#i give younger me points on setting up the atmosphere; it almost made me want to rewrite the whole thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeojaa · 4 years ago

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( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag. You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash. You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing. jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. idiots to lovers. fluff, angst, smut. the holy trifecta, babies! explicit, obviously.

tags / warnings. mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc. 12.2k of nonsense. pure nonsense, i tells ya.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her. i love you both sm!!! ✨💜

author note. the long-awaited fic is here!! i really hope you enjoy it. if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something? i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot. anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you! stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker. That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him. It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard.

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove. Sometimes, she’s by herself; often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste. They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique. Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be. You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit.

“He has no idea.” It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts. “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder. How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair? It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie.

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”. Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else. Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention. Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him. Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face.

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,” she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does. She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough. Zero tact, though. Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble. You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested. “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags. (God, what awful taste.) There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best. (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction. You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place. Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on. When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes. He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW. Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress is.

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect. It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?” He upspeaks. It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first. A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect. “What’s the item and the name it’s under?” You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine. Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

You’re floored. This is Jeon Jungkook? This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger? You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face. It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers. “I’ll grab it! The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly. He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends. He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance. It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears. There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend? I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.” Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off. “She said she was leaving on Friday.” Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made. “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall. You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.

You do feel bad. Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this. For hurting this stranger. (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality. He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip. He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet.

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off. Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in. (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.) As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth. “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend. Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid. Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours. Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say. Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation. “Oh, maybe. I’m sorry.” The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t. That’s a thing, right? Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?

God, you’re an altruist.

“It’s fine.” When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not. You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word. (You won’t.)

“Here it is!” Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands. If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing. You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand. He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying. You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found. Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start. Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,” you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands. It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card. The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently. You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder. It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum. (You either, but still.)

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers. “What?”

“You know— that!” She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago. “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,” you correct.

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response. There it is.

“What?” There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable.

“What?” It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery. You can read every emotion that runs through her expression: shock, displeasure, confusion.

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth. (She really does remind you of your little sister.) “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder. You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now. There was no way he didn’t.

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts. That’s all.” You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done. You’d want to know if you were him. Consider it an act of goodwill.

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind. What’s done is done. Now he knows, or something close to it. The chips would simply fall where they were meant to.

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him.

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift. She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway. Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding. It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship.

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening.

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter. “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression. “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.” You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person. Sensible.

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front. You suppose it’s your responsibility now. You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell.

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker. “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?” Upspeaking again. How cute.

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.” You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter. “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“ It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable. “Thanks. I didn’t even notice. Um, I can come pick it up today?” There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back. “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out. He truly was a sucker.

“That’s fine. We’re open until six tonight.”

“I’ll be there before dinner.” As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough. “Before six, I mean. Um, is around five-thirty okay?”

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation. Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation. “Of course. We’ll see you then.”

He hangs up immediately.

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last. It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest. You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon. You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday. Somehow, you like it more. The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair. It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person. (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him. Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.

“O-oh. It’s you.” The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified. “I m-mean, just—” He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again. “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.” Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.

“That’s right,” you say evenly, expression neutral. It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary. Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room. You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?” He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store. You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again. He makes the same trip twice more. “Can I have it?” To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed. He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress. Good job, you think.

“Of course.” You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter. Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip. You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything. (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment. Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides. It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended. Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact. “May I have it, please?”

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand. You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable. Is he going to say thank you? Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems. “Why did you do it?” There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?” You know what he means. You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?” Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you. You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him; it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side. For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies. It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his. “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean?”

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror. He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head. It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin. (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes. Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.” For once, he doesn’t sutter. The lisp doesn’t present itself, either. Was this the same Jungkook? You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?” He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name. How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit? It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?” The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no. You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly. It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.

“I mean like— talk talk.” The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else. His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.

“Sure, we can talk talk.”

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“W-what? No!” Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears. “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding. Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance. He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow. Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down. His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving. You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie. It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall. “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly. “Huh?”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Um—” He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence. There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking. “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out. “You want to talk about… you?”

“That sounds bad.” The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.

“It’s fine. We’ll talk at dinner.”

He nods. You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy. Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?” He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden. Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure. (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.” Everything here is incredible. You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place. His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel. You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish.

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections. Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?” You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute. “So?”

“What did you want to talk about?” If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often. As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper.

“Oh.” Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth. He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle. You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting. He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected. It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline. “What?”

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot. You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip. Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.” It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you. You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel. Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you. You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable. A little different, sure, but altogether nice. Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake. You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not. His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does. (Seriously, how big are his eyes?) You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth. Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?” He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.

“What?” You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out. It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent. Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.” Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare. “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?” The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.

“That’s not my name.” The bite disappears past his teeth. You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook. Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do. Juvenile in a way but enticing in another. You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,” he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down. (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.) “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation. He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations. He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea. Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,” you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.” He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact. “You care about people. You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone. You want to do what’s right. Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words. Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey. He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts. He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up. He decorates his apartment with the most random things: limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates. He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years. All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on. (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.) He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his). He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,” he insists from behind his coffee cup.

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable.

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.” It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap. It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now. He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had. Youngin is good for him, though. You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips. When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone. “Girls are scary.”

You laugh. Cackle, really. You can’t help it. He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon. He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak. He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says. (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary. Death is scary. Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.” He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest. From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture; from him, it’s patient. “Girls aren’t scary. Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.”

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good. Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags. Like he’s living life in greyscale.

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze. Instead, he laughs. “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.” You’re adamant, insistent. He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft. An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.

You want to protect him, teach him to fly. Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes. He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it. He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.

“Fine,” he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long. It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused. It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days. You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse. If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton. He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew). He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it. (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?” It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso. It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm.

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him. He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for. To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings. “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is.

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence? (You wish you were joking.) It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.

“This one?” He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face. Medium-weight cashmere. Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist. It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,” you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels. “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law. You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.” He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.

Your response is a shrug. “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.” You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates. You know there’ll be something good on the menu.

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist. You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him. Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink. Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch. That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other. “Hey! You’re leaving already?” It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone. It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes. For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes. “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.” A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh? Well, that’s certainly something new. Good for him, you think.

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.” It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words. “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her. Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes). Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date. It’s a big deal.

“Yeah—“ Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky. “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“I will,” he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place. It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look. “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever). It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you. He’s going on a second date, after all. Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant. You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine. Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine. The two of you are friends. You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come. Baby boy was growing up.

“Y’know.” You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment. It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?” He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.

You wiggle your hand dismissively. “Second date and all that.”

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on. It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots. “Just stick around. I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door. “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,” you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake. It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook. This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook: Hey. from jeon jungkook: I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook: If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook: Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date. It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing. (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook: i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops. Of course. He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions. (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook: it’s fine! have fun! to jeon jungkook: turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up. Good, you think. About time he finds someone nice. You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact. He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic.

“I want you to meet her,” he mumbles, like that makes it better. As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?” He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over. (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.) You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.” But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is. Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately. “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that. No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman. It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set. Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise. It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch. (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.” His vague response speaks volumes. The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery. When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway. “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!” Of course. It’s obvious. She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that. (He is.) “I’m not coming to dinner.”

“You’re already in the car,” he reasons.

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve. Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.” When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him. Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal. Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,” he repeats, almost pleading. You can’t look at him. You won’t. The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause.

“Fine.” You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off. You’re not actually mad. Just worried. You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand. It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person. You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that. Should, anyway. You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it. He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line. (Truthfully, it’s your fault. All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by. You’ve got a reputation to uphold.

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat? How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer: you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.

“What’re you doing here?” At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness. Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really). “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge. It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired. So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance. He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin. You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day. “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,” the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well. Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,” you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold. You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else. If you had to guess, it’s her perfume. It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses. You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter. You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare. “So?”

“W-what?”

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning. Something’s happened. Must have. There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?” You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him. He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression. He’s stalling, you can tell. You hate when he does this. You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small. “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced. What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges. You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual. Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned. (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.

“So.” You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves. You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest. He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs. Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.” The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said. Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look. It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?” It explodes out, a question that demands an answer.

He’s staring past your head, unblinking. You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp. “I c-couldn’t. It was just…” The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”

“Just—” There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot. He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise. He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket. “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean? Feel right?

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete. It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down. Didn’t he understand that? Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’” You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window. “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately. He doesn’t.

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?”

“You like her, right?”

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out. Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there. “So, you like her.” It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way; you don’t mean it in any way but supportive. You just want him to be happy. “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer. But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise. Hope, maybe? Fear?

“What?” You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight. He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer. (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest. His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair. He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer. Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,” he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.” It’s cruel. “You’re making a bad choice. You’re into this girl. Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements. “I’m not dumb.” There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask. It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay. Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question. You can’t blame her. You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.

“What?” It’s less snark, more sigh. You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter. “You’ve been in a bad mood all week. I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.” She’s right, of course. You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what. “Did something happen?”

You grit your teeth. An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,” she tries again, concerned.

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!” She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly. “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough. So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right. It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload. (Maybe it’d be helpful. Probably. But you’ve never found comfort in other people. At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.” Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on. “It’s fine. Really.” You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile. “I just need to get some sleep.” And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action. It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.” You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater. He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,” he mutters, refusing to meet your stare. At least, you think he’s refusing. It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes. It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away. It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?” You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated. He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding. “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.” This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him. He hums a noise but offers nothing further.

This is how it’ll be then. Fine. If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go. He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth. “I— I don’t— I didn’t say that.”

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now. Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.

“W-what?”

“Tell me.” You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round. “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters. What have I got that she doesn’t?”

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. You think he might say no, outright refuse. You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.

“You’re funny. You’re honest. You speak your mind.” You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people. He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him. “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t. You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen. As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.” He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again. “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”

There’s something thick in your throat.

“You make me want to try.” He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it. “Y-you make things not so scary.”

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you. He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself. You make me laugh.” He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.” You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit. Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs. Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words. They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism. “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here. Just a chance.” He’s got a peculiar look on his face. “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, he’s close. Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be. There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down. The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.

“You kind of ruined my life. I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense. You’d ruined his life? (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.) You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.

“I’m kidding.”

It feels like whiplash. You’ve created a monster.

“But you do owe me, I think. So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing. He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams.

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out. He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed. He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money. He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him). If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either. Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge. He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,” he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you. You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom. “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff. It’s adorable.

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends. You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head. You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups. Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together. Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects. Surely there’s more to this. Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?” You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”

“A playsuit?” You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in. Would it even fit? Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns. “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected. Or at least, you think it does. If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim.

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal. He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,” he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds. The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs. He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick. “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.

“Use your words, gorgeous.” As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck. He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob. Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh. He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be. The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.

“You like this, don’t you?” His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy. “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,” you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts. The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin. Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.

“Good girl.” Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips. You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall. Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips. “Such a good girl for me. My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she? Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard. Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate. It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest. Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it. Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear. You know he’ll catch you. “I want you.”

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same. Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm. The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,” he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer. Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am. I am. I am,” you chant, tears welling along your lash line. They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you. It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you.

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much. Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings @veronawrites @notmontae97 @papillonsgf i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

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ahockeywrites · 4 years ago

Text

Lights Down Low

This is super self-indulgent whoops. I was listening to this playlist and got an idea.

Warnings: minors dni, explicit fem!reader, smut, consensual possessiveness, use of sex toys, oral sex (male and female receiving), rough smut, unprotected sex, dom!josh, sub!reader, masturbation, orgasm denial swearing Word Count: 3.3k

Being named the first start of the night meant that Josh had more media commitments than usual, so your alone time in the apartment you shared in Montreal was extended. The blue of the 17 Reverse Retro jersey you were wearing complimented the blue thong hidden underneath.

The full-length mirror sitting in the corner of the master bedroom was perfectly placed to take sexy photos in and send to Josh and that’s exactly what you did. The Polaroid camera that you had been gifted from Josh for your last birthday was intended to take photos of the pair of you on your travels but had quickly found a more sexual purpose.

The photos taken in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris and on a Gondola in Venice quickly became ones of you on all fours with Josh's hand pulling at your hair as he pounded himself into you and him walking out of a lake, abs and v-lines on show. You audibly groaned as you thought of previous nights spent under the sheets with Josh and felt the wetness pool between your legs. Josh was sure to notice when he saw you for the first time.

It was easy to take a few photos of you in his jersey, showing the small amount of lace visible underneath it. You made sure to take a few of his name on your back because he loved seeing you with it resting over your shoulder blades. He wasn't usually possessive, but whenever you wore his name or number, it seemed like all he wanted to do was rip all your clothes off and take you right there. Even in public.

Remembering to send a warning text, you didn't need one of the younger players looking over Josh's shoulder and seeing more than he bargained for again, you sent him a photo of the Polaroid images scattered over the freshly made bed. A few spritzes of the perfume you only used for special occasions added to the atmosphere you had created by lighting some candles after taking some time for yourself after Josh's fight.

He was quick to respond to the messages.

J x: you look so good in that jersey. too bad it'll be in pieces on the floor when I'm home x

Josh was always straight to the point after a game like this. You tried to keep yourself together as you connected a playlist of slowed songs to the extensive set of speakers connected through the house. Your hips swayed to the bass of the r&b flowing throughout the room and you grabbed two glasses of wine from the kitchen.

The bedside table drawer was filled with your most commonly used toys. Namely the small bullet vibrator that always went away with you on work trips but Josh always preferred to use the long, slender vibrator when he was with you. He would use it along with his fingers and bring you to climax faster than anyone ever had, even yourself. He knew your body like the back of his hand and you wouldn't have it any other way.

The silver bullet was the way you wanted to start pleasuring yourself before Josh came home and you turned it onto the lowest setting. Before putting it between your legs, you brought it around each of your nipples before teasing yourself by pulling your thong to the side and running it through your folds. Soft moans of pleasure escaped your lips and you began to lightly press it onto your clit. Short, sharp electric, pleasure waves travelled through your body and you were so close to your orgasm, you could almost touch it.

A loud thud of Josh’s black, leather hockey bag alerted you to his arrival home and you quickly dropped the vibrator down to the side but it was too late, he had already noticed that you had started the night before he had arrived home.

"Well isn't this a sight to come home to," Josh said breathlessly. His eyes were filled with passion as he looked up and down your body, taking in every inch. "Stand up for me baby girl, show me what you're wearing."

Your legs felt like jelly as you were still coming down from the almost orgasm but you still followed Josh's instructions and forced yourself off of the bed. A quick twirl showed him everything he needed to see, the way the jersey rode up exposing the lace once more.

"Lay back down for me princess," he said, using his large hands to remove the tie he was wearing. "Play with yourself if you want, you know how hot you look when you do it." Josh could feel himself growing hard at the idea of you touching yourself in front of him.

"With the toy?" you questioned, knowing how quickly you could bring yourself to a high.

"Whatever you want baby girl," he replied, moving to unbutton his shirt.

You flicked the vibrator onto the second-lowest speed and pulled your panties back to the side, immediately pressing the tip to your clit. Unconcious moans came out of your mouth as you twisted and turned under the electricity running under your skin. Your gasps of pleasure filled the room and you were about t-

"Stop. Stop now." Josh demanded. Reluctantly, you pulled the toy away from your most sensitive area. The pulsating force of your clit flowed through your body and all you needed to do was rub a few circles on it and you would be there.

You groaned in complaint but realised that Josh was going to be in control of everything tonight. Even your orgasms.

"Remember your safe word sweat pea?" Josh asked. You quickly nodded. "Say it," he said.

"Cannon," you whispered. A reminder of the time when you lived in Columbus.

You had only used it once before; when your arms were tied above your head and ankles tied to the posts at the end of the bed. You felt comfortable with the blindfold being placed over your eyes but when Josh was about to place the gag into your mouth you shouted the word three times, letting him know that you were uncomfortable. Immediately, Josh removed the blindfold from your face and went to take off the restraints on your extremities. The bathroom contained everything he usually used for aftercare and he went to collect everything he normally would. Gently, he wiped down the red marks on your skin, then moisturised them softly. He brought you into his chest and began to comfort you, never wanting to cross your boundaries.

"Josh," you whispered, looking up at him. His face still looked scared to touch you, thinking that any touch would make you uncomfortable. "I'm okay now, I'm okay now you're holding me."

He held you all throughout the night, pressing soft kisses into your hair as you fell asleep.

"And you'll say it if you need me to stop baby girl?" he asked once more.

"Yes," you whispered.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, daddy," you spoke, looking up into Josh's eyes.

"Good girl," he moaned, pushing down his dress pants. Josh kicked them to the side, leaving him in just his boxers. All you wanted to do was crawl over and kiss his clothed bulge but you knew that if you even tried moving, you'd be laying over his lap whilst his hand came down on your ass.

The bed dipped as Josh made his way to rest his forearms on either side of your head. His lips were plump and he lowered them to meet yours. One of his hands started patting around, around where you had dropped the vibrator earlier. As soon as he picked up the small toy, he pulled his face away from you but slipped his other hand under the jersey.

"No bra?" he questioned, shaking his head. "Naughty girl. And you know what happens to naughty girls?"

"They get punished, daddy," you replied without hesitation.

"You're right baby girl," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "They get punished. And I have the perfect punishment for you. No cumming until I've cum."

You gasped and Josh found that a perfect time to kiss you deeply once again. His fingers began to trace the outline of one of your nipples, gently squeezing the surrounding flesh. It was a natural response for your back to arch up into his touch, your body begging for more than he was giving.

Rather than moving down your body, Josh shifted his weight so he could caress your other breast in the same way. He could tell that you craved more and reminded you that he always gave you what you needed. "Good girls are patient," Josh lowered his lips to your ear and said that in a deep voice before kissing you there. He spent his time focusing on your chest and collarbones before dragging his pointer finger down your stomach to the waistband of the thong.

Shuffling down the bed, Josh came face to face with your clothed core. He pressed a few soft kisses around your clit before pulling the thin material to the side and kissed around your entrance.

The vibrator that you had almost used to bring yourself to orgasm twice shined under the light of the candles and you noticed Josh place it on the lowest setting before starting to kiss up your thighs, the vibrator following the wet trail he was leaving.

Incorporating your sex toys wasn't something new with Josh, he loved to find out what you just liked and what made your toes curl. He was more than happy to sit between your legs alternating between his mouth, fingers and your favourite vibrator.

"As much as I love these on you," Josh said, motioning towards the lace sitting on your hips. "They have to fucking go." The next thing you heard was the ripping of the fabric and you saw Josh throw the remains of them somewhere in your room.

It took all of Josh's self-restraint not to drive into your pussy and start feasting on it. Instead, he brought one of his fingers through your folds, ghosting your clit. The vibrator was still in his other hand and he began tracing around your folds and you tried to move to catch the tip of the vibrator on your clit.

Josh's muscular arm came down across your hips quickly to stop them from moving. It was with a swift movement of his body that he brought his face right up to your slit, swiping his tongue through the arousal. "Such a sweet little pussy," he groaned, letting the vibrations run to your clit.

He tossed your legs over his shoulders and continued to explore your most sensitive area. Your hips stuttered and Josh could tell that you were very close, so he pulled the toy away before pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit. "Naughty girls don't get to cum, remember?" he said looking up and down your body. "Sit up for me sweetheart."

Still, in a daze, you were unable to move as quickly as Josh wanted so he lightly spanked your pussy to get your attention. "I said, sit up," this time he had an authority about his tone, one that commanded attention. You followed his word and sat up, back flush with the headboard of the bed.

Josh brought his hand to caress your cheek before tracing the outline of your lips that were stained with his favourite deep red shade. Instinctively, you brought his thumb into your mouth and started sucking on it. His head was thrown back in pleasure, imaging that it was something else you had your lips around.

“You ready to be daddy’s good girl?” Josh asked as he ran his large hand over your head. You nodded your head as much as you could with his thumb being shoved in your mouth. "I think you know what to do princess," he said motioning to the large bulge in his boxers.

Josh loved to sit at the end of the bed with you between his thighs so you pushed on his shoulder softly, letting him know exactly where you wanted him to go. Featherlight kisses were pressed against his muscular thighs as he started relaxing into the feeling of your lips on his skin.

Your soft fingers were a delicious contrast to Josh's bruised abs and he revelled in the feeling of the tips of them dancing along the waistband of his boxers. Looking up for his permission before removing his boxers was a must when Josh was in charge. He nodded before running a hand through your hair.

The material barely needed to be moved before his hard length sprung out, lightly slapping his abdomen. You pressed a few gentle kisses to his tip before licking the entire underside of it. Josh wasn't small by any means and he knew it. He never forced you to take more than you could handle.

You brought the tip into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks around it whilst looking up at him. Josh's stare back was piercing but you could see the pleasure in his face as you began to take more of him.

Unless he was thrusting hard into your mouth, Josh's hard length couldn't fully fit into your mouth so you quickly pulled off it, and spread out the saliva that you had already put onto it. One hand rested on his thigh, the other gripped onto his base rotating slightly to increase his enjoyment.

He could tell when he reached the back of your throat, but your gag reflex had become desensitized to having something shoved down your throat after being with Josh for so long. You took a deep inhale through your nose before swallowing around his tip, feeling the whole length twitch.

The hand that rested in your hair was nothing more than a reminder of Josh. He could easily change the situation at the flip of a switch, but he loved watching you work your magic around him.

Pulling off him once more, you licked the vein on the underside again before attempting to take him back into your mouth. Josh grabbed hold of your hair, stopping you before you could. "Lay back up against the headboard princess," Josh moaned, taking in your body once more.

You followed his instructions once more, back against the headboard, legs open for him. In a split second, he was resting himself on top of you, lips pressed to yours.

Josh ran his hard length through your folds. “You want daddy to fuck you, princess? Daddy always takes care of his girl,” he growled into the shell of your ear. All you could do was nod in response.

Your head hit the headboard as he slowly entered you. Josh took his time, slowly stretching you out underneath him. His lips found yours once again and he timed one particularly hard thrust well as moaned his name into his mouth. It was the perfect time for him to slip his tongue into yours and he took control straight away.

He could feel you start to clench around him and once again brought you to almost being able to feel the orgasm before pulling out of you and flipping you onto all fours. "C'mon baby," Josh said, running his hand down the arch of your back before spanking one ass cheek, followed by the other.

His thrusts were relentless, in and out at a pace that felt unknown to man. "Fuck baby, you feel so fucking good around me," Josh moaned pulling you up by your hair to whisper into your ear. "This sweet pussy always feels good for daddy."

"Just for you daddy," you groaned as he hit an extra sensitive spot inside you. "I'm all yours, daddy." Josh hit the same spot once again and you collapsed underneath him, almost running out of energy to hold yourself up.

"C'mon baby girl," Josh said, slightly manhandling you from underneath him to both his hands resting on your hips. "Gonna ride daddy like the good girl you are, eh?" His large, calloused hand threaded his way through your hair and he pulled on it to force you to nod in response to his question. You loved to be on top, even when you were tired because you were in control, for at least some of the time, and you could see Josh's face perfectly and do exactly what you knew he loved.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto his throbbing length, moaning loudly and throwing your head back as he filled you up. Josh allowed you to take control for the first few moments before placing one of his hands around your throat and the other on the top of your head. This was nothing new, but when he started thrusting up into you, brushing your g-spot every time, you felt something completely different. It was new but familiar at the same time.

Words were barely coming to you as he kept pounding up into you but through short gasps, you announced to Josh that you were very close to release. One of your hands snaked to your clit but the hand, which was resting on your head, slapped it away. "You wait for me baby," Josh moaned. You looked down at him to see sweat covering his brow and you reached down to press your lips to his. Josh forced his tongue into your mouth and controlled the deep kiss.

You felt him start to twitch inside you but he continued to thrust up into you with force. All of his training may have been for hockey but it came with additional benefits. Josh could easily throw you around the bedroom and it was something that you absolutely loved. He always made sure that you were okay with it but he knew that you enjoyed it more than you told him.

His hips stuttered and he pulled you off of him before releasing hot ropes of cum onto your bare chest. You knew it wouldn't take much to get there and simply sitting on Josh's bare, muscular thigh did it for you. A few back and forth movements allowed you to elongate the pleasure as you moaned your boyfriend's name. It seemed to go on forever, and you thought that you would never feel something this intense again.

A groan escaped Josh's lips as he saw you basking in the post-orgasm glow. He took one of his hands and spread his sweet release over your breasts and the blatant declaration of possessiveness was almost enough to send your overstimulated self over the edge once more.

"That's it, baby," Josh whispered, hand on your hips to help you move, "use me." He watched as you threw your head back in pleasure, repeating his name as if it was a spell.

Sitting was too much for you and you collapsed off his thigh into the plush mattress. Josh sat up on his arms and pulled a few strands of hair out of the way of your eyes. "Maybe I should fight more often," he contemplated. You could barely muster enough energy to shake your head so all he got in response was a groan.

The mattress raised slightly as Josh made his way to the ensuite to collect a washcloth and a drink for each of you. Gently, he wiped between your legs, trying to reduce the marks that his beard had made and also the cum from your chest. More often on nights like this, both of you were too tired to go for a proper shower so a quick clean up like this was common. Josh also liked to go for a softer round in bed sometimes too and even thinking about it made you lean into his touch as he brought you into his arms.

"Get some rest baby girl," he said softly. "I know you need it."

#ahockeywrites #josh anderson #josh anderson imagine #josh anderson fic #josh anderson smut #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl writing #nhl story #nhl smut #hockey writing #hockey fic #hockey smut #hockey fanfiction #nhl fanfiction #montreal canadiens imagine #habs imagine

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asmo-ds · 4 years ago

Note

I've seen alot of headcanons about Simeon turning into a demon, but how would everyone react if Luke managed to turn himself into a demon 🤔 Like maybe he didn't amount up to Celestial Standards (I headcanon the Celestial realm is kinda weird due to the events of the anelic event) and then he made some type of minor violation and they kicked him out of heaven to avoid the possibility of him growing up to be undesirable in the Celestial Realm

When a Child Falls

Luke-centric ANGST & FLUFF

Warnings: Pain, falling from heaven, Luke hurting :(

Summary: After failing to live up to the standards of his superiors Luke is kicked out of the Celestial Realm and becomes a demon. Luckily for him the exchange program had given him so many new and old friends who wanted nothing but to help the poor child despite any bitter past they may have had with him

a/n: i was gonna do headcanons but then i was like what if i make a whole one shot about him falling and everyone helping him adjust to his new life and uh yea <3

Also this didn’t come out as angsty as I wanted it to but demon brothers comforting a fallen Luke >>>>>>>

He tugged on his own arm, begging for the elder angel to release him and give him a second chance, his once hopeful blue eyes filled with tears and terror.

“Stop, I swear I just need more time, PLEASE!” Luke cried, punching the elder’s arm and attempting to pry his wrinkly hands from Luke’s small forearm. The elder yanked Luke’s arm harder, resulting in a distressed cry from the short blond.

Luke tried to steady his breathing as they approached the boundaries of the Celestial realm, where he was to be pushed off for his failure to earn his wings in a timely manner. The Celestial realm saw him as useless and decided they would be better off discarding a weak angel like himself.

“LET HIM GO, PLEASE! DON’T DO THIS!” Luke could hear Simeon’s breaking voice screaming at the elders who held him back from Luke to prevent any interference, “JUST LET ME SAY GOODBYE PLEASE,” he begged to which the elder finally agreed and the two embraced tightly. “Luke you listen to me, you get to the Devildom you go STRAIGHT to Lucifer, he helped his brothers and himself through his fall he can help you, please, trust him with at least getting you through the transition then you can hate them again or whatever you want, pl-”

“I get it, Simeon, I promise I won’t let you down,” Luke interrupted, tears falling from his eyes onto Simeon’s broad shoulders.

“Times up. Luke come to the edge, stand here,” an elder guides him into position.

Luke’s hearing starts ringing as his adrenaline kicks in, the fear of death and disappearing from existing overwhelming him. His breathing grew fast, and before he knew it, he felt a push and wind pounding against his skin as he fell, and fell, and fell, until he saw the Devildom soil and he tensed, preparing for the worst.

Instead of hitting the ground he hears a fwoosh and finds himself caught in strong arms.

“Luke! What happened, where is Simeon? A young angel like you shouldn’t be down here all al-” Lucifer starts questioning the angel, concerned to see the small boy falling from so high. He was interrupted by a cry of agony, Luke pushed away from Lucifer, doubling over and screaming as the pain began to set in.

Lucifer recognized the transition immediately and how badly it hurt his brothers, so he gently approached the young boy, who glared at him with teary pained eyes, and he murmured a spell, before darkness washed over Luke.

His innocent blue eyes fluttered open, not recognizing his surroundings, he sat up quickly, wincing and hissing as his back was suddenly filled with unbearable pain.

Oh that’s right, I fell. They pushed me and now…His eyes snap open, remembering the feeling of falling, but nothing that happened afterward.

“I have… to find… Lucifer..” Luke spoke to himself, taking short breaks between every few words to take a painful breath, feeling his ribcage expand and contract as his wheezing continued.

“I’ve already found you, Luke, you’re in one of the bedrooms of the Demon Lord’s Castle. Please lay back and take off your shirt, your back is bound to be in a lot of pain, this serum will help.” The blond flinches as Lucifer rises from a chair next to the bed where he laid.

Luke raises his arms and let Lucifer take off the shirt before laying on his stomach.

He hears Lucifer’s breath catch in his throat as he stares in horror at Luke’s back, where wings were starting to form, dark and mangled with feathers tangled and in need of a cleaning.

So like that, Lucifer kept Luke safe and took care of him whilst the other brothers prepared a room at the House of Lamentation for him to stay.

“Luke, I’ve brought you some tea and cake,” Barbatos walks into the bedroom carrying some snacks and drinks for the injured boy.

“Thank you Barbatos, I missed your cooking,” Luke smiles slightly before taking a big bite of cake and groaning. “Like, I really missed it-”

“Yes, Barbatos makes splendid food, which is why I keep him around!” Diavolo winks, nudging Barbatos with his elbow a bit.

“Actually sir, you only keep me around because no other demon has been able to keep up with your antics-”

“ANYWAY, Luke your wings look like they’re growing in nicely, and so do your horns,” Diavolo walks over to examine Luke’s new form. “You’ll probably be in a lot of pain for at least a few more days, but if you want to get situated into your new home we can let you go and just check in on you everyday.”

“Uh… I don’t want to intrude at the House of Lamentation, if it’s going to be any sort of burden to them-”

“Nonsense, my brothers and I are glad to take care of you and take you in, you experienced the same fate as us, albeit for different reasons, but still, we know your pain and we want to guide you so please, Luke, let us help you,” Lucifer places a reassuring hand on Luke’s shoulder as he says this.

“...Okay, BUT no calling me a chihuahua- GOT IT?!” Luke pokes Lucifer’s chest aggressively and earns a hearty chuckle from him.

“I agree not to call you a dog anymore,” Lucifer laughs out, “though I cannot speak for my brothers.”

“I can’t believe the chihuahua of all people got kicked out…” Mammon says, still in shock that the angel who had been so determined to make people smile just a year before during the exchange program had somehow managed to get himself thrown out of heaven.

“I remember when I almost didn’t earn my wings in time,” Asmodeus shudders at the memories of being threatened with exile and constantly pushing himself way too hard, “I got so many wrinkles from the stress.”

“Luke makes good food, I’m glad he’s staying with us.” Beel’s mouth was watering as he and Mammon moved a dresser, finally finishing getting Luke’s new room in order.

“Oi, try to be sympathetic when he gets here Beel. He may be a little annoying kid but he’s going through what we went through,” Mammon scolded his younger brother, an uncomfortable silence taking over the room as each and every one of them remembers the pain they were in as their bodies morphed into those of demons.

“God is such an asshole…” Belphegor mutters, getting extremely angry the more he thinks about it.

Luke had done nothing wrong, Lilith had done nothing wrong, so why? Why would he keep getting rid of the most determined of his angels over such insignificant things?

Suddenly all their phones go off with a text from Lucifer saying he and the boy would be arriving soon. They all gathered in the entrance hall, waiting for Luke to arrive. The front door creaked open, all of the brothers standing up straighter and nervous as Lucifer stepped through the entrance with Luke just behind him.

The brothers all gasped quietly in shock at the state of Luke. He was pale and thin and the look of complete and utter despair in his formerly innocent eyes filling the room with a depressing atmosphere.

“H-hey there Fido- I mean- Luke, how’re you feeling?” Mammon tries to start up a welcoming conversation, getting a nasty look from Lucifer, who Luke was clinging to for dear life.

“Luke! As soon as you’re feeling able to, what do you say we bake something together?” Beel smiles sweetly, most of them getting nothing but nervous looks from Luke in response to their questions.

“I’m just going to help him get settled in. Satan you’re in charge of everything else around the house while I take care of Luke and my own paperwork.” Lucifer guides Luke up the stairs.

Satan rolls his eyes but mutters a small “fine,” before the two head upstairs to the attic, where they’d set up the room to look just like the dorm he stayed in at Purgatory Hall.

“Oh wow, it feels like I’m back in the exchange program,” Luke chuckles a little, clearly faking any sort of joy.

“Luke,” Lucifer kneels down, “you are one of my brothers now, you have nothing to fear, and Simeon will be able to visit at some point-” His attempt to ease Luke’s worries is interrupted by a loud sob.

“Don’t you get it?! Michael and Simeon will never look at me the same, ever again!” Luke wails, using his sleeves to wipe the tears that streamed down his face. “All I ever wanted was to impress them! To impress God and make humans happy and protect them! But now my natural instinct to hurt humans ruins any chance of me becoming the person I’d always thought I’d be!” Luke falls to his knees, sobbing and wheezing, his vision becoming blurry as a panic attack hits him like a truck. He can barely hear anything except for Lucifer calling out a name, and all he could make out was that it wasn’t his own name. A dark figure walks into the room and Luke hears muffled voices for a minute before he is suddenly extremely calm, his eyelids growing a bit heavy and he feels exhausted.

He then realizes someone was holding him and murmuring some sort of spell, causing him to panic once more, but this time he was perfectly aware and just jumped up ready to fight.

“Hey you dirty demon! Don’t use your dark magic on me or else I’ll-”

“Pfft hahaha,” Belphegor laughs hard, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, “you still look like a chihuahua when you get annoyed!” Belphie teases and Luke blushes, before running at Belphie and tackling him, leading to a wrestling match on the floor as Lucifer stands by and watches the two of them closely, to ensure nobody got hurt under his watch.

Dinner was the worst, to be honest. Luke had asked Lucifer if he could cook to say thanks for taking him in, but now he sat awkwardly and all of the brothers remained quiet, watching his every move and watching him like he was an injured little puppy.

“I-is the food not good?” Luke questions looking around nervously.

“AH- no its great Fido- LUKE, ah jeez I’m getting a headache this is so hard to adjust to,” Mammon slams his head on the table, earning a glare from Asmo and Satan who he sat between.

“Anyways, I know you’ve been to the Devildom before and don’t really need a tour BUT you’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg, there are so many more places to go!” Asmo smiles widely at Luke, “So let’s go together soon, okay?”

“Okay!”

“Ooooh Luke, you have to tell me what Celestial Realm video games are like, GAH I wish we had waited to start a war until after the invention of video games. Anyway I got a new one so I can show you a Devildom game and-”

“Shut yer trap Levi,” Mammon leans over the table to attempt to cover Levi’s mouth.

“But let the GREAT Mammon show ya all the best spots in town~”

“NO-no do not take the child Gambling, Mammon,” Asmo smacks him.

“Asmo for all we know you’re gonna scar him and take him to a strip club,” Belphegor smirks, knowing he just started a war.

“I WOULD NEVER, COME HERE YOU BRAT,” both of them in demon forms chasing each other around the house and screaming.

Suddenly everyone hears a child’s laughter and looks at the blond who had barely even smiled since arriving.

“We can try to do everything you guys want to show me,” Luke smiles. Everyone lets out a sigh of relief seeing that Luke was feeling more comfortable around them. “Um, question though… how do I go in and out of my… demon form?”

“HAH that’s easy, just relax and let the GREAT Mammon teach ya!”

“Mammon, not yet. Luke, I will teach you, but we need to wait a bit longer or else the pain of transforming will be unbearable for you,” Lucifer looked down at the disappointed boy.

“Oh, ok.”

“Don’t look so gloomy Fid-LUKE JEEZ LOUISE- there's a lot the GREAT Mammon can teach ya in the mean time!” Mammon stands up with a cocky smile, hands on his hips. “Think of me as ya new master and you are my apprentice!”

“NO do not think of him like that he will make you do his dirty work,” Satan says, hitting Mammon in the stomach.

“Thank you,” Luke looks at Lucifer, “thank you for taking me in, I-I know we don’t have the best past and I was super rude towards demons during the exchange program but-but I’m trying to change for you guys! Thank you!” Luke bows his head, tears falling down his cheeks. The knowledge that he can never go back to the way he was bringing on more tears, but they didn’t mind. They’d been through the same process. So silently they all comforted him and welcomed him into their home with open arms.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me luke #obey me angst #obey me angst hc #obey me angels #om luke #om! swd #om! luke #obey me angst oneshot #obey me fluff #obey me fluff hc #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me oneshot #obey me imagines #sad obey me imagines #obey me imagine

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cuquitalocita · 4 years ago

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i love you yeah yeah yeah |rowaelin month- day 3|

rowaelin masterlist

an: i’m not gonna lie, i had so so much fun writing this one! i’m a tennis player and my sister is as well, therefore why i know so much about the junior pro league. for those of you who don’t know, the orange bowl is an actual tournament played internationally for juniors and i’m ranting wow so anyway i hope this isn’t too tennis vocab-y :)

word count: 3,876

It’s the final two days before competition at the International Orange Bowl this year being held in Terrasen and it’s no surprise that tensions between players and academies are more than high. We’re so glad to be here for yet another year of thrilling competition in which the winners will automatically be placed into the first round of the U.S. Open. I, for one, and more than excited to see some new teen faces this year, what about you, Gavriel?

You know Cairn, I completely agree and as someone from Terrasen, you must be more than excited to see some friendly competition on your home turf.

Oh, I sure am excited, but I don’t know if you’d call this competition exactly ‘friendly.’ For those of you unaware, the rivalry between the TAT (Tennis Academy of Terrasen) and the DTC (Doranelle Tennis Center) has been going on for close to ten years now, beginning all the way back to when founders Maeve Vesta and Evalin Galathynius were in college, rivals through and through. Now adults, their children carry on their competitive legacy, taking the nation by storm. If you see the final match of any tournament, you can bet your money it’s a Doranelle kid and a Terrasen kid.

The stakes sure are high during this tournament, as it isn’t closed, like the academies’ usual ones. Instead, anyone player eighteen years old and younger with the qualifying points was eligible to register. I’m looking forward to seeing some new faces this year.

Me too, but you can never go wrong with the usual suspects. This year, my money is on eighteen year- old Rowan Whitethorn from Doranelle, ranked second in the country, in the men’s finals. As Maeve’s nephew, Rowan has been put in the spotlight for most of his life, not to mention taking a clear leadership role among the DTC alongside Lorcan Salvaterre.

That’s a good point, Gavriel, in the past years Rowan has made it to at least the quarter-finals but has always lost before he can truly do. I have a feeling the kid has a lot more in him. And as for the women, I wouldn’t be too surprised to see the Terrasen seventeen year- old cruising through a few rounds before her tough competition starts. We can’t expect anything less than Evalin Galathynius’ daughter, right?

I for one, am more than excited for pre- first-round interviews. It’s always quite interesting to see each players’ mindset before they set out for blood.

“What do you think our favorite golden girl has in store for us this year, Gavriel? Something tells me she’s a little more than annoyed given what happened at the finals of the last international tournament held in Terassen when Remelle Frost from the Doranelle academy beat her in what was the biggest upset of the season.”

Aelin rolled her eyes and glared at the back of her mother’s seat, the woman in question frowning as the annoying voice of Cairn Rossa rang through the rental car. She reached forward to turn the station off just as Gavriel’s voice rang out once more.

“Let’s not beat around the bush here, Cairn,” the older man was responding. “I’ve been doing this just a bit longer than you enough to know when a player isn’t themselves. One loss isn’t the definition of a player the same way one win isn’t either. I suggest both teams- including Aelin and Remelle themselves- step onto the court, and play.”

Aelin let out a satisfied huff. She knew she had always liked Gavriel. Aelin liked that the man looked at the players as more than just players in a video game or statistics on a screen. As a former player himself, Aelin knew the man understood the game in and out and was more than qualified to report during the national tournaments, no matter where he was born and what side he was essentially placed on.

The station was snapped off as her mother’s finger found the correct button, earning an annoyed glare from the Uber driver next to her that she promptly ignored in favor of turning back to her daughter, opening her mouth to say something. Aelin’s own eyes stared back at her before shifting down to the phone she held in her hand. It had just buzzed signaling a new notification that had her mother lifting her brows.

Aelin immediately shifted forward in an attempt to look over her mother’s should before her hand was on her face, batting her daughter away with a motherly ‘leave me alone’ look. She relented, leaning back into her seat with slumped shoulders. Finally, her mother huffed but remained with her back facing Aelin.

She knew it was different this year, she could practically feel it in the air. Without her father with the two women in the car, the tournament atmosphere was a different universe.

It was getting dark outside, the sun setting behind them as they drove through the dazzling city. The car came to an abrupt stop in front of the hotel that sent Aelin jerking out of her own thoughts. Her mother turned back to her with a sad knowing smile and patted her daughter’s knee.

“We’re here. Try to get some sleep- you have a long day tomorrow.”

“What’s the plan for today?” Aelin asked her mother around a mouthful of bagel the next morning. It wasn’t every day the founder of the University came to watch her players in a tournament, but whoever won this won would be fed into the first round of an official professional tournament. It would be amazing PR for the academy, Aelin knew, but she also knew her mother felt bad that her father had escorted Aelin to all of her tournaments in prior years. And now that he wasn’t here anymore…

“Eat up- after you’re done I’ve reserved three courts at the complex and we’ll get together with everyone.” ‘Everyone’ being every other players from the academy who had enough points to enter the qualifiers. Not all of them were as highly ranked as Aelin, but she found it helpful to train with them all the same. They were her friends. “We do need to pick Lysandra up from the airport first though,” she said as she frowned at her phone. “Her flight was supposed to have landed a few minutes ago but she hasn’t reached out…”

Aelin rolled her eyes at her mother, she always did have a thing with protectiveness over her best friend.

“Mom, don’t worry about it,” Aelin assured her. “Aed said he would pick her up and then meet us at the courts. I wouldn’t want to be in that car if I were you.” She faked a gag, causing her mother to laugh.

“Alright then. Eat, find your rackets, and take the rental to the courts. It was just delivered this morning. I have some business to finish here at the hotel.” She left Aelin with a kiss to the head.

It didn’t take long for Aelin to pull up to the familiar yet daunting tennis complex bigger than even the academy, and she pushed the car into park, simply staring for a moment.

This was it.

Three years she had come close to winning as the youngest person in history. So close. But this was the year. This was her year. She could do this. She would do this.

And so Aelin Galathynius pushed her shoulders back and raised her chin as she grabbed her massive tennis bag from the trunk and slung it over her shoulders. The weight was heavy and familiar as she walked through the glass double doors and to the front desk, only to halt in her tracks when she came face to face with a familiar head of silver hair.

Rowan Whitethorn.

She had quite often mused about how unfair it was that her essential biggest rival was so attractive. It didn’t really make hating him very fair, now did it? But there he stood, green eyes shining and teeth flashing as he snapped something at the young man at the desk. The poor boy looked ready to pee himself and Aelin couldn’t help but release a sharp laugh, causing both Rowan and the blonde next to him to whip around.

Aelin watched as Rowan’s eyes sparked and his mouth curved into a sneer as he took her in from head to toe. She forced herself still and kept her eyes on his face. It was all she could do. Rowan opened his mouth and Aelin prepared her hackles to rise instantly.

“Aelin. Good to see you here.” But it wasn’t Rowan who spoke. No, it was Remelle Frost, her least favorite bottle blonde on the planet that spoke as she curled a possessive hand over Rowan’s bicep. Aelin simply rolled her eyes, never one to beat around the bush. It was common knowledge that the blondes didn’t like each other. And after the Adarlan tournament, Aelin wouldn’t hide her disdain for the girl.

“Wish I could say the same,” she replied dismissively as she shouldered past Rowan and made for the front desk. One charming smile and the boy seemed to handle her much better than Rowan. She gave him her mother’s name, him quickly nodding a confirmation and giving her the court numbers, saying they would be available in just a moment.

She turned around, unsurprised to see Rowan glaring at the back of her head. It had been almost eight years of this rivalry. At least for them. Aelin thought it might’ve been a little ridiculous, considering that it started with her mother and his aunt, but the Doranelle kids just made it so easy to hate them. So easy to want to pound them on and off the court. She wouldn’t apologize for the adrenaline the rivalry provided her with.

Aelin smirked, cocking her hip. “Like what you see?”

“Hardly,” he growled. “Just wondering whether or not you actually came to play this time.”

Aelin recognized the comment for what it was- a direct jab to the last tournament where she had lost to Remelle. If the comment hadn’t pissed her off so much she would’ve recognized the compliment for what it was.

“Well, that depends which game you’re talking about, Whitethorn.” Her voice was just teasing enough to annoy him once more, and Aelin’s grin grew.

“Don’t you have a court to go find?” Remelle cut in from beside Rowan, who had distanced himself from her. Aelin didn’t blame him. She wanted to do the same thing.

“And here I was enjoying our little chat. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, mar sin leat.”

“This isn’t Terrasen,” Remelle hissed. “We say ‘good luck’ here. Gods, you Terrasen kids are pieces of-”

Someone caught her by the waist as Aelin attempted to throw herself at the girl and she was soon spun around in their arms, coming face to face with her own eyes. Aedion’s were flashing too as his eyes were fixed behind her, no doubt at Rowan.

“Leave it, Ace, it’s not worth it.”

“It’s true, princess,” Rowan finally spoke with a sneer. “You’re gonna need those pretty little hands tomorrow. Wouldn’t want you to have an excuse when you get your ass kicked.”

“Oh, I’ll show you-”

Aedion dragged her away before she could get another word out, her fists clenched and her teeth bared. She shoved him when he put her down.

“Fucking Doranelle,” Aedion spat under his breath as he shook his head.

He merely gestured to a figure behind her, causing Aelin to whip around with wide eyes. Shit. Duke Perrington grinned at her through the snake-eyed lens of his camera and gave her a tiny wave as she bared her teeth at him

Perfect. Now it would look like Terrasen had begun a fight before the tournament even began.

Her mother was going to kill her.

Aelin felt like the stadium had never been bigger. She had known this year she would be playing where the professionals themselves did, including Maeve and her mother, but never in a million years had it looked so daunting or made her feel so small.

The tournament had been, well needless to say, easy for Aelin so far. She had breezed through her first few matches, absolutely destroying the poor girls, and her third had been straight sets as well. But now it was the semis. And she would have to face Remelle on center court. It seemed the gods liked playing jokes on Aelin Galathynius.

She could feel every pair of eyes snap to hers the moment she stepped onto the court but she looked forward. Maybe she was a crowd favorite- but that would do her no favors in the upcoming match. Aelin thought she was going to hurl all over her new shoes and she let the deafening cheering of the audience cover the sound of her pounding heart.

Remelle walked in not long after she and Aelin met her in the middle of the court, racket in hand. Showtime.

Aelin might have been paying attention when the coin had been flipped, might have been minimally involved when she called heads or when she won the call and opted to serve first. She might have been only slightly aware of her surroundings as she took a small sip of her water and walked to the back of the court.

And then it was movement.

It was backward and forwards, side to side, low and high, and it was the same dance Aelin knew better than anything. The same feeling in her feet when she sprinted to the ball and the same stretch of muscles when she reached for a shot. This was who she was- this was the pattern she had lived for ten years.

But it didn’t seem to matter, not as the score continued to tip less and less in her favor with every passing point. She was playing well- but Remelle was playing better. And there was nothing Aelin could do but survive and ignore the satisfied smirks the other girl would throw her during their side changes.

Think, Aelin, think.

Nothing was coming to her head. All she could hear was the pounding adrenaline through her body telling her to play. To cross each bridge when she came to it. There was nothing more she could do than play.

It was then, when Aelin threw herself at a particularly difficult ball, that she felt something shift. And she knew she was screwed.

Aelin was a tennis player- she had rolled her ankle before. But this was different. It had never hurt this bad. And as the rest of her body came down with her ankle, she thought that it could be it. That it was the end of the match all due to a stupid ankle injury.

With her heart in her throat, Aelin signaled to the red- headed umpire.

Injury, she mouthed to her, and the woman- Ansel, it seemed her name was- simply nodded. She was in the massive locker room without a second thought, dragging out a spare bucket of ice held in one of the corners of the room and shoved her foot it. Might as well get it over with.

Aelin winced as the ice on her foot began to take effect and her muscles began to ache, her breathing beginning to lose its consistency. Gods, she hated this. She hated the useless feeling that came over her at the thought of possibly being unable to finish the match. At the thought of all the people, she would be letting down.

She was tired. Aelin was so, so tired.

Gods, she just needed-

The door to the locker room burst open with a loud and abrupt clang, causing Aelin to jerk forward, spilling water on the ground as she opened her mouth. She was ready to tell them that she needed some privacy before her eyes locked onto a familiar figure that sent her heart pounding for a different reason.

“Rowan, you can’t be in here!”

The hulking boy ignored her protests, striding over her in no more than a few steps, both of his hands immediately going to the base of her neck to search her gaze with his own worried one, clearly not caring that he was in the girl’s locker room and would be kicked out of the tournament if he was found.

“Are you alright?” he insisted, his voice low and hoarse, forest eyes intense.

The gentleness in which he touched her had Aelin sighing and her hands reached up to lightly take hold of his wrists, bringing them down and gathering them in her own hands to hold to her chest.

She hadn’t meant to fall for Rowan Whitethorn.

But like everything in her life, it had happened quickly and unexpectedly, and Aelin had dealt with it head-on. It had been a year now. An entire year of playing tournaments in each other’s home’s just so they could see each other. Just so no suspicion was be aroused by the tabloids.

And Aelin hated it.

All she wanted to do was be able to link her hand through Rowan’s in public without causing a public scandal about a decade-long rivalry.

“I’m okay, you fussy buzzard,” she teased as she looked at him, pleased to see when the frown on his lips twitched the slightest bit upward. “It was just a little fall. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

But because he knew her so well, he had heard the uncertainty and fear in her voice as she spoke. So saying nothing, he pulled Aelin to his chest and allowed his arms to wrap around her completely, enveloping her in the scent that she had considered home for months.

And as she breathed him in, she wished home wasn’t always so godsdamned far.

Rowan let her breathe shakily into his chest, constantly running a soothing hand up and down her back as he hummed a small melody that he often did to get her to sleep over the phone at night. Aelin was the first person to admit it was much better in person.

“You don’t have to do it, Aelin,” he said finally, his movements never ceasing. “You don’t owe them anything.”

She knew who he was referring to of course, of the people who had come to watch the new ‘upcoming star’ in action and were expecting to see quite the show. They were the people Aelin had been trained to want to impress.

Aelin pulled back to tilt her chin up and look him in the eyes.

“I can’t just quit, Rowan. I won’t.”

“You have nothing to prove, Fireheart.” And Aelin almost broke as he used the nickname her father had. “Not to anyone.”

She shook her head, helplessness seeping through her body more and more as she looked at the boy in front of her. The pain in her ankle was even worse now. Unsurprisingly, he noticed, and his calloused hands moved to her wrists as he lead her back over to the bucket of ice water.

He kneeled down in front of the bench as she sat down and placed her foot in the water, wincing along with her even after she threw a glare at him.

I don’t see you with a foot in ice.

Seeing you in pain is enough to hurt me, his eyes gazed back playfully. Aelin rolled her eyes, quickly shutting them as another shock of pain rushed through her body, making her inhale sharply.

Her boyfriend frowned once more, clearly upset he could do nothing to help her. So he gathered her hands in his own, bringing them to his face to place a gentle kiss on them, pulling an unwitting smile from Aelin.

“I love you,” she said quietly. Rowan met her soft gaze for a moment before Aelin leaned forward, capturing his lips with hers in a kiss she hoped said everything she couldn’t. Thank you, I don’t know what I would do without you. I wish we weren’t a secret.

“I love you too, Fireheart.”

She would never get sick of hearing him say that. Of hearing the utter truth in his words.

Rowan was watching her with that adoring look he reserved only for her, his face open so she could see every emotion playing across his face. It only made her want to kiss him again.

So she did, although this time he met her halfway, taking her chin lightly between two fingers and tilting it up so he could kiss her thoroughly as her hands rested at the base of his neck, lightly twirling the pieces of soft hair she found there.

They sat there for a while, simply kissing, enjoying the feeling of each other’s lips and proximity when it was so few and far between, and Aelin relished in the feeling of loving someone who loved her back. In the feeling of not having to act.

When she accidentally tugged at a knot in his hair, Rowan pulled away with a painful groan and a nip to her bottom lip, causing Aelin to laugh and push his cheek away with two fingers.

“Sorry, Buzzard,” she laughed as Rowan stood up, with a playful glare. He folded his arms in front of him and it was only then that Aelin remembered she had a foot inside of a bucket of ice. And her medical time out was running out. “Shit. I have to go.”

Aelin jumped into action, taking her foot out of the ice with a hiss and grabbing a towel as Rowan maneuvered himself around her to find her shoes and socks. Apparently he had understood her message loud and clear about her intentions on forfeiting the match or not- he wasn’t stupid enough to argue with her.

Quickly enough, Aelin was good as new- well, as new as she could be with a half swollen ankle.

“Well,” she dropped her arms to her sides and turned to her boyfriend. “How do I look?”

“Like an idiot who shouldn’t be playing.”

“Or…?” she arched a brow. Rowan sighed and stepped toward her, his hands bracing both of her arms as he leaned forward to press an earnest kiss to her forehead.

“Or Terrasen’s champion,” he murmured against her skin.

Aelin grinned, a wicked and feral smile that meant she was ready to raise hell.

“Now that’s more like it.”

If someone had asked Aelin to regale the crowd with details of her match after she had come out victorious, she would have been unable to do so. Because all she remembered was the pounding of her feet on the ground, and the neon color of the tennis ball, and the feeling of her heart palpitating in her chest.

Oh, and of course she couldn’t forget the moment after her match- winning shot, when every care and inhibition had left her in one foul swoop. When she had sprinted over to the stands and thrown herself into the arms of the silver- haired enemy, delighting in his deep laughter..

And kissed him in the middle of the stadium for all to see.

this prompt was: secret dating

taglist:

@story-scribbler

@rowaelinismyotp

@live-the-fangirl-life

@claralady

@surielandiareendgame

#aelin galythinius #rowan whitethorn #aelin #rowan #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowaelin fic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #rowaelin modern au #tog #sjm #throne of glass #rowaelin month

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dailytomlinson · 4 years ago

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The Away From Home festival that occurred over the bank holiday weekend was the first time One Direction veteran Louis Tomlinson had performed in front of a live audience since his debut solo tour was cut short in Spring 2020. Despite being the last of his band to embark on their solo careers, Tomlinson’s endeavours, including a stint as a judge on the X-Factor and a record-breaking charity livestream, have had remarkable success.

Almost two years since the release of his debut album Walls, headlining his own one-day festival event was a ballsy one, especially given that tickets were entirely free and given out on a lottery basis. I was lucky enough to receive tickets for myself and a plus one, and on that drizzly Monday afternoon, set off to the Crystal Palace Bowl for the event.

The South London venue affectionately nicknamed the ‘Rusty Laptop’ sits on a grassy knoll whose natural topography allows all, big or small, to see the stage in perfect clarity. It had hosted the likes of Bob Marley, Pink Floyd and Garden Party festivals in its heyday, and was revived by the City Council this year in an attempt to bring the venue to its former glory. With bars and food trucks lining the perimeter, small groups settling onto warm blankets on the soft grass, and fans with country and pride flags flocking to the front of the stage, all before the sun had begun to dip below the horizon- the atmosphere was electric.

According to Tomlinson, the festival had been in the works for the better part of the year. Not only did he commit to it being as affordable as possible for his fans, he also took the opportunity to spotlight British talent. The first live act to take to the stage was Essex natives BILK. Formed in 2015, the trio boasts rambling rap vocals to pop-punk riffs that make the mundane amusing. ‘CM2’ pays homage to their postcode, where ‘When boredom comes / It sticks like glue.’ Other songs on the setlist such as ‘Weed Song’ and ‘I Got Knocked out the Same Night England Did’ are quite self-explanatory. The band has a devil-may-care indie feel that envelops the crowd into the ambient angst of small-town England. BILK is going on a UK tour and has a new EP ALLOW IT out now.

In the lulls between acts, DJ Jess Iszatt played songs by artists such as Sam Fender, MGMT and Kaiser Chiefs, and of course crowd favourites like ‘Mr Brightside’ and ‘Wonderwall.’

The Snuts are an indie rock band hailing from West Lothian who had a stacked agenda this past month, playing at various festivals including Reading, Leeds, and Away From Home. Their sound is resonant in a way that makes your heart thump to the beat and body sway to the melody, made to be enjoyed live. Time and place are heavily referenced in their music and give it an aura of nostalgia and longing- in ‘Glasgow’ the chorus soars with ‘Jump on my back / And I will take you home / I’ll always love the way that you say Glasgow.’ This seems to be the common thread theme between all the artists’ performances- childhood, youth, home- the festival is named Away From Home after all. The Snuts’ debut album W.L. is out now.

Finally, when the sun is well and truly hidden, Tomlinson emerges to flashing lights to a drum-heavy rendition of his single ‘We Made It.’ A fitting opener- he has made it. ‘Underestimated / And always underrated’ no more, Tomlinson lit up the stage, confidence rolling off him in spades. ‘Drag Me Down’ was one of his few One Direction covers of the night, delivered with a gusto that comes from years of performing and a stage presence that makes clear that he is the star of the show.

He paid tribute to his late mother in ‘Two Of Us’, the audience lighting up the glade with torch lights. Tomlinson travelled closer to the audience for the more sombre numbers, including fan favourite ‘Only the Brave,’ queer fans waving pride flags to ‘It’s a church of burnt romances / And I’m too far gone to pray.’ ‘Fearless’ in particular was a cathartic embodiment of arena rock and allowed Tomlinson’s guitarist to show off his chops.

The production design really shone in ‘Copy of a Copy of a Copy,’ where black and white duplicates of the stage were projected instead in reference to the song, which itself debuted in his streaming event Live In London in December 2020. Tomlinson’s signature emotive vocals lament that ‘You won’t be the first or be the last to bleed,’ seeming to speak to younger self as a cog in the industry machine.

After throwing it back with a rockier version of his debut single ‘Just Hold On,’ Tomlinson remarked on getting to play a new song to an audience before launching into the never-before-heard ‘Change.’ The song draws parallels to many of his previous works, simple yet evocative lyrics that draw on an intangible sense of homesickness. The heavy use of minor-key plucks at your heartstrings, the hush of the crowd emphasising the hollow feeling of ‘Everything’s changed outside / But I feel the same inside’. As always, Tomlinson injects a positive spin with ‘If you need you can call on me / I’ll be the friend you need’. To fans’ delight, Tomlinson confirmed it and ‘Copy of a Copy of a Copy’’s place on his sophomore album.

His Kings of Leon Cover ‘Beautiful War’ was a moment of reprieve that let the audience appreciate his no-frills vocals. ‘For every question why / You were my because’ from his album’s title single ‘Walls’ had become an ask-and-answer bonding moment for Tomlinson and his fans over previous live performances and this time was no different. He did not let up on his affection at any point during his set, at one point exclaiming ‘I just f***ing love all of you. I love you. I love you.’ ‘Through The Dark,’ an underrated gem from One Direction’s Midnight Memories is given new life, Tomlinson declaring that ‘you guys make me feel f***ing invincible.’ The upbeat ‘Kill My Mind’ makes for an explosive finale complete with fireworks and confetti streamers.

Leaving Crystal Palace Bowl singing along to ‘Sweet Caroline,’ I felt a surge of love and community. For the performers, the crew, the caterers, my fellow attendees – the exact feeling you want after a festival before the eventual crash of realising you will never experience something quite the same again. The Away From Home Festival made me feel right at home. Like Tomlinson said at the show, ‘all I feel is excited about what’s to come.’

#redbrick music #louis tomlinson #press #170921

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yoonpobs · 4 years ago

Text

things change | jhs

pairing: jung hoseok x oc

genre: FLUFFFFFF, established relationship

words: 3, 377

summary: when you're an unlikely pair but it works

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if you weren’t with her?” Yoongi slurs, his alcohol breath apparent enough for Hoseok to scrunch in his direction.

Hoseok knew, though. What he meant. Drunk Yoongi got sentimental and curious, two perceptions that were dangerous independently and possibly collateral together.

“I don’t.” Hoseok shrugs.

Because being with you was the best thing that’s happened to him and he would be a crazy man to ever put himself through the angst of imagining a world that he was Jung Hoseok without you by his side. It was cheesy and he was sure if he said it to your face you’d groan and shove him by the shoulder. But he’s always been observant and he’d be the first to see the way your eyes soften in a way that no one else can notice but him.

“I do.” Yoongi snorts.

Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” He’s careful with his words because Yoongi was no snitch, even if he was absolutely wasted. But Hoseok can’t say his interest isn’t piqued. Especially when he surrendered himself to the DD (designated driver) of the group.

“It’s just”—Yoongi sighs, sitting up and his drink sloshes in his cup when he places it onto the table—“I’ve said this before and you’ve probably heard this a thousand times but the two of you are so different.”

Hoseok remains silent but doesn’t do anything to give away the thoughts floating through his mind. He was half-expecting the same words to leave his friend's mouth, but having it be confirmed only makes Hoseok internalise his sighs.

“Yeah. You and every person who’s seen the two of us together.” Hoseok grunts.

“Look. I know you hate it when people point it out.” Yoongi says. “And I’m not here to tell you what you already know and on a fundamental level, we both know that the birds of a feather flock together bullshit is redundant and unrealistic. It’s just that every time I see the two of you together—it works. And it’s bewildering maybe because I can’t ever imagine _____ letting you win an argument.”

Hoseok blinks. “She doesn’t.”

Yoongi snickers, throwing the last bit of his drink down his throat before leaning back into the plush booth of the club they were at.

When Jin suggested throwing a bachelor party at one of the hottest nightclubs in Seoul, Yoongi and Hoseok almost ditched purely because the two of them had girlfriends and they didn’t really want to hear the end of the story if a stripper suddenly thought they were free game for the night.

Frankly, Yoongi’s girl was far more possessive but she was sweet. She just didn’t like it when people were actively trying to sleep with her boyfriend.

You, on the other hand, were simply unbothered. It wasn’t because you didn’t care—because you did. Hoseok knew that even if you’d roll your eyes at him when he’d joke about going to a strip club with the boys. But you weren’t insecure, and that wasn’t to say that women who were outwardly concerned were. You were just assured, and you made an effort to let Hoseok know that he needed you as much as you needed him—so anything he did wouldn’t just hurt you, but him too.

“It’s just that you’re basically the most cheerful dude I know and I don’t think I’ve seen you ever frown at anyone. Even the barista who fucked up our order four times.” Yoongi recalls. “Then there’s ____ who’s resting face literally is a big fuck you to anyone who breathes in her direction.”

Hoseok snorts, sipping his virgin cocktail. Even if he wasn’t the DD, he couldn’t do alcohol so the minty flavour of his drink was a night refresher for a tiring night (though he spent it just moping in his seat while the rest of his single friends partied away).

“I get mad too.” Hoseok shrugs.

“Yeah. Barely. Even then—you’re the most diplomatic person I know and you have a way of talking to people to get your point across without making them fear for their lives the next morning.” Yoongi deadpans.

“And sometimes diplomacy isn’t necessary.” Hoseok retorts.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m not shitting on your girlfriend. You don’t need to play social justice warrior here.”

Hoseok sighs before leaning back, mirroring the man spread Yoongi was in while he ponders his next set of words carefully.

Yoongi was probably one of the most chill people Hoseok knows, and maybe that was why they got along so well. Yoongi was a take-no-shit kind of man who was truly sensitive under all the intimidating layers he showed the world. Hoseok was just nice, but he was no pushover. It was a good balance that came out when necessary.

So Hoseok didn’t want to rub Yoongi the wrong way and tell him to stop talking about petty differences between him and you but also wanted to satiate the curiousity that lingers in his eyes.

“I know,” Hoseok says. A girl nearly topples into their booth but Hoseok spots his younger friend Taehyung grabbing her by the waist and shooting the two men a sleazy wink before he stalks off with her in his arms. Yoongi rolls his eyes but Hoseok can’t even be bothered.

“I mean,” Yoongi drawls. “Based on what you told me I know that the two of you don’t even want the same things in the future. And again—not saying there’s anything wrong with that—but didn’t you want kids for the longest time?”

Hoseok nods his head, deciding against his words.

Yoongi clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, nodding slowly as if he was processing Hoseok’s words.

“How did that … do you still want kids?”

“I want what _____ wants.”

Yoongi groans. “You sound like a total pushover.”

Hoseok levels a strict stare onto his friend, and even if Yoongi was older—there was something about a man who never got angry shooting him an intense stare that could make Yoongi zip his mouth.

“And kids aren’t endgame to a relationship. I love her, and yeah—I want kids. But she’s important to me and she’s here now. There isn’t a reason for me to condemn her or push her for a future that doesn’t exist yet. She’s the one carrying the baby for nine months and it’s her decision whether or not we have kids. Whether or not a kid comes along doesn’t matter to me because I’m with her because I love her and not because of a kid that isn’t real.”

Yoongi blinks. Then he huffs a breath out before letting out a low chuckle.

“Wow.”

“I know you don’t mean any harm but I don’t need to explain to anyone why _____ and I work so well together. But because you’re my best friend and you get oddly sentimental when you’re drunk I’ll spell it out for you and you better hope you’re sober enough to remember this tomorrow because I won’t repeat it again.” Hoseok says firmly.

Yoongi’s eyes widen at the serious tone Hoseok shifted to and observes the way Hoseok looks stern yet … soft, all at the same time.

“_____ is tough. In more ways than her exterior. She knows what she wants and what she’s ready for. And it was a goddamn miracle that she decided that what she wants and what she’s ready for was me. Yeah, she’s terrifying but she’s human—her heart is still pure and she’s a kind woman—person. Sure she’s systematic and needs an answer for everything but I’m her boyfriend and I’ll make sure that I can give her all the answer she needs to feel safe in this relationship. And yeah—we may not want the same things. She doesn’t want to get married but I do. But marriage isn’t endgame to me. She is. She wanted to move in together but I was iffy about it. So we live apart. That doesn’t change the nature of our love and she still loves me even if all I do is annoy her. So yeah. I’m willing to compromise and so is she. We’re different but we’re together.”

Hoseok is still calm as ever and there’s even a hint of a small smile on his face. The fact he’s smiling only testifies to the fact that you and Hoseok were so different from each other.

Yoongi is stunned to silence and sure he’s a quiet man but he usually had things to say, opinions to add. But Hoseok’s proclamation of your love only makes him sit in silence, letting the words dissipate in the atmosphere but remain in his conscience.

“Wow,” Yoongi repeats his words from earlier, but it’s all he can muster up.

Hoseok offers his friend a kind smile, sipping the rest of his drink while his friend can only stare at his nonchalant demeanour.

“And if you still don’t see it.” Hoseok grins. “There’s a reason why you don’t. I’m the only one that gets to fall in love with her like this.”

Yoongi whistles lowly before rolling his eyes. “No need to get possessive.”

“I’m a man in love. Sue me.” Hoseok shrugs with a slight smirk.

Yoongi gags at the cheesiness even if he finds himself internally grinning at his best friends blatant love for his girlfriend. He was sure it was the alcohol that was making him mushy—or perhaps Hoseok has always looked the way he did when he spoke about you. Eyes bright under dark lights and the heart-shaped smile of his becoming wider.

“If it counts for anything …” Yoongi trails off, offering a lazy smile to Hoseok. “I really hope she does marry you.”

Hoseok scoffs at Yoongi’s blatant optimism. Sure, he wanted that. He wanted nothing more than to see you in white, smiling only at him—or even with your usual stoic face—he doesn’t care. But he knew that the event itself would never change the fact that he wanted to be with you, now and forever. If fate wills, he’d marry you in a heartbeat. But Hoseok was content—and more importantly, he was in love.

“It doesn’t. But thanks.”

extra scene

“Hi, my love and my absolute sunshine.” Hoseok coos the next morning, and that’s the first thing he says when you open the door to your apartment; eyes already rolling to the back of your head.

“Did you do anything to piss me off?” You ask dryly.

Hoseok snickers, but pulls you in by your shoulders to give you a wet smooch to your lips that has you whining. You don’t push him away because you knew it was just the two of you and possibly one of your snooping neighbours.

“As you love to remind me during arguments—my existence is enough to do that, no?”

You nod your head, patting him gently on the cheek as you offer a half-hearted smile. “I’m glad you’re on the road to self-actualisation.”

Your boyfriend snorts, stepping into your apartment as he makes sure to leave his shoes on the shoe rack instead of idly laying on the floor because you were anal about things like that. And he missed you so he didn’t want you shooting him death stares just yet.

“You keep me on my feet.” Hoseok flirts, tone a little sleazy and you can’t help but sigh at your boyfriend's antics even though a hint of a smile marks your face.

When Hoseok settles into your couch, he immediately spots a wrapper that looked like it went into gift boxes—a pretty shade of green, which was his favourite colour. He immediately leans forward and eyes it with furrowed brows before looking up at you.

“My pretty baby got me a gift?” He wiggles said brows as you scoff at him, plopping into the seat next to him as you lean into his embrace.

“See for yourself.” You shrug, face still remaining blank.

Hoseok chuckles, already expecting your reaction even though everything about the placement of the wrapper to the strategic colour scheme of it screamed a gift for Hoseok. He knew you still got flustered when you did nice things for him, even if he’d argue that was on a daily basis because you were just a loud lover in a way that let your actions speak for your affection.

He wants to coddle you further, snuggle you so hard that you’d whine and attempt to shove him away until you decide that you secretly love it and hold him tight. He was so in love. But he placates the shift of your knee in a way he knew was due to your patience wearing thin.

So, he picks up the wrapper and realised that it was much lighter than he’d expected; and lacked the density of a usual present. It almost seemed like you were pulling a prank on him for no apparent reason. But Hoseok trusted you and knew that you weren’t the type to pull shit like that because you just had better things to do.

He unravels each crevice, eyes still searching for the gift that somehow never comes—all until he finally settles on a stick that he vaguely recognises from pharmacies that he never thought would be in his hands, staring up at him with two straight lines.

The silence is loud, but Hoseok is stunned. His mouth falls agape as he cradles the pregnancy test in his palm, eyes not bothering to look at your nervous expression. One that rarely comes from you just because you were an assured person in general and seldom needed validation from others.

But you loved Hoseok and you knew deep down that he’d always have an effect on you, words or actions—presence or not.

“Hobi?” You call softly, voice nervous as you fiddle with the hem of his shirt as he blankly stares at the test.

You’re terrified you made a mistake—or if he’s changed his mind because of your pessimism on the idea of having children. Sometimes you wonder how Hoseok could love you, all edges and harsh lines when you spoke. A woman who was either black and white or purely a grey area. Hoseok was the rainbow on dark days and brightened any environment.

You can’t read Hoseok’s face, and it scares you. Because you usually can since he was an open book. So when he finally turns to you, and you finally get a proper glimpse of his expression—

First, you see tears.

“I-Is this …?” He chokes.

Your eyes widen, immediately reaching out to cradle his cheeks as an involuntary reaction.

“Why are you crying?” You feel yourself tearing up and you try to suppress it. There was something about you being so connected to Hoseok and his feelings that made everything he felt translate to your own conscience.

“Y-You—I-I—you’re pregnant?” He whispers, eyes returning to the stick.

You nod your head slowly. “I am.”

Hoseok nibbles on his lips and you wait patiently for his next response. You can more or less guess that he’s happy yet confused, the conversation of potentially having kids never really showing any progress. But he’s been patient and so loving—and you thought you’d never shake but here you were.

The next thing you know, Hoseok is wrapping his arms around you so tightly that it hurts as you try to gasp for air. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck in a way that makes all your edges turn round, and your heart melt from the stone wall it was into a flurry of emotions that only he can bring out of you.

“We’re going to have a baby?” He asks softly, pulling away to clasp his palms around your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

“We are.” You reply, equally as soft; eyes and tone. “You’re going to be a father, Hobi.”

And somehow, that breaks him. He can’t stop the tears nor can you. So you allow him to cry, and you allow yourself to feel too; holding each other close as you feel his hand reach out for your stomach. And you can’t deny the butterflies that erupt.

When he manages to regain his composure, wiping at his eyes; he looks at you so earnestly and gives you a wide smile that drew you in from the moment you met, and grown to love.

“You really want this?” He asks, eyes concerned but tone irrevocably gentle. You knew he wasn’t doubting your choices, but respecting them.

You nod your head.

“For the longest time … I thought kids weren’t for me. That I wouldn’t be a good mother because of how I am.” You tell him, and you see Hoseok’s eyebrows furrow and you know he’s thinking about denying that. But Hoseok has never been the type to interrupt you while talking. “And maybe I won’t be, maybe I will. But having you here with me just reassures me to know that our baby will have the greatest, most loving and most patient father out there.”

Hoseok’s eyes soften, knowing how big of a decision this must’ve been for you.

“I love you.” He whispers when he leans in to give you a slow kiss on your lips, one that wasn’t leading anywhere but was nice enough to feel the emotions pouring through.

You don’t say it back, but you look at him with gentle eyes that only he can recognise—and he knows. He knows your heart like you know his.

“You’ve compromised a lot of things for me, and I know I’m particular about many things. I have a plan ten years down the road of where I’d like to be in my life—and I never thought I’d be planning with a kid in mind.” You chuckle softly, and Hoseok pulls you closer so that you’re resting your head against his chest. “But you make me want to do things I’ve never done. And I really—I really want this baby. I want him or her to grow up thinking about how badass their parents were even though their mom is a total bitch and their dad is the mediator of the family.”

Hoseok snorts, brushing his hands through your hair.

“How long?” He asks.

You grin against his t-shirt, not looking up when you fiddle with the fabric of it.

“I’ve been feeling symptoms for a month now, and the test was from a week ago. I went to the doctor to be sure because I knew from the moment I suspected it that I wanted it to be true, for you, for me—for us.”

Hoseok tilts your chin up, offering you the smile you love so much and you feel so … happy.

“Next thing you know I’ll have you walking down the aisle.” Hoseok sighs, happy and content.

You roll your eyes, narrowing it at him as you push on his chest to sit up.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Jung.”

Hoseok wraps his hand around the back of your neck before pulling you close to meet your lips again.

“Let a man dream.” He grins against the kiss.

He can feel your giggle and the way you do the thing that you do when you’re secretly ruffled but adore him way too much to pull away.

“You know this means we have to move in together, right?” You murmur against his lips.

Hoseok snorts. “Duh. But you know you already have a home in my heart, right?”

You expected it, but it doesn’t make it any less cheesy when you groan and shove at his chest. Hoseok cackles, fully loving the way you scrunch your eyebrows in distaste at him.

“I hate you.” You scowl.

“No, you don’t.” Hoseok sings, resting his head against your shoulder while he looks up at you with innocent eyes.

You’re happy, and so is he.

And a few months down the road, Hoseok drops a ring into your palm, no words or expectations. You roll your eyes, as usual; but you slip it onto your ring-ringer anyways.

#bts imagines #bts fics #bts jhope #jhope x reader #hoseok x reader #jung hoseok x reader #hoseok fluff #jung hoseok #hoseok imagine #hoseok fic

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itsmeevie01 · 4 years ago

Text

A Moment in Time

ok, so. a little disclaimer before we get into the good stuff. Cannon is in no way whatsoever being followed in this. honestly? im not even sure that i REMEBER cannon at this point. that said, cannon is non applicable. at. all.

moving on. YES, i WILL finish B!DBWM stuff eventually. but uh...not today. i just mentally cant. it. will. come. when. my. brain. can. handle. the. world. that. i. had. tailored. for. it.

ALSO this is going to be kinda sporatic, but the goal (not end all be all but) is to have this wrapped in a pretty little package and finished (at least on my end) by the end of february.

and now....onto the stuff you came here for!

---

Marinette was running late to school when she met him. She ran into the boy and stumbled back, flailing to catch herself before she fell. He looked down at her owlishly, before looking around. By the time he had returned his gaze to her, the teen had pulled herself back together. He smiled and nodded at her, before moving to go around. When Marinette had pulled herself together enough to call a short “sorry!”, He was already gone.

That was three weeks ago. Now, she was looking at a picture of their interaction, where it blared on the front page of the newspaper that Jagged had sent her. When Marinette had received the package, she had been confused. Jagged wasn’t supposed to send her another demo for a few weeks. They were still working on singles. When she had opened the box and found five different American publications with her on their front page, the teen designer had shrieked. With shaking hands, she picked up the top one and studied the headline.

HAS BRUCE WAYNE’S WARD FOUND PARISIAN LOVE?

The bold text was catching, sure, but Marinette was caught on WHO it was placing her with. Someone she had never met. The second one had a picture of her next to Jagged at an event, and a picture of the boy next to a blonde girl. The headline wasn’t much better than the first.

TIMELINE OF THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN MDC AND THE HEIR TO WAYNE INERPRISES.

The teen snorted. She was starting to see the pattern. Putting the tabloid down the girl moved onto the next one. This one had, once again, a zoomed in picture of the five second interaction between her and a stranger. The title, however, was different than the first two.

ALL OF BRUCE WAYNE’S CHILDREN, AND THE INSIDE SCOOP ON HIS NEWEST DAUGHTER

She squinted, laughter bubbling up a little as she observed the piece of fiction. Whoever the Bruce Wayne was, Marinette hopped that he was able to combat this, because she had no intention of letting this fly.

Tim and Bruce were staring at the pile of papers in mild shock. When Jared had reached out to them in mild panic, they had been confused. His panic had been explained when the rocker had arrived carrying a stack of tabloid literature a foot thick. When he had thunk’d the stack down on Bruce’s desk, the businessman’s shock had been more than notable. When Tim had picked up the first few publications the initial look on his face was mirth, but it quickly morphed into shock, then panic. When he handed the top item to Bruce, the older man frowned. When the second pamphlet made its way to his hands, Bruce paused. His next move was to call the Wayne family lawyers. when he turned back to his old friend, all the faces in the room told the same grim tale of what was to come.

When Tim found out that it was Jared’s niece that he had accidentally run into in the brief moment in Paris, he wasn’t sure whether he should be more stressed by it, or if it was by pure luck. When Bruce’s friend went on to explain that the girl would probably already suing the reports and papers that had published the rumor, the young CEO was impressed. To have a lawyer on hand like that was…surprising, considering that she couldn’t be older than 18.

When he asked the rocker if he thought the girl would let anyone go after her, he laughed. Then, Jared Stone explained that the girl was known in Paris for squishing rumors with surprising efficiency.

That evening, Bruce invited his childhood friend home for dinner, and the star spent the evening telling stories of their capers as children, with Alfred grimacing in agreement with the stories. Partway through dinner, Jared’s phone went off. While the rest of the family tensed, glancing to Alfred, their guest frowned at his phone before rushing to answering. “Hey Little Rocker! How’s Pari- oh. So, Penny was more efficient then I thought she’d be. I- yes I figured that you may want to hear. Do- No! Marinette, what!” here, the man paused, his head cocked to the side, his eyes screwed up in thought. “No luv! Sue them within an inch of their lives! You more then have that right.” Here, the rocker paused before he laughed. “Tell that buzzing bee of yours that she’s a good friend. Alright, Miss Mari. I’ll ring you when I’m back on that side of the Atlantic.” He laughed again, “See you soon, Marinette.” The table stayed quiet, waiting for the man to give an indication on the status of the conversation. “Well, Brucie, expect to hear from my niece in the next few day, or at least, her team of lawyers.” the Wayne patriarch blinked before nodding in hidden surprise.

When the family was talking during patrol that evening, Tim grumbled. The 18-year-old was still taken aback that the press had even seen the momentary interaction almost a month ago. As his brothers listened in, many of them started to make fun of the teen. When Jason tuned in, he dropped in the middle of tale. At his confusion, Tim sighed and started over, again. While the family was laughing over his run-in with the press, the former Robin shook his head and silenced his family. He had a feeling he wouldn’t live this one down for a while.

Originally, Jason had found Tim’s predicament hilarious. Of course, the kid had to have the worst run-ins with the press. Then, he had picked up one of the many tabloids with the story. When he had seen the pictures, all mirth left the resurrected vigilante. The noirette that was looking up at him from the page? Yeah. He knew her. Better than anyone else, actually. With shaking hands, the young man paged to the story. What he found was…illuminating. So. She had been adopted. In France. In Paris. After forcing his lungs to draw breath, Jason pulled out his phone. He had arrangements to make.

The day after Jagged had sent her the gossip rags that were considered journalism, Marinette strode into school with a scowl so ingrained in in her features that anyone who didn’t know her would think the expression was permanent. When she stalked into the Lycée classroom, Chloé grinned at her from where she had settled in the front row. Marinette nodded at her friend as she slid in next to her. Lila came skipping in moments later, a cruel smile playing on her lips, before falling when she saw the bone quaking scowl resting on her nemesis’ face. “oh Marinette! Did something happen? Did…did you anger your parents? Did they find out about all those men?” the other girl huffed before turning to her. Lila froze as she was met with the iciest glare that she had seen in years.

“oh Lila. That’s so cute. It almost sounds like you still think that your little stories affect me at all. That’s…adorable.” The Italian girl shrunk under the younger girl’s stare. Suddenly, she understood why people had been warning her to leave the teen alone. this girl, she was brutal. “lucky for you, you’re not the one I’m after, this time. My lawyers have bigger fish to fry.” The newer addition to the classroom gulped, her throat suddenly very dry. It occurred to her that maybe Marinette had let her take control of the class. After all, if they turn that easily, why would she want them for friends. The smaller girl nodded as she watched the realization run over Lila’s face. Raising her eyebrows, the Eurasian girl motioned her classmate along, sending a cruel smile after her.

Chloé waited until the little liar was gone before giggling at her friend’s reaction to the girl who had become their daily annoyance. “I’m guessing you saw what’s been running in the American news? I thought it wouldn’t take long for you to respond. Are a plethora of lawsuits on the way?” Marinette giggled slightly as her severe demander giving way to the internal glee that was consuming the teen over the sheer chaos that was to come.

When Jason touched down in Paris, he tensed. The atmosphere in the city was less carefree than he remembered. There was an air that actually reminded him of Gotham. Tense. Waiting or the other shoe to drop. The expectation that your day was going to go wrong set from the moment one woke up. Pulling out his phone, the Gotamite looked up the address to the bakery that he had found when digging online. If today went the way he was hoping it would, the bakery would be his only stop for the day. Of course, he didn’t count on Gina.

When she called him over from where she was standing by her bike, Jason had to smile. The woman was part of the reason that he wasn’t still camping out in Gotham, waiting to kill a certain billionaire. Once the spry biker had latched onto his arm, the young man knew that his mission would have to wait just a bit. After all, he owed Gina almost everything he had.

#maribat #sibling!jasonette #platonic jasonette #timari #ml x dc #mlb #bamf marinette #chaotic marinette #oh shit i did a thing #theres more to come #my writing #a moment in time fic

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rafael-silva · 4 years ago

Text

steady me with your touch: a tarlos fic

A call brings the 126 crew, APD and the Texas Rangers together. When Carlos gets hurt on said scene, Gabriel bears witness to TK working through his worry as he takes care of Carlos, the love and deep connection between them evident as clear as the sun shines. In the aftermath, TK is there for his boyfriend, in more ways than one.

for bad things happen bingo: tarlos + arm in a sling

hurt carlos reyes, worried tk strand, paramedic tk, hurt/comfort, emotional/hurt comfort, kisses, whump, comfort, angst with a happy ending, soft boyfriends

5.7k | rated T | on ao3

*****

Walking into the precinct that morning, the air heavy with tension and stress, Carlos had an inkling about the day that lied ahead. And in retrospect, Carlos’s gut was proven right.

*****

Switching off the siren and hopping out of the patrol car, Carlos and Mitchell quickly stride towards their captain, who is wearing a grim look as he speaks to a couple of other officers. Carlos looks around, noticing a perimeter already being set by his colleagues as bystanders start to gather across the street.

Captain Kendricks turns in their direction as they approach him.

“Reyes, Mitchell, good that you got here so quick,” he says.

“Captain,” Carlos nods as he slips on his vest. “We were a few blocks over when the call came in.”

Before the captain can reply, the echo of more sirens grab their attentions. Turning in the direction of the incoming sounds, Carlos immediately finds the bold 126 numbers painted on the side of the firetruck, followed by the ambulance.

His eyes remain fixed on the vehicles as the firefighters disembark, watching as Owen searches the crowd for the person in command of the scene before even his boots hit the ground.

The fire captain’s eyes quickly find Carlos and Captain Kendricks and he says something to Judd before hurrying over to the police officers.

“Captain Kendricks,” Owen greets, extending his hand.

“Captain Strand,” Kendricks replies, shaking Owen’s extended hand.

“Officer Reyes, Officer Mitchell.”

“Captain Strand,” Carlos responds next.

“What’s the situation?”

“I was just about to brief Officers Reyes and Mitchell. We have a hostage situation, it was called in about ten minutes ago. The daughter made the call, she and her parents had come home and according to her, she had gone to her bedroom straight away, and a few moments later she heard arguing and strange voices coming from the living room. She discovered three men in black ski masks, armed, and yelling at her parents. She ran back to her room and called 911. And it appears to have started out as a robbery.”

Owen nods. “So, at least three robbers.”

Captain Kendricks nods. “We’re still trying to establish communication with the intruders, and in the meantime, the daughter is still on the line with 911,” the captain continues. “Where is she hiding?”

“Her bedroom, north-east side of the building.”

“Any updates, Captain Kendricks?” Another voice pops up, approaching the group.

At hearing the familiar voice, Carlos turns to see his father making his way towards them and gets a nod from Gabriel when their eyes meet.

“No new updates yet, Major.”

“Sir,” Carlos greets his father.

“Captain Strand,” Gabriel extends his hand.

“Major Reyes,” Owen reciprocates, shaking the offered palm.

“Captain Strand, I’ll need you and your crew close and on stand by,” Kendricks states, then turning to Carlos and Mitchell, “Reyes, Mitchell, I want you to cover the back door, along with Banks and Carter. Keep your eyes open and watch each other’s backs, report any movement.”

“Yes, sir,” Carlos responds.

Looking back in the direction of the firetruck, Carlos sees the 126 crew standing near, talking together and looking at the building. He quickly finds TK, and unlike everyone else, the paramedic is looking straight at him, also having sought out his boyfriend amid the crowd.

They start a wordless conversation, declarations spoken through brown and green gates as they connect on a deeper level, the world around them momentarily fading away. A wave of understanding sways between them, an invisible string extending and bridging them together; they both know what the other is expressing, speaking through their hearts, the words echoing in their eyes, seeing into each other’s souls. Carlos gives TK a nod, which the paramedic replies to with a small smile.

Turning back, Carlos shares a look with his father.

Gabriel’s hand moves to Carlos’s face, gently patting his cheek then his shoulder.

“Be careful, son,” Gabriel pleads.

“Will do, sir,” Carlos replies, giving his dad a smile.

Gabriel watches as his son glances over his shoulder one more time before walking into the opposite direction and towards the back of the building, his partner on his heels.

Gabriel turns to glimpse in the direction Carlos had just looked in and easily finds TK, the younger man’s eyes trailed on Carlos. The Ranger’s movement then catches TK’s eyes and they share a look. Gabriel gives him a smile and nod, which TK swiftly return.

*****

They found the daughter, TK had overheard Captain Kendricks telling Owen and Gabriel.

The atmosphere is tense and the air thick as PD and the Rangers work to establish communication with the assailants, which still hasn’t proven manageable. And now without the daughter on the line with dispatch anymore, they are blind to what is happening inside the apartment.

A couple of other officers were assigned to the back of the building along with Carlos and the others, but it’s also been radio silence on their end.

TK is pacing back and forth in front of the truck and ambulance, his shoulders squared and face tight, rubbing his hands together, busying himself.

He can hear his father, Gabriel and Captain Kendricks nearby, discussing what the best course of action would be if it remains radio silence for another few minutes.

He stops moving when the radio comes to life with Carlos’s voice.

“This is 363-H-20,” Carlos’s voice is low and hushed. “Possible movement in the back.”

TK holds his breath, waiting, and then his heart promptly plummets into his stomach at the next transmission, his eyes going wide with fear at the words.

“Shots fired, I repeat, shots fired,” Carlos yells, his voice loud now. “Requesting back up!”

TK swallows against his dry throat when his ears catch the harsh sound of bullets hitting steel and brick in the background of Carlos’s message.

The sun watching over them and the heat engulfing them is suddenly too much for TK, his entire body sizzling from the inside out as his heart beats fiercely against his rib cage.

“Four suspects fleeing north, in pursuit on foot,” Carlos continues a few moments later.

“Hey, hang on, brother,” a close voice pierces TK’s ears. He turns to find Judd’s hand on his shoulder. “They’ll radio if they need EMS. He’s okay.”

He’s okay? TK wants to scoff. He just got rained on by a shower of bullets, he thinks.

TK then looks down and realizes he’d taken a few steps forward, unconsciously trying to get to Carlos. All possibilities of what could go wrong start to rush through his mind; what if Carlos got hit but the adrenaline is masking the pain? What if he collapses while he’s chasing the criminals?

And as if Judd had spoken it into the universe, the radio chirps to life, an unfamiliar voice to TK calling for medical assistance.

The foreign voice alone gets TK’s heart racing some more, his mind immediately jumping to the conclusion that Carlos is the one hurt now that he’s not on the radio. It’s not a given, of course, TK knows, but his mind can’t be convinced otherwise in the moment, his fear of losing Carlos bigger than logic.

TK lifts his head towards the group of officers just in time to see a bunch of them joined by a few Rangers, including Gabriel, rush to their vehicles.

A few other officers make their way towards the paramedics, and lead them to where they’re needed, towards the fallen officer. TK’s legs move on their own accord, he needs to know.

TK feels the sweat roll down his neck and back as they get closer to the officers, he tightens his hold on the medkit, repeating please be okay, Carlos, please be okay, over and over in his head.

He gets a proper view of the officer on the ground and his shoulders sag a little, a sigh escaping him when he sees it’s not Carlos. He drops the medkid and kneels next to the cop, his partner speaking on his behalf.

“He took a round to his vest, it didn’t go through but he said it hurts to breathe a little.”

The paramedics work in unison to get the officer assessed and stable. TK had seen both of the cops at Carlos’s precinct a couple of times but he hasn’t spoken to them before.

A question over the radio grabs his attention then.

“What’s your location, Reyes?” Kendricks speaks into his radio.

“Just passed Brazos and East 4th,” comes Carlos’s quick reply around his pants.

“Copy, back up is in en route.”

TK takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, gathering his nerves. Carlos is going to be okay.

A few blocks away, Carlos watches as the four suspects break into two group, each going in opposite directions.

“They’ve split up,” Carlos relays. “Banks and Carter, go East, Mitchell and I will stay on them heading north.”

Sirens fill the air around Carlos as he pushes his muscles and wills his legs to keep running, the suspects just ahead of him as he sees them turn a corner.

“Suspects have turned a corner, heading West on 5th,” Carlos speaks into his radio, slowing to a jog and eventually stopping.

“Reyes?” Mitchell questions as she slows next to her partner.

“We can cut them off before they reach West Avenue,” Carlos tells Mitchell, gathering his breath. “There’s a shortcut to West 5th,” he explains, pointing to a nearby alley. “Through there.”

Mitchell nods and follows Carlos into the alley. They quickly make their way between the buildings, eventually reaching the main street. They slow down when they’re almost at West 5th street, staying close against the wall to conceal their movements. Carlos carefully peaks his head out, his heart hammering in his chest as he searches for any signs of the suspects.

“Anything?” Mitchell whispers.

“Yeah,” Carlos replies. “They’re heading this way, almost half a block behind.”

Thankfully, the street isn’t busy and there are no bystanders in close vicinity of the robbers. When Carlos gives the signal, he and Mitchell jump out from the alley and into the path of the men, their guns drawn.

The two men freeze, their own guns in their grip and Carlos can instantly read them like an open book.

“Don’t move and don’t even think about it. Lower your weapons and the duffel bags, slowly,” Carlos orders.

“Do it,” Mitchell adds with a stern tone.

The two men don’t move for a few moments before they follow the orders, lowering their guns to the asphalt along with the bags. With her gun still drawn, Mitchell carefully moves forward and kicks the guns away. Then she and Carlos return their own guns to their holsters and move to cuff the suspects.

In a quick move, the man Carlos is holding flicks his head back, and Carlos would have ended up with a broken nose if it weren’t for his quick reflexes, jerking his head backwards and out of the way of the oncoming assault. Carlos’s grip, however, loosens on the man, giving him just enough leverage to slip a little from his hold.

Carlos recovers quickly, locking the man’s wrists to keep him in place as he reaches for his cuffs, but the man continues at his attempt to break free from the officer’s hold.

Carlos is also aware that Mitchell is having her own go with the other suspect, trying to secure him in the same way, too.

The man in Carlos’s grasp sharply and suddenly leans forward, his arms still behind him as he wiggles some more, swaying his body to the side and tipping Carlos’s balance. The man, in another strong tug forward, manages to escape Carlos’s hold when the officer tries to regain his balance. He only reaches the end of the block before Carlos is tackling him to the ground, but not without injury, though. Carlos hears a sickening crack coming from his shoulder when he thuds harshly on his side, his arm and shoulder colliding with the asphalt, his other going around the man to keep him in place.

White, hot pain surges through his nerves and body, and he wants to scream out in agony. He manages to keep the man in place just long enough for Mitchell to run over, having cuffed the other guy and handed him to the back up that arrived moments ago, and takes over using Carlos’s cuffs on the man on the ground.

Carlos breathes out a throaty groan, his good arm free now to cradle his injured shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to regulate his breathing.

“Reyes?” He hears Mitchell call out but he doesn’t reply, the pain clouding his head and preventing him from doing anything except breathe through the continuous throbbing.

He’s vague aware of the sirens around them now, blaring and ear-piercing and he can see the red and blue lights dancing across beyond his closed eyelids.

Carlos’s focus leaves his surroundings and travel to the aching pain and shocks running up and down his arm. But soon, another voice filters through, getting closer. At first, the voice seems so far away, as if Carlos were underwater and the voice above. That voice is one he replies to.

“Carlos?”

“Dad…” Carlos mumbles through clenched teeth.

“What happened?” He hears Gabriel ask.

“Carlos tackled him to the ground, but I didn’t see it happen. I looked up after cuffing the other guy and Carlos was on the ground with him,” Mitchell explains.

“Can you open your eyes for me, son?”

Carlos takes a deep breath through his nose and wills his eyes to open. He finds his father’s concerned face through the momentary blur, and he shakes his head to clear his vision. It seems that wasn’t the best of choices because the action sends a sharp sting running through his head but it fades after a few moments.

“There you are,” Gabriel visibly relaxes a little at seeing Carlos awake. “What hurts?”

“Shoulder,” Carlos pants. “Fell on it.”

Gabriel’s eyes go to Carlos’s shoulder and he grimaces at the unnatural angle the joint is in.

“It’s dislocated,” Gabriel sighs.

Carlos groans again, moving his body to the side, as if he wanted to curl into himself and will the discomfort away. However, all he ends up doing is hissing in pain.

“Stay still, Carlos,” Gabriel warns and then turns to Mitchell. “Radio for EMS.”

She nods, getting to her feet and hauls the cuffed man away, pressing down on her radio to request medical and reports their location.

Gabriel then kneels next to his son and gently settles a hand behind his uninjured shoulder.

“Here, let me help you sit up,” Gabriel says, and receives a nod from Carlos.

Carlos lifts his good arm and wraps his fingers around his father’s wrist for leverage, and mostly using Gabriel’s strength and with the Ranger’s support on his back, they manage to get Carlos up and sitting in a swift but careful motion, but even the slight jostling sends sharp stabbing like pains through Carlos’s arm and shoulder that have him groaning again.

“You okay?” Gabriel asks, his voice coated with worry, hating to see his son in pain.

“Yeah,” Carlos replies a few moments after collecting his breath, his voice shakier than he intended.

His good arm goes back to holding his other, and Gabriel keeps his hand on Carlos’s back, supporting Carlos both literally and figuratively. A part of Gabriel knows that Carlos can very well tumble backwards if it weren’t for his support and it’s also to remind for Carlos that he isn’t alone.

Gabriel looks up when he senses quick movement approaching and sees the paramedics jogging towards them.

“Major Reyes,” TK is the first to speak, his grip on the medkit strap tightening.

Gabriel can pin point the moment TK realizes it’s Carlos who is injured, by the way the young paramedic’s breath hitches and eyes go wide. But he also quickly observes how TK is doing his best to keep himself composed, focused and professional, and to not let his emotions cloud him or cause him to freeze.

“He tackled the suspect and hit his shoulder and arm on the ground,” Gabriel tells them, his eyes moving back to Carlos.

“Hi babe,” TK meets Carlos’s eyes as he kneels next to him, his green irises radiating worry.

The officer gives him the best smile he could muster in hopes of easing the panic he can see drawn on TK’s face.

“How are you doing?”

Carlos swallows. “Okay.”

“How’s your pain?” Tommy asks next, her voice calm and motherly.

Gabriel notices how TK’s eyes keep moving from unpacking the equipment they need to Carlos, emitting fear and worry. He can see how TK takes some comfort from the fact that Carlos is sitting up, awake and alert, but Gabriel can also tell it’s still not quite enough to completely relieve the young man’s anxiety at seeing Carlos injured, judging by the strain in his shoulders as he works.

“Uh…the pain is maybe a seven? Eight?”

TK’s eyes roam over Carlos’s face, studying him and finds sweat collecting on Carlos’s forehead. His eyes then move down to his middle, where Carlos is holding himself a little unnaturally and taking shallow breaths, TK creasing his eyebrows at the realization.

“Carlos, does anything else hurt?” TK asks, worry evident in his voice.

“My back and down my side,” Carlos winces around a breath. “Breathing hurts a little. It’s like…every breath echoes into my back and it’s like a stabbing pain.”

TK nods and with the help of Gabriel, they gently remove Carlos’s kevlar vest and then TK moves to lift Carlos’s uniform shirt.

He knew to expect a bruise there, Carlos’s momentum when he hit the ground enough to cause that, but he still can’t help the sharp breath he draws in when his eyes land on the dark red bruise already formed down his boyfriend’s back and side.

TK sees Gabriel have the same reaction from the corner of his eye. He gently starts examining the bruise, lightly pressing down on the skin around it and Carlos lets out a low groan.

“I’m sorry, babe.”

Carlos nods, it’s okay.

As he lowers the shirt, TK shares a look with the Ranger and sees the same concern surging through his own body mirrored back at him.

“Cap, back and side are heavily bruised.”

Tommy nods in acknowledgment and then turns to Nancy when she speaks.

“Vitals are holding, Cap, a little low, but they’re stable,” Nancy reports.

Tommy nods again. “Lets see what we can do about that pain now, yeah, Carlos?”

Tommy tells Nancy to administer pain medication through the IV line she just inserted and secured. Carlos lets out a steady breath a few moments later.

“Better?” TK asks.

Carlos nods.

“That’s good,” TK gives him a smile.

“Okay, Carlos, we have to slip your shoulder back into the joint. It won’t be pleasant, the pain will only last for a few seconds though and the meds we gave you will help,” Tommy says.

Carlos nods. “Had a dislocated shoulder before.”

“Alright, then, you know the drill.”

TK moves to Carlos’s uninjured side as Gabriel gets up and steps back, giving them space to work. Tommy now opposite TK, together they get ready, positioning Carlos and TK takes Carlos’s uninjured hand into his own, giving it a squeeze.

After a moment or two, Tommy starts counting and in between the second and third count, she expertly reduces the dislocation and Carlos’s shoulder pops back into the socket.

Carlos’s knuckles go white as his grip on TK’s hand tightens, the seconds of pain causing him to squeeze TK’s hand with everything he’s got. He feels TK run his thumb over his skin as the wave of pain begins to wash away.

“All done,” Tommy smiles at Carlos. “It’s going to be tender and sore for a few days, so take it easy,” she gives him a pointed look.

“Reminds me of an exact same conversation we had a few years ago, that time he sprained his ankle and wanted to walk around the ranch to fix some holes in the fence,” Gabriel says, his tone playful and a little teasing. “We told him to take it easy and yet I found him limping down the stairs less than ten minutes later.”

“I just…like to be helpful and I hate it when an injury gets in the way of that.”

“I hear you, Carlos. But don’t push yourself or you might end up doing more damage. And in this case, it means complete minimal movement of your shoulder, and it’s best if you don’t use it at all for a few days,” Tommy says.

Carlos drops his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t forget, I know your boy really well,” Tommy turns to look at TK. “I’ve learned how to deal with a certain version of the phrase taking it easy.”

Gabriel chuckles again at Tommy’s comment, getting the sense that the two young men have more in common than he initially thought.

TK doesn’t argue, instead he reaches for the arm sling and Gabriel watches as he carefully helps Carlos put it on, securing his arm against his chest and tightening the strap so his arm is properly supported.

“There,” TK says. “And take it easy,” he winks at Carlos.

Carlos chuckles and nods.

Gabriel himself relaxes a little more after watching the exchange, seeing how both Carlos and TK were a little more at ease now that the officer was a little better. He can still see concern at the edges of TK’s eyes and on his face, but he supposes it will be a few days until the remnants of worry are completely gone.

“Can you walk to the ambulance?” Tommy asks.

Carlos frowns, eyes going to his father and then TK. “I thought we were done.”

TK shakes his head. “We still need to take you to the hospital, get some x rays to make sure everything is okay and to check on your muscles and ligaments, too. It’s precautionary, just to make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be and nothing on the inside has been injured in the fall.”

Carlos sighs and nods.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Gabriel says once they get Carlos inside to rig and TK hops in after him.

“Dad, it’s okay,” Carlos starts from where he’s lying upright on the gurney.

Gabriel’s shake of his head stops the officer. “I’ll meet you at the hospital,” he repeats.

“Okay, sir,” Carlos gives him a grateful smile.

Carlos is pretty exhausted and sleeps during the ride to the hospital, TK keeping a steady hold on his hand the whole way, grounding him and giving him comfort.

Carlos is taken to an exam room upon arrival, the nurses allow TK to stay with him while Tommy and Nancy are told to stay in the waiting area, which is where Gabriel finds them ten minutes after their arrival.

“Major Reyes,” Tommy says once she spots him. “Carlos is being examined right now, TK is with him and he’ll come with updates.”

Gabriel nods and takes a seat in one of plastic chairs, fishing his phone from his pocket to call his wife.

After reassuring Andrea that Carlos is okay and he’s being checked over and promising Carlos will call her as soon as he can, he hangs up in time to see TK walk over to them.

“The doctor’s initial exam shows that everything is fine, but they’re taking him to get an x ray to make certain,” TK explains.

“That’s good to hear,” Gabriel smiles, patting TK on the shoulder.

TK nods, returning the smile.

Carlos is back in the exam room shortly after, TK and Gabriel with him. Carlos is speaking to his father after finishing his call with Andrea when TK’s radio comes to life.

“It’s okay,” Carlos says before TK can apologize. “I’m fine, and the x ray is going to show just that.”

“I’ll take him home,” Gabriel nods.

“Oh,” Carlos frowns a little at a realization. “My car is at the precinct.”

“I can have dad take me there after shift and I’ll get it home,” TK says.

“Okay,” Carlos nods. “The keys are in my locker.”

TK nods, moving closer to Carlos. “I’ll see you at home,” he takes Carlos’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

“I’ll see you at home, babe,” Carlos squeezes back. “Go save lives.”

“Bye, Mr. Reyes,” TK waves as he walks towards the door.

“Bye, TK. Stay safe,” Gabriel replies.

TK nods again and with one last look at Carlos, who is still smiling and gives him a nod himself, TK turns on his heels and walks through the hospital, meeting his team outside.

*****

“Babe, I’m home,” TK calls out as he walks through the door, dropping the keys into the bowl sitting on the table next to the door.

He immediately spots Carlos in the kitchen by the fridge, who smiles widely upon seeing TK.

“Hey, babe,” Carlos replies, closing the fridge door. “How was the rest of shift?”

“You should be resting,” TK raises his eyebrows as he walks over to Carlos. “It was fine, a little slow towards the end.”

“I am, resting that is, I was just getting some orange juice,” Carlos replies. “Welcome home,” he whispers before returning the soft kiss TK leans in for.

TK sighs into the kiss, a hand going to cup Carlos’s cheek. He pulls back slightly to plant another kiss to Carlos’s lips, both of them pouring their everything into it, feeling each other, reassuring each other.

“Hi,” TK whispers when they pull apart, resting his forehead against Carlos’s.

“Hi yourself,” Carlos whispers back, a small smile spreading on his face.

“How are you feeling?” TK asks, a thumb caressing Carlos’s cheek.

“Okay,” Carlos replies. “Me and dad ordered pizza. You know, one of the easier things to eat with…” he trails off, gesturing to his sling.

TK nods.

“Definitely easier than changing out of your uniform with a sore shoulder,” Carlos shakes his head. “And showering.”

TK frowns, eyes turning sad at the thought of Carlos in pain, but Carlos quickly goes to reassure TK.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle though,” Carlos says. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“I know, I just…I hate that you got hurt,” TK sighs, face falling and eyes going to Carlos’s injured arm.

It’s Carlos’s turn to gently cup TK’s face and guide him to look into his eyes.

“Hey,” Carlos soft calls. “I’ll be good as new in no time. A couple of weeks and I go for a check up and we take it from there.”

TK nods, eyes not leave Carlos’s, almost afraid that Carlos would somehow disappear if he looks away.

“Okay,” Carlos says as he closes the gap between them with another kiss.

Before either of them say anything else, TK’s stomach rumbles and reminds him that he’s very hungry. Carlos lifts an eyebrow, making TK chuckle.

“I ordered a pizza for you too, I put it in the oven to keep it warm,” Carlos adds.

“My savior,” TK brushes a kiss to Carlos’s cheek.

“Hm, if I recall correctly, you saved me today,” Carlos responds.

“Well, call it even,” TK smiles. “I’ll go take a quick shower then I can eat and we can carefully cuddle and watch a movie.”

“Exactly what I need.”

TK, however, doesn’t move and keeps watching Carlos.

“TK?” Carlos questions, his face turning into one of confusion.

“I’m not going until I’m sure you’re sitting safely on the couch,” TK shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Taking it easy, remember? I don’t want you hurting your shoulder again, and your parents hearing about it…I do not want to receive that phone call.”

Carlos playfully rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Okay, I’m going.”

He grabs the full glass of orange juice off the counter and walks over the couch, setting the cup down on the table and then lowering himself down on the fluffy cushion.

“Safe and sound. Now go shower,” Carlos gestures towards the bathroom. “I miss you and your cuddles.”

“Give me ten minutes,” TK smiles as he walks over to Carlos, dropping a kiss to the top of his head and then to his injured shoulder.

As promised, they’re cuddling thirty minutes later. TK had finished eating and went to grab a couple of water bottles before gently sitting on Carlos’s unhurt side. He lifts his arm for Carlos to come closer and TK carefully places his hand over Carlos’s injured shoulder, mindful not to add any pressure there.

Carlos snuggles against his boyfriend, pressing a light kiss to TK’s neck and then resting his head there. He closes his eyes as he breaths TK in, his mint scented body wash fresh and captivating. That’s what home smells like to Carlos now.

Carlos hums happily when TK starts carding his fingers through his loose soft curls, and TK smiles, knowing very well how that gesture calms the officer and relaxes him.

“How’s your back, baby? I know the doctor said the bruising isn’t as bad as we thought but are you in pain?”

“It’s okay, as long as I don’t move too much, I’m not in a lot of pain. And the doctor prescribed a gel that should make it better.”

TK sighs.

“Baby, it’s just cause it’s only been a few hours since…and sleep is going to help. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll ice it for you and apply the gel before we sleep. Is there anything you need right now?”

Carlos looks up at TK from his position. “I’ve got everything I need right here. You’re all I need, Ty, anytime, anywhere.”

“You’ve got me, ‘Los, always.”

TK plants a kiss to Carlos’s forehead, his lips lingering there for a few extra moments. He needs to know that Carlos is really, truly okay, he needs to feel Carlos, and Carlos understands. So he tries to move even closer to TK without pain flaring up across his body.

“My dad was impressed by you, you know,” Carlos says after a few minutes of them watching the movie in silence.

“Me?”

Carlos nods. “With how you handled everything and stayed calm.”

“Oh, no, I was freaking out,” TK replies.

“I mean, he told me he could see how you were shaken up when you realized it was me, but you didn’t let that cloud you or get in the way. You stayed calm through the panic, stayed professional and held your ground even though you were freaking out on the inside. You controlled it, and he told me he’s rarely seen people be able to do that,” Carlos explains.

“Well, I had to make sure you come out of it okay.”

“And he’s also very grateful for that. My mom, too. I could hear it in her voice, she felt better when I told her you took care of me,” Carlos continues.

TK feels his heart warm at the knowledge of Gabriel and Andrea’s support and appreciation. It uplifts him and makes him incredibly happy, and he’s even happier knowing how much their approval of him means to Carlos.

“I was honestly just too focused on the pain so I wasn’t paying much attention to anything around, I hate that you had to see me hurt, but I’m also glad it was you at the scene. Because once I knew it was you next to me, I felt safe. I knew I was safe,” Carlos expresses.

“I’ll be here, always,” TK vows. “Through it all, I’ll always be right by your side.”

“And I will always be right by yours,” Carlos vows back.

“Just, let me take care of you, please. You’ve always taken great care of me, and of everyone really, it’s who you are and I know how important it is to you. But remember, baby, it’s okay to rely on others too, to get help when you need it,” TK says.

Carlos stays silent for a few moments, brushing his fingers over the material of his sweats. “It’s not…the easiest thing for me, doing that,” he eventually replies.

“I know and that’s okay, babe,” TK reassures him. “It starts with small steps. Besides, I always want to pamper my wonderful boyfriend.”

That makes Carlos smile and he nods. “Okay, I’ll work on it.”

They seal their promises with a passionate kiss, each of them giving as well as they’re receiving, immersed in each other in every possible way.

“That also wasn’t the first time I freaked out on that call,” TK admits when they separate.

Carlos sits up, facing TK and frowns a little.

“They called for medical after you reported shots were fired and it was another officer who requested EMS and…I freaked out. I was heard the call and I terrified you were hurt,” TK sighs.

“Oh, babe,” Carlos says softly. “That’s completely understandable. It all happened so quickly, the shots, Ryan getting hit in the vest…next thing I knew, I could hear Robert call for medical and I was already after the suspects. But hey, if I were hurt then, you would have taken great care of me, like you always do,” he strokes over TK’s hand with his thumb. “Like you did.”

TK nods, but his eyes glisten with unshed tears, making the green of his irises even brighter than normal.

“It just scares me,” TK sniffs.

“I know, and I’m scared for you, too. I can’t promise I won’t get hurt again, but what I can promise, is that I will always fight to come home to you,” Carlos replies.

“I promise the same,” TK reciprocates. “Always.”

Carlos leans in, touching his forehead to TK’s and closes his eyes, taking comfort in the way TK gravitates towards him and his touch. “I’m okay, you’re okay…we’re okay, baby.”

TK closes his eyes as well, and they breathe together, anchoring each other, hearts beating as one.

“So,” TK starts when they separate, intertwining his fingers with Carlos’s. “What’s that story about you trying to walk around to fix the ranch fence with a sprained ankle?”

Carlos chuckles and settles back against TK’s chest, resting his head against his shoulder.

“Well, I was eighteen and I had taken a bad tackle during a football game the day before…”

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theclockworkmonk · 4 years ago

Text

Out of the Mouths of Babes — Chapter 3

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Chapter 1 on Tumblr

Chapter 2 on Tumblr

Written for Hinny Ficfest 2021 (I know it's unacceptable I'm still working on this, but I got distracted by other prompts)

Prompt: “Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

******

Harry and Ginny landed on the path leading up through the Burrow's garden, and they were already feeling more at home than they even felt in their own flat. They approached the door to the kitchen smiling and holding hands, but before Ginny could reach the doorknob, the door flew open and the fast, blurry form of her mother tackled her into a crushing hug that knocked the wind out of Ginny.

"Oh my girl!" Molly Weasley sobbed into her daughter's shoulder. "My dear little girl!"

"Mum!" Ginny gasped weakly, swatting her mother's back as she started to feel light headed. "Mum! Air!"

Molly finally released her and Ginny took a gasping breath.

"Is something wrong, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked quickly, his expression quickly becoming focused and alert.

"Yeah, is there another Dark Lord already? Bloody hell," said Ginny, rubbing her crushed ribs.

"Oh no, no, it's nothing," Molly sniffed, waving dismissively with one hand and wiping tears away from her eyes with the other. "I'm just so happy to see you both, it's been weeks."

"It's been exactly three weeks for Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, and one week for me," Harry pointed out. He had never seen her react so fiercely, even when seeing her children for the first time after being away at school for a year."

"Oh you know me, just being silly," chuckled Molly. "Come on in, dinner is almost ready."

The three of them entered the kitchen, and Harry reflexively reached for his wand as his fledgling Auror senses kicked in. The atmosphere in the room was nearly identical to what he had felt in interrogation rooms. Every man in the room was looking either angry or nervous, with the exception of George, who was biting his knuckle and looking like he was trying not to laugh. He tried to meet Ron's eyes, but his best friend was too distracted by his mother's famous scones. Hermione greeted him with a grateful smile, and Harry got the impression that she had noticed it too. She was the only one who hadn't touched her firewhiskey, tapping the glass with her finger nervously.

After fidgeting for a few seconds, Percy shot up out of his seat, looking too antsy to keep still, and approached the newcomers with two glasses of firewhiskey in his hands. "Er...care for a drink?"

"...Sure," said Harry cautiously, "Thanks." He took the glass offered to him.

Ginny assumed the other glass was for her, and her hand moved an inch to take it, but before she could, Percy turned away and kept it for himself, taking the largest gulp that Ginny had ever seen him take.

Ginny huffed and pursed her lips. Apparently, after bloody everything, her brothers still saw her as just a kid, to the point where it didn't even occur to them that maybe she wanted a stiff drink too. She was just about to let them all know exactly what she thought of that, when the second frantic mother in as many minutes accosted her.

"Ginny!" cried Fleur loudly as she entered from the sitting room, holding Victoire in her arms, presumably after feeding the baby upstairs. Fleur made a beeline for Ginny and tackled her into a one-armed hug, then planted two hard kisses on either of her cheeks.

"Er….nice to see you too," said Ginny uncomfortably, her face turning red. Ginny and Fleur had gotten friendlier since the war ended, but this level of affection was certainly unheard of.

"You are beautiful, Ginevra," said Fleur with a beaming smile, "Radiant! Come, I 'ave somezing upstairs I need your 'elp with."

"Fleur…" said Bill, his voice laced with warning.

"I just need 'elp wiz ze packing," she said dismissively, handing her daughter to her husband. Before Ginny could express displeasure at being roped into work before she could say a word to her family, Fleur had taken her by the hand and begun leading her up the stairs. They stopped at Bill and Charlie's old bedroom, which by now was more of a storage space to shove things the family didn't have a space for. When Fleur opened the door, Ginny saw the old beds covered in several wardrobes worth of colorful, expensive-looking outfits. Ginny recognized them as Fleur's maternity clothes.

"I am finally getting to packing away all of zis," Fleur explained, pointing towards several open cardboard boxes. "Ze sorting should go faster with ze two of us."

"Okay," said Ginny uncertainly, "Why now? And do you want me specifically?"

"Oh, well," Fleur shrugged, "Eet just seemed the right time, zey 'ave been sitting up here for ages. And I am letting Bill spend time with his brozzers, and your maman….well, it is best if ze two of us avoid zis topic, or she will be lamenting zat I will not be putting all zis to use again soon enough."

"Ugh, I know," Ginny groaned. "She really has been smothering you, hasn't she?"

That was enough to make Ginny sympathize with her sister-in-law, and she set to work sorting, folding, and packing away the absurd mountain of clothes. Of course Fleur had to invest in a whole new wardrobe for just a few months, all from the same high-end French designers she got all her clothes from.

Ginny chuckled and shook her head.

"What is funny?" asked Fleur.

"It's just...maternity clothes are supposed to be frumpy, right? But even your maternity clothes are more glamorous and sexy than what I wear normally," Ginny laughed.

"Oh. Well…" Fleur said in a sing-song voice, "Eef you see anyzing zat you liiiike…."

"I don't think it would make much difference if they sat in my closet for several years instead of yours," laughed Ginny. "Hermione's the one who's already engaged, she's probably the one who will need these next."

There was a beat of silence, so Ginny looked up from the clothes she was folding towards Fleur, and was surprised to see the other woman looking at her with sadness and disappointment, chewing her painted lip with worry.

"Ginny…" Fleur said softly, gently squeezing Ginny's shoulder. "I like to zink zat we 'ave become closer zese last few years. I 'ope zat we can trust one anozzer. We can tell each ozzer zings and know zat eet will stay between us."

Ginny blinked at Fleur silently. "Er...thanks, Fleur, that...means a lot."

Fleur smiled again, but was still looking at Ginny expectantly, like she expected her to say something equally earnest, and the younger witch was growing more uncomfortable.

"Well, uh, anyway, I don't want to sound like my mum, but it is kind of surprising you're packing these away," Ginny said forcefully, trying to change the subject as she turned back to the clothes. "I never figured you and Bill would stop at one. I always pictured you having a whole proper Weasley litter. If nothing else, you need to have more just so that Vic isn't the only grandchild anymore, so she's not doted to death by my mum."

"Oh, zere is plenty of time for more children for us in years to come," said Fleur, waving her hand, "...and as for Victoire being ze only grandchild," she elbowed Ginny in the ribs playfully, "a leetle bird told me zat she will not 'ave zat title for long."

Ginny jerked so violently she nearly ripped the expensive blouse she was holding, spinning to face Fleur with her eyes wide and her mouth gaping. She saw that mischievous glint in Fleur's eye that she alway got when she had a piece of family gossip.

"WHAT!?" Ginny shrieked. "Who — how do you know—"

"Shhh," Fleur placed a finger against Ginny's lips. "Zere is no need to say anyzing." She gave the confused girl a cheeky wink and continued with the clothes as if she hadn't just dropped a world-shattering bomb on her poor sister-in-law. Ginny's heart was pounding and her mind was racing, which Fleur was no doubt aware of and was thoroughly enjoying having a piece of gossip that Ginny was desperate for.

But Ginny wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of begging for it. It couldn't be that hard to figure out who Fleur was talking about.

Percy hadn't had a single date since the war ended, as far as Ginny knew. He was still beating himself up for abandoning the family to think he deserved anything good in his life.

George had been spending a lot of time with Angelina lately, but they weren't even officially together yet. And if they had that kind of accident, Fleur wouldn't be the first in the family to know about it. George might have gone to Bill for advice, but Bill would take that seriously enough to not share it with anyone, even his wife.

Charlie couldn't have kids since the incident with the angry Ukrainian Ironbelly.

But that would only leave…

Ginny gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. It all made sense now. Ron suddenly talking about leaving the Aurors just to work in the joke shop. That completely clashed with the Ron she knew, who hated being put on the sidelines while others were in danger, and who hated being in the twins' shadow even more…

But it made perfect sense if he needed a less dangerous job with more stable hours. Something one would want if they were expecting a baby.

Fleur looked regretful about pushing Ginny's buttons, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I did not mean to upset you, Ginny," she said softly, "forget I said anyzing."

Ginny idly nodded, but knew that she could never "forget" something like this.

Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, one of Ginny's best friends, was pregnant.

#hinny #hinny ficfest #hinny fanfiction #hinny fanfic #hp #harry potter #romione #hp fanfiction #hpfanfic #hinny fluff #harry potter fanfiction #harry and ginny #ao3 link #harry x ginny #ron x hermione #ron and hermione #romione fanfic

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donghyuckcuyhgnod · 4 years ago

Text

[5:12 pm]

to say that donghyuck was nervous was an understatement. sure, he hoped that your parents would like him—but would they approve of his lifestyle? being an idol, he knew he couldn’t be there for you as much as you both would have liked; yet, it was something the two of you were willing to sacrifice for your relationship. of course, you had told your parents all about the lovely donghyuck that you happened to call your boyfriend. you had been dating for nearly two years now, and he had yet to meet your parents. surely they hated him for that, right? however, you constantly assured him that they knew he was an idol with very limited free time, and they understood.

he previously had some brief conversations with your mother over the phone a few times, but his nerves were still shaking and his heart was still hammering in his chest at the thought of your family not liking him. you had grown close with his, and he hoped that your parents and siblings loved him just as much as his family loved you. noticing the silence in the car (your boyfriend was never silent), you glanced over at him only to see his eyes shaking and his eyebrows furrowed, clearly deep in thought. his eyes were trained on the road, both of his hands gripping the steering wheel.

“hyuck,” you called out softly, his eyes darting to yours for a split second, his features immediately softening at the sight of your comforting smile. he knew that look; it was the calm down, everything’s going to be fine look. he had seen it plenty of times, mainly when he was nervous before performing and you were there to calm his nerves. you were good at that.

responding to your unspoken words, he sighed. “i know, i know. i’m just nervous, okay? i mean, how could i not be? i’m meeting your entire family tonight. including your siblings. oh, god! what if your older brother hates me? i’m dead meat.”

you chuckled, “hyuck, my brother loves nct’s music. he’ll probably be fanboying over you the second you walk into my house.” hyuck groaned in frustration, letting his head fall to the steering wheel while at a red light. you smiled, secretly enjoying the rare show of hyuck’s nervous habits. you thought it was kind of cute how much he wanted to make a good impression on your family.

donghyuck let out a shaky breath when the two of you pulled up to your house, a light smile taking over your features as you inspected the place where you grew up. after moving to seoul for your internship at sm entertainment, you weren’t really given the time to visit your family, for they were nearly a three hour drive from the city you now called home. still, a sense of nostalgia washed over you. you missed your family dearly.

“ready, baby?” you said, unbuckling yourself as you climbed out of the car, smoothing down your skirt and eyeing your boyfriend with amusement.

“not at all,” he muttered, before stepping out of the car as well. you chuckled, making your way to his side and stepping in front of him.

“i know you’re nervous, hyuckie, but don’t be. they’re gonna love you,” you said, trailing your hand up his arm, lightly caressing his hot, blushing cheek at the nickname that only you called him. he wrapped his arms around your middle, snuggling into you and taking a deep breath. you cooed at him, one hand rubbing comforting circles on his back and the other playing with the ends of the hair on his neck.

you took ahold of his cheeks, forcing him to pull away from you. he closed his eyes, resting his forehead on yours as he sighed in contentment, and for a moment, all of his worries were forgotten. the only thing he cared about was the way your embrace felt like home to him, and he wondered if you felt the same despite the inviting house that you stood in front of. your lips felt like a warm blanket on a cold winter night, wrapping him in the utmost of comfort and warmth when connected with his. the soft sweater you wore that was bunched in his hands felt like a cloud, the smell of your laundry detergent and soft vanilla perfume filling his scents with everything that reminded him of you.

“i love you. no matter what happens,” you whispered, breaking the soft and gentle kiss between the two of you. you pressed a featherlight kiss to his nose, his eyes shining underneath the golden rays of the sky as the sun began to set. he nodded, giving himself a mini pep-talk before following you to your doorstep with his hand tightly grasping yours. he put on the kindest smile he could muster, unaware of the ten eyes sneakily watching the two of you through the living room window, smiles on all five of their faces.

–

your family sure did love donghyuck, alright.

“you were so cute as a baby, y/n. what happened?” your boyfriend teased you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. your younger brother, aged twelve, laughed at the joke. you playfully rolled your eyes, pushing his shoulder lightly as he chuckled, giving your younger brother a high five. you continued to look through your baby photos on your living room couch. you felt completely at ease in your beloved home, surrounded by your family who you loved dearly. even better, you were sharing this moment with the love of your life. you were in heaven.

“oppa, look what i found!” your seven-year-old sister yelled, running down the stairs with two barbie dolls in hand. she giggled, “this one looks like you!” she shoved the tan, brunette ken doll into his hands, her eyes crinkling in happiness and delight as he smiled at her.

“you’re right, it kind of does!” he said enthusiastically, despite the fact that the ken doll did not, in fact, look anything like your boyfriend. the young girl was cute for trying, though. “and she looks just like you!” he gasped in fake disbelief, pointing to the other barbie doll in her hand. she giggled, giving him the biggest and shiniest eye-smile as she plopped on the couch right next to donghyuck, shyly looking up at him. you cooed at the sight.

“looks like you’ve got some competition, sis,” your brother says, older by three years. you laughed, causing donghyuck’s ears to perk up. diverting his attention from your little sister who was desperately trying to play barbies with him, he looked at your smiling figure and his heart nearly burst out of his chest. you were laughing with your brother (although, he wasn’t sure what about; and frankly, he didn’t care at the moment), and donghyuck thinks that he’s never seen someone so beautiful. after getting to know your family while eating the delicious meal that your mother had made, it all made sense to him.

your kindness, and the way you talked to others all made sense when he had met your parents. the way they welcomed him with open arms made him feel like he was already part of the family. the same smile that made his heart run a mile a minute whenever you looked at him was the same smile that your mother greeted him with. the kind glimmer in your eyes that donghyuck could get lost in was the same look in your father’s eyes—nice to finally meet you, son.

the way your younger siblings clearly admired you like no other, and the proud look in your older brother’s eyes when you talked about your experience as an intern while passing him the mashed potatoes. all of it; the family portraits hung on the wall, the coziness of the home you grew up in. donghyuck could only imagine your memories in the house, and it created an unexplainably intimate feeling in his heart. the overall atmosphere of a simple, yet tightly knit home—it radiated you. seeing you like this, in a way, made donghyuck feel even closer to you.

he didn’t realize he was staring at you with a smile on his face until you poked his cheek. “hyuck? are you okay?” you lightly chuckled, “you’ve been staring at me for two minutes, now.”

“right, yeah, sorry,” he breathily laughed, his cheeks flaring up with a red tint, shaking the overwhelming feelings of you out of his head. “i’m fine. i’m perfect, actually.”

“okay, whatever you say,” you teased, pinching his flushed cheeks and causing him to scrunch his face in displeasure. suddenly, your mother called you from the kitchen, asking for your help with the dessert she was almost done preparing. you happily complied, a sweet sure thing, mom! escaping your lips.

“i’ll be right back, baby. just keep these demons occupied for me,” you jokingly pleaded, causing donghyuck to laugh a little at your words. he happily nodded, before you kissed him on the cheek and made your way to the kitchen. he watched as you disappeared from his side, smiling to himself.

“you’re really whipped for my little sister, huh?” your older brother said from the other side of the living room, crossing his arms with a teasing glint. donghyuck nervously laughed, scratching the back of his neck in a nervous manner. he looked down at his shoes in slight embarrassment, your brother smiling knowingly at the shy boy.

donghyuck sighed, “you have no idea.”

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poptod · 4 years ago

Note

hello! i'd like to make an ahkmenrah x reader request! maybe present-day reader gets teleported back in time to when ahkmenrah was alive and they eventually get to the palace and stuff happens? maybe they tell him about modern life? and maybe reader is unnaturally beautiful to the ancient egyptians because humans evolve to be more attractive as time goes on so a person from our time would be hot shit 4,000 years ago? this is long lmao. thanks!

Notes: god ive always wanted to do this kind of storyline but i was worried about like,, logic and stuff getting in the way of the storyline. anyway! i was so fucking elated to receive this request. i got a bit carried away so apologies! WC: 3.2k

Okay. It isn't that bad.

Would you ever see your family again? Probably not, but you weren't ruling the possibility out.

Would you ever get to have sour patch kids again? Probably not. But even during the time you lived in 2020, you had eaten more concentrated sour patch kids flavor than all of the people around you combined.

This little village on the outskirts of ancient Thebes is hardly L.A.––though that's probably a good thing––and is small enough for you to know every inhabitant. Your shop there is small to suit the town, and well known ever since your arrival in this time.

They found you beside the river, thought you to be a gift from the Gods. You were hazy, though––whatever had so forcefully pushed you back in time had made your head spin, making you sick and unbalanced. So, when they asked if you did in fact come from the Gods, you had no way of defending yourself either way. Generally you've been denying it––they think you are a god, and the only way you've convinced them you're not a god is by saying you're a gift from them. It explains the way you look, unnaturally beautiful and alien amongst the more pure genetics of earlier humans.

Your shop is pretty simple. You make portraits from paint, more realistic than anything else that exists, and it only affirms their belief in your god-like status. Fortunately word seems to not have gotten out––the village has remained small, and no one from Thebes has run into you. Every now and then you get unreasonably anxious that a noble will find you and turn you into a slave. It's a worry most people around you have, so you find comfort in the fact that you're not the only one. Still, you're not quite accustomed to such an atmosphere––the thought of nobles and Kings noticing you still sends terrified aches into your stomach.

It's about two weeks in that it gets bad. People start to pass by the village, more than you would've thought, and they're all looking to trade goods, food, and information. The people of the village talk about you––you're something interesting, you can't deny that, but they don't know just how worried you are. Whenever you see someone you don't recognize outside your home, you refuse to come out.

Five days later and there's soldiers in your home, looking over your paintings on their way back to Memphis from conquering the realm of Kush. You hold a deep contempt for them––you don't know all that much about history, but you know how Egyptian soldiers and Pharaohs reigned power over the people of Kush.

The soldiers aren't all that worrying. What really gets your heart pounding is the final man to enter your hut; a man bearing a crown and a long sword, with golden braces around his wrists and a chest plated in green scales. Your fingers dig into the wood of your counter when he notices you. The crown on his head––it's the crown of both upper and lower Egypt.

This is a Royal.

"Where did you learn this skill?" He asks you, eyes trained on one of your bigger drawings. It's just on papyrus––not for sale––and hung on the wall as a display of your talent.

"I spent a little while travelling the world," you answer. Technically, growing up in the modern world was a bit like travelling the world; you got to see the cultures and practices of many, many people. "The rest of it's practice."

"The peasants here, they... they claim you came from the Nile. Is that true?"

"Well... that is where I was found," you say carefully, but you can already tell you've fucked up. The look on his face is indescribable beyond the fact that he's pleased.

"How would you feel coming back to the capital with me?" He offers to you, setting his hands on the counter and leaning forward. "I think my father would much like to meet you."

"I – I don't think I'm really cut out for -"

"Nonsense," he dismisses with a smile, taking your hand from its' spot on the wood. "We shall teach you proper writing skills, give you a beautiful home, and the salary isn't horrid either."

You can't just say no. If you do, he's going to ask questions––he's going to get confused, and he's going to get suspicious. No one would turn down an opportunity like this; free schooling, free housing, and much more money for something you already do.

"Well... alright," you say quietly, looking to the home around you that you built with the help of the other villagers.

"Wonderful. My name is Kamun."

He's not a very nice person, you come to find. Or perhaps he's just not your tastes––the soldiers seem to like him well enough, at least the ones who aren't completely subordinate to him, but his attitude towards women and poor people is scathing to say the least. Otherwise he's very amusing, with a good sense of humor and quite generous with his food and wine as long as he gets his fill of it first.

The boat back to Memphis, where the royal family currently stays, is a long ride filled with various entertainments. It's clear these are not soldiers accustomed to rough conditions––the dancing women and flowing beer is enough to tell you that. Instead, you surmise these are faux war-heroes; people adored in their hometown for doing nothing but intimidating others in a foreign country. They try to get cushy with you, soften you up to their words and touches. It doesn't work.

He keeps you close to him. You let him do it, sort of––it's better than telling him no. Better than starting a ruckus. Then again, avoiding a ruckus is what got you here in the first place, standing before the doors of the courtroom where a false God on earth rules the Nile.

"Father, I bring you a gift from Thebes," says Kamun, pushing you forward by the small of your back. You can't bring yourself to meet the Pharoah's eye, so you fall to your knees and bow.

Everyone is staring at you. You don't look normal, and they all know it, and you know it. You could cry from the heat of their eyes on your back.

One of Kamun's soldiers steps forwards, handing the Pharaoh and his wife several of the drawings they'd taken from you. Silence passes as the two scan your work.

"How did you achieve such a mirror of the human face?" The Pharaoh asks in a slow, deep voice that sounds as he looks––old, weathered, wise.

"They came from the Nile," Kamun answers for you, and murmurs take the crowd by storm. You, on the other hand, feel your heartbeat increase in massive increments, speeding your already uneven breath. "A gift from the Gods, the locals said."

"I can't – I am not magic," you rush out, hoping your clarification clears you of any responsibility to the Pharaoh. You know he rules everything––if he says you are to stay here, you have no choice, and you don't like it here. Too many people. "I cannot give you anything, my King."

"I think you're lying," says a voice, its' tone soft and a velvet low. It catches you off guard, brings you to raise your head and meet the eyes of someone you don't know; a young man dressed in gold beside the Pharaoh's throne.

You almost lose your breakfast as your eyes bulge, your mind instantly recognizing him and connecting the dots. You were, by far, not a historian, but you knew a fair amount of Egyptian history––namely a family in the Old Kingdom who was headed by the Pharaoh Merenkahre. The remaining statues and busts of the King and his son are astonishingly accurate, and there can be no doubt in your head.

That being said, there also can't be any reaction on your face. You try your best to reign your expression in.

"I..."

Actually, you do have something to offer now. You know the names––memorized the history, committed each event to memory, and now you can pull their lifestory off from the top of your head. Wouldn't that be valuable to a King; a seer of the future, to predict the rise and fall of the economy and the coming armies. Besides, you can't just say he's wrong. That'd be treasonous to them. So you have to agree you're hiding something, come up with an excuse as to why you hid it, and it proves harder than you thought. You're quickwitted, though––it got you away from the villager's wrath, and it will promote you to noble living now.

You hide a smirk beneath a calm expression as you address the younger prince.

"They gifted me foresight," you say quietly, pretending as though it hurts you to tell the truth, "but told me to never inform others."

"You are in the presence of Ra once more," the Pharaoh reminds you.

"And others," you point out. "I would... it would be better to discuss such matters.. in private."

Detailed information about already-past events is enough to sway him to believe you. The Pharaoh is surprisingly easy to convince, and with a few, meaningless predictions of the future, he gives you housing in his own palace. Kamun looks proud of himself––puffs his chest out in front of his father and earns no compliment. Ire laces his glare as it falls upon his brother, Ahkmen, praised for his ability to see through your obvious lie.

The Pharaoh asks his younger son to guide you to your room. Apparently it's closer to his room than it is to Kamun's, and evening is approaching fast. The walk there, while short, is marked by a conversation composed mainly of Ahkmen's questions and your answers. When the two of you reach your room, he doesn't leave––actually, he follows you in and locks the door.

There's nothing more terrifying than a man with unchecked power, and there is no one watching you.

No fail safe.

You gulp.

"I know you're still not telling the truth," he says, and though it dismisses several of your worries it still begs the question; how did he notice? "Just thought I'd spare you the embarrassment in front of my father, but my generosity ends there. Now I won't hurt you, and I won't tell anyone––I'm just curious."

Oh thank fuck. He's not going to rape you.

"I'm not Egyptian," you blurt out.

"Obviously," he interrupts, but you glare him into raising his hands defensively.

"I'm from the future."

He stares at you. For a minute. You know this because you count it––he just pauses right in his stance, doesn't move, and stares at you for a whole minute like you just told him you're made of gold.

"I'm sorry, what?" He says, laughter suddenly wracking his body.

"It's how I know what's going to happen to your family," you say, hoping he'll believe you. Otherwise this handsome, seemingly-nice man is going to think you're insane for the rest of time. "I studied your family for years as a side-hobby, I don't know how to predict the future for anything but you and your father."

His laughing pauses, or lightens at least; enough for him to say, "actually?"

"Yes," you say, completely serious. This seems to gain his interest once more. "You have to help me. I know at some point people are going to ask me questions about other things and I'm not going to have an answer."

"Just do what all our priests do," he says with a chuckle.

"What do they do?"

"Lie," he says. You can't stop the grin that spreads across your face from the stupid joke, and when he sees that a shit-eating grin spreads across his own face, delighted he could make you laugh.

"Yes, well... I guess I could do that," you mumble in a laugh.

"There's no need for you to worry. Now that I know the truth, I can help you," he says, offering you something that takes nearly all the anxiety out of your brain. After two days travel with a prince, it feels like it took 50 pounds off your shoulders.

"Thank you, so much," you chuckle in relief.

"Of course. I do have questions though, and I want you to answer them."

"Anything."

These questions of his, they come at all times––almost at a constant rate when he takes you on long walks, which he does often. He passes it off to his father as an interest in your beauty, and it apparently works. This little lie also helps you enormously in avoiding the romantic advances of many of the people you come into contact with. You're still not quite sure how it works, since Egyptians supposedly had a strong sense of patriotism, but you look rare and they idolize it. Every eye that falls upon you sees something beautiful, and you can't understand it.

At least Ahkmen is normal. He doesn't talk about you being beautiful. Ever.

And it kind of makes you sad.

"Would you say people on the whole are happier in the future or in the past?" He asks you, his words surrounded by the warmth of a summer day in Egypt.

Birds chatter loudly in the trees around you, singing in the humid air that marks the mating season for many of them. The flowers that surround you are already familiar––you thought it would take longer for you to commit the shapes and colors to memory, but here you are. Dressed in gold-laced silk and turquoise necklaces.

"I think the happiness of a population is dependent entirely on the circumstances surrounding it," you say. Sometimes your answers relate more to the human condition than the progress of time on the human race; he likes these answers, too, so you tell him exactly what you think. "Six thousand years from now, there are times of great misery. One is even called the Great Depression, but five years before that were some of the most prosperous times my country had ever seen. The same cycle is evident here."

"So.. great misery and great happiness come in waves?" He asks, pace slowing as he tries to understand what you're saying. You pause along the pathway, allowing him space to think.

"It's a pattern, actually. When the economy goes up, it will always come down. Recessions happen right after economical booms. And yes," you say before he can ask, "a time of unease will follow the prosperity of the current years. But it won't be for a time yet."

"Will it happen in my lifetime?"

He's murdered about three years from now. You think you might be able to stop it, but if you do, it'll alter history quite a lot. Either way, he wouldn't live long enough to see the recession the building of the great pyramids caused.

"No," you say. "But I'd prepare for it anyway, if only to keep your citizens safe."

"Of course. You... you are a great scholar," he tells you, resuming the slow walk down the shore of the Nile.

"Oh. Uh, thank you," you mumble as a blush fills your cheeks.

"What did you do in your time?"

"I was an artist, but I spent a lot of time giving lectures on the role of autistic people in ancient Egypt. Autistic people are often timekeepers," you say, and you know he'll figure out what you mean. Autistic isn't a term here, but many timekeepers of these ancient times were autistic, and considered highly by their societies.

"You might be able to give lectures again, if you'd like," he suggests. "People would come from far and wide to hear you speak. And you've got things to say that I know many scholars will find interesting."

"Mmm," you wince, "I kind of want to stay away from altering history too much."

"Oh, yes. My apologies," he says in a softer voice.

"It's alright," you say. "I'm glad you think I would be a good choice for that kind of thing, though."

He chuckles bashfully as he turns to the ground, scuffing his sandals as he walks.

Ahkmen is sweet––much sweeter than any of his family members, and you find yourself appreciating that every time you pass by his room. You pass his door often, always stopping a second to contemplate the tall, wooden doors. He's on the pathway between your room and the library.

Most of the time he's not in his room. Actually, you can usually find him in the library––there or outside in the markets or near the stalls. Today is different; he's been missing all day, and only when you walk the path back to your room do you hear his voice, talking to himself in his bedroom.

"They're bombarded with just such compliments, though. I can't – I can't stand out!"

"Or maybe you should, because you still haven't said a single thing yet and they probably think you're completely uninterested and that's why they aren't noticing you?"

"You and your... logic," Ahkmen spits.

"Come complaining when you kiss them under my advice."

As you attempt to peek through the crack in the door you stumble, knocking your hand against the wood. You barely hesitate before knocking again––cool and collected, smooth to slip into another lie.

"Oh! Hello, um – hi," he says awkwardly, slipping out of the room when he sees you. He quickly closes the door behind him, careful to keep you from seeing the other person in his room, but you can't bring yourself to care about the stranger.

Think of an excuse, why am I here?

"Oh, that's... I like your flower," he comments softly, eyes flickering between your eyes and the flower tucked into your hair. You'd forgotten about it, but raised your hand to touch the petals as you smiled. The perfect excuse

"Thank you. I thought you might like it, so I," you take it out of your hair and grab his hand, holding his palm upwards, "wanted to show you.. um, here."

Setting the flower in his hand, you curl his fingers around its' stem and push his hands back into his chest. He stares at you for a moment, confused by your strange behavior, but accepting of your gift anyway. You know him well enough now––he'd never decline a gift from you.

"A white iris," he tells you in a lofty tone. "A symbol of the dead. Funny it looks so lively on you."

You need to get out of here before your chest combusts.

"I need to go now, but I'll see you this evening, yes?" You ask, stepping instinctively closer. He doesn't back away.

"Of course. And, um," he takes your hands, keeps you where you stand as he slips the flower back behind your ear, "keep it. I want to see it on you at dinner."

He's close to you––close enough that it gets hard to distinguish his breath from your own, when you started holding his hand. When his other came up to your face. When he leans in and kisses your forehead. It's barely there, just barely, but there's no mistaking the soft plush, the affection clear behind gentle, precise movements.

You rush away the second he lets your hands go.

#ahkmenrah x reader #rami malek

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moonlit-mizukage · 4 years ago

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Chapter Fifteen: 1am Joyride

Summary: Y/l/n Y/n, a third year at Sakura High School, is just a girl with a bad attitude towards anyone outside her small circle. When y/n’s younger sister starts first year, she gains a lot of attention. Unfortunately for everyone in school, the Y/l/n household has one rule, No dating till y/n does. Some people become just desperate enough to pay the leader of the “Monsters”, the trouble making group on campus, to date y/n. What will happen when she finds out? (All characters aged up to third year unless otherwise stated)

TW: Swearing, mentions of violence, implied past abuse, parents not loving their children, abandonment, foster care, jail, death

AN: THIS CHAP IS A BACK STORY SO IF YOU ARE UNCOMFY I WILL POST A SMALL LINE FROM THEN END OF THISON THE NEXT ONE AS WELL!!! Sorry as well for not updating lots. Yeah girl has been dissociating so much and losing days. I blinked and now its friday at almost 3am. My even closes as well on the 21st so if you want to participate please check out this Prompt list!!

Word Count: 1.2K

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Y/N POV

I heard the rev of Tendou’s motorbike outside my window. I grabbed my jacket and Climbed out my open window. I took the lightest steps I could around and passed Mei’s window. I grabbed the tree and started to climb down. I walked up to Tendou.

“You look hot when you are angry babe.”

“Gross, let’s just get out of here.” I grabbed the helmet from his hands as I climbed on the back.

We rode down the rural neighbourhoods of the city. I never felt more relaxed than I did in that moment, my arms wrapped around him, the wind blowing on my body as we rode off. I wanted this moment to last. We soon stopped as Tendou reached for his helmet.

“This is my thinking spot. It’s usually quiet this time of night.” I took my helmet off and stepped off the bike.

“I didn’t expect you to be of all people to need a thinking spot. Though you just Monster listed them.”

“Unfortunately there's things the Monsters can’t always help with.” The atmosphere around him seemed to change to somewhat of a depressing vibe.

“I really liked being on the bike. I didn’t even notice we ended up going up a hill to this lookout point.”

“I knew you’d be distracted once you got to touch me.” He said with a wink as he pulled me into his arms. Our lips almost touched as he whispered. “Everytime I see you, you get more beautiful.”

“Gross.” I whispered back as we both went in for a kiss..

Tendou’s phone startled us as he pulled away.

“What is it?” He asked as he answered the phone. A few minutes of silence passed.

“No, I am at the lookout point. Can’t he just lie like he always does?” A deep sigh came from him as he heard the response.

“Just give him my special stash and tell him to give it to her only if she won't come back. Shes a fucking bitch anyways. No one is at a loss by this. What’s a few couple hundred to get a forever problem solved?” Tendou laughed at whoever was on the other side of the phone and hung up.

“Sorry Y/n. Monster shit never stops when Teru”s one time hook ups won’t stop coming back.”

“I don’t understand why you covered his ass. He’s going to act like a pig. He should deal with it on his own.” I slapped a hand over my mouth “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“I know you aren’t the only one who sees it that way but Teru and Mad have been here for me always. We used to be little brats back in our elementary days too. Teru was actually a Quiet little devil at first. I do admit we definitely have opposite opinions on girls' purpose. He did watch his mom go through boys every other day some new guy railing her in the kitchen when he got home from school. His mom told him if the sex isn’t an 10 then they are not worth it”

“How would he even know what a 10 is?’’

“I think he just does it to feel some kind of connection to a girl. In hope’s to find ‘The one’, he just wants to be loved and accepted by someone. He knows he's got us but he’s never felt loved by his mom, doesn’t even know who his dad is.”

“I had no idea, I feel terrible now” I said back to him. He pulled me closer to him again as he rested on the rail.

“He’s honestly such a good guy. All four of them are. Mad gets in a lot of fights because that's all he knew his entire childhood from his 3 older brothers used to fight him. His dad was about the same in that sense too. The reason he always punches instead of thinks before he acts is that is what he's been taught. He moved out of his house at 16 after we got some income and met the other two. Started to raise some hell in our school you know?”

“It makes sense why he always tries to fight everyone then.”I said back.

“Hanamaki though is a rich kid whose parents would rather pretend he doesn’t exist. He lived with his grandma on the other side of Tokyo till she passed away in the last year of middle school. Now they buy him whatever he wants while they live who knows where in the world. Him and Matsukawa have been friends since elementary though, Matsun even followed him to Highschool cause he got expelled the last day of school for setting a classroom on fire smoking too close to some curtains. Matsukawa though also didn’t have a good upbringing. His mom left him at 2 years old outside a random house with a note saying she never wanted him. It took 4 years for him to find his father, by then the kid already had some damage because of the system. His dad worked too much to see it for himself though. That just made his choice to move in with Maki much easier for him. That's how we all kinda met though, our broken homes.” Tendou finished, as he turned away and looked out at the view.

“What’s your story Satori?” I asked him.

“My father’s in jail, my mother is dead.”

“Holy shit, I am so sorry Satori.”

“I spent most of my childhood jumping from foster home to foster home. I was a demon spawn though. Always making sure they would move me around. Getting my nickname Guess Monster cause no one knew what I would do next. I live with my grandma now.” He said.

“I am sorry I always called you the second biggest asshole on earth. I had no idea.” He just laughed knowing I meant Oikawa as number one.

“And how about you y/n? What’s your story?”

“Um, my mom left us for a guy in Paris when I was young. I was basically raising Mei as my child, with my father being a doctor he's usually never home. Well till I started dipping on her for Oikawa. Now she hates my guts and my father spoils her so much cause he feels bad about missing out so much.”

“Wait Oikawa? I thought you always hated him” He said. I began to explain to him the same story I had told Mei earlier the night. “I always knew he was a piece of shit.”

“If only Mei did. That’s why we fought too.” Tendou pulled me in closer again. He smiled at me as he gave his signature smile.

“It’s nice to have someone to trust outside of my circle again.” He pulled me into a passionate kiss….

The night continued for a bit longer as he brought me back home once again. I got off his bike and looked down at him as he took his helmet off and stood up.

“Satori.”

“Yes Y/n?”

“You were right, I did fall for you.” With that I placed a passionate kiss on his lips again. I pulled away and turned around to begin to climb back into my house...

_______________________________________________________________

Previous | Masterlist | Next

An: My mobile tumblr wont let my fix things so links on all “next” buttons will be fixed when it stops being this T^T

Taglist: @belongtothewcrld @elianetsantana @its-the-aerieljeane @london-quynh @vhskenma @denkithunder @swagdaddycam @ems1des @tendouispretty @senpaisbadass @elephantloser @smolbbgorl @mikeys-thighs @kuroolilchibichan @softesyoongi @ouijaeater15 @xxsilverwingxx @prettyinblack231 @kookie-doughs @mikesdeath @bruh-kill-me @skeet-skeet-double-fckn-yeet @d0llpie @0-hysteria-0 @katsumi-sumi @rintarawr @sirachano0dles @satan-ruler-of-hells @himboos @maer-333 @pastel-prynce

#tendou x reader #tendou x you #tendou x y/n #tendou smau #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu smau

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pure-kirarin · 4 years ago

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Studying at night - Koby x f!reader (College AU)

A/N : Thanks a lot dear. I am a sucker for my pink boy, so, here is a scenario about studying with him. It came out like the first part of a series, so I might write the rest later. It was so fun and well...Please imagine it being set in La Sorbonne or something. I imagined the actions taking place there. +w+ Ok. Enough chatter.

« - Who have you been assigned to work with, (Y/N) ? »

«-Hmm...Let's see » you check the little paper that you have picked « the name is Koby...I don't know who it is. »

« -Koby ?! Forreal ?? Whaa, I envy you » She taps your shoulder gently while assembling her books. « He scored first for the last two years on every single test. He is like...very hardworking. And a bit nerdy if you see what I mean » She says as she mimics big glasses on her face. « He will probably do all the project, don't bother ! »

-What do you mean ? You're offending me, Nami-chan ! I won't let him do all the work...And you,w ho have you been assigned to ?

She pauses for a little while pinching the bridge of her nose, visibly annoyed then says ; « Zoro. If I let him do anything I think that I will fail this class. Guess I'll do all the work she shrugs but I will make him pay for lunch for a week in return.

-Sounds like a nice deal. You smile and put your books in your handbag.

-Well...I have to leave for now. I have a lecture starting in five minutes...Oh...Look there ! -She points out to a pink haired guy on one of the middle rows putting his books in his bag- that's your man, you might want to catch up with him to discuss the project. Anyways, I'm leaving now.

-See you later. I'll come back later tonight so don't wait for me for dinner.

-Alright ! See ya !

Nami and you shared the same room at the dorm, however, because of your work you always came back late. You didn't have a choice, the cost of life was really high in the capital and you didn't want to be a burden to your parents. You sighed and walked towards the guy. You had some lectures in commun, his face was familiar. You have always assumed that he were younger because of his childish features. The pink hair gave him a soft look, it reminded you of cotton candy.

You waved to him and said after clearing you throat ;

-Yo' ! I'm (Y/N). I guess that we are doing the project work together ? You point to the piece of paper on the wooden table.

-O-oh, hi. He looks at the paper and reads, (Y/N/L/N). Yes ! We are doing the project together then. Nice to meet you. I am Koby. He bows a little bit while presenting himself.

-Cool. I don't have a class right now. We could go grab a coffee in the cafeteria and discuss the project if that's okay with you.

-Ah ? Of course ! That's fine with me. I guess I have some time. He says while looking at his wrist watch.

-Nice. Let's go.

You give him a wide smile. He looked a little bit uncomfortable. The shy type for sure. You were somehow comfortable and looked at him from head to toe. Cute style ; he was wearing a green bandana on his forehead, casual pale blue blaser above a white shirt and a pair of jeans. He looked well put together, a little bit boring ; nerdy type for sure. He took a pair of huge glasses off his face and put them in a case before following you to the cafeteria.

You were now sitting in front of each other in the cafeteria. You smiled noticing how he just ordered a hot chocolate while you loved your tea black and bitter. He was looking at you, then, when you rested your eyes on him he just looked away. He seemed like an easily flustered person. You wondered if he will manage in the presentation. The project you were working on was due to be presented in front of everyone. It was about didactics.

-So, you're also a second year ?

-Y-yes.

-We don't have a lot of lectures in commun. In what major are you ?

-History. I take this lecture as an extra. Didactics sounded fun.

-Oh. You take a sip from your coffee. That's nice. You wanna become a teacher ?

-Not really. I would like to become a heritage curator.

-Whaa, really ? Sounds cool. And...very specific.

-I guess so...That is not something a lot of people would like to do. He says, smiling and scratching his neck. He seemed nervous.

-You're so tense. You should relax a bit. We are the same age after all. Anyways, about this project. You take your agenda out of your bag and open in it front of Koby. Oh jeez. I am really busy with m part-time job most days. So I am only free on nights...The library stays open all night, I don't know if it's okay with you to work at night. I don't want to impose my schedule on you.

He waves a hand infront of his face, assuring you that it's fine with him ;

-It's okay ! I live in the dorm anyways so I am free whenever you are. I don't want to interfere with your working hours.

-Alright so let's say thursday at 10 PM ?

-That's alright.

-It's settled then. I am looking forward to working with you, Koby ! You make a bright smile and he gasps a bit, taken aback by your chill demeanour. Oh I forgot. Can I have your number ?

He looked startled for a while.

-For the project. You assured.

-Oh yes sure !

You offer him your phone and he types his number. You wave to him ;

-Thanks ! I'll message you later. It was nice meeting you, Koby. »

You don't wait for his answear and head to the dorm to get prepared for your job.

(Y/N) sent a message : Hey Koby, you always down to study at 10 PM tonight ???

Koby👓 sent a message : Yes sure ! I'll book a study room in the library if that's fine with you.

(Y/N) sent a message : Sure, see you later !;)

At nine a half you were getting your books and study material ready to go join the cotton candy man. You didn't bother to take off your make up and put on a big coat over your body. You just took off your red lipstick with a babywipe and headed to the library. The place was calm and almost empty. It was rustic, it had a XIXth century style, well, like your whole university that was renovated around that time. It had a classical style that was charming and added a cozy ambience.

Koby 👓 sent a message : I am already in study room number 3. I am sorry I didn't notify you earlier.

This guy was too polite, you thought. You had a little smile then went to the study room. He jumped a bit in his seat when the door opened and that made you chuckle. He was easily startled.

-Hi Koby, I hope that I'm not messing with your sleeping schedule.

Despite the late hour, he seemed wide awake. He said as you sit next to him, putting your laptop on the table.

-O-Oh...No. It's totally fine. I hope that I am the one not interfering with your job.

When his eyes layed on you, he couldn't restrain the surprise that was now mirrored in them. Surely because you were wearing heavy make up ; smokey eyes and glitter that was stuck to your face and your hair. It was different from your usual naked-face look. He couldn't help but wonder for what reason where you wearing so much make up, and what you were hiding under your long coat. But he coughed loudly, trying to focus again ; the project.

-Thanks. I really appreciate how flexible you are around my hours. I owe you one ! I think that no one else would've accepted to work with me this late haha...Well, I wouldn't have minded doing the project on my own. You shrug.

-Really ?...Well...Actually, me neither. I am not too good at project working...And studying with others... He looks down with a smile.

-Oh wow, I wouldn't have guessed. You look like you are good at cooperating. Anyways, I am sure that we will kick ass !

The way you talked and how confident you were were two things that the pinkette appreciated about your personnality. You seemed like an easy going person, he didn't feel much pressure to work with you. You open your laptop and start laying some ideas, meanwhile, he takes out a notebook and a pencil case ; Oh, old-school, I see, you think to yourself.

His notes were very organized and clean. He seemed to have memorized everything the professor has said about the project and had a clear plan. However, he asked you for your opinion for everything and couldn't help but ask « are you alright with this part ? » for every idea he suggested. It was a bit annoying, but also a bit cute.

When he was studying, he was different. He had a bit more confidence and didn't hesitate to correct you when something you said seemed out of the topic or a bit repetitive. You appreciate this about him ; yes, no wonder he scored first for the two last years.

You worked for around two hours before you noticed that his eyes started looking tired. He wasn't used to studying this late, yet he did his best to come study with you at this time. You felt bad for keeping him awake.

-Koby-san ? Your soft voice snatched him out of his half-sleeping state.

-Ohh ! Sorry I just--

-You should probably go to sleep. I am sorry I gave you such a hard time. You must have classes tomorrow morning...You said with a sorry voice.

-No no, it's totally fine. I am sorry I just...well...

-No need to be sorry. Well, it's past midnight now. We should probably get going and continue tomorrow or some other day.

-Are you sure ?

-Yeah. I'm not going to keep you more. You look really tired. You shouldn't overwork yourself, Koby-san...Well...Even if technically it's my fault. You giggled a bit.

You started putting your stuff in your bag and he did the same, appreciating your presence. You had a soft aura that was really calming. He has never studied this late before, but he liked the atmosphere. It felt so dreamy.

As you were both going out of the room, you noticed a little cat keychain on the ground. You bowed down to take it in your hand. It was a cute kitty wearing a strawhat. You looked at Koby with a frown and said

-I think that you dropped this ?

You couldn't help but smile when you saw his embarrassed face. Yeah. It definitely looked like something he would have. He took it off your hand pretty fast and stuttered ;

-Oh thanks ! It's...Well...It's like a lucky charm haha.

-No need to justify yourself. I think that it fits your personnality pretty well.

-Huh ? He just said not understanding what you meant.

-It's pretty cute !

You were making it even harder for him not to blush and you were having too much fun looking at him struggle. It was wrong, but it just was too much fun.

-Oh. It was a compliment by the way.

You wink at him before going out of the study room. He follows you, destabilized. Your confident and assertive behavior was really foreign to him. You really made him interested in learning more about you.

Studying with you was calming, sharing that moment at night in the almost empty library, having you in full make up at such a late hour, as if you were going to a date. He blushed at that thought and felt bad for thinking that. You were there to study and you were strangers, well, university mates. He wasn't allowed to have such a thought.

You were fascinating in more than one way and you really made him curious to learn more about you. You seemed like the type of girls to hide secrets behind her immaculate day-look. He was a bit impatient to learn more. But why ? You were only working for a university project after all, and once it was done, he won't have the opportunity to spend more time with you, and that somehow made his chest tighten.

#one piece imagines #one piece #college au #koby x reader #Koby #nami #one piece nami #one piece x reader

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softyoongiionly · 5 years ago

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Portraits of a Tiger || 02

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut (later), Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: language, depictions of violence both verbal and physical however they are fairly mild, mentions of war and power dynamics, there will be smut in future parts so, (18+ only please).

Current Tag List (let me know if you want to be tagged!): @gldnrecs @naajix @bluewhale52 @nikkikenji @lustedkisses @loveyoongles @hear-me-growl

A/N: oh hiiii. I’m a little obsessed with this universe so, I hope you guys are enjoying all the Warrior! Yoongi content. Love you!

Once again, I want to shout out @bulletproofbirdy for everything she has done to make this fic possible. I love you so much!

“I’m just saying, some of the women in this village should at least attempt it. Wedding a solider is an honor, not to mention the fact that it sets you up for life.”

Jane’s voice sounds beside you and it causes you to smile to yourself; she’s always coming up with plans for other people, attempting to live vicariously through them.

“Like Y/N- you’re young-” She tilts her head, her frizzy red hair almost twirling above her scalp, “-ish. You would probably be able to convince one of them to take you for a bride.”

You scoff, “Thank you for having so much faith in me Jane, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jane quickly moves on to another girl in the market, throwing the same amount of enthusiasm her way.

You know she means well, even if she is a little brash at times.

It’s been two days since the market place was riddled with thieves and soldiers. Things have mostly gone back to normal apart from the same armored men loitering about your village.

Over the time that’s past, you’ve been able to meet or at least learn more about Yoongi’s fleet.

Seven men, each of them possessing an incredible amount of skill, made up the group behind the gossip.

Seokjin was indeed in charge of community outreach (and the cooking) but, he was also an incredible marksmen; his aim was unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. Whilst you were cleaning up yesterday evening, you saw a few of them practicing and Seokjin through a dagger from nearly 200 feet away only for it to land directly in the center of the target.

Namjoon, you met in the library whilst you were reading more about a new remedy you were planning to try. He was extremely brawny but very mild mannered. He introduced himself and thanked you for the bread you had delivered and upon speaking to him, you learned of his position in the fleet; psychological warfare. According to Namjoon, he was in charge of depleting the moral of their enemies by various means that he didn’t specify. His gentle demeanor made it very difficult for you to believe that he was apart of such a dangerous team but you realized that, that was the very reason he was so successful.

Jungkook, according to Seokjin, was the fleet’s first responder: The first man on the ground during a battle and usually the last one to leave. He had two things on his side: speed and strength. The fleet calls him the Terror Cub which is supposed to be a play on Yoongi’s nickname. You’ve also learned that Jungkook is Yoongi’s younger brother and upon minimal observation, you can tell they have a very close bond.

Jimin, you met at the tavern during an evening out with Rachel. He was incredibly kind and his beauty was nothing short of offensive. His position in the army made sense; he was known as a Red Herring or in civilian terms: the distraction. Jimin’s beauty and charm was the fleet’s secret weapon and after spending a bit of time with him that night, you could definitely see why. Without a uniform, Jimin looks like a soft and unassuming man. A target would never suspect his true intentions.

Taehyung and you had a lot in common as he too was an Apothecary only- he didn’t specialize in the same type of medicine you did. Taehyung was the fleet’s resident poison expert. You met him at the tavern as well as he was the man Jimin hung off of the entire night. You learned of their romance throughout the evening and, couldn’t help but admire the sheer power between them. The Herring and the Poison Expert, what a duo.

Hoseok was still a bit of a mystery to you as he rarely ventured into the village. According to Seokjin, Yoongi placed him charge of training the new recruits specifically in the art Hoseok was most familiar with: archery. Upon the introduction of his position, you quickly recalled a story regarding the legendary archer. Hoseok’s expertise had made it into the discourse in your village roughly a year ago when the Royal Army took down invaders in the snowy mountains just west of your home. In accordance with the story, Hoseok defeated their front line from the treetops before they were able to reach the rest of his fleet. You hadn’t had a chance to speak with him much but, he did introduce himself when you brought a second basket of bread to the camp.

Aside from being their general, their leader and, the most expert swordsman in all of the land, Yoongi was also the fleet’s strategist. He mapped their every move, their every course, their objectives and several precautionary measures should things go sour. He was essentially the brains behind everything but of course, you didn’t learn this from him. The rest of his men had revealed bits and pieces about him throughout your interactions with each of them.

In addition, you also learned that Yoongi’s army was a defensive force. They were established as a means of protection by the Queens which would mean that the stories of them ruthlessly invading territories around the region were null and void. The seven of them preceded over a much larger fleet; 22,000 men who follow closely behind them but never fight unless Yoongi calls in for backup.

The Tiger’s fleet was the frontline, the brain, heart and soul of the royal army.

You feel a bit of sadness for them. They have done so much to protect this land and although they are revered and admired, they are also unnecessarily feared.

The morning passes easily and it’s one of those days where you actually enjoy being out in the plaza.

The weather was nice, temperate and cool just as you like it.

Clouds encase the otherwise sunny sky which keeps it from growing too warm in the marketplace and, with the slight breeze wafting throughout the atmosphere, you feel content.

A minimal afternoon crowd makes it easy for you to provide accurate and lengthy consultations to your patrons.

“Yes- just apply this three times a day and you should notice a significant reduction in the inflammation.” You smile sweetly, passing a lot the salve to your customer before you notice a familiar color making its way through the crowd.

It’s platinum and the curve of the ponytail its attached to belongs to someone you hadn’t anticipated on seeing.

It causes your heartrate to go a little wonky whilst you attempt to look away.

The salve Yoongi purchased from you days earlier prove to be very popular amongst his crew and now his tin that was supposed to last him three months is nearly gone.

He may have other reasons for returning to the market as well but, his story was air-tight and would need no further explanation.

He would know, he checked.

“Good morning,” You smile at him and Jane’s train of thought is derailed the moment she sees your next customer. “How can I help you?”

He raises his hand, a large metal tin between his fingers, “Do you have any more of this? I woke up this morning to find that my men have ransacked it. If you have the stock, I’d like to buy 7 more tins so I can have one of my own.”

You can’t help it but allow your eyes to widen at his request; the profits from 7 more tins would be enough to feed your family for the next month.

But you compose yourself quickly and nod, “I have more than enough- you said 7 right? Did you want the big tins again?”

He lowers his hand and sighs, his eyes flitting back towards his tent, “Please. I don��t trust the younger ones to use it as you instructed so, I want to make sure it lasts as long as it can.”

Snickering, you bend down and grab the requested amount of tins for him and nod in understanding, “Makes total sense. I’m guessing one of the main culprits was Jungkook? I saw him rubbing his hands together for a really long time and, now everything makes sense.”

Yoongi smirks, his teeth peeking out between his lips, “Aish that kid- he's gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“He’s younger brother right? I can see the resemblance...” You tease, wrapping the tins in paper, spending a little too much time on each one and, no it’s totally not because you’re trying to prolong your interaction with Yoongi.

“Adopted brother yes- my parents took him in when he was 7. It’s interesting you think we look alike though, you’re not the first person to say that.” Yoongi’s hands have found their way to his uniform, smoothing it out subconsciously.

“Oh really? Yeah I wouldn’t have suspected that, you guys have the same mouth-” His brows raise at your comment and the glint in his eye makes you backtrack, “his lips are a little bigger I guess though so- uh not that I’m looking closely at your mouth or anything but-”

Yoongi starts chuckling then, the shakiness in your tone amusing him “I understand what you mean don’t worry. What’s my total?” He nods to the tins, which you’ve finally finished wrapping.

“Oh! Right, I’m sorry- your total is 24.50...” You slide the tins towards him carefully before Jane’s shrill voice sounds from beside you.

“Give the man a discount Y/N, he’s practically buying out your entire stock!” She urges, gesturing wildly towards your cart.

Your mouth opens as your eyes move quickly between her and Yoongi “O-”

Yoongi raises his hand, “Nonsense. Ms. Y/L/N’s products are some of the finest I’ve come across and are certainly worth the full price- 24.50 you said?” His brows raise again, looking directly into your eyes, not even bothering to turn to Jane’s direction.

The direct way in which he addresses her sends a bit of heat to your cheeks. Jane is someone you have mutual respect for but, her attitude isn’t your favorite nor is her incessant need to put her nose in everyone’s business.

“Yes, thank you.” You smile sheepishly, bending down once more to grab a paper bag from beneath your counter, “I’ll put in a few bags of rose hip and peppermint tea free of charge; they help with inflammation. I know you all will be training over the next few weeks so, you should get some use out of it.”

He offers a small smile and bows his head, “Thank you. Uh-” Yoongi turns once again back towards his camp, “Seokjin hasn’t stopped talking about your bread, has he arranged for you to bring more?”

Giggling, you accept his payment, tucking it away beneath the counter and nodding, “Yes. I’ll be by this evening with a new batch.”

“Has he offered any payment? We appreciate the hospitality of course but, I do hope he plans on compensating you for your trouble.”

Waving him off, you shake your head and slide the bag his way, “It’s no trouble at all honestly, I’ve been wanting to hone my baking skills for quite some time so, this just gives me an excuse to do so.”

He grimaces, “Still, you should be-”

“I really don’t mind Yoongi, I promise. This transaction is going to take care of my family and I for quite some time. Not to mention the fact that you all saved my village A LOT of trouble. Take the free bread.” You insist, smirking slightly and if you aren’t mistaken, you notice a light blush come across his cheeks.

Clearing his throat, he steps back away from your cart, moving the smile off of his lips as best as he can.

He likes the sound of his name on your lips a little more than he cares to admit.

He needs to get out of this plaza before he smiles at you one more time.

It’s getting a little out of hand.

“Appreciate it.” He mutters before bowing his head once more, “I suppose I’ll see you this evening then?”

Something flutters around in your stomach, “You will. Thank you again for coming by.”

His mouth fixes over a tight smile as he fashions the bag around his wrist, which is quite delicate for a man of his nature.

When Yoongi is fully out of earshot, you take a deep breath and begin straightening up your cart, trying to distract your mind from his presence

Jane however, has been foaming at the mouth ever since he shot down her suggestion of a discount and quickly rushes over to you, smacking her hand across your arm.

“Ow! Ok- listen we have got to find another way to greet each other because, you’re going to leave some permanent damage on me one of these days.” You admonish, your brow furrowing as you rub your arm.

She ignores you and leans down, her eyes wide with curiosity, “You ARE going to pursue him aren’t you? He’s clearly interested, did you see the way he smiled?! He was quite literally hanging on every word you said!” She whisper yells, her eyes darting around

This conversation is giving you deja vu and given your flustered state you don’t necessarily have the capacity to argue with her.

“Maybe he’s just kinder than you all gave him credit for.” You answer coolly, giggling as she tugs frantically at your dress.

“He’s kinder to YOU. He barely gave me a second look.” She insists, sound slightly bitter

You quickly move on, waving over another customer, a smile still on your lips, “Aren’t you happily married Jane? I’m sure your husband looks at you plenty...”

She kisses her teeth and rolls her eyes, “Happily is a loaded word dear. Regardless, my point stays the same. You said you were bringing bread over to him didn’t you? Are you planning on using that chance to further this little bond you two have?”

Its your turn to roll your eyes now, “I plan on using that chance to deliver bread.”

With a grumble, Jane reluctantly returns to her cart as she too has a customer heading her way.

The rest of the day passes easily, which you are quite thankful for given that you’re evening plans are a little out of the ordinary.

It’s hard to get Yoongi out of your mind but, you really do try, he is just a man after all.

Just an interesting, intelligent, handsome-

“Y/N...” Rachel’s voice drags you out of your train of thought and causes you to quickly shift on the stool towards her.

You went to her house after you day had ended because:

She’s the absolute best

and

She has the better oven

“What? Sorry I was-”

She smirks knowingly, sprinkling flour over the dough on the cutting board, “Just thinking about how you plan on charming the Tiger tonight?”

You’d like to deny it but, she isn’t entirely wrong.

Instead, you just go back to wrapping the current loaf of fresh bread in the same paper you use to wrap you wares back at the market.

The cheese in this batch makes the outside of the bread a little greasy so, you always gift it with some wrapping; it also keeps the bugs away.

“You know- you should come with me. It's your one-way ticket to Jungkook, you only have a few weeks to gain his hand in marriage.” You point out, smirking.

Rachel blushes profusely, “I- well- you know?!?! He really is something.” She stutters, swallowing back a bit of her nerves before continuing, “I don’t know if I can do that. You've seen me in social settings...”

You snort and point in her direction, “I have. You’re great in social settings. We panic- in private- together remember? That’s how we bond.” Clenching your fist to your chest dramatically, you continue with the rest of her concern, “Honestly he’s not that intimidating face to face. He was practically hiding behind in his friend when I was there...”

Jungkook had stood out to you for that specific reason; his demeanor at the plaza would have never lead you to suspect his shy and rather docile nature.

He certainly was perplexing.

Rachel smiles whimsically, staring off at nothing while she half-heartedly kneads the dough. She then lets out a sigh before giggling at the end of your sentence, “I suppose you’re right. He seems gentle underneath that brawny exterior. He’s so handsome too- and such a high rank for being so young. I’m just a village teacher...”

You smirk again, “Gentle is one way of putting it.” Then you scoff, feeling actual offense at her comment regarding herself. To express your distaste, you throw a piece of dough her way, “Stop that. You are literally the most eligible woman in this entire village. You are an artist, an educator and-” You take a bite out of a spare loaf of bread and shove it in your mouth, relishing in it’s doughy, cheesy texture. “- a damn good baker. Don’t sell yourself short.”

She rolls her eyes playfully, “Oh alright...you’re quite eligible yourself you know! How does it feel to have caught the eye of the Tiger himself, hm????”

“So you’re coming?” You ask excitedly, bouncing on your stool before promptly looking away in denial, “I have done no such thing. He’s just being friendly to me because I cured his dry skin. Soft hands will change a man let me tell you...”

“Ohhhh I suppose I will.” She sighs with a shrug to her shoulders, “My curiosity will always get the best of me, for better or worse.” She leans closer to her friend, conspiratorially “we can’t have that Tigers paws TOO soft—don’t do your job TOO well, oh esteemed herbalist.”

“In sickness and in health til death do you part...” You finish with raised brows, before giggling “esteemed and eligible? Now you’re just flattering me. I don’t think he’ll need to come back to my cart at least, I gave him enough salve to last the winter.”

Rachel shoves rounds the counter suddenly, heat blooming on her cheeks as she tries to shove you off the stool, “Oh YOUUUUU!!” She rolls her eyes again, looking at you pointedly, “Regardless of salve, you don’t give yourself enough credit. All jokes aside, Y/N, from what you have told me about your run ins with the general, he seems to appreciate your conversation. I don’t imagine people treat him with such frankness.”

Your laughter increases as you hold onto the counter for dear life, “Hey easy!” Biting your lip, you try to think of the right words to say without giving yourself away, “He’s very interesting. I am- you know, very intrigued by him that’s for sure.”

She lets you off the hook, her own laughter dying down as she returns to her place, “He is fascinating...I am a bit surprised at how different he seems to be from the stories...it raises so many questions like- how did he end up where he is?”

“I don’t know honestly. I kind of feel bad that so many people had him wrong- Seokjin said they don’t get a lot of hospitality due to the rumors about Yoongi.”

Rachel pouts before turning to pull one of the last batches of bread out of the oven. As she tugs the tray out of it’s warm resting place her lips tug up into a smirk “Oh it’s Yoongi now? On a first name basis with the nation’s greatest general I see- that was quick.”

It’s your eyes that roll this time, heat rushing to the tip of your nose, “That IS his name... I can’t keep calling him Tiger now can I? That would be weird...”

She continues smirking but, her eyes hold a bit of sympathy as she addresses the rest of your sentence, “Seriously though, that breaks my heart for them...he handled that raider with more kindness than he deserved. It makes me wonder how many other rumors are unfounded.”

“Yeah it really surprised me- I was expecting there to be bloodshed...I still can’t believe he just let most of them go. I’ve seen soldiers administer worse punishments for lesser offenses.

“I suppose you are right. Yoongi seems to be shrouded in mystery, but perhaps you will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the myth?” She suggests, brows rising with her inquiry.

“Typical teacher- rooting for me and all my hopes and dreams.” You tease as the two of you load up the bread into the basket, “Perhaps YOU will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the chest plate hm? Are you all ready to go?”

She smiles, “I will ALWAYS root for you!” And as the two of you begin packing everything up she huffs, blushing once again, “You really won’t stop teasing me, will you?”

“Nope.” You smile cheekily, dodging as she tries to wack you, “I can see it now- you, educating the youth and him- protecting the innocent. It’s a match made in heaven.”

Rachel offers a shy grin as the two of you head out the door, “A girl can daydream...”

The walk to the camp doesn’t take long but within the short period of time you spend walking, your stomach manages to work itself up into a frenzy.

“Ok- the main tent is the one with the flag on the-” You begin, pointing it out to Rachel but your voice is quickly swallowed as you spot him:

The Tiger aka Yoongi, strolls through the courtyard of their camp towards a group of awaiting recruits in the distance.

He’s wearing crème colored linen pants and a matching peasant blouse, his long white tendrils wrapped up into a bun atop his head. He strides through the grass with confidence, his dark eyes observing his surroundings.

“You were saying?” Rachel eyes you curiously before following your line of sight.

Before she can say anything, you rush to return to your explanation, “Seokjin is the one that I made the arrangements with so, we can deliver these in there.” You gesture to the main tent, swallowing back a bit of nerves.

You don’t see many of Yoongi’s men out in the yard with the exception of Namjoon. He’s sitting on a bench, dressed entirely in red, sketching on a piece of parchment.

As you ring the bell of the tent, Rachel subconsciously shifts behind you.

“Is that my bread?!” Seokjin yells from inside the tent and after a bit of shuffling, he pushes aside the entrance, a bright smile on his face, “Ugh it is. You are a godsent Y/N...” His head cocks as he sees Rachel standing beside you, “Oh hello, you must be Y/N’s friend. Kim Seokjin, did you assist with this delivery?”

He extends a hand to her warmly and Rachel graciously takes it, smiling softly.

“I did. It’s very nice to meet you. You can call me Rachel...”

He returns her smile, bowing his head, “Rachel- that’s a beautiful name. Thank you for doing this, I haven’t seen these men so energized in quite some time.” Seokjin smirks fondly before his teeth tug at his bottom lip, “Would you two mind joining me in here for a moment? I have a question I’d like to ask you.”

You nod despite your confusion, still in disbelief that you’ve made contact with the nation’s most infamous men.

“Of course.”

Rachel nods politely, following behind you as Seokjin holds the entrance open.

Your hit with the smell of wood as you enter their tent along with a hint of musk. It’s genuinely surprising that the odor isn’t stronger given that multiple men likely share these quarters. There’s several cots on the floor and mini lanterns adorning the ropes holding the tent together. Supplies, personal belongings and various weapons litter the floor and tabletops and, in one of the cots you spot Jungkook, laying down, shirtless.

In front of his face sits a book that needs no introduction; a famous military strategy guide written by an ancient legend. Befitting, you think, of course they would have their men brushing up on military technique.

Your brain also hones in on the man holding the book:

Jungkook is truly beautiful. His chocolate locks reach the base of his neck, disheveled but luxurious whilst his tan and soft features are screwed up in concentration. He doesn’t notice your presence at first but, Rachel certainly notices him.

You can hear her swallow beside you, her face turning bright red as her body subconsciously shifts closer to you.

Her lips part silently and she tries her best to tear her eyes away from his body. The broadness of his chest and the smooth curves of his stomach is enough to capture your attention as well despite the fact that muscle doesn’t normally warrant a reaction from you.

As you the two of you grow closer to him, his eyes finally flit in your direction and, they grow wide like saucers. Hastily, he throws his book to the side before ripping his blanket off the end of his cot and wrapping it around himself.

“Jungkook-ah, make yourself decent. We have guests. I believe you’ve met Y/N already but, this is her friend Rachel...” Seokjin gestures elegantly to both of you, unbothered and unaware of the lingering tension in the air.

“Yes Hyung-” He mutters and grabs his brown linen shirt off the floor and tugs it over his head. He stands, almost robotically and extends his hand towards her, “Nice to meet you.”

Rachel moves in a similar way, her eyes still widened slightly whilst she takes his hand.

“Hi.” She responds, her voice smaller than usual and it causes Seokjin to quirk his brow at the two of them.

Jungkook visibly swallows, his prominent Adams apple bouncing in his throat as his hand sort of lingers against hers.

“I like your- “ His eyes flit to the top of her head, “ribbon. It’s blue.”

Seokjin smirks knowingly at the two of them now and he opens his mouth to break the tension before Rachel speaks up.

“Thanks!” She says a bit too loudly before swallowing the volume a bit, “I like your shirt. It’s very brown- a nice brown.”

Jungkook offers a tiny smile, dropping her hand reluctantly and before their encounter can continue, Seokjin speaks up.

“Uh ok, hooray for first meetings hm?” He nods to the exit of the tent, “Jungkook, I believe Yoongi was looking for you. He needs an assistant for today’s training session.”

Jungkook immediately perks up, nodding in excitement, “Yes hyung.” He pivots towards his cot to collect his armor but turns around once more to glance at Rachel, “Nice meeting you.”

“You too.” She practically squeaks, raising a hand in farewell.

Jungkook’s teeth peek out as he grins before he grabs his armor and practically sprints out of the tent.

Seokjin chuckles warmly and shakes his head before gesturing to the wooden table towards the back of the tent, “You are welcome to have a seat here, this should only take a moment.”

You each take your places at the table, illuminated by the lantern hanging above you.

Seokjin rounds the corner to sit across from you, his prince-like features tightening with a bit seriousness.

“As I said- this will be quick.” He assures you, licking his lips and lowering his voice a bit, “I was speaking with Yoongi earlier today and, he mentioned something that made me quite curious. He relayed a bit of your conversation with him-” He looks at you, “-he said that you told him that raiders were a common occurrence in your region, is that correct?”

You take his lead and lower your voice as well, glancing at Rachel before answering, “Yes. The number of raids has been increasing recently over the last few months actually.”

“I see. Do you have any idea as to why that may be?”

“I mean- our village is known for negotiating with raider clans.” You offer,” Our leaders feel as though it prevents violence.”

His brows quirk, hands clasping on the top of the table, “Has that method been effective so far?”

You look to Rachel for her insight and she tilts her head, considering the question, before she nods in approval which causes you to follow suit.

“I guess so. We have a specific strategy but, we are equipped with defenses as well.”

Seokjin nods, his brows knitting together in thought. His plush lips part for a moment as he contemplates his next response, uncertainty written all over his face.

“Have either of you noticed any similarities between the clans? Anything at all- clothing, weaponry, language?”

Your immediate response is to shake your head.

When a raid is occurring, you don’t necessarily have time to observe your intruders; safety is the only thing on your mind.

Rachel however, has noticed a similarity.

“There is one thing I’ve started to notice actually-” She begins, “They all seem to have a similar strategy. When they arrive, they encircle the town first before working their way inwards. It takes them a very long time to reach the center of the village, which is where we wait for them. It’s very strange actually, the center plaza contains most of our valuables- it's almost as if they are trying to take over in a way. However, they always end up leaving after negotiations and, I’ve never seen the same faces twice.”

Now that she mentions it, you recall that similarity as well.

They do deploy the same tactic but, you just assumed that it’s the most effective way to get the most out of their raid.

Perhaps that isn’t their only intention.

Your stomach shrinks at the thought as you try to push it out of your head.

Seokjin’s features twitch with a bit of unease but, he composes himself quickly and smiles.

“Thank you. I’ll pass that along to Yoongi and see what he thinks of it.” He takes a deep breath, “We really appreciate your cooperation. As I mentioned to you the other day, it’s not very often that we are able to communicate with civilians and it makes our job a lot easier if we have insight from people who actually live in the territories we try to protect.” He eyes you both with a bit of hesitation then, as if he’s contemplating something, “If you wouldn't mind spreading the word that we aren’t a group of vicious demi-gods that would be great. As fun as the legends are, they can be a hinderance to our work...”

You and Rachel nod in understanding, chuckling lightly at his word usage as the three of you stand.

“I’ll pass along the information. Thank you for having us.” You smile, bowing your head.

Rachel follows suit and, subconsciously her eyes drift to Jungkook’s cot, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Seokjin.

“We appreciate having you very much.” He smirks as his eyes flit to Rachel, “Both of you. I think you should come along with Y/N for future deliveries Rachel, I’m sure Jungkook would enjoy that.”

Comically, Rachel’s eyes widen a bit as she aggressively clears her throat, frantically looking away from Jungkook’s cot.

“What? Why would he? Wh-What do you mean?” She stutters which causes you to giggle fondly at your friend.

Taking her hand, you squeeze it gently and address Seokjin’s request, “Oh she’ll be back, don’t you worry.”

He chuckles and gestures to the door, “I look forward to it. I’ll walk you two out, I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

Rachel mutters something inaudible by your side, towing behind you reluctantly.

After your departure from the tent and a bit of friendly verbal sparring between you and Rachel, you separate to finish the remainder of your day.

That evening, you decide to go against your parent’s judgements and journey to the river once again.

As beautiful as it is in the daylight, the moon provides a rendition unlike any other. She casts her glow on the water like the mother of all spotlights, dancing across the surface with ease.

The truth is, you often sneak out after your parent’s have fallen asleep to find solace in the atmosphere of there. It’s almost magical and you feel as though you can think clearly here.

You always bring your wicker basket along as well so you can collect any herbs or ingredients you may need.

It’s a necessity to switch off between plants though and ensure that you aren’t depleting the rivers natural resources too much; a practice you are continuously getting better at.

The river carries it’s usual orchestra of sounds along with a bit more whistling in the trees.

It’s mating season for the birds here and they are singing to one another in hopes of finding a lover.

You giggle to yourself and think of what the world would be like if humans implied a similar method of finding a partner.

“Should I be concerned that you’re out here alone, laughing to yourself?”

The voice instantly sends energy up your back and you whip your head around to find Yoongi standing a few yards behind you.

He looks a bit worn out, likely from all the work he’s been doing with the new recruits but, his beauty overwhelms you regardless.

The moonlight casts shadows on his face, his mouth pulled up in a smirk, his hair tied back once again into a ponytail.

He’s wearing a set of clean clothes, a white linen top with brown pants, his sword strapped loyally to his hip.

You imagine he never travels without it.

“Should I be concerned that you’re stalking me?” You retort trying to control the smile that crosses over your face.

He smirks, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck, “I’m not stalking you. I’m patrolling the perimeter, common military practice. You just so happen to be along the perimeter.”

“The perimeter is one the other side of the river, there is a path just through those trees over there-” You point to a group of trees to the left of you, “So technically, you’re not walking the ENTIRE perimeter.”

Yoongi smirks broadens enough for his teeth to peak out as he nods, impressed by your knowledge, “Fair enough.” He nods to the river behind you, “I like walking through here, it’s peaceful.”

You can’t help but return a smile of your own as you nod, “It is. I don’t blame you for taking a detour, even if it was to scare the lights out of me again.”

He chuckles, “Are you out here often?”

“Very.” You nod, “This place serves multiple purposes.”

“Oh does it? What purposes are those?”

“Well, I get most of my ingredients from the river or the surrounding forest so, it’s vital to my work and,” You gesture to the space around your head, “It’s the perfect location to contemplate my existence, the meaning of life, the secrets of the universe- you know, stuff like that.”

Yoongi’s expression grows very amused then, his tongue poking out between his lips before he laughs again, “Ah yes- that stuff. Has the river provided you with any answers?”

“Oh yeah- plenty but you know, the answers only lead to more questions. It’s a vicious cycle.” You quip, giggling a bit and feeling very comfortable in his presence.

There is magnetism between the two of you.

It’s something you’ve never felt before.

And deep down within your heart, you hope he feels it too.

He steps towards you subconsciously, glancing towards the moon and then back at you, “I know that cycle very well. Have you found anything worth sharing? My job doesn’t exactly allow me to indulge in philosophy very often, I’d welcome any of your insight.”

It’s perplexing that a famous General would care to know your thoughts regarding the best eateries in your village let alone, for him to care about your philosophy.

It’s incredibly odd.

You've always been a fan of oddities though so, you don’t think as much of it as you should.

“You’d have to be a little more specific, I don’t think you’d want to sit here whilst I prattle on about the complexities of the universe.” You laugh

He bites his lip in contemplation, his gaze on you softening significantly, “I wouldn’t be so sure...” Yoongi murmurs and the way he looks at you sends your heart on a marathon, “But I see your point; what do you think of the war?”

Taking a deep breath, you attempt to compose yourself and your thoughts in order to accurately address his question.

“I understand it to a certain extent. Historically speaking, humans have consistently risen in opposition of one another for whatever reason. Peace seems impossible at times. With so many selfish people rising to power, it almost incentivizes that kind of behavior. It’s rewarded. Peace is only possible when you restrict the empowerment of those who act within their own self-interest. The cycle always continues though so, war is inevitable.” You speak softly, taking your eyes off of Yoongi for a moment to focus on your choice of words.

His dark eyes seem to glimmer with fascination as he nods along to your response, the two of you shifting closer to one another.

Unintentionally, of course.

“How should we restrict the empowerment of those individuals?” He licks his lips as his eyes narrow in curiosity, “Do you think there is a way to do that?”

Chewing on your cheek, you consider his question before letting out a sigh, “The power would have to return to the masses. I think the idea that humanity needs finite leadership isn’t completely accurate. Snuffing out corruption is difficult though, especially since it’s already been let loose. I guess there isn’t a linear path but, I’d like to believe it’s possible.”

He smiles, “So would I. My profession wouldn’t really imply that though would it?”

Your hands play with the fabric of your dress to distract from how close the two of you are as you swallow back the instability of your breath.

“I think it does actually. You aren’t tasked with the corrupt objectives; your job is to defend against it.”

A grimace comes over his face, “I still engage in violence.”

“You do.” You agree, your hands lowering to clasp in front of you, “There is a difference between you and your enemy though isn’t there?”

Yoongi is truly hanging on every word you say, eager to hear the soft twinkle of your voice, eager to understand your mind.

“There is.” He answers tightly, glancing down your hands, “Violence isn’t our objective.”

You notice his gaze on your hands and it causes you to look at his own; they look softer than you remember, which you hope you can take partial credit for.

Amused, you watch as he clasps and unclasps them unknowingly, his nerves starting to creep up inside his head.

“What is your objective?” You ask, smiling softly at him

He bites his bottom lip, nodding as he understands where you’re headed, “Defending the innocent.”

“In times of war, peace also requires an army...” You conclude, hoping to comfort him in some way.

He smiles again but, he doesn’t look up at you, his gaze transfixed upon your fingers, “You should consider becoming an advisor of some sort.”

Your head tilts, your heart rate going crazy in your chest but, your curiosity and it’s need to be sated override your need to be proper.

“Why do you keep looking at my hands?”

He still doesn’t look up but he does blush, nervous laughter emanating from his lips, “Because I want to hold them...”

At his confession, he looks up at you longing, his throat bobbing as he swallows and tries to discern your reaction.

Without thinking you unfurl your fingers and turn your palms so they are facing towards the sky, slightly embarrassed by the way that they shake.

“Then hold them.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen momentarily, shooting down at your upturned palms before he slowly, almost agonizingly places his own shaking hands atop yours.

Simultaneously, the two of you intertwine your fingers, feeling the erratic pulse of one another.

“It’s good to know that my heart isn't the only one that’s pounding.”

Nervously, you giggle and nod rapidly, “Definitely. I thought I was the only one...”

He chuckles in response, stepping towards you a little more so you can feel the heat coming off of his body.

The two of you stand there in silence, enjoying the feeling of one another and the simplicity of the act you’re performing.

Words fall short on your tongue because, you are truly in awe of the way you feel and, part of you worries that you’re actually dreaming.

A shout nearby, coming from one of your fellow villagers rips the two of you out of your moment as Yoongi suddenly remembers why he came this way in the first place.

He drops your hands and steps back, feeling slightly regretful that he let go of you so abruptly.

“I’m sorry.” He clears his throat, looking back towards the voice before gesturing to the forest, “I should go- my men will come looking for me if I’m gone too long.”

Quickly, you nod in understanding, stepping a few inches back, “Of course. Thank you for the talk- it was-”

“I’d like to come by the river more often while I’m here- if that’s alright with you.” He interrupts you, his voice a little shaky as he clears his throat again.

Knowingly, you grin, “I don’t own the river Yoongi...”

Your quip breaks the bit of tension between you and he chuckles, his hands adjusting his clothes unnecessarily.

“I’m aware, Ms. Apothecary. I was just implying that-”

You interrupt him now with a smirk rushing to your lips, “You were implying that we should cross paths again.”

Yoongi bites his lip, cheeks the color of summer roses, “Yes.”

“I think we should too.”

This makes him smile and for a moment, he looks like a young man, completely rid of any burdens.

It’s a good look.

“Are you ok to walk back on your own?”

You want to tell him no but, the light from the main street is yards away and after that, your home is only 5 minutes by foot.

“Yes.” You nod to the forest behind him, “Are you ok to walk on your own?”

He rolls his eyes before chuckling, patting the sword at his hip, “I’ll manage.”

With one last parting smile, the two of you begin to go your separate ways.

Tonight, each of your minds would be filled thoughts of one another and if you were lucky, you’d cross each others path while you sleep.

One could only hope.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight General Min.”

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