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mortalfaerie · 4 years ago

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To Fake an Engagement (M.F.)

part 3/?

mathew fairchild x (fem) reader

wordcount: 3k

synopsis: part 3 of this series. reader and mathew are reunited at the london intstitute’s famous christmas party, and spend some impromptu alone time in the games room, where those 3 little words make an appearance. flirty, but no smut (yet). no coi spoilers.

You couldn’t help but feel something had shifted for the better after Anna’s party. Winter had descended now, covering London in a constant white cover, but you still wrote letters regularly to Matthew on the days you didn’t see him, and he wrote you back enthusiastically.

As Christmastime approached, Will and Tessa sent invites to the annual Christmas Ball at the Institute to members of the Enclave, and you diligently ticked off the days on your calendar to December 25th. Shadowhunters didn’t typically exchange gifts or celebrate in the way of many mundanes, but as it aligned with the time that the greater demon, Lilith, was banished to Edom, it warranted note and minor celebration among the nephilim.

But, for the young and carefree members of the Enclave, it was a party, and that was enough.

Your dress for the event had been a gift from your parents, and was far more extravagant than the practical day dresses you normally favored. All the same, you felt a sense of private vanity as you regarded yourself in your bedroom mirror, dressed and styled for the occasion. The dress was a lovely green velvet, ideal for the colder weather, with wide, slashed sleeves and lace trim. Your maid had drawn your hair up in the popular “Gibson Girl” style, with stray curls framing your face and a decorative sprig of winterberries tucked into a hairpin. You felt, seeing yourself, like you were viewing a rare exotic animal, far from what you displayed on a day to day basis.

With a knock on your bedroom door, your maid alerted you that your family was gathering in the foyer to depart soon, and you gethered your skirts and hurried downstairs. You shrugged on your coat and allowed your mother to fuss over you a moment before shooing you into the carriage. Your father nodded in that sort of patriarchal approval most moderately wealthy fathers did, and asked if you had your weapon on you- you turned out your pocket to show the hilt of your dagger, sheathed over your petticoat. He nodded again, satisfied, and you were on your way.

The Institute at Christmastime never failed to amaze you. Tessa had an admirable eye for design, and always the ballroom and foyer were transformed with berries, bobbles, garlands, and sprigs of pine. There was even a felled tree decorated in the entrance, which had carved wood rune ornaments adorning it. As your parents greeted the heads of the Institute, Tessa tapped you on the shoulder to whisper, “They’re gathered in the games room, if you’d like to join them.”

There was no need to clarify “them,” it was only ever your closest friends, the merry thieves, Lucie, and now Cordelia too. You nodded and excused yourself, gathering your skirts and hurrying down the corridor to the closed doors of the games room, where you took a deep breath and pushed through.

When you entered, you found James and Christopher engaged in animated conversation, while Matthew, Cordelia, Thomas, and Lucie surrounded the billiards table as Lucie lined up a shot. Just as she cracked the balls on the carpeted table, the doors clicked shut behind you and all turned to look. A soft silence fell across them for a few seconds as they looked at you, and then Lucie broke it by throwing down the billiards stick and exclaiming, “Oh, good! Y/N, you’re here at last.” and enveloped you in a hug.

You laughed at her enthusiasm, and went to greet the others. Having not seen eachother in some time now due to the weather, hugs were exchanged when normally they were not upon greeting, and Thomas patted the berry garland in your hair, commenting that you had not gotten taller in the past weeks, to which you stuck out your tongue.

The room resumed its activities before you had arrived, and you took a spot against the wall behind the billiards table, where it was now Cordelia’s turn. Matthew drifted back from the table to lean against the wall beside you. Matthew, unlike the others, had not hugged you in greeting, but smiled warmly and kissed your gloved hand.

“Hello again.” He murmured as he took his place beside you.

“Hello yourself.” you replied, bumping him with your hip.

“Is it too soon to ask for your first dance tonight?” he asked, his voice still a whisper. You turned to regard him, but saw he was serious.

“Well, Mr. Fairchild,” you said with mock formality, “my affections are not otherwise engaged.”

He smiled and replied, “Most capital. I should look forward to meeting you on the dance floor, Miss. Y/L/N.”

After that, the comfortable silence slipped over you again, as it had at Anna’s party. Your hands were close enough at your sides that your fingers brushed his, and you noticed him looking down thoughtfully as they did.

Before long, Will appeared at the door to tell you the enough guests had arrived that you all should make your way to the ballroom, and Lucie came to link her arm in yours, just as James took Cordelia’s hand, and the remaining 3 walked side by side. You thought to yourself, watching James and Cordelia warmly proceed ahead of you, that their fake marriage seemed to be faring better than you anticipated. Perhaps, not all sentiment they displayed for the public was fake.

In the ballroom, guests were finding their places at seats arranged along the walls, and you let Lucie guide you to a table in the corner, where often the 7 of you congregated during balls. As the piano turned out a german waltz, Will and Tessa took to the floor, as the hosts always have the first dance together. As they did, the young members of the enclave began to talk amongst themselves, finding partners for the next dance. Matthew found his way to your side just as the waltz ended, and the piano began into a joyful portland tune.

“Shall we?” he asked, a gleam in his eyes.

You grinned in return. “I believe we shall.”

He led you onto the dancefloor, where you took your place alongside other pairs, and began in with the lively, gliding steps of the portland polka. You laughed intermittently throughout it- the polka was a fast, fun dance, leaving little time for conversation. It was a dance to have with an experienced partner, one whose company you were comfortable in. Over the past 3 months, Matthew had proved to be all of those things, and you couldn’t help but smile as he spun you about.

At the end of the set, you bowed to each other, as was custom, and he asked, “Join me to procure refreshments?”

You held out your hand for him to take, which he did eagerly. “Lead the way.”

He offered you a sherry as you passed the refreshments, and he told you all the gossip he had gleaned from his parent’s conversations over the past few weeks as you leisurely walked a circuit around the ballroom. You smiled and laughed at his comments, but secretly you were anxious that he would drink too much as the night went on. You didn’t mind him drinking a bit, you thought, and it was fun sometimes to drink with Matthew, but you detested being truly drunk yourself, and you had waited weeks to see Matthew again in person, you wanted to savor this Matthew, uninhibited, as best you could.

You sipped your drink until you emptied it, at which point he suggested you dance again. You knew that to dance with the same man multiple times was to declare your interest, but it was well known you two were friends, so it shouldn’t seem so odd. You let him lead you in a country dance, and then turned you to Thomas, then Christopher, and even James, who was as he always was, the picture of propriety. When came a partner dance, you even danced with Cordelia, who was remarkably graceful, and then Lucie for a more jaunty circle dance that you both tripped and giggled through.

After an hour of dancing, you had slipped back to the wall near the table when you felt a tap on your shoulder. It was Matthew, who said, “Blast. I seem to have lost something in the games room. Would you come with me to look? I could use another pair of eyes.”

You smirked. “A button, perhaps? You do have so very many on your frock coat today. But, yes I shall help you, Matthew.”

He linked his arm through yours, and led you to the games room, making cordial conversation the way there. When you reached it, you slipped in and found it empty. Still, not wanting to make a loud noise, you gently pushed the doors shut behind you and leaned against them. Matthew, several feet away, regarded you.

“I didn’t lose anything here, Y/N.” he said, his voice low.

You cocked an eyebrow in confusion. “Then why did you-” but he cut you off short.

“I missed you.” he said, quiet, as through confiding a secret. Your heart swelled, but you worked to steady it.

“I am here. You have been with me all night.” you breathed. “How can you miss me?”

He walked closer to you, standing only about a foot away. “I have been missing you every moment I am not alone with you.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, your blush creeping up your neck. “Do not play with my heart, Matthew.” you warned, quiet as a mouse.

He placed his hand with the ring- your family ring- over his heart and said, “I am not playing with anything, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched and you clicked closed the lock of the door. The sound of it sliding into place reverberated through the room. You stared into his emerald eyes, searching for the sign of a lie or a joke, but found none.

Finally, your heart in your throat, you said just loud enough for him to hear, “Then kiss me, Matthew Fairchild.”

He obliged, his ring-clad hands coming to cup your face, leaning down to close the distance between you, and you gasped and rose onto your toes to meet him. Your arms came around him, one on his chest and another on his back, holding him to you. You could feel his pulse, wildly fast, under his shirt and vest, and he pressed his lips to yours in a movement that was both patient and frantic, practiced and entirely unready.

You knew Matthew had kissed people before. You had seen it, actually, at parties and at The Devil’s Tavern. Even still, his hands shook as he cupped your face, and you moved to cover them with your own, to assure him that you wanted this too.

Instinct taking over, your lips parted as he moved against them, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. You made a small noise of surprise but didn’t pull away, instead pressing yourself further against him. A sort of need burned inside you, a need to be as close as you possibly could. Your hands moved to knot in his golden hair, feeling the softness of it, and he made a noise akin to a moan against your lips when you closed your fingers around a tuft of his hair firmly. Startled, you pulled back to look at him, and he returned your look of surprise.

His face was flushed, lips pink from the pressure of kissing, and his green eyes were glazed with want. “Sorry.” he murmured somewhat sheepishly. Now, that was a moment to remember, a sheepish Matthew. “I… liked the feeling of it. I didn’t think.”

You playfully bumped his head in response. “Don’t be. I was just surprised.”

This was the Matthew you loved. Unguarded, smiling in earnest, he looked like he had when you had first met him, the look of childlike wonder restored in his eyes. You moved your hand to his cheek and he leaned into it, looking at you with an expression that was so warm and full of awe.

“Wait a second.” you said, and moved to pull off your gloves. On your hand, catching the witchlight, was the Fairchild ring, hidden under your dress gloves but worn as a private reminder, as a hopeful prayer. He smiled seeing it glint as you placed your gloves on the bookshelf beside the door. Then, you turned to him again and said very matter of factly,

“I want you to kiss me again.”

This time, you were ready. More confidently, you let your hands travel up his back, savoring the smoothness of his silk vest. He cradled your head like you were all that was precious in the world, and the kiss became faster, more eager, until you parted again, panting.

“Can I pick you up?” he asked.

You furrowed your eyebrows, but nodded. In response, he swept you up in his arms, leaving you to wrap your arms around his neck. You didn’t look away from him as he carried you to the billiard table and sat you on it, making your height level. Your legs dangled off the edge, and you kicked off your shoes mindlessly and you grabbed hold of his tie and loosened it. With your hand still around the knot of it, you pulled, bringing him back to you as his hands went to steady himself on either side of you on the table surface.

“Y/N…” he murmured against your lips. It was like a question, a warning, and a plea all at once.

“Please.” you murmured in response, and he moved to devour your lips again.

Suddenly, you heard someone try the handle of the door. At once, you were thankful both that you hadn’t lit any more lights than the usual witchlight, and that you locked the door behind you. Likely, it was another young couple looking to steal away somewhere, and they moved along the hallway in search of some other place. Matthew dropped his head into the crook of your shoulder and cursed, as you threaded your fingers idly in his hair.

When you were certain they had passed, he pulled back and looked at you. “What are we doing?” he asked, a little breathy.

“I- well, you were kissing me.” you supplied, missing the warmth of his body.

“No, I mean, what are we doing? What is this?” he asked, gesturing to the space between you.

You removed your hands from his hair and wrung them in your lap. “Well, I... I enjoyed my evening very much so far, please don’t think that I haven’t.”

He placed a hand over yours to stop you from worrying at them. “But are we doing this because of the deal? Because it’s convenient?”

Your heart fractured at the suggestion. Haughtily, you scooted off the table and paced, shoeless, away from him.

“Y/N?” he asked to your back.

“Do not speak about convenience to me.” you said, more sternly than you intended.

“What does that mean?” he asked, an edge of exasperation in his voice.

You whirled. “It means, Matthew,” you pointed an accusatory finger at him, “that I have loved you since I was 14 years old, so do not think to speak to me about convenience!” you hissed, still aware that you had to keep your voice down.

Matthew laughed humorlessly and raked a hand through his hair.

You simmered in your building rage. “You said you would not play with my heart.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he replied, “And I am not.”

“Then why would you suggest that you have brought me to an empty room and kissed me because of convenience?” you demanded.

“I suppose I thought because you would lose so little in this deal, that it might just be convenient excitement for you!” he exclaimed in a harsh whisper.

Your face burned. “I had thought better of your opinion of me.” you moved to go grab your shoes, but he caught your arm.

“I had no idea that you loved me!” he said, trying to halt you in your path.

“Why else would I agree to this?” you demanded. “Why else would I hope that at the end of a year, you might love me? Why keep the ring?” you flashed your hand to him. “Why entertain ideas of marriage, Matthew? Why suggest I marry you if you didn’t think I loved you?”

“Because I didn’t want to think I would have to be alone!” he admitted. His eyes were sparkling with the suggestion of tears in the dim witchlight, but none spilled over.

You couldn’t take it. You might have been red with frustration and deeply annoyed with him, but you never could stomach Matthew to think so desperately low of himself. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his chest in a hug, and he froze, then enveloped you.

“Matthew, you would never be alone. You have a parabatai, friends, and you would have found love regardless.” you assured him, but you felt the tremble of his body and accepted his nonresponse as him trying not cry. You hugged him closer, and listened to his heart rate as it began to finally slow, and his breaths became more even.

“I don’t deserve you.” he said quietly.

“That is not for you to decide.” you countered, not releasing your hold on him. “I am happy when I am with you.”

He rested his chin on your head as he spoke, “But would you be happy if you married me?”

“Not for you to decide.” you repeated. “A marriage is a partnership. Its success would be as much my work as yours.”

He was quiet for a moment, before taking your face and turning it to him. “If you would marry me,” he began, “I would be forever thankful to you. I would spend each day in service of your happiness.”

You kissed him again, sweetly this time, savoring his taste. When you pulled away, you said, “We should return to the ball before there’s much suspicion. Oh, and fix your tie and hair.”

Matthew’s hand went indignantly to his hair, which was thoroughly mussed by your hands.

You smiled as you put your shoes back on and gloves, then peeking out of the door to be sure no one was there. You slipped out, Matthew’s arm cordially laced in yours, as you cut through to the kitchen to grab a piece of cake. While slipping through the adjoining sitting room with your spoils, you found your friends already there, having stolen some of the cake as well.

“There you are!” Cordelia exclaimed, and gestured for you to join them, hiding out from the ball.

James snickered, however, and added, “But first, look up.”

Confused, you looked first to Matthew, and then up to the archway above you, where a sprig of mistletoe was hung, probably by Bridget, with her folk traditions.

You flushed immediately, and began saying, “Oh, really-” but before you could finish, Matthew snaked an arm around your waist and pressed a sweet, soft kiss to your mouth. You broke away, still blushed a deep red and regarded your friends who wore expressions of laughter, surprise, and suspicion. Lucie regarded you with a look that said you’d be explaining yourself later. For now, though, you went to join your friends eating pilfered Christmas cake as the night went on.

#matthew fairchild #matthew fairchild x reader #the mortal instruments #the last hours #the infernal devices #the dark artifices #the shadowhunter chronicles #cassandra clare

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apparentlyaswarmofbees · 4 years ago

Note

I've been asking around this one question for a few people now, because I like hearing what people have to say about it...

So I wouldn't mind it if you shared a list on who's your favourite (from Most to Least) from the Obey Me! Crew (Brothers & Formally Undatables)...

Also, please feel free to ramble on about why you placed them in each space...

O-oh dear-

First off, you spoil an infodumper like me too much lol (I am happy sfjsjjdjn) and I am going to go overboard (and changing the order of things) for my own pleasure.

And so...

Second off...

Gladly

Here is My List of LEAST to MOST Favorite of The Obey Me Boys ^^

That I just did on spot because I didn't have one ready because it's hard for me to rate the characters as they all have their traits and even their flaws add something good to the character but I'll be dammed if I don't enjoy deep frying my brain for fun.

Please take note I am taking this literally and all characters in here are FAVORITES, just some will be more and some less, which mean I LIKE ALL OF THEM. Yes, I have changed my opinion on a certain two characters I have said to not like, and I am not ashamed to say I was incorrect.

So let's start this off with the right foot shall we?

#12 | Diavolo

He is still infuriating I won't deny that. And I won't pity him though he is a tragic character that is so lonely he overrates any kind of affection, that doesn't know how to interact with others without exagerating, that has no one to give an oposing opinion because of his status and so it's increasingly hard for him to learn to make good decisions, and with his goal to unite the realms I could almost say he is naive. He's a bit of a puppy always wanting some pets, but as a not dog person, I don't have enough in me to be always playing, so to me an overly needy puppy can end up getting annoying, though of course, I can't help it but at least give it a few pets before going my way.

#11 | Simeon

Yes in the end I actually liked him all along but was just in denial after I thought about it. Simeon is a good character, he's a dick even though he's an angel and he doesn't bother to be any different, he definetelly has his own set of rules he follows and I believe he would be a Chaotic Good just like me. He's well made. And as much as he is pretty unlikeable, the mystery, the questions, the fact that he has always been the same we just didn't get to interact with him much to see it, to have a naturally asshole character put down some of his walls to help us even if part out of possible self interest. And of course he's also fun. Simeon is charming, and I have come to appreciate all of him.

#10 | Luke

A kid. A brat and a tsundere. I Absolutely love the character development and it's extremelly adorable. He's now officially our guardian angel and I love that. He was just a prick that I rolled my eyes so hard whenever I encountered him in the game and now he's just a lil' bratty brother that is fun to tease and squish the cheeks off. He's a really nice kid in the end, just previously ignorant, but still nice because he was willing to learn and change despise saying he didn't want to. I personally can understand Luke as I was pretty alike as a kid. Again, he's a nice kid I would gladly buy some balloons and cotton candy for.

#9 | Barbatos

The number 1 buttler, he's just, a good dude l o l. He has his distance from everyone due to his position but that doesn't make him any less interesting. He is mysterious and powerful and yet he feels, so chill. He's also fun and actually has a pretty soft personality in which he knows exactly when to switch off to strict. He's a character I respect and wish existed in real life so I could be friends with (╥﹏╥).

#8 | Solomon

Shady sorcerer is actually a pretty good guy though mildly insane. He is actually responsable (and takes it pretty seriously seeing he's basically the representative of the human realm). He's kind though again, mildly insane, and diligent. He may have terrible food but the fact he does it with good intentions is pretty adorable, he just likes to follow his instincts and be spontaneous because he likes new and exciting things. He probably has quite a bit of angst to him due to his not only immortality in not aging but also by not being able to be killed but even so it feels that, contrary to how many human immortals end, he still hasn't lost the light in his eyes and can still enjoy things and enjoy being alive, and that is most likely thanks to other immortal/long living beings such as demons.

#7 | Lucifer

Yep. Lucifer is actually a really fucking great character, he's fond of his family, hard worker to the point of destroying himself, self punisher, elegant, pretty af, cute at times. But not exactly my most favorable cup of tea. Seeing I can see through his bullshit all his posessiveness, all his pettiness, all his actions just becomes ridiculous and annoying. And theres also a problem with the fact we always end up submiting to him, I don't want that. For every time he disrespects me I want him to kneel and kiss my feet. His pride collides with my own, and his decisions do too. But even so he is very reliable and so he has my respect for that, I do want to hug him and tell him he deserves nice things and that he can rest now this is not the war anymore you don't have to bow down to anyone anymore you didn't doom your brothers but freed them instead, but then again he makes bad decisions because he has zero braincells for emotional intelligence and that pisses me off and makes me just want to yeet him off a cliff. Yeah Lucifer, I would gladly kick you in the balls with ♡°.•love•.°♡.

#6 | Leviathan

Surprising is it not? But it's true, I often focus on Levi due to him not only being pretty alike to me but also because he's related to many things I have been familiar with since I was born: animes and games. His anxiousness is relatable, the outcastness is relatable, the awkwardness is relatable, the obsession is relatable, the references are relatable, the infodumping is relatable. He's very relatable to me, but not my most favorite, and all because of his envy. He's a guilt tripper, and though I am long immune to it in real life due to extreme exposure to it from my family, it still is enough for his rank to go down. I still love him though, but mostly as the character that represents the thing I am most familiar with in life: myself.

#5 | Beelzebub

Big puppy, he's the type of guy who will talk to plants. He has big and strong hands that could crush anything and yet he will do his best to handle some things gently. He's chill and non judgemental, loyal to the core. Once you win him over, you win him over, he would die for you. He is purposely childish at times and it's cute. He is amazing. I wish I could enjoy eating like he does. He's the only character I truly feel hurt for, as he is deeply inflicted by survivor's guilt and it just pains me I can't comfort him because he isn't real ಥ‿ಥ

#4 | Belphegor

Hoh boy. The brat. The fandom itself is pretty divided on their liking of Belphie and it's understandable lol. But I personally understand Belphie. To hide hurt behind anger, hate and spite, to turn to agression to prove a point but you end up just fucking up. But the guilt and wish to fix things can lead one to giving themselves up, and so it becomes a constant battle of getting close but not too close for the sake of both parties involved. I get this boy more than I wish I ever did, and that's why he's high on the ranking. And because he's cute ngl.

#3 | Satan

H o h b o y, another one that reminds me of myself, only it's the aftermath of the above where one bottles up all their negative feelings because being emotional is not being rational and who the fuck even wants to not be rational. Where you have no fucking idea who you are because all you know is to stomp your feet and scream for the sake of making an statement but that just proved all your enemies a point so now you turn to smarts to prove yourself. To make others angry, to make them frustrated and infuriated with your knowledge because you want to prove yourself, be reconized for who you are, to be someone and also, hopefully, change other people's ways, to make them understand they are wrong because you deep down actually want to get along with them. Yeah, Satan is high on the list, and it's also because he likes detectives uwu.

#2 | Asmodeus

What a fucking icon he is I love him okay. It frustrates me when people use cheating as a angst prompt for him as he's obviously someone who just isn't made for monogamy, and he's pretty honest and I feel he would have nothing to hide and would talk it all out with all his partners. He's a sweetheart that works hard on daily basis and hour after hour to mantain an image, he likes the attention, he wants to be loved. If anyone mildly self centered ever told me 'I love you as much as I love myself' I would marry them on spot. Asmo is just incredibly sweet and I love all his affection and respect him for all the work he does to make a good impression and look up to that self confidence even though most of it is actually just him trying to convince himself. Also perfect example off gender is an ilusion lol.

#1 | Mammon

Yep, our number 1, The Great Mammon, the most lovable dumbass that has been by our side from the start though with a bit of whining. This man is perfect. He has incredible self control over his powers, and as someone who used to be an angel to be able to use money all you want bro. I wouldn't feel bad either. He's our protector from start to end to the point he focuses on us instead of the queen in the Dame event. He isn't stupid just has selective focus just like me! And all the people with ADHD and many other neurodivergents. When he wants something he does is perfectly and diligently, he just needs the right push at the right time. He's the most good of all demons and even angels and he loves all his brothers deeply, he is always there to support everyone to the point of even allowing himself to be the punching bag for the sake of them not turning too much on one another. He was literally our first SSR card, our first call, our first pact, our first and the best. He IS great, truly.

#god I need to sleep #any typos are due to sleep deprivedness and I will be fixing later #obey me #obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date?

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nsfwlost · 4 years ago

Text

one on one

"Hey, Dylan. The new head is looking out for ya."

I choked on my coffee a bit, fingers gripped on the plastic handle a bit tighter as I wasn't sure exactly what I'd be in trouble for. I haven't done anything noticeable -- has I? Surely not. That being said, my attire was lacking for the occasion, or any occasion really. I worked in the lower end of the staff so me and my team never got this impromptu one on ones.

"Has any of the others met her?" Double checking with my co-worker in case they had the wrong person.

"No... the other one she wanted t osee was on vacation." He spoke of it more, your head tilted and lips quirking off from one side to the other. "Look, she's new so, my guess is that she just wants to do a head count and meet us a little bit. Let us know how we can improve and whatnot, yeah?"

"Hm..." You pondered further, a sigh emitting out unknowingly as you really didn't want to do this.

"I dunno man, might as well get this over with and go back to your day to day routine." A shrug of his shoulders came about as I nodded my head. Better to face them head on rather than run away from this obstacle.

Lee Jueun... Your co-worker spoke of that name before you both split in opposite directions as I headed up over to the office.

You hadn't met her yet, with how busy work has become the past few weeks. It was seeming to be like this day would never come until she propped you out of your schedule to fit onto hers. Spending the week in a split shift, most of the higher ups carried most of their meetings in the afternoon, times where I wasn't in the office.

Regardless, I was prepared for the worst. Things were far from perfect in my area, but everyday was still manageable. If I was going to get fired, than so be it. Business is booming in the work field so it shouldn't be too hard with my credentials to grab something new with ease. But still -- I've been here for a few seasons. Making myself a name with a few others and being part of whatever norm there was here.

I lost myself in that thought with each foot taking one step over the other in a monotonous pace as the door opened when waiting at a locked frame.

"Hello," the women spoke out in a comfortable tone. "Dylan, was it?"

You nodded your head as you gave out a toothy façade of a smile. Giving out a bright impression to leave your mark on. Her hand extended as you followed her up with a firm handshake of a few bobs before retracting back to your sides.

She let you in her office as the pace of your feet revved up again to go inside. The sound of door clunking from behind and a lock soon followed.

"Hey, there's coffee over there if you want some." She offered. "Go ahead, it's fine." She spoke out as she went back over to her desk, grabbing hold of a few papers as I walked on over to the coffee machine, back against the boss and hearing the liquid pour down into the paper cup grabbed.

Shaking off the jitters you had formed and taking a sip, realizing how absurd I just was when they met face to face. Hopefully with due time you wouldn't have been as nervous but it was an uphill battle.

"Dylan." She called out, you spun on your feet with coffee still in your mouth. She sat against the middle of her desk with paper in hand, waving them nicely as she peeked at you with a face you couldn't read. "There's been a few hiccups regarding your work hours, lets get down to it?"

"Sure, that's fine with me." I obliged, having to get those words out of your mouth quickly as the burning coffee was killing your throat.

Jueun went through your personal files, various amounts of them she brought up as you stood there, watching. Your eyes darted to her hand and how it was adjusting her skirt more times than one could count. You didn't want to point it out, but if you didn't know any better. It looked like she kept doing it every time your eyes walked away from her face or to the windows.

But again, my trance was broken by an external force. She moved her arm back to attempt to fix the mess she made but it just got worse. More folders and papers scattered on the floor as you stood quickly on your feet. But Jueun had always bent over, her skirt hiked up high, and he watched the bottom of her perfect ass of hers start to crawl out. If anything, you would have noticed she wasn't wearing any --

"Now then." She answered as the manila folders were back in her hands. "Let's get down to it."

I immediately stood back, only for Jueun to start walking towards you. What was she doing now?

Their distance was only a few centimeters apart, she stood on her heels and whispered into your ear. "It seems like your profile needs a bit of a morale boost."

"..Okay?" A breathy noise was your only response.

Jueun's hand went down towards your waists until it reached towards your zipper to give a fondle in her palm. "How would you like to go about it?" She dropped to her knees and onto the carpet between my legs. Undoing the metallic bits of the zipper and pulling down on my dress slacks to let my manhood spring out. It was fully erect -- why wouldn't it be? From how Jueun was displaying herself and now this. Her lips parted wide, hot breath ghosting out from her vicinity and and oozing out like air to my skin. Her head lowered. Licking the head of my cock and gulping down inch by inch until it disappeared like a trick into the vacuum of her mouth.

I didn't last long, I couldn't help it. A heavy load of my cum pumped out of my system and into her mouth and face. Groaning in satisfaction before she lapped up more of my head and sucked on it like a lollipop. Jueun must have savored in the taste. She looked me in the eyes before widening her tiers. Showcasing out an empty mouth. She sucked me off into another full erection. My hands balled into fists as she was in full control of the situation, unable to do anything more as if you weren't day dreaming about ravishing and facefucking that pretty mouth of hers.

I swear my eyes were rolling to the back of my head as she kept assaulting my cock. You reached your hands out, grabbing hold of the nearest object to grip onto something and that ended up being her jet black, silky hair.

"Nmm..." A loud slurping sound came from the girl right after. "Mm...ah...mfff... Heel hood?"

My body winced, eyes shut back tight as Jueun's lips clamped down hard and it felt like she was going to take off my cock. "Did anyone ever teach you not to talk when your mouth's full --?" Speaking out with as much might as I could, each word becoming breathier by the second at the intensity of of she was going.

But your answer was obvious. "...Yeah." It really did, despite cumming already and moving on to the second round. She was sucking me dry. Her mouth full of my cock, eyes slowly fluttering back open and going to a half lidded state. Seeing how focused and determined she was at making me feel good sparked up a twitch in the lower halve of your body.

Pure bliss.

I bet I looked spaced out, I couldn't determine what my faces I was making but it feels dopey. "Nngh--!" My legs became twinge, her soft muscle pulled out of her hot mouth and lathering up the lower side of my groin. It feels good, a second burst was about to blow. Her mouth was all warm and wet, a tight orifice for the taking.

"Ju...eun...!" My manhood grew better and body felt tighter. Did the temperature rise? Sweat dripping down my pores and grabbing hold of her hair with my dominant hand. I was a ticking bomb and it felt like this blow was going to be bigger than the first.

More slurps and erotic sounds came out of her, moments came and went where she took out my cock to lower her lips a bit to lather up my balls with her saliva before taking me fully again and again. She was waiting the seconds before the release, like she was preparing herself before the blow to swallow it all up.

"I'm gonna..." Words cut out, unable to finish. sucking in the air in my stomach and feeling like time stopped. Petrified like a mummy and feeling spurts of liquid leaving my body with each tick of time going by. "Uh...ah...!"

Her mouth was full of it. It really was like what you thought of. White gunk escaped corners of her lips and making a mess all over her face. Jueun looked sweaty from the intensity of the actions. Hands on her lap as she was all skill with her fellatio.

Was she going to just sit there and accept it? She wasn't done yet. With your duct open and in the middle of ejaculation, she kept sucking. My cock was just an udder Jueun kept milking as your body felt like it was on cloud nine. "Guh... bo-ss! Sucking too hard..." Stuttering out as you gulped down the next breath you took. Heart raced at a quicker rate as her lips left your cock. "ish good, righ?" Her pleading eyes wanted you to give her more and it looks like there were no breaks on the train of her sucking. "Fill m' mouf up more..." It was pretty amazing at how she could diligently swallow it all up. How lightheaded one man could become was all due to what she did. Your hand released the grip it once had on her hair. Giving the top of her head a few pats like a job well done while she kept licking him clean. Up and down, left and right. Spotless. The only thing covering your cock now was her saliva, if you didn't know any better. The sun illuminating from through the blinds made it shine out. "You're a good girl, Jueun. Thanks.." Catching your breath after having the wind knocked out of you felt good. Regaining consciousness from your limbs as her blowjobs fuelled a fire in your soul. If this was how meetings were going to be, I'd be sure to give her more top tier reviews if a repeated performance came out in the near future.

Making quick do of fixing yourself up. work slacks and shirt fitting back on as best as one could and tucking in the shirt to try to cover up that musky scent that lingered off from the abnormalities the two of you just did.

As Jueun stepped back in her heels and back towards you, you could noticably see a small smirk on the corner of her lips. Not to think her expression was feigned or if this was the side effects from her controlling the situation, but you could confidently say that she was.

"What were we talking about, exactly? Where were we?" She spoke out with a merry-go-lucky attitude and brushing off the past half hour or whatever just happened.

"I don't know." No other words could express what you were thinking, mind still felt empty as you tried to figure out what she was thinking about. Lips quirked out from side to side as you just eyed the younger girl.

I just didn't get it. She seemed way beyond casual about this. I've lived a pretty well life and removed from all things mainstream of modern society. It felt like I just expected a culture shock of something way more extreme than anticipating. Not even prepared for this but moreso of failure of the company.

Hedonistic, playful sex. Using her body as a toy and throwing it at me for a constant stream of sensual gratification. Perhaps such an uninhibited pleasure seeking person should be indulgently in the privilege of youth. Freedom didn't feel like it was going to be too free much too longer in the distant future. No matter how lightly she approached your boss-underling relationship. I need to prepare myself more in the future.

#smut #dia smut #jueun smut

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untaemedqueen · 5 years ago

Text

To Begin Again

Idol!Yoongi x Makeup Artist!Reader

Request: Hey. Can I please request a story where the reader is their new makeup artist and she falls in love with Yoongi after he rescues her from her boyfriend one night. And Jin is her best friend. Thank you so much!

WordCount: 6.6k

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Idol!AU,

Warnings: Reader Experiences Both Domestic and Physical Abuse, Excessive Cursing,

A/N: Please don’t read if you feel uncomfortable with domestic abuse

The prettiest thing about makeup, in your opinion, is how it can give someone confidence. Although, with your new job you didn't need to give your clients confidence. They had that and some.

"I got you a green tea!" Your best friend announces as he steps into the green room. You turn to him, eyes alight with happiness as he hands you the warm cup.

"Thank you!" Your hands cupping the warm drink as his younger brothers file into the room.

"Thank you, the most handsome man in the entire world." Jin looks at you as he sits down on the leather couch. His eyes staring expectantly as you sip your green tea.

"Uh huh." You say making Namjoon snort as he sits down next to Seokjin.

"Wah. Such a brat, like I didn't help raise you." Jin mumbles as Jeongguk sits in the chair. It was pretty much true, Seokjin didn't help raise you but he's been your best friend for most of his life. He was your next door neighbor for the longest time, until you moved to America. You had gotten back in touch a few years ago when you reinstalled Kakaotalk upon your arrival to Korea. You had told him about your interests in the beauty world and Jin being the best friend he is, got you into his company. At first you were an assistant but after their makeup artist left to go work for Dior, you snagged up the spot due to Seokjin's incessant nagging.

"Good morning, noona!" Jeongguk chirps taking out his Airpods.

"Morning, doll." You mumble grabbing his kit. Your eyes are looking in the mirror, looking over each handsome face before finding the one that makes you feel at peace. His aura was so calming. Something about him just radiating this 'I don't give a fuck' energy that makes you interested. Yoongi's eyes meet yours in the mirror before smirking and closing his eyes. You grab Jeongguk's foundation before stepping in front of him.

"You didn't shave." You chide him before caressing your finger over his stubbled chin. Taehyung pats at his chin out of the corner of your eye before frowning and kicking his legs.

"Sorry, noona. I was really tired." Guk whispers before opening his eyes and looking up at you. Your eyes meet his brown orbs before smiling as you collect foundation on to the disposable makeup sponge.

"What game were you playing?" You inquire, making him smile. Jin knew you would be good with everyone, you had a comfortable aura around you. You could get along with a feral tiger if you needed to. You lift Jeongguk's chin with your finger as he giggles.

"Battlegrounds." He whispers before closing his eyes again. You take the sponge delicately to his skin.

"And did you win?" He nods happily as you cover up the birthmark on his nose.

"Make sure you shave tomorrow." He chuckles before giving you a thumbs up. "I promise."

"Ten minutes to set!" Yoongi hops in the chair. His small eyes flickering over to you before clearing his throat and folding his arms. You never said anything to one another. It was always just silence, whether it was comfortable or uncomfortable was the question for everyone. Your fingers diligently rub primer on his oily skin before grabbing his foundation. His eyes darting to your backside before licking his lips and closing his eyes as he straightens up in the seat. There's a mirror, Yoongi. You can see him. You used to talk, admittedly not so much but you used to. When you first started working for Big Hit he would make small conversation. Jin thinks he saw you with your boyfriend one day and that's why he stopped. You don't have an opinion on the matter, or rather you couldn't. His eyebrows furrow as you begin to put on his foundation. He was, to you, the epitome of everything beautiful and it's a shame he doesn't talk to you.

Your phone rings once more as Yoongi steps into the green room. His eyes on the white table as your phone vibrates. He looks around the empty room before waltzing over pretending to be grabbing a tissue as he peers down at your phone. The incoming call screen stops before noticing the 64 missed calls from Jungkwon. 32 new texts and Yoongi takes a sharp breath between his teeth. His thumb pulls at the touch screen. Sliding down the text notification as he looks back at the door.

'You better fucking answer your phone, you little slut.' He furrows his eyebrows before pulling down the notification bar.

'How dare you fucking ignore me.'

'I brought you into this country I'll fucking ship you back to your miserable little America.' Yoongi's hand bawls into a fist before clearing his throat and stepping back.

"Hyung. We're late!" Namjoon yells as he rushes past the doorway. Yoongi hums before tilting his head. Who might this fucker think he is?! He scoffs before grabbing his iced Americano and leaving the green room.

It was cold today, your big black cable knit sweater clinging to your body as the boys enter the set. Run BTS was known for little to no makeup so it's the easiest day out of the whole week. Yoongi eyes you delicately as he enters the room behind Jin. Jin's arms hugging you tightly and Yoongi watches as you flinch away from him before smiling. He sits down on the couch, jaw taught as he rubs his hands together as you giggle at something Seokjin says. Yoongi's eyes were small but they weren't blind. A streak of makeup on your neck alerts him, what have you tried to cover up? He clears his throat before tilting his head as your phone goes off. Your body stiffening before grabbing the device and shutting it off.

"How's Jungkwon?" Seokjin asks as he sits down in the chair. You give a big smile, the apples of your cheeks tinting pink.

"He's great!" You're lying. Yoongi can tell, your body is twisted strangely and he scoffs gently before grabbing his phone and trying to distract himself. Something is wrong and he hates it.

Yoongi plops down in the chair as you give him a small smile. His eyes falling to your neck as you grab his primer.

"Noona. You dropped something." Jeongguk tells you, your sweater lifting up as you bend over to grab a makeup sponge. Yoongi takes a deep inhale as your back is revealed. Deep red and purple patches litter your lower back. He grabs at the bottom of your sweater before pulling it down, his eyes on the mirror making sure no one saw. Everyone was invested in their own world and you gasp as you pull away from him.

"Thanks." You whisper before clearing your throat awkwardly. His wrist grabs yours before looking into your eyes. His eyes look pained, simply searching your eyes for you to express that you need help. You pull your wrist away before putting the primer on a sponge and continuing on with your job. He says nothing, his eyes staring at you in the mirror before fixing his beanie. You would never ask for help. You got yourself into this and maybe, just maybe you deserve it.

You turn your phone back on as the boys leave the green room. You were alone finally, your fingers shook as you set down the phone. Hands forming into a prayer as you press then to your lips. You were nervous, Jungkwon had probably called you a bunch of times. Probably texted you a bunch, too. You would be punished when you got home. It wasn't always like this, you met Jungkwon in America. He was on vacation with his friends. He was really handsome, and super sweet. He said all the right things, flattering you and buying you small presents to tell you how much he liked you. You surprised him with your high level of Korean and your charming aura. He stayed with you even after his friends left the vacation. He seemed to adore you and you fell in love with him.

Then, he asked you to come back to Korea to live with him because he couldn't stand to be away from you. You loved him and agreed to come back. You got back in touch with Jin and everything went pretty smoothly. That was until Jungkwon started drinking heavily and you got your job at Big Hit. He wanted you to be home before him, to cook for him. Lay in bed and wait to be fucked. He wanted your subservience and you couldn't give that to him. So, sooner or later you had become a punching doll. A creature for Jungkwon to take his anger out on. You had grown scared, as anyone would but you couldn't leave him. He had threatened you several times and you couldn't tell Jin or anyone for that matter because Jungkwon had warped your mind to making you think it was all your fault. There's something incredibly powerful about the human brain isn't there? The way it reacts and changes to fear. When you weren't home, it was as if you were free and your mind wouldn't dare dwell on what would happen when you stepped foot into your cheap apartment. Your phone goes off, vibrating on the table loudly as he calls you. Your throat chokes up, nails digging into the palms of your hands before clearing your throat and answering.

"Hello?"

"Where the fuck are you? You little slut!" You close your eyes, your body beginning to shake from your nerves.

"I'm at work, I'm sorry." You whisper, rubbing the hem of your sweater between your fingertips as you look down at your lap. Hot tears prick at your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

"You better beg for my kindness when you get home. Fucking little cunt. I want you on your knees as soon as you step through that door. Do you understand me? Or I'll beat you blue. Do you fucking hear me?!" You whimper before tilting your head and exhaling gently.

"Yes. I hear you."

"What'd I say then?" You suppress a whimper as you put your hand to your forehead.

"Be on my knees when I come home or I'll be beaten blue."

"Fucking cunt." The phone call is over and you put your hands over your face as your phone falls into your lap. You look through your fingers into the mirror. Yoongi stands in the doorway, his hands in fists as he stares at you through the mirror. He cracks his neck before shoving off of the door post and leaving.

"Y/N. It's 70 degrees out, why're you wearing a sweater?" Jimin teases you as he jumps into the chair. You give him a small smile as you grab his eyeliner.

"For real, you're going to get heat stroke." Hoseok says looking up from his phone.

"I'll be okay." You say to him before smiling.

"I can give you my t-shirt if you want, noona!" Jeongguk suggest standing up. You shake your head kindly before putting your finger under Jimin's chin.

"You shouldn't wear such heavy stuff in the summer-"

"Leave her alone." Yoongi says sitting up and taking off his bucket hat. His head turning to his younger members making Jin tilt his head awkwardly.

"Who are you to be concerned with Y/N? You don't even talk to her." You tap your foot nervously on the ground as you swipe the soft charcoal liner against Jimin's water line.

"Just...leave her alone." Yoongi mumbles before folding his arms and closing his eyes. He knows your biggest secret and even though you both don't talk, you trust him.

You flinch as you sit down before lifting up your shirt and giving a shaky exhale. Your ribs were screaming with pain today. Yoongi enters the green room with water and a few pills in hand and you raise an eyebrow. He sets down the water in front of you and the pills before shutting the door and locking it.

"Show me." His voice is a mere whisper in the large room.

"No." You mumble before thanking him for the pain killers.

"Y/N. Look, I know...I haven't been the nicest guy...Just show me." He whispers before leaning against the white table.

"I can't." Your heart was beating faster, a sweat beginning to gather on your hairline as his brown eyes bore into yours.

"Tell Jin, tell me. Tell someone. Please." He whispers before putting his hand on your shoulder. You groan backing away from him as you stand up. Yoongi's expression softens before running his fingers through his silver hair.

"I can't tell anyone. I'll get in trouble." You whisper before looking at the ground. The fury that ignites in Yoongi's belly could rival Hades.

"I can help you. Please, show me." You open your mouth before whimpering. Your bottom lip tucking into your teeth as you sway with uncertainty.

"I don't need your help." You mumble to him making his eyes squeeze shut. He sighs gently before stepping back and taking a deep breath.

"Okay. But, I'm here. Okay? I'm here for you to talk to." He leaves without another word and you sob putting your face in your hands. How could you tell him when it's your fault?

Getting ready for an award show is really difficult work. There are a bunch of meetings to attend, finding the right makeup looks to go with the outfits for the boys. Trial runs to make sure you can recreate the look on time. It gives you almost no time to do anything for yourself, let alone answer your phone. Big mistake. Your feet hit the pavement on the sidewalk as you step out of the building drowsy. You were dying to sleep, dying to be tucked under that heavy pink comforter Jin bought you for your birthday.

"HEY!" The voice makes your blood run cold as your head snaps up in the direction. He was here?! At your job?!

"Jungkwon!" You say as he advances towards you.

"I fucking called you. You didn't pick up! What were you doing? Hmm? Spreading your little legs up there?" His voice reaches a high in the quiet street as he grips at your shoulder.

"No! No! I was working!" You say quickly, trying to make yourself as small as possible as he pulls you into the alleyway next to the building.

"Fucking little cunt, you always lie to me." You could smell the alcohol on his breath and you close your eyes as he slams your body into the wall. Your body shuddering in pain as you whimper.

"What was so important that you couldn't answer me?! Hmm?! Taking a cock up your slutty little cunt?" You shake your head fiercely as he grips at your face, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your cheeks as you whimper. His knee connects harshly to your solar plex, a loud gasp emitting from you as your face screws up in pain.

"You're going to fucking get it." His hand wraps around the column of your throat, squeezing harshly as you whine.

Yoongi steps out of the building, his hood going over his head as he yawns. Being in the studio is taking everything out of him lately. He steps onto the sidewalk before walking towards his car with sleepy eyes.

"You're a fucking little brat. You understand me? I'm going to fucking kill you." Yoongi stops, his head turning into the alley as the sky begins to deepen to it's nightly black color. He hears your whimper and his keys slip from his fingers.

"Fucking bastard." The keys tingle as they hit the pavement, Yoongi's hand rests on the windshield as he stares at the two shadows in front of him. It starts at Yoongi's toes. The heat, the fucking vile anger creeps up his veins. His blood curdling hot and tepid as his vision goes red. He doesn't even register how fast his feet move, everything feeling as if it's in slow motion.

"Y/N!" Yoongi calls to you as he jogs into the alleyway. You look over at him, bottom lip split open as blood dribbles down your chin.

"Who the fuck are you?! Huh?" Jungkwon yells nodding with wide eyes at Yoongi. Yoongi pushes his hood off of his head, silver hair glowing in the dim orange light of the street lamps not too far away.

"Get off of her." Jungkwon chuckles before gripping your hair making you whimper.

"She's my girlfriend. This who you were spreading your legs for? HUH?! Slutty little cunt getting fucked by this guy?!" Jungkwon spits on your neck as you flinch. His fingers tugging at your scalp as you screw your eyes shut.

Yoongi advances, his hand forming a fist as he collides his knuckles into your boyfriend's face. Jungkwon staggers back, letting you go as he brings his hand up to his cheek.

"You're going to regret that." He mutters to Yoongi, foam spewing at the sides of his lips as he seethes through his teeth.

"Y/N. Go to my car." Yoongi whispers before looking sideways at your beaten face.

"I-I don't-" "Black Mercedes. Keys are on the floor. Get in and lock the doors. Now." You look at Jungkwon nervously as you begin to move.

"You fucking get in that car, I'll fucking kill you bitch!" Yoongi grits his teeth, his fists jabbing at Jungkwon's face. His knuckles splitting open as he tightens his jaw.

"Go." Yoongi whispers as Jungkwon falls to the floor. You whimper before sprinting to his car by the Bit Hit entrance. Your shaky hands picking up his keys before going through each one. Yoongi kneels on your boyfriend's fallen body. His kneecaps digging into his gut as he peers down at him.

"You ever even think of talking to her or touching her again. I'll fucking ruin you. I'll make you wish you had never been born. You're over." Yoongi spits on Jungkwon's face before standing up.

"Fuck you!" Yoongi smirks before turning back to Jungkwon as he walks to his car. "Fuck you, too. Prick."

Yoongi taps his knuckles on the glass window. His blood smearing the glass as he peers in.

"Just me." He says through the door. You lean over the middle console and unlock the door before putting your face into your knees. Yoongi hops in before locking the doors and turning to you.

"Hey." He whispers gently, his hand caressing your knee making you jump. He pulls back before nodding.

"I'm going to take you to Jin's." He whispers softly, you look up with wide eyes.

"No! No! You can't!" Your voice becoming hysterical as you grab at his hoodie.

"Okay. Okay. I'll take you to my place." He whispers as you begin to whimper. He turns on the car, the headlights flashing at Jungkwon's body as he sits up.

"Put your seatbelt on." He says before leaning over your body and grabbing the seatbelt. You stiffen as he gives you a small smile before securing you into the passenger seat.

"Fucking prick bastard." He mumbles as he revs his engine, he accelerates the gas before driving forward towards Jungkwon’s fallen body. Jungkwon backs up as Yoongi slams hard on the breaks centimeters away from him. He gives a quiet shaky laugh as Jungkwon grabs onto the brick wall of the alley before squeezing his eyes shut.

"He's never going to bother you again." Yoongi mumbles before lowering his window and spitting in Jungkwon's direction.

You step inside Yoongi's apartment, arms folded over one another as you look down at your bare feet.

"Come." He whispers walking through the large apartment. He was very clean, multiple pieces of art on stands as you walk through the hallway. He had some awards in a glass case by the television. As well as pictures of albums on the hallway walls.

"I'm going to give you some clothes to change into. You can take a shower and then we'll talk. Okay?" He asks gently as he opens his walk in closet.

"Okay." You whisper before putting your hair up in a ponytail. Yoongi grabs some clothes. A long black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants come to your hands as you clear your throat. "I'll show you where the shower is."

You seemed to be in a state of shock, Yoongi has gathered. He clinks the ice cube around in his glass of whisky before staring at the large window of his apartment. His head leaning back on the couch as he presses the lip of his glass to his mouth. You were frightened, incredibly so. Yoongi didn't know every single thing you went through but it must have been torture. He closes his eyes as he hears the shower turn off. You were beautiful and you or anyone should never be treated in such a way. He would protect you, keep you safe. No one was getting to harm you ever again.

"Yoongi?" Your voice was soft as it echoed throughout his large apartment.

"Living room!" He says setting down his whisky and sitting up. He could hear how softly your feet were pattering on the floor. As if you had to sneak around to just get by and Yoongi swears his heart could break at any second. He turns his head as your shadow gets bigger on his white walls.

You stand there at the entrance of the hallway, your arms folded and your body hunched over as if you were trying to make yourself small. You had showered off all of the makeup that kept your bruises hidden and Yoongi takes a deep inhale through his nose before turning his head out of respect to try not to stare.

"Come sit." He whispers, closing his eyes. The back of his eyelids were black but they could still see your figure plain as day. Your body tainted with shades of purples and yellows. Bruises that were trying to heal themselves beat back to blue and reds. Yoongi swallows thickly as your feet pad around his glass coffee table. You sit on the farthest end of his L shaped couch before tucking your legs underneath you.

"Can I make you a drink?" Yoongi asks before pointing at his grandiose liquor cabinet.

"Yes, please." He pats his knees before standing up. There was silence, just glass clinking and liquid pouring. You watch with half lidded eyes as Yoongi's back relaxes. His form was tall in stature and you wonder if you would ever be able to stand tall like he is. He turns around and you avert your gaze to the black legs of the glass table. He gives a small smile before walking over and handing you the glass.

"Thank you." He hums before sitting down, closer than before but still giving you some distance so you don't feel cornered. He folds his arms before leaning back into the couch. His eyes flickering to your bruised cheek and split lip.

"Y/N." His voice was soft yet again. His tone drawing your eyes to him as you take a sip of the strong whisky before cringing.

"Thanks for what you did back there. I don't know if it helped but...thanks." He tilts his head before turning to you, his arm angling over the top of the couch.

"Why would it not help? You never have to see him again. He will never hurt you again, I won't fucking stand for it." Yoongi's voice grows louder as you lay your head onto the couch.

"I still live there. All of my stuff is there." Yoongi sighs gently before placing his hand on your knee, you cringe before retracting and he nods.

"Live here. I'll buy you new stuff. I'm good for it. Don't give in to it. Stay here with me." His small eyes shift from looking at your eyes to the other. Pleading with you to stay.

"Why would you be kind to me?" You ask quietly, putting the glass between your knees.

"Because I care that you're in pain. I care about you." And, you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

"Nobody deserves to be treated this way." He has known pain in his past, he's known cruelty. He's known what being a disappointment is like. But, he doesn't know what abuse is. He doesn't know the domestic agony. And, you shouldn't either. "Stay with me. I'll help you." You look at him before closing your eyes. "Okay." Your voice is like a wisp in the forest. Yoongi catches the glass of whisky as your eyes grow heavy. "I'll protect you." He mumbles putting the glass down on the table.

You had been staying at Yoongi's for a month so far. He was really kind and gave you the space that you needed. You hadn't really talked about Jungkwon or that night since then. Yoongi hands you a glass of whisky before clearing his throat and sitting down beside you on the couch. He takes in your short sleeve black t-shirt before smiling. It was nice to see you in clothes that showed your skin. Your bruises had been healing nicely.

"That shirt is really pretty on you." He whispers before angling his body towards you.

"Thanks." You whisper before taking a sip of the alcohol. The air hangs thin around you both as Yoongi takes off his face mask. His teeth picking at his perfect lips before leaning back against the arm of the couch.

"Wanna talk?" His voice echoing through the quiet apartment as you look at his face.

"About?"

"That time." You take a deep breath before tilting your head. He was for all intents and purposes, the closest person to you besides Seokjin. He was comfort in its most raw form. He had made your heart swell with his caring yet nonchalant actions. Everything about his exuded calmness and you weren't afraid to talk to him. You were afraid to show him how much of a coward you were...are.

"What about it?" Your question lingers in the air as Yoongi tilts his head.

"Everything about it. You can talk to me Y/N. You can tell me everything. I want you to tell me everything." Whether or not you knew, Yoongi's heart has grown fond of you. He relished in hearing you hum through the walls of his apartment. Hearing you giggle in your room at t.v. shows and sing along to music.

"You don't want to know everything." Yoongi sighs before sipping his whisky. His index finger circling the rim of his cup as he stares at you.

"I want to know what you're willing to share." You sit up, your back straightening making him relax. This was one of the first times you had sat up straight, not hunching over or making yourself small.

"It started out small." You take a shaky breath before gulping the whiskey. The burn in your stomach guiding you forward. Yoongi says nothing, his lips pressing into a straight line.

"Started out as small mean comments. 'You're a bitch.' Or, 'You need to learn how to be a woman.' Then it escalated when I got to Big Hit." Yoongi closes his eyes, his hand gripping at the whisky glass.

"He started hitting me to show me that I was weaker than him. I should have stayed home, cooking for him. Doing his laundry. Stuff like that. He drank a lot. And, I would pretend not to be nervous the whole day waiting to get hit when I got home." Yoongi sighs gently, his eyes opening as you close yours.

"I would tip toe around. Hoping to not disturb him or make him upset with me. Even though it didn't matter. Everything I did upset him. Then, it got worse. He would make me..." You feel a lump forming in your throat and you swallow before looking down at your glass. Watching as the whiskey sloshes from side to side in the cup.

"He would make me do...sexual stuff to him when I didn't want to. Tie me and leave me there for him to come back later and do stuff." Yoongi feels sick, he feels his stomach rolling. You were talking but you felt like a shell. Your voice felt distant and non-existent in this space with him.

"He would accuse me of sleeping with everyone at the office. And, I got brainwashed into thinking I did something wrong. It was all my fault that he was doing this because I wasn't good enough." You clear your throat before finishing the whisky and putting the glass on the coffee table. You nod your head before smirking.

"I felt like I was the reason why this was happening to me. I fucked up, I deserved it." You look over at Yoongi, his expression makes your heart break. His eyebrows were knit together, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

"But, you helped. You let me stay, you're letting me become stronger." You whisper as his expression softens.

"You make me feel better. Make me understand that it isn't my fault and I didn't do anything wrong." Yoongi shakes his head.

"You didn't. You're a good person, Y/N." You feel tears prick at your eyes as you smile at him.

"I'm going to hug you, okay?" You nod as he sits up. He envelops you in a hug, that can only be described as warm and loving. Your chin hooking over his shoulder as both of you close your eyes. Yoongi bites at his bottom lip before looking at the ceiling. Something was building between you both. Culminating into something wonderful. Something like love.

You were afraid to tell Jin, his heart might not be able to take it. He might be hurt knowing you suffered and never told him. Yoongi sits in the green room watching you delicately as you still make your form smaller. He clicks his teeth before standing up and sitting in the chair. His eyes looking up at you as you smile at him.

"Are you okay?" He mumbles trying not to draw attention.

"I'm okay." You whisper, his thumb grazing over your knuckles as he angles his face to look at you as you try to avoid the eye contact. Jin notices this, his body leaning over Hoseok's to look through the mirror at the strange contact you both are having. He goes wide eyed before frowning and folding his arms.

"What's up with that?" He mutters, drawing Namjoon's attention. Yoongi sits back in the chair, concerned small eyes examining your face before closing them.

"Something's going on." Namjoon whispers into Seokjin's ear who nods in return.

It was a Tuesday, a day off for once. You were sitting in the kitchen with Yoongi drinking coffee and talking. You could talk about anything and everything, and you loved that.

"This track...I just...I have the beat but it's missing something. I can't put my finger in it." You hum leaning over his body to look at his laptop screen. He places his hand delicately on your upper back and for the first time, you didn't flinch away from him. It didn't bother you, Yoongi has done it on several occasions trying to acclimate you back to reality and he closes his eyes happily as you accept his touch.

"Can I play it?" You ask tilting your head to look at him.

"Please." You press the spacebar before sitting up, the beat of the music flowing through the air loudly. You close your eyes cupping your coffee with both hands and Yoongi takes this opportunity to look at you. You were so gorgeous, you so easily shook up his heart. He finds himself tilting his head as he leans in closer to you.

"You're beautiful." He whispers leaning closer. Your eyes open and you don't back away. You smile before tilting your head like him. He wrinkles his nose at you before taking a deep breath.

"You aren't frightened, right?" You shake your head.

"No." How he loved the sound of your voice. He takes a sharp breath between his teeth as he holds his hand out for you to see. He caresses your cheekbone with his thumb and you lean into his touch.

"Thank you for trusting me."

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" The voice is sharp and you pull away quickly before looking at the front door. Seokjin stands in the doorway, eyes wide as Yoongi closes the laptop.

"Hyung! I didn't hear the door." Yoongi says as you stand up.

"That's what the fuck you're worried about?! The door?!" You make yourself small in front of your best friend and Yoongi furrows his eyebrows.

"Please don't yell in front of Y/N. We can talk, just...just calm down. You're scaring her." Seokjin scoffs folding his arms, his grey peacoat sagging as he raises an eyebrow.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?!" You look up at Jin through your lashes.

"We should talk." You say before walking into the living room and down the hallway to your room.

Jin stares at you before looking at Yoongi in the doorway. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

You pull down your shirt over your now healing back before leaning forward and hugging Jin. He holds you tightly to him as his eyes begin to water.

"You should have told me! I'll fucking kill him!" He sobs loudly putting his hands over his face.

"Yoongi has been really nice, letting me stay here and helping me try to become a normal person again."

"You are normal." Yoongi mumbles as Jin pulls away from you.

"I can't believe you held onto that secret for so long. I'm sorry I didn't notice...I..." Jin wipes at his face with his sleeves before clearing his throat.

"I made sure no one noticed." You tell him putting your hand on his knee.

"I love you. I'm so sorry." Seokjin whispers before hugging you again.

"Love you, too. I'm sorry I didn't tell you." He shakes his head before burying his face into your neck.

"Thank you for taking care of her." Jin looks at Yoongi, who in turn is wiping his own tears. His black shirt is over his mouth as he nods. "Always."

The nightmares came and went. Though tonight, every time you closed your eyes you would find yourself awake shortly after gasping for air with tears threatening to spill over. Your body had a sheen layer of sweat as you sit up in your bed. Your hand flying over your heart as you gasp for breath. You don't know how you found your footing but you did. Your feet traipsing out of your room and down to Yoongis. Your hand knocks on his door before opening it. He grumbles gently, his silver hair in his eyes before lifting his head.

"Y/N? What's wrong?" You whimper shaking your head and he sits up at the noise.

"Come." He was quick to throw back his comforter inviting you into his space.

"Can I sleep with you?" Your voice was timid and small.

"Come here." You lay down in his bed, your body finding itself in the fetal position.

"You had a nightmare?" You nod into the pillow as Yoongi sighs gently.

"Nothing can hurt you, I'm here to protect you." You exhale through your nose before feeling his arm wrap around your waist. His chest pressing flush to your back.

"I'm here." In this room, in his space feeling so comfortable you felt the need to speak.

"Sometimes I feel it, when I wake up my body hurts like it's happening to me again. Like, I can't get away from it." Yoongi opens his eyes, your outline gracing his sight in his dark bedroom.

"You are away. You're here, with me. I'll never let anything hurt you again." You turn your body, pressing your face into his chest. He stiffens for a second before putting his chin on top of your head and closing his eyes.

"I kind of love you, Yoongs." He smirks before nodding. "I kinda love you too."

It's been a year. A great year, in fact. A mother fucking year, in the words of Kim Namjoon.

"Yo, shut the fuck up!" You scream with laughter as you throw yourself onto the couch. Seokjin laughs loudly before handing Yoongi a glass of whisky. All the boys had found out about your troubles shortly after you had told Jin. They found out that you live in Yoongi's house although no one knows that you spend every night in Yoongi's bed since that one nightmare. Yoongi had taught you how to be yourself. Taught you to love yourself and love life. To not be afraid. He's given you more than most. And, above all he taught you how to love him.

"I'm serious! She almost threw me out a window!" Taehyung yells as you lay your head on Yoongi's lap. He chuckles quietly before putting the throw blanket over your legs.

"You're so dramatic." You say with a laugh tucking the blanket between your knees. Yoongi's fingers find your hair, running them through delicately as he sips his whiskey.

"We have a schedule tomorrow. We should head out." Jin says as you frown.

"You only just got here." Your whine is loud making Yoongi laugh as he leans forward to put his glass down on the coffee table.

"We've been here for like five hours." He mutters as you pout.

"Never enough time with Worldwide Handsome." Jin makes a pleased noise at the back of his throat.

"That's why she's my best friend. Look at that." You giggle as you sit up, cocooned within the tie dye cashmere blanket as Jin kisses your forehead.

"See you both tomorrow. Hmm?" Taehyung gets up with a groan before waving both hands at you and grabbing the unopened soju bottle.

"Birthday present!" He says scurrying over to the door.

"It's September!" You call with a laugh as Yoongi stands up.

"Y/N. Everyday is my birthday." Taehyung cheers before following Jin out the door. You shake your head with a laugh before standing up and throwing the blanket on the couch. Yoongi looks you over before smirking. You had the confidence to wear a dress and he loves that.

"Let's clean up and go to bed. I'm tired." Yoongi mutters as he grabs the take out containers from the table. You nod to him before yawning and grabbing the used glasses before walking into the kitchen. Yoongi's eyes follow you as you walk tall before wrinkling his nose.

Yoongi's arm falls under his head as you lay next to each other in his bed.

"Do you feel that?" You ask quietly, he turns his head raising an eyebrow.

"Feel what?" "The love between us?" He snorts before laughing loudly.

"Who allowed you to be so corny?" You giggle before turning to look at him. His eyes were already on your face, his lips quirked up in a smile. Yoongi turns his body as you stare at each other.

"I feel it, though." He whispers before caressing your cheek.

"Me too." He hums in agreement before leaning closer.

"Can I kiss you, Y/N?" You close your eyes, the exciting sensation starting from your toes and spreading to your heart. His warm lips pressed to yours, the kiss was soft and heartfelt. Your hand finds the back of his head, fingers intertwining with his locks of hair as you pull him closer.

"I love you. You know that right? And, I'm here when you're ready to begin again."

"I love you, too." Yoongi presses his forehead to yours before closing his eyes.

"I'm ready." You whisper into the quiet room. His gummy smile appears on his face as he pulls you close to him.

"I'll always be here to protect you. To make sure you're safe." You bury your face into his neck as he squeezes you tightly.

"I love you, Yoongs."

"I love you, too."

#yoongi x reader #trigger warnings #min yoongi #bts imagine #bts story #bts series #taehyung #jin #namjoon #hoseok #jimin #jeongguk

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theinkyisles · 3 years ago

Text

haunting figures

this is for my @ts-storytime�� ‘s submission! my artist is @ravenclawicecream and it was awesome working together for this piece. word count: 15001 tags: discussion of war, slight internalized ableism, arranged marriages, familial death, awful parents, open/ambiguous ending author’s notes: im never writing anything like this again. it was an experience im glad for !! but i never wanna do this again salkjfdal

The meeting had lasted centuries, it seemed.

In all reality, it had only been a few hours, but he felt like he could see the hairs at his temple graying. The aching joints had been a painful companion all his life, so it seemed that being an old man at age thirty-one was simply his life now. The books surrounding him and the crutches leaning on the side of the desk agreed.

Logan sighed and let his head drop onto the stack of his papers. His eyes threatened to shut but it was only three o’clock in the afternoon and the number of advisors clamoring for his attention was unbelievable. He was only the king, not God Herself. Honestly, if he was a power-hungry noble wishing to be in the king’s good graces, he wouldn’t try and get an appointment with him. Appointments never solved anything; any good court member knew that.

There weren’t many good court members, as you could tell.

Lifting his head from the inked parchments, he rubbed his brow with the palm of his hand. The court member problem was an on-going one, left over from his mother’s reign. Her partner’s death shocked everyone and the queen scrambled to recover the pieces of what she discovered to be a shattered kingdom. She couldn’t fix everything, and so that’s what Logan grew up learning how to do.

The king pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Fix everything” he murmured to himself. “What a useless task.”

A knock came at the door and Logan called for whoever was at the door to come in. “Hello, your majesty,” his steward bowed. “I was told to fetch you.” Logan lifted his eyes to peer over the top of his glasses.

“Am I not the one who is supposed to request others to be fetched?” he asked. The steward’s eyes glittered with amusement as he straightened.

“We both know that that’s no fun,” Emile said, placing his arms behind his back. “Besides you’re going to like who’s come to visit.” Logan exhaled deeply.

“Well, if you are here to fetch me, let me be fetched.” Logan pressed both his hands to the desk and slowly raised. His knees creaked in protest, but he kept going until he was upright. Grabbing the crutches, he swiftly made his way to his steward. Together, they walked the ornate halls until they reached the throne room, where the courtier opened the door and Logan marched inside.

“Your majesty!” a voice boomed.�� A man clad in black and green stood in the middle of the room, his hand resting on his decorative scabbard. “How is that every time I visit, you seem to become more and more the old man you are inside?” The servants around the room tensed, but Logan just grinned.

“Remus, how is it every time you visit, you can never find a better joke to greet me with?” Logan countered. Remus threw his head back, a loud laugh filling the room. Servants around the room winced at the loud display, but Logan merely smiled.

“Never change, my friend.” Remus smiled, his eyes crinkling. Logan’s heart grew fond at the sight.

“Well, let me sit, and then we may discuss why you are here.”

“What, a prince can’t come to visit his old friend?” Logan scoffed as he sat down in the throne, removing the crutches from his arms.

“Not when said prince has been shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous wreck since I stepped foot into here.” The anxious look in his eyes grew more apparent, but Remus’ smile never dropped. His hand began shaking back and forth at his side.

“I wanted to wait for a bit longer before bringing it up.”

“Nonsense. This is the world we live in, your highness. We’d be fools to forget our responsibilities for a moment.” Remus nodded.

“There has been…a complication in the plan we drafted last summer.” Logan straightened in his seat.

“The one for the fields of the volcanoes in your kingdom?”

“Exactly, my dear friend.”

“What complication could come from that? It was a routine signing, everyone agreed to it and- “

“-and there shouldn’t be another meeting for several more years?” Remus finished. “Yes, but the kingdom of Xious has found that the terms of the contract that has been in place for a millennia before the current monarch is not suitable and wishes to make some changes.”

“What changes could they possibly want? They get forty percent of the crops and pay an incredibly low rent, even after adjusting for inflation!”

“Your anger matches that of my own,” Remus agrees and steps closer, “but they are willing to go to war over it, and, as interesting as I find that, it turns out that death and destruction is not good for kingdoms, so we need to find a solution.”

“War?” Logan exclaimed uncharacteristically. “Over a treaty about wheat?”

“It would definitely be quite the bloodbath. Your army is no match for Xious’.”

“War is quite a rash move, especially if his country is suffering famine.” Remus shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t pretend to know what goes through the child’s mind. My brother believes he’s scared and he sees that war is the only way to protect his country’s dignity. I say that he has been pushing off help from his advisors in some vain attempt to prove himself.”

“Have you done due diligence? There is no reason for the Xiousians to be acting in this manner.” Logan said, leaning his chin into his hand. Roman scoffed, crossing his arms.

“My father would not approve that, not with how the king is acting.”

“Remus, please, your father has little influence in the court anymore, especially in his old age.” Roman gave the Cygnan king a look.

“Please, Logan, you’ve met my father.” Logan rolled his eyes. “You act as if you didn’t know that.”

“Forgive me for still finding it ridiculous.”

“You are forgiven,” Remus jested. Logan huffed a laugh and let his head drop into his hands.

Without saying anything, Logan picked up his crutches, slipping his arms in. He stood up and Remus straightened on instinct. Logan made his way down the steps and walked over to the doors leading out of the throne room. He looked behind him to where Remus was staring at him quizzically in the middle of the room.

“Well, what on Earth are you waiting for?” Logan laughed and kept moving towards the doors. Remus chuckled and hurried after his friends. The guards at the doors moved to follow them, but Logan shook his head. “Leave me with my friend. I certainly won’t die between here and my chambers.”

“But sire-”one of the guards started.

“I am well aware of the protocol, my parent was the one who wrote it,” Logan snapped back. “I will be fine.” Logan saw the guard hesitate for a moment and took his change to keep walking down the hallways.

“You are so rude to them,” Remus mused.

“I’m the king and I can take care of myself. They know to respect me at this point, I’ve more than proven myself.”

“I wonder how many times you could be assassinated between now and then,” Remus thought out loud after a moment. The same guard stiffened and Remus smiled widely in his direction. Logan barely withheld a snort and Remus turned the smile onto the king.

“Are you going to try and find out?” Logan asked rhetorically, beginning to make his way down the hall.

“You mean to tell me that you haven’t taken every chance to find out the exact about of time it would take for any number of assassinations to take place in this exact hallway? That’s so very unlike you,” Remus laughed as Logan smacked his shin with the crutch. “Watch it, Logey, lest I report back to my father that I was assaulted by the king of Cygnas.”

“Oh, shut it,” Logan rolled his eyes.

“Hm,” Remus preened, “I don’t think I will.”

“You and your brother will be the death of me, I swear,” Logan muttered.

“Speaking of my brother…” Remus trailed off. Logan wrinkled his nose at the sound of the prince Roman. “He wasn’t able to accompany me, but we might be returning in a few weeks’ time in case of war, especially since he is the new crown prince.” Logan’s embarrassment shifted into shock.

“What? I thought that-“

“Father has also decided which son will take the throne.” Remus stopped in the middle of the hallway. Logan followed suit.

“Why I haven’t I heard about this sooner? Has he declared this officially?” Logan asked incredulously. Remus shook his head.

“The position is brand new. I heard about it myself while in transit coming here. We both knew that this was coming, Logan.” Remus gave the other king a look and Logan turned away to stare at the ground.

“Yes, but-” Logan cut himself off, frustrated. He turned back to Remus. “Send my congratulations to your brother. He will be a fine king.

“I hope you know that resenting me is an acceptable course of action.” Remus said knowingly.

“I just-”

“You wanted me to be king. I know.” Remus stepped closer to Logan, resting a hand against Logan’s cheek. “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

“What kind of talk is that?” Roman looked away, allowing himself to shove his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Remus.”

“Logan,” Remus mocked slightly. “Just yell at me already, won’t you?”

Logan scowled. “Have you no faith in me? Good heavens.” Logan slipped his arms out of his crutches and leaned them against the wall. He pressed up close to Remus and hugged him, making his two inches over Remus known. He cupped the back of his friend’s head, pressing it against his shoulder. Remus slumped forward. “You will be a fine king. Do I wish your father had given Remus more of a chance? Yes, but that does not mean you are anywhere near unqualified for the position.”

“You’re just saying that.” Logan pulled back to look Remus in the eyes.

“Have I ever lied to you?” They stared at each other a moment. Remus searched for something in Logan’s face, but whatever dishonesty he was looking for, he couldn’t find. The air was thick with hidden messages passed between the two members of royalty. Finally, Remus let his head fall against his friend’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Logan’s torso.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice muffled by the fabric of Logan’s jacket.

“You know it’s serious when you start thanking me for things.” Remus snorted.

They stood there for a few more minutes before pulling away. Logan pressed a kiss to his lover’s forehead and Remus leaned into it.

“You know me too well, fiend.” Logan smiled softly as he picked his crutches back up from against the wall.

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

Weeks had passed since Remus left Cygnas to return to his own kingdom. Despite promises from both twins and the king of Ticevas, the pair of princes were still in transit. Logan was antsy and worried. The threat of war from the Xious kingdom was getting more and more real, with reports of soldiers being seen at the border, and if Remus had to set off to take care of the admittedly powerful army, Logan wouldn’t see him for several months, if not years. He needed to sort this out between Xious and Ticevas, even if it was for purely selfish reasons.

Selfish can be described as practical. That was his story and he was sticking to it.

In their own private letters, passed through business letters addressed to Roman who handed them to his twin, Remus reassured his lover that his brother would be there soon. Yet, Logan’s anxieties still were not soothed.

My bleeding heart,

What do you think of the new introduction? Roman keeps suggesting these ridiculously sappy names for me to call you, but this was the only one I liked, even if I had to modify it a bit. Tell me if you enjoy it.

The Xiousian king visited this past week to try and negotiate with Roman about the contract. They didn’t really get anywhere, which normally wouldn’t bother my brother, but I had to try even less to piss him off at dinner. He stormed out and everything. Quite the dramatic one he is, I have no idea what you see in him.

Speaking of seeing, he plams to be in Cygnas within the next fortnight. I know you’ve been worried about the war with Xious, but Father is slowly becoming more lenient in his old age. With our treaty with you and Limora, I think he’s seeing that handing over the food and money this once won’t be an issue (which is what I’ve been telling him from the beginning, but of course, he only listens when Roman says something).

Enough of business. I miss you, quill. Kill a flower for me and stare out the window like I’m your husband gone to war.

Yours,

Remus

Logan smiled as he thumbed over the indents in the paper, the spritz of the cologne Remus wore wafting up from the page. It was a shorter letter than usual, much shorter, but any word was better than none at all, in Logan’s opinion.

It was barely dawn when the letter had been given to him, the poor messenger looking dead on his feet. It had been difficult to conceal his excitement and relief, but he knew that getting a letter from what everyone thought to be Roman was no cause to be filled with such joy. Only Roman and the two of them knew of Logan and Remus’ relationship, though he had no doubt that their father knew as well, and turned a blind eye. As the general of the army and now officially second-in-command to Crown Prince Roman, any upstanding royal or noble family knew how valuable having that connection would be.

Unfortunately, it meant Logan and Remus would never marry. With the current treaty in place, there was no need to strengthen it with a marriage and Remus’ father, and Roman, after the king died, would need Remus elsewhere for political maneuvers.

Back in his early days as crown prince, Logan had foolishly hoped that marrying Remus would be an option. Roman was an obvious shoe-in to be announced king even then, (no matter if Logan secretly hoped that his lover would be awarded the honor) and Logan continuously badgered his mother about the potential ways they could fortify the alliance with Ticevas. The king was sure that his mother knew of his relationship with the prince and both resented her and was grateful for her saying nothing of the matter. They might have secured a betrothal while Remus’ father was younger and more easily persuaded, but Logan was unsure of his and Remus’ ability to maintain both a burgeoning personal relationship and permanent political relationship in their youth.

And yet, there was almost nothing Logan wanted more than to fall asleep each night with Remus in his arms.

Logan exhaled and carefully folded the letter back up. He slid it under the false bottom in one of his desk drawers, relishing in the smell of Remus’ cologne that rose from the letters before shutting it firmly. Today was too busy for him to be distracted, even if Remus was a wonderful distraction indeed.

He shifted his attention to the documents in front of him and wrinkled his nose. Taxes were important to his kingdom’s economy, but even he found them dreadfully boring. The advisors always insisted that they needed to raise taxes on the lower class almost exponentially in order to pay for better cities, but Logan kept them on a tight leash. The last thing he wanted to do was rob the majority of his kingdom blind. Not to mention the fact that the taxes were still outrageously high and no one deigned to put the money to good use. He found it absolutely disgusting how all the nobles in his court refused to pay their own taxes, yet insisted that those who were living paycheck to paycheck deserved to be burgled by their own government.

He had opinions on the matter, not that he was ever that passionate in court. That would lead to a scandal that he did not want nor need to deal with. He was fixing things slowly but surely.

A knock came at the door and Logan called out to permit them entry. He straightened his posture as his personal steward stepped into the room. Emile bowed and Logan nodded his head in return, remaining sitting at his desk.

“Good morning, Emile. I trust you have a reason to be interrupting me at five o’clock in the morning?” Emile smiled at his boss, not put off by the seemingly dismissive greeting.

“Do you how do, Your Majesty?” Emile said instead of answering, a cheeky grin on his face. Logan’s face dropped into a confused scowl.

“Emile, that phrase is utterly nonsensical, I have no idea why you use it so often,” the king said, looking back down at his papers. Emile laughed.

“It’s simply a fun turn of phrase, Your Majesty, nothing nonsensical about it.” Logan opened his mouth to retort but Emile kept going. “Besides, I have some important information for you.”

“Really? Do share, Emile.” Logan motioned for the steward to continue, still not looking up from his papers. He heard Emile shift nervously.

“The Xiousian king is here and has requested an audience.” Logan’s head shot up, the quill dropping with a clatter to the desk.

“The Xiousian king? When did he arrive?” Logan demanded, pressing his weight to the desk and rising from his seat. Emile grabbed the crutches by the door and swiftly walked over, setting them against the desk for Logan to use if he so wished.

“He arrived mere moments ago, it appears that they rode through the night to get here.”

“Good heavens,” Logan muttered, paling considerably. It was a quiet for a moment as Logan stared down at the ground, trying to decide what to do. “Alright, you go speak with the king while I ready myself. Tell him I will be there shortly.” Emile stared at Logan for a few moments, not moving to comply to Logan’s orders.

“Logan,” Emile started, his voice soft, “you don’t have to go and greet him. I can do so myself and you can take your time.” Logan kept his head down, avoiding making contact with the steward. “Valerie wouldn’t want you to force yourself to-”

“Don’t speak her name,” Logan interrupted, his voice firm. “As far as I am aware, I do not know Virgil and Virgil does not know me. There is no reason for me to hide from him.” Emile opened his mouth to speak, but Logan shook his head. “I’m not having this argument today.” Emile hesitated before nodding and moving to leave the room.

“I’ll inform His Majesty that you will be arriving shortly,” Emile said softly, before shutting the door behind him. Logan sighed as the final click was heard, raising one hand to massage at his constricting chest.

To the world, he was Logan, King of Cygnas, the only child of Monarch Ranal and Queen Leona.

Valerie couldn’t be a factor in his decisions anymore.

Logan threw the doors of the throne room open as he strode in, his ornamental cloak fluttering behind him. He took advantage of the low pain that day to try and be as dramatic as possible (Roman’s points about theatrics and intimidation had some merit), but he saw Emile standing by the throne, crutches in hand. Something in him shriveled at the idea that not even his steward thought he could make it through this meeting without buckling beneath the pressure and aching, but he cast it aside. This was not the time for pride.

He regretted the powerful move when he saw the tiny boy in the middle of the room. He knew that the Xiousian king was young, having kept track of any news coming from the Xiousian front, but the boy looked so small. Logan took one look at the kid’s trembling shoulders and stopped in his tracks. No sudden movements, he decided.

“King Virgil,” Logan greeted. “Your presence in my court is highly unexpected, especially at this hour in the morning.” The boy attempted to straighten up, but the crown on his head tilted to the side. It was almost comical.

“King Logan,” the other king bowed his head. “I have travelled a long time to be here.”

“And yet that does not answer the real question,” Logan threw back. He started walking towards the boy, taking note of how the other king winced as Logan drew nearer. The older king passed by the boy, noting how he didn’t relax until he reached the throne. Logan tucked his cloak beneath him as he sat down. “Why are you here?”

“Well, you must know about how your ally Ticevas and how they have been refusing aide to my hungry people.” Virgil took a few short, yet decisive steps closer to the throne. Logan had to give it to him; he might be scared, but he was handling it well. Logan cocked his head to the side.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, but that is not the information I was given by the Crown Prince of Ticevas.” The boy glowered and he furrowed his brow.

“I do not know what information the Crown Prince has given you, but I can assure you that if it is anything close to what I believe Prince-General Remus has said to his superiors, it is unequivocally false.” Logan quirked an eyebrow, but the rest of his facial expression remained peacefully blank.

“You cannot blame me for trusting what has been told to me by the Crown Prince and Prince-General of Ticevas themselves,” Logan lifted his hands from the arms of his throne, folding them into his lap. “I do not intend on changing my opinion on what is true and what is false on unsupported hearsay and beliefs.” Virgil scoffed and he crossed his arms, the movement made slightly difficult by the heavy furs he had draped around his shoulders.

“Do you believe everything the Ticevans tell you?” the boy asked, no hesitance in his voice. “They are known for their dramatics and story-telling, Your Majesty, not every word that comes from their mouths is sure to be true.” Logan blinked in shock a few times, caught slightly off-guard. No one had dared question his trust in the Ticevan twins before.

He’d have to do better.

“I’m not sure the Ticevan royal family would entirely appreciate you implying that they are liars, Your Majesty,” Logan said as-matter-of-factly. Virgil scowled, taking impulsive steps towards the throne. The soldiers flanking the throne dropped into a defensive stance, holding out their spears. The young king froze and the guards that were with him when Logan entered pulled their swords from their scabbards. “Remigius,” Logan scolded, turning towards his head guard at his right. “Please, show some decorum.” He turned back to Virgil. “My apologies, my liege, as king I am sure you aware of the heightened security.”

The silver-haired captain-of-the-guard let out a soft scoff as he resumed his stationary position. Logan shot the man a stern glance but Remy refused to turn towards him. “Yes, I am aware,” Virgil said warily, and Logan saw him make a soft hand motion out of the corner of his eye. The guards stood down, their swords back in their scabbard. One guard, his braids pulled back into a tight bun, left his hand on the hilt. “If I have to ask,” Virgil said snidely, “may I approach, Your Majesty?” Logan gave him a deadpan look but the thirteen-year-old held his ground.

Logan broke first, surprisingly, sighing and waving his hand in a motion for Virgil to step forward. “You may approach, King Virgil.” Virgil didn’t move, instead resting his weight on his heels, a smug smirk on his face. A ‘well, now that I have permission, I don’t want to do it’ move. Incredibly immature, Logan noted, but then again, no matter what status Virgil might have, a teenager is still a teenager. “Very funny,” Logan said wryly.

“Why, King Logan, I have no idea what you mean!” Virgil said in a high-pitched innocent voice. Logan held in a chuckle. A few beats passed as Logan stared down at the young boy.

“Why are you here, King Virgil?” Logan said, slightly bored. “You come in with bravado and accusations and you still have not answered my very first question.” Virgil stuck his nose up.

“We are here to offer a chance of your kingdom surviving the crossfire.” Logan furrowed his brow and sat up slightly in his throne.

“What crossfire.”

“Ticevas has disrespected our sovereignty and threatened us tenfold over. Xious will not stand for it.”

“And your solution is to kill everything on sight?” Virgil scoffed.

“You have no tact, Your Majesty.” Logan raised an eyebrow and Virgil turned red. “Apologies, that-that was uncalled for.” Logan hummed, amused.

“Join me for dinner,” he said suddenly and he placed his hands against the arms of the throne. “You and your entourage are welcome to stay in the castle for the next week and we can discuss matters in a more private setting.” Confusion flashed across Virgil’s face and he looked towards the guard to his left, a question of whether or not he should accept floating between them.

“I accept your invitation,” Virgil responded a moment later, his eyes still locked with that of his guard. He turned back towards Logan with a polite, sardonic smile. “It was an honor to meet you, King Logan of Cygnas.” Logan raised his eyebrows but did not smile back.

“And it was certainly interesting to meet you, King Virgil of Xious.” Logan pushed himself off the throne, sliding his right arm into the crutch someone in his periphery offered him. He stepped down the stairs until he was face to face with the Xiousian king.

Virgil was a lot shorter so up close.

Logan offered his hand and Virgil stared at it a moment. The room held its breath as the Xiousian processed the gesture. Hesitantly, Virgil uncrossed his arms and gripped Logan’s admittedly much larger hand. Logan shook once, a firm yet gentle motion, before releasing and walking right past the young king towards the door of the throne room.

At the very least, he had an excuse to write Remus.

Remus,

I’m afraid I write to you not with personal anecdotes but with political news.

T’is dreadful, I’m aware.

The young boy king of Xious dropped by this evening, though it will be a few days past by the time this letter reaches you. He is small, but skilled with his language. His father very obviously groomed this boy for the throne at a young age. He stutters, though. It reminds me slightly of myself at his age.

I have invited him to stay at the palace for a few days, provided he have dinner with me. I will write you after the dinner; hopefully I will have more information for you then. Your brother told me that he threatened war over the treaty, but he seemed quite offended at this accusation, lending me to believe that there has been a miscommunication. You were there for this exchange? I need both sides here.

Just so you are aware, and please relay this to Roman but do not tell your father, he has given me an offer to avoid crossfires of war. I don’t pretend to understand why he would offer to have me fight alongside his kingdom or die and then turn around and be offended at me saying that he is planning war. I fear there are other factors at play, not simply a confused child at the reins of a job that no individual can truly succeed at.

I hope you are well, my love.

Sincerely,

His Majesty, King Logan

Preparing for the dinner on such late notice made everyone on the castle on edge. Logan rarely had visitors as it was and as such, unused guest wings weren’t cleaned with the frequency that was kept throughout the more populated sections of the castle. If worries of war breaking out over a scared teenager weren’t plaguing Logan with every waking moment, he might’ve taken a moment to thank each staff member that passed him by.

He made a note to up their pay for the month.

“You know I’m not one to question your decisions,” Remigius, Logan’s head guard, said as the king and him walked down the hallway, “but enemy Xious here? In your castle?”

“If I turn them away, I will not gain any information that could actually be of use to our allies. The Ticevan princes would not lie to me and so I am eager to understand exactly why I’m being told two different stories.” Remigius scowled.

“You’re ignoring all the potential security concerns, babes, we don’t have the manpower to guard all the guestrooms, even if they only have ten in the security detail.”

“It’s thirteen,” the king said offhandedly as they turned a corner. “The person dressed in the steward colors had a knife hidden up their sleeve. Some type of holster, I presume.” Remigius paused, gaping at Logan – who kept moving down the hall at a rapid pace – before jogging slightly to catch up.

“I don’t wanna even ask how you caught that.” Logan smiled wryly.

“I’m doing everyone’s job at once,” Logan began, his voice vaguely humorous as if he were starting the beginning of joke. “I have to pretend to do yours at one point.” Remigius scoffed and Logan knew he would cross his arms if he wasn’t holding onto his spear. They made their way down the rest of the hall, their voices in a hushed chatter and Remy complained about what an awkward position Logan put him in and Logan shooting back that this is exactly what he hired Remy for. When they arrived at the door, Logan sighed heavily. “This isn’t something I want to be doing, Remigius,” Logan said softly. “Preventing a war from happening is just as taxing as fighting the war itself.”

“I agree,” Remy said, “but you have to remember our limits.” Logan sighed again, before pushing open the door into the small conference room.

Originally, Logan had a council of advisors and early on in the last day’s of his mother’s reign and the beginning stages of his own, he met with them frequently. Every book on ruling and being fair that Logan could get his hands on emphasized the importance on seeking others’ outlooks on each decision a ruler made for their country and when he was nineteen and fresh from his mother’s funeral, Logan dove straight into that. Looking back on it, it was a poor decision.

For many reasons.

Years later, Logan was still stuck weeding out nobleman who gained their positions through willful missights by both his parents or a generous donation of money towards the upkeep of the castle. The budget for the upkeep of the castle was woefully tight and it had always been that way, so he was sure that his parents squirreled away the money somewhere or maybe wasted it away.

Presently, Logan still stuck by the idea that a stable king had stable council, but it was increasingly difficult to find said steady council when all the councilors seemed keen on starting wars at every given opportunity. The only nobles or advisors or councilors Logan allowed in his presence anymore were handpicked himself, regardless of status.

Or attitude for that matter.

Dominic Dormis, known colloquially as “The Critic” and called Dice by everyone who was just out of enough common sense to have a conversation with him, sat in the middle of a long wooden meeting table, papers spread artfully around him. He was the brother to Remigius, though ironically, it was Remigius who insisted that Logan not hire Dominic. Logan ignored his head guard’s advice and it was the best decision he had ever made.

“Tell me, Dice,” Logan started, walking over to look over the advisor’s shoulder at the papers sitting in front of him, “how urgently do I need to try and fix this all?” Dice laughed humorlessly as he threw his pen down and leaned back in the chair.

“You’ve made a right mess of this, darling!” Dice exclaimed, tilting his head back to look Logan in the eye. “No matter how often they run the numbers, nothing looks favorable.” Logan sighed deeply, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Are we really that low on manpower?” Logan asked, his voice bordering on desperate, and screwed his eyes shut. Dice tutted his tongue, motioning towards the papers.

“I haven’t been here all morning trying to spread our defenses across the Xiousian border for nothing, darling,” Dice snarked. Logan opened his eyes slightly to glare at him.

“We’re aiming for peace, Dice,” Logan snapped, “not to antagonize the same kingdom threatening war by placing our entire military on the border.” Dice just shrugging, looking down at the papers.

“It was the only way I felt we had a chance,” Dice said defensively.

Oh, damn it all,” Logan swore under his breath. “What are your thoughts on Ticevas lying?” Dice just scoffed.

“Please, the boy had a point. We Ticevans have a tendency for the dramatics.” Logan scrunched his nose.

“So am I to march up to the Crown Prince and his general brother and tell them to their face that they’re lying? Were they even at that meeting?” Dice shrugged, picking up his quill to dip it into ink and scribble a note into the blank space of one of the pages. “Why is it that when I am listing all the things going wrong, you jump right in, but when I try to figure out a solution, you just sit there nodding?”

“You hired me for a reason,” Dice replied in a singsong voice. “I tell you what you need to hear, Logan, not what you want to hear.” Logan crossed his arms, his face pinched.

“What do we do then?” Dice sighed and moved his head back down, searching through the sheets of paper.

“You either side with Xious or you get them to back down,” Dice says, reciting the words from a piece of paper held close to his face. Logan narrowed his eyes and swiped the paper from Dice’s hands, much to his advisor’s indignance.

“Dice, this just says ‘you’re screwed’. That’s not entirely professional. I do have to present these papers to the princes of Ticevas.” Dice scoffed, pushing his chair back and kicking his feet up on top of the desk. “And now your feet are on the table.”

“You’re very good at observations,” Dice said wryly. “Look, you have that dinner with the Xiousian king. Make it count. Make yourself likable.” Logan moved to open his mouth but Dice cut him off. “Diplomacy and facts might work with more stable-minded individuals, but this is a kid, Your Majesty. You need to charm him.” Logan tossed the papers back on the table.

“Fantastic.”

“It’s not all bad, Your Majesty. Emile said that he’s your-”

“No.”

“What?” Dice asked innocently. He blinked up at Logan. “It’s a good strategy, my lord, it will work, especially on a boy his age.”

“I will not be using my dead sister’s name in war talks, Dice.” The advisor scrunched up his nose.

“Well, yes, when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound all that wonderful.” Logan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dice shuffled through his papers and Logan could hear him scribbling down notes and calculations. “A right mess you’ve made of this, Logan.”

“Don’t pin this on me,” the king hissed. Dice snorted. A knock came at the door. “Enter!”

“Well, hello there, Dice! It’s been a while,” Emile said as he entered the room, shutting the door behind him. Logan looked up to see Dice waving slightly, leaning forward against the table onto his elbows.

“Hello, dear brother-in-law,” Dice said amusingly. “It’s a shame you are so busy these days, we’ve hardly had a chance to speak one-on-one.” Emile’s eyes crinkled and he laughed.

“That’s what family dinners on Sundays are for, Dice, it’s not my fault you never show up.”

“Your Majesty,” Logan greeted coolly, rising up from his seat in order to bow slightly. His knuckles were braced against the edge of the table, allowing his body weight to distribute. “How kind of you to join me this evening.”

Virgil stood in the doorway, classic Xiousian furs piled up around his shoulders and wrapped around his head. His eyes swept across the room, as if admiring each piece of furniture and morsel of food. His face was shadowed by a thin wrap covering the tops of his head and draped across and around his neck, but Logan could still the stringy black hair that reminded Logan of himself when he was a teenager. The way Virgil held himself reminded Logan even of his parent, which was not necessarily a reminder that he was looking for. If he were superstitious, it would feel like a bad omen.

Logan felt the weight of what this dinner meant settling across his shoulders like a physical presence. Ever since the meeting with Dice, several other nobleman came up to him, trying to play up the might of Cygnan army. They acted incredibly patriotic but Dice’s intel (and also that of his brother, Remigius) showed him what their true intentions were. Deals with investors and black markets across both Cygnas, Ticevas, and Limora could make them rich if Logan decided to follow through with the war.

None of them seemed to take into consideration quite exactly war would mean for absolutely everyone else. Sometimes it felt like everyone thought him as naïve as a dog running after a phantom stick. He was the King of Cygnas, the kingdom associated with all things knowledge. He had some common sense.

“Come sit,” he invited, motioning to the seat beside him. “My kitchen staff has slaved over this food all day and it would be a shame to let it all go to waste.” Logan busied himself with tucking his coattails beneath him and shuffling his chair closer to the table, but he kept track of the careful steps Virgil took towards the table. He eyed the guards at the door.

Virgil’s personal guard followed his charge to the chair, inspecting it before allowing the boy king to take a seat. Gently, the boy unwrapped the fur shawl from around his shoulders and the guard took it from him, draping it against the high back of the chair. “It is custom to wear wraps that cover our heads,” Virgil says, his voice tiny in the giant room. “I hope this does not offend you.” Logan waved his hand in dismissal.

“I hope you are not offended that I am not wearing one myself,” Logan says, motioning for a servant to pour them drinks. “In Cygnas, it’s typical to wear less clothing in the presence of guests, though,” Logan gestured at himself wryly, “the same does not usually apply to the royal household.” Virgil gave a small, but genuine smile.

“My father was a…lover of our culture,” Virgil responded, “as am I.” He paused for a moment to lift up his wine glass to his guard, who took a small sip. Whatever the guard was looking for, he didn’t find and he handed the cup back to the teen. “However, I understand that you have your own customs.” Logan nodded, beginning to pick up his cutlery to start eating.

“In Ticevas,” Logan started, “it is customary to bow in a particular fashion before approaching the monarch.” He gave Virgil a humorous look. “Of course, when my mother passed, may her soul rest among the stars, I had many things to worry about and I stormed into a meeting with the King before bowing.” He took a sip of his wine. “I don’t believe the Crown Prince or his brother have ever let me live that one down.” Virgil gave him a curious glance.

“Are you close with the Crown Prince and the Prince-General?” he asked innocently. Logan held back a deadpan look.

“As close as life-long allies can be,” Logan said, a hint of a smile creeping into his voice. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

Logan heard a small, exasperated huff as he looked down to his meal and resisted the urge to chuckle. The boy was smart, but he had little tact.

He was doing better than Logan would have done at this age, regardless.

The clinking of ornate cutlery against fine china filled the room as the two began to eat. Logan could see the young boy struggle to use the wares that were just a tad too big for his hands and wondered how such a boy could threaten war but not know how to handle utensils.

Maybe he simply used swords to eat.

Logan banished the thought from his mind. The past was the past, as his mother would say every time the Xiousian king would extend an invitation to his castle.

Damned Xious.

“How are you finding the meal, Your Majesty?” Logan asked coolly. He didn’t look up from his plate, but he heard Virgil fumbling with the fork and knife. He ought to stop playing mind games with children.

“It is suitable,” Virgil replied, his words slightly muffled by what seemed like a mouth full of food. Logan looked up to see Virgil swallow harshly and washing down the ball of food with a gulp of wine. “I appreciate your hospitality, King Logan.” Logan tilted his head to the side.

“I accept your thanks.” Logan cut a piece of meat, and held it up to his lips. “Your father was a frequent guest at this castle and I hope you will be as well, as you grow into your role as monarch of Xious.” Virgil nodded nervously, fiddling with his silverware instead of responding. “Speaking of which,” Logan continued, “my condolences to you and your family. Losing family is something I am woefully familiar with.” Virgil nodded again; his eyes were downcast.

“May his soul rest among the stars,” the young king murmured. Virgil straightened his back, having slouched slightly, “He was good father to me. He taught me well.” He paused for a moment, looking down at his plate. “Though, there is no other family to console. I am his only heir and my mother died young.” Virgil looked at him inquisitively. “You would have known her, no?” Logan resisted the urge to try and swallow down the lump that had grown in his throat. He hadn’t thought about Virgil’s mother in a long time. It was a shock to try and remember it all. Realizing he hadn’t responded, Logan cleared his throat, busying his hands with cutting a slice of the meat on his plate.

“Yes, I was good friends with your mother,” Logan said, his voice on the edge of trembling. “I simply…forget she is not here with us, from time to time.” Virgil hummed in response. “Your father was a strong king,” Logan said, instead of continuing down the previous path of conversation, “Do you plan to follow in his footsteps?” the Cygnan inquired after a moment. “He was quite focused on the military, but this is a time of peace, as you must know.” Virgil froze slightly and Logan resisted the urge to smile. Finally, he’d pushed a button. Virgil began to look up towards his guard, presumably for guidance, but he aborted the movement, tightening his grip on his wine cup that he’d reached out for as Logan was asking his question.

“It is quite a…” Virgil paused, quirking his lips as he brought the wine cup up to his mouth, “bold statement to claim peace, considering what your allies in Ticevas have accused of me.” His hands were shaking. Logan bowed his head in agreement.

“Though, if what you say is true, there is no reason to fear, is there?” Logan tilted his head. “After all, if there is war to be had between you Ticevas, there is little reason for you to be here, at the castle of a Ticevan ally.” Virgil gulped down his wine nervously and the guard behind him gripped his spear threateningly.

“Peace is a lot harder to defend than a home front, Your Majesty,” Virgil said at last, setting down his glass with a clumsy hand. “It is best to be prepared for the worst, as my father always said.” Logan raised his eyebrows and Virgil’s shoulders seem to shrink slightly.

“We simply have different tactics then,” Logan shrugged artfully, careful not to become too casual. The Xiousian guard glared. Virgil shifted slightly in his seat, opening and closing his mouth a few times.

“Uh-” Virgil went red at the noise, busying himself with cutting another piece of meat. “What-What tactics do you employ, then?” Logan looked up from his plate, smiling slightly.

“Cygnans pride ourselves on our practicality. The budgeting reflects that,” Logan explained, taking a sip from his glass. “We have dedicated numbers for each individual aspect of the government, numbers that are reviewed daily by our famed scholars.” Virgil leaned in closer, his eyes wide. “And what of you? You said that your father always liked to be prepared.” Virgil blinked a couple times before shrinking back into his seat.

“Well, my father, as you said, was a very strong man and he-he wanted that reflected in his kingdom, I suppose.” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“You suppose?” Virgil fumbled to correct himself.

“No- not that I suppose, I know that is what he wanted. He taught me that himself,” Virgil rushed out. “He always said to me that being overcautious meant two things. One,” Virgil lifted up his index finger; Logan marveled at how small the child’s hands were, “you are prepared for what comes, or option number two,” Virgil lifted up a second finger, “you are pleasantly surprised.” Taken slightly by surprise, Logan huffed out a small laugh. Virgil beamed, his smile almost glowing.

It was times like these that Logan had to fight himself to see a burgeoning king, instead of an unsteady young boy. Logan was lucky he had his mother when his parent died when he was but being the tender age of twelve years old was not a fact that prepared himself for the death of someone so influential. If not for the queen, he would have been forced to take on the harrowing task of being responsible for millions of people’s lives, something that haunts him in his dreams even at his older age.

“You are quite the comedic guest,” Logan said amusingly. “It’s difficult to catch me by surprise.” Virgil went shy, ducking his head.

“I must give credit to my father then, may his soul rest among the stars,” Virgil blushed. “It was he who said it.” Logan tutted good-naturedly.

“But it was not your father who made me laugh, was it?” A glimmer danced in Virgil’s eyes and a fierce protectiveness came over Logan.

“No, I suppose it was not.”

They moved to Logan’s official office, not the throne room nor the desk in his room where Logan kept most of his paperwork. He hated the ornate decoration of the space, the gold-plated wood, and curtains of the that never ran out of dust no matter how often you beat them. He hated the paintings of the wall, memories of his mother and his parent and his sister. They were all gone, were they not? What was the point on dwelling on it?

Roman called it unhealthy. Remus called it remembering the dead how they deserved to be remembered. Logan called it practicality.

Virgil and his guard followed him inside. Reluctantly, Logan motioned for his head of security to follow him into the room. Before he shut the door, he motioned for Remigius to come close. “You do not touch a hair on that boy’s head,” Logan threatened, his voice calm and soft despite his words. “I will not be the one who starts this war.” Remy gave him an odd look.

“And if he attacks?” Logan sighed, eyeing Janus who had his hand on his charge’s shoulder. They seemed to be speaking words, but Logan could hear nothing from where he is.

“If the boy attacks, you go for his guard.” Logan stared Remigius right in the eye. “I meant what I said.” Logan bowed his head, bracing his hands against his waist. “Send word to Dice that this meeting is not to be interrupted under penalty of treason. No one but you, me, and King Virgil and his guard will know what transpires here tonight.” Remy nodded, saluting, before whistling over another soldier to relay the message. Logan straightened his shoulders, holding his hands behind his back, and turned to face Virgil and Janus.

“Feel free to sit down, we might be here a while.”

The room was silent. You could drop a pin and the sound would ring out through the hall.

“I’m not sure I quite understand,” Logan said quietly, his left hand flat against the desk. Virgil shifted nervously in his seat, no longer hiding his glances to his guard on his right.

“I wasn’t at that meeting with the diplomats,” Virgil repeated, before shutting his eyes tightly. “Didn’t- wouldn’t your contacts that were at the meeting have told you this?” Logan looked down at the papers scattered artfully across his public desk. His memory flashed to the stack of letters hidden beneath a false bottom drawer in his room and the distant feeling of being wrapped around his lover.

“No, they had not,” Logan muttered under his breath. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes briefly. “This changes many things, Virgil, I hope you understand.” He jumped at the sound of a thump against the ground, looking up to find Remy in an attack position and the Xiousian guard with a deadly stare.

“That is Your Majesty to you, King Logan,” the guard gritted out. Virgil averted his eyes from the scene, staring at the carpeted designs on the wall. Logan blinked a few times before clearing his throat.

“But of course,” he amended. “Please accept my apologies, Your Majesty.” Virgil nodded sheepishly and the guard nodded approvingly. Logan motioned towards Remy. “Remigius, stand down. It was a simple correction on my manners, one that is sorely needed.” Remy reluctantly stood down, casting a wary glance towards the guard. Virgil sighed, burying his head into his hands.

Logan looked at the clock on his desk. It was getting late.

“How,” Virgil asked, his voice bordering on a whine, “does this change things, your so-called allies refused to give my people aid after we practically kissed their boots asking so.” Logan shook his head, exhaling.

“No, Your Majesty, that is not what I have been told and that’s what becomes the problem.” Virgil peeked through his hands and Logan’s harsh expression softened and his shoulders dropped. “Your Majesty, I have been told by the Head General and Prince of Ticevas himself that your diplomats promised war if they did not lower the rent and heighten the amount of food Xious could take from the crops. There was no talk of famine or aid and King Romulus does not take kindly to threats, whether they be true or false.” Virgil sighed, sinking forward so that his elbows were against his knees.

“What would you have me do then?” Virgil asked. “Call my own advisors and agents liars? Do you know what that kind of position that would put me in? And let’s not forget the fact that those same advisors were put there by my father and removing them would be an affront to his legacy.” Logan gritted his teeth and clenched his hand into a fist.

“And what am I to do?” Logan asked, holding a tone of incredulity. “Write to my allies in the South and tell them that it was all a misunderstanding?” Virgil sighed deeply. “Your Majesty, I do not want war. My people are thriving and bloodshed would stunt that, I know it goes the same way for you.” Virgil shook his head and straightened up in his seat, his face gaunt in the flickering candlelight that brightened the room.

“I would do anything to prove Xious is a force to be reckoned with,” Virgil muttered, rising to his feet. “You would do well to remember that, King Logan, or I will be forced to show it to you.” Logan glared, bracing his hands against the desk as if he were about to stand.

“Does what I just said mean nothing to you?” Logan seethed, leaning closer to Virgil. “If your people are truly facing a famine—”

“-are you doubting the word of a king-”

“-then they cannot handle an invasion!” Logan slammed his palm against the desk. Virgil’s eyes were wide and angry and Logan’s chest heaved.

“You know nothing about my people,” Virgil seethed. “Janus, we are to leave immediately. His Majesty has shown us that we are not respected here.” Virgil stood up from his chair, but Logan held out a hand, bowing his head towards the wood of his desk.

“Wait. Please,” Logan breathed. “I don’t want this to escalate. I lost myself.” Virgil glanced at him with disdain but did not make to move towards the door. “I take your word as truth, Your Majesty, just as I take the Ticevan princes’ words as truth.”

“Then what do you propose, King Logan?” Virgil sneered. “You cannot believe a truth and a lie at the same time.” Logan nodded, setting his hand down.

“Please take my words with a grain of salt, King Virgil,” Logan said softly, looking the young king in the eye. “Have you ever considered that, maybe, your diplomats and advisors are looking for war?” Virgil’s nostrils flared. “No, please, listen. I am also forced to re-examine my alliance with Ticevas here, this is not just you who is put into a compromising position.”

“Your Majesty, please listen to what you’re saying,” Virgil said after a beat of silence. “You’re accusing my trusted advisors and diplomats of treason. Of lying to the crown. That comes at the penalty of death in my country.” Logan nodded understandingly, breathing in deeply.

“Please, stay a few more days,” Logan offered. “Think about this. Talk with your people and I will talk with mine. The Crown-Prince is due to arrive as soon as tomorrow and perhaps, we can clear things then.” Virgil glanced at his guard – Janus, he’d called the man – who merely stared back. Whatever passed between them solidified Virgil’s decision and he turned back towards Logan.

“So be it.”

Roman and Remus arrived two days later and Logan felt like he was about to collapse. Virgil and him had been going back and forth for days, letters arriving by the sack-full, no doubt several angry diplomats coming after Virgil for even thinking that they could potentially be treasonous to the crown.

Logan himself was dreading such letters coming in from his own advisors, whenever he finally found a way to prune them out, but he pushed that aside. He had to worry about one thing at a time. His advisors could wait.

When the Royal Carriage for Ticevas finally arrived, it was like weights measuring a ton were lifted from Logan’s shoulders. The worry and the anxiety soothed itself and it was like the answer to all his problems rested inside the gilded coach.

“Crown Prince Roman, General Remus.” Logan greeted cordially, a playful smile on his lips. “It is a pleasure to see you so soon after your previous visit.” Logan held out his hand and Remus stepped up, bowing and pressing a kiss to the ring on Logan’s finger. Roman merely smiled, bemused by his brother and best friend.

“King Logan, the pleasure is all mine,” Remus returned, nothing in his voice hiding the utter glee in his eyes.

“My steward will take you to your quarters and then, perhaps, you could join me in my office to discuss a few things before dinner.” Remus’ smile grew, nearly splitting his face in half. Logan’s eyes crinkled in pleasure.

“But of course, Your Majesty, your hospitality is most gracious.” Roman accepted, not-so-subtly bumping his elbow into Remus’ stomach. Remus scrunched his nose and moved to step on Roman’s foot with his heeled boot, but Roman skillfully avoided the maneuver, following Emile who was beckoning the twins to follow him. Remus scoffed under his breath as he moved to follow his brother and Logan had to resist a smile. As Remus passed by, the prince reached out his fingers, the action so subtle, no one but Logan saw it coming. Logan reached his own hand out, under the guise of adjusting his lace cloak, to brush skin against skin. He breathed in deeply and it was like the sun had just peeked through the clouds at the end of a horrid winter.

A few, long minutes later, Remus finally entered Logan’s room, shutting the door behind him. “So,” Remus said playfully, “what matters of business are we to discuss?” Logan laughed and something in his chest loosened. He unclasped the ceremonial lace around his shoulders, letting it flutter to the ground as he strode across the room and wrapped his arms around his lover’s shoulders.

“I’ve missed you, Remus,” Logan said reverently, digging his nose into Remus’ neck. He felt Remus lean against him, wrapping his thick arms around Logan’s lithe frame.

“I’ve missed you too, quill,” Remus said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come alone to see you. It’s been far too long since we’ve just existed, you and I.” Logan sighed, stepping back but not letting go of Remus.

“I know,” the king said apologetically, moving to brush Remus’ bangs from his eyes. “Maybe that will change one day, but I can live with this. At least I get to have you in arms once again.” Remus’ ears went red, but his smile merely grew and he jutted out his chin in pride.

“I’ll go down in history as the one to make the stern Logan of Cygnas crack,” Remus teased, digging his fingers into Logan’s sides, where he knew the king was ticklish. Immediately, Logan tensed, giggling. “Aha! I’ve discovered your weakness.” Logan slapped at his lover’s hands childishly, giggling even when Remus pulled his hands away.

“You menace,” Logan said softly, grabbing Remus’s face between his two hands and pulling him in for a long overdue kiss. “You will be the death of me, I swear it.” Remus smiled and leaned back in for another kiss.

Eventually, they made their way to Logan’s bed, kicking off extraneous pieces of ceremonial garb and their shoes, determined to be as comfortable as possible without making it difficult to leave the room in a rush. “Why do we actually have to do things,” Remus whined, shoving his face into Logan’s chest. Logan chuckled, the sound rumbling more through his diaphragm than an actual noise. He ran his fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of Remus’ neck.

“We’re royalty, Remus,” Logan said humorously, with the tone of someone whose had this conversation with the other prince many times. “If we don’t do things, other things don’t work.” Remus groaned.

“The other things should be able to figure it out on their own,” he grumbled. “I don’t wanna leave yet.” Logan pursed his lips, a sorrowful expression taking over his face.

“I know,” he said wistfully, letting his head fall against the headboard. “I don’t want to leave either.” Remus gripped Logan’s waist tightly and Logan lifted his head slightly to look down at the prince. “Is something the matter?” Remus looked up at Logan, a frenzy in his eyes.

“We should run away,” Remus whispered, careful of anyone sitting outside the bedroom doors. “You and me, we could run away and never come back and they’ll think we died a bloody death and all of our problems would be solved.” Logan smiled softly and brought up his hand to brush Remus’ white bangs from his eyes.

“It wouldn’t be a bloody death if there was no blood,” he critiqued good-naturedly. “We’d have to find a decent substitute and leave quite a few red herrings for them to follow. They wouldn’t just see us gone and give up.” Remus stuck out his tongue, blowing a raspberry, and Logan just scrunched his nose.

“You’re no fun,” Remus grumbled, shoving his face into Logan’s stomach. “Always making plans make sense and be rational.” Logan chuckled.

“You certainly thought I was fun when we dissected that deer together,” Logan said. “I was so sure my mother was going to barricade me in my room after she saw the mess we made in the dining room.” Remus scoffed and Logan huffed lightheartedly.

“Your mom just didn’t like that we ruined the wood of the table with all the blood.”

“To be fair, that table had been in the castle for over two centuries.”

“Then it was obviously due for a remodeling. We did her a favor.” Logan let out an uncharacteristic snort and he could feel Remus’ smile pressed against his torso.

“Maybe so,” he said, carding his fingers through his lover’s hair. “I wonder what she would think of me now.”

“You are doing a much better job than she ever did. Not to mention how much better you’re doing than your parent.” Logan sighed, tilting his head to the side.

“Yes, I would hope the bar would be higher than my parent, but I suppose as the next monarch, that is exactly where the kingdom’s standards are at.”

They fell quiet, the only sounds filling the room were that of the steady rise and fall of their breathing. The sun gradually set in the sky as they spent hours wrapped up in each other, too afraid to let go as if they would be dragged apart as soon as they did. It had been too long, Logan thought, his head bowed of Remus’ as the prince dozed against him. He didn’t know if he could do this again.

Eventually, Logan moved Remus’ head to the pillow beside him, waking up the prince from his gentle nap. “Where do you think you’re going,” Remus grumbled, shooting out his arm to trap Logan’s hips against the bed. Logan smiled softly, but removed the arm from his body, tucking it gently against the prince.

“Your brother and I need to talk about what’s been going with Xious and King Virgil,” Logan said, swinging his legs slowly over the edge of his bed. “It’s gotten infinitely more complicated than I would have hoped.”

“What’s the way to fix it?” Remus asked, stretching out like a spider across the bed. Logan pushed himself up off the bed, holding his nightstand as a support.

“At this point, I’m not sure,” Logan admitted, shuffling to his dresser. “I need Xious to agree to not fighting if everything doesn’t go their way and I need Ticevas to agree to providing aid. They’re in the midst of a famine and Roman has a short temper so high stakes plus-”

“High stakes plus my dumbass twin does not equal peace,” Remus finished for him and Logan snorted.

“Exactly.”

“What do you plan to do about it?” Remus said. The king draped his ceremonial cloak around his shoulders and paused.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Logan said hesitantly. “I’m hoping that-” he cut himself off, before glancing at Remus. “I’m hoping Virgil will be a little bit like me.” Remus’ eyes widened and he rolled onto his side facing Logan.

“I’ve got to say, beating heart, that’s quite a tall order.” Logan looked away, avoiding Remus’ cutting gaze.

“Well, it’s my only hope that the boy has a minute amount of common sense in his bones.” He chuckled. “It’s either hope for that or pretend that Roman has all the common sense and I somehow doubt that.” Remus gave full-body smile and Logan smiled as he stared down at the floor. “I don’t want to leave, Remus,” he said quietly.

“Come here,” Remus said, his voice holding a sensual lilt. Logan turned his head back up. His lover had a hand stretched out and a wicked smile spread across his face.

“Remus,” Logan said warningly. Remus scoffed.

“Oh please, we won’t get messy unless you really want to,” Remus teased. “I just- you need a distraction and I can give you that.” Logan swallowed nervously, trailing his eyes up and down Remus’ body.

“Can you?” Logan said at last. Remus closed his fist in a “come hither” gesture and Logan couldn’t stop himself from indulging, at least one last time.

Logan woke up that morning with the feeling of someone slamming a hammer into the inside of his temple repeatedly.

Now, there are several things to unpack in this statement. For starters, there is no such thing as a hammer being present inside his skull. It is impossible and Logan wasn’t sure if a hammer so small with such power could even exist.

And although Logan continuously prided himself on not believing in the superstitious, his mother’s upbringing had instilled certain fears in him and his inability to even handle the sound of his skin against his bedsheets did not sit well with him.

Pain in his head such as this was usually only cured by drinking ridiculous amounts of water and resting for hours on end. Logan grabbed the glass of water sitting on his bedside table, drinking it as if his life depended on it, and then slammed it back onto the wood surface as he threw his legs over the side of his bed.

As soon as the cold air hit his knees, he recoiled and tightened his fist in the blankets. Although Cygnas was in its spring prime, thunderstorms still found their way into the season, as if to plague the king himself.

Today would not be a good day.

Dressing was a struggle. He pretended not to see Emile wince as he battled his way into the immense amounts of garb considered necessary at diplomatic conventions. Navigating his room brought tears to his eyes and frequently, he found himself gripping onto the nearest surface and taking heaving breaths as he waited for the pain in his legs to subside enough for him to keep going. He knew he was in for it when Emile presented his crutches and he didn’t even think twice before slipping his arms in and resting his entire weight against the mobility aid.

Logan must have looked as haggard as he felt because every worker of the castle who crossed his path as he dragged himself to the throne room immediately scuttled away, for fear that his temper might cut short with them.

He couldn’t blame them.

Sinking into the plush chair that awaited him in the giant dining room he insisted on eating in each morning was a relief. The ache in his knees lessened as he stretched his legs out, but every so often, a twitch or a jolt of his body would cause the throbbing to pound in time to the hammer in his head.

Emile set the platter of food in front of him and did not even hesitate before patting the king on the shoulder. “I’ve requested that Remus join you this morning and I’ve given the others orders not to disturb you until you call for me.” Logan looked up at his steward with alarm, but Emile just smiled. “I’m a sucker for romance, Your Majesty, and I’ve known for far too long to not notice the signs.”

“I didn’t realize we were so conspicuous,” Logan murmured, leaning against the back of the chair. Emile just shrugged.

“You remind me of my husband and me is all.” Emile pat him again, this time on the head, and let a small chuckle loose when the king blinked rapidly in surprise. “Have a good meal, Logan.”

Emile left the room, skipping slightly, and opened the large doors to run face-to-face with Remus, who smiled so widely at the sight of the steward that even Emile seemed a bit taken aback. Logan hid his smile behind his hand as Remus lunged forward to wrap his arms around Emile’s waist and pick him up, squeezing the shocked steward.

When Remus set him back down, Emile wobbled slightly, though the laughing Logan heard from across the large dining hall soothed his worries that Remus hadn’t been gentle enough with his steward. Emile patted Remus on the cheek gently and the prince beamed as Emile slipped past and shut the door behind him.

Remus’ smile seemed to spread even more at the sight of Logan, however tired and disheveled he looked to the rest of the world. Whereas Emile’s skip outside of the room was small and barely noticeable, the Ticevan seemed to leap into the air as he wiggled his way to Logan’s side. “Hello, my dear,” Logan greeted softly, careful not to jostle his legs as he reached a hand to grasp at Remus.

“Hey, Logie,” Remus said just as quietly, gripping Logan’s hand to his chest and he sunk to one knee so that he could rest his forehead against Logan. “Emmy told me that you weren’t feeling so spic-and-span.” Logan huffed through his nose in amusement.

“Since when are you on such good terms with my steward?” he asked rhetorically and Remus didn’t so much as laugh as jostle his shoulders. “Are you two conspiring against me?”

“And what if we were?” Remus asked. “Maybe it’s my job to seduce you and then Emile’s gonna, I don’t know, take over the kingdom.” Logan chuckled out-loud.

“I’m not sure how seduced I can be in this state, but I have no doubt the kingdom would do well in Emile’s hands.” Remus pouted.

“No, Logie,” he whined, “you’re supposed to be a tyrant, not a reasonable human being.” Logan smiled and shrugged his shoulders lightly.

“My apologies,” he whispered as Remus closed the gap between them and pressed their lips together. Logan breathed in deeply through his nose and shuffled closer, reaching his other hand to grip at Remus’ neck. They broke apart and Logan sighed happily, shoving his nose into the strip of bare skin at Remus’ neck.

“You really must be going through it if you’re this cuddly,” Remus mused, releasing Logan’s hand so he could card a free hand through soft hairs the base of the king’s scalp.

“All the evidence points towards today not being a good day.” Remus made a sympathetic noise. Logan pulled back and Remus let him rest against the chair backing.

“Don’t you have that meeting with my brother and the little pip squeak?” Logan snorted.

“I don’t know if the volatile King of Xious would be amenable to being called a pip squeak, but yes, I do. In approximately an hour and a half, I’ll be trying to stop the leaders of two kingdoms from killing each other.”

“Sounds funky fresh.”

“Where do you even come up with these sayings?” Remus shrugged.

“I sneak around here and there. Father is...quite preoccupied with preparations for the coronation so there’s little else he notices, especially regarding my whereabouts.” Logan tried to make eye contact with Remus, but the prince ducked his head. “I’m truly fine with it, I think I just miss...I miss making an impact,” Remus paused before snorting, “good or bad.”

“Trust me,” Logan said, a bit more sentimentally than intended, “you always make an impact.” Remus gave Logan a smile on the teary side.

“You’re biased, Logan, isn’t that against your whole thing about logic and true verdicts?” Logan made an offended noise.

“It’s an objectively true fact,” Logan insisted. “Nearly everyone would agree with me.” Remus just gave a shrug, still seemingly disbelieving of the king’s statements, but he stopped refuting them, so Logan counted it as a win.

Eventually, Remus moved to the chair beside Logan and they made their way through the food platter, obviously stocked with some Ticevan delights that few knew were the prince-general's favorites. Laughing too hard made Logan’s legs ache with the movement and his head continuously throbbed, but the stack of rocks that had built up on his chest seemed to fall over at each joke or hidden barb at his brother that Remus made. The sun slowly rose up in the sky, highlighting the two lovers, whispering and giggling as if they were teenagers all over again.

“It’s been two hours,” Logan remarked at one point, recovering from a bout of laughter that nearly sent him to the floor. Remus shrugged, his trademark rebellious smile playing at his lips.

“And?” Logan gave him a deadpan look.

“I have responsibilities, Remus.” The prince waved a hand in dismissal.

“Responsibilities, shmesponsibilities,” he leaned in closely, shuffling his chair so that he could touch their noses together, “let’s burn this place to the ground.” Logan smiled, his heart full in his chest.

“So long as my library stays intact, there’s no reason why this place doesn’t need a renovation,” Logan teased.” Remus bit his lip, trying not to laugh, and Logan saw him pump his fist in celebration underneath the table. “Of course, I’m joking, dear Remus, I quite like my home.” Remus ceased his excitement to feign disappointment.

“Oh, you’re no fun, Logie,” he moaned, throwing himself back into his chair. Logan merely grinned and raised his cup to his mouth, sipping as Remus thrashed about.

The doors to the dining hall creaked open. It was like a switch had been flipped. While Remus maintained his strewn about position, he pulled his chair away and spun the food platter so that it was sitting directly in front of Logan. The king swept a hand through his hair and gingerly lifted his legs from their spot against an ottoman set underneath the table so that he could sit with his back straight. His hand was clenched around his glass and Logan felt like his heart was in his throat. Remus, though he mastered looking casual in tricky situations, had a nervous air about him that Logan could feel from where he was sitting.

The guest stepped into the room without much fanfare and turned to make sure the door was shut behind them. Their white tunic shone brightly in the morning light. They turned around and the gleaming smile and red curly hair instantly relaxed the entire room.

“You bastard,” Remus groaned, sinking down into his seat. “You fucking bastard.” Roman merely smiled innocently as he approached the table. Even Logan slumped slightly, taking a few deep breaths as he lifted his aching limbs back onto the ottoman to stretch out.

“You caused an immense amount of anxiety, I do agree.” Logan said, trying to take another sip of his glass to calm down.

“Not my fault you guys haven’t gone public yet,” Roman teased as he took the seat next to Remus. Remus groaned theatrically and Logan shook his head.

“We’ve been over this, Roman, there are many reasons why Remus and I cannot be out of the metaphorical closet and-” Roman raised a hand.

“I know, Pocket Protector,” he said, “I was just teasing.” Logan rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to cross his arms in a petulant manner. “Are you ready for the meeting?”

It felt like an avalanche had just toppled over his body, the way Logan felt like he couldn’t breathe. Chills filled with heat raced up and down his back and he let go of his glass to discreetly wipe his hands against his cloth napkin. “I- I suppose that I am, I have all the documents prepared in the primary office.” Remus must’ve noticed how he was fidgeting with the napkin because his brow furrowed and he opened up his mouth. Logan all but threw the napkin back to the table and made quick work of setting his legs back down on the ground, cutting off whatever Remus wanted to say to him.

“Wonderful!” Roman cheered, not noticing the exchange going on between the two lovers, or the immense glare Remus was now sending his way. “I can escort you to the meeting place?”

Logan waved him off. “You go on ahead, Roman, I will have to take my time this morning,” he said as he stood up and slipped his arms into the crutches leaned up against the table. Now it was Roman’s turn to furrow his brow and grow concerned and Logan cursed the day he became friends with the two princes. “I will be fine.”

Remus huffed through his nose, muttering something under his breath that Logan knew to be calling him out as a liar, but he refused to acknowledge it, only bending slightly for Remus to kiss him on the cheek as Roman stood from his seat.

Roman trailed the way, throwing the heavy oak doors open and all but marched down the hallway to Logan’s office, where the meeting would take place. Logan struggled to find his footing, the dull throbbing in his head and knees expanded tenfold as he tried to walk to the door. He felt Remus’ gaze on him, but he refused to turn back, afraid that he would just melt to the ground if he made eye contact. He walked past the threshold of the dining hall and the guards swung the door shut behind him.

Walking to the meeting felt like it took another three hours, though logically, Logan knew it had only been twenty minutes. Walking without his aids would’ve taken another forty at this rate and quite honestly, he was proud of the pace he was making.

What was admittedly awful about said twenty minutes was the amount of time it gave him to think.

Logan enjoyed thinking; it was practically his job to think. Cygnas remained the kingdom with the region’s largest library and it brought him never-ending joy to contribute to that collection. Studying and researching was a favorite pastime and the only thing he enjoyed about hosting events and having guests was the knowledge they would bring him about their homes and countries.

But this felt like something entirely different than the thinking he had come to enjoy and take pleasure in. This felt like a worry after worry compounding into itself, growing bigger and bigger until he felt like a small child in the middle of the eye of a storm.

His office door loomed in front of him and the pressure of thousands upon thousands of souls rested heavy on his shoulders. Memories of his sister and parents swirled around him, ghosts long since dead risen again for the sole sake of reminding him what lay before him should he fail. His vision swam and had he not been resting steady against his aids, he would have surely toppled over from the weight of his ancestors and their collective duty to protect his people placing itself on to him.

He motioned for the guard standing by the door to open it for him. There was no ominous creak as it opened, but Logan’s mind filled in the blanks.

Roman and Virgil sat across from each other in front of the fireplace, an antique tea set sitting between them. As Logan stepped inside, they both rose to their feet to greet him. “Good morning, King Virgil, Crown Prince Roman. I am glad to see you both here.”

Virgil bowed, a symbol of respect in Xious. Logan felt an odd lump developing in his throat, but he swallowed it down. Based on the growing look of offense on Roman’s face, Virgil had not given the crown prince the same honor. Roman simply shook his hand and preformed a rune in the air, with a motion to push it towards Logan, a standard Ticevan greeting of monarchs in a formal setting such as this.

Logan nodded his head towards the seats and motioned for Emile, who he just noticed was standing in the corner of the room, to gather the papers at his desk and bring them to where they were sitting. “Let us begin, shall we?”

Virgil and Roman resumed their original positions, while Logan took up the seat that was not usually there at the head of the coffee table. Emile poured him tea as Logan spread the documents across the table, handing each party a copy of the details they were there to discuss.

“Thank you for hosting this meeting and acting as a mediator, Your Majesty. It is quite the honor,” Roman said, glaring daggers at Virgil over the tops of the papers he was skimming. Virgil nodded in agreement, setting the papers to down to pick up his cup.

“I agree with Ticevas, and that is quite the thing to say, seeing as I don’t agree with Ticevas on much of anything at all.” Roman went red in the face and Logan saw the grip on the papers tighten as Virgil innocently sipped at his tea.

“It is my pleasure,” Logan said. “I simply want the best for my people and I have strong evidence to believe that this meeting will be fruitful for all parties involved.” Roman wrinkled his nose. Logan almost kicked him in the shin.

“I, for one, want this to be resolved. My advisors grow restless with me having been away for so long,” Virgil said. Logan furrowed his brow at the mention of the advisors. He was unsure of how much of the previous conversations between him and Virgil he wanted to bring up with Roman present, but he might ask if Virgil would be willing to discuss more in private.

That is, if everything went well today.

“If it is amenable to the both of you, I would like to begin with the meeting that took place two months ago, as of today.” Virgil went tense and Roman scowled. “It is to my understanding that neither of you were there at that meeting.”

“That is correct,” Roman said. “However, my brother was there and I trust his word.”

“Your Highness, we are not here to discuss the alleged threatening on either side,” Logan cut in. “If I wanted to do that, I would have let your two kingdoms go to war already.” Virgil snickered, hiding his laughter behind another sip of tea when Roman glared at him.

“I am simply stating my matter on the opinion,” the prince harumphed, crossing his arms.

“I was hoping-”

“I don’t think hope will get you much of anywhere,” Virgil snarked, still holding the cup to his mouth. Logan sighed, his headache beginning to spread to the middle of his head.

“Please, let me speak.” Virgil shrugged, but Logan could see him chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“The Ticevan land has been rented out to the kingdom of Xious for centuries. The rates of rent have always remained the same. Why are you asking for the rates to be changed, King Virgil?”

“My kingdom is in famine,” the boy said primly, jutting out his chin. “We need food and Ticevas has plenty to share.”

“Ticevas has been plenty generous with the land we’ve offered to you, we have no obligation to give more.”

“Xious offered for you to have the largest military this side of Capemin at your disposal in exchange for lowering the rates for five years, you cannot look me in the eye and say that we did not give you reason to accept our proposal.” Roman looked taken aback. Logan averted his eyes to the papers on the desk.

“I know Xiousians are a lot of things, but I didn’t know they were liars,” Roman said, almost conversationally. Virgil startled, looking slightly like an agitated feline.

“Your Highness,” Logan said warningly. Roman waved him off.

“No, no, this is bullshit-”

“Roman-”

“There was never such an offer and I am offended at the mere idea that we would even accept such a savage exchange.” Virgil’s eyes seemed to flash red.

“Savage? If I remember correctly, that land was ours in the first place, but you pushed my people out and forced them to run into the mountains where they barely survived-”

“-I resent this accusation-”

“I didn’t mean for you to enjoy being called a murderer, Crown-Prince Roman, that would be pretty savage if you did.”

“Logan, throw him out.” Roman turned suddenly to the older king. Logan looked at him over the top of his glasses, flitting back to Virgil who now had his arms crossed and looked five seconds away from storming out.

“No,” Logan said calmly. He saw Virgil blink in surprise. “I invited you both here for a civil conversation and so far, you are being anything but civil-”

“He started it-”

“-and you’re not even letting me finish my sentences.” Roman’s nostrils flared and his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“Is Cygnas not a Ticevan ally?” Logan looked nervously at Virgil, but the younger king avoided his gaze.

“Yes, but-”

“But nothing, Logan, you should be supporting me and tossing this riffraff out with the rest of his kind.”

“Your Highness, I will do no such thing.” Roman paused in his motions, unnervingly still.

“Fine.” Roman stood up. Virgil shrunk back and Logan became viscerally aware that this was not a private conversation between him and a friend about his temperament, but rather a political discussion over whether or not war would break out between their three countries. He had forgotten himself and now everything hung in the balance. “Ticevas officially removes herself from this meeting.”

“Roman, sit down,” Logan demanded, his voice calm even if his hands began to shake. “You don’t want this to go where you’re thinking.”

“Just because you have a soft spot for the boy doesn’t mean I do, Logan,” Roman seethed. “I don’t have to listen to you and I never have. I should have ignored you from day one, Logan. Valerie is dead. Deal with it.” Roman stalked out of the office, his sleek boots hitting the stone ground sounding like the din of a thousand soldiers marching on the city gates as the noise echoed around the room.

“Valerie?” a questioning voice came. Logan’s tunnel vision receeded slightly to accompany Virgil in his periphery. “That is my mother. You were friends- is that why I am here? Because you pity me?”

“No,” Logan ducked his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You- you don’t respect my country or my people, do you?” Logan’s shoulders scrunched forwards, the sheer anger in the child’s voice making even him panicky. It was all falling apart, all the diligent planning, all because he couldn’t handle the pressure of his sacred duty as king.

“If you would let me explain-”

“No! No, I don’t think I will, because you lied to me!” Virgil shouted, his chest heaving. Logan felt his anxiety crawl into his throat, squeezing his vocal folds shut.

“I never lied to you,” the older king croaked. “And none of this is about you being Valerie’s child, I assure you.” Virgil narrowed his eyes at him, any hint of the camaraderie they had developed over the past few days gone.

“You can’t prove that.” Logan swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

“When you showed up, my steward told me that I had the right not to speak with you, but you know, I know-” Logan cut himself off, trying to stave off panicked tears. “It was either speak to you or let my country burn to the ground, I had heard what Ticevas was warning me over and it wasn’t about manipulation, it was about protecting my people.” Virgil stared at him.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then how do I make you believe me?” Logan exclaimed. “How do I prove what is intangible? That just because Valerie is my sister does not mean that I wanted to control you and your kingdom?” Virgil paused.

“My mother was your sister?” he asked, the quiet room coming to a standstill. Logan’s face crumpled.

“Virgil-”

“My mother was your sister?” Virgil shouted, cutting Logan off. The older king sighed, his hands clenching around his knees.

“Yes, but-”

“If I die, you have a claim to the throne! You could take over!” Virgil said incredulously. Logan’s heartrate went through the roof. “Is there poison in my cup? An assassin laying just outside the room? Were the Ticevan disagreements just a ruse to get me here and kill me in my sleep?!” Logan shook his head.

“No, of course not, that would only harm my people, I want peace, Virgil-”

“No, I will not hear it, Xious will not hear it.” Virgil stalked over to the door, throwing it open. He looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with Logan. The burning hatred in his eyes made the older king feel faint. “This is war, Cygnas. You will have my kingdom over my dead body and I don’t intend on living this realm anytime soon.”

The door slamming shut behind Logan’s nephew sounded like an arrow from a firing squad hitting its mark, right in the center of his chest.

#logan sanders #remus sanders #ts big bang 2021 #virgil sanders #sanders sides #roman sanders #ts logan #ts remus #ts virgil #ts roman #sanders sides fic #tw war #tw internalized ableism #tw arranged marriages #tw bad parenting

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moonscriptsx · 4 years ago

Text

Constellations (M)

SUMMARY: He was the president of one of the most notorious fraternities on campus. You had expected him to be the same as his other brothers — a sex-crazed, binge drinking maniac; But the truth ended up surprising you — in more ways than one.

GENRE/WARNINGS: College!AU, Fratboy!Namjoon; slight angst due to a misunderstanding but for the most part it’s light hearted up until the smut. Includes Namjoon being the sweetest soul, the reader jumping to conclusions, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk, and protected sex.

WORDS: 10.2k.

A/N: Another repost from the vault. Namjoon is soft in this and so am I for him.

When you first pulled up to the university, you hadn't expected much. The things you saw on television seemed to be too dramatic, incredibly fictitious, and just completely barbaric. But within the first week of settling in your dorm room and getting to know those around your campus building, you realized that the crazy things on television were actually real. From the late night parties, to the fraternities and sororities, they all existed. While you were more for studying and actually wanting to pass school, you never minded attending a party every once in a while – unless they were thrown by the notorious frats that were littered along Greek Row. The fraternity parties were wild; beer overflowing from kegs as drunk college boys attempted to show their worth, drinking 'til it feels like their head is going to explode, along with girls swaying and stumbling all over the place as their friends try to help them walk in a straight line without puking their guts out from the liquid that the majority of them had no idea what it was.

You tried your best to stay far away from them, although that was hard considering that you were a member of Chi Omega (hey, just because you don't like fraternities doesn't mean you didn't enjoy the sisterhood that came along with being in a sorority -- and also the cheap rent), but it seemed as if luck was not on your side tonight. While you were an active member when it came to fundraising for the sorority, you tended to leave the after parties up to your fellow sisters, opting to be voted as the designated driver most of the time. But tonight – you were requested to join the party. Hana, the president of the sorority, had sought you out earlier in the day and all but demanded you to join in on the fun for once, and as a loyal sister of the sorority -- you didn't have much choice other than to accept the demand.

So here you were, a red solo cup in hand, watching your fellow sisters mingle with the various boys who littered the dance floor and frat house. You were never one for much dancing, so you opted to sit diligently on the red velvet couch, sipping from your cup every now and again. The deep bass from the music vibrated the walls of the house, sweaty bodies moving together in a grinding heap as they danced together. Your cheeks were flushed, partly from the alcohol you were consuming, but mostly from the raging temperatures that surrounded the air. Between the rising heat and the smell of liquor mixed with a hint of pot, you were ready for some fresh air. Exhaling quietly to yourself, you push yourself up from the couch and make your way to the balcony doors.

The moment the fresh night air breezed past your face, you sighed in contentment as you walked over to the bannister of the balcony. Surprisingly there were only a few party-goers occupying the deck; two guys were chatting amongst themselves with beers in their hand while they lounged on one of the deck chairs, and a couple was nestled together in another chair, their faces pressed tightly together. Turning your head away from the sight before you, you look at the night sky. The subtle twinkling of the stars make a small smile appear on your lips, a serene feeling washing over you as you stare up at the sky. It isn't until you notice a presence beside you do you finally snap out of your daze.

"It's a beautiful tonight, isn't it?"

Your head snaps to the right, your gaze settling on a dimpled grin, and wow -- he's fucking cute. Nodding you bite the inside of your lip, trying to contain yourself, as you look back towards the night sky.

"It sure is," you hum, resting your arms on the ledge. "The night sky is my favorite."

You feel the boy shift beside you and the wind blows just right that you catch a scent of his cologne, the fragrance wafting through the air and making your head spin in delight.

"Oh yeah?" He asks, his grin widening. "Why is that?"

Mirroring his grin you turn your head back to look at him, your shoulders shrugging as you rest your side against the ledge.

"There's so much more to see in the night sky than there is during the day. There's the stars, of course, and then there's the moon, and sometimes if you look in the right spot you can see the different constellations. Not to mention that looking for the big and little dippers is pretty exciting."

Smiling at your excitement, the boy nods in acknowledgement, his arms reaching to rest beside yours.

“I see your point," he muses, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

"Sorry," you chuckle bashfully. "I'm just really passionate about things like this. I'm majoring in astronomy and sometimes I just... I don't know, I just love the whole idea of learning about what's out there beyond what we're able to see, you know?"

The boy nods again, genuinely interested in your words.

"Definitely," he agrees. "I'm genuinely curious as to what's beyond the earth. Like are there different lifeforms on other planets? Or maybe there's an entirely new planet that we haven't even discovered yet."

"Exactly!" You exclaim. "That's the beauty of it all, isn't it? Being able to explore realms of the universe you never even thought to have existed?"

A deep chuckle resonates from the boy then, his brown eyes twinkling in the dull porch light, and you can't help but think that they're resembling that of the stars above you.

"Your excitement is cute," he flirts, making another pool of heat wash over your cheeks as you look away bashfully.

"Thanks," you reply meekly.

Straightening his posture, the boy reaches his arms above his head as he stretches, a gentle smile on his face as he leans against the ledge now.

"So what brings you to this party?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. "You don't seem like the type to be around this stuff."

Your face falls at that, eyebrows casting downwards in confusion, and you flinch back away from him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The boy blanches then, eyes widening as he furiously shakes his head.

"No, no! I didn't mean it in a bad way!" He clarifies, taking a step towards you. "I just meant that – fuck, I don't know what I'm trying to say."

A groan emits from his lips as he covers his face with his hands, his embarrassed state making you giggle quietly as you reach out to pat him on the shoulder.

"It's okay," you laugh. "I know what you meant."

Breathing a sigh of relief, he drops his hands from his face as he looks at you, a sheepish smile forming on his plump lips.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "I get flustered a little bit when I'm around beautiful girls like you. But, if it helps, I'm not that big on parties either."

Another wave of heat flushes your cheeks and you have to bite the inside of your lip as you turn to glance in front of you, your gaze settling on the darkened road ahead of you.

"I came here with my sisters tonight," you say quietly. "They told me that I spend too much time being the designated driver for them and that I should be the one to have fun tonight – so here I am."

Tilting his head to the side, the boy sends you a confused look.

"Sisters?"

You laugh, nodding.

"My sorority sisters," you grin. "They're the ones who made me come tonight."

An impressed look falls over his face then, lips pressing into a line as he nods.

"Ah, I see," he chuckles quietly. "So you're a sorority girl, huh?"

Raising a hand in the air, you grin sheepishly.

"Chi Omega," you giggle. "I'm (Y/N), by the way."

"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he smiles, and you feel butterflies flutter in your stomach. "I'm --"

"Joon-ah!"

The drunken slur falls from a boy stumbling out of the doorway, a wide grin spread across his lips as he makes his way over to the pair of you. A snapback adorns the drunkards head, a colorful t-shirt on his torso paired with skin-tight black jeans on his muscular legs. You watch as he slings an arm around the other boy's shoulders, an overwhelming stench of tequila hitting your nose as he breathes out.

"You're missing the party, man!" He slurs, his glazed-over eyes falling on you. "Damn, who's the babe?"

Gritting your teeth, you watch as Namjoon pushes his friend's arm off of his shoulder.

"Go inside, Hobi. I'll be there in a few."

Namjoon's words seemed to please his drunken friend, Hoseok beaming gleefully as he pats his friend on the shoulder before throwing a wink at you.

"Hope to see you inside, too, beautiful," he slurs. "Meet ya in there, prez!"

The two of you watch as Hoseok stumbles away, the drunken boy all but clambering inside of the frat house with a loud cheer. By this point you can feel the anger begin to boil in the pit of your stomach, your teeth gritting as your lips press into a thin line. Namjoon doesn't seem to notice your angry state as a sheepish smile forms on the president's lips, a hand running through his tousled locks as he sighs.

"Sorry 'bout that," he apologizes. "He can be a handful sometimes. I'm --"

"Kim Namjoon."

His name falls from your lips with an icy tone, your eyes glazing over with anger as a shocked look crosses his features.

"You know who I am?" He asks, and you chuckle humorlessly.

"Of course I do," you spit out. "You're the fucking president of Sigma Chi, how could I not know you?"

Namjoon blinks, your harsh tone startling him, and he frowns as you step away from him when he moves closer to you.

"Are you alright?" He asks with concern, and you scoff.

"Am I alright?" You retort, rolling your eyes. "Let me ask you something, Namjoon --"

His name falls from your lips with such venom it makes the boy shiver, a visible wince falling over his features as your eyes narrow into a glare.

"Did my sisters put you up to this?" You ask harshly, crossing your arms over your chest. "Did they tell you that they thought I needed to get laid or something? Is that what this is?"

Namjoon immediately panics; the boy's eyes widening as he furiously shakes his head.

"No!" He says quickly. "God, no! I didn't even know that --"

"Bullshit," you spat out. "I can't believe this. I honestly thought I had found a decent guy who was intellectually interested in me only to find out he's the fucking president of this fucking frat house."

Namjoon is still in panic mode as he watches you make your way to the door, the boy clambering to get to your side as he grabs your arm.

"Wait, (Y/N)!" He calls out, and you spin around to snatch your arm out of his grip. "I honestly didn't know."

You shake your head, one hand on the doorknob, and you inhale sharply as you throw one last glance towards him.

"Tell it to someone who cares, Namjoon," opening the door, you make a move to walk inside before you stop short. "Tell my sisters I went home."

And with that, you angrily slip through the door and make your way out of the house, ready to forget all about this disaster of a night.

The brisk morning air whips past you as you walk down the road, your body shivering underneath the light jacket you wore. It was a little past eight in the morning and you were headed to your first class of the day – Physics. Just the thought of the class made you grimace, an unwelcomed feeling enveloping you as you walk along the concrete. While you held passion for your major, the requirements that came along with it weren't the most favorable. You would much rather look through a telescope that showed you the worlds beyond the stars than to read about them in an old, hefty textbook. It's always been like that for you; ever since you were younger, you learned so much more from doing things rather than reading about them. The information you got about actually doing experiments helped you with your studies so much more than text on a page ever could.

Heaving a sigh, you shove your hands into the pocket of your jacket, the view of the university coming into your eyesight as you round the campus grounds. Just as you reached the courtyard, a loud voice from behind you calls out your name.

"(Y/N)!"

A feeling of irritation and anger fills your body at the familiarity of the voice, your lips pressing into a thin line as you turn around to give the boy a pointed look.

"What?" You ask harshly, eyes narrowing into slits as you glare at him. Namjoon flinches at your tone, the boy visibly grimacing, and he stops walking when he's beside you.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" He asks, panting slightly, and you wonder if he had been following you this whole time.

"Now's not a good time, Namjoon," you dismiss. "I'm going to be late for class."

You make a move to turn around but you stop short when you feel his hand enclose around your wrist, your body freezing up at his touch. Electric shocks run through your body as his warm hand wraps around yours, your head whipping around to meet the gleaming brown of his eyes. His gaze is warm, friendly almost, and there's a shadow of a smile gracing his plump lips before his tongue runs along them. There's a white t-shirt adorning his long torso, black ripped skinny jeans hugging his legs, and a black snapback placed on his head. He's the definition of a frat boy, you note, but you can't help but admire how fucking good he looks.

"Please," he says quietly, fingers sweeping softly across the skin of your palm before he drops your hand. "Just, please... Hear me out."

You snap out of your daze then, your head shaking as you step back from him.

"What's there to hear, Namjoon?" You ask coldly. "You were never truly interested in me. You just wanted to get laid."

Namjoon shakes his head, the boy taking a step closer to you only making you step further back.

"That's not it at all, (Y/N)," he denies, but you roll your eyes.

"Try as hard as you might, Namjoon. You're not going to convince me that the other night wasn't planned by one of our friends."

With that you spin around on your heel and make your way towards the campus, Namjoon's shouts of your name fading with every step you took.

Between the sound of buttons being pressed on a keyboard and the quiet whispers of the people around you, frustration pooled in your body as you stared down at your textbook. You had a test tomorrow and you were trying -- keyword trying – to study, but every little thing was becoming distracting. Whether it was the sound of someone walking out of the library or even a small cough, you just couldn't focus on your textbook. Heaving out a sigh, you cradle your face in your hands as you lean down against the table, a quiet groan emitting from you as you rest against the textbook. From across the table you hear a soft chuckle, a hand coming to rest on your head as fingers slide through your locks.

"You alright, girl?" Hana asks, a grin on her face. Another groan falls from your lips as you lift your head to look at her, a frown on your lips.

"No," you grit, glaring down at your textbook. "I can't fucking focus."

She snorts then, a smirk on her lips as she leans forward on her elbows.

"Something on your mind?" She asks coyly, raising an eyebrow. "Or should I say – someone?"

You frown, confusion floating across your features, and your head tilts slightly as you lean back against the chair.

"No," you retort. "Why do you say that?"

The smirk on her face widens as she shrugs nonchalantly, fingers twisting together as she rests them on the table.

"A little birdie told me that they saw you and a certain Kim Namjoon getting cozy outside at Sigma Chi's party last Saturday."

You grimace at her words, the anger from that night and this morning beginning to bubble from the pit of your stomach, and you glare at her from across the table. Closing your textbook you lean back and sigh, frustration spilling from your pores.

"We weren't getting cozy," you clarify, rolling your eyes. "We were just talking. And besides, nothing happened. We were obviously set up, anyways."

Her eyebrows cast downwards, face scrunching up in confusion, and she's giving you a pointed look.

"What do you mean?" She asks, and you shrug.

"I mean, someone from our house probably set it up for him to go talk to me. You all think I need to get out more and talk to guys so I'm willing to bet that one of you sent him to me."

Hana frowns at that, hurt flashing across her features.

"(Y/N), none of us would ever do that. Sure we bug you about not going on dates with guys but we know well enough not to set you up with someone you don't even know."

She has a point, you think to yourself.

A sly smile forms on Hana's lips then, the girl sliding back against her seat as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"If it helps," she says coyly. "Namjoon keeps asking about you."

That catches your attention.

Lifting your head so that you're looking at her, Hana smirks widely as she watches your reaction. He's been asking about you? What does that even mean? There's no way that's true... Right?

"What do you mean asking about me? And how did you even see him?"

"First off, he's in my English Literature class. The dude's a fucking genius, okay, apparently he has an IQ of 148 or some shit like that. Not to mention he's the top student in the class... Anyways, after lecture was over he came up to me and asked if I knew you, and when I said I did he asked how you were doing. Like, he was genuinely concerned he had done something wrong... I can understand why, though, you're a tough one to crack."

Rolling your eyes at her comment, you scoff playfully.

"I'm not that tough," you mutter, and you snorts.

"(Y/N), you thought one of us set him up to find you. You're a tough bitch."

Her words send both of you giggling, the librarian in the corner of the room sending the two of you death glares as you snicker. Once you've calmed down, you're shaking your head and leaning forward on your elbows, a frown on your face.

"I just --" you begin, licking your lips subconsciously. "I really did click with him. He listened to me ramble on about the stars and constellations and he acted like he was genuinely interested... But what if he isn't?"

Hana's face softens at your words, her hand reaching forward to grab onto yours as an encouraging smile graces her lips.

"You never know if you don't try, sweetheart. If there was a connection between the two of you, then go for it. What do you have to lose?"

You grin at her words, your grip on her hand tightening as you giggle quietly.

"I should date you instead," you say playfully, making Hana flick her hair off her shoulder.

"I'm awesome, I know," she jokes. "If it doesn't work out with Namjoon, hit me up. I'm single."

The two of you fall into another fit of giggles then, you shaking your head at your friend's antics before turning back to your book and going back to studying.

It was a little past three in the afternoon when you finally stepped out of the campus building, successfully finishing your last class of the day. The feeling of freedom wracked your body and you're grinning happily when the cool afternoon breeze whips past you, a much better feeling as opposed to the chill you felt this morning. The sky was a crisp blue color, not a cloud in sight, and you couldn't be any happier than you were at that moment. But as you were walking in the direction of Greek Row, a figure resting underneath the big oak tree in the courtyard caught your attention.

The white t-shirt, black ripped skinny jeans, and the black snapback told you who resided underneath the oak. Your heart sped up as you examined the boy's figure; he had a book in his hands, his head bobbing to some unknown tune, and he was focused solely on the text that was in his hands. He looked peaceful, studious almost, and you can feel butterflied start to flutter wildly in your stomach as you watched him turn the page. Hana's words from earlier rung in your head, the encouragement she gave you was beginning to overcome you, and the next thing you knew you were walking towards the boy without a second thought.

You can feel your nerves shoot right up your body as you stand in front of him, his head lifting from his book as he looks up at you. Shock is written in his features as his gaze settled on your face, his mouth almost falling open before he catches himself. Instantly he's marking the page he was on and placing the book by his side, Namjoon all but scrambling up against the tree as he sits upright.

"(Y/N)," he chokes out, sending a smile your way. "Hey."

Offering him a small smile, you gesture towards the empty spot next to him.

"Mind if I sit?" You ask quietly, and he shakes his head furiously.

"No!" He exclaims, eyes widening. "I mean -- go ahead."

Grinning at him, you push away the nerves as you plop down next to him on the ground. The feeling of his clothed legs gently brushing your bare ones makes your breath hitch slightly, the friction of his clothes making heat pool in your body and you're swallowing thickly as you look at him. Seeing him in the daylight, and actually paying attention to his features, you realize just how handsome he really is. With full, plump lips, warm brown eyes that glimmered with mischief, and a pair of dimples that melted your heart – he was fucking beautiful.

Licking your lips, you twist your hands together in your lap as you break your gaze from him, instead opting to look ahead of you at the plethora of students exiting the building. You can feel Namjoon's gaze on you, a frown on your lips, and you let out a sigh as you lean back against the bark of the tree.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, looking guiltily at the ground. Namjoon's eyebrows furrow in confusion, the boy shifting his body so that he's facing you.

"For what?"

"For not believing you."

Turning your head, you meet his gaze and smile apologetically at him. His lips are parted, a small amount of shock clear on his features before he's snapping out of it and waving a hand at you.

"Don't worry about it," he dismisses. "I understood where you were coming from. It's alright."

Shaking your head at him, you place a gentle hand on his.

"But it's not," you say quietly. "I jumped to conclusions and assumed something I shouldn't have. So... I'm sorry."

Chuckling lowly under his breath, Namjoon's gaze drifts down to your hand on his and he lets a small smirk cross his lips before he's lifting his gaze and looking at you with mischief glinting in his eyes.

"If you really want to make it up to me," he says playfully, nudging your shoulder gently. "You can come out with me on Friday night."

Your heart speeds up at that, lips pressing together as you try to contain yourself, and you bashfully look away from him as you feel heat rise to your cheeks. It was funny to think that just a few hours ago you were so irked by him, the anger from last Saturday still evident in your system, but ever since you talked to Hana... You had mulled over the possibilities of actually giving the boy a chance, just one chance, to see if he was actually the boy you hoped he'd be. And now that he's sitting in front of you, saying these words... You decided to throw caution to the wind and take him up on his offer.

"Okay," you murmur, making Namjoon's eyes widen.

"Wait, really?!" He asks, excitement coating his tone. You smile at him and nod, your hand tightening around his as you nudge his shoulder playfully.

"Really."

The rest of the week seemed to pass by within the blink of an eye and before you knew it, you were getting ready to go out with Namjoon. Anticipation mixed with a slight panic filled your body as you stood in front of the full length mirror, your gaze casting over your reflection as you let out a heavy sigh. From beside you there's a low whistle, Hana's face coming into view as she steps beside you. Her gaze runs down your body as she nods in acknowledgement, her hands clapping together as she grins.

"Girl," she says, poking your side. "You look good."

Wearily you turn your head to look at her, your teeth chewing nervously on the inside of your lip.

"You think?" You ask, worry coating your tone. She scoffs, pushing you closer to the mirror so you can fully see yourself.

"Hell yes!" She exclaims. "Girl, look at yourself. You look hot!"

Your weary gaze glances towards the mirror, your eyes raking up and down your body as you scan your appearance. Due to the chilly weather, you had opted to wear a black sweater that had a lace trim, dark blue skinny jeans that seemed to hug your legs in all the right places, and a pair of lace-up boots. While the outfit was simple, you certainly looked a lot better than you usually did. And although you admit that you looked good, you still couldn't shake the nerves that wracked your body. Hana must have noticed your state because she's letting out a sigh as she grabs a hold of your shoulders and turning you to look at her, her expression stern.

"Listen to me, (Y/N)," she says, looking you dead in the eye. "You are beautiful, you are smart, you are funny. He's already pretty smitten with you, by the looks of it, and tonight is only going to further his feelings for you. There is absolutely nothing to worry about, okay?"

Just as you nod to acknowledge her words, the doorbell of the sorority house rings and you feel your shoulders tense up. Hana grins as she pushes you towards the door (not before giving you a smack on the ass out of encouragement) and whispering 'good luck' to you as you make your way to the door. Grasping a hold of the handle, you suck in a breath before turning the knob and opening the door. The sight of Namjoon's smiling face comes into view and you can feel your breath hitch in your throat as your gaze settles on him.

Adorned in all black from head to toe stood Namjoon, a bouquet of a dozen red roses in his hands. His honey brown hair is styled off of his forehead, the usual snapback missing, and god, he looks so fucking good. He's grinning from ear to ear as he looks at you, the roses being held out for you to take, and he's wrapping an arm around your waist before he leans in to press his plump lips to your cheek.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs against your skin, and jesus christ, you swear you've died and gone to heaven.

A wave of heat flushes your cheeks as you take the roses from his hands, a bashful smile dancing across your lips as you watch him draw back from you.

"Thank you," you murmur, taking his hand in yours. "You look very handsome."

His grin only widens at your compliment, the grip on your hand tightening.

"You ready to go?" He asks, and you nod with a quiet hum.

Wordlessly he's pulling you off of the doorstep and down past the entrance gate, his cherry red Mustang coming into view. You mutter a small 'thank you' to him when he opens the door for you, his hand never leaving yours until you're seated comfortably, before he's making his way over to the driver's side and sliding in next to you. Revving up the engine, he takes your hand in his once more before driving away.

The nerves that you had felt before the date were completely gone. Instead you felt giddy, happiness overflowing through your body as you sat and chatted idly with the boy driving. And while you were still slightly on edge – only because he had yet to tell you where the two of you were going -- you were comfortable. His hand was tightly clasped yours over the center console, the soft hum of music echoing around the car as he pulls into an abandoned parking lot. You quirk an eyebrow at your surroundings, casting a curious glance over towards the boy who was now parking the car and unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Where are we?" You ask, making Namjoon grin.

"You'll see," he retorts, and you playfully poke his side.

"Is this where you kill me?" You ask jokingly, Namjoon's grin widening as he retaliates and pokes your side.

"How could I ever kill someone as beautiful as you?"

The comment makes your face flush for what seems like the millionth time since you met him, and you're wordlessly unbuckling your seatbelt before making a move to open the door, however, Namjoon had made it there before you could even grasp the handle. Holding his hand out for you to take (which you graciously did), he helps you out of the car and slides his fingers between the empty spaces of yours. The chilly night air makes you shiver slightly, your body reflexively molding closer to Namjoon's as the two of you walk out into the empty field. The grass crackles beneath your boots, and you're silently thanking yourself for not choosing Hana's option for heels, before Namjoon moves behind you.

You feel his hands come up behind you before covering your eyes, your vision growing black as he squeezes his fingers closed. You can feel his hot breath on your neck, the sensation making your skin flare up in goosebumps, and then his soothing voice is filling your ears, only furthering the bumps along your flesh.

"No peeking, okay?" He orders, and you nod.

"Okay..." You say meekly.

You trust him as he guides you, your hands coming up to rest on his, and you're slowly sinking into the warmth of his body as he walks you further into the clearing. But then he's coming to a halt, his fingers slipping between yours once more, and he's leaning down to press his mouth to your ear.

"You can look now, beautiful."

Gently he takes your hands, your vision slowly coming back to you as he removes his from your face, and you can feel your breath catch in your throat at the sight before you. There's a blanket laid out on the grass, a basket placed on top of it -- but that wasn't the best part. Beside the blanket, he had set up a long, silver telescope that was angled towards the night sky. Your heart swelled in your chest at the sight, and you swore you could kiss him right then and there... But before you could he's taking your hand and leading you towards the blanket, a sheepish smile on his lips as the two of you sit down onto the checkered cloth.

"Is it too much?" He asks, rubbing the back of his neck. You shake your head furiously, eyes wide in amazement.

"No," you breath out. "It's fucking amazing."

Chuckling at your choice words, Namjoon reaches forward to grab a bowl out of the basket, the boy uncovering the plate before fishing out two pairs of chopsticks.

"It's not much," he says sheepishly. "But I'm a terrible cook and kimchi is really the only thing I know how to make."

Giggling at him, you graciously take one of the chopsticks before digging in. The moment the food hits your mouth, you have to fight back a groan at the delicious taste. Instead you opt for humming appreciatively, your head nodding in acknowledgement as you grab another mouthful of food. From beside you, Namjoon lets out a deep chuckle, eyes shining brightly with the soft glow of the moonlight.

"You're so cute," he hums, reaching forward to grab his own mouthful of food. Bashfully you look down at the blanket, heat pooling over your cheeks.

"You know," you murmur, lifting your gaze to meet his. "I'm pretty sure you've made me blush more than a hundred times since I've met you."

Namjoon grins at that, the boy leaning back to rest his hands against the blanket.

"Maybe that was my goal," he winks. "Maybe I think you're extra cute when you blush."

You huff at that, a playful smile gracing your lips as you mirror his actions and lean back against the blanket.

"I'm not that cute," you mutter, making Namjoon scoff.

"Oh please!" He exclaims, leaning over to poke your side. "You're the cutest fucking person I've ever met."

Groaning you drop back so that your body is resting fully on the blanket now, your hands moving to cover your face as embarrassment fills you.

"Shut up," you deadpan, and Namjoon only chuckles.

"That just furthered my point, beautiful. You're fucking cute."

Removing your hands from your face, you turn your head so that you're looking up at him, the boy almost glowing in the dim moonlight. There's a bright smile on his face, dimples protruding, and you're smiling gleefully at him as you reach over to take his hand in yours.

"Tell me about you," you murmur, tangling your fingers with his. Namjoon hums, his gaze focused on your entwined hands.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

Clicking his tongue, Namjoon pushes the basket away with his free hand before maneuvering his body so that he's laying next to you. Bringing your joined hands to his chest, he rests them there comfortably as he turns his head to look at you.

"Alright. Where do you want me to begin?"

"Hmm," you hum quietly, your forehead gently pressing against his. "How about your fraternity?"

Nodding at your words, Namjoon brings you closer to him before he begins speaking.

"Well," he starts, fingers idly playing with yours. "For starters, I never even wanted to be president in the first place. My brother had gone to the same university as me, he graduated after my first year of college, and he had been the president of Sigma Chi. He was your typical frat brother, if I'm honest," he chuckles, shaking his head. "He lived for all of the parties and shit like that. All of his friends practically worshiped him. And when he graduated, I guess they all assumed that I was the same as him so they elected me as their president. I think they regret it, though, because while I do love partying from time to time, I like my studies a lot more."

You nod in acknowledgement, your hand tightening in his as you offer him a smile.

"What's your major?" You ask quietly, and Namjoon beams.

"I'm a double major, actually," he replies sheepishly. "English Literature and Creative Writing."

Your eyebrows raise at that, shock flashing over your features as you nod, impressed.

"Really?" You ask, and he nods.

"Really," he affirms.

"What made you double up?"

He shrugs, fingers twisting idly in yours, as he turns his head up to look at the sky.

"You know how Astronomy is your passion?" You nod, gesturing for him to go on. "Well writing is mine. Whether it's me reading other people's writing or creating my own, I love it. Being able to set my ideas or thoughts down onto paper is just so... Liberating to me. There's so much freedom I'm given when it comes down to it and I love it. Being able to write about something you love or are interested in makes me feel like I have the whole world in my hands, like there's so many topics I can touch upon, y'know? And as for the literature part of it... I love books. I love being able to read a book and decipher what the writer is trying to express through their writing. I've always loved books. When I was younger, my mother used to sit next to me in bed and read me to sleep. It was my favorite part of the day."

You can't help but let a smile grace on your lips at his words, your gaze watching the way his eyes light up at the mention of writing and books, and you swear that there was nothing more endearing than watching this boy talk about what he loves the most. And then he's turning his head towards you, your joined hands being pulled up to his lips as he places a soft kiss on the back of yours, before he's smiling at you.

"What about you, beautiful?" He asks. "What's your story?"

The smile never leaves your lips as you shift closer to him, your head resting against his, before you let out a sigh of content.

"Well, you already know about my love for Astronomy," you grin. "When I was younger, my dad took me and my brother to the Space Museum in D.C. and I swear I have never seen more beautiful things than I did there. There were so many displays of the different stars and constellations, and not to mention the pretty badass displays of the galaxy and planets. But I think the moment I knew I wanted to learn more about it was when we entered the Planetarium, the moon shining brightly, and the way all of the planets were set up... The galaxy is huge, and I knew there was so much more to learn about it than just the planets and stars -- so I decided to pursue that."

Namjoon nods, listening intently to you with a smile on his face.

"As for the sorority," you hum, shrugging your shoulders. "This might sound really bad but I had originally only joined because it was much cheaper to live on Greek Row than in an actual dorm room."

Choking back a laugh, Namjoon's grin widens as he tugs your hand closer to him.

"Are you serious?" He asks, amused, to which you nod.

"Listen," you poke his chest. "I would much rather spend my money on living with a bunch of girls who think that breaking a nail is the worst thing that could ever happen to them than having to share a dorm room with someone who hates people. And besides, I love it now. After learning about all the activities we get to do, I've grown to love both the sorority and my fellow sisters. Helping to raise money for different charities as well as fundraising for the school really gives someone a good perspective on life."

Nodding, he hums in appreciation.

"That part I understand," he says quietly. "It always feels better helping those who need someone to lean on."

"Absolutely," you agree wholeheartedly.

Silence falls over the pair of you then, the two of you relishing in each other's company you your gaze casts to the sky above you. The dark sky is illuminated with millions of tiny stars, each one twinkling, some noticeably brighter than others. Between the stars glimmering like diamonds in the sky and the pale moonlight, you couldn't help but let a feeling of content wash over you as you melt into Namjoon's side.

"The stars are beautiful tonight," you murmur. Namjoon hums in agreement.

"They are," he nods. "But not nearly as beautiful as you."

Your head turns to look at him as he grins widely at you, the boy pushing himself up off of the ground before taking your hand and pulling you up with him. Wordlessly he's bringing you over to the telescope that stood on the grass, perfectly angled so that he was able to show you something he had discovered only a few days ago.

"I brought you here so I could show you something," he says quietly, taking your hand and pulling you over to the eyepiece.

He gestures for you to take a peek, which you excitedly do, as you lean down and close one eye to see through the lens. Immediately you're met with an asterism of stars, your mouth falling open when you realize what he had wanted to show you; the Big Dipper. Shifting to the right just a tad, you can see the bright, shimmering light emitting from the North Star, the sight alone being the most beautiful thing you've ever witnessed before in your life. You can feel Namjoon shift nervously beside you, your head lifting from the telescope as you look at him.

"That's the Big Dipper, right?" He asks, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I wasn't sure if it was or not and I didn't want to end up being the world's biggest idiot --"

His words stop short when you fling your arms around his neck and pull him tightly to you, your face dropping to rest in the crook of his neck as you hug him tightly. Instantly regaining his composure he's sliding his arms around your waist and tugging you close to him, a shy smile spreading across his lips as you lift your head to beam happily at him.

"Thank you," you say quietly, to which Namjoon nods.

"Anytime, beautiful."

It's a little past midnight when Namjoon pulls up in front of Chi Omega, dazed smiles on both yours and his faces as the two of you step out of the car. His hand is tightly entwined with yours as the two of you walk past the entrance gate and up the stairs leading to the house. Your heart feels like it's going to beat out of your chest as you face him, your teeth chewing on the inside of your lip as you try to calm yourself down. Bashfully your gaze drops to the porch steps, the smile that you tried to contain from spreading across your lips finally making it's way to the light as you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

"I had a great time tonight," you say earnestly, finally lifting your gaze to meet the warm one of Namjoon's. The boy grins, his hands taking both of yours as he brings them up to his lips to press a soft kiss to them.

"Me too," he admits.

Silence falls over the two of you then as you stand there underneath the dim light of the porch, your gaze never breaking from his, and you can feel the butterflies fluttering wildly in the pit of your stomach as Namjoon begins to lean in towards you. For just a moment you feel a flash of panic strike through you, but that feeling is quickly washed away with sheer, utter, happiness as you finally feel his lips press against yours, and god, they were just as soft as you imagined they would be. Sighing against his mouth, you push yourself up on your toes as a way to get closer to him while your mouth moves slowly against his. It's not rushed, there's no harsh movements, and the way his lips are moving languidly against yours is enough to make your head spin, your brain feeling as if it's going to explode the second you pull away.

You're panting as your eyes flutter open, your gaze meeting the smiling face of Namjoon, and you let out a sigh of content as he pulls you closer to his body.

"I have a confession to make," he says quietly, lifting one hand to rest softly on the side of your face. "I knew who you were the night of the party -- but not because of what you thought."

Confusion filters through your body then, your eyebrows casting downwards as your face scrunches up.

"Freshman orientation," he begins, pulling your body flush against his. "I bumped into the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She had a constellation backpack and a timid look on her face, I knew she had just started school here too. I was going to apologize for ever so rudely bumping into her because I wasn't watching where I was going but the moment I turned back around to do so, she was gone. And then I saw her again -- during rush week."

Realization had swept over you then, his story beginning to click in your head, and you let a small smile grace across your lips at his words.

"I thought fate had brought me back to you," he chuckles quietly, shaking his head. "But now I realized that it wasn't fate -- it was the constellations in the sky. I thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, (Y/N), hell – you still are -- and the night at the party... I took that as my chance to finally take my shot and get to know you, so I did."

By the end of his story, you're grinning like the Cheshire Cat. The moment his words flitter through the air, you're pulling him back down to your mouth and kissing him fervently. Humming against your lips, Namjoon's grip on your waist tightens as you tilt your head, deepening the kiss. His tongue pushes past the seam of your lips before finding yours, the sensation making both you and him groan into each other's mouths as he walks you backwards. You don't even notice that he has you pressed back against the wall until his hand is cautiously wrapping around your thigh before he hooks it around his hip, your lower bodies pressing together as he groans against your mouth.

"I should go," he mutters against your lips. "Or else I'm not going to be able to stop myself."

You break away from his mouth then, his beestung lips stained red from the intensity of the kiss, and you can't help but smirk at the sight as you tug him closer to you. Slowly you let your hips roll into his, the action drawing the sweetest, most guttural groan from the boy's throat as you lean up to press your mouth to his ear.

"I don't want you to stop," you whisper.

That was enough for him.

Wordlessly he's crashing his mouth back onto yours, his hand now reaching for your other thigh before he's hoisting you up onto his waist before blindly reaching out and opening the door to the sorority house. It's almost pitch black inside, save for the lamp in the entryway, and Namjoon is pulling away from you so he can adjust to his surroundings.

"Where is your room?" He breathes out, and you grin at his breathless composure.

"Up the stairs and to the right. I don't have a roommate, so..."

You let your words drift off at the end as you send a dirty smirk towards Namjoon, the boy growling as he all but slams his lips against yours. Tongues and teeth clash together in a messy battle as the two of you blindly go up the stairs, nothing but the feeling of each other's hands and lips on both of your minds. The moment you're locked safe inside the confinements of your bedroom, you're leaping towards him and pulling him over to your bed. Somewhere in the mass of falling between the sheets, your sweater and his jacket had been discarded, the articles of clothing falling into a mindless heap on the floor as his body crawls over yours.

There's a look of hunger deep within the chestnut eyes of his, a primal look crossing his features as his hands slide up the length of your torso. Plump lips kiss along the edge of your jaw, teeth gently nipping at your skin every now and again, and Namjoon can't help but let out a quiet growl when his hands cup over your clothed breasts.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby," he grits out, hips rolling into yours and drawing a moan from your lips.

Arching your back, you help guide Namjoon's hand to the back of you so that he has more room to unclasp your bra (which he does in the speed of light), before he's breaking his lips from your skin and enveloping them around the mound of your breast. Heat pools within your lower stomach as his hot, wet tongue swirls around your pert nipple, your chest instinctively arching into him while his hand fondles the other. He's humming against you, the sound reverberating against your chest, and you can feel the gentle poke of his arousal against your jean-clad thigh as your hips lift up to roll harshly into his.

"Namjoon," you breathe out, causing the boy to smirk wildly against your skin.

Wordlessly he's switching his mouth over to the other breast, his hand fondling with the one he had just abandoned, while his free hand travels down the length of your body to rest just above the hem of your jeans. Letting out a whine when you feel his mouth leave your breast, you reach down to unbutton his pants when he catches your wrist. Bringing it up above your head, he pins it there as he smirks from above you.

"And what do you think you're doing?" He asks, coyly, making you whine again.

"I want to pleasure you too, Joon," you pout, making Namjoon chuckle.

The hand that was resting right above the hem of your jeans now slid over the brass button that held them together, long slender digits popping it open as he mouths at your flesh.

"Not tonight, baby girl," he murmurs against your skin. "We can deal with that another time, but right now I want to focus on you."

And with that, he's sliding the jeans down your legs and tossing them into a heap on the floor. Slithering back up your body, his eyes rake over every inch and curvature, the boy licking his lips in anticipation as he smirks widely at your breathless form. Letting the tip of his finger gently graze along the flesh of your collarbone, Namjoon slides it down to the valley between your breasts, swirling the digit around the circular shape of your belly button before letting it run along the hem of your panties. A devilish smirk is dancing across his lips as you let out another whine, the fabric covering your core becoming more and more itchy and uncomfortable with each graze of his finger.

Your hands are twisted in his honey locks, a whimper falling from your lips as Namjoon finally pulls the dreaded material down your legs. You suck in a harsh breath when the cool air hits your core, a moan slipping from your mouth as you buck up into Namjoon's touch. The soft caress of his fingers against your folds are enough to send your head reeling, your eyes squeezing shut as he teasingly slides the digit along your core.

"Namjoon," you whine, bucking your hips up once more. "Fuck, can you touch me – please?"

Chuckling at your begging, Namjoon abides by your words, slowly sliding one digit between your folds. The sound that escapes your throat makes his cock twitch painfully in his pants, his eyes darting up to see your form arched upwards, a look of pleasure and relief on your face as you moan out his name. Your reaction only fuels the fire inside of him, the boy curling the digit upwards inside of you, effectively making another loud moan slip past your lips.

"Does that feel good, baby girl?" He asks, already knowing the answer. The only response he receives is a moan of pleasure, the boy chuckling once more as he tilts his head in mock confusion. "What was that, baby? Use your words, beautiful."

A whine escapes you as he teases, your hand tugging harshly at his honey locks while your hips roll into his hand.

"God," you pant, your body heating up with every stroke of his finger. "God, Joon, it feels so fucking good."

At your words, he manages to slip in a second digit, this time curling both of them upwards in your slick heat. He's knuckle deep, now, and your body twinges with pleasure as you feel him brush against a spot that makes your eyes squeeze shut and your toes curl.

"Oh -- fuck!"

Your response makes the boy hum softly, his next movements drawing the loudest moan to emit from your throat. Plump lips wrap around your sensitive bud, loud, lewd sucks emitting from Namjoon's mouth as he laps at your clit. The sensation he's making you feel – between the harsh flicks of his tongue and the curving movements of his fingers -- is so much more than what any guy before him could do. While the guys you had slept with before were mostly drunken mistakes, full of messy kisses and confused movements, Namjoon was anything but. There was a hidden passion in his movements, a sense of adventure and excitement that came with every touch or kiss. He was art in the form of a man, he was a star on earth – and now he was yours.

Feeling the familiar sensation of pleasure contracting in your lower body, you're gripping harshly onto his locks while your hips lift off of the bed and roll into his face.

"Fuck, I'm coming!"

Your shout echoes around the bedroom, pleasure overwhelming your body as your release washes over you. Namjoon's tongue is still lapping away at your clit, his fingers helping to milk your release, and he hums happily against your mound before he pulls away with a grin. Slowly your eyes flutter open, your blurry vision focusing on the glistening chin of the boy in front of you, and you can't help but lick your lips at the sight. Tugging his head forward, you gesture for him to come up to you with a small whine.

"Joonie," you pant out. "I need you."

Your words draws another painful twitch from Namjoon's cock, his hips almost jerking at the sound of your voice, but he keeps his composure.

"What do you need, baby girl?" He asks coyly, smirking devilishly at you.

Tugging at the fabric of his shirt, you motion for him to take it off as you arch your back off of the bed.

"I need you to fuck me."

The second those words are falling from your mouth, Namjoon lets out a deep, feral growl before he's slithering up your body. Carelessly reaching behind his neck, he grips the material of his shirt and hauls it over his head. You barely have enough time to admire his body before he's leaning down and crashing his lips against yours. Mewling at the contact, you rake your nails down the length of his back while he works on getting his pants off, the boy moving eagerly now. He pulls back just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his cock straining against his briefs before he leans down to pepper kisses along your jaw.

"Do you have a condom, baby girl?" He asks softly, and you nod.

"Bottom drawer."

Reaching over to the bedside table, he's fishing around for the rubber before grasping a hold of it. But before he can rip the package open, you're taking it from him and giving him a sultry smirk.

"Let me do it," you coo, pushing him off of you and onto his back.

Normally Namjoon would've protested, the boy not being one to usually submit to others. But seeing the look in your eyes and that goddamned smirk -- he was putty in your hands. So instead he leans back and watches intently as you rip the package open with your teeth, dainty fingers gliding the condom out of the package. Your gaze meets his, then, and the smirk on your lips widens as you lean down to teasingly lick the precum leaking from the tip of his cock, the action drawing a hiss from the boy's mouth as his hands entangle in your locks.

"Don't tease me, baby," he grits out, and you feign a look of innocence.

"What's the matter, baby?" You ask, batting your eyelashes. "Don't like being teased?"

A deep growl emits from the back of his throat then, the boy reaching out to grab the condom from your hand but to no avail, you had already slid it along the length of his cock. Gliding up his toned thighs, you let your legs straddle each side of him before you're taking his cock in your hands and aligning it with your core. Without warning you slide down onto him, the feeling making both you and Namjoon groan in pleasure as his thick cock delves between your tight walls. Your breath is hitched, thighs clenching together, and you feel your muscles contract around him as you start to glide your hips into his.

Blunt nails are digging into the flesh of your hips, grunts and groans escaping Namjoon's mouth each time you rose and dropped onto him. The feeling of you around him is so much more than he could have ever imagined, especially when he feels you clench around his cock, enveloping his thick length in a way that makes his hips buck up harshly into yours. Your head is thrown back, hands running over the length of your body and cupping your breasts, as you moan his name loudly, your hips swirling and meeting every buck of his hips. Dropping your hands down to rest on his toned thighs, you angle your body so that his cock can delve deeper within you, the motion making your lower body clench in pleasure while Namjoon lets out the loudest guttural groan.

"Fuck, (Y/N)," he pants out. "Just like that, baby girl."

Mewl after mewl, moan after moan, you're being brought closer and closer to your release. Namjoon's got a tight grip on your hips now, the boy angling his own hips so that his cock brushes against the same spot his fingers had done only moments before. Reaching between your bodies, he presses the pad of his thumb to your clit before rubbing harsh circles on it, the movements making your hips instantly buck against him, a broken mantra of his name floating from your lips as you feel your release wash over you. Flashes of white illuminate your closed eyelids, your hips riding out your high in slow circles. Namjoon isn't far behind you, the boy sending his hips bucking upwards for a few good measures before he's finding his own release, both of you panting heavily as you fall into a heap of sweat, tangled limbs, and lingering kisses.

Once Namjoon has slid fully out of you, he's slipping the condom off his cock and tossing it into the trashcan next to your bed. Soft, pillow-like kisses are being littered along your bare shoulder, his arms wrapping protectively around your waist as he pulls you into his chest, your hand finding his before you slip your fingers between the spaces of his. Bringing your entwined hands up to his mouth, Namjoon places a soft kiss to your flesh before he leans in to press a kiss to your lips.

"Thank you for giving me a chance," he murmurs against your mouth, making you grin sheepishly against his.

"Thank you for being so wonderful."

A peaceful bliss falls over the two of you then, your fucked out bodies begging for sleep. So you let yourself press flush against his body, your hands still entwined, before the two of you fall asleep with the pale light of the moon and the glimmering glow of the stars peeking through your window and illuminating both yours and his body.

#bts smut #namjoon smut #rm smut #bts scenarios #namjoon scenarios

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soldrawss · 4 years ago

Note

Does Big Bro!Mikey AU have an april or no? I think it would be nice for Mikey to have a bff april!!

April is a part of this au, yes! She started out as just a classmate of Mikey’s, they had the same homeroom in high school before Mikey dropped out the summer before his Junior year. They hadn’t really kept in contact, mostly because she only knew him by proxy (Mikey was nice and friendly to everyone, April of course included, but they didn’t have much in common, and their main friend groups were different, so they didn’t hang out much) and when Mikey all but disappeared without an explanation, she kinda just figured he moved or something, and left it at that, not giving him any thought for the next three years.

That is, until she meets him again, in the halls of Hunter College, looking like he was gonna collapse at any minute, which he kinda does, into an empty bench at the schools outside cafe and lounge area. April waffles for a few seconds, because ‘holy shit is that Mike Hamato?’ before biting the bullet and making her way over to say, “Hey, Michael right? Hi, it’s been a while. It’s April, we had homeroom together freshman and sophomore year. I haven’t seen you since Savanti Romero’s pool party. How are you?” And his smile is a slow, automatic thing at first, more out of common politeness than anything else, but then it grows into something much more genuine and glacier melting when he responds back, “April, hey, yeah, hi! Wow, has it really been that long? Man, it seems like just yesterday you were fishing Mondo and me out of the pool after one too many chicken fights. It’s good to see you!”

And catching up seemed so easy, April was almost surprised they hadn’t been better friends in high school. Though, she suspected that was mostly due to Mikey’s incredibly easy charm and naturally inviting warmth. (Dude could make friends with just about anyone)

He was a little different than how she remembered, a little more weather-worn and tired, a kinda weariness that hung off his shoulders like heavyweights. But there was still a bright shine to those penny-colored eyes, and when he smiled, it was with all the dimples and joy that she remembers so clearly from when she was 15. Holding back a laugh at the Hamato kid that was preforming springing handstands across the cafeteria just to draw attention away from the impending fight between two of their more hotheaded classmates and ease the tension out of the air in a ridiculous but effective manner.

She doesn’t ask why he left high school, it doesn’t really occur to her to ask, but after 2 hours of talking (April not even realizing she was missing her history class because she was so caught up in their catching up) he offers the information anyway.

His dad died. When he was barely 16, and he was left alone with 3 baby brothers and no other family that could help take care of them, and oh my god, he just dropped out of school to get his GED like it was the most common thing in the world and he went to work, what, 2, sometimes 3 jobs just to make enough money to support them all and April didn’t mean for tears to start pooling up because that so wasn’t fair to Mikey at all, if anyone should be crying, it should be him, but Mikey just looks a little shy and bashful about it all. “It was hard, but we got through it. And hey, now I’m working at like, this really prestigious Italian restaurant, super classy and everything! And they pay me more than I’m probably worth, but I’ll get my culinary degree in like a year, and then after that, a lot of things will change,” He says like everything in the world is just that easy, handing April a few tissues from his book bag and giving her one of those genuine, if not a little crooked, smiles of his.

Mikey promises to have lunch with her again (because April absolutely refuses to let this dandelion haired lunatic walk away from her life a second time and practically demands that they hang out again) since they both have the same free time before their respective classes at the college, and makes a show of saving her number with probably a few too many emojis as a contact name just to make her smile.

And what turned into a promise for another lunch date turned into almost a daily routine, them having lunch together on the bench, talking about classes and teachers and jobs and April’s problematic little kitten she affectionately named Mayhem and Mikey’s little brothers who are probably equally as problematic but he doesn’t have a say in what their names are, and things are fun and casual between Hamato and her.

That is, until two months later, when April gets a call from Mikey at 5pm on a Saturday.

“Donnie’s sick,” Mikey says almost breathlessly, and even without the context, April was already springing to her feet just at the sheer tension and concern in Mikey’s voice, like a taught wire about to snap. “I can’t get off work for another few hours, but I don’t want to leave him by himself with a fever. And I know this is like, putting you on the spot and really awkward and you can totally say no if you want to, but I don’t know who else to call and,-”

“Mike, it’s ok. Breathe hun,” April is saying, not unkindly pushing Mayhem off her lap and reaching for her backpack off the floor in her dorm room, stuffing a few random things in it before grabbing her jacket and her car keys off the counter. “Text me your address. I’ll be over there in 5 minutes tops.”

And it’s more of a promise than a fact, because his building is technically 20 minutes away from hers, but April makes it in 10 just by spite alone (and maybe driving a little recklessly downtown) and knocks on the door of the little apartment on the 6th floor, unit 404.

It takes a hesitant second, but then the door lock clicks open and April is greeted by warm brown eyes and a freckled face that reminds April so much of Mikey that it takes her almost a full 10 seconds before she introduces herself with an automatic smile. “Hi sweetheart, I’m April. I’m a friend of your older brother Mikey.”

Raphael, if April remembered Mikey’s brothers correctly, didn’t really need much convincing to let April in after she mentioned he was a friend of Mikey's, and doesn’t hesitate to pull her into their little apartment, leading her to the bedroom that the twins share with a small but tight little fist around hers.

“Mikey called and said you were coming. Leo’s atah sleepover, but Donnie’s in here. His head’s still hot and his voice is all scratchy, even though I made sure that he took the medicine Mikey left out. And he won’t eat anything I give him,” the 7-year-old reports diligently, much more mature than April had expected from the young child.

April’s been babysitting since she was 11, and considering how all the neighborhood kids around her block adore her, she likes to think that she’s got a pretty solid Ph.D. in knowing how to take care of a sick pre-teen who wants nothing to do with her. So the heavy-lidded and red-eyed glare that Donatello shoots at her from under his covers is duly noted but otherwise ignored as she gently knocks on the door and slowly follows a much less hesitant Raphael into the bedroom.

It takes a while, a long while, for Donatello, no, Donnie, to warm up to her, but he gets there eventually, with the help of Raphael, Raph, who’s hanging off of Aprils shoulders, having warmed up to her almost immediately simply because ‘any friend of Mikey’s is a friend of ours Dee! Don’t be mean and eat some soup!’

After realizing that Donnie just had a little cold, and was in no real danger even with a fever, Raph seemed to cheer up immensely, and was more than willing to help answer all of April’s questions about what medicine Donnie had taken, any allergies, the last time he ate, and even helped her make some egg drop soup since they didn’t have enough ingredients of chicken noodle, which Donnie put up a fight about, but eventually took after one look of Raph’s puppy dog eyes.

Donnie was out like a light 15 minutes later, after taking some night time cough medicine and April sent a reassuring text to Mikey two hours later when his fever finally broke, to which Mikey replied with an explosion of heart emoji’s that April couldn’t rightly decipher other than he was happy about it.

Mikey got home at 11 that night, and April had to flag him down quietly from where she sat trapped under a sleeping, pj clad Raph on the couch; a Jupiter Jim movie marathon playing on the tv.

“Thank you so much, April,” Mikey said to her in the kitchen 20 minutes later, handing her a cup of hot tea. He had efficiently plucked Raph off of April’s lap like a pro with years of experience, putting him into his own bed before checking on a still sleeping Donnie, whose face was no longer a burnt red from his fever earlier. “I don’t know what I would have done without you. I don’t get my paycheck till next week, so I can’t really pay you right now, but I brought home some chocolate mousse cake from my work that you can have until I can-” “You didn’t tell me you worked at Huesso’s!” April didn’t shout, because there were two kids sleeping down the hallway, as she grabbed the bag Mikey had offered to her. “Dude, their deserts are like, crazy good! I love their cheesecake, but they’re stupid expensive and you have to get a reservation like, 4 months in advance to get in.” And April uses the change in topics as a distraction because there was no way she’d let Mikey try to pay her for helping out, she didn’t even want that to be an option. April didn’t do this for the money. She wanted to help out Mikey out. She liked Mikey. She thought he was funny and charming and had a heart big enough to cradle the entire world if he was as big as all the love he has. And she adored being around his baby brothers.

April grins at Mikey when she opens the box, and slides her finger over the glossy frosting of the cake and licks her fingers of the chocolatey goodness before she says, “Listen, if I could convince you to bring me home deserts from this place, then I’ll hang out with the boys anytime you want me too. You have my number, literally call me anytime, for any reason, and I’m here.”

#rottmnt #big brother mikey au #this took forever i'm so sorry #i was in the middle of moving #but anyway yeah #Mikey and April are bff's in this au #April has a spare key to the hamato place #and is the designated big sister to everyone #the boys adore her and she in turn adores her boys #and yeah they're basically family now

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orsuliya · 4 years ago

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Love your blog!! Do you have any headcanons about XiaoQi's backstory?

Oh, thank you! And oh, do I. By the way, we are going by drama!canon, since I like this version of Xiao Qi’s backstory better.

Most peasants won’t travel much during their whole lifetime; some never leave the place of their birth. Xiao Qi’s father was an exception. Nobody knew from whence he came, this scarred and limping, yet strangely cheerful soldier. One day he simply came into the village, announced that he was here to work, should anybody have a task needing some strength and smarts, sat down under the awning and that was that.

Much later, over a third or fourth cup of local spirits, it came out that his maternal grandmother had been born in this area, but even to the eldest villagers her name meant nothing much. Who remembers spilled water after half a century? “Had she been a beauty, that mythical grandmother, then perhaps,” tried the headman, yet received nothing but a quiet laugh. “To my grandfather, she surely was,” said the soldier and that was that.

Even so, once the soldier recommended himself as a tried, conscientious worker, many a family wanted to claim him. He only laughed and went around on his business, remarkably light on his feet despite an old injury, which tended to flare up on cold days. The first winter he spent sleeping with the animals, which bothered him none. The second one he weathered in a faraway homestead, taken in by an elderly couple who felt they could use a strong man around the yard. Every single winter after that he chose to spend in that one homestead and that was that.

Xiao Qi’s mother was the last child born to an elderly couple, long after they lost all hope. There were other children before, but what happened to them, I cannot tell you. A failure to thrive, some villagers said, while other kept turning around from the childless woman, full of fear and superstition.

That last child was no beauty worthy of gracing palace halls, but her mother cared not. “Better to live with a clean face and clean hearth than to wear paint alongside ten concubines”, she used to say every time her daughter got carried away with her girlish dreams. And so the last child went around with a clean face and diligently tended to her hearth, and in due time gave generously of both to a soldier from faraway lands.

Mind you, that soldier would have claimed to prefer her over any concubine from the governor’s mansion, speaking no lie, had she but asked. She never did. Not one to speak much, that last child, although when she spoke, even her wizened father stopped to listen. The soldier loved her all the more for her silence and laughed enough for both of them; he laughed and then he cried, when she could not let out a tear over her parents’ grave.

Barely had the villagers begun to wonder if the soldier’s wife carried in her womb her mother’s curse, when she grew heavy with child and in the very middle of summer gave birth to a boy; three summers later the cradle was full again.

Wealthy or poor, wizened or in prime of life, the plague cares little for such distinctions. Much less the dreadful plague they called beautiful flowers as not to offend the passing goddess and thus avoid incurring her wrath. Some said that this merciless goddess liked the beauty of small children and touched them first of all. Perhaps they spoke the truth after all, for the soldier’s small daughter, innocent and beautiful like the first flower of spring, fell ill before anyone else. Who brought the disease, nobody could say. Maybe the passing trader who came into the house, maybe the autumn winds, that mattered little as the flowers of disease took root on the child’s soft skin.

The soldier, though hardened in battles and wise above his years, stilled and wailed, while his quiet wife marched into the yard, where her little son, but five years of age, kept agitating the geese. She bade him to strip and when she saw him to be clean – as much as any rambunctious child can be – she took him up like a kitten and carried him into the shed. “Stay here, no matter what you hear or see,” said the ever-quiet mother with unusual fire. “I will bring you water and food every day, and knock on the door. When I do, close your eyes and count all your fingers and toes. Then and only then you can open the door. You are a big boy now, so give me your word that you will not leave until I tell you so.”

The boy agreed, swallowing up his confusion and fear, even as his mother closed the door without a single look back. His mother kept her word for twelve whole days; he kept his for fifteen and would have for fifteen more, had the homestead not caught on fire on that fifteenth night. The shed was far enough to stay safe with this particular summer not excessively dry; the flames, however, were seen so far and wide that the nearest neighbour arrived to help before the inferno had time to die out.

The boy, for all that he shared blood with half the families around, had no relative close enough to take him for his own. He was no man, whose strength could be of use, you see, and there were many whispers of a curse running in his line. The homestead was gone and the land went untilled, held by the headman until the boy could claim it for his own; in the meantime he went around from house to house, giving small services in return for rice in his bowl and roof over his head. The headman tried to give the boy a corner of his own, but his wife liked the boy not, too unnerved by his quiet eyes.

And so he went around, welcomed by all for his calm disposition and clever hands, yet loved by none. A motherly hand sometimes took care to repair his torn clothes, a strong palm directed his unlearned one in the fields, yet he found no welcome in lovingly open arms and no careful fingers were eager to play with his tangled hair.

With every summer the boy learned new skills: the first summer he learned to talk again, the second he could go into a shed alone, the third he went out to mind the sheep, the fourth he learned to laugh, bringing his father’s spirit back to life…

…and the fifth summer the village drowned in blood.

Okay, I have no idea what happened later. I cannot quite decide if Xiao Qi spent the intervening years wandering from place to place or not. Maybe he came upon a military camp and just stayed, watching, learning and being so useful that nobody even thought of chasing him away. He probably enlisted early and the very same day got hit – literally and metaphorically – with the full force of Hu Guanglie and his humongous personality. Perhaps an exasperated sergeant Dou was the one to pull the two gangly teenagers apart. Who knows. Certainly not me.

Anyway, I do know one thing. After many, many years Xiao Qi returned to the place of his birth. He found only pastures where his own home had once stood and the village filled with unfamiliar faces speaking a dialect alien to his ears. A few people later recalled a quiet soldier and his lovely wife, who rode around the village on horses of excellent blood, said not a thing to anybody and then disappeared right into the night. Coincidentally, a beggar child who got trounced around a day or two before disappeared that very night. Nobody cared all that much.

Anyway, that’s it for now. I hope you are satisfied, dear Nonnie! I might have sat on your objectively lovely ask a tad too long, but this delay has already been avenged. I now know far too much about childhood amnesia, smallpox in ancient China and the wisdom of not shuffling your asks to the bottom of the stack.

#ask and answer #that was the very last ask in my inbox #what a strange feeling #also I have no idea what happened here #no names or anything because I am awful at names #wait does this mean I should finally make that princess carry list #oooookay #the rebel princess #monarch industry #Awu and XQ headcanon time #more like XQ parents headcanon time technically

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recurring-polynya · 4 years ago

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Oh boy!!! Polynya I have a sudden ferocious hankering for Byakuya and Aizen being viciously passive aggressive to each other. Most of the time you write B he is in the company of his family or his loved ones. So clearly the ultimate way to bring out the knives is an AU in which all the captains are in the same Homeowner's Association. I have no preference for ships; I crave only drama, the pettier the better.

Alopex. Alopex. Why. Why u do this 2 me. You’re my favorite, tho, I cannot refuse you. I hope this is petty enough. I almost made this whole thing an epistolary fanfic that took place over NextDoor, the worst “social media”, but I think it worked better with everyone in person.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

🏠 🏠 🏠

“Gosh darnit, the only K-cups left are apple cider and pumpkin spice!”

“Oh, that can’t be right, I know I filled up the carousel just before the meeting! Retsu! Retsu, honey, we’re out of K-cups, and I bought a whole carton at Costco and I just don’t understand--”

Kuchiki Byakuya glanced up from the presentation materials he was reviewing for the six hundredth time. For starters, Byakuya wasn’t really sure anyone should be letting Hitsugaya Toushirou have coffee in the first place. It was 8p.m., and the child couldn’t be more than twelve. Byakuya had never been very clear on a) why the Seireitei Estates Homeowners’ Association let the child attend the meetings in lieu of his father (or possibly step-father?), a doctor who worked late hours, and b) why a young child would want to attend a Homeowners’ Association meeting anyway, but he had more sense than most of the other board members, so Byakuya didn’t ask questions.

Byakuya also wasn’t sure why they had to have “refreshment breaks.” Breaks were for quitters, in Byakuya’s opinion. Granted, the meeting was being held at Unohana’s house this month, which meant that the baked goods were impeccable, but Unohana’s high-strung wife tended to radiate so much nervous energy that Byakuya worried the woman was going to spontaneously combust.

“Oh, sunflower, I’m sure they just got pushed behind the croquembouche,” Unohana purred reassuringly. “I’ll help you look-- oh, excuse me, Mr. Ichimaru.”

As Unohana pushed past that weaselly shyster Ichimaru Gin, she swung her hips, knocking into him. Approximately thirty K-cups tumbled out of the pockets of Gin’s couture tracksuit.

“Oh, there they are!” Unohana sang innocently.

“How did those get in there?” Gin gasped, as though he were genuinely puzzled.

Byakuya shuddered. Ichimaru worked for the second biggest law firm in town, after, of course, Kuchiki and Sons. Byakuya dreaded the day he might find himself across a negotiation table from the man. Not that harbored any doubts about annihilating that idiot in a contest of the law, he just didn’t like being in the same room with him.

“Here you go, dear,” Unohana said, popping a K-cup into the machine and patting little Toushirou on the head. Toushirou was too busy glaring at Gin to notice.

“That looks like some presentation you’re givin' after the break, eh, Kuchiki?” Ichimaru drawled, selecting a bearclaw from the pastry tray. “Or didja bring home the paperwork from the Tsunayashiro merger?”

Byakuya sniffed and shuffled his papers back into their portfolio. “I approach all areas of my life with the same diligence as I do my professional work.”

“What a coinky-dink! I do, too-- I don’t work hard at anything.”

Byakuya had no interest in frittering away his preparation time to small talk with a moron. “I am going to set up,” he said coolly.

“Good luck!” Ichimaru trilled, giving a saucy little finger wave.

Byakuya returned to Unohana’s sitting room, where he had left his easel and poster board near the hideous faux fireplace with its tacky LED candles.

Aizen was sitting at the cardtable he’d set up at the front of the room, fiddling with his chintzy little gavel. “You look very prepared,” he said, in a tone of voice that was almost as insipid as the oatmeal-marl turtleneck sweater he wore. “Do try not to run too long, though. I’m only the substitute president, you know! I want to run a tight ship, ha ha!”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. He was still slightly salty that President Yamamoto had felt the need to take a last minute trip on a “Single Seniors Cruise.” Something something about a flash sale and when you’re old you have to take advantage of the time you have left, etcetera, etcetera, but if there were anyone that Byakuya could count on take his side in the matter, it was that antediluvian rule-enforcer. For that matter, Byakuya wasn’t actually sure whether Yamamoto even cared about clipped hedges and shoveled sidewalks or if he just liked yelling at people and slapping them with fines.

Aizen was also a bit of a stickler for the finer points of home maintenance, but the man had no substance to him, with his floppy hair and his chunky knitwear and his horn-rimmed glasses.

“All right, everyone!” Aizen called in his stupid simpering voice. Byakuya had no idea what the man actually did, but Byakuya figured he was a preschool teacher or an art therapist or something equally touchy-feely. “Please take your seats! The next item on our agenda is a presentation on, uh, ‘A Secret But Important Topic, from our neighbor over at number six, let’s give a big hand for...Byakuya!”

“Hold the applause,” Byakuya said sternly, holding up a hand. “I come to you today to call for-- nay, demand the expulsion of one Zaraki Kenpachi from the Board of this Homeowners Association, and possibly also the entire neighborhood, if that’s possible.”

“We can’t kick people out of the neighborhood,” Aizen stage-whispered to him.

“Is he actually a member of the HOA Board?” Kyouraku asked, scratching his shaggy mane. “I’ve never seen him at one of these meetings.”

Byakuya turned to Tousen, the Board treasurer, who had taken his seat at the front table with Aizen and Ichimaru. “Mr. Tousen, did you happen to look into the dues records, as I requested?”

“I did, yes,” Tousen replied. “It turns out that Mr. Zaraki is excused from paying dues. There was a post-it note in President Yamamoto’s handwriting that said,” Tousen made finger quotes, “‘Zaraki fixed my car, excused from dues.’”

Byakuya scowled. “That doesn’t seem… sufficient… it is of no matter.” He grabbed the bed sheet covering his posterboard, and dramatically swept it away. It would have been more dramatic if the bedsheet weren’t covered in Chappy rabbits, but there was no way he was bringing one of his own 800-thread counts into a house that contained cats.

“I have been closely watching Mr. Zaraki’s residence for the last few months, as his rear yard backs to mine, and I believe he may be operating a fight club in his garden on weekends. They do move into the garage if the weather is unpleasant.”

A hush fell over the room, except for Isane and Ukitake Juushirou, who were discussing the merits of blind-baking pie crusts.

“Er, sorry, did I miss something?” Juushirou asked apologetically, after realizing he was the only person talking.

“Kenpachi seems to be running some sort of fight club,” his scruffy husband supplied, looking deeply confused, as usual.

“Goodness!” Juushirou exclaimed. “Are you sure?”

Byakuya cleared his throat. “Allow me to present the evidence I have gathered.” He picked up two large binders, and handed one to Soi Fon in the front row, and the other to Aizen, who immediately passed his, unopened, to Ichimaru. “There are about two dozen disreputable personages who are frequently found loitering about the premises. The first page of the binder indexes each of them by a descriptive nickname, including times I have seen them. Photographic evidence follows.”

“They seem to be washing cars in most of these photos,” Soi Fon pointed out, flipping a page back and forth. Or are they fixing the cars? I can’t tell.”

Komamura craned his head over, curiously. “Wow, is that a ‘73 Stingray? Nice.”

“Yes, they also like to get together to maintain and detail their vehicles,” Byakuya snapped. “Usually at ungodly hours of the morning. I am almost positive that many of those cars do not employ catalytic converters. In any case, it is easier to take pictures of them during the day.”

“Looks like they like to spray each other with hoses, too,” Gin noted, waggling his eyebrows. “Why are there so many pictures of this one guy with the red hair and tattoos? He sure doesn’t like to wear a shirt, does he?” Aizen appeared to be leaning to the side, trying to look at the book out of the corner of his eye.

“My dutiful sister did the photographic surveillance! She is very thorough, and I appreciated the help!” All these questions were knocking Byakuya off his game. He smacked his pointer against the poster. “May I direct your attention to Figure A, a bar chart of traffic on his street vs. hours of the day.”

“Tell us more about the fight club,” Soi Fon interrupted, shoving her binder over to Komamura. “Are there weapons involved, blunted or otherwise? How many people usually show up? Is it held regularly, or do you suspect there’s, say, an email list or something?”

“I think it’s some sort of mixed martial arts,” Byakuya said, rubbing his forehead. “There are often up to a dozen of them, but sometimes it’s as few as three or four.”

“You know, I’m looking through the bylaws,” Aizen said, turning pages in the bylaw binder without actually looking at them, “and I’m not exactly clear on whether fight clubs are actually… you know, forbidden.”

“They’re illegal,” Byakuya bit off.

“Per-haaaps,” Aizen drew out. “But what really constitutes… a ‘fight club,’ am I right? I mean, Dr. Unohana teaches kickboxing classes in her basement studio, is that a fight club?”

“No,” Byakuya replied.

“Exactly, and we wouldn’t want her to be painted with the same brush for just trying to teach other women the arts of self-defense, now would we?”

“It’s not for self-defense,” Unohana clarified.

“Or what about having a bunch of friends over and hitting each other with foam swords while you pretend to be werewolves?” Ichimaru broke in cheerfully. “That’s just our rights as citizens, to pretend to be werewolves in our basements with our friends.”

“It’s a tabletop RPG,” Komamura growled. “I am not a LARPer. There are no weapons. Also, you really do not need to bring it up every single board meeting. It is a perfectly normal adult hobby that I do to spend quality time with my friends.”

“Speaking of which,” Gin turned his binder of pictures around, “isn’t this guy in your group? With the sunglasses?”

“Hmm?” Komamura flipped a few pages. “Oh, huh, yeah, that’s Iba.”

“Surely a good friend of yours wouldn’t have anything to do with an illegal fight club, eh, Mr. Komamura?” Aizen suggested.

Komamura made a non-commital grumble. “I mean, I could ask him if it’s a fight club, if you want me to.”

“I have yet to hear any evidence that supports the existence of this so-called ‘fight club,” Tousen broke in.

“That’s because I keep getting interrupted, I have an audio recording and also some several emergency room admission records--”

“Mr. Zaraki is an upstanding citizen of our town and a devoted father,” Tousen continued. “Are you suggesting that Mr. Zaraki is not a responsible parent?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Byakuya mused.

“Juushirou, you and Shunsui babysit for little Yachiru all the time, don’t you?” Aizen asked sweetly. “Have you ever seen any evidence that she isn’t the sweetest little girl in the entire world?”

Toushirou raised his hand. “Excuse me? She is a menace, actually?”

“Oh, no, Yachiru is always a ray of sunshine!” Juushirou beamed. “Very active child.”

“Eats a lot,” Kyouraku added.

The edges of Byakuya’s vision were beginning to bleed into red. “We are not talking about the Zaraki child--who, by the way, buried an entire ham in my prize tulip bed--”

“It sounds like you have a grudge against the entire family, Kuchiki,” Aizen replied mildly. “These board meetings are not a venue for airing your petty grievances.”

“You are not even listening! If you would just turn to page--”

“I think you’ve wasted enough of everyone’s time.” Aizen turned his doe eyes to the audience. “Is there anyone here who wants to invest any more energy listening to Byakuya’s vitriol?”

Byakuya looked out over his audience, looking for an ally. Komamura shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The Kyouraku-Ukitakes refused to make eye contact. Unohana was reading a magazine about decorative wreaths. Toushirou raised his hand again with a helpful smile, but no one actually ever cared what he thought.

“Soi Fon, you’re an actual police officer!” he begged.

“It’s just a fight club,” Soi Fon shrugged.

Byakuya was desperate. “Dr. Kurotsuchi?”

Kurotsuchi looked up from his phone. “Eh?”

“Have you been paying attention to any of this?”

“Of course not, I only come for the snacks.”

Byakuya gritted his teeth. “Zaraki is running a fight club and these fools wish us to turn our heads and look the other way.”

“Well, it’s not a very good fight club,” Kurotsuchi agreed. “I’ve been. They don’t allow poisoned weapons and the beverage selection is quotidian at best.”

“You see! You see, right there, Kurotsuchi has even attended! That’s proof that a) it exists and b) it defames the character of the neighborhood!”

“I’m declaring this issue closed,” Aizen replied breezily. “And Kuchiki, I really think you should try to get along better with Kenpachi. You are neighbors, after all.” He brightened. “Oh, I know! We’ve got the community yard sale coming up in June. Why don’t you go ask him if he wants to join the planning committee?”

“Byakuya… will...ask....Zaraki...to chair…the yard sale planning committee,” Gin read aloud as he wrote it into the minutes.

“I agreed to no such thing!” Byakuya howled.

“Onto the next topic!” Aizen chirped. “Trash pickup happens every Friday at 7am and a few of our neighbors have been leaving their bins out as late as noon.”

Later, after the meeting, as Byakuya was packing up his binders and his posterboard, Aizen walked up to him, munching on a rhubarb scone. “Really nice presentation, Byakuya. Good fonts, well cited, you obviously put a ton of work into it. Also, that Zaraki is a blight on the neighborhood. Ideally, he would be thrown in prison.”

Byakuya stared at Vice-Presiden Aizen, mouth agape. “Then why did you and your cronies ruin my presentation and shut me down at every turn?”

Aizen’s eyes narrowed. His mouth curved into a cold smile. Light glinted off his glasses. “You dared to usurp my rightful place as the winner of the Spring Spirit Most Beautiful Yard competition.”

Byakuya blinked at him blankly. “You cared about that? A man’s lawn is his pride. I keep my yard beautiful as a matter of principle, not for some silly competition.”

“You pay for a lawn service. You shouldn’t have even been eligible.”

Byakuya didn’t even recall entering, he’d just received a letter that he’d won, and a festive yard sign appeared next to his front walk, which he had immediately removed and thrown in the garbage. “The prize was a gift certificate to a miserable chain restaurant. I would give it to you, except that I already gave it to my sister to go out with her hooligan friends. They are perpetually short on funds. I could get you another one, I suppose. The amount was paltry enough, although I was given to understand that the place offers ‘unlimited breadsticks’.”

“It’s too late for that,” Aizen declared. “You have made a powerful enemy. You will feel my revenge in a thousand cuts.”

Byakuya wondered how much of a hassle it would be to just move. He’d heard there were some nice houses over in Karakura Acres.

~end

Shinigami’s Cup: GOLDEN!

“Do you think it would help if I infiltrated the fight club?”

“I appreciate your zeal, Sister, but, no, I do not think it would help.”

“Because I think I might have an in. I feel like I would be really good at going undercover. I could wear a body mic.”

“Rukia, you know I have the utmost faith in you, but are not even five feet tall. I do not, in any way, see how you could realistically ingratiate yourself to an organization populated by large, lumpy men whose raison d’etre is to clobber each other in the face.”

“I have cat-like reflexes! I am really good at dodging and weaving!”

“Rukia.”

“And I’ve been watching a lot of YouTube videos about muscle cars. Go on, ask me something about Dodge Chargers!”

“Rukia.”

“I even ripped the sleeves of an old t-shirt, I look super tough in it. Please, Byakuya, please can I?”

“All right, fine. But do not drink any alcoholic beverages that have ‘light’ or ‘ice’ in the title. It is against our pride as Kuchiki.”

“Thank you Brother, you’re the best!!”

#my writing #wacky au requests #is this...the first time i have written aizen?#wait i wrote some aizen in a flashback scene of a little in love #i do not write very much aizen #it was...kinda fun #the man is petty as hell and i am here for it

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