#guys. golden tattoos on dark skin is actual crack | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honeymoonjin · 5 years ago

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 14k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, this time properly tho, unprotected sex, fingering, spanking, riding crop, dom!hoseok, sub!reader, i wasn’t even meant to write the hoseok scene it just happened, anal, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, sensory deprivation, edging, finger sucking, to whoever requested this woohoo here you go !, creampie, now get ready the FUCK for this, orgy : ), you’re welcome, oral (m receiving), more anal, more oral, handjobs, dry humping, Sexy Massage courtesy of taehyung’s golden hands, an atrocious amount of cumplay, mutual masturbation, sub!jungkook, dom!basically everyone else, i call this the koogy, yes i know that name sucks, no i won’t change it, enjoy

banner designer @jamaisjoons | ty sfhs bbs i’m so thankful that i got youniverse

DAY FIFTEEN

You wake to the feeling of fingers in your hair, plush lips pressing against your temple.

Eyes flying open, you suck in a breath to cry out in relief the moment you see Jimin’s face above you, but he quickly covers your mouth, a single finger over his to indicate you should be quiet.

He’s knelt up by your head, and so he appears upside down in your vision. Still, the cocktail of reassurance and concern in your chest brings tears to your eyes. Dried flakes of blood cover the underside of his nose and the skin on top is blooming red and purple, but there’s a strange calmness exuding him in his tender gaze and soft smile.

“Morning,” he whispers, reaching down to ruffle Taehyung’s hair as he curls into your side. “We need to wake Tae. I want to talk to you all before the others get up.”

You knit your brow in confusion, blinking away the last of your restless sleep. “We?” Sitting up gently, Taehyung’s head sliding down your torso to your lap, you glance around the room. It’s still dark, but there’s clearly no sign of the youngest.

Jimin reads your inquiring stare with ease. “I meant you and I. Jungkook’s still in Sejin’s van.”

You suck in a breath, heart hammering. “He’s not leaving, is he?”

Jimin lets out a breathy chuckle. “Jungkook’s in the van calling his roommate to let him know he isn’t moving back in yet. He’s not leaving us, Y/n.”

Your shoulders go lax in pure relief. “Thank god,” you gush, “and he’s okay?”

Jimin nods, face holding none of that icy resentment you saw last night. “We talked a lot. To Sejin, to each other. Jungkookie feels awful, and so do I, but we’ve come to an understanding, you know?” Jimin clears his throat, and leans over, gently rocking Taehyung’s shoulder to wake up. “But I need to make things right with you all, too.”

You nod slowly, worry returning as Taehyung wakes groggily, tearing up at the sight of JImin. While you’d love to assure Jimin that everything was fine, there were still rocks left unturned that you needed to deal with before you could move on.

“You’re here, Minnie?”

Jimin smiles at Taehyung’s look of sleepy disbelief, cupping the younger’s face. “I’m here. I want to talk to you and Y/n; let’s go upstairs.”

Taehyung’s brows furrow, a hand reaching forward to hover in front of Jimin’s face. “Your nose…”

Jimin brushes Taehyung’s hand off with a small smile. “I deserved it. I’ll live. Come on; before the others wake up.”

On your way upstairs, Jimin quietly answers Taehyung’s questions, the same one’s you’d had. The further away from the lounge you are, the less likely you are to wake up the others, but still the sound of water smacking the tiles of the shower in Jimin’s bathroom seems too loud.

Jimin’s shirt is stiff with dried blood on the front, and he winces as he tugs the hem over his head. “I figure we can talk in the shower,” Jimin explains, “we’ll feel better after we clean up.”

You and Taehyung share a curious look, Taehyung still slow from just waking up, but undress obediently.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jimin says emphatically, carelessly discarding his underwear and socks. He waits for the two of you, naked, the streaks of blood and black strokes of his tattoo even starker against his skin with nothing to hide it. “What happened yesterday was awful, yes, and I want to make my apologies to all seven of you, but it made me realise something about us.”

Slipping out of the last of your clothes, you feel your toes go numb from the chilly tile. Jimin glances over the two of you, both undressed, and takes it as time to get in. There’s not much room left once three of you crowd in there, but the spray of the water is a welcome warmth.

“I realised something while we were all fighting,” Jimin repeats. “I can’t stop the others from getting feelings for you. Jin with Y/n, Jungkook with Taehyung. And right now we can’t even act like we’re together in front of the others, and not all of us can be sexually exclusive because of the show. And it’s clear from yesterday that, well… Things are different inside this house. When we can’t leave, when we’re always together. When we don’t have any responsibilities outside of this building.”

Taehyung recoils, his back bumping into the shower rack. “Are you ending things?”

Jimin’s eyes widen, shaking his head hastily. “Of course not- Well, not really.” He tips his head back, letting the strong spray soak his hair and dislodge the blood off his chest. The water is dark pink at his feet, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care, all of his attention firmly on the two of you. “This isn’t a good time for a relationship for any of us. We can’t be committed or open, really, and it’s causing more pain to us.”

Your heart softens in sympathy. “I actually wanted to talk to you both about that too. I… I don’t want to end things, but if I’m honest, I can’t see this working as it is. I mean; how do we draw the line for cheating if we’re on a show where I have to be having sex with five other guys?”

Jimin perks up, relieved at your understanding. “That’s exactly it! And I have an idea,” he trails off when he sees Taehyung’s dejected look. “Pup, what’s wrong?”

“I just-” Taehyung sighs and shrugs, shifting to lean against the glass. “I agree with you both, I just don’t want us to drift apart. It’s hard enough to be close as it is.”

“Oh, Tae,” you coo, reaching out to interlock your fingers. “I don’t think any of us want to drift apart. But what we have now isn’t stable. C’mere.” Taehyung lets you maneuver him as you crack open a container of body wash, beginning to clean him off with a loofah.

Taehyung goes slack, though he continues to hold onto your hand with a needy grip. “Minnie, what’s your idea?” he asks softly.

“A promise,” Jimin explains hesitantly. “That on the final day, once we all walk out that front door, that the three of us give a relationship a real go. We can be free while we’re in here, do whatever or whoever we want. But when we leave this house, I can tell the world that you’re mine. And that I’m yours.”

You pause the soapy swoops of the loofah on Taehyung’s chest, turning fully to face Jimin. “A promise,” you repeat, the word feeling sweet on your tongue. “Jimin, that sounds perfect.”

Beside you, Taehyung gives a boyish grin, visibly relieved at Jimin’s idea. “Like a blood pact!” He pauses to wince at the stained water that runs in rivulets down Jimin’s chest. “Well, maybe less blood and more pact.”

“I think it’ll be good for us,” you offer up, guiding Taehyung forward into the stream of water to wash the suds off. “But… what about the others that still- that still have feelings for us? What if we start getting close to other people?”

Taehyung gently tugs the loofah out of your hand, and you shiver when you feel the graze of the plastic thread run down your chest. Tae smiles and does it again just to drink in your reaction, before he sobers up. “Would it really be so bad to get close to other people?” he asks softly.

Jimin winces. “It could get messy, pup. Especially if we’re still keeping this on the down-low.”

“It’s already messy,” Taehyung points out with a frown. He hands the sudsy loofah to Jimin, letting his fingers naturally slip into your hair, massaging your scalp. Even as your mind goes hazy with the pleasure of Tae washing your hair, you force yourself to listen to his words too. “Jungkook lost it yesterday because he felt like the rest of us were excluding him, that because I liked you so much that he’d be left alone. That’s fucking awful, Jimin. My heart ached for you too, but it hurt so much to see him that upset over something that doesn’t have to be true. If we’re going to let ourselves be free on this show, then I want to show him that I’m there for him, too. He’s important to me.”

You close your eyes. Behind your lids play images of the hurt on Jin’s face, of Jungkook’s look of betrayal and Namjoon’s tears. Hoseok’s lack of energy, Yoongi’s resignation. Your two boyfriends - boyfriends to-be now? - just as devastated as the rest of them. Every snapshot replayed over and over, making you feel sick. You couldn’t let things get to that point again. “He’s important to me too,” you murmur, Taehyung shifting you so that the water clears away the soap from your hair. “None of us did right by him. I wanna spend some quality time with Jungkookie today and cheer him up a bit. Show him that we do care.”

“I’d like that,” Jimin says. “Him and I talked a lot last night, you know? He’s a pretty smart kid. I’m sure he’s beating himself up right now for losing control like that.”

The two guys finish cleaning themselves up, the water finally running clear as you wring your hair out. Stepping out of the shower to grab a towel, Taehyung sits himself on the edge of the bath, giving you space to get your own towel and start drying off. “Minnie,” he calls out unsurely.

“Yeah, pup?” Jimin says with an easy smile. Taehyung pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek, making the blue-haired man frown. “What is it, Tae?”

Taehyung looks down, his toes wiggling against the tile floor. “It’s great that you made up with Jungkookie, and I appreciate you talking to us, I really do. But you need to apologise to Hoseok.”

Jimin’s smile falters, a line deepening between his brows. “What do you mean?”

“You elbowed him right in the face, Min,” Taehyung says in exasperation, “you need to say sorry.”

You should bite your tongue, keep Hoseok’s business to himself. But your worry for the dom outweighs that instinct. “Hoseok thinks you really hate him now, Jimin,” you explain slowly. “He thought the two of you were playing up the rivalry for some good drama on the show, but now…”

Taehyung’s eyes are round, glittering. “Do you hate him, Minnie? Hobi-hyung is actually really nice once you get to know him.”

Jimin stiffens up, letting out a sigh as he lets his towel fall, stepping into some boxer briefs. “I just think he’s here for a good time instead of caring about the competition.”

“But do you hate him?” the masseuse presses. Jimin falls silent, getting dressed. Satisfied, Tae begins to dry himself off and dress too. “You at least owe him a conversation,” he finishes.

Jimin swallows, tugs a shirt over his head. “I do,” he admits, “and I’ll apologise.” He pauses with a sigh, eyes darting over Taehyung with a look akin to wonder. “You’re determined to make me a better person, huh?”

“I think you’re better than you give yourself credit for, that’s all,” Taehyung says lowly. “Anyways; the others are probably waking up by now.”

You finish changing quietly, your mind beginning to grow waterlogged with all the conflicts and relationships floating in your mind. Elimination was meant to be about the sex, sure, but things had grown so thorny that you knew that whoever you voted out tomorrow morning would have repercussions in everyone else. If you took out Hoseok like you were going to last week, would it make it more difficult for him and Jimin to smooth out their differences? If you voted out Jungkook, would he just spiral more, already so unstable? You could vote one of the older ones, but age didn’t mean it would hurt less. Yoongi would be so shocked coming off his win. Jin would probably think you were publicly rejecting him. To cut Namjoon off after he was finally finding his feet just seems cruel. And could you possibly vote off one of your boys?

“Are you okay? Y/n?”

You glance up, Jimin and Taehyung by the door, staring back at you. “Oh; are we going?”

Worry flits across their faces. “I just said we should head out,” Jimin explains, “are you alright?”

You push down your worries, taking a deep breath. “Stressed about elimination. At least I have another day to decide.”

Taehyung lets out a low sigh of empathy, stepping back in to link your arms. “Oh, petal,” he croons, leading you out into Jimin’s bedroom. “If you really can’t decide, you could flip a coin for it.”

“Tae,” Jimin chastises, though there’s no bite to his tone.

“I’m serious!” Taehyung insists, reluctantly letting go of you the further away you get from the privacy of Jimin’s room. “I hate seeing Y/n upset. It would be easier if she didn’t have to feel guilty about the decision, you know?”

Your heart sings at Taehyung’s thoughtfulness. “I think I’ll feel guilty either way, but I appreciate it, Tae. If I ask you for a coin, you know why.” He smiles at you, opening his mouth to reply, but your attention is quickly caught by the sight of a hunched figure sneaking in through the front door. You gasp. “Jungkookie?”

He looks a mess; eyes red, hair tangled and clothes wrinkled from a restless night. There are a hundred reasons you should be angry at him. He hit Jimin, he insulted you and everyone else in the house, he made Tae cry. But all you can think of is the devastation on his face when Sejin dragged him out of the room, the way his voice cracked on every apology.

Jungkook barely processes you rushing down the stairs before you’re colliding into him, the air punched out of his chest as you tuck your face against him and wrap your arms around his back tightly.

“Wha-?” Hesitantly, like he’s convinced you’re going to freak, he brings his own arms up, reciprocating the hug. “Y/n?”

You feel tears prick your eyes as you feel the tension leave his body, relief that you weren’t currently hitting or yelling at him. He presses his cheek against the crown of your head and sniffs back a sob, making you tighten your grip. “I’m so sorry, Gukkie,” the nickname leaving your mouth without thought.

He lets out a weak laugh of disbelief. “I’m the one that’s sorry,” he insists, voice still a shocked whisper. “I fucked up so bad, how do you not hate me right now?”

You feel pressure to your left; Taehyung joining the hug, arms around the two of you. “We all fucked up,” he says airily, like it’s of little importance. “What matters now is that we stick together and make sure not to do that ever again. We were so worried about you, you know? Sejin made it seem like you two might leave for good.”

You pull back just enough to take in Jungkook’s face as he gives the two of you a teary smile, before his eyes flit behind you to where Jimin stands. Eyes warming in understanding. “We aren’t leaving.”

You see Jimin’s hand reach out over you to squeeze Jungkook’s shoulder. Stepping closer, he gives the youngest a warm smile. “We should go in to the lounge. Both of us have some apologising to do.”

Jungkook swallows and nods, letting you and Tae go as the four of you make your way inside.

In the lounge blankets and pillows are still strewn over the carpet. While most of the guys are up in the kitchen, moving glumly, Yoongi and Jin are sitting on the floor with their backs against a couch, speaking quietly. They’re the first ones to notice you enter, the rest preoccupied with making breakfast.

Yoongi winces when his eyes land on Jimin, the doctor no doubt concerned about the blooming colour across the bridge of his nose. “Sejin said it’s not broken,” he says as way of greeting.

Jimin shakes his head ruefully.

“Then my sympathy for you is minimal. Come on; we should go to the table for this.”

This is unspoken but clear to all of you. The point where you had to make it right, assess the damages in the aftermath and do what had to be done.

Pulling the chairs out from the table in the space between the kitchen and the lounge, Jimin and Jungkook choose to sit beside each other, Taehyung scooting in close beside Jungkook, the two having stuck close together this whole time. Even in the solemnity of the situation, it warms your heart to see them almost back to their normal selves. Back to the time when they were like partners in crime. With the way Taehyung grins softly at what Jungkook says, the two leaning their heads in conspiratorially, you don’t doubt they’ll be back to their usual ways soon.

The squeak of the chairs has caught the attention of those in the kitchen by now, and Namjoon gasps at the sight of them. “Oh, Jimin!” he exclaims. “What happened to your nose?”

You have no doubt that the question slips out automatically without Namjoon even thinking about it. Jimin laughs, wincing when his nose crinkles. “I don’t know if you recall,” he jibes fondly, “but I got sucker punched in the face last night.”

Jungkook punches him on the shoulder lightly, though his strength still jostles the older man. “Nothing a good face mask can’t fix, hey?”

“I can’t stand you,” Jimin complains with a sigh.

“Thank god you’re sitting down then, hyung.” Jungkook grins cheekily, everyone else stunned into silence. It’s such a far cry from the screaming match last night that it’s hard to wrap your head around it.

As the rest of you sit - you at one end of the table adjacent to Jimin, Yoongi taking the opposite end and Namjoon and Jin following beside him, Hoseok is forced to sit directly across from Jimin. He watches the two of them cautiously, a bluish circle on his right cheek evidence of the altercation last night. Jimin’s smile drops when he sees it.

Yoongi waits for everyone to sit before he clears his throat lightly. As the calmest person yesterday, it doesn’t surprise you to see him speaking up first. “Yesterday was unacceptable,” he says lowly. “But the fault rests on no single person. We all made mistakes, so let’s just front up about it and try and move on. I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen enough pain to last me the show.”

“Can I start?” Jungkook asks softly, as the others nod in response to Yoongi. “I, uh, I have a lot to apologise for. But… I don’t apologise for telling you all how I felt. Because it really sucked feeling like the odd one out. I don’t want your pity now, I just want to be friends again, you know? I want to get close to everyone again and enjoy being here.”

“Oh, Jungkookie,” Taehyung coos, leaning over to rest his head on Jungkook’s shoulder. Instinctively, your eyes find Jimin’s, but instead of looking upset or irritated, he sends the pair a fond smile. No longer was it a bad thing that one of you was sharing affection with one of the other guys. Now you had the freedom to see it as a good thing; it was good that Taehyung cared for Jungkook, it was good that Jungkook was being cared for. Your heart feels full watching Taehyung be so loving of the youngest guy in the house.

Jungkook himself takes a bracing breath, grateful of the contact. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I took things too far. I was so wound up that I couldn’t think straight, and I know I need to work on not getting aggressive. What I did was so, so wrong. Telling Jin’s secret without permission and hitting Jimin? I’m so ashamed of myself. I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your trust but I do selfishly hope you’ll give it to me anyway.” He finishes with a self-deprecating shrug, eyes locked down on his lap.

Jimin reaches over to take Jungkook’s hand in his, patting it. “You know you already have my forgiveness.”

Eyes around the table shift to Jin, who shifts, face impassive. He stays silent for a few moments, jaw working. “I forgive you,” he says finally, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not upset at you for doing what you did.”

“I understand, hyung,” Jungkook replies in a low voice. Before he can speak further, the oldest clears his throat.

“Speaking on that,” Jin states, his face slightly stiff with discomfort, “I need to apologise too. I… At the start of this game, I told you all that my door was always open, that I wanted you to see me as somebody you could come to for advice anytime… I shouldn’t have done that. Of course I want to help you, but it wasn’t wise or healthy for me to commit to that. I’ve struggled a lot in my career with putting my own feelings and wellbeing on the backburner in order to prioritise my clients, and I fell in that hole yet again. I can’t stay objective when my emotions are so clearly compromised, and we saw the consequences of that last night. If I hadn’t have gotten so involved, perhaps I could’ve de-escalated the situation.” He clears his throat, takes a breath, and glances around the room with a small smile. “So with all due respect, I’m resigning as the show’s live-in therapist. Come to me if you wish, but please do it as a friend.”

You return the smile broadly. “I’m really proud of you, Jin, that sounds like a good idea.”

He laughs sheepishly, ears pinkening. “Anyways, that was all I had to say. Anyone else?”

Jimin raises a hand. “I’ll take that up,” he says warmly. “First of all, I want to say sorry to all of you. Jungkookie; I know we talked for a long time last night but I want to say again that I was far too harsh on you, and defensive when I should’ve been sympathetic. Everyone else, I apologise that you had to deal with me like that, being so nasty. It’s easy for me to let my- I don’t want to make excuses,” he says with a grimace, “but my experiences and my time in the porn industry made me a very negative and jaded person for a long time. I’m trying to get better, but I let my efforts slip last night and I’m so fucking sorry. You all have been so patient with me, and I wanna do right by you.”

Across from him, Hoseok listens intently. When it seems Jimin is done speaking, he presses his lips together and looks away.

But then Jimin says his name.

Hoseok glances up with a shocked look as Jimin lets out a regretful sigh. “Listen, me hitting you was so wrong,” Jimin admits plainly. “I wasn’t really thinking, it wasn’t a personal thing at all. But regardless of my intention yesterday, I wanna be really clear now. I think you’re a dipshit and an asshole, and you eat so fucking loudly, but I don’t hate you. I never have.”

Hoseok gapes for a moment or two, lips moving silently. “I- Jimin, I don’t hate you either,” he confesses. “You’re a wanker and too egotistical for your own good, but yeah. I don’t actually hate you either. You’re just fun to wind up, Peaches.”

Taehyung stares between the two of them; Hoseok wearing a self-satisfied but relieved smile as Jimin sputters. “You two should kiss,” he breathes dreamily.

“Tae,” Jimin protests, scandalised, but soon the entire table is joining in cracking up at the two rivals. “Guys!”

The sound of everyone laughing freely suddenly hits you in the chest, and you have to blink quickly to stop from tearing up. You’d missed this more than you even realised. “Can we just- Elimination isn’t until tomorrow now,” you remind everyone, hands wringing, “so can we just enjoy today? Spend it together? Of course not all of us may be over what happened, I don’t know, but I just want to really be with you guys.” You bite your lip as you glance around the fond looks of the guys, none of them sheltering the resentment you probably deserve. “I haven’t treated all of you fairly, and I want to make it right by spending more quality time with you… If you want to.”

Yoongi, who’s been pretty quiet this whole time, winks at you from the opposite end of the table. “I like the sound of that,” he supports with a heartfelt tone, “but if I’m going to be stuck with you jokers for the day, I need some food in me.” He turns to the youngest. “JK, could I request your assistance in the kitchen. I need your G.I. Joe muscles to chop some vegetables for me.”

“I can help?” Jungkook asks hopefully, before getting out of his chair with such enthusiasm that it just about falls to the ground. “I’ll go wash my hands, Chef Min!”

You’re so caught up in watching them banter back and forth, making their way to the pantry, that you don’t notice a whispered message spreading until Jimin leans into your side easily, lips brushing the lobe of your ear.

You jump, making him let out a breathy laugh. “We’re all taking extra special care of the baby today. Pass it on.”

You pull back with a bemused smile. “Is that so?”

Jimin rolls his eyes, but a smile quirks at his lips. “Taehyung’s idea. Are we surprised?”

Your eyes find Taehyung. He’s getting up himself, skipping over to the kitchen insisting that he’s going to help. “Not for a second.” Hoseok is to your left around the corner of the table, and you scoot over, placing a hand on his arm. The dom looks at you with wide eyes when you lean in close, though Jungkook is far enough away in the walk-in pantry that you just speak lowly. “Everyone’s gonna pamper Gukkie today, you in?”

Hoseok’s eyes crinkle prettily, beaming. “I’m game. The kid deserves it.”

You indicate to pass the message on to Namjoon, but Hoseok’s hand flies up to grip your elbow, keeping you close. “Hobi?”

His face is open, eyes pleading. “Spend some time with me today?”

Your heart warms even as guilt runs thinly through your veins. “Of course. We could go pick some board games?”

His beam returns, radiant. “Let’s go.”

As it stands, the one storage closet in the villa is filled with all the equipment you could possibly need. Larger cleaning supplies that didn’t fit in the laundry like a mop and broom, a small stack of games, some spare linen - and, as it seems, the collection of sex toys that the show provided.

Under the stairs, the closet is just big enough for you two to slip inside, you turning on a light and letting out a giggle at the set of drawers that houses the Bangasm collection. Each drawer is labeled with a plastic sticker - insertables, wearables, miscellaneous. Above, hanging on what looks like a coat hook nailed to the wall, are a number of riding crops and flogs.

“Far out,” you muse, “Monopoly and anal plugs, what a clo-oof!” The breath is kicked out of you as Hoseok grips you by the shoulders, whirls you around to face him and pushes you against the wall, his body caging you in. “Hoseok,” you gasp breathlessly.

He leans in, face cast in shadow from the naked bulb dangling behind him. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, lips barely brushing yours.

Your eyes flutter shut. “Fuck, yes it is!” You don’t even finish your sentence before he’s pressing his body against you fully, lips moving greedily against yours. You let out a satisfied hum, hand reaching up to anchor yourself, hooked on the nape of his neck.

You fall so fully into the kiss, going lax with every teasing swipe of his tongue that you struggle to keep track of his hands. It feels like they’re everywhere; running up your sides, tugging at your waistband, brushing over your jaw. You don’t come back to clarity until you feel one fisting in your hair, pulling your mouth away from him.

You moan wantonly into the quiet of the closet, but Hoseok tuts at the noise, slipping his thumb into your open mouth. With bleary eyes, you wrap your lips around the digit and suck automatically, making him curse.

“Are you gonna be quiet like a good little girl?” he questions. “Gonna let me fuck that pretty little ass of yours?”

Your eyes widen, making a strangled noise in the back of your throat even as your core aches.

He grins, wolfish. “Surprised? I thought I better give your pussy a rest. You’re lucky I’m so thoughtful, hm? Say, ‘thank you, Sir.’”

You open your mouth to pull back, but he keeps the pad of his thumb pressed against your tongue. “‘ankoo, thir.”

“That’s it, princess. Turn around now, hands on the wall.” Finally he removes his thumb from your mouth, giving you space to adjust yourself, but you can’t help but miss the feeling of fullness, of having something to suck on. You bite your lip as you crane your neck to glance behind you, but a dull bloom of pain on your ass makes you jump. “Did I say you could turn around?”

You shiver, the aching spot too small to be his hand. “No, sir.” It’s impossible to keep your head forward when you feel cold hands slipping your pants and panties down, letting them sit mid-thigh. You grit your teeth and stare ahead at the lightswitch.

“That’s it,” he repeats again. His voice is low, rhythmic timbre that has your mind smoothing out, giving over to him. “The walls of this closet are thin so you aren’t allowed to make any noises, got it? And keep your face forward.”

“Yes, sir,” you sigh out automatically, feeling a cold square of something run over you. It isn’t solid like plastic, but there’s a stiffness to it that makes your toes curl. The thought of it striking you again, without clothes to dull the impact, has your hips rocking back needily.

His free palm runs over your bared ass, slowly warming to your skin’s natural heat. You relax, sighing, and it’s in that moment of letting your guard down that he strikes you again, the sound echoing thinly in the small room.

You let out a throaty cry and jump away, even as you feel heat gather between your legs at the delicious sting.

“Shh,” Hoseok chastises, his hand now soothing the mark. “Now you know what it feels like. That’s a riding crop, princess. Never felt one of those before?”

Your head falls between your shoulders. You want to turn around so bad, and it makes him chuckle. “No, sir.”

“I’m sure we’ll be getting better acquainted with it,” the dom says airily, before you hear the crack of a plastic lid. The contents are immediately recognisable as the icy coolness of lube is spread down your center, Hoseok’s finger circling the tight muscle of your ass. “Relax for me, princess.”

You do your best to follow his command, willing yourself to go lax. The initial intrusion of his first finger feels so alien, invasive, that you let out a whine. Hoseok punishes the noise with a quick, light swat of the riding crop, and you inhale harshly through your nose, clenching around his finger as it slowly thrusts inside you.

“You’re doing so well for me, princess. I’m going to put in another finger now.”

Even with his warning, the added stretch has you trembling, knees struggling to support your weight. It feels right on the edge of how much you can take, not painful but so overwhelming, and you find yourself desperate for something to ground you. The riding crop… Taking your chance to seek out punishment, you crane your neck back to see him.

He’s not in the outfit you saw on him last Monday, but he’s still wearing mostly black, the only exception being a metallic belt cinched at his waist, glinting in the light from the bulb. The riding crop, one he’s no doubt taken from the coat hook, is an innocuous looking thin black rod with a squarish fold of leather at the end. His fingers grip the end gracefully, and the second he sees you glancing back, they tense and flick it, catching you on the thigh.

It hurts more there, but the pain feels like a warm anchor, and a dopey grin stretches across your face as you turn your head back. “Thank you, sir,” you sigh out happily, the consistent movement of his fingers inside you beginning to feel good.

Hoseok clicks his tongue, bemusement clouding his tone. “Is my princess a little pain slut, hm? I’ll spank you if you need it, baby, but if you turn your head around one more time, you’ll regret it. I don’t appreciate being deliberately disobeyed.”

True to his word, the hits begin to rain down more regularly. Each one stings for no more than a moment, his blows far from bruising, but still the ache has you muffling your moans in your throat, high on it.

So caught up in anticipating where the strip of leather would strike next, you barely even realise he’s moved up to three fingers before he’s slipping them out. Letting out an unbidden whine at the emptiness, you jump when a much sharper stroke lands on the back of your opposite thigh, your knee almost giving out.

Fingers curling on the walls of the closet, you pant out an apology as you listen in to the sound of his buckle and zip. Soon enough, the blunt head of his cock is pressing to your entrance.

Automatically, you tense up, resulting in a quick swat on the top of your ass. “Relax,” Hoseok commands gruffly, punctuating the word with another hit.

You barely manage to keep quiet as he sinks into you, so much deeper than his fingers could ever reach. Biting harshly into your bottom lip, you sink your chest further down, braced fully against the wall.

Hoseok seems to be just as affected as you, grunting as he bottoms out. “Fuck, so tight,” he growls, hands gripping your hips. The rod of the riding crop digs into your hipbone and you miss the feeling of it swatting you, even as your skin feels red hot. You moan out loud, hoping to incite punishment, but he just rocks into you and hisses at the snug fit. “God, taking it so well, princess.”

You moan again as he begins to thrust inside you, this time unintentionally. But still, he’s lost in the feeling of you clenching around him, and lets your breaking of the rule slide. With every slow stroke of his cock, your pussy feels empty, clit needy for contact. But the stretch of him in your ass has drool pooling on your tongue, hips rocking back against him in the hopes for more.

Wary of the thin walls Hoseok mentioned, but craving the sting of the riding crop, you let out quiet cries, even whining his name. The dom just chuckles, continuing his achingly slow speed. “Want something?”

Fuck. “You’re really going to make me beg?” you ask breathlessly. “You said we had to be fast.”

“You’re right.” Without ceremony, Hoseok pulls out of you. The absence causes you to immediately plead, feeling so empty without him. Luckily, your mindless babbling proves his point, and he slips himself back inside with one resolute snap of his hips. “If there’s something you want, you better hurry up and ask nicely, princess.”

You sob, back arching to feel him even deeper, his thrusts far too slow to get you anywhere. “Fuck, please spank me sir, I wanna feel it.”

“Since you said please,” Hoseok quips dryly, before his hips resume their pace, enough for your body to be bounced forward slightly on every upstroke. It’s then that he readies the crop and when he strikes, it’s without mercy.

One hand coming forward to slip his thumb back into your mouth - enough to muffle your cries but leaving sufficient space for you to safeword if you needed it - the other rains down countless hits on your sensitive ass and thighs, the skin on fire as each swat rings out in the small space. Paired with the smooth, constant stimulation inside you, the pain rackets your orgasm closer and closer, making you tremble and suck harshly on his thumb.

“Close, princess?” Hoseok asks with a breathy chuckle, and you nod frantically, moaning around his digit. Suddenly, he slows down to a teasing grind, and you hear the brittle clatter of the riding crop drop to the floor. Ignoring your disappointed cries, he runs his calloused palms over your sore skin. “Oh, look at you,” he coos, “I knew this ass would look perfect after a good spanking. Pretty in pink.”

It’s a trap. You know it’s a trap, but you’re so out of your mind from the edging that you turn around to look anyway.

You can’t even see your ass properly from that angle. The only thing you see is Hoseok’s predatory grin as he reaches the now-free hand out and flicks off the light. “I warned you,” his voice calls out lightly in the pitch darkness.

That brief moment of silence after he speaks is your only respite before he raises your chest so it presses up against the wall and fucks you into oblivion.

Unsure if your eyes are even open or closed, you can’t see a single thing, your heart-rate automatically rising as Hoseok replaces his thumb with two fingers pressing down on your tongue, keeping you steady as he rams you.

If his slow thrusts were mindblowing, the brutal pace of his hips now has you going crazy, unable to process anything other than the overwhelming, inescapable pleasure that runs through you viciously. Your ass stings every time his hips smack against it, and you feel drool running down your chin as you fail to properly suck.

It takes a single swipe of his fingers against your clit for you to jerk into a convulsive orgasm, shuddering and shaking wildly against him as he continues to rut into you without mercy. Even after your hands go tingly and your feet go numb, he continues to rub at the swollen bud, which can barely handle the pleasure it’s been denied for so long.

Too soon, that pleasure turns to pain, and not the fun kind. You sob, trying to wiggle away but the arm low over your hip keeps you in reach as Hoseok chases his own end. “S-suh-sensitive,” you stutter, barely noticing his fingers slipping from your mouth to grip your hip, giving him the leverage to fuck you harder.

“Princess is going to cum again for me,” Hoseok gruffly commands, and you cry, reluctantly turning over to the pleasure of a new orgasm approaching. How he brings you back to the edge so fast is beyond you, but you feel passive to the stimulation that electrifies your every nerve. And when he tells you to cum, you cum.

Like your body can’t handle all the sensations at once, your hearing drops away, your sense of balance or self-awareness. A burst of heat inside you signifies Hoseok’s orgasm, warm palms holding you steady as he lowers you to the floor.

Instead of dusty floorboards, your ass is met with a soft fabric, and you reach out, feeling the telltale smoothness of linen, what feels like a pillowcase. It’s the absurd thought of you leaking cum onto a pillowcase that brings you back from that floaty subspace, an exhausted chuckle bubbling out of your throat.

“You okay?” Hoseok checks in. “I’m going to turn the light back on; it’ll be bright.”

He’s right. The sharp light from the bulb - once seeming wan - stings your eyes, and you wince and shield them. “Fuck, Hoseok, you menace.”

He grins, though his eyes still furrow with worry. “Are you alright? I didn’t go too hard, did I? You responded well to it, so…”

Your eyes slip closed, starbursts behind your lids firing away. Letting your head knock back against the wall of the closet with a hollow thud, you sigh happily. “It was fucking incredible, holy shit.”

Hoseok chuckles, grabbing another pillowcase from the shelves of sheets and blankets. “Use this to clean yourself up if you want. I have something really important I need to ask you.”

You look back up with the serious tone in his voice. Frowning, you gingerly wipe the lube, cum and arousal from between your legs, wincing at the oversensitivity. “What’s up?”

Hoseok sighs slowly, turning away from you. “Pictionary or Charades?”

You have a few hours of innocent fun before things begin to turn.

As it turns out, the nonchalant Jeon Jungkook is a beast at any board game you can drag out from the closet, and he grins toothily every time things turn in his favour. He deciphers Namjoon’s chicken scratch drawing of a dentist that left the rest of you stumped, he seems to avoid every single owned property when you play Monopoly, he manages to come up with a 40-point word on Scrabble, much to everyone’s dismay.

It’s his choice for lunch as the game’s winner - though you suspect Jin was going to let him choose anyway - and so you have the pleasure of watching Jungkook’s cheeks fill with pork, tofu, potatoes, egg. Yoongi doesn’t even complain when he keeps talking through his mouthfuls, just handing the youngest a napkin when he struggles to chew it all.

Even Jimin seems content for the attention to be off him. While you were rendesvousing with Hoseok he must have ducked upstairs to put on some makeup, because he’s perfectly concealed the bruise on his nose, looking fresh and dewy even as he winces occasionally with the ache of it. He spends his time fawning over Jungkook like the rest of you, patting his cheeks and praising him in the games.

In the end, it’s Taehyung’s golden hands that signify the start of something a little less family friendly.

His offer for a massage is perfectly innocuous. Jungkook has a twinge in his shoulder from hitting the coffee table back-first, and then sleeping on the floor in the production van. He jumps at Taehyung’s generous suggestion, asking for the same massage oil as last time.

Whether he remembers it’s the oil that is safe to be used as lube, you don’t know, but by the time Taehyung returns with it, Jungkook is sitting on the couch with no shirt on, grinning eagerly.

Due to the unspoken rule to all be there for Jungkook, the other six of you remain. Or, perhaps, it’s the desire to watch the expressions on Jungkook’s face as Taehyung works away the toxins in his muscles.

Either way, you find yourself tucked between Namjoon and Jimin on one couch; Hoseok, Jin and Yoongi on the other as the two youngest take the middle one.

As the masseuse straddles Jungkook’s bare torso, perched on the back of the couch, you can’t help but be reminded of Jimin’s striptease. How much this felt like a performance just like that one.

Jungkook isn’t flexing, letting himself hunch over slightly to give Tae better access, but his body is still so perfectly proportioned. His abdomen ridged with muscle, his biceps curved to make you drool. As he tilts his head to one side and then the other, spine clicking, his hair brushes on his bare shoulders. You wonder if it’s normally this long, or if he just hasn’t got it cut in a while. You wonder if he likes to have it tugged. It’s the perfect length for it.

“This may feel cold,” Taehyung warns as he runs his palms together, the oil glistening in between. Jungkook sighs out when Tae finally puts his hands on him, spreading the slightly floral-scented oil over his skin.

“Feels nice, hyung,” Jungkook lets out airily, making Taehyung giggle.

“I haven’t even started yet. Stay still.”

Watching Taehyung massage Jungkook almost feels like watching live art. There’s a harmony in the way they unconsciously align their breathing so that their chests rise and fall in unison. A liveliness in the way Jungkook’s lips part and lashes flutter. Even a sensuality in those deep presses of Taehyung’s fingers, Jungkook’s flesh ripping under his touch.

In fact, it’s so enchanting watching those details in their faces and bodies that it takes you a few minutes to realise that Jungkook’s reactions are… perhaps more enthusiastic than the situation warrants.

His eyes are shut, head lolled back against Tae’s thigh as the masseuse begins to run his hands over his sternum, pressing out the tension in his chest. A guttural noise vibrates in his throat every time Taehyung’s fingers wander closer to his nipples, which are tight peaks, his breath shallow but quick.

“Deep breaths, Jungkookie,” Taehyung instructs quietly, guiding his head forward so that he can return to Jungkook’s back. Taehyung balls his hand into a fist, sliding it down the hollow between Jungkook’s spine and shoulder blade. The boy, with his head tipped forward, lets out a moan. Taehyung freezes.

Jungkook hisses, shuffling back to bump against Taehyung’s loosened fist. “Don’t stop, hyung. Feels so good.”

Taehyung’s eyes lift to the rest of you, who watch wide-eyed. He shrugs, silently asking your opinion, and Hoseok just gives a nod. Biting his lip, the masseuse continues.

Each swoop, stroke, and press of Taehyung’s fingers and knuckles wring open-mouthed moans from the shameless boy. Between locks of hair that obscure his face, you can see red cheeks and a satisfied grin. Dropping your gaze, you see the stiff outline that tents his sweatpants.

As you glance around the room, it seems the others are starting to realise too. Namjoon’s shyly hiding his own erection, Yoongi’s eyes are like two black furnaces as they watch the scene unfold. Hoseok, the first one to encourage it, licks his lips as he watches, clearly not satisfied from his time in the closet with you this morning. Your core aches at the reminder.

“A little lower, hyung?” Jungkook asks, his voice almost whiny as he makes his request. His breath hitches audibly as Taehyung begins to massage his lower back, just above his hips. The masseuse has to hunch down just to reach it, but he dutifully relieves the tension there, too. “Ah, thank you, Tae. Taking care of me so good.”

Beside you, Jimin sucks in a light breath, and you do the same. That, paired with his wanton moans and hard-on, is a clear indicator of what exactly he wants, and with the way Taehyung’s eyes widen, he knows it too.

“Do you just want hyung to take care of you, Jungkookie?” Taehyung questions lightly. “Or all of us?”

Jungkook whines at the words alone, his head lifting but eyes staying firmly shut. “All of you,” he admits lowly.

Beside you, Jimin lets out a pleased hum, his fingers winding into your hair. “Do you want to go help out our Jungkookie, little mouse?” He tugs lightly, your head tilting back willingly as he runs a finger over your lips. “Put this pretty little mouth to use?”

Your lips part, Jimin’s finger grazing over your teeth before he pulls away, letting you rise to your feet unsteadily. Patting you on your ass - probably not realising that it was as sensitive as it actually is - he sends you on your way.

The thought that Jimin was asking you to service Jungkook just makes you wetter, and you feel the whole room’s eyes on you as you sink to your knees between Jungkook’s lazily spread legs.

You meet Taehyung’s eyes, the masseuse smoothly running his palms up the expanse of Jungkook’s back before his fingers slip into his hair, guiding it to face down as he whispered in Jungkook’s ear, too quiet for even you to catch it.

Whatever he said makes Jungkook’s eyes fly open, unfocused before they land on you and widen. “Y/n,” he exclaims, groaning when your hand runs over his clothed cock, tracing the outline. “Fuck.”

You grin, remembering the last time you were between his legs. “Do you want my mouth, Gukkie, or my hands?”

He gulps, Taehyung sweetly tucking Jungkook’s hair behind his ear and pressing a kiss to his temple. “C-Can I have both?”

Your grin widens, exposing teeth as you grip him in his pants, making his breath hitch. “That’s very greedy of you,” you chastise, “it’s a good thing we’re treating you today.”

He sighs, lips twitching in a pleased smile once he realises he’s getting what he wants. Taehyung’s fingers run curved lines over Jungkook’s scalp, beginning to massage it as you pull back the waistband of Jungkook’s sweats.

He’s not wearing any underwear - the thought making you consider that perhaps he’d hoped or even planned for something like this to happen - and your mouth waters when you wrap your fingers around him. They don’t quite touch, and he’s not even the thickest cock in the house.

Precum makes his tip glossy, collecting in the small dip right at the top. You run your index finger over it, tapping it to watch the wet strings cling and stretch. Jungkook hisses, brows knitting as he bites down on his lip.

Though his weeping cock is a pretty sight, it isn’t quite enough lubricant to comfortably jerk him off, and so you lean forward, letting your spit drop off your tongue and run down him. He groans as you use it to coat his length, twisting your wrist just slightly under the head. There were many things that were new to you on this show, and so you’re more than ready to take advantage of something you’re well-versed in.

You hear a throat clear behind you; not the kind that seeks attention, but the quiet cough of forced restraint and composure. You can’t pin just who it is from the short sound alone, but the reminder that people are watching inspires you to put on a show.

Under the guise of getting comfortable, you shift on your knees to arch your back more, leaning in to press a kiss to Jungkook’s tip, blinking up at him innocently.

The camboy curses, head falling back into Taehyung’s lap. “You’re gonna kill me,” he moans, “that’s so fucking cute.”

You let out a laugh, Taehyung carding through Jungkook’s hair to break up the tangles he’s made. Jungkook watches you through his lashes, and you smile sweetly. “Is this cute?” Without waiting for an answer, you take a deep breath and wrap your lips around him, bobbing down enough to almost trigger your gag reflex.

His hips jerk as he groans, hands fisting at his sides. You continue to suck him off, tongue running the line of a vein on the underside of his shaft as your hand strokes what you can’t reach.

“So good, Y/n,” Jungkook praises, his hands slipping into your hair as he parts his legs wider. “Tae, ha-harder.”

Taehyung responds in kind, using his fingernails to scratch lightly, making the boy’s back arch. As you blink up through teary eyes, you can see the half-fond, half-aroused look on Tae’s face as he sits on the back of the couch, leaning in close enough that his chin almost reaches Jungkook’s head.

Doubling your efforts, you choose to close your eyes instead and focus on taking him deeper down your throat, swallowing when you feel his tip graze the back of it. With one hand on his base and the other gently rolling his balls, you feel him shiver helplessly, abs flexing.

The black-haired boy is delightfully vocal, and you use his melodic cries to guide you, Taehyung clearly doing the same as he tugs on Jungkook’s hair and massages his scalp. It’s no surprise to you all, then, when his moans suddenly reach a higher pitch and his thighs tense before going completely slack when he spills down the back of your throat.

You pull off him as he continues to pump out cum, the salty tang pooling on your tongue and soaking your lips, just before you swallow, you feel a hand on your shoulder and another pulling your face to the side as lips press against yours.

You let out a muffled squeak, opening your eyes briefly to see that it’s Yoongi who claims your mouth, tongue delving into your mouth and lapping up the last of Jungkook’s cum. You let your eyes flutter shut again and your jaw slacken as he licks up into you, sucking your tongue into his mouth shamelessly.

Above you, Jungkook - still panting from his orgasm - curses at the sight, his hand in your hair moving down to brush your cheek tenderly. “You two- fuck,” he swears, his voice cut off suddenly with a grunt.

You pull away and look up to see Jungkook’s neck arched back as Taehyung holds him there with two hands tugging his locks back as he claims the youngest man’s mouth. You can see glints of teeth as Taehyung nips at Jungkook’s lips, making them bloom dark pink as the camboy whimpers.

“Oh, Taehyung,” a voice calls out, and you don’t have to look over to recognise it as Jimin’s sultry timbre. “My muscles hurt, too. Won’t you give me a massage?”

Taehyung murmurs, pressing one final kiss to the corner of Jungkook’s mouth. “Sorry, Jungkookie, duty calls.”

Poor Jungkook looks like he’s been shocked awake when his head straightens up. With a drooling mouth, tangled hair and hazy eyes, he watches dumbly as Taehyung hops over him and over to Jimin, tugging him off the couch and back to the one Jungkook’s on, guiding him to get down in front of it so Taehyung can sit on the cushions.

As Jimin and Taehyung begin, Yoongi licks his lips and glances up at Jungkook. “Are you done, or do you wanna go again?”

Jungkook chokes, eyes like saucers. “Uh- y-you- I can go again.”

Yoongi raises his brow. “Do you want to?”

The camboy swallows and nods. “I want to. I want all of you.”

It’s Hoseok that comes over to join you first, combing Jungkook’s wild hair with his fingers. “What do you want from us, prince? Want to get fucked?”

Jungkook’s pupils dilate as he bites onto his lip. “Yeah, please. Will you fuck me, Seokie?”

Hoseok beams at the nickname, ruffling his hair fondly. “Can you lie down for me then? On the floor would be easiest, just on your back.”

Jungkook moves hastily with excitement, but as you give him space you can see how his neck cranes awkwardly off the floor to keep watching Hoseok. Shuffling forward, you pat his shoulder, getting him to sit up slightly so that he can rest his head on your lap. He blinks up at you with a toothy grin that you can’t help but return. “Better?” you ask, and he nods sweetly.

It doesn’t take Hoseok long to slip Jungkook’s sweats off, and he’s the first person in the room to be fully naked. Tucking his hands under his knees, he holds himself open for Hoseok, eyes widening when the dom pulls out a small travel-size bottle of lube from his pocket.

You raise your brow at him, recognising the click of the sound from the closet that morning. Hoseok shrugs. “What? Gotta be prepared.”

Jungkook laughs breathily at the quip, but it quickly morphs into a moan as Hoseok sinks a lubed-up finger inside him, straight to the knuckle. He’s softened slightly after his orgasm, but the stimulation quickly begins to plump him up again, his cock heavy on his stomach.

As Hoseok preps him, you glance up and over your shoulder. Behind you, Taehyung’s hands run over Jimin’s now-bare chest. As Jimin sighs in pleasure and arches, the masseuse’s mouth sucks an earlobe into his mouth, nipping at it and tugging at a small silver hoop that adorns it.

Yoongi watches them for a moment, before turning back to the couches, where only Jin and Namjoon remain. Calling them both over, only Jin stands up and joins you, Namjoon still too shy.

Jungkook whines prettily when Jin and Yoongi kneel beside him, caged between them and the couch. By now, Hoseok has already got three fingers inside him, thrusting them so loudly that the sound echoes in the room, the camboy squirming beneath him, fully hard again.

Wordlessly, he reaches out for the two oldest, one hand tugging at Yoongi’s jeans and his mouth falling open, tongue lolling out as he blinks up at Jin.

“Fuck, you’re a sin,” Jin curses, but hurriedly frees himself from his pants, tugging at his cock impatiently. You can barely breathe, the pressure of Jungkook’s cheek on your knee as Jin guides the tip of his dick into the boy’s awaiting mouth.

Brushing the hair back from his face, you watch those doe eyes tear up as Jin groans, hips slowly canting forward. He’s bigger than Jungkook, perhaps not longer but definitely wider, and you don’t envy how Jungkook’s jaw is going to feel after this.

Blindly, the youngest flails for Yoongi’s cock, only settling once the doctor slips his cock out and taps the length of it into Jungkook’s palm, letting him begin to jerk it lazily.

Hoseok waits until the three of them have reached their equilibrium before he begins to sink into Jungkook, keeping his cheeks spread as Jungkook holds one of his legs up and opened wide. You can tell the point that Hoseok’s cock hits his prostate as his back suddenly arches and his hand tightens on Yoongi, making the doctor hiss.

Letting out an apologetic whine, Jungkook drops his jaw wider and speeds his hand, doing his best as Hoseok steadies himself and starts fucking the youngest man.

You almost forget about those behind you until you feel an exploring pressure at your side. Turning, you see Jimin’s hand reaching out for yours. With a warm heart, you interlock your fingers quietly, and turn back. The small stolen intimacy takes your breath away, and you find yourself naturally tuning in to his songbird moans as Taehyung’s massage no doubt turns his body to jelly.

The moment you look back towards the boy in your lap with a bulging cheek and teary, euphoric eyes, you see Jin lean in. His lips join yours chastely, just a single testing kiss before he goes to draw back. Instead of letting him increase the distance, you latch onto his shirt with your free hand, pulling him in to meet your mouth again.

Even with his dick in someone else’s mouth, in the middle of the impromptu orgy - though with the way Jungkook eagerly squirms under the attention of three cocks you’re still not sure it was impromptu - Jin kisses you so sweetly.

With a thumb stroking your jaw, his plush lips claim yours with the patience of a god, every movement tender and thoughtful. It takes your breath away, makes you clench harder on Jimin’s hand and the cotton fabric in your other fist.

Jin’s mouth, the smile that stretches his lips and the moans from Jungkook’s ministrations that slip through, they make you lose track of time. No elimination, no cameras, no tears and bruises. You’re together, all-

Just as you recall Namjoon’s lack of participation, a sharp cry catches your attention, Jin and you parting to look behind.

Cross-legged in front of Jimin, Namjoon watches the younger man with wide eyes as one hand is buried in his pants, the other stretched out to wrap around Jimin’s cock.

With Taehyung rutting against his back as he massages Jimin’s scalp, the pornstar grins sleepily and licks his lips. “T-Tighter, Namjoon,” he pants, moaning again when his command is received.

With wide eyes, you watch Jimin reach down and wrap his own hand around Namjoon’s, the size difference almost comical. He guides the pace, legs parting and head tipping back into Taehyung’s hold.

Suddenly, Jin curses, and you glance back down to see Jungkook staring up at the two of you with pouty eyes, slurping more enthusiastically at Jin’s cock. Further down, Jungkook and Yoongi are helping each other out; the youngest jerks Yoongi off frantically while Yoongi thumbs at his nipples, making him squirm and let out muffled cries around Jin.

At the end, Hoseok watches you all carefully, making sure not to fuck Jungkook too harshly and risk him biting down. He plays lazily with the head of Jungkook’s cock as he gives steady thrusts, too loose to make him cum too soon but enough to keep the precum leaking onto his tensed stomach.

You feel Jin squeezing your shoulder, and you look back to see him eying you. “I could help you,” he offers, grunting as he begins to fuck Jungkook’s mouth in earnest.

Blinking in confusion, it takes you a second to realise what he’s volunteering his help for. Though the sight around you is undeniably erotic, getting to have a break while the others enjoy themselves is more than enough for you. “I’m good,” you decline with a grateful smile, eyes dipping, “though I would love to kiss you some more.”

Even as an endearing grin stretches across his face, he leans back in to claim your lips, no less sensually but certainly more needy as he gets close to orgasm. It’s addictive; feeling him groan into your mouth, teeth catching on your lips and tongue as he begins to lose his composure.

The hand you’re holding, tucked out of sight from the others, begins to tighten sporadically around your fingers, Jimin moans sounding more like pleasured breaths. As seven of you race towards orgasm, it’s him that comes first, the learned pleasure of masturbation mixed with the excitement of someone else’s hand clearly pitching him over the edge. He holds onto your hand for dear life as he rides the high, his loud moans triggering Jin, his hips stuttering and his mouth going still as he shoots his load down Jungkook’s throat.

Jungkook moans and gurgles happily, swallowing down every last drop before Jin pulls out. Mouth free, he rolls back fully onto your lap and gasps down lungfuls of air. The sudden rush of oxygen paired with stronger thrusts from Hoseok send him into a powerful orgasm.

Yoongi pauses his fucking into Jungkook’s fist as the camboy arches, eyes scrunched shut and mouth lax as he gives a loud cry. Drained from his first orgasm, his cum doesn’t shoot out like before, but pools steadily on his stomach, some of it dripping off his side onto the carpet.

Detaching Jungkook’s hand from his cock, Yoongi guides it to run over his own torso, slicked up in off-white before bringing it back. Once Jungkook begins to jerk him off in earnest with a hand covered in his own cum, Yoongi’s a goner.

As the camboy whimpers in overstimulation from Hoseok seeking his own edge, he milks Yoongi through his orgasm, painting Jungkook’s chest and stomach and mixing into the cum that’s already there.

Hoseok curses, hips stuttering, and - like some sort of chain reaction - him, Namjoon and Taehyung reach their ends one after the other. Hoseok with his cock deep inside Jungkook, Namjoon with a hand shoved in his pants and Jimin coquettishly licking the cum off his other, and Taehyung grinding against Jimin, slumping over as he cums in his pants.

In the silence that follows, the only thing you hear is the combined panting of the seven men around you, and Taehyung’s displeased groan as he shifts, a dark patch covering both his pants and the back of Jimin’s shirt.

“Holy fuck,” Hoseok breathes, “why didn’t we do that sooner?”

While some of the others express their agreement, Jungkook sits up with a self-satisfied grin, drips of cum running down to pool at the tops of his thighs. “Good job, team,” he cheers, “we should probably all go take a shower together to clean up. A long, hot shower.”

“You’re a menace,” Yoongi groans fondly. “You just came twice.”

Jungkook looks down at the cum smeared over his chest, then back up at Yoongi with an innocent blink. “Third time lucky?”

Behind you, Namjoon lets out a breathy chuckle. “I can’t turn down a shower,” he says, free from his usual shy demeanour. “But I don’t think I’m ready for a round two of that.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Understandable. Gotta let the dragon rest.”

While Namjoon sputters and then rest of you muffle your laughter, Jungkook nonchalantly stands up and shuffles into the kitchen.

You watch in disbelief as he grabs some paper towels and cleans himself up with a chipper bounce in his step. “Does anyone else feel like we got hoodwinked?”

Jimin rests his head on your shoulder with a sigh, tucking himself away. “Definitely,” he confirms. “At least if I ever want an orgy centred around me, I know how to act.”

Hoseok lets out a good-natured scoff. “You’ll be one short,” he jibes, “I wouldn’t kiss your ass if it was the last one on Earth.”

Jimin shoots him a level glare. “You haven’t earned it yet, princess.”

“Ladies, ladies, you’re both beautiful,” Jin coos smoothly, “and I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a change of clothes and a nice movie to round out this fuckfest.”

“Ooh!” Jungkook cheeps from the kitchen, still strutting around naked like a showpony, even as his eyes glimmer in childlike enthusiasm. “Can we watch Frozen again?”

There isn’t a single person in the room that can say no.

——

“Ready?”

You grin at Yoongi, tightening your coat. “As I’ll ever be.”

Looking unbelievably sharp in a deep blue suit jacket and black wash jeans, the doctor extends his arm to you. “That doesn’t inspire confidence, but I’ll take it.”

Letting your hand curl around his arm, you make your way to the car by his side. He opens the door like a proper gentleman before slipping in on the other side. Without a moment's hesitation, his hand winds its way into yours as the driver pulls away down the driveway.

“Do I get to find out where we’re going?” you query with a gleeful smile.

“Of course,” Yoongi answers gracefully, glancing down at his phone, “in just over ten minutes.”

You groan with a pout, but you can’t help that smile from peeking out. “Good thing I’m patient.”

“Good thing you’re patient, because I’m doctor!” Yoongi grimaces the second the joke leaves his lips, shaking his head as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. “Fuck, I’m spending too much time with Jin-hyung.”

You shove him playfully. “I’ll sue you, Min Yoongi! That was shameful.”

“Shameful? A harsh critic, you are. Though I’m inclined to agree.”

There’s something hypnotic about the way the neon lights and streetlamps cast glowing patterns on Yoongi’s face as you drive through the streets of Seoul. You’re stuck at a red light now, and even the hellish shade doesn’t mar his soft smile and kind eyes. “You were really good yesterday,” you mumble without thinking.

He glances over to you as the car begins to move. “Hm? Oh, I don’t think so. But thank you.”

“You don’t?” you ask softly.

“People still got hurt,” Yoongi replies simply. He opens his mouth like he’s about to add something, but falls silent. You speak on and off for the rest of the short journey, but stay well away from yesterday’s events.

When the car pulls up on the side of the street, you glance outside. You’ve entered uptown Gangnam, parked in the drop-off zone of what looks like a very fancy restaurant. Yoongi instructing you to dress sharp suddenly made sense. “Out we get,” he says with a final squeeze of your hand, letting it go so that he can leave the car.

Once you exit the vehicle, it indicates and slips smoothly back into the flow of traffic, leaving the two of you alone on the sidewalk. Leading you into the restaurant, Yoongi looks totally at home in the upper class eatery. As you enter through a pair of gleaming glass doors edged in gold and wait in a tasteful entranceway for a server, he straightens his back and smiles in bemusement at your gobsmacked expression. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he jibes.

You gulp. “Maybe I have,” you utter under your breath, “my bank account just died.”

This is the type of place you’d only ever seen on a movie screen. The kind of place where you’d bump into Julia Roberts in the bathrooms or be served by a devastatingly handsome waiter who called you mademoiselle. Around the room, staff flitted from table to table in penguin tuxes, carting bottles of champagne and platters of lobster to the patrons, every single one dressed in labeled brands, not so much as a single lock of hair out of place in the whole room. As a smiling - and fuck, handsome - waiter approaches, you have the urge to hide your face in shame.

Yoongi just wraps an arm around your waist and leans in. “Who said you were paying?” he murmurs to you before smiling at the suited man. “Table for Min, 8pm.”

With a civil nod, the waiter flicks through a heavy leather-bound tome of bookings. “Ah, yes, Min booking for two, table thirty… seven.” He trails off, customer service smile faltering as he looks over at said table, and at the older couple that’s enjoying a glass of wine and some prosciutto at it. “Oh! Let me just…” With a hard swallow, he flicks through the book again, sucking in a breath with a concerned look. “My deepest apologies, sir, it seems like the table has been double-booked. When did you book in?”

Yoongi gives the man a strained smile. “First thing this morning.”

Your eyes lift in surprise. The waiter seems even more shocked than you, clearing his throat politely. “Uh… Forgive me, sir, but this restaurant is fully booked three to four months in advance. Who accepted your booking?”

Instead of blushing or huffing, Yoongi instead clicks his tongue at himself with an exasperated laugh. “My older brother owns the restaurant. Min Geum-jae. Must have set me up, the prick.”

You glance up at Yoongi in shock, but he doesn’t react, simply tightening his arm around your waist to keep you close.

The waiter’s eyes widen in recognition, before he coughs nervously. “Uh, I doubt that was it, sir. The Lees pay a premium to book table thirty-seven out every night. They usually come in much earlier, he probably thought it would be free by then. We can fit you in but, uh, it may be a while. They tend to pick our five-course meal.”

Yoongi runs his tongue along his teeth as he sighs. “Okay, that’s fine. We’ll go elsewhere; I appreciate your help.”

The waiter gives an apologetic bow. “I’m very sorry about the inconvenience, sir, I wish the two of you a pleasant evening.”

The air feels sharper outside, a northerly wind cutting through the fabric of your coat even as warmth radiates off Yoongi’s body. “Just our luck,” he bemoans, but you’re less than concerned about the restaurant.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,” you chime, “certainly not a hotshot restaurant owner.”

“You never asked,” Yoongi points out, before wincing at how it sounds. “Sorry, that came off poorly. I guess it never really came up. And it would have been a cool surprise getting waited on like royalty from table thirty-fucking-seven.”

You poke him in the side playfully, grinning as he pouts. “Listen, I know a place around here that may just have a table free.”

“On such short notice?” Yoongi asks dubiously. You just grin, holding your arm out for him to take.

“We look like idiots,” Yoongi mutters petulantly for the thirtieth time.

You shrug. “Better overdressed than underdressed.”

The doctor miserably dips his Chicken McNugget in a puddle of sweet and sour sauce. “You know, half an hour ago I would have agreed with you.”

“Come on,” you cheer warmly, leaning over to steal some of his fries, yours already long gone. “We can still have a good time. We’re out away from the stresses of the villa, we’re spending some quality time together. Your Frozen Coke hasn’t even melted because the air-cons are blasting so much. Look on the bright side.”

Looking undeniably out-of-place in his expensive blazer and perfectly styled hair, Yoongi levels an accusatory chicken nugget at your face. “We could’ve gotten an Uber and gone to an actual restaurant and had something an actual chef produced. Instead, you lead me here. That’s entrapment.”

You tilt your head. “I don’t think it is,” you muse, “and besides. All due respect to your big bro, but I but his meals were way overpriced. Did you see that one lady who ordered something and the waiter set it on fire? I bet that ran her up at least sixty thousand won. Maybe even eighty.”

“That’s the thing,” Yoongi whines miserably, stuffing half a nugget in each cheek. “Jae-hyung tells the waiters not to charge me. Friends and family benefit, you know, since I don’t come visit often. You’ve actually put me more out of pocket by taking me to McDonalds. Do you know how embarrassing that is?”

You grin, reaching out to pinch his cheek. He swats at it with a disgruntled look that’s softened by his reluctant smile. “Cheer up, buttercup,” you chirp. “How about I treat you to a McFlurry, hm? The Oreo one.”

He blinks up at you with round cheeks and even rounder eyes. “That would make me feel better.”

After getting his anger out by viciously mixing the Oreo pieces with the soft serve, you and Yoongi manage to actually have a good time, joking around and feeding each other messy spoonfuls of melting dairy, feeling like two kids sneaking out after prom in your black tie attire.

It’s only once you return from discarding your trash in the bins that Yoongi sobers up, glancing over at you as you slide into the vinyl-upholstered booth. “Hey, Y/n?” he asks you softly.

“Mm?”

“I know Jin-hyung already asked you yesterday, but… Are you any closer to deciding who you vote out tomorrow?”

You flick him a pained smile. “You’re asking me this on our date?”

He furrows his brows, avoiding your gaze. “It’s just- I had such a great time tonight; even when things went wrong, you know, and… If it’s me you’re voting out, I understand, but I’d just like some warning in advance. You know.” He grimaces at the beat of silence that follows. “You don’t have to tell me, of course, it would just be easier to-”

“I don’t think it’ll be you,” you admit in a low voice. He glances up, eyes wide with surprise. “I mean, I haven’t actually decided for sure, but I don’t think I’ll pick you.” You swallow, actually feeling some relief in being able to talk candidly about it without the pressure of the other guys, or the cameras always listening in. “I really don’t know how I’m going to choose. At first, I thought I’ll just pick whoever will take it the best. Who won’t get angry or offended, you know? But then it wouldn’t be about the sex, so I try and think on it and see which of the times I had this week was the- the least best, and leave feelings out of it. But then feelings sometimes make it better. So it’s hard to pick a least best sexual interaction without those feelings. But then if I pick one honestly, with my emotions coming into play, then isn’t it just picking favourites? So I figure I should pick whoever wouldn’t feel like I was picking favourites over them, and I’m right back to where I started. I just didn’t expect the decision to be this hard.”

Yoongi listens to you intently, not saying a word until you finish with a sigh. Resting his elbows on the tabletop, he leans in with a sympathetic look. “Why don’t you run through the pros and cons? It might help talking it through.”

You take a deep breath and nod, heart warming at how much he cares. Perhaps he’s just trying to get insight on the other players, but judging how his eyes swim with emotion, you don’t think that’s the case. “Alright, well… Hoseok was first this week, so I guess I’ll start with him. Pros: he knows what he’s doing, I feel safe with him, I think he helps me push my boundaries and explore new things which is really exciting.” You count them off on your fingers as you go, mind reminiscing on both your time together with Jungkook last Monday, and the illicit closet encounter this morning. “But cons are that he never really talks to me that much, you know? Out of everyone in the house, I know the least about him. Sometimes I wonder if he actually cares about being here.”

Yoongi nods slowly, eyes glinting like he knows something you don’t, but he chooses to stay quiet and let you continue.

“Jin… pros are that he’s so passionate, he seems so mature and giving, and he has a massive-” you cut yourself off and glance around, checking for kids. Luckily at this time of night it’s mostly broke college students and tired businessmen. “Dick,” you finish with a hushed whisper, making Yoongi chuckle with a gummy grin. “And cons. He seems to play it kinda… run of the mill? Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but the most wild thing he’s done is take it outdoors, which when your prompt is poolboy, is not really negotiable.” You pause, mouth working but no sound coming out.

Yoongi seems to know exactly what’s on your mind. “And he has feelings for you,” he says softly.

“And he has feelings for me,” you repeat with a sad smile. “Which I can’t work out if it’s a good or a bad thing.”

“It’s probably a good thing if you feel the same way,” Yoongi offers.

You nod shortly. “Well. I can’t work that out either.”

The doctor shrugs. “If you can’t work it out, it’s probably a no.”

It makes sense when he puts it like that, and you hum in agreement. “I guess so. Anyways; I can’t remember who was next. I’ll do Namjoon. Pros are that he’s a fast learner, and so sweet, and once again is very well-endowed. The major con is his lack of experience. He’s cute when he’s shy, but I’ve seen glimpses of him taking control and I just wish he’d have the faith in this own abilities to be like that more.”

“Understandable. What about Jimin?”

You take a deep breath. “Jimin… Jimin is exciting and sexy and a force of nature. He’s a lot kinder than he lets people think, and I feel really comfortable around him.” Frowning, you continue to the negatives. “But he has a real temper, and a superiority complex. I know he doesn’t mean to, but he sometimes makes things uglier than they need to be.”

Yoongi lets out a low whistle. “I’m shocked and a little disappointed that you didn’t mean his ass as a pro.”

You grin. “I thought that was implied?”

“It deserves its own mention,” he insists with a wry grin, before sobering up. “Jungkook?”

You let out a low sigh. “Most of his cons are the same as Jimin’s. That competitive streak, the need to be better than everyone else. Jungkook has so much range though, he seems down for anything, and especially since the rest of you for the most part are so dommy, I really want to play around more with, you know, domming myself.”

“Domming yourself?” Yoongi asks incredulously. “I’d love to see that.”

“No-! I-” You break off with a groan, burying your face in your hands. “You know what I meant! I think it would be fun to be the one in control for a change. I just feel like more than anyone, Jungkook is so game for anything that I wanna keep playing with him.”

Yoongi nods slowly, processing everything. “Our local masseuse is lucky last, then. Unless you want to evaluate me right to my face.”

You wince. “I don’t know about that,” you deflect, “I’ll do Taehyung. Tae is… He’s so insanely affectionate, and giving, and is so ready to dote on everyone in the villa. I feel really relaxed and happy when I’m near him, and he has magical hands which I am definitely not ready to give up.” You chew on the inside of your cheek. The things you worry about with Taehyung aren’t things you can share with Yoongi. Shrugging, you avert your eyes casually. “Tae seems to take everything to heart. He wears his heart on his sleeve but I don’t know if that’s so safe for this competition. I worry about him.”

The doctor lets out a light laugh. “Worried he’ll drop you for Jimin or Jungkook?”

If only you knew. “Worried he’ll get himself hurt,” you explain instead, letting out a long breath to rid your body of the tension beginning to accumulate. “Should we head home? It’s getting late.”

Yoongi slides out of the booth. “Do you feel any closer to your decision?”

“Not at all,” you answer immediately, making him laugh, “but it was still helpful to talk it through.”

“I’ll take it,” Yoongi says with a smile. As you slide your phone out of your pocket to call an Uber, he clears his throat. “I was thinking…”

“That’s a relief.” You squeak as he shoves your shoulder playfully.

“I was thinking that we should bring the kids something. I’m sure Jin made some dinner for everyone, but I bet they’d be so happy to have some junk food for the first time in two weeks. What do you say?”

You beam up at him, at the way he tries to seem nonchalant about his acts of kindness. “I say I better add that to your list of pros.”

“Come on, we better join the queue. My con is impatience.”

As Yoongi gives Jin a call to get the orders in, and you type away in your Notes app, your heart warms at the domesticity of it. At how much you were beginning to feel together again. And from the fond grin on Yoongi’s face as he recites the lengthy order to the cashier, he feels it too.

#ficswithluv #bts smut #ot7 smut #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #jimin smut #namjoon smut #hoseok smut #yoongi smut #jin smut #yoonkook smut #hopekook smut #jinkook smut #taekook smut #vmin smut #minjoon smut #bts x reader #bts series #ot7 x reader

1K notes · View notes

depressedacadamia · 4 years ago

Text

How do you passive aggressively say Fuck you in flower?

Summary:Nico walks into a flower shop asking for a hateful bouquet. Will cannot help but wonder who on Earth it’s for.

A/N: Oh my gosh, another on time weekly update??? WHaaaat? I have exams coming up so I'm procrastinating by writing instead of revising. I plan on making a part 2 so watch out for that! Besides that, comment, follow and enjoyyy <3 from mee!

Read on A03

“How do you passive aggressively say fuck you in flower?”

Will did not expect that to be the first request he had when he started his morning shift in the local florists that he worked in on Saturdays to help earn some more cash on the side. Med school was expensive and half his friends already thought he was crazy to work while studying Medicine but he had assured them that he could do it.

This customer was both proving his point and not.

Afterall, he wasn’t a professional florist or anything, he just knew the basics- figuring out how to say fuck you in flower sounded like something out of his range and he figured it would take a while.

“Uh, excuse me? Did I hear you correctly?” Will asked, rubbing the back of head, slightly unsure.

The boy in front of him simply sighed. “ I said, how do I passive aggressively say Fuck you in flower?”`

Will couldn’t tell if his jaw had actually dropped or if he was just remembering the moment incorrectly. Looking back, he really hoped he hadn’t dropped his jaw.

“That, uh well- you see, I’m not really a professional, I just work here on the weekends and the actual florist doesn't come in on Saturdays- but she’ll be here tomorrow. I could take down your name and request for her if that’s okay?”

The boy grinned and nodded. He picked up his skateboard and left the shop with the bell ringing on his way out.

What had just happened?

Did he actually just get asked how to say fuck you in flower?

Will couldn’t say he was very surprised when the same boy showed up the next day with a blonde haired girl by his side. From his perspective, they seemed close- Was that his girlfriend? He does know that giving her flowers that say Fuck you without tellling her is extrremely passive aggressive?

Will brushed his hair out of his eyes and snatched a hair clip from the girl who stood behind the till. She frowned and threw a pen at him.

“Oi! Get your own clips sunboy,” Meg snapped. Will stuck his tongue out at her and walked straight into another figure before hitting the floor with a thud and groaning in both annoyment and agony. His eyes snapped open on remembering that he had walked into someone.

He glanced upwards and was surprised to find a hand shoved into his face and so let his eyes follow the arm upwards to find the face of its owner. It was the passive aggressive boy from yesterday. Unlike yesterday, he was sporting a lip piercing and was wearing black ripped jeans flawlessly like some magical idol from some manga or anime.

Will couldn’t help but gape, staring at him. The boy looking at him simply tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a small smile.

“Aren’t you gonna take my hand?” The boy mumbled, his gaze averting when he noticed Will staring at the lip ring. Will, on realising he had been staring, heaved himself up on the hand and started apologizing profusely.

“I’m so so sorry, I didn't see you and I needed to tie my hair up…” He patted his head only to feel that his hair was still down but then he hissed and felt a small shot of pain across his palm. Raising his arm to take a look at his palm, he noticed their hair clip had broken and slashed a cut across his hand.

He gave another groan and ignored his hand. As he was left handed and the wound was on his right hand, it couldn’t be too bad. Besides, he had already embarrassed himself in front of the cute boy and his girlfriend and kept them waiting, he didn't want to cause more problems.

“Oh, yeah- your flowers. Boss told me- she said it was not as uncommon a request as I thought it was-”

“-You thought it was a weird request?” The boy's voice was smaller, less cheery. There was an element of melancholy to it and Will immediately realised what he had said.

“Uncommon, not weird. I just thought it was awfully passive aggressive.”

Nico grumbled, “I mean I did ask how to passive aggresively say Fuck you in flower…”

Will let out a warm, throaty laugh, flinging his golden hair back and batting his bloody hand in the air. “ I guess you’re right.”

Nico thought he could feel butterflies trying to force their way out of his body after listening and seeing the flower boy laugh- it was the most magnificently gorgeous thing he had ever seen and heard. His laugh sounded like honey- sweet and addictive.

However, he then caught sight of Will’s bloody hand and frowned. He was pretty sure that his hand wasn’t supposed to be bleeding and it really looked like it hurt.. Besides, how would the poor kid be able to write with a gash like that?

Will moved his hand to pick out the flowers he needed and just as his hand reached out to grab them, he felt another hand wrap around his wrist. It was undeniably cold. The fingertips had calluses and he saw a few tattoos lurking on the hand, a couple in a language that he recognised to be Greek.

However, before he could read the words, his hand was snatched upwards and splayed out. The cute customer with the lip ring was holding his wounded hand out.

“You’re bleeding,” He pointed out.

“Why yes, I am. Thank you for that very insightful observation. Are you an artist?” Will sarcastically asked, his voice still light implying he was joking. Nico raised his eyebrow in appreciation of the sarcasm.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not meant to be bleeding- What are you, a doctor?”

“I will be,” Will said smugly.

Nico snorted. “Should I be alarmed for your future patients that their doctor doesn’t know how to keep their own wound clean?”

Slightly salty and pouting, Will snatched away his wrist and turned away slightly in a huff.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“It wasn’t an opinion. It was a fact- You could get tetanus walking around with a cut like that and handling these gardening tools- Aren’t you meant to know that, doc?” Nico smirked teasingly, right behind Will, his lips teasingly close to Will’s neck.

Will shivered, feeling the warm breath on his neck. He closed his eyes and for a second leaned into the warmth coming from behind him before remembering he was meant to be professional.

Professionalism, Yes, professionalism.

“You know, not to interrupt whatever soulmate bond you two are having,” Annabeth drawled, “I’m just saying, for once- Nico is right. That cut looks nasty. Let Nico clean it up for you, he’s gotten good at it after all these years.”

“Annabethhh,” Nico half groaned, half whined under his breath. Annabeth knew what it meant- Why did you tell the cute guy that?

Will glanced at the gory sight on his hand, grimacing slightly. He knew that he could go and sort it himself but if someone was offering to fix it for him, he wasn’t really one to object. Afterall, if Nico knew what he was doing, then his hand should be in good hands?

Will did not get the chance to make that joke out loud.

He sighed and nodded at the wise words from the blonde girl and led Nico to the back room- despite what it said, was not at the back. In fact, the ‘back room’ had its door right by the front of the shop, tucked away neatly in the front corner of the shop.

“Uh, I think the med kit is somewhere here.” Will rummaged about in the corner next to the high shelves, holding his bloodied hand above his head as to try and stop the bleeding faster- In med school he had been recently studying cardiology and he wanted to see if certain tips really worked.

“You don’t need to hold your arm all the way up there ya know? Just high enough so that it’s above your heart.” Nico stood right behind Will so when he turned around, they were face to face. Nico leaned closer, so close that their noses were almost brushing and Will panicked-

-Suddenly, Will placed his hands on Nico’s chest, in an effort to slightly push him away, which worked successfully. However, in the few seconds his hands had been pressed up against Nico’s chest, he had felt the firm planes of muscle- So he definitely works out.

“Hey! That’s kinda uh, quick isn't it?”

Will risked cracking one of his eyes open and saw Nico smirking with a med kit in hand. His mind faltered for a second wondering Where on earth did that come from before figuring that Nico had reached for it while they were pressed up against each other. He felt blood rush to his cheeks and his eyes darted anywhere but Nico’s face.

“What’s too quick?” Nico suddenly had Will’s hand in his and was stroking his hand softly, beckoning him to open it.His head was tilted downwards but he let his eyes catch a small glance of Will’s flushed face. Curtained by Nico’s dark and thick eyelashes, Will could see a sliver of light reflecting off the onyx eyes staring at him.

“Did you think something was going to happen?” Nico asked innocently as he began cleaning the wound. Will hissed at the sting of the antiseptics and so to distract himself, he answered Nico’s questions.

“No. I didn’t think anything was gonna happen.” Will winced again in pain. “ Could you be a bit lighter with that please?”

Nico mumbled out a ‘sorry’ and began applying a dressing around the hand he was holding. Will’s hand was freckled, with a golden tan that Nico could declare perfect. The freckles looked like rain spotted across his skin- so perfect, a force of nature.

But then the artistic side of Nico had another thought- the freckles look more like tear drops than rain. A force of humanity.

Nico continued talking, his voice lower. “ Did you want something to happen?”

Will wasn’t listening though. His mind was...away. Distracted. Missing.

Nico saw it in Will’s eyes, he saw it as the rain began to hit the window gently, killing it softly. He looked at Will again- it was killing him softly.

“Hey?”

Will shook his head and looked at Nico and let a smile overtake his face. “Sorry…. Tell me, how are you so good at this? What did your girlfriend mean when she said you were good at this?”

Nico sighed, ignoring the girlfriend comment but was still slightly hesitant. One secret couldn’t hurt him too much- after all, he was gonna be in and out of here and then he’d never see this cute guy ever again… or so, he thought so.

My sister and I, we used to go to summer camp. We got into a lot of fights there, learnt to stick up for ourselves- and I, well, I learnt how to clean up the aftermath of those fights.”

“I used to go to summer camp! Well, I was like 13 at the time.” Will beamed at Nico and pointed to his lip ring. “ Did that hurt? Oh, and you have a sister? Any other siblings?”

Nico gave Will an odd look. He’s asking me about myself? He wants to know more about me?

“Uh, well.. I have another sister. What about you?”

“Ah, that’s a good question.” Will shrugged.

“What, you don’t know?” Nico asked, his voice slightly confused. Will let out a little snort of laughter.

“My Dad’s good at one thing and it’s sleeping around, so god knows how many half siblings I’ve got lurking around.. For all I know, there could be a mini army of us.”

“Well, my Mum’s dead,” Nico offered. Will immediately looked at him with an alarmed look; Nico sighed in return and explained.

“I thought we were talking about dysfunctional families, maybe that would make you feel better.”

“As a future doctor, It really does not. Thanks for trying- although you might wanna see a therapist with your definition of ‘cheering someone up’.”

“Meh, I’d rather not. ” Nico batted his hand nonchalantly, the greek tattoo showing up in front of him again. Will’s eyes caught it but he still refused to say anything.

“You know,” Will’s voice was significantly lower when he spoke this time, borderline flirty. “You still haven’t told me if that lip piercing hurts.”

“Of course it hurt a bit, but I’ve gotten piercings and tattoos before that so it wasn’t as bad. And you’re done.” Nico gave Will his hand back. Will held it up, impressed with the job Nico had done.

“Nice wrapping. What does it feel like? Is it cold?”

“Kiss me and find out,” Nico mumbled under his breath, not intending for Will to hear- or course, Will did hear.

“Kissing someone in a dark and empty room calls for all kinds of trouble and potential situations.”

Nico felt his jaw drop and could feel the tips of his ears burn red. His eyes darkened and he could only hear Will’s teasing chuckle as he felt him slide a finger under his chin.

“Darling, close your mouth unless you intend to use it well,” Will murmured, his texan accent growing stronger. Normally he wasn’t this confident, but he decided to act on his impulses- besides, teasing people… it was fun sometimes.

Nico, knowing Will had caught him, was determined to get him back. He wrapped his hand around the back of Will’s head and yanked his head down and his head down to his lips so they could meet. For a second, Will was frozen in surprise, his eyes open and startled before he felt Nico’s lips moving against his, encouraging him to kiss back and relaxing while his eyes fell closed.

The kiss wasn’t calm or sweet, It was hard and rushed. It wasn’t special, it wasn’t magical, it was just the result of unresolved tension within two people madly attracted to each other. Will could feel the lip ring against his and relished in the cool feel of the ring compared to Nico’s hot lips. Nico’s other hand reached to pull Will closer and next thing he knew, he was lying with his back on the couch and with Will on top of him.

They paused for a second before slamming their lips together. Will slipped his un-injured hand under Nico’s shirt, feeling his body. His other hand went to his hair, wrapping his hand in it as if his life depended on it. He gripped with such ferocity, Nico thought he might rip some of his hair out.

Will teased Nico, tracing his tongue across the black haired boy's lips before lightly tugging on the lip ring in front of him. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but he sure as hell wasn’t expecting a full on moan from Nico.

Immediately, the two of them broke apart, panting and gasping for air. They stared at each other, their faces flushed and Nico could swear his ears had never been so red and hot as they were right now. Will was literally on top of him, now straddling him with his hands resting on Nico’s chest.

Nico covered his face with his hands and Will, on realising their position, got off him and settled for sitting next to him.

“Ah…. so,” Will started.

“So….”

“You’re a good kisser.” Nico looked at his shoes.

Will wanted to get it done and over- rip off the bandaid, right? “Are you going to tell your girlfriend?”

Nico gave him a questioning look. “What girlfriend?”

“The blonde girl you came in with?” Will scoffed. Dude’s got a thing for blondes. First that poor girl, now me. Who’s next? Jason? Octavian?

Nico let a bubble of laughter leave his lips as he tilted his head back. Annabeth, his girlfriend! What a ridiculous thought!

“Oh sunshine, you’ve got it all wrong. Annie is a good friend of mine, we’re here together because we’re getting flowers for her boyfriend.”

“She’s getting her boyfriend flowers that mean Fuck you?”

Nico shrugged. “They’re romantic like that.”

“So why are you here with her? Surely if she’s going to boldly tell her boyfriend fuck you in flower, she doesn’t need you to be here?”

Nico felt his cheeks grow hot. He rubbed the back of his head. “ Ah well, she uh, she said I’d like the guy who works here on weekends.”

“She wasn’t wrong, was she?”

“Watch yourself. You’re the person who almost willingly gave themselves tetanus,” Nico warned.

“Watch yourself- You’re the one who moaned when I touched your lip ring.”

“You were literally on top of me! You were straddling me and your hand was under my shirt, you were pulling at my hair and at my lip ring- how could I not moan?”

“It wouldn’t be that hard,” Will argued.

“We’re testing that next time.”

Will froze up at those words- next time. This god like guy with his beautiful locks and snarky comebacks wanted to see him again.

“Next time?”

“You think this is the last time you’re gonna see me?” Nico let out a little scoff to himself. “Trust me, you’re going to be seeing more of me and my friends then expected- In fact, you’ll probably get so sick of us by the time this year ends.”

“I’ll definitely look forward to it.” The sarcasm was evident in his voice. Nico rolled his eyes at the sarcasm and got up, reaching into the tight pockets of his jeans. He pulled out a hair tie and reached for Will’s hair before Will caught his wrist.

“I’m not that useless, I can still tie my hair ya know.”

“I was helping you, you’re welcome,” Nico snorted. They left the room and were met by a very smug Annabeth and annoyed Meg- The boys could tell theft was in trouble from the violent look on Meg’s face.

“What have you two been doing here? Please don’t tell me that I will have to bless this place after what you’ve done.” Meg sounded slightly desperate.

“Depends what you think would require blessing.” Will gave her a sweet smile.

“Will!” Meg complained. “ This is the 4th guy you’ve brought to the back room with you!”

Nico’s eyebrows shot up when he heard this. “ And here I was thinking I’m special.”

“You can’t talk either, mister. Poor Meg had to assemble the flowers herself because of you two,” Annbeth scolded holding the hateful bouquet of flowers in her grasp like her life depended on it- and if you wanted to be technical, Annabeth's pride was her life and these were going to prevent her pride from falling downhill, so yes- her life did depend on these flowers.

“He’s the one with 4 secret lovers!”

Will added quietly, “Those are only the ones I’ve been caught with.”

Nico gave a faux gasp of disbelief, his voice mimicking a tragically upset character. “ Like father, like son!”

“Fuck you,” Will grumbled.

“I fully intend to.”

“NOT HERE YOU TWO, TAKE IT OUTSIDE,” Meg screamed. “This place is a holy sanctuary- therer will be no sex of any sort in my shop!” The pair of the boys glanced at each other, walked outside and burst into laughter.

They, however, did not expect to see each other the next day at Uni.

54 notes · View notes

nanaminsonyfans · 5 years ago

Text

Between Worlds; Chapter Two

Prologue, Previous, Masterlist

A/N: Heyhey! I got this chapter finish in six hours. i didn't remember the episode that well so i used a transcript of the episode. But with my own spin as well.

Words; 2178

!!TW!! Mentions of blood and a 'F' bomb being used

gif does not belong to me

h/l = hair length

A beautiful sunrise peeked up through the mountains and some cliffs. You felt at home...even though something felt wrong about it. You landed Appa safely on the ground and yawned. It was a long journey, traveling by day and all through the night. You sighed softly hearing Sokka snore, it was comforting yet annoying sound. “Y/n, could you help me with the luggage?” Katara’s kind and gentle voice asked. You smiled and nodded, using your airbending to lift up the bundles from the saddle. Katara gave you a thankful smile while Sokka glared at you. “I need my beauty sleep!” He hissed with a voice crack. You giggled and looked away. “C’mon guys,” You waved them over to you, “I wanna show you one of the most beautiful places on Earth.”

“Y/n, are you sure it’ll be the same as you remember it? You’ve been gone for a hundred years.” Katara said cautiously. “I know, but I am still excited to see it.” You felt a childish like joy and wonder as you approached the path to the said temple. “Woah...y/n it’s beautiful!” She said as you approached the temple.

Zuko’s Fire Nation cruiser: 10:25 am

“By the years end the Earth Kingdom should be under our rule.” The room at an aura that was dark and gloomy. Zuko sat at the table with his uncle standing at his side, as Zhao spoke. “The Fire Lord will finally have victory in this century-long war.” He said smirking menacingly. “If my father thinks everyone and thing will bow down to him, then he is as much as a fool as you...Zhao.” Zuko said that name with such bitterness and anger in his voice. Zhao gave Zuko a stern look whilst glaring, “Two years at sea as tainted your tongue. Brat.” He spat with the same bitterness as Zuko. “Do tell, how is the search for the Avatar going?”

That question set Zuko’s stomach and heart ablaze. The room became hot and humid, it would have been suffocating to anyone that wasn’t a fellow Firebender. Iroh felt the anger rising in his young nephew, so he placed a hand on his shoulder as if to calm him. “We have found her yet.” Zuko answered, his mind wandering to you. Those rosy cheeks, the pink tip on your nose complementary by the cold. He gripped his pants, knuckles turning white. “Her? The Avatar is said to be a male.” Zhao spoke, narrowing his eyes at the Prince, an evil fire and objective behind them.

“My nephew has misspoken. He has other things on his mind. Please keep that into consideration.” Iroh defended, giving Zhao his loving smile as he chuckled softly. Zhao glared and sat down in front of Zuko, staring into his golden orbs. “Then tell me, Prince Zuko, how, exactly, was your ship damaged?”

You smiled as you lead Appa and your new-found friends to the outside of the air temple. “When can I get food?” Sokka whined and rounded the corner, the temple now fully in view. “You’re kidding right?” Katara said angrily, with her arms crossed while glaring Sokka. “You are one of the few outsiders that have ever seen the airbender temple and all you think about is food?” Sokka looked at Katara with a blank expression, “What? I’m a growing boy.” He teased as he followed you.

You sighed softly taking his the fresh air and the sight. Memories started to fill your head, childhood-like memories. It felt comforting yet...scary to you. “This is where we used to play airball...this is where the bisons slept.” You explained pointing to everything. Your eye fell onto scorch marks on the walls and weeds. Your face turned into a sulking expression. “Y/n? Are...are you okay?” Katara asked, placing a loving hand on your shoulder. You flinched, moving away from her as tears filled your eyes. “I’m sorry, I just need a moment alone.” You mumbled, running off into the temple, your footsteps echoed and soon faded away.

You let the tears finally flow when you got to a room you recognized. This was your room, right? You leaned your back against a wall, slowly sliding down to the floor. You hugged your legs close and placed your forehead on your knees. You started to cry. These memories weren’t yours. They were his. You stole his life, and it felt wrong. You feel so conflicted. This was suppose to be a dream, a good dream. It started to feel like a nightmare. You can’t remember what happened in the show now, and you were using that knowledge as a guide. Now you just had Aang’s memories and a few of yours. You knew your name, your sibling’s faces, your parents, but not their faces. The thought of never seeing your family scared you to no end. You let out a sob and tried to catch your breath. You felt lost and you didn’t know what to do.

Fire Nation cruiser: 11:05 am

“A girl bested all you Firebenders?!” Zhao yelled in disbelief then started to laugh. “I should have known you were too pathetic to capture an Avatar let alone a woman.” He hissed still laughing though. “I underestimated her once! It won’t happen again and I can promise you that.” Zuko growled, slamming his fist down on the table, denting it. “That is highly unlikely, young Prince. You are not getting another chance.” He said, now standing up and smoothing his robes. Zuko’s eyes widened in shock, “Commander Zhao, I’ve been hunting the Avatar for two years and I-” “And you failed. The Avatar is much of importance for any more failures.” Zhao hissed, fire spreading from his feet. “The Avatar is the only person that can stop the Fire Lord, you failed to capture her.”

“Her name is y/n!” He hissed and shot fire at the Commander before being restrained by a few guards. “Why would you know or care for her name?” Zhao questioned walking over to Zuko. “Are you becoming more of a traitor by becoming interested in the Avatar?” He asked with a dark tone. Zuko’s eyes widened again and he kicked the guards away. “Of course I am interested in her. She is the Avatar and my ticket back home.” He hissed walking out, after shoving past Zhao.

He can’t be actually...liking the Avatar. She was pretty, anyone can appreciate beauty without being attracted to the source of beauty. Right?

“Y/n! Y/n! Where are you?” It felt like a familiar voice, getting closer and closer. Your mother’s voice. You opened your eyes, squinting as they adjusted to the darkness. ‘Did I fall asleep…?’ You thought as you looked around. There was the sound of something moving, it was quick but there. “Wh-Who’s there?” You asked with a slight waver in your voice.

You held your staff out and poked the cot where you saw the movement. You poked something soft and it screeched jumping out. “Momo?” You asked walking closer to the creature. The creature tilt it’s head while looking at you. Your cheeks turned red in embarrassment. “Sorry, I just feel like I know you. Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you. Wouldn’t even dream of it.” You smiled holding out your hand for him to climb into or sniff. He did both of those, perching on your shoulder happily.

You smiled, you had a new friend. “I should go find the others huh?” You asked giggling softly as he chirped in response. You started to walk down the halls, you saw a soft twinkle of fire and the end of the hall. You hummed softly and followed it, feeling the bison and the two water tribe siblings. “Sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep.” You said guiltily, scratching the back of your neck looking at the two. “Oh thank goodness you’re okay!” Katara said teary-eyed and hugged you. You stumbled back but hugged her as well. “Sorry, memories just came back and I needed to alone.” You explained looking down. “I understand, you must be overwhelmed. Sokka found some fish for dinner.” She said gesturing to the campfire, with three fish rotating from a stick Sokka was turning with a bored look on his face. “Okay, well this is Momo.” You smiled gesturing to the lemur sitting on your shoulder.

“I rather have him for dinner.” Sokka grumbled under his breath, still turning the stick. “Don’t be so negative.” You glare and crossed your arms. “I’m going to explore more, it’s been a while. Katara would you like to come?” You asked sweetly. She nodded and started to follow you as you walked away. You had to move some vines away from some hallways as you walked. Then you fully saw the damage done to the monks and airbenders.

Your eyes widened at the damage. Fire Nation soldier armor was littered everywhere. Burned and scorched monk robes. Your heart shattered at the sight, reality setting in. Then it was set on fire with rage. “Y/n...are you okay?” Katara asked feeling worried, Momo felt it as well and jumped off of your shoulder. You clenched your fist tightly, digging your nails into the palm of your hands. You broke the skin and drew blood. Your tattoos started to glow as wind circled you, slowly turning into a tornado around you. Your h/l h/c hair whirled around as well. Your eyes glowed blue as you turned into a beaming light. You seemed to be watching yourself from the outside. You weren’t in your body.

Katara’s worried voice seemed so far away. You were swallowed whole by the darkness. “Who are you?” A familiar voice asked, causing you to turn around looking for the source. You were in a pitch-black room, the voice echoing. It was his voice. You started to panic and finally, he came to view, dressed in the same monk robes as yourself. It was Aang. “I-I am y/n.” You said with a shaky voice blinking back tears. “Why did you take over my life?” He asked in an irritated tone, which scared you. “I don’t know, I didn’t mean too. I went to sleep and then I woke up here and-” “Well leave!” You flinched and backed away. “I-I don’t know how!” You cried

Katara was trying to snap you out of it. “Y/n! Y/n snap out of it!” She yelled and tried to get closer to you but the wind blew her away. Sokka caught her thankfully. “Katara! What’s wrong with y/n?!” He yelled as the wind blew more angrily.

There was a Fire Sage temple in the mountain above where you were. An old man was watching the situation unfold and then he saw the beam of light. “The Avatar is alive and back! Contact the Fire Lord immediately!” He yelled at some other sages, causing them to flinch and runoff in different directions. You started to cry in your Avatar state. Tears flowed down your cheeks like a river as the glow slowly started to fade, as well as the wind. You fell to the ground on your knees and started to cry.

“She’s out of it.” Katara said breathlessly and scrambled to her feet, running over to you. Sokka followed with Momo on his shoulder. You were still crying, but your face was blank as you stared at the grassy patch you landed in. “What happened?” She asked softly hugging you tightly. “I-I’m sorry Katara. I don’t know what came over me.” You whispered wiping your cheeks while sniffling. “Hey, it’s okay. We understand.” Katara said soothingly, “You must miss them.” “Uh, we do not understand! You just went full-” Sokka started then stopped after Katara shot him a glare. Sokka ended up feeling bad and got down on the ground, hugging you as well. “I-I do…” You whispered and looked up at them, but you noticed a hawk. With a Fire Nation symbol, oh fuck.

“We have to go. I put us in danger. I’m so sorry.” You said grabbing your staff running to Appa. “But we haven’t eaten dinner!” Sokka whined but followed you with Katara. “We don’t have time. We have to go now.” You said with urgency in your voice. The two siblings picked up on that and started to grab their things. Sokka made sure to grab the three fishes as he climbed onto the bison. “Momo c’mon!” You called for the lemur, who flew to your side immediately.

“Appa! Yip tip!” You said while gripping the reins with your trembling hands. Appa groaned in response and started to fly. You glanced and saw the Fire Sage temple. How could you have been so stupid?! You don’t belong here. “Hey y/n, eat something.” Katara said, holding out one of the fishes for you. “No thank you…” You responded, “I’m vegetarian.” As if on cue, Momo snatched the fish and started to eat it. “By the way, where are we going?” Sokka asked.

“I-I’m not sure.”

Taglist;

@imagine-yourself-happy @lilmou5ie @toobsessedsstuff @bluecrystals01 @foolishgang @alrightberries @cheyenne-dunn-universe

If you would like to be in this taglist please send an ask or just message me!

322 notes · View notes

fictionalarsonist · 5 years ago

Text

heartache — pt.2

pairing ›_yoonkook

content ›_angst ; fluff ; underage drinking ; mild language ; jealous!yoongi rating ›_pg word count ›_4.3k

―

premise ›_they’re two idiots in love still figuring things out.

a/n ›_this is an unplanned follow up to the heartache drabble, requested by taesboba and jazzy3120 at ao3. I hope they enjoy it as well as everyone else who reads. Feedback is always appreciated. edit ›_(Aug.2nd) had to change the title because part 3 was requested. 😂😂 the funny thing is, I wrote heartache as part of a drabble in which I compromised myself in not writing too much, but i'm always happy to take requests. credit › _thank you so much to @mindays for beta-reading and helping me out with this one for me. _😘💕

「 ao3 | masterlist 」

[ heartache | part 2 | epilogue ]

The car stopped and Yoongi looked through the window, part of him expected to see Jungkook somewhere among the other students. He felt the driver’s eyes on him through the rearview mirror and forced himself to divert his attention, sliding his wallet out of his jacket’s pocket to pay the man.

“Look,” the man started, chewing his gum way too obnoxiously for Yoongi’s taste, “If you don’t have a dorm or anything and— y’know, need a place to stay...”

Yoongi saw him reaching inside over the panel and for a piece of paper and a pen, write something down and slide the paper in the folded bills before handing it to him.

“It’s cheap and somewhere— near ,” the man cracks a contained laughter that shakes his shoulders a little, “I guess we could say that?” His laughter dies when Yoongi doesn’t seem to respond to his antics, “Just try giving a call, okay? Have fun in college, kid.”

Yoongi pocketed the money and stepped out of the car, glad that he could breath fresh, untainted air yet again. Yoongi swung his backpack on his shoulder, the old thing could fall apart any day, but he’s oddly attached to it. He shifted the gym bag he’s been carrying from one hand to another after shoving the money in his pocket and leaving his hand tucked in there as he took a quick look around.

Yoongi isn’t exactly what one would call a very good navigator, but he could remember by heart the address Jungkook gave to him. He walked straight along the park until the second intersection, then he crossed the street. Yoongi can’t help but to notice how these traditional colleges have the same type of environment and architecture, but the locations are always random or so it seems.

One could never know where everything is supposed to be. Yoongi recalls how long it took him and Hoseok to figure out the different paths and shortcuts to go from one place to another. Jungkook, being the ever infamous golden boy that he is, always figures things out as if it was nothing to others. Hoseok told him about it, Hoseok would always update him on anything Jungkook related— Not that Yoongi ever asked him too. But, he couldn’t just— Simply ignore it and not listen to it. He just pretended he didn’t.

Then again, of course, this was before that day. Before Yoongi saw the mess that he created. That late afternoon when he cornered Hoseok and made him trace Jungkook’s phone location, grabbed his friend’s car keys and rushed to the place he still knows by heart because that's where Jungkook would always oh-so-coincidentally bump into him with his friends and his girlfriend. Saying he felt like a piece of trash seeing Jungkook wasted like that is an understatement.

It took so much of Yoongi to keep himself together and try helping Jungkook at that moment when he himself was a turmoil inside, not knowing how to feel or how to act. The only thing he knew was that that scene right there was dangerous and he knew Jungkook’s story with alcohol so it made it all worse— All the more scary and Yoongi just couldn’t stop blaming himself.

Not when he arrived nor when he managed to get Jungkook to throw up all that was inside of him and sober a little. Not when he had Jungkook in his arms and felt so powerless because even though he was there he kept pushing Yoongi away and this could be too late for them.

It was hard, stumbling on his thoughts and uncertainties in front of Jungkook sitting across from him in that truck. The way Jungkook looked at him, utterly vulnerable, physically sick, and emotionally hurt when Yoongi— very inappropriately, mind you— gathered whatever courage he could to finally spell it out his confession.

It could be called a miracle that things turned out good considering how much of a neglecting asshole he was for so long. Now, he’s doing again, dragging himself halfway across the country to meet that annoying brat that is his boyfriend. Six months is too long, Skype calls, phone calls, texts. Nothing’s anywhere near being good enough when Yoongi thinks of just how they were together almost the entire time over their summer break. Even so, it wasn’t enough.

Yoongi’s not quite sure what he expected, but Jungkook is nothing he could imagine and the thrill of a new relationship still burns between them very frustratingly with the many miles that keeps them apart. It’s almost consequential that one of them decided to reach out first and see the other, and since Jungkook’s still going over his finals Yoongi decided to arrange his final project’s schedule around it.

A quick look around told Yoongi he’s close enough. He could see the statue, ‘The Patron’ as Jungkook told him it’s called. And as Jungkook said, it’s decorated with some weird accessories provided by some students that were starting to celebrate the end of another semester, or, in other cases, the end of their major. Yoongi recognizes Jungkook’s contribution to the mess, he’s seen before in the picture Jungkook sent him to let him know what the statue looks like on the ‘How to get to my dorm’ file.

It’s quite unbelievable how the dean doesn’t even try to stop this anymore. His college, on the other hand, would have the staff throwing a fit just for the sombrero on the statue’s head. Jungkoook’s contribution is a copy of Yoongi’s tattoo, painted in white on the dark green statue, at the same place Yoongi has it. A little too detailed, Yoongi thinks, and way too unnecessary as he said before, but professing that to the bratty Jungkook only earned him an amused chuckle and a very teasing-toned reply.

“Oh! C’mon, hyung!” Jungkook started all by himself, knowing his teasing would always stir a nerve in Yoongi, “It’s the end of my second semester. My first year, my first collaboration on the project! I was told to contribute with something that means something important to me.”

“My tattoo?” Yoongi replied, refusing to acknowledge how affected he was by the way Jungkook smiled at him with a purpose and Yoongi liked even less that Jungkook quickly shifted into his mocking demeanor.

“Well, it’s not like I could draw you there. I couldn’t pin you there either,” though, despite his worlds, Jungkook seems to be putting some thought into it.

“Whatever you’re thinking of — Just don’t!” He tried to cut Jungkook off when the other half-smiled to himself and shifted in bed to lay down.

“I swear, hyung. I’d be a waste, if I could bring you all the way here, I’d pin you right on this bed.” Jungkook provoked, placing his laptop beside him instead. “Do you have any idea of how much I miss you right now? — ”

Yoongi doesn’t really want to think of how Jungkook’s voice sounded so purposefully provocative and instantly made him weak. It’s just embarrassing how things turned out to be. Not that Yoongi doesn’t like it, but he prefers not to think about the way goosebumps runs over his skin and he’s always so responsive to Jungkook.

Jungkook, on the other hand, has been enjoying himself all too much, pushing some limits here and there and seeing Yoongi just allowing him with nothing but meaningless protests. Yoongi’s been quite pathetic, while Jungkook has been enjoying having this effect on his hyung a little bit too much for Yoongi’s liking. Jungkook isn’t Yoongi’s first relationship, but with him everything’s so much more than Yoongi ever had.

The statue certainly means he’s going the right way and Yoongi decides not to let his mind wander too much or he might get lost which isn't the ideal at the moment. So, from the statue he should take the second left. Jungkook said he’d be in class and would meet him at the apartment, his roommate moved out— Seokjin, or Jin-hyung as Jungkook likes to call him, Yoongi remembers well because Jungkook couldn’t stop singing praises about the guy that Yoongi saw plenty of times on Jungkook’s social media.

It doesn’t quite surprise Yoongi that he recognizes Seokjin when he looks over and he definitely doesn’t need a second glance to clearly see Jungkook beside him. Yoongi pauses his steps as he stops and stands there, furrowing his brows. His watch tells him he’s not late or early, actually, he’s right on time. Jungkook had told him he’d be in class for two and a half hours, so why is he in the middle of the campus, talking to his ex-roommate? Without as much as a second thought Yoongi finds his feet taking him their way.

“You’ll be okay without me around, right?” Jin asks.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, hyung.” Jungkook smiles with a shrug.

Jin takes a once-over at Jungkook and his eyes stop at the messy hair falling over the younger’s eyes.

“You really should cut your hair,” Jin says introspectively, reaching out to try and arrange the loose strands, running his hand through Jungkook’s hair.

“Alright! Geez!” Jungkook starts complaining, pulling back from Jin’s obsessive mania of getting everything into place. “I will, hyung! When the finals are over-,” Jungkook tries to lean back to escape from Jin’s obsessive behavior of always fixing everything.

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook’s heels scrape the gravaled ground as he turns to Yoongi walking up to him with purpose. Jungkook’s first reaction would be greeting Yoongi as he meant to do since they parted ways, but something tells him that there doesn't seem to be a space for that at the moment. Whatever Jungkook says is lost in the wind while Yoongi locks eyes with Jin as he coolly retracts his hand from Jungkook’s hair. Seemingly unfazed by Yoongi’s hard, threatening stare.

“I thought you’d be in class,” Yoongi speaks up, his eyes taking their time to look away from the calm and collected Jin in front of him to Jungkook.

“I should , but the professor didn’t show up,” Jungkook says, “I was about to go home and wait for you when I met Jin-hyung.”

Yoongi’s eyes quickly land on Jin again, clearly displeased to see that he’s still there. Jungkook’s eyes find Yoongi’s backpack hanging from his fingers and he tries to take it from him, though Yoongi’s fingers have a firm grip on it.

“Just give it, hyung,” Jungkook insists.

“You already have enough on you,” Yoongi contests, resisting even though Jungkook doesn’t let go, nodding at Jungkook’s own backpack and the books under his arm.

“I’m alright, hyung.” Jungkook assures him in a half-annoyed tone, his fingers forcing Yoongi’s to let him take it.

Yoongi sighs and Jungkook knows he’s embarrassed with this, it’s been a pleasure apart from everything else to know this other side of Yoongi. It’s been all the more fun to explore this side of Yoongi too, but Jungkook knows now’s not the moment to push it further. Not with the way Yoongi looked at Jin just a moment before.

Jungkook’s eyes snap at Jin for a moment. “Oh, right. I almost forgot.” Jungkook says with one of his mischievous smiles he knows Yoongi’s always suspicious about and he gave his boyfriend plenty of reasons to be suspicious of, although not enough— or so Jungkook thinks.

“Hyung,” Jin’s attention never left them but his eyes had been softly watching Yoongi with something rather unreadable in them, they slide over to Jungkook, “This is Min Yoongi-hyung—”

“Ah!” Jin extends his hand, “Of course.”

Jungkook turns to Yoongi next and manners his hand to Jin, “I told you about Jin-hyung before, right?”

“Yeah, you did,” Yoongi speaks up loosely.

Against his own will Yoongi pulls out his hand from his pocket and takes Jin’s hand firmly in his locking eyes with the guy. Yoongi doesn’t want to let his mind go over unnecessary things, but he didn’t like how Jin’s taller and perfectly put together self is presented to him. But, the real reason as to why Yoongi gets put-off by Jin is that arrogant smile flashing towards him as if Jin knows something Yoongi doesn’t.

“It’s good finally meeting you,” Jin says with a casual politeness that is an obvious characteristic of him, even not knowing him Yoongi could see it. “You know,” Jin smiles pleasantly, but it just makes it harder for Yoongi to not dislike the guy, “Jungkook’s always talking about you.”

“I’m sure he’d do that. I’m his boyfriend.”

Yoongi finds himself saying, squeezing Jin’s hands in his and pulling back harshly. Jin raises an eyebrow, tilting his head with a clear contradicted expression at first that only lasts for a second before he portraits his signature polite smile.

“Well, I’m just his roommate— Well, I mean ex -roommate, right?” Jin lets out what Yoongi clearly sees as a posed smile, a posed chuckle that he has no doubt others can easily fall for. Not him. “I was kicked out.”

“I didn’t kick you out, hyung!” Jungkook protests.

“Oh, c’mon, Kookie!” Jin seems to genuinely enjoy calling Jungkook that nickname, Yoongi, on the other hand, isclose to having enough of it. “I got pretty sick and tired of you complaining about how our living arrangements wouldn’t allow your boyfriend to come over and stay with you. It was too clear for me to not take the hint, it just worries me about the rent, though.”

“Don’t worry, hyung. I got it.” Jungkook reassures him.

“Well, if you say so—” Jin shrugs dismissively, “Let me know if something comes up. I can always move back in.”

If only looks could kill, Jin would be a dead man long before he could finish saying that with that ridiculous, arrogant, posed smile that’s started to rub off on Yoongi in the wrong way everytime Jin does it.

[ ⁕⁕⁕ ]

“Hyung?” Jungkook calls out for the nth time as they walk to Jungkook’s place. “Hyung, what’s wrong?” Jungkook insists on despite knowing it might not be the best idea, “Hyung! Yoongi-hyung!”

“I’m just fucking tired, okay?” Yoongi speaks between his teeth and Jungkook sighs as the elevator doors open and they step in.

Yoongi turns to look at Jungkook, examining him.

“What~?” Jungkook asks, half-irritated now.

“What’s the problem with your hair?”

“Huh?” Jungkook looks up, not being able to reach up to check it since his hands are busy.

“That guy was running his hands in your hair when I saw you. What’s wrong with it?” Yoongi asks with even less patience and Jungkook chuckles looking back at him.

“Ah, that. Jin’s kind of obsessed with everything being clean and right… I don’t know,” Jungkook shrugs, “He keeps nagging at me.”

“You don’t wash your hair?”

“Wha- No! Hyung, no!” Jungkook laughs, “It’s just that— I should’ve got a new cut, but I can’t find the time to do it, since there’s still some finals to go through and some stupid project I have to finish. I just haven’t had time to go to a barber since he moved out.”

“I think it’s just fine like this,” Yoongi speaks up, “Just cut the ends, I think. So it won’t fall over your eyes.”

He’s not used to this yet. Especially since he knows the provocative smile Jungkook’s wearing right now.

“Thank you, hyung. Actually, I was thinking... I was thinking of just cutting a little just so the hair won’t fall on my face, but I’ll keep the long bangs.”

Yoongi sees Jungkook moving closer to him, he looks over only to find his boyfriend’s face just a breath away from the distance of him. Yoongi turns to look at the closed doors again and feels Jungkook’s breathy chuckle on his ear, sending shivers down his spine. Yoongi can pretty much feel the blood running to the surface.

Jungkook’s always a brat, always finding a way to get to him, the problem is Yoongi finds himself being pretty vulnerable to it.

“But, hyung~,” Jungkook breaths on his skin and Yoongi gulps down the tension building up on his muscles, “That’s only if you’d think I look hot like that. If you really like it, you know?”

Yoongi feels thankful when the doors slide open and he clears his throat. He’d move his feet to bolt out of the elevator first if his feet didn’t seem to be glued down at the moment. He watches Jungkook, with that stupid smug face of his, walk out first.

As Yoongi follows Jungkook down the hall he tries not to think about it, he really tries not to, but he can’t help it. Jin sets him off, he just knew it’d be like that, he didn’t like the way Jungkook kept singing nothing but praises about the guy. How intelligent, eloquent, caring, or whatever this Jin guy is, how they went out and this and that happened, how Jin knows almost everyone who’s someone around the campus.

Yoongi can’t stop thinking how many times Jin walked down this hall together with Jungkook and this is so fucking silly, but Yoongi can’t get out of his mind how freely Jin acted around Jungkook. This was nothing like someone who sees the other as just a friend and Yoongi’s not sure if Jungkook’s oblivious enough not to see it or if he’s pretending not to. Either way, it doesn't help the case.

Yoongi closes the door behind him and gives a quick look at the apartment’s living room. Everything’s organized and clean, something he knows Jungkook isn’t that good at.

“What?” Jungkook asks, his eyes trained on Yoongi.

“Was it you or your ex- roommate who cleaned the place?” Yoongi wishes he didn’t say it like that, but the words just rolled out of his lips.

“Hyung-”

Yoongi finds it odd how close Jungkook’s voice sounds, so he looks up only to be caged in by Jungkook’s body and the wall behind him. He didn’t even have the time to take off his shoes.

“Are you jealous, hyung?” Jungkook provokes, stepping closer to Yoongi now pressed with his back flat against the wall. Jungkook had that stupid smug grin pulling the corners of his lips, “Are you thinking of Jin being here with me, is that it?”

Yoongi moves his head and Jungkook presses his hand on the wall next to Yoongi’s head, grinning when their lips brush much to Yoongi’s dismay. Jungkook humms, low and provoking and Yoongi swallows around nothing, taking a sharp breath, his eyes drawn to his boyfriend’s lips molded into that stupid grin Yoongi’s oh-so-tempted to cover with his own lips.

But before he can do anything, Jungkook moves his lips to Yoongi’s ear and Yoongi tries his best to not allow his body to shake with the goosebumps that run under his skin so violently. This is the aftermath of pent-up sexual tension between them and Yoongi knows it. He wants Jungkook just as much as he knows Jungkook wants him. Yoongi has been pushing the boundary and testing Jungkook on it, only to be surprised by the younger’s immediate reaction.

Jungkook’s lips brush on his earlobe just for a moment before he pulls away enough just so all Yoongi can feel is his skin tingling under Jungkook’s breath.

“Hyung,” Jungkook breaths on his skin and chuckles when Yoongi can’t stop the tremble that shakes through him, “Hyung, do you think I’d even think of someone else? Me?”

Yoongi isn’t conscious of Jungkook’s hand sliding down the wall beside him until he feels his hand pulling his body and Yoongi can’t help but to be compliant. His hand reaches up on its own until he has a firm grip on Jungkook’s sleeve.

“My Yoongi-hyung.”

Yoongi’s eyes close once Jungkook’s lips touch his jaw light as a feather, brushing on the spot as Jungkook’s hand takes a firm grip on his waist, pressing Yoongi’s side to his chest tightly, leaving Yoongi wanting more than that.

“I could never look at some other guy,” Jungkook speaks smoothly against his skin, lowering his lips down Yoongi’s neck, stopping unexpectedly to press his lips at random spots, causing Yoongi’s pulse to jolt and race each time. “Not when I know I can have you.”

Jungkook’s hand slid down Yoongi’s side, finding the hem of the shirt under the jacket. Yoongi’s hand grips tightly on his boyfriend's biceps and he licks his lips. Jungkook glances at Yoongi’s face just enough to see him frowning; swallowing thickly around his words and Jungkook knows what he wants to say.

They’ve been waiting for this, to hold each other, feel each other like this, push the boundaries they couldn’t dare to during that summer break when Jungkook was nothing but an inexcusable, pathetic mess and Yoongi couldn’t, for the life of him, put together a comprehensive sentence right now. Yet, this seems to be going too far too fast, Jungkook knows and he doesn’t want to force anything, but it’s so deliciously pleasing to have Yoongi there for him, so pliant and responsive.

Yoongi feels Jungkook’s fingertips pressing on the small of his back, tracing his skin without pressing yet. Yoongi finds himself edging against him and even though this isn’t supposed to be happening, not now. Maybe Jungkook doesn’t know, maybe he can’t tell, but somewhere under the haze and warmth of the feeling of having Jungkook surrounding him, Yoongi knows this is just too soon.

“I craved you the whole semester, y’know?” Jungkook mutters against his skin and Yoongi tries his best not to close his eyes, it’s what Jungkook wants and he’s not willing to let him have it. “You don’t know how much I keep thinking about how your voice sounds over the phone- I loved seeing your face flushed that day too.”

Yoongi can’t help it, his eyes close before he notices as he feels Jungkook nibbling on his skin, at a particular soft spot near his clavicle. He fists Jungkook’s jacket and feels the smug grin pressed on his skin and he wants to complain, but all he’s able to muster is a deep groan that has Jungkook humming along as if they’re singing a song together. Yoongi hates this as much as he wants to keep it going.

“I keep thinking about that one time you called me drunk in the middle of the night, hyung~” The words color Yoongi’s mind with blurry faint memories, the embarrassment of what happened serves off a remedy to make him snap out of this trace, just enough to get him to think of saying something.

His lips part even if he doesn’t know what he’d say and Yoongi hears the sound of a struggled gasp falls from his own lips when Jungkook all knowingly pressing an open-mouthed kiss on his pulse while his arm circle his middle underneath the shirt and his hand now presses harder on his skin. This is ridiculous, it’s nothing much. Yet, Yoongi can’t help himself. He loses himself in Jungkook’s warmth just as easily.

But, next thing he knows, he can’t feel Jungkook anymore, even so, Yoongi’s still into that haze Jungkook wrapped him in, still too lost to see through it all and Jungkook gives him a moment. He stands there, watching this new side of Yoongi; once he sees his hyung is stable again, Jungkook pulls away and he can see the confusion in Yoongi’s eyes looking for him. Jungkook wishes he didn’t have to stop there, but there’s still time.

Jungkook walks away with one of his soft smiles, taking a last look at how flustered Yoongi looks pressed up against that wall, pretending his fingertips doesn’t still tingle, craving for the touch of Yoongi’s skin again. He just has to pretend to not be that much affected and it’s not easy.

“I’ll put your things in my room,” he speaks up, not sure if Yoongi actually hears him, then he leaves before he can get any response. Yoongi could very well ask to stay in the other room and Jungkook doesn’t want that.

Yoongi runs his hands over his face and groans, this time disapprovingly of himself. He doesn’t recall how it started, but he’s relieved Jungkook seems to understand, or, at least, Yoongi hopes he does. Jungkook has always been a brat and he could’ve stopped just because he felt like it, but Yoongi wanted to think it’s because he understood. He pushes himself off the wall and finds himself lost inside the rather small apartment.

“I cleaned it because I knew you’d nag at me, hyung,” Jungkook says ever so casually as he walks in the living room again, as if what just happened was nothing but a speck of Yoongi’s imagination that came out vivid enough to leave the burn on his skin where Jungkook had touched him, “Are you hungry?”

Yoongi swallows, fighting off the awkwardness of not quite knowing what to do with himself and he sees Jungkook grinning to himself as he steps into the kitchen area.

“Why? Did you cook?” Yoongi didn’t even try to hide his skepticism and chose to sit on the couch, he looks down only to see Jungkook’s notebook open on top of a stack of books. He skims the page and naturally doesn’t understand a word.

“I’m living alone for over a year now, hyung,” Jungkook points out and looks back only to see Yoongi running his hand on the back of his neck, to make himself feel better. “If you’re tired just lay down a bit, I just have to heat this up. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

Yoongi can hear Jungkook saying something about the bed, but to him, the couch sounds good enough. He tries to keeps his eyes open just a little while, just to drawn in the sound of Jungkook in the kitchen; different than what Yoongi imagined, Jungkook’s not loud, he barely makes any noise and he doesn know if he’s trying to be quiet or this is who he is while cooking. Just one of the things Yoongi would like to find out over these weeks. He hears the fridge being opened and the knife slicing the vegetables, hitting the cutting board and the place’s small and quiet enough for Yoongi to hear the shuffle of Jungkook’s bare feet on the floor and he sleeps with an unexpected reassurance.

⇽ part 01 | epilogue ⇾

#mine #bangtanxm #bangtanscenery #kwritersworldnet #btswritersnet #hyunglinenetwork #angst #yoonkook #yoon!kook #yoongixjungkook #mxm #bts #suga #jungkook #jjk #yg #myg #idiots in love

18 notes · View notes

bandzrus · 6 years ago

Text

Tattoos (One-Shot)

Machine Gun Kelly x Reader

Masterlist

SUMMARY // requested by @icalldibsonharrystylesandluke – “if your requests are open, would you consider doing some mgk one shots, blurbs or whatever? That would be highly appreciated”

NOTE // I’ll be honest and say writing this scared me because I’m not actually that familiar with MGK – I basically only know him because of The Dirt, so disclaimer for OOC behavior and incorrect information.

WORDS // 2314

TAGLIST // @divaanya @icalldibsonharrystylesandluke ((okay I am so sick of tumblr not wanting to let me tag people this is so stupid))

***

You’d started dating Colson around the same time he’d gotten the call to play Tommy Lee on The Dirt, which meant you got to come along to New Orleans with him. It was great for you; you’d always wanted to travel there and now you got to do it with your boyfriend and watch him make what you knew was going to be a killer movie. You weren’t allowed on set all the time, but it was easy to keep busy sight-seeing around New Orleans and checking things off your bucket list. It was even better when Colson had a day off and the two of you could do things together. But whenever you were allowed you could never wipe the smile off your face. You’d grown up on Motley Crue and now you were watching your boyfriend bring their music back to life. It was nothing short of surreal. One of your favourite parts though was watching the transformation from Machine Gun Kelly to Tommy Lee. You often spent time in the makeup and costume trailer with him, and it blew your mind. It was weird watching your boyfriend morph into one of your idols.

You’d help him go over lines, watch him practice twirling drumsticks, and film little behind-the-scenes stuff on his phone for him. It was kind of a weird way to spend quality time with your boyfriend, but it was a lot of fun. The whole trip was by far the most amazing experience of your life, but if you had to pick one thing that you loved above everything else from the trip, the times you helped Colson wash the makeup that covered his tattoos off were your favourites.

You beamed as Colson walked off the stage set. You’d been watching them perform Motley songs all day for a gig scene and they were honestly incredible. With all the screaming extras, it almost felt like you were at the real thing. You could still tell it was weird for the other guys, but performing was like second nature for your boyfriend.

“You guys were amazing up there!” you congratulated, throwing your arms around his sweaty neck.

“You really think so?”

“Yes! You look just like the real deal, and if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were a first-rate drummer!” you gushed.

“That was the last scene we had to film today, so we can go back to the trailers if you want.”

“Ooo what are you implying?” you teased him, pulling back to give him a cheeky grin. He just laughed. “I’m just teasing, I know you’re probably exhausted.”

“I mostly just want to get this wig and makeup off,” Colson confessed, leaning down to give you a little peck on the lips. You nodded your head. Giving you a big smile, he grabbed your hand and the two of you bid farewell to the rest of the cast and crew. It was getting close to dinner time and the sun was starting to sink below the horizon, painting the sky every shade of pink, purple and orange and making everything seem golden. You looked up at Colson as the two of you walked hand in hand back to his trailer. He had that post-show glow that you’d seen well over a dozen times. And you had to admit he looked really good in the leather pants and jacket. Just like a rock star.

A few more crew members were milling around the trailers when the two of you arrived, one of them being the girl who helped style all the boy’s wigs, Cassandra.

“Hey, you’re back!” she greeted, putting down the book she’d been reading and jumping to get the door of the makeup trailer. “Ready to get that wig off?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll try to be quick so you can hop in the shower and get the makeup off,” she smiled, ushering the two of you inside. “I’m sure Y/N won’t mind helping with that.”

You blushed a little as Cassandra winked. Colson just laughed and plunked himself down in the makeup chair as Cassandra went to work ungluing his Tommy wig. Pulling out your phone, you switched it to video.

“How’d the shoot go today, babe?” you asked your boyfriend, capturing the moment.

“Fuckin’ rocked it!”

You laughed as he threw up the devil horns.

“We did so fucking good we get the day off tomorrow.”

“Really?” you squeaked, ending the recording and putting your phone down.

“Yup, we can go to that restaurant you wanted to check out,” answered Colson. “They’re filming some other stuff tomorrow so we’re off the hook.”

“I guess that means on break tomorrow too,” remarked Cassandra, slowly pulling the wig off Colson and placing it on the Styrofoam head on the makeup counter. With nimble, practiced fingers she began working at his flattened hair to get it loose for washing. You were always amazed how flat makeup and costume people could get actors’ hair underneath the wigs. Propping yourself up on the counter, you watched her work in comfortable silence until she was finished. Ruffling his hair to signal she was finished, she flashed you a smile.

“All done, pal!”

“Thanks Cas,” said Colson, getting up from the chair. You reached for his free hand as he waved at her with the other as the two of you left the makeup trailer. Colson’s trailer was on the other side of the lot, but you didn’t mind the walk. The air was still warm and any alone time with your boyfriend no matter how small was always nice. Grinning up at him, you tugged at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Think you’ll get to keep some of this stuff afterwards?” you asked him.

“Not sure, but I’m kinda growing fond of the pants,” he replied, grinning.

“They look good on you.”

“You sweat buckets in them but they look fuckin’ rad.”

The two of you arrived at Colson’s trailer and you opened the door. It would have been dark inside, except Colson had installed one of those disco-type lights that spins around and shines little circles of colour everywhere that he always left on. Dropping your purse on one of the seats, you watched your boyfriend shrug off the leather jacket and unbutton his leather pants. Stretching, you missed seeing all his tattoos, especially the really big piece on his back. It was your favourite.

“It’s so weird seeing you without your tattoos,” you commented.

“Yeah, it still weirds me out every day.”

“Do you want to eat something or take a shower first?” you inquired, flopping down on the couch that ran under one of the trailer windows.

“Shower.”

“Then pizza?”

“Yes!”

“Sounds like a plan,” you smiled. You watched him tug off the leather pants and toss them onto the back of a chair before sliding open the bathroom door. The bathroom on the trailer wasn’t huge, but it did have a shower which was pretty luxury. Leaving it open a crack, you heard him start the water and wait a minute or two for the water to get warm. There was the usual bumping and thumping and then you couldn’t help but grin when over the sound of water you heard him humming ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’. Relaxing on the couch, you kicked your feet up and entertained yourself by watching the lights go around and around the cabin of the trailer. It was hypnotic and you probably stared at them for well over five minutes before you heard Colson calling for you from the bathroom.

“Hey babe,” he called.

“Yeah?”

“Mind helping me get some of this shit off? I can’t reach.”

“Sure.”

Sliding off the couch, you opened the door to the bathroom. It was all steamy and warm inside, and Colson’s boxers had been discarded on the toilet seat. You couldn’t see into the shower because the glass was all fogged up.

“Want to just open the door and hand me the cloth?” you asked, rolling up your sleeves.

“The water’s gonna get everywhere if I open the door.”

“How do you want me to do this then?”

“The shower’s not that small, get in here.”

“Pardon?” you squeaked.

“Get in here! I can’t reach and I want this stuff off!” he chuckled opening the shower door just a crack to peek his head out. “Take your damn clothes off!”

You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as you shook your head at him.

“Oh my god,” you laughed. “Fine!”

Your cheeks flushed darker and darker as Colson watched you pull your shirt up over your head and wriggle out of your jeans. Standing there in your underwear, you placed your hands on your hips and looked at him.

“I said take your clothes off,” he said, gesturing at your undergarments.

“All of them?”

“Yes, all of them.”

You bit your lip.

“Fine.”

Undoing the clasp of your bra, you let it join Colson’s underwear on the toilet seat before you did the same with your panties.

“There, you happy now?” you huffed, even though there was a smile on your face.

“Yess,” grinned Colson, pulling away from the door of the shower so you could slip in. There was actually more room in the shower than you were expecting, and the water was nice and hot. Colson had cleaned off a lot of the makeup, but there were still patches on his back that you could see were still covered.

“It’s nice in here,” you remarked, letting the warm water hit your skin.

“It’s nicer with you in here.”

“Oh my god, you’re being so sappy today!” you chided, grabbing the washcloth from his hand. “Turn around so I can get this makeup off.”

Doing as he was told, you slowly started wiping off the makeup. It was pretty heavy duty stuff, and even though he had managed to get most of it from his front, your favourite tattoo was still hidden under the stuff. Holding his bicep with one hand, you used your other to gently uncover his tattoos. You smiled a little to yourself as you realized how much this felt like you were unearthing dinosaur bones or buried treasure. Rubbing the cloth over his shoulders, you carefully wiped off more of the makeup.

“Can you rinse this? There’s a lot of this stuff,” you said, handing your boyfriend the washcloth since he was closer to the stream of water. You leaned into his back and rested your cheek against his arm as he wrung out the cloth and handed it back to you.

“Thanks for doing this by the way,” he said, planting a kiss on top of your hair that was starting to get wet. You rubbed your thumb over his as you took the washcloth back. It was nice to spend a quiet alone moment with him after a long day, and the hot water felt really nice. Going back to your scrubbing, you slowly uncovered more tattoos, working your way from his shoulders down his back. He’d been in pants all day so they didn’t paint up his legs, but everything from the shoulders down to them had been.

Finally you got to your favourite one, the Salvador Dali piece. Wringing out the washcloth, you squeezed next to Colson to wet it again. You smiled up at him, your chest bumping his arm.

“I know I’ve said this before, but I love your tattoos,” you told him, tracing one of the ones on his shoulder with your index finger. “Especially this one.”

You started washing the makeup off the Salvador Dali, tracing bits of it with your other fingers. Feeling Colson shudder a little under your touch, you giggled.

“Sorry,” you apologized, uncovering more of the piece.

“’S okay, just tickles a bit when you do that.”

“Is that so?” you grinned devilishly, doing it again.

“Hey, cut it out!” laughed Colson, turning around so you couldn’t tickle him anymore.

“You still have makeup on you!” you protested, trying to turn him back around by grabbing him by the sides of his arms. He wouldn’t budge.

“Don’t fuckin’ tickle me or I’m gonna start swinging!” he warned, doing fake karate moves with a huge grin on his face. You just laughed.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop,” you promised, smacking him with the washcloth. “Turn around, I’m almost done.”

Guiding him with your hands, you went back to cleaning the remaining makeup off Colson’s lower back until the whole tattoo was uncovered. Hanging up the rag, and tracing one last teasing finger over it, you wiggled in under the water with your boyfriend.

“You’re such a tease!” nagged Colson, referring to your tickling.

“Yeeaaah, but you like it,” you replied cheekily, putting your head under the water and running your hands through it. You felt his hands come to rest on your hips. Wiping water off your forehead, you rested your arms on his shoulders and smiled before giving him a little peck on the lips.

“That’s it?” he asked, feigning being hurt. Shaking your head and rolling your eyes, you kissed him again, longer this time, letting your eyelids flutter closed. Pulling you closer by your hips, Colson kissed you back. This was hands down the best vacation ever. Colson, New Orleans, Motley Crue; it was a dream come true. Surrounded by steam and warm water, you peppered a few more kisses on your boyfriend’s lips before you pulled back.

“Do you still want to get pizza, or do you want to stay in here and get pruny?” you asked him, cocking an eyebrow suggestively. The two of you were chest to chest as warm water cascaded down your back. You watched him think about it for a second before he answered.

“Pizza and sweats.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you smiled. “Pizza and sweatpants it is!”

***

This took so friggin’ long to write I’m so sorry! I kept getting distracted by TNFT. Plus I don’t know much about MGK so I hope this doesn’t suck. I don’t think I’ll do any more MGK requests just ‘cause I don’t feel that comfortable writing about people irl. The Dirt characters yes - the real guys, not so much.

#bandzrus #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly fanfic #machine gun kelly fanfiction #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #the dirt #mgk #mgk fanfic #mgk fanfiction #mgk imagine #fluff #mgk x reader

1K notes · View notes

datninjalyfe · 5 years ago

Text

Stay, Part 1: Chapter 11

Chapter 11: A Change In Perspective

PART 1—Going Downtown

“Where is he?” Katsuki asked hurriedly. “Is he okay? What about Camie?”

Yoyo nodded. “He’s fine.” He scrolled through his phone. “He’s actually right where I thought he would be. The Shiketsu girl is there too. Edgeshot’s agency will be overseeing the infiltration, but I assumed you’d want to go too. And one or two other students, supervised under Eraserhead, of course.”

“Me!” eight students raised their hands, Izuku one of them, but Eraserhead shook his head.

“Kaminari will be the one going—,” Aizawa started, but was interrupted.

“I’ll go too.” Shinsou said, stepping forward, staring Katsuki straight in the face. A few students started to protest, but Shinsou said to Katsuki, “Consider this a debt paid.” He paused and then added, “Let’s get Kirishima back.”

“We’re leaving now.” Aizawa said then turned to the rest of the class. “The rest of you are dismissed.”

After a few quick goodbyes, the other students dispersed. Katsuki wanted to walk over to Izuku, but Yoyo tapped him on the shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Rumor has it you and Broccoli-Head are together now.” Yoyo winked when Katsuki shot him a confused look. “I talked to him this morning. Pretty funny, I thought you would have been the one getting some, not the other way around—,”

Katsuki’s hand sparked up and he yelled, “YOU CAN’T KEEP A SECRET WORTH A DAMN, CAN YOU, BROCCOLI?!”

“Broccoli?” Izuku asked, peering up from his phone. Once he saw it was Katsuki, Izuku giggled, and Katsuki let out a small laugh as well, the little flute harmonizing in the deep of Katsuki’s laugh, but quickly, Izuku’s face grew serious. “Be careful.” he whispered so softly, Katsuki almost didn’t hear it. He walked across the common area over to him, despite Yoyo telling him they needed to leave— “Yeah, like now means now, bitch, let’s move it!” But Katsuki saw concern written across Izuku’s face and Katsuki couldn’t leave with that being the last look Izuku gave to him.

“You worry too much.” Katsuki told him, lightly pressing his nose into Izuku’s cheek. A light, citrus tea scent filled his nose and he lightly kissed the freckled face. “I’ll be okay. Not like we haven’t taken down plenty of assholes before.”

Izuku nodded, smiling up at him. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said, ‘we,’” Katsuki couldn’t help but smile as well. And then they kissed passionately.

But the kiss was cut short by Aizawa yanking on Katsuki’s arm. “HE’LL LITERALLY BE GONE FOR A COUPLE DAYS. HE’S GOING DOWNTOWN, NOT TO EUROPE! SAY GOODBYE, MIDORIYA!”

“Bye, Kacchan.” Izuku giggled. “See you when you get back.”

As they started to walk out of the building, Aizawa’s face twitched in anger upon looking closer at Katsuki’s neck. “What the fuck is that?”

“What the fuck is what—?!” he asked, but Kaminari’s eyes grew wide from fear and he shook his head.

“Don’t answer, dude. Don’t even look at him. Keep walking.”

“Do I have something on my neck?” Katsuki pulled out his phone to open up the camera, but before he could, Shinsou pushed his phone down.

“It’s a bruise, sir. I, um, hit him.” Shinsou lied. But then Katsuki understood. He had a hickey on his neck. Aizawa wasn’t stupid, but he didn’t say anything else, but Katsuki knew that conversation wasn’t over.

---

PART 2—Izuku’s Point of View—A Few Moments Ago

---

“Does anyone know where I can find Mr. Aizawa?” Yoyo asked loudly, surprising Izuku, who was looking down at his phone. Yoyo glanced around the room and locked eyes with Izuku. Yoyo cocked his head and then waved with his fingers.

“I’m here.” Aizawa said. “You must be the 3rd year Bakugou was talking about. Yoroinokishi, is it?” Yoyo nodded. “Good. Have you found Kirishima?”

“I have! All good news!” Yoyo told him and the class circled themselves around Yoyo, asking questions all at once. Izuku wanted to know where Kirishima was too, but stayed a few paces back. Yoyo was incredibly eccentric, but he was also a bit reckless, but a great fighter, with an amazing quirk. Sounds like Kacchan…Izuku could feel his heart pounding in his chest, listening to Yoyo say things like, “Now, now, children, one question at a time!” He was flamboyantly gay, looking both masculine and feminine at the same time, like the two genders merged together perfectly.

He’s just Kacchan’s friend. It’s really okay.

But you have a crush on one of your friends, too. His mind reminded him, but he pushed out the thought. Count to ten. One…two…three….

“Do you know him, Midoriya?” Iida asked in a hushed voice, interrupting Izuku’s internal dialogue.

“No, but Kacchan does.” Izuku told him. Do I sound jealous? He cleared his throat, quickly saying, “They’re going shopping today.”

“Where is Bakugou?” Yoyo said looking through the faces of the students. “Thought he’d be down here with all of his—actually, does that boy even have any friends?” Yoyo glanced a knowing look at Izuku through a wide smile. “I mean, I guess the only thing we can do is wait until the man himself comes down.” Yoyo said loudly. Was this guy taunting Izuku? Yoyo cartwheeled his way over to where Izuku was standing. “You must be Deku.”

“Uh, yeah.” Izuku said shyly, smiling a little.

“Hmmmm.” Yoyo said, looking at him up and down. “I hear a lot of—well, I was gonna say ‘good’ but sorta? I’ve heard sorta good things about you.”

“From Kacchan?”

“Who the hell is Kacchan?” Yoyo asked, a little aggressively.

“Oh, um, well—,”

“They have weird names for each other. It’s a little confusing.” Kaminari said, wrapping an arm around Izuku. Kaminari pulled down his collar to reveal an intense burn mark on his skin. “But he doesn’t let anyone call him Kacchan accept Midoriya.”

“How incredibly rude of Bakugou!” Iida said sternly, shifting his gaze from Kaminari to Izuku before shouting at him, “He’s your boyfriend, that makes you partially responsible for his actions now!”

“What, how is that my fault?” Izuku asked.

Yoyo blinked a few times. “Boyfriend. Wait—,” Yoyo started to jump up and down, holding Izuku’s hands, bouncing them with his movements, squealing in between saying, “You two are together now? How adorable! I’m so happy for you!” Yoyo stopped suddenly, and pulled Izuku’s hands towards him. Izuku’s body was pulled towards Yoyo, who pushed back one of Izuku’s curls to expose his neck. “Hmmm.” Yoyo licked his lips. “Looks like you’ve already been having some fun.” Izuku’s brows furrowed in confusion, but Yoyo grinned and whispered, “You have a hickey on your neck. But don’t worry, you can’t see it underneath your hair. I just have a knack for seeing the dirty little details.” Katsuki entered the room with Uraraka following closely behind. As quietly as he had whispered to Izuku, Yoyo shouted, “Now that would take some seriously full-coverage concealer or like an hour of scrubbing with a toothbrush to cover that up! Like, damn, what’d you do to him?” Izuku’s eyes fell on Katsuki’s neck and there was a large bite mark, teeth indentations encompassed by a large black and blue bruise.

Fuck. Izuku’s face went completely red. He could hear his heart beating loudly in his ears. “I-I didn’t really do anything to him. Quite the other way around—,”

“Damn, he always seemed to have such top energy. Or—or! And hear me out—” Yoyo paused before quickly saying:

“Not enough top energy.”

He laughed heartily, and walked away from Izuku to the front of the room, asking Aizawa, “Hey, we were just waiting for those two right?” Izuku looked back at Katsuki, who was peering around the room and when he caught Izuku’s face, he started to walk over, but Izuku, fearing what Aizawa might do to them, stopped him and pointed to Yoyo who told him, “I know where your friend is. And U.A. faculty has given us permission for a rescue operation under the supervision of Eraserhead, of course. What’d’ya say we ditch the date today and go get him?”

---

Izuku watched as they left from the window in the common area. Katsuki’s hair didn’t so much as flinch against the wind like Yoyo’s did. Yoyo was certainly beautiful: a slim body with a toned chest and shoulders that shown underneath his cropped, tight black shirt. His stomach was slender and long—he was about as tall as Shoji—and his eyes were an earthy brown, a color that made him look perpetually excited because they were as dark as his pupils. He wore makeup too—a thin line of black liner outlined his eyes overtop a smoked, very pigmented copper shadow. As they walked, Yoyo stretched his arms up, folding them over his head. His shirt rode up his body slightly and Izuku noticed a golden shimmer against his rich, browned skin which completely contrasted against his whitened hair that flowed with the wind. There was also a tattoo (or is that a brand?) Izuku couldn’t tell what it said against the side of his torso against his ribcage.

Maybe Izuku was a little jealous. His brow clenched until the white of Yoyo’s hair disappeared into the car and they drove off.

“Breathe, Deku.” a voice said, making him jump. It was Uraraka. “It’s like Aizawa said, they’re going to get Kirishima and come right back.”

“Yeah,” Izuku said, trying to sound enthusiastic, but his voice just cracked.

“He’ll be fine.” Todoroki said, walking up to them. He placed a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, “Actually, I was going to ask this anyway, but did you want to meet my Mom today?”

Izuku remembered how before the he and Katsuki had gotten into a fight in the study room (Todoroki had come to “save” him and ended up getting in just as much trouble as they did), Todoroki had offered to take Izuku to the hospital where his mother stayed. It was in the locker room, weeks ago, when the other boys were discussing the dance, Todoroki had asked him, “Since we can go home this weekend, would you like to meet her? I’ve been writing to her all about my experiences here at U.A. and she said she wanted to meet some of my friends.” Izuku beamed at him. He had gotten to meet the rest of the Todoroki family and worked under Endeavor at his agency for his work study next to Todoroki and Katsuki. Despite being a friend to him, there was always a polite distance between the two. Izuku was really excited when Todoroki had offered for Izuku to meet his mother. Izuku had hoped the weird gap and bring them closer. Todoroki had knelt down and whispered into Izuku’s ear, “She’s really excited to meet you.”

“If you don’t want to, I understand—,” Todoroki said, snapping Izuku back to the present.

“Oh! No, no, sorry. I’d love to meet her.”

Todoroki’s eyes hinted an excited look, but he made no other expressions with his face. He just said, “Be ready in an hour or so. I’ll go make sure someone in the faculty knows where we’re going.”

Izuku watched Todoroki as he walked away, his hips swinging a little more fluidly than Katsuki’s did moments ago. Izuku thanked Uraraka for her kind words and went back to his room.

Izuku sat at his desk, scrolling through his phone, but not really paying attention to what was on it. He thought about showering, but didn’t really feel like it. Instead, he took a comb and brushed through the messy curls to look a little more presentable. His mind bounced between events that had taken place in the last 24 hours. He liked Katsuki, always had, admiring him ever since they were little. Izuku watched when he developed a quirk and his confidence overturned into arrogance. Even now, he was still as egotistical as ever and to Izuku, that made him a little sexier.

But he was sexy to other people, too. Jealousy filled him, not intensely at first, but the more those thoughts lingered in his mind, the angrier Izuku became. It wasn’t so much that other people were looking at Katsuki. It’s that he had taken an interest in others that concerned Izuku. He told me he’d give me a month of nothing but his absolute best. He’ll prove himself. Trust that. But Katsuki must’ve thought Camie was cute, otherwise he wouldn’t have snuck out to see her. Izuku wasn’t stupid and knew they’d probably had sex, but his mind raced through the envious thoughts that led him back to Yoyo.

They’re friends. It’s not that different than you and Todoroki. But as soon as he thought that he wished he hadn’t. When Izuku saw Todoroki for the first time, Izuku was a little intimidated—Todoroki was gorgeous and Izuku had serious insecurities at the time. When the two had slowly started to become friends after the sports festival, Izuku couldn’t help but feel like the girls who giggled in the halls as the two of them walked together, a few of the mustering up the courage to say hello to him. Izuku felt very privileged to be considered one of his closest friends at U.A., but after their fight with Katsuki in the study room, they hardly spoke to one another. Even during their punishment, little words were spoken. They had held back during their trainings and Todoroki, despite often walking next to him, they both kept an emotional distance between them. Still, Todoroki was incredibly handsome, calm and collected, and Izuku’s small crush never really went away.

Still scrolling through his phone, his eyes became heavy. Without taking his shoes off, he plopped down in the bed, slowly counting to ten, exhaling into a deep sleep. One…two….three….

A sweet smell filled Izuku’s dreams as he felt an enormous amount heat enter his whole body. His eyes were closed, but he felt something warm—so hot, this warmth…A hand groped his chest. A quiet moan escaped from deep within him as he felt a mouth on his passionately kiss him. So hot...ecstasy sent him into an erotic trance. Izuku felt light fingers tap up his thighs.

“Midoriya, you ready?”

Izuku’s eyes lazily opened. A hard knock at the door woke Izuku from his nap. It took him a moment to realize where he was. Izuku wasn’t fully awake until there was another knock, louder this time. “Midoriya?”

It was Todoroki.

Shit! “One second!” Izuku said flustered, glancing at his phone to check the time. Of course he would be early. He gave himself a minute to calm himself before opening the door.

Izuku was still a little excited from the dream and nervously swallowed as Todoroki told him, “I told you to be ready to go.” His voice was raspy and truthfully a bit cold. There was an assertive presence in those words that sliced through Izuku.

Almost instantly, Izuku was brought back to his conversation with Yoyo, when he referred to Katsuki as being a bottom: “He always seemed to have such top energy. Or-or—not enough top energy.” Izuku laughed apprehensively at the time, but he grew more anxious in this moment. Izuku could see the way he interacted with Yoyo and had known him long enough to know there may be some attraction there. You didn’t even know how Kacchan felt about you. How would you know how he feels about someone else? And he’s on a rescue mission, get it together! And Katsuki wasn’t really a bottom, was he? Katsuki said he would top when they actually had sex.

But Todoroki, the way he stood, the way he spoke. It was so commanding, so direct. There would be no struggle for who would dominate over who between the two of them. It was already decided.

And Izuku kind of liked that.

He bit his lower lip and told Todoroki, “Yeah, sorry about that. I-I fell asleep.”

A hint of concern glinted in Todoroki’s duo-chromed eyes, but again, nothing in his face to indicate that whatsoever. “I can just go this time and you can catch up on sleep if you need it—,”

Another nervous laugh escaped Izuku, “No, no! I want to go. You’re just early, so it caught me off guard. Let me change and I’ll meet you downstairs.” Todoroki looked at his phone, a hint of frustration this time. “I’ll be quick!”

He closed the door and exhaled, realizing he hadn’t really breathed that whole conversation. Why was his heart beating so fast? Izuku closed his eyes and counted to ten. One….two….three….He pushed himself off the door and changed quickly. He pushed away all those thoughts that invaded his mind earlier and made his way downstairs.

“Damn, Midoriya, you lookin’ like a whole snack—,” Mina said from across the room. Izuku blushed, looking away, but smiling a little. He’d grabbed one of the nicer shirts he owned: it buttoned up and he loosely tucked it away into a darker jean that hugged his legs snugly.

“You do look good.” Todoroki said from behind him, making Izuku jump. He wasn’t looking at Izuku, his eyes remaining forwards. He gently pushed Izuku forwards, saying, “Let’s go.”

Todoroki wore a buttoned, collared shirt (his was blue, brightly bringing out the lightness in his one eye and making the gray one look darker) underneath a dark vest. Izuku made a Mhmm sound and whispered, “You look good too, Todoroki.”

As he followed Todoroki out of the dorm, he could have sworn he saw a hint of a smile on Todoroki’s lips.

---

PART 3—Frustrated Feelings

Todoroki had purchased an extra first-class ticket for Izuku, explaining to him, “I figured it would give us a little privacy.”

Privacy? Todoroki led him to the front of the train, which didn’t look much fancier from the outside. It was taller than the bullet trains Izuku was used to riding and Todoroki had to almost jump up to get onto it. It was an older train, but it made sense, since they were going into an older part of town. He turned around and a hand extended out for Izuku to take, while his free hand grabbed onto one of the pillars that he had used to climb onto the train himself. A breeze tousled through their hair, moving with the wind small whispers against the side of the train. The white side of Todoroki’s hair brushed against his angular face, some strands touching the scar. Without thinking, Izuku reached out, his hand clammy, but Todoroki wrapped his light but strong fingers one at a time around Izuku’s hand and pulled him up quickly. Their bodies snapped together, the outside of their forearms touching each other’s chests. They were so close. Izuku could feel heat of Todoroki’s sweet breath, feel softness of his hair carelessly dance across his face.

Izuku quickly looked away and Todoroki guided his hand to the pillar he was holding. Izuku took it, holding himself up from where his knees had partially buckled from underneath of him.

“The train will leave in 5 minutes. Please board if you haven’t already.” an automatic voice over the intercom said.

“We need to go. We’re on the other side of the car and it’s a longer walk than it looks.”

“Yeah, sure.” Izuku said, trying not to blush through those words.

Once inside, Izuku could see what Todoroki meant—it was certainly longer on the inside. White tablecloths lined up against the windows as people sat around them, sipping wine, talking to one another in soft, hushed voices.

“Ah, the Young Todoroki!” said a man with a loud, booming voice. Todoroki stopped and looked over at the man, and bowed respectfully. Izuku followed suit, but the man just beamed, “No need for such formalities, my boy! Taking a train into the city, are we?”

“Yes, sir.” Todoroki said, lifting his head. “My friend and I are going to see family.”

“Of course! Give your father my best, would you?”

“Yes, sir. If you’ll excuse us.” As Todoroki made his way through the car, there were instances where some would bow to him, other held up their wine glasses, but no one really said more than a few words. They walked down to the other side of the car where he slid a door open to reveal a small flight of stairs that circled up to the next floor of the train. Todoroki held up their tickets to an attendant who bowed to them, but watched as they climbed up to the level of the car. It was large inside, but boxed in. There were a couple windows next to a few tables, wrapped in the same garb as the ones down below them.

“Can I get you and your friend any refreshments?” a voice said. It was the same attendant who was downstairs.

Before Izuku could refuse her, Todoroki said in a commanding voice, “No. Leave us.” The woman bowed and slid the doors shut.

They would be alone the whole train ride over. One…two…three…

(previous)(next)

#bakugou katsuki #izubaku #bakudeku #bakugou x midoriya #katsudeku #deku x kacchan #dekukacchan #mha deku #mha kacchan #mha bakugou #mha midoriya #mha todoroki

7 notes · View notes

star-nova · 6 years ago

Text

The Lives of the RiffRaff: Kali Muburu-Hair

We Are the RiffRaff Rickie Johnson-The Art of War Vera Sherwood-Little Sister

When I was a kid, I had long hair, and I liked to play with it just like any other girl. I combed it, brushed it, styled it, and went to the hairdresser twice a year to have it done. I looked through the magazines and the style catalogs and tried out the different styles to varying degrees of success. I've had cornrows, dreads, single braids, highlights, waves, and weaves.

My hair was long and black and somehow managed to be free of the kinkiness that affected the rest of my family. My mother's hair was puffy, my brother's was frizzy, and I couldn't tell what my father's was because he kept it buzzed off. But mine was an anomaly, and it disappointed the hell out of my mother that I never wore it loose. “Your hair's a blessing, Kaliwan'aa,” she would tell me. “You should show more of it.” I think this was the reason that I didn't show more of it; no teenager wants to do what their mother says. The other more sensible reason was that it was always in the damn way. I was a runner, and the stuff weighed me down. It whipped out behind me like a banner strapped to my head and bounced against the back of my neck while I ran. It got caught in necklaces, scarves, and zippers. It snagged on fences and even doorknobs I was passing by. I ran around in the woods and the hills and came back with who-the-hell-knows-what in it. It seemed like my hair was only a blessing to somebody like my mother, a conservative Tongan woman who worked at a law firm and cooked and didn't do much else.

I began to admire the women on my father's side of the family. These were Kenyan women, with burnt cinnamon skin and long arms and legs like sycamore branches. Most of them had no more hair than my father, if any at all, and the heads of the bald ones gleamed like golden coins in the sun. They could probably run like bullets, and never had to worry about their hair being yanked in a fight or pulled by some idiot boy who sat behind them.

I decided that this look was something to work up to, to get a feel for. In my sophomore year, I got my hair cut short so that it fell just above my ears. I had inherited my father's ears that stuck out like wings, and the idiot kids called me “Dumbo the elephant.” But they would've called me anything; in ninth grade I was “Siren-Mouth” for my loud voice, and in eighth grade I was “Skeletor” because my legs were long and skinny. I'd been made fun of enough to stop giving a damn about being made fun of. All I cared about was that I was free from the shackles of long hair. I ran like a bolt with nothing weighing me down, and Dumbo-like or not, my ears were glad to be free. At the beginning of my junior year, I got gauge piercings and nobody called me Dumbo anymore. By then they had moved on to calling me “Riot” because I was loud and mouthy and got into fights. I still don't see how that was supposed to be an insult.

They say that changing your hair marks a change in who you are, that it's the first outward sign that you're an entirely different person than who you had been before. When I finally had my hair buzzed off completely, just after I had gone away to college, I looked in the mirror and saw a different Kali looking back at me. This Kali had a hard face and fiery, eager eyes, ready to see the whole world that existed beyond her little town. She was strong, built like a tree from years of running. She pursed her lips and looked angry, fierce. She smiled, and her teeth shone stark-white against a complexion like dark chocolate. I loved this fierce-looking, bald-headed Kenyan-Tongan girl, and I wanted her to love me back.

That Christmas, I came back home without a single hair on my head. My brother, who was still a little shit when he wanted to be, cried out, “Ha ha! Kali's a cueball!” My father smiled and told me it was a good look for me. “Now you look like a true Muburu,” he said, comparing me to all the aunts and cousins with shaved heads on his side of the family. I thought about how they'd all react the next time they saw me.

But then there was my mother. My mother would never have stopped me from expressing myself in any way I wanted—of course, she drew the line at a tramp stamp or a nipple piercing, but she believed that my body was my own to do what I wanted with it within reason. She let me have the gauge piercings and did not object to the coiled snake tattoos around my right arm for my eighteenth birthday. I'd gone around with my hair in neon yarn falls or dyed the color of red velvet cake, and she didn't protest. If I wanted to buzz off my hair, that was my decision to make. She knew that and she respected it.

But she couldn't hide the hurt and disappointment in her eyes. My hair, my “blessing,” the kind of hair that she herself had longed for but never got to have, was gone.

Nine years later, I've still got no hair. I've contemplated letting it grow out again, and got as far as letting a bit of fuzz accumulate before deciding to buzz it all off again. Bald is freedom. It's the summer sun warming the top of my head and it's looking good in every hat when winter comes around. Bald is saving money on shampoo, brushes, and combs and having a shorter morning routine, free of wrestling with tangles and mats. Most of all, bald is driving the neighborhood men crazy.

They hate it. With my bald head and boyish clothes, but womanish figure with particularly visible assets, they can't tell what the hell I'm supposed to be. While most of the hair-topped ladies I know—the pretty Anna Ming, the tall Bex Driver, the small and quirky Vera Sherwood—have been catcalled or flirted with at some point, the guys that I pass by don't seem to know what to do with me.

“Man, what do you think that is?” one of the men across the bar asked, his eyes and his seedy friend's eyes fixed right on me. He wasn't even pretending or trying to be subtle about it; I and the other “RiffRaff” around here can never tell if it's worse when people try to be subtle and judge you silently, or when they come right out with it.

I stood up and propped one elbow against the bar. “Now, I'm not an expert on such things,” I said, pinning them to the bar with my left eye, “but I think that she might be a human being, and therefore not to be referred to as that. Am I right?”

The guys immediately turned their heads away and pretended they were never looking and had never said a word. Who's this crazy bitch? What's she going on about?

“Am I right?” I asked again. “Go on, tell me if I'm right. Is there ever a moment when it's appropriate to refer to a person as 'that?' Well, is there?”

They didn't answer. They just got up and moved away, taking their beers with them.

When you're grown up, no one calls you Dumbo for your big ears anymore. They don't point at your bald head and call you Cueball, or comment on your Siren-Mouth. Nobody really pays any attention to you at all, until they can't decide whether or not they want to fuck you.

“Hey, you look like a monk.”

I open my eyes and behold Rickie Johnson, standing there looking at me like I'm an interesting specimen under a microscope. “A monk, huh.” I sit up and fold my legs into the traditional “zen monk” pose, with my hands resting on my kneecaps and three fingers curled into the air. I doubt that very many monks wear long black t-shirts with “STONESVILLE ROCKATHON 2016” printed on them.

“Yeah,” he says, “a monk. Very calm, very zen.”

I close my eyes. “Ohhhhhmmmm.” Taking advantage of the situation, Rickie starts flicking the top of my head.

“Ohhhhm-if-you-don't-cut-that-out-I'mma-snap-that-finger-clean-offffffff....”

I open my eyes. Rickie's way too close to my face. I sock him on the nose, but it's all in jest. We crack up. Rickie's probably the closest thing to a more-than-best-friend I have, but there's no commitment involved; Rickie has made it clear time and time again that I'm not his type when it comes to that. His “type” includes Greta Slokov, a raven-haired, red-lipped cookiecutter beauty who walks around the grocery store in uber-tight crop tops that land just under her boobs. My personal opinion is that if you're going to be showing that much navel, you had better have a barbel piercing to show for it. Her personal opinion is that the appearance of a man and the appearance of a woman should not overlap, and if you're going to walk around in button-downs and shorts you should at least have the decency to have a full head of hair, or if you're going to be a bald-headed woman you should at least put on some dresses and some skirts because it's your god-given duty to keep from confusing people. To sum it up, she finds me disgusting and the feeling is mutual. Rickie is way too good for that bitch.

I haul ass down the paved trails while Rickie chases me. I run to the jungle gym and jump up onto the ladder, scrambling up there in about four seconds using my runner's legs. Rickie rappels up the slide to come after me, and I throw myself down the opposite side and take off like a bolt. The mothers with their strollers shoot glances in our direction, but what the hell are they going to say? I'm laughing too hard to breathe. Rickie catches up to me and fires a few finger guns, and I block them with an imaginary bulletproof shield.

We're crazy.

Would we be less of a spectacle if I had hair and looked like a woman? Probably not. But in a hick town like Tanager, where absolutely nothing happens, a bald woman and some blonde guy running around the park like two kids is probably the most interesting thing they've seen all day.

But I've got something even more interesting.

“C'mere,” I tell Rickie. I grab his hand and he doesn't object. I may not be “his type,” but he's never actually passed up an opportunity to get close to me. I don't know if it means anything, or if he's just so desperate for the touch of a female that he's willing to take it even from a bald woman. Either way, he lets me lead him far away from the playground and out to a private little cluster of trees where guys usually take their ladies for a quickie. It's broad daylight and nobody's really doing anything, but there's one or two couples here and there, holding hands in the grass and making out the picnic tables. Otherwise there's just people passing through.

I tug at Rickie's hand. “Let's give 'em a show.”

He's all for it. “How?”

I sit myself down right in front of the latina woman locking lips with a guy with a guitar on his back, folding my legs into the “zen monk” position. “I'm Buddha,” I tell Rickie. “Rub my bald head for a hundred years of good fortune.”

“Only a hundred?” Rickie asks. “I don't know, I plan on living longer than that.”

“Then kiss it,” I tell him. “Kiss it and you will live for a thousand years.”

Rickie kneels down. “A thousand, huh? Well, I don't think I can rightly pass that up.”

He puts his lips right where the sun warms the top of my head. There's something raw and just so right about the feeling of lips against a bare head. Have hair there, and it acts like a shield; it blocks out the soft feeling of the two lips and suppresses the pressure of having them push against you. He holds them there for fifty full seconds counted in my head, then he pulls away. “Was that worth a thousand years?” he asks me.

I grab him by the collar and pull him down. He's so close to me that his stubbly moustache prickles against my bare head. I move his hand on top of my head and hold it there, and there's no hair to block out just how warm it feels. I hear the latina girl go “ugh,” and she and her guitar guy take off for elsewhere.

“It was worth eternity.”

#Fiction by Me #The Lives of the RiffRaff #work in progress #writing

1 note · View note

cocojimin · 7 years ago

Text

Terrible Twos Extras-

Closing Shift

Here’s the first extra on how Cal & Y/N met! Please request any extra you’d like for this series!

Terrible Twos

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5

Masterlist

Request or Chat

“Hey Y/N,I’m gonna need you to close up today. Wendy had to call off.” Your boss gave you a sympathetic smile as you carried on organizing the countless racks of garments.

You worked in a modern and stylish store,and it was very popular. With the popularity came the busy atmosphere,getting hundreds of customers every hour on the hour.

Since multiple celebrities were seen with pieces from the store,the business rocketed. It took some time getting used to,but now you were pretty much immune to the constant throng of people and the occasional celebrity.

Closing was the most frequented by more famous people so they would have the store virtually to themselves. You hated closing,it was always a hassle to organize the clothes that some disrespectful patrons would just leave everywhere.

Today was no exception.

Just as you were busying yourself with yet another rack,you heard the the jingle of the door opening,followed by the monotone beep.

You sighed and dropped your shoulders with a hefty breath,making your way to the doorway of the store. Looking up you saw 4 gorgeously tall men surveying the clean and open section,laughing and holding garments up to themselves.

“Hello,I’m Y/N do you guys need any help tonight?” You spoke,voice full of confidence and stance meaning business as the lanky blonde man shot you a smile.

“Uh,Yeah we have a big party we’re going to tomorrow and need some nice outfits.” He scratched the back of his neck and waited timidly for a reply,switching his weight on his other foot.

You simply nodded and asked for his name to which he said Luke. Suddenly,the pieces started to click together and you noticed that this was the band 5 Seconds Of Summer standing in front of you.

Before you could say anything to him,Calum peeked from behind his band mates wide back and smiled down at you.

“Hi I’m Calum,are you gonna be styling us?” The pit in your stomach erupted into butterflies as he extended his golden and tattoo covered arm,prompting you to shake his hand.

“I’m Y/N and yes,we can start one by one. Is that okay guys?” Your tone of seriousness made Michael and Ashton’s heads shoot up from where they were playing around,seeing as you indeed took your job seriously.

You led the four boy into the private back room and your co-worker Dallon gave them the ‘Celebrity treatment’,which was champagne,the television,and a selection of nice hors d’oeuvres. The first person you decided to crack down on was Luke Hemmings.

Standing at 6’2 (at best),he had a wide upper body with a skinner lower body. You scanned his outfit,grasping his sense of style and working your way to elevate it.

“You look like you’re good at what you do,Y/N” He said,watching you expertly find exactly what you were looking for and holding it up to his body.

“I guess you could say that.”

You finally decided on dressing him up in a modern,stylish and laid back look. The white V-neck hug his wide top half just right with a little chest chair peeking out. Two silver necklaces laid in the gap between the V-neck of the shirt. The black jeans hugging his lower half,a small distressed slit in the knee showing the smooth skin. The blue and silver satin bomber jacket resting on his shoulders,decorative embroidery popping out on his pack. And to tie the look together,heeled silver boots adorned his feet.

You took one look at your creation and smiled to yourself,knowing you were unstoppable when it came to having a keen sense of fashion.

Turning to face the mirror,Luke’s jaw dropped as he got a glance at himself.

“W-woah Y/N...This looks amazing!” He turned back to you,pulling your body into his and wrapping you up in a thankful hug.

“I do what I can Luke.” Was all you said before giving him a knowing smirk. You waiting until he took off the garments before taking them to the front register and putting them in a bag,quickly writing his name on the tag.

The next boy to get styled was Ashton. You knew that his style was more laid back and older than the other boys.

It took you a minute to ponder all of your options before you settled on dressing him in a ‘greaser’ esque fashion.

“How long have you been working here?” He asked as the two of you rounded a corner of the store to the more dressy section.

“I’ve been working here for 3 years,Fashion always has a place in my heart.”

He attentively watched you work your magic,seeing the gears in your mind turn as you paired different pieces together. Finally,you landed on a simple base outfit with a staple piece.

Ashton dawned a White button down,leaving the first few unbuttoned. The black slacks hugged his hips and thighs before cuffing slightly at the ankle.On his feet were black combat like boots,with the cuff of the ankle draping over the top. The statement piece was a nice leather jacket,with red embroidered lips on the back of it. You turned him around to face the large mirror and watched as yet again you had another happy customer.

“This is fuckin awesome!”

Again,you took Ashton’s clothes to the front and placed them in a labeled bag,making your way to the private area for the third time.

Next on your roster was Michael. His style was fairly relaxed and very modern.

“So,Y/N my mate Calum over there thinks you’re really pretty.” Michael said when you were far enough away from the other boys. He nudged your shoulder as you paid him no mind,looking in front of the rack to find an outfit that suited him.

“Well Michael,why don’t you tell him to man up and say it himself,” Pushing the hung up clothes in two different directions,finally finding what you were looking for. Michael let out a sigh as you placed the clothes across his outstretched arms and shooing him in the direction of the dressing room.

For Michael,you decided to elevate his casual look to a more detailed but chill outfit.

You paired simple black skinny jeans and a vintage black band tee to be the base layer of his outfit. On his shoulders was a acid wash denim jacket,and on his feet were high top ‘punk boots’. They were decorated in leather straps with a glossy finish to them.

You folded your arms across your chest and motioned with your head for him to turn towards the mirror,smirking at another success of an outfit.

“Holy fuck Y/N! You’re amazing!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm as he began to strike different poses in the elongated mirror.

After a full minute of him basking in his new look,you pushed him back in the dressing room,soon getting a pile of clothes placed in your hands.

Calum was your final client of the day. There was a reason you chose him to be last,the main one being that you simply couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. He was wearing a simple distressed black shirt and tight grey joggers with black vans.

Even in lounge wear,he still stole your breath with one glance in his direction.

“So,did Michael tell you?”

“He did actually.”

As you pulled him to one of your favorite sections of the store,he leaned on a free wall,crossing his strong arms infrong of him chest.

“He wasn’t lying ya know,You are the most beautiful girl here.” You chocked back a laugh,trying to hide your growing smile by putting your face deeper in a rack of pants.

“I’m the only girl here,Calum”

He laughed and brushed by you to stand by a fancily dressed mannequin.

“Shh,don’t listen to her beautiful,she didn’t mean it.”

He stood to the side of the mannequin and covered her ears,earning a loud and brash laugh from the pits of your stomach.

You turned around with a completed outfit in hand and passed it off to Calum who just cocked an eyebrow in your direction.

“So you’re not gonna say Thank You?”

“Thank you Calum,now go try this on please!”

As he walked towards the dressing room,you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Your shoulders slumped from exhaustion while you made your way to the secluded area where Calum was changing.

“Are you all done in there Calum?”

He hesitated a little before he stuck him head out of the black curtain.

“You sure about this outfit? I’ve never tried this before...”

His shyness took you by surprise as you can see his insecurities come out of hiding with the new garments on.

“Let me see Cal”

Nervously,he pulled back the curtain and fully stepped out into your view. Your eyes raked his tall frame and made you take tiny steps back to drink him all in.

A tight fitting grey turtleneck sat nicely on his upper body,the long sleeves slightly showing his toned arms. Skinny dark blue plaid slacks gripped his hips and legs sweetly as they came to a cuff at the ankle. Black heeled boots were on his feet,short enough to where a small gap exposed his black dress socks underneath.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” You gulped and nodded your head,taking one more look at his outfit.

“Stay right there,Something’s missing.”

You walked to the front of the store,finding exactly what was needed to complete the outfit for Calum.

Clipping the chains into two of his belt loops and fixing the cuff of his collar and pant,you smiled up at him.

“Perfect!” Putting your hands on his slim hips,you pushed him in front of the large mirror,watching him take in his entire outfit. He watched your expression in the mirror as well,hands still on his hips now biting your bottom lip.

He turned around in your hands,grabbing your upper arm and looking at you with a serious expression on his face.

“Y/N,What do you think about a date?”

Confusion overtook your features as you watched his every move.

“A date with you? You and me? Together?” He laughed,causing his eyes to crinkle and the delicious noise to fall from his full lips. He nodded,not being able to stop laughing to he could answer you surf his words.

“Hell yes. If you wear something like this then that’ll change to a Fuck yes.”

His giggles started to cease as he quickly retrieved his phone out of the dressing room and dropping it in your hands.

“No passcode on it,I’ll change while you put your number in there.”

His sudden breath of coolness caught you off guard as you stood flabbergasted,staring at the now closed black curtain.

“I don’t here typing Y/N.” He called from behind the curtain,jolting your body to unlock his phone and save your contact. Calum came out with his new clothes in hand,cockily smirking at you as you both switched items.

“Cute dog.”

You turned on your heel and it was Calum’s turn to be left shocked by the sudden actions.

You rung the boys items up and passed them each their labeled bags as they thanked you profusely for styling them. You dropped a box containing some nice rings into Calum’s bag,sliding it across the counter with a wink. He started to pull out his wallet to pay you for the rings when your hand came down on top of the black leather.

“It’s on the house,enjoy your party tomorrow.” He took the hint and slid it back into his pocket,lifting the bag off of the counter and starting to walk out of the store.

Before he could fully exit the double doors,he turned his head black towards you and called over his shoulder that he’ll text you later. You giggled as your coworker Dallon laughed at the scene in front of him.

Maybe closing shift wasn’t always so bad.

136 notes · View notes

mimik-u · 6 years ago

Text

Flower Child (Chapter 9)

Title: Home (III)

A/N:

The last of the Beach City filler episodes "Home" installments—I swear, lol. Thank you guys for sticking with "Flower Child." I appreciate each and every one of your Kudos and comments; they never fail to make me feel like I'm on top of the world. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Next week, we'll be back to Empire City, and for the first time in this fic, I think we'll play around in Steven's point of view for a little while. ;)

(Pearl sketch at the bottom.)

AO3

01.

The sand pushed against Garnet, but Garnet pushed back, dragging her feet through the coarse grain that seized at her with millions of grasping hands. Fingers around her swollen ankles. Claws. But she did not stop; she could not afford to stop.

She was afraid that she would let the sand bury her if she did.

The yellow dunes a monument to her cowardice.

To every instinct that had told her to run.

The sun carved itself into her back; she ran to invite its pain, not in spite of it.

Her tank top was slick with sweat, pressed against her skin like a white tattoo; she ran and half-wished the garment would choke her.

Damn coward that she was, she ran.

And she did not look back. The sharp heaving of her chest felt like knives.

One full hour of this—don’t stop—two—don’t look back—and then suddenly, without warning, Garnet’s powerful legs buckled underneath her and she pitched forward in the sand, choking, teeth gritted with the salted grain. She coughed violently, and black spots sprayed across her vision as she fought to maintain a tenuous grip on reality, but it slipped away from her as she dipped her forehead against a fallen, sweat drenched arm. The sun bore down on the back of her exposed neck. Her breath clouded in the pocket between her face and the hot sand. The ocean seethed against the shore.

Garnet closed her eyes.

She let go.

And a memory stole in—soft, vulnerable, a moth fluttering next to a candle.

It was twilight, and the setting sun slanted through the blinds to soak the painfully white walls. An orange that seared. A deep purple that left a bruise. An angry pink, like the aftermath of a blow. Garnet sat on the edge of the railed bed, hands clenched until they were gray on her lap.

And she was still, dreadfully still—a statue on the verge of erosion.

“Garnet?”

She didn’t hear him at first, couldn’t hear anything past the blood boiling in her ears and the unholy trembling of her bones, her chest, her stomach.

“Gaaaaarnet,” he persisted, a teasing edge to his voice. “You’re missing the best part! Toast just broke up with Milk because she thought he was cheating on her with Cereal, and now they’re both crying about it on split screens! Oh, wait—no! I spoke too soon! Toast, Milk, and Cereal are all crying on triple split screens! Gosh, this is good stuff!”

It was Monday night, which meant that a new Crying Breakfast Friends was on. A show about clinically depressed breakfast items, it was somehow Steven’s favorite.

He liked to gush about it.

This was normal, she told herself.

This was normal. She bit her lip so hard that blood welled where she split it.

This was normal. She couldn’t look at him.

This was normal. His empty catheter bag hung limply off the side of the bed.

“Pearl said that I need to, uh, critically examine the stuff I watch, though, so if I’m being honest, the problem here is kinda forced. Cereal is obviously not into romantic relationships, and she just views Milk as a friend, which is totes cool, but I appreciate the character development they’re giving her.”

Kidney failure.

He had kidney failure.

He was thirteen years old, dammit, and he had—

“Because you see,” he continued over the sound of a closely whirring machine, over the sound of her spiraling panic, “Cereal never shows emotion. Like, ever, and she really values her friendships with both Toast and Milk, so this being the thing that breaks her is actually kinda sweet.”

Dr. Maheswaran’s lined face had fallen into geometric disarray when she had told them, all of her harshness slipping into nothingness, into a helplessness they had only seen her wear once before.

The day of Rose’s funeral.

“I’m sorry,” she had whispered. “I’m so sorry that this has happened.”

“And what I’m trying to say, Garnet, is that you’re spacing out right now, and it’s really scaring me,” Steven said, his voice vulnerable with the admission, cracked.

The words were distant to her, landing in her ears but traveling no further. Even so, Garnet painfully drew her head up to look at him; it felt as though there was a weight upon her neck, a yoke, an iron clasp, a world.

His dark eyes burned into hers, and they were the only things that did; the rest of his features were pale, ghostly, having long lost their beautiful olive tint to sickness.

He was thirteen.

He had kidney failure.

“Please,” he murmured softly, extending his chubby hand towards her—as far as all of the tubing and wires would allow. “I need you to be here for me, Garnet. If you’re scared, let’s be scared together. Because I’m kind of scared, and everyone else is gone, but you’re here, and yet, you’re not really here, and I—”

She was slow, slower than she usually was when it came to comforting Steven. He scraped his knee after falling down? Easy. She could scoop him up into her strong arms and blow raspberries onto his tubby belly until he forgot the sting. Emotional episode of Crying Breakfast Friends? She’d pass him the tissue box seconds before he even opened his mouth to ask for it.

But this?

This?

This was uncharted territory—for Steven, for her, for Greg, Amethyst, and Pearl.

So she was slow, achingly slow, to close the distance between them, to wrap Steven into her arms, to place her chin on the crown of his curls.

But she managed it.

(How? She couldn’t say.)

She rubbed soothing circles into the small of his gowned back and whispered, “I’m here.”

I’m here.

In the warm shield of her arms, Steven began to cry.

Barely five minutes had passed, but they felt like an eternity as Garnet finally pushed herself out of the sand and into a tentative sitting position, lightheaded from the heat and yet heavy with exhaustion. She could have floated away; she could have melted into the ground.

But both of these options were untenable.

She had to—she stumbled gracelessly to her feet—get to—she palmed a sweaty hand across her face—Steven. A low growl tore through her teeth as she began to run.

The sand pushed against Garnet, but Garnet pushed back, hands scissoring the still air, thighs burning with the exertion. She felt the clever trappings of the yellow grain, felt the particles climb up her skin and entreat her to stay, but she did not stop; she could not afford to stop.

She had a purpose now.

Something… someone… to run home to.

One full hour of this, but not quite two—she was fast, determined, indomitable—and the beach house came into view, snugly perched on the cliff, its railings newly livened up by a multitude of colorful balloons. Garnet only slowed to a walk when her foot found purchase on a stair, lead pooling suddenly onto its weight.

Nearly four hours of running, and she’d forgotten her water bottle in her haste to leave. Her lips, her throat, her entire body were scorched, but she paid no mind to these little details as she dragged herself up the stairs, one sluggish foot after another.

She had to—she crossed the wooden deck—get to—she wrapped her glistening fingers around the door handle—Steven.

Garnet opened the door.

A whoosh of cold air rose to greet her, and she was able to pry her eyes out of their half-lidded weariness. The ceiling fan in the living room whirred. Kneeling next to the coffee table, Peridot and Lapis looked up from where they had been counting plastic utensils.

Peridot opened her mouth as though to speak, but someone else beat her to the punch.

“Garnet?”

Her head shot to the left, and there Steven was—sitting on his bed, his pale face awash with relief.

She was slow, achingly slow, as she climbed the couple of steps leading up to the loft.

But she didn’t have to go much further.

Steven slid off his bed and met her halfway, curling his arms around her sweaty leg.

“I’m here,” she said softly, placing a tentative hand on his curls.

I’m here.

(And I’m sorry.)

“Ugh,” he replied with a grin, scrunching up his button nose, “you stink, Garnet.”

02.

Naturally, the fish fry was a success—as it always was with Pearl at the organizational helm.

Only a handful of people lived in Beach City, true, but this very handful invited their friends and family from neighboring towns and cities, and fifteen odd people somehow became nearly one hundred. By five, around seven hundred dollars had been raised, and they hadn’t even looked at the bids for their silent auction yet! (Vidalia was offering up some of her artwork, and Boardwalk vendors like Mr. Fryman and Kofi had been gracious enough to donate services like free catering to the pool of available items.)

Leaning against the porch railing, Pearl surveyed the view in front of her and waited for the swell of pride that usually congratulated her after a night of such accomplishment. Garnet and Amethyst had arranged round tables all over their little stretch of beach, and sitting at the front of the deck, a long, rectangular table boasted scant and scattered piles of white to-go boxes, the pitiful remnant of what had once been teetering pyramids. (Surely, people would snag the last couple on their way out, just to have leftovers for tomorrow.) The sun, golden and blurred around the edges, sunk into the low neck of the horizon, casting lovely, shimmering images on the ocean just beyond the beach. People were laughing and talking and dancing to some hip electronic song that Vidalia’s DJ son was blaring through his tall speakers.

The day had been perfect.

So why did Pearl feel like she was about to throw up?

Maybe it was the way various people from town kept coming up to her and asking after Steven. They meant well, but their sympathetic eyes and the pity in their voices and the subtle relief in their faces (I’m glad it’s not me) started to blend and grate after awhile.

“Ah, poor Universe,” Mayor Dewey sighed, tsking lightly. “It just doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“Sweet kid.” Barb Miller knocked her affectionately in the shoulder (nearly barreling her over in the process). “I just dunno if I could do it if it was my Sadie.”

“You tell Steven that he’s welcome to come to Funland at anytime, ya hear?” Mr. Smiley smiled, all teeth, brimming with an ungodly kind of optimism.

“He’s not looking good, is he?”

“You guys are doing the Lord’s work.”

“Has there been any news?”

“I’m bringing a casserole over soon!”

And on and on. Pearl’s hand drifted to her stomach, and her eyes drifted down to one of the tables closest to the house, where Garnet was sitting alone, her expression seemingly vacant behind her trademark sunglasses. But Pearl was perceptive, and what’s more, familiar with Garnet after nearly two decades of being her roommate. The sculptured lines of her muscles were tense, electric with nerves. Her legs were crossed, but the foot she had on the ground bobbed out of time with Sour Cream’s music.

Maybe it was the knowledge that tonight, she’d sit across Garnet and tell her about the contents of Dr. Maheswaran’s letter. She’d have to watch as Garnet’s stoic features would crumple as she registered the words feeding tube, how her hands would clench tightly on her lap in the place of spoken words.

Maybe it was the fact that Steven had only picked at his grilled fish tonight, had nibbled on an unsalted french fry or two before shoving his plate away apologetically.

“I’m just not hungry.” He’d said the same thing about his pancakes this morning. He’d thrown up the one pancake that he could stomach.

Or maybe it was the way Amethyst’s brown eyes had dulled after Pearl had grabbed her arm earlier this evening and told her that they were going to have a family meeting on the deck.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Her voice was quiet, scratchy in all of her vulnerable places.

Pearl stifled the urge to look away and could only manage a curt nod.

“I figured as much,” she sighed, pulling a hand across the back of her neck. “Dr. M was really antsy this week. Guess that can’t mean anything good.”

She searched for Amethyst now and found that she was with Steven. They were sitting on the shoreline, backs to the house, eyes on the setting sun. She had one plump arm slung around his shoulders. In the dying light, her long hair was a brilliant silver stream.

Jealousy nicked at her with an unexpected sting, a little paper cut right across her sternum, one inch long.

She wanted to know what they were talking about.

Wanted to cling to every word that came out of his mouth.

Every moment… every hour, every minute, every second… was precious with him nowadays.

He was an hourglass turned over, slowly trickling away.

Maybe she’d go down there and join them…

Maybe that would abate the awful mess of her stomach…

Maybe was her constant refrain tonight.

Uncertainty was the word.

“Ya’ve done it again, Pearl.”

Pearl blinked, and with a jolt, realized that Greg had joined her on the balcony, an appreciative grin stretched across his red face as he greeted her. In an old, white tank top and ripped jean shorts, he was just as Greg as ever, but his bleary eyes betrayed him (just as Garnet’s foot did her and Amethyst’s dull expression spoke volumes). His tired gaze slid to where Steven and Amethyst sat on the beach, following where hers had just been, and his smile seemed to take on the subtle tinges of sadness as he absorbed the simple image.

She regained her composure with a tiny cough. “Ah, thank you, Greg. I’ve been meaning to catch you by the way. We’re having a family—”

He cut across her as kindly as anyone cutting across someone could manage. “—meeting tonight. Yeah, I know.” He jerked his thumb down below. “Garnet told me.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

They lapsed into silence. There was nothing left to say; there were oceans. (But neither of them were particularly good at navigating the rough waters, so they remained silent in an attempt to not choke on salt.)

The party swirled on without them.

People laughing.

Talking.

Dancing.

Enjoying themselves.

They were all but alien creatures, every single one of them.

How were they so happy?

So carefree?

How was their world not bleak and gray and centered around a little boy named Steven?

“Pearl?” Greg asked after a long while.

“Hm?” She slid a curious glance his way, but he never took his eyes away from the darkening silhouettes of Amethyst and Steven; they were but specks in the distance now, bathed in the dusky sun.

“Do you remember what Rose used to say about sunsets? She had this whole speech about them, and I can almost hear it in my mind, but I honestly can’t remember it word for word.” He chuckled lightly and tapped the side of his balding head. “The years are catchin’ up to me, I guess.”

The mere mention of her name sent an involuntary shiver down Pearl’s spine. She wanted to hug herself; she wanted to wrap herself around the name and be left alone to mourn for it, but all the same, she knew instantly what Greg was searching for in her memories.

Her voice was thick as she volunteered it.

“She loved sunsets,” she whispered, looking down at her hand on the railing. Pale and cold, it was knotted with tiny goosebumps; the wooden grain beneath it was simply knotted by time and wind and salt. “And when she was… sick, you know, she used to say that sunsets were lovely ways to think about life and death and everything in-between. They’re explosions, riots of color that precede beautiful, star-strewn nights. She—”

Pearl faltered; she couldn’t go on.

“She said she was a sunset, didn’t she?” Greg said softly when he realized this. “She said that we shouldn’t grieve for her… that we should appreciate the night she leaves behind.”

She couldn’t say yes so much as she could intimate it.

She nodded very slowly and tried to smile.

He shot her a watery grin in return.

The first stars began to pop up in the vast canvas of sky; Steven lifted his arm to point at them.

03.

By seven, nearly all of their guests had finally left; what stragglers remained helped clean up. By eight, the beach was all but pristine, the fish fry eradicated from its silky existence. All that remained were the multitude of collapsed tables that they had leaned against the deck for the night. Greg would take ‘em back to their storage unit sometime tomorrow. By nine, Steven had taken his bath and was tucked into bed by all four of his guardians.

“G’night, Stu-ball.”

“Goodnight, Steven.”

“Night.”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite, Ste-man,” Amethyst grinned before promptly attacking his blanketed feet.

He giggled, the others stepped down from the loft, and then he surreptitiously whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “The window!”

She winked at him conspiratorially before descending herself.

When everyone was in their respective rooms, getting into their pajamas, Amethyst snuck into the darkened living room and moved deftly towards the corner that was opposite to Steven’s loft; with its L-shaped bench and plush cushions, it was more or less a reading nook for nerds like Pearl and Peridot to make themselves comfortable in. Glancing around to make sure that no other adult was observing—she was pretty sure she could detect a dark pair of fourteen-year old eyes glinting at her from across the room—she unlatched the lock in the window that overlooked the deck and pushed the glass an inch or so upwards. A narrow strip of humid air snuck its way into the cool room.

She gave Steven a thumbs up she wasn’t entirely sure he could see before scurrying off to her own room to pull on her own nighttime gear (a tank top and booty shorts, of course).

By 9:30, their little coterie was assembled at the white table that perched conveniently on the far corner of the deck, asses already chafing in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. (“I’ll eventually get us cushions,” Pearl often claimed. “I’m just waiting to find a set that complements the house best.” “Jesus,” Amethyst moaned in return.) Pearl sat lightly at the edge of her own chair and squinted at a tiny slip of paper that was barely illuminated by the soft, yellow porch light; Amethyst immediately recognized it as one of the papers that Dr. Maheswaran had wanted her to pass on.

As furtively as possible, she snuck a glance at the crack in the window that no one had yet to notice, thrilling a little at their clever subterfuge.

“So, uhh, what’s in that letter, Pearl?” Greg asked, nervously eyeing the note. He didn’t know the contents—none of them did—but there was something in Pearl’s features—something dark, something bleak—that spoke to their worst assumptions. Amethyst stiffened in her seat to prepare for the blow, never quite letting the window leave the periphery of her vision as she did.

Shit, maybe she shouldn’t have done this.

Pearl opened her mouth and then promptly shut it, and then opened it again but no words came out. Silently, she passed the paper to her left, to Garnet, who scanned Maheswaran’s piss poor handwriting before shoving the paper into Greg’s surprised hands.

She didn’t have her sunglasses on.

Her eyes, one blue, the other brown, stared wildly into space.

Amethyst was suddenly stricken of the image of a wounded animal—cornered, desperate, doomed.

“No, no,” Greg shook his head, his low voice rising with each denial. “It’s too soon for that. We can’t be there yet. He’s still eating. He’s—” The note had crumpled in his large hand.

“He’s puking up nearly everything we give him,” Pearl said lifelessly, staring down at the table. “That can’t be healthy for him.”

Amethyst impatiently snatched the letter from Greg’s clenched hand. “Lemme see!”

She smoothed out the wrinkles as much as she could manage and read:

Pearl,

Steven’s health has declined considerably in the past few weeks. You all have probably noticed it and let me be quick to assure you that it isn’t because any lapse on your behalves. Chronic kidney disease tends to progress faster in adolescents.

All the same, he’s lost seven pounds since May, and with the onset of anemia, he’s at risk of losing even more, amongst other complications. My advice to you this week is to ensure that he strictly follows the dietician’s recommendations for caloric intake. Additionally, he absolutely must take those iron pills in order to encourage red blood cell production in his body.

If I find that his condition has worsened by the end of this week, then I think our best step forward is hospitalizing him again, so that we can supplement his nutrition with a feeding tube—

She didn’t read any further, didn’t have to, dammit, and she cast the offending object away as though burned. Wrinkled and worn, it landed in the center of the table, an eyesore that drew all of their baleful glares.

For the most part, the letter was fine.

Hell, it was in the ballpark of the kind of stuff Dr. M usually sent.

It was just those two words.

Feeding tube.

He might need a feeding tube.

Greg was right.

They couldn’t be there yet.

It was way too soon.

“Dammit,” she said aloud, only remembering at the last second that it was carrying to ears beyond the ones at the table. (With every passing second, with every new drop of horror pooling in her belly, Amethyst regretted letting him listen in. He’d just been so persuasive on the beach, so ready to accept the consequences of what he could possibly hear… but even if he was prepared, she wasn’t so sure that she was.)

“Crude,” Pearl sighed, pinching the bridge of her sharp nose, “but accurate.”

Garnet shifted in her seat, her mouth set into an impossibly firm line that only budged when she spoke; her words were tense, pushed out through gritted teeth. “So what now?”

“Pardon?”

“What do we do now?” she asked, as though it was the most obvious question in the world, and perhaps it very well was. Dr. M had given them a possible consequence, and now they had to do their best to avoid it coming into fruition—if that was even possible.

Amethyst pulled the paper back to her side of the table, glanced over it one more time.

My advice to you this week is to ensure that he strictly follows the dietician’s recommendations for caloric intake. Additionally, he absolutely must take those iron pills in order to encourage red blood cell production in his body.

“I guess we just try to follow Dr. M’s orders,” she shrugged when no one else was forthcoming, but even the act of shrugging seemed like a betrayal to the situation at hand. Her mouth was achingly dry. “Make sure he eats, give him his medicine, and yadda-yadda-yadda. It’s not a lot to work with, but it’s, like, better than nothing.”

“Well said,” Greg murmured, and to her relief, both Garnet and Pearl eventually brought themselves to nod.

“Better than nothing,” Garnet repeated, seemingly to herself. And then her bicolored eyes seemed to focus, as though drawing themselves back to the present. She blinked once and offered a lopsided grin to Amethyst, and Amethyst felt a sudden rush of grateful heat clamor up her cheeks. It’d been far too long since one of those had graced her features.

“Then I suppose that settles that,” Pearl said with visible relief, reaching across the table and reclaiming the note. She appeared a little less harried now that they had established a game plan. “Before we disperse, we should probably cover our finances for—”

Amethyst hadn’t even opened her mouth to call Pearl lame when an ominous plunk resounded from inside the house—dull but louder than it should have been. Closest to the window, but not facing it, Pearl whipped her head around and ascertained the crack with a choking gasp.

“Has that been open this whole time?!”

Amethyst suddenly found herself very interested in a lightning shaped crack in the table, but luckily enough, Pearl was more focused on examining the source of the noise—please be one of the cats, she hoped against hope—than actively being suspicious about a window that they usually kept closed all the time. She sprung gracefully from her chair and opened the door as quietly as she could possibly manage, sticking her head in to look.

“Oh, my God! Steven!”

#steven universe #pearl #garnet #amethyst #greg universe #flower child #mimik-u #s: steven universe #i'm so tired y'all #i woke up at 3am to finish this baby #long post

6 notes · View notes

h-eckers · 8 years ago

Text

Welcome to the Fold- Shed Your Skin Part 2

Part 1 / Part 3 / Part 4

A/N: I split this in two because this part gets intense and I didn’t want anyone to have to read it who didn’t want to. I live for angst, clearly.

P. S. This isn’t a Bughead fic by any means so I didn’t tag it as such (I’m sorry, guys), but the pairing is included in part

Summary: Nothing is as it seems, but not everything can be so simple. Every family has it’s issues, The Serpents are no exception.

Word Count: 3,685

Warnings: Gang activity, drug/alcohol mentions, violence, swearing, blood/bleeding, cheating.

“Don’t leave your throat exposed, you can’t fight if you can’t breathe.” Y/N chastised from the side of the ring, leaning lazily against the ropes, perfectly groomed and comfortable.

Jughead grunted slightly, trying to follow every direction she threw at him while simultaneously focusing on the man almost twice his size currently swinging punches at him. It’s not as though he was actually trying to hurt Jughead, though it still wasn’t in his daily planner to take a hit to the jaw.

“You’re being predictable! No patterns, Jones!” She yelled over their labourer breaths as Donnie landed another hit to the raven haired boy’s stomach, “If he wasn’t being gentle you’d be in the ER by now, come on!” Jughead didn’t respond, he’d learnt not to in the past week, just react, don’t respond. The next hit he dodged, his fist connecting with the other man’s ribs with his next swing.

“Good! Good, now hit again, don’t hesitate!” He put it into action immediately jabbing the other in the chest, taking advantage of Donnie keeling over slightly to put pressure on his back, Jughead brought his knee up, hitting him in the stomach and pushing him to the ground. Donnie hit the mat and rolled onto his back, laughing heartily if not slightly breathlessly.

“You’re pretty alright, kid.” He grinned, taking Jughead’s hand when he offered it to help him up.

“I have a good teacher.” He glanced over at Y/N who was glowing with pride and he winked. She rolled her eyes and smirked in return, shrugging her shoulders.

“You’re easy to teach.” She said, biting her lip and watching his eyes turn away quickly, she was sure his cheeks would have coloured crimson if they weren’t already so flushed from his the workout he’d just been through.

“Alright, come on guys, I’m still here.” The older man spoke up, he would only be in his twenties, with light hair and a body covered in tattoos, most of which sported serpentine designs.

“That’s your fault, isn’t it, Don?” She teased and he nodded as he chuckled at the comment, walking over and ducking out of the ring, ruffling her hair. Y/N swatted his hand away quickly.

“I’ll see you at the Wyrm later?” He asked, his voice getting quieter as he headed for the exit, waiting for his answer to be hollered across the otherwise empty gym.

“Of course.” She called, as he’d anticipated. “I might even bring the champ over here.” She smirked at Jughead who simply shook his head, a smile gracing his delicate features.

“All good, I’ll see you guys later then,” he called from the door, “and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do until then.” We’re his final words, before he shut the door and left them alone together.

“I wouldn’t worry too much, there’s nothing he won’t do.” She laughed, jumping the ropes with surprising grace to stand in the ring with him. It was difficult not to admire his form, the afternoon light spilled into the gym in golden rays through the high windows, catching every gentle curve of his bare chest, lighting stray hairs like they were on fire. He was glowing, the soft sheen of sweat across his arms bringing out every perfect line of the muscles in his arms, his hair a mess from quick fingers brushing through the tangled locks. Her eyes stayed focussed on him, as though she was unable to tear them away and truthfully she was struggling.

“Are you all good?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he adjusted the bandages around his bruised hands, flexing his fingers to get out the stiffness. This part used to bring tears to his eyes, he’d grown used to it now after only a few weeks, it didn’t hurt anymore, and the whole thing had become a catharsis for him.

“Oh I’m good,” she grinned, “but you are fine.” The grin on her face was unmistakable and Jughead couldn’t help but snicker at the comment, flexing slightly just for show.

“You think?” He asked, holding out his hands to her, she nodded slowly, carefully checking over the bruises and marks along his knuckles.

“‘Course I do, Jones. You’re fukin’ hot.” She laughed and he rolled his eyes, not even attempting to suppress the grin that lit up his eyes. “You should let me tattoo you sometime.”

“You think it’d suit me?” In all truth he did want one, he had ever since she’d her top to show him hers, her arms and chest covered in artwork almost as ornate and beautiful as she was.

“Better than that, I think a bit of ink would just give you that tiny nudge across the line into the territory of completely irresistible.” She hummed, smiling gently at him, turning his arms in her hands to check the bruises there to see how they were healing.

“Am I not irresistible now?” His voice was low, dark and seductive in a way she’d never heard anyone speak, it sent shivers down her spine that she daren’t let show, and how close he stood to her now was no help. He was, without a doubt, the first person she’d met who was able to render her speechless, witless, and weak, and she would never before thought she could fall so in love with that feeling.

“You’re-” he quiet words were interrupted by a very loud ‘Thunderstruck’ by AC/DC piecing the quiet moment, it was her ringtone. Y/N was caught between relief at not having to find the words and anger at having been interrupted, “I should get that.” She mumbled, moving away from him quickly towards her bag.

Jughead wandered to the side of the ring, leaning against the ropes and watching her intently as she pulled out her phone and answered the call, “Hi, Mark, what’s up?” She said on a sigh, he had met Mark before, he was one of FP’s closest and basically the leader in FP’s absence. As expected, he was very gruff, and had an air of violence around him, but then again most of them did, hence why Jughead assumed he was being taught to fight. “Yeah, yeah, no problem. I’ll take care of it now.” And that was it.

“What’s up?” Jug asked, wandering over to find his shirt while she shoved her things back away in her bag.

“Nothing major, just got to take care of something across town.” He’d gotten used to this as well, every now and then she’d get a call from Mark and disappear for a while, sometimes returning with bruises and gashes, he asked every single time what had happened and got the same answer “It’s just Serpent stuff, don’t worry.”

“I’m coming.” He announced abruptly, pulling on his shirt, he heard her sigh heavily, and he looked up to meet her eyes, they were questioning, daring him to back down from this, or maybe warning him. Jughead didn’t falter.

“Okay.” It was simple, and on its own it wasn’t frightening. What set him on edge was the way she was still staring at him as though he should back down, like she was afraid for him. He’d be afraid for himself as well, perhaps he would even back out if he weren’t so curious. Curious enough to walk into whatever danger this meant for him. “We’ve gotta go now, and you listen to me. If I say something, you obey me, yes?” He nodded.

The car ride was tense, he spent the whole time observing her, watching her clutch the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles drained of colour. Her eyes we’re intently watching the road, though honestly her mind was elsewhere. She knew this had to happen at some point and it was better now than never, still, that did nothing whatsoever to soothe the pounding of her heart, this could change everything. Between the racing minds and rigid stares of the both of them, the ride passed quickly and Y/N pulled to a stop in front of an old house, hidden behind Sweetwater River. The front windows we’re boarded with old planks of wood that looked as though they’d been ripped from the houses facade, it was relatively large and a faint orange glow of light emanated from the uneven cracks in the boards nailed across the windows.

“Wait in the car.” She said bluntly, it hadn’t been her intention to make him do so, but now they were here her doubt in his ability plagued her. He wasn’t ready for this.

“What?” His voice came more disbelieving in tone than he’d thought it would, “Why?”

“Because I said so.” She grunted back, reaching into the backseat and dragging her jacket out.

“What was the point of me coming if I’m not even coming insi-” he didn’t get to finish.

“I said… Stay in the car, keep it running and keep your mouth shut.” Y/N unbuckled her seat belt and pulled her jacket on, leaning over to get into the glove compartment, he didn’t see what she took, but it wasn’t bigger than her palm in any case.

“This is fucking ridiculous, Y/N. Why did you even let me come if-”

“JUGHEAD!” She snapped, suddenly and without warning, his eyes widened, never before had she risen her voice to him, “I don’t have time for this, just do what I say.” He caught the look in her eyes, and when he did he couldn’t argue even if he wanted to.

Y/N exited the vehicle without another word, Jughead’s eyes following her like it was as necessary as breathing. He put the window down to hear what happened as best as possible. Approaching the door she adjusted her jacket, shoving her hands in her pockets along with what she’d taken from the glove compartment. The door opened even before she’d gotten close enough to knock, as she was stepping up onto the front porch. Jughead saw the silhouetted figure of a man in the doorway, they had a brief conversation and she pulled the package from her pocket the figure in the door went to take and he watched as she refused to let go, their hands locked in a death grip on the unknown package. He couldn’t hear what was said, but he didn’t miss what came next. The figure yanked it from her hands and went to shut the door, she retaliated immediately.

There wasn’t a single second’s hesitation before she kicked in the door, he noticed every single movement of her body as the things she’d taught him in the ring, now being used to almost rip a door off its hinges. The man inside wasn’t standing far enough away and ended up on the floor, just out of Jughead’s sight inside Y/N walked in after him and re-emerged a moment later, shoving the small package back into her jacket, and she was followed.

The other man stood and went to grab her, it wasn’t happening tonight. The girl Jughead had come to be quite close to, spun on her heel and grabbed his wrist, before he had a moment to re-evaluate, Y/N swung, her first connecting with his jaw, he staggered back and before he could recover she moved to kick him square in the chest, he stumbled back. He missed the step and fell back off the porch, his back colliding with the dirt violently. One would assume he’d be out for the count, Y/N did, and when she passed him and his fingers clasped around her ankle, she didn’t have time to assess the situation before she hit the ground face first. Jughead froze as he watched a man he didn’t recognise, at least twice their age attempt to crawl on top of her and hold her down. That didn’t last long. She brought her knee up between his legs, he wailed and almost collapsed on her, she took his moment of weakness to roll him, straddling his waist.

When she had the upper hand it became relentless, he hit him over and over and over, as though she was trying to beat the life from him on that spot and Jughead feared she might be. He counted, he didn’t mean to but he counted, 27 times she hit him, barely slowing down. When it was over, she got up, straightened her jacket and walked towards the car. She got in silently, tossing the package onto Jughead’s lap without a word. He looked between her, with bleeding lips and nose, dirt across her face from where she fell, her knuckles raw, already bruised and bleeding in places, a look across her face so calm that it scared him, more so than he already had been.

“Congratulations,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her words, “you just lost your drug deal virginity.” And she started the car, backing out and falling back into quiet.

This time the drive felt like hours.

Nothing was said until they pulled up in the driveway of FP’s empty home, and then they sat beside each other in silence as Jughead placed the package back in the glove compartment.

“You’re leaving now, aren’t you?” She asked softly, still holding the steering wheel tightly despite the vehicle being stationary. He said nothing, what could he say? “Thought so.”

“Well, what am I meant to do, Y/N?” He said softly, looking at her as she avoided looking at him. “You didn’t even check if he was breathing.”

“He was.”

“Is he now?”

She didn’t answer.

“What did you expect?” She hissed, leaning back in her seat, anger bubbling in the pit of her chest, and she knew it came from fear. She didn’t want him to go but she’d rather he leave than keep looking at her like that, she knew that if she checked, his eyes would be filled with contempt, disgust, and everything else she’d grown used to.

“Not this!” He unbuckled his seatbelt to properly turn to her, “What the hell was that!?”

“He didn’t pay.” She said, tightening her grip on the steering wheel until it physically hurt her, the pain was a distraction.

“So you disfigured him!?” He raised his voice, and she snapped.

“It’s a fucking gang, Jug! It’s not just jackets and a dingy god damn bar, okay? In case you hadn’t noticed I’m not exactly normal, none of us are, we deal drugs, and we hurt people who cross us, and your fucking father helped cover up a murder and so did we! All of us knew, and we protected him because he’s family!” She screamed, punching the steering wheel and immediately flinching away, “Fuck!” she growled, unbuckling her seat belt and getting out of the car.

“Y/N…” Jughead followed her storming steps into the house, shutting the door behind them both.

“It can’t all be butterflies and rainbows. I care about you so fucking much, but I can’t… I can’t keep giving a shit if you’re going to leave when things get bloody because they will.” Finally she turned, and she looked over at him, his eyes were full of everything fear, and anger, and frustration, and pure adoration and caring. “God, I want you to stay but if you can’t handle this, then you won’t last and I’m not going to be the reason you fall apart.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“That doesn’t matter, you have to want to st-” he stopped her.

“Y/N, just answer the damn question. Do you want me to stay?”

“More than I can make you understand.” Her voice almost shattered right there, she was at the most vulnerable she had ever been. Never had she exposed herself or her feelings to someone so bluntly, it was hard and by far the most terrifying thing she’d done.

Jughead sighed heavily, his shoulders falling slightly as he shook his head and walked over to her, resting his hands on her tender cheeks. She resisted the urge to flinch at the touch, the pressure it caused on her wounds. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

“Ow, OW! Be careful!” She hissed, gripping the side of the bathroom counter she was sat atop of to keep from retreating all together.

“Stop whining, I have to clean it.” He smiled slightly, looking down to try and hide his grin.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Jones?” Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, he looked up, still grinning at her. “Sadist.”

“Hey now, I just think it’s funny that you’re all big and tough in a fight but a little antiseptic is just too painful for you.” He teased quietly, watching her steel her expression as he cleaned away the blood from a cut in her lip, despite her efforts, her nose still screwed up in pain.

“It’s an entirely different type of pain, and also there’s no adrenaline involved so it just stings okay.” Her voice came almost as a whine, she didn’t like not being tough, especially not in front of him.

“Sure, sure, you keep telling yourself that.” His eyes flicked to hers and her mouth fell open as she tried to form a response, something witty that didn’t never arrived in her brain.

“So you’re staying?” She asked, attempting to change the subject, partially as a distraction from the pain and her equally bruised ego. “I don’t want you to stay if that’s not what you want.”

Jughead sighed, wiping away what blood was left on her cheek, “I want you.”

“What?!” She choked softly, the air she was breathing getting caught in her throat.

“I said 'I want to.’” He smirked, shrugging his shoulders and dropping the blood soaked cloth in the sink.

“No, you didn’t!” She squeaked, slipping off the edge of the sink so she was chest to chest with him.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play with me, Jones.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, that’s what I said.”

Y/N contemplated pursuing that further, pushing him to admit what he’d said but she also didn’t want to look like an idiot if she was wrong. “I should change my shirt.” She grumbled, giving up on the subject, “I’m sure FP isn’t using them.”

“Just wear mine.”

“Okay, now I know I heard that!” She said, talking so quickly she almost fell over the words.

“Yeah, just wear my shirt.” He smirked a little and she shot him a suspicious look.

“That one?” She mumbled, pointing to his chest.

“Of course.” His hands slid up to her waist and she smiled softly, leaning into his touch.

“So bold, this evening.” She moved her hands to his chest, tugging at the material there, “Do I get the shirt or not, big guy?”

“You can’t put it on until you take this off.” He smirked, resting his forehead against hers as he let his fingers slip under the hem of her shirt.

“You can’t manage that yourself, Jones?” She bit her lip, feeling his slow exhale as he moved his hands up her sides, feeling her skin and dragging the shirt with him. Y/N lifted her arms, letting him take it off, dropping it to the side, his hands back on her instantly, moving to the small of her back to pull her in. Jughead went to duck his head to connect their lips, she turned her head. “Slowly now.” She grinned and he groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“Why?” He grunted quietly against her skin. She chuckled, sliding her arms up to wrap around his neck.

“Because we have to go to the Wyrm…” She whispered, leaning in to kiss the side of his neck, “and I know how much you hate it.”

“Fuck you.” He mumbled, moving his hands down to her ass.

“Maybe later, but for now, give me your shirt.” She chuckled, pulling the material up from the back, he sighed and moved his hands, stepping back to get out of the shirt.

Y/N smiled and pulled it over her head carefully to avoid her injuries, he moved in again immediately. “Once?” He asked softly, ducking his head and brushing his lips gently against hers, she sighed.

“Just once.” She hummed, letting their lips meet properly, and perfectly. In that moment, everything else disappeared. Jughead curled his fingers into the material of his own shirt on her body, pushing himself against her roughly. To both of their surprise, she responded just as enthusiastically, delicate fingers brushing against his neck with the sensitive bruises aching blissfully at the pressure. Jughead bit her lip softly, she hissed at the pain and flinched slightly, he pulled back.

“Shit I’m sorry, I forg-”

“Shut up.” She breathed heavily, pulling him back in and holding him close as their lips moved together, his fingers roaming against her body in hungry desperation.

For about a minute before there was a loud knock against the door.

Jughead pulled away quickly, fury flashing in his eyes in a second “I swear to god, I am cursed.”

“I’ll get the door, you get a shirt.” She laughed back at him, pushing on his chest to move him, he simply pouted, “We can return to this later.” She wiggled her eyebrows and he cracked a smile.

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled, watching her as she brushed passed him and walked away. She was far from perfect, and he loved every part of her. A million frustrated thoughts ran through his mind as he left the bathroom to find a shirt to out on.

“Uh, Jughead! Can you come here?!” She called, he pulled an old t-shirt over his head and walked out to the door, he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who was waiting.

“I’m gonna go to the Wyrm.” Y/N cleared her throat nervously, “I’ll meet you there.” She wasted no more time in moving past the girl in the doorway to head to her car.

Jughead swallowed the lump in his throat as she stepped forward into his house, confusion and hurt in her eyes, “…Betty.”

“Why was she wearing your shirt?”

Jughead tags: @princessjughead @unicornqueen05 @andforthecoating @mrs-fangirl @aselfishllama

Everything tags: @gryffndor @itsjaynebird @vanessa-sanch-blog @lost-in-wonderland-x @annoyingsibling @bex09

#riverdale #riverdale fic #riverdale imagine #jughead #jughead fic #jughead imagine #jughead jones #jughead jones fic #jughead jones imagine #jughead x reader #jughead jones x reader #serpent!jughead #serpent!jughead x reader #serpent!jughead imagine #serpent!jughead fic

402 notes · View notes

jakey-beefed-it · 8 years ago

Text

Here are the character descriptions of the major ‘good guys’ in my novel for anyone who might be interested. Not everything is gonna make 100% sense without the rest of the worldbuilding but it was already too much of a long post. Loooong post. Long long post. Under a cut out of courtesy to anyone not wanting to encounter a long fucking wall of text, and courtesy to everyone else who has no reason to give a crap about any of this. :p

Verity Black, Protagonist

Verity is a short, slight (5'3”, 112 lbs) 23 year old woman of east Asian descent. The best faceclaim for her is model Kiko Mizuhara. Verity has narrow shoulders and very subtle curves. Her eyes are very dark, nearly black, and somewhat narrow- particularly when she's annoyed. When she wears her glasses her eyes appear sharp and clever, but without them she has a vaguely baffled myopic look. She has a light golden skin tone that has gone very pale, with faded childhood freckles across her nose and cheeks. She has poor muscle definition thanks to a desk job and no physical hobbies. Despite this, she is considered quite pretty, with waist-length, slightly wavy black hair that she usually keeps in a loose ponytail gathered in a wide barrette at the nape of her neck. She has a heart-shaped face with flattish features, arched eyebrows, high cheekbones, a narrow jaw tapering to a pointed chin, a slightly broad nose and wide, protruding lips. Her ears are a bit large and poke through her hair, earning her childhood nickname of 'little mouse.' Her smile is rare but winning, notably crinkling the bridge of her nose and both sides of her eyes, and dimpling her cheeks at its widest. Her speaking voice is usually a mezzo-soprano, wry and somewhat acerbic, though it climbs in pitch and intensity when she is upset, even sometimes breaking with a squeak (which didn't help with the nickname). She privately sings along with her favorite recorded operas, her voice trying to hover around a soprano but cracking up or down and unable to sustain notes for long. She does not sing publicly.

Most of the time, Verity wears dark-colored 'bureaucratic' robes (hanfu-style robes/dresses) layered under a vest and a warm coat. In all but the warmest weather she wears black tights and a cotton undershirt. She favors white, grey, and cream-colored scarves and carries a black umbrella in even slightly inclement weather, and turns up her coat's collar to warm her ears in the winter. She usually wears soft shin-high boots or loafer-style shoes when outside, and goes around home in her socks. She applies eyeliner and lip color nearly every day, unless she's not going out, or unless she's too sick to care. Her spectacles are round pince-nez style with brass frames and a brass chain connecting to her vest pocket. She has a selection of barrettes, but most of them are finely-carved 'whalebone' (actually baleen, which is flexible and strong) or brass.

Amyrinth Lafuerza, Verity’s Best Friend

Amy is a 23 year old woman of Latina descent. She is of average height and trim build (5'6”, 126 lbs). The best faceclaim for her is actress Seychelle Gabriel. She has a slender build with average shoulder, hip, and bust proportions. Amy's eyes are a distinctive light amber-brown verging on orange, and like the rest of her face are highly expressive. Her skin is brown with a ruddy undertone. Her habit of riding a bicycle and her interest in social dancing keep her in better shape with more muscle definition than her best friend despite having the same sedentary job. Amy is always considered pretty, but when she puts extra effort into her appearance people call her 'beautiful.' Her hair is auburn, wavy, and extends to her mid-back. She sometimes braids it at the back when she wants to keep it out of the way. She has an oval face with wide-set features, peaked eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, a curved jawline, a rounded nose, and a large mouth with slightly narrow lips. There is a mischievous, sardonic cast to her smiles. Her speaking voice is a smooth middle soprano, getting louder but not notably higher when angered. Her singing voice is even worse than Verity's, but she likes to sing along with others regardless.

Amy wears the same style of robes and dresses as Verity to work, though Amy wears a much wider range of colors, favoring reds particularly. Her overcoats are well-fitted so that they narrow at the waist and accent her figure even in cold weather. She wears soft boots in cold weather, and sandals in warm. When she goes out socially she tends to dress in looser-fitting calf-length skirts and ruffled blouses, wearing tights underneath if she's riding her bicycle. She tends to wear eyeliner and eyeshadow, though her lips are naturally dark enough that she usually only applies gloss rather than color. She likes to wear slender bracelets in silver and gold, plain or with semi-precious stones (particularly opal and topaz) set into them.

David Black, Verity’s Uncle and Mentor

David is a tall, rangy (6'1” 168 lbs) 65 year old man of east Asian descent. The best faceclaim for him is actor Ken Watanabe. His narrow-shouldered build is much like his niece's, though a lifetime of fighting and travel have left him all lean muscle. His eyes are very dark brown, sharp and even cold behind his glasses but mostly just tired-looking without them. He has a golden-tan skin tone, darker on his face and hands. In his youth he was considered very handsome, and while age and a hard life has weathered him he remains good-looking in a somewhat rugged way. He has thinning salt-and-pepper hair kept very short, and has a slightly bushy mustache that's better described as pepper-and-salt. His eyebrows are dark and bushy, with a few stray white hairs. His face is 'diamond' shaped, much like Verity's but with a broader chin and narrower brow, and he shares her arched brows and broad nose. His lips are narrower, particularly the upper, but his mustache obscures it most of the time anyway. Unlike Verity, his ears lay flat against his head and aren't especially large. He only ever smiles narrowly, and even then with a slightly wistful, pained look to his eyes. His speaking voice is a rough, low baritone that verges on bass, especially early in the morning or when he's tired. He only sings a few hymns, low and quietly.

As an Evangelist, David wears all black clothing- button-up shirt, suspenders, vest, 'string' bow tie, and slacks over leather riding boots, with a leather gunbelt for two revolvers. Over this he wears a heavyweight black long-sleeved duster, and and a broad-brimmed fedora-style hat. His clothes are well-tailored and accent his narrow hips (the better for quick-draws) and trim waist. When not on duty, he dresses similarly though in a wider array of colors, favoring pinstriped vests, light-colored shirts, and no necktie. Even when he goes without the distinctive coat and hat, it is hard to mistake him for anything but dangerous- his bearing is that of a supremely confident man capable of bursting into action even when he is relatively at ease. He wears steel-rimmed oval shaped glasses that attach behind his ears with swiveling arms, a style that is considered old-fashioned and even quaint.

Varian Ironcrow, (eventual) Love Interest

Varian is a tall and athletic man (6'2” and looks around 210 lbs) of Latino descent who looks somewhere between 30 and 35. The best faceclaim for him is actor Esai Morales in his late thirties (Varian's had a much rougher life than he), circa the late 1990s. His skin is a weathered dark brown with a ruddy undertone. His eyes are somewhat deep-set and a startling blue, and his gaze tends to be somewhat intense as a result. His hair is black and slightly wavy, longer on top than the sides, and he only shaves every few days so dark stubble is the rule to a clean-shaved exception. He is broad-shouldered with a narrow waist, all-over muscular in the manner of a Greco-Roman wrestler, lean and defined but not to the point of a bodybuilder. His features are appealing, but the large prominent scars on his face make him more striking than handsome. The largest scar begins at the bridge of his nose and carries over toward his left cheekbone. It intersects a smaller scar that branches down from below his left eye. He has another notable scar on the right side of his jawline, where his stubble won't grow. He has a number of other scars, mostly on his chest, back, upper arms and thighs, but usually only those on his face show. His left shoulder bears a tattoo that resembles a crow or a raven in flight, in silhouette. He has a 'square' face, with a strong jaw, broad forehead, and strong cheekbones. His brow is somewhat heavy, with thick, arched eyebrows. His nose is aquiline with wide nostrils ('Aztec nose'), the hook coming right where the scar cuts across it. He has a wide mouth with lips of moderate thickness. His teeth are notably white, drawing attention whether he's flashing a roguish lopsided grin, or a more unsettling wolfish look. His speaking voice is a middle to high baritone, rising with amusement, sinking with anger. His singing voice is a somewhat rough-edged tenor on the verge of sliding back into baritone, like Bob Seger or Bruce Springsteen.

Varian tends to dress in rugged clothing suited to a rancher- denim pants, heavy button-up shirts in earth tones, open at the neck to show the white undershirt, and riding boots in scuffed brown leather. He affects a disheveled look that takes far more effort than he's willing to admit. He has a favorite coat that he wears unless it's just too damn hot- a blue canvas soldier's coat with the rank insignia removed, a bit frayed at the cuffs and slightly faded from long use and numerous washings. Unless it would be suicidally stupid (and maybe even then) he proudly wears a scarlet scarf to mark him as a member of the Red Scarves. He wears a brown wide-brimmed hat with the front turned down to shade his eyes and keep the rain off, removing it when he goes indoors. He sometimes wears eyeliner to draw even more attention to his eyes, especially when performing. He carries his battered leather guitar case nearly everywhere, with its dark-stained maple-wood guitar often surprising people with how well-maintained he keeps it, especially in contrast to the rest of his appearance. While he's better at seeming relaxed than David Black, there is still something of the lounging tiger in his bearing even when Varian is at ease, for those who know what to look for.

Atriya Ironcrow, Varian’s Adoptive Daughter

Atriya is a short and slightly stocky (4'10”, 98 lbs) kydoni girl of 13. Her features are best described as south Asian with some east African mixed in. Model Neelam Johal as the best faceclaim for (an older version of) her. Her skin is dark brown with an olive undertone. Her eyes are large, and a striking golden color common to kydoni but impossible in humans. She often avoids looking people in the eye unless she deliberately wants to unsettle them- at which point she's likely to blink only her nictating membrane at them. Her hair is a pale ash brown with silver strands running through it, wavy to curly and cut into a neck-length bob. She is more broad-shouldered and barrel-chested than most human girls of her age, and reasonably athletic, with most of her 'baby fat' turning into rangy muscle. She has a round face (and will grow into an oval face shape as she gets older) with large features generally- eyes, nose, arched dark eyebrows wide to suit her eyes, broad forehead and cheekbones, a narrow mouth with large lips, and a slightly large chin. Her ears come to points, stick directly out from the sides of her head (making her head twice as wide if you count the ears), and are prone to extremely expressive movement in keeping with her emotions. She has a long hairless tail that extends behind her and swishes when she's restless or annoyed. When subdued or sad, the tail droops and is about as long as her legs, the tip brushing the floor. Her smile can be unsettling to humans, given the more pronounced canine teeth and the jagged pseudo-carnassial look of her premolars. Her speaking voice is a bright soprano, but her singing ranges from soprano down to a rich contralto. Like many kydoni, she is capable of a distinct type of overtone singing that produces, essentially, a backing vocal. She is capable of operatic volume and vibrato, though she usually doesn't go all out just for singing in the cantina. Her voice sounds a bit like an even more powerful Cristina Scabbia of Lacuna Coil, without the Italian accent.

Atriya tends to wear a short coat over a ruffled shirt and fitted slacks (with a tail cutout) similar to the charro outfit of Mariachi players, in a range of dark colors but favoring dark blue, charcoal, scarlet, and cream. Sometimes she wears skirts instead of the slacks (particularly when she wants to hide her tail). She wears custom-made boots with extra sole at the pads of the feet and inserts that allow her to stand more naturally for a kydoni, with her heels elevated. She wears a red scarf when Varian lets her get away with it- she wants to be more involved in the Red Scarves, but he wants her to keep a lower profile for as long as she can. In bad weather, or when she's trying to hide her more obvious kydoni features (particularly her ears) she wears hooded oilskin rain cloaks. On very bright days, Varian often loans her his hat to keep her eyes shaded. She wraps her hands for knuckle protection while training with Masano, and also when she anticipates she might need to punch someone in the face. She never wears eyeliner, even when performing, not wanting to accent the 'strangeness' of her eyes by drawing attention to them.

Masano, Leader of the Revolution Verity ends up sort of joining

Masano is a 51 year old man of average height and build (5'10”, 171 lbs.) of African-American descent. The best faceclaim for him is actor Jamie Foxx. His skin is very dark with golden undertones and a few faded freckle-like marks on his cheeks and brow. His eyes are darker even than Verity's, appearing black in all but the strongest direct light. His hair is black shot through with some grey, and bound into shoulder-length tight dreadlocks that he usually ties back in a sort of ponytail. He has a full, kinky/curly beard that he keeps to a length between two and three inches. While athletic, he is built like a career martial artist- most of his power coming not from bulging muscle but from stance and movement. His features are handsome, particularly for a man of middle age, and convey a sense of quiet authority. His face is 'diamond' shaped, with a strong chin but narrower jaw compared to Varian's. He has a high forehead, slightly bushy eyebrows, a broad nose, and a wide mouth, with pronounced creases to the sides of his mouth. He tries to maintain a fairly neutral expression most of the time, but as such a charismatic man, his smile is infectious and his glare is blood-curdling. His speaking voice is a powerful tenor, which he can push to a ringing, fiery tone. His singing voice is a high tenor verging onto falsetto for the highest notes. (Think Carl Anderson).

Most of the time, Masano dresses like a laborer, in a Henley-style long-sleeved shirt, loose-fitting trousers, and soft boots or sandals depending on the weather. He prefers light colors, particularly shades of white and tan. In inclement weather he wears a simple brown hooded poncho-style cloak. If he is practicing his martial arts, training Atriya, or anticipates violence he wraps his hands and feet to protect them. He only ever dons ceremonial robes when making a point- such as when giving a speech to any of the labor unions or collectives who make up the Red Scarves, or when standing outside the more well-off temples to rail against their greed. His robes (like most Pardoners' robes) are similar to the hanfu-like robes of the bureaucracy. They are older, the white faded to cream, a bit frayed with age, and utterly unadorned with gold accents unlike other those of most other Pardoners. He no longer wears the saffron single-shoulder over-robes of a practicing Pardoner, as he has walked away from the order. He also never wears the holy symbol of that order, believing that faith is better demonstrated through compassionate action than eye-catching trinkets. Instead of a scarf, most of the time, he wears a scarlet hair-tie holding his ponytail back from his face. While he does have a few of the red scarves that gave his organization its informal name, he has no plans to wear them unless called upon to physically defend his comrades.

Raqui Alkurah, the Slightly-Mad Inventor

Alkurah is a very tall, somewhat gangling (6'5”, 231 lbs.- including his prosthetic, 215 without) half-kydoni, half-human 43 year old man of west Asian descent. The best faceclaim for him is actor Oded Fehr. His skin is a medium brown-tan color without strong undertones. His eyes are a yellowy hazel, not as orange as Amy's amber eyes, not as yellow as Atriya's. His hair is predominantly black, with pronounced silver-grey streaks at the temples. He wears it shoulder-length, wavy and loose unless he's working on something where that would be hazardous, at which point he holds it back with whatever's handy in something between a bun and a pony tail. He has a close-trimmed goatee, unusual for someone with kydoni heritage. Not unusual given his ancestry are the short horns emerging from high on his forehead and curving slightly back. His tail is shorter than a full kydoni's would be, reaching only to his calves, and ends in a hairy tuft. His left leg ends just above the knee, a birth defect he has developed his own prosthetic for. Although he is for the most part wirily built, his shoulders and chest are unusually broad, and his forearms are much more muscular than the rest of him due to how often he works with his hands. He has a heart-shaped face, with a bit of a widow's peak, high forehead, high cheekbones and a pointed chin, and bold features including a strongly aquiline nose and a wide mouth. He has a high degree of control over his facial expressions, but when he is genuinely delighted (usually by his own experiments and inventions) he is prone to a slightly manic grin that shows off his pointed canines. His speaking voice is a low, melodic baritone, and his singing voice trends toward a resonant bass. He sings to himself sometimes while working, making up tunes and painful slant rhymes as he goes.

Alkurah dresses much like other Transmuters and labor foremen, in a cotton Henley-style shirt under durable black wool coveralls (wool for fire resistance, black to hide grease and soot) with many pockets, tool belts, and protective gear including a heavy boot for his right leg, and goggles and gloves as they're required. Over this he tends to wear a light grey, long-sleeved, tailed woolen coat with even more pockets stuffed with precision instruments, half-finished projects, crumpled blueprints, and the occasional snack. His left leg is one of two prosthetics he himself designed. One resembles an oversized metal boot with interlocking armor panels, made of personally-reinforced aluminum. It has a built-in locking mechanism he can activate by hand, so he uses it when he needs to hold something in place while he works on it. The other, more commonly worn, is better suited to walking or standing, with a functional knee joint involving compression springs, and a tapered steel peg from where the calf would be to the ground, with a rubber 'foot' on the end like that of a cane. This leg also contains a number of concealed compartments, which unlike his many pockets, he actually takes pains to ensure are not discovered by anyone not in the Talons of Razhan.

#Jake is a writer or something #Jake's dumb characters

22 notes · View notes