#crane bird tattoo on his leg

[unholycourier]

giving quinn 20 bijillion tattoos so I can hate myself later when i have to draw this man without pants, sleeves or gloves

[iamumbra195]

!!!SBG FASTPASS 84 SPOILERS!!!

So apparently Charlie works with the Crane Cult? He did call Maverick "Boss" after all. Maybe that weird bird tattoo was supposed to signify his position within the cult?

The hug between Alex and the kids was adorable. He was their only adult support in the living world for so long and I'm scared he's gonna get in a lot of trouble for helping them. :(

And the kids' escape is really interesting. Watching them crawl out of the vent was lowkey funny but wow, Tyler flipping that dud and Ashlyn stomping on his leg to incapacitate was insane.

Does anyone else feel like the kids are getting weirdly strong and tall recently? Kinda like a phantom?

Charlie, you are so pathetic and beautiful, I love you.

THE WAY HE'S RUNNING HAS ME DYING, HE'S SUCH A LOSER XD

I desperately need to know everything about this man, Red gimme more content or I will spontaneously combust

[atinylittlepain]

Of Saints and Sinners - Chapter 8

Joel Miller x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

chapter summary: it continues to be a push and pull between her and Joel. Will they be able to overcome each other's steel?

warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence and gore, references to smut, angst

a/n | happy TLOU night :) I consider this chapter to be sort of a set up for the next leg of plot to this story, but there's plenty of angst to sink your teeth into here

Spring has pulled her verdant arms over Jackson, and Summer is close on her heels. The days are getting longer and brighter. The greenhouses are dizzyingly full of fresh produce. Ellie brings home a bowl of strawberries one day, and the taste makes Joel’s eyes water. But it’s not just the landscape that’s been set in a full thaw. She has all but officially moved in with him, each week a few more of her belongings finding permanent residence in his space. There’s a stack of her books on his nightstand, a folded pile of her clothes in his closet, two toothbrushes sitting in his bathroom. 

While they go their separate ways in the morning, she is always at his place for dinner, talking easily with Ellie, helping in the kitchen. The first couple of times, Joel had found the scene strange, almost absurd in its domesticity. But, perhaps dangerously, he had easily gotten used to it because he liked it so much. She always spends the night, and when they tangle together, it’s like the first time all over again. He’d devour her if he could, that’s how much he wants her. The way she sighs his name when pleasure strokes down her spine, her nails grazing the expanse of his back, the taste of her and the way she preens into his mouth. They fall asleep most nights bare and slick with the salt of pleasure. 

It’s in this position, a tangle of limbs and sighs, that they find themselves in tonight. She rests her cheek on his chest as he grazes his fingers down the length of her arm. His eyes trace the swirls of ink and scar that laces down her back. She no longer hides from him, and he knows it’s no small gift that she has given him. 

“Can I ask you something?” She hums at his question, craning her neck to peer at him. He clears his throat before continuing.

“Will you tell me about these? All this ink?” He’s still careful about how much he pries, though she’s certainly been more willing to talk, he never knows when he might have pushed a bit too far. For a moment, he worries that he just has, but she offers him a small smile and nod. She sits up, kneeling between his legs. He still has to catch his breath seeing her bare body before him. 

“What do you want to know, Joel?” He tentatively reaches a hand out to brush along the birds that sit below her collarbone, tracing down the swirls of ink on her one arm.

“Do they all have meaning?” Her smile brightens and she nods again. She takes both his wrists to guide his palms to splay back over the birds.

“These I got for my mother. Magpies were her favorite birds. Have you seen magpies before?”

“They’re a kind of crow, right?” She snorts, squeezing his wrists.

“They’re way cooler than crows. Bigger, and smarter. And wickedly loud.” She draws his one palm to her shoulder, down along her bicep where a swirling branch is inked.

“Cherry. And plum on the outside of my arm. My grandparents owned an orchard in Bend. We spent most of our summers there.” She twists in his old, her back facing him as Joel sits up. He doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before, but it’s now clear how the branches on her arm twine across her shoulder blades, following into the twisted trunks of trees that span down her spine. For the first time, he wholly takes in the expanse of her back, the twisting, silvery scars that lay under swaths of ink. He traces his fingers down the branches and she shivers under his touch.

“Alex is one hell of an artist.” She huffs out a laugh.

“He’s been working on a new tattoo gun. Putting it together out of scrap parts. Figure I’ll get something over the fresh scar.” His eyes instinctually dart to the puckered skin on her forearm. It’s healed over, but she keeps it bandaged during the day to keep prying eyes out. He draws his attention to her back again, and his eyes catch on a small figure in the one tree.

“Is that a–”

“Squirrel? Yeah, that’s for Jack.” A heavy silence falls after her words. It’s the one thing Joel knows not to ask about, that she’ll tell him scraps in time, when she’s ready. He knows that Jack was her little brother, and he knows she lost him, and that it destroyed her. He doesn’t pry, instead laying his palm over the inked creature.

“What’re you gonna get, when Alex’s gun is ready?” She turns back in his arms, nudging into his lap and drawing her fingers through his hair with a hum.

“Not sure yet. If you have any ideas, let me know.” She presses a chaste kiss to his mouth to seal her words. She seems to be thinking something over, thoughtlessly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Squirrels were his favorite animal.” Joel’s hands still where he had been skating them up her sides, letting them rest at her hips. He tries to keep his expression steady as he searches her face. She won’t quite meet his eyes as she continues.

“I would take him to the park after school and he never wanted to play or run around, he’d just sit and watch the damn squirrels.” She lets out a breathy laugh.

“I was always trying to get a laugh out of him, or just some reaction. So one day, we went to the park and I brought a bag of trail mix and just started throwing nuts and raisins to the squirrels. By the time we left, we had them eating off the toes of our shoes. It was so fucking weird, but it was his favorite thing, I think. We did it all the time afterwards.” She takes a deep breath, her shoulders slumping with the exhale. 

“Anyways, um, yeah, the squirrel is Jack’s.”  Joel knows there’s nothing he can say right now that’d be right. Even as she offers him a small smile, he can see the pain laced through her eyes. He dips his head and lays a kiss to her sternum before pulling her into his embrace. They don’t talk anymore that night.

…

The next morning, Joel is not pleased with what Ellie tells him over breakfast. Her old patrol partner is switching shifts and she’s now been paired up with Roger. He doesn’t miss the way she winces when she hears Ellie say his name.

“He’s not gonna be your partner for long, kid. That boy is an idiot. I’ll talk to Tommy today. Get the partners rearranged.” Ellie just shrugs at Joel, finishing her bowl of oatmeal before hurrying off out the door to get to her shift. Joel glances at her out of the corner of his eye, catching her smirk.

“Roger may be an idiot. But I’ve heard he’s good on patrol. You don’t have to worry about her, Joel.” He huffs, taking another swig of coffee.

“I’m still gonna talk to Tommy, find her a better partner. Would you wanna take shifts with her?” She looks taken aback by his question.

“I mean, do you think that’s a good idea? To have us put together?” Ellie still doesn’t know that she’s immune like her, nor does she know that it had been her immunity that had put her in so much danger previously. Joel hadn’t really even been thinking about that when he posed the idea, but now, remembering that day that Alex rode back by himself, without her, his stomach starts to churn. He shakes his head to clear the thought away.

“No, you’re right. I don’t like that idea at all. What about Alex?” She quirks an eyebrow at him.

“You trying to steal my patrol partner, Miller?” A smug grin settles on his face.

“Well, I may know someone else who’d be happy to fill the position.” That earns him a laugh, a sound that sends a giddy sweep up his spine.

“We did make a pretty good team, huh? Alright, I’ll talk to him about it. Pretty sure he wouldn’t mind.” She slips her palm into his. That’s new, the simple touches that they’re starting to share. Joel thinks it might be better than the sex, or at least a close second. 

“I gotta go. I’m helping Maria with some new security plans. See you tonight?” He nods, watching her stand and clear her plate away. She sweeps back and presses a quick kiss to his lips, rubbing her palm on his chest.

“Be safe, darlin.”

“Bye, Joel.”

…

The sun is starting to set, and Ellie hasn’t come home from her shift yet. Joel is beginning to panic. He’s getting ready to set out looking for her himself when the front door opens, though it’s not Ellie. She looks just as worried as he feels.

“Have you seen Ellie?” “No, I heard that she hasn’t come back though. Joel, it’s getting dark, I think we need to go look for her.” He just nods, grabbing his gun and following her out into the quick darkening evening.

They don’t make it far on horseback before they see a figure cresting over the hill that lays before them. She keeps her gun cocked, but sure enough, it’s Ellie. There’s no sign of Roger. They set off at a gallop towards her, quickly dismounting when they come upon her. Joel’s on her in an instant, cupping her face in his hands and looking her over for injury. She doesn't appear to be hurt, just shaken.

“There was a cluster of them up near the dam. Jesus– they came out of nowhere. Roger’s dead.” Joel thinks to himself that he doesn’t give a fuck about Roger.

“Are you ok?” She just nods, but her eyes flicker down to her leg and Joel sees blood pooling in the ankle of her sock. He knows right away that she must have gotten bit again, trying to hide it in the presence of someone else.

“Ellie, it’s alright, she knows. About you.” Ellie’s eyes go wide and she shoves Joel away, her gaze darting between him and her.

“What the fuck, Joel? You’re the one who told me not to tell anyone. But apparently that doesn’t apply to your lady friend.” 

“Ellie!” She steps forward then, placing a hand on his shoulder before he can bark out anything else, stepping between him and Ellie.

“It’s fine, Joel. Ellie, your secret is safe with me.” The girl scoffs.

“Oh yeah? Why should I believe you?” With that, she’s rolling up her shirt sleeve and unwinding the bandage on her forearm, bearing the still healing bite that wraps around her skin. Ellie is stunned speechless.

“Because I’m like you, kid.” 

…

Ellie is silent the whole ride back. Joel goes to tell Tommy what happened while she hustles the girl home. She grabs their makeshift first aid kit and shuffles her into the bathroom, ordering Ellie to hop onto the counter while she sits on the ground to get a better look at her ankle. She pulls off her boot and sock, rolling up her pant leg, and sure enough, a fresh bite smeared across her calf. She lets out a low whistle.

“Got you good, kid. Let’s clean this up, alright?” She glances up at the girl, still nothing. She sighs and gets to work cleaning the wound. As she’s getting ready to wrap a dressing on the bite, Ellie finally speaks up.

“How did you find out?” She pauses.

“About you?” Ellie shakes her head.

“About yourself, how did you find out you were immune?” She sighs, standing up and pulling the collar of her shirt down to expose the top of her shoulder.

“If you squint you can see it under all that ink.” Ellie’s face draws closer to her shoulder, peering at the skin. She can see it in her face when she finally makes out the scarring, letting out a “woah” under her breath before backing off.

“Is that why you have all those tattoos?” She just nods, sinking back down to the floor to finish wrapping her calf. She considers not saying what she’s about to, but goes ahead anyway.

“You remember a couple months ago when I went missing?” Ellie nods.

“Well, it was because some people found out what I am, what we are. I think you know just as well that we have to be careful about this thing. Ellie, I want you to know that I would never, will never tell anyone, ok?” She smooths out the gauze on Ellie’s leg before standing, patting her knee.

“Now, you keep that clean and covered, and when it’s healed maybe we can see about getting you some ink, if you want.” Ellie grins, and it’s a relief to her.

“Oh, I want. You’re like the coolest person in this town and like forty percent of that is just ‘cause of your tattoos, so, hell yeah. Sign me up.” She snorts at that, squeezing the girl's arm before stepping aside and letting her hop down.

“Are you feeling ok?” Ellie shrugs, eyes settling on her feet.

“I mean, s’never a good day when someone dies on your watch, but I’ll be alright.”

“Hey. It wasn’t on your watch. Your da– Joel was right. Roger was a cocky idiot. He was gonna get himself hurt eventually. I’m just sorry it happened when you were around, kid.” Ellie just huffs, but still offers her a small “thank you” before walking off, headed towards her room in the garage. She feels her shoulders slacken from where they had been pinned up to her ears.

…

When he finally gets home, he finds her sitting at the dining table reading. She cranes her neck around to look at him as he enters.

“Told Tommy. Said he wasn’t surprised that Roger got picked off.” She huffs at that as Joel sits down beside her.

“Well I concur with Tommy. You hungry? I made dinner for Ellie and there’s leftovers.” He just shakes his head, letting out a long exhale.

“Joel? Did something else happen?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a massive headache rushing in.

“He, uh, wants you and Ellie to work patrol together. Sees you both being immune as a strength. I told him to forget it–” he cuts himself off when he looks at her and sees that she doesn’t seem as repulsed by the idea as he is. She shrugs.

“I don’t know, Joel. After today, maybe Tommy’s right?” 

“You’re kidding, right?” She holds his gaze, steadfast.

“I’m serious. I mean, face it, as long as that kid is going out with people that aren’t like her, the chance that she comes back and they don’t is always going to be huge.”

“And just why is that a problem, so long as she’s coming back?” He can feel the frustration rising up in his throat at this conversation, the exhaustion and stress of the day pushing his limit.

“She may have come back this time, but I’m telling you Joel. Everytime she watches someone else die while she gets to live just because of the dumb luck of her immunity, another part of her is gonna get chipped away until she doesn’t come back at all.” He runs a ragged hand across his face, tugging at the roots of his hair. He can’t believe they’re actually having this conversation.

“You speaking from experience?” Her face twists up at that.

“Lose a lot of partners, huh? Had to come back alone?” He knows he’s being taunting, cruel even, but he can’t help it anymore, too lost in his anger.

“I can protect her, Joel. In a way that other people can’t. She doesn’t have to come back alone ever again.”

“So what, you’re gonna be some power team, huh? You may be immune, darlin, but you’re sure as shit not invincible. Already learned that the hard way.” It’s harsher than he wanted it to be and he can see the slight fall in her expression, but she steels back up.

“Now you’re just being a dick for the hell of it. I’m going to run patrol with her, Joel. Whether you like it or not.”

“No you’re not! Goddamnit! This isn’t some fucking game, don’t you see that? Quit trying to play the hero, trying to make up for the past. You can’t bring any of them back. You can’t bring him back.” It’s a shot in the dark really, an assumption he makes but it seems to hit the target as her face immediately goes slack.

“You can’t bring Ja–” She’s on him before he can even get the whole name out, her sheer strength taking him by surprise as she hauls him by his shirt collar and shoves him against the wall.

“You don’t fucking say his name. I’m taking patrol with Ellie. But you and I? Whatever this was? It’s over. Go find someone else to boss around.” She shoves him, hard, into the wall before turning heel and stomping out the front door before he can even get a word out. 

Joel keels over for a moment, hands on his knees as he lets out a string of sharp curses and he can’t help thinking that he’s been somewhere very similar in the recent past. He slowly rights himself, dragging both his hands down his face. Before he can think better of it, he’s whipping around and punching his fist straight through the wall she had just slammed him against. 

Everything goes silent for a moment as he studies his bloodied knuckles.

“What the fuck?” He swears he jumps a few feet in the air, finding Ellie staring at him like he’s crazy. He feels like he’s going crazy.

“Don’t ask, kid.”

…

Joel’s done caring. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself. He doesn’t look for her outside the childcare center, doesn’t ask Maria how she’s doing. If he sees Steve or Alex in the bar he heads home, not wanting to risk seeing her there. One day, he went out on patrol in the morning, and when he came home that night, all her books, her clothes, even her toothbrush was gone. He had broken two of his knuckles that night when he stupidly punched clean through the wall, and the pain is a constant reminder to keep his head down and mind his own business. 

For once, Ellie doesn’t bug him about it, seeming to sense how torn up he really is. She does start taking patrol shifts with her, but she won’t tell Joel anything about it. He lets it be, so long as she keeps coming home safe. 

A few weeks pass in this fugue state. His hand finally heals. Ellie keeps coming home in one piece. He’s slowly realized that it’s going to take practice, forgetting about her, and so his days are spent trying to forget. He takes on as many shifts as he can, working from sunup to sun down most days. They even elect him onto the town council with how much he’s been working with Tommy on shoring up security. 

Spring has fully rolled over to summer, and Joel is starting to accept this life of forgetting until he’s forced to remember. Once again, Ellie doesn’t come home from her shift on time. He doesn’t wait around this time, immediately going to Tommy who agrees to go with him up into the mountains to look for her. The long summer days are to their advantage, keeping it light out still into the evening as they set out on horseback. Joel’s trying to swallow down the frantic panic in his chest. Tommy breaks the silence.

“You gonna tell me what happened between you and her?”

“Shut up, Tommy.”

“Easy, brother. I’m just trying to understand is all. It seemed like you two had a good thing going, then all of a sudden you’re avoiding each other like the damn plague. I don’t get it.” “Yeah, well neither do I. So just shut up and ride.” For once, his brother complies.

They’ve just made it up past the foothills of the mountain when they come across a horse. Joel immediately recognizes it as Shimmer, the horse Ellie likes to take out. He feels sick to his stomach. They dismount and start looking around, but there’s no one in sight. Just as Tommy goes to say something, the sound of a gunshot rings out through the trees. Joel doesn’t even think, already slinging his gun off his shoulder and getting it loaded as he starts to jog towards the sound, Tommy close on his heels. Another shot rings out, and Joel can just start to hear the sounds of shouting up ahead.

Before they get any further, something, or someone, is running smack into Joel, knocking them both onto the ground. He quickly rolls them over, pinning the person down, but his grip slackens when he sees that it’s Ellie. There’s blood splattered across her face and she’s gasping for breath.

“Ellie? Are you hurt?” She shakes her head hard.

“S-she told me to run. It’s a bunch of raiders. They would’ve already killed us, but– they s-saw the bite on her arm, w-wanted answers, how the f-fuck she was still alive.” Joel’s head is spinning as Ellie speaks, but just then another round of gunshots resounds through the trees. He quickly hauls Ellie up, barking at Tommy to get her back to town before turning back towards the sound of gunfire. 

There’s a break in the trees, and sure enough, he sees her holding her own against a pair of men, two bodies already dispatched on the forest floor. He puts a bullet through the one man’s head, turning his attention back to her where she’s struggling with the other raider. Joel’s trying to aim for him, but they’re too close together in their fighting and he can’t risk it. She finally gets the upper hand, sending her knife up and into the fleshy softness beneath the man’s ribs, letting him fall to the ground with a gurgling moan. When she finally looks at Joel, it’s as if she’s in a daze. Meanwhile, Joel keeps opening his mouth to say something, anything, but promptly coming up with nothing. The relief he feels seeing her alive scares him into a stunned silence.

But then he sees that she’s bleeding. There are slicing gashes across her forearm where her fresh scar had been. The cuts look deep and he thinks to himself that it looks purposeful and it makes his stomach twist. She follows his gaze down to her arm, lifting it up to look at it in the quick fading light. Her voice is hoarse when she speaks, but still steely cool.

“Guess they wanted to do a little science experiment.” He could drop to his knees, her words make him feel so sick. She glances at him again.

“Is Ellie–”

“Tommy took her back to town. She’s fine, because of you.” She huffs, not acknowledging his last words as she starts gathering knives and guns off the dead bodies. She keeps her gaze down as she moves. Joel swallows hard around the thick pain in his throat.

“Are you ok?” She freezes where she stands. Joel can see the shake in her hands, the weapons she had been collecting clattering to the ground.

When she looks up at him, there’s tears collecting in her eyes. All she manages is a broken whimper of his name before she’s collapsing to her knees in a sob. Joel is on the ground with her in an instant, wrapping her in his arms as she wails into the evening air. Her words crack, punctuated by gasps and shuddering cries.

“I’m so sorry, Joel– I’m so sorry– I–” She can’t even get the rest of what she wants to say out, heaving breaths wracking her body. He pulls back to hold her by her shoulders, dipping his head to catch her watery gaze.

“No sorrys. It’s ok, you’re ok.” She just shakes her head, pressing her clenched fists into her thighs. He pulls her back into a crushing embrace, trying to press stillness into the way her body shakes with each sob until her shudders start to slow. She murmurs into his shoulder that they need to get back to town. He sighs, loosening his grip but keeping his hands wrapped around her arms as he pulls back to look at her. 

“I’m so tired, Joel. I’m so tired.” Something in him shatters at her words, and he takes a sharp inhale to try to keep it together. It has become painfully clear that he was never done caring for her, that he probably would never be done caring for her.

“I know you are, darlin. I’m gonna get you home.”

…

Once again, Joel finds himself in his bathroom taking care of her wounds. She was quiet the whole way back, the occasional shaky exhale all he heard to let him know she was still with him. She won’t meet his gaze, not even when she winces as he cleans the gashes. It’s coming out of his mouth before he can even think better.

“We gotta stop meeting like this, darlin.” There’s a beat of silence, and then she���s letting out an incredulous laugh, finally looking up at him. For a moment, there’s a ghost of a smile on her face.

“We really do.” Her smile quickly fades, a crease settling between her brows as she looks at him.

“Joel, I’m so sorry. For everything. I just– I’m no good. I’ve tried so hard to just keep moving– to not think about– to not think at all. A-and because of it I hurt you and put Ellie in danger and– I’m just so sorry.” She’s clutching his wrist as she speaks, and Joel slides his hand to twine with hers, squeezing hard.

“Stop apologizing. Because of you, Ellie’s asleep in her own bed right now.” There’s a whole lot more he wants to say, but for now he settles with bandaging her forearm. She lets out another sigh before speaking.

“Been trying so hard to leave you be. You don’t deserve to get stuck with all my shit, not when I’ve been so awful to you.” His hands stop.

“You haven’t been awful to me–” “Joel.” “No, I was out of line that night. What I said– I just– the thought of you and Ellie heading out together– everything I– I lost my head. It was wrong, what I said, and I’m sorry. Hell, if someone talked to me like that about Sarah, I’d probably– I’d–”

“Punch a hole through a wall?” There’s a slight smirk tugging on the corner of her mouth, Joel huffs.

“She told you about that, huh?” Her smile cracks a little wider as she shrugs. He squeezes her hand again, letting out a laugh.

“That little shit.” They’re both laughing now and it feels impossibly good. Joel lets out a sigh, finally letting go of her hand to finish wrapping her arm. His voice is a low murmur as he speaks.

“I don’t mind. Being stuck with you. Long as you’re ok being stuck with me. Don’t think I can really help it, to be honest.” He presses his palm into the bandage for good measure before looking at her again. She slides her hand along the scruff of his jaw and feeling her touch like this again is like finally coming up for air after all these weeks.

“I guess we’re just gonna have to be fucked up together, huh?” He smiles, tilting his head to lay a kiss to her palm.

“I guess so, darlin.”

They strip down to nothing before getting into bed, pressing as close as they can and letting their steady heartbeats slow the ebb and flow of their breathing. 

“Joel? Wanna introduce you to someone tomorrow, can I?” She peers up at him from her place on his chest and he nods.

“Who am I meeting?” Her fingers brush down his arm before taking his hand.

“His name is Will. He lives at the childcare center.”

[another-heroine]

Silver Lining

A/N: IT'S FINALLY DONE

You probably are tired of me saying that I'm weak for parents-family-children boundaries in fiction since my irl family was disfunctional *laughing crying*

So here it comes an oneshot just for the fluff. I kept the WOTR spoilers low and Ekaterina in a 'neutral' route (it fits weather she becomes a mother after game or not, for example, regardless of romances etc)

Thank you, @silversiren1101, for lending me your little ganzi-gnome ;___;

She knew every corner of that place by heart. Even with shutted eyes, she could tell what was going on there: the birds chirping, the water fountain running, the oldest cat complaining about anything. And that sound of feathers, along the muffled giggle, was very familiar.

Ekaterina felt little hands grabbing her skirt, and heard a scare attempt, “Boo!”

The druid did her best acting, putting one hand over her heart. “Jesyll!”

The little girl laughed out loud. “Hi, auntie! I gotcha again, didn't I?”

“You always get it.” Ekaterina couldn't help but smile. She patted her head. “Hello, my dear. How are you doing?”

Jesyll hugged her legs. She adored how Auntie Kaya smelled like. It was like a fusion of a vegetable garden in summer and a pine forest. Herbs, flowers, juicy fruits.

Comfort scent.

“I came to help you.” The girl leaned her chin on the woman's leg. “What can I do?”

Ekaterina gave a half smile. She looked around; there was almost nothing more to do in that afternoon. But it would be impossible to change the mind of a ganzi-gnome child. Then she asked, “Alright, can you fetch me some water?”

“Yes, ma'am!” she happily agreed, darting through the greenhouse. The rustle of her tail always lured the stray kittens out of their feline dreams under the branches, making them run after her. Jesyll was used to that kind of buzz, and just laughed. When she had learned that it was a great way to bait them to pat them, she didn’t mind anymore about the occasional chase.

Ekaterina watched the scene, silently having fun, but also paying attention. She didn’t want anyone to get hurt in her greenhouse. And the vines, branches, playful kittens, many things there could leave a scar or two. Especially when you were small like… a gnome.

Jesyll got a bucket and filled it into the fountain. As she stopped and curled her tail, the kittens tried to nuzzle into it. She sighed, delighted with the scene, leaving the bucket on the stone edge for a while. One of the creatures had golden eyes like her, and his tail was halved. The girl pouted, thinking about what could have happened to him. She couldn’t imagine how to live without her tail, even without a tiny piece. The girl shook her head and went back to her actual task. She had to help Auntie Kaya and her plants.

Plants… Jesyll loved tending to them. Every time when she had the opportunity, she was on her Mama’s side in the gardens, taking care of roses and trying to make friends with insects. One time, she mistook wasps for honeybees, and it caused her to fall into her mother’s favorite rose bushes. She could swear that Papa’s eyes got brighter for a second when he heard about it later. And since then, everybody — mostly Auntie Kaya — kept all eyes on her when she was outside. Like that very moment, when the druid craned her neck slightly, pondering if she should disperse the curious kittens, but it was not necessary; soon the girl came back safe and sound and with a bucket of water as requested.

“Done!” Jesyll nodded. “What do I do now?”

“Now step aside, my assistant.” Ekaterina put her hands on waist.

The girl climbed a seat next to her, and watched with attention. Auntie was about to do that thing that she would never get tired of.

The druid rolled up her sleeves, revealing her Irriseni tattoos. Sometimes she let Jesyll touch them, feeling their texture, and Ekaterina told her what every piece meant. Auntie said that in her homeland, Winter Witches used to scare common people, so many girls received their tattoos when they were between nine and twelve years old. That was a way to protect them from evil, and to avoid being kidnapped by the witches. Jesyll asked once if she could get one as well, and Ekaterina smiled.

“Oh dear, it’s not necessary. You are safe here, don’t you think so?”

“Pleaseee, they are so cool!”

“Maybe when you get older, yes? And… if your parents allow…”

Jesyll was pulled to the present again when she caught the blue lines on Ekaterina’s arms starting to glow. The druid cupped water from the bucket with one hand, and the liquid became goldish. She hummed something in Hallit and little waves danced on her palm.

Before them, over the wide table, there was a dying plant. If Jesyll was recalling right, that one was touched by the Blight. Although the Worldwound was sealed a long time ago, even before she was born, there were some scratches around the world. And druids like Auntie Kaya had the duty to cleanse that mess. That was why sometimes she had to leave for weeks or months.

The enchanted water flowed into the roots of the blemished plant. At first, nothing special seemed to happen, then from the depths of the pot, golden lines began to spread through the stalk to the leaves. The black stains began to vanish, and then stopped. Ekaterina cupped more water and did that again, until the Blight lingering was gone and a small white flower popped between the revivified leaves.

In the meantime, Jesyll was grabbing the seat’s edges with anxiousness, and her tail curled on one of the wood legs. When the process was done, she sighed with relief. “I thought it would never go away!”

Ekaterina smiled gently. “Sometimes, you need to take a longer time to fix things.”

“Like… for anything?” Jesyll tilted her head.

Auntie nodded, taking the vase and placing it on a shelf. For a moment, Ekaterina thought of using the feats of the Fifth Crusade as an example, after all, it took over a century for them to finally close that crater. And it demanded a lot of time, sweat and blood. But probably Regill had already told his daughter about it, and she didn’t want to be repetitive. Also, the Crusade was not a story for little kids, although the stains of that were still spreaded out there.

She observed the full shelves of ‘rescued’ plants. Definitely there was no rest for the good ones in Golarion.

Katya felt Jesyll pulling the hem of her skirt shyly.

“Auntie… Can we have cake now?”

The druid took a moment to react, letting the demons in her memories return to their hideout. They couldn’t touch them anymore. None of them. The work would never end, but at least there was hope and renewal ahead.

And that little talkative being around her, with her curious eyes prying everything, her loud laughter and everyday discoveries was one of Ekaterina’s silver linings after the end of the Crusades.

She didn’t say anything. Ekaterina just rolled down her sleeves and took her niece’s hand. They would have cake and lemonade and anything that she wished for.

At the greenhouse’s door, they noticed the halved-tail kitten was following them. The druid stated, “He likes you”.

The girl smiled wide, looking over her shoulder. She liked him as well.

What if she hid him in her bedroom?

[brutalscaled]

Muse Info Sheet!

{Basics}

Name: Waylon Jones

Alias: Killer Croc

Gender: Male

Age: late 30s

Species: Human Mutant

Zodiac: Scorpio

Abilities/Talents: Hand to hand fighting, tracking, whittling, underwater operations

{Personal}

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Sins: Wrath, gluttony, pride

Virtues: Loyalty, Love, and Family.

Languages: English, French, some Louisiana Creole

Family: None

Friends: Roman, Mary, Crane, Edgar, Kirk, Fable, Maddie

Sexual Orientation: Asexual, but sex positive

Relationship status: Single

Libido: Very low

{Physical}

Build: Tank.

Hair: n/a

Eyes: Dull gold

Skin: grey-green

Height: 10'9

Weight: roughly 850 lbs

Scars: a few on his face, on his chest, bites on an arm and leg, amputation scars on his right wrist and tail

Facial Features: sharp cheekbones, long snout

Tattoos: None

{Choose}

Dogs or Cats? Cats

Birds or Hamsters? Birds

Red or Blue? Red

Yellow or Green? Green

Black or White? Black

Coffee or Tea? Tea

Ice Cream or Cake? Cake

Fruits or Vegetables? Fruits

Sandwich or Soup? Sandwich

Magic or Melee? Melee

Sword or Bow? Sword

Summer or Winter? Summer

Spring or Autumn? Spring

The Past or The Future? Past

Stolen from: @deviousmxnds <3

Tagging: Anyone who wants to do this!~

[skell3]

If anyone wanted the random backstory stuff for my new Crane, here it all is. Headcanons above the bar, whole messily typed up everything below. I typed it up the other day so I might as well yeet it out here.

Just remember this is an original design complete with an original headcanon to it. I'm a big Scarecrow fan, but I haven't seen/read everything on him, so he's not going to be perfect or anything. He's just my brain boy. UwU

Please don't use any of this for your own use without any credit towards myself!

IMAGE

Jonathan Crane is a tall man, reaching somewhere to his mid thirties in age. He has been a villain for only a couple of years, so while he has had plenty of time to establish himself as the Scarecrow in his Gotham, he isn't one of the old baddies nor any new kind of threat. Long red hair is often left loose, though when he is working he has a tendency to pull it into a ponytail or tuck it away entirely when villainizing in costume.

While both eyes are a rich green colour, one is glazed over with scar tissue from a bird attack in his late teens, rendering him blind in that eye. Scars cross over that eye, and lid, as well as all over his face, shoulders, and arms. Primarily from birds, but a select few from a stay at the Arkham Asylum, which is not exactly known to be gentle with its inhabitants. Though he walks fine on his own, there is a slight limp to his left leg from damage thanks to a guard who had a vendetta against him.

He currently has no piercings or tattoos, and he wears glasses for his good eye when working or reading.

Jonathan usually wears something like work casual or formal wear, including button-up shirts and vests. He often covers as much skin as he can comfortably manage, including sometimes wearing makeup to lighten up some of his facial scars. His style in public could maybe be considered Goth Librarian, though he only sticks to black lipstick and maybe eyeliner and doesn't consider himself 'goth' at all. (I think I just mean, he sometimes wears dark makeup) When working at home or in the lab, there is zero attempt at keeping his appearance up, though he has a steady hand in keeping organized at the very least.

HEADCANON

|| Though his first major fear was a combination of gunpoint and bird attack, he is still quite fond of birds; corvids in particular.

|| He developed a mild fear of bats after he was taken down by Batman the first time. While he feels that he has overcome this, he still feels a shiver of excitement whenever he has a dealing with the Bat due to the both of them using fear as a tactic, and wondering if he'll glean anything from the man in their encounters.

|| Being legally unable to drive due to being blind in one eye (and a villain, and an escapee from Arkham) doesn't stop him from having a vehicle to get around.

|| This Dr. Crane is no stranger to murder, and his morals may seem skewed between friends and 'anyone else'. While he might make an attempt to put up a mask to keep people in the dark about his thoughts and opinions on the matter, it might become easy to tell that he just doesn't care about a lot of Gotham's population- or the world as a whole.

|| His primary weapon of choice will always be his Fear Gas, but he often keeps a pistol on himself if he suspects he may need it, as well as a knife just in case. While he isn't a physical fighter, not particularly strong of build, his lankiness can give him the upper hand at times.

FROM BIRTH TO FEAR

Jonathan Crane was born into a normal life, with a normal family in Gotham. He was orphaned when he was six, however, and was sent down south to live with his maternal aunt. This would shift his destiny from a possibly normal one, to one of villainy and fear. Bullied by his cousins, seen as a freak in school for his bright red hair and incredibly tall height once he hit puberty, Jonathan began to grow away from people and more to his studies... and birds.

The birds were Jonathan's fascination, their intelligence drawing him in. Specifically, there was a flock of crows he took to feeding while in high school out back behind the bleachers during lunch. Sometimes he would get found by school bullies, or even his cousins, and he would deal with it- and picked up the name 'scarecrow' not only for his tall and lanky stature, but his affinity for the birds. The birds themselves began to realize what was going on, and the bullies soon began having problem with them. Jonathan was almost thrown out of school because they said he intentionally sent the birds after them, but his grades were near-perfect and the school needed the rep to have such an esteemed scholar.

Senior year, Jonathan dressed up as an actual scarecrow- burlap mask, an oversize hat, and all. Which became both a problem, and his legacy.

The birds didn't know that the boy dressed as a scarecrow was the human who had been taking care of them.

The bullies thought bringing a gun to school for a 'good scare' on Halloween was a good idea.

A fight broke out behind the bleachers, and Jonathan narrowly missed getting shot. The gun went off and he managed to get it into his hands, shakily pointing it at the bullies who took off running to likely get him into trouble-

but then there were the birds, and that bullet had taken one of their lives.

A murder of crows is difficult to get anyone out of, but fortunately once the gun had been dropped and the mask was clear, they stopped swarming. There had been damage done already, however, and Jonathan Crane got his first taste of Fear that day. More so than bullying and being afraid of getting hurt or robbed or worse. True fear, the kind that sat on his nerves the whole time he was in the hospital. The kind that followed him through graduation, right into college.

Returning to Gotham likely didn't help even slightly.

Jonathan was one of the youngest in his college to earn a PHD for his studies in not only human cognition, but biological chemistry and how they work together. While the college thought he might have been the next branch in science to discover ways to help with PTSD and anxiety, his focus was on Fear and studying it further. Driven by his own fears and what he had viewed in others, he was borderline obsessive to figure it out. Why were some fears a learned experience, while others seemingly born with a person? He hadn't felt anything so deep before the birds, not even his sense of isolation, childhood abandonment, and some mental abuse he had gone through.

Becoming a Professor at age 27, Dr. Crane made a quick reputation of himself by frightening his class into compliance within the first week of every semester he taught. While it was frowned upon by many of his colleagues, they also tended to be a little frightened by the man and never approached him about it. He taught a course on human emotions, and while most of it was very textbook, every semester the topic of Fear would always either make or break his classes. Though the higher ups could never quite figure out why, he had a 34% drop-out rate when that section of the book was brought around.

Then they found out he was experimenting on his students, and that had him fired particularly quickly despite his arguments and threats.

VILLAINY

After being fired and entirely dismissed from the school board, with threats of calling the police on him, Jonathan Crane snapped. The culmination of losing his chance to study his students, to teach them about their fears, and the loss of access to a lab he spent quite a lot of time in was too much for him. He disappeared off the grid for a month, no hide nor hair seen of him until...

Halloween came around.

The whole school became the scene of a crime. It took hours for the police to even figure out what was happening, because they could not enter the building without losing officers to some sort of gas. It was rudimentary in form, but the first dose of Fear Gas was used in the airways throughout the college, and students, faculty, and teachers alike were all now Dr. Crane's experiments.

No- The Scarecrow's experiments.

Once they could obtain masks that helped a swat team enter the school, The Scarecrow had killed half the faculty and spent his time observing the remaining staff and students for their responses to the toxins in their systems. While his costume wasn't complete, it was clear as to what he was dressed up, and that was the first instance that The Batman made his appearance in Jonathan's life. He was taken out almost whimsically easy compared to the struggle the police had with him, and that night also marked his first arrest.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was deemed criminally insane and sent to Arkham Asylum not only for his crimes at the school, but for the potential problems he could cause outside of it.

In with the Bigs, Dr. Crane didn't exactly get along with many. He was uppity and rude when social, distant and cold when he didn't want to talk to anyone, and he was so incredibly bored that his moods were never good unless someone was willing to help with that. The guards loathed him, especially because he knew exactly how to talk to his doctors and psychiatrist to get either them into trouble, or him into some sort of better situation. They beat on him often, abused him plenty, and there were many days he never got any food.

Yet he stayed the same, and over time they would all gradually learn to live with each other.

It wasn't even a year in when the jailbreak occurred.

Jonathan had been handling chores scrubbing dishes, allowed in the kitchen not only because he hated it considerably, but because he hadn't made any attempts to steal anything up to this time. An explosion rocked the building, and the alarms went off. The guards who were supposed to be watching he and Tetch- the lad who was washing up with him- both disappeared off to deal with what was happening. Dr. Crane took his chance, and so did the Hatter. As did many others who had been holed up in there, waiting for something like this to come along.

It turned out that some of the Gotham Rogues on the outside were planning something big, and not only needed a distraction to draw the Bat in, but more hired hands and minds to assist them in their endeavors. Jonathan was recruited among some others, and while none of them worked well together- not quite- they didn't necessarily have to. An unknown supporter funded them not only on their escape, but in setting up outside the Asylum to not get caught and to further their own reasons of villainy on the city. It was like a dream come true, and Jonathan denies feeling anything more than relief at being on the outside again.

Underfed and weak, Dr. Crane took his time in not only recovering from his stay at the Asylum, but also collecting the necessary components to develop more of his Fear Gas... and to make it better. His benefactor liked his work so much, he was given more money for a better lab, better equipment, and a means to gather 'lab rats' to experiment on. While he could've had morals once, that all had gone out the door when they stripped him of his lab and classes as a professor, and he only seemed to spiral further away once he was introduced into his cell in Arkham. Whether his subjects live or die is nothing more than another point to study and adjust potency and amounts for his gas, as well as the serums he had begun to develop.

By the time Dr. Jonathan Crane had amassed a significant status as the Scarecrow in Gotham, he was thirty-six, and Halloween that year...

Well. Calendar Man and Holiday aren't the only ones who enjoy celebrating on festive days.

CURRENT TIMELINE

Dr. Crane currently still receives funds from a benefactor he has suspected on, but has never actually guessed who or why. It has been long since they needed him for their 'plan', of which had not only gathered the Rogues and some other Villains to some strange sense of community, but ultimately the goal seemingly had been to take down the Red Hood and to get the Batman to kill. Only one of which actually worked, and now there's a 'new' Vigilante working more with the Bat than parallel to him with more deaths involved. It has been both a frustration for the community, a popular topic at the Iceberg, and something of a breath of relief because apparently the Hood had been particularly gunhappy before the jailbreak.

Living in a flat of an older building bordering Crime Alley from the Bowery, Jonathan lives a very quiet life at home and a somewhat active life as the Scarecrow. While his crimes are always scientifically oriented- experimenting with his fear gas on a broader scale, observing the effects of particular popular fears on a community- sometimes they also have an underlying goal to them. Three times so far, his experiments and nasty work has been good coverage for other things going on in the background, like a bank robbery, a murder of an important official, and tipping the tides of a riot where the Gotham PD needed an extra nudge into the crowd to sully their records further.

[why-am-i-here-someone-save-me]

Hi!! I saw that your asks were open and ive really fallen inlove with your writing so i decided to send in an ask!

(This is kind of inspired by the Anemo Tattoo ask)

What do you think of a creator!reader who is just-- absolutely COVERED in tattoos? Like-- a little something their leg, theres a scar on their thigh that they made cool with a tattoo, a couple little things on their arms and just-- a MASSIVE tattoo of some mystical bird on their back that even stretches out to their arms because of the wings (i imagine the characters with connections to birds would freak out a lil-- im looking at you Diluc, Xiao, and Fischl)

And adding onto that, what if some of the tatts were made by reader themselves? Since before they got here, they were a tattoo artist? Theyd probably gush a lil over Xiaos tattoos LOL

Id love to hear your thoughts!

Omg I love this!

They would 100% be interested in your tattoos.

Ask all sorts of questions about them.

“What’s this one?” “Is there a story that goes with this one?” etc. etc.

They want to know all about the things you have tattoos of; since if you considered it important enough to be a permanent symbol on you, they want to know more about it too!

If the bird tattoo is a phoenix Diluc’s face is probably as red as his hair when he finds out

If it’s a raven Fishl has decided that your are now her best friend, and no, it’s not optional

If it’s based on a peacock you might see a flustered Keaya for once

If it’s a crane-like bird, Ayaka and the adepti (specifically mom Cloud Retainer and Mountain Shaper) are thrilled

If it was inspired by the Thunderbird, the traveler will definitely take you to pay respects to Ruu with them.

Xiao.

Dear archons.

You’ve broken him.

He’s just broken down mentally. Full stop. Hard crash.

Atalus.exe has stopped working

It’s not that he doesn’t think it’s incredible. He just doesn’t know how to process the fact that the creator just complimented him??

If you have any of the elemental symbols on you the corresponding archon(s) are absolutely thrilled.

Bonus points from Ei and The Shogun if the electro symbol is on the back of your neck like theirs is!

If you have a dragon tattoo you may get the privilege of seeing the rare and elusive Flustered Zhongli in his natural habitat

Venti is still a gremlin.

If you have a tattoo of one of their constellations that character is so honored.

All in all, very wholesome experience

[owlswritingcafe]

Fairytale/Folktale scenarios (Tokyo Rev Edition)

blugh, there could have been better things to kick start this new account but w/e

This might be a multipart, depending on if it gets enough traction or not or if i start to really like the concept as a whole (if enough people like it, then there might be other fandoms with these scenarios). Basically, this is just gunna be a scenario post starring the boys as folktale/fairytale characters.

Tbh this series is just to help me with my writing since I haven't written anything in a hot min. (pls bear with me, im still trying to get used to writing for the tokyo rev characters)

Also, fuck old timey talk, im not in the mood to do that shit rn

anyway, with that talk over... Let’s begin

This is starring Mikey and Draken, 

If I still have the brain power then the next boys are chifuyu, baji, takemichi, and naoto

tw/ very slight body horror with draken, but nothing too bad, just putting here just in case

Mikey - Sleeping Beauty 

→ Okay so this is cheesy... but Mikey as Sleeping Beauty. (with draken as the good fairy)

→ Hear me out, the bitch was cursed by the witch cause he probably said some dumb shit to her after she crashed his birthday party.

→ The bitch turned the castle into some kinda nightmare fall festival after putting him in a deep sleep.

→ So you, his knight in shining armor, has to wake his dumbass up. Draken’s words not mine. 

→ You cut through the thorns with your sword, kill the witch’s minions that looked like if a cat’s hacked up hairball grew legs, and you finally kill that bitch witch who transformed herself into a fuckin dragon. And what’s the first thing Mikey says when you wake him up?

→ “I knew that bitch was dumb, she had a first love’s kiss as the solution”

→ “That’s because Draken casted a spell so that you were only asleep.”

→ “Oh.” He then promptly heads back to sleep, making you shake him awake, you really dont want to do a repeat of the whole thing.

→ You gave up trying to wake him up though, it seems like Draken is the only one that’s fit to be his alarm clock. You lay down next to him, glaring at him as he slept oh so peacefully, as if he wasnt asleep for months.

→ “Why’d you provoke that witch anyway, I get you didnt like her but shit, you could have died for real.” You muttered to yourself, not really expecting an answer from him.

→ “I knew you’d save me in the end.” 

...

→ You flicked his forehead, waking him up for real.

Draken - The Crane Wife

✄ If you dont know of the story of the crane, Here is the wiki, i am specifically doing a mix of “Crane’s return of a Favor” and “The Crane Wife”.

✄ Draken seemed like the type to want to return a favor if you helped him out before. (especially during the ep where takemichi trailed him and mikey the whole day)

✄ So, you were just on your merry way through the forest only to find an injured crane hidden in the bushes, no doubt done by hunters just wanting to add the beautiful animal to their trophy collection. For a bird with minimal facial features to make expressions, it had one mean glare.

✄ After calming down the creature, letting it know that you were not the one who shot it or even planning to eat it, the animal’s plumage is no longer flared up to look bigger. Taking a closer look at the bird, the pattern it had on its feathers were very reminiscent of a dragon.

✄ Bringing the crane home to the back of your house, you care for the bird’s wounds, removing whatever the hunters had used to shoot it down.  Over the days you gradually gained its trust, it even let you pet it after feeding! But one day after you come home from work, the bird was gone, with only it’s bandages left from where it used to rest. You were sad, but it was a wild animal after all, it was only a matter of time until it needed to leave.

✄ Later that night, a very tall man with a dragon tattoo knocked on your door, introducing himself as Draken, insisting that he owes you his life, and to allow him to become your husband.

✄ (let’s pretend you dont have any self preservation)

✄ You accept, however, you tell him that your income alone won’t be able to support the two of you. He tells you to not worry and simply tells you to not come in the room until he is done. A couple hours later, he comes out of the room with very high quality silk that even the richest man would kill to have.

✄ So for the past month, Draken has been making silk and you’ve been selling it for high profit. You were able to get out of that old house and have consistent meals. However, as the days passed, Draken started to look more and more sick. One day, his coughing sounded worse than usual as he worked on the silk. You ignored his warning he gave you the first day and opened the door only to see him using feathers that were protruding from his body to create the silk.

✄ You recognized those feathers anywhere. Draken was the crane that you took care of. Even after you found out the truth, the man continues to work on the silk. You practically had to tackle him to stop before demanding him why he did this. 

✄ “I told you. I owe you my life. I’d sacrifice the world for you.”

[mypersonmyg]

Tebori Tapioca | JJK

**beautiful banner made by @monvante​ <3

pairing: Jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, love at first sight,  tattoo au, tea shop au

wc: 15k

warnings: language, slow burn???

summary: a shining beacon in a sea of monotony OR you just might believe in love at first sight

a/n: hi friends, umm so yea this is a fic i’ve been cooking up for a while and as seems to happen with most of my fics there’s definitely room for more but i didn’t wanna go overboard because the last time i did no one read womp womp...

ANYWHO there’s still very much room for this universe to grow whether it be drabbles, smaller oneshots or whatever so if you have requests pls send them !! for this au or any others

honorary tag: @gukssunshine​

masterlist

Sunlight filters through an open storefront, natural light shading the room in incandescent glow, the honk of horns  just overstating the chirp of the birds perched in overarching trees that line the street. Lights are still lit, strung throughout branches despite the hour slowly inching toward noon. 

Your pencil taps a worn pad, the hundredth rotation of the dormant rectangle of sheets providing no more inspiration than ninety-nine and below. You shove the contents along a desk littered in your crumpled defeat, legs kicking to the wooden surface with comforting intent. 

It’s not unusual, the stray of your eyes to the shop just a few buildings from the florist decorating the opposing side of the street. A work in progress, a work almost in completion. It’s become a game, the guessing of its contents, the colorful display before it’s displayed intriguing to many passersby. You’re close to pondering a new theory when Jimin interrupts with his entrance from the back, reciting safety to Namjoon’s latest masterpiece. 

He whistles an impressive tune following the departure of a satisfied client, rounding his occupied desk and knocking your feet from his cluttered surface. You don’t have time for the countered glare of offense before his words are zeroed in as if he’s been waiting to direct them long before now when your guard is readily disarmed. “You have an office for a reason, why do you always have to sit at my desk.” 

“It’s a nice view.”

“I’ll admit that my delicate features leave nothing to the imagination, but I’m tired of cleaning up after you.” His words are emphasized by his hand’s routine swipe, piles of paper tumbling to the can beside him in rapid succession. Your eyes roll, Jimin’s fingers already beginning to type away on his desktop while your pupils track the delicate arch of his digits and your ears listen to the satisfying click of keys. The consideration of locking yourself away in your office trapezes along the wide expanse of your mind, but before it’s made up Jimin is speaking again, this time with an air of factual superiority. “A tea shop.”

“Hmm?” 

“The shop down the street, it’s a tea shop.” 

“You sound pretty confident,” You hum, eyes darting to the window, turquoise staring back in the fashion of awnings and fresh paint bordering a wooden frame. The sleeves of your sweater bite at your wrist in comforting fuzz, a slight itch along the skin  to pull you from quaint interest. “What makes you so sure?” 

“Just a feeling, it’s got that certain ambiance, you know?” Jimin’s hands wave with the impression of the ambiance so to speak, his eyes squinted in that way you so adore. The thought crosses your mind on many occasions, to compliment his subtle beauty, but the knowledge of his playfully arrogant counter always draws you from speech.

“Or because we ran into the owner on our way in this morning,” Namjoon chirps in kind, strolling to the lobby, his own pad in hand. He neatly tosses it to the desk, fingers skimming through unkempt hair. “Nice guy, said he might drop in for a consultation sometime.” 

“Consultation? Sounds big,” You muse, hand finding your abandoned pencil to drag faint strokes along your page, though even the slight draw brings grimace to your features, dulled in the shadow of your palm pressed to your forehead, easily nudging wisps of loose hair. Namjoon shrugs, a non-committal range of motion, his neck craning over your shoulder to sneak a peek at your lack of a work of art. 

He doesn’t speak on it, simply taking in the unfinished strokes, presumably in an attempt to reassure you in the midst of inspiration long lost. You're prepared to assure him that there’s no need for forced encouragement, but he moves on, collapsing onto near plush without a word.

“Says he’s been thinking about it for a while so I told him we could help him out. He also invited us to his opening, said he'd save some tea for us if we’re busy.” Lips pull back, dimples accenting Namjoon’s heavy cheeks. 

You’re unsurprised by his amicable tale, recalling your fresh steps into this very shop just a few years prior. Your body was bare of ink and your arms bore only a flimsy book with hopeful sketches. He’d taken in your wide eyed glance and the disappearance of your bottom lip to the gnawing confines of your teeth. His towering height and newly trimmed hair taunting you within the daunting shadow that filled your frame through the doorway. 

You chuckle at past memories, wondering how you could ever fear the gentle giant, his lips pulling into ready grin as he showed you to the very desk before you now. 

“What’s so funny?” Namjoon calls to you,  Jimin halting in his current endeavor to glance the smirk stretching your cheek. 

“Nothing, just thinking. Was that your last client for the day?” You grab for the sign-in ledger, finger trailing the thick page, pinky tugging at the pulled edge of a worn corner. Your smirk flips to a frown poorly withheld, the page filled with Namjoon only reminding you that your own supplies need only be sanitized to prevent the collection of dust. 

“Yeah, I figured we’d just close shop early today.” Jimin swipes the ledger with a tisk in your direction, not blind to silent thoughts. 

“It’s noon, what if someone wants a walk-in?” Your gaze slides to the clock, hands ticking slowly along the round wall piece. It’s not unreasonable to assume someone will come in seeking art of the bodily variety, and your hands itch to prove your worth, even if it lies within an album long binded. 

“Then I’m sure they’ll still want it tomorrow.” Namjoon shrugs, his hands folding over his chest forcing the bulge of recently buffed arms. You almost make a joke about the possible tear of the t-shirt hugging his frame, but refrain out of refusal to partake in the pursuance of sure to follow antics. “Besides, it’ll give you more time to work on that.” 

You follow the tilt of Namjoon’s hair, long grown out from his routine refusal to take time from his day to get a trim. You often joke that he’ll be gallivanting with a tail soon enough, his thick locks nearly shoulder length as it stands. He often finds himself shaking it from his peripheral with the wrong angling of his head. He motions to your barely done sketch, the page glaring at you with a mocking disgust. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.” You drip sarcasm, pad tossed to your bag and jacket jerked to waiting arms. 

~*~

Off-white trim borders the wall of a shop nearly complete, Jeongguk checks and double checks a list stored in the confines of his mental. Aside from constant fear of the opening of doors without the steady flood of patrons he’s eager for business, hard work finally paying its due. 

He’s only in for the morning, the steady tick of his wrist a reminder to snap from his obsessive habit, sure that he’ll receive word from Taehyung that he's on his way to drag him from the building. His grin rivals the glare of the sun as his eyes travel a building come together. His hand falls to his arm in dramatic pinch to ensure that his eyes aren’t filled with hopeful deceit. 

It fits, he thinks, stepping out onto the walk, key slotting into the door to ensure security. His shop melds perfectly with the heavily lined street, animated tapioca unfinished in the window somehow making sense with the neighboring extravagance of bloom at the near florist and the samples of ink from the tattoo shop across the way. Even the simple thrift shop with it’s objects of interest decorating the window compliments his simple display.

Opportunity hasn’t struck to visit his new neighbors, though he did stumble into a chunk of the owners of one of the shops. He found surprise in the ease with which conversation flowed, his mouth like the babble of a brooke despite the nerves that skipped like pebbles in his stomach and his heart that beat a million miles a minute following their friendly departure. 

In his stupor he nearly misses the float of voices a ways down the quietly milling street, but the recognition of a melodic tone draws his gaze. 

“I’ll take you for ice cream.” Jeongguk recognizes the voice that seeks to entice as Jimin, though he doesn’t recognize you. 

“I’m not a child you know.” Your statement is grumbled, the words echoing that of a childlike pout. Jeongguk can see the movement of your arms as they reach to a playful shove, the rhythmic shift of Jimin’s feet looking routine even from a distance. You choose not to acknowledge Jimin’s coo, his fingers poking at your protruding cheek as if to say Oh but aren’t you?

Jeongguk watches with interest and the initiative to work up the courage to bring acknowledgement to his presence and perhaps introduction to who he expects is the other third of the tattoo shop. You and Jimin are too caught in bickering to notice the figure just feet away, your fingers pinching Jimin’s nose with  a countering taunt. 

“Can’t I just treat you to a nice frozen treat? I don’t recall that being a crime, but please enlighten me.” You pinch the bridge of your own nose, the scent of freshly packed soil wafting from neatly situated pots. 

You spot the poke of pink from one of the tall and timid plants, though you imagine the fragile nature is only by way of visual, Yoongi always diligent with his seedling evolved friends. You make note to beg him to allow the purchase of a precarious plant, an act of teasing to stem from your track record, the memory of shriveled begonias bringing even your shoulders to lift in cringe. 

“Are you still talking?” Your gaze shifts back to Jimin, his flow not conscious to your unconscious senses. 

“So rude, you should be thanking me for the extra time off.”

“As if I need more time off, but fine, I suppose I can let you treat me as an apology for your ratty transgressions.” You tut. Were your ears peaked and footing less strayed you would’ve noted the distant chuckle of Jeongguk, still standing dormant outside of a dimmed shop.

His thoughts of hurried introduction came to halt with his notice of you. Your voice held a playful jab when you spoke, Jimin’s reactions only animated enough to draw slight attention from your raised tone. Despite your fussing dialogue, your posture was slouched just a tad and your hands fisted into snug jacket sleeves  to mimic paws. Jeongguk decides he’d be hard pressed not to be endeared by you in the slightest. 

“Wow, I thought I was gonna have to come here and drag you out by the ears.” Hands clap Jeongguk’s shoulders, Taehyung rounding his frame, grin gentle as he regards with relief. “I swear you’d probably live here if I didn’t keep you at bay. What are you--oh she’s pretty.” 

The two watch your retreat, your hand easily clasping Jimin's, the swing of connected wrists appearing natural with your stride through the afternoon chill. Jeongguk ignores the flare of his cheeks at the notion of exposure, thankful that Taehyung doesn’t make a show of his ogling. 

“Yeah, looks like she’s taken though...you wanna get ice cream?” Taehyung scrunches his nose, wind kissed cheeks held between gloved palms. His scoff is inward, Jeongguk’s suggestion appearing nothing short of ridiculous as the two are swept by a wind that’s particularly biting. While Taehyung shivers, Jeongguk doesn’t appear to mind, hands shoved in his pockets, heels rocking along cracked concrete. 

“Do I look like I want to get ice cream? It’s freezing out here and not everyone radiates the warmth of a furnace.” 

“Well unlike you, not everyone is so dramatic.”

“Whatever, just get some when we get home.” Taehyung lightly shoves, legs turning in the direction of his car, parked on asphalt, freshly coated by summer’s end.

 Jeongguk stares after the winded trail of a billowing pea, your bobbing figure rounding a corner and straying from widened eyes. He sucks through clenched teeth, opportunities knock having been missed at the hands of Taehyung. The clench of fists in pockets goes unnoticed as he rounds on planted heels and makes his way to the car, Taehyung happily staring from  the passenger seat waiting with a grin dripping sincerity. 

“You definitely owe me for this.”

~*~

You twitch along with the consistent drip of a leaky faucet, the tap of digits on worn ceramic offering a release to limbs without proper use. The biting chill in your toes is only minutely cured by the pilling of four blankets, barely thick enough to rival the wool knit socks Hoseok gifted you last christmas. 

You find pause in the sun setting from the window, dim lighting pouring through weak curtains. Your tongue prods at the confines of your mouth, frosted by forced treat and abandoned with the recommendation of a mug of hot cocoa which now rests lukewarm in your clenching palms. 

You force your mind to yield, racing in a direction opposite the self destructive course that usually remains dormant until you lay to rest for the evening. Hands numbed by the interference of a numbing chill met with the warmth of a mostly empty mug nearly spilling when your right palm jumps in the direction of your phone, perched on an end table composed of chipping wood and stains too set to resemble anything but a dark pool, a picture puddle fit for galoshes in adolescence. 

You wonder if Yoongi’s taken his plants in, the set of cold not nearly the condition for any pending life surely. Though you quickly pull back, recalling a conversation following another mishap, your plant lying limp before the attentive florist, his cheeks rosy from the heat lamps and the temperature set to ensure maximum growth year round. It was with passion that he waxed about the difference between certain plants and the amazing circumstances of their survival. 

It was with half amused grin, your head lopsided along the freshly painted door frame that he assured you that if a plant can survive the harsh conditions of the season of cool there was surely one meant to survive you. 

You glance to the succulent placed on the sill overlooking your sink. You had been indignant at Yoongi’s insistence that you take it, almost begging that he give you one of the smiling pink numbers reflecting in the window rather than the less impressive green poking from the dirt of a tiny hand painted pot. Yoongi’s reaction was much the same, innocence painting his rose blushed cheeks as he explained the beauty of every plant, sure to continue on until you gently removed the pot from his fingers.

Now the once shy note of green was large enough to cover your palm, a bright spot in the dark of your apartment, falling apart at the hands of purposeful ignorance from an absent landlord. 

A sharp tap against your front door draws your gaze, pointed as if to break the barrier of solid wood. You don’t notice the spill of your drink until warmth slips through your sweater, arm jerk sending the mug careening to shatter. The pieces decorate the floor with a colorful tap to pair with the running of dark liquid along the hardwood.

“Shit.” Words muttered in haste, one of many blankets piled in swaddle is heaved to the floor, your legs lifting you from the chair and gently to clothed knees. Cocooning the glass in the thick material you stand to full height when another tap draws you. Your hands tug at your sweater, the seep of the liquid already beginning to set in and your skin grows irritated from the unwanted intrusion. “Coming!”

You glance to the spot where chocolate dances along the edges of your braided rug, the centerpiece itching to soak up what it can manage of the chocolatey drink,  already dreading the work of scrubbing to prevent permanent damage. Making your way to the door your feet stride in a half walk half slide along hardwood, tripping up due to the soiled bits of fabric sticking to your feet and resisting a usually easy trek along the hardwood. The pull of the door is a surprise, an unfamiliar face staring back at you with a geometrically flattering smile. 

“Hello…” Your words are drawn and rasped, a mixture of the lack of dialogue and settling curiosity. 

“Hi, I’m Taehyung.” There’s no deterrence from Taehyung at your lack of reciprocated enthusiasm, just the shake of locks, shaggy and shielding his eyes that appear to glisten in the flicker of the hall lights. His eyes brighten in recognition, though you can’t seem to separate his stare from the reflection of his shocking irises and simply accept his hand as it slowly extends.

“Y/n. Is there something I can help you with?” You attempt a glance around his ever present frame in hope for an explanation, but the notion is non-existent so you wait as he gathers his own. You don’t miss the wandering of his eyes to the open of your apartment but don’t call him on it, an entrance composed of nothing more than a table and a crooked portrait gifted by Jin. You can hear his distant cackles as he positioned it just perfectly before the door. 

“Actually I was gonna ask you how to work the heat in this place, but you look about as warm as me so…” He shifts on his heels unsure, taking in your heavily bundled appearance. 

You tug once more at your stained sweater, your face heating with recollection of the soiled garment still clinging to you, now with more fervor from the added moisture. Your thick socks are layered over a pair only slightly less so and your legs appear heavily padded under two pairs of dense sweats. “You must be new here.”

Taehyung shrugs, half a step taken in retreat. He tilts his head just so, gesturing to the vacant hall, a door half ajar allowing the flood of light to illuminate the peel of ancient wallpaper. Not for the first time you wish you’d taken Jimin up on his spare room. “Yeah, just officially moved in today. We’re down the hall, heard the apartment’s been vacant for a while and it seemed nice enough.” 

“But no one told you that the heat only works correctly on a good day, sounds about right.”

“And our shower--” 

“Leaks?” You finish, the distant drip from your kitchen just audible over your speech. Your thumb pushes against the bow of your pursed lips, teeth grabbing hold of roughened skin whilst you watch the turn of cogs tumbling before you. 

“Yeah...should I call the landlord?” His brows knit at your nonchalance, thumb jerking to his apartment. You almost chuckle, covering your outburst with a quick tilt of your head. The simplicity of the suggestion seems only to add to the hilarity of the situation. 

“Sure, but I’d recommend investing in a space heater and keeping a couple of tools handy. I’m not wearing four layers to make a fashion statement.” Your fingers drum along the frame of your door, the gentle tap carrying between you in soft silence. “Well...welcome to the building and sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” 

“Guess someone had to be,” His throat clears in chuckle, hand tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, the strings hanging lopsided where his hood lay half scrunched at the base of his neck. His thumb lifts to trace the corner of his mouth, shifted in that same grin that greeted you minutes prior, though this time your return is swift and without the same haze that accompanied his unfamiliar presence. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”  

Taehyung turns on his heel at the pace of the gears turning in his brain, swift stride carrying him back to his door, yours clicking shut along the shells of his ears. He pushes into his residence, door squeaking on hinges as it closes in his wake. Straight for the living room he makes haste with lengthy stride, spotting  Jeongguk who swallows the couch with his body, spread as much as the lengthened cushion will allow. He peeks from his curtain of hair, dangling at the angle of his head, blinking with the poke of a follicle gently prodding his pupil. 

“So?” He pushes up to a sit, nearly knocking his phone from the arm where it’s perched without care. His shoulders shake from the mix of cold and anticipation, mistaking the grin that Taehyung sports as a triumphant mission. 

“Oh this place is spectacularly shitty, my friend. Looks like we’ll be snuggling like penguins if we wanna get warm tonight.” As if to punctuate his vivid explanation, Taehyung slides dangerously close to where Jeongguk remains sitting, legs brushing as he sinks into the already heated seat. 

Jeongguk nudges to the sharp of Taehyung’s shoulder, encouraging him further inward with a defeated groan. He’s sure he catches the scent of something similar to carpet that’s been left to mildew, but he attributes it to imagination. Somehow this very apartment seemed a saving grace just a month ago.  “I knew we should’ve splurged on that loft. Why are you smiling?” 

“Hm, so that girl that you were staring at earlier, you know her?” Taehyung doesn’t shy from his urge to throw himself over Jeongguk’s lap, ignoring the squint scrutiny from above. He pokes at the underside of Jeongguk’s chin, teasing a reaction from him, grimace evident from the suction of his cheeks. 

“Not exactly, I know the guy she was with though. They own the tattoo shop, why?” Taehyung braces his head with one hand, the other grabbing hold of the string dangling from his clothes, rolling the aglet between agile fingers. He ponders the thought of revealing that just beyond moth eaten wallpaper and the cracks of a concrete hall you await just a few doors down. 

“Just a question. You didn’t think I would just leave it, did you?” Jeongguk’s nose scrunches because he did in fact find that avenue favorable among the chosen. Taehyung pats his muscled thigh with  a patronizing shake of the head, hair already tangling with the push of his heavy skull to Jeongguk’s tough jeans. 

“So what, she’s cute, not like I know anything about her. I’m more concerned with making it through the night without contracting pneumonia or risking the complete freeze of my limbs.”

The two seem to scoot closer at the thought, Taehyung now pushed against Jeongguk’s abdomen. They paint quite a picture on their second hand furniture, couch in need of stitching at the seams and the questionable stain that inhabited it upon arrival nipping at the press of Taehyung’s socked feet into the cushion. 

Fatigue abandoned the task of unloading boxes that litter the expanse of open flooring and leftover furniture. Their energy fueled endeavor long forgotten along with the memory of comforting warmth. They both ponder the idea of retreating to respective rooms, but find it would be a miracle if they could manage to pull themselves from half comfort, abandoning the hope of body heat against the chill of the shared space. 

Audible groan travels the four walls when a gentle fist beats against the door. Taehyung shoves at Jeongguk’s shoulder, a silent appeal to the younger to make sacrifice and leave their cocooned warmth. Jeongguk won’t be swayed, his arms easily finding the weight of Taehyung’s side and nudging enough to send him careening to the floor with a resounding thud. 

Grumbles and groans of the incoherent leave Taehyung’s mouth, amused giggles falling from Jeongguk whose legs are now pulled to drink in the heat left behind. Taehyung stops for a moment, thinking that his timely trek was wasted, opposing party’s fist meeting wood no more. He gently opens the door, head ducking around the corner, foot stepping out only to stub into something surely placed for such an occasion as his physical reckoning. 

He foregoes subtly, mouth unhinging and curses falling akin to rocks from a cliff side, the echo bouncing against concrete and soaking into the slips and edges of the silent walls. Jeongguk ambles around the corner with concern etched features, the draw of his eyes landing on his roommate, leg at an angle and clutched whilst he leans against the doorframe. 

Jeongguk squeezes past, kneeling to pluck the sticky posted from the top of what appears to be a space heater. His eyes scan the crisp note, glancing down the hall with the knowledge that the perpetrator is surely long gone. “Dude, you good?” 

“Stubbed my fucking toe,” Taehyung strains. Jeongguk let’s him sulk, hiding a purposeful grin from the dramatist leaning over him. “What is that anyways.” 

“Space heater.” He passes the note, Taehyung scans it quickly with a hum. He doesn’t miss the look he’s receiving from Jeongguk, aware of the name scribbled along the tiny parchment. “Was nice of them. What did you say anyways?” 

“Nothing really, guess I’m just a natural charmer.” 

~*~

“Will you tell her that she should just move in with me like I suggested in the first place?” Jimin snags on the thick of Namjoon’s t-shirt, pulling him from his task, resituating his glasses along his face rather than the slide to the tip of his nose that seemed a regular occurance. You choose to ignore the commotion, back to sweeping dust and scattered leaves from the entrance of the shop. 

Your living situation, less than ideal, often leads you to Jimin’s door, his spare room rather drenched in your deposited belongings. It’s his futile mission to persuade you to trade up from your desolate one bedroom with it’s desperate calling for tlc and take permanent residence in his humble abode just uptown. 

It’s foolish not to consider, but you always find the scrape of your teeth roughening the budded surface of your tongue when he turns to you with his grin of sweet saccharine nearly once a week. You don’t know what it is about the cracks that seem to shimmy further up the walls with each passing minute or the breaks in the tile that beg an earthquake decades off, but you aren’t quite ready to part with it. 

“If you want me to stop coming over just say so,” You huff, fully aware that’s not the case but sure it’ll throw Jimin for a curve with enough distance to keep him at bay. 

He sputters, releasing Namjoon with a gentle shove, “That’s not it and you know it! I just don’t see why you stay there, it’s so...broken.” 

“I’ll have you know that I-”

“Have lived there since you came here blah blah blah, we know. Oh hey, a customer! Would you look at that,” Jimin’s over enthused response following a set of feet flooding through draws your next words to thin air, replaced with a well meaning grin. His perked posture slumps when he realizes that it is not in fact a patron looking to empty their wallet. “Oh, it’s just Hobi-hyung.” 

“Thanks for the sunshine,” Hoseok counters, elbows covered with a patched overcoat resting along the edge of Jimin’s desk. Though his words hold a tinge of sarcasm, he’s all smiles as he regards you. Much like Namjoon he sports his frames today, wide and rectangular perched along the bridge of his nose. From the opening of his coat you smirk at the peak of a bright yellow sweater, an animation practically dancing along the expanse of his chest. 

“Guess it’s a good thing that’s your job,” Namjoon pats him on his way to his office, returning with a box overflowing with garments and books. It’s not unusual that the two of them exchange goods, Hoseok’s thrift always looking for ways to fill the shelf.

 It surprised you in the beginning, the flow of people who seemed to always leave his shop holding something to their chest like it was the world stuffed into a novelty bag. That was before Hoseok insisted that you visit yourself, sure you’d find something of interest. He wasn’t perturbed by skepticism, it only seemed to fuel the glint of a thousand galaxies that flared in his concentrated stare. 

You’d ambled the lot for a good thirty minutes, fingers gliding along shelves so sturdy it came as a shock that he installed them himself, the wiggle of his elongated fingers when you recited the thought still fresh. It was the belief of Hoseok, in his own words, that there was a magic in places like his. A magnetic pull that would lead you to just the thing you need, often times things he himself didn’t even know he possessed. 

“The rest is all in good fun,” He’d finished with that smile that rivaled the shine of the largest star glistening from above. 

Your magic was nestled in the thick of it all, buried beneath someone else’s waiting fortune. It was the far corner that drew you, something about it just a shade darker than the rest of the large room. You’re unsure what possessed you, ignoring the insistence of magic cycling through the heavy air conditioning as you pillage through a pile of neatly folded quilts and the random placement of a busted stereo. 

“Find something?” Hoseok appeared, head resting just over your shoulder. Your crouch betrayed you and were it not for quick reflexes and a helping hand the bust of your ass was sure to find the floor. Hoseok stood with a pool of change shaking in his palm and his neat smile waiting for you to putter around with your find. 

“It’s just a necklace, nothing special.” 

“Still, take it, you never know.” He was insistent that you leave with the silver chain, an onyx pendant dangling from the end  and even more so that, rather than pay him, you admit that there’s something in the air. You agreed, but your reluctance was only truly squashed when you found yourself adorning the necklace more than your usual jewelry reserved for occasion.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the tea shop opening up?” Hoseok plants himself on Jimin’s desk, ignoring the playful glare burning a hole in his side. Namjoon rests the box on the ground next to him with a grunt, clear on Hoseok’s intention to linger as long as time will allow rather than collecting his treasure and hurrying back to his own place of work. 

“Jimin and I met the owner yesterday, he seems like a really nice guy.” Namjoon fills before Jimin has the chance to allow his jaw to unhinge, no doubt planning to flaunt his basic knowledge like privileged information.

“That’s nice. Rumor has it he specializes in boba.” You would chuckle were it not for the wild look in Hoseok’s eyes, his hands painting imaginary rainbow before slotting through the pockets of his coat. His feet steadily tap tap against the tile, the gentle nod of his head not at all unusual but nonetheless intriguing. “It’ll be so nice not having to drive a town over just to have a nice tapioca pearl.” 

“You know they sell those, you could make your own.” Your words are all but lost on the eccentric businessman, his tactic to avoid information displeasing to his interests taking full effect. His body angles, half hiding a chuckling Jimin from your view. Sliding the broom to the near closet, not unaware of leaves sadly crumpled against the tile from Hoseok’s timely entrance, but not bothered enough to scoop them into the waiting bin, you make haste to your office slipping between the door slightly ajar. “Right. Well I’m gonna go try to get some work done.”

You release a stuttered breath upon the gentle click of your door, mumbled dialogue just barely pushing through the thick wood. Air puffs your cheeks in half contemplation, silence stealing the inspiration that seemed to dance before you, brain now only half awake as time seems to dwindle at the speed of sound. Instead of the reach for a waiting pad and the scatter of ballpoint colors staring from your desk unused and impatient, you grab for a volume that seems to scream from the near bookshelf. 

It begs the recollection of time well spent, a pang in your chest follows a  rushing to the surface as if air tearing from lungs lacking capacity. Your full weight collapses to your chair, recently upgraded at Namjoon’s insistence that nursing the squeaky four wheeler that threatened to collapse with the wrong release of breath violated his own moral codes before the hushed mumble about legal repercussions. You aren’t complaining, the upgrade makes you feel like a permanent staple, especially when your mind is convinced that layoff is imminent. 

Your fingers trace the smooth cover of hardback, reckoning with the ache to feel the crisp of unturned pages and avoid the buildup that follows suit. It’s the not knowing that tugs at the precipice of your flowing mind, wishing for diagnosis from a stagnant flow of a previous gold mine. 

Your ears peak at the surge of voices layering the lobby, though your mind squashes the urge for a slip back into the throw of pleasant chatter. You draw a drawer, fishing for half tangled buds, slipping them into your heightened canals to drown with the sounds of your latest fix. 

~*~

The lift of Jeongguk’s gaze as heavy feet carry him past the fluorescent sign of Uhgood Tattoo and through the ringing entrance is subtle enough as doe eyes scan the lengthy space for a feminine form. He’s met with null, but the snag of his pupils on a wall of intricacy almost distracts from the loiter of men staring straight for him and Taehyung who is decidedly less preoccupied. 

“Jeongguk, nice to see you again!” Namjoon booms over every voice in the room. His arms are half open in eager acceptance and Jeongguk leads Taehyung to the settled group, one last sweep still leaving him wanting for an introduction or a glimpse at best. “We were actually just talking about you.” 

“About me?” His tone toes between surprise and unease, lips puckering in the shape of ‘oh’ and steps stuttering against the crunch of leaves slipping along linoleum. 

“Yeah, Hoseok here was just saying how excited he is that you moved in. He owns the thrift shop just across from you.” 

Hoseok doesn’t need much introduction before he’s centered in front of Jeongguk, smile glinting and hands reaching for the younger man with much fervor. Jeongguk would find the proximity daunting were it not for the friendly face reflecting in his widened irises. His chest rumbles, glad to place a face to bright signs and eccentric displays. 

“Nice to meet you, we’re all glad to have a new face on our little strip. I’m especially glad to have an excuse to save myself from Jin’s questionable experiments in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s hand has yet to stop its steady shake of Jeongguk’s, too caught in words, leaving his mind’s body on its own. “Feel free to drop by my shop anytime, I love seeing new faces. Plus-”

“Here we go…” Jimin cuts, feigned exasperation coating his pitched tone before he excuses himself to the back of the shop. His exit isn’t swift enough to hide the exasperation of the puff of air that gaps his lips. 

“There’s a special kind of magic in a shop like mine and because you just moved in the first trinket is on the house!” 

“Oh magic? Taehyung’s really into that stuff, we’ll stop in sometime.” He gestures to his friend whose hands are shoved to the thick of his sweatshirt, lips pushed inward with the suck of his cheeks. “This is him by the way, Taehyung, he’s my partner of sorts at the cafe and my roommate.” 

“Yeah, though the last one is questionable at the moment. Nice to meet you guys, this place is sweet! Do you do piercings by any chance?” As if by pure luck Jimin’s stepping back into the room, his eyes set ablaze with passion by the innocent inquiry. 

“Piercings are my specialty actually, I can pierce any and everything!” His hands clasp to Taehyung’s shoulder, glad for excitement out of the realm of files and spreadsheets. Taehyung, surprised by the eager response, can only seem to nod along to the spew that falls from Jimin’s lips that near miles per minute.  “Are you interested? I’d be happy to show you our collection.” 

“This could take a while,” Jeongguk is startled by the presence of Namjoon somehow closer than before. Jimin is still spouting about his work to his potential client, Jeongguk takes in Taehyung’s features in search of a signal for help, but only finds him  painted with interest and intrigue at the bundle of knowledge that is Park Jimin. Namjoon gestures to a hall along the far wall, a couple of paintings half crooked beckoning them forth.  “We can talk about those tattoos if you’re interested?” 

The buzz that surges in the cavity of his chest is answer enough, companied with the vigorous nod of his head, curls bouncing against the frame of his cheeks. “That would be great!” 

Namjoon easily falls into the roll of guide, leading the two down the hall and past a couple of doors tightly sealed. The walls are a dark shade, set aglow by the heat of fixtures hanging overhead. Even in the dim setting, Jeongguk finds his head swiveling in every direction, thirsting to take in every inch of the place.  In his haste he nearly trips over a section of flooring slightly raised, likely the result of settled foundation  over many years. He decides rather quickly in favor of the building, the character of the interior clashing rather nicely with the updated signage on the outside. 

‘We’ve got a few different stations for working,” Namjoon speaks up, drawing Jeongguk’s attention back. “We do them in the section off the side of the lobby if the customer is comfortable and it’s nothing major, but we also have private rooms that we as the artists like to use depending on the project.”

“That’s what these rooms are?” Jeongguk reaches with a pointed finger, tracing the expanse of the wooden frame, chipped and roughened, to a closed door. Rather than plaquing to decipher between the various enclosures there are framed sketches posted outside of each, nothing a newcomer like himself could pick up on, clearly contributed by the owners.

“For the most part, there’s my office and Y/n’s, and a storage closet but this is where the magic happens.” Namjoon allows Jeongguk a path to his office, door shutting in their wake with a dull thud. 

It’s less decorated than Jeongguk was expecting, the barely bare walls outside of the office building up the anticipation of the canvas that must be spread within. Instead there’s nothing put bright white, almost blinding compared to what he’s seen so far. There are a few framed photos of Jimin, himself, and you; all smiling in various scenarios of glee. Other than the placement of a decently sized shelf in the corner and the desk perched along the adjacent wall this office gives no indication of Namjoon’ s labyrinthine line of work. 

Even so, Namjoon appears highly intimidating as he takes a seat at his desk, gesturing Jeongguk to the comfortable chair across. Jeongguk is well aware that he doesn’t mean to give the impression of a boss, straight backed and fingers laced over mahogany, but that doesn’t make it any less so. 

“So!” Namjoon speaks with triumph, his gauntlet the toss of the pen that had previously dangled from the fold of  pierced ears. “You have any idea what you’re looking for in the ink department? I figure we can start with graphics and then discuss placement to see who the best fit would be for you.” 

“Best fit?” Jeongguk leans forward, boots squeaking obscenely on the tile beneath. His cheeks flush at lack of knowledge, feeling as if the words spewed were foreign when in reality it was a jolt sent to the creases of his spine and straight to the red soaked appendage in his upper chest. While he’s entered this room with the assumption that Namjoon would be his sole artist, there lay a chance that the two of you will come face to face. 

“Yeah, Y/n and I are both good at what we do but of course we both have our specialties. So we like to decide our clients that way sometimes.” Namjoon’s explanation leaves him none the wiser to hidden meanings and the hopeful perk of Jeongguk’s shoulders. 

“Oh. I haven’t met Y/n yet,” He wonders if you rest behind one of the many doors leading to this one, sketching away on what he’s sure can only be a masterpiece. “Is she around?” 

“Yeah...I don’t wanna disturb her though. Maybe she’ll be in the lobby when we’re finished here.” Namjoon’s words are sincere though his eyes seem to drift far off, their target the window over Jeongguk’s shoulder, shadowed by the growth of a large tree, branches dwarfing the ground outside. His trance is but a moment, focusing once more on the man before him. “What did you have in mind for your tattoo?” 

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you guys use the tebori method here? I know it’s more widely used in japan, but I don’t really see myself heading over there anytime soon.” This shop isn’t the first that Jeongguk has scoped in hope of an artist with an extra element of technique, the buildup for disappointment resting in a rehearsed expression. He watches the myriad of expressions that Namjoon cycles through, almost as if the answer rests against the tip of his tongue, but he’s unsure if it’s the correct one. “It’s totally fine if—”

“We do.” He speaks without much expression save for the way his spine seems to cave inward as he continues to think. Jeongguk isn’t sure whether he should continue speaking, choosing instead to study the tilt of a pen on the desk, threatening to roll to the floor if it dances any longer at the edge of the surface. His nerves itch to grab for the object for some form of reprieve, afraid that the pending clatter will disturb Namjoon’s steady concentration and perhaps the calm mask that he appears to be sporting.

His head tilts a tad, curls falling over one pupil, the other spying Namjoon as if zeroing in on a target, nearly scrutinizing the pensive thinking with his galaxy gaze. He can see that just past the roof of Namjoon’s head there lies a single divot in the wall, nearly tricking the bump of accidental furniture, but Jeongguk’s own fist clenches in recognition, thumb tracing the jag of his knuckles. 

“Y/n is the only person here that can tattoo with that particular technique, she’s amazing at it really, I’m just not sure if she’ll be up for it right now.” Namjoon’s words seem to pain him to utter, a strained longing in his voice that’s indecipherable without context. Jeongguk only nods along, curiosity curbed by his unyielding sense of etiquette in a situation that doesn’t wholly concern him. His feet are already pressing against the flooring, prepared to push to his feet and exchange pleasantries and assurance of no hard feelings, but Namjoon doesn’t seem quite through, leaving Jeongguk’s position to an awkward one hanging from the edge of his seat. “I don’t wanna speak for her though, so maybe you two can talk.” 

“Okay, should I set up an appointment?” 

“No, I think I heard her leave her office, she’ll probably be in the lobby. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you now.”  Namjoon’s mouth is once again split in dimpled grin, leaving Jeongguk’s head to a spinning akin to a child’s top. He’s led from the room, paying extra attention to the hall, ears itching to pick up a tone much higher than those in the lobby he left only a short time ago. 

Contrary to Namjoon’s inference, the lobby is emptier than when they left, Jimin and Taehyung the only ones left milling about. Their speech mimics old friends, Jimin poking at Taehyung with the smile of someone who knows something that no one else does, Taehyung simply replying in kind with half grin. 

“I thought I heard, Y/n.” Namjoon directs his voice at Jimin, fingers tapping the surface of his desk whilst his eyes take inventory of the shop. Jeongguk wonders if he thinks you’re hiding behind one of the plants situated in the corner, waiting for the perfect moment to catch them off guard.

“Mm, she left. But not before this one got his flirt on,” Jimin’s elbow catches Taehyung’s rib with a sharp jab coloring his words. Taehyung doesn’t allow this to phase him, standing to his feet with a shrug of nonchalance.

“Not flirting, we just happen to know each other. You done here?” He aims at Jeongguk stepping with purpose toward the door. Neither makes eye contact, the subject of interest not particularly left to the category of unmentionable, but leaving them both awkward and stiff. 

“Uh, I think so.” Jeongguk slants so that Namjoon is well in his sights, already typing vigorously on his phone screen. “Should I schedule something or…?”

“Don’t worry about it, I have your number so I’ll just have Y/n give you a call to see when you guys meet.” 

Jeongguk stands a moment longer, his toes tapping to the leather roof of boots so chunky they seem to swallow him from toe to ankle, the footwear attempting to take from his lengthy form and failing miserably. He turns mid-step when Taehyung slaps lightly at the sleeve of his jacket, urging him to step beyond the threshold. He lifts his arm to half wave, mumbling pleasantries, barely audible of the steps that echo in his ears with each pace onto the desolate sidewalk. 

Jeongguk heads toward his own shop, missing the realization of the lack of paired steps with his own. Several paces behind him, a subtle guilt dressing the plains of his cheeks, Taehyung tugs at the wear of half chapped lips, wondering if the broach of a hazy subject is necessary. He catches Jeongguk easily with a jog, nearly stilling him mid-stride but saved from the extra physicality by the passing of a car.

“You know...Jimin was just joking.” Jeongguk’s brows lift, clearly only just catching sight of his constant companion, his own thoughts carrying him along the street without a wayward glance. His eyes widen, unsure of Taehyung’s intentions or the direction of the current topic. “About Y/n, I mean. I don’t really know her and we don’t flirt.” 

“Wouldn’t matter if you did.” 

“Yeah, sure. It’s just—look I know you saw her the other day and I’m willing to bet the only reason you haven’t mentioned that you’re intrigued is because you thought she was dating Jimin.” Taehyung treads, careful to avoid the gaze of reddened cheeks, Jeongguk’s hand raising to a nudge at his soft lobe, the other clenching and unclenching in denim blue, nails scratching the rough of fabric with each clasp. “Well clearly they’re not dating, so it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did like her is all I’m saying.” 

“Like I said, I don’t really know her. I think she’s cute, from a distance anyways, but I don’t think that’s any reason for a declaration.” The gentle tick of the crosswalk draws Jeongguk's attention on the present path to the opposing side of the street, ignoring the gentle tick of his chest. 

A shining beacon in a sea of monotony. The words that filtered like a mantra, dressing the walls of his clogged brain, overflowing from files and dancing with the fires in tipped bins. Taehyung’s words extinguish the licking flames, if only momentarily, with meticulous reassurance. 

A pocket of vibration, dark and clinging to his chilled skin, is notification for incoming correspondence. His steps skip, tripping along asphalt, saved only by the subtle grasp of a steady hand. His thanks are dropped without hesitation, hand slipping from fabric confines with the heavily encased lifeline pulsing with power.

From: Unknown [ 2:25pm]~is this jeongguk? namjoon gave me your number, said you need a consult?

From: Me[ 2:26pm]~yea...this is y/n im guessing?

His eyes pierce the screen, undressing the words with precision, ensuring he doesn’t make a fool in reply. He wasn’t prepared for the quick interception of the conversation he’s still processing, inner workings too focused on what’s straight ahead, not minutely prepared for Namjoon's speedy deliverance.

From: Unknown [ 2:30pm]~ding ding ding. im pretty much free whenever, so let me know what works with you and we can meet to discuss what you need and whether im the person for the job 

From: Me[ 2:33pm]~ how about tomorrow around this time?

From: Unknown [ 2:34pm]~ cool. let’s meet at the park around the corner  

And now, he waits.

~*~

The first thing you noticed was his approach, a confidence in his stride yet eyes that tried and failed to hide the glisten of steady orbs and the kiss of wind landing atop the surprising density of his cheeks like the piling of new snow. Your legs were crossed at the ankle, bare skin grazed by the cool of grass half dried by the desert chill, hands gripping the accumulation of sleeve inched to the open of your palm whilst your lips curved in mimic at the pout of his own, unintentional but perfectly protruding with the tracking of your steady tilt.

If one were to ask about the slight tremor in your hand or the subtle inch across inches between, you would fail to mention the metaphorical personality of your pulsing appendage and the ooz of liquid red abandoning the organ overflowed to trace the expanse of veins humming with the melodic string of laughter yet to abandon the space since he first spoke. You were immediately taken with soft speech and stolen glances, the professional tossed aside when you asked him to meet you, altogether forgotten when he said hello. 

The pulsing was stunned only momentarily when he withdrew, hand disappearing into deep pockets to pose leather-bound pages and the hesitant stretch of muscles, the quick twitch of his neck the line of a rod, drawing you forward with each gentle reel of innocence. Now you sit, tangled in silent adoration, dripping admiration for the collaged pages, soaked in brilliance. 

“These are yours?” You stroke the page with the ease of your pointer, his head tilting, hair framing, whilst he nods in a lopsided grin. You don’t notice the glue to your cheek, his eyes steady studying you while you study the glide of his hand with jet black against the white page. 

He wonders if you catch the nerves, the steady vibration of his unsteady palms, gentle leap of muscled thigh and the brush of your leg with each accidental inch closer. The proximity did him in, your face from a distance only a picture on a page, face to face giving him the overwhelming sensation of the walk through a gallery filled with seven wonders, their spectacle meaningless without the promise of you. 

He pretended for a moment, between laughter and brushes of innocence that he’s known you a lifetime, the thought only pulling at his metaphorical strings because he wishes he had. Your voices echo is sure to leave him wide eyed and ceiling bound for nights to come, imagining the galaxy as you, white expanse the only thing keeping from the grip he so wishes he could establish on the slip of your time here. 

He knows it’s insanity, thoughts that won’t leave him be, the closeness driving him further to the edge. It’s the reason for his transition to the journal, the reason you’re perched in the grass with the whipping wind and dead leaves skirting around you. 

“It’s just some ideas I have, I jot them down so I don’t forget. I was hoping we could work on them, flesh them a bit more…” Your gaze leaves the page, magic dwindling a sum, aghast at the audacity in his words. You withdraw, clenching fists to rationalize the wait for rejection on your behalf. 

“Why me? I mean, you’ve seen Namjoon’s work, he’s great.” 

“He said that you’re skilled in the tebori method. I’d like them to be done in that style and not many people can. Plus, I’ve seen your work too, it’s just as amazing.” Jeongguk notes the deflation, not unaware of Namjoon’s warning. He’s tempted to pry, but reverses hoping to stumble upon neutral territory, already missing the strain of your muscles in smile. “But obviously it’s only if you’re comfortable. I don’t mean to put you on the spot.” 

“You’re not, I just...can I think about it? I know that’s so incredibly unprofessional of me but—”

“Take as long as you need.” Jeongguk decides immediately he doesn’t need an explanation, that your rumination is the promise of another rendezvous, high hopes lifting him over the horizon of the midday sun, skin aching for the glow of golden hour. 

You already know you’ll say yes, outright rejection never an option, the flicker of expression alight in your left receptacle more than reason to feel him once more. The physical is through the page, but the metaphorical is the connection of souls, the cliché of one person and the hope of renewed ardor. 

“I promise I won’t be long…” The words hang, heavy in the air between and with more meaning than your intent. You’re led away by the weight of obligation, required assistance from Jimin to cover the desk, legs like infant limbs after an hour unmoving. 

Jeongguk follows suit, still chewing the words before spewing his own right back. The same weight and familiarity in his soft deliverance. 

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, you climb.

~*~

“How was your date?” Jimin is already setting up his station, eyes not sparing a glance, concentration wholly reserved. His vibration is palpable, though you don’t immediately notice, the feeling still finding stringed limbs when you reach your seat behind the desk. 

“I was meeting a client,” You speak hollow and unconvincing, the magic coursing through your veins begging to differ. Wonder is silent, eyes latching to the single eye muraled to the wall, imagining it to glisten like Sirius reflecting in the night sky, musing how one day could build a coherency of such magnetism yet still be held at arm’s length. 

“Oh really? It’s just that, I never meet my clients at the park...” His voice is a hum, settling an array of options for the post pierce browse. “—it’s certainly a bonus that said client is very handsome and already seems pretty interested.” 

“You’ve never even seen us in the same room, I just met him today.” 

“Whatever. I assume he’ll be coming around a lot more.”

Your fingers grasp the nearest instrument, ballpoint clicking in time with the tap of your toe against the leg of the chair. “I don’t know if I’m gonna agree. I don’t want him to be disappointed in the result.” 

“I know you think you’re old news, but the fact that you didn’t say no is reason enough. There’s clearly a part of you that wants to, so why not take the plunge?” 

“I can’t say yes just because I feel some strange attraction to him. That would be inappropriate,” Your mind barely registers the entrance of figure three, a client you presume, the sign-in ledger already halfway across the desk when Jimin speaks again. 

“So you are attracted to him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did,” Your pen clatters, nimble fingers swooping it in your absence, Taehyung’s smirk a playful gleam to counter your startled posture. He greets Jimin as an old friend, the two waiting for you to catch up, the slouch of your spine and the configuration of the scene pulling you back into the current take. 

“You’re the one getting a piercing?” Wheels push the foundation, abandoning the desk in favor of the plush leather Taehyung has already sunken into. You believe he feels at home, the decorative jewelry already hanging from his lobes the badge of a pierced veteran. 

“Yeah, I figure it’s time to expand my collection.” His hand brushes the lengthy edges of his dark locks, leaving ample space for Jimin to reach his target, the depth of his gaze landing on your arch over the chair’s arm. “I’m assuming your meeting went well?” 

“What do you know about my meeting?” 

“Why do you think I was here yesterday? The piercing was just a bonus,” He pokes at the tray beside him, the light smack of Jimin’s hand drawing him back to the confines of his lounge. You try to connect dots lost in the fray of day to day. Taehyung is not entirely new to you though still unfamiliar, but you don’t recall the mention of Jeongguk during his earlier visits. 

“So you guys know each other then?” Your disbelief finds Jimin, his hand’s busied with extra sanitation and his lips focusing hard to keep his face straight. “I’m assuming I’m simply the last to know, okay then.”

“It’s just circumstance really, I’m the one who came to your door, you were in your office when we came here yesterday and he was in Namjoon’s office when you came out. I promise he wasn’t avoiding you, quite the opposite actually.” You’re too intrigued for embarrassment, your attention handed tenfold to Taehyung, his head slightly tilted while Jimin readies to pierce him. 

As of late the stench of disinfectant would trigger a memory you were fighting hard to shield from the surface, but the idea of not knowing more of Taehyung drives it from your mind, currently on one track and unwavered by anything that’s not Jeongguk. Even so, there’s a haze, or perhaps the attempt of common sense forcing you to look past the filter of brights to truly grasp reality.

“We’d never met before today, how could he possibly be looking for me?” 

“We actually saw you a few days ago, before you and I officially met. You and Jimin were leaving the shop and he seemed pretty distracted by you, but he thought you two were dating.” Your laughter emits in breathy sighs, muddled by the fluttering in your abdomen, Jimin’s lips smug, shoulders rounded. 

“Easy mistake, we’d make a cute couple.” It would be a fib to deny that it’s the first time it’s been thought that you and Jimin were more than friends. His neighbors foolishly believe your late nights are spent anywhere save for the couch, silver screen glaring back at your glued lids. 

You watch Jimin work, ignoring the bore of Taehyung’s eyes, his focal point to ignore the sharp sting of the needle. He barely flinches, your own body lurching in slight when the needle meets puffed skin. His hand clasps your wrist, pulling you closer, examining the bare skin in earnest. 

“You don’t have any tattoos...none that I can see at least.” He notices, jumping to your eyes and back to your arm. He leans forward when Jimin steps away, gathering his studded collection of earrings, reflecting with golds and silver. “That’s pretty interesting considering you give them to other people for a living.”

“Astute observation. I do not have any tattoos visible or otherwise.” Taehyung kisses his teeth, easily opting for a pair reminiscent of chains. You look for judgement, but there’s none in his study of the colorful space, just a curiosity he’s not sure he should breach. “I’ve always wanted one, but I was too scared. Ridiculous but true.” 

“Scared of needles?” 

“At first maybe. Scared of the permanence of it all. It feels like such a big responsibility, to me at least, to decide what to get tattooed and I’ve never gotten to a point where I could just do it.” You think back to pages bound by leather with frightening immediacy, the conviction with which the they screamed at you almost haunting if not for the beauty of it. Chilling in the details of sketches, moments in time grasped so eloquently. A part of you is certainly jealous, but the other part is so irrevocably drawn to depth and desire. “Hey, Taehyung, is Jeongguk still at his shop by chance?”

“Actually I’m supposed to be meeting him for ice cream after this so he might already be there.” He pulls his device from his jacket, squinting at the screen, thumb gliding in swiftness. “You guys should come!”

“Oh we don’t wanna—”

“I’m in, I’ve been craving a good scoop,” Jimin leaves no room for disagreement, his limbs already at full speed to hurry cleaning his station. “We don’t have any clients and Namjoon is out of town for the day, so I think we’re good to close up. Plus, you can tell Jeongguk you’ll take him on.” 

“I never said I would,” You slide back into your jacket, tucking your limbs into the sleeves. The sky has darkened significantly since the dusting of rays that splashed your skin as you sprawled the grass barely an hour earlier. 

“You never said you wouldn’t.” The two are like stooges, already mastering the collaborative effort to challenge you. 

“Have fun with your ice cream, I’m, hopefully, going home to a heated apartment.” 

~*~

Jin has been talking to Jeongguk since he entered, the recognition of the new young entrepreneur on the strip catching his attention without pause. He’s a nice guy, his energy something Jeongguk would appreciate on any given day, but he was hoping for a moment of collection before Taehyung arrived. 

He’s stuck on a blur, the low heat of his skin and the canals of his ears, yearning for the vibration of laughter and soft words spoken beneath the breeze. It was easy and good, an hour lost, an hour found. He would’ve laid there in the grass for hours after your departure were in not for the chill that crept in so easily without you beside him. 

He wonders if it was a mutual feeling or if your reaction was just polite, a business tactic. No. Not you, you’re not the type to pretend, he knows even if he doesn’t know. Your sincerity was like a sickness, spilling from your every crevice, pouring out with your every phrase. He’s sure even you don’t notice the significant way you carry yourself, impossible to turn away from. 

“Hey, Jin, talking Jeongguk’s ear off I see.” Jeongguk breaks his stare from where it concentrated on the ink already eating his skin, Jimin standing over the booth with Taehyung chuckling beside him. “Maybe give him a break and take out order?” 

“There’s a counter, Park Jimin, and—” Jin squints in the direction of the counter, a small line waiting for their treats of the frozen variety, though not many people are keen for the cold in the midst of winter. “—yup there’s definitely someone up there waiting just for you.” 

“Ha ha, leave him alone, Jin, his mind is already occupied plenty.” Jin slides from the booth, Jimin immediately taking his place, Taehyung sliding in after him. 

Jin feigns reluctance when Jimin recites his order, all around friendlier when Jeongguk and Taehyung do the same. Jimin turns his attention to the other side of the booth when Jin sidles off, already choosing his next target. “Where’s your head at?” 

“Hm?” 

“We just talked to Y/n, I hear your meeting went well, prospects are high. She seems interested,” Taehyung’s speech is backed with encouragement, Jeongguk’s lip quivering, but winning the fight against his impending smile, intent on not giving himself away too quickly. 

“She said she’d think about it and I’m perfectly okay with that.” He thinks of your promise, the thoughts skirting past the surface for a sign, a signal that the more he feels is exactly the meaning behind your words. His rang true, he would wait and be content. He would be prepared to have you work as his artist and end things there, but the weight in his pocket and the recollection of your eyes doubled in size leaves room for the want of more. 

“She seemed impressed with you,” Jimin adds, chin rested in his palm, reading for reaction. “The fact that she’s considering is a really good sign. For her and for you.” 

“It all just felt really natural,” The two watch as Jeongguk’s eyes glaze over just thinking about the exchange. “Almost like we…” 

He trails, face heating, his thoughts almost betraying him. He’s relieved when a server comes bearing dishes, thanking them aloud with pleasantry and inwardly for saving him from himself. The relief is short lived when two sets of eyes beam at him like he’s an amusement, waiting for him to continue.

“Almost like you…” 

“Nothing, it’s really stupid. She’s really great, I’ll be lucky if she decides that I’m worth it.” He covers lamely, shoving his spoon past his lips, letting creamy vanilla coat his tongue and ease his mind. 

“Trust me,” Jimin mumbles, swallowing his own hefty scoop. “She decided that the moment you sat down.” 

~*~

It’s unclear what brought you to this stool some nights later, half buzzed and wondering if you’ll have to call Jimin to drag you home. Your mind hasn’t completely fogged, liquor light with mercy, heavy consequences no doubt pending for the morning to come. A break, you’d decided, hands and knees stained with product, trying in vain to work the stain from your carpet, the smudge faint but not enough to miss your eye. 

The crowd is surprising, though you wouldn’t know as you don’t often go to the place with the metaphorical bad stuff, your own brand of lunacy dancing in boxes lacing your cabinetry. You recall the draw of drinks from mugs and Jimin off-key when you’re sliding more bills than you prefer across the counter. Moving is without appeal, head to the counter the way to go.

“Hey, you okay?” The voice is familiar, worth the work to lift your head. Jeongguk looks down at you, his hand placed to the bar, eyes wide with concern. 

His own stumbling through the door of the room with the dim lighting and the absurd amount of sports playing in every corner was boredom. Taehyung had plans and he was left alone to the drone of the television, the shop in need of a break from him. The dishes already glistening from his tenth wash despite the lack of use. A spot of dust enough to send him into a frenzy. From Jimin the name of the dive was briefly mentioned, in relation to what he couldn’t say, the topic never picking his brain from the moment it was first spoken. 

Now he’s glad he wasn’t a horrible companion, the sight of you hunched over reason enough for his half listen. He notes your solitude immediately, drawn to the side of the bar rather than the thick of it all, two glasses empty before you. 

“Jeongguk!” Your tone is uneven, eyes looking watered under the lights, your smile brightening in his eyes. He can’t help but to return, lowering into the stool so your faces are level. “I didn’t know you were here.” 

“I just got here actually and I saw you so…” 

“You came for me?” If you were less influenced the words would have remained nothing more than a thought, passing in a sea of others you could never muster courage to speak. Though you’re not sure that a post buzz reflection will make you wish they were any less materialized, the way his features soften like a fertilization for the growth of your thudding heart.

“I—yeah, I came for you. Are you ready to head home?” 

“You don’t know where I live,” You say the words, knowing you’ll go anywhere with him even if he doesn’t. You let him guide you from your stool, his touch soft, never too much. 

“You know, I’ve got a pretty good idea.” 

~*~

He lingers outside of your door, adoring the small struggle you have with lock and key, about to lend a hand when your triumph catches him, arms lifting over your head, turning to him with a smile. “Come on!” 

“You want me to come in?” Taehyung will be home soon and he has no way of explaining that he’s at your place that doesn’t involve some teasing on his best friend’s end of it, though it doesn’t matter when you latch on to the sleeve of his jacket and pull him past the threshold. 

The biggest difference between your place and theirs is the lived-in aspect. He would say that it’s cute, but it’s too simple a word. It seems you prefer mood lighting, the flip of a switch igniting fairies strung to the base of the ceiling. It suits you, who’s already stumbling toward the kitchen expecting that Jeongguk is hot on your trail. The décor is simple, a few paintings on the wall, rugs and cozy furniture. 

“I’m sorry if it’s cold in here, it’s always kind of cold in here,” You mutter, grabbing two mugs and giving life to your kettle. Jeongguk recalls that you were no longer in possession of your space heater, taken by Taehyung and himself and still unreturned. He debates running over to grab it, but your hand once more on his wrist, drags him to the sofa erasing the thought of walking out of that door. “Thanks for bringing me home, I promise I’m not that wasted. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“No, I’m not nervous! Not because you were drinking anyways…” 

“So you are nervous...why?”

“You make me nervous...in a good way!” He’s quick to regroup, noting the fall of your features, hating that it’s because of him. “It’s completely insane, but from the moment I saw you I…” 

“Me too.” Jeongguk’s previously averted gaze rushes to meet you, already staring back. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean, confident that what you feel is what he feels. Confident that it doesn’t matter how insane it may sound. “It’s so crazy, but when I saw you yesterday something just clicked and I thought maybe it’s because you’re ridiculously attractive but then we talked and it was so natural.” 

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” He takes a chance, hand sliding to yours, resting against your thigh. Your fingers tangle without stutter, the position meant to be, so full of warmth and understanding. “I saw you with Jimin a few days ago, I couldn't stop staring."

So long is spent staring, enjoying each other and the mutual affection that's like an aura engulfing you.

"Where exactly do we go from here?” Jeongguk tugs at his bottom lip, another quality that fills you with warmth. 

“Why are you opening a tea shop?” 

“What?” 

“We’re practically strangers, I don’t even know your last name actually. So, if there’s some weird predestined love at first sight phenomenon going on here, I’d like to know everything about you before we proceed.” You click, smile a contagious thing, one that Jeongguk would be remiss not to embrace wholeheartedly. “So why a tea shop?” 

“Well first, my last name is Jeon—”

“Jeon Jeongguk…” He watches you test the words against your tongue. “Cute. You’re cute.” 

“Anyways,” He blushes. “I’ve always loved making tea. I learned it at a young age and then I started experimenting and decided that this is what I wanna do. I figured focusing on boba would draw more people in, but I also wanna expand on what I already know.” 

“Well if anything, Hoseok will be there at least twice a day.”

“What about you?” 

“I think I can make time, though you are really out of the way I might not be able to swing it.” 

“I’ll pick you up, or better yet I can just bring it right to you,” He offers, amused but truthful. “No, but I mean how did you get into tattooing, and how did you learn tebori?” 

“Ah…” Your eyes find one of the frames hanging nearest the window, a landscape that Jeongguk can barely make out aside from the distance of neon. “Well, I was studying abroad actually, in Japan. I was an art history major and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do so I thought getting away would help me figure it out.”

You think often about the day when your current occupation seemed so foreign, your adolescence always filled with imaginings of galleries under curation, days filled with frames and packed schedules. 

“One of my classmates convinced me to go out with her one night because she wanted a tattoo and I wanted one too, so I didn’t really see why I shouldn’t go. She got hers first, a flower I think, and while I was watching the artist I was just blown away by the technique.” 

“Tebori?”

“Mmhm, of course I’d seen the regular ink and needle, but this just seemed to me something on a deeper level and I fell in love with it. It’s probably the most insane thing I’ve done to date, but I finished my degree abroad and stayed in Japan to learn and now I’m here.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“It just felt like it was time...sometimes I wish I hadn’t or that I could go back to visit. Like it’ll remind me what it felt like in the beginning, make me feel like less of a failure. I'd actually get my tattoo.” 

“You’re not a failure, we just have patches sometimes. You’ll figure it out, we’ll figure it out.” The steam of the kettle startles from the moment you're quick to exit to the stove, mulling words and recovering from the embarrassment of exposure over the steaming water. “You know, I don’t have tea so I hope hot chocolate is okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Jeongguk accepts his mug and the packet of mix, stirring it in time with his breathing. He’s left to the obvious blushing of his cheeks, musing his circumstance, sharing a drink with the perfect anomaly. He’s ignored the constant stream of vibration from his pocket, no interest in removing himself from the cozy bubble. “So this place is pretty shitty, I would know and I’ve only lived here about a week. Why do you stay here?” 

“You live here? Wait...you and Taehyung are roommates, duh sorry. I’m still trying to catch up.” 

“Yeah, thanks for the space heater by the way. I’m pretty sure I would’ve given in the first night if I had to sleep in the cold.”

“Ha! No worries, sometimes I do give in and I stay over at Jimin’s place. But I’m just not ready to let this place go yet, I guess. It’s not great, but change is hard and I’ve been here for so long.” 

You're close along the counter, space invaded without invitation, gravitation controlling your every step. The rest of the night follows suit, closeness and appeal. You enjoy words and laughter, ignoring the possibility of the responsibility the next day alludes. 

Somehow you find yourselves in your bed, faces close and bodies tucked beneath the thick duvet. You're glad the heat isn’t working tonight, Jeongguk wrapped around you like a boa, slowly falling into the depths of unconsciousness, the conversation lulling with each random topic. Your throat is strained from laughter and your brain is filled with more than it thought possible. 

Inches are now centimeters and you’re snails inching toward the finish, certain but uncertain if the light of day will change the result of your exchange. 

The morning following you wake much the same as you slept, tangled, breaths mingling between. Jeongguk is still snoring, blissfully unaware of the authoritative knock echoing from your front door. Hands pushing at your eyes, feet tingling against the cold flooring, you swing the door with an annoyance you’re prepared to unleash before you’re met with Taehyung. 

His eyes are half frantic, neck craning to see around you. 

“Taehyung?”

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jeongguk? I’ve been trying to reach him since last night and he’s not answering.” 

“O-oh...um he’s here, let me get him,” You mumble, allowing Taehyung, his eyes softening and features squinted, to step inside. You leave him standing in the living room, ignoring the knowing smirk, head bowed as you step into your bedroom. 

You regret the gentle shove of his shoulders, and the hushed “wake up” that slowly but surely draws Jeongguk from his sleep. He looked peaceful, full of youth with his eyes stapled and breath steady rising and falling. His eyes are puffy when he raises, confusion laced features recalling that he wasn’t in his own home. 

His arm extends, patting your side of the bed, unaware that you were the reason for premature awakening. “Hey sleepy head.”

“What are you doing up?” He finds your hand, grabbing hold in an attempt to pull you back to bed. Though you would be more than willing, Taehyung is sure to have heaps to say already, no reason to add fuel to the fire already blazing in his pupils. 

“Taehyung is here,” That catches his attention, eyes darting to the door half open. “He said he’s been trying to reach you. He’s waiting in the living room, I’m sorry if you didn’t want him to know you’re here, I panicked.” 

“No it’s fine,” He assures, sliding from the bed, the same chill that ate you catching him with bare feet. You follow him back out to Taehyung, who’s taken it upon himself to peruse the space, currently examining the coffee table with it’s day old mugs. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.” 

Looking between the two of you, your hand finding habit at Jeongguk’s shoulder, he shrugs. “No biggie, just thought you might be in a ditch or something. Turns out I was very wrong, so I’ll leave you to it.” 

“I’ll just come with you, I should probably shower and change. I’ve got some stuff to take care of before the opening. I can’t believe it’s only a couple months away.” You drop your hand, leaving him to it, an awkward and unsure feeling settling in your stomach. It’s clear that Jeongguk is a bit embarrassed, not that you’re own emotions haven’t caused the sting of a heat in your cheeks. You wait for him to follow Taehyung, who’s already waved goodbye, hands in his pockets as he stalks away. 

Jeongguk isn’t so quick, turning to your ground bound pupils, fingers drifting to the trace of your jaw and nudging you to greet him. You’re taken by the lack of hesitation when his lips meet yours in kiss, short and sweet, altogether unexpected. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” You coo, fingers brushing his cheek gingerly, rewarded with one more peck before Taehyung is groaning in the hallway, effectively tearing Jeongguk from you to catch up. 

~*~

You’re warm, for the first time in a long time you’re warm, from your chest to your veins, head and toes, and it’s all because of Jeon Jeongguk. His departure wasn’t the last of him, the next few months full of meetings planned and spontaneous, your phone alight with too many notifications, every one taken in with the same adoring smile and your own obsessed response. 

You would stop by Hoseok’s blessing him with a coffee, happily listening to his rambling about the horrendous new flavor Jin had him and Yoongi test the other night. Across the street you could just see Jeongguk through the window, lips pulled in concentration, pen scribbling on the pad in front of him. Though it was cute, you couldn’t help but to attempt to cheer him up, his eyes immediately finding you after he’s read the little note sent to his phone. 

You would be sick with yourself if you were the one to witness the affection radiating from your expanse, but you couldn’t care less how many times Jimin fake gags or the small lecture you endure when Yoongi delivers flowers later in the day. You hold on to the feeling and you hope that it feels like this all the time. 

“What are you working on?” Namjoon steps into your office, no other reason than his own boredom swallowing him whole, much like the cushions when he collapses into your sofa. 

“Just some of Jeongguk’s sketches…” You noticed rather quickly the familiar book resting on your bedside table after your first night together, no doubt placed by Jeongguk before sleep could find him. You spent the morning getting to know his art better, so you could try to make it exactly what he wanted. You only just got around to transferring the sketches to your own notebook, hoping to have something to show him at his opening. 

“He’s really good for you. I haven’t seen you this eager about sketching in a while.” 

“You think so?” 

“What, you don’t?”

“No, I just...I don’t want you to think I’m completely insane for jumping into this so suddenly. I mean, I think it’s insane that I could be so completely sure about someone so quickly and I think the world of you, so I don’t want you to be disappointed…” 

He laughs, whole hearted laughter fills your office and you’re not positive how you should respond. Your hands are unsteady on your pen, ready for him to completely crush your soul, back to the same girl standing in his doorway all those years ago. 

“Honestly, you give me way too much credit.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night that you showed up, I was wondering how I was even gonna keep this place open. The building wasn’t the most friendly looking, most people walked right past, the outside giving them the impression that the inside was just as decrepit,” He sighs, head supported by the arm of the chair, eyes holding the ceiling in place. “When you showed up I was seconds away from telling you to get lost, then you handed me your sketches and you looked so hopeful. You were my last chance, so really I should be thanking you for being so spontaneous, especially if it means you’re happy.” 

“Wow, why didn’t you ever say anything?” 

“I didn’t want to put more pressure than you already put on yourself. Plus, it doesn’t really matter now, does it? We’re doing pretty good, and that’s what’s important.” 

The revelation is a motivation, your grip on the pencil tightening, strokes light and even on the page. Namjoon doesn’t say much more, silent inspiration while he falls into slumber, the only reason he ever finds himself meandering into your space. 

“Knock knock,” Jeongguk peers around the corner, your finer flying to your lips, the other gesturing toward Namjoon, dozing peacefully. “Sorry, does he do that a lot?” 

“Oh yeah, he pretends he wants to know what I’m up to then he’s out like a light before I’ve finished speaking.” 

“I’ll have to try it sometime—”

“Watch it,” You warn playfully, sneakily closing your notebook so he can’t see. “What’s up? I figured you would be too busy filling orders for little ole me.” 

“Never, and I want you to try this! I was thinking I could add it to the special menu. I know everyone is into the whole lemonade with boba thing which we do offer but I was trying to make a tea that’s more on the fruity side than the tea side because I know some people are put off by the tea taste, ya know?” He watches you uncomfortably closely, your face trained to be as neutral as possible while flavors explode, traveling to opposing ends of your mouth, battling it out, but ultimately left with no winner. 

“You know, I appreciate the thought and I’m sure if you work on it some more it’ll be perfect but…”

“It’s disgusting.” He finishes for you sighing in defeat, collapsing in the chair across from you. 

“No!” You round the desk, his arms ready to accept your slide into his lap. “It’s not disgusting, it’s just...not quite blended yet.” 

He takes the to-go cup, sipping his own concoction. You wonder if he tried it at all before running over here, his habit of trusting your initial judgement extremely endearing, but unnecessary. It stems only from your admittance that you weren’t the biggest tea drinker and that you’re one of those lemonade with the boba people. His mission became clear, he couldn’t stand to see you walk into his shop knowing that you’ll be leaving with sugared lemons squeezed into juice. He has to make you the perfect tea if it’s the last thing he does.

He was set on making it for the opening, but to no avail, the sign flipped, his employees brewing away, his drop here only partially out of the necessity for his favorite taste tester. “It’s disgusting,” He decides immediately, fighting the urge to spit it back into the cup. “You have to stop being so nice to me, it’s cute, but I want you to yell at me like you yell at Jimin.” 

“I don’t yell at Jimin!” 

“You yell at Jimin all the time, lovingly, but there are voices raised.” Namjoon rubs at his eyes, tugging at the shirt riding at his abdomen. “We goin for tea or what? I swear people are gonna think we’re out of business with how often we close early.” 

"Yeah, can you just give us a minute?" You try your best to be discrete, nodding toward the notebook on your desk. 

"Yeah...Jimin and I will just meet you there." He leaves you, door clicking in his wake and you turn to Jeongguk with a ready grin, eyes wide with excitement.

"Is this one of those things where I should knock everything off of your desk? If so I'm down, but this is a weird time…"

"No! I have a surprise for you." You pull his journal from it's position beneath the stacks of paper on your desk. "You left this at my place your first night over."

"I've been looking for this! I was embarrassed to tell you I lost it, but it turns out you're a klepto." He teases, taking hold of the pages. "So you decided to hold it hostage?"

"I wasn't holding it hostage, I was working on…" You lift your sketchbook, flipping to the appropriate page. "These."

They aren't complete, but you want his first impression and suddenly you understand the tea thing. It's a radically different medium, your shared art actually pending ink on his body, but you don't want to go too far only to disappoint. He leans against the desk, not speaking, just staring, expressionless.

"If you don't like them we can talk about what you want changed, I just tried to make something I thought would fit what you've already got going." 

He finally looks up, eyes glistening, your stomach doing flips. You're too afraid to ask what he's thinking, so you continue to wait, hoping he'll speak up soon and that you didn't insult him with your vision.

"I love them."

"Really? You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings, it's your body you know."

"Really, you're amazing. This is better than I could've hoped and I can't wait until it's permanent." His words are firm with sincerity, notebook laid to the side in favor of pulling you into his arms. "How am I supposed to compete? I can't even make tea for you."

"Relax, your tea is perfectly fine! I just enjoy the occasional lemonade. Come on, we'll go to the shop, you can make me whatever you want and I'll love it."

"Deal, but...I-we have a surprise for you as well."

"For me?"

"Yeah, I was talking with the guys the other day, we were talking about you..."

"You and the guys? This should be good."

"It is, I promise." He produces an envelope from his pocket, no scrawl on the outside, more mystery than you're ready for. “I was thinking about what you said that first night, about wanting to remember what it was like in the beginning.” 

“What did you do?” You tear into the envelope, fingers moving so slowly you fear the skin will catch in the thin edges. What you pull is far from what you imagined, a ticket printed blue for a week’s time. Jeongguk stares at you expectantly, waiting for some form of reaction, but you’re not sure what to say. “This is a plane ticket…” 

“Yeah, to Japan. We want you to go back and we knew you wouldn’t do it unless we planned it for you.” 

“You guys didn’t have to.” 

“We wanted to, I wanted to. The way your eyes lit up talking about that time in your life, I would do anything to give that to you again. So we want you to go to Japan, do something for you.” His lips land on your forehead, breathing you in while you process the unexpected gift. It’s more than you could ever imagine, but there’s a single string, dangling with uncertainty. You figure the only way to eliminate it is to pull full force, risk sounding ridiculous. 

“What about you?” Jeongguk’s face scrunches in confusion, the inquiry the last thing he expected. His thoughts were far from himself, not naive enough to think his mind would be focused anywhere but you while you’re gone, but never thinking it would be a reason you’re unsure about going. “I don’t mean to sound stupid, but I’d miss you too much.” 

“You can call me everyday, any time of day. I’ll be there, you don’t have to worry about me not being here waiting for you.” 

“Or...you could come?” 

“Oh, you want me to? I figured you’d want to do your own thing, not have me weighing you down.” Your arms find his waist, head resting against his chest, giggling at the prospect of Jeongguk being anything more than a comforting presence. 

“Of course I want you to, I wanna show you everything.” 

“I’ll have to figure things out with the shop, but—”

“Oh, wow I’m so selfish. Of course you can’t just drop everything to come with me, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” You shake your head, silently scolding your inconsideration. Jeongguk grabs hold of your shoulders, stopping you mid step, hand halfway to smack your forehead.

“I would love to come, I just have to talk to Taehyung about it. I’m sure he wouldn't mind taking on a little more responsibility. Actually he’ll probably pack my bags for me.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll probably have to catch a later flight, just to get things taken care of.” He thinks aloud. 

“I think I can manage a few days on my own.” 

“I promise I won’t be long.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

And now, we smile. 

[slvtbible]

G O L D

chapter one

summary: [y/n is a young stripper who is adored by many men. harry styles is a man who loves to carry danger with him]

word count: 4222

pairing: stripper!y/n and gangleader!harry

warnings: violence, vulgar language, sexual acts, alcohol and drug

to be honest, i was a little hesitant to post it here and i don’t know if this story will blow up on tumblr or get many notes but that’s the last thing on my mind right now. i just want to share what i’ve been working on that kept you guys waiting for almost a year lol sorry about that. But yes, she’s finally here!! I posted first on wattpad before i put it here, I felt like the only way to reach out more people to read it it’s through that. And also, i decided to use a name on wattpad but I’d use the term ‘y/n’ on tumblr. Enjoy it all my loves! Give me feedbacks!💜

*

*

Harry fixes the collar of his sheer black shirt before tucking it neatly inside the black trousers he's currently wearing. He normally goes something more extravagant for going out. His closet is filled with colourful ruffles and Hawaiian shirts along with 'more than one colour' suits. However tonight, he needs to lay low for a bit. Especially when he's about to step into one of the most famous strip clubs in New York in an hour to meet up with the manager.

He's very much aware of the reputation he has put on himself out there. Though there's no use of camouflage and hiding, he still doesn't want a cause a scene,

Yet.

His hand lifts a bottle of Tom Ford from the dresser before spraying it twice on his neck. Stepping away from the full length mirror, he grabs his cross necklace from the bed before putting the accessory around his neck as he walks out of the room.

"Talk to me Reece" his heavy accent echoes the hallway as he walks downstairs, watching his few men pocketing their weapons,

Reece, the brown skinned man with tattoos nods. "He's there. Just got a word from Bianco. He appears isn't expecting you, Boss. However I do believe he knows you're coming soon. The club is far too crowded than usual but Bianco is taking care of that right now." He informs, showing him the message on the phone,

Harry can only scoff, nodding at him as a thank you. "That son of a bitch should've. Owes me more than fucking money." He mutters, inserting the .45 ACP inside his gun holster. "The car's ready?"

Nodding, Reece leads Harry down towards the basement. "As requested. Lamborghini Murcielago in blue hera. Pack with 640 PS and 471 kW, rules around 213 mph if you consider on hit and run. Still, I pack a standard Aeropack wing if you wanna go slow tonight. The windows? Bulletproof. In case anyone tries to kill you." Harry knows he's only joking about the last part. No one dares try to kill him before he does it. It's a pattern that everyone knows by now.

Harry lets out a low whistle, softly shaking his head as the machine beauty appears. Tracing lightly with his ring cladded fingers along the hood of the car. "Not planning to hit and run tonight, Reece. Not even thinking about racing down the street with my weapon outside the window. You don't have anything more. . . Less attractive?" He questions, still staring at the gorgeous car ahead of him,

"You know I don't do less, boss." Reece winks playfully, laughing to himself as he watches Harry roll his eyes. "Besides. Who knows you'll get yourself a bird tonight, eh? Take her out on a stroll before bringing her home to your place. Women love fast cars." He comments, pressing the button on the keys as the door opens,

Humming as a response, Harry walks towards the driver's seat, "I don't date anymore, thought my right hand man knew tha' " He speaks, words laced with seriousness while grabbing the keys from Reece's fingers,

He can only sigh and nod his head. "Understood. Yet, Kendra is like what? Two years ago? Gotta get yourself something better, boss. You deserve it. So do it tonight." He suggests, watching him going inside the car before shutting the door,

Harry smiles a bit, inserting the keys inside the ignition before starting the car. "Noted."

The dark haired man steps away from the car. Giving Harry a salute. "I'll be right behind you. See you there."

*

*

*

Y/N Y/L/N stands in front of the mirror as she applies another layer of red lipstick on her plump lips. Securing the tube back as she puckers her mouth to see if it fits the colour for tonight. She twirls, watching carefully how the gold lingerie clads perfectly around her breasts and down to her curvy hips and thick thighs.

She stops once her plump ass is facing the mirror, admiring how beautiful and big her bum is in the lingerie. It's a compliment really. She loves working out to give her bum a bit bigger. It's not that she hopes she'll gain attention from people, she just loves her body. She worships every piece of it despite what other people think of it. Insecurity was her biggest enemy but not anymore. After reading lots of books and poems about self love she learns that there's nothing she should be ashamed of.

Grabbing a bottle of lotion from her table, she squeezes the bottle into her hand before rubbing her bum with the cold cream, rubbing it neatly to make sure she doesn't miss a spot.

Another thing, she loves moisturizing her plump flesh before the show. It's sexy

"Joe is asking for you." She hears a voice coming from behind, craning her neck to see her closest co-worker Violet, already in her usual purple wig and attire as she stands beside Angelina. "I love working as a stripper but he really needs to learn to be patient and. . . shut up, i guess?"

Y/N releases a small laugh, moving her long dark wavy hair to rest on her chest. "I know, I know. Jesus, I've told him fifteen minutes prior that I'll take longer than usual." She slips on her gold heels and turns to face Violet, who's biting her lip as she stares at Angelina's body up and down. "Okay, how do i look?"

Violet raises her eyebrow, as if it's something her friend shouldn't be asking. "You kidding? You look like a sex goddess. Gonna get all the men on their knees for you, girl"

Scoffing, she shoots her a wink and a flirtatious smile. "Old men with beer bellies? No thanks. I'd rather make out with Gordon." She replies, seemingly disgusted about the thought of grinding on an old man's lap tonight.

"Is that a bet I hear?" Violet questions, leaning towards her a bit as she waits for her friend’s response. "Please tell me that it is so I can earn extra cash tonight."

Gordon is a perverted bartender that always keeps his eye on Y/N throughout her routine. He's 40 and is always asking Angelina on a 'date' and by date, he means her ass on his lap. Clearly something Y/N isn't too fond of. Him specifically. Violet and Y/N have always made a joke about him, something they could make a playful banter in every chance they get.

Plus, she heard he's married. Isn't he supposed to find another job rather than here? If his wife found out what kind of a sleaze bag she married, she would be crushed,

Rolling her eyes, Y/N shoves her playfully by the arm. "Ha ha, very funny" she answers, resuming to untangle her hair from knots.

Violet laughs, pinching her on the hip as she lets outa small squeal. "Just messing with you, baby. Good luck out there. Put the rest of us to shame tonight. . . Like any other night"

Y/N flips her off, yet knowing it's the truth. She's not trying to sound like a condescending bitch here but none of the girls here are actually capable to do what Y/N does. That's what makes men attracted to her. She knows what she's doing. She knows how to make a man hard.

"By the way, you heard what Joe's talking about earlier?" Violet asks, toeing off her heels as she exhales a relief sigh. "Damn those heels are killing me" She mumbles,

"No... What's about?" She turns her head to face Violet for her to explain, causing her to shrug her shoulders,

"Don't know much about it. . . But i hear Harry Styles is coming here to meet up with him. Something about transaction or shit" She waves it off, whispering it to Y/N, looking around to make sure no one is eavesdropping,

She almost chokes on her saliva after hearing Violet says the name. "Harry Styles?! The. . . mafia boss of New York..?" Her eyes widen at the possibility of the most dangerous man in the city paying a visit to the place she works at,

Nodding, Violet answers, "Yup. That Harry Styles. He's the devil. Let's hope this place doesn't turn into a war zone."

Y/N has heard about this Harry guy. The most feared man of New York. She does know a little bit of the relations between Joe and Mr. Styles. Almost every night she could hear Joe freaking out about this man. She may not know him that close, hell she had never even met him in person but people talk. One thing she learned about hearing his reputation, you don't ever want to mess with this guy.

Violet snaps her fingers to snap Y/N out of her thoughts. "Less worrying, girl. Come on, you got a show to put on yes?"

"Y-yeah. Fuck. . . now i'm scared" She breathes out, looking at her reflection in the mirror one last time. Calming down her mind.

After giving Violet a kiss on a cheek and receiving a tap on her ass, she takes a deep breath as she opens the beaded curtain and walk out to the club. Jhene Aiko is playing through the speakers, thanks to her who chose the music for tonight. She can already feel all eyes on her as she struts down confidently, putting on a smirk and winking at couple of men here and there. As much as it disgusts her, she grazes her hand along a man's arm who's biting his lip and looking at her up and down.

'What the fuck did i do to deserve this?' she thinks to herself, staring at the man in front of her who's probably the same age as her father. The thought of it makes her gag,

She gives the man a wink before getting up on the stage, hearing a few hollers from behind. reaching out to wrap her hand around the silver pole and her leg hooking up to support her body. Slowly twirling with her head thrown back and closes her eyes with money being toss at her direction before letting go and crutching down on her knees, moving close towards the same man earlier. He slips in a couple of hundred dollar bills inside her panties, causing the others to do the same.

This may be not how she pictures her success but damn, by the end of the week, her bank account can go from three to six digits.

She's definitely gonna hold on to that,

*

*

*

It takes Harry close to thirty minutes to get here. He blames it all on the traffic, cursing to himself every time he stops at red lights. He parks his car close to the entry before he exits from the vehicle. He looks over his shoulder to find a familiar black car driving towards her, noting to himself it's Reece's. Seeing him wave his hand to make sure he's coming in later.

He clears his throat, clenching his jaw as he walks into the club. Reece wasn't lying, the club is too packed for tonight. As if God knew what is about to get down tonight and isn't going to let him get away with witnesses. He really needs to play safe for a while tonight.

As he strides through the room to find a table he has reserved for, a few half naked girls walk right pass him, stroking his exposed chest and grabbing his shoulders. Most of them are gorgeous and he's tempted to touch their soft skin yet he has to hold it. Not that he isn't interested because he's definitely taking someone back to his place tonight--fucking Reece had to be right-- but he needs to get his head in the game for at least an hour before planning to do so.

Gently, he pulls back a chair for him to sit. He specifically asks for the furthest table so no one can figure out what he's about to do tonight. A glass of whiskey has been set on his table before he got here, waiting for Joe's arrival. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Reece and Bianco walking over to his table. One of them gives him a nod to acknowledge his presence.

Harry lifts the glass up to his lips and take a sip of it. Honestly, he hates doing all of this dirty work. Sure, he's the boss. But he despises complicated things. He should've known not to trust Joe about anything, yet when he begged on his knees with a gun knocked against his head as he spat out a bunch of threats to the weakened man, he thought why not? If Joe didn't get to fulfill his demands, he gets to kill him either way. It's always a pleasure for him to do so.

"Mr. Styles! Ay, i'm so happy to see you. You look a lot cleaner than i saw you the last time, eh?" Joe's voice causes Harry's green eyes averts from the scene on the crowd. His eyebrows are knitted, jaw tightened as he taps his fingers against the table, causing the rings he's wearing to knock.

He owes him money worth $50,000. And this man had the nerve to walk in and act like nothing happened.

He is definitely going to kill him.

"Stop with all that shit and sit the fuck down. You owe me something Joe." Harry warns, pointing at him as Harry's men forces the dark haired male to sit down making him gulp. "You owe me 50 grand for that package you piece of shit."

Joe couldn't feel more terrified as he catches a glimpse of Harry's gun on the table, facing towards him. "I know Harry, I know. I didn't forget, okay? It's just the money is tight right now. The girls aren't getting the amount of money they used to be getting." Joe tries to reason but Harry isn't having any of it,

"Stop being a fucking pussy and blame your girls for the money you've lost. I'm running out of patience here, Joe. If you don't give me the money by the end of the week, you're a dead man. I still have one body bag left in my car and I wouldn't mind writing your name on it." Harry grits his teeth, looking at him with a dark look in his eyes. Hand gripping tightly around the glass

"No man, I need more than that. Please, I'll do whatever you ask me to. You will have your money man I promised." Joe begs, looking at Harry with hopeful eyes.

Harry finds it quite disgusting to see someone like him beg for mercy-- for the second time--or anything at all to be honest. He find that gesture is weak and vulnerable which makes him very easy to manipulate over. "I don't give out second chances."

Joe hears a gun clicks behind, he doesn't need to know what's going on. He knows one of the two men behind him is ready to blow his brains out. "Harry man. . . One more. . . Give me one more"

Harry isn't a patient man. He doesn't want people beg. He doesn't want him to beg. But he finds it interesting to see how it goes, playing along this little game of his.

"Fine. you give me your best girl and i'll give you two months." Harry offers, cocking his eyebrow as he leans back to relax himself. "No more than that."

Joe's eyes widen at Harry's demand. It's impossible to collect a 50 grand in two months, especially when he's short on it. He needs more than that. Still, he thinks two months is better than nothing. "Okay. . . Agreed. Just tell me which girl you want or-or i could bring one or two here, man. Take your pick."

Harry can only hum in response, scanning his eyes over the scene. Dozens of girls dancing on stage, few of them even has their bras taken off. It seems to him, none of these girls on the room is his type.

Until his green eyes fall on a certain slightly curvy woman with her leg wrapped around the pole.

Her long dark hair brushing lightly against the floor as she bend her back a bit. He observes the way her body move so dirty yet gracefully around the pole,  the way she bites onto her pink glossed lips and how her brown eyes manage to flirt with the crowd and had them lure into her eyes including himself. He swears this girl just steps out of his daydreams. She looks perfect.

He admires how she circle her hips painfully slow, jealous how he isn't close enough to watch her plump flesh near his strong figure.

"Her. I want her" Harry points at the girl he can't take his eyes off. His voice sounds too possessive but he doesn't care if he does. He's too enhanced with the way she moves on that stage and he loves how she swats those dirty hands who seems desperate to cope a feel with a dirty look on her face.

'Seems like a fighter' he thinks to himself

"Y/N? You want her?" Joe asks after he realises who Harry's pointing at.

"Y/N? That's a gorgeous name. She's not taken is she? Not that i care anyway. She's a dime from what i can see here." He says, not tearing his eyes off of her while he sips on his drink. "You're gonna give me her to me aren't you?" Harry asks, his eyes are threatening enough for Joe so he nods his head as a response.

"Yes. Of course. If that's what you want."

"Fuck yes i do. Bring me to one of your rooms. I want a private from her" He demands before gulping down his drink, standing up to head over to the back. Not before glancing at the gorgeous woman one last time who stuffs a few dollar bills in her panties.

*

*

After what it feels like forever dancing on stage and have men whistling at her to go over and give them more, she finally sit herself down on a chair in her dressing room and take a deep breath. Moaning in relief as she pulls her heels off while setting her timer on because she only has thirty minutes to rest before going back out there again. She leans back against the chair, sighing in a pure bliss.

She can hear a few girls talking and laughing while preparing themselves for their performance tonight, wishing she could just join in because Violet informs her earlier there's some juicy gossip she needs to talk about but she cant take it. She's too tired.

She has only closes her eyes for 10 minutes until a familiar voice speaks out,

"Where's Y/N?"

She groans internally. Can never mistake that voice soon as she hears it. Her manager, who sounds like he's panting, voice firm as if is an emergency to call her out like that. Y/N still has her eyes shut as she raises her hand up, not having the energy to respond.

"Okay, good. Y/N. You don't need to go back out there again. There's a special guest I need you to entertain. He's already waiting in the red room."

She nods and hum, only to realize what he means as her eyes bugs out.

Wait, what?

She's quick to turn around, brows furrows and mouth hangs open, not believing what she has just heard. "Pardon?"

"There's a man. A guy who I work with, waiting in one of the rooms. He specifically asked for you. I need you to at least give him an hour." Joe notifies, running his hand over his face as if he's stressed about something,

"You want me to give a lap dance to your co-worker?" She raises her eyebrow, not believing what he just asked her

Joe sighs angrily, "it's technically not--Y/N... please. No more questions, just go over there."

"Who's the guy?" she ignores his orders as she stands, crossing her arms across her chest. "Jesus, fuck. I really need my hair to breath" she mutters, brushing down her long dark brown hair,

"Harry Styles."

Y/N freezes in an instant. Looking up to stare at Joe in the eye to see if he's joking, he can only nod his head to confirm her questioning look. " you're shitting me."

"I'm not," Joe replies, walking over to her, not wanting the other girls to hear. "Y/N, I owe him money. I haven't got them yet and--"

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and continue messing with her hair a bit more. "Not my problem."

He reaches out to grab her elbow, pulling her harshly causing her to stumble a bit. "Y/N, please... He wanted to kill me out there earlier. The guy brought a gun for God's sake. He gave me a month but until then... he wants you."

"You know i'm not a hooker" Y/N defeatedly sighs. She wants to help him, she does but it sounds like he's selling her off for a month to this notorious and dangerous guy who is named to be the deadliest man alive by the people of New York.

She loves money but no fucking way she's willing to die for it.

"I didn't say you were" He roughly says, hand gripping tightly on her arm. "Just... do it" He let her go, tired of the waiting because he doesn't want to make Harry pissed off now,

The girl sighs angrily, squeezing her eyes shut as she hesitates for a while. What the fuck did she get herself into?

"Fine. just give me a moment."

Giving her a smile, Joe thanks her by giving her a kiss on the cheek, telling her the door number Harry is in before walking out of the room. Soon after he walks out, she feels sick in her stomach. How could she ever go face to face with a man with blood in his hands? She's about to give this man a lap dance. Who knew he might've ask for more?

So now, as she finishes re-applying a layer of red lipstick, she heads out. Walking to the back of the room in a slow pace. Heart beating loud and fast as she's about to come face to face with this man. Still, she needs to play it cool. God really fucking hates her,

If he really does exists.

She takes a deep breath before opening the brown door carefully, pushing it open. Her knees almost buckle at the sight of Harry Styles, lounging on the leather couch. A cigarette squeeze between his fingers. legs spread open as if it's an invitation already made for her. His head turns towards the door, a smirk graces upon his face.

She's not going to lie. He is indeed dashingly handsome. With his arms resting on the back of the couch making his biceps look a bit bigger. He's got killer looks too. she studies. Sexy smile, and stubble which creates a sexier look on his face. She catches a glimpse of a silver cross necklace resting against his broad chest. His eyes are sharp. Looking at her up and down with his bottom lip bitten between his teeth.

"My, my" he lowly whistles, watching her every move as she enters the room. Locking the door behind her. "I wasn't wrong. You are a fucking dime."

Y/N giggles-- though feeling scared shitless-- and run her hands over her hair as she struts her way towards his figure. Purposely swaying her ass side to side a bit to tease him. "Mr.Harry Styles. . . I heard a lot about you. Word on the street is that you're a man that likes to carry a danger" she smirks seductively as she stands in between his open legs, dragging her finger slowly down her chest.

Her angelic voice is like music to his ears,

"Yeah?" he smirks, eyes falling to the curve of her breasts. "Hope that doesn't scare you, doll. All i want is a dance from you, that's all. I also heard that you are their favourite girl. After seeing you danced on that stage, I now know why."

Again, she giggles. A small blush creeping on her cheeks, hopefully he doesn't see it. "You're a flirt aren't you, Harry? You do this to every girl?"

He places his hands slowly on her plump ass, he doesn't know if he's allowed to touch but he doesn't give a shit. She seems isn't bothered by it. He wants this girl and he wants her now.

"Only to those who i find interesting, baby. Now, are you going to show me what you got?" He asks, looking up to meet her brown eyes as he squeezes her flesh.

With a devilish smirk, she slowly sets herself down on his lap which causes him to let out a soft groan. She runs her hands down to his tattooed chest and toys with his cross necklace for a bit before whispering in his ear, "sit tight and relax, Mr. Styles. I'll be your good girl for tonight"

next chapter

*

i really don’t want to write a super long chapter, because i’m afraid it’ll bore you guys so maybe--i hope-- this is enough. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this first chapter, let me know if you guys hate it or love it! I’ll appreciate it. love you guys!

[untaemedqueen]

The Bird Cage

Mafia!Jimin x Reader

Chapter 29.

Warnings: Fingering, Cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms, Unprotected Sex

Blood, Guns, Knives, Smoking (Cigarettes), Character Death

Tag-List: @imaforeigner​, @q1st1na​, @gensneverland​, @autumnnflowers​, @toddsgirl27​, @yaniposts22​, @babyboytae1​, @dearlydreadful​​, @vivpurple7​, @kthfeed​​, @probably-trying-too-hard​, @si-deus-me-hanyu-senshu​​, @bts-chub​​, @ayyyocee​​, @taeslittletiger​​, @yeonkiminfr​​, @xcharlottemikaelsonx​​ , @topthis808​​,  @brilee64​, @mini-coop25​, @afangirllikeme-blog​, @kpoppingthempills, @anextragreating​, @ego-allie-bap​, @diamonddia-mond​, @pjmcth​

A/N: GUYS IT’S OVER. I’M CRYING. Thank you to everyone who supported this series. I love you all. I’m going to miss Mafia Chim

"GOOD MORNING!" You yell opening up the playroom as cigarette smoke rolls out of your mouth. Kim Shin groans, picking up his head as you smile at him. Your hands place down the tray of stale bread before kicking it over to him and pulling your cigarette from your mouth. 

"How'd you sleep?" You ask sitting in the corner chair crossing your legs. Your eyes taking in his newly missing arm, the blood smeared on the floor evidence enough before pulling an impressed face at Jeongguk's handiwork. 

"Are we ready to talk?" You ask sweetly as if talking to a baby or a small dog. Kim Shin looks up at you with his one good eye before spitting on the floor. 

"Aigo." You mumble before standing up. You pull from your cigarette before walking over and burning it out in his breakfast. The piece of bread hissing as you crouch down. 

"You've been in here a very long time. I'll keep you in here until my daughter goes to college if you want. Or, you can just tell me what I want to know." Shin scoffs before narrowing his eye at you. 

"You already know who killed your parents." He says as you sit on the floor and cross your legs. There was a comfortable distance between you both. You wouldn't dare get blood on your brand new Gucci dress. 

"I do?" You ask tilting your head, Kim Shin hums before smiling. 

"Oh, you do." You put your hand under your cheek before smirking. 

"And who is that?" 

"I'd tell you to suck my balls for it but I don't have any, anymore." The joke was funny, funny enough to making you smile. The boys were deeming this Stockholm Syndrome. Kim Shin was enamoured with you, for some odd reason, but he still won't tell you who it is. 

"You just like me coming and seeing you every morning." You tell him before standing up with an eye roll. 

"I do." He admits looking up at you as he crosses his legs. 

"Shame, after tomorrow. I'm going on vacation and won't see you." Shin gets up to his knees quickly at your statement. 

"You're leaving me?" Sadness does not look good on this disgusting old man. 

"Yes." You say simply walking towards the door. 

"I'll tell you tomorrow, then!" You turn towards him, flashing him a brilliant smile as you clear your throat. 

"Tomorrow, then." You step out of the room only to be greeted by your husband as he holds your daughter in his arms. 

"Hawon was looking for mommy." You close the door shut tight behind you before opening your mouth at your daughter. 

"What's wrong?" You say giving her a pout making her smile. Jimin pushes some stray hairs off of your daughter's face before kissing her temple. 

"She wants a morning bath with mommy. Isn't that right, Hawon-ah?" Your three year old daughter nods before giggling and putting her index finger in her mouth. You grab your daughter before spinning around and walking towards your room with Jimin hot on your trail. 

"Minseok is sleeping." He says tip toeing behind you.

"You should wake him up or he won't take his nap later." He pulls your arm as your daughter lays her head on your shoulder. You stop walking before turning to Jimin and tilting your head. 

"What's the matter?" You ask looking up at him. 

"I love you." He whispers wrapping his arms around your waist. You hum in delight leaning up and kissing him. 

"I love you, too." Hawon picks her head up.

"Love me, daddy?" Jimin chuckles pulling away from you before kissing her forehead. 

"Daddy loves you too, baby." You smirk before petting Hawon's head as she lays back down on you with a smile. 

"I'll go get Minseok." He whispers before patting your ass cheek. 

"Yum yum." Jimin tells his one year old son as he holds up the plastic spoon with corn puree on it. 

"Come on." He tells Minseok as he whines loudly rubbing his small hands over his eyes. 

"Gotta eat to get big and strong like daddy. Come on." He says before smiling at his adorable son. 

Taehyung enters the kitchen before smiling at the sight before him. Jimin in his pinstripe suit feeding his half naked son in his highchair as he squirms around. 

"You want a drink?" Taehyung asks, opening the liquor cabinet. 

"No thanks, just coffee." Jimin mutters before wiping at Minseok's chin with his bib. 

"Fatherhood looks good on you, dude." Taehyung comments pouring Jimin a cup of coffee. Jimin smirks at the comment before nodding. 

"Thanks." Taehyung hands him the cup before pouring himself a glass of whisky. 

"I'm proud of you." Taehyung whispers before leaning on the island counter as Minseok smiles at him. Tae wrinkles his nose before smiling back at the little boy's cuteness. 

"He looks just like you, it's scary." Jimin chuckles before opening his mouth making his son do so. 

"Good boy." Jimin says happily before kissing Minseok's temple. 

"Meeting in two hours." Jimin says to Tae before looking at his Rolex. Taehyung nods before standing up and stretching. 

"Better get the wife to give me head before then." His comment has Jimin snorting as he leaves the kitchen. 

"Let's finish your breakfast." Jimin whispers to his son as his son grabs his finger.

Jimin sits down at his desk, his gun aimed at one of the crew member's heads. 

"Yeah, okay. So what? You just dropped a shipment off without acknowledging pick up? That's millions of cash wasted because of your stupid mistake." The crew member bows his head as Jimin cocks his gun. 

"I'm sorry, Boss." Jimin scoffs before raising his gun. 

"Sorry is going to cut my loss? Or is killing you going to cut my loss?" The crew member presses his lips together as the door opens. Jimin turns his head to the sound as he hears little pitter patters. 

"Daddy?!" Hawon asks excitedly. Jimin uncocks his gun going wide eyed before throwing it in his drawer. 

"Hawon!" He hears Mirae yell. She gasps in delight making him chuckle as she sees him. 

"You're supposed to be napping, baby girl." He chides playfully to his daughter as he pushes back his chair. 

"I want to sleep with daddy!" She frowns as she runs to Jimin. Mirae enters the room.

"Sir! I'm so sorry! She was laying down and then she just got up and ran." Jimin chuckles picking up his daughter. 

"That's okay. Don't worry. You want to sleep with me?" He asks, craning his neck to look at his daughter, she nods into his skin making him smirk. 

"I got it, Mirae." She nods with a smile before closing the door. Hawon lifts her head before looking at Jeongguk who sticks his tongue out at her making her giggle. 

"You should get Hawon's name tattooed on your body. She just saved your fucking life." Yoongi says before slapping the crew member upside the head. 

"Fucking?" Hawon mutters looking at her other uncle. Jimin gives a fake chuckle before narrowing his eyes at Yoongi who puts his hand over his mouth. 

"Don't say that around mommy. Hmm? Nap time." He says standing up.

"Fuh-king." Hawon says loudly, making Jeongguk snort as he lowers his head. 

"You're dead." Jimin tells Yoongi, Yoongi gives him an apologetic gummy smile before slapping the crew member upside the head once more as Jimin leaves.

"Look! It's the guy that taught my daughter her first curse word!" You yell, throwing your cell phone into the box as Yoongi enters the room. He chuckles awkwardly putting his hand to the back of his neck as you fold your arms raising your eyebrow. 

"Sorry." He murmurs sheepishly before tossing his phone into the box. 

"You're an idiot." You mutter as Jimin enters rubbing his eyes. 

"At least someone gets to take naps." You whisper before pulling out a cigarette. Yoongi leans over the table lighting it for you as you lean back in your chair. Jimin throws his phone in the box before sitting down next to you and kissing your cheek. 

"I had a dream about you, Kitten." He whispers in your ear before grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers. 

"You did? About what?" You inquire flirtatiously as Jimin rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. 

"I'll show you later." He mumbles before kissing your cheek.

Everyone enters finally. Seokjin being the last as he holds his son to his chest. 

"Kid won't sleep if he's not on me." He grumbles, you burn out your cigarette quickly before waving your hand at the smoke. 

"Let me see my nephew." You say holding out your arms. Seokjin sighs gratefully as his son stirs on his broad shoulder. 

"Jisuk-ah!" You cheer, making his son smile sleepily. Seokjin leans over the men to hand you Jisuk before sitting down with a groan. His head lulling back before throwing his phone in the box. 

"I don't know how you have two." Jin whines putting his hands through his hair making Jimin chuckle. Namjoon locks the box before throwing it out into the hallway. 

"Guns." You pull your gun from your thigh before putting it on the table as Jisuk coddles to your body. 

"Aigo. Sleepy boy." You whisper to your nephew making Jimin smile warmly. You were so affectionate after having your two children. He was really the most blessed person in the entire universe. Jeongguk smiles widely before putting his hands behind his head outstretching his elbows. 

"Agendas." Jimin says, cracking his knuckles before leaning over and rubbing Jisuk's sleeping back. 

"I have one." Yoongi mumbles, making you look up. Jimin nods to him and Yoongi clears his throat uncomfortably. 

"So...uh... Lee Oh is dead." This information came from Hyunah about two years ago. He passed in his sleep, due to heart failure. Jimin nods to him before tilting his head. 

"And, uh... You know Hyunah bought the mansion just a few...um... A few meters down the road." Yoongi looks at his hands uncomfortably. You smirk at his nervousness as Jisuk whines putting his face into your neck. 

"I know...I know." You whisper before kissing his forehead. Yoongi looks up quickly at the noise before rubbing his hands together. 

"Go ahead." Jimin says before putting his hand on your knee. 

"I was gonna ask if uh..If I could move in with Hyunah...So...Yeah." You smirk before looking at Jimin. Jimin nods before leaning back in her chair. 

"Of course you can hyung." He says before smiling, Yoongi gives a tight lipped smile before nodding. 

"Thanks."

"What else?" Jimin asks before looking across the table at Taehyung and raising his eyebrows, Taehyung clears his throat furrowing his eyebrows before leaning forward raising his pointer finger. 

"Hyejin is pregnant." You gasp loudly before smiling. She's been wanting a baby since they got married three years ago. You squeal happily stamping your feet on the floor. Taehyung chuckles before putting his cheek on his hand. 

"Congratulations." Namjoon says, shaking Taehyung's shoulders. Tae gives an embarrassed laugh before nodding. 

"Thank you." You giggle happily before clapping as Jimin smirks. 

"Get ready to not sleep." He tells Taehyung before Seokjin nods. 

"Yeah, you better make Hyejin put the kid to bed at a good time and make her fucking sleep throughout the night instead of her getting up and putting her finger under his nose every hour to make sure he's alive." Seokjin rants before closing his eyes, making you snort. 

You don't delve into Jin and your sister's marriage, it's not your place. But, they don't seem the happiest and there have been a few accounts as you've gone through the books for your girls that look off. As if Jin has been erasing his name from the computer. Very suspicious. 

"Business?" Jimin asks and you nod sitting forward.

"Jina is going to take over the books instead of going out for affairs from now on, so if you have any questions about the girls you can ask her. Looking after the girls, the kids, getting the casino started. It's a lot." Jimin hums in agreement rubbing your upper back as he sits back. 

"How's the casino coming anyway?" Jeongguk asks, dancing his knife between his fingers. 

"The Bird Cage is coming together nicely." Jimin smirks at the name before leaning over and kissing your cheek. 

"Anything else?" Seokjin looks over at his son before turning on the t.v. 

"Kwon Jijoon. He's been giving the Byun's some grief lately. They're asking for help. Kwon Jijoon in his past has picked a shipment of ours many years ago." Jimin tilts his head as his picture comes up before a knock comes at the door. 

"Mommy?" Your daughter whines through the door making you smile. Jimin stands up quickly walking around the table before opening the door. Hawon makes her presence known as the guys put away their guns. 

"Mommy?" Hawon asks, craning her head around Jimin's leg as she hugs it. You giggle sitting up straight. 

"Yes, baby?" Jeongguk wrinkles his nose happily as his niece smiles, shaking her body. 

"I miss you." She whispers, getting embarrassed in front of her crush. Hawon has just realized this year how big of an impact Hoseok has on her senses. Her eyes and ears are always enraptured when he's around. You stand tall before walking past the guys, Jeongguk grabs your gun for you before clearing his throat. 

"Hi Hawon-ah." Hoseok whispers cutely, she shoves her face into Jimin's pinstripe pants making him chuckle. You hand Jin his son before groaning as you pick up your own child. 

"I missed you too." You whisper before kissing her forehead. 

"I'll see you guys later." You tell them before tickling Hawon as you walk to her room.

Jimin leans on the doorway before chuckling and shutting the door behind him. 

"Kill him." He says before cracking his neck and walking back to his seat. 

"It's your anniversary tomorrow." Namjoon comments leaning back in his chair as Jimin sits back down. Jimin hums in agreement as the screen flicks to the warehouses. 

"I'm taking Y/N to the house in Busan." He says before putting his feet up on the table leaning his body against the metal wall. 

"Without the kids?" Jimin rubs his hands before smirking.

"Without the kids." 

"So we'll have another baby around soon." Taehyung teases making Jimin smirk as he looks up at the screen, he nods once. 

"What else is on the agenda?"

Jimin throws his dress shirt on the chair before walking over to the liquor caddy and pouring two glasses of whisky. His eyes glancing over the room before looking at the kitten painting on the wall. He smirks before sitting on the edge of the bed, his head tilted as he stares at the kitten's paw. The bedroom door opens, you were in your silken gold nightgown. Your freshly washed hair falling in rivets down your back as Jimin smiles. He holds up your glass of whisky before licking his lips. 

"Hi, gorgeous." His melodic voice echoing throughout your bedroom as you smile. 

"Hi Daddy." Jimin groans in agreement before standing up and padding over to you. You grab the glass of whisky as he shuts the door. 

"Babies okay?" He asks, wrapping his arm around your waist. You nod hugging him tight making him chuckle. His nose burying in your strawberry scented hair as he closes his eyes. 

"I love you." He mumbles before kissing your head. 

"I love you, too." He pulls away only to caress your cheek, his tongue running over his plump lips. You sip your whisky as he pulls you over to the bed. 

He sits down, his eyes on the clock as it hits twelve. "Happy anniversary, Kitten." 

You lift your nightgown before straddling him. His eyes on yours as he downs his whisky in a flash. 

"Happy anniversary, baby." Jimin smiles before intertwining your fingers. His gaze falling on your rings as they shine in the dull moonlighted room. His hand caresses your thigh at a lazy pace, kneading your flesh as he pulls you closer to him. You grab his glass before setting it down on the bedside table. 

"Oh, my Kitten." He whispers before grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your back making you giggle. Your hands grabbing at his hair as he crawls over you. He was always sexy, so charming and alluring. So perfect and so completely yours. 

"Fuck, you're so beautiful." He whispers caressing your neck with his thumb. His bottom lip tucking between his teeth as he sits up. It was a gorgeous love that the both of you share. So completely entranced in one another, always. Jimin leans down his lips pressing against yours as he pushes up your nightgown. His hands running up your thighs before smirking against your lips. 

"No underwear?" He mumbles rubbing at your bare hips, you giggle against him as he pulls away. "Sit up." Your nightgown getting discarded as your hands run over his eight pack, the muscles flexing as he sits up fully on his knees. His eyelids are lowering as he takes in your body. 

"Shit." His lips are back on yours, moving with a frenzied pace as he rubs at your breasts. His fingertips pinching and rolling your nipples as you mewl into his mouth. 

"You get my cock so fucking hard." He mutters as his lips trail down your neck, his lips suckling brilliant patches of pinks and reds as he flicks your nipples. Your head lulls back as you whimper his name.

"I love when you say my name. I never loved my name more until I met you." You smile as he kisses down. His tongue licking over your now hard nipples. 

"Fuck! Daddy!" Jimin's eyes close as he relishes in your voice. His hands spread your knees, situating himself between them. 

"Pussy wet for Daddy? Hmm?" He asks letting his lips trail lower, his actions stopping to kiss at your belly button before continuing. His fingers tease at your slit, his tongue licking at your lips as you whimper. Your hips buck up in anticipation making Jimin click his teeth. 

"Be a good girl." You bite your bottom lip as he continues to tease. Pressing gentle kisses against your pussy lips, his tongue giving small kitten licks to your clit making you whine. 

"Please Daddy, please." Jimin smiles as he fingers at your entrance. 

"What do you want, Kitten?" "I want you to make me feel good! I want your mouth." Jimin hums playfully before suckling at your clit. 

"You do? You want Daddy to eat out your pink little pussy?" You moan before nodding and looking down at him. 

"Yes, Daddy." He licks a flat stripe over your cunt that has your body sagging down on the bed. 

"Christ, you're fucking soaked." He mumbles before suckling harshly at your clit. His middle finger enters you as you moan loudly putting your hand over your mouth.  

"Fuck, so tight. Even after you gave me my two beautiful children." He mutters, fingering you faster. Jimin moans at your sweet taste, his eyes shutting as he adds another finger. You could feel your tension melting away as he curls his fingers upwards. Your teeth biting down on your hand as you feel the bubble within you growing, just begging to pop. 

"Cum on Daddy's tongue." He whispers against you, the heat of his breath making your eyes roll back as you moan for him. 

"Daddy!" Your mewls reach a high as he makes quick work of his tongue. Your hands flying to his hair as you tug harshly. You moan as you reach your climax. Your back bowing off the bed as you whine, your eyes getting spotty. 

"That's my good girl." Jimin mutters, pulling away letting you come down from your high. 

"Look how fucking hard you get my cock." His hands pull down his briefs as he crawls over you. 

"I want to taste it." You tell him running your hands over his muscled shoulders. 

"I would love that but I want your cunt." He presses his lips to yours, the tangy taste of yourself making you whimper as he runs his cock through your folds. His hips grinding down hard, your overly sensitive clit getting stimulated making you whimper. Jimin's eyes close as he moans gently.

"I love you." 

"I love you, too Daddy." He grips his cock before aligning to your entrance. His lips pressing sweetly against yours before thrusting in slowly. 

"Oh fuck." He mumbles against our lips as he lets out a choked groan. He was usually rougher, more dominant but it was your anniversary and he knows you love some good old love making. 

"Fuck, your so gorgeous looking fucked out under me." Your neck earns more red patches as he kneads at your thighs. 

"Your cock feels so good!" He hums in agreement pressing his forehead to your collarbone as he begins to piston himself within you. The bed creaks and groans as you run your hands over his back. 

"Fuck your pussy is so incredible." His voice comes out like a prayer through his gritted teeth as he kisses your skin. Your legs wrap around his waist as he moans your name. 

"You make my cock feel so fucking good. Shit, I love you so much." Your moans were getting higher, the bubble beginning to expand once more as he angles his cock to reach that rough patch within you that has you teetering on the edge. His hand clamps over your mouth. 

"Your sexy little voice is going to wake the babies." He groans loudly himself as his balls begin to tighten. He replaces his hand with his mouth, his plush lips rough on yours as he bulldozes himself inside you. 

"You gonna cum on Daddy's cock? Hmm? You're getting so tight. That what you want? Wanna cream all over me?" 

"Yes, Daddy! I want to cum on your cock!" Jimin bites your bottom lip, his lips suckling at the bruised flesh. 

"Good girl, cum on me." You whimper loudly, your nails raking bright red lines on his tan skin as you orgasm. His tongue is caressing yours as your body writhes in pleasure. His cock begins to throb within you, his eyes shutting as he grips at your hips. 

"Fuck! Oh fuck! So tight." He moans before pushing your knees up to your chest. 

"Daddy's going to cum a fat load in your little pretty cunt, baby girl." You put your hand over your mouth as you moan loudly. 

"Pretty little cunt." He whispers like a prayer, his forehead pressing against your breast as he licks his lips. 

"Why don't you take my cum and give me another baby, hmm? Get nice and big for me again." He whispers, his words bringing him to the precipice as you moan his name. 

"Oh fuck! I'm-" He groans loudly, roughing pumping into you before stilling. His lips lazily caressing your skin as his hot cum seeps inside of you. He lets out a tired chuckle before leaning up and kissing you sweetly. His arms wrapping around you before pulling you to his chest as he pulls out. 

"Is that what you want? For your anniversary present? You want another baby?" You ask your husband as he closes his eyes. Jimin smirks before licking his lips. 

"I do." He whispers before kissing your forehead. You giggle hugging his body as you throw your leg over his. 

"I'll see what I can do about it then." Jimin snorts before burying his face in your hair. 

"Anything with you or that you give me is the greatest gift I could ever get. You're the greatest gift I've ever gotten, Kitten." You hum closing your eyes.

"You and my two babies." He sighs before looking up at the canopy overhead. 

His fingertips caress your spine as he kisses your forehead. There was no more weight on Jimin's shoulders. He was in a great place financially, his money buying him all of the police force around the area. He had his family, a huge crew that was loyal. There was no more nervousness about retaliation, he really had it all. And, he was so content with everything. His heart was shriveled once, and now love flows through him like the vast ocean. Jimin intertwines your fingers before kissing the back of your hand. 

"Thank you, Kitten." You look up at him, chin on his chest as you tilt your head. 

"For what?" 

"For always keeping your promise of staying, for...for being my everything." You smile before kissing his lips chastely. 

"I love you." You mumble against his lips. He gives that giggle that you love to hear, a smile gracing your face as he flips you onto your back. 

"I love you, too. Let me show you again how much." He whispers before kissing down your neck.

"GOOD MORNING!" You yell opening the chamber door. Kim Shin was already up, his legs in a triangle as he stares at you. 

"Good morning." You sit down, your legs crossing as you light a cigarette. 

"Have something to tell me?" Your eyes catch the red blinking light in the corner, Jimin was watching. 

"I do." Kim Shin whispers before bowing his head. You clear your throat before pulling from your cigarette and furrowing your eyebrows. Kim Shin looks up at you with his one good eye, he looked guilty. Simply riddled with nerves which you enjoyed to see. 

"I had your parents killed but I sent another family after them instead. Your mother was so pretty, I couldn't do it." You press your lips into a straight line as you lean forward. 

"You're a fucking pig." You whisper, making his eye shut at your harsh words. 

"So who did it?" His hand rubs at his knee before clearing his throat. 

"Im Junggoo and Im Jungin." You take a deep breath through your nose before leaning back in your chair with a scoff. 

You've given their wives jewelry, sent Hawon on play dates with their kids. You've gotten your nails done with Ryu. Your vision going red as you pull from your cigarette. 

"Interesting." You mumble before cracking your neck and standing up. You walk towards Kim Shin burning your cigarette out on the floor before leaning down in front of him. The door opens as you grab his neck, squeezing it tightly. His hands getting restrained to the wall. 

"Kitten." Jimin whispers as you grit your teeth. That's it for him, that's all you needed him for. You put one hand under his chin, one hand on the back of his head. 

"Baby!" Jimin calls loudly, you twist with all your strength before a loud crack resounds throughout the room. Kim Shin's dead body sagging against the metal chains as you stand up. Jimin flinches, this is the first person you've ever killed and he doesn't know how to feel about it. You stand up turning around before looking at your husband. 

"Let's go to Busan." You whisper before walking past him and out of the room. He stares at Kim Shin's dead body before sighing. Jimin spits in his direction before shutting the door tightly. 

Jimin sits on the bed before grabbing your anniversary gift from underneath the bed. He groans, lifting it as you walk into the bedroom with your packed bag. 

"What's that?" You ask with a giggle as he puts the present on the bed. 

"Open it." He says patting the spot next to him as you smile. You put your bag on the bed before sitting down in his lap and running your hand over the large square wrapping paper. 

"We said we weren't getting presents." You say as he hooks his chin on your shoulder. 

"I know. But my Kitten deserves the best and once I found it I just had to get it." You grip the paper before tearing it off. A small gasp emitting from you as you smile. You rip off the rest before picking up the painting with a grunt. 

"It's the artists' last painting." You rub your thumb over the canvas. The Kitten from the painting you knew had lifted it's paw. A small sparrow perched atop the kitten's head as it sleeps in the birdcage, the door of the cage wide open. You smile widely, tears pricking at your eyes as you turn your head to Jimin. 

"I love it." You whisper as he smiles. 

"Me too. It's apt. No?" You nod your head before putting your hand to his cheek and kissing him gently. 

"I love you, Kitten." 

"I love you, too."

[janekfan]

Acceptance

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163367

“Jon’s hiding something.”

“Tim.” Martin was tired. And sad. And worried. Because he had the very same thought every time he caught a glimpse of the Archivist slipping between shadows in the stacks; furtive, haunted, hunted.

“You know I’m right.” He didn’t look up from the worn surface of his desk, tracing a stray mark with the pad of his finger, not even expending energy enough to pretend he had any interest in working. “He’s. He’s a monster, Martin.”

“Tim!”

“You know it, well as I do. This is all his fault.” His voice was made of raw edges, filled with grief and pain and sorrow. “Stay. Martin, promise me.” Eyes hollow in his scarred, handsome face, he looked up at Martin through dark lashes. “Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Martin had to look away, the weight of Tim’s gaze smothering and awful and full of hurt and anger and barely simmering rage. “He’s our friend. Even if he’s. Forgotten it a little.” Tim went back to his aimless pattern making.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Martin made sure to knock and knock gently. The few times he’d gotten even a partially clear look at his face it had been lined in pain, lips pressed into a thin, controlled line. It was clear he was purposely avoiding his eyes.

“Tea, Jon?” He heard him shift, a weary scraping of his soles sliding on the dusty floor, the light from the tiny desk lamp barely illuminating the space around it, let alone the rest of the office.

“Ah, y’yes. Pl’please.” Shaking hands materialized out of the dim, gripping the mug and holding it like a lifeline, flinching when the hot liquid sloshed over his fingers. “Thank you, Martin.” Thin and thready, Jon sounded exhausted and knowing he slept poorly at even the best of times, must have been getting even less sleep since the Prentiss incident.

“Jon?” Martin smiled a bit when he heard the sounds of him sipping the tea, a sigh of some unidentifiable emotion but he wanted to believe there was warmth in it. “When’s the last time you went home?”

Jon had taken his mandatory time off.

He had.

Thirty days of leave.

But it did not stop him from exploring the tunnels beneath the archives, even though exploring was a generous term for it. Wandering was more apt a description, and he’d paid something of a price, as fate would have it, because his hip ached badly where the worms had burrowed so deep and no amount of stretching or physical therapy or pain medication seemed able to touch it. He winced inwardly at Martin’s open worry and trepidation. He’s not been kind to any of his assistants, certainly didn’t deserve this attention or care when he was barely able to look after himself. At the Institute he’s kept how much the pain is affecting him as hidden as possible, mostly by avoiding everyone which he knew made him look more suspicious. Tim already made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with him or his histrionics and no good would come from trying to gain sympathy for something that was his fault to begin with. He was already a nuisance forced upon them, been so from day one. But if he could pretend to be normal, just. Go back to that normal because right now the tightening in his chest, the embarrassment, the urge to hide away, was only making things worse.

He was making things worse.

He didn’t mention the aching loneliness or the fear. How he jumped at every shadow and woke from the screams of his coworkers he failed over and over again to protect in his nightmares. Or how he kept a CO2 canister by the bed just in case. Even if they were gone. Just in case. Jon didn’t talk about his nightly excursions in that twisting, winding, changing place because he would have to admit that despite how it hurt, he had to push himself to the point of breaking to get his overactive mind to quiet even the smallest amount. Grant him even the smallest respite.

So, no. He didn’t want Martin’s concern except that he very much did, felt like he was starving for someone to notice him, how much he hurt, how much he was struggling to keep his unraveling threads together.

“Jon?” Worry. And the sense of shame he felt at hiding how much he’s healed wrong or scarred too deep or how the phantom sensation of the worms kept him awake. And how could he tell him that he feared to sleep alone? That his flat was both too familiar and horribly alien all at once, full of shadows coiling, branching, twining, crawling, spiraling.

The safest thing to do for all of them was to push him away.

“I was home for nearly a month, Martin.” Dry. Sardonic. It was easy to act irritated and tired and bothered even when his heart was pounding a too-fast tattoo against his breastbone, surely leaving bruises behind. If Martin came any closer he would hear it.

Martin saw straight through his poor attempt at deflection, saw the same pain echoed just behind his eyes that he saw in Tim. This would either go well or he would never be able to show his face again but he needed to try, Jon deserved that much.

“How can I help?” As soft as he could make it, sitting down on a box crammed full of statements so Jon didn’t have to crane his neck, so he didn’t seem so intimidating. “I want to help.” He smiled, hands relaxed on his knees and watched as Jon turned his face up to meet him like a withered plant kept too long in the dark when it reencountered the sun, hungry and reaching. Undone by a few kind words, before his expression closed off. As if he remembered this was something he wasn’t supposed to have.

Point of no return.

“Would you. Would you consider coming home with me?” Jon inhaled a sharp, short breath. Held it. “Just for a night! Just so. I’d like to help if I can, somehow.” He chuckled, trying to ease the tension practically thrumming through the man’s bones like an audible hum of electricity. “I’m a decent cook?” Jon exhaled slowly. Want, exhausting and desperate, in the way his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Yes.” Bare more than a ragged fragment of a whisper and before he could rescind that delicate consent, Martin was rambling about how lovely it would be to have company. Just nonsense, in the hope that Jon wouldn’t realize what he’d done and change his mind. It was already far beyond quitting time and Martin said he’d return to collect him once he’d gotten his coat, allowing him a little space to gather his thoughts, securing a nod of assent before heading quickly off.

Jon was standing when he returned, thin jacket hardly enough to protect him from the damp chill outside, and Martin wrapped his own scarf around his neck, heart melting when his lashes fluttered in contentment as he buried his nose into the well worn yarn. Swaying and unsteady on his feet, his stiff posture would be night imperceptible if you weren’t watching for it. But Martin was always watching. Knew his injuries were bothering him and that, at this point, whatever pain he had was most likely permanent.

He wondered if he had a cane. It would certainly help.

Jon stopped short before he left his office and Martin worried he was changing his mind, watching him tilt his head like a bird, listening, breath even and slow and quiet.

“Has.” He wet his lips as the word caught in his throat. “Tim?” Ah, that was the hangup, then.

“Gone home long before us.” He felt for him, for that fear and worry of facing down his past mistakes. He’d made himself a convenient target with his suspicions of them and the anxiety blooming in him cut deep.

He stood as close to Martin without touching him as he could, blaming the number of other patrons riding the train at this hour though truthfully they were nowhere near them. He had no choice, that’s all. He could stand even if he wanted desperately to sit down and rest his aching leg, refusing to even glance at the empty priority seating so close to him and instead burying his face in Martin’s scarf, closing his eyes and breathing through the hot flash that often accompanied these spells, the almost feverish chills. When the train lurched to a stop he stumbled into Martin, who caught him with an inquiring look.

“Just tired.” He offered up what he hoped was a reassuring smile before leading the way through the doors, holding himself stiff in an attempt to keep the pain at bay.

Martin was a good cook.

“Since I was mainly existing on take away and cup noodles, it’s been nice to make my own meals again.” He said by way of explanation, dishing up a healthy portion for Jon who tried not to worry about finishing it, not having had much of an appetite lately. But it’s good, and warm, and Martin doesn’t say anything about what he had to leave behind, passing him a cup of tea prepared just the way he liked it.

It warmed him up from the inside out.

It made him want to cook for Martin sometime.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Jon was on the couch with numerous blankets and pillows, dressed in Martin’s spare sleepwear, an oversized and soft tee that hung off his shoulder and drawstring pajama pants.

“This is perfect, Martin. Thank you.” He wished he could convey the true depth of it with just that, and as always, found himself sorely lacking but Martin just smiled bright, instructing him to wake him if he needed anything before bidding him good night. Surprisingly, Jon was already having trouble staying awake once he was settled into the cushions despite the overall ache. If he breathed slow and focused on the breath cycling through his body, into his blood, traveling along roadways mapped with veins and arteries and--

Agony.

Oh god, where was he? And why did it hurt?

All up his back and down his leg, his leg. Burning, blazing, blistering. Incandescent and stealing. Stealing.

Stealing.

Dark. Pitch black. Like the tunnels.

Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet or they'll hear you, see you, get you, take you and make you Not.

Winding, weaving, wandering. Lost, lost, lost.

The worms. Thoughts clicking into place when he managed to claw his way back to the surface of this roiling ocean of misery. Arm flailing to the side where he kept the canister but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t there and somebody must have taken it.

And his hip. Pulsing, throbbing, pounding through the whole of him and he had to be dying. Trapped in the tunnels and being eaten by worms.

He very nearly screams when something touches his arm, eyes flying open to realize that he can see. See. Shapes. Colors. Coalescing into Martin’s familiar face, worry splashed over it like his perfect freckles.

“Jon?” His voice is trembling, hand on his shoulder, gentle, a touchstone. “Jon, what’s wrong?” And stupid, stupid, stupid him clenches his teeth and grinds out a denial.

“N’nothing.” The fingers against his skin, his skin, Martin is touching his skin and he can’t focus. They tremble. Because he’s lying. Because Jon has always been and always will be a liar and all he wants to be is normal.

“Jon, is it.” His wide eyed stare flicks down and back to his. “Is it your leg?” How does he know. Of course he knows. Sometimes he thinks Martin knows him better than he’s ever known himself. That he might be the only person who ever has and he realizes he has a white knuckle grip on his thigh, trying to claw his way inside and rip out the hurting, as if it could ever be that simple. It’s spasming, twisted, he can’t stretch out the muscle and it’s so very painful and instinctively he knows it’s from the train and the walk, all longer than he was used to. And why does he keep doing this to himself?

He can’t slow his breathing, almost hyperventilating, chest heaving, eyes limned in tears and he thought he could pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it really did. That he was being dramatic and he didn’t want Martin to see how much of a wreck he is and regret inviting him into his home, sharing it with a nuisance, a burden, a bother.

“Jon.” There’s sorrow there. Pity. He’s pitying him and that’s the final straw that makes the tears fall hard and fast and Martin offers his hand and he grabs it like it’s his last connection to this physical realm because it hurts so badly he can’t barely breathe. “Can I help?” But there is no help. He’s beyond all and any and to let someone help him is to be vulnerable and Jon doesn’t like to be vulnerable, he can’t be.

But he hurts so badly and he wants to trust Martin, believe that he can make this awful reality even the tiniest bit better. And he wants him to know it.

So he nods. Almost hysterically because it feels like losing his mind and Martin’s hand in his is the only thing keeping him here.

“P’please.” A gasping whisper, begging. And Martin, beautiful, kind, patient Martin, cups his face and thumbs away his tears, palm so cool against his feverish skin.

“Okay, you are okay. I’m going to help.” Jon closes his eyes against a promise too good to be true. And when Martin removes his hands, his connection, he sobs and Martin soothes, digging his strong fingers into the rigid block of agony. “Hush, shh, I’ve got you, this will help, I promise.” Jon latches onto his words, tries to lose himself in them, clasping his own hands over his mouth to stifle his whining. When Martin straightens his leg it’s like a hot poker is jammed into his hip socket and he can’t help the low groan at the back of his throat. He’s never hurt like this, he’s sure. He’d have remembered. “Good, good. You’re doing so well, Jon. Breathe, shh, just like that.” Jon soaks up the praise like parched earth, and winds his fingers into the blankets at his side, as everything begins to relax, as Martin smooths warmth along the worst of the ache. Just an ache. Bearable now. Bearable. Just an ache and he sobs in relief. Martin disappears and reappears in the same moment, a bottle of paracetamol in his hand and a half glass of water. To appease, Jon takes a double dose even though they pale in comparison to the complete prescription of muscle relaxers minus one he had in his medicine cabinet at home and watched Martin keep his worry to himself.

“M’sorry. Martin.” He’s out of breath. Panting like he’d run a marathon and every part of him resonating with the aftermath of pushing himself too far. He studied Martin’s face. Waiting for derision or contempt or more pity to show itself. For him to say he needs to quit the job even though he’s quite sure he actually can’t.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Jon.” Calm and quiet and he passes him a cool flannel so he can wash his face and it is blissful. “I promise, nothing at all.” That can’t possibly be true. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about the walk.”

“It wasn’t that far.” Martin didn’t argue and Jon was grateful, refolding the cloth so he could press it against his eyes and let it absorb his tears of frustration and shame.

“I’ve got some dry clothes you can change into.” He heard Martin get up, calling from the other room. “The bed is big enough for two, if you don’t mind, I don’t.” Jon sat up, shaky, lightheaded, keeping his bad leg purposefully straight because he was afraid of what would happen if he bent it again. And Martin handed him another set of soft things, gathering up the spare bedclothes and spiriting them away while he changed. God he was dizzy. “Bed?” He blinked slowly, tired, certain he couldn’t stand on his own, and swallowed around the clot of emotion in his throat.

“Would y’you.” He looked down at his trembling hands, clasped them together in an attempt to stop them. “I don’t. C’can’t. Stand.” He could barely hear himself. Humiliation, hot and coursing through his blood. This was foolish. Couldn’t even--

“Of course.” Easy as that. As though it was that simple. And he supposed it was. When he let himself think about it. Martin took most of his weight, could’ve probably carried him outright, but as it was, just supported him as he hobbled forward, going so far as to lift his leg into the bed before flopping onto his side of the mattress and turning over to face him.

“I had. A. It was a nightmare.”

“The worms?”

“How did you know?” Martin shrugged.

“I have them too.” Jon chuffed a laugh in commiseration and saw Martin return it in a grin before letting himself fall back into the dark.

Martin watched as Jon slept deeply, breath even and slow and so peaceful in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window. Lips slightly parted and fingers curled loosely against his throat, the lines of pain usually carving their jagged way down his face had smoothed out and his cheek was so humanly smushed into Martin’s extra pillow.

“Mmmorning.” The way he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of an uncoordinated hand made his heart beat faster. And when his tired brown eyes rolled back beneath those dark fluttering lashes, black as ink, Martin remembered just how smitten he truly was. Deciding to let Jon get a few more moments of hardwon rest, he eased out of bed to go start breakfast, tucking the quilt over narrow shoulders.

Just when Martin was wondering if Jon might need some help maneuvering out of bed, quiet, uneven steps and the squeak of a chair moving across the floor drew his attention. A low, drawn out groan drifted from where his head was pillowed on folded arms and it seemed that one Jonathan Sims, was not a morning person. Still dressed in Martin’s oversized clothes, he could see the smooth skin of a shoulder blade when he placed his tea next to him, interpreting the grumbling as a garbled thank you. Two slices of toast with marmalade later and halfway through a second cup of strong tea, Jon seemed at least aware, sitting up and sipping on his mug.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Good. Pretty good.” He glanced shyly over the rim and back down again. “Thank you, Martin.” So soft, and Martin felt himself blush.

“You’re welcome, Jon.” Anytime. Always.

Jon was adjusting his collar and examining the purple bruises under his eyes in the hall mirror when Marin cleared his throat behind him.

“It was. Uh, my mum’s.” He held it out, worried he was overstepping in offering up a cane, not to mention one decorated in muted autumnal flowers. They were nearly the same height, in that Jon was a head shorter than Martin. For a full count he was stunned and Martin feared he’d made a grave miscalculation, pushed too hard, too soon. But Jon reached back, curling his fingers around the handle and taking a deep breath.

“Lovely pattern.” Martin grinned and Jon took an experimental step forward, steadier than he’d been since before Prentiss. “Shall we?”

[kaetastic]

PRINCE CHARMING

pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader

summary: Luca brings the Reader to a fancy family gathering, except, he can’t take his hands off of her when she’s in a fiery red dress, displaying her tattoos  [requested: @supermegapauselouca​]

word count: 3.4k (oop)

warning: slightly ??? nsfw lol couldn’t help it (’m horny for the man), a lot of interruptions

note: i’m so sorry this took long! i had to finish up history unfolds and was writing trouble on the side. bless you and your freaking amazing ideas 🥰 i hope this is alright :) also, i wanted to post this for my 2,000 post but nvm lol

Chattering and stifling of expensive giggles swirled in with clanking of metal on ceramic. Shufflings of polished shoes paced on the marble floors which had been drowning in shimmers of iridescent glimmer from the dancing flames huffing from the candles. The ball of hovering fire resided on the stick of wax. Beads of sweat poured to puddle on the silver tray.

With a smile, Y/N incessantly nodded her head at the woman who had been persistent on firing up a conversation. The mirror dangling from her neck blared sparkles of cerulean blue and innocent white under the howling moonlight. Although her mind directed to flickers of other thoughts, the hostess couldn’t help but stand and entertain her guest.

The woman had been rambling on and on about the origin of the diamond necklace that was up for display on her neck as if a museum. The gem was colossal, almost inhumanely possible to be sold as a worn necklace. The hostess wasn't uncomfortable with the elderly woman's declaration of the necklace's background which sounded it had a more complex, entertaining past than Y/N. It was slightly embarrassing. Every time her head had pulled her out to the abyss, the woman inquired questions like: What do you think about it? or What gem looked good on me? It felt like Y/N was tugged back to school. The elderly woman would raise her arm into the air, sparkles from the gold rings wrapped around her arm sung a choir of clanking with every jab of muscles. The amount of gold she had worn was enough to halt worldwide human hunger for at least a month.

“Zia Gianna,” The familiar English interjected the conversation. Luca’s voice was mellow honey poured over a freshly plucked out plump peach. The viscous sweetener glistened over the fruit, seeping into the minuscule pores to branch valleys of the sticky liquid. However, the Italian in his voice embedded a piercing gem on the peak of the fruit. Well, that was the popular comments quirked up towards the Italian, all sourced from his Italian family members.

Although most of the males did not bat an eye at the slightly toned-down accent, it did not pass the females without them darting a glance. His aunts were the one quirk up the English poking from his Italian. Even though he hoped the two aunties from his father’s side were the last ones to comment on his accent, hope was not enough as it went on with the night, “I see you’ve met my wife. Are you pestering Y/N about the necklace?”

The woman let out a laugh, causing her head to be thrown back, her neck nearly snapping in half. With her white silk-gloved hands on her chest, the elder woman grinned of glee after she recovered from his words. A charmer even towards his family members. Luca’s arms snaked around his wife's waist to brush his thumb gingerly over her hip as if she was a fragile plucked out flower. With the signature quirk of his lips, his pearly white teeth shot a sparkle towards his aunt, “Oh, Luca, of course. I will never stop talking about it until I die.”

The Italian shook his head, “Zia Gianna, you live under the same roof with Zio Giovanni, you’ll surely live longer than I will.”

Grinning from the mention of her hard-working (maybe over-working) husband who sacrificed his sleeping hours for the late-nights for the organization, the elderly lady clasped her hands to gawk at her nephew as if he was a hero who had saved her life, “Thank you for giving that man a day off. You don’t know how many times I've annoyed him to eat dinner at home.”

“Now I just need to give Gabriele vacation,” Gianna bopped her head, nodding in agreement with her nephew’s words. Although the woman had familiarized herself enough with the infamous mafia, she never had her sweat coated over the organization. However, the woman with prominent wrinkles can approve of the recent bustling days which was a fluctuated period of time since it was just a calm breeze before. Overhearing her working sons and husband during their rare days of consuming breakfast at home, she had picked up enough information from their ranting. Some problems that were rising in some ports had caused a rattle in the foundation of the business. “Well then, I’ll steal my wife back.”

“Of course, congratulations on the wedding once again and remember Luca,” Dragging her silk glove-covered index fingers down her cheeks, she flicked it in his direction, “Don’t lose her.”

A flicker in the aunt’s eyes was shot at the man before she left the room, strutting out of the main room to converse with her other cousins. 

“I like that,” Y/N mumbled, fingers furled around her husband’s arm, clumping up his suit while he guided them out of the crowds. The scent of lingering wood and expensive whiskey swirled into her lungs, the odour that smeared over their bedsheets. She continued. “You calling me your wife.”

“Yeah?” With a clench of his fingers, she jumped back at the abrupt feeling. A satisfied smirk sported on his lips, happy with her reaction. “Get used to it.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N couldn’t believe this was the man she ended up marrying. Although the pair had been together as couples for a long while, nearly three years, it wasn’t until he had brought up the ring. Which then led to the necklace wrapped around her finger, its diamond sparkling under the chandelier light. The wise man who was in his late thirties believed they should see how well the boats rock over the raging waves. 

After caressing his eyes over the party, he craned his neck down, hot lips puffing warm air into her ears as his eyes darted onto her inked skin that always managed to quiver his knees. A powerful woman with painting over her skin (even though he believed he could make better art on her), “Remember what you told me before?” Slightly confused, the quirked up eyebrows loosened once she understood what he had meant. Y/N couldn’t help the appearance of the satisfied smirk plastered across her face. A coquettish hum echoed into his ears. “It’s true?”

While his close cousins paced past, Luca gave a silent bop of his head as an acknowledgement of their presence. The woman peaked on her toes, whispering over the cross on his neck, “Why don’t you find out?” 

Tongue grazing his bottom lip, Luca's eyes beamed at his wife. The strings of wanton mumbling stood on the tip of his tongue, ready to flick into her ears. All that clogged in his head was pictures of her bare. His fingers trailed down, further from the appropriate position that was on her hip; down, closer towards her bare legs. 

“Luca!” The Italian yanked his hand back in a snap, fingers scratching the nape of his neck while he cleared his throat. Approaching the pair of the night was his uncle whose hair twinkled of stardust, neck drooping with the hefty golden chains that were the size for docking boats. An amused giggle brushed her lips. It was always amusing to see Luca get riled up even though she had to face the consequences which were then followed by days of resting. 

“Zio Federico.” The curled up corner of Luca’s lips etched a barely noticeable twitch, one only his wife could see. The dancing wine lapped against the glass flute as the middle-aged man hopped towards the married couple. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was because of the incessant amount of chains he dragged upon, but the head of Luca’s uncle shot forward, shoulders too slow to meet a middle-ground.

There was one thing Y/N had learnt during the ride with Luca’s life, well, more like inspect. It would be the first thing for eyes to graze upon but their lips would be sealed shut. And now that she was officially Luca’s; it will always be the elephant in the room unless there was no article of clothing on him. Every man in the party wore suits. A fortune for those outside of the blood pool to purchase. A walking advertisement for those who wore it. The grey-blue of his waistcoat contrasted with the dying black jacket, his tie of a peculiar dotted pattern that nearly resembled that of a canvas painted by birds shit.

Trekking with a slimy gait, Federico’s arms were wide open for the boy, well, man. Even though they work in the same organization, the elderly man was positioned on a different station, somewhere lower of New York. Not so secretly, Federico had a soft spot in his heart for the youth, his nephews and nieces. It felt like days ago when Luca was no more than a 12-year-old boy. Visioning it wasn’t hard as Luca had been one of his favourites (also not a secret because it had been pointed out by nearly everyone) since the boy never matched up with the rest of his troublesome cousins. The man still remembered when the meddling boys sneaked out of their classes while Luca had remained, completing the whole school day. He was much easier to control. Well, Y/N wouldn't be able to agree.

“Ciao, Luca,” He let out a boisterous cackle, yanking the taller man by his neck to smack his lips, cheek to cheek. “Look at you, married.”

With a quivering smile, Luca became the temporary slapping victim for his uncle. The once grimacing clapping of skin died down when the man had enough of his teasing, “Said it yourself, wasn’t rowdy as Alessandro.”

“That boy will never settle down,” Inhaling in the liquid, Federico shook his head at the issues riled up by his nephew. “At least Alessandro didn’t get her first.”

Y/N wore a tight lip as Luca’s frigid hands rubbed her bare skin. Although slightly debatable, she was sure the creeping smirk on his lips was not because of the amusing rumours spiralled by his cousin but because he noticed the bulging bumps and her shuddering, “At least Alessandro didn’t get her first.”

“We’ll catch up later, I’m sure you two are busy. If you want to see Luca baby photos in his diapers, I can pass ‘em around.” With a wink, the elderly man stomped away from the pair to boisterously yank his cousins in a hug.

A sigh fell of Luca’s lips, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose at his uncle’s antics. Although he was annoyed at the man, Y/N couldn’t stifle her amusement at the thought. Luca Changretta in diapers? She will need to see that.

“Were you in baby nappies?” Y/N whispered as giggles weaved through her words. While pacing down the long side of the table, she shot a sparkly smile towards one of Luca’s many aunts who returned the same gesture. Arms locked tightly, the pair sauntered around the room, gazing over the party with hidden pride flared in them.

Humming at her words, Luca halted once they were in a dim corner before his fingers found its way up her neck. All he needed was to get the idea of his uncle introducing his wife to the embarrassing childhood pictures of him out of her head and out of her creative thinking. A shudder zipped down his body at the thought of her seeing him in the train-patterned pinned diapers. Oh, he could only imagine the days of her taunting. The area of skin his calloused fingers trailed over bulged with bumping hills at the cooling sensation. To be a mafioso, Luca’s hands were often smeared with a frigid kiss of a gun’s metal. Something she had grown to adapt to.

“Luca,” Y/N hissed at her pesky husband. With a hum, his fingers laid on her cheeks, his lips were nudged to the crook of her neck, nose swirling in her intoxicating scent. “Your family’s here.”

Another hum rumbled from him, albeit, it was just to give an indication of acknowledgement. Even though her fingers were clutching onto the lapels of his jacket to nudge him away, her staggering exhale said otherwise, “How ‘bout I check now?”

With no reply but faint moans, Luca’s fingers descended at a languid pace. Caressing his skin with frigid kisses was the silk fabric of her dress, “Fuck. How can I keep my hands off of you when you look ravishing, especially with this?”

Gently nipping his teeth on the smeared trail of a slithering snake tattoo, all he could imagine was ending the party so they could get out. A dark smear hazed over his already dark iris when he couldn’t feel the usual presence of the garter. Before he had the chance to inquire her, she exhaled an explanation, “Took it off before we arrived.”

Luca’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding over one another at the thought of her bare, ready for him, “All I can think about is just having you on the desk,” Luca mumbled. While the words puffed over her neck, the flesh of his warm lips caressed her with ever so feather touch. “Can you imagine? If we were at home right now? I would just tear this dress apart.”

A gulp plunged down her throat, warmed by her deadly acid. Luca was a tease; unfortunately, she had to learn it the hard way, “Are you wet?” 

He was so close. So close to dragging her out of the party to validate it himself, but, of course, what better night than a family gathering. After his name was once again called out, he reluctantly sauntered away.

As the night aged, Luca had been yanked into countless conversations, hurling him from one side of the room to the other as if he was a throw pillow. He could feel the gurgling acid ascending his throat at the dizzying motion. However, there was one thing his mind couldn’t wipe off and that was his wife. People were rambling on about work or meeting again at a café, but his focus was not set on them. Y/N was in the same room as him. He couldn’t help his mind but divert to the silk red dress she wore. Occasionally, his eyes would steal discreet glances across the room where she would be accompanied by an aunt or his. 

He wouldn’t snap his neck towards her direction if he didn’t know what laid under the sheer fabric. The dress she wore was the exact colour of the brassiere and lace garter she wore. Well, had worn. The Italian knew this because she walked in his studies while he was finishing up some papers, in only the two undergarments. If only they hadn’t have to be rushed. And fuck was it difficult for him to maintain his twitching. Despite them being the couple of the night as they were the one to host the party, the two barely spent time together while she was dragged into gossiping about God knows what.

Cutting off the water supply with a squeak, Y/N paced out of the powder room after she was satisfied with her fixed appearance. Even though her locks of hair had been poking out of its usual, organized manner, the absence of her comb gave her only one option and that was to tolerate the mess throughout the night. As she sauntered into the empty hallway, the sharp clicking of her heels resounded off the brick walls. A buzzing sang from the flickering lights who was starving for electricity. The location of the party might’ve been in an exquisite ball but the powder room had to be underground.

Y/N knew everyone was busy munching on the meals that were being served; however, she felt eyes brushing over her figure. Having ties with the mafia was one thing, married to a mafioso was another. There had been instances where she had let her guard down at situations like this. Thankfully, Matteo or Frederico had been present. It never ended without a smear of blood on her dress. No one could get in, right? The whole mafia was present in the building. As she sauntered down the dim hallway, her shoulders were tensed, eyes set only onto the open arch that led to the ascending stairs.

Steps after steps, she could hear her breathing overlapped by her thrumming heart. A few more and she could glide over the shimmering stairs. Just a few more.

As a chilled hand slammed over her hands, the scream she stressed clogged in her throat. Thrashing in their grip, faint slamming of her unsuccessful attempts to produce at least frantic clicks of her heels whispered. Her clenched arm was ready to plunge her prodding elbow into the figure. That was until a familiar musk trickled into her head; the familiar fabric of a suit made way into her peripheral. With a toothy grin, Luca craned his neck down. Y/N didn’t feel the same way. 

After a smack to his chest and an amused chuckle, his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her body onto his, “What're you doing?” Y/N hissed, annoyed at the stunt he just pulled.

“You were gone for too long.” He mumbled as his fingers gripped on her waist. His lips pressed chaste kisses on her neck. 

“I was gone for five minutes..” The woman stammered as the frigid bricks kissed her back. Luca’s mouth rested on the spot he knew too much of. The area of her sensitive skin he loved to mark. All she could see was a white haze smeared over her vision at his teasing pecks. Neck angled for better access, the Italian grazed his teeth over the tattoos trailing on her skin. Fuck. If there was one thing that can ruin Luca Changretta, it would be his woman and her tattoos. Too indulged in the ticklish feeling of his kisses, Y/N didn’t notice his hand lowering until it slipped to squeeze her inner thigh.

“Luca...” Y/N moaned, lips pressing one another as she tried her best to suppress the wanton sounds. There was one thing she didn't want. And that was to not be caught by a family member of his in such a public place. Chuckling at her bucking of hips, Luca retracted his fingers. An exasperated sigh brushed her lips, head slamming into the wall at his antics. Eyes blurred with the smeared scribble of his cross tattoo, her breathing puffed over the sole patch ink. At an agonizing pace, he pushed his fingers up. Heat radiated over his skin. Oh, he was close to the mess she had created.

A clearing of a throat trickled into their ears, snapping through the warmth that was shared between the two. Pulling away with flushed faces as if teenagers who had been caught, Luca feverishly sleeked his hair back. Still in shock, Y/N’s cheeks were smeared pink at the sight of her mother-in-law. 

“I know I said I want grandchildren, but I didn’t mean to conceive the poor soul at a family gathering.” Even though her words weaved with disappointment, there was a glint of amusement flickering behind her eyes. After her soft voice seeped through the cracks of the walls and she was no longer in sight, Y/N finally realized what had just happened.

Luca chuckled, head shaking before he burst into strings of laughter. He didn’t know what was funnier, the fact that his mother had nearly caught him fucking his wife or his frozen wife who had still yet to regain from her rigid stance.

Yanking down the hem of her dress, a frustrated groan brushed over her lips. Y/N shot irritated glares at her husband who was in a spell of laughter. Audrey Changretta just saw the hands of her son in her daughter-in-law’s dress, “What?” 

After a faint smack against his chest, Luca noticed her furrowed eyebrows and narrowed eyes, “What?” The woman hissed, mocking him as she clawed through her hair with her fingers in a makeshift comb. “Your mother just saw your fingers in me.”

“Well, technically, it wasn’t in yet,” Another chuckle fell off his lips when she slapped the same, sore spot. Y/N rolled her eyes. “What was I meant to do?”

Having enough of Luca, she let out a huff bnefore stomping away from the scene, “Luca!” The Italian grinned at her squeak once a boisterous smack of his hand against her back echoed through the tranquil hallway. Y/N didn’t even bother to shoot a glance at his words. 

With a matchstick dangling on the corner of his lips, he yelled out as she faded away, “Don’t get too tired, Amore! We’re not done!”

[corkcitylibraries]

Cork in Verse | Ana Spehar interviews Jim Crickard

Cork in Verse is a series of interviews by Ana Spehar with Cork Poets. This week Ana interviews Jim Crickard.

Jim Crickard’s poetry is camp, entertaining work that explores culture, sexuality and identity with a hint of colour. In 2020 he was invited to represent Cork in the Cork-Coventry Twin City Exchange, which was moved online due to pandemic. In 2019 he was selected by Poetry Ireland for the inaugural Versify series and performed to a sold out show at Dublin Fringe Festival. He came second in the 2019 All Ireland Poetry Slam Final (and is working through his feelings about it with a therapist). In 2018, he won the Cuirt Spoken Word Platform and was awarded a slot to perform at Electric Picnic. In 2020 his poetry was broadcasted on RTE Arena. A poem he wrote was shortlisted in the 2018 O'Bheal International Five Words Competition, and his work has been published in Automatic Pilot, A New Ulster, and Contemporary Poetry.  

When did you start writing?

I started writing when was 16. I had just come out of the closet, my older brother Shane (20) died the same year in a road traffic accident. Looking back, I think I needed space for expression. I started out with a journal before sleep. It was playful, private, and helped organise my thoughts. I’d draw a little picture at the end of each entry. I acted a bit like Virginia Woolf, with a high-neck collar, writing solemnly by candle light. When people write diaries, I think they secretly fantasise them being found and read by the masses.  

When I was introduced to poetry in my Leaving Cert, I found it to be a bit stiff and flowery with poets like Keats, which had some appeal, but when we moved on to Adrienne Rich and Eavan Boland I was a lot more inspired. It was seeing people use the art form to represent women and give voice to minorities, and how they both textured their work with the confessional. I started writing my own poetry at the end of my journal entries but kept it secret. After a few years, and my first break-up, I started sharing online on a site called AllPoetry. It was great because there were little competitions between users and when I won a few of them I felt brave enough to share my work on Facebook. A few people were kind, but most were indifferent. 

When I started going to O’Bheal in Cork, though, I really felt like writing could have a future for me. Writing and performing alongside other writers really makes it a lot more gratifying and instils the self-belief you need to keep going.  

Could you tell us more about your creative process?

I’m always on the lookout for something to play with and tease out until it’s a poem. I write with the intention of making people laugh when they hear me perform. Unfortunately, ideas rarely happen when I’m walking around day-dreaming. I mostly need to sit down and write to find the idea or follow whatever I’ve got on my mind. One of my favourite poems that I’ve written takes a hen party in a gay bar and expands it into a series of images and scenarios that delight me and make me laugh. If it makes me laugh, then I trust that it’ll make a crowd of people laugh. I didn’t start out with that idea of the hen party though, I was trying to write a rather embarrassing romantic poem set in a gay bar, it was for a guy I was briefly dating. Suddenly there was a hen party in the corner. They abducted me with their willy-straws and novelty-glasses, and I followed their embarrassing moments and social faux-pas as they ran around, interloping and ruining the sacred queer-space. I was much more interested in them than the romantic poem I set out to write. I suppose it’s important to trust where the poem is going and let it reveal itself. If I ignored them and focused on the poem I was trying to write then I’d have missed out. 

How does the creative process of writing affect your mood?

I’m elated when it comes together. I love when I get into a flow and my fingers are typing as fast as they can and what I’m writing is surprising me. That doesn’t always happen though, it can be slow and boring and the cursor can be blinking in front of me waiting for me to write something. 

How often do you write? Do you write every day?

I wish I wrote every day. I’ve heard multiple sources say that that’s the best way to approach it, and I would definitely believe it. I have had periods where I wrote a new poem every week, possibly more than one. I have also had long periods of not expressing anything on the page. The latter feels depressing and I feel my life passing me by. It is this dread I feel that I’m losing precious time to grow and improve as a writer. I rationalise it by reminding myself that I need to work full-time, clean my apartment, cook dinner, which is all true. I also excuse myself by saying that I need to relax and watch some TV or listen to a podcast. I think that writing is the purest of me-time and I’d like to transform my relationship with it.  

Can you tell us more about Venus Envy?  

I have been known to dress in drag from time to time... I performed as Venus for Pride in O’Bheal. Afterwards I went to The Crane Lane with all of the poets. It was interesting being a drag queen out of context in another bar... People wanted to talk to me, some random stranger touched me as they passed by, and someone confided in me with something they had not mentioned before. There’s a strange power to being in drag. It’s like being a shaman, a eunuch, a jester, who is on the outside looking in. You can say things that you daren’t dream of otherwise, and people love you for it. If I had the time and money to do it more often I would. Drag will always have a special place in my heart, and on my right arm is a tattoo-portrait of Panti Bliss, the Queen of Ireland. I’ve thought about putting more drag queens beside her, but it would be like Mount Rushmore of Drag on my arm. Who knows, maybe I will.  

‘Hen Party in The George’  

Be careful around the corners, don’t make eye-contact at the bar, 

watch out for the mom, she’s on safari, in search of exotic birds. 

For a parrot to echo her punchlines, 

or maybe a cockatoo, 

she’s prowling around the cocktail lounge, 

she’s looking for me and you. 

The mother of the bride uses her lazy-eye  

to her advantage,

she edges into a group of faces with meandering conversation. 

Now blocking their exit, unsure 

who she’s addressing, 

on about her gay hairdresser, how great 

he is with the scissors. 

“I’ve never had a problem with the gays now myself” she says, 

pausing to sip from a pink plastic penis, 

pausing for praise.

And one by one, the gays fly south, 

migrating to the bar, 

to the dance floor, to South-Africa if necessary. 

“Snobs” she calls em -

“them gays can be awful touchy.” 

All her Christmases at once 

when the black crow drag queen

stalking her long legs across the stage, 

seven foot tall, in a silver crown of feathers refracting light off the disco-ball.

“Jesus” she says, stealing the

microphone:  “you’re looking better than me” 

“I should feckin hope so” the drag queen says “you’re twice me bleedin’ age!” 

Slowly, slowly, the hen party has pissed off all of the George... 

Abandoning punctured plastic husbands all over the stage. 

Flashing so many cameras it feels like E.T.’s family has landed.

A gathering parliament of lesbians  encircles the hens,

a murder of goth gays come down from their perch 

I wonder if they’ve seen Hitchcock’s movie, ‘The Birds…’ 

by Jim Crickard

Sex in the Housing Crisis  

We are the generation of born-again virgins 

headboards disturb housemates on shift work,

Air-traffic controllers should be included in rent  

to coordinate times to get the ride

Landlords can afford to support our sex-lives 

and change carpets once in a while 

We are the generation of born-again virgins  

Like ships in the night, we work to survive,

but we are no thirty year old cargo boats…

anchored in the harbour, waiting for labour,

we are Ferrari red speed boats    

with miles to go before we sleep,   

miles to go before we sleep.  

We are the generation of born again virgins 

Nothing kills the mood like mildew 

home-sense is built on the backs of millennials 

fumigating probate houses 

converted into one-beds 

with constellations of mould 

and half their salary paid  

to make out on an old couch  

facing a microwave

We are the generation of born again virgins 

If you’re living with parents you can forget it 

unless you can face breaking their trust   

and explain condoms in the toilet-drain. 

We must not forget about our parents sex-lives 

afraid their carefully considered bed springs

will be heard by their thirty somethings 

Let’s give the government hell for 

this inter-generational dry spell! 

by Jim Crickard

[codythecheshirecat]

Binary Sunset Ch 2: Seemed Far Away

Story Summary:  Obi-Wan finds himself decades in the future on the ship of a Mandalorian  that seems like the last thing he wants is to be sidled with another  lifeform. Or two, because suddenly they have a little...tiny... Yoda to  deal with. Not actually Yoda, Obi-Wan knows, but still. It's weird, and  stressful, and there's an entire Empire that's come and gone (going?).  He just wants to rest. Figure out what exactly has happened and maybe,  maybe find a way to stop it, if he ever gets back to his own time.  Better that than wallow in misery and pain of a past he got plucked  from, yet still feels the pain of.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30771671/chapters/76338152#workskin

    Saleucami is a fairly nice planet, Obi-Wan decides as he steps from the ship. Warm, for sure, but not overbearingly so. They’ve touched down in one of the more swampy areas. Obi-Wan cranes his neck to get a good look at the area. A bird flies overhead. Mando puts his arm out, stopping him in his tracks.

    “Yes?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

    Mando turns his head to look at him. “You’re staying here.”

    “Excuse you?”

    “You’ll only get in the way. I’m used to working alone. I don’t need your help.”

    Obi-Wan crosses his arms. “What, exactly, do you expect me to do while I’m waiting for you to track down your bounty, then?”

    “Don’t know, don’t care, as long as you don’t get into what isn’t yours.”

    Obi-Wan tosses his head. “Ah, so I’m to sit quietly in the dark of your ship.”

    Mando shrugs. “Maybe there’s something in the area that’s edible. You could resupply the food stores so we don’t have to purchase anything.”

    Obi-Wan just sighs, turning back to the ship. “Do I at least have permission to get into the weapons if danger occurs?”

    “Sure.”

    Obi-Wan looks over his shoulder, watching somewhat petulantly as Mando walks away, following his tracking fob. He sighs again. He’d have liked to have something to do to keep his mind off things. Clearly that won’t be happening. So he walks back into the ship, closes the door, and sits on the floor next to his still-discarded robes. He runs his hands through the fabric.

    “The Galactic Empire destroys the Jedi Order.” He says softly, the same words he’s been thinking since he talked to the Mandalorian Armorer. “Wish I knew more about that.”

    He’d been a little overwhelmed during his talk with the Armorer. After leaving he’d thought of a thousand questions, ones she may or may not have had answers to. Asking Mando had been… unsuccessful. He should have realized that Mando had limited knowledge, after all, he had said he’d never heard of the Jedi Order. Further questioning had brought forth similar answers.

    Obi-Wan is disappointed, but not surprised. Surely the Empire had done as much as it could to control information as much as people and planets. And Mando, living among the Outer Rim, wouldn’t have had much reason to bother with the Empire. Obi-Wan’s fairly certain that the Empire’s control over the outer rim had been as thin and fleeting as the Republic’s. The Outer Rim is often simply uncontrollable from those in power at the Core Worlds. So it would have been advantageous for Mando to know what he had to know to survive, and little else. And he wouldn’t have gained anything from knowledge about the Jedi. At least, that’s what Obi-Wan rationalizes to himself. What other answers are there, after all?

    He must stay there for hours, thinking about everything and nothing, and absolutely, completely, one-hundred percent meaning to get up and have a look around the area. Maybe find some food like Mando suggested. And yet, he’s barely moved a muscle when the door opens again and Mando strides in, dragging a shaking human man behind him. He locks eyes with the man, and then decides that he’d rather not have any reason to feel for him; he’s going to have to get used to the bounty hunting life, and the good and bad people that get caught up in it. The man yells as Mando shoves him into a carbon freezing unit.

     Mando turns to him. “You haven’t moved at all, have you?”

    “Not a bit.” He admits. “Where to next? Nevarro again?”

    Mando walks to the ladder heading to the cockpit. “Crait.”

    Obi-Wan follows him up. “How many bounties do you have?”

    “Several.”

***

    Crait is as boring as Saleucami, as are Galidraan and Gamorr. Mostly because Mando refuses to let Obi-Wan help, and so he sits, bored, on the floor of the Razor Crest. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with his fears. Mando isn’t even particularly talkative, so even when they’re in the cockpit traveling together through space it’s boring.

     After a day of traveling, Obi-Wan finds a pen. He promptly spends two hours drawing all over himself for lack of anything else to do. It’s something he’d ordinarily scold Anakin for doing. Had, in fact, several times over Anakin’s padawan years. There’s something freeing in it, though, knowing that the only person that will know is Mando and Mando clearly doesn’t give a kriff. There’s no rhyme or reason to what he draws-- the symbol of the Jedi Order, a five pointed star, the Basic Alphabet. Birds and loth-cats and a badly-drawn wampa. Random lines and squiggles, until his arms and legs are covered and he’s made a fair dent everywhere else, too, using the mirror Mando has in his refresher. They almost look like tattoos.

     Other than drawing, he spends his time meditating, and when that only manages to make him more anxious, he sleeps. And dreams-- nothing that seems to be prophetic, just dreams of his past, dreams of nonsense, nightmares of his anxieties come to life. A particularly rattling one has him waking, gasping for breath, with screams of the dying thundering in his ears.

     When he can’t sleep any more, he stalks around the ship, committing as much of it to memory as he can without prying. How many steps can he take, going from one side to the next? Where are the control panels? How many people, frozen in carbonite, can fit in the ship? There isn’t much of a kitchenette-- actually, there’s little more than 2 cupboards, a small box for cold foods, and a small oven that really serves for reheating more than actual cooking. Obi-Wan counts the ration bars, the cans of soup, the few bits of frozen meat. The rations will last them for quite a while, despite the small space.

     And just like that, three standard weeks pass.

***

    Maldo Kreis is as boring as everything else, at least until Mando shows up with his bounty with a hungry ravinak following. His bounty-- a blue Mythrol-- screams bloody murder. Obi-Wan lifts his head from where he lays on the floor and watches the two move past him, heading for the cockpit. He looks out the door-- the ravinak’s bitten down on the landing gear.

    There’s no way they’ll be able to lift off with that hanging on the way it is. In fact, it’s more likely that the ravinak will drag them under. He springs to his feet. Mando’s Amban Rifle is around here somewhere, where had he last seen it..? Oh, right, by the door to the cockpit. He follows them up the ladder, grabs the rifle, and jumps back down. The ship shudders. He grimaces, charges the rifle, and braces himself at the door.

    Here goes nothing. He lunges forward, shoving the prongs of the rifle into the ravinak’s face. Electricity dances across and under its skin. It lets go of the ship with a roar, sinking back into the icy water. Unfortunately, without the ravinak holding it down, the Razor Crest lurches into the air with enough force that almost sends Obi-Wan tumbling into the water with it. He climbs into the ship and closes the door. He lets out a breath. I’m out of practice.

     He joins them in the cockpit. The Mythrol chatters away about nothing in his best attempt at persuading them into letting him go. After getting nothing from Mando, the Mythrol turns to him. Obi-Wan gives him his best unimpressed look and turns back to looking at hyperspace. Is this how I sound to Mando? He wonders. It’s exhausting. He’s honestly thankful when Mando gets the chance to put him in carbonite. When he returns to the cockpit, Obi-Wan offers him a smile. 

     “You probably wish you could do that to me, hm?”

    “Maybe a little.” Mando admits. “And before you ask, now we’re heading to Nevarro.”

    “Ah, wonderful. I could stretch my legs.” I’ve already been out of the ship there, you have no way of arguing me into staying hidden.

    “We’re only stopping to turn in the bounties and get new ones. It’ll be quick.”

    Obi-Wan hums. “If you say so. I could buy new supplies, then, while you deal with Guild business?”

    “Sounds like a plan.”

    Obi-Wan glances at him. “You know, I still don’t know your name.”

    “And?”

    “I think it’d be helpful to know it.”

    “No.”

    Alright. “Were you born a Mandalorian?”

    “Why do you care?” Mando asks slowly.

    Obi-Wan shrugs. “We’re going to be traveling together for an undetermined amount of time, I’d like to know at least a bit about you. All I know about you is that you’re a Mandalorian bounty hunter, you don’t know anything about Jedi, and you’re much better suited to long space travels than I am. Well, I also have nothing to do, but I haven’t exactly seen you do anything more than eat, sleep, clean your weapons, and fly this ship, none of which actually take that long. Also, I spent a year on Mandalore when I was younger, during the civil war.”

    Mando fully turns to look at him. Obi-Wan offers another smile. Focus on the future right now, not the past. Nothing can be done about the past, so make sure the future isn’t going to be a mess.

    Mando sighs. “I was a foundling, taken in when I was a child. I was raised in the Fighting Corps. I work as a bounty hunter to support the Tribe. Is that enough?”

    “If that’s all you’ll give me.” Obi-Wan acquiesces. “Would you like to know more about me?”

    “Which side were you on?” The question is immediate.

    “Er-what?”

    “During the Clone Wars.”

    “Oh.” Obi-Wan pauses. Not a question he expected to hear. “I was fighting on the side of the Republic. So, the clone army, not the droid army.”

    “Good.” Mando says darkly. “You said you’re from the beginning of the war?”

    “Well, I assume so, unless the War was done and over in a matter of a few months.” Obi-Wan says, falling into the sort of sarcastic indignance he often does with Anakin. “I’d just fought at Christophsis.”

    Mando hums. “Alright.”

    And that’s that.

***

    Obi-Wan stares at his reflection in the mirror of the Razor Crest’s refresher. He’s let his hair grow too much for his tastes over the past few weeks. He hasn’t trimmed it at all, and now he hardly looks the part of Jedi Master. Well, he does want to blend in, but… it’s really a matter of self-care, in the end. He runs his fingers through his beard.

    It’s doubtful there are many people in the galaxy now that would recognise him. He imagines they’re dead, old, or simply wouldn’t expect him to look so young. So really, he could probably get away with keeping the beard. But it would be his luck, to manage to run into someone that would recognise him, his look. And it would be his luck that said someone would be an enemy, too. It can’t hurt to be cautious.

    He glances at Mando, standing at his weapons cache. He’s not sure what species he is, still, seeing as he never takes his helmet off. Nor does he particularly care what species he is. But if he’s a species without hair, it’ll be rather hard to cut his own. “Do you have something I could cut my hair with? And shave my beard?”

    Mando turns to look at him. “There’s a razor and a pair of scissors behind the mirror.”

    “Ah, thank you.”

    He finds them where Mando says they are, strapped in so they don’t fall out and make a mess during rough travels. That sort of thing isn’t typically a worry on larger ships, but one as small as the Razor Crest, it’s practically a necessity. He pauses. He’s well versed in taking care of his beard-- that’s not exactly hard, and not something one would want to go to a barber for. His hair, though… well, he’ll just have to give it a go, won’t he?

    So he shaves his beard, leaves only stubble. He’d been completely clean shaven as a padawan for several reasons and only some having to do with his age, but the moment he’d no longer been a padawan he’d happily grown a beard. Partially just to prove to Quinlan he could. Obi-Wan frowns at his reflection. It’s… strange, having hair as long as he does without the beard to match. Luckily I’ll be dealing with that shortly enough.

    Cutting his hair goes about half as well. He leaves it just barely longer than he’d had it as a padawan, minus the ponytail. And a lot more messy, actually. As it turns out, he’s very bad at cutting hair. It doesn’t look terrible. It just doesn’t look very good, either. And it certainly doesn’t look like it was on purpose.

    “Oh well.” He mutters, and starts cleaning up. It’ll just have to do.

    Mando chuckles. “Having trouble?”

    Obi-Wan eyes him. “Not everyone is as used to cutting their own hair as you are.”

    “Maybe you should shave it. Go bald.”

    Obi-Wan thinks about that. “That is a cursed image and I hate that you’ve made me think of it, Mando.”

    Mando’s laughter gets louder, and he counts it as a win.

[wreckofawriter]

Boredom

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Word Count: 4,049

Warnings: Angst, swearing, kinda hints at depression ish

Summary: The cure for your boredom just happens to have white blonde hair and icey grey eyes.

A/n: kinda feeling like shit rn, anyway here's this.

    You lay on the floor of the ballroom which resided inside your home, your arms spread like some sort of bird, your legs the same way. The room was, of course, empty, reminding you slightly of a massive tomb with its barren walls, sprawling polished marble floors and elegant silk curtains pulled tightly shut. In a way it was. 

    “More like a jail cell.” You mumbled to yourself. You weren’t sure exactly when it first started to happen but you were pretty sure it was around age twelve. As a child you were always taught the wrong thing, you were taught to avoid strangers, to mind your own business and fear stupid little things like spiders. And being young and naive you followed those directions closely, unwavering and constantly. But now you were being suffocated. Suffocated by the thing you should have avoided, the thing you should have minded and the thing you now feared more than you did anything else.

    Boredom.

    It was like darkness, it took you over slowly, it crept upon you inch by inch silently until you were plunged into its dangers headfirst. When you were younger, there was always an easy fix, you had plenty of toys to play with, a massive house to run through and enough friends to fill the room you currently lay in, but as time passed, toys became unentertaining, the house seemed to get smaller by the second and you realized friends were never truly there. So now you felt yourself begin to drown in the sea of boredom which claimed to be your life. You had tried focusing on your studies for a while but you honestly would have rather died. You tried to find hobbies but all the things that used to bring you joy now left you feeling empty and unimportant. 

So you began to do the only thing that brought any sort of feeling into your veins. You  caused trouble

So far you have turned yourself into and illegal animagus, cut and dyed your hair 7 times, pierced your ears in four places and your nose in two, given yourself multiple tattoos, you had thrown massive ragers, trashed your entire house, done more drugs than you cared to count and gotten sixteen staff members at your house fired. At this point your parents were convinced you were helpless, they never seemed to pay attention to you anyway, they had gotten you a therapist and now you went once a week and saw how quickly you could make each new shrink cry, your current record was 22 minutes. 

You groaned loudly banging your head on the hard floor which you lay, “I’m so fucking bored!” you shouted through the empty halls the only response being your own echo. You racked your brain for ideas and came up blank as you stared up at the crystal chandelier which must have been worth millions. You slowly sat up rubbing your eyes with closed fists and letting out a moan of frustration. You got to your feet which were bare, padding to the exit of the large room and beginning towards the spiral stairs which you had already climbed a number of times that day. You groaned and plopped on the first step, exhaustion for some reason making your bones feel as if they were made of lead. 

You sat there for a while staring at the hallway you had just walked, it’s the ceiling so high you had to crane your neck to see it, its walls decorated with giant portraits of relatives you have never met. You bit your lip the idea of defacing them dancing in your head. You eventually cast it away decided it wouldn’t even be very fun. 

You had a sudden urge to paint. You had plenty of massive canvases upstairs but those would not do, that is what you were supposed to do, and where was the fun in that? 

Your mind wandered back into the ballroom with its massive eggshell wall, just waiting to be decorated. Your lips widened into a smile, your eyes twinkling with sick glee and anticipation. You stood suddenly taking the steps two at a time to your room. 

You sprinted back down them a few minutes later, arms full of art supplies, you sprinted into the ballroom, unpacking all the paint. You didn’t have nearly enough to cover even half of a wall in the giant space, but you would make do. 

You grabbed the small jar of deep red, adding some brown and black to make a deep crimson before you added some water and stared at the white wall in front of you. Your lips were greeted with a rare smile once again and you threw the paint at the wall. It splattered across the wall, some bouncing straight back at you while most of it stained the wall in a gruesome scene. You watched in a trance as the paint dripped down the wall and slowly began to pool on the floor. You then plunged two fingers into the black paint not bothering with your brushes and began to drag them through the mess of red slowly letting your image fall into place. 

Your mother’s heels clipped down the hall in a synchronized symphony of disappointment. You were soaked in paint when she got home. Her eyes had widened knowing it was not going to be a pleasant work of art. 

She had attempted to have you tell her where the artwork was but you only winked telling her to find it herself, Now she trailed around the house looking for some masterpiece you spent almost the entire day on. Finally, she walked into the ballroom and her mouth dropped. 

Pasted on one of the walls was a bright splash of color. Paint the hue of rich blood splatter the background for the painting, on top of the red was a rough silhouette of what was clearly a young girl, she had her arms spread on either side of her, her hair floating around her like some sort of goddess, her eyes were the only detail added and they were painted in a startling white, wide open, conveying a level of terror. Across the middle of the work, crossing the girl’s stomach were two words, still slowly dripping white paint lazily down the wall. 

“You like it?” You asked your mother a light tease making your words taste bitter. 

“Back off!” You glared at the man who was carrying your trunks and owl. He had made the fatal mistake of bumping you with one of the bags he was holding and you now growled at him as your owl snipped at him her deep black feathers shimmering in the light. 

You walked through the brick wall before heading towards the train. A young girl stumbled over your foot and you glanced down at your now scuffed black boots. You turned your head to yell at the girl but was instead met with a pair of icy eyes. You giggled taking in the boy’s appearance, he was dressed in a trim black suit with a collar with looked like it was choking him. 

“Looking pompous as usual Malfoy.” You smirked another fit of laughter threatening to burst from your lips as he rolled his eyes. 

“Looking rebellious as usual y//l/n.” He mocked glancing up and down your outfit, “New tattoos I see.” he spoke gesturing towards his own neck. 

You gave him a closed-eyed smile which caused a crimson to bleed up his neck. “You like it?” You asked tilting your head so he could get a better look at the deep mark etched into your skin. 

He started at the scene depicted on your flesh, it showed a cobra its fangs sunk into a human heart, blood dripping from it’s wound. He resisted the urge to shiver. 

“It’s lovely.” He drawled sarcastically. 

“Always so kind Malfoy.” you giggled, you opened your mouth to speak again before you heard a sharp cough which made you wince.  You turned the light from your eyes disappearing, “Father?” You spoke sweetly, “I didn’t know you were coming.”

He glared past you at the blonde, “I thought I told you not to talk to such families.” He growled lowly.

“Oh, I just ran into him,” You lied a new sparkle dancing in your deep y/e/c. You promptly turned back to the boy standing on your toes and reaching up to cradle on of his cheeks in your hand as your lips pressed softly to the other. “Save me a seat, Dracy.” You said making sure to be louder than necessary. You then turned back to your father’s eyes which were narrowed with furry as your own challenged him, daring him to say something. 

“I would never speak to such families.” Your lips curled sickly lipstick now slightly smeared. A sudden rush of excitement met you at your father's pure furry, you finally found a hobby. 

You found immense joy at this new weakness lodged in your family. Your parents had recently become numb to the trouble you caused, your attempts had become fruitless as your parent’s tolerance built, but now you realized you had struck a much-hated nerve. The Malfoys. 

Draco was never sure what was up with you. You were a particular person, someone he could never quite read, your actions were spontaneous, almost no thought being put into them. You jumped into the world each day just as unsure of what you would do as anyone else, yet you always made an incredible splash. You intrigued him. 

When he was younger he had simply liked you because of your thirst for disorder, but as he began to grow your smiles became precious jewels, your laughter sweet symphonies and every step you took was flourished with deep red roses. You were priceless. 

You weren't friends, acquaintances was pushing a boundary, he wasn't sure which line you stepped upon but he wished it was one closer to him. 

Ever since a misjudged and unfortunate business deal between your families the y/l/n's had cut the Malfoy's from the lives.

Luckily for Draco, you were never one to follow rules, especially those made by your parents. 

Draco shook his head attempting to rid his head of the feeling of your lips, which still seemed to be pressed to his cheek. He took a seat ignoring Blaise across from him and letting his eyes drift to the window on his right. 

A bubble of laughter emerged from the cabin and his head snapped upward. 

"Blaise!" You cheered bouncing on your toes before taking your seat next to Draco, "It's amazing to see you!" 

"It's good to see you too y/l/n," he smiled, "You seem like you're in a good mood." 

"I'm in a brilliant mood!" You exclaimed, "My dad came to drop me off today." 

Blaise's eyebrows knitted in confusion before a sly smirk took his lips, "You pissed him off didn't you." 

"Naturally." You shrugged.

"I'm guessing you had quite an eventful summer." Draco murmured. 

"As always!" You lied, you couldn't quite admit that you had been crushed by the emptiness you felt not but days before, you had to ride the new high you had acquired through a simple kiss on the cheek, "I painted a mural in the ballroom, mom wasn't too happy about it." 

"I can imagine." Draco laughed.

You reach Hogwarts still quite hyper from the events that transpired at the train station, the absolute glee you felt at the hatred that rested in your father's eyes was unlike any drug you'd had before. Your mind reeled, already working to reach that peak again. 

You hummed happily in the carriage ride, you practically danced into the hall a lollipop still lodged between your lips. You felt invincible. 

Unfortunately it didn't even take a week of mind-numbing classes and monotone voices to bring you back to the routine of boredom which had become your life. 

You lay staring at the ceiling of the grand hall, it was currently breakfast, your head rested in Draco's lap as your eyelids struggled under the weight they held. 

"You okay y/n?" He asked for the fifth time that morning. 

"I'm fine." You lied fiddling with the hem of the blondes robes, your fingers dancing across his wrist as the boy fought a blush. 

He opened his mouth to protest your answer but let his words stay behind his lips as the screech of owls echoed around the hall. You seemed indifferent to the new situation until a shimmer of black caught your eye.

You sat up holding out your arm for your owl to perch before untying the letter looped to her bare leg. 

You tilted your head curiously, mail was a rare occasion, particularly from your parents. Looping golden letters printed on expensive paper proved it could only be from a higher class. You didn’t bother reading the address, curiosity burning deep within you. You tore through the golden wax, your family's seal placed upon it.  You pulled the letter from its shell, your dull eyes seeming to grow pale as you released a small groan. 

“What is it?” Draco asked peering over your shoulder at the letter you held. 

"Another fucking ball." You moaned throwing your head onto the table in front of you, "I mean how many do we need to have? It's not like anything had changed since last month. My parents just need an excuse to say, 'Hey look we're still prestigious assholes.'"

Draco snickered beside you. Blaise took the letter from your hands and you gave no protests. He scanned it before bursting out laughing. 

"It says you need a plus one." He smirked. 

In milliseconds your mood changed. Your head popped from the table a dangerous twinkle filling your eyes. You turned to Draco.

"Will you do me a favor?" You asked desperately.

"Umm sure." He shrugged, he would have jumped off a bridge if you had asked with the same enthusiasm. 

"Sweet! You're going to this bullshit with me." You smiled.

"Y/n won’t your parents be pissed?" He sighed biting his lip. 

"Royally." You responded leaning even closer to the boy, your eyes were wide with excitement, cheeks lightly flushed, hair disheveled from previous frustration, you looked angelic. Then you thrust your lips onto his. 

Draco's eyes went wide before slowly slipping shut, his hands snaking around your waist as you forced your tongue into his mouth. 

He tasted minty and slightly of blackberry jam. He smelt of expensive cologne and honey. 

You pulled away panting slightly, "Take me to Hogsmeade this weekend." It clearly wasn't a question. 

"Okay." Was all he could manage his face still beat red.

You smiled grabbing your things and walking away without another word. 

Draco turned to Blaise, his eyes wide, cheeks fiery heart thumping at an uncomfortable rate. "What the fuck?"

Blaise burst out laughing.

You weren't exactly sure why you kissed Draco. It just happened. You liked it though, the kiss was nice, it felt better than it had kissing any other boy, it felt wrong. You knew it wasn't supposed to feel that way, but maybe that's why you liked it so much, it wasn't smooth and soft, it was bumpy and rough, like water clashing harshly onto stones. You loved it. It was new and exciting and different it broke your routine, throwing a wrench into the gears of your perfectly planned out life. It was everything you had been yearning for. 

You feel an unfamiliar sense of nervousness take you over as you dressed for the ball. The gown you were wearing was far too elegant for you, its sleeves long like a Victorian queen’s, the silky fabric causing you to shiver.

You left your room in a hurry. Your makeup is not quite done right, your dress a bit wrinkled. You didn’t care, you never did. 

Draco wrung his hands, sweat seeming to be never-ending. He knew he shouldn't be nervous, your parents already hated him why was he so scared? Because it's HER parents a voice whispered. It was true. Before Draco even knew of the y/l/ns hatred for the Malfoy’s he had fallen in love, He could help but want to please your parents. A heavy sigh followed by the sound of heels on marble echoed through the small room he resided in. Draco glanced upward, his mind going blank as he caught your eye. 

You looked like a princess,  a small silver tiara topping your head of y/h/c as proof. But isn’t wasn’t the dazzling jewelry which took his breath from him, it was the light that held your eyes. The look of a child so innocent and pure mixed with that of a psychopath who had just trapped its next victim, it made you shine. Your pupils seeming to dance in a sea y/e/c. You walked straight up to him and without any words slammed your tongue down his throat, Draco seeped into the kiss pushing you back towards the wall and eliciting a small moan as you tugged on his hair. The boy was about to reach for your zipper when you pulled away from him, lipstick now smeared, Dracos own lips tinged red. 

“We should go.” you murmured before slipping from the room. He still didn't understand you.

Draco trailed after you widening his steps before catching his hand in your own. You walked down the spiral staircase which you hated so much hand and hand with the solution to your problems. Just before you reached the room which you once stained red Draco stopped pulling on your arm. 

“What's up?” You asked.

“Y/n, I don't think I can go in there, your parents hate me.” You opened your mouth to brush off his comment but then your eyes met. He looked desperate. He needed something, something that another kiss couldn't fix, something real.

You sighed before throwing your arms around the boy, “I don't care what my parents think Draco.” You lied, “I don't care that they hate you, all I want us you by my side” You felt cruel as the dishonest words left your mouth. 

You pulled away cupping his face in your hands, kissing him for the first time in your relationship, lightly, lovingly. 

“Now let's go.” You said snatching his hand and entering your jail cell, but this time you had the key. 

You enjoyed the stares that the two of you brought, but it wasn't enough. A few murmurs were exchanged but other than that business proceeded as usual. You felt like you were caught in some weird trance, not enough was happening, no one had yelled, no one had gasped, fire had not erupted from the walls, you need a reaction.

You felt he needed to break something, scream or burst into tears, you need to shatter this terrible nightmare you were living in. Your mother’s sharp gasp did the trick, you hid a smirk as she hurried towards you not even sparing a glance at Draco before dragging you away.

“What in Salazar is Malfoy doing here?” She hissed in your ear, the grip on your arm becoming slightly too tight. 

“He's my date.” you smiled, so calmly and so innocently it was hard to believe you were riding the high of her utter horror. 

“Your what!?” She rasped at you her grip on tightening.

“Date.” You repeated a grin still plastering your features.

She let out something that sounded like a whimper, “You said you were bringing your boyfriend.”

“I did.” Your lips seemed to hold an untold evil as you looked at her. 

She looked like she was about to cry, “Y/n! How could you? This is a Malfoy, we lost hundreds of thousands because of them.” 

“Correction, you lost hundreds of thousands over them.” You smirked, “By the way, I’m quite disappointed you painted over my mural, I worked so hard.” You pouted

Something new arose in your mother's eyes, she was no longer disappointed or sad or even mad, she had reached her breaking point, “You are a demon of a child.” She snarled. 

You felt as if someone had just given you an illegal pill, you reached a point of ecstasy you didn't think was possible you had done it, you had broken the sculpture of your life, “The devil did give birth to me.” You taunted. 

She stood speechless, her eyes filling with hatred.

“My date is getting lonely so I’m going to go, but thank you so much for this lovely chat,” you spoke turning on your heel and walking back to the boy who stood awkwardly by a table of elegant food. The second you reached him you locked your hands around his neck and connected your lips, your heart thumping wildly from the excitement you held. 

You pulled away and winked ignoring his questioning gaze, “Wanna dance?”

He nodded. 

After the ball, your mission seemed to be accomplished. Your parents broke their neat well put together little facade and lost it, your mother burst into tears, your father held a wand to your neck and the whole time you smiled. You smiled because it wasn't what you do every day, it wasn't the thick routine you had become so accustomed to. It wasn't the sharp timer you felt ticking behind you every moment as if you were always one step behind. It wasn't the timeline your parents had drawn for you and forced down your infantile throat. It was chaos. Absolute chaos. And you had never felt more alive.  

Just as quickly as it started it all stopped. Your parents disappeared, you went to school again and feel back into the sick loop of your life, and as your high died out and you realized you had created nothing more than a bump in the road your plan became meaningless. And so did the people in it. 

You no longer yearned for Dracs touch. His lips felt numb against your own, his hands in your hair meant nothing, the taste of caramel and smell of cologne dulled, the color he used to hold seems to be drained from him. But really his purpose had. 

He could sense it, your numbness, your indifference your complete and utter boredom. But he kept hoping. Hoping you would kiss him as you had in that ballroom, that you would hold him as you had that night, that the light in your eyes would return because your touch still sent him into frenzies, your kiss still felt like fireworks, you still tasted of butterscotch and bubblegum. Your hand in his hair still brought butterflies to his stomach. He still needed you. 

“I can’t keep doing this.” 

The boy cringed at your words, “Doing what?” 

“Just this Draco.” You seemed tired, “I don't love you.” 

Those four words effectively smashed him into pieces. He wanted to scream.

“I don't think I ever did.” You spoke dryly, wetting your lips. 

Those six shattered him, “Then why did you kiss me?” He asked, his throat felt raw and scratchy like it had been clawed apart. 

You shrugged, face still vacant of any emotion, “You were new.”

    “That doesn’t make any fuckings sense!” he burst suddenly, turning to face you. You didn't even blink.

“Nothing makes any fucking sense Draco. None of this did.” You sighed. 

“Why did you lie to me?” He snarled, "Why did you say you loved me, why did you say you needed me? Why did you make me believe you?”

You didn't speak, you weren't sure what to say.

“Why did you fucking lie to me y/n!?” He repeated, his voice cracking. 

“I don't know.” But you did know. You had always known. You needed a distraction, something to break the routine, to force chaos upon you and he did just that. He elicited the fire in your father’s eyes, he brought furry to your mother's mind and he gave you a week of freedom. And he was worth it. You would never utter it out loud, but breaking him was worth it. Because for just a moment he had cured an incurable disease. Boredom. 

Tags:

@accio-rogers

@roslea

@k3nz-doodl3

@theseuscmander

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