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devilrising · 3 years ago

Note

For me the top of the list of things that feel gay and homophobic at the same time is Darco MyFatherWillHearAboutThis Malfoy

I really enjoyed this prompt! Thank you Raye for the beta <3

Warnings: drunken shenanigans, spin the bottle, and first kisses

***

The Room of Requirement is packed with students, speakers, and tables covered with cheap food and alcohol. Harry isn’t entirely sure who thought asking for Muggle speakers was a good idea, but the Room had supplied massive ones that take up a good amount of space. Occasionally a Pureblood bumps into them, and Harry takes great delight in watching them flinch and rush away.

When Hermione had suggested a party to help build interhouse relationships for the Eighth Years, Harry had been skeptical at best. When Ron had readily agreed to it, and even made sure the Slytherins were included, Harry was suspicious. There’s no way Ron was willing to hang out with Slytherins without an ulterior motive.

Part of Harry thinks he just wants to get into Hermione’s pants.

Face twisting in disgust at the thought, Harry forces himself back to the current situation. Most of the Eighth Years are gathered in a semi-circle, sitting in front of a roaring fire. There’s a bottle in the middle of the group, presently ignored in favour of the couple snogging. Harry didn’t see the point in playing Spin the Bottle. He had protested and claimed that they were too old to be making people kiss their classmates, but no one had wanted to listen to him.

Now though, after a few shots of Firewhiskey burning through his veins, he doesn’t think it’s such a bad idea anymore. If nothing else, it has finally made Dean and Seamus realise how stupid they are for each other.

“Alright alright! Keep it family friendly!” Hermione calls out, voice slightly slurred. The boys finally break apart, Dean squeezing Seamus’ butt once before moving back to his spot in the circle. Seamus flushes bright red, and after a moment, crawls after him.

“Spin the bottle!” Blaise shouts, grinning as it's set in motion again.

With all eyes turned to watch who it lands on, Harry takes a moment to scan the room again. There’s the circle of gay girls also playing spin the bottle, another group of people playing a drinking game of some sort, and not much else happening. The flash of blond hair he’s looking for is nowhere to be found, and he sighs under his breath. Bloody Malfoy must be invisible. Or not interested in getting drunk.

Harry forces his eyes back to his own circle, the group of boys staring in horror at the bottle. Theodore Nott and Terry Boot. Harry bites back a shocked laugh. It had surprised absolutely no one when both these boys came out, but surprised everyone when they started dating. Then it had all promptly fallen apart. And now they have to kiss because of a drunk party game. Harry feels slightly sorry for them, even if it’s also hilarious.

He watches as Terry wrinkles his nose in disgust, but shuffles forward on his knees to sit in the centre of the circle. Theo follows a moment later, scowling at Terry.

“It can’t be too bad Theo! You used to be constantly snogging him!”

“Not the time, Blaise,” Ron murmurs from where he’s standing with Hermione next to the fireplace. Ron may be bisexual, and therefore meets the criteria to join the game, but there’s no way he’d look at anyone else now he’s with Hermione. The two are nausea inducing, and Harry loves them.

Harry watches as Terry scoffs, fists his hands in Theodore’s shirt, and tugs him close. The kiss is a harsh peck, over in a second. Theo looks stunned, and then he’s hauling Terry back in. This time, it’s closer to snogging, and earns a few wolf whistles.

“I told you it wouldn’t be so bad,” Blaise mutters. “Bloody boys.”

“Blaise, you’re a boy,” Harry whispers pointedly.

Blaise just shrugs.

“Move it on lads,” Dean calls out.

Terry pulls away first, putting some distance between himself and Theo. And then he’s lifting a hand and slapping Theo across the cheek.

Theodore swears loudly, standing up and storming back to his spot next to Blaise. I guess they aren’t getting back together.

Cheers erupt from the circle of girls, and Harry turns to find Pansy and Lavender snogging. He watches as Pansy gets her hands in Lavender’s hair and tugs, making her moan. Hermione is quick to break it up, and the girls settle back down together, Pansy practically sitting in Lavender’s lap.

“Spin the bottle!” Anthony Goldstein calls, and Blaise takes great delight in grabbing it and giving a hard spin.

Harry zones out again, letting the game play around him. He briefly sees Blaise crawling into the circle, but he doesn’t know who the other player is. He glances around the room again. Where the fuck is Malfoy?

***

“You know what’s both gay and homophobic?” Theodore is asking a little while later, between rounds. Harry thinks having to kiss Dean Thomas is pretty high on his list. Dean a) has a boyfriend (as of 15 minutes ago) and b) is as far away from Harry’s type as possible. He won’t say that though; he would hate to offend one of his roommates of eight years.

“Guitars!”

The circle cheers.

“How?” Harry asks. He’s definitely missing something.

“You know. All those homophobic men who play them, but the gays love guitars.” Theo shakes his head like it should be obvious.

“Here I was thinking you’d say being forced to snog your ex!” Justin Finch-Fletchley called from across the room.

Theo huffs, looking down at the floor as his ears become pink.

An awkward cough draws Harry’s attention to someone outside the circle. Malfoy. Harry freezes, unable to tear his eyes away from Malfoy. His hair is for once not slicked back, but purposely tousled, hanging down over his forehead. His Hogwarts robes have been swapped out for a mesh black shirt and sinfully tight jeans. Harry can see his nipples through the shirt, and the sight makes his mouth water.

“You know what I think is gay and homophobic at the same time?” Ron, drunk off his arse, asks the group.

Everyone pauses, waiting.

“Draco MyFatherWillHearAboutThis Malfoy!”

The circle explodes with laughter and catcalls. All eyes turn to Malfoy, and Harry watches as the boys rake their eyes over his outfit. Something heavy settles and twists in Harry’s gut.

Malfoy flushes a lovely colour of pink, stuttering. No words actually manage to form, and after a few attempts at talking, he just rolls his eyes.

“Join the circle Draco!” Blaise says, his words nearly slurred beyond recognition. Theo nods enthusiastically, and soon everyone else is practically begging Malfoy to join. With an exaggerated sigh, Malfoy makes his way to the circle, sitting down between Theo and Blaise.

Great. Time to leave.

Harry shuffles back slowly, hoping not to draw any attention to himself. The universe has other plans though, as all eyes immediately fix on him.

Harry clears his throat. “I’m uh- I’m gonna go find Hermione. It’s getting late.” He feels his cheeks heating up, and hopes that the flush will be hidden under his dark skin. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Nope. Absolutely not. It’s just gotten interesting!” Seamus declares, his accent made all the more worse with excess alcohol. Dean, who Seamus is using as a chair, nods along.

“Yeah Potter, play one more round with us!” Anthony pipes up, a smirk playing on his lips.

A hand grabs Harry’s wrist and tugs him back to the floor. Harry resumes his position in the circle with a scowl. He can’t believe this is happening. Except, it’s not at all surprising.

“What do you say, Draco spins this time?” Blaise asks the group, and everyone nods. Everyone except Harry, who can’t think of a worse idea, but no one seems to care.

Malfoy turns to look at Blaise, his expression hidden from Harry; after a slight hesitation, he reaches forward. Draco’s pale, delicate hands look beautiful next to the bottle. Harry shakes his head. I must be really drunk.

The bottle spins and spins and spins. Harry nearly goes dizzy from watching it move, trying to predict where it will end up. Eventually it begins to slow down. Harry tracks its movements, his eyes flitting from Terry to Anthony to Dean to Seamus to…

“No. Nuh uh, no way.” All faces once again turn to Harry, and he glares at all of them.

“You have to Harry! It’s the rules!” Theo says.

“I am not kissing Malfoy.”

“Why not, Potter?” Blaise asks, eyes innocently--worryingly--large.

“Because it’s Malfoy.”

Harry turns to find Malfoy’s eyes, who is staring right at him. His gaze burns into Harry, setting him alight. I can’t do this.

“What’s wrong Potter?” Malfoy asks, popping the ‘p’ in an imitation of the way he used to say it. Now though, after the antagonism of their rivalry has faded to banter and bickering, Malfoy says it more gently. It always makes something in Harry’s brain melt. “Afraid I’ll be too good?” He lifts a single eyebrow, thin lips curving into a smirk.

“As if Malfoy. You’ve probably never kissed anyone before!” Harry knows it’s weak, but his brain is mostly offline thanks to the Firewhiskey and the idea of what’s about to happen. Because of course he’s going to kiss Malfoy.

“Trust me Potter, he has.”

Harry isn’t sure who said it, but he glares in the general direction. The image of Draco kissing someone other than him turns his mood sour. The weight in his gut reappears.

Draco is grinning when Harry looks at him again. He moves onto his knees and shuffles into the centre of the circle. “Scared, Potter?”

Harry scowls, pushing aside all rational thought, and joins him. “You wish, Malfoy.”

Harry doesn’t have another second to think, because Draco is grabbing the collar of Harry’s shirt and pulling him in. Fire floods Harry’s veins as his lips meet Draco’s. His fingers twitch, and he threads them into Draco’s breath-taking hair. The kiss turns heated very quickly, and Harry struggles to keep up as Draco slides his tongue against Harry’s. He’s going dizzy with it, burning from the inside out. His stomach flips as Draco slides his hands from his collar to the back of his neck, pulling him even closer.

Harry gasps for breath as they break apart, his lungs burning at the lack of oxygen. He can hear his pulse in his ears, blocking out everything except himself and Draco. After a second of harsh breathing, he feels lips on his jaw. A moan is wrenched from him as Draco nips gently, and then the mouth moves down to his neck. Draco sucks a mark into his skin, high up on his neck where Harry won’t be able to cover it. Harry can’t help the groan he releases, and tugs Draco back up to meet his lips again. Right where he wants him.

“Time to break it up!” someone is shouting, and Harry whines when Draco pulls away slightly.

As their foreheads rest against each other, Harry becomes aware of everyone in the Room cheering. Everyone. Not just the guys he was playing with, but the girls and other guys as well. Harry sighs, but he can’t help the smile on his lips.

“About bloody time mate,” Ron is saying when Harry finally gathers the courage to look at something other than the floor.

“Is now an appropriate time to say that I charmed the bottle?” Blaise asks, and Harry and Draco both whip around to look at him.

“You what?!” Draco shouts, glaring daggers into his friend.

“You two have been eye-fucking all term! I’m helping you get laid, Draco.” Blaise grins, the smug smile making Harry shake his head.

Draco rolls his eyes and stands up properly. Before Harry can begin doubting anything, Draco grabs his hand and hauls him up. Harry stands in front of Draco, a shy smile on his lips. God, he’s pretty.

“Come on, Harry,” Draco murmurs into his ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

Harry is helpless to do anything but nod and follow him out of the Room, ignoring the catcalls that trail after them.

***

Read on AO3

Masterlist

#devilrising #drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #otp: drarry #fanfic #mine #drarry fanfic

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cassiecasyl · 4 years ago

Text

bittersweet surrender (everything is better now)

My first contribution for @whumpay2021!!

fandom: mcu relationship: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes warnings: self-harm, nightmares/flashbacks add. tags: Bucky Barnes has PTSD, Alternate Universe - Angels, Angel Sam Wilson, Angel Bucky Barnes, Recovering Bucky Barnes, Alpine and Redwing as their pets

prompts: Day 9 - gentle/brutal + Day 10 - screaming/silence

note: this fic is based on a headcanon i have about angel wings which i’ve previously written about in this series. I have pasted some paragraphs at the start for better understanding, but I still highly encourage you to check out the original series!

Read on Ao3.

“What are those lights?” Dean eventually asked, wonder and admiration on his face, an expression he hadn’t worn since his childhood was stolen.

“The plumage of an angel possesses a glow specific to the angel,” Castiel explained. “Sometimes, when the angel is around someone they especially trust and care for, this glow manifests in those particles. Nobody really knows what they actually are.”

“They look like fireflies,” Dean stated, but his eyes spoke of a question he was too afraid to ask. Castiel chuckled and agreed before he whispered a little word in Enochian, increasing the expression on Dean’s face. “What was that?”

The angel repeated the word, louder this time. “That’s what they’re called,” he clarified. “It means sparks of emotion, which is contradictory since angels aren’t supposed to feel. With the absence of a soul comes the inability to feel, but somehow, emotions found a way into our beings. These fireflies, as you call them, especially respond to strong emotions, but somehow they don’t resonate with hate, which is one of the strongest emotions. Usually, they show when an angel is around someone they,” Castiel made a quick pause, almost unnoticeable to those who didn't know him, “... love. Those little traitors.”

- After the Flight (The Meaning of Home) by @cassiecasyl

~~~

The poison entered him from the veins in his left arm. It’s still bleeding from the impact, and Bucky thought he saw flashes of bone the few times he’s able to blink his eyes open. He groaned in pain, instictly flinching away from their hands, but his body lay still, obedient. It burned through his system, alighting his insides, flames infecting his body and soul.

Humans always thought of hell as a pit of fire you’re thrown into, or the stake they’d burned witches on. Bucky knew better. Hellfire devoured him from inside. The souls of future victims screamed a haunting melody as they burned.

He remembers being a comet. His wings caught fire in the wind, the Earth rapidly approached to greet him in a lethal hug. Feathers danced back towards the heavens, hopelessly holding out for a home lost.

The inferno inside reached them now, igniting them anew, as if they weren’t injured enough already. It blazed through his grace, touching the very essence of his being, triggering what should never be forced. Tiny blue orbs sprang from his plumage, fighting their artificial light, reflecting in the tears streaming down his face. No. They couldn’t.

A nasty smile echoes in his mind, darting around forever. His heart sinks as his love sings, but he doesn’t feel it. They jab into his arm, cutting something off. He is a machine, easily reconfigured. No. They fill him with foreign hate, and it burns what’s left of him. Blue turns inside out, ablazes in orange before glaring at him in red. Bucky screams.

He screams, but there’s no sound, so he tries again, and again, and again, to no avail. His body is no longer his own. They control the very air he breathes, control the function of his lungs. He could die, here and now, and his body would be none the wiser.

Blood fills his mind, darker than his corrupted sparks. It is splattered all over the place, all over his face and on his hands. He is shaking inside his stoic cage. A tainted feather falls onto the ground, further painting itself with blood. It is surpringly light, considering the state of his wings. They are darkened with ash and charcoal these days, and covered in the grey mud only snow produces.

Winter. That’s what they call him.

He comes when it’s most inconvenient, and leaves only coldness in his wake. Wherever he goes, suffering follows, and even the trees shake with fear. None of them hear him scream.

He tries and tries, screaming until he swears he can feel blood in his throat, and then some more. Louder. Nobody even flinched. Louder. Why didn’t his mouth move, why were his tears only an extension of hellfire? His eyes burn, but winter freezes him before a tear ever leaves his eyes. They are as trapped as he is. Bucky screams, because that’s all he could do anymore. He screams over the roaring flames and the souls haunting him. He screams, but it never passes the barrier of his skin.

Bucky screams.

He screams until another voice joins him. “Bucky!” It was familiar panic, or worry. Hands collide with his freezing skin, and it’s burning again, oh god, they’re burning him again. He doesn’t even remember what he did to deserve this. Bucky kicks and flails, blind because they control his eyes, but his body is his.

A scream thralls through his ears and he stops and opens his eyes, every nerve on high alert. The dark room seems familiar, but Bucky can’t quite place it. There are shadows playing with him, and the moon, ever the creep, smiles into the window. A night light burns on the nightstand on the other side of the bed.

Brown, worried eyes catch his. Bucky stills, breathing heavily. Sam. His wings are angled slightly in alarm, showing their light brown freckled underside. He relaxes as Bucky stares, the hellfire and ice slowly replaced with softer warmth.

Hazel fireflies surround Sam’s wings, standing out more now that he had closed them. On the upside, his wings are colorful; his primary feathers are black and white, covered by grey secondaries. In the middle, they meet his back in a golden brown, blending into his sepia skin. He is beautiful, hoping eyes a promise of home, sparks untainted by hate.

Bucky reaches out, daring to search for contact, for comfort, slowly enough to ask for consent. Silver light reflects on his metal arm, and he is back there, with them in his veins, no, cables, controlling, controlling, controlling. Bucky recoils, scared of what his hands will do when they meet Sam. He can’t hurt him.

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t—he already did. Red splotches obstruct his vision, much like the blood he shed when they first met. When the hate still fueled him, rage dancing in his bones, hellfire in his veins, so hot it’s freezing him. When his sparks were still tainted red, a supernatural beast scaring its next victim just for fun. Nowadays, they usually don't show at all. He’d lost them to the winter.

Though, he means to see their glowing eyes in the corner of his own. He shudders, unsure whether his body follows the motion. No. Bucky shakes his head as he fights against the ice in his lungs. He can’t hurt Sam. Not again. Blood fills his vision, or maybe the moon hides behind clouds, too scared of the monster he is. Too scared to witness a murder between lovers, because one can’t trust his mind. His mind that screams for blood.

Blood, blood, bloodbloodbloodblood—

Pain stabs through him and he stills. Bucky blinks, looking into worried eyes that break his heart. He’s so sorry. The air he sucks in is a weird mix of warm and cold, of dry heater and cold night. He stares again, and thinks that maybe a tear escapes his eyes. He’s still an angel, not a machine. Machines don’t cry.

His hand must’ve found his wings, because that’s where the pain pulses from, sharp and attentive. There’s blood on his hands, but it’s his own, so it’s okay. His fingers graze another feather, thumbling on it and pulling slightly. It was the only thing he could do. Tears run down his face, weirdly warm - everything he is, is frozen, so why aren’t they? - and dropping to his chest and he knows he can’t stop them.

His shaking fingers lose grip on his soft plumes tainted with blood, and he desperately tries to get it back, to get it under control again, to just feel what he deserves— A hand stops him, burning him with the contact. It’s not letting go, even as Bucky struggles against it, but carefully leads his hands forward, away from his wings. Bucky looks up at Sam, blinking through the tears and an apology on his tongue.

Sam wraps his arms around him and Bucky falls into him as he melts. “It’s alright, you’re gonna be alright,” he assures him, and Bucky latches onto it as he rides through another wave of tears. Sam’s warmth is so drastically different from the one he dreamed about— comforting, soothing, calm, safe. He nudges his head into the crook of Sam’s neck, breathing in his home and the sweet nothings Sam hadn’t stopped saying.

“Hey, remember when we were racing in the sky?” Sam asks as Bucky’s breathing steadies. He continues after a moment as it becomes clear that Bucky won’t answer—but the fallen angel doesn’t feel judgement coming from his lover. “And the sun kept hiding behind clouds, so you decided to be Icarus?”

Bucky chuckles. “And you almost flew into a bird,” he recalls.

“Almost,” Sam repeats, chidingly, but not without a smile in his voice. Bucky glances up at that. Before, he had been staring into nothing, too afraid to look the other angel in the eye, but now, all he could see was the homely beauty. The moon’s cold light clashed with Sam’s warm skin tone, darkening it like a sunset.

“Anyway, you flew past the clouds and you would’ve flown into the sun, if I hadn’t caught up to you in time.” Bucky grins up at him. He remembers that day. It was one of the the first time flying since he’d escaped, and the first time he’d made it that far up. By the time he was past the clouds he was positively basking in the sun’s glory and in happiness. And then Sam came, almost golden in the sun, and his luck had been complete.

“If you’re trying to use this story as a moral, it’s kinda working,” Bucky teases, reveling in Sam’s snort. Right when he wants to cuddle closer, they’re interrupted by an ear-shattering screech that’s trying to impale Bucky’s sensitive ears. Sam just sighs as the noise is followed by a cat hissing.

He rubs over Bucky’s right arm before he quietly stands up, and Bucky whines at the loss of contact, at the warmth leaving him. It’s cold without Sam, but he keeps the thoughts of winter at bay by ignoring the moon in favor of watching Sam open the door. He quickly ducks as Redwing shoots through the opening, and almost stumbles on Alpine in pursuit. The cat has his eyes keenly set on the bird, who is now circling the ceiling in panic, calling out again. Bucky chuckles.

He welcomes the cat as he jumps onto the bed and lies down next to his angel. Bucky’s hand automatically finds its way to the soft and fluffy body, petting him until purrs erupt. He laughs at Sam’s exasperated face as he tries to get his bird to land or just calm down in general.

“You really gotta teach your cat some manners, old man,” Sam tells him and he laughs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky grins innocently. Sam rolls his eyes in response, but the smile playing on his lips isn’t missed to Bucky. Redwing finally lands on Sam’s shoulder and the angel gently offers his hand to him. The bird nuzzles it, chasing the darkness it brings.

Bucky watches them. He’s staring again, he knows that he does it a lot - Sam keeps pointing it out - but he can’t help he lopsided grin his mouth morphs into at the sight of his family. Alpine had fallen asleep, his fur tickling Bucky’s belly. Right here, at this moment, he is happy. It is weird how fast his weird little family cheered him up.

Sam looks back at him, his dumbass bird on his shoulder, his eyes undecided between annoyance and love. He thinks his heart might burst with all the love it’s not used to holding. There’s a new light there, suddenly, blue and frazzling. Bucky blinks, trying to chase it from the edge of his vision. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him.

But then Sam’s whole face lights up. He moves forward slowly, as to not scare Redwing again, and sits down on the bed. Bucky quickly glances back to the side, and then does a double-take. There, caressing his damaged wings, are a few little blue orbs. He cries out in surprise, covering his mouth, tears returning to his eyes. This isn’t real, he tells himself. It couldn’t be. They’d turned them red, replacing all he had with their hate, but now his body is brimming with love instead of hell.

Bucky looks back at Sam, and sees understanding love reflected back at him. He reaches out, closing the distance between them until their lips meet in a kiss. The warmth is overwhelming, but Bucky doesn’t want it to end. He got his sparks back, he was no longer corrupted, broken. He was happy, sappy enough to cry joyous tears as he kisses the man who made all of this possible, who was the reason for all that was good in his life.

“Thank you,” he whispers in-between kisses, his heart jumping with every beat, dancing in love. Blinking blue mixes with soft hazel, creating a stylised night sky, completed by the colors of their wings. Bucky puts all the overflowing love into the kiss, his hands flailing to get Sam closer, and Sam returns the favor.

But then, Bucky moves the leg against which Alpine is resting. The cat wakes up instantly and voices his complaint in a confused meow. He breaks the kiss, softly chuckling into shared air before leaning back to take care of his fluffy child, leaving Sam to do the same with his feathery kind.

~~~

taglist: (lemme know if you wanna be added or removed!) @starrynightdeancas @spookyscarykittycat @sherlock-who-mentalist @lost-lunar-wolf @aniridescentdreamer @aixabi

#sambucky #self-harm tw #nightmares #angst with happy ending #hurt/comfort #fluff #angel au #Whumpay2021 #my fic #tfatws

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bitter-sweet-farmgirl · 4 years ago

Text

Halw Galabî

Part 15 of ‘A Deep Misunderstanding’. Link to Series Masterlist.

Thorin falls for a Dwarrowdame raised by Elves, and tries to make know his feelings, but accidentally offends her, which leads to another and another misunderstanding between the two.

Based off of @immawriteyouthings ‘Falling Stars’

Note: If you wish to be tagged for certain stories, just let me know and I can add you to a tag list!

Tags:

@kumqu4t @pixierox101

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel

Word Count: 1,900

Warning(s): Mention of time of the month, curse word(s)

Translation(s): Halw Galabî: Sweet Words

Zirizkhîe: My Gold One

Gaihithe: My Little Dove

Sasakhabiya abnâmul: You look beautiful

Ra sasakhabi abnâmul: And you look handsome

Amrâl: Love

Karkith: Little Raven

Nê akhshum: Don’t worry

Sindarin:

Mae loboth: Furry rabbit

~~~~

I hated walking with every fibre of my being. Eru, it was an unnecessary action; especially when I was currently bleeding profusely.

Stupid periods.

A scowl decorated my downcast face as I walked behind Thorin on the open terrain of the meadow we were tromping through. Not even the beautiful flowers planted by Yavanna's hand; swaying slightly in the vague gusts of wind could brighten my mood with their vibrant colours.

"Zirizkhîe, come here." Thorin's rich tones brought my head up to look up into sapphire blue orbs; orbs that displayed a concern I was used to seeing these past few days.

Letting out a disgruntled sigh, I quickened my pace till I was by Thorin's side, shooting him a sideways glance. "What do you need?" I grumbled, and Thorin let out a soft laugh.

Cheeky bastard.

"I just wanted to talk with you. Do you want to stop for a moment and rest?" He asked, slipping a hand around my waist to gently grip my hip. Merciful Manwë, his touch had my grouchiness fading just the littlest bit.

"No, I'm fine. The faster we walk, the faster we reach the place where we are camping tonight." I said matter-of-factly, leaning my head against his furry shoulder.

"I cannot argue with your logic there, Gaihithe." Thorin said, giving me a look that sent butterflies throughout my stomach. His sapphire blue eyes flickered over my body, sending little shivers down my spine. "Sasakhabiya abnâmul." He murmured, and I raised an eyebrow.

"Ra sasakhabi abnâmul." I countered, and Thorin grinned, giving my hip a gentle squeeze.

"Would ye tone it down? None of us want to watch ye get all cozied up!" Dwalin growled from behind us, and both Thorin and I turned to shoot a glare at the tattooed Dwarrow.

Catching sight of each other doing the exact same thing, Thorin and I shared a look and began to laugh.

"By the Valar, I've been spending too much time around you..." I laughed, and Thorin gave me a frown that I saw right through.

"Maybe that's not a bad thing, Amrâlimê." He said, and I elbowed him in the side, disappointment filling me for a moment when I didn't elicit a response from him. Eru, it wasn't fair for him to be so muscular and tough!

Seeing my furrowed brow, Thorin gave me a cheeky grin. "Did you really expect to hurt me, Amrâl?" He asked, and I shrugged.

"Perhaps..." I murmured, and he let out a rich, baritone laugh.

"It'll take a bit more than that to hurt me... I thought you said you were strong?" He teased, and I glowered at him.

"I am! It just doesn't seem like it when I'm up against a Dwarrow that's a few inches taller than me, much burlier, and of the opposite sex!" I defended, crossing my arms over my chest and giving Thorin a petulant look.

Thorin raised his hands in a show of surrender. "I apologize for offending you, my lady." He said solemnly with a stiff nod, and I fought against the laughter bubbling up within me.

It wasn't fair how easily my emotions were swayed right now.

Losing the fight against it, I began to giggle, staring at Thorin and marveling at the twinkle his eyes took on when he smiled. By the Valar, it made me fall harder for him.

But then the amusement in his eye was replaced with wide-eyed shock and he began to reach out a hand towards me. "Estel, watch out for--"

I didn't hear the rest of his sentence due to the fact that I stumbled over something, and fell face-forward onto the ground. Eru, this mirrored the occasion when we ran from the Wargs...

"Owww..." I groaned, grimacing as I pushed myself onto my knees. Looking down at my hands, I made a face as I took in the scrapes they'd gathered upon bearing the burden of my fall.

"Karkith! Are you hurt? Let me see your hands..." Thorin dropped to his knees beside me, gently grabbing my hands in his large ones to look them over.

"They just got scraped up... I'll be fine, Thorin." I said, trying to tug my hands away from Thorin. "Really, it's just a few scrapes that'll heal up in a few days. Nê akhshum."

"Amrâlimê..." Thorin murmured, looking at me with blue eyes that were alight with worry. "I cannot help but worry."

A few groans emanated from the group around us at Thorin's words. "Oh Mahal, there they go again..." I heard someone mutter, but I ignored them.

Gandalf appeared suddenly overheard, and I tilted my head up to look at him. "Bilbo has some ointment that is good for scraped hands." He said, and I shot a look at Thorin, finally pulling my hands away and standing up.

"I'll go see if I can borrow a bit of that then. Thank you Mithrandír." I said, nodding to Gandalf and turning away from Thorin to go find Bilbo in the crowd of Dwarves.

The Hobbit was easy to find--mostly due to the fact that he'd heard his name mentioned--and was quite willing to give me some of his ointment.

"Thank you, Bilbo." I said gratefully, gingerly spreading the salve over the palms of my hands. Perhaps it would be wise to find a pair of gauntlets that didn't just cover the tops of my hands.

Bilbo just nodded in reply, his gaze focused on my hair. "Why do you wear beads in your hair--if I may ask." He asked hesitantly, and I gave him a reassuring smile.

"Of course you may. They are kin beads and show that I'm courting someone." I explained, and Bilbo nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes.

"May I have a closer look at the beads?" He asked, motioning towards the braid in my hair. I nodded, taking a seat on a nearby log and turning my head so that he could easily grab the beads to look at them.

Turning my braid in his hands, Bilbo murmured to himself as he looked it over with curious eyes. "Aquamarine, blue jasper, citrine, clear quartz, garnet, howlite, lapis, moonstone, rose quartz, emerald, ruby, sapphire and opal... Interesting." He mumbled, and I pondered over the name of the gems he was reciting. Some I had heard of; others I hadn't. But why were they 'interesting'?

"MASTER BAGGINS!" An outraged bellow sounded behind me, and both Bilbo and I jumped at the sudden noise.

Turning quickly, I saw Thorin striding towards me, dark brown hair flowing behind him as he walked swiftly.

Manwë help the Dwarrow if he was going to complain about Bilbo being too close. I didn't have any patience for his 'possessiveness' today.

"Thorin?" I called softly, but he blew right past me, glaring furiously down at Bilbo who inched away from him. "What in Eru's name is your problem?" I asked, standing up to stand beside Thorin and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"He was touching your hair." Thorin growled, and I gaped at him in disbelief.

"Touching my hair. You're that mad over him touching my hair? Oh Eru, I don't believe you." I groaned, resting my hands on my hips as Thorin turned his body towards me.

"He was touching your courting braid!" He said, shooting a withering scowl over at Bilbo who seemed to want the ground to swallow him whole.

"I'm sorry, she said it was okay--"

"NO! It was NOT OKAY!" Thorin bellowed, and something inside me snapped. I was sick and tired of having to deal with Thorin's supposedly 'perfectly justified' outbursts.

"What the bloody hell is your problem?! Why do you care so much that Bilbo was touching my braid?! By the Valar, you act as though he's doing something sacrilegious!" I yelled, giving Thorin a harsh look. "Bilbo wasn't doing anything wrong; he just wanted to look at the beads in my hair!"

Thorin took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. I could see the fight visibly draining out of him, but I didn't care about that. I was all fired up, and wasn't going to let him draw back so easily.

"Halwûna..." He began, but I shook my head.

"NO! Don't you sweet talk me, Master Oakenshield!" I growled, and Thorin let out a sigh.

"Estel, in Dwarvish culture, touching someone else's hair or braids--particularly if they're courting or in a relationship of any sort--is practically a crime."

I scoffed, "well that's stupid."

A grin tugged at the corner of Thorin's mouth as he struggled to remain solemn. "Perhaps, but we still take our hair very seriously, Amrâlimê." He turned to look at Bilbo and nodded to him. "I apologize deeply for yelling at you, Master Baggins. I overreacted, and I'm deeply sorry about that." He murmured, and I watched him in disbelief.

Oh Eru, was he ill? Why else would he be voluntarily apologizing--quite genuinely at that--to Bilbo?

Bilbo just gave him a shaky smile, waving away his words. "It's fine, perfectly fine..." He stuttered, edging away from the two of us nonetheless.

Turning back to me, Thorin eyed my expression apprehensively. "I apologize to you as well, Estel. I forgot that you didn't know about that particular custom." He said, and I raised an eyebrow.

"Uh huh. Perhaps next time you'll keep that in mind before you go around yelling at people." I said dryly, and Thorin ducked his head, laughing.

"If only Dís could see me now..." He muttered, "she'd have a good laugh over how tightly you've got me wrapped around your finger."

"Of course--Wait, what do you mean I have you wrapped around my little finger? Does it mean what I think it does?" I asked, and Thorin just smiled slyly at me.

"You'll have to figure that out for yourself, Amrâlimê." He said, motioning for me to follow him as he turned and walked away.

Trotting after him, I quickly reached his side and looked up into his darkly bearded features. "The gems in my beads... Bilbo was naming them off. Do they have some sort of meaning?" I asked in a soft voice, and Thorin looked down at me, his expression guarded.

"Yes, they do. The same goes for the beads you've put in my hair. I'll explain them to you soon, alright?" He said in voice so tender I wanted to melt like a snowball on a hot day.

"Yeah, that's fine." I mumbled, moving closer to Thorin's side as we began to walk again. "Perfectly fine."

Thorin laughed beside me. "You sound like the Hobbit... Do I scare you?"

I smirked, glancing over at the Dwarrow walking beside me. "Not a bit, you mae loboth." I said, and Thorin turned to look at me, confusion furrowing his brow.

"What did you call me?" He asked, but I just shrugged, laughing.

"That's for me to know and you to never find out, Halwûn." I giggled, and Thorin smiled back at me, shaking his head.

"Oh Mahal, I love you..." He said, ignoring the mutters rising behind us at our words.

They'd just have to deal with it for awhile longer; till we set up camp. Then they could disperse and leave me and Thorin to our sweet words.

And something told me they couldn't wait for that to happen.

#thorin #thorin x oc #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x oc #fluff #angst #oblivious hobbit and oc #the hobbit #the company #bilbo #braids #courting braids and beads #fanfic #fanfiction #period

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nelllraiser · 4 years ago

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the littlest pet swap | darwin & nell

TIMING: during the waking world potw (aka wonky magic times). LOCATION: the street outside darwin’s apartment + darwin’s apartment. PARTIES: @asranism & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: a summoning gone wrong provides ample confusion for both darwin and nell, but mostly a lot of yelling in the street.

The sun had long slipped below the horizon as Nell opened the gate to one of the swankiest dog parks in town, though her slight form wasn’t accompanied by a canine of any sort. In fact, she looked entirely alone, a singled out figure in the low light of the street lamps while she opened the chain link gate of the park, satisfied with the emptiness of the enclosure. On nights like tonight she liked to make her way here, far after any other owners and dogs had abandoned the park so that her own ‘dogs’ could have as much fun as they liked without her needing to fear of the ruckus they might make should anyone catch sight of three hellhounds playing a game of fire tag, maws alight with flame as they chased after one another and playfully singed at each others fur. Raising her thumb to her teeth, she bit it until it bled, reopening a scab on it that had yet to heal from the last summoning of the hellhounds she’d performed. In a quick motion, she swiped the offering over the tattooed summoning sigil on her arm, a piece of magic she’d designed as a specific shortcut that would bring forth the demons she’d befriended some years ago. Except as the magic swelled and then ebbed, it wasn’t three hellhounds that stood before her but...something much smaller than she’d been expecting and- was it wearing a tuxedo? “Ah- hello,” Nell spoke to the mysterious demon with bewilderment, wondering where the hell her dogs were. “You’re not who I was expecting.” Had the unpredictability of her magic bled into this as well?

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Nell, a hellhound materialized in the middle of a strange and unfamiliar kitchen, and the young demon known to the witch as ‘Scrappy’ instantly began to growl at anything that dared to move within his vicinity. And perhaps the most concerning thing within his vicinity was a man foreign to him. Instinct was quick to take hold as his hackles rose, and it only took a small second before he was advancing on the man, a loud and threatening bark showing razor-sharp teeth as he wordlessly demanded to know what it was the interloper had done with his mistress.

Afternoon naps have never been a thing for Darwin Asrani, formerly the heir to the Asrani family business of subjugating demons for a quick buck, but things change, they always do, with his own escape and self-imposed exile from Asrani family dinners a testament of how the outgoing but sarcastic charmer isn't afraid to welcome change. Oh, how that statement is going to bite him in the ass in a few seconds. That, and something else. While Darwin was fast asleep, knocked out but comfortably so, deep in a dream of a better present where he wasn't running around, going after his family's mistakes, correcting them like he was responsible for their terrible choices in life, which he clearly wasn't, his tiny demon butler Bertrand was in the kitchen preparing its master his evening alcohol. Bertrand is of course Darwin's most loyal summon, a strange little demon who had a thing for wearing butler clothes, which in this context is a pretty charming tuxedo, and for some strange reason taking care of its summoner like the “Alfred” to Darwin's less gloomy and more fabulous Batman. Unfortunately for the two of them, that evening alcohol would not come to be, as something else stirred nearby, and soon Bertrand disappeared from where he stood, summoned elsewhere, while in his place a more terrifying and less clothed demonic entity stood growling at everything and anything.

"Bertrand, where the hell is my morning cock..." Darwin groggily walked into the kitchen, having finally awoken, in a sour mood after his fantasy was revealed to be nothing more than just that, a fantasy, not the actual reality of his own making. If he didn't have his sense of morality, the disgusting piece of him he liked to hide behind drapings of sarcasm and veils of flirting, he would have remained with his family, making a quick buck at the expense of other sentient creatures. It would have been an easy life, yet even as he made his way to where Bertrand should have been, he could not fully accept that option. Demons are scary, sure, and they are capable of damning things. But demons still have their own will. For another to bend that will to their own desires... Darwin could never accept that. Although, he would have considered the option as he gulped at the sight of not Bertrand in his kitchen, no, but a hellhound that looked like it didn't want to be there. At least they had something in common. "...tail?"

Everything happened so fast. Before Darwin could summon his own senses to return to him, his mind to conjure a plan or strategy of defensive measures, the hostile creature was upon him, chasing him out of his own apartment and into the cold dark night. Darwin could do nothing else but run, screaming, as the thought of his bits and pieces getting bitten to shreds was not something he wanted to come to pass. Fortunately for him, as the chase continued into the nearby dog park, he found Bertrand standing with lovesick eyes directed towards another, a woman with textbook attractiveness. Another spellcaster? "Bertrand! Quickly, rein in this monstrosity after me! I'm not wearing anything under my robe!"

“Hello?” Nell repeated to the newly appeared demon as it simply stood there, apparently transfixed on the young woman before him. Maybe he was in shock? She’d witnessed a few demons who experienced cases of confusion after being unexpectedly Summoned. After all, it was certainly jarring to be one place one moment and somewhere entirely else in the next. “Sorry- I didn’t actually mean to summon you here. Were you doing something important? I can send you back to wherever you needed to-”

Her sentence was cut short as a panicked sound cut through the air, and it took the witch a long second to make sense of the words. Bertrand? Who the hell was Bertrand? And what monstrosity was the guy speaking of? “Oh shit,” Nell uttered as Scrappy tore after the man and his delicately robed state, flames licking the corner of the hellhound’s mouth as he barked and sprinted in hot pursuit. In an instant, Nell was tearing after the hellhound’s victim and the dog in question, her strides fast as she left the unfamiliar demon behind. “Scrappy! Scrappy, don’t! It’s okay!” The poor pup was no doubt startled, having shown up in a stranger’s presence with no familiar face in sight. “Scrappy come back! I’m right here! I’ve got fingers!” she yelled as she continued to run, referencing the emergency supply of human fingers she kept as treats for her assorted demonic creatures in her pocket. The hellhound seemed to hesitate for a split second, his pursuit of the man slowing at the mention of food. As a precaution, he tried to herd the man into a corner, gnashing his teeth and growling all the way as he made his attempts.

Well, Bertrand certainly took his time. Even though Darwin was sure that he emphasized his immediate concerns regarding his endangered bits and pieces, the supposedly loyal demonic butler seemed to wait a minute or more before dashing to its master’s safety. They were going to have a talk about that later, much later, when Darwin was once again certain that his own bits and pieces were 100% safe. Bertrand is going to have a lot of explaining to do, though technically it’ll probably only take a mere mention before they both forget about it. It wasn’t like Darwin actually required a butler, and Bertrand, in its defense, was doing the whole schtick out of love and nothing else. It was a strange relationship but it was the only one Darwin was comfortable in trusting.

“Bertraaaaaand!” Darwin yelled again, as quietly as he could, which was a bit of a hilarious contradiction, even as the tiny demon ran to his aid. The other human was already doing her best to keep the hellhound away from Darwin’s precious jewels, which made him think that it was most likely her own Bertrand. “Is this your...pet?” Darwin immediately hated that word. Pet. Demons weren’t meant to be pets. They were meant to be respected as the intellectual and ancient beings that they were and— Oh, my god, it’s about to burn my bits and pieces!

“I’m not sure what happened, but I found your Scrappy instead of my Bertrand in my current place of residence.” He gulped, backed into a corner, and heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Bertrand finally making its way to his defense from the corner of his eyes. “Bertrand! Oh, dear god (ironic, he knows), I’m glad you’re safe! What happened? Why are you out here? Who’s that with you? And for the love of all that’s good and sexy, can YOU please not feed your Scrappy my fingers?! I need them...for stuff.” Darwin fired the series of questions in quick succession, still barely awake to actually make a coherent plan of defense, having just woken up from his afternoon nap, though it was already late at night, and violently at that.

Bertrand just stood there itself, a little panicked, shifting its gaze from Darwin to Nell and then to the hellhound, unsure of what to do. On one hand, Bertrand needed to save Darwin. On the other, it wasn’t quite sure if Nell would appreciate if it tried to fight Scrappy. Besides, Bertrand still had hope in his tiny demon heart that the other human could rein in their own friend. The last thing it wanted was to start another demon-on-demon violence. That was certainly not part of their current deal.

“Scrappy!” Nell continued on with her authoritative tone when it came to making the hellhound stand down. “Scrappy, it’s alright, really.” Much of this particular hellhound’s aggression was actually caused by anxiety and fear, and a need to appear as fierce as possible in the face of a potential threat. The demonic dog finally seemed to pause its attack, though his teeth were still bared, not quite ready to let Darwin forget he was a threat. “Scrappy is…” Nell hesitated with an answer to Darwin’s question, also disliking the title of ‘pet’ when it came to the creatures she looked after. If it came to it, she’d use the word ‘pet’ as a cover, not needing normal humans asking strange questions about the less than usual animals that surrounded her. But as the witch’s gaze flickered from the other, smaller demon, and the man in front of her calling him ‘Bertrand’ with a voice that betrayed familiarity, it wasn’t hard to guess that she was being faced with another spellcaster. “I take care of him, and he helps take care of me when I ask him to,” she said truthfully, rolling up a sleeve to show the summoning tattoo that she’d gotten for the hellhounds, making it easier to Summon them at the drop of a hat. It was inked over the extreme scarring of her arms, the skin of them appearing mottled like a patchwork of flesh.

“And this is Bertrand?” Nell asked curiously, giving the little demon another friendly look. “Does he...speak? I tried talking to him before you ran out here, but he didn’t seem to have much to say.” With a gentle eyeroll, Nell crossed her arms over her chest before digging into her pocket. Scrappy, sensing a treat nearby, finally sat calmly at her feet. “I’m not gonna feed him your fingers. And I’m Nell, who are you? Do you always yell about your bits in the streets?” she decided to jibe playfully. But she was uncertain if the lightness would last. If this man was, indeed, another spellcaster— there was no guarantee he wouldn’t have heard news about the three sisters banned from their coven for necromancy and demon summoning, Nell being one of those three. Witch society was generally less than forgiving when it came to raising the dead, but perhaps he hadn’t heard, or perhaps she’d dodged that conversation by not providing her full name. Finally, she leaned forward to offer Scrappy a very human finger, and the dog eagerly gobbled the treat before sitting properly once again.

Darwin looked her over as she explained herself, mostly just her relationship with the hellhound Scrappy, as he wrapped his robe tighter around him in an attempt to stay warm out in the cold embrace of the night. He was now feeling a bit calmer with Bertrand finally standing beside him while the woman reined in her own companion. It didn't take long to dawn on Darwin how familiar the other spellcaster's relationship with Scrappy seemed with his own with Bertrand. Although Bertrand took a liking to acting and looking like the former Asrani family heir's butler, Darwin himself never really saw their relationship as master and familiar. Bertrand took care of him, even saved his life at one point, and for that, he will forever be grateful. It was most likely that very reason why he could not take to the demon as lesser than himself. Darwin owed Bertrand more than he'll ever care to admit, if only attempt to show through quieter actions. Like sharing pizza and interacting with him like he would any other. To be honest, Darwin probably treated Bertrand better than he did most humans. Without Bertrand, there would be no Darwin to this day.

He instinctively raised an eyebrow when the woman showed him her tattoo, dark brown eyes immediately trying to make sense of the handiwork as if there would be something more hidden beneath what they could see. Darwin thought of showing her his own tattoo but wasn't quite sure if that would be a good idea. The placement was, after all, somewhere more intimate and they were currently outside. Although he was certain that appearing to expose himself to another would be less offensive than having demonic entities prancing around in public, that didn't make him any less wary about that scenario. Thankfully, the woman's curiosity saved him, like the school bell to his hapless problematic student. "Yes, this handsome fellow's name is Bertrand." He turned to the tiny demon with a smile, both born of pride and affection. "Bertrand's my most loyal friend, though he often speaks only through the mind, which I suppose he reserves with known friends, those whose names and consent have been shared with him."

Bertrand himself turned to Darwin, and when their eyes met, nodded with a smile on his face. That moment was quickly ruined when Nell mentioned him yelling about his bits in the streets. While Bertrand was quick to hide his amusement, Darwin feigned a cough as he tried to hide his bits and pieces within his robe, which was barely doing a great job. "Well, you would, too, if you had just awoken from your drunken stupor, only to find an aggressive hellhound in your kitchen instead of your most trusted friend, and then get chased by that same hellhound into the night..." It was certainly an odd choice to summon a hellhound outside, but Darwin was yet to become familiar with this strange place, with its strange love for mimes and stranger disappearances, so who was he to know what was odd and what wasn't in White Crest? One thing he knew for certain, however, was that his bits and pieces were getting cold. "...I am Darwin, and I don't know about you, Nell, but I'd like to keep my bits and pieces warm. My place is, well, you probably already know. Feel free to follow me inside. I rarely have any company, so it might be a little too gloomy, but I just woke up, and I will most likely be up for a few more hours, so feel free to join me and my gloomy company where it'll at least be warm and our friends safe from..." He looked around them, an eyebrow raised, both emphasizing his point and making sure no one was eavesdropping on them. "...curious eyes."

With a nod to her and another to Bertrand, Darwin began to walk away, back inside his place. Bertrand himself waited on Nell and Scrappy with a wide smile, exactly like a butler waiting to usher in his master's guests. The sheer size of that grin would reveal to anyone how much Bertrand wanted to have guests and how few they ever got any. Of course, with a demonic butler and a host that had just arrived in town, the strange pairing wouldn't find it easy to have guests. This was a strange new town for them, and they were a strange new addition to the rest of the town. Besides, Darwin wasn't here to make new friends, but he was at least certain that the other spellcaster would not be his quarry. Perhaps, she would even be of great help to him and his cause.

He had to know what the tattoo was based on his reaction as well as what it meant she was, and Nell wasted no time in pressing the matter of his own identity. “So you’re a spellcaster then, right?” There was a flicker of tentative hope in her words as she asked them, eager to meet another magic user that wasn’t a part of the coven she’d been banished from. Of course, there was no guarantee that news of her and her sisters' excommunication hadn’t reached other corners of witch society, along with the magic they’d done. Obviously demons most likely wouldn’t be a problem with this man, seeing as he had one accompanying him as well, but necromancy was a whole other can of worms, and one that was also heavily feared and frowned upon within magical circles. Not to mention there was the fact that Nell often utilized blood magic, another practice that was most often met with harsh judgement and heavy reservations when others heard she used it. For the moment being, she wouldn’t mention it.

Instead, she decided to say hello to Betrand once more now that she knew his name. “Hello, Bertrand,” she offered a proper greeting with a smile and small nod of her head. “It’s nice to actually meet you. And sorry for summoning you unexpectedly,” she apologized again, knowing it must have been confusing to find himself somewhere new and unexplained.” It was interesting that he preferred to speak mentally, and though Nell was very much wanting to speak with the little guy, she wasn’t quite so sure how she felt about letting him into her mind just yet. With her general desire to keep the inner-workings of her head private, and the consistent mind breaches she was courtesy of Ma’al’s demon cult...she had little desire to forfeit the scarce safety she had in her mind at the moment. But maybe the future would grant her the pleasure of having conversation with Bertrand, one way or another. “And hello Darwin,” she offered with another wry grin.

“I don’t know,” Nell began, once again adopting her teasing tone. “I think I’d be pretty excited to find a hellhound in my kitchen. A gift, really. Probably not running around like a madman while yelling about my bits and pieces and then still talking about them once everything had calmed down.” There was a mischievous sparkle in her eye that told of the levity in her words, no actual intent to harm behind them. She didn’t hesitate to follow behind him as he led the way into his dwellings, tilting her head to the side as she took in the practicality of the place. “How long have you lived here?” she questioned, curious as to how she’d missed another spellcaster that worked with demons. After all, they weren’t exactly common. Nell wasn’t entirely sure how to react to Bertrand acting as butler, feeling a little out of place as the demon flitted about. It felt...strange to use a demon as someone to wait on you, but for all appearances it looked as if the demon was enjoying his job, possibly even thriving as he did his work. If Bertrand liked what he did, who was she to question it?

"Hmm?" The question didn't really surprise Darwin, as it would be pretty obvious to both of them that they shared at least an inkling of what the other was. Both of them had their respective demonic "partners", for a lack of a better term, and he just assumed that she, with that tattoo, was like him, if not better. She looked better, was better, because at the very least, she didn't just wake up, only to run away from a hellhound in just her robe. Speaking of robes, he wrapped his own tighter against himself, wary that his bits and pieces would be unintentionally exposed. He wasn't entirely into her, and all women for that matter, but it was still a matter of maintaining decency, the strange man in only a robe thought. "Just like you. Always good to find common ground with someone new..."

Bertrand simply smiled at Nell with an innocent, friendly sort of grin, the kind no one who wasn't well-versed with demons and their ilk would expect from such a creature. Yet so much would catch people by surprise, just by the fact alone that demons were as complex as humans, perhaps even more so. They were an ancient race, after all, and most knowledge about them barely scratched the surface. Type-casting didn't help. Darwin himself couldn't help but smile at her remark, her teasing, finding it a welcomed respite from the loneliness of having little to no other consistent human interaction, from Bertrand always saying yes and yes only to everything and anything. "That's fair. I did grow up with a hellhound. Sally. She was nice." Again, he tightened his robes against his skin. "Not long. We've just moved here." He answered without look back to her, already making his way to the makeshift bar in his living room. Bertrand, like the good and trustworthy self-appointed butler that they were, waited for Nell to get in before following after her and closing the door behind them.

Darwin was already preparing himself a drink when Bertrand appeared completely appalled at the vision of their master doing something for himself, while they were around. The demon wrangler, however, found their instinctive reaction as well as the horrified look on their tiny demon face somewhat amusing, waving Bertrand back to let them know he's fine with doing it himself. He pretty much didn't need Bertrand to wait on him every damn time but it was the demon's strange wish, a really confusing hobby that Darwin himself has yet to fully understand. He owed him his life, though, so he could never deny Bertrand whatever they wanted. Finally settled on a cocktail, a concoction of two different rums, a cherry brandy, a diet Coke, and Maraschino cherries, Darwin turned to Nell from behind the counter, grinning from ear to ear as he took a sip of his glass and offered her her own. "Bertrand doesn't drink." He raised an eyebrow, turning to the demon who grinned back, before continuing with a classic gender-based assumption that he didn’t wholly believe but thought was a pretty decent jumping point. "Tell me about yourself and your...coven. You're a witch, aren't you?"

As Darwin confirmed the fact that he had magical abilities, Nell’s grin grew wider and more genuine, once again filled with hope at the prospect of having found a new spellcaster to take into her life. She had friends, of course. People she loved. And her sisters still knew what it was to wield magic. But to have a friend that was a spellcaster in her life again? That was something she’d missed more than she’d realized. Nell knew she was getting ahead of herself. After all, they’d barely even made one another’s acquaintance, but she couldn’t help the spark of hope that had lighted in her soul, nearly desperate to find someone like her that wouldn’t hate her. Just as quickly as the hope had blossomed, she watched it with a careful eye, trying to dampen it in the next moment as she reminded herself that she still didn’t know if he’d recognize her full name should she ever give, along with the ‘crimes’ attached to it. Still...she couldn’t help the excitement in her voice as she echoed, “Just like me. A Summoner and everything! Do you mostly do Summoning, then?” she asked, already burning with questions.

Nell didn’t hesitate to return Betrand’s smile, and at the mention of a hellhound Scrappy whined from his place at Nell’s feet where he’d finally settled. To have a demon as part of the family in a household? Her mother and coven would have balked at the idea. “Really? All of your family likes demons, then?” It was a novel idea, and a reality she’d never thought to imagine based off most casters’ reactions to demons. “Oh- well, welcome to White Crest,” Nell offered with half the enthusiasm she’d had when asking about the hellhound. “You’ll find it’s...a very unique place the longer you’re here. And pretty fucking dangerous so just- watch you back, I guess.” It was only fair to warn the man what he was getting into.

The witch accepted the drink with a quick, “Thank you” before taking a sip, and then promptly popping one of the cherries into her mouth. “Good for Bertrand,” Nell said with a chuckle. “Very responsible of him.” But the mention of a coven was quick to tense her shoulders along with her mouth. She should have expected it. How many times had she been told that a witch without a coven was barely anything at all? So of course another spellcaster would ask where her’s was. Nell opted to answer the simpler of the two questions first. “That’s me- a witch.” Her former excitement had waned, already dreading where this conversation might go. “And you’re…? Well- what do you call yourself?” Witch was generally thought of as a woman’s word in pop and normie culture, but she’d met plenty of men who went by the title as well. Now for the rest of her answer. “I don’t have a coven.” Anymore. She carefully opted to leave off the end of that reply, unwilling to ostracize herself so quickly. “There’s one in town, though. Mostly fire elementals.” It was her own former coven, and the very same one her mother had banished her from. “What about you? What about your coven?” Maybe she could turn the rides away from herself into his direction instead.

"Yeah, sure, mostly Summoning..." Darwin offered her a warm smile and a wink before taking another sip of his drink. Although he didn't feel like there was something about her that made her a little difficult trust, something suspicious, anything suspicious, the well-traveled demon wrangler had learned from his past experiences to keep unnecessary additional information from newly made acquaintances. At least at this point, he believed it was the right thing to do. "You could say that. We're all in the...business." He unintentionally turned to Bertrand, as if apologizing for the terms he used. Darwin had never wanted to be associated with the Asrani family name again, their savage and brutal business of wrangling demons and twisting them mentally to suit their financial needs, but he had yet to share who they were truly by name and he could still, in his head, pretend that he was from a better version of his own family.

The momentary loss in thought, however, not to mention the more serious expression that possessed his face, might have hinted to the girl that there was more to his story, bits and pieces he'd rather not share for now, but he immediately tried to ensure to keep the conversation moving elsewhere. If it could even be a suitable distraction. "Thank you. So far, it's been, as you say, unique. I'll keep that in mind, though." At the sound of their name, Bertrand grinned before offering Darwin a quick bow and disappearing into the shadows. Truth be told, their makeshift master had no idea where they disappeared to whenever they were out of his sight, but Darwin would trust Bertrand with his life, as Bertrand themselves had been the only one responsible for extending it.

"I fancy myself a demon wrangler. I seek out the more dangerous demons let loose by careless mages, intentionally or otherwise, rounding them up and settling them safely back home, wherever they believe that is." Throughout his explanation, his dark brown eyes maneuvered themselves onto the hellhound with her. Scrappy, wasn't it? The creature didn't seem like it was brought here against its will. In fact, it actually looked like it was enjoying the woman's company. Darwin grinned at that thought. "Well, isn't that another thing we have in common?" Darwin gave her a nod and ushered her towards the living room, sitting at the sofa, the unexpectedly lavish couch that took the middle of the room as its own. With another sip, he gestured for her to sit with him before continuing. "I'm not much of a coven kind of guy. I find them...stifling at times, suffocating even. I highly value my independence, though..." He gestured around himself, around them, emphasizing the loneliness of his place. "...it'd be nice to have some company every once in a while."

For a moment or two, as their eyes met, Darwin considered poking around in Nell's head, wondering if she was hiding certain truths that he needed to know, if he should just take them for herself. It could be easy. She already had a drink in her hands. But then he got bored of pretending he was his damned father. He could never understand how that old bastard would ever think that was a good option, especially on his own son. What a fucking asshole. He heaved a sigh, mustered a weak smile, and took another sip of his drink.

His wink paired with the tone of voice and phrasing he’d used did little to assure Nell that Summoning was the only magic that Darwin did. It seemed that he was more inclined to withhold whatever other magic he was employing, and for a split moment she wondered if it might be blood magic. Perhaps the taboo nature of it was why Darwin was keeping the practice to himself. A year or so ago, Nell would have hesitated to ask, unwilling to reveal that she too was a practitioner of the questionable magic. But the year since then had taught her that if she were going to lose people for things she wouldn’t apologize for- it was easier to do so earlier in a relationship, to be cut loose before she got in too deep and their rejection would sting all the more. Beyond that she’d also learned that the bigger threat someone thought she might pose... the better. Perhaps if she’d been louder about her abilities, half the people that had tried to interfere in her life wouldn’t have done so in the first place. So it was with a straight back and almost daring air about herself that she said, “I also do blood magic.” Nell watched him for a long moment after that, looking for the familiar flicker of distaste of wariness that came over other spellcasters when she mentioned the discipline.

A demon wrangler made sense based off the way he’d spoken of the otherworldly creatures, and the company he kept with Bertrand. Nell had done her own fair share of recollecting demons that were places they shouldn’t be. “That’s good. And trust me there’s plenty of demons to wrangle around here. Just a few months ago some highschoolers accidentally summoned Bloody Mary. Obviously she’s not a demon but- you get the idea.” Nell refrained from mentioning that two of the teens had died in the process of that entire ordeal. No doubt Darwin was well aware of the casualties that were practically guaranteed when inexperienced practitioners tried to Summon. “You don’t have a coven?” Nell asked again, her curiosity once again piqued. “You’re right about the rules, though. The one I mentioned before has banned any sort of demon summoning.” It had been part of the reason she’d been exiled, though only a fraction of it.

Taking another sip of the drink he’d given her, Nell gave a half-grin at the mention of company, hiding the eagerness she was feeling at having found a spellcaster who wasn’t forbidden from speaking to her, and also wasn’t her sister. “Well if you keep making me drinks- I might be able to provide an answer to the occasional company problem you’re running into.” She still had so much to ask Darwin, but a whine from underneath the table told Nell that Scrappy was getting antsy, still not entirely comfortable with being in the presence of a stranger and his demon. “I should go take care of this boy, though,” she said before leaning down to give the hellhound a pat. “He’s not really good with company- which I’m sure you figured out when he was trying to bit your ‘bits and pieces’ off.” Her tease was accompanied by another grin, obviously taking amusement in using the phrase against him. “But maybe I could bring one of the more confident hellhounds by another time.”

Darwin almost choked on his drink when she revealed the other kind of magic she did. Hailing from a family of mental magic practitioners, which really never ends well when shared with a new acquaintance because humans have always been a paranoid lot, the demon wrangler had strangely little to no experience with actual blood magic and its practitioners. There was that one girl he befriended, the young single mother, but it was a disheartening affair, one that proved to be more dangerous to herself and to the ones around her. Right then and there, Darwin wondered if the same could be said for Nell. How lonely it must be then, and how painful, that one's magic can punish a practitioner beyond the rules of equivalent exchange. Then again, it must be the only appropriate rule for something as dangerous and painful as blood magic. Darwin took another sip of his drink to regain his composure. "That's interesting. I knew a girl who did that, too. She was...admirable."

"Bloody Mary? Really? High Schoolers?" Darwin shook his head, distancing his lips from the glass as they twisted into a playful smirk born out of disbelief that such young children could be capable of summoning bloody Bloody Mary but at the same time impressed of the act. He was also young when he started Summoning, though he focused mostly on smaller demons first. Then again, he was around their age, if he recalled correctly, when he first summoned a demon the size of a human, not unlike Bloody Mary herself in terms of height and number of limbs, though his was more fueled by lust than violent murder. That was also actually when he first realized he preferred men over women. "Did any of them survive?" His smile turned into a frown when he remembered the truth of the matter. Just because you can actually Summon, just because you got lucky in actually drawing someone else, something else, from their world to this one, doesn't mean what happens next will be harmless, profitable for you. Often, the novice, the inexperienced, dies from the ordeal or during the aftermath due to lack of assertion or impression. No one enjoys an unscheduled appearance, without their consent, in a lesser world.

Darwin simply shook his head at the question relating to his coven, the thought of his own family being akin to that to him...until his father tried to bend him, his mind, to their twisted capitalist bullshit. "Ah, but of course. Demon summoning and witchcraft don't always go hand in hand. Either often prefer to be focused on, unable to share their practitioners with one another." At this point, he was just blowing wind up his own ass. He didn't actually know if that bit was true, only that it made sense to him to be so. His grin returned at her tease, or at least what he perceived to be a tease, longer than before. Even though Darwin had his own preferences when it came to carnal pleasures, he enjoyed flirting, teasing, the art and science of which, most likely because it helped boost his ego, his confidence, in ways that he never could growing up, alone, without the familial support he subconsciously craved.

"Of course, my love! Feel free to visit any time. Bertrand and I will always enjoy your company and that of your hellhounds." He offered her a grin as he stood, careful not to expose her to his bits and pieces, like the gentleman host that he believed himself to be. Gesturing towards the door, which Bertrand who just appeared from out of nowhere was quick to open, Darwin accompanied his lovely guest on her way out. He could've actually walked her home but it was getting too cold for his bits and pieces, and he was slowly getting too drunk. He did turn to Bertrand, though, and nodded, a gesture that meant the self-appointed butler would follow the witch back to her abode to simply ensure her safety. Not that Darwin believed she couldn't take care of herself, what with the blood magic and the hellhound at her arsenal. It was more like a routine that he half-remembered from his past before he had to escape, flee, a reminder his late mother always told him: Take care of friends and family, even if they never want you to. Well, Darwin was out of family, and Nell was the first friend he'd made in town. Might as well.

Nell waited with a steely gaze for Darwin’s verdict, ready to write off this newfound and tentative friendship here and now if he reacted negatively when it came to her blood magic. She didn’t need anymore people in her life that would leave her down the road, but it seemed that paranoia had been misplaced when he spoke of admiration. “She was?” Nell echoed, as if confirming she’d heard correctly. Obviously she had, and the thought filled her with another spark of tentative hope. “I’m sure she was, then. Admirable, I mean.”

As for the highschoolers…”Just one,” Nell answered grimly, still holding some residual guilt for having been unable to save the entire lot of them. “Two of them died in the process, including the one who had the ability to Summon in the first place. I don’t think he knew, though- that he held the magic. He didn’t make a proper sacrifice and- well- the Summoning decided it wanted more. I’m sure you understand.” None of them were free of the chains of equivalent exchange, and sometimes the jailers demanded entire lives as a means of paying the price.

But as Scrappy whined once again, Nell knew he was reaching his limit of being indoors and stationary, and in the presence of a man he’d chased down the street and was still not entirely certain of. “I really am sorry I have to go- there’s a ton more I wanted to ask. But I’ll probably also just message you once I’m home on the White Crest forum thing, and we can pick up where we left off. But I mean it about the drinks,” she reiterated with a grin, still wishful that this budding friendship might be a lasting one. “So be prepared for me to bother you about that within 2-5 business days.” Gathering up Scrappy, she made her way towards the door, giving Bertrand a nod of goodbye as well, not yet realizing that he’d be trailing her on the way home. “And I’ll see you, as well I hope.” With that she was making her way out of his apartment and onto the street, below, pausing with a small smile on her lips to let herself bask in the potential promise of another spellcaster in her life that didn’t hate her guts. Even though she still wasn’t sure how the demon mixup had occurred, that worry could be kept at bay for the moment being with the knowledge that she’d started something new out of it.

#chatzy #ch:darwin #wickedswriting #the littlest pet swap

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honeyedhoseok · 5 years ago

Text

eight minutes || jjk (m)

Genre | very light smut, angst if you squint, car salesman!jungkook x reader

Word Count | 2.2K

Warnings | language, dry humping in a Mercedes Benz (fancy!), infidelity

Summary | A mid-shift rendezvous with your favorite stupid salesman, Jeon Jungkook.

A/N | Hi everyone...I’m back?

“Eight minutes, Jungkook,” you say, poking a finger to his chest. “No more. And if you try to persuade me this time—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes. “It’ll never happen again, you’ll get in so much trouble, blah blah blah.” He opens the rear passenger door to the shiny, black-on-black Mercedes Benz parked beside you two. “You gonna get in?”

You nod, although somewhat stubbornly with a clenched jaw, and duck into the low-sitting vehicle, sliding across the black leather so that you’re behind the driver's seat. Jungkook ducks in after you, shutting the door and grunting as his knees hit too close to his chest due to the small proximity of the luxury model you two were about to make out in.

It probably wasn’t the best—or easiest—place to have an after-work rendezvous at, but you would take what you could get.

“Man, fuck these small ass cars,” he mumbles, reaching for the seat motor button on the passenger side. “I don’t know why anyone would want a GLA anyways, this shit has the smallest, low-roof interior of any car on our sales lot. A real downer to anyone over five-foot-seven.”

He grumbles to himself as the seat slowly moves forward, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing at the expected cuteness of it all.

“Mmmmm,” you say, grinning as you rub your hand along his leg. “Love it when you talk cars to me, baby.”

Jungkook smirks back at you, finally able to free his legs and sit with them wide open, and he settles against the leather seating, patting his lap.

“That wasn’t part of my eight minutes,” he warns you. “It starts the second you come over here, princess.”

You nod, already up in your seat and ready to swing your leg over his and straddle his lap. “You bet your ass it does,” you murmur, placing your hands on either side of his face and bringing his sweet, sweet mouth to yours.

He sighs a little in content, arms slithering around your body to press one palm to your hip and the other to the small of your back, ultimately bringing you as close to him as possible. Jungkook alters between kissing your bottom and top lip as always, making you melt into him—the thoughts of the previous difficult workday fading with each flick of his tongue against yours, every nibble of his teeth against your lips.

“Fuck,” he grunts as you pull away, mouthing a trail across his jawline to the taunt skin of his neck. “I needed this—this fucking—customer today changed their mind, at the last minute—”

“Jeon,” you say, pulling back to look into his eyes.

Although they are half-lidded, they stare at you with an amused sort of curiosity, and his teeth sneak out to sink into his bottom lip in anticipation of your oncoming scolding.

“Is this really what you want to talk about right now?” you ask, eyeing the situation of your bodies in the backseat of a dealer-tagged Mercedes on the lot. “Think about it real hard.”

Jungkook just flashes you his signature shitty salesman grin—one that you’ve seen him give to female customers when he knows he’s about to get them hook, line, and sinker. His hand that was previously kneading one side of your hip comes up to caress your face, and he rubs his thumb across your cheek with delicate swipes.

“No,” he says finally, his eyes dropping from yours and lingering on your other features. “Fuck, you’re so pretty—you know that?”

Your face warms even though he’s said a multitude of things like this in the past. If there was one thing Jeon Jungkook was, it was a sweet talker. You’d thought at some point over the past few months of fooling around with him you’d get used to it, but every time he said something your heart beat just as fast as the first. It was sad, really, how hard you’d fallen for him, but you’d never let him know.

“Shut up,” you say, unconvincingly. “And why do you hate on GLA’s? Millennials like us are supposed to love them.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And you sold that annoying woman one today, remember?” you say spitefully, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’d look absolutely stunning in a GLA, Mrs.—”

“Hey, stop wasting my time,” he teases, interrupting your rant while easing your mouth down to his for a small lick at your bottom lip. “You only gave me eight minutes to kiss the life out of you, and I can’t when you’re looking at me all mad like that.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, but you roll your eyes anyways. “I’m not mad,” you say, leaning back down and brushing your lips against his.

“Good,” he murmurs, closing his eyes and leaning up to press a small kiss against your mouth. “I hate it when you’re mad,” he sighs.

Your heart does a weird, warm flip-flop in your chest and you push the feelings that threaten to rush to the surface with a hard press of your mouth to his. Jungkook takes it as you getting back into the mood, and his hands grip at the bottom of your work shirt tucked into your slacks, pulling it up and out so that his hands can palm the warm skin of your stomach.

You groan a little, threading your hands through his thick locks, licking into his mouth with fervor. Jungkook was an incredibly good kisser, you’d give him that, but what really took the cake was the way he couldn’t keep his hands off you whenever you two were in a secluded space.

He was constantly running his palms along your body, threading his fingers through your hair, massaging the base of your neck with a tender touch, running his fingers along your lips, the slope of your chin, the curve of your earlobe. A single touch from him set your nerve-endings alight with life, and it didn’t help that in your current situation you were fixated right on his lap--everything you had was touching Jungkook, and Jungkook was certainly touching everything you had, making your brain one melty, jumbled mess.

You take a breather from his intoxicating mouth as he presses wet, sloppy kisses to your neck. You grin up at the ceiling as you tilt your head back, a breathy laugh escaping.

“What?” he murmurs against the dip of your clavicle. “You’re always laughing at me, Y/N.”

“I am not,” you argue, but the grin on your face gives you away. “Okay, I do laugh a lot, but it’s like a nervous tick—”

Jungkook noses his way beneath your ear, pressing a kiss to the hollow space there. “You have a lot of those, by the way.”

“Oh yeah?” you say. “Elaborate.”

“Well, there’s that one,” he pauses to place a small kiss to your chin. “And you’re constantly messing with your rings—you always take the one on your right hand on and off.”

“True,” you hum. “Anything else?”

Jungkook eyes your mouth with a kind of hunger that makes your insides jump, before saying, “You do this thing with your tongue sometimes—it’s like running it across all your upper teeth while you’re thinking, or before you’re about to say something you’ve been thinking. Honestly, it drives me fucking crazy, Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

You grin easily at him—for some reason his praise gives you confidence, and you lean closer to his mouth.

“Yeah,” Jungkook murmurs, struggling to maintain eye contact when he can feel your breath on his lips. “Feels like an invitation.”

“Oh, it is,” you say with a smile, before leaning down agonizingly slow until your lips barely brush against his. You do it once, twice, before finally giving him a real kiss, letting your mouths meld together into a mess of movements that get increasingly hot and heavy as moments go by.

When Jungkook sneaks his tongue out, letting it slide against your bottom lip, you sigh heavily into his mouth, which he takes advantage of by inviting himself to taste any remains of the coffee you tried to cover up with the breath mints you snatched from the lobby right before you walked outside to meet him.

Jungkook doesn’t mind, of course. That’s what makes it all worse. Jungkook was so vocal all the time with his opinions, whether they be on cars, sales, business, music, movies, or how he felt about you. The latter of those was what really fucked you up. You didn’t understand how someone could be so good with saying exactly what they were thinking all the time, but he was.

As if on cue, he pulls back from you to rest his head against the seat, looking up at you with curious eyes that has your heart hammering in your chest.

“What?” you say, nervous. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just—seriously mad about this back seat,” he says, exasperated, looking around. “I haven’t spent much time back here but I seriously can’t believe how small this shit is—”

“Jungkook,” you groan, taking your hand that was entangled in his hair and giving the strands a small yank. “I fucking—”

“You fucking what?” Jungkook asks, giving you a teasing grin that lets you know he’s messing with you. His hands slip down to your ass just as he flexes his hips, letting his hardened cock in his pants brush against your center. “Tell me.”

“You tell me first,” you say, breathless, automatically returning the motions of his hips with little swivels of your own.

It was so effortless like this all the time with Jungkook--switching back and forth between laughter and sexual tension that made for your whole relationship to be much more intimate than anything you could have ever imagined.

In the early stages, you were a nervous mess around him; you were always unsure of yourself, unsure of how he was going to take any of your advances or the things you said or did, but Jungkook was nothing like the man he seemed.

In the dealership he was clean cut—prim and proper in his slacks, button-up and tie, with a blinding smile straight out of a Crest 3D White commercial--and the only time you ever got to see him goofing off was if you walked past the sales manager’s office at the right time, or happened to walk out on the smoking stoop in the middle of one of his conversations.

It started slow, a conversation or two about mild topics letting you get to know each other, until suddenly you realized you were looking at the clock anxiously as it neared time for him to come in, making one too many trips to the bathroom to walk by his office, and spending a little extra time on your lunch to sit in the break room in case he came in.

But that was all it ever was. A bunch of rendezvous at the dealership, a few sneaky, short-winded texts after work, and an infinite amount of longing on both ends. This was how it had to be, though, and you could either take it or leave it.

For now, you were going to take anything you could get, no matter how it made you feel after it was over. It mattered in the moment.

And in this moment, currently, Jungkook was grinding his dick in just the right spot against your clit that you were digging your fingernails into his shoulders, breathing into his mouth heavily in between sloppy kisses that were really just smashes of lips against each other with no real rhythm.

“Damn it, baby,” he growls, nipping at your bottom lip. His hands lay heavily on your ass, aiding you in grinding on his lap. “I want you so fucking bad.”

You nod, leaning your forehead against his. You both know that you can’t do anything right here on the lot, but that doesn’t stop you from wanting to—or from grinding on each other in a way that’s going to make Jungkook have to think about dead puppies to soften up, and leave you with sticky panties for the rest of your shift.

But hey, no one told you to fall in love with a salesman. You did that all on your own accord. And it wasn’t so much the fact that you and Jungkook didn’t want to take your relationship to the next level, it’s that you couldn’t.

Later—way past your eight minute mark—when you are sitting beside Jungkook in the backseat with your body pressed against his, his head leaned down onto yours where he presses a soft kiss into your hair, you reach over and grab his hand and thread your fingers through in a tight hold.

Sunlight breaks through the dreary, cloudy day for just a moment, beaming through the windshield and catching light on the solid, silver band wrapped around Jungkook’s left ring finger. Your eyes trail down to where his thumb traces a soft pattern over your own, and you flip his hand on instinct so that the cool metal is pressed against your slacks.

Out of sight, out of mind—right?

#bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts jungkook scenario #bts scenarios #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook #honeyedhoseok #eight minutes #kpop smut

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visionsofus · 4 years ago

Note

im loving your wanda + vision's mixtape series! my song request is "I Know Places" by Taylor Swift! the song works perfectly with those two during the times between civil war and infinity war :)

Anon I'm sure you expected something quite different with this song... but here is what I wrote :) I hope you still enjoy even though its angsty!

Track #13: I know places by Taylor Swift

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |

Synopsis: Wanda and Vision try to spend a peaceful evening out for dinner in Paris when they are suddenly attacked. To keep each other safe they split up, forced to make the harrowing journey to the next safe house separately. Vision is faced with Wanda's mortality.

Warnings: Angst/ mild whump, blood, guns, reference to a gunshot wound, I mostly skip writing the gore because no

All Wanda had wanted was a peaceful evening. She should have known it wasn’t to be. You didn’t get peace when you were a fugitive.

But they were in Paris, it was their first time in the city of love, and it was impossible to resist the opportunity to spend an evening together at a Parisian restaurant, overlooking the River Seine. They’d put the necessary research in, knew how private the restaurant was and chose the night it was said to be quietest – a Tuesday evening. They were so caught up in being in love with each other and in the hope of having a normal evening, like a normal couple. One of the first lessons Nat had taught Wanda was how easy it was to hide in a crowd, a lesson she shouldn’t have forgotten so quickly. But after two years of hiding on and off with Vision in different cities Wanda had come to associate privacy with safety.

Of course, they was no way they could have predicted that their server would be attending university for international relations and was not only knowledgeable in the Accords, but had aspirations of reaching the United Nations. It was the wrong time and the wrong place, but it always had been for them. Time was never on their side.

The first sign that something was wrong came before they’d even sat down. The restaurant was quieter than they’d anticipated, with only two other couples occupying the interior of the restaurant.

Wanda tried to wait patiently for their nervous waiter to return and shivered slightly at the breeze coming off the river below. They’d chosen the balcony in the hopes that it would put them further out of view of anyone else in the restaurant, but she hadn’t anticipated the cold. In response to her shiver Vision slid closer along the bench, wrapping an arm around her waist and she gratefully pressed herself to his warm side.

“She’s taking too long with the menus,” Wanda murmured quietly reaching out to fiddle restlessly with the napkin in front of her.

“You worry too much,” Vision said pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We took proper precautions.” But he too sounded worried and Wanda was beginning to second guess their whole decision to spend an evening out.

To their relief the young woman returned a moment later with two menus clasped in her grip. They began the motions of ordering food and Wanda started to hope that everything was going well.

She was mid conversation with Vision about their plans for the duration of their trip when she heard a series of car doors slamming down on the side street below them. Vision too went quiet, listening carefully. He rose, walking to the edge of the balcony and peered over, his eyesight far superior to Wanda’s human eyes. At that exact moment their server returned, two drinks in her hands and Wanda couldn’t help it. She reached out into the woman’s head, just enough to see what had happened in the time since they’d arrived. What she saw made her jerk back, fear alight in her heart as she launched herself up from the table and the server scurried back inside.

“Vis,” Wanda said stepping towards him, “we need to run.”

He didn’t get the chance to reply as a series of bullets ricocheted off his chest. Of course, his Vibranium form was impervious to such amateur tactics but Wanda still felt her chest constrict in fear. Her powers rose to the surface immediately and she encased them protectively behind her magic, shielding them from whoever was shooting.

“Perhaps this was a bad idea,” Vision said scanning the area and Wanda could almost hear his thoughts as he ran through possible escape routes. “They’ll have circled the building by now, we’ll have to get out via the roof.”

“Up it is,” Wanda muttered and launched herself towards the roof with her powers, Vision close on her heels.

“How did they find us?” Vision asked as they ran along the roof shingling, or rather she ran, and he flew.

“The server recognised us immediately and reported to the local police,” Wanda called, stumbling a little on the next rooftop as she launched herself across the space between two buildings.

Vision was at her side, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. “We have to get out of the city.”

‘Pyramus Protocol?” Wanda asked, hating using the name of the plan that was their last possible resort.

“I’m afraid so,” Vision replied, and they stopped atop a flat rooftop, far enough away that they surely must have bought some time.

Wanda sighed, pulling herself to him and hugging him tightly. “It’ll be ok,” she murmured a promise to herself and to the night air around them.

“I’ll see you in two days,” Vision said drawing back just enough to kiss her tenderly.

“Don’t get caught,” Wanda murmured trying to keep her eyes closed a little longer as his thumb brushed along her cheek.

“Stay safe.” His voice was a whisper and when she opened her eyes he had disappeared.

Wanda cursed their frivolity even as she ran over rooftops, launching herself across spaces no regular human would have been able to in the direction of their rented apartment. Pyramus had been a requirement when they decided to keep seeing each other, despite their divided teammates, the havoc wreaked on a German airport and most significantly, the very legal international treaty that now divided them. Anytime they started feeling guilty about the danger they were putting each other in, the Pyramus Protocol was there to fall back on.

They’d designed the plan at the demand of Nat and Steve on one side and Tony on the other. Wanda knew it was the main reason their friends didn’t have more problems with these secret meetings. Vision hadn’t been able to resist naming their escape plan after Pyramus and Thisbe, the star-crossed lovers of Greek mythology whose tragedy had inspired Romeo and Juliet. Wanda didn’t mind, as long as they hadn’t cursed their relationship to end the same way.

Thanks to the Pyramus Protocol they had a safehouse in mind, deep in the mountains in the south of France. In every country they visited, there needed to be an alternate safe house if things went to shit, or it became too dangerous to leave the country. Such as right now. With Wanda’s cover blown the authorities would be keeping keen eyes on borders and airspaces, so the only option was to venture further into the country.

Part of the Pyramus protocol was to split up in the event that only one of their covers was blown and as Vision purposely hadn’t let his human form go public in the US, it was safer for them to be apart. Wanda could only hope that the authorities were only out for her. The secret of his appearance was all that was protecting him from becoming a fugitive like her if she got caught and it was this assurance that silenced Wanda’s guilt enough to keep seeing him.

Wanda was so lost in her head that she almost flew straight past their apartment, managing to slow down just in time to drop onto the small balcony facing the street. She laid a hand to the glass, using her magic to turn the handle from the inside and stepping quietly into the apartment. Vision didn’t often bring anything with him, but Wanda kept all her belongings on hand and couldn’t afford to leave everything behind, lest they find some evidence that could be traced back to her teammates.

The bag was always semi-packed, always sitting at the foot of the bed and within magic’s reach if she had to run, or worse, destroy the evidence.They’d gotten lucky so far. Until tonight.

Wanda knew something was wrong as soon as she stepped into the apartment. A floorboard creaked to her right and she threw her hands over her head as something whistled past her ear, narrowly missing her neck. A tranquiliser.

Wanda jumped into action, grabbing the duffle bag with her magic and launching herself back to the doors, smashing through the glass and up onto the rooftop once more. She heard the shouts of her pursuers and waited until the four men made it out onto the balcony, swearing in French and looking around. When one finally looked up, Wanda reached out to their minds, hating it even as she did. She managed to subdue three of them but the fourth persisted and Wanda fought between keeping the three under and trying to wrangle the last man into submission. All it took was the distraction of sirens nearby and her control waned enough for the fourth man to draw his gun and take several, carefully aimed shots at her. Wanda swore and launched herself back, throwing her power up as she did. But she was not quick enough, and one of the bullets found her shoulder, sending pain ricocheting through her left arm. She fell to her knees on the rooftop huffing in pain, tears burning at her eyes. She’d been faced with guns often during her time with the Avengers but never had a bullet actually hit her. She vaguely recalled that you weren’t supposed to leave it in, but worried about not having anything to staunch the blood flow if she tried to pull it out. If she passed out from blood loss now, she’d never escape.

Instead, she pulled off her winter coat, removing its woollen belt and using that as a temporary bandage, her blood warm against her fingers as she tried to breathe through the pain. To hide the bloody stains on her top she took a jumper from her duffle bag and tugged it over her head with great difficulty. She heard grunting and a hand reached over the side of the rooftop, sending her scuttling to the shadows as she tried to gather her wits once more. Shouting could be heard below, and Wanda knew this was her last chance to lose her pursuers.

The station was only 20 minutes away by foot, but Wanda made slow progress, sticking to rooftops as often as she could, always on alert for how near the sirens were. She launched herself from rooftop to rooftop with one hand, her other arm too painful to move.

Once she was sure she hadn’t been followed she purchased two north bound tickets using a traceable credit card under her name, and for her real ticket used cash, messing with the ticket officer’s mind to ensure he only recalled her buying the first two. She’d paid extra for a private cabin with a bed for the overnight train ride that was due to have her arriving late afternoon at the Pyrenees mountains.

At the platform Wanda reached into the conductor’s mind as he waited at the door, erasing any memory he had of her boarding the train even as he checked her ticket. She made it to her cabin without further event, shutting the door firmly behind her and pulling the blinds down. She lowered herself carefully to the cramped bed set against one wall, breathing properly for the first time in an hour. She groaned quietly as the pain in her shoulder hit her fully and her adrenaline abruptly ran dry. It took all her strength to stretch out on the uncomfortable bed as the train started to rock, leaving the city. With the knowledge that she had gotten away she closed her eyes and let sleep overtake her.

Vision was waiting in a café, a French newspaper propped up in front of him and a steaming coffee in his hand, though he hadn’t drunk any. He was doing his best to act normal even as he listened to a couple near him chattering in French about the international fugitive spotted in Paris the night before. It was all over the various news channels, but so far, no mention of him had appeared. Better yet, the authorities seemed to have no leads on where Wanda had disappeared to.

Vision gasped as his forehead sparked with pain, exactly from where the mind stone usually was when he was in his normal form. He put his hand to his head and rubbed nervously. It was throbbing sharply, and he gritted his teeth as he tried not to draw any attention to himself. Then it was as though the stone was trying to speak to him, images flooded his mind – Wanda lying unconscious on what seemed to be a train, someone opening the door, the cry of sirens as police cars pulled into the train station. It all happened so quickly that Vision thought he might have been imaging things. The stone throbbed persistently, and he knew he could not ignore the warning. He needed to get to the train station immediately.

Now that he was further south, it had grown colder and though Vision didn’t feel the discomfort of the temperature drop, he was glad to be wearing the thick woollen coat, flipping the collar up and pressing his chin down. He disappeared into the street, just another person avoiding the harsh wind blowing down the main street.

The station was relatively busy as the train pulled in just on time and Vision found himself darting around people, making his way towards the front of the train where the priority seating was. The row of empty compartments appeared just as they had in his head, and there was the final compartment, its blinds still pulled tightly down.

He glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder and tried the door handle. Once inside he could have sworn his artificial heart stopped for a few moments. He dropped to his knees next to the bed and the woman lying in it. He was eye level with Wanda’s pallid, unconscious face and her eyes flickered weakly beneath eyelids.

“Wanda,” he said voice raw with pain. He reached out to her shoulders hoping he could wake her up. That was when he felt the blood, his hand coming away a dark red as he looked at her shoulder in horror. “You’re alright, you’re alright,” he whispered to himself more than anything as he picked her up carefully, hating how limp she was in his arms.

Throwing caution to the wind he phased right through the side of the train, moving so quickly he only hoped that no one on the platform happened to see him heading straight for the outskirts of town where the safe house was waiting for him. He didn’t care if he was spotted now, it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t help her.

The house was as basic as possible, an empty cabin in a small mountainous town. The last place Vision hoped the authorities would come looking. But it was hard to be concerned about that with the alarming situation presented before him. Wanda was hurt and there was no way he could risk taking her to a doctor or trying to get her to Steve or Natasha. But Vision had always assured her that he would be there no matter what, now was the time to see that promise through.

While the cabin might have been lacking in interior design and scarce of furniture, it was equipped with an extensive first aid kit beneath the kitchen sink which Vision quickly located. He had laid Wanda out on the couch and was startled to see her slowly coming to as he returned.

She tried to sit up, gasping as she looked around frantically at the unfamiliar surroundings. “Vis?” She cried her voice full of desperation.

He appeared at her side instantaneously and she pressed a bloodstained hand to his cheek her lip quivering as she looked him up and down, as though assuring herself that he were real. Despite his concern for her jostling her injury he leant into her as she rested her head on his chest, sitting so that she could hug him with her good arm, and he could hold her.

“It’s okay,” he said kissing her cheek even as tears began to roll down, “you’re going to be okay.”

“I was so scared they’d get you,” Wanda said through her crying and Vision’s heart clenched and he held her tighter.

“It’s okay,” he whispered over and over, giving her the time she needed to calm down.

Her breaths were still coming out in hiccups even after ten minutes of holding her, but Vision couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Now came the difficult part. He pulled back gently, cupping her cheek and she relented to lying back down, wincing as her weight was put into her back and her shoulder.

He prepared the first aid kit, the tweezers to remove the bullet that was still lodged in her shoulder and the needle to stitch the wound back up. Her power must have stopped some of the impact because the bullet thankfully hadn’t gone in too deep. He’d already profiled the area and made sure it wasn’t pressing on any arteries. It would be a painful, if quick procedure.

“Wait,” Wanda said hoarsely when he looked at her for confirmation to begin. “Can I hide in your head?”

“Of course, darling,” Vision said presenting his forehead to her and relishing the feeling of her warm palm on his cheek, and more distantly, the warmer feeling of a consciousness alongside his.

He looked at Wanda for the go ahead and she nodded slowly, closing her glowing eyes as she retreated out of her own mind and into his.

The mental distance helped Wanda as Vision started cleaning her wound up. The pain was a distant foe and though she winced as he withdrew the bullet it was infinitely better wrapped up in the comfort of his mind. He let her filter through the memories of the previous evening, and she was glad to see his escape had been relatively uneventful, he’d travelled west first and then south to the mountain range. Wanda hadn’t gotten a very good look at the space so far, hadn’t taken in anything beyond the simple fact that he was by her side and that she felt safe for the first time in 24 hours. But she looked now, reliving through his eyes as he made his round of the house. It was simple but cosy and reminded Wanda of the time a year ago when they had stayed in the Swiss mountains for a week. They’d spent their time going on long, secluded walks on mountain trails or sitting wrapped up together in front of the fire. It was a week spent taking each other in, catching up on the separate lives they’d been living in the month spent apart, and relishing in the closeness they could have when it was just the two of them. This cabin certainly wasn’t as lush, but Wanda was grateful to feel the warmth behind those memories even as her body cried out with pain in the physical world.

Wanda drew back to herself as the pain began to lessen, the stinging on the surface of her skin sufficiently numbed and the bloodstained belt and bullet discarded.

The rest of the evening was quiet, though neither were able to settled down after such a close call. Vision moved Wanda to the bedroom where she might be more comfortable, and she tried her best to relax as the pain medication slowly kicked in. He helped her eat something, though her appetite was non-existent. Then he waited for her to sleep, her head resting on his arm as they lay together. He ran his hands through her hair, gently teasing tangles apart and doing his best to clean the dried blood away from her neck.

He left bed once to double check the locks, ensuring that the motion sensor alarms were set for the outside of the remote property, ready to warn them if they were found. But Vision had been monitoring the news all afternoon and the press seemed to believe the trail of the international fugitive had gone cold, much to his relief. He distantly noted that Tony had tried to contact him twice in the last few hours and he silenced the notification, it was a problem for tomorrow.

He heard creaking coming from the bedroom and dashed back in alarm. But it was just Wanda doing her best to stand up against the wooziness from the pain medication and exhaustion.

She reached for him wordlessly, her eyes threatening to spill the tears gathered there and Vision was at her side instantly, cupping her head to his shoulder and slipping a hand under her knees so that he might return her to bed.

“It’s alright,” he whispered as she twisted her fists into his sweater shakily.

“Don’t let me go tonight please,” Wanda whispered as he tried to make her comfortable even as she gritted her teeth past pain, getting as close to him as she possibly could. “You’re the only thing holding me together right now.”

Vision wiped her tears away and kissed her softly. “I’m not going anywhere; I’ll always be here.”

“What if they find us?”

“They won’t,” Vision whispered though he couldn’t possibly say for certain, “and if they do, I won’t let them take you.”

“I’ll never let them take you,” Wanda whispered looking into his eyes as she promised. “Anything but you.”

“It will never come to that,” Vision said with such conviction that tears began spilling down her cheeks again.

They remained intertwined the entire night, Wanda curled into his side, her back to the outside world, her head resting on his shoulder. Some part of Vision managed to rest, taking solace in the fact they were together and for now, safe. But there was a part of him agonising over what had happened, the part of him that remained conscious over-analysing every creak and crack of the old cabin as winds swirled through the forest outside. The same part of him that desperately dreamt of an alternative, a life where they didn’t have to run and hide anymore. He clung to that hope as they clung to each other throughout the night. Though Wanda had told him he was the only thing holding her together, Vision knew he’d be in pieces if they were ever separated by something more final.

#wandavision #scarletvision #Wandavision fanfiction #wanda x vision #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #hurt wanda #worried Vision #pre-IW scarletvision #just let them be happy #I cry #but then remember I'm the one that wrote this angst

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clumsyclifford · 4 years ago

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i typed out a Whole thing and then changed my mind but how about like lazy sunday in before the work week w t-shirt verse jalex? ily bye x

omg hello this got (1) away from me and (2) so ridiculously romantic i have no excuse. there’s just something about t-shirt jalex. also i am currently taking suggestions for what color alex’s hair should be in this ‘verse bc as of now it is unspecified. okay hope you like it x

read here on ao3

Alex is at the stove. Jack’s barely awake and this is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Morning,” he croaks, slumping forward to affix himself to Alex’s back. Alex staggers, laughing quietly.

“Good morning, my love,” he says. The kitchen always feels somehow both bigger and cozier with Alex in it, spacious but flooded with love. Love, Jack finds, smells like pancakes and tastes like Alex’s toothpaste and feels like sunlight and the cotton of Alex’s shirt under his fingers. It fits nicely into Jack’s kitchen. Their kitchen.

Their kitchen. Jack is still having a hard time getting used to that.

“You didn’t have to get up,” he mumbles against Alex’s shoulders. “Coulda slept in.”

Alex shrugs. “Was up anyway. Thought it’d be nice to make breakfast.”

“But it’s nice to cuddle,” Jack points out, eyes still closed. He presses his nose into Alex’s neck, inhaling deeply. “Mm, you’re warm.”

Alex’s deep, gentle laugh fills the air. “You’re clingy.”

“It’s cold,” Jack slurs. Slowly but surely, the atmosphere is seeping into his senses, pleasantly waking him up. “I love you for making pancakes.”

“I know you do.”

“Gonna make tea.”

“I prepared your mug and boiled the water already. You just need to pour it.”

“Have I mentioned lately that you’re the love of my life?” Jack presses his lips to the tattoo behind Alex’s ear, lingering a moment.

“Doesn’t hurt to hear,” Alex says happily. Jack reluctantly detaches himself from his boyfriend’s body to go and make himself some tea.

Tea is a weekend drink. Jack drinks coffee to get through the mind-numbing work days, but tea is for Sundays like this one. It’s nine in the morning and Jack can already feel the laziness of the day settling over their shoulders; they’re going nowhere today, doing nothing. It’s not often a perfect Sunday comes along, but Jack clings to the opportunity whenever it does. Like today.

Dust hovers in the beams of light stretching through the room and the apartment feels alight with a glittering January. Unlikely warmth starts in Jack’s chest and spreads outwards, something he can’t even attribute to the tea since he hasn’t begun to drink it yet.

Glancing over at Alex, humming to himself as he flips the pancakes, the warmth intensifies. Oh, Jack thinks, not particularly surprised.

It stands to reason that the love filling the kitchen would saturate his body as well.

Light spills over Alex, highlighting strands of hair and shining on his skin, brown eyes glowing almost as golden as the sunlight. It makes Jack wonder why he’s not a poet or something, except there aren’t words for this image, and Jack would be hard-pressed to come up with an original way to phrase what thousands of artists have already expressed.

He takes a picture. They’re worth a thousand words, if what they say is true, and that’s close enough.

Alex looks up at the movement. Jack just smiles and shamelessly takes another, catching the fond look on Alex’s face before setting his phone face-down on the table again.

“Stop it, you creep,” he says. “Help me with this.”

“Alex, I’m so fucking bad at crosswords,” Jack says, shifting his chair around the table anyway. “You know this.”

“But you know things that I don’t! Together we can solve it.”

“You could also solve it on your own.”

Alex shakes his head. “You’re overestimating my skills. I don’t think I’ve completed a Sunday puzzle in, uh, my entire life.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you,” Jack says wryly, “but I am not your secret weapon.”

Alex reaches for Jack’s hand and brings it to his lips, brushing a kiss over Jack’s knuckles. “Yes you are.”

Jack sighs. He’s a sucker for Alex and he doesn’t see that trend slowing anytime soon. “Fine. Give me one.”

“Here, I bet you know this one.” A tap of the pen against the newspaper next to the clue for 6-Down. “‘For You’ co-singer Rita.”

“Ora,” Jack says immediately. “Everyone knows that song.”

“Ora,” Alex repeats to himself, like something he should have known to know. “Actually, I didn’t. See? Already fulfilling your secret weapon duties.”

The puzzle is sparsely and randomly filled out. “Why don’t you go in order?”

“Because I don’t know 1-Across,” Alex says. “And if I stopped there it’d be a very short puzzle.”

Jack hums, skimming the list of clues for any other answers he might have. Most of the clues he thinks he could get are ones Alex has already filled in. Some are ones Jack would never have known. “What the fuck is a superlative prefix? ‘Most’?”

“Yeah, like…high school superlatives,” Alex says. “Most likely to make it big. Most likely to, uh, go to jail after graduation.”

“What the fuck were your high school superlatives?” Jack says, amused. “I didn’t know that’s what they were called.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is wrong, though,” Alex says, face drawn in thought. He’s doing the hair-twirling thing again so Jack interrupts the motion, linking their fingers together and scratching gently at the nape of Alex’s neck. Alex hardly seems to notice. “Because I’m pretty sure 4-Down is ‘prince’.”

“‘Hamlet, for one,’” Jack reads from the clues list. He shakes his head. “I’m starting to think you’re smarter than me, Al.”

“Starting to?”

Jack scoffs and stabs at the remaining pancake on Alex’s plate, mostly because he knows Alex isn’t going to finish it. “Hey.”

“I’m teasing, completely joking,” Alex says, leaning into Jack and briefly resting his cheek against Jack’s shoulder. “I’m definitely not smarter than you. I teach middle school. If anything, that automatically makes me more of a dumbass.”

“You love doing that, though.”

Alex sighs. “Yeah. You can love something and still be an idiot for doing it, though.”

“Like being in a relationship with you.” Jack giggles. “Joking. Just kidding. I’m just kidding.”

“You better be,” Alex says lightly. “I know a lot of your deepest darkest secrets, Jack Barakat, and I am not afraid to unleash a pack of twelve-year-olds on you.”

Jack would like to argue that a horde of twelve-year-olds doesn’t scare him, but it does. It very much does.

“Fine,” he says. “You win this round.”

Alex kisses his cheek. As he moves away, Jack turns his head and kisses him on the lips. “You taste like pancakes.”

“You taste like you,” Alex replies, and it doesn’t sound sweet, but it really, really is. Jack licks his lips. He’s not sure what exactly he tastes like, but it charms him to think that it’s always more or less the same, or at least that Alex finds something familiar in every kiss he steals off Jack’s lips.

“Okay,” he says, leaning over the newspaper spread out before them. “We can do this. Who was in The Irishman?”

Whoever said that thing about how it’s better to have tried and failed than to never have tried at all might have been onto something.

They concede to the crossword puzzle after almost an hour of staring at it. To Jack it seems pathetic, until Alex grins at him and promises that this is rather impressive considering when he tries to do it alone he only ever gets, like, ten answers, and they’re often wrong.

Half-finished really isn’t so bad.

The rest of the afternoon and evening stretches out before them, in all its unscheduled glory, and Jack, like the mature adult he is, pulls Alex to the couch and insists they spend at least three hours of the day watching TV.

His second mug of tea is sitting, partially drunk, on the coffee table, Alex’s empty mug beside it. Jack’s is going cold but he’s warm with Alex’s head in his lap, eyes closed as Jack pushes a hand through his hair, and he can’t find it in himself to care. As a compromise, they’ve put on Project Runway, something Alex loves Jack enough to sit through but doesn’t care enough about to pay attention to. If Jack were a more petty person, he would be annoyed by this, but he’s not. Having Alex like this is arguably better, essential in the task of keeping Jack’s thighs warm and also giving Jack something to look at when the urge strikes him.

The angles of Alex’s face and the way his hair flops over his forehead are enough to keep Jack mesmerized for hours.

It’s in one of these moments of weakness, Jack gazing down at the boy in his lap instead of watching the high-stakes but decidedly less enchanting events unfold on the TV, that Alex opens his eyes. His gaze catches Jack unawares, but Jack doesn’t flinch.

“You’re not even watching,” Alex huffs, smirking. “It was your idea to watch something and you aren’t even watching it.”

“I’ve got a better view right here,” Jack says.

Alex just rolls his eyes. “C’mere,” he says, grabbing clumsily at the front of Jack’s shirt.

“I don’t think I am physically capable of kissing you from this angle.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” Alex picks his head up and pulls Jack down, and it’s not ideal or particularly attractive, but Jack has to admit that they do, technically, kiss, thus proving Jack wrong, which is probably in Alex’s top ten favorite things to do. Only for a second, though, before Jack pulls away.

“I stand corrected, but I also kind of hated that,” he says.

Alex laughs, musical and bright. “Sorry. Let me try again.” He shifts around, straightening up until his feet are on the floor and his body is upright, and this time Jack has no complaints when Alex curls his fingers around the collar of Jack’s t-shirt and drags him in.

Project Runway isn’t exactly the ideal soundtrack to making out on the couch, but Jack’s not picky.

A fluttering touch lands on Jack’s hip, sneaking just under the hem of his shirt to rest against his skin. Alex releases Jack’s shirt, sliding his other hand up and around to cradle Jack’s face, thumb brushing his jaw. The show in the background fades to nothing, as so often the world does when Alex’s lips are on his. Everything is Alex and Alex is everything — and maybe that’s always true, but it’s easier to sink into when they’re attached in so many places, lips under teeth and noses brushing cheeks and hands forever tracing skin, clothes, hair, whatever ends up beneath Jack’s fingertips.

It’s looking more and more like the love in the kitchen hadn’t been confined to the kitchen. Or maybe it had never been about the kitchen, but the company. And maybe Jack has known this all along, and the love he feels for Alex follows him around like a stray dog, like a best friend, like a promise. It bleeds from him, infusing itself into the air without ever lessening in himself. Sometimes it trips off his tongue.

Often it does.

“I love you,” Jack murmurs, like he’s just a ragdoll stuffed with love who’s coming apart at the seams, another stitch undone whenever Alex touches him. He’ll keep spilling this love over them and somehow he’ll never run out, and if that makes him weak then Jack is content to be weak.

Alex only laughs a little, but it’s not mean-spirited, just sweet. “Would it surprise you to know that I love you, too?”

It wouldn’t. This is the secret to Jack’s never-ending supply: the love he gives is the love he receives.

“I love you for making me breakfast,” Jack whispers, pressing his lips to Alex’s cheek, just outside the corner of his eye. “And for the tea. And for making me do the crossword puzzle with you. And for watching shitty reality TV with me.” With each proclamation he brushes a kiss to Alex’s forehead, his other cheek, the corner of his mouth. Alex’s smile stretches across his face, crinkling his eyes by the time Jack kisses him again, for real, though he still returns it to the best of his ability.

It doesn’t last long. “You don’t play fair, JB,” Alex breathes, then laughs again like he can’t help it. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

“You could start with ‘I love you too,’” Jack suggests, slanting a breezy smile at Alex. “That usually works.”

Alex gathers Jack’s wrists in his hands and kisses his palms, one after the other, before lifting his gaze back to Jack. In the light of the apartment, Jack has never seen anyone more beautiful. The truth of his own earlier words washes over him like a sedative, a comforting tranquilizer.

“Doesn’t feel like enough,” Alex admits, “but I’m not sure this love can be put into words, you know?”

Jack does know.

“Though it’s worth saying,” Alex continues, sliding his hands into Jack’s until their fingers are interlaced, “that I love you for doing the impossible crossword with me, and I love your half-drunk cups of tea, and I loved you in the morning and I love you right now and when we go to sleep tonight, I’ll love you then, and every night after that for the rest of my life, you know what? I’ll love you for those too.”

Jack understands that these are big, big words, promises that are much easier to make than keep. But with Alex holding his gaze and his hands right now, sheltered from the real world or maybe creating it, he knows that Alex means every word, and Jack does too.

#jack barakat #alex gaskarth #jalex #jalex fic #all time low #atl fic #fic #my fic #holy FUCK this is fluffy and romantic and ???????#one of the lines in this makes me lose it #i know i wrote it but it makes me LOSE it #ok i am gonna draft this until it's a good time to post it #aka probably in a day or two #bc the malum thing just posted tonight #by the way it is fully 7am #i wrote this in the last two hours #the sun has risen and the sky is a beautiful pastel rn #in case anyone was wondering #boy. my sleep schedule. it sure is. uh. a thing that does not exist #(insert calum yikes emoji)#man.........the words in this fic. the sentences #every single thing i write is like literally one word away from making absolutely no fuckin sense #arguably it already does not #i had to stop listening to my love songs playlist and put on this playlist of instrumental romantic music #cos i was trying to be poetic and shit but there were all these fuckin LYRICS going on and it was Not Happening #ANYWAY into the drafts this goes see yall in a little bit #tirednotflirting #ask #answered #ok im posting this now at half 1pm but . dont get me wrong. i wrote and drafted it at 7am

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emachinescat · 4 years ago

Text

And That Would Be Enough

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 27 - “I wish I had never given you a chance”

Summary: In a moment of grief, Arthur says something to his newly appointed Court Sorcerer that he instantly regrets.

Characters: Merlin, Arthur

Words: 2,752

TW: None

Note: Emotional whump is still whump, right? :) This was written while sick, and I didn't have time to edit, so please bear with me if there are any mistakes. I will go back and edit after posting; I'm on a bit of a time crunch. This takes place in an AU Camelot where Arthur lives, the knights are all alive, and Merlin is made Arthur's court sorcerer.

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

Words are powerful things. As king of Camelot, Arthur Pendragon knew very well how a few simple words had the power to heal or to destroy, to build or to tear down, to foster friendship or feed hatred. He had seen words ruin lives, give hope, change the course of entire nations. His own words had impacted his kingdom and the people around him in unprecedented ways.

The words of a king held the potential for great and terrible things, which was why Arthur always chose his words as king so carefully. The words of a grieving friend had just as much power for making or breaking a world, if not more so – and despite all his diplomacy, all of his training, the king of Camelot still struggled to choose his words wisely when he was hurting, particularly when he was speaking to those closest to him. Perhaps that is the way of humanity – we allow our naturally self-destructive nature to chip away at the relationships and people that mean the most to us, and sometimes, when life spins too far out of our control, we snap, and words that we do not mean, never would mean, come flying out like an arrow from a ranger’s bow, aimed straight for the hearts of our dearest friends.

Now, Arthur Pendragon’s words had changed no one’s life more completely than his former manservant, Merlin’s. Just a week ago, Arthur’s lips had formed the words in front of his court and Camelot that Merlin was not only to be a freeman of Camelot, but that magic was legal in the kingdom after over twenty-five years of fear and hatred for peaceful magic users, and that it was Merlin, his new Court Sorcerer, who would oversee the magical protection of Camelot, and who would ensure that magic was only used for good. Arthur would never forget the disbelieving joy shining in Merlin’s eyes in that moment as he gazed out upon the home that finally accepted him, looked at his king and saw nothing but pride and friendship in his gaze where he had once feared fear and judgment. It had been a staggering moment for Arthur, that weighty realization that Merlin had truly lived his life in fear of being killed because of how he was born, that the king was now witnessing a soul set free and the beginning of a new era. Never, he told himself as he watched his Court Sorcerer wave tentatively to the gathered crowd, would he allow Merlin to go back to feeling like he was a mistake, like he was a monster, like he wasn’t enough.

He meant that oath when he made it to himself. Unfortunately, tragedy has a way of taking our promises, even the most sacred ones, and stripping them from us like bark from a tree. Pain and loss break us down and force us to our knees and pull hurtful words from the pits of our pain and we throw them around at those who want nothing more than to help us.

The attack on the patrol had been unexpected and brutal. For the first time, king and warlock had fought openly, side by side, and Arthur saw yet again how powerful his clumsy friend truly was, and his heart swelled with pride and love for the man who had stood so loyally by his side for so long. Merlin protected his king and the knights diligently, but as so often happens in any battle, someone strayed too far from the group and fell through the cracks. Merlin tried to save Sir Arnold, a young knight who Arthur had personally scouted, recruited, and trained as part of his initiative to bring in more loyal and talented men regardless of nobility. Arnold had been a farmer’s son from a small village on the outskirts of Camelot, and he was a natural fighter, a brave, selfless young man who had wormed his way into the hearts of Arthur and his men.

He was only twenty years old when he was killed in the senseless, stupid bandit attack, and though Arthur had seen Merlin fight, watched the pain at the loss fill his eyes the moment that Arnold fell, the king’s grief and loss shrouded his vision and he lashed out after the battle at the only person who might have been powerful enough to stop it and hadn’t. He knew that Merlin had done everything he had to protect all of them, and knew that Merlin too had been close to the young knight, who had thought magic was the most amazing art in the five kingdoms and had followed Merlin around like a loyal pup, bright eyes alight for more displays of magic. And yet, despite knowing this, Arthur’s words careened out of his grasp in his shock and pain, and he said words to Merlin that took everything his closest friend held dear and smashed it to a million pieces. Never had Arthur regretted words he had spoken so desperately the second they left his tongue.

“I wish I had never given you a chance! What’s the point of your magic, Merlin, if you can’t keep the people who trust in you alive? Arnold trusted that you would keep him safe, and you let him down. You failed him. Maybe my father was right. Maybe magic’s more trouble than it’s worth!”

He didn’t mean a word of it, of course. But Arthur had just watched a young man who had had so much potential die before his eyes, cut down by a bandit’s sword – a weapon normally so useless in the face of magic. Grief had sunk its raking claws into his flesh and spit vile lies into his ears, and he lashed out at the person who had just saved his life, and everyone else’s – Gwaine’s, Elyan’s, Lancelot’s, Percival’s, Leon’s, Arthur’s lives. One person had gotten himself into danger that even Merlin hadn’t been fast enough to stop. And yet, instead of focusing on the fact that Merlin had saved everyone else, instead of thinking about how Merlin would already feel guilty and devastated at his perceived failure, Arthur allowed his emotions to twist his words into something to harm, not to heal, and he watched with horror as Merlin’s tentative grasp on control and self-worth crumpled with his face.

Arthur could feel the glares of his knights on him the moment the words escaped, but he had eyes only for his Court Sorcerer, who was backing away with a horrible, broken look in his eyes. Arthur reached out a hand as if trying to grab the hurtful things he had said, as if trying to snatch them back. But it was too late, and he lowered his hand. “Merlin, I–”

Merlin shook his head, and Arthur could see him trembling. “I’m sorry, Sire,” the sorcerer said, then he turned and disappeared, quite literally, into thin air. Arthur knew he wouldn’t be far – he wouldn’t leave them unprotected, but decided to give Merlin time before he pursued this again. Meanwhile, he knew, his knights would not be pleased with him, and as he predicted, they made no attempt to hide their disapproval for his treatment of his closest friend. Arthur carried Sir Arnold’s body on his own horse, and the ride back to the citadel was passed in solemn silence.

Arthur dearly missed Merlin’s company during the short but hard ride home.

***

That evening, after Arthur had personally spoken to Arnold’s poor father, had somehow found it within him to give him the news that no parent ever wanted to hear, Arthur found himself on The Balcony – the one that his father, and now Arthur himself, used to look out upon his kingdom and address his people.

For a while, he just gazed out at the citadel, at the manifestation of all that his father before him, and then he himself, with Gwen and Merlin and his knights by his sides, had built and refined. After a while, he realized that he was no longer alone, though he could see or hear no one.

“I can tell you’re there, Merlin,” the king said heavily.

Merlin shimmered into view to Arthur’s left. The king glanced over, slightly amused, mostly proud, to see that Merlin had unconsciously adopted the same stance as his king – spine erect, hands folded and forearms resting on the railing, chin high and face set firm. In that moment, Arthur felt power and nobility radiating off of the sorcerer more acutely than he ever had before. For the first time, perhaps, he could truly feel the weight of the destiny Merlin had told him about, see the prophesied warlock Emrys stand tall with the world placed squarely on his shoulders. Arthur felt an aching desire to take some of that weight from his friend and bear it on his own back.

Instead, because it was the only way he knew how to deal with his emotions and affection for his former servant, Arthur complained. “It’s freaky that you can do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Turn yourself invisible. Are you sure it’s a power you can use responsibly?”

He imagined an amused smirk on Merlin’s lips, but when he glanced over at his friend, the warlock’s face had not changed; it seemed to have been carved from stone.

And so Arthur pushed back his fear and discomfort and grief and pain and said what he truly needed to say, despite how uncomfortable it was, despite how much he felt that he had no right to even speak to Merlin in that moment, let alone request his forgiveness, his friendship. “I cannot express how sorry I am for what I said to you today.”

This time, Merlin shrugged – Arthur caught the motion in the corner of his eye. “You spoke the truth, Sire.”

Arthur really hated it when Merlin called him Sire .

“No, I didn’t,” the king insisted, and when Merlin continued to stare forward, he couldn’t help himself – couldn’t stand to see Merlin shouldering a blame and a pain that Arthur had helped put there, had encouraged with thoughtless words and his own misplaced grief. He reached out, grabbed Merlin by the shoulders, and spun him around so they were facing one another. Merlin looked up at him, and Arthur saw why Merlin had refused to look at him.

He was crying.

Arthur let go of his friend’s thin frame so abruptly it was as if he had been burned. “Gods, Merlin, I’m sorry. I had no right – no right – to make you feel like Arnold’s death was your fault.”

A tear crawled down Merlin’s face, caught on the edge of his cheekbone, and hovered there for a moment that spanned eternity. Finally, it plunged, disappearing into the neckerchief that Merlin had insisted he keep wearing despite his new and improved title.

“You made yourself very clear,” the warlock said in the most measured voice he could muster. Anyone other than Arthur might have been fooled by the stoicism, but the king, who had known Merlin for so long and been through so much with him, heard the tiniest of tremors and could not recall a time that he hated himself more than this. “And anyway,” Merlin continued. “You were right.” He spread his hands out wide, and magic, cerulean sparks of light that Arthur had come to associate with everything good that Merlin was, sprang to life between them. As the king watched, the color changed from blue to purple to a dark, blood red. “What is the point of my power if it can’t protect everyone ?”

Arthur, having been reminded so fully the power of words, chose his next ones very carefully. “No one,” he said slowly, “not even the great Emrys , not even my oldest, dearest friend, can take care of everyone all the time.”

Another tear rambled down Merlin’s cheek, curled around his trembling chin before dropping off to join the first. “But you were right, Arthur. Arnold – he trusted me.”

“And he was right to.” Arthur put every ounce of conviction he possessed into his assurance. “I saw what happened, Merlin. The moment he was hit, you were protecting Gwaine from a surprise attack from behind. Your back was turned at just the wrong moment. Arnold had wandered out of your line of sight, as well. And you did everything to save him when he went down.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“Sometimes our best isn’t enough,” Arthur reminded Merlin. “But we have to make it enough. We have to understand that even if we can’t protect everyone all the time, that we ourselves are still enough. As long as we try , it has to be enough.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“I know.”

They stood in silence, and they grieved their fallen friend. Somewhere along the way, Arthur’s hand found its way onto the back of Merlin’s neck, and without either of them realizing it was happening, the king pulled his dear friend into an embrace, and together they wept for the good man that had been lost.

When Merlin finally drew away, his eyes red and puffy – Arthur knew his own must look the same – he managed a shaky smile that didn’t reach his eyes, but Arthur knew that for now, it would have to be enough. “I know you didn’t mean what you said,” the warlock acknowledged.

“But it still hurt you,” Arthur observed. Merlin dropped his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does . Merlin, I would be dead a million times over if it weren’t for you. So would the knights. But – but , that does not mean that if something happens to one of us that you failed. You may be magic itself, but you’re still only one person.”

“Technically, I’m two,” Merlin argued miserably. “And Emrys is supposed to keep everyone safe.”

Arthur studied his friend in the moonlight, then patted him kindly on the back. “When I look at you, whether you’re doing powerful magic or tripping over a blade of grass, I don’t see Emrys and Merlin – I just see you . And you keep me safe, you always have. You do your job, and you do it well, Merlin. Sometimes, people are lost, and it hurts . But the only person you have control over is yourself. Something I have had to learn the hard way as king is that you can’t always keep everyone safe. You just have to do your best.”

Merlin sniffled, and he now looked like a lost child rather than a powerful sorcerer. When he spoke, his voice was thin, weak. “Do you still wish you’d never given me a chance?”

The question, asked sincerely, struck Arthur in the heart like an assassin’s blade. “I never should have said that,” he said earnestly. “And I know that I hurt you, and that you will spend years fighting those words said in a moment of pain, but I promise you that I will not rest until I have convinced you of the truth – that I have never been happier, or more proud, to have you by my side, old friend. I’m delighted to have given you – and your magic, and our destiny – a chance.”

“Maybe you have the makings of a great king, after all,” Merlin joked, and this time, the tiniest of smiles glinted in his eyes. He added mischievously, “Tell anyone I said that, and I’ll turn you into a toad.”

Arthur smirked. “I don’t know, Merlin – maybe being a toad would be easier than all of this.”

They sobered at the collective thought of the friend they had lost. Merlin scrubbed his face with the back of his hand. After a moment of subdued silence, he took up the olive branch his king had offered him and joked, “But just think about how many things would want to kill you if you were a toad.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “And that’s different than now because…?”

Merlin gave a curt nod as the two, in some unspoken agreement, turned and began to make their way back into the castle. “Fair point.”

“Either way, though,” Arthur pressed, jabbing his elbow playfully into Merlin’s side, “I’d have you to protect me, right?”

Merlin took far too long to think about his answer.

“Merlin!”

“It’s just I’m not too fond of toads,” Merlin admitted.

“Merlin!”

And side by side, king and warlock made their way through the grief and uncertainty and guilt and hurt the way they always did –

Together.

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mae-gi-writes · 4 years ago

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Deobi Playlist (EP 2) | The Boyz Imagine

The Boyz x Hospital Playlist inspired drabble series.

Episode 2: in which Hyunjae is a drama queen.

Genre: fluff, friendship, slice of life

EP 1 | EP 2 | EP 3 | EP 4 | EP 5 | EP 6 | EP 7 | EP 8 | EP 9 | EP 10 | EP 11

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

Hyunjae is in the middle of playing a battle game when the sound of someone busting the door open causes him to yelp, fingers slipping over the keyboard as he watches his character die in front of his very eyes.

He swivels around in his seat, glowering with anger, “KEVIN!”

“Oops,” the said man slides in, totally unfazed by the glare that would’ve killed anyone else off, before looking around at the empty office that is stacked with piles of paperwork, most of them probably belonging to Hyunjae since he had always been messy.

“Where’s everyone?” Kevin frowns while checking his watch, “I thought we were having dinner tonight.”

“Too slow, romeo,” a voice chimes from behind. The pair turn around to see Mae holding up three takeaway bags. Kevin squeals in delight, rushing over to throw his arms around her in a hug.

“You are the best,” Kevin singsongs before grabbing one of the bags. Mae tuts at him, “woah wait a minute Kev, that’s not--”

Too late, for Kevin’s hands have already opened up the box. He stares at the multitudes of shrimp on a bed of fried noodles, and a grimace falls over his face, “ew no, that’s not mine--”

Mae proceeds to snatch it away, “that’s why I told you to wait,” she huffs, handing him his rightful dish; fried pork and vegetables with rice.

“Wouldn’t mind having him choke on some shrimp,” Hyunjae mutters gloomily, still sulking in his desk chair like a five year old child being denied cookies. Mae’s brow quirks up in curious amusement, before they flicker towards Kevin.

The latter, already stuffing his face in like he hasn’t eaten for days, mumbles out through a mouthful of rice and meat, “he’s mad ‘cause I distracted him and his character died. The usual.”

“You always lose, anyway Hyunjae. It wouldn’t have made a difference,” Mae opens up her own takeaway, a Chinese Korean dish named Jajangmyeon. She motions him over, “come on.”

But Hyunjae’s pout only deepens. He slides into his seat, unwavering.

“You sure you don’t want it?” she taunts him, “I ordered it specially for you.”

Still, the caramel-haired man twists his head away adamantly. Mae huffs, turning back to roll her eyes at Kevin, “fine then, suit yourself. I’ll just--”

Hyunjae’s out of his seat in mere milliseconds, grab his dish, and sits down onto the shared couch with crossed legs and face looking as though he’s going to murder anyone who even tries to get within touching distance.

“By the way, you remember the patient I was telling you guys about?” Kevin says, chewing on a mouthful of food, “the one that had a weird extra bone in her foot?”

“The one who kept asking you to marry her?” Mae confirms.

“She mustn't have high standards,” comes Hyunjae’s mumble, causing Kevin to cluck his tongue at him in disapproval before answering, “yeah, we had to shave it off cause she’s a rising ballet star. Her mother was livid when she heard that she wouldn’t be able to dance for a good six months.”

“Sunji, was it?” Mae asks.

“She came to see me today,” Kevin beamed, warmth practically alighting over his face, “gave me flowers and a box of chocolate.”

“Did she give you a ring too?” Hyunjae adds mockingly.

“At least she likes me,” Kevin retorts while sticking out his tongue.

“Please! It’s not like she had a choice. You’re the only doctor she sees.”

"Just a game, Hyunjae," Kevin reminds him, gesturing towards the computer with a roll of his eyes since he knows exactly why the older man is being salty at this particular moment.

“Do you know how much time and effort I took into staying alive all that time?!” Hyunjae shoots back, leaning forward in his seat, “It was my fifteenth time!”

“It. Is. Just. A. Game,” Kevin’s words punch through like staccato notes.

“I care about that game, like it or not!” Hyunjae moans, “now my life is over!”

“Shakespeare needs to see this,” Mae mumbles behind her bowl of noodles, “he would’ve loved to write a story about you.”

“I think that’s the greatest compliment you’ve ever given me,” Hyunjae smirks.

“It’s...not a compliment.”

“I hate you. I hate you both,” Hyunjae sniffs before pouting and looking away, once again the very picture of a spoiled brat. The pair meet each other’s eyes before Kevin throws Mae a shrug.

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t raise him.”

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

The week, it seems, keeps getting worse for the titled drama queen, who proclaims that the heavens must be against him this week and that his astrological must be definitely off balance. Hyunjae’s shifts seem longer, tougher to handle this week, while the line of patients have suddenly multiplied by a tenfold the moment he thought that he could use a bit of a break. A few nurses have taken some time off for some last-minute vacation, meaning that he’s had to scramble around for help with no assistant by his side to jot down his every day needs.

Most of all, he still hasn’t been able to finish that damn game, and he has no one else to blame but dear Kevin for that.

“You look like shit,” is the first thing that pops out of Juyeon’s mouth the moment he stumbles into their shared office. He’s looking particularly dapper, with his freshly cut bangs and his usually hooded eyes alight with a sparkle that can only mean one thing:

“Did you guys kiss or something?”

Colour blossoms across Juyeon’s cheeks, hooded eyes widening in alarm, “What?”

Seemingly undisturbed by lack of sensitivity, Hyunjae proceeds to shrug off his beige coat as he opens his locker, “you look like freshly snogged material."

“I--That’s--That’s not--” Hyunjae can’t help but smirk at the flustered expression on the younger man’s usually bland face. One of his favourite pastimes is to make fun of Juyeon, mainly because he seems so much younger than what he appears to be, for they are only a few months apart in age. Not to forget the fact that he's so innocent, despite his mature, bedroom eyes and the lazy, sensual smile he gives to women. It's, as Hyunjae had once stated, incredibly misleading.

"Want to shadow my surgery?" Hyunjae asks, picking up his clipboard to scan the patient's profile. The younger man stretches out in his seat and yawned, "what kind?"

"Brain tumor I believe."

"Hm, I might shadow noona--"

"Oh right, loverboy's got a girlfriend now," Hyunjae rolls his eyes and lets out a soft sigh, "ah well, I'll just get one of the newbies on board. I love teasing them."

"They're all scared of you, you know," Juyeon can't help but point out.

"Oh really?" Hyunjae flashes a wicked grin.

Juyeon proceeds to roll his eyes, "that is not a compliment."

"You know, Mae said the exact same thing."

"No surprise there."

A few hours and a long trail of patients later, Hyunjae lets out a loud, noisy sigh when he finally allows his body to flop in his office chair, his feet aching from constantly running back and forth between wards. Mondays are always especially tiring, but he's quite satisfied that most of his patients seem on the track to recovery.

His hand quickly darts towards his mouse, when his phone suddenly rings.

Pressing the device to his ear, he murmurs out a quiet, "hello?"

"Son," his mother's terse soprano echoes through the receiver, "how are you?"

"Are you stressed, Ma?" Is the first thing that pops into his mind. There's only two reasons why his mother would call; either 1) she wants to give him food or 2) she has fought with his father yet again.

It is no secret that Mr. And Mrs. Lee have been living apart for more than seven years now. The scar that Hyunjae still bears is now covered by nonchalance, and the fact that his two parents have kept an amiable relationship has helped balance out his upbringing. He has to admit that for a child with divorced parents, they handled him pretty well.

"Can't I call to ask about my son?!" Mrs.Lee retorts back.

"Ma."

"Alright alright," she huffs, "I might have made some extra Kimchi stew and--"

"Ma, I told you not to cook so much," Hyunjae groans, one of his hands going up to ruffle his hair, "can't you just freeze it?"

"Freeze Kimchi Stew? Are you insane? I would never! Anyway, I already let the leftovers with--"

Knock knock!

Hyunjae glances back just in time to spot Mae standing in the doorway, holding out a cooler towards him.

"Ah," Hyunjae gestures for her to come in, "you met Mae?"

"Right right! Such a wonderful girl that one! Are you sure you've never had anything for her?"

"Ma--"

"No no, if you're going to tell me that you're just friends, I don't want to hear it."

"Listen Ma, she's--"

"I can't believe you didn't even try it out with her--"

"Hey Ma, I got a surgery soon," Hyunjae hurriedly says while watching Mae stuff the cooler inside the fridge he shares with Juyeon and two other doctors. He holds out a finger for her to wait, "I'll talk to you soon okay? Okay. Bye."

Cutting off the call right before she's about to keep on insisting how amazing Mae would be as a wife, Hyunjae lets out another trepid sigh before shaking his head at the said woman, who's gazing at him with raised eyebrows.

"My mother really wants me to go out with you," Hyunjae rubs a hand over his face, clipboard in hand, before following her out into the corridor.

"Yeah I know, she told me the exact same thing when I bumped into her in the lobby," Mae shoves her hands in her pockets, smiling slightly.

"I mean, if you weren't so much into Kevin, maybe--"

He doesn't get to say anything more because of Mae's hand slamming down atop his mouth. He groans in part pain and part protest, "that hurts!"

"I should've sewn your lips shut when I still had the chance," Mae hissed under her breath, careful to drop her hand and smile as they pass by a group of older doctors.

"You guys are like turtles. By the time you ask him out, you'll both be dead," Hyunjae mutters loud enough for Mae to hear.

She scowls back, "last I checked, I was the only one who decided what I could and could not do with my love life."

"You're doing a terrible job of it."

"I am not!"

"Okay, then where are the four children you said you wanted!? That's all you could talk about in college!"

"I was young and stupid, as were you."

"Ah, to be young and in love again--"

"Hyunjae?"

The pair turn instinctively towards the sound only to fall upon a familiar face, a face that Hyunjae remembers almost instantly as one of the girls who had pined after him for years' on end. He briefly recalls breaking her heart once and for all when she'd decided to give him a box of chocolates during their second year Valentines.

"Oh," Mae seems to be thinking the same thing as he does, for she doesn't waste time to smile up at him, clap him on the back and say, "see you then!"

And she's off, running down the hallway and leaving him to deal with the awkward aftermath of a rejected confession.

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

I honestly just love Hyunjae because he's so loud and annoying and straight up transparent. Surprisingly, I wasn't attracted to his physique as much as I was to his natural genuine personality.

Hope you enjoyed this one! Next Ep will be out on Monday!

Episode 3: in which Juyeon has a complicated relationship with food.

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sarcastically-defensive17 · 5 years ago

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Thin White Lies - L. Hemmings

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

Her taste lingered on his lips for days after they would interact.

As sweet as Watermelon on a hot day, as addictive as Nicotine. Igniting his senses with every drop of her that graces him.

Why he felt that way, he had no idea. It was clear they had only passion and intimacy. No commitment.

Still, he couldn't get enough of her.

She was the kind of woman to set every nerve ending in his body alight with a simple smile on her pink tinted lips.

The kind to tease him until his heart was ready to give way, and the kind that kept him running back even if her promises were hollow.

Their relationship ended months ago, yet he still ran back every time she called. He still listened to her honeyed words with a swollen heart, when he knew the truth deep down.

But he could handle the lies. Little, thin white lies to set his mind at ease, so long as he believed them.

I don't feel your love, but I don't ask too many questions

She was the type to tell him she loves him as she threw him from a speeding train.

She would take what she wanted, and nobody would know how she really felt.

Which is why, when her name graced the screen of his phone, he fought a battle inside before answering quickly.

"Hey, you busy?" She asked, her words dripping with the sweetness she employed when she wanted him.

Whatever she wanted tonight, he would give to her.

No exceptions.

"Never when it comes to you, baby," he found himself smirking down the line. When he realized he dropped the expression, taking a moment to internally rouse at himself.

Their relationship was pure lust. No love, no connection.

Passion.

Intimacy.

Lust.

Two lonely people trying to find home within another, even if they knew they needed to move out.

The words, they are too much, when you show me my reflection

"See you in ten?" She purred through the phone and Luke stood to shuffle his shoes on and head to his car.

"You know it."

The minute he knocked on her door he was pulled in and pushed against the wood, lips pressed against his own, his neck, his chest. Anywhere she could reach.

The touch was electric, but that was the only thing he could feel.

There was no denying the chemistry between the two, but they both didn't act any further than hooking up.

He had half a mind to ask her what they were doing, as he had many times before.

He received the same answer.

"We all get lonely sometimes, Lukey. We're just putting our loneliness on hold for a while."

They swore love to one another, yet both knew there was no emotion so strong between them.

What they had was heated. Intense. Sex, and empty promises.

He felt as if he disappeared a bit more every time he fell into her bed.

Every time he let her name fall from his lips in the heat of the moment, as he gave his body over to her time and time again.

When the sun goes down we all get lonely; Watch me as I disappear

Argument after argument. Lie after lie. Heartache after heartache. Climax after climax.

It was raw emotion, but no love.

The stories they would weave for one another, promised of love. Shouts of undying yearning.

Luke could barely decipher how he felt, but he knew he loved to hear her profess her love. Even if it was just a lie to keep him running back to her.

He can't deny that he had done the same.

These empty sounds and endless stories, so tell me what I wanna hear

Heated breaths, sloppy kisses, professions shouted into the thick air as their bodies collided and moved together.

Luke believed they were perfect for one another physically. Their bodies moulded together in almost perfection, but there was an unspoken lie hidden within their confessions of love.

"I love you," she told him, chest heaving after hours spent together.

He pulled her close, pressing a sweet kiss on her lips and for a minute, he could have sworn there was actual love in her eyes.

"I love you, too," another lie.

He wanted to love her. He wanted to force himself to feel that way for her, but he was lying as much as she was.

She didn't love him. She loved being around him.

There was definitely something there, but it hadn't flourished to love like she wanted it to.

Killing me slow with the words you wrote; the heart you broke. The heart you broke.

No matter how much his mind said to stay away, his heart longed for one more taste.

Every time he knocked on his door, he promised himself it would be the last time.

She called and he would be wide awake, in his way to her.

It wasn't even about the sex. He and Y/N had known each other for so long through so much heartache that they were both clinging to one another to feel loved.

They could deal with the thin white lies in order to feel wanted.

Callin' my name, I don't wanna stay but I'm wide awake, I'm wide awake (Thin white lies). Just one more taste of you, my love.

She was addictive. Every inhale of her perfume was like another hit. Every touch had him feeling as high as an opioid would.

He wanted to lose himself in her. He couldn't go so many days without a hit from her.

A taste of her.

He savored her for as long as he could.

The angles of her face and the curves of her body were his favourite sight.

Her laugh was music to his ears and he found himself getting lost in her eyes, even when not in the heat of the moment.

He longed for her. His body ached for her to be near.

He hated it.

They were together a few years prior, between his last girlfriend and the one before that.

He could barely remember what it felt like to not be at her beck and call.

I don't think I like me anymore. Can someone tell me who I was before?

She would call, he would answer.

She would say, "I miss you."

He would say, "I'll be there soon."

White lies would put his heart at ease, and he would think that he was doing it out of love.

He knew the truth. There was no love, despite how much they both wanted it to be present.

Thin white lies would set his feet in motion to the woman's house, just so they could both feel a little less lonely for the night.

Just one more taste of you, my love. Thin white lies.

#luke hemmings #luke hemmings x reader #5sos #5 seconds of summer #songfic #ashton irwin #calum hood #michael clifford

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et-lesailes · 5 years ago

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before and after // part one

PART TWO

pairing: steve rogers x agent!reader

word count: 2940

summary: you are an agent and part of project rebirth, and have taken an interest in the man picked for the project-- steve rogers himself. you can’t help but be drawn to him both before and after he takes the serum that makes him become the honored captain america, but it is only after that you finally get to show just how drawn to him you really are.

themes: virgin!steve, seductress!reader lmao. smut to come in the next part ~

taglist: @viarogers , @evanstush , @chibi-crazy , @chalamet-evans , @world-of-losers , @songforhema, @sebabestianstan101 , @tanyam93 , @bval-1, @wonderwinchester , @little-miss-exo, @poerebel , @pining-and-tired , @gogomez-509 , @patzammit, @a-distantdreamer, @malthestorytellerblog, @rainbowkisses31, @jbug491writinghelp, @quaiderade, @melannie77, @gigistorm, @lille-kattunge

note: so like this was only supposed to be one part but i got way too fuckin rambley so here we are. tbh i don’t even know if this is interesting or well written at all but it’s an idea i randomly had muse for and when i get these strong bursts of muse i feel like i don’t write as well for some reason?? i’m not sure?? so let me know what you think :)

JULY 15TH, 1943

A devious twinkle lights up your eyes as you look upon the group of new men just recently enlisted, remaining hidden from their view for now behind a truck while they are spread out across the grass doing push-ups as Colonel Phillips yells at them to pick up the pace. You are intrigued by one figure in particular, and that is the small, scrawny body of Steven Grant Rogers, a young and sickly man recruited by Dr. Erskine. You are aware of the super soldier experiment the doctor has in mind, and while the Colonel seems to be disgusted and in disbelief over the addition of the frail member, you have other thoughts.

You watch as he struggles to even lift himself up on the ground, sweaty blond hair a mess around his thin face. Still, he persists. He refuses to give up it seems, and you feel as though you already understand why Erskine wanted him.

“What a pathetic little guy,” the male beside you comments, your hand currently holding his arm, as usual. Sergeant Joseph Brooks is a rather cocky, loudmouthed, and brazen soldier, strong and skilled at what he does yet known to have aggressive tendencies. He is also your boyfriend despite all of this, and in your own odd way, you love him. You suppose you’re a little… crazy, when it comes to relationships. You like to feel thrilled and excited, you find amusement in even the most toxic of men, and several friends have expressed concern in the past. Why do you feel such an adrenaline rush from arguing at the top of your voice, throwing things around the room only to be manhandled into an angry , heated, but amazing fuck afterwards? Well, perhaps the last part answers that question itself.

“He’s adorable,” you coo softly, and your boyfriend blinks before laughing. “Mm. That’s an even worse thing to say about a man, darling. You’re cold. Not that he really passes as a man....” You arch an eyebrow as you look up at him, tilting your head curiously. “What constitutes a man then, Joe?” He smirks and turns to face you more properly, gripping your hips and jerking you powerfully to his body. “Someone with muscle. Someone who can fight to protect their girl, then can take her as his own right after.” His voice is a low growl sending shivers down your spine, and you can’t help yourself as you grab the collar of his uniform, pulling him down for a rough and ardent kiss.

“Grenade!” You hear the sharp voice of Colonel Phillips cutting through the field, and your kiss is broken. Joe seems rather alarmed and alert, but you nonchalantly turn your head towards the commotion, watching as the men scatter away. Only one remains, and he throws his flimsy body at the weapon, curled up on top of it as he closes his eyes tight. “Get away!” he yells at the top of his lungs, moving his arm in a swift motion. “Get back!” You cannot help but stare, awe alighting your impressed gaze as you watch the courageous and sacrificial act despite knowing very well that the weapon is not real. You then look towards the Colonel and Dr. Erskine who are watching as well, noting that even the Colonel himself looks affected for once.

“And how exactly can a man fight a grenade?” you slowly whisper into your boyfriend’s ear before pulling back from him, approaching the scene of “attack”. “It’s a fake, darling,” you call out in a light and silky voice, and you can already feel all eyes on you. Being a woman in an army camp full of testosterone, this is a basic reaction as it is, but even you can say with confidence that you are attractive, and you take great pride in it. “Colonel Phillips here just loves to play tricks, don’t you?” You look towards the old man innocently, even batting your eyelashes, and he scoffs fondly. He does not take bullshit, that’s for sure, but he’s come to see you as a daughter figure. “Maybe you can motivate these slackers to do better.” He remarks, and you giggle lightly. “Line up, boys,” you demand with a simple call, and as expected, they all flock to you. Standing in a line, gazing at you in awe, Steve Rogers right in the center. Standing in between the big and burly men, he looks even smaller than he already did before, if that is even possible. Your eyes are fixated on his blue ones, watching him stare back with a slightly flustered expression, though remaining standing straight and dignified.

“What’s a pretty little lady like you doing at a place like this?” one of the men calls, and you turn your head to look at him as a few snicker around him. “First of all, you can refer to me as Agent Y/L/N.” Your voice is suddenly sharp and commanding, and he seems to be surprised. “I supervise all operations within this division.” You step closer to him and tilt your head, letting your eyes practically pierce through his as you whisper, “And I look pretty doing it.” He barely gulps and you wonder if this man is all talk and no game-- he seems overwhelmed to simply be standing in a five foot radius of a woman. Smirking, you step back to look at them all, eyebrow raised. “I’m looking forward to working with you men, so you better train hard and try not to get booted. If you can’t handle it, then don’t waste our time, just leave.” You start walking up the line before pausing at Steve, now able to inspect him closer. “And do not,” you say, directed towards everyone as you look to each side of the line before keeping your eyes on him, “think that this unit is all about who has the bigger…” you pause as you trail off, eyes purposefully moving down towards Steve’s crotch before looking to everyone again continuing nonchalantly, “muscles.” You smirk as you see the red on Steve’s cheeks, then glance back at Dr. Erskine as you continue talking to them. “Being a good soldier is important, yes, but so is being a good man.” He flashes a small smile at you, nodding his head in approval. Still, your devious brain has you look at Steve again, enjoying making him sweat a little. You lean in, letting your lips barely brush against his ear as you whisper, “The way you handled that grenade was impressive, Rogers.” You allow him to know that you’re well aware of his name, figuring it might be a bit of a confidence boost for the guy. “I look forward to see how you handle the rest of this training… and me.” You pull back and his pacific eyes are wide, but he is still obediently staring straight ahead. “Yes, Agent Y/L/N,” he speaks as steadily as he can, and as you subtly let your eyes drift down, you smirk as you see the tent in his pants.

“Well,” you abruptly announce, standing back again nonchalantly. “Continue on, men, and please try not to make Colonel Phillips get a sore throat over having to raise his voice so much.” You look towards the man with a playful smirk before turning around, swinging your hips as you make your way back to your boyfriend. You know all eyes are still on you, and you love it. He keeps a territorial hold around you, looking at all of them with a smug grin clearly to show off that he’s the one who has the pleasure of calling you his, and that no one else will take that from him. The jealous looks in return are amusing, but you only care about Steve’s as you look at him over your shoulder while Joe takes you away, giving him a coy wink.

Colonel Phillips sighs as he looks at his men all watching you leave, some practically drooling. “That’s it. Five minute break, go get your damn heads out of the gutter. If you’re not back here at 16:00 sharp, don’t bother to come back at all.”

_______

“Did you guys see that? She winked at me! Man, how lucky am I?”

Steve frowns slightly as he listens to Hodges brag, barely wrinkling his nose. He’s a bit confused. He’s almost positive you were winking at him, but that makes absolutely no sense. A girl has barely even looked at him with both eyes open, why would he of all people get the flirtatious gesture of one?

Especially from someone like you. Not only do you have a boyfriend, but you’re the most beautiful and intriguing woman he’s ever seen. He never thought he would be interested in someone who seemed so mischievous, so bold. Like the other recruits, he’s known of you for a while now, even if you hadn’t formally introduced yourself until that day. The men had seen your face around, and they had instantly fallen in love with it. Steve is no exception. He’s felt drawn to you from the beginning, and he absolutely hates that his mind goes to quite vulgar places when he thinks of you, because he never wanted to be that type of man. For God’s sake, he’s never even kissed anyone before. He sighs as he looks away, running his fingers through his hair.

“What’s wrong, Rogers?” another recruit remarks, grinning. “Are you jealous? Aw, you couldn’t have thought you had a chance with her anyways, right?” Hodges joins in as he laughs in amusement, arching an eyebrow. “Have you even been with a woman before? Wouldn't they just ... break you? Especially a woman like that, oh I bet she’s a naughty little thing in the bedroom. Steve, buddy, you’d barely last.”

“The things I’d do to her,” another one speaks up with a playfully desperate groan before Steve can even reply. “That pretty little body is practically begging for attention, and I’d love to give it to her. God, I’d give anything just to at least see her naked, did you see her wiggle that ass for us when she left? I just want to fuck it off.” Steve frowns deeper, the vulgar talk bothering him even though he’s thought about such an action several times, even within the mere few minutes of having met you for the first time. He can’t help but remember the way you talked to him about handling you…..

He reddens. He’s hard again. ‘What is wrong with me?’ he thinks, trying to casually turn away from the others; they are thankfully still in the middle of talking about how much they’d like to fuck you to notice. He sighs deeply, taking a swig of water before leaving the tent, trying to think of anything else. He needs his focus for the next few hours, and the thought of your naked body intertwined with his is, for obvious reasons, only serving as a distraction.

_______

AUGUST 3RD, 1943

“I got beat up in that alley.” Steve says to you, his eyes focused out the window of the car. “And that parking lot. And behind that diner.” You listen to him in slight amusement, but mostly intrigue.

It’s been a few days now that you’ve gotten to know him, having witnessed his training and having had a couple of discussions about Project Rebirth. It is now finally the big day, and you have to admit you’re a little nervous. Steve, on the other hand, seems rather unfazed, as if he’s in any regular car ride going to any regular appointment.

“Seems like you have a lot of fond memories here,” you joke, looking to him with a slightly raised brow. Humming, you also glance out the window. “Ever have any dates in that diner?” He blinks and scoffs, looking to you somewhat in disbelief. “Of course not. In fact, this is the longest conversation I’ve ever even had with a woman, let alone go on a date with one.” You chuckle softly, though for some reason, you like this. It is sometimes frustrating to you how obsessed men are with dating and sex, how they start so early. “What’s stopping you?” you ask, and he looks to you as if it’s obvious. “Uh, the fact that I don’t have any girls to go on a date with?” He looks down, adding with a bitter chuckle, “Women aren’t exactly lining up to dance with the guy they might step on.”

The car pulls up to the antique store and you hum thoughtfully. “I’d go on a date with you.” You tell him, suddenly looking at him seriously. Lightly placing a hand on his thigh, you add in a soft murmur, “And I’d definitely dance with you.”

He’s left in shock as you get out of the car, sitting there for a few seconds before realizing he needs to get out too, quickly trying to compose himself as he hastily opens the car door.

_______

DECEMBER 7TH, 1943

You smile happily as you take a sip of your drink at your table in the bar, overhearing some soldiers nearby go on about Steve’s courageous battle with HYDRA. It’s been over four months now that Project Rebirth succeeded, and Steve, now known as Captain America to the general public, has been doing great. He is a true super soldier, and the same dedicated, selfless gentleman you had met months ago.

“The hell are you smiling about?” a naturally rough voice breaks you out of your thoughts, and you look up to Joe coming back to the table barely biting your lip. “Nothing, darling.” You glance towards the beer in his hand. “Is another drink a good idea? You’ve already had a lot…” You know how the man gets when he’s drunk, and to be quite honest, you fear it. “I can handle it.” He says with a scoff, sliding into the seat across from you. “And once I’m done,” he mutters, reaching under the table to take a firm hold of your thigh, “I’m going to be craving something else, so you better make sure that sweet little body is ready for me.”

In the past, this would elicit a little giggle and “yes sir” from your naughty little lips, but now, you find yourself losing interest each day. It’s not uncommon for you to feel bored with a boyfriend, but you’re also beginning to realize you��re a bit tired of the type of men you’ve been seeing. You’re about to respond to him when you suddenly notice a familiar strong and handsome figure entering the bar. You stare as you admire Steve in his army uniform, marveling at the way it frames his broad shoulders and gives him such an air of authority. “I’ll be right back,” you excuse yourself, not even caring how obvious you were being. Scooting out of the seat and quickly checking yourself, making sure the red dress you wore was still clinging onto your body just right, you made your way over to the man who was approaching the bar. “Hi there, Steve,” you purr, corner of your lips tugging upwards. “Here to celebrate after bringing down the latest HYDRA factory, I imagine?” He turns to look at you and immediately flashes you a charming smile, seeming genuinely happy to see you. “Of course. Even if I wasn’t in the mood, the boys expect rounds on me,” he jokes, and you notice the way his pacific hues “subtly” take in your appearance. “And why wouldn’t you be in the mood? You do so much for this country, Captain, you deserve to celebrate sometimes too...” you murmur with a natural seductive hint to your voice, unable to help yourself. How could you not? You had already thought he was damn adorable back in his pre-serum days, and now… now he is practically a work of art. You can tell that something in his eyes changed upon being called Captain, and while he should technically be used to it, it is clear you had meant it in a different connotation.

You aren’t sure how experienced he may be now. The two of you have not been able to talk as much as before due to his constant missions, and even if you had been able to, you probably would not exactly be chatting about a body count. You know he has girls lined up, and for obvious reasons-- but if he’s ever actually slept with them, you are unsure of. You doubt it. He still seems like the same Steve underneath all the muscle, though you do remember having seen him making out with some blonde private working for Howard Stark. Maybe he’s not as innocent as he looks…

“Celebrate, hm?” he says, and his deep voice brings you back to reality-- a very welcoming one, at that. “Well, you know, since the serum I can’t get drunk. So to be honest, being at the bar isn’t much of a... proper celebration.” He admits with a low chuckle, and you barely grin deviously. “Oh, yeah? Are you saying you’re looking for a proper celebration…?” you ask innocently, and he barely bites on his lip. You look back towards Joe, and thankfully, he’s occupied talking with some other sergeant friends. Returning your gaze to Steve, you hum softly. “How about this, Captain,” you murmur as you stand even closer to him, “if you really want to celebrate, meet me in the bathroom in five minutes.” You run your fingers over his arm slowly, looking up into his eyes and barely smirking upon seeing the simultaneous desperation, excitement, and conflict in his features. “And if you don’t… well, I know how to take a hint, darling, so you don’t have to worry.” You give him a wink before turning around, practically strutting off to the bathroom as you make sure to wiggle your butt and give him a good show.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #chris evans x reader

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ajokeformur-ray · 5 years ago

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Lmao my dumbass didn’t see matchups as an option ?? a matchup would be cuteee either or!! And I know you SO pick ONE. Please 😂 don’t do both my asks, ONE, UNO, EINS, UN, ODIN. One 😂 you gotta take care of yourself

I found your matchup info. from the other one I did you and I also used things I know about you to write this; hope you don’t mind. And you better hush pffft when do I ever do what I’m told????? So, I’mma do ‘em all. Just let me love you skskskks xp

Hi, I saw you're doing matchup requests so maybe I could try? I am a 5'4' curvy female, really vibrant chocolate eyes, brown hair, little freckles on my nose and cheeks. I am honestly super loud and out there, addicted to Monster Energy so I can be hyper. I am fiercely protective and I can be aggressive defending things I care about. I act tough but deep down I am insecure and deal with bullying a lot :/ ~ @jokershyena

Word count: 1, 765.

Patrick @ you every single day:

This boy. This. fucking. boy. is head over heels for you. He loves you so, so much. You’re the first one to see him, to know him for his real self, and you were the only one who wasn’t afraid of him. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” // “How can I be afraid of you? No offence, Peppermint, but you’ve never even broken a pinkie promise.” Pat only falls deeper in love with you for that comment.

You’re 5′4 and I headcanon Pat to be maybe 5′8, which means that he gets to tease you about the height difference. He’s never rude or nasty about it, but your indignant expressions and playfully shocked gasps make him laugh, and that makes it all worth it to you; his laugh is gorgeous. Both of you give as good as you get, and you both adore this aspect of your relationship. Rest assured, if lines are ever crossed (rare, but it may happen in moments of high tensions or stress), things are talked out and neither of you leave the conversation until it’s been sorted out. Pat never raises his voice at you; even if he’s frustrated, he makes a concerted effort to keep his voice at his usual level. He’s not a fan of shouting, anyway. It’s too aggressive and he’s... not about that. Not unless he has to and even then, he hates it. It’s not who he is or even who he wants to be.

He also adores wrapping one arm around your shoulders, fingers curling around your upper arm, and his other arm going around your hips. His arms are solid heat around you, and Pat puts everything he has into every hug. He squeezes you affectionately, making cute little grunts from the effort as he does so, and he really melts into your touch. He’s been through so much, the poor thing, and he just sinks into everything that you give him, even when he’s the one who initiated the hug. You exchange so many of these touches each day that neither of you can ever keep track of it.

Pat loves your eyes. OMG this boy can and will spend hours lying beside you or on top (or even underneath) of you, his own intense chocolate gaze holding your own. He loves to cup your cheeks in his hands and kiss all of your little freckles. When you’re asleep or your head is nestled in his lap, he likes to trace the small constellations on your face, his fingers light and ghosting across your face as he plays dot to dot. He always has the sweetest smile on his full lips while he looks down at you, his eyes alight with love and with the most tender affection. “You’re so beautiful, Lilith.”.

Nothing makes you fall asleep faster or relaxes you quicker than Pat laying with you while you go to sleep, his fingers in your brown hair, lips on your face and his chest rumbling in suppressed laughter as he loves on his hyena. You saved him from his life in Australia; you took him in when you were just strangers and nursed him back to health and in the process did the two of you fall in love with each other. You rescued him and he likes to tell you this often, just so that you know how much he appreciates everything that you’ve ever done for him, how much he loves you.

Even if Pat stays out late to play pool at the local bar (he doesn’t drink because he knows you don’t like it; and he showers before he comes to bed so that he doesn’t stink to high heaven of cigarette smoke), he makes sure that he’s home in time for you to go to bed; he wants to be there for you so that you know you’re warm and safe and loved, so loved. He may not understand it at first, but after the first few times it happens, he learns quickly how to help you during and after sleep paralysis and/or nightmares. “Hey, hey, Lilith - look at me. Look at me. There you are. It’s okay, love, you’re safe. Starlight’s looking after his moonchild, hm?” He won’t let you go if you don’t want him to - whatever you need, bb <333

You’re loud and chaotic and Pat vibes so well with that. And don’t you dare muffle your laugh or hold it in - he wants to hear you. “Why do you do that, hm? Hide your laugh. Don’t be like everyone else because you’re not, and I love that. So come on - let me hear you.” His chocolate eyes melt as he looks at you, your head thrown back in laughter, your eyes closed when it’s really going... You’re fucking gorgeous and once he’s heard your laugh at it’s most chaotic, he never wants to hear anything else.

Pat always makes sure that he smokes away from you - he’ll straight up quit for you if you ask him to, he’s not afraid to do so, but if you allow him to continue the habit then he makes sure to step outside or, if it’s raining or snowing, to lean out the window. He always keeps you in his mind with anything that he does. After the death of his grandpa, you are his entire world and everything that he is, everything that he does, is for you. You’re both so, so full of love and your hearts are huge so you cling to each other so tightly. You’re almost always together - unless you’re attending classes or the other is held up somehow. He’s right there when classes end, pulling you back into his arms to bring you back to bed, his lips peppering kisses all over your face. Just at the point that you’re pressing your face up into his lips, wanting more of everything, he laughs and jumps up in a whirlwind of dark colours as he grabs you a Monster out of the fridge, coming back to you as he cracks the tab. “You taste way sweeter than that stuff,” Pat wrinkles his nose but you can tell from the way he leans in to kiss you that he only likes it because you’re drinking it. He’s feline in some ways and this is one of the more obvious ones.

You are extremely protective and this... oh, and this is something which he really does love you for. When you overhear people in the corridor talking about how Pat set a “state warden on fire” or “sold his liver” and other ridiculous things... he ignores it but you see his jaw muscles tick and you see the way he glances down with a slight shake of his head. Even if he pretends otherwise, Pat is daily harmed by his reputation; something he didn’t ask for or even want, and you never stand for it. “Hey! Don’t you dare talk about my starlight like that! Say that about him again - I dare you.” Pat watches, wide eyed, as you stalk up to those people. The first few times he tries to stop you, but you always shake him off. After that, he stands back with his arms folded over his chest, grinning and chuckling. “Hey - “ he calls out to the offenders, “Don’t you know to watch out for Hyena? She, er - she bites. And not just in the fun way.” With a wicked smirk and a salacious wink, you’re both turned on - time to visit the bleachers! ;)

Pat defends you, too, always. He will not stand for any of it, especially knowing that you deal with a lot of bullying. “Hey - “ Heavily frowning will he call out those who are bullying you - “If you’ve got a problem with Lilith, you’ve got a problem with me - so come on!” and he won’t back down. This is one of those times he considers himself lucky to have such a fierce reputation - all he has to do is say something like that and stalk forward, and people scatter like ashes in the wind. He turns to you, then - “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” and he cups your beautiful face in his hands, his intense gaze checking you over. Pat diffuses any tension by kissing you so soundly that your toes curl in your socks.

When you get insecure about anything, Pat is there with furrowed brows, watery chocolate eyes as he listens to you - the things you don’t like about your body or about your personality or about your BPD and other illnesses - he listens to everything and he pulls you into his broad chest. One arm wraps around your waist and the other smooths up and down your back in fluid motions. Your fingers in his dark curls, your lips feathering kisses all over his face, your legs entangled... you often fall asleep after heart to hearts in which you open up to each other and somehow bond on an even deeper level than before.

“Don’t you ever change yourself, Lilith. Not for anyone or anything - unless it’s for you and because you want to. Don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want. You’re so strong, love. You work impossibly hard and you love even harder. You have a heart of gold, moonchild, don’t you see? I love you, so much. Don’t you ever forget it, okay?”

He’ll bring you to tears but that’s okay. He’ll kiss and wipe every tear away and crack jokes to make you laugh. Patrick loves you so much that it genuinely hurts sometimes and he knows that he’s also cherished and adored.

“Peppermint?” // “Hm?” // “You’re such a pretty boy.” // An amused chuckle. “You think I’m a pretty boy?” // “You’re my prettiest pretty boy.” You always get kissed for such a wonderful compliment - Pat adores being called a pretty boy. It’s one of his many secrets and only you’re trusted with it. It’s just another way for him to say that he loves you.

Both of you act tough but both of you feel and hurt deeply. You’re always there for each other, through better or for worse, and so long as you’re able to come home to each other, why, you both have the entire world. You’re his hyena and he’s your koala and that’s the way it’s always been and will always be.

#patrick verona #10 things i hate about you #patrick verona matchup #10 things i hate about you matchup

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faunahudson · 4 years ago

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The Hudsons Strike Back

Who: Sawyer & Fauna Hudson @sawyer-hudson (guest appearances by Molly Sheridan and Tommy Deluca)

When: 26th of November 2020

Where: Ohio

What: Fauna and Sawyer meet up with two blasts from Sawyers past, with explosive consequences

Warnings: Slut shaming, mild violence, threatening language, references to unsafe practices, homophobia and an almost slur

“I’ll admit you Americans do decorate for Fall better.” Fauna conceded as they passed shop window after shop window filled with Thanksgiving themed displays. “Obviously Ireland is superior in every other way. But I’ll give you this one thing.” She teased pressing herself a little tighter against Sawyers side. The bright smile on her face having been stuck there practically since they’d left their claim interview.

Sawyer supposed that, growing up with Thanksgiving, he'd never had been one to notice the decorations, but spent a good look at some of the display windows that Fauna had pointed out. He wrapped his coat-laden arm around her tiny waist, laughing slightly at her teasing words. They had barely stopped laughing since the moment their claim came through, and he couldn't see it stopping anytime soon. "We really love Thanksgiving over here," He told her, "but yeah, Ireland is definitely superior. I was amazed at seeing all of the Belfast Christmas decorations last year."

She felt so warm despite the wind, as he wrapped his arm around on her waist her body alight with her own delight at the world right now. “I like the american commitment to going as big as possible with everything, so you made up a holiday and now you're gonna like.. do it hard." Fauna agreed knowing it was about time that she gave her new homeland it’s dues. "So remind me.. what was your hang out around here when you were in high school? I need to contextualise all those fun pictures that your Mom showed me this morning."

Sawyer furrowed his brow at Fauna's subtle dig at Thanksgiving. "Made up a holiday?" He repeated, "Surely, all holidays are made up in some way or another. Is this the whole Irish Catholicism thing about it being something not centred around Jesus?" Sawyer knew that, the actual reality behind Thanksgiving was a lot more grim than sitting around with family to share thanks and eat turkey, but sadly, his patronism had to win out against this one. Her other question made him laugh, and roll his eyes. "I still cannot believe Mom showed you all those pictures. They're super embarassing." He shook his head. "Um, there's a Barnes and Noble I spent a lot of time in, over that way. There's also this record store -- Groamy's CD's and Tapes -- it's not in here, but we can head over later if we can be bothered?" Sawyer suggested, directing her towards the stores he and his friends hung out in their youth. "There's also this, like, froyo place. I spent a lot of time there with --" He trailed off, noticing someone not even three feet away from the couple, "-- Molly." That wasn't who he had actually spent time with at the frozen yogurt shop -- that was actually Leanne -- but Molly was the person in front of time, who had noticed Sawyer in the same awkward way he had noticed her, with neither of them pretending they hadn't just seen the other. Basically, Sawyer's worst nightmare.

“If the holiday doesn’t have deep roots in Celtic paganism then I’m afraid it doesn’t hold much appeal for me.” Fauna shrugged with a teasing little giggle. “If I don’t feel the mood includes having been able to celebrate it in the woods like witches then I’m afraid it simply doesn’t get me going.” She declared, patting his chest through his coat as she reached to adjust her hair a little. “I can’t wait for her to get out the second album, apparently you went through a phase of holding up books in photos and I definitely think you should go back through that phase so you can self identify as a nerd.” She giggled, nodding along with him describing the places they could visit. “I like froyo.” She started and then noticed him staring at something, and with a little curl in the bottom of her stomach she noticed Molly. It was odd, seeing her in the flesh when she’d spent so long pouring over her instagram pictures. Without really thinking about it the brunette leaned in closer to Sawyer unsure if this was a motion of support for him or an act possessiveness. “Do you want to say hi?” She asked quietly.

He shook his head with a laugh. "I always knew you were a witch, this basically confirms it." He told her with a laugh, cringing at the memories he knew that photo album would brings. "I mean I can self-identify as a nerd without such a cringey practice, thank you." However, after he noticed Molly, he admittedly didn't hear what Fauna said at first, and it seemed like time had stopped around him, his heart beating erratically. He heard Fauna's question slightly too late, feeling her body lean in even closer to him. "Hmm, what?" He asked, it suddenly registering to him. "Uh, I don't know if it's best...." The Dominant trailed off when it was made apparent his decision had been made for him, as Molly closed the space between them. "Sawyer?" Molly asked, almost as if hoping it wasn't him, that it was Finn with a haircut, or some third dopplegänger wandering around the Lima, Ohio mall. "Hey, it's good to see you." She stepped towards him as if to give him a hug, faltering slightly, and settling for just making it seem like she shifted her weight instead. "Molly!" Sawyer said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Yeah, good to see you too." After a moment, he glanced down at Fauna. "Oh, so, Fauna, this is...Molly, my...er..." He felt rude to refer to her as her ex, but he also felt rude if he didn't acknowledge their relationship, so he took the coward's way out and said nothing at all, just trailed off. "And Molly, this is Fauna...my...claim."

Fauna tried not to let her face be pinched by the nerves and jealously that she was feeling. She knew it was a poisonous habit to compare yourself to other women, to survey Mollys outfit and wonder if she looked better than her. If she’d heard any girl she knew doing such a thing she would have given them a dressing down. So she painted on a soft smile, hoping that her malice played as nerves. Though she kept her body tight against Sawyers frame as she spoke. She waited to see if Molly really would go for the hug for a moment, and was relieved when she didn’t. Seeing the tension in Sawyers frame, and noting that his face seemed tight. He was uncomfortable, and so it was her job to make this more comfortable. To put him first even though she quite wanted to drag him down and kiss him until he wouldn’t remember Mollys name. “Pleased to meet you. And kinda weird to see you come to life.” She chattered offering Molly her own hand to shake. “I’ve seen you on Finns insta.” She explained in what was a partial lie.

A part of Sawyer was amazed that Fauna and Molly -- two very different parts of his life -- were speaking, and kinda jus stood there as Fauna offered out her hand to shake. Molly took it with a warm smile, always so infectiously nice to everyone she met. "Pleased to meet you too, that reminds me I need to hit up Finn, haven't caught up with him in a while. And, uh," She glanced between the two of them, "congratulations! On the...the claim." Sawyer's heart ached at the way she had stumbled over her words, not even bearing to imagine how it felt to see someone so happy an content. "Thank you," Sawyer said, biting his lip, not knowing what else to say. It was a lie, he knew what he wanted to say. He was saying to Fauna less than 2 months ago how he wanted closure with Molly for that night, for the way their relationship ended. But a busy mall the day before Thanksgiving wasn't the time or place to discuss his past, especially when he was with Fauna, his future. "Do you, still live here, in town?" He asked. "Yeah," Molly said, with a nod, seemingly suspicion. Sawyer nodded in response. "Good, we're here until Wednesday. If um, if you want to catch up sometime?" He suggested, heart racing, clutching round Fauna's waist as if his life depended on it. There were many ways it could go. She could say no, make up an excuse and that be that. She could say yes, and it'd be awful and open up old wounds that'd take longer to heal. Or...she could say yes, and it'd go surprisingly well. The risk of it all was in the asking, he supposed.

Fauna turned off the part of her brain that wanted to overanalyse every word that Molly was saying for now, hating how much she resented how sweet the other girl was being. “He’s knocking about town somewhere.” Fauna added as she shook the other girls hand. Glad that Sawyer was far too distracted to note the fake quality to the smile that she was giving. She was sure Molly wouldn’t know the difference, but Sawyer knew her too well usually for this shitty performance to pass. “I’m sure he’d be pure thrilled to see you.” The brunette confirmed continuing her barrage of friendliness. “Cheers. It’s a fun time of year for it to happen. Whilst the yanks are giving thanks.” Fauna rhymed, wondering why she had suddenly become Doctor Suess. He invites her, and Fauna can feel how tense he is. Her little hand smoothing across his back in comfort. She wanted him to know that she supported him, that she understood why he needed to have this conversation. “Please take him off my hands.” She encouraged gently. “I’ve got Christmas shopping to do, and all these limbs can occasionally get in the way.” She added, taking the cheap shot at her boyfriend to let Molly know that it was okay to say yes, and that she would be far out of the way if this little meet up were to happen.

Sawyer relaxed at the way Fauna was soothing him, knowing his laugh at her silly, yet adorable rhyme, and the teasing about his height sounded way too fake and tight to his own ears, trying to calm himself from the panic, to not let the troubled inside bleed through onto the put-together outside. Half of him wanted Molly to say no, the other half yes, and the few seconds between him asking, and her answering was driving him mad. Molly had laughed at Fauna's joke, "Tell me about it, I was always scared about him accidentally catching himself on a railing and knocking a display over. Or bumping his head on one of those ceiling beams." She agreed, and Sawyer found it nice they were bonding over...something. Even if it was his tallness. She turned back to Sawyer. "Yeah, I'd be up for...grabbing a coffee or something? Maybe Friday?" She suggested, before turning back to Fauna to ask, "That's okay, right? No special plans or anything?" He supposed she either asked Fauna for some special 'girl' thing, or maybe her own experiences with Sawyer knew that, no matter the designations, Sawyer was never the one to make the plan in the relationship, and even now, as a claimed Dominant, he knew Fauna would be the one making the bulk decisions on how they'd be spending their day or night.

Fauna was glad Molly laughed, she really did want the other girl to feel like she was okay with everything. Because objectively she was. She wanted them both to be able to get closure on what was clearly a very painful chapter of their lives, she just didn’t want them to get too much closure to a point that they missed one another or wanted to start over. “He’s a danger to himself and society when he gets going. It’s why him and his brother have to wear so many layers.. to kinda cling film their limbs.” It was a weak joke and she’d probably apologise for it later, but it was the best that she could come up with while she was so distracted. Molly looked to her and the nasty little Tinkerbell buried deep down inside smirked. As if to say ‘yes nothing happens with him without my say so’ but she pushed the fairy into the drawer and smiled the best and softest one that she should. “No special plans. You kids have fun, maybe I’ll let Finn persuade me into that Maize Maze he’s so convinced that I should visit.”

Sawyer felt himself blush at all the height jokes, ducking his face into his scarf so they didn’t have further ammunition regarding his reddened face. “Coffee sounds good,” He said, slightly delayed, nodding when Fauna gave the go-ahead that Friday was fine. Molly nodded, smiling politely still. “I mean, the Maize Maze is the only selling point of Lima, so you may as well go see our famous landmark. I mean it’s no Statue of Liberty or anything but it’s something.” Sawyer laughed at this, thinking back to all the times Finn had begged to go to that maze, with a reluctant Sawyer and Molly joining him, knowing his brother would be really grateful for Fauna to take him up on that offer. “Honestly I’m sure if he could, Finn would have moved into that maze a long time ago.” He commented, “Um so, Friday...at the Starbucks on the corner?” He suggested, wanting them to meet up in a neutral place that meant nothing to either of them, that also granted them some privacy. “Sure. Two-ish?” Molly asked, and a part of Sawyer wondered if she was hoping that time was too inconvenient for him, and a part of him wanted to lie and say it couldn’t work, but it was true that he had no plans that day. So he swallowed down the lie and grinned. “Two-ish works. It was...um, it was really good to see you.” He said hesitantly. Molly’s smile formed into something that, whilst genuine, was tighter. “Yeah, you too. And uh, it was really nice meeting you too, Fauna.” She said with a wider smile, and Sawyer wondered if he imagined the sad glint in her eyes for a millisecond.

“Well I guess I can perform some kind of study on the difference in Maize Maze foliage between Ireland and Ohio.” Fauna found herself saying without really knowing why. Finn had seemed very excited by the idea of them all going into the Maze together and would probably be disappointed that Sawyer had made plans without him. But Fauna was sure as long as Alexis went the other Hudson brother wouldn’t really care. The tension between the two other people standing there remained in the air, and Fauna reached over with her spare hand to subtly take his much larger one in hers and to gently squeeze it. To say, it’s okay I’m here, you’re doing so very well with all of this. Seeing Molly here must have been something akin to bumping into Charlotte and instead of running Sawyer was doing everything in his power to face this all head on and for that Fauna had to support him. Molly addressed her, and Fauna made sure she was smiling when she said. “Lovely to meet you too Molly. I hope you have a wonderful holiday.” She nodded, trying not to sound as distracted by Sawyers discomfort as she actually was.

Sawyer let out a small contorted laugh at Fauna’s randomness. He knew she had her moments, it was the Flanagan gene, but she rarely caught him by surprise like this. His heart was pounding in his chest, smoothed only by Fauna clasping his hand in hers and squeezing it. I’m here, she silently told him. He squeezed back; an I know, a thank you, and I’m here too. They finally shared their awkward goodbyes with Molly and she shuffled away, Sawyer purposefully walking past the store they were originally heading for to collapse on a bench, feeling nauseous, limbs heavy. “Jesus Christ,” He murmured, his large hands supporting his head. “That was the worst thing to have ever happened.”

She was simply glad that he’d squeezed back, there was a part of her that had worried he’d be too nervous to care about their little signal. She kept hold of him as she watched Molly go, silently hating the other girl for having made the day take this turn. She let him pull her along, heart aching as he collapsed into the bench, small hands finding his shoulders as he sat down, standing over him protectively. “Hey.. you did so well Sawyer. Honestly you were so brave, inviting her out like that. I couldn’t be more proud of you.” She promised, rubbing her thumbs over his shoulders. “You were so kind and open. It literally couldn’t have gone better. Even if it was bloody awful to get through.” Fauna promised him, feeling like she wanted to shield him from the world while he took a moment to recover.

He gave himself a moment to compose himself, to slow his heartbeat, and control his reddened face. Fauna's very presence there helped immensely, and he didn't know if he could have done it without her by his side. "Yeah?" He asked, looking up at her, feeling uncharacteristically small in this moment. "I'm just...I'm just glad it's over." Sawyer offered a small grin to his submissive, "Hopefully that litle detour down Memory Lane is the only one..." He trailed off as he noticed someone else make their way down through the mall, and Sawyer just watched with a blank stare, in disbelief that he had just jinxed himself. But there he was, Tommy de Luca, in the flesh. Sawyer silently prayed the other man wouldn't see him, but apparently the universe was ignoring his pleas today, as the high school bully of the Hudson-Hummel clan beelined towards Sawyer and Fauna.

Fauna just continued to smooth her thumbs over his shoulders as he composed himself, she would give him all the time in the world if he needed it. “Yeah, you were friendly and open and you left things open for her and that’s all anyone could hope for.” The brunette promised him, reaching to take one of his big hands. “It is over and you don’t have to think about it for a while. I think we need a winter warmer.. come on I’ll buy you the biggest gingerbread latte that Starbucks does-“ She started. “Oi Hudson. Didn’t know you were in town.” Tommy called coming all the way up to them. “Having a cry already? Sad that drunk old Dad won’t make it to Thanksgiving.” He taunted trying to look around Fauna. Who turned to him with a little scowl gracing her face. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you can get fucked. Stat.” The Irish girl demanded waving her hand as if to direct him to leave. “Aww it’s cute that you’ve got this little girl standing up for you Hudson. That’s a pretty short skirt she’s got on, I can practically see her ass hanging out.”

All of Fauna's soothing words of encouragement didn't register to Sawyer as Tommy came up to them, taunting them. It had been years since they had last seen each other, and honestly, Sawyer pitied the other man. He was so scared of his feelings and himself, and just had to take it out on others. A part of Sawyer, the nasty high school jock who stirred when Tommy's voice was heard, wanted to loudly point that out and embarass him, but he pushed it down. No matter how vile Tommy was, Sawyer was to show him some compassion. And he was willing to ignore him until he could feel his legs again and he and Fauna could carry on their day. Until he came for Fauna that was. Then it was all cards off the table. Sawyer stood tall, all 6"5 of him towering over Tommy, dropping Fauna's hand as he did, scowl etched on his face. "That little girl, Tommy, happens to be my claim, Fauna," Sawyer informed him, voice low and dangerous, "normally I'd list her accomplishments, like how she graduated high school early back in Belfast, or how she finished med school with top grades, or her list of amazing extracurriculars, including being a flyer on the cheer team of one of the best finishing schools in the country, and captaining science club." His scowl turned into a nasty smirk, a piece of vital information the couple had laughed about months earlier suddenly popping into his head, "But I don't need to, because she informed me last month you seemed to have liked a photo of hers from 275 weeks ago. So it seems like you pretty much know our deal. Now," He clenched his fist and his jaw, "Get out of my fucking face, de Luca, or the 'ass hanging out' of my submissive's skirt will be the last thing you ever fucking see."

Tommy seemed pleased when Sawyer stood, obviously having hoped to gain a rise out of him when he mentioned Fauna. Willing to do anything to capture the Dominants attention. Though there was a flicker of something akin to fear in his eye when Sawyer mentioned that he'd liked Faunas picture. "Well.. I'm a fan of her work. As I'm sure is every fucking guy in town, I've seen her little videos. Makes sense that the only girl you'd manage to get is a fucking slut- but then it's probably the Daddy issues that bonded you." Tommy sneered. Fauna put a little hand on Sawyers chest, she didn't care if he hit Tommy but she felt like he would care. Like he would feel like he'd let himself down or something. Tommys words stung because he was repeating one of her more significant fears. That all of Sawyers friends, and relatives would see her videos and wonder why he was ever with her. That they would all think he'd done rather badly for himself, their all American boy, and yet it was more sad to her that Tommy had taken the time to watch her video at all. Considering the fact that he was most likely a gay man. "Thanks for your views Tommy, bit sad though that you spend your time stalking me rather than- I don't know finding a submissive or a life of your own. I think it's time we all moved on from high school.. don't you? Or is your life really so fucking empty that Sawyer and I's relationship is the only thing you have to think about." She snapped.

Tommy bristled again, his face briefly twisting with an expression of something akin to shame as he looked past Fauna at Sawyer. Fauna almost felt bad for him because she could almost see the pining buried deep underneath all that bravado. She more than anyone understood what it was like to want Sawyer more than anything else. "You really are pathetic these days Hudson, letting your whore of a submissive fight your battles for you. Did you finally end up on drugs like your deadbeat Dad? Drinking to get yourself through the day. Reflex's too slow to take me on like in high school, or maybe you're scared that even she'll leave you if she see's what a fucking psychopath you are. That's why every other fucking girl you ever dated left you right, scared you'd fucking snap on them. Because you're a fagg-" While Tommy had been speaking Fauna had removed one of her mittens from her hand, and curled her fist in the exact way that Percy had once taught her after a few too many. Then she simply pulled back her arm and punched him as hard as she could possibly muster in the nose, her fist meeting his face with a satisfying crack. Tommy recoiled but Fauna advanced on him. "Don't you ever fucking speak to him like that again you vile little cunt. He's too fucking nice to ever ruin you but I'm bloody not. You ever so much as breathe in my Dominants direction ever again and I'll break your fucking arm and I'll make sure you never so much as take out a pizza in peace. You hear me?"

Each word hit Sawyer like a tonne of bricks, and he could feel the anger practically burning in his veins. His fists were clenched, and he stepped closer, fully aware he was going to give Tommy exactly wha the other wanted to get out of his taunting. However, Fauna was too quick for him. He looked in shock horror as her small fists made contact with Tommy's face, and he winced as he heard the definite cracking of the other man's nose. The threat Fauna made to him wasn't pretty either. Sawyer frantically looked around, noticing some people were beginning to stare, and he knew he had to do something before they got in trouble. Without thinking, he picked up Fauna and put her aside, before pushing Tommy against the wall in a blind mix of panic and rage. "If her hand is fucking broken from what you made her do, you're finished De Luca." He growled, before dropping his grip on him. He then swooped Fauna up and began to briskly walk away from the scene, muttering the word 'fuck' repeatedly under his breath until they were safely back in Sawyer's mom's car, luckily not followed by Tommy or any security personnel. "Fuck!" He then exclaimed once he could breathe again.

Fauna couldn't stop herself from smirking just for a minute when she saw how completely she had broken Tommys nose, the doctor inside of her told her he'd need it reset pretty pronto. Her smirk faded when she saw the panicked look on her Dominants face, and felt pretty terrible for scaring him. Surprised when he lifted her up and put her aside, an apology dying on her lips. She tried really hard not to be aroused by the way that Sawyer pushed Tommy up against the wall, and instead just sort of stood there until he pulled her off her feet again. She didn't say a word as he carried her out of there, flexing her hand a little. It wasn't broken, Percys advice had proved once again to be solid, it might need icing later though she'd hit Tommy as hard as she could muster. "I'm sorry Sir." She said in a small voice once they were in the car. "I know you didn't want to hit him, but I couldn't let him say all those things to you that weren't true. I know I was a bad girl."

Sawyer’s heartbeat was slowing from the adrenaline rush he received during those few moments interacting with Tommy. In response to Fauna’s apology, his heart panging at the softness in her tone, he leaned over and kissed her hard. “Thank you,” He murmured, “don’t be sorry. He deserved it. You were amazing.” Sawyer promised. “I just really didn’t want us to get arrested a few days after being claimed.”

The tiny brunette felt a sense of relief when he leaned over and kissed her, her hand coming up to touch his cheek. “Oh good.” She responded breathlessly. “I mean I don’t want to get arrested either, I’ll be honest I wasn’t really thinking about it. My brain was more focused on making more nobody ever spoke to you like that ever again. I don’t know how you managed it in high school. He’s a class A cunt.” She said without remorse.

He let out a short laugh as she explained her reasoning behind the actions. "Honestly, that's how I managed it in high school," He admitted, "I'm surprised his nose isn't permanently bandaged up." Sawyer let out a sigh as he thought about Tommy again. "God, you have to really feel sorry for a kid like that, so angry at himself he takes it out on others in that way." He glanced down, gently taking Fauna's hand. "It's not broken, is it? Because I will make good on my promise and go back and kill him for you."

Fauna laughed too. "I mean I hardly blame you, if anyone ever spoke to Ror like that I'd have made damn well sure they didn't have teeth by the time the bell rang." She shrugged. "It is sad.. and so weird that he's still stalking you hard enough that he knew that much about me. I mean I get it because I'm also like obsessed with you but still I wish he could just come to terms with himself." She said quietly, shaking her head as he took her hand. "No it's not broken, it'll bruise but that's a given considering how hard I hit him. Percy taught me how to throw a punch without breaking my hand when I was like nine, it was some of the only useful knowledge he's ever shared with me."

Sawyer nodded in agreement, imagining the visual. "Well, that was the case for me in school, especially with Finn. Tommy tortured the poor guy. It's just...I keep remembering the day he approached me, and how normal and friendly he was," He shrugged, "Sometimes I feel like hooking up with him was the wrong call. Like it just made him feel worse about himself, confirmed it for him all those feelings were slightly more complex than he hoped to be." Truthfully, Sawyer didn't know much about how Tommy was truly feeling, his therapist even said that she couldn't diagnose him from a second-hand account, but that's the conclusion they had 'hypothetically' reached. "Well, let's go get some ice on it. Maybe something with sugar in it. Your dad really taught you to punch like that?" He paused,thinking about Percy, and laughed. "You know what, yeah, I can see it."

Fauna reached with the hand that he wasn’t holding to push his hair off his face tenderly. “You couldn’t have known.. people start relationships out of things like that. Like people who get married... Hooking up with him could have ended with you guys even just being friendly.. but it didn’t and that’s his choice. You gave him a chance that he didn’t deserve by even getting a hot dog with him... one day probably when he’s like 48 and finally ready to accept himself. You’ll get some weird apology via Facebook messenger. Or maybe you won’t, but either way he’s the one that not only did you dirty here but also did himself dirty. Because hooking up with you is literally the third best thing in the world.” She pressed a kiss against his left cheek. “Getting to know you, that’s the second best.” Fauna pressed a second kiss against his right cheek. “And getting to love you is the greatest privilege in the world.” She told him with her impish smile. “Sugar! Yes please.” She agreed happily. “Perfect thing to teach your nine year old after you’ve had a pint or eight. How not to break your hand when punching someone.”

"I can't wait to read out the weird Facebook message when we're sat on our porch watching the sunset," He teased lightly, her words washing over him in a soothing manner. Fauna always knew the right thing to say, and Sawyer was ultimately grateful. He grinned as she listed the top three favourite things about him, feeling himself blush at the words. "That's funny, because loving you is the greatest privilege to me. Guess our lists are pretty similar." He murmured, before catching his lips against hers. "Okay, let's head to a grocery store. Who knows, maybe Cassidy will be lurking in the deli aisle, or Brad is hiding among the cereals." He joked with a weak smile, shaking his head at the idea of Fauna's dad. "Well it came in handy. We should send him a bottle of whiskey as a thank you." He deadpanned, not sure where this random bout of dry humour had come from, probably still in shock from the rollercoaster he had been on today.

She was glad that he seemed less tense, that she'd managed to soothe over some of the hurt of this particularly jarring little trip down memory lane. "As long as he doesn't hope you'll run into his arms in the sunset I'd enjoy that very much." The little brunette agreed, kissing him for a long lazy moment before smiling when he returned her compliment. "I think we have a lot of similar lists which is good, considering you agreed to be my prisoner for life once after I held you at knife point." Fauna laughed at the idea of Brad lingering in the cereals. "It's okay Sawyer the wild Brad is more scared of you than you are of him." She giggled, and then let out another stream of giggles when he joked about the bottle of whiskey. "Or just the half drunk one in our kitchen?"

Sawyer chuckled at the imagery. "If he ever ran down towards me, I'd honestly sock him, it's my knee jerk reaction." He admitted, feeling safe and secure that Fauna didn't care about his past, especially now he watched her throw a punch of his own. "Well, as you can tell, I held up my end of the bargain. I'll gladly be your prisoner until the end of time. Knife of no knife." He promised her, momentarily holding his fingers up in Scout's Honour. The words about Brad made him huff in amusement, mostly because they were true, but at least Brad's internalised homophobia was presented in him being overtly nice, too considerate about personal space and boundaries. It was still a shitty thing, to be hiding away like that, but at least Brad had some compassion. "God, that would drive your dad crazy, returning a half-drunk bottle of whiskey, maybe a note on how you do prefer 'that swill' after all," He joked in reference to Percy's dismissal approach to Fauna's usual drinks of choice. "Come on, Kitten," He then said, "let's blow this popsicle stand, before the cops hunt us down."

Fauna giggled at the image of Tommy trying to run into Sawyers arms, and Sawyer just panicking and smacking him one. "I mean I would also have that reaction to a lot of my past hook ups so maybe it's natural." The irish girl suggested lightly. "I let you collar me so I think I'm keeping my end of the deal too." She agreed, returning his scouts honour with her tongue stuck out for effect. "God, he's such a dick about alcohol until he's had a couple in him and then he's suddenly willing to do a shot of bathtub gin." She sighed, and then nodded. "Rodger that Sir, on the run we go. Bonnie and Clyde for life!"

#(( adventures with sawyer ))#(( ft molly ))#(( ft tommy ))

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