as well. He pushes all the way into you to keep all the juices, both yours and his, all inside of you before pulling out slowly so as to not let anything fall to the floor. Grayson steps to the side, taking off his shirt and using it to wipe his cum from your chest before Adam moves to your face, gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. He pinches your cheeks so that your mouth opens and spits straight into it, showing Grayson who really has control. You swallow what he just gave you and moan, legs shaking from how hard you came. Grayson takes a look at the older man and just laughs, observing the destruction they both did to you. Adam smiles in return before grabbing you and making you sit up straight.

“So, who’s it gonna be? Who’s the better fuck, princess?” The professor asks.

You pause for a moment.

“Can’t I just have both?”

193 notes · View notes

ajokeformur-ray · 4 years ago

Note

Hey can I get some headcanons of your relationship with your F/O parents bc y’all are such a cute family dynamic and I wanna hear more about how you all interact🥰💗

and @arianatheangelworld

asdfghjkl; omgggg~ you’re all gonna kill me asghj 🥺😭😭thank you darlings omggg ~ 🥰🥰🥰💗 I hope that you all enjoy this, it’s always so bittersweet but also so comforting and fun to explore my dynamic with my parental F/Os and, well... isn’t that the point of it all?💖 Thank you thank you thank you for supporting and enabling me omggg ~ 💙😊

Word count: 3, 184 (holy shit I am so sorry... not😂)

It’s a quiet life, but there’s lots of underlying tensions beneath it all.

By quiet, I mean because I spend my days in my bedroom studying (not so far from reality, these relationships😂) but there are underlying tensions because no one in the household knows who Edward Hyde really is - it’s a secret between my parents and I.

What that means is that it’s tricky for Papa and myself to spend time with one another if other members of the household are awake - as far as they are concerned, Father is my parent and so is Mama, and Papa has no part in that. So as you can imagine, questions would be raised if Papa and I are caught spending too much time together (plus, this is set in the Victorian Era, so you can imagine the scandal of an unmarried twenty-three year old woman spending lots of time alone in a room, unchaperoned, with a man old enough to be her father...)

This is why Papa and I only have our time together late into the night, when said members of the household have gone to bed and it’s only my parents and I who are awake. It’s safer for all of us that way - it protects Father and his name, his reputation and his career, which in turn protects the household members from being turned out onto the streets due to a lack of employment and this in turn protects Father’s family, who always come first.

From the moment I wake up, my parents are there. As you’ve probably gathered from previous posts, I sleep with my parents a lot so it isn’t unusual for me to wake up with one of them. Rare and special occasions mean that I get to wake up with Mama and either Father or Papa.

Mama’s always up by five in the morning or she’ll fall behind on her chores so if she’s the one I slept with in the night, then I’ll get up when she does. She always insists that I go back to bed and that I go to sleep, but I rarely do. I much prefer to have those early hours with her so that I can help her with her chores and maybe, if I’m very lucky... I’ll get to be the one who takes Father his breakfast tray so that I get to see him early in the morning and so that I can crawl into his bed and get me some extra cuddles before I start my day.

If I sleep in with Father, then the opposite happens and I’m woken up when he gets brought his breakfast tray (7 AM on the dot!), and of course I end up getting up when he does because even though he won’t kick me out of his bed, he also knows that if he leaves me to my own devices in a soft, warm bed, I’ll end up falling asleep until noon and then I’ll beat myself up about it, so he makes sure I am awake and up before he’s done with his breakfast (and if Mama knows I slept in with Father, she’ll bring me some breakfast too!) to save me any emotional distress.

Father always wakes me up gently... up until a certain point. He will shake me gently while saying my name, which usually gets a sleepy groan from me. Then, it’s onto talking, with his voice going from a whisper and increasing in volume until he’s just above his normal speaking level. He never raises his voice at me and we all know why. If that doesn’t work, then Father will just “accidentally” pull the covers off of me. He isn’t subtle, but he also isn’t mean about it, and if I do genuinely need some more sleep, then he will let me have that. But for the most part, he makes sure that I’m up once he is on the nights I’m in his bed.

I never ever get to wake up with Papa. It just doesn’t happen for various reasons. Firstly, because Papa’s constantly moving around like a lion stuck in a cage and he loves me dearly but not enough to stay in one place for more than a few hours unless he’s already sleeping. Secondly, because he can’t be caught in my bed or vice versa by anyone other than Mama to protect Father’s name etc. Thirdly, I may wake up to Papa crawling into my bed or easing himself in his own if I fell asleep in his bed, but I don’t ever get to start my day with Papa. Our time is night time and that has to be non-negotiable. It does upset me if I wake up in an especially needy mood, but Father and Mama will get me through the day in the meantime.

Mama likes to sneak me items of Papa’s or Father’s clothing to wear when I go to bed. She’s not supposed to but Mama is sleight of hand and I can be quick when I need to be. She and I often have silent conversations in a crowded room and all it takes is for Mama to “accidentally” make a noise, like a quick scuffing of her boot on the floor or for her knuckles to make a noise against the wooden table and I just look at her. Mama catches my eye and then gives me A Look before she turns back to her ironing. I walk past and at the point where our lower bodies are hidden by the ironing board, she stuffs an unironed shirt in my hand (usually Papa’s) and I walk off, the shirt stowed away under my arm and then placed for safe-keeps under my pillow for the night time. Sometimes it might be one of her night-dresses, but I am comfier in either Papa or Father’s clothes.

There are so many secrets between myself and my parents which are kept from the other members of the household. Between all three of us, we manage it as best as we can, though I have no doubt that the others think we're a little odd. 😊

There are periods which are weeks long where Father is so busy in his laboratory that no one sees him. It's communication .via. letters on the stairs and that's all anyone hears from him. Mama and I worry immensely but Father's always been this way and all we can do is be patient and wait for him. He's a workaholic and he often makes himself sick from all of the working and everyone in the household knows what to do when these times arise, which are getting more frequent as Father gets older.

In especially bad times, even Mama won't be able to get through to Father. I get upset if that's the case, because if he shuts away the one person he loves above all else, it's a serious warning sign. Mama and I have a pact that if she can't get through, then I will. Father is always so protective of me, and now it's my turn to protect him. I take this very seriously, understandably so, and I wait up until two or three in the morning, so late that even Mama's gone to bed and is sleeping. I wait in his study for that time, reading one of his old medical journals, and then I go downstairs, out the back door, and into the laboratory.

It's freezing in there because there's where Father used to carry out dissections and lectures back before his illness (never canonically diagnosed but it's believed to be depression or similar) got worse, so I always take him his old smoking jacket (which doubles as my blanket when I take naps in his study). By this time in the night, Father will be so tired and sleep-deprived that he's more likely to be honest with me, and it's for this reason that I also stayed up so late - Father will assume I'm unable to sleep because I'm so worried about him, and while that's true, it's also because I know him well enough to know what time of night is best for an intervention. Yes, it's slightly manipulative on my end of things, but I am my Papa's daughter and it's with good intentions so I don't linger on this thought for too long. It won't do me any good and my Father's most important. I'd do anything for him.

I find Father where I knew he would be - scribbling in a journal by candlelight, his fingers covered in ink, his hair a mess, yawning every few seconds. A cold plate of mutton is left forgotten by his elbow, only half eaten. I'm just like him when I study so I don't lecture my Father on his bad eating habits -he and I have the same work ethic so I would be a hypocrite to tell him off for something he usually tells me off for. I announce myself by putting his smoking jacket over his shoulders. Father pulls the jacket around himself with a shiver and I smile. You're welcome.

"You should be in bed, Erika." Father frowns in disapproval and I almost want to call him out on his hypocrisy.

"So should you," My tone is sharp with worry and frustration and Father takes a moment to look at me - I never speak to him like this. "Mama's really worried about you. So am I. We haven't seen Papa for weeks, and we - " Just like always, my anger turns to upset and I move away, trying not to cry.

"Erika." I turn back to my Father and I see that he has tears in his eyes, too. He's hurting and even though he's been trying to find a cure for years, he's never been able to find one which really helps him. "I am sorry, I - my work, it is. Well, let's not discuss the details." A pause. Neither of us know what to do, even when there is no one to see or hear us. "Come here." He pats his lap and I make a happy noise, which makes him smile. I love sitting on my Father's lap - it's been something I've done ever since I was a child and it always makes me feel so safe.

I go and I sit on my Father's lap (and have a quiet cry - he knows but he doesn't say anything about it because he doesn't want to embarrass me) and he continues to work, but as the hours drag on and we both get increasingly tired, Father knows that the time for working is over. On these nights when I manage to find my Father in his own mind and pull him back with just my presence (and my very existence is a reminder of what he holds most dear), I also spend the night in his bed.

"Thank you, Erika, for..." Father trails off, but I know what he's saying to me.

I snuggle into his bed, feel my Father kiss my forehead and whisper his love, and then I sleep.

The night is half the battle - getting Father to take a break tomorrow morning will be an even bigger battle, but by then Mama will be awake and we'll work together to save Father from himself.

It's not the first or the last time, but all of us in the family have our Own Moments which require special attentions and solutions, and we love each other even harder during those times.

The reunion with Papa after getting Father to take a break from his weeks of working always makes me cry, too.

Over the years, it's become almost a... tradition, of sorts, for Papa to greet me this way after a long separation.

I could be doing anything - reading in Father's study, writing in my bed, studying at my desk - and all of a sudden, out of nowhere -

"Erika."

Whispered so casually, so quietly, but my entire body freezes. I know that voice anywhere. I drop whatever I'm doing, I tear up, and I turn, slowly...

Papa's smirking at me, a cold and calculative look in his eyes, but I'm not afraid. I'm not even nervous. Anyone else would make me step back with this look, but not Papa. No.

"Oh, my - Papa!" I step forward into his embrace and I melt into the parent I've been missing most of all. I cry, of course I do, and Papa says nothing about it (he and Father aren't so different at all, once you get to know them, though I'd never tell them that. Or Mama. It's a thought I keep entirely to myself.) because he doesn't see why he should need to; he only holds me tighter.

I can almost hear his fond eye roll and it makes me smile.

"It's difficult to understand someone who is entirely incapable of asking for what he most wants, wouldn't you agree? You're the only one he listens to," our daughter.

There is pride in Papa's voice but just like always, I can hear what he doesn't say, just as he hears what I don't say. It's just how it is between us; Papa and I have a level of understanding between us which we don't have with anyone else.

That night, Papa sleeps in my bed with me. I'm never ready to say goodbye to him, or goodnight, either. The following conversation is a nightly ritual because of this:

"Just five more minutes, Papa?"

"I'll be here tomorrow night. you know that. Sleep, child."

"But - "

"Erika."

A warning. No one else receives warnings from the Edward Hyde and lives to tell the tale. So I listen.

"Fine." I know he will be with me tomorrow night. "Stay with me 'til I fall asleep?"

Papa sighs, rolls his eyes, and pointedly lays down, watching me the whole time. I couldn't hide my smile if I tried, so I don't even bother to - Papa taught me to show my emotions and to not hide them.

"Goodnight, Erika."

"'Night, Papa. Love you."

A kiss on the top of my head, and all else fades to black.

My parents and I are very physically affectionate with one another and it's... unusual, especially if you consider the fact that it's in the Victorian Era, but the members of the household find it touching. They get hugs and affection, too! Even if they don't necessarily know how to react to it, they still do get their hugs in the morning and late at night just before they all go to bed (which is between 10 and 11, whereas I go to bed anywhere from midnight to 3 AM).

If I have a nightmare or a bad dream, I am at total liberty to climb into any bed in the house, but of course I make a beeline typically for Mama's bed. She knows nightmares well and she'll simply hold me until I feel safe, and then she'll hold me some more because I get clingy and I don't like letting go. There's been times I've cried because she let me go before I was ready for the cuddle to be over (though those times were when I was much younger) so now she just lets me decide for myself when I've had enough.

With the way I sleep with my hair in two braids, I always get a mass of tangles at the back of my head. Always. I hate it and it always makes me hesitant to brush my hair, which is now midway down my back (so I can’t not brush my hair every day), because I know it’s gonna hurt me. I’ll brush the front parts of my hair and I’ll try to brush the knots out, but it hurts so I stop and I don’t want to brush my hair.

A part of me is always tempted to just leave it, but at the same time I know from previous experience that hair knots can and will get worse, so during these times I’ll take my brush to Mama. She’s always so gentle, not just with me, but also just in her nature.

She is such a tender-hearted person and I admire her so deeply for that. She’s incredibly busy so typically I’ll leave brushing my hair until the evening, when she has more time to help me. I don’t always ask her for help with my hair, so when I do, she knows immediately that it’s because I really can’t do it myself.

“Mama, there’s a - I have a knot. Can you help me?”

A small smile and she goes to get her wooden comb. It’s gentler on knots than my own hairbrush, which pulls more than it needs to, and we both know it. Mama is so gentle that it barely hurts me, and within minutes she’s done what I’ve delayed all day.

“How do you want it tonight, Erika? One braid or two?”

I fondly roll my eyes - like she needs to ask. My smile is in my voice as I ask for two, and Mama and I get to spend some time with one another quietly enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes I return the favour by helping her brush out her hair, but she’s incredibly self-sufficient and she largely prefers to do it herself. Which is fine... I’ll find other ways to help her!😊

“Thank you, Mama.” My words are doubled up with a tight hug, and then I’m ushered off to bed because it’s late and she’s exhausted.

I technically have three parents and each one fulfills a different need for me, so all together, they meet all of my needs and I try, I try to be a daughter that they can be proud of, that they can respect and that they can love unconditionally. I try so hard every day to live in a way to honour their places in my life.

There's nothing I wouldn't do for my parents. I would die for my parents, to give them a happy ending, to give them the time to be together, but in many ways... I am that happy ending, even if things aren't perfect. It's a fight sometimes to keep secrets exactly that, but we make it work. We have to.

I tell them each and every day that I love them, I hug them and cuddle them and help them out where I can, because they deserve the world.

They are my parents and I am very grateful to and for them. They have made me who I am today and they'll be with me forever, no matter where I go or what I do or who I become. I just hope that they'll continue to walk with me for the rest of my life, because I wouldn't be alive without them... in more ways than one.

#loveletterstoledger #self-shipping #mary reilly #parental f/os #I'M CRYING OMG😭#this is OKAY TO REBLOG

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the-black-birb · 5 years ago

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scars [kuroo]

Pairing: Inked!Kuroo Tetsurou x Tattoo artist!Reader

Summary: Kuroo still holds on to the memories of his high school romance.

A/N: I wanted to write this piece as a birthday gift for @heccingdead bc she writes some of the best angst I’ve read!! But I feel like it got a little out of hand ahflashfslfakslfk also this was highkey inspired by @allywritesimagines and the idea of philophobia

Warnings: implied abuse, minor Kuroo x Daishou, strong language

Kuroo had always been proud of his tattoos, dancing over his body like a mosaic. In the year following high school, he’d gathered so many that at times he wondered if he had more ink than skin.

It was almost addicting, the feel of the needle buzzing over his skin leaving his senses numb. At parties they kept him grounded, always a topic of conversation. He’d trained himself to recall the stories of each – just enough that it wasn’t too personal – without even thinking about it.

He was always delighted to talk about his tattoos – in part because it meant talking about you. At first, it was just normal praise for the artist. “She’s amazing!” he’d tell his friends. “I definitely recommend her; she’s done all of mine.” Of course, he’d gush and fawn over the person who helped him garner so much attention.

But recently, his commentary was becoming a bit different. “She kicked my ass at mario kart,” he told Kenma, who just groaned. Beating Kuroo at mario kart didn’t mean much.

“Her rice cakes taste amazing,” he beamed when him and Bokuto got their weekly brunch. “She taught me how to make them but I can’t get them quite right…”

Bokuto nodded solemnly, taking in all of Kuroo’s excitement. “So, you’re whipped?” was his conclusion after the fourth brunch in a row Kuroo brought up his escapades with you.

“Huh?” Kuroo looked up from his omelet to Bokuto’s owlish eyes. “Nah, man,” he laughed. “She’s just a cool person, you know? Not many people can be artists and bakers and-“

“Gamers,” Bokuto finished, smirking at Kuroo. “You’ve said.”

Before Kuroo could protest once again, Bokuto (to his friend’s relief) changed the subject to ease Kuroo’s discomfort. But the words still lingered in his mind.

You were a lot of things to Kuroo. A business acquaintance at first (and the only tattoo artist near him that he could afford fresh out of high school) but recently a friend and confidant as well. It couldn’t be helped; if you were to hand draw each and everyone of his tattoos and hear his stories full and uncensored you were bound to become close with him.

But he knew there was more to it than that. He’d been drawn to you from the start.

“So why do you want to get a tattoo?” you’d asked him when he first went to consult you. At the time he had no idea who you were, or rather what you would become to him, and he had nothing to lose, really. Assuming this tattoo would be his last and he’d never have to worry about you again, he gave you the honest truth.

“I wanted to cover this up,” he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal his forearm and the large scar that adorned it. He expected you to wince at how ugly it was or at least show some sort of pity (people usually did, it was why he covered it up), but instead you stared at it like a painting. You didn’t have to say anything to him, for your eyes screamed beautiful as you gazed upon him like a miner finally striking gold. He wanted to shrink under your gaze, to become smaller and smaller. But you were so passionate he couldn’t look away.

“I’ve never done a tattoo over a scar,” you admitted (which wasn’t particularly surprising considering you were his age). “But I’d like to give it a shot. If you don’t mind me asking, how did this happen?” You didn’t miss the way Kuroo flinched away from you when you asked, but were polite enough not to bother him over it.

“Well, I got into a knife fight…” he started teasingly, deflecting the question. If he came up with enough funny stories, usually whoever asked would stop bothering him.

“Hilarious,” you cut him off with a straight face. “Give me the real story or don’t bother,” you asked, cleaning your supplies. There was certainly no fooling you. Kuroo swallowed, chest tight at the memory. Well, it wasn’t like he had anything to lose, except pride.

“There was an incident with a clothing iron,” he explained slowly, thinking back to it. “I got into an argument with my ex…” He tripped over his words. The scars was old news but his relationship status was still fresh in his mind. “…while I was doing laundry and lost track of the iron.” His voice trailed off as he gulped. You’d probably laugh at him or pity him or say something that made him want to get up and leave immediately, all ideas of a tattoo forgotten.

Instead, you kept rummaging through your supplies without faltering. “Must’ve hurt like a bitch,” you hummed, unfazed.

“So what tattoo were you thinking of?” you inquired, sitting in front of him with a blank paper and pencil and an excited smile that Kuroo would never forget. “Let’s talk.”

It was the start of an unlikely friendship. His first tattoo (a beautiful chain of red flowers, each representing one of his teammates from his old volleyball team) was gorgeous, so much so that he found himself coming back for more. To his surprise, you always asked him why he wanted a tattoo (although he supposed you already had to know the meaning in order to draw it so there wasn’t much use in asking) and he never hesitated to answer.

Except for one time, when he asked for a small semi-colon on the area behind his ear. He’d asked you for it out of the blue, knowing it was simple enough for you to sit him down and do it quickly. But his pale face and blown out eyes had you skipping the usual questions and consultations, choosing instead of make him wait until after you got off work to drag him back to your apartment where you could listen to him in the peace and quiet of a home.

He supposed that was when you two become more than just an artist and customer. You were eerily perceptive and so you’d already known plenty about Kuroo; you’d etched his whole identity into his body after all, but this was the first time the two of you allowed it to leave the workplace.

At such a brutally slow pace he hadn’t even realized it, you had seeped into all the cracks in his perfect exterior. In all his ramblings to you about this tattoo and that tattoo and what they all meant, you’d somehow become his crutch to hold him up while he fell apart.

It was his fault, after all, that he’d trust you with so much information. Every tattoo had a story, and he knew most of them weren’t pretty. Yet you always took them in stride, never making him feel like any less of a person.

He wanted (read: wished) that were reason enough to love you, but he knew that wasn’t true. He was a sob story in the making and you were electric. Your eyes made him feel like he was on fire, as if the world he’d been living in was a shitty blockbuster movie and you were about to make it an award-winning novel. You were addicting and loving and you made Kuroo hopeful. But he’d long given up on waiting for a happy ending. Even if Bokuto was right, you deserved better than him.

Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t indulge in your friendship (or your rice cakes). A casual friendship was safe; he could laugh and joke and pretend you didn’t know why he still covered his arm with the scar even after covering it up or why he’d never quite see volleyball the same way again. As friends and away from your workplace, none of that mattered.

And so, he hadn’t hesitated in welcoming you into his home that same night even as Bokuto’s words bounced around in his head (he couldn’t skip out on movie night, after all. It was tradition!).

“What’d you bring tonight?” he asked teasingly. It was routine: after you’d found out Kuroo had yet so see a single one of your shitty rom coms, you took responsibility to make sure he saw every single one. You’d supply the movie; he’d supply the snacks. It was normal for you at this point.

“Ten Things I Hate About You,” you grinned, smile so infectious he felt the corners of his lips tugging upwards.

“It better be than the last one,” Kuroo quipped (the last one was pretty in pink and Kuroo just couldn’t wrap his head around why Ducky didn’t get the girl), but before you could retort he was off to his kitchen to prepare the popcorn.

Without invitation, you made quick work of setting his living room up for movie night. This, too, was part of your unspoken agreement, especially when he started leaving extra blankets and pillows out for you to work with. When he entered back in with cinnamon-coated popcorn (it was your favorite), you’d already had everything up.

He whistled, settling in beside you. “You’ve outdone yourself,” he observed. As always you grinned up at him, curling up into his side as he held the bowl for you to share.

“You gave me more to work with,” you responded, grabbing the remote to set up the movie.

Kuroo tried his best to relax next to you, but Bokuto’s words were still swarming in his head. He couldn’t like you, it was too dangerous. You were already everywhere, all over his body and in the food, he ate and the shows he watched. If he were to fall for you and if anything were to end badly, he’d be heart broken.

Too soon Kuroo’s mind was brought back to the end of high school, talking with Nohebi’s captain. Deciding to never talk to him again, covering up all traces of him from his body. Getting tattoo after tattoo to forget him and rid his body of all traces of him.

“You should leave.” Kuroo was speaking but he couldn’t hear his own voice.

You turned towards him, looking hurt but unsurprised. “What’s wrong?” you asked, hand squeezing his forearm supportively. He hated the look way your eyes looked at him. He wished you’d look at him with pity like everyone else did. It would’ve been so much easier if you looked at him like he was only a ghost of the past, the same way Kenma and Bokuto did whenever they stopped themselves from mention “taboo topics.” Like volleyball and Daishou and clothing irons.

But you didn’t pity him or baby him. Your eyes weren’t scared at his sudden outburst or worried to approach him. All he saw was understanding. You knew. Of-fucking-course you knew. You, who helped him cover up all his scars. You, who let him stay at your apartment whenever his started to feel too big for one person. You, who suggested he got a tattoo to remind him to breathe (4-7-8, written in your handwriting) and he took it.

Kuroo wanted to be proud of his tattoos, that covered his body as his own personal shield. He wanted to admire your handiwork and relish in the way he could forget about who he had been before them. But he knew they were simply reminders of unseen scars. He swore he was healing while he bled out, haunted by memories of the past.

“Whatever’s wrong, you can tell me,” you told him, voice like a promise. He knew it was true, that he could tell you and you’d coddle him while he cried and make him feel like the only person in the entire world. He knew you were magic; you could tell by the way his muscles tensed that something was wrong. Your electric eyes saw him.

But all he could think about was a steaming hot iron and the apologies that followed. He pictured empty apology after empty promise and letting it excuse pain and tears too many times. He could barely recall how difficult it was to unwind himself from a web of being loved only when it was convenient, how it took him months to realize something was wrong.

Kuroo knew being with you would make him feel loved, but he was so damn scared he couldn’t love you back. He couldn’t bare the thought of using you in the same way he had been used.

“You should leave,” he repeated, pulling his arm away from your touch. He wished he could linger in it, but he was certain too much and he’d be addicted.

He wanted (read: hoped) you would argue with him just a bit. Tell him you wouldn’t leave him alone like this and pull him towards you like they always did in your shitty rom coms. But they were actors who knew what came next, and you were real. So real that he could reach out and hold you close and so selfless that you knew when it was time to leave.

You didn’t say anything to him as you backed away, grabbing your things. Kuroo was frozen in place, worried if he moved that he would forget the warmth of your hand on his arm. He knew he fucked up, but he could handle that. He made mistakes all the time. It was easier this way, he was sure.

Until you were one foot out of the door, looking back at him. “You know,” you whispered, eyes looking somewhere far away from his apartment. “You’re not the only one with baggage.” Your voice trembled. “Even if you were, it’s lighter to carry it together.”

Kuroo wished you had slammed the door shut behind you so he didn’t have to sit up straight, only to see you were gone. Even without you in the apartment, your presence was everywhere. All over his body and in his damned pillow fort and in the cinnamon spread over his popcorn. Even when you were gone, he was still with you.

He rolled his head back, not sure what to do. Numbly, he found his way to his phone to send a quick text to Bokuto.

You were right.

Right about now he’d usually think about getting a new tattoo, maybe text you to spitball an idea. He sighed as he leaned back into the blankets you had so gleefully set up for them to share. “I guess that’s not an option anymore.”

None of it made sense to Kuroo. His last breakup was liberating, like a breath fresh of air, and here was on a Saturday night about to watch a romcom to forget about you. He was certain it was some sort of cruel irony that it was only now he was starting to realize how hurt and in love he’d been.

He wondered (read: prayed) if he’d find salvation in you yet again.

#kuroo x reader #haikyuu kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu kuroo tetsurou x reader #haikyuu x you

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hoekaashi · 4 years ago

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For Better or Worse | B.K. + M.I.

a/n: this took me so long to complete, but here it is. yes, i was inspired by that one picture of tattoo artist deku w bakugou, ya know. that one. yes this came out longer than i wanted to it to be bc i have no self-control. also no banner bc im a lazy poop. also also, i had no idea how to end it, so yeah characters: bakuguo, izuku, mina, kirishima, sero, kaminari, a pinch of todoroki warnings: language, alcohol (they are all aged up), bakugou’s inferiority complex, deku looking dangerous in an all black outfit and a beanie yes yes taglist: @babydabi @suckersuki @bakugoustanaccount @animoozies @haiikyuuns @depths-of-your-soul @differentballooncollection @waitforitillwritemywayout

The thumping from the bass made Bakugou feel like his brain was rattling in his skull and the dim lights of the club were straining his eyes. He needed a break from the sweaty people around him, but his friends wouldn’t let him leave. He looked around the dancefloor, sure that he wouldn’t remember this moment in a few days from now. Lifting his half empty glass to his lips, he took another sip of his drink, the strong taste of the alcohol hitting him hard. He narrowed his eyes when the DJ let out a strong gust of wind again from the hoses on the ceiling next to the confetti cannons that had gone off not long before.

Again, Bakugou needed a break. One look at his friends taking care of the birthday girl was the only confirmation he needed that he could step away from them. Mina’s drunken complaining fell deaf on his ears as he pulled away from Kirishima’s grasp. As he made his way off the dance floor, the groups of people around him tried to push forward to fill the space he was leaving vacant. He walked over to the bar and leaned back against it, wishing there was an open seat for him to take. Downing the drink in one shot, he placed the empty glass on the counter and watched his friends from where he was standing.

Bakugou hated clubs. He hated the crowds of people who invaded his personal space as they danced on him or with other people. He hated being around people who couldn’t hold their liquor and did stupid things with their inhibitions thrown out the window. But most of all, he hated having to deal with drunk people constantly using their intoxicated state as an excuse to persistently hit on him or even feel him up. It was frustrating and annoying, and as he got older, he learned how to best deal with those situations rather than getting into fights. But it had been a while since he had been out and it was Mina’s birthday. Sure everyone had to get together and persuade him, but in the end he agreed that it wouldn’t be an awful time.

And it wasn’t. Hot, sweaty, smelly, claustrophobia inducing, and even sticky, but not awful.

He had been scrolling through his phone in hopes to prevent anyone from talking to him when his friends approached him.

“Bakugou, I want a tattoo!” Mina shouted. Even after all she drank, she seemed pretty sober.

He raised an eyebrow. “And you’re all okay with this?”

“Nah bro, we’re all wasted so we told Mina that it was your decision.” He looked at Kaminari who was leaning on Sero for support.

“My decision?”

“Bakubro, just take care of her,” Kirishima said, placing both his hands on Bakugou’s shoulders.

“Take care of - what the fuck are you on?”

“Alcohol bro,” Kaminari said with a serious face. “We’re on alcohol.”

Sero chuckled. “I’m taking these two home to try to sober them up before going to bed.” He was DD for the night, in charge of everyone until Mina decided to go on a little adventure. “They’ll thank me for this before they head out to work tomorrow.”

Sero began to walk away with Kaminari using him as support and Kirishima shuffling behind them, leaving Bakugou alone with Mina.

“Please! Please Bakugou? It’s my birthday.” She looked at him with pleading eyes.

Bakugou didn’t even hide his annoyance. He looked at the time. It was one in the morning. “If there is a shop that’s open right now within a seven mile radius, we can go.”

Mina squealed and grabbed Bakugou by the arm as she ran in her heels to the exit. It didn’t take long for her to stop running with her grip still tight on Bakugou’s arm.

“Where’s my phone…” she mumbled to herself looking around for it. Bakugou watched in amusement as Mina began to pat herself down with one hand while searching the ground around them for her purse.

When he was fully amused, he reached into his pocket and pulled out her phone. “Here.”

Her eyes slowly lit up as she recognized her phone in his hand. Mina had no recollection of leaving her purse at home and Bakugou being nominated to carry it for her. She managed to get on the internet and started looking up tattoo parlors near them. After a few minutes of struggling, she managed to find one. Bakugou didn’t even try to hide his annoyance over the fact that he had to sit through Mina possibly getting a tattoo. It had been a long night and he wanted nothing more than to take a cold shower to wash away the feeling of all those people who were around him.

Bakuguou trailed behind the birthday girl who was dancing in the middle of the parking structure as she walked to his car. The chilly breeze and the fresh air were both helping her sober up and she had a vague memory of where he had parked. As annoying as he found his friends, Bakugou enjoyed moments like tonight where everyone could be themselves and forget about the stress of being an adult. When they could let their guard down and just enjoy life for a night. Why was he on board with this whole tattoo business in the first place? Because who was he to stop his friend from living her life the way she wanted to? It was a harmless tattoo, and he would be there to make sure it would be something she wouldn’t regret later on.

Getting into the car, the first thing Mina did was put the top down while Bakugou grabbed a water bottle he brought just for tonight and opened it, handing it to her so she could hydrate herself. Once he managed to get her to drink at least half the bottle, he took off, using her phone’s GPS to guide him to the shop.

Mina stuck her arm out of the car and leaned back in her seat, enjoying the feel of the cold air on her warm body. Bakugou relaxed as he drove, one hand on the wheel, and the other propping his head up. Even if this felt like a chore, he enjoyed nothing more than the feeling of the cool night hair on his skin as he drove.

True to her word, the shop wasn’t far from where they were. Bakugou was able to park right out front due to the ungodly hour that they were out at. Mina didn’t wait for the car to be fully parked before jumping out and running to the door, ignoring everything Bakugou was yelling at her. He followed behind her, taking his time as he waited for the hood to come back up, slowly feeling regret creep in.

When he entered, Mina was already sitting at a seat, talking the ear off of who Bakugou assumed was the artist. He was wearing a black short sleeve shirt, with a beanie that covered his green hair. Once he got closer, he saw that the man sported his own fair share of tattoos along with glasses and freckles that adorned his face. There was no other person in the shop.

“Bakugou! I decided on what I’m getting,” Mina giggled.

The artist glanced back at Bakugou but said nothing to him as he began to prep the design. Bakugou raised an eyebrow to her. “Are you gonna tell me?”

Mina continued to giggle. “Nope, it’s a surprise!”

“Why the fuck is the tattoo you’re getting a surprise for me? Now tell me before you get something regrettable inked on yourself. I won’t hear the end of this if I don’t.”

“No!” Mina stuck out her tongue.

“Alright, you said on your left shoulder, correct?” the artist asked.

“Yes ma’am!” Mina lowered the dress strap so it hung off her shoulder. He got to work, transferring the design to her skin and began the inking process.

Bakugou watched with his arms crossed as the artist worked. He noticed how there was a small crinkle on his forehead and how his tongue peaked out as he concentrated. His hands moved skillfully and quickly. Mina was talking about something that went over Bakugou’s head to which the artist replied to. He wasn’t engaged in their conversation, he didn’t have the brain power to be at this point. Mina fell silent when the stinging from the tattoo was finally hitting her. Bakugou refused to give her his hand when she asked for it, saying that she got into this mess herself and she needed to deal with the pain on her own.

“You know, you could just give her your hand,” the artist muttered. Mina wasn’t making a sound from the pain but she did flinch every now and then and hiss.

Bakugou blinked. Did the artist just say that to him? “Aren’t you not supposed to give tattoos to drunk people?”

He cocked an eyebrow but didn’t break his concentration from his work. “My method of tattooing is a bit different. I can give tattoos to tipsy or slightly drunk customers without the design getting messed up from the alcohol in the blood. She would also be much worse off if I tattooed in the traditional sense as well.”

Bakugou leaned forward and noticed that he did in fact use a different method of tattooing. “A different method isn’t going to prevent the alcohol in the blood from ruining the way the ink sits.”

The artist sat back and sighed. “Look, you don’t see me barging into your workplace and tell you how to do your job -”

“Because I’m not fucking dumb.”

He rolled his eyes. “And I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know how to do my job.”

“Yeah, scamming people into getting some ink and for it to be fucked up like a month later. They paid full price for it and you don’t have to worry about anything because they signed paperwork just for this occasion.”

The artist took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “You could hunt down every one of my customers and I bet my entire business that not even a single one would say they were dissatisfied with the work done. But since you’re so hellbent on making me feel ashamed, why don’t you check back here in a month and tell me how fucked up you think the tattoo looks?”

“And what if it is? You’ll give her money back? She’ll still have a shitty piece permanently on her body.”

“You can tattoo something on me, anywhere you would like doesn’t matter how big it is,” he replied in a heartbeat.

That piqued Bakugou’s interest. He thought about the proposal while the artist got back to work. “What’s in it for you then?”

“If it doesn’t look bad, I get to tattoo you. Same conditions.”

Bakugou took a seat at the front of the shop without saying anything else. The shop itself looked pretty fancy, there was no doubt in his mind that this guy was probably famous in the tattooing world. But at the same time, anyone with some money could get a place that big and make it look impressive. He knew he should check out the reviews online, but it felt like that would take some of the excitement out of this bet.

Watching him work, Bakugou wondered if he gave himself those tattoos that decorated his body. If he did… he was about to be even more annoyed because they looked damn good. From what he could see on the artist’s arms and neck, they were all different tattoos but they flowed together effortlessly. It felt like they were trying to tell a story even though most likely they weren’t. Bakugou knew he was staring, but he felt himself get lost in what little he could see. Before he realized it, Mina was finished and wrapped up. She refused to let Bakugou see it properly since he wouldn’t let her hold his hand. Instead of staying with her inside, he got his car ready as she paid and the artist went over proper care with her. Just as Bakugou drove away, he realized he never got the artist’s name.

“Deku,” Mina said as the wind whipped past them. It felt different now that she was sober, but she loved it either way. “His name is Deku.”

“Okay, okay. My turn. Truth or dare?” Kirishima spun the bottle and everyone watched as it landed on Bakugou for the first time that night. Kaminari howled and Sero whistled.

“Make it a good one because this might be our only chance with him,” Sero commented.

Kirishima nodded and waited patiently for Bakugou’s answer.

“Truth.”

Kaminari booed.

“Why do you keep talking about Deku? I’ve seen his work and he’s good and all, but are you like… in love with the dude?”

Bakugou’s frown deepened. “I’m not fucking in love with that nerd. I’m annoyed. Pinky won’t show me her damn tattoo and I’m not about to lose this bet to him.”

“Oh, that tattoo looks awesome. I made an appointment to get one too,” Sero said, pointing to his arm where he was planning on getting it done.

“I just got a new piercing there this morning.” Kiri moved his hair out of the way to show his new helix piercing. “Deku is so chill, bro. We made plans to get lunch this Friday.”

“Man, I went by his place with Mina last night and he was a mess,” Kaminari said as he laughed from the memories.

Bakugou watched, slightly annoyed, slightly in awe of what was unfolding in front of him. Within a couple weeks, Bakugou felt like his world was tilted on its axis. All by one man whom he just met. As much as he told himself to not let it bother him, he couldn't help but to hyperfixate on this new person in his life who made a rage he didn’t know he had in him erupt. Never had he wanted to beat someone so bad in his life. As awful as he knew it was, he was hoping the tattoo came out looking shitty so he could have this victory.

He needed this victory.

Because to him, it felt like his friends were slipping away.

He felt like he was being replaced by someone more likable. More friendly. More easy going. Someone better than him.

And he would never admit how much that hurt him.

Bakugou stood up abruptly. Without saying anything, he headed outside of the apartment he was in and made his way to the curb to sit down. Was he overreacting? Probably. Most likely. But he knew his feelings were valid. He wasn’t the best friend, but they all stuck around for some reason. So he couldn’t be that awful. Right?

He let out a deep sigh and looked at the clouds that were passing him by. His gaze didn’t move even when Kirishima joined him.

“You know we aren’t replacing you, right?”

Bakugou didn’t respond.

“We don’t know why you hate him so much, but we respect your feelings. No more Deku talk in front of you.”

“That won’t stop you from hanging out with him,” he said drily.

“No, but even if I hang out with him and enjoy his presence, you’re my best friend dude. And that’s never changing. You’re stuck with me for life.”

A pair of arms wrapped around Bakugou’s shoulders and the force of the hug pushed Bakugou forward. “You’re stuck with all of us!” Kaminari shouted.

“Get the fuck off of me dumbass!”

“Not until you believe us!” Kaminari leaned forward and tried to kiss Bakugou’s cheek. Sero and Kirishima were laughing, enjoying the scene that was unfolding before them. It didn’t take Bakugou long to shove Kaminari off of him. The blond didn’t miss the small upturn of the corners of Bakugou’s mouth either.

“Okay, but since you’re boring as usual, we’re going to give you a dare.”

Bakugou stared at Kaminari in disgust. “No.”

“Get a piercing from Deku. Unless you’re too chicken…”

All three of them smirked. They knew Bakugou would do it. He never backed down from a dare. As long as it was sensible.

“You want me to waste money on a dare?”

“Nah bro, we’re all paying for you,” Sero said.

Bakugou took a minute to think about it. “After I complete this dare, all of you are gonna shut the fuck up for a week.”

“Bro, it’s not a bet. It’s a dare.” Kirishima frowned. “You’re not even paying for it. And we’re letting you choose where to get it. Kaminari wanted to you get your di-”

“He doesn’t need to know,” Kaminari interrupted, shoving his hand over Kirishima’s mouth.

Bakugou stood up and dusted his jeans. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

The shop looked a lot different than how Bakugou remembered it, but it was also currently daytime. He took a good look at the sign, Deku written in front of some sort of drawing of an ugly, green, bunny ears mask. There were a lot more people inside as well. Bakugou hesitated going in - he wasn’t in the mood to talk to, or even see, the artist. Deku. Deku, the tattoo artist.

When he walked into the shop this time, he was greeted by someone at the register. He easily found Deku in the crowd of people, his green hair visible today. His outfit still consisted of all black, but it made him seem more edgy than how his friends make him seem to be. From the stories he heard, he would never have guessed they were talking about the same person he met that night with Mina. The Deku his friends knew was a clumsy, anxiety-filled guy who seemed to be in his head a lot. The Deku in front of him was too sure of himself and his abilities to be the same person.

“Hey Midoriya!” Kirishima said as he waved.

Deku looked up and smiled at him, casually passing his gaze over Bakugou. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. We came here for someone else.” Kirishima gently pushed a pouting Bakugou forward. “He’s here for a piercing.”

Deku raised an eyebrow and didn’t even try to hide the cocky smile on his face. “Is he sober? I might get a lecture if he isn’t.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes and took a seat without being told to. “Gimme the damn paperwork and let’s get this over with.”

Deku motioned for the person at the register to come over and told him to prep Bakugou. As he filled out the paperwork, he couldn’t help himself as his eyes kept wandering over to wherever Deku was. What was so good about him that made people flock to him? What about him attracted so many people to his shop? He internally cursed himself every time he got distracted and went back to finishing his paperwork. He handed it off to Kirishima who went back to the front with the others to pay for what he was about to get done.

“So what’ll it be?”

Bakugou crossed his arms as he remained seated. “My tongue.”

Deku nodded and went to get what he needed. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that walk-ins weren’t common during the day. All the artists in the place were busy with their clients. Deku actually had walked away from someone he was working on but the man didn’t seem to mind. There was a small crowd waiting for their turn to be seated - Bakugou assumed they were also walk-ins from how half of them were glaring at him. And from how one of them started arguing with the cashier who looked visibly scared and confused.

The sound of a stool being dragged over to him brought Bakugou’s attention back to the task at hand. Deku placed his materials down on a small table next to the two of them.

“What made you want to get this done? By me of all people?”

“They dared me.”

“Your friends?” Deku got everything ready before he got to work.

“Yeah.”

“Known them long?”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “What’s with this small talk?”

Deku grimaced at his tone. “I’m just trying to be nice. Get to know you. I don’t think you’re a bad person…”

“And how would you know that?”

His expression softened. “You have some great friends. They wouldn’t hang around you if you were a bad person.”

Bakugou felt himself relax slightly. He motioned to the guy with the two tones hair Deku was working on before Bakugou came in. “What about him? Is it okay for you to leave your client like that?”

“Yeah.” Deku scooted his stool closer to Bakugou. “He’s a friend of mine, he didn’t care. Tongue.”

Bakugou leaned forward and watched as Deku put his gloves on. He picked up the needle and held Bakugou’s tongue between a pair of tweezers with two circles on either side to help him know where exactly to pierce the tongue.

“You’ll feel a pinch but it’ll be fast.”

Bakugou couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from turning up slightly, amused by the warning. Deku didn’t lie, it was quick and he barely felt a thing. The rest of the process was quick and Deku talked him through care and maintenance of the new piercing. The cold metal balls felt foreign in his mouth and he kept moving it around to feel a bit more comfortable.

“And the pain will get worse the next couple of days. Soreness is normal, but make sure you keep cleaning it properly to avoid getting it infected. Also pay attention to the foods you’re eating.” Deku kept talking as he walked Bakugou to the front where his friends were waiting for him. Bakugou felt his annoyance increase with each word that left Deku’s mouth.

“Shut up ya damn nerd. You literally gave me a paper with all this fucking information.” Bakugou did his best to keep his voice down, but ended up yelling anyway.

“Sorry!” Deku replied instinctively.

“No need to apologize to him. That’s just how he is.” Kirishima slung an arm over Bakugou’s shoulder. “Thanks for taking him right now.”

Deku smiled. “No problem. I’ll see you on Friday.” He looked at Bakugou as he began to turn away. “And I’ll see you in a few weeks for your tattoo.” He walked away before Bakugou had a chance to reply.

It pissed him off even more how cocky Deku was acting about this bet. He was so sure that he would win, it made Bakugou want nothing more than to crush him. But that would have to wait until the one month was up.

Mina stretched when she got out of the car. “Thanks for driving us Bakugou!”

He grunted in response. All of his friends thought he always drove because he hated everyone else’s driving, which was partially true, but it was just that he enjoyed being in control of where he was going. He got out, eying the tattoo on Mina’s shoulder as she rushed into the shop with Sero and Kaminari rushing in after her. Kirishima waited for his friend as they walked in together. The shop was unusually empty for this time of day, but Bakugou didn’t question it. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he would be going home with some new ink today and he didn’t need to deal with an even greater audience.

Mina was already showing off her tattoo to the two people inside. Deku’s friend nodded along as he listened to whatever Mina was talking about. Bakugou felt his palms get sweaty. He hated losing, everyone knew this, but where was this extra anxiety coming from? Why did Deku of all people make him feel like he would never be able to reach him - like he was on some immeasurably high platform and Bakugou could try to climb up there but he would never reach the peak.

Kaminari waved a hand in Bakugou’s face. “Earth to Bakubro. What’s your vote?”

He blinked once, twice. Looking at Mina’s tattoo properly for the first time, he couldn’t find a single thing wrong with it. No line looked droopy, nothing looked distorted. “It...looks great…”

Kaminari laughed. “So it’s unanimous! All six of us think the tattoo looks fine.”

Bakugou didn’t realize the voting had already taken place. He was so deep in his thoughts, not that it would have mattered if he was paying attention.

He shrugged, not having enough mental power to fight this. “What’s it gonna be, nerd?”

Deku prepped a chair that was next to a set up table. “Take off your shirt and sit back.”

Everyone gathered around, wanting to watch Bakugou receive his punishment. Deku got to work, not bothering with transferring a design onto Bakugou’s skin beforehand. Seeing that made Bakugou worry about what was going to happen as Deku dotted his skin over and over again with the gun. Bakugou listened to everyone talk, never once speaking up, as he took in this moment. Seeing his friends interact with Deku and his friend pissed off Bakugou, but at the same time he felt warm inside. Something about this moment felt right to him, he was meant to meet all these people, they were put into his life for a reason. Deku? He was just the newest addition even if he hated to admit it. They were friends, sort of. But rather than the friendship he felt with anyone in his life, Deku made him want to be better. Bakugou felt so complacent after meeting Deku for some reason. Seeing him own his own successful business, have his own fanbase, but still be humble and kind. Bakugou felt like he needed to work harder before he could feel good about himself. And he was determined to get there even more now that Deku was in his life.

For better or worse.

The tattoo was finished faster than he thought, fully colored and swollen. He looked down at his hip where his new tattoo lived, and groaned. “You gave me that shitty green bunny mask? What even is it? Are you coming out as a furry?”

Deku blushed. “W-what? No! It’s like…” He hesitated, feeling embarrassed. “It’s a symbol that I adapted from this hero I liked as a kid from a comic.”

Bakugou squinted at the tattoo and realized what it was. “All Might.”

Deku looked at Bakugou in surprise. “You used to read his stories too?”

“Tch, of course. He was the best superhero and anyone who thinks otherwise is fucking dumb.”

The other five watched, all feeling different emotions, as they watched Deku try to have his first bonding moment with Bakugou and couldn’t help but share the same thought of how those two would become fast friends. Sure there would be lots of fighting, but there would never be a dull moment with them. They also knew Bakugou wouldn’t rest until he was able to tattoo something on Deku. Maybe that was a good thing, maybe it was bad. But no one could wait.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou fic #midoriya izuku #midoriya fic #deku #deku fic #bakudeku #kirishima eijiro #sero hanta #mina ashido #kaminari denki #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #bnha fic #mha fic

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feckin-zicons · 4 years ago

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Squids, Dancing, and Dirty thoughts... Not necessarily in that order or all at once.

Apparently people like this? I am more confused than Liam is in this chapter. Which you know, makes sense bc this character only exists in my head, but also doesn’t at all bc I have no idea what goes on in there most of the time. Anyway this is for Zayn, Oxford commas, @stanmedusa who pointed out Zayn was also an Oxford comma stan, @redyellowberry, and their anon to started this mess. Also please imagine Zayn with his current blue hair, but also with his long Aladdin hair bc that’s what I’ve been doing and oh holy gods do I need that to happen. Please. Hair gods make it happen I’m begging

Same warnings as ever its 4AM, this is much longer than planned, and I have no interest in editing, making it sound coherent, or good. No, I don’t know about the squids either.

Parts 1&2 here

Liam would like to point out while he's not a stranger to feeling confused, he's still having trouble pinpointing how exactly he got to be Dance Mistress Irina Alinova's personal bitch.

Ever since he accidentally interrupted one of the dance practises while looking for a missing prop for Director Corden, more and more of them started disappearing only to show up in the basement. No one else was interested in facing the Dance Mistresses' wrath, but Liam didn't mind the yelling. As long as Mistress Alinova didn't start throwing things, he figured he was safe enough. After all, it gave him the chance to see the blue haired ballerino again.

Zayn Malik, the god in mortal form, the prima ballerino, the prettiest man Liam had ever seen, who had no idea who Liam even was.

Liam had it bad.

Liam had it so bad.

Liam had it so bad he tripped over thin air, spilled hot coffee over himself, and walked into a door when he thought he saw him at a Costas with Louis. The man he saw wasn't Zayn, thank fuck, but the entire sequence of events did give Louis more ammunition to tease him with. Stupid pretty boys with long blue hair and piercings sent from hell just to ruin Liam's life. Yeah, he was a goner.

Louis dragged out the whole sorry story after Liam texted him about spiking his lunch and laughed himself sick knowing just how much of a mess Liam became around people he was interested in. They still didn't talk about Danielle. Which was a good thing considering the end of that relationship had Liam pretty much swearing off women for the rest of his life. No pussy was worth that mess. Dick though? Liam was willing to take that chance on Zayn, even if asking Harry didn't give him much information.

According to Harry, Zayn had been around for a few years but mostly kept to himself or the other dancers. There was something about him throwing a fit a few weeks before Liam showed up. Upset about being forced to learn the choreography for Winston's show when it was just going to fail on opening night like it always did.

Liam thought he had a point, considering. He didn't know what bananas, ballet, and really bad rapping had to do with King James VI but didn't want to voice that in front of the man playing the gay king. No one dared fire Zayn, considering he kept the whole theatre afloat, but it also didn't make many actors happy with him. Especially not Mizz Wendy Williams, who played Marie Antoinette in the play. Again, Liam had a lot of questions he didn't dare ask out loud. It's not like he was ever good at history, so it was entirely possible the two lived in the same time period. Or it was some sort of allegory that went over his head like the aristocrats wearing banana suits did.

Louis always found his stories about his placement hilarious, but even that one had him wondering if there wasn't some sort of gas leak in their apartment. It wouldn't have been the first time, or the second. Most likely, it was the theatre that was growing some sort of mold that caused insanity if breathed in. Some of the things Liam had been forced to clean in the past few weeks were unspeakable.

But even that probably couldn't explain Zayn Malik. Nothing could explain that sort of beauty and talent. Or those hands... and thighs... and fingers. Ung. Liam would love to get up close and personal with all of him.

Either way, Liam had just been cleaning the mirrors in the practice room, humming along to Brandy and Monica on the radio, wondering if Niall was actually going to come down and help him instead of hiding away like a coward. Again. By the second verse, he'd given up trying not to sing along, not expecting anyone to come by. It was late, the dancer's practise long over, and Winston left screaming over an hour ago. Liam would have done a recce and skipped out on the last half hour if one of the managers wasn't sticking around still. Piers Morgan, an absolute cunt who treated the lads on probation like hardened criminals, and he was the prison warden. Despite, you know, most of the lads on summary probation, and Liam’s arson charge being the most serious crime out of all of them.

Anyway, the last thing he's expecting is for anyone to come in while he's singing about the boy being his, rolling his body to the beat. Which is probably how he ends up tripping over himself when he notices Zayn leaning up against the open door, watching him. Watching him, in bright, tight, teal dance tights (were dance tights usually blue? They should be) that looked nice with his hair and complimented the gold tones of his skin. The skin he could see a lot of. Because he was shirtless. Because he was shirtless and had a lot more tattoos than Liam realized. Tattoos Liam wanted to bite. Not hard enough to make a mark or anything, that would be sacrilegious, but enough to make him make a sound. God, Liam hoped he was a moaner. Not that he thought he had a chance with Zayn or anything, but it would be a shame if Zayn was the type that stayed quiet during sex.

Except he wasn't being quiet now, he was talking. And Liam was staring at him, like an idiot, not paying attention. Because he was an idiot.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, why did this always happen to him?

"Er, what?" Liam asked, desperately hoping he didn't sound as stupid as he felt right then, which was pretty fucking stupid. He probably looked even stupider than he felt and ruined his chances at ever-

"I asked if you were almost done? Was planning on practising more tonight," Zayn answered him.

Zayn, Zayn Fucking Malik, answered him, and he was still staring at him like an idiot. Shit Liam say something.

"Pretty"

Not that you idiot.

"What?" Zayn asked, looking confused and adorable.

Oh god, he was precious. Was that a smile? Was he smiling at him? Liam? Oh no.

"Pretty much, I meant. Pretty much done," Liam replied, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. "Just one more mirror, and I'll be out of your way."

There, those were words, sentences even. Now all he had to do was act normal and finish cleaning. Easy.

"So, Brandy and Monica, right? You like R'n'B then?" Zayn asked him, walking into the room with a heavy dance bag, setting it off to the side.

Liam felt himself flushing as he turned back around to finish cleaning the mirror so Zayn wouldn't see. "Yeah," he answered, trying not to peek at Zayn bending over as he rifled through his belongings.

Those legs, Fuck. Liam wondered what it'd feel like to have them around his-

"I didn't expect that," Zayn said, drawing Liam out of his filthy thoughts, and making him turn back around.

"What?"

"No, I- I didn't mean it in a bad way or anything. I guess I just expected you to listen to more rock?"

Liam was pretty sure he missed half of the conversation somewhere. Was Zayn blushing? He was so pretty. Wow.

"No, I like everything," he replied dumbly. They were still talking about music, right? That would make sense. Why was Zayn talking to him again? God, Liam couldn't handle this. "Do you like it? The music, I mean."

"Yeah, grew up listening to ‘em. My older sister was obsessed with Monica. So... Who's your favourite artist?"

"Artist? Oh uh, I've been listening to a lot of Post Malone? How about you? What do you- who do you listen to?"

"Post Malone's sick, mate. I like most music I guess, but I've been listening to a lot of The Weekend."

"Have you heard his new album?"

"Yeah, it's sick! Do you-" Zayn was cut off by Niall running in out of breath. The bright orange tee that labelled him as one of the community service workers was wet and stained black. Actually.. all of him was soaked and stained black. Was that ink?

"Hey, Payno, are you done yet because we have a situation upstairs," Niall gasped out, hands on his knees, looking like he'd just seen his life flash before his eyes.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"There's a squid stick in the toilet."

"There's a what?"

"A Squid! A giant fucking squid in the toilet!"

Liam blinked in confusion, trying to wrap his head around why there would be a squid anywhere near the theatre let alone one of the toilets. Did Corden want live animals in his show now? Or Winston. It could be either of them.

"Why do you need me?" he asked. "I don't know anything about squids."

Niall sounded like he was at the end of his rope when he replied, "You know something about plumbing at least!"

"Not a lot! Enough to keep the water on at home, but I'm not a plumber."

"Doesn't matter, we need your help, Ashtons gone to find some butter," Niall said, stomping back around, leaving behind a trail of watery black ink. "We'll meet you upstairs when you're done."

"Wait, what do you need butter for?!" Liam called after him but didn't get a reply. Butter? How was butter going to help?

A muffled giggle distracted Liam from his thoughts, and he was abruptly reminded Zayn was still in the room. Zayn, might as well be a god, was in the room, and Liam was just talking about squids in toilets.

Why him?

"I guess I should go see what they need help with?" Liam tried to say without sounding... Well, he wasn't sure what the proper response was in this situation or how to react to it.

Zayn smiled at him, and oh. How was it possible he looked even more attractive now?

Liam thinks Zayn said something about the other lads needing him and it sounding urgent, but really, Liam was in a daze until he also got a face full of ink... From another squid in an entirely different toilet.

What the fuck.

Louis was never going to let him live this down.

Really? Squids???

#yeah idk #my fic #ballerino au #genuinely have questions for myself #why is it always crack #ngl I'd be interested in seeing Winstons 'historical' play and Corden's musical #if only to know what the hell my own brain is coming up with #the globus theatre is its own warning #lmao #Ziam au #Ziam fic #idiot boys with crushes #Liam is a simp

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irene-sadler · 4 years ago

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Sir Reynard and the Red Knight

notes: 1. here's a (relatively) short n' interesting discussion of the history of the St. Bartholomew Day Fair in London, which was held roughly annually from sometime in the 12th century to sometime in the 19th century. I casually yanked some ideas (ull find this thing about rabbits casually mentioned with no explanation in the source) from events that took place at this specific festival to apply to my much much smaller Winter Solstice Fair held in Rivia.

translating any irl medieval holiday/fair/feast into a fantasy setting is a lil tricky b/c 95 percent of what happens and what makes them so interesting (to me anyway) is tied up in and totally inseperable from medieval Christian religious expression. however, when a lot of my source material was written (usually several hundred years ago bc public domain ebooks) there were still some weird obviously pre-Christian traditions in common use in parts of England. more on this next chapter b/c some of them are fuckin bizarre and so ofc I ganked them.

----

The next day dawned cold, but the blue cast to the sky promised clear weather. The Queen had long since collected a list of names from a page, and sat scribbling figures and notes in the margins as she considered the best way to arrange forty contestants into equitable matches. Isbel proved unsurprisingly unhelpful; the Baroness, however, offered advice on the matter in a slightly imperious tone:

“There’s no way to match these names up, by perceived skill, and if you try there will be hurt feelings. Random selection won’t answer, either; my suggestion is to choose from whoever is standing around when we arrive and let them sort themselves out as best they can after.”

Meve shuffled the papers a moment, admitted to herself that she had no better ideas, and nodded grudgingly.

“Yes, you’re probably right. First come, first served it is, then. Here, look after these,” she said, handing the papers over to the older woman, “I have to go; the Mayor will be wanting something from me within the hour and I’ve other matters to attend to, first.”

She left the Baroness and Isbel eyeing each other suspiciously over their breakfasts and strode rapidly away to the stables. Reynard’s horse, dozing alone in his stall, greeted her with polite disinterest; she spotted a light flickering from inside a little storage room nearby, where she found his owner carefully examining his armor under Pug and Gaspar’s vacant stares. Reynard smiled tightly at her, Gaspar glowered from under his unkempt hair, and Pug sketched a lazy gesture resembling a salute.

“Anything to report?” she asked them all, in a slightly falsely cheerful tone. Reynard glanced at Gaspar, who eyed Pug, who squinted up at the Queen through her single eye.

“Well, someone came in after midnight rung, but we put an end t’ his fucking skulking, quick,” she explained, then pointed at a few dark spots on the dirt floor. “And you can see the blood right there.”

“So you can,” Meve said, not at all displeased. “Don’t suppose you managed to get a look at the culprit?”

Pug shook her head, then, considering a moment, noted, “A tall bastard, whoever. Gaspar got ‘im right in th’ ankle from the shadows.”

“Tall, with a limp,” the Queen considered.

Gaspar hesitated, and brushed his hand against his own pox-scarred face, glancing at Pug.

“Might’ve had a beard, also,” she translated. “Hard t’ say anything else.”

“Better than nothing at all to go on. Where’s Gascon?”

Reynard shook his head. Gaspar glanced at Pug again; she chewed her right thumbnail and shrugged idly.

“Don’t know,” she said, cooly studying the dried blood on the floor; a breathless page then hustled in, bowed to all present - Pug croaked a laugh at him - and announced that the Mayor requested the Queen’s presence, urgently.

“What, already?” she asked. “All right; tell him I’ll be along shortly. You two can go as well,” she added, to the brigands, “Thank you for your assistance, and tell the Duke to report to me the moment you next see him.”

“As for you,” she added quickly to Reynard, as soon as the room cleared out, “In case I don’t see you later - “

He put his helm down wordlessly, stepped across the few feet between them, and kissed her; she took her time pulling away, despite the city government’s looming crisis, and said, “Good luck, not that you need it; I look forward to your victory.”

“Yes, thank you,” he said, somewhat embarrassed, “I’ll do my best.”

An hour later, the event was already underway. The brilliant sun pulled a faint fog from the frozen ground, and flashed on the armor of the first two contestants as they met with a resounding crash.

“Coll, and Bohault,” Giselle reported; they had put her in charge of keeping track of the course of the jousts, and she accordingly drew a bold check in red ink beside Bohault. The Queen nodded her congratulations to the man, who returned her notice with an answering, professional jerk of his head. The next contestants were familiar, as well, and the third set strangers, not unexpectedly; twenty rounds had to be got through, and some of the names on the list had a distinctly foreign flavor. One such man, called Devyn, provided the judges’ first opportunity to deliberate, as he and John Kimborne knocked each other down in the same moment.

“Sir Kimborne’s a proper knight, which ought to count for something,” Meve said, “And that sweep with the lance on his opponent’s part was, I believe, not quite legal, which is no doubt why he was unseated.”

“It’s hardly Devyn’s fault that he’s from Novigrad, which doubtless is why he didn’t know not to do that,” Giselle said, smiling encouragingly at the young man. “Also, I think he is well, you know, handsome, for a foreigner.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” the Baroness said, rolling her eyes. By unspoken consent, she reigned as their chief; accordingly, when she pointed impatiently at the knight, her decision was accepted without further comment and the contest carried on. They made good time under her able command, assisted by the timely appearance of mulled wine and sandwiches at midmorning. The names and men rolled by, ticked off in red; they made it past the unpronounceably named Sicg Sicgurdssen, a group of brothers whose names all began with with same letters, Ethan, who put the third and final of the brothers down and received a brilliant smile from Giselle in reward, and as, the Baroness and Queen grew bored and were chatting idly about the relative merits of different styles of tilting helms, Sir Holt, who won his match easily. The Queen eyed him darkly and then abruptly lost interest in side conversation as Reynard appeared, defeated a man named Hall in a few passes, and departed again. The Baroness accepted the sudden silence with faint amusement.

“Nolda,” Giselle read, next, “And Sir Eres. That’s the knight, there. Who is Nolda?”

Meve cracked a surprised, but pleased, smile, pointed across the field, where a lanky woman in well-used armor stood apart from the other contestants and said, pleased, “That is Nolda; she was an Aedirnian defector, fought for us in Angren. I hadn’t known she was still here in Rivia; I thought she’d have gone back home.” The Baroness squinted at the woman, with a thoughtful air. Sir Eres scowled at his opponent, glanced hopefully toward the judges, found no leniency in their stony stares, shut his visor and rode to his place. The match lasted all of ten seconds: Nolda held her lance left-handed, at an odd diagonal angle, and then at the last moment straightened it, smacked her opponent’s spear aside with a sweep of her shield, and knocked him away. The Baroness hummed thoughtfully under her breath.

“Unusual tactic, but not, I as far as I know, illegal,” Meve commented. Giselle shrugged and crossed out Sir Eres’ name, as the knight picked himself up and stalked angrily toward the judges.

“It may not answer a second time, but it certainly took him by surprise,” the Baroness said, agreeably, and added, to the clearly disgruntled man, “What’s the problem?”

The problem was that Sir Eres was a sore loser, Giselle supposed; Meve privately suspected it had as much to do with Nolda herself than it did with his defeat at her hands, but if he was hoping for sympathy he found none. The Baroness turned him away with a few blunt phrases and the contest continued.

By noon, they had only three names left. Giselle read them off in a doubtful voice: Brossard, Gaheris, Saban. They sent a page to find out where the absentees had got to, and took a break. Giselle hurried off into the crowd with a promise to return in due time, and Meve and the Baroness settled into a debate of the various methods of arranging the second round and soon arrived at a prospective bracket. The page returned, indicated a short, bearded warrior on a sturdy horse, said, “The dwarf, there, is Saban; as for the Duke, nobody seems to know where he might be found, and the squire Gaheris is injured and can’t fight.”

“I suppose, under the circumstances, that we could simply advance Saban to the second round,” the Queen remarked, frowning at the news of Gascon’s absence, as Giselle came running, slightly flustered. “You’re late,” she added, to the younger woman. Giselle flushed and looked apologetic.

“Someone had let a bunch of rabbits out into the street, and a crowd of boys was chasing ‘em,” she explained, and then, spotting something on the field, abandoned the tale and gasped, “Look!”

Meve turned and smiled as she was finally proved right: a man in black armor, mounted on a black horse, sat at the farther end of the barriers. He slowly pointed his lance at Saban, who turned to stare at the judges, baffled. Meve shrugged at him, which he seemed to take for permission; he pulled his helmet on briskly and kicked his horse toward the appointed starting position without delay.

Saban rode well, but it was obvious that he was an amateur; the black knight unseated him in their first pass without apparent effort. He stood, collected his lost helmet from the ground, picked a clod of dirt out of the visor, and shrugged pragmatically. Meve squinted at the departing black knight’s back, and said, “Well, that was - quite interesting. On to the next round, I suppose. Who is it, Giselle?”

It was Bohault and the unfortunate Ethan, who stood no chance against the veteran; he received another, slightly less congratulatory smile from Giselle, who then drew a second mark beside the soldier’s name.

“So,” Meve said to the Baroness, conversationally, watching the next combat with a fine appearance of attention, “Care to make a prediction on the winner, yet?”

“Of this match? Sir Brewes,” the older woman replied promptly; the knight in question was unseated by his opponent a half minute later. Meve smiled smugly at the winner.

“Nolda seems to be doing well for herself, doesn’t she? - but I meant overall, in general.”

“Ah. Well, Sir Odo, Sir Kimborne, perhaps Sir Holt if should he get lucky with his matchups -”

“What about that black knight?”

“Oh, him? Well, it’s hard to say, for sure.”

The conversation paused again as Count Odo made his second appearance, against Sicg, the knight from Skellige. The Count won his second match far more quickly than he had his first. Meve, knowing from long experience that he had been studying the competition for most of the last round, to prepare himself, was unsurprised.

“Although,” the Baroness continued thoughtfully, as he rode away, “I have seen a black knight fight at a recent tourney, I can’t say as it’s the same one who’s here today. Armor can be changed, but this one doesn’t seem to have the same style, at all. However, he does seem familiar, but they all do after near thirty-five years of watching them in tournaments. Almost all, at least.”

Meve was growing used to the older woman’s subtle hints, and therefore was sure she’d caught a significant note in her comments. She thought back to the tournament, suddenly recalled the Baroness’s parting behavior with a frown, and re-evaluated her previous assumption: perhaps, after all, there was no confusion about herself and Gascon, and - she realized with mild annoyance - the Baroness had figured out the true reason for her absences, one way or another, but said nothing about it at the time. The same gleam of a secret joke was in the other woman’s eye when she looked away from the field, where Sir Holt was riding away from yet another victory. Meve stared at her, momentarily at a loss. The Baroness smiled slightly and looked back to the lists.

“So,” the Queen asked, deciding it was best to not to inquire further, “Who do you think it could be, this time?”

“I’m not sure; I’ll need more time to consider the matter,” the Baroness said, as the black knight returned, last of the pack again, and lined up against Sir Orlac, who had been lingering about as if waiting for him.

“They’ve fought before,” Meve said, remembering suddenly. “Sir Orlac received an unexpected cold bath, as I recall.”

Sir Orlac took his second defeat and stood up, swearing loudly at the black knight’s back.

“At least he didn’t get wet, this time,” she added.

“What a fall,” Giselle said, “Do you think he’s hurt?”

The knight was limping slightly, but Meve shrugged dismissively and said, “Oh, no. He’ll be fine. Anyway, who do we have left?”

Giselle held up the list; the Queen glanced at the six names remaining, nodded, and signaled to the herald.

“This is going well,” she reflected, after watching Nolda defeat Bohault, to acclaim from the growing audience. “Perhaps I should do it again, next year, but with fewer participants, so it doesn’t take all day.”

“Hm,” the Baroness said noncommittally, and then, during the next fight, “I do believe I like Sir Kimborne’s chances to win out; what do you think, young lady?”

Giselle considered.

“Well, the black knight’s very mysterious; it would be interesting if he won, like a ballad.”

Nobody bothered to ask Meve for her opinion, but she took no notice, as she was closely watching the knight in question and Sir Holt ride onto the field. The black knight sat dead still on the nearer side, but the red knight passed him and approached the judges, scowling. The Baroness addressed him, in a tone that rivaled Meve’s for arrogance:

“What’s th’ issue, sir?”

“I don’t want to fight this - this fellow,” he said, sulkily. “It ain’t proper.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for one, he might not even be a knight; it could be anyone under all that armor - any man at all, or a woman, even, for that matter.”

“Heard this sort o’ thing before, a hundred time,” Giselle said quietly to Meve, “He’s chicken.”

“I heard that,” the knight growled. Giselle blinked innocently at him.

“Well, your other option is Sir Kimborne,” the Baroness said, growing slightly annoyed. Sir Holt opened his mouth, then closed it with an uneasy frown, obviously unsatisfied by the alternative offer.

“Didn’t this same knight defeat you, a month or two ago? I would think you’d want to avenge your loss,” the Queen noted, idly. He scowled at the reminder, clearly inclined to argue further. The Baroness turned a hostile glare on him; he thought better of it and rode away, muttering, to take his place by the barricade.

“What an ass,” Meve said.

The knights completed a pass, to no avail on either side.

“Didn’t your man Odo duel him, lately?” the Baroness said. “Can’t say I blame him, now, though I thought his behavior uncharacteristically impulsive at the time. Watch and see if the red knight don’t overcommit on this next run.”

He did, badly; instead of his usual hesitation, he drove in a rush. Meve suspected he had lost his temper. The black knight took the attack on his shield and turned it away.

“Yes, well, next time I’ll leave you to deal with him instead,” Meve remarked. “It seems to be more effective.”

Sir Holt took his third run far more cautiously; his usual hesitation returned, and Meve glanced downward to hide a malicious smile as the black knight took advantage, aimed true, and knocked his opponent down hard.

“I have five sons,” the Baroness replied, flatly. “Th’ egos of these fool knights can’t compare.”

Gaheris limped heavily onto the field and collected Sir Holt; Meve looked from him to the black knight, who appeared to be watching the squire closely, a slight frown crossing her face. Giselle, meanwhile, made a bold red mark through the loser’s name and said, “It’s Sir Odo and Sir Kimborne, now.”

It was a fight that the Baroness watched approvingly, making comments to Giselle, as Meve was, again, distinctly uninterested in conversation. The Count finally wore his opponent down from sheer weariness after half a dozen passes, drawing a pleased smile from the Queen. They then broke off for ten minutes, reckoning it was only fair to let their last three knights have a rest before the end. The judges spent the time in conference, deciding how to arrange their semi-finals; the no-shows had ruined their early arrangements, leaving them with an odd number of contestants. The Baroness eventually ruled that Sir Odo, being the senior knight, should be given a free round, and Nolda and the stranger would go against each other, as a result. Meve squinted at her.

“Have you really not figured the black knight out, yet?”

“Oh,” she said, mysteriously, “I think that by the time we’re done, we’ll know who he is, one way or another.”

The black knight, however, did not appear when summoned along with the other two, leaving Nolda sitting alone at the barricades. Reynard, after a while, offered to go against her, on the chance that the third contestant would turn up very late to fight the last match; Nolda agreed, somewhat reluctantly. The Baroness overruled them, claiming that there was no knowing whether their third party would actually appear. The contestants therefore settled in to wait, Reynard with a distant frown and Nolda looking moderately suspicious of the sudden delay. The crowd chattered in the background, bored and uncertain of the future prospects for its entertainment.

“How long are we going to wait?” Giselle asked, five minutes later; the black knight had failed to show.

“Damn him,” Meve snarled quietly, “I planned this blasted event to flush him out, and he still somehow slipped away through my fingers. What now?”

Giselle stared at her; the Baroness sighed and said, “Well, th’ only thing we can do is declare the match forfeit; Nolda will just have to fight Sir Odo, gods help her.”

The contestants were summoned and the plan explained to them. Nolda did not seem overly relieved at being spared the black knight, probably due to being confronted with the Count as a result. He himself appeared mildly perturbed by the unusual situation, glanced at Meve’s tense smile, and said nothing.

“I don’t know as it’s necessary that the Count should go against me now,” Nolda said doubtfully, “To tell the truth, I’m only here because Captain Bohault - he’s my husband - said could do better than me at this game, which I’ve proved he can’t.”

“That you have,” the Queen said, mildly amused despite herself, “But the contest has to be won by someone. If you’re intending to spare Sir Reynard a fall on account of his age, I assure you there’s no need.”

Nolda, who appeared to be roughly the same age as the knight, frowned, apparently unsure whether the Queen was joking. Sir Reynard’s expression turned mildly pained, but he did not roll his eyes at her.

“I have no objections,” he said, stiffly. Nolda shrugged and said, “Well, I’m game, then.”

“Good,” the Baroness said, “We’ll start in twenty minutes.”

The combatants rode down to opposite sides of the field, where Reynard sat on his horse, exchanging a few words with his squire. Nolda stood at her horse’s head, deep in conversation with Bohault; the occasional audible phrase and the cavalryman’s complicated hand gestures suggested a strategy session was underway. Meve struggled to appear neutral, if she couldn’t manage anything else, despite her continued irritation at the black knight’s disappearance. The effort became supremely more difficult as, from behind and under the stands, a familiar voice whispered, “Meve! I mean, Your Majesty! I need t’ talk to you.”

She turned, slowly, forced a casual tone, and said, “Ah, Duke Brossard. I’m glad you’ve decided to join us at last.”

#witcher #thronebreaker #fanfic #action #comedy #romance

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sondepoch · 5 years ago

Text

The Touch (Saeran x Reader)

In a world where everyone has tattoos that move and change when you come in contact with your soulmate, Saeran is one of the few born without any marks on his body. He's led his whole life believing that he has no soulmate, but meeting you might prove otherwise.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

Saeran could always tell which couples were and weren't soulmates.

Take Saeyoung and MC, for example. A single glance at the pair was enough to know. Because no matter what, no matter when, no matter where: they would be touching.

But then that girl and guy over there, having coffee? There was no question that they were dating—the twinkle in the girl's laugh and the blush and the boy's face was too prominent for their relationship to be anything less. But their blatant refusal to allow even the slightest physical contact was a blaring, neon sign that though they were together, fate hadn't planned for it to be that way. Lovers they might be, but soulmates they were not.

Saeran let his eyes further wander around the cafe, flitting from couple to couple until he found another prime example: a girl and a boy.

The girl couldn't have been aged past thirteen, the boy scarcely older than her, but their fingers were intertwined tightly together in a quiet display of pride.

Lucky, Saeran thought as he watched the normally black ink on their arms shine a soft baby pink as the designs moved up and down in a neverending motion that passed back and forth from arm to arm. The movement was truly mesmerizing, starting the at exposed skin peeking out of the girl's T-shirt and climbing its way down to the boy's muscular arm, where both sets of tattoos seemed to dance on the skin.

It was rare to see soulmates find each other at such a young age, but endearing too. People said that the way your soulmate tattoos move would change as you age, and Saeran couldn't bring himself to look away as he watched the marks waltz back and forth, slow but steady, from girl to boy.

It was different from how Saeyoung and MC's tattoos moved.

More innocent.

Saeran preferred it.

Though that was just his jealousy speaking, he knew. Still, the knowledge of his envy didn't make dealing with it any easier. He'd seen more than enough of his brother and his girlfriend. Those two never stopped touching each other, obsessed with how their tattoos would pulsate in rhythm with their hearts, triggered only by the revered touch of the soulmate.

Saeran sighed.

A touch he would never feel.

"Ray?" A voice called, forcing the boy's eyes away from the young lovers. He stood up to retrieve the coffee he'd ordered, mumbling a quiet 'thank-you' to the server.

In truth, he'd left the bunker mainly to get away from Saeyoung and MC.

It wasn't their fault, he knew. Fate had spelled out their romance for them when it inked their soulmate tattoos onto them in the womb, that was just how they were meant to be.

So why did looking at them always deepen the void Saeran felt inside of him?

The redhead sighed as he took a sip of his coffee, pulling down the sleeves of his jacket as if someone would notice the lack of any markings on his left hand. As if someone would notice that he was one of the few born without a destined soulmate.

I should be thankful, he thought bitterly. If I had a soulmate, she would be miserable with me.

That much was true, at the very least. Saeran was damaged, he knew. Years of following the Savior's orders and taking Elixirs had ravaged his mental state, and he still woke from nightmares daily.

It wasn't just that Saeran didn't deserve anyone.

No one was bad enough to deserve him.

He sat himself down on a bench outside, opting to watch the world go by. Doing that always helped him whenever his brain felt like it was tied into knots. There was so much to see: couples kids running after each other, parents chasing close behind, stray couples wandering up and down the streets of Seoul. It was therapeutic.

It made Saeran forget about the fact that he was destined to live a life of pain.

That he was to live a loveless life.

That his was the life of someone born without a soulmate tattoo.

"Ho-Syun, get back here!" A teenage girl called, chasing gleefully after a boy who was running away from her and laughing. Despite himself, Saeran felt a light smile form on his face as he watched them in their merriment.

"Chua! Mr. Chua! It's me! How could you forget?" Saeran followed his eyes to a new set of people, a young boy crossing his arms in front of a confused looking elder man. A part of Saeran wanted to pay closer attention but he found himself distracted by yet another call.

"Applications out! Applications are out! BC-Sonic is hiring! Get your application today!" The boy relaxed in the sea of voices, the neverending conversations, the seemingly infinite activities that people all had going on at once.

"Sir! Sir!" The boy took another long sip of his beverage. The voices around him made it easy to ignore even the incessant whispers inside his head, the noisy street giving him a temporary refuge from his mind as he just existed. "SIR!"

At the sudden increase in volume, Saeran opened his eyes. One can imagine his shock when his mint-green eyes caught sight of you, dashing after a cat that was escaping you with every fiber of its being.

Wait, was the cat really running away from you? Or was it specifically running toward him?

Saeran tried to stand up and eject himself from the cat's trajectory, but before he could even move, the little black creature had pounced into his lap.

The boy could only blink.

"I am so sorry about that," He heard you say, as you tried to coo the cat out of Saeran's lap. You wouldn't meet his eyes in your embarrassment, he noted with mild amusement, as you brought a hand to pet the creature before it hissed at you.

"Is this your cat?" He inquired, wondering why the little devil seemed to be so averse to you.

"No, ah—" You scratched the back of your head sheepishly. "My best friend asked me to take care of it. It's hers. The damn fuzzbutt hates me though, so..."

Saeran had to suppress a smile at that, placing his coffee down on the ground. He pried the cat off his lap, awkwardly holding it in midair so that you could take it from its hands. "Here," He murmured softly. The cat was cute, without a doubt, but he didn't want to keep it from the person responsible for taking care of it any longer.

The cat, on the other hand, seemed very much opposed to leaving Saeran.

The second your hands approached it, the thing wriggled furiously in Saeran's grasp. When it found itself unable to squirm out of the boy's strong hands, it settled for biting your approaching fingers with all its strength.

Ouch.

Saeran tried not to wince as the cat bit down, immediately causing you to recoil backward.

"Are you...okay?" He asked when he saw blood begin to drip from your hand. It wasn't much at all, practically nothing compared to what he'd seen at his time in the Mint Eye, but the pained look in your eyes brought an unfamiliar sense of worry to the boy.

"Y-yeah, here, I'll take her from the bottom so she can't bite me this time."

You moved your hands forward to take the cat from Saeran, but he only chuckled, lowing the animal into his lap. "Let's see the bite, first," He muttered softly taking your smaller hand into his own. He was about to tilt the injured finger toward him to get a better look at it when he felt a searing pain in his right arm.

"Ow!"

He flinched when he heard your voice, suddenly realizing that in his pain he'd tightened his grip around your finger.

"M-my arm—" He sputtered out, doubling over in pain while trying not to make a noise. He grabbed the rim of the bench he was sitting on and the world around him was suddenly forgotten, even the innocent meow of the cat on his lap.

He vaguely heard you curse before you jumped to your feet, tearing the leather jacket he was wearing off his body to check for injuries. But the increased contact only worsened the agony in his arm.

Saeran forced an eye open to see what was going on. Had he been shot? Was his arm on fire? What was that light?

Both Saeran and your eyes widened in shock when you both saw the dull glow emanating around Saeran's tattoos. My tattoos from the Mint Eye, Saeran thought numbly through the pain, wondering why they were acting up. Had they been tattooed in poisonous ink? Why did it feel like the tattoo was on fire, being branded even deeper into his skin?

It was only when the tension in his arm had faded that Saeran saw that you were in the same pain next to him, clutching your arm.

"Are you alright?" He managed to stutter out, pulling you to your feet.

The sudden contact caused another strange sensation to flood down Saeran's arm, though this time it brought no agony. His arm tingled lightly, with the same soft yellow glow as before. Eyes wide open in bewilderment, he looked at you to realize that the same thing was happening on your arm.

Shocked, you both pulled back, and the warm feeling Saeran had been experiencing vanished as soon as your hand left his. Then, hesitantly, this time, Saeran reached a delicate finger forward to graze yours and the feeling bloomed inside him once more.

You leaned into him ever-so-slightly, reciprocating his gesture and his touch, and the moment you did the tattoos on your bodies lit up and began to move toward each other, linking and dancing together with no signs of stopping.

The cat on his lap meowed in delight.

"The touch of a soulmate," He whispered, baffled by the fact that he was feeling it. He was born without any markings, cursed to lead a life devoid of love...so how?

"I didn't think I had someone," He heard you whisper, watching the designs intertwine with each other. "My tattoo was fake."

"Mine too," He responded, his face fresh with a smile that—for the first time—wasn't forced in any way. "My name is Saeran," He finally introduced himself after he'd recovered from the initial shock of seeing his tattoo, the fake tattoo he'd acquired after birth, respond to someone.

"I'm (Y/N)," You responded, before taking a step toward him, intertwining your fingers with his. The simple movement brought so much warmth, the sort that spread from within him—and at that moment, Saeran understood.

He understood why MC and Saeyoung were always joined at the hip, why that girl and boy in the cafe had held each other's hands so tightly, why the touch of a soulmate seemed to intoxicate everyone who felt it.

Whether he'd realized it or not, his entire life had been building up to this moment: to meeting you. The tight squeeze he gave your palm felt like a blessing from heaven itself, as if meeting you was the work of an angel who had finally decided to give Saeran the happiness he'd spent his whole life searching for.

His touch was a delicate reminder of everything to come: from the first kisses to the inside jokes to the eventual future he realized he would get to share with you.

The touch was a promise, from one soulmate to the other, to eternally bask in each other's warmth, to love each other and become one as the tattoos already had.

The touch was everything.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 2.0k

Notes: Saeran is PRECIOUS~ he deserves so much happiness

Comment & Like

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

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shibalen · 4 years ago

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💥hewwo can I pwease get a romantic male matchup for bnha (darkbox bc I live for angst) (music box) when you have the time uwu

Levi he/him gay entp supposedly (also if it's not too much to ask please no characters under the age of 18 please)

I've been described as having a strong and loud personality, I'm extroverted and outspoken. I'm pretty eccentric too.

I value friendship, kindness and standing up for others.

Goal wise I'm pretty aimless. I dont have any goals, if I die well I guess that's it babey. In the meantime I'm just here to help animals and people who need it.

Positive traits: I always stick up for people in need, I'm good at reading people, I'm good with animals, I love to make people smile and laugh, cheerful, good at talking my way out of bad situations, uhm. Friendly!

Negative traits would be: hot headed, loud, stubborn, arrogant, comes across as intimidating:( good at getting into bad situations, gets into fights very often. Can be spiteful, I've been described as a pyromaniac so theres that. Can be sadistic

What pisses me off: my father. I can and will cause trouble for that man for as long as I live. And people who pick on the weak.

My hobbies and interests areeee: true crime babey! Crying over video games, baking, the occult, taking naps, dream interpretations and tarot readings

Likes: animals, cats specifically, stars, fire, sunsets, supposedly haunted places, storms, being dramatic for the hell of it, tormenting people in a good hearted way

Dislikes: uhhhh hot weather I guess.

Quirks: uh I have 5 cats! Ones my fathers but he never takes care of his cat so i pretty much count him as my own (plus he likes me more than my dad and it pisses my dad off hehe) I have weirdly accurate intuition, it makes reading people easy, knowing what they want to hear and what they dont.

Uhhh dates and relationship wise I'm honestly happy doing whatever my s/o wants to do. All I want is to see their face light up.

My love language is physical touch, I dont like touching people but if it's someone I feel strongly about youd have to pry me away from them.

I once got kicked out of a library for starting a fight in it, trashy I know but I wasnt going to stand there and do nothing while my friends were being bullied and pressured into getting involved with a really dodgy man. I scared the bullies off for good at least B) they never bothered my friend again babey

Oh I'm also known around the area I live in as someone who's good at finding homes of lost pets. Often times I come across a lost animal and befriend it in no time and use my connections to find its family.

Sorry if this was rly long and thank you for your time!! I hope you have a fantastic day uwu if anything's too difficult to come up with ideas for I'm more than happy for you to change anything to make it easier for you too!

♡︎ matchup for anon

heya! here i am with another late matchup but i hope you still see this. i'm sorry about the delay (╯_╰)

bnha: i match you with . . .

natsuo todoroki !!

• this was one of those "heureka!" moments for me. you both hate your dads and hot weather? it's a match made in heaven! okay jk, these are just nice add-ons.

• what really made me consider Natsuo were your values and personality. kindness and friendships are important to both of you. Natsuo's a medical student so i am convinced helping others is high on his priority list too. he loves your driven and passionate nature because he doesn't go sugarcoating bs either.

• you're definitely the more energetic one while Natsuo only gets hot-headed about the things that are the most important to him. i think it's a good compromise, you can help each other out :)

• he was a little taken aback and cautious of your explosiveness at first but warmed up to it quickly after learning what a kind person you really were. now he thinks your dramatic attitude is funny during your sillier moments ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

• speaking of, you lads met at an animal shelter. there had been a dog that was astray in the neighbourhood of his home, so Natsuo, being a responsible boyo, took it to the local shelter.

• then there you were, standing by the help desk with five kittens wrapped in your jacket in your arms. apparently someone had been trying to drown them so you'd taken care of the situation accordingly.

• Natsuo understood jumping into a lake to rescue the poor animals because he would have done the same, but you could have had just called the police?? it was extremely ridiculous but admirable at the same time to beat all those guys up.

• your chat turned into a pleasant conversation afterwards as you were waiting for the animals to finish their check-ups. Natsuo was a bit shy but you didn't mind and kept the chat going which he appreciated.

• later he volunteered to help you look for good homes for the animals you'd both found. during this project the two of you got to know each other quite well and ended up hanging out together afterwards!

• and from that point on, everything fell into place naturally. the growing spark between you was undeniable and you both knew it. Natsuo definitely liked you longer, he was just a lil dense about it . . .

• you're nothing short of a hero in his eyes but dear lord he worries for you. when he's attending lectures he sometimes can't help but wonder if you're all right and not getting involved in anything violent.

• attends to your possible injuries while nagging you not to be so quick to start a fight next time. in return, you playfully bully him for being such a mom.

• you join forces with Fuyumi to pick on him about your relationship. even though you're already together, soft Natsuo still blushes when his affection for you is brought up, it's entertaining for both you and Fuyumi.

• idk if you've heard but Natsuo's 181cm tall!! hugging someone has never been easier even if you happen to be taller than him. the only thing is his skin's naturally kind of chilly so he's lowkey worried if you dislike it but you always assure him he's perfect!

• one time he was stressed over exams so you baked him some blueberry muffins. he gave you the biggest hug and kiss because it's exactly all these little things you do that set his heart racing for you ♡︎

• "last night i saw a dream about being a frog and eating giant flies, it was gross."

• "oh, that just means your love life is about to become fun."

• "i'm not sure how those two are related."

• "just trust me. i'm a pro at this."

• he also likes giving you headpats as much as he likes receiving them! his hands are quite big so he often runs his fingers through your hair when you're cuddling or hugging. it's especially relaxing after a long period of studying. also him carring you on his broad back ԅ(￣ε￣ԅ)

• you enjoy the little things in life and complain about your fathers together. you've agreed to wait a while before even mentioning your relationship to them because, honestly, Natsuo doesn't want any more horrible influences in your life.

• you get him sucked into the world of video games. it's always fun to watch him struggle but he never gets salty about losing maybe a lil he adores your smile as you laugh at him for being so bad at them.

• your dates include: helping out at animal shelters and retirement homes, video game and movie nights (especially about true crime), arcades and astronomy tower explorstions. i feel like Natsuo's more into traditional, romantic and chill dates and that's your usual thing. though i see sometimes you going to get coffee and ending up solving a 50-year-old murder case instead (✧ω✧)

❦︎ ink box

— despite Natsuo's best efforts to distance himself from Endeavor, it wasn't quite as easy and everyone was very much aware of the Todoroki family. and now the son of the number 1 hero had a lover.

— it wasn't actually that troublesome at first. some newpaper paparazzi occasionally annoyed you but you didn't care for them. most of the time Natsuo and you had your peace during dates aside from a few casual fans.

— but of course there are all sorts of people out there, some out for revenge, some for money, and being desperate means using even the lowest of methods to get what you want.

— so one time it happened, and it was all that took. several bitter villains thought they'd get their revenge through you, silly as it may sound. they made a big show of kidnapping you and demanding Endeavor to 'make up' for his wrongdoing. but all got resolved thanks to heroes, the only casualty being Natsuo's heart from almost exploding from worry and his deepening hatred for his father.

— later on, it wasn't that Natsuo was worried about you not being able to handle yourself, he feared what might happen if more of powerful villains came after you.

— so, after some debate, you agreed not to meet up for a short while to let the fuse of the incident settle down. it would be safer once the media forgot about it. you still texted and chatter over phone though!

— but then a week turned into two weeks, then into a month. you were wondering what was taking Natsuo to say the coast was clear and did a straight-up inquiry through a video chat.

— you could see he was restless the entire time. he said you should wait longer just to be sure everything was calm before meeting up. you became irritated because he was obviously lying and not being his normal, brutally honest self.

— why was he giving you this crap straight to your face?

— truthfully, Natsuo hadn't been sleeping all right recently. ever since that day he had reoccurring nightmares about something awful happening to you. they were just dreams, he knew. yet considering his ruffled up past and the frequency of those horrible visions, it would have been lie to say he was unaffected.

— paranoia just wouldn't leave him alone, and no matter how much he wanted to hold you in his arms again and hated making up stupid excuses, the voice at the back of his mind whispered this was for the best.

— after a month and a half had passed you've had just about enough, however. whatever reason he was keeping you in the dark for did no longer stop you from crashing into his house and demanding the truth.

— Natsuo knew you and expected this to eventually happen. after you made such a powerful entrance though he also knew there was no getting around it this time. really, it was comforting knowing you cared so deeply.

— he told you exactly what had been happening and you resisted the urge to punch him in the arm for having such a mindset. but the look in his beautiful grey eyes was so heartbreaking you threw yourself to embrace him instead. your touch was everything Natsuo had craved for for all this time.

— you skillfully assured him for the next couple of hours while keeping the talk light-hearted (he had obviously been overthinking way too much already). soon enough the issue was resolved and you had a sleepover right there to make uo for the lost time (Shoto and Fuyumi kept eavesdropping on you because y'all were being way too loud in a cute way).

— "i love you, Natsu, but if you ever keep something like this a secret from me again, i can't guarantee the safety of your arm or your front door."

♫︎ music box

— If I Had An Airplane by SayWeCanFly

— This December by Rick Montgomery

— Round & Laundry from Carole and Tuesday

— Haven't Had Enough by Marianas Trench

— Bowie On The Radio by Ryan McMullan

♡︎ runner up: Dabi / Touya Todoroki

thank you for requesting, hopefully you enjoyed this! i'm really pleased about matching you with Natsuo, it's just so perfect. have a lovely day and remember to take care of yourself ♡︎

#len's matches #💥anon #matchups #bnha matchups

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writingfortoomanyfandoms · 5 years ago

Note

AHHH I LOVE LORS!!! okay so, how about bring cal back to your apartment to properly meet all your roommates (earlier on in the relationship, maybe for like a game night or sumn, idk you can run with it obvi) and at first, the dynamic of everyone is really overwhelming bc they all know each other so well but by the end of the night, everyone is bffs!!

you guys don’t understand how much I adore the roommates in this series, like they’re barely in any of written blurbs yet but they’re so much fun to think and write about and so I’m glad people are finally requesting stuff with them in haha

——————————————————–

“You’re sure they won’t mind?” Calum asked nervously and Y/N laughed, thinking to herself that she had never seen her boyfriend so worked up about anything.

“They honestly won’t give a shit, Cal - besides, I texted Charlie so they’re expecting you. It would be weird now if you didn’t come,” she assured him, squeezing his hand.

“What if they don’t like me?”

“Ryan already thinks you’re alright-”

“That’s barely a compliment!”

“It’s more than you’re gonna get from Lisa.” Calum’s eyes widened at her nonchalant comment.

“Is that meant to be reassuring?”

“Oh - it wasn’t” Y/N asked, feigning confusion and Calum glared at her.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he grumbled.

“You’re overreacting, Cal - even I wasn’t this nervous meeting the guys and I practically shit myself every time I leave the house,” Y/N pointed out as they began to climb the stairs to her apartment.

“Thanks for that mental image,” Calum muttered, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Hey, this is good preparation for if you ever have to meet my family - there’s no way that that will be as stressful as this,” Y/N promised, squeezing his hand again as they paused outside of her front door.

“You promise they’ll like me?” Calum asked, insecurity dripping from the words, knowing that sometimes he could come off as a bit standoffish when he first met people. Y/N opened her mouth to reply to his question but was cut off by Y/N’s door swinging open.

Ryan stood in the doorway, his eyebrows raised as he lent against the frame.

“You’re late,” he sung, usual cocky smirk in place.

“Fuck off, Ry,” Y/N groaned, moving into the hallway and pulling Calum inside behind her.

“Hey, it’s not me who gives a shit - Lewis, on the other hand, is properly butthurt,” Ryan warned, nodding to Calum. “Hey, good to see you again, dude.”

“Well Lewis needs to get the fuck over himself!” Y/N responded, raising her voice to ensure her roommate and close friend could hear her words.

“If I were late on family dinner night-”

“We’d assume you were dead because you’re never late, that would be more of an issue than when Y/N is late as the girl doesn’t know what a fucking watch is,” Lisa cut off Lewis’ complaint as Y/N and Calum entered the kitchen. Lisa closed the fridge door and looked at Calum with raised eyebrows.

The man didn’t miss how her eyes darted up and down him before giving a slight nod to Y/N, as though one of approval.

“You drink, Hildebrandt?” She asked and Calum frowned at the name.

“Pardon?”

“Martin Hildebrandt was the first person to open a tattoo shop in the US,” Charlie filled in from his seat at the kitchen table, a laptop open in front of him.

Calum blinked, trying to take in the utter chaos surrounding him - the big guy with the rugby-player build who Calum knew to be Lewis stood in front of the stove, wearing a flowery apron as he bickered with Ryan, who had sat on the counter next to the oven. Ryan was looking at Lewis with the same look of mild amusement and self-assuredness that Calum swore was fixed on his face, but there was something softer in the smile, the brightness in his eyes as he offered back snarky remarks teasing Lewis for his obsession with ‘family dinners’.

He tried his hardest to keep up with the quips being thrown across the room by Lisa and Charlie, with Y/N butting in occasionally from where she was bustling around the kitchen, helping set the table. He observed how she acted with her roommates, the way she stood so close to Charlie, poking fun at the man, who pouted at her words, feigning annoyance with her, and the way that Lisa had had a deadpanned look on her face the entire time Calum had been in the flat, broke into a smile.

Calum imagined it was similar to the way others must feel walking into Third Eye Ink when all four of the guys were at work. Standing amidst a sea of inside jokes and personalities which were made loud simply by the presence of people who they loved.

He felt privileged to be able to see this side of Y/N, where she let her guard down to be herself around the four people she trusted most, but also felt completely lost at sea.

“Hey, you doing alright, Hildebrandt?” Charlie asked after five minutes of bustle and noise which Calum wasn’t sure he was allowed to intervene into.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” he agreed, forcing a grin at the man he knew to be Y/N’s best friend.

“A lot to take in?” Charlie offered, amusement shining in his kind eyes and Calum could tell immediately why Y/N liked him so much.

“Yeah,” he let out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his head and Charlie nodded.

“You’ll be fine - going by what Y/N has told us, you’ll fit right in… besides, Alfie’s not here to give you a hard time about ‘taking his seat’,” the man mused.

“Alfie?”

“The guy off of Y/N’s course who basically lives here because he hates his roommates - you haven’t been told about him yet?” Charlie asked in shock.

“He’s never come up in conversation,” Y/N confessed, smiling at Calum and leaning up to peck his lips.

“None of that! I have slaved over dinner for two hours-”

“Half an hour,” Lisa commented under her breath as she sat down.

“You are not going to put me off eating it with your gross display of PDA!” Lewis declared. “Hey - sorry, we’ve not met. I’m Lewis,” he added, holding his hand out to Calum, who had a smile growing on his face at long last.

“Calum.”

Basic Info // Blurb Masterlist

#calum hood #calum hood fanfiction #calum hood imagine #calum hood x reader #calum hood blurbs #5 seconds of summer #tattoo artist!Calum Hood #tattoo artist!AU #Life on Richmond Street #courts blurbs #blurbs #requested

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hongism · 5 years ago

Text

not your typical flower shop story chapter two

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Flower Shop Owner!Taehyung, College!Reader, College!Taehyung, Fluff, Angst, Future Smut

Word Count: 6055

Rating: M

Warnings: mild language

Summary: You always goes to the cute boy next door’s flower shop across the street because hi yes he’s the cutest damn person you’ve ever seen, until one day a guy with tattoos and a severe obsession with the color black shows up in the shop asking for the ‘usual’ and you find out that your cute innocent little flower boy has a dirty little secret.

A/N: okay tbh i didn’t write an outline for this so i just wrote whatever to my mind and let the story take me where it wanted to go. I’m hugely overwhelmed by the support you guys have given to the first part! and hahahahahhaahahh yoongi isn’t a bad boy whOOPS, i wanted to kinda break that stereotype and throw you for a loop lol. And I’m super excited to see where it goes! I am bumping the rating up, because i kinda expect it to get more mature as it progresses and possibly have future smut but??? I’m anxious about that bc i’ve never written smut askfskdjf we will see where it goes!! Onto the story~

⇐ previous | next ⇒

"Here's some hot tea. I don't know if you like that kind of thing. Um, it's peppermint flavored." Taehyung passes a steaming mug your way, but you don't reach out to accept it. You refuse to look in his direction in fact and opt to pull the wool blanket draped around your shoulders closer to your body as though it will take the coldness out of your skin. Taehyung sighs and sets the mug on the coffee table before you. "Y/N..." He trails off without finishing whatever train of thought he had, and instead moves to sit on the couch beside the chair where you sit.

Wood squeaks, protesting against movement that does not belong to Taehyung, but rather Yoongi, who occupies the chair directly across from yours. You lift your gaze to look him in the eye. The furrow of his brows shows the evident concern that both him and Taehyung must be feeling, but too much is running through your system at the moment and you can't bring yourself to care all too much.

The events that followed your text are still a blur, and you aren't sure the memories will ever return to you.

read

That small, supposedly insignificant word remains emblazoned at the forefront of your thoughts. How are you supposed to focus on whatever was happening outside the shock of seeing that word beside your texts after going so long without it? To put it simply: you aren't, and you won't.

You blink at the coffee table, looking past the steaming mug of tea Taehyung set down and towards the identical black objects a bit further down.

"You have a gun," you say at last, eyes fluttering shut as reality slowly settles in.

"Y/N, I can ex—”

"I must be dreaming. Or losing my mind. Maybe this is all a hallucination, and I've finally lost it."

"I know this is a lot to handle, and I'm truly sorry for putting you in a position where you could have been hurt." Taehyung scoots forward and tries to lessen the distance between the two of you, but you lean away from him in response. "I can explain."

"Explain what? The boy across the street who sells flowers for a living — and is my neighbor — has a gun on his coffee table. Not only that, he brought said gun to dinner with me. Then there was an armed robbery at the diner, and I had to text your "friend" in code." You shake your head as you speak, unable to process the words yourself. "You're a drug dealer. My neighbor is a drug dealer."

"I'm not a drug dealer!" Taehyung protests.

"Part of the mafia? A gang? Nothing else explains why you would carry a gun, talk in code with your supposed friend, and talk about drugs in your texts!"

"That's not—it wasn't—I have an explanation." Taehyung stands up and brings his hands to his face as though pleading you to hear him out.

"I'm gonna die."

"What? No! Why would you think that?"

"You're gonna kill me to keep me quiet," you reason. "I can't do this."

"No—Y/N, no one is going to kill you." Yoongi cuts into the conversation, pulling your attention off Taehyung with his raspy tone. You press your lips together. "Taehyung, let me explain."

"I'm the one who got her into this mess though! I should be the one to explain," Taehyung argues. He falls back onto the couch, arms falling to the cushions, and heaves a deep sigh.

"It's not your fault that robber came into the diner tonight. There is no way you could've known that was going to happen, okay? Listen: you need a breather as much as Y/N does, so let me explain what's going on."

"Okay, okay." Taehyung relents, and his eyes find you again. You look straight ahead though, chin a bit dipped, and stare at the black combat boots that came to the table you were crouched under at the diner and the pale hands that pulled you out from under it to tell you that it was over.

The faint scent of cinnamon touches your nose as you sniffle, and you acknowledge the smell for the first time since coming to Taehyung's apartment. Warm. Cozy. Safe. Except you are anything but safe right now, and nothing about this situation feels comfortable or warm.

"Y/N, Taehyung is not part of the mafia or anything like that. Neither am I. We aren't drug dealers either, and there are no gangs. It's just a concealed handgun—”

"That's not legal here though," you interrupt. Another surge of panic rushes through you at the idea of being involved in something illegal. That could mean that I won't be able to visit the hospital anymore, even if it is just the front lobby. Maybe they'll kick me out of university too. Fire me from my job. Then what? I can't pay the medical bills if that happens. I'm fucked.

"You really aren't making this easy, Y/N." Yoongi rubs his forehand, exposing the pale skin under his jacket, and you spot more black ink across it.

"Well, I'm sorry but how in the hell is any part of this situation supposed to be easy?"

"Okay. Fine. I am going to give you two options then. The first: drink the tea and regain your strength, then go back to your apartment and act like this never happened. The second—”

"Done," you say before Yoongi can finishing explaining anything else. You jolt forward and snatch the mug from the table. The liquid burns your tongue and tastes like fire as it goes down your throat, but none of that is important in the moment. You just want to get out of here. Away from Taehyung, away from Yoongi, and away from the guns. The table trembles when you slam the mug back down against the surface. Both Taehyung and Yoongi wear similar expressions of wide eyes and dropped jaws. "Thanks for the tea, and thanks for saving my life I guess. I'll be leaving now." You hop up from the chair, blanket falling off your shoulders as you do, and head for the door without sparing either man another glance.

Then you're out the door and moving towards your own apartment with uncertain steps and weak knees.

I don't want to know, you tell yourself as you fumble with your keys and struggle to get the door unlocked. I don't need to know. Whatever the hell Taehyung is doing does not matter to me. It doesn't involve me. The less I know the better. You burst into your apartment, and the door slams against the wall hard enough to leave another dent in the plaster. It truly is in your best interest to walk away from Taehyung and Yoongi, ignore them and whatever insane life they're living, and focus on yourself. You don't need flowers anymore.

Hifumi is right. I shouldn't be wasting my money on flowers anyways. I should be saving the money for the medical bills. I should focus more on my studies.

The abrupt scream that leaves your lips surprises you. You aren't sure why the noise escapes — maybe the frustration and panic surrounding your situation or the realization that someone is reading your messages now of all times. Why now? I didn't get any calls from the hospital, they didn't give me any updates, so why? Why is this happening? Why tonight?

Knocking interrupts your train of thought, and the force behind it is so strong that you fear whoever is behind is may break the door. Your heart feels like it's beating in time with the rapid knocks. As you stand in the dark, part of you wants the night to be over and for you to wake up to find that it was all a dream. The other part panics because who the hell would be knocking at your door at this hour? Was it the robber from the diner? Did he follow you back here? Or maybe someone else is here to kill you.

"Y/N, open the damn door!" Taehyung, it's Taehyung's voice. Thank goodness. You stumble towards the door, and in your moment of panic, you forget about your intentions of putting Taehyung out of your life. Twisting the handle, you pull the door open to reveal Taehyung's face behind it. He pushes past you and into the apartment, leaving you to look at Yoongi, who stood hidden behind Taehyung.

"Are you alright?" Yoongi inquires. He stretches an arm out to touch your shoulder, but you shy away from his grasp.

"I'm fine. What's the problem?"

Taehyung rushes around your apartment, scouting out every corner and crevice in sight, and once everything is searched to his liking, he stops to look at you.

"Is someone here? Did something happen? Why did you scream?" He interrogates. You glance down at his hand, spotting the black outline of a gun in his grasp. When you turn back to Yoongi, you spot the same object tucked into the waistband of his pants.

"Di-Did you think—” you stop yourself as the lingering contents in your stomach churn. "No one is here. I'm alone." Why did he have to mention that? What if someone really is here? Dammit there's no way in hell I'll be able to sleep tonight.

"We heard you scream. I thought something happened," Taehyung explains. He tucks the gun behind his back, no doubt placing it in his waistband as Yoongi did. "Y/N, I know you would rather put this out of sight and out of mind. That's fine with me. If you really want to do that, then I won't stop you. Please, though, please stay at my apartment tonight. I need the peace of mind. It's the last thing you have to do for me, and after tonight, we don't ever have to talk again." You fold your arms over your chest. The plea sinks into your skin, and you stand in contemplation of the possibilities as Taehyung waits for your answer with bated breath. No. At least, that is what you ought to say. The puppy dog eyes — those damn puppy dog eyes — are present. How can I say no when he's looking at me like that?

"I—look, you're right next door. Isn't that safe enough for you? Even if it's not, why can't you just stay in my living room? Why do I have to go over to your apartment?" Arms fall to your sides, and you blink at Taehyung. He sighs, fingers coming up to tug at his loose hair, then looks behind you.

"My apartment is safer, Y/N."

"What? Do you have iron bars over the bedroom windows or something?" The man stays quiet in the face of your accusation, exchanging a glance with Yoongi. "Oh my gosh, you have got to be kidding me. Taehyung, is that even allowed here?"

"Can we ignore that for now?"

"Fine, fine! Just let me change clothes, okay?" You sigh and scoot past him to get to your bedroom. Taehyung prevents you from making it to the door, taking quick steps to reach the wood before you do.

"What if someone is in there? Let me go first. I'll check it out." He jiggles the handle to no avail because you locked the door before leaving this afternoon. Without a word, he finds you with his eyes and waits. The sigh that leaves your lips is a long one, and after that, you unlock the door for him and pray that your room is in a decent enough condition to be seen. Then again, if someone really is in your room, then they've already seen the disaster inside so you shouldn't care all too much. Taehyung bursts into your bedroom with gun in hand, and you nearly scream at the suddenness of his action. The ease and fluidity of his actions shows that this is something he has done before, and he's done it enough times to be comfortable with it. If your heart could plummet any further in dread, it would. After everything that has happened this evening though, you think it's safe to say that you've reached your limit for dread and panic for the rest of the month.

"If it makes you feel any better, he's like this all the time." Yoongi appears at your side. You don't hear him approach, and the darkness in your apartment makes him blend in a bit too much for your liking since he's wearing an obscene amount of black. You jump, hand coming to your chest when he speaks. His eyes widen at your reaction, then fall to a relaxed state again after a moment. "Sorry, I do that a lot."

"I don't wanna know," you claim. Yoongi sends an indiscernible look your way, and you have to remind yourself that it's the truth even though there is curiosity in you that truly does want to know what the hell is going on with Taehyung. "I just want to go to bed and wake up tomorrow as though this didn't happen."

"Is that how you handle all your problems?" Yoongi asks as he watches Taehyung analyze every inch of your bedroom.

"It's the best way to handle problems," you counter. Heat rises on your cheeks, and you begin to feel a bit sheepish for acting so dramatic.

"Really? Let me know how that works out for you in the long run."

"I won't because this is the last time we'll be seeing each other." Again, Yoongi looks at you, and this time a smirk plays at his lips.

"Okay, Y/N."

"Hey, the violets look really nice!" Taehyung's voice cuts through your conversation. He grins at you from the doorway of your bedroom, the boxy smile seeming out of place alongside the gun in his hand. He tucks the weapon back into his waistband, then says, "It looks safe though, so you can go ahead and get whatever you need for the night."

"Oh, uh, thanks." You slide past him to get into your room, glad to see that it isn't as much of a mess as you thought it was. "Can you give me a few minutes? To use the bathroom and stuff?" Taehyung nods and hastily steps back into the living room alongside Yoongi. Shutting the door in their faces feels awkward but the moment of privacy makes it worth it. You head for the bathroom but once you get there, you sit on the floor to stare at your phone, the message you sent earlier still bearing the small insignificant word next to the block of text.

It can't be him. There's no way. The hospital would've called. Someone must have stolen the phone.

You force your shaking fingers to type out another message.

from y/n, 10:49 p.m. unread

- who is reading my messages? why? what do you want? why do you have this phone?

from y/n, 10:49 p.m. unread

- i know you can't be the actual owner of the phone because i would know if you were. answer me before the morning or i will call the cops.

Breathe, just breathe, Y/N. You place your phone back in your lap. The amount of time you have left before Taehyung starts to panic and think that someone snatched you from the apartment is dwindling, so you pull yourself to your feet and leave the bathroom. It's cold when you step back into your bedroom, but you like it that way typically, so you shouldn't complain. Tonight, however, it doesn't feel right; nothing does. The air filling your lungs, the cold touching your skin, the methodical rhythm of your heart straining against the confines of your rib cage.

You strip down to your undergarments slowly, peeling each layer away one by one, then you remain in the center of your room. Standing. Thinking. Wondering what the hell happened tonight still because you can't wrap your brain around it. The fan above your head is quiet, so quiet that you can hear Taehyung's voice through the wood of your door.

"She's taking too long, Yoongi."

"Leave her be for a few, Tae. I'm sure she's fine."

"What are we gonna tell the others?"

"Nothing for now. Eventually you'll have to say that you screwed up tonight."

"I screwed up? What the hell did I do?"

"You know the rules! You should've kept your ass in that booth and messaged Tower instead." Tower? Who in the hell…

"I couldn't do that. Y/N looked way too terrified for me to just sit there and wait for Tower to get off his ass for once."

"Hey, keep it down. She might be able to…” Yoongi's voice dies down and even as you press your ear to the door, you can't hear whatever they're saying anymore.

"I knew it," you mutter under your breath. "It's some sort of drug cartel or the mafia or a gang. Oh my gosh, one of my neighbors is a stripper and the other is a criminal. What the hell?" You are vaguely aware of the fact that you are standing in nothing but a bra and underwear while pressed against your door -- and it isn't hot and sexy in any kind of way because you're alone. The main struggle of this whole night is coping with the fact that your messages say "read" and there is no explanation as to why. Until now actually, because your phone buzzes on your bed, a ding resounds through the room, and you lunge for the device without thinking twice.

from y/n, 10:49 p.m. read

- who is reading my messages? why? what do you want? why do you have this phone?

from y/n, 10:49 p.m. read

- i know you can't be the actual owner of the phone because i would know if you were. answer me before the morning or i will call the cops.

"Okay, okay, okay. Y/N, don't panic. Just breathe." You let the device fall to the mattress again. Yet there is still a tremble in your hands as you pull a fresh set of clothes out of your dresser. Your knees still feel weak when you press your legs through the holes of the pants, and a distinct pain lingers in your chest. You wish you were numb, or that the cold would sever this feeling from your body.

No buzz emits from your phone again. You leave your bedroom, bearing sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. If the night's events had not occurred maybe you would be more concerned about the way you look in front of the cute innocent flower boy that is Taehyung. Correction — that was Taehyung, because he no longer holds that image in your mind.

He and Yoongi have moved to your kitchen counter, where one stands on either side of the counter and exchange hushed whispers. The sound of your door opening does not divert their attention, so you clear your throat albeit a bit awkwardly because intruding on such a seemingly serious conversation does not feel right.

"I, uh, I'm ready whenever you are." You shift your weight from foot to foot and stretch your arms away from your sides. The image resembles something a young child would do to get the attention of her parents. You feel like at child too, because of the way you are being coddled and protected by Taehyung and Yoongi. The focus doesn't stay on either man for long as your phone buzzes in your hand. Taehyung speaks but the words go in one ear and out the other as you read the message you just received.

from jimin, 11:05 p.m. read

- now that's not very fair, is it Y/N?

“Now that wasn’t very fair, was it, Y/N? C’mon, you gotta play fair!”

“I am! I haven’t done anything unfair. You’re the one who is supposed to be good at games, aren’t you?”

You stumble on thin air, grabbing hold of the door frame behind you to steady your wavering balance, and Taehyung stops talking at the sight of your blunder. Shit. Dammit. What the hell? There's no way…what the hell is going on?

"Y/N? Y/N! Hey, are you okay?" Taehyung's shouts grow increasingly louder as he gets closer to you.

"I'm fine," you hiss through gritted teeth. Gripping the wood tighter, you steady yourself and hold out your free hand to deter Taehyung from coming any closer. He pauses at the end of your hand, eyes lingering on the tips of your fingers then travelling up to your face. "I'm feeling a bit lightheaded from everything that's happened tonight."

"Come on, you can lay down as soon as we get back to my apartment." Taehyung wraps his fingers around the hand that you have extended. The warmth from his hand almost burns your cold fingers. He tugs you away from the door frame, and you lose your grip on it, knees locking as the support leaves you, but you manage to stay upright.

"I-I need to lock the door, Taehyung," you say when he pulls you into the hallway. You hold your keys out to prove your point, and Taehyung snatches them out of your hand before you can blink. He tosses them to Yoongi as he steps out to join the two of you in the hallway.

"And I need to make sure you're okay, Y/N." His features soften a bit as he looks down at you, a breathy sigh leaving his parted lips. "I feel responsible for what happened tonight. It's my fault for putting you in a position where you could be hurt, and it's my fault for letting you get this involved with things you're too good for. I'm sorry." The warmth of his hand leaves you, and the cold rushes back. You have to stop yourself from chasing the warmth of his touch.

"You couldn't have known that was going to happen," you argue.

"You really think so?" Taehyung's voice holds a melancholy thickness in it, and although he has his back turned to you now, you can picture the puppy dog eyes.

"Taehy—”

"I could've picked any other place and this wouldn't have happened."

"That can't change anything now, Taehyung. As upset as I am, I still want you to know that I don't blame you for anything that happened. There's no way you could've known."

"That's where you're wrong, Y/N. I should have known, and I should've said no to you when you asked to get dinner because I know how dangerous it is to know a person like me." Taehyung won't look at you as he speaks. You follow him into his apartment again, the warmth scent of cinnamon hitting your nose once more. Yoongi follows close behind, your keys hooked on his index finger and jingling as he twirls them around, and he snaps the door shut. "Yoongi has the right idea. You ought to act like this never happened after tonight, because that's the best way for you to be safe. I promise that I won't bring you into anything ever again. You should avoid coming to the flower shop too. There are other places to get bouquets if you still want them, but I don't think it's smart for you to keep coming to me when you don't trust me and I'm dangerous."

"I know," you mutter. "That's my plan." Taehyung shifts from foot to foot, then turns to face you.

"Good. Yea…that's good."

The clinking sound behind you ceases.

"I'm getting a call," Yoongi announces, clearing his throat before he speaks. "I'll be right back, Char—Tae." He stumbles on the name, the first syllable spilling out awkwardly before he rushes to correct himself. You don't bother looking in Yoongi's direction, instead focusing on the flash of panic that flashes through Taehyung's brown eyes. He notices your stare lingering.

"Uh, come on, I'll show you my room." He motions for you to follow him and leads the way to his room. "I'm sorry if it's a bit messy. I wasn't really expecting…well, never mind." Taehyung opens the door to a dark room, one with blue painted walls and a pale carpet spread across the wood floor. The room illuminates as Taehyung flicks the light switch on. A bit messy, no. It's not that, and you couldn't call it that even if you were being nice. The mess starts near the front door, a pile of clothes beside the entrance, and it continues to the bed where the sheets are pulled back and almost tugged off the mattress. A pile of papers scatter haphazardly on his desk, crumpled up balls of paper fall from the surface to the floor, missing the trash bin only a few feet away. Across the window, sure enough, lie five rows of iron bars, the handiwork obviously belonging to someone who isn't an engineer or architect by any means. You decide not to comment and pass a smile Taehyung's way instead.

"Don't worry about it," you say.

"Do you need anything?"

"No."

"O-Oh, okay, well — uh just let me know if you do. I'll be right outside."

"Okay."

Taehyung glances over the mess again, and you see the internal debate etched across his features. He must talk himself out of picking anything up because he spins on his heel and steps out of the room, leaving you to stand alone. The two of you stare at each other. His grip tightens around the door knob. The tension hanging in the air thickens.

"Taeh—”

"Y/N—”

You speak at the same time. If the tension didn't exist, maybe both of you would laugh and urge each other to go ahead and speak first. Neither of you say anything though, voices dying in your throats. Taehyung pulls the door shut after a quiet apology, and you blink at the wood in shock.

"Oh." The sigh leaves your lips, a rush of air that feels warm against your cold mouth, and you turn away from the door. Sitting on the bed leaves a strange sensation in your gut, one that tells you that you don't belong here, this isn't your home, and even with the iron bars and Taehyung's promise of safety, you don't feel safe here. You're typing away at your phone in a frenzy now, mind reeling more and more as the night continues.

from y/n, 11:26 p.m. unread

- i know you aren't really him, because the hospital would've told me if anything happened. so quit playing games and tell me who you really are.

What happened that night...you don't want to relive any of those memories, and perhaps you can use that as your excuse as to why you never visited his room in the hospital. Facing the consequences of your mistakes and decisions would be far too difficult for you to handle. Besides, as you told Yoongi earlier, the best way to deal with your problems is to run away from them. Leaving a vase of flowers in the lobby with instructions on which room to deliver them to was enough. It is enough. You won't change your mind on that decision.

A series of soft knocks touch the door and your ears at the same time, and you look up from your lap. It opens without your permission, and you half expect Taehyung to step through, a rectangular grin on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. Maybe he would start talking about violets again, or go on about which flowers do best this time of year. But no, you have no such luck, because it's Yoongi who steps in with another steaming mug in his hands.

"More tea from Taehyung. He didn't want to bother you anymore though." Yoongi lifts the mug as he walks closer to the bed. The scent of peppermint mixes with cinnamon, and you wrinkle your nose. If Yoongi notices, he doesn't mention it; instead, he places the mug on Taehyung's bedside table beside a couple balled up pieces of paper. "You know," he says, "I don't blame you for wanting to run away from this situation."

"Who says I'm running away?"

"Oh, my bad. Isn't that how you deal with your problems?"

"It's not running away," you hiss back, glaring up at the leather clad man before you. He tilts his head, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth up.

"No need to get feisty."

"Don't act like you know me. We met only a few hours ago."

"Don't act like I haven't heard of you before today." Yoongi leans forward, bending at the waist to be eye level with you. "Taehyung is chatty, you know." You bite the tip of your tongue hard enough to draw blood, and Yoongi chuckles.

"What exactly do you want?" You ask.

"Nothing." You frown at the response, disbelief evident in your expression. "Alright kid, scoot over so I can sit."

"Um, kid?"

"You're a university student, so you must be younger than me."

"Aren't you the same year as Taehyung?"

"No, I graduated five years ago."

"W-What? But Taehyung said—”

"He lied." Yoongi cuts you off, pushing the haphazard bed sheets around to make a spot to sit.

"What else did he lie about?" You mutter the question more to yourself than to Yoongi, but he responds anyways. The mattress creaks under the added weight, and you subconsciously shuffle away from him and move closer to the pillows at the head of the bed.

"He's not a bad person, Y/N. That's probably the only thing he's lied about."

"Except for his profession."

"Has he really lied about that? Think about it, Y/N. What do you know about him?"

"I thought I knew he was a university student who runs a flower shop."

"And both those things are true, aren't they?"

"But--"

"Have you ever asked if Taehyung does anything else on the side? Any other jobs? Hobbies? Commitments?"

"We-Well, no…” Yoongi lets that information sink in while you refuse to look his way, gnawing on the edge of your lip with a bit too much enthusiasm.

"What are you trying to blame him for?" The question stops you in your tracks.

What am I trying to blame him for? Nothing. I have no reason to blame him. And I'm not blaming him anyways, I'm just upset that he withheld that information, right? Isn't that what I'm upset about? Nearly dying, receiving texts from someone who shouldn't…

Tears prick the corners of your eyes.

Freezing. Being unable to move. Crawling under the table in the diner. Crying. Puking. I'm upset that I didn't do anything. I'm upset that I couldn't do anything, not once but twice.

"I'm not trying to blame him for anything," you claim. There is a slight tremble in your tone, a quiet shakiness that Yoongi no doubt detects, but again, he does not comment on it. "I'm not."

"I understand that you don't want to know anything about our...profession, but I'll tell you one thing. We don't do the things we do out of enjoyment. It's out of necessity. A need. Whatever that may be: a job, money, help, something to bring home to family, a means of protection for a loved one. We do what we have to."

"I don't understand," you whisper. Glancing out the corner of your eye, you spot the resigned expression across Yoongi's delicate features.

"Take me for example. I don't enjoy the dirty parts of my job. Things like what happened tonight though? I know I helped Taehyung, and that's what is important to me. I know that the money I earn goes to paying for my younger brother's education. It keeps him from ever having to step in the muddy water I live in. Even if one day he learns what I do and calls me evil, I know that I've done what I can to keep him good." Yoongi stands up all the sudden, groaning along with the bed that squeaks in relief from the extra weight. "Take that as food for thought, Y/N, before you put us down for what we do."

The silence after he leaves the room is deafening. The scent of peppermint too strong in your nostrils, and you feel lightheaded.

Yoongi's words bear a striking resemblance to Hifumi's earlier in the day.

“You call me vile now, but you’ll find out soon enough that we can’t always do good things for the people we love. If it means saving someone, there is no line between good and evil."

We do what we have to.

It's a suffocating soliloquy, not a defense but a revelation. However many times you've wondered how Hifumi could have no shame in her work, Yoongi's explanation serves to shed light on her position as well. She does what she has to, just as Yoongi and Taehyung do.

"You just need to stop letting your ego get in the way of what really matters."

“And what would that be?”

“I can’t answer that for you, love.”

What really matters? You could put five people in a room and ask them that same question, and you would receive five completely different answers. What matters to one person is pointless to another. Take buying flowers from a shop across the street for example. To you, an important and crucial part of the day that serves to alleviate the pain from school and classes. To Hifumi, a waste of money and time based on childish hopes and admiration for a cute boy. Whatever Hifumi meant though, you cannot figure out. Your ego is not getting in the way of anything. You just want to get through school, pay off some hospital bills, and not go into debt because of university. Work as a speech and language therapist, doing good work and being a good person.

“Wow…that’s — uh, you’re a really good person. That’s amazing how you want to help people and do good things for others. I...I can’t imagine.”

Perhaps Taehyung's words make more sense now, knowing that he is a part of some less than savory things in his spare time.

“You…you are a person who has seen a lot of terrible and evil things, but you still see the good in the world nonetheless. You want to expect the best from people, and yet you’ve been disappointed so many times that you aren’t sure anymore. That’s why you’re studying linguistics and psychology. So that you can do something good in the future, something with an impact, something meaningful. You’re too good for this world, yea…no doubt about that.”

An impact.

Something meaningful.

Good.

Is that not what really matters?

You shift your gaze to the mug on the bedside table, and an unprecedented rage swells in your chest. They raise you to think that doing good and being good is all that matters. That no matter what evil you see or hear, you are supposed to be good. Help others by doing good and meaningful things. What if doing good things doesn't get you far enough? You stretch your hand out, knocking the mug to the floor as a cat would with a glass. The ceramic shatters upon impact. Hot tea splashes your bare feet, burning and scalding the skin. A rush? A feeling as though you've broken some sort of invisible chains? Why does it send a thrill of exhilaration up your spine and through your body?

The door bursts open, Taehyung and Yoongi standing behind it to find the source of the crash no doubt. You get to your feet. A shard of ceramic crunches under your toes, not enough weight put down to break the skin, but it stings nonetheless. Both men glance between the mess on the floor and your stony expression.

"Is everything alright, Y/N?"

Your phone is buzzing again, a series of vibrations against the bed, and a distraction for both Taehyung and Yoongi. You pull their attention back with your next words though.

"You said you would give me two options. I want the second, and I want to know everything."

...

written by: jungtaeyoongles

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