#i still need to tuck away some loose threads lol

[marty-knits]

I loved knitting in primary school and was pretty decent at it, but in secondary i just kinda forgot about it for 20 years or so. Decided to pick it up again to keep myself occupied during pregnancy leave, starting with some simple patterns to get back into it.

First project: baby sleeping bag

Pattern from Debbie Bliss’ First Knits

I love baby knitting projects, they���re small enough that you get results quickly, it’s super cute, and it isn’t as terrible when you made a small mistake.

[sturnioz]

i imagine the first kiss between fratboy!chris and shy!reader was her sitting beside chris who’s counting cash and she’s just admiring him when she felt a sudden need to feel his lips and without thinking twice her body acted on it leaning in and giving him a soft and small kiss to his lips but then she realises what she did her cheeks turning red panic filled her and she quickly jumped up from the couch and ran out of the room meanwhile chris is there like “ what… “ his mouth open from shock.

I can’t write to save my life but i tried explaining the scene in my head as best as i can lmao

oh my god not me just only realising that fratboy!chris and shy!reader haven't kissed yet lol. also i changed the req up just a bit to match their dynamic..

you're sitting on the couch with your knees tucked to your chest, resting your chin on top of them, absently twisting a loose thread on your fluffy socks. chris sits next to you, leaning forward, posture rigid with his elbows digging into his thighs. his jaw is set, and his eyebrows are pulled together in concentration as he counts the crumpled dollar bills in his hand.

you can't help but watch his facial expressions — how his tongue pokes out slightly in concentration. how he mutters numbers under his breath, tone low and rough, followed by the occasional sniff as he rubs the bridge of his nose before he places the stack down on the coffee table and counting another.

there's always that tingly feeling in the pit of your stomach when you see him in his element, and your cheeks burn when you hear him sharply curse under his breath, making snide comments about how he's been underpaid by a buyer. he throws the money onto the table with a scoff, shaking his head, his tongue prodding against his cheek.

his eyes flit to you for a moment, and his eyebrow raises in a challenging way as he bluntly asks, "what? what you starin' at? y'makin' me all jittery, kid. stop it."

"m'just watching..." you mumble softly, a frown tugging at your lips. your gaze drops to your finger, still wrapped around the cotton thread on your sock, before you look back at him. "who... who underpaid you?"

"some dumb blonde from last night. s'got nothin' to do with you anyway, yeah? don't worry about it. go... go watch the tv or somethin'..." chris turns his head back to the money, muttering under his breath. "fuckin' begged me to put this on 'n you're not even watchin' it."

you make a noise under your breath, a small huff, and you turn your head to look at the tv screen. but the moment you do, you find your gaze drifting back to him.

you continue staring at him, more closely than before, feeling those little thoughts swirl around in your mind. you wonder what it would be like to casually thread your fingers through his tousled hair without having it between your thighs. you wondered what it would be like sliding up next to him, clinging to his arm without any reason, feeling him pressed against your side. the thoughts send a flutter through you, a mix of longing and shyness.

but then there's the thought that makes you heart race the most; what it would feel like to actually kiss him. it takes your breath away a little, and you wonder if he would ever want to do something like that with you — even if he does everything else.

for the first time in your life, you decide to push yourself beyond your comfort zone. you take a deep breath, feeling your heart race as you move closer to him, your plush lips puckered and ready to meet his. but just as you lean in, you're startled when chris jolts back, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"what the fuck are you doin'?" his bluntness and harsh tone hit you like a cold splash of water, sending you reeling back into the couch cushions. your face grows hot, the heat creeping up your neck uncomfortable as you retreat, a pout forming on your lips. "you... you tryin' to kiss me, kid?"

you're so embarrassed, and you'd be more than happy if the couch opened up and swallowed you whole. you can't even bring yourself to look him in the eyes anymore, your fingers nervously tugging at the sleeves of his oversized sweater that you're wearing, feeling the tears of humiliation well up in your eyes.

chris stares at you, analysing your facial expression. then, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and a scoff, he reaches out, gripping your cheeks between his fingers. he pulls you forward, closing the space between you with one swift motion as he slots his lips to yours in a kiss that's anything but gentle.

your eyes are wide in shock, stunned by the unexpected movement. you're lost in the moment, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind as chris' mouth moves against yours, firm and demanding. but as quickly as it began, he pulls away, pushing your head back slightly.

"fuckin' happy now?" he asks, shaking his head at your stunned expression. "jesus, kid. always fuckin' poutin' to get what you want... pisses me off."

© STURNIOZ

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (02)

chapter two: in plain sight

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut warnings: cursing, drinking, suggestive content at the end, could've been edited more but oh well lol word count: 4.9k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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Damn baby, I'm a train wreck, too I lose my mind when it comes to you I take time with the ones I choose And I don't want to smile if it ain't from you

boyfriend - Ariana Grande ft. Social House

You end up not seeing Minho, nor any of your other friends, at all in the few days leading up to Yeonjun’s party.

True to your words, you were mostly holed up in your place, running on nothing but caffeine and sheer frustration, trying to finish your elective class’ final paper on the differences between the views of Greek philosophers. Time really flies when you wish it would slow down, because you could've used a couple more days to perfect the godforsaken thing.

You’ve been texting Minho though, and honestly, the man is practically a saint. You barely even talked about anything besides your stupid paper and your high maintenance perfectionist professor, and yet, he still listened to you yap away. He even offered to help you with your footnotes and citations, which you didn’t need, but the gesture was nice. If you had turned to Seungmin with your whining, he probably would've muted your notifications after three messages.

Regardless, all complaining aside, you did manage to pull through and finish the paper in the end, letting out a big sigh of relief the very second you clicked on the Send button on yours and your professor’s email thread just five minutes before the deadline.

Before you know it, it's already Saturday and Minho should be here any minute now so you two could go to the party. You’ve been working hard. You deserve to let a little loose tonight.

Even though a college party isn’t exactly your top choice of ways to wind down from stress, the mention of free and unlimited booze sure does sound alluring.

When your phone lights up with a simple i’m here from Minho, you quickly throw on a cardigan over a simple black camisole and denim shorts and check your makeup in the mirror one last time before heading downstairs. He texted you a couple hours ago, saying he had some stuff to pick up near your place and asking if you wanted to walk to Yeonjun’s together. You sent him back an enthusiastic yes!!! in a matter of seconds, because lord knows you’d rather not enter the front door of that house unaccompanied. 

You opted for a simple fit tonight, mostly because you couldn’t be bothered to put on anything more decent only to go to the equivalent of a frat party.

“Hey, Min.” Your voice pulls him away from scrolling through his phone, diverting his attention to you instead.

“Hey,” he says, tucking the device into the pocket of his jeans. When he gives you a once-over, you do a little twirl for him, finishing off with an exaggerated kick of your foot at the end. “You look nice.”

“Just ‘nice’? I’m trying to get laid tonight. ‘Nice’ isn’t gonna cut it,” you joke.

He stares at you, a bashful expression befalling his features, the corner of his mouth lifted upward as he smiles in hubris. “You’re trying to get laid by whom?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “You tell me.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately before throwing an arm around your shoulders to pull you close. One of his hands musses up your hair that you spent twenty minutes trying to make look perfect, prompting you to poke him in the side so he would let go of you.

“Hey!” you scowl, smoothing over the strands that he flicked out of place. “I worked hard on that!”

“Sorry,” he chuckles, clearly amused by the temporarily sulky look on your face. “Didn’t want you to look too pretty. Can’t have all of the attention on you. Someone might try to steal you away from me.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe I want some attention tonight? I’ve been a hermit all week, I deserve a little something.”

“Is my attention not enough for you?”

You squint at him for a second. Then, you start walking in the direction of Yeonjun’s house without waiting for him. You hear Minho launch a laugh your way, and the scuffling of his shoes on the concrete pavement as he easily catches up with you in a few strides.

He leans down to whisper directly into your ear, making your cheeks heat up but you’re glad that they’re partially masked by the poorly lit street. “You know you never have to try.”

The walk to the party takes about fifteen minutes. When you’re rounding the street corner that leads to Yeonjun’s place, you can already hear the booming music coming from the biggest house on the block. Even from a distance, you can see people on the lawn and the two balconies on the second floor. You gotta give it to the guy - he sure knows how to throw a party.

The second you enter the premises, you’re almost taken aback by how crowded it actually is even though you expected this. A typical Yeonjun party.

You tug on Minho’s shirt, beckoning him to bend down so you could talk into his ear over the sounds of bad EDM and people basically having to scream in each other’s faces. “Are Hyunjin and the others here yet?” you ask.

“They got here right before us. I think they’re in-”

“Y/N!” The two of you whip around at the sound of a shrill voice calling out your name. Yeonjun practically shoves his way through the crowd of people when he spots you, bounding up to you and Minho with a bright grin on his face. “Glad you could make it!” he says, paying no mind to the man next to you at all. He eyes you up and down, shamelessly tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “Damn, you look really good tonight.”

You give him a playful eye roll. Nonetheless, you still tell him, “Thanks.”

“You look that good to come to my party?”

You don’t mind at all the fact that Yeonjun is a natural flirt. That’s just a part of his personality, he’s inherently charming like that. It’s harmless and it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Everything is all in good fun.

“Would you believe me if I said this is what I’d wear on a midnight convenience store run?”

“Ouch, you wound me.” Yeonjun says, holding a hand over his heart to emphasize his point. “C’mon, you can admit it.”

You open your mouth, a quick comeback about to be thrown his way but Minho chimes in from beside you.

“You should believe her,” he deadpans, stepping closer to you, one of his hands grazing your back. He's even standing straighter, with his chest all puffed out. “She even dresses like that when she takes out the trash.”

You turn to gasp at him before punching him right in the pec. “Hey!” Yeonjun is all but forgotten in a blink of an eye, because you have to defend your honor first.

“What? I’ve seen you do it wearing this exact same outfit.”

“Stop lying. It’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? I distinctly remember you wearing this when you went to take out the trash that night a couple of weeks ago while we were hanging out at your place.”

“Nuh uh. I didn’t take out the trash that night,” you protest, frowning. “I made you throw it out for me on your way-”

Yeonjun interrupts you with a chuckle, glancing between you and Minho as he gives your friend's shoulder an awkward pat. They share a look that you don’t quite understand. “Alright, duly noted. I’m gonna make myself scarce,” he says. “Help yourselves. Booze is in the kitchen!”

After you’ve finally squeezed your way into the kitchen that’s overflowing with people, you narrow your eyes at Minho. “What was that about?”

“What?” He scans the selection of liquor bottles on the kitchen island before asking you, “Rum and Coke?”

Your favorite.

You nod eagerly, momentarily distracted before you have to circle back to your question.

“What was all that back there with Yeonjun, Mr. Grumpy Cat?”

“What was what?” He pulls out two solo cups from a nearby stack, along with some napkins, and meticulously wipes the plastic cups even though they look pretty clean to you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You raise a disbelieving eyebrow. He shrugs.

“I didn’t know you and Yeonjun were that close.” Minho seems casual as he tells you this, not looking at you as he fetches the necessary liquor and soda from the sea of glass and plastic bottles in front of you.

“We’re not. I’m kinda friends with him because Jess is friends with him.”

“Okay,” he acknowledges, though he doesn’t seem entirely pleased with… you don’t even know what. “I don’t like him. He’s loud.”

“That’s not a reason. Aren’t you friends with him too?”

You watch as he mixes your drinks, a sight you’re familiar with whenever you attend house parties together. He’s always your designated bartender.

One for you, one for him.

One part rum, two and a half parts coke.

“It is a reason. And ‘friends’ is a stretch,” he says, handing you your cup before he tends to his own. His has less liquor in it, because you both know you like yours stronger. “We’re acquaintances at best.”

“You’re loud too.”

“My brand of loud is different.”

“Is it?”

He gives you a look. An offended cat, if you’ve ever seen one.

“Well, Yeonjun’s not bad,” you tell him. You take a sip of the drink, then give him a subsequent thumbs-up. “He can be a bit much for some people, but I don’t really mind it.”

When he’s done, you both try to navigate the battlefield that is Yeonjun’s extremely cramped abode. You try to stay as close to him as possible, meaning away from the loud boys that are either trying to get shitfaced as quickly as possible, or trying to suck faces with any girl they could find as quickly as possible.

“Still. You don’t think the flirting was a bit much?”

Minho pulls you to him by your elbow when some guy - probably a little more than tipsy, judging by the unsteadiness of the legs that carry him - tries to bulldoze his way through the crowd behind you.

“He’s always like that. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s harmless.”

“If he asks you out, would you say yes?”

You blink at him in surprise, feeling like the question came out of nowhere. “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s just a question,” he says, then repeats himself. “So, if he asks you out, would you say yes?”

You let him guide you to a spot that’s more breathable, where people aren’t practically on top of each other trying to weave their way through. You think about it for a second, then realize that there isn’t much to think about. “No,” you say decisively.

Because it doesn’t make sense to envision you and Yeonjun together. You practically sit on two opposing ends of the same spectrum. People often say that opposites attract, but this isn’t one of those cases.

And… because you simply feel strange thinking about yourself and someone else. Like it's something you shouldn't do.

Minho gives you a hum in acknowledgment of your answer, which you barely catch over the loudness of the party. You do catch the hint of a smile that tugs at the corner of his lip though, before he cranes his neck to scan the room for any trace of your gang of thieves.

“If I didn’t know any better,” you run the words over in your head before you decide to utter them out loud. Like you told him just now, harmless, right? “I’d say you’re jealous of Yeonjun.”

He turns, stares at you for a moment with unreadable eyes. 

“And what if I am?”

There’s something incredulous in the way you look at him. You think he would just wave you off or roll his eyes and move onto a new topic, not expecting him to fire back with a question you can’t really answer.

Or maybe he’s just playing along. You can’t tell.

“Am I that good in bed?” you chuckle, hoping he doesn’t notice the inkling of nervousness in your voice. “Did I do a number on you?”

He raises both eyebrows, pursing his lips as if in thought. Then, he answers, “Something like that.”

There’s a part of you that wants to dig deeper, to get him to say what he really means because there’s something in his eyes and there’s something in the way that his hand has moved to its designated place on the small of your back that makes your stomach roll with anticipation.

Once again, you don’t like that he keeps getting harder for you to read.

You try to think of words to say, of questions to ask, though you know this party isn’t the best place to voice them. “What d-”

“There you are!” Hyunjin pops up from behind Minho, practically jumping onto his back like a jumpscare ghost in a horror game, startling the both of you and almost making the grumpy cat spill his drink. Minho groans as he tries to shove his friend off, before sending Hyunjin a glare that makes the man bow his head in apology. He promptly drags you to where your friends are gathered on a big couch near the back of the room - Chan and his girlfriend Jess, Seungmin, Changbin, along with a distinct absence of a few more faces.

“Where are the others?” you ask, plopping down next to Changbin, followed suit by Minho.

“Jisung is stuck finishing a project,” Chan informs you. “And Jeongin is taking his girl to that new drive-in movie place.”

“They’re still in their honeymoon phase?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Ah yes, young love. Good for them.”

You catch up with everyone about your week, about their week; gossip about how much Yeonjun might’ve spent on this party and where his family’s downright insane wealth actually comes from, about Seungmin’s on-and-off situationship (which might be more interesting than all of the above).

Minho remains seated next to you the entire time you’re all drinking and laughing with each other. He keeps subtly touching you one way or another - a hand on your back because no one’s really noticing, a shoulder brushing yours, a thigh touching yours, a knee nudging your own every now and then.

It’s not until you finish your drink that Minho asks if you want another one, then stands up to head to the kitchen when you say Yes, please.

The second he’s out of earshot, Hyunjin jumps into action, motioning for everyone to huddle together, like he’s about to share classified information.

“Minho is seeing someone,” he says immediately. 

“What?” Changbin asks. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your body immediately stiffens at the conversation’s sudden turn. You try to look as nonchalant and quiet as possible, as if this is just a talk about the weather, missing the way a pair of eyes flits to you outside of your peripheral vision.

Hyunjin purses his lips, before clarifying, “I went through his phone last week.”

“You went through his phone?” Chan frowns, shaking his head disapprovingly. “That’s not cool, dude.”

“He was in the bathroom and his phone was just sitting there unlocked. Then he got a text and I had to!” Hyunjin holds up his hands defensively. “Anyway, I don’t know if they’re dating or if they’re just fooling around, but there is someone! He’s simping hard.”

“How do you know that?” Seungmin chimes in. “Do you even know who it is?”

“I don’t know who it is. That’s what I need you guys to help me find out. There wasn’t a name name. He just calls her his-”

“What on earth are you guys doing?” Minho’s voice makes everyone disperse, leaning back into their respective seats like they were caught doing something they shouldn’t. He sits down beside you again, handing you your cup back. You give him an appreciative but awkward smile. “What is Hyunjin blabbing about this time?”

“Nothing!” Hyunjin practically squeaks. The poor guy can’t spin a little white lie to save his life. Then he has the audacity to look offended as he gapes, “Also, why did you automatically assume it was me?”

“Because it’s always you at the scene of the crime.”

“It happened one time! No, twice. It was only those two ti-!”

Seungmin cuts in flatly. “He said you’re whipped for a girl you’re seeing.”

Everyone stops to stare at Minho. Even you turn your head to look at him, trying to gauge how he’ll respond to this. It makes you a little guilty, seeing that you’re part of the secret too, and yet he has to shoulder the lies by himself.

Well, technically, there hasn’t been any lying involved up until now. Just a simple withholding of the truth.

His face hardens for a brief moment, and you think he lets it show on purpose - his way of telling Hyunjin that he’s annoyed - because Minho can put on a flawless poker face when he wants to. There’s a couple of seconds where he clenches his jaw before he relaxes, the sharpness of his features softening as he shrugs off the accusation. “I am most certainly not whipped for anyone,” he says. “It’s just a casual thing.”

“If it’s just casual, why were you being so secretive about it, huh?” Hyunjin prods. 

“I wasn’t being secretive. I just didn’t think it was anybody’s business,” Minho answers coolly. 

“We’re your best friends! I tell you guys everything.”

“You sure do. Even things I’d rather not hear about.”

Jess and Changbin burst into light laughter, and you chuckle along with them but you don’t really find it that funny. You’re just trying to blend into the background, be a fly on the wall and observe how things unfold. Minho has assured you that there’s nothing for you to worry about, that there’s no way they could find out about the secret, but still.

Hyunjin groans exasperatedly. The nosiest drama queen you know. “Seriously, who’s the girl? I’m dying of curiosity here!”

“Drop it.” Minho glares at him.

“Just give me a hint! Is it someone we know?”

“You haven’t eaten tissues in a while, have you?”

“Try me. I’m not scared of you anymore.”

“Hyunjin, I swear to-”

“Okay!” Chan claps his hands together suddenly. “Let’s just all agree that we are all entitled to our privacy and people can share whatever they want with whoever they want when they’re comfortable, yeah?”

Everyone nods in agreement, except for Hyunjin who narrows his eyes petulantly at Minho as if to say This isn’t over. No one wants to poke a disgruntled tiger, let alone about something he seems so disinterested in sharing. Minho has always been a notoriously private person, even with the rest of the group.

Changbin shuffles a new topic into the mix to move things along, which you aren’t very keen on contributing to at the moment. When no one seems to be looking, Minho places a hand on your knee, rubbing it soothingly as if he can sense the unease that you’re feeling. It makes you glance at him, though neither of you says anything. You just look at each other for a moment, then turn back to the group when someone calls your name.

Two hours and three rum and coke’s later, you were coming down from a good high when someone suggested ditching Yeonjun’s party to go to a club.

Normally, you would say no. You could only do one social event at a time, needing to recharge your metaphorical battery before you let yourself be dragged into the next one.

But you decided to make an exception for tonight.

Though, you promptly realized that it was probably a mistake.

You prefer the loudness of Yeonjun’s party than here. It’s loud and crowded, since it’s a Saturday night, and since it’s a club. The air is sticky and stuffy. The lights are perpetually blinding and headache-inducing. You’re not even on the dancefloor; you’re just hovering near the entrance and the bar, and there’s still barely any room to move. People keep trying to shove you out of their way, even with Minho attempting to act as your human shield. 

You let your displeasure be known through a deep frown.

Minho catches onto your chagrin almost immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asks, leaning close to your ear to make sure you hear him over the music.

“Too many people,” you try to raise your voice so the booming noises don’t drown you out. “Can we go somewhere over there?”

He turns around, taps on Chan’s shoulder to get his attention before gesturing vaguely to that spot near the back that you just pointed out to him, presumably to let the others know that you’ll be wandering over there.

He takes your hand and leads the way. In the back, it’s still loud but less deafening than before, and much less crowded compared to the areas surrounding the dance floor.

“Better?” he asks.

You lean against the wall though you probably shouldn’t. The ick is apparent, but at this point in the night, you yourself are already feeling pretty gross anyway.

“A little bit,” you say. “Thanks.”

“You wanna go home? We can leave if you want.”

“Without saying goodbye?”

“Did you know that people who leave parties without saying goodbye save two days a year? It’s been researched.”

You rephrase your words so Minho would understand better. “Without Hyunjin’s permission?”

“Hyunjin has been pissing me off plenty all week. I can play my card for you.”

“What card?”

“The ‘I don’t give a fuck’ card.”

You tilt your head, clearly amused. “And how does that usually work out for you?”

“I don’t care how it works out because Hyunjin is not gonna do anything to me.” He shrugs. “Besides, I can always just throw him in the airfryer when he gets too annoying.”

This makes you laugh, recalling the exact moment Minho brought up the legendary instructions on how to cook Hyunjin.

“How violent,” you comment with a snort.

“He deserves it.”

“You know you still have a soft spot for him,” you say.

“I have a soft spot for you,” he replies.

“Now look who’s trying to get laid.”

He grins. “Could you blame me?”

Some drunk girls stumble into your space on their way to the bathroom, bumping into you, pushing you into Minho’s body where he instinctively puts a hand on your back to keep you steady. You glance up at him after the girls have safely arrived at the bathroom, only to find him already staring down at you. His back is turned toward where the lights are coming from and the angle shrouds his face in darkness, but you can still make out the stars twinkling in his eyes.

The sudden lack of space between your bodies makes your breath hitch.

“Are you still drunk?” he asks.

“No. Not really.” You don’t like the way your voice comes out small, vulnerable.

“I…” he starts, hesitating for a moment before he continues. His eyes flicker to your lips, and the breath that was previously caught in your throat further thickens. “Fuck, I really want to kiss you right now.”

For some reason, your heart leaps to your throat. It’s probably because of the remnants of alcohol refusing to leave your system, because how else would you explain the way your pulse quickens just from hearing those words coming from him?

He bites his lip, similar to how Yeonjun did it just a few hours ago, but seeing Minho do it is at least a hundred times more enticing.

You want him to kiss you too. You really do.

“What if the others see?” you protest meekly, but you’re already staring at his mouth, finding yourself gravitating toward him like he’s got you hypnotized.

“We’re all the way back here,” he tells you. “They won’t see anything.”

He leans closer until his lips are brushing yours. With a hand on your hip and the other on the back of your head, he meets your mouth in a soft kiss, which is a stark contrast to the upbeat and booming music blasting all around you. Some guy drunkenly gives you two a sleazy whistle, the sound coming from somewhere on your right, but neither of you pays it any attention.

Your hands come to clutch at the collar of his shirt like a lifeline. He’s never kissed you outside of the comfort of your bedroom before, let alone amidst a sea of people like this. It feels strange to be intimate with him in public, but at the same time, it excites you. There’s still a sense of anonymity because you’re camouflaged by the lights, masked by the darkness, hiding in plain sight.

The kiss gets more heated. He guides you a step back until you’re all pressed up against the wall, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging on it the way he likes that makes him groan against your mouth. He sucks on your bottom lip before shoving his tongue into your mouth, the wet muscle dancing with yours, making your knees buckle. It’s dizzying. It makes your head spin, and you don’t know if it’s because there’s still enough residual alcohol in your system to knock your world off its axis, or if it’s just him.

The hand previously on your hips sneaks underneath your shirt to rub at your bare skin. He gropes your breasts over the bralette you chose to wear tonight, squeezing the soft flesh in his palm, all the while slotting one of his legs between yours to help you grind on him. Your clothed cunt rolls over the denim of his jeans, and even though the friction is coarse and your movements are limited in this crowded space, the pleasure still sets your entire body alight. Minho spreads all over you like wildfire, and Minho consumes you like a hurricane.

You moan into his mouth when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, over the flimsy material of your undergarment. “Min,” you whimper desperately. You don’t know if he can hear you over the obnoxiously loud sounds coming from the speakers littered all over the place, but he groans against your mouth regardless. Almost like the nickname is driving him crazy.

He pulls back just slightly, to let the both of you catch your breath. “Should we go back to yours?” he asks, eyes still focused on your mouth.

You nod eagerly. You know you must be wet as hell right now, and if you have to wait any longer, you will probably explode from frustration. You might just drag him into that disgusting bathroom over there and let him have his way with you, but you will definitely regret it afterward because it’s a bathroom in a nightclub. It’s beyond revolting.

He helps you smooth out your hair, gentle and tender. In turn, you wipe your lipstick smudges on his face. Instead of taking you by the hand like he did earlier, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and navigates the two of you through the crowd, shielding you from anyone who might bump into you. You lean into the touch; it’s just comforting.

As you make your way back to the group - or what’s left of the group at the moment - his hand drops to his side again. There’s an inkling of disappointment that blossoms in you, but it dissipates quickly when Hyunjin spots you and lights up. Him and Seungmin are at the bar, seemingly trying to get the bartender’s attention. Changbin is next to them, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything other than the girl he’s chatting with. You try to scan the crowd for Chan and Jess, and find them a couple minutes later, standing in a corner, pressed up against each other just like you and Minho moments ago.

“Where did you run off to?” Hyunjin asks. Clearly Chan was too preoccupied with his girlfriend to relay the information.

“It’s too loud in here, I was getting a headache,” you say, only half a lie. You know your face must still be flushed from your impromptu makeout session, but you hope your friend can’t see the rosy shade painting your skin under all the flashing lights. “Min and I just went back there to see if it was quieter.”

“Okay.” He seems to believe you. “We’re trying to get drinks! You want anything?”

“I think I’m gonna just go home. You guys stay and have fun though.”

Hyunjin looks at you like he’s so flabbergasted. “It’s not even 3AM yet!”

“Headache,” you say, pointing to your temple with an exaggeratedly pained expression on your face. “I’ll stay out all night with you next time.”

“But-!” The second he opens his mouth to protest, Minho cuts in sharply, his tone leaving no room for anyone to argue despite the gigantic pout on Hyunjin’s face.

“I’m gonna take her home and call it a night too,” he simply says.

Hyunjin groans, but he relents in the end, muttering to you something that sounds like “You owe me one,” when you go to hug him goodbye. Before you and Minho can reach the door, you hear your man child of a friend call after you two in his pterodactyl voice, “Don’t make Minho’s girl jealous!”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 04.01.2024]

[casiavium]

It is thursday not wip wednesday anymore but I really want to finish damage control in march (more likely april tbh, I still have a lot of cosplay stuff to work on before the con I'm going to in a few weeks) so maybe if I post weekly wips I will hold my self accountable to actually writing

flashback scene that opens the chapter directly copy pasted from my wip, so ignore the format and any typos lol

"Are you healing well?"

Link's fingers grazed his chest. The skin was perfectly smooth, not even the old scars from sparring left. He felt as if there should be a gaping wound, as if he should be able to dip his fingers into a hollow center and scoop out what was left of his humanity. 

Ghirahim took hold of his wrist and drew his hand away.

"Yeah."

Tucking his legs under himself, Link leaned into Ghirahim, watching as the demon stretched out his arm and rubbed along his deathly pale skin. He could feel the other's eyes staring at him intently, but didn't elaborate. No scars remained anywhere on his body. Every tiny cut and scrape he had vanished. His freckles were gone.

"You're rethinking again."

Ripping his hand away, Link scoffed at the statement. "Even if I am, what could I do about it?"

His attitude wouldn't go unnoticed. Twisting his face by his chin, Ghirahim forced his attention, hard glare met with unapologetic indifference. Clicking his tongue, he conceded, wrapping his arm around Link's shoulders in what felt more possessive and encircling than tender.

"You're learning the right sentiment, but we'll have to work on your presentation. Master won't be as kind as I am when it comes to ignoring your insolence."

Link wanted to snap back that he didn't need to pretend respect around Demise because Demise actually deserved it, but he held his tongue. Ghirahim may have lost some of his status to rule over Link, but he was still a far older and far more powerful spirit. His own meager freedom was loosely based on Ghirahim's ability to convince Demise, and he wasn't about to have it taken away.

Ghirahim applied pressure onto his far shoulder, insistently molding him against his body trying to encourage him to relax. The couch shifted as their limbs tangled together, Link resting his head against Ghirahim's chest. Threading fingers into his hair, he combed through dull locks to lull him into a false comfort. Just the night before he had been nearly ripping them out, violent fists curled around wrists that would no longer bruise.

The room was pretty, Link had to admit. Maybe at one time it had been a library, but all the shelves were devoid of books save for a few spineless pages and a crumbling hardcover. The whole fortress had an air of forgotten elegance, that what was once housed in here commanded respect and nobility. The empty windows and crumbling walls echoed his own feeling of wasting away.

"You said," Link whispered, barely a breath he hadn't learned how to use again, "that you didn't want the Surface destroyed."

The hand stopped combing through his hair. 

"It's best not to dwell, Link."

"I don't want it destroyed." He continued to press, emptiness guiding his words. "But... it's not even my home. All it did was fight me, and hurt me, and put me through meaningless tests. I don't want it to burn. It can't."

Link squeezed his eyes closed, his whole face aching from holding back tears. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cry so bad, and even that had been taken from him. "It's like Hy�� the gods didn't want me to succeed. And it's not that I want to destroy it—I just don't <b>care</b> anymore. Why don't I care?"

The body beneath him moved with a deep breath, sparking jealousy in Link. Ghirahim could convey his emotions in ways he couldn't even when he was human, always had the right words to express his anger. Link was hollow. He was like Fi, but the person he had been was trapped inside himself. He could only seem to make that shine through in acts of anger.

"It is normal to feel upset that the people you thought cared for you never did." Ghirahim began, hesitantly, but Link cut him off.

"The Surface never cared for me, Skyloft did."

"And our Master does not care about Skyloft. Just the Surface. So why is it bothering you?"

"I don't know." Link admitted, gritting his teeth. Only partially a lie. He couldn't tell Ghirahim the truth: he was the hero, he was supposed to save the Surface. He was supposed to care. He didn't know why he had given up. "I'm just... restless."

"That's normal." Ghirahim murmured, going back to petting him. "Your blade hasn't even split blood. You're agitated and craving an outlet, you want to be used. I'm sorry I can't help you."

"Is it like this all the time?" 

"You'll get used to it." 

Silence hung over the pair, the creaks and groans of the fortress echoing along the halls. Link picked at a loose thread, unraveling the fine pattern on the cushions.

"How long did it take you?" 

When Ghirahim didn't answer, Link propped himself up on his elbows, pushing his questions in this quiet moment he was least likely to lash out. "You weren't always like this. You were human once, like me, right?"

"I was never human." The spirit denied, spitting the words out like they disgusted him. "Humans are weak and pathetic things, and you'll learn this change is a blessing. I was a demon, Link. I was never like you, so I'm afraid I can't offer much help. You must be suffering far worse than I did."

"But you survived the same thing. Surely you remember what it was like?"

"I remember very little of my life before becoming what I am." He snapped, but he had drawn his arms across each other and wouldn't look Link in the eye. 

"I don't believe you."

 Link found himself flipped and pressed against the floor in the blink of an eye, both he and Ghirahim toppling down as the demon straddled his chest with a hand around his neck. His lips were curled into a snarl, a wild anger unleashed in his eyes. "Stop testing me."

"Why won't you tell me? Are you hiding something?"

"It's none of your concern!"

"I'll ask Demise."

Ghirahim stopped. "You wouldn't."

"I will." Link pushed, grabbing Ghirahim's arms to try and pry him off. "I'll go right now, I don't care, what's the worst he can do? Kill me? Hurt me? Ignore me?"

Digging his nails into his grey skin, Link tried to make Ghirahim fight, but the demon wasn't even struggling. He held Link at arm's length, but no longer tried to pin him down.

"You want attention."

Link only kicked his legs, snapping his teeth and trying to throw Ghirahim off.

"I told you, acting out will not get the results you want."

 "Sitting here pretending you care about me isn't either!"

"Oh, sky child. " Ghirahim sighed, letting him tire himself out as he tried to fight. As his punches slowed to weak tugs at his clothes and his screaming morphed into dry sobs, Ghirahim caught his wrists and held him still. 

"You never did know when to quit."

[magniloquent-raven]

Dig that prompt list. Super worried for the new episodes tho so maybe some Harringrove with feeling your partners pulse??? 🖤🖤🖤

ough i hope ur alright after vol 2 lol 💕💕💕 here's a lil fluff, cuz we all deserve some rn

**

“Would you stop squirming, I’m supposed to be checking your resting heart rate.”

“I’m plenty restful,” Billy mutters, shifting in his seat again, eyes downcast and pouting like a petulant toddler. 

Steve huffs, adjusting his loose grip on Billy’s wrist. His pulse jumps under Steve’s fingers, and the muscles in his forearm twitch. “Right.”

It’s like this every time. Every goddamn day since Billy got out of the hospital. It should be getting under Steve’s skin by now, but it’s weirdly getting easier to deal with. Like Billy’s growing on him or something. 

It was rocky at first. He knew it would be when he volunteered to take Billy in, but Max wouldn’t stop fretting over what was going to happen to her brother and Steve couldn’t stand the sad eyes anymore. It took some convincing, for some goddamn reason Steve couldn’t stop the words from falling out of his face when she told him no, like he actually wanted to do this. But he argued for in favor for so long he almost convinced himself as much as he convinced her. 

And so here he is. Responsible for Billy Hargrove’s stubborn ass. Making sure he takes his meds and does his exercises, inspecting his shiny new scars for any signs of complications—whatever that means, half the shit the doctor told him went right over his head—and checking his stupid pulse because his stupid heart got fucked up by the stupid Mind Flayer, and now… And now Steve has to worry about him. Him and his damaged heart.

“It’s too high again,” Steve sighs.

“I’m tellin’ you, I feel fine. It’s fine.”

“Yeah my Uncle was fine too. Right up until he died of a heart attack when he was, like, fourty.”

“Jesus, Harrington.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well, stop saying.” Billy pulls his arm away, tucking it close to his side, away from Steve. 

Steve flexes his fingers, trying to subtly shake the weird feeling of loss. His palm is cold. Empty. He’s suddenly too aware of his own pulse thrumming, a poor replacement for the heady warmth of Billy’s skin.

Christ, he needs to stop. He really needs to stop. Billy took a risk trusting Steve with his care—something that still shocks Steve if he thinks about it too long—and Steve can’t fuck that up by perving on him while he’s supposed to be helping.

He’s not sure how to stop though. Billy started muscling his way into Steve’s space the second he got to Hawkins, but it was never like this. Quiet. Back when he was being annoying Steve was focused on that. Distracted by Billy being an asshole. Not sitting on their beat-up old couch holding his hand and his heart and trying desperately to keep the numbers in his brain when all his brain wants to do is remind him that Billy’s knee is touching his and he could be counting the freckles on Billy’s nose instead of his heartbeats. 

Steve lets his head fall back against the cushions and stares at the ceiling. There’s a stain in the corner that looks like a whale.

“Fine. D’you wanna watch a movie or something?” 

~~

The next day is, to nobody’s surprise, no different. 

Steve checks and double-checks the pamphlets he was given, just to make sure he isn’t misremembering what a healthy heart is supposed to sound like. 

He wasn’t. Billy’s heartbeat is definitely racing. Again. Still? Maybe it’s been like this the whole time, thundering under the metal plate keeping Billy’s ribs in place, thumping so hard Steve doesn’t need to touch Billy to know how fast it is because he can see it. 

He touches him anyways.

“Are you drinking buckets of coffee while I’m not looking? Jesus Christ, Hargrove.” 

“Yes. Obviously. I’m surprised you haven’t caught me yet.”

Billy picks at a thread hanging loose from the bottom of his cutoff shorts. His other hand hangs limply in Steve’s grip. He stares at his own wrist with a furrowed brow. 

“Very funny, smartass. I think I might have to call the doc, this isn’t—”

“I don’t need another fucking check-up.”

“Your BPM says you do.”

“Oh excuse me, Nurse Harrington.” 

Steve blows out a breath. “C’mon, man. It could be something serious, don’t you wanna know?”

“I do know. I know that an appointment would be a waste of everyone’s goddamn time.”

“You—” Steve gestures helplessly with his free hand, fingers tuat and curled with frustration. “This isn’t normal, Billy!”

“It’s—”

“No, no, shut the fuck up, just—” Before he can actually think it through he pulls Billy’s hand towards him and holds it to his chest, wrangling him into position while Billy stares at him in blank shock. “This is what a normal heartbeat is supposed to feel like, alright?” 

Billy’s palm is flat against his sternum, a warm weight between his chest and his hands, ragged, bitten down thumbnail catching on the material of Steve’s shirt. Crystal blue eyes bore into him, wide and unblinking. 

He really should have thought this through.

No matter how much he tries to will his heart to stay steady, the longer Billy looks at him the more it trips over itself. The longer he stays, touching Steve’s chest, letting him hold his hand, the more anticipation threads itself around his lungs, taut and hopelessly tangled.

“...Is it?” Billy raises his eyebrows.

“Um.”

He should definitely probably be panicking right now. And he is, a little, except Billy’s sitting so close and he’s not moving away, and the look on his face is curiosity more than anything else. There’s something tickling Steve’s brain that he can’t quite pin down. It’s distracting enough to keep him from hitting solid ground, keep him looking up at least, ignoring the weird, awkward reality that he’s pushed a boundary that he told himself he wouldn’t.

Except Billy isn’t pulling away.

He’s…

Oh, wait.

Wait a second.

“Oh my god.”

Billy blinks at him. “What.”

“Do I make you nervous?”

“What?” 

There’s an unmistakable pink tinge spreading under Billy’s freckles, and Steve grins. “Holy shit, that’s why, isn’t it?”

“Fuck off, Harrington.” There’s no heat to it.

“All this time I was worried about your health and it turns out you just have a crush on me, oh my god.”

“I—”

“Dude, that’s adorable.”

Billy lets out an embarrassed huff, “Shut up.” His gaze drops to his hand, still trapped against Steve’s chest. When he glances back up there’s something tentative about the way he does it. He opens his mouth. A beat passes. He closes it again. 

“The answer is yes,” Steve says gently.

“You…”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“So…do you think you and your heart can handle doing something about this, or—”

Billy’s nails dig in as he lunges forward, crashing his mouth into Steve’s. It’s messy and enthusiastic, as much an oh god finally as a yes I can, Harrington, shut the fuck up. By the time they come up for air Billy is straddling Steve’s thighs, gripping the front of his shirt like his life depends on it. 

And it turns out Billy’s heart is just fine. Especially when he has Steve taking care of it.

~~tag list ppls @growup-thatbeautiful @spreckle 💕💕

[tommyhollandaisesauce]

Let Me Do The Work [t.h.]

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.2k idk how 

Posted: 11/19/2020

Warnings: Fluff, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids), oral sex (f receiving), maybe too much plot? and definitely a whole lotta lazy sex sue me you’re welcome.

Summary: Tom thinks you deserve a reward after a hard few days at work.

A/N: uhhhh I mean I think I covered all the bases lol. I rly hope you guys like this I think I started it over a year ago and only recently had the motivation to finish and post it. This is basically my brain baby so please lmk how you guys liked it and if you would like to be added to my taglist there’s a google form linked in my bio. Enjoy horn dogs!!

When Tom got home on Wednesday night the last thing he expected his girlfriend to say was “Wanna have sex?” He had asked a few times before if you could and your response was usually something to the effect of “Sorry babe, another time, I’m just exhausted.” He knew your job was taxing and took a lot out of you and, frankly, Tom could survive the work week without getting any. He also knew that once Friday night rolled around it was all systems go; the weekend was yours to fool around as much as you wanted. And he was willing to wait.

Asking never hurt, though. Tom wasn’t annoying about it, at least he hoped he wasn’t. And for all the times you’d asked to have sex after he had a particularly exhausting day on set and he agreed, he didn’t feel super guilty about asking now and then.

It was unusual that Tom would be so exhausted from working that he didn't have any energy left to have sex. There had been some rare days when Tom could barely keep his eyes open even though you were right there, naked and sweaty, and riding his cock right on the living room couch. Your hands would be resting on his broad shoulders, your fingers digging into the muscles beneath his freckled skin as you bounced on his cock and his hands could barely stay put on your waist or hips to help you move. Sure, he liked watching you rise and fall on his lap and he liked seeing himself disappear inside of you and he liked the way your tits bounced with every movement and he liked watching your face. God, he loved your gorgeous face.

Your eyes would flutter open and closed the closer you got and you’d look at him with your big, beautiful eyes that were dark and lust blown and your jaw would go slack and you’d throw your head back in pleasure. Your movements would get sloppier as you’d start shaking and convulsing while you came. His arms would lazily wrap around your waist to pull you closer and you’d nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing hard against his skin as you came down from your high. But Tom couldn’t find it in himself to even worry about his own orgasm, he just wanted to sleep.

So when he came home to your shared flat around 7 pm from walking Tessa on a particularly boring Wednesday, now that he had a break, and saw you lying on the couch with a glass of red wine in one hand and your other arm thrown over your eyes, he figured it was pointless to ask. You had gotten home sometime while he was out, didn’t bother changing out of your blouse and jeans just yet, popped a bottle open, and poured yourself a glass.

Tom unclipped the leash from Tessa’s collar, allowing her to run free around the flat. Immediately, she trotted over to you, nuzzling your legs with her nose until you caved and gave her a few scratches behind her ears. Tom slipped off his sneakers, padding over to you, causing Tessa to run off in search of her favorite toy. The couch sank under his weight as he sat down next to your head, your eyebrows raised at the shift.

“Hey, stranger,” you muttered, removing your arm from covering your half-lidded eyes. Your eyes sparkled in the dim living room lighting as you looked up at Tom. He couldn’t remember a single time they looked dull. Not during a fight, or when you were sad or tired or sick, never. They reminded him of stars. No matter what, they kept shining.

“Hi love,” Tom leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your wine-stained lips. The upside-down angle was slightly awkward, but you’d be lying if you said you two hadn’t done the Spider-Man Kiss before, per his request.

You smiled up at him as he pulled away and closed your eyes. Tom threaded his fingers through your messy locks and you relaxed, even more, leaning your head into his hand.

“Long day?” He asked, continuing to run his fingers through your hair.

“Don’t even get me started,” you huffed out, dramatically throwing your arm back over your eyes, which made Tom chuckle at your antics.

“Tell me what happened?” He asked lovingly, and as you lowered your arm you raised a single eyebrow at him.

“You sure?” You asked cautiously, “Because I wouldn’t wish the shit I dealt with today on my worst enemy.”

Tom scoffed, shrugging his shoulders, “Try me.”

You sighed before beginning your story. Today had been insufferable. From the minute you clocked in, to the minute you clocked out, it had been hell. One coworker in particular, with whom you were not super close or friends in any way, kept nagging you about your relationship like she did every single day.

The incessant questioning and probing was getting old and, quite frankly, rude. The questions started out harmless, like everyone else’s when they found out the Tom Holland was your boyfriend. Some asked for autographs or pictures and you declined, saying that if he ever came in Tom would be more than happy to do that. And Tom agreed; you playing messenger was weird and not the type of thing either of you wanted people to get accustomed to. And most people understood; except for one.

The more she asked the worse they got. Personal questions were the norm now. Questions about family members and life together and sex. God, the sex questions never ended. ‘Is it good?’ and ‘What are you guys into?’ were some of her favorites. Sometimes she’d get creative with them and switch them up. And every time, you refused to answer. And you relayed this information to Tom like you did most days, and he rolled his eyes in annoyance at her ignorance before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead when he saw you were getting riled up.

You softened immediately and sighed. Tom had a calming effect on you. Just being around him was relaxing. After so long together he still could calm you down. And he was cheaper than your copay for therapy, so hey why not vent to him?

“Just forget about her for now, babe,” Tom sighed out, continuing to stroke your hair, “she’s not worth your energy.”

“You're right,” you exhaled, “I’m home, I got my wine, I got my boy, I can relax.”

“Exactly,” Tom said, laughing at your words. He didn’t feel the need to say anything else as you both relaxed, his fingers still threaded in your hair, until a few more minutes went by, your eyes opened, and you turned your head to make sure you were setting down your not yet empty glass on the coffee table.

A soft “hey” escaped Tom’s lips as he watched you use your arms to lean up and turn to face him. He would’ve spoken more but was cut off as your lips pressed to his, the kiss awkward since you had caught him as he was speaking. His lips were slightly chapped and he tasted like spearmint gum as you hovered over him and moved your lips against his.

Tom sighed into the kiss, bringing one hand up to cup your cheek. You clumsily clambered into Tom’s sweatpants clad lap to straddle him and his other hand sat high on your thigh. The kiss was slow and passionate, neither of you in a rush to go further just yet. You melted into the kiss as his tongue slid along your lower lip to ask for permission to enter. You parted your lips immediately, allowing Tom access. After a few moments of lazily making out like teenagers, you pulled away to catch your breath. You closed your eyes, leaning your forehead against Tom’s as you both panted, trying to catch your breath.

“Can we go to our room?” You mumbled, just loud enough for Tom to hear. Your voice was low, soft, and a little shaky from being so tired. His eyes opened at your words and his ears perked up. Tom pulled his head away from yours and your eyes returned to their half-open state.

“I thought you were tired?” He questioned teasingly, tucking some strands of hair behind both your ears and resting his hands on your cheeks. You reached up and wrapped your fingers around Tom’s wrists, smiling sweetly at him. He was sure his heart damn near melted in his chest at the sight of his sleepy girlfriend asking to have sex with him.

“I am,” you said softly, smirking as Tom ran his hands down your sides and settled over your hips, “why do you think I wanna go to our room?” You joked, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck and ducking your head down to place soft kisses along the side of it. He sighed, tilting his head in the opposite direction to give you more room as your fingers carded through the short, soft curls at the back of his head.

“You sure?” Tom asked breathily, as you continued laying kisses across his jaw and below his ear, “Because I don’t want you to do it just because I want to-“

“Tom,” you huffed, pulling away from his neck, your hands migrating to rest on his shoulders. He straightened up and opened his eyes as the feeling of your soft lips disappeared from his neck. “I’m sure. Now shut up and take me to the bedroom.”

He smiled up at you as he snaked one of his large hands around your waist and the other under one of your legs before shakily standing up. You yelped at the jerky, clumsy action and wrapped your arms tighter around Tom’s neck and your legs around his waist. Tessa jumped up from her bed where she had been lying from the sudden movement as Tom carried you down the hall to where your bedroom was, the door ajar. You giggled as he almost smacked both of you into the door frame and nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck. Tom kicked the door gently to push it open before entering the room, turning around, and kicking it closed again. Tessa scratched at the door for a few seconds before giving up and trotting off back to her bed.

The room was cool and dimly lit by two bedside lamps and the computer monitor on the desk, which had yet to go dark and was emitting a hazy, red-orange glow on everything in the room. The window was cracked open to allow some fresh air in and the sheer, white curtains fluttered every so often due to a random gust of wind.

The room still smelled like Tom though. Sure the scent of your lavender body wash and coconut and vanilla hair products and the eucalyptus candle you occasionally burned was lingering, but it was predominantly Tom scented. It was a clean and fresh smell, not shoe polish or sandalwood or, god forbid AXE. It was a perfect balance of pine and rain and laundry detergent. God, if you could bathe in Tom’s smell you would. It was intoxicating. And having the direct source of the smell pressed against you did little to quell the ache that had appeared between your thighs.

However, Tom never closed doors behind him. The door to the walk-in closet you and Tom shared was halfway open, as was the bathroom door. He always left them just open enough where he could get in and out without having to touch the door. You had no clue when the habit had started. It was only mildly annoying, one of those things you find out about a person only after you start living with them, and you always went and closed them after him. As much as you reminded him to close them, and as much as he promised he would, he never did. Tonight, however, was an exception. One, you were far too tired to do so, and two, there were far more pressing matters at hand than some open doors.

When Tom walked over to the bed until his knees hit the edge and he gently laid you down on top of the soft covers, all thoughts of open doors were immediately forgotten. You relaxed instantly into the comforter, one of your legs propped up and bent at the knee, your arms up by your sides, with one hand absentmindedly scratching at your shoulder. Tom settled his hands at your ankles, rubbing soft circles into the exposed skin with his thumbs as his eyes raked over your body.

You took this time to admire Tom. There aren't enough words in the English language to describe how gorgeous Tom Holland is, even in sweats and an old t-shirt. Everything about him made you crave him more. His loose curls and warm brown eyes and soft smile and broad shoulders and, god, everything about this man drove you wild. You knew that what was hiding under his tight, white t-shirt and grey sweats was worth the many minutes — maybe hours — of sleep you’d lose tonight.

“God, I love you so much,” Tom broke the silence, as he crawled up your body to rest directly on top of you, between your parted legs. His hand trailed up your legs and sides before it settled on your waist and the other on your cheek. Your own hands snaked around his neck, and you pulled him down for a kiss, both of you closing your eyes as your lips collided, melting into one another. Tom quickly picked up right where you left off on the couch, swiping his tongue against your lower lip. Just as quickly, you opened your mouth and his tongue slipped inside, running against your own. Tom wrapped one arm tightly around your waist and with his other arm, he picked you up and pulled both of you higher up on the bed, gently placing you back down amongst the soft pillows.

“Now,” Tom spoke into the kiss after a few moments, “let’s get you outta these jeans.”

“What?” You mumbled against his lips, feigning offense, as his nimble fingers popped open the button on your dark grey, straight leg jeans and pulled down the zipper, “You don’t like my jeans?”

“No, I love your jeans,” he responded, still kissing you, “but right now they’re in the way.”

At that, Tom stuck his fingers through the belt loops on either side of your hips and broke away from the kiss, sitting back on his legs and pulling the denim down your legs. Once you were free of your jeans, he repositioned himself above you and attached his lips to your neck, just as you had done to him earlier. His fingers reached for the buttons on your blouse and clumsily began to undo them. Your hands were in his hair as he left open mouth kisses along your neck and jaw, occasionally biting down a little before running his tongue over the spot to soothe the skin. You could already tell there’d be some dark marks on your neck Tomorrow, but at this point, you didn’t care. You’d just wear a turtleneck the next day.

Eventually, Tom was able to undo all the buttons on your blouse. He pushed the creamy white satin down your shoulders and arms, tossing it somewhere in the room, his lips never leaving your skin. You were now only in your underwear, the chill from the cool air seeping in from the window causing goosebumps to form across your body. Soft, quiet moans escaped from your lips as Tom continued his attack on your newly exposed collarbones and chest. One of his hands came up to massage your breast through the light blue, lace bra you were wearing as he left sloppy kisses over your chest, and you could tell that you were completely soaked watching him do this. He looked up at you from between your breasts, one hand still resting on top of your left one, a cheeky smirk gracing his thin lips at the noises you were emitting.

“I like this color,” Tom said, his voice low and husky but he was grinning. As he spoke, he snapped the band of the bra against your ribs, the sting causing you to flinch a little, “it suits you.”

“Then you’ll be pleased to know that I’m matching today,” you whispered, still heaving slightly. Tom furrowed his eyebrows as he looked down and sure enough, you were wearing matching lace bottoms, not entirely unintentionally. Beaming up at you, Tom traveled down your body, his fingers grazing gently over your skin and his hot breath tickling you as his lips left soft kisses across your stomach, sparks dancing across your flesh in their wake. Slowly, he settled between your legs, your thighs thrown over his shoulders with your feet planted on the mattress on either side of his torso. His own hands were on your hips, holding you down against the bed. He pressed a few gentle kisses on your inner thighs as he began pulling the sides of your underwear down your hips.

Raising your butt off the mattress to help, Tom was able to carefully pull the delicate lace completely off your legs. There had been one prior occasion where he had tugged at your underwear just a little too hard and ripped the fragile material and you had not been too pleased with him after that. From then on, regardless of the nature of the activity, he was very careful in removing your underwear.

Once your underwear had been discarded, he resumed his place between your thighs, his hands finding yours and resting on your stomach just above your hips. Tom continued laying gentle kisses on your hips and inner thighs, everywhere but where you needed him most, each one followed by a soft exhale from you. After a few moments of teasing, he pressed a soft kiss directly on your clit, before licking a long stripe up between your folds. Your breathing hitched as Tom started working on your clit, alternating between gently pulling and sucking at it and circling it with his tongue. It didn’t take long before your back was arching off the bed and your legs began squirming around his head, the familiar knot forming in your lower stomach. Soft pants fell from your lips as Tom pulled away for a second to breathe, eyes fanning over your body, before diving back in, your hands squeezing his own as he reconnected with your pussy. Soon after, your legs began to shake and you bucked your hips upwards, Tom following your movements. As he continued applying firm pressure to your clit, you felt the knot snap, your toes curling and your head falling back into the pillows as you came. White-hot pressure flowed through your body as you rode out your orgasm, a string of soft moans and curses filling the room.

Tom’s tongue rolled lazily around your clit as you exhaled heavily, your body jolting forward and  sharp gasp leaving your throat when he lightly pulled on it with his lips. You felt another shock roll through your body as he continued massaging your clit. He slipped his right hand out of your grip, the other laying flat against your lower abdomen, holding you down as you bucked your hips again. He lifted his head, making direct eye contact with you. His stunning brown eyes beamed up at you through his long eyelashes, clouded over with lust and reflecting the faint light of the lamps on either side of the bed. His breath fanned over your heat, sending chills down your legs.

He was giving you a break. Just because you were tired did not mean Tom was, and after a few days with no action, he was ready to show you just how desperate he was for some.

“More,” you begged, pushing some damp curls that had fallen away from his forehead back. His free hand lowered to between your legs, his touch feather-light as he ran his index finger through your folds, soaked with your own arousal as well as his saliva.

“More?” he questioned teasingly, moving his finger in a figure-eight motion around your clit and your opening, dipping in just for a second before retreating. You nodded quickly to answer him, not trusting yourself to use your voice. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you choked out as he circled your clit, “please, more.”

“Thought you were tired?” Without even looking at him, you knew he was smirking. You could hear it in his voice. You exhaled in annoyance, groaning quietly as he continued to torment you. He chuckled at your reaction, finally giving in and placing his lips back on your core, as well as slipping a single finger inside, and very soon after, a second. You inhaled sharply at the new feeling, hands darting down to run your fingers through his soft hair, tugging at the curls as if you could control him like a puppet. Either that or he just knew exactly what you wanted, circling and pulling on your sensitive clit while simultaneously pumping his fingers inside you, curling them up ever so slightly to graze your g-spot.

Reaching your second orgasm took mere minutes, leaving you spent and panting harder than after the first. You knew that unless you pulled him away, he’d continue his assault on you. Breathing heavily with parted lips, you tugged harder than before on his hair until his lips left your body with a quiet pop, his own breathing heavy as well. You pushed your fingers through the dark curls that had fallen over his forehead again, attempting to smooth them down. Fortunately or unfortunately, you weren’t sure, but they refused to settle, instead sticking up in odd angles from your constant tugging. Either way, he looked beautiful, all messy hair and lust-filled eyes. Glancing down at him, his glistening lips pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and another, and another, working up your body until he was eye level with you. His hand settled on your ribcage and yours on the back of his neck as he kissed you roughly on the lips, teeth clashing together, letting you taste yourself.

Tom hovered over you as your lips danced with his for a few minutes, rough and passionate, his large hands grasping at and exposed skin he could find, which was quite difficult considering you were still wearing a bra. His arms coiled around you to get to the clasp, forcing you to wind your arms tighter around his neck and arch your back to create enough room for his arms to pass under you. You could feel him tug at the clasp with one hand, unable to undo it, too distracted by your teeth grazing his bottom lip to adequately focus on the task at hand, which was to get you fully naked.

He just wanted to see you, why was this so fucking difficult?

“Tom, just let me-” you began to say, but Tom quickly cut you off with a firm “no” before fully sitting back on his heels, still leaning over you. His other hand now joined the first in trying to unclip your bra. Propping yourself up on your elbows, your head rolled back, an exaggerated sigh leaving your mouth. You weren’t sure why he insisted on always taking off your bra for you, but boy did he need the practice. As many times as he has tried and you demonstrated, it always took him a few moments, his fingers fumbling with the delicate clasp.

“Oh, for fucks sake-” you snapped, giving up and scooching up to sit up straight, Toms hands falling from behind you and settling in your knees. You didn’t have time for this tonight. His back straightened as he sat up to watch you work your magic, the outline of his thick cock on display under his grey sweatpants catching your attention, all but making you drool. You reached your hands behind you, swiftly undoing the clasp and beginning to tug the delicate straps down your shoulders.

“I almost had it,” you laughed as Tom attempted to salvage what was left of his ego, causing him to pout at you. Why was he so darn cute?

“Maybe on a day when I’m not as tired,” you said, fully pulling the bra from your body, “you can finally get it right, but right now we’re on borrowed time. Head can only boost my energy for so long.”

Tom rolled his eyes briefly before redirecting them to your chest, his hands traveling up from your knees to your shoulders to push you back onto the bed. He resumed his position above you, still fully clothed while you lay under him, completely exposed. His legs settled on either side of one of your thighs, his cock pressing firmly into your leg, straining against his pants. Another wave of chills, which Tom noticed, ran down your body as a gust of wind blew into the room, the cold causing your nipples to harden immediately.

“You cold?” he smirked, bringing a hand up to pinch your left nipple, rolling the bud teasingly between his thumb and index finger. You squinted your eyes at him, which caused him to chuckle.

“Yes, actually-” before you could finish, Toms’s fingers stilled and he gestured over to the open window, his head turning to follow his hand, asking if he should close it. Cupping his cheeks between your hands and turning his face back to you, you exclaimed, “No, oh my god, just fuck me already!”

The look of surprise on Tom’s face at your outburst was that of pure shock, as he very evidently did not expect you to be so desperate. Alternatively, the look on your face was one of slight annoyance as well as desperation and it set Tom into a frenzy. Your eyes were stars again; deep and dark and gleaming with desire. He swore he could see every constellation, every supernova, every inch of the cosmos in your beautiful eyes. After a moment, he whispered, “As you wish,” before leaning down to capture your lips in a softer, slower kiss.

Tom relished this moment. He was with you, the most important, precious person in his life and he got to see you like this. Which reminded him: he was still clothed. You seemed to have had a similar thought, as he felt your delicate fingers graze the sides of his torso as you searched for the hem of his shirt. Finding it, you started pulling it up, allowing Tom to break away from the kiss to pull the t-shirt over his head and chuck it somewhere into the room before reconnecting his lips with yours.

You raked your nails down his pecs as he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips. The sensation caused Tom to exhale into the kiss, eliciting a giggle from you. He broke away from your lips, ghosting over your jaw before settling on your neck in a spot he had yet to leave a mark on. You traced your hands down his muscular chest and over the prominent grooves of his abs, settling on his waistband and undoing the loose bow he’d tied. Pushing his sweats and boxers down at the same time, he kicked them off, letting them fall over the foot of the bed and land on the ground with a soft thud. His cock audibly slapped against his lower abdomen, the head red and already leaking precum. Reaching down with one hand, you wrapped your fingers around his length, spreading the sticky fluid around his sensitive tip with your thumb causing him to rut into your hand. You pumped your hand a few times slowly, using your fingers to press against that one extra sensitive spot right under the head, making Tom gasp against your neck.

You could feel Tom’s hands reach down to push your legs open for him to settle between them, the tip of his dick mere inches from your entrance. He was now out of reach, and he hissed softly at the loss of contact between your hand and his very erect cock. His arms rested on the bed on either side of your head, hot breath fanning over your face. His eyes were half-open and glossy as he looked down at you, writhing under him, waiting for him to fill you.

“Ready?” he whispered against your lips. Since day one, Tom always asked for explicit consent before, always making sure that you were comfortable. You loved it. It was never a mood killer, in fact, it made the whole interaction that much more intimate.

“Yeah,” you whispered breathlessly as you gazed up at him, nodding slightly. You tilted your head up to catch his lips in another kiss, full of passion and desire and love. God, you loved this man so much it would surely be the death of you.

After a few moments, he pulled back, looking you directly in the eyes and whispering a quiet “okay”, one of his hands moving down to hold his dick, running the tip through your soaked folds, grazing your clit, and causing you to jump at the unexpected feeling. Guiding himself in, he slowly slid into your drenched core until his hips were flush with the backs of your thighs. Tom’s eyes fluttered shut, and his eyebrows furrowing as a exhale of pleasure left his lips at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. “Fuck...” He grunted through clenched teeth.

He waited like that, buried inside your tight pussy, letting you adjust to the feeling of his cock inside you. And he’d wait like that until you would tell him to move. While he waited his lips ran over your neck and shoulder, leaving soft, loving kisses in their wake. After a few moments, you tugged on his messy hair, signaling him to look up at you. “Move,” you pleaded quietly before he pressed his lips to yours and adjusted himself to begin moving. Your eyes fell closed as he pulled his hips back slowly, until he was almost out, then snapped them forward in one fluid motion, causing you to yelp. He eased into a steady rhythm, rocking his hips, hitting that one spot deep inside you that made you yelp every time the tip of his dick hit it.

“Y/n/n, open your eyes.” He whispered sweetly against your skin as he left soft kisses on your cheek and jawline. You complied, letting your eyes slowly flutter open and look up at the ceiling, Tom soon emerging from the crook of your neck to meet your gaze, smiling. You took this opportunity to admire him as he hovered above you. His short hair was a sweaty, tousled mess, sticking up in odd directions from your fingers tugging at it earlier. His thin, pink lips were now swollen and darker from your fervent kisses. His freckled cheeks were flushed a deep pink. His dark brown eyes made you melt, looking down at you in a way that made you forget about everything else going on in the world. It was just the two of you, in the home you shared, making love.

You snaked your arms around Tom’s toned body, your nails leaving crescent-shaped indents on his shoulder blades, pulling him as close as you could get him as his thrusts sped up, becoming sloppier. His hand slipped between your bodies and rubbed rapid circles around your already overly sensitive clit. Gasps and moans fell from both of your lips. You could feel the familiar knot already tightening in your abdomen as his thrusts became more erratic. He knew you were close, your walls clenching around him as he relentlessly pounded into you, chasing his own high to catch up to you.

“Tom- Tommy I’m close.” Your words were music to his ears, he knew he wouldn’t be able to last much longer. He dropped his head back into the crook of your neck, littering your skin with kisses to muffle the loud moans that threatened to spill from his throat that he knew would certainly annoy the neighbors. One of your hands traveled up the base of his neck into his hair, closing your finger in his curls, pulling on them gently the way you knew drove him crazy.

“I know,” he panted against your neck, “me too.” His fingers never stilled, continuing to rub fast, tight circles against your clit until you crashed over the edge, the knot in your stomach snapping for the third time that night, pleasure-filled spasms racking your body, and loud moans spilling from your lips. A few more rough thrusts and the muscles in his shoulders tensed, his body lurching against yours as he came, releasing inside you. His lips found yours as you both tumbled over the precipice in unison, one of his arms wrapping around your waist and snaking up your back, his hand settling between your shoulder blades. He held you up like that, your back slightly arched and your breasts pressed against his chest as he continued to sporadically buck up inside you, riding out both your highs until he couldn’t support his weight anymore and he collapsed on top of you, still inside you.

You pulled him close, wrapping your arms around his neck as he gently placed his forehead against yours, both of you panting as if you had just run a marathon. You both stay like that for a few moments, chests meeting with every inhale, breathing the same air. Groggily, your eyes open only to find Tom already looking at you, his dark chocolate eyes soft and a small smile gracing his lips as he admired you in your post-orgasm bliss. Your cheeks were flushed, dark eyes hidden behind half-closed lids, and lips a deep pink and kiss-swollen.

"What?" You asked, placing your hand on the side of his face, stroking his cheekbone delicately with your thumb. He leaned deeper into your touch, relishing in the feeling of your soft hand caressing his face.

"Nothing," he muttered, "You're just amazing."

"Amazing in bed?" You asked sarcastically, a cheeky grin spreading across your lips, "Thanks, I try."

"No-" he starts, before seeing the bewildered look on your face and correcting himself, "well, yes, you are, but I meant in general. I love you so much Y/n, I don't know what I'd do without you."

You looked up at him in surprise. Moments of vulnerability like this were not uncommon between the two of you. You both frequently told the other how much they meant to you, how you couldn’t imagine life without the other person. And yes, this did usually occur right after sex, when both your emotions and hormones were at a high. No matter how many times he said things like this you could never get used to the sound of his voice saying those words to you.

“How did I get so lucky?” You wondered aloud, continuing to run your thumb over his cheek.

“Dunno,” he said cheekily, shrugging his shoulders, “good karma?”

Your melodic laugh filled his ears, your eyes closing as you giggled at his stupid joke. He leaned down to kiss you, cutting off your laughing. Your arms wound around his neck again as he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips, making you groan. After a moment he pulled back, placing a kiss on your cheek and gently pulling out of you, flopping onto the bed next to you. He pulled you into his side, holding you in his arms. You nuzzled your head against his chest, his heart still beating rapidly under your hand. You two laid like that for several minutes, sweaty and warm, stuck to one another.

Your eyelids began getting heavy and you almost slipped off into a deep sleep before Tom shifted under you, gently rolling you off him and getting up to go to the bathroom. You could hear water running for a few seconds before shutting off and Tom emerged from the doorway holding a washcloth. He sat down on the edge of the bed and used the warm towel to clean up the mess between your legs before setting it down on the bedside table. He leaned down, kissed your forehead, and mumbled something against your temple. "Wanna go again?"

Your eyes shot open. He flashed you a crooked smile, raising his one messy eyebrow suggestively. Is he serious?

“Tom, I’m so tired-” you started, but he cut you off with a peck on the lips, short and sweet.

“That’s not what I asked love,” his voice was lower, seductive, as he maneuvered to hover over you again, his head dipping into the crook of your neck to lay more kisses down on your already heavily marked skin. He is serious, oh my god.

You hesitated for a moment before caving in, “Yeah…” you trailed off as he nipped at your collarbone, “but I have no energy anymore.”

“That’s alright darling,” he whispered into your ear, sending chills down your spine at the pet name that he knew would drive you crazy, “you just relax and let me do all the work.”

-

A/N: The amount of times Grammarly told me I had errors when I was writing this when I didn’t was ridiculous oml lol but hey it’s done!! I’m really proud of it obviously I will keep writing and will get better, but hey my first fic and I don’t hate it. anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this, requests are open right now so if you would like a short lil blurb feel free to send me something! 

Tags: @hollandprkr​ @itstaskeen​

[ofmythsandfables-a]

Vlad

GENERAL INFO

FULL NAME: Vladislaus Draculea

SPECIES: Human / Vampire

AGE: Verse Dependent

PLACE OF BIRTH: Romania

GENDER AND ORIENTATION: Male / Bisexual

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES

HEIGHT: 6′2

HAIR COLOUR: Brown/Black

EYE COLOUR: Green

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Scar in the middle of his chest from a stake

BACKGROUND INFO

LANGUAGES: Too many to count lol he’s old so he had time to study many languages

OCCUPATION: Verse Dependent

VERSES

SYNOPSIS

{ My variation of Vlad comes from both historical and film (Dracula Untold) influences. Some historical sites vary a bit with information but generally they are all the same in context. }

Vladislaus Draculea was one of three sons of Vlad Dracul II, who ruled the principality Wallachia from 1436-1447. Vlad Dracul II sold his 11 year old son Vlad to the Ottoman Sultan to show his loyalty. As a result, Vlad was forced to fight among other boys his age and older in the armies, trained only to kill and feel no remorse. Though that was the only downside to staying with the Sultan. He was taught various subjects and cared for as if one of their own.

 Brainwashed by the Ottomans, Vlad unfortunately became nothing but a cold blooded killer and the most skilled and valued soldier in the Sultan’s armies. Once he was 18 though, he broke away from the Ottomans and returned to his home in Wallachia where he fought for the throne and won, becoming the new Voivode, or Prince, of Wallachia.Vlad ruled in peace for fourteen straight years, ruling with an iron fist and yet was fair. Then Mehmed II, the new Sultan and former comrade of Vlad’s when he was in the Ottomans armies, proposed a deal with Vlad that he give him 1,000 of Wallachia’s boys including his own son, or there would be war. Vlad desperately tried to negotiate, even offering himself in the place of the boys, but Mehmed wouldn’t budge. And so, war was declared.

Knowing he couldn’t win the war on his own and with little men in his army, Vlad sought out a monster of darkness, Caligula, in a cave high in the mountains. For a price, Vlad was turned into the very monster he sought out. The war came to a head on the third day as Vlad swooped in with an army of freshly turned vampires. Thousands of men perished on the fields and Vlad was able to defeat Mehmed and his men. But the price he paid for the victory was great; he lost his loving wife Mirena due to falling off a tower and sacrificing her own blood to Vlad so he could remain a vampire and save their son from the clutches of the evil Sultan. And Ingeras, Vlad’s ten year old boy who witnessed too much for his age, was taken by a fellow friar from Vlad’s old monastery to be kept safe, and would eventually rule Wallachia in his father’s place.

Once Mehmed and his men were defeated, Vlad burned his own army of vampires in the sun’s light, including himself, so that future generations would be kept safe from their harm. But a follower of Vlad’s found him and revived him by giving him his blood, and thought he’d walk eternity with his newfound master. Though, when Vlad was alive once again, his thirst for blood took over and he drained the man completely. It was then that Vlad fled, and for days sought out refuge in the Carpathian Mountains. There, tucked away from the world, was an old abandoned castle where he then made his permanent residence and hid in the shadows for years to come…

VLAD MUSAT (Main/Modern Verse, Aged 32 ; FC: Luke Evans)

Vlad is currently just under 600 years old, and a CEO of his own restoration company, ReVamp Restorations, INC. The company restores old landmarks, buildings and homes, and is expanded globally. He lives in London, England, and has a house in his homeland of Romania which he visits on holiday. Vlad changed his last name to his mother’s maiden name so he would not be recognized. He isn’t usually around others outside of his job, and his quiet time consists of more work due to his need to constantly be occupied.

FROM PRINCE TO BEAST (After the war with Mehmed II)

No longer the voivode for Wallachia, Vlad has hidden away high in the Carpathian Mountains, dwelling in an abandoned and long forgotten castle. Weary travelers or people who have gotten lost on their journeys sought shelter in the castle and Vlad happily took them in, but for a price: that they would serve him forever. They’ve agreed, and happily serve him regardless of knowing what he is and who he once was. His servants are his only real company and Vlad has looked to them as an almost family to him.

HE WHO STILL REIGNS (After the war with Mehmed II, Alternate Ending)

Vlad has returned after fighting and defeating Mehmed, taking his place on the throne once more. Only this time, he is a vampire. He now rules over the lands Mehmed once did, except he is not known as Sultan, he remains Prince. His dwellings are still within Wallachia which is newly rebuilt, his army becomes vast and stronger than any other army around, and though weary of others, he still rules as he once did. His heart is heavy with the loss of his wife, and the duty of raising their son on his own. But he does everything and anything for Ingeras so he doesn’t have to suffer anymore than he already has.

THE COUNT (1880 - early 1900s ; very loosely based on Bram Stoker’s version)

London’s new resident is a centuries old vampire, having just bought into real estate. Vlad Dracula leads a quiet life, not bothering anyone as he tries to make his life somewhat normal. He prays upon people, though not savagely, and drinks only enough for him to be satisfied. Afterwards, he heals them with his own blood and wipes away their memory of anything that had transpired between them.

PRINCE OF WALLACHIA (Pre war with Mehmed II)

Vlad is Voivode to Wallachia, and is reigning peacefully. His rulings are fair and his people adore him. He is not married, and not with any children. Vlad’s adviser pushes him to marry someone already to give him an heir, but it is not something Vlad is in a rush for even though he wishes to have a family of his own someday. Vlad is always holding Council with his noblemen or working on kingly duties, but one can find him constantly with his nose in a book, learning something new and enticing.

*Alternate Version*

Vlad is Prince, and ruling with Mirena. This takes place a year before the war with Mehmed.

CHIEF INSPECTOR IONESCU (1850s ; Aged 30)

Of Romanian descent, Vlad’s family had moved to England in the early 1800s for a better life. His father became wealthy in the railroad business, and Vlad went to Oxford where he graduated top of his class in both criminal justice and anatomy. He soon began to work for London’s Scotland Yard. Vlad was quick to move up the ranks due to his vast knowledge in the field, and became London’s youngest Chief Inspector at the age of 30. His work always consumes him, never allowing him to keep a steady relationship and miss out on important events his family hosted almost monthly. And though it bothered him, his job to keep the streets of London safe were more important.

HUMAN (Modern day, Aged 33)

Vlad Dragan was raised in Romania along with his three brothers on a vast farm. Having ambitions far bigger than the life he was meant to have, Vlad made sure he excelled in school before getting a scholarship for Oxford in London. There, he studied History and Archaeology, and became an archaeologist. His job has taken him all over the world, but his home base remains London, and he works as both an Archaeology professor in Oxford as well as studying artifacts in England’s Natural History Museum.

WIZARDING WORLD (Taking place throughout the HP series, Timeline varies)

A vampire as a professor? Vlad is! Vlad works at Hogwarts as a History of Magic professor. He doesn’t socialize too much with others outside of when classes are in session, but he does attend every school event and never misses a meeting. He is also a Hufflepuff (I personally think he’s a hybrid of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor…so Gryffinpuff. But to be technical, Hufflepuff).

VAMPIRE KING (Tolkien semi-loosely based, takes place during ‘The Hobbit’ and on; also, using Welsh as the language for Men in my verse since there are hardly any translations in Adunaic, and Welsh is a pretty awesome language so try not to correct me on this for all you super Tolkien canon fanatics)

Vlad Alastor is Edain, from the House of Marach during the First Age. He lived in Dor-lomin, part of Hithlum, and ruled as King for many prosperous yet tough years. But Morgoth struck war upon the lands, and Vlad knew his army wouldn’t be enough to win the war. He sought help from a dark, magical being living in the mountains that turned him into a fampyr (my own derivation from the Welsh spelling for vampire) for a hefty price of his soul once the time came. As Nírnaeth Arnoediad occurred, most of Vlad’s army was defeated but he himself was able to defeat the enemy, driving away the evil forces. But due to Dor-lomin crumbling away from the war, and more evil forces eventually ascending upon the country, Vlad was overthrown as king and banished from the lands he grew up on and ruled. Having an idea, he faked his death, and Vlad ran as far away as he could. Many, many years had passed, and by the time of the Third Age, Vlad is king in Rhun, his residence lay beyond the Sea of Rhun.

ABILITIES AND WEAKNESSES

|+|IMPORTANT|+|

Vlad is part of a bloodline he solely shares with his superior, Caligula: the vampire who turned him, due to having no choice but to dwell in a cave for eons until he was able to pass on his powers to Vlad and set himself free. Therefore, his abilities and weaknesses are different from any other bloodline. His transformation is different, as well as the way he turns others, which never happens unless it happens in a thread.

|+| ABILITIES |+|

~Shapeshifts into bats~Manipulates bats at his will~Super strength and speed~Heightened sight, smell and hearing~Weather manipulation (to an extent)~Mind manipulation (to an extent)~Healing. Very small increments of his blood, when taken via mouth, can heal a person. There is no guarentee that it can revive a person if they are dying.

|+| WEAKNESSES |+|

~ Silver~ Wooden and silver stakes (both fatal if directly piercing his heart)~ Direct sunlight

|+| OTHER INFORMATION |+|

~ Vlad sleeps, but only for a few hours. He needs to be in a completely dark room in order to sleep soundly, or else he’ll be quite irritable.~ Vlad is able to walk during the day while using his weather manipulation powers to cover up the sun’s harmful rays with clouds.~ Holy objects do not harm Vlad. It isn’t specified why in the film, but for RP purposes, it’s due to him being so in-tuned with his religion even when he was turned that his God saw the good in him regardless of the fact he was a now a monster (his religion during the time was and remains to be Orthodox).~ Vlad can eat food but chooses not to usually. The taste of food has not faded for him even though he is a vampire. He does not crave food, nor does he need to live off it, therefore he doesn’t really eat anything unless it's to keep up appearences. Vlad lives off of animal blood mainly, but knows a guy that slips him blood bags from a blood bank to keep in the house.

[dariadraws]

and my final piece so far for @geekinthecorner‘s @batfam-big-bang fic Bats Of The West, it’s Jason Todd! ngl i think this is one of the ones i had the most fun with, and also the one i crammed the most details into that no one but me will ever know exist, but i’ll share a few of them under the cut, along with the image description. plus, a list of all of Jason’s scars in this au, and how he got them.

also, like i said, this is my final piece so far but i fully intend to come back and round out the batfam, draw all the other characters i havent had a chance to get to yet, so keep an eye out for that, and in the meantime here’s some fun facts!

alright so. first off, just some general overall thoughts on Jason and some of the details i added here.

 his gun in the first pic is super expensive and pretty, but i imagine he doesnt use is as often as some of his other ones, simply because when he’s out in The Wilderness tracking down criminals for weeks on end, it’s not really the kind of place you want to bring your prettiest, most expensive gun. when he’s on the ranch or in town tho, or really just anywhere where he doesnt anticipate needing to rough it for more than a couple days (which isnt the same as not expecting the need to get rough), he’s probably got this gun.

his gun belt and holster are a whole other story tho. he spent exactly zero dollars and zero cents on them, just assembled them from some spare leather they had lying around, which is why theyre in such Not Great condition, and also why the belt itself ended up so long. he could cut it down to a more reasonable size, but it’s not like there’s anything else he could make from those scraps anyways, so why bother.

that big gun in the second image isn’t technically his tho, it’s the Communal Ranch Rifle. mainly it’s just used to scare away coyotes (or, yknow, actually hit coyotes) but it does occasionally see real action as well, tho not often.

also. does it even need to be said? his hat.. holder... bead... thing. with the turquoise inlay. is a gift from Dick

alright and now the fun part! i go through all of jason’s scars, and how he got them. there are quite a few and a lot of them are. Sad. so be warned, and take care of yourselves! (also just for the record, i promise the fic itself isnt actually as dark as this will make it sound. basically none of this shows up in the story, i was just given free reign to design whatever i wanted, and poor jason ended up paying the price)

ok so. scars. 

first off, the claw and bit marks on his arms and shoulders are from getting attacked by some coyotes back when he was still just a kid. to quote my explanation back when i pitched this to Em, “bc as a Young Human with minimal supervision and not necessarily having someone to call him inside once it gets dark, he was unfortunately Very Delicious, if somewhat scrawny, by coyote standards”

next up: a bullet scar on his abdomen, on his lower left side (our right), from some kind of shootout with a criminal. this one is middling-recent; after bruce adopted him, but before the joker thing. i dont really have anything concrete for that one but it was a through and through, and somehow, miraculously, missed hitting any bones, and any organs. just missed his lower rib by like. an inch. that one messed bruce up more than jason, honestly. if anything, he was just surprised it took him that long to get shot, with the life he's had

the ones on his cheek and on his chin were just Regular Childhood Shenanigans scars, no real story.

the one through his mouth is from his time with the joker though. there's also the J brand on his right bicep, also from the joker.

also joker related, hes got a lot of scars on his hands, especially his knuckles and fingertips, from trying to fight his way out of his captivity, and scratching his fingers raw trying to pry open the door to his cell/untie the rough rope he way tied with/whatever the specific situation was. also some minor rope burn scars on his wrists from the same deal.

also some blade scars across his palms from trying to stop/block knives. definitely with the joker, but probably at some point in his youth as well

a few faint lines across his neck from being a temporary hostage a few time while helping Bruce on cases when he was younger, but none of them ever went deep or caused any serious damage

oh and also, whip scars on his back from his time with the joker, which arent too prominent, and mostly cant be seen from the front, except for a couple of spots where they crest over his shoulders and the very tail ends of them can be seen, but they’re there 

and also some kind of straight scar on his left forearm, which was a carry-over from my usual Jason design, that i like but dont really have a story for, so that one’s purely aesthetic, lol

and that’s it! i think? that’s all my notes on that? either way this post is getting Way Too Long, and i still gotta do the image descriptions, so i’m calling it there. 

[IMAGE ID: two images of Jason Todd in old-fashioned cowboy clothing. He has red, curly hair with a streak of white running through it at the front. his skin is pale but sunburnt, has deep-blue eyes, many freckles both on his face and on the rest of his exposed skin, and his body is broad and muscular, and he has many scars. he has small round metal piercings in the lobes of both ears, as well as an additional two in the top cartilege of his right ear.

in the first image, he is facing directly at the viewer with his arms crossed, and a challenging look on his face. he is wearing a maroon cowboy shirt with checkered red accent at the chest and the sleeves rolled up to his upper arms. he has a dark blue polka-dot bandana tied around his neck, and over that pass two strands of red braided cord holding his tan cowboy hat, which is visible hanging off his neck behind him. the cords are tipped with small metal beads, and pass through a large, dark brown wooden bead inset with turquoise, which regulates their length. he is wearing dark-wash blue jeans with prominent yellow stitching, pulled over his cowboy boots up to the ankle until only the foot of each boot is visible. the boots are dark brown with pale seams and red stitching, and light brown heels and soles. fastened around each boot are embossed red spur-straps, with metal spurs extending from them behind the boots. at his waist are two cracked leather belts. one is dark brown, with a pale silver buckle stamped with vine designs, and it is threaded through his belt loops. the second belt is hanging diagonally over his hips and holds his gun and holster. this belt is a reddish tan with a pattern of darker brown, overlapping rings down its length, and has a darker silver buckle. it is long enough that the loose end of it wraps back around itself several times before hanging down. the holster is simple brown leather folded over the gun, with two straps to tighten it. the gun itself is an ornate and expensive-looking revolver, black metal with intricate gold detailing and a mother-of-pearl grip.

in the second image, he is facing slightly to the side, with a long shotgun propped over his shoulder with one hand and an unimpressed expression on his face as he looks somewhere to the right of the viewer. he is shirtless, and his torso is muscled, stocky, and as sunburned and freckled as the rest of him. his cowboy hat is hanging off his neck again behind him, once more held in place by the braided red cord and round wood-and-turquoise bead. he is wearing tan, high-waisted pants tucked into his cowboy boots, which are the same as in the first image but now fully visible, with red pulls at the top. the pants are attached to red suspenders, though they are not on his shoulders and hang down around him instead. his gunbelt is once more around his hips, but the holster is obscured behind him, and isn't visible. the hand not holding the shotgun is down loosely at his side, and has a red and white bandana wrapped around the wrist. END ID]

[peaceful-negotiator-kenobi]

I’ll Be Alright (Obi-Wan Kenobi x Female Reader)

Summary: Obi-Wan helps bandage you up after a battle. Fluff and cuteness ensues. 

Length: ~ 1204 words

Warnings: Some blood and gore, mention of war, fluff

A/N: This is my first attempt at posting a fanfic on Tumblr, so I hope I’m doing this right lol. I hope to possibly write more Obi-Wan fanfics in the future (I’ve recently become obsessed with him). 

"I'll be alright. Don't worry about me."

You take Obi-Wan's hands in yours and give him a reassuring smile. He knows this statement is decidedly untrue, but he doesn't object. The two of you stand in the center of a corridor crowded with Jedi returning from a battle in the outer rim where you have also just come from. 

Your robes are singed and blackened by debris and dried blood. There are fresh wounds on your torso that were bound quickly and uncomfortably by a medic on the ship. You wince in pain at every wrong movement.

"Allow me to at least help you back to your quarters, or perhaps to a doctor?"

Obi-Wan offers, noticing the way you clutch at the areas of your robe that hide the bandages. In contrast, he is clean and outwardly untouched by battle.

Obi-Wan had been summoned back to the Temple early by the Council and so had missed the battle entirely. When he had heard about what happened and the great loss that the Republic had borne, his first thoughts were of you. The two of you had been friends since you were younglings, so it was only natural for him to be automatically concerned for your safety, but you both knew that this was not where the feelings stopped. 

Before you last left the Temple, you dared to give him a kiss goodbye, convinced that war and the Jedi Code would erase any embarrassment of rejection. He kissed you back, passionately, but the moment was over so quickly that you weren't certain what it meant.

"Thanks, Obi-Wan. I don't need a doctor, but some company would be nice."

He allows you to lean on him for support and the two of you make your way to your quarters. Obi-Wan leads you in and helps you down onto the soft cushion of your bed.

"You're bleeding, Y/N."

He announces out of shock and concern as notices that fresh blood from your wound transferred itself onto his robe. His hands are also covered in the warm and sticky substance.

"Oh darn."

You remark casually, and a little light-headed, as you examine your own robes. You hear the water turn on in the bathroom and moments later Obi-Wan emerges with a damp towel, some disinfectant, fresh bandages and a needle and thread.

"I'm glad Yoda insisted on giving all the Jedi more sophisticated medical kits to help ease the burden on the medics."

Obi-Wan remarks as he comes and sits down on the bed next to you. He hesitates a moment, suddenly doubting his ability to patch you up and wonders if he should get a doctor instead. You sense this and stop his racing thoughts with a gentle placement of your hand on his arm.

"I trust you."

He nods and you lift your robes over your head, revealing the Jedi-equivalent of a sports-bra and, right below it, your badly bandaged wound. The pain of the motion is so great that tears form in your eyes. Obi-Wan holds his breath as he watches your pain and wants nothing more than to make it disappear.

"Here."

He takes it from there as he peels the bandages off your torso and lays them aside. The wound is raw and tender. You both recognize that it will likely leave a nasty scar.

"How did you get this?"

Obi-Wan asks, hoping to distract you as he begins to clean the area around it.

"Oh, it was nothing, just a droid. I wasn't paying attention."

You wince as he applies the disinfectant.

"I'm glad the droid was a bad shot. I would have really missed you if you had . . ."

He trails off, the end of that sentence too painful for him to even imagine. 

You feel your heart swell. You know he would have said this to any one of his close friends, but it feels different somehow. You want to share your feelings with him, bury your head in his chest and forget about the war, but as he begins to sew up the wound, pain erases all thought. You bite your tongue until he finishes the stitches.

"Thank you."

You exhale as he puts away the needle and thread.

"You're more than welcome."

With tender hands, he wraps the fresh bandages over the wound and ties them securely, but not too tight, so that you would be comfortable. Instead of immediately getting up as soon as he is done, Obi-Wan lingers on the edge of the bed, reading you through the Force to make sure that your body wasn't the only thing that needed mending. He feels the pain and horror of the war imprinted in the back of your mind. It’s something he’s not unfamiliar with in himself.

He strokes your hair and tucks a loose strand behind your ears.

"I never want to lose you, Y/N."

He admits aloud, both to you and to himself.

"Neither do I."

You pull him in close for a hug and whisper against his ear,

"Stay with me tonight."

He knows you don't want to be left alone with your thoughts and that you need the arms of someone who cares about you to hold you tight. What you don't immediately recognize is that he needs the same thing just as much.

“Okay.”

He whispers back and places a tender kiss on your forehead. After this soft gesture, he gets up to undress for bed. Before he takes off his robe and tunic to reveal his bare chest underneath, he turns to ask if it’s something you’d be comfortable with. He explains that it’s how he usually sleeps, but that he would be more than happy to leave his clothes on if that would make you more comfortable.

You reply that you’re okay with it, but not without blushing a little as you watch him undress.

In order to distract yourself from potentially embarrassing yourself with your feelings for Obi-Wan, you figure that you should probably get yourself into bed. You stand up to move around to the other side of the king-sized bed, but every step still hurts.

Before you know what’s happening, Obi-Wan picks you up gently and places you into bed. You find a comfortable spot underneath the thick blankets as Obi-Wan gets in from the other side to join you. You turn to face each other and he strokes your hair silently for a few minutes.

“Obi?”

You speak up, using the nickname he allows only you to use.

“Yes?”

“That kiss we shared before I left for battle . . .”

You trail off, suddenly unable to find the words to express what you’ve been longing to tell him for months now.

“ . . . did it mean anything?”

He brings his hand over and softly caresses your cheek.

“It meant the world to me.”

You inch closer and allow Obi-Wan to wrap his arms around you, careful to avoid the bandaged area on your torso. He kisses the back of your neck and hums ancient Jedi lullabies into your skin until you drift off into a peaceful sleep, far from the harrowing scenes of battle. 

[bubmyg]

a coastal cabaret - pjm

pairing: jimin x reader

warnings: very very loosely inspired by the movie footloose, fluff, angst, major character death (prior to the events in which the fic details), death mention, themes of grief and loss, hoseok is the lovable best friend (i based him off willard if you’ve seen the movie lol), probably incorrect boat terminology 

word count: 14,761

summary: sometimes an outside perspective is all that’s needed for the tragic events of the past to transform into something beautiful or the one where hoseok can’t dance and jimin is determined to keep the smile on your face.

a/n: six weeks in the making and she’s here...be gentle to me pls (also it’s definitely not necessary to have seen the movie to read this fic!!! i very loosely based the premise off the movie)

There was a tiny boat at the end of the dock, red with white stripes and a fanned awning suspended over the bench seats, five to a row, the sixth where the driver rests. The paint has been ruined over the years and seasons, bubbled in places, chipped in others, stained from the sun until it’s essentially burnt orange while the white becomes a dirty beige. There’s stickers altering the paint too, sponsorships and advertisers that both literally and figuratively keep the boat and business afloat. 

A bright yellow sticker for the surf shop up the coast even if the only viable surfing location is over an hour in the next town over. A cartoon shrimp with a speech bubble announcing the new chain seafood restaurant parked up the shore in, to the untrained eye, what looks like a sand dune. A years old logo for the tourist boat company taking the brunt of the aging, missing entire letters, not the same one screen printed on the limited edition t-shirts hanging off the rental barn or proudly pasted to the upgraded yachts parked as the boat’s neighbors.

Upgrades a last ditch effort to save the crippling effects of mass media on the town. The sea water seemed to swallow the efforts along with a few hundred thousand dollars and a few tacky letters pasted on the side of the last family owned boat. 

Se Bre ze Bo ts. 

Jimin noted the waxed sheen off the bobbing machinery, marveling how such a thing could float when he was led past it, two, three, until there was no room left on the dock (in theory, he could have tested the water proof quality of his new shoes) and he was left with the sad rock of Ang l. 

“And last but not least, the chariot,” Hoseok beamed, a wide sweeping move of his hand, palm up, presenting the boat and in the limited interaction Jimin had entertained with the red haired boy, he had every assumption to think he wasn’t being at all sarcastic. 

Jimin scuffed his toe into the dock, wary to the creaks that emitted from that boat alone and he mumbled to the tiny school of baby fish that crowded around the supports, “...so that’s it?”

Hoseok laughed, a loud sound in the otherwise serene coastline, clasping a cupped hand over Jimin’s shoulder. “Keep them clean and we shouldn’t have any issues. That’s the extent of your duties. I don’t expect you to take the first group out tomorrow morning or anything, of course—” He tottered onto one foot, leaning into Jimin with a wrinkled dimple pressed into his cheek, “—...now the five o’clock…”

“Scare him off and you can go back to cleaning my baby for me.”

 You paid no mind to the men in your path, cruising past their sandal clad feet to make it to your baby, otherwise known to Jimin as the saddest boat tethered to the dock. The bob of your head disappeared when you crossed onto the tiny paths jutting between the boats, a tiny rope in comparison to its tethered object your vice to drag it closer, legs stretching as you stepped and hoisted yourself until you were afloat with it, too. 

Hoseok smacked Jimin’s torso, gesturing toward your figure as you hobbled about the front of the boat, collecting the damp rope with you as you went, as if to say are you seeing this? A ludicrous expression saturated in amusement for Hoseok’s friend. 

Jimin didn’t have the pleasure of acquaintance.

“Jimin!” He called, an introduction in the way he formulated the words and offered a wave of his hand in greeting while the latter tucked into the pocket of his shorts. 

A grunt and then a name, yours he presumed, floated over the side of the boat until your head popped up again, holding entirely more rope in your grasp than before. 

“I’m about to do the nightly run,” You lifted your eyebrows, stance firm and even with the elevated stance the boat put you on in perspective to the two figures on the dock. “Are you two coming with?”

Another smack to his torso and Jimin audibly oofed this time, rubbing at the spot Hoseok’s knuckles had struck. “What do you say, new guy?” Hoseok chirped, smile only growing when the newcomer’s stanch gaze flickered to the corner of his eyes, “If not, you’re free to go. I have nothing else to show you—”

Jimin brushed past Hoseok, copying your movements, less gracefully albeit, to hoist himself up onto the side of the boat, dropping down with two feet into the depths of the machine. Hoseok came not long after, a purposeful scramble meant for comedic purposes that you nor Jimin laughed at but he smiled enough for everyone, anyway. You were elbow deep in reeling the anchor in, anyway, your stature giving away some mention between struggle and practiced ease but Jimin’s instinct went with the first, anyway, striding forward with outstretched palms. 

“Here, let me help you with that—”

There was a series of mechanical clicks in the same moment, a groaning of the same fashion, all while you’d pulled your labor away from the manual wheel to turn to him with a bemused expression. 

Amusement danced in the wave of your irises, the sea flickering in your expression as you nodded, “Thanks anyway.”

Somewhere among Hoseok’s monolog about the best breakfast cafe in the town and the adjustment to being out on the calm evening sea, Jimin found himself focusing on the silhouette of your figure, black outline detached like the clench of your jaw and the rigidity of your first impression. Jimin wasn’t much for those anyway, intrigued by what would commonly be seen as a negative “first”. 

He’d been so focused on the mundaneness that was the back and forth of your hands on a series of controls he couldn’t make out beyond a shaded sun screen that he’d missed when you’d idled the boat far off the shore, only jerking to reality when you stepped off the elevated platform with a raised eyebrow in his direction. 

The quirk of Jimin’s lips didn’t deter your prolonged stare, and neither did Hoseok’s loud announcement, your gaze only dropping when you plopped into a seat adjacent from him and accepted a condensation ridden can from Hoseok’s outstretched arm. Then it was a double take and scrunched confusion that met your expression, eyeing the logo on the aluminum before setting a glare on the side of Hoseok’s face. 

“Where the hell did you get these?”

Hoseok shrugged, already fingernail deep in popping the tab on his beer can and taking a generous swig. He placed his aside, reaching elbow deep in an under seat cooler to present Jimin with one as well, something the younger boy dismissed with a soft smile.  

“Up the coast. I have a life outside of saving your ass from the high tide, believe it or not.”

You were still fuming even as you opened it, “And how did you get these on my boat?”

Hoseok winked in Jimin’s direction, “On a whim that you’d be taking the boat out tonight. Like you do every night…”

Your sip was tiny in comparison to the swallow Hoseok had downed, gently placing the can aside, “You could have got us killed, you know that right? What if Namjoon had came down to the dock for a surprise inspection?—”

“I don’t mean to be insensitive but…” Jimin lounged forward in the seat he occupied, elbows pressing into his thighs, “It’s just beer?”

He caught you freeze in his peripheral, stature rigid where it was once relaxed and you coughed, casting your gaze aside to fingers that began to desperately fiddle with each other. 

Hoseok answered instead, quipped and short, “There’s an alcohol ban within the town limits.”

An awkward silence passed, one Jimin didn’t challenge in the gentle sway of sea water against the side of the boat, an echoing noise where the same motion lapped onto the shore, a gentle push and pull of sand that mirrored the swirl of questions in his conscious, none of which sounded proper on the press of his tongue to the roof of his mouth so he stayed silent to the waves and scratch of your fingernail against the leather of the seat you perched in. 

“So, new guy,” You spoke first, the slump of your stature inconsistent with the volume of your voice and he ignored the slight tremble in the upturn of your lips, “What brings you to this sleepy town?”

“After graduation, I decided to travel,” Jimin swallowed into picking at the hem of his shorts, “The easy answer is I ran out of money so I ended up here.”

Hoseok inquiry was straightforward this time, “What did you study?”

“Dance. Contemporary and modern mostly,” He laughed, unwillfully bitter, “A useless arts degree, I know.”

“Not useless,” You spoke again to the unraveled thread on the sewn edges of the leather seat you perched in.

Hoseok was louder, “Useless here, though.”

Jimin shrugged at the implication, shouldering the sentiment he’d had spoken much worse and with harsher insinuations than a virtual stranger teasing him on a boat in the middle of a coastal sea. Hoseok’s quick tone change from playful back to serious had Jimin quirking an eyebrow. 

“I don’t think you understand. You won’t ever be needing that here,” Hoseok flicked his index and middle fingers back and forth so that the friction was audible, “Alcohol ban goes hand in hand with a dance ban.”

Jimin laughed. Genuinely, a loud, single syllable sound that pitched him forward over his knees. He sobered when he straightened to two expressions, one glassier than the other. “Oh, you’re serious?”

“Public, organized dancing,” You supplied, tight lipped to his ignorance, “Public organized events, mostly.”

Softer, Jimin amended this time, “But why?” 

You stiffened again, same as before but looser in a sense, one knee coming to curl to your chest as you turned away from him, supporting the lean of your torso into the back of the seat. His lips parted to dismiss his question, say it didn’t matter, but Hoseok jumped in with a short explanation that ran guilt into Jimin’s blood. 

“There was an accident a few years ago. On one of the boats,” Hoseok pressed his thumb and index finger into the sides of the can he held, gently popping the aluminum in and out while his chin pressed into his shoulder, “The town council members felt it would be best. Prevention of it ever happening again…”

Jimin swallowed the slew of questions on his tongue perfect for this silence to instead say, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Hoseok seemed to perk up a bit then, “I’m surprised Namjoon didn’t advertise it to you in a neon poster board when you arrived.” 

Your voice, softer, broke Jimin’s heart for a reason unknown to him but he decided that anything that saturated your spirit like that was worth protecting from you. 

“Nothing you could have done, anyway.”

Jimin felt silly on the seventh day of reckoning with himself, white wires haphazardly tangled in the cradle of his palm while bare feet paced away a trail of already chipped paint on the creaky front porch of his house. He wasn’t a one man festival complete with an organized dance floor. All he had in his fridge was water, refilled from the tap bottles because he hadn’t located a store to buy more, yet. 

Instead, he was one man with his favorite playlist and an itch in his muscles that he’d stretched but hadn’t sated. 

“It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong,” He told himself a bit too loudly to the tropical overhang of trees on the awning of his porch. He told the cusp of his earbuds next as he shoved them into his ears, still staring hard at the open playlist on his phone screen. 

“Fuck it.”

The curl of plump green leaves flicking against the roof of the house acted in accordance to the early morning breeze, one that brought gentle rains up off the sea and doused the concrete in a thin sheen a hue darker than normal but it wasn’t light enough yet to notice, anyway. Jimin turned his motions into more than mental productivity, twisting a cheap broom he’d found in a hall closet like some exotic mixture of a ballroom partner and a baton, cleaning away leaves and crumbs from the eggs he’d downed with a bent fork and the small puddles of water that had curled onto the edges where the awning didn’t protect. 

His dance turned inside, a shadow against the one light he left on while his senses guided the rest, a delicate story told against the half open shutters lining the far side of his house, the one that faced his only neighbor. His playlist carried him through the narrative just as the pointed step of his trained art elicited feeling, one that had him smiling by the time he shrugged the thick strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder and all but skipped out onto the broken, cobblestone pathway to mount his bike. 

The quiet neighbor watched from their own porch, a fond smile plastered on their lips as Jimin’s figure descended into the rising shadows of dawn, a tear tracking their cheek in some sort of nostalgic longing that roused a smile just as joyful in their sorrow as Jimin’s. 

A debate on whether or not to play music through wire earbuds and dance to a beat that was most definitely not open for public gathering seemed silly when it had easily built itself into Jimin’s routine by the third day, never mind the seventh. He shuffled his playlist, a new crescendo carrying him down the length of the dock as he shimmied, stretched, polished his way into preparing the docks for the day ahead. His unsolicited crimes were hidden, boats gone like missing pieces of a Jenga puzzle that were never meant to fall by the time he repented his shift, striding back up the slowly busying dock with his phone and earbuds shoved in the depths of his shorts pocket. 

Perhaps he’d pondered over the ridiculous thought that he’d be thrown out of the town for good for dancing on the front porch of the house he, by all intents and purposes, owned by means of a security deposit that drained the last of his funds for a half second too long, but he’d failed to escape up the coast line to his tiny waiting station before someone had creaked gentle footsteps in his peripheral. 

Jimin jerked his headphones from his ears, leaving a searing pain in their wake but it was a soft giggle that soothed it, one that belonged to you where you stood a few yards away. The gold nameplate pinned over the embroidered logo of the boat service shop crinkled where your arms folded over your chest, one eyebrow cocked underneath the white visor perched on your forehead. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to arrest you,” You held up two hands as if to prove your point, the soft smile still there on your lips. 

He visibly relaxed but continued in his quest to ball the wires in a massive tangle and shove them in the depths of his pocket. He added, anyway, “Sorry.”

“For what? Having fun while you work?” You brushed past him to your boat, “It’s something a few people around here could and should take notice of.”

It was an unspoken dismissal but Jimin froze in place anyway, watching as you climbed aboard, a different set of procedures following your own routine as you busied about the inside of the boat, a different set than he’d witnessed when you’d taken him and Hoseok out on his first week. Week two and he had no greater grasp on you, only after sharing fleeting glances throughout the workday from where he sat and barely moved on the unoccupied area of the beach. 

“By the way—” You spoke right when Jimin moved to flee, freezing his muscles and he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, “—I’m sorry that I was so short with you the other night.”

He relaxed into a shrug, “S’alright.”

“It’s not something we, Hoseok or I...expect you to understand,” You seemed to ponder your own words, leaning against the railing of the boat, “After the...accident, the tourism went down drastically. The entire town nearly had to sellout. It was a really scary time.”

“I’m not saying the ‘rules’ aren’t stupid—” You shot him a look, “—because they are. Just...things are finally looking stable again. So it’s hard to want to...change that. I guess.”

“The annual town festival isn’t worth losing everything I have, you know,” You smiled, pushing yourself up off the railing, “Or...you know. Having a beer occasionally. Or having to get approval to have a DJ at weddings. Or literally anything fun.”

You laughed so Jimin laughed too, nodding simply to you. “Understood, it’s okay.”

There’s more to it that you’re not telling me. 

“You’re not doing anything wrong, by the way. Dance all you want. Play your music out loud. Bring a radio, if you want—” You winked at you tossed a thick, pleated rope over your shoulder, “—I’ll cover for you if they send Namjoon down here.”

Jimin laughed again, dropping his chin this time. “Well, thank you—” He squinted into the quickly rising sun, “Although I’m not entirely sure they make radios anymore, so that might be a bit difficult to find but...I’m up for the challenge.”

“Perfect,” You hesitated in your step backward on the boat, “I’ll see you later then?”

Later meant on his front porch, knuckles jostling the loose screen door that laid gently over the entrance to the house, never latched just like the heavier inside door was never shut. You were bent at the waist, squinting through the netted black when Jimin slid around the corner of the hallway, frantic confusion turning to amusement when his presence startled you and you nearly dropped the plate held delicately in one hand. 

“Hey neighbor,” You greeted, stepping back for him to push open the screen, “Brought a late housewarming gift.”

Jimin cocked an eyebrow, gentle in letting you transfer the plate from your grasp to his. A pile of homemade cookies, stacked in a neat, crumpled pyramid about each other. “Neighbor, huh?”

You gestured for the house, the only one. “Correct, that would be my house…”

“Ah. Why haven’t I seen you until now?”

“We have different schedules, new guy,” You softened when he shot you an apologetic look, “I got off early today. Chance of storms later.”

“You can call me Jimin, you know,” He twisted, placing the plate on the rickety end table plopped between two lawn chairs, faded and unraveled threads dangling sadly from underneath. 

“New guy is more fun,” You perked up, taking a seat in one of the lawn chairs before he could offer, “Wait, I’ve got it. Ducky.” 

His cheeks pinked as he took a seat adjacent from you, “...Jimin will be just fine.”

You nodded, fingertips plucking into the plastic wrap over the cookies to retrieve one of the crumpled halves. You plopped a sizable bite onto your tongue, lifting an eyebrow, “...alright, ducky.”

Jimin watched you munch down the cookie half, watched you hesitate into grabbing it’s forgotten twin and nibble half of it before he blurted, “Would you, uh…like to stay for dinner?”

You took your time in finishing off the cookie, lawn chair creaking the porch when you turned toward him, ludicrous expression plastered firm to your features, “Hey! That’s not fair. I came over here with treats, I should be cooking you dinner. A...town warming dinner. Is that a thing?”

“Too late, I already asked.”

“Fine,” Begrudgingly, you pushed yourself up off the chair, eyes closing as you held out your wrists, palms up, “Lead me to the food.”

He let you stand there until your eyes opened to regard his sheepish expression, leaning forward to press his elbows into his thighs, “...one problem. I have close to no food.”

“Oh, that’s all that’s wrong?” Your rigid stance relaxed, reaching out to grab his wrist to haul him up, “Come on. I mean...if you think you can keep up with me?”

Jimin didn’t scoff until you were more than a dozen yards ahead of him on a gentle incline, coasting while he was struggling to the rotation on the petals of his bike. “Where are you taking me?” He labored when the ground finally evened out, allowing himself to collapse onto the tiny seat underneath him. 

“Farmer’s market,” You slowed to allow him to catch up, grinning at the slight sheen of sweat that had begun to form underneath black fringe, “You know. Fruits and vegetables.”

“Really? I thought it was entirely processed junk food.”

Jimin caught a glimpse of your eye roll before you were tired of humoring him, speeding off to the tune of his amused laughter. 

It appeared to be closing time at the miniature farmer’s market, a tiny collection of tents set up on the far side of the coast. A lanky, brown haired man with a crumpled apron tied haphazardly across his front worked at folding up one of the card tables, one that appeared to have previously held woven baskets filled with various colored apples. Those baskets sat in the weird mixture of sand and grass that encompassed the ground farther up from the seaside while a tiny, fluffy dog wove in and out of them, periodically yipping upward at the man who talked back in an equal tone, as if having a casual conversation about the winds gradually picking up over the water. 

“Tae!” You left your bike against a tree, jogging up to the startled man while Jimin, wobbling albeit, tried to control the tires of his bike as the terrain changed. He managed to hop off though, being intercepted by the tiny dog rather than you or the ever mysterious Tae. 

“Tannie!” A rich baritone scolded yet held no real authoritative power. The dog seemed to think so as well, barely flinching at the call when Jimin crouched, stretching gentle fingers out for the dog to butt his head against. 

“He’s alright,” Jimin soothed his owner quietly, scratching behind the boisterous Pomeranian's ears for a split second before a hand was thrust in the way. Jimin squinted at it, following the line of the exposed forearm up to the smiling eyes of the farmer, geometric smile pasted on the bottom half of his face as he nodded for his hand again. 

“Taehyung.”

Jimin shook his hand once, letting the momentum carry him to a standing position that had his knees cracking in protest. “Jimin.”

“Ah, the new guy down at the dock—” Taehyung glanced at you when you snorted, “—you’re renting that empty vacation house of the town’s, right?”

Jimin couldn’t help but think of the nest of spiders he’d found in the bottom drawer of the century old dresser in his room on the second day. Vacation house. 

Only then did he realize he was still gripping Taehyung’s hand, something he promptly dropped before coughing, “Uh. Yeah.”

“Neighbors then, huh?” Taehyung cocked an eyebrow, fulling looking at you where you were preoccupied fishing through a container of tomatoes.

“He’s supposed to be cooking for me tonight,” You jabbed an accusing finger, tomato, in Jimin’s direction, playful smile still on your lips, “But he has not a singular vegetable in his possession.”

“He’s cooking for you?” Taehyung accused while you bagged a few tomatoes, moving on to the greenery scattered about, “Shouldn’t you be cooking him a housewarming meal? Or like...a town warming meal?”

“We’ve already had this discussion,” Jimin provided softly, “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

Taehyung just laughed, starting out with a hand clasping his shoulder before moving to wrapping his entire arm around Jimin, leaning into him while you continued to gather supplies. “So what’s your story?” He said finally, letting some of his weight off of Jimin. 

Jimin shrugged, “Broke college student turned broke graduate decided to travel and ran out of money. Ended up here…”

“What’s your degree in?” 

Jimin considered a plethora of things as a masterful lie. One that would avoid a variety of stems in which the conversation could go. He could say something in technology and avoid the useless degree lecture. He could say something in writing and avoid the there’s no dancing here lecture. He could tell the truth and gauge the reaction that was generally more favorable from those who were around his age but still lived in a town that outlawed virtually all organized events on the basis of an elusive ‘accident’.  

Instinct made him answer quietly, “Dance. Contemporary mostly.”

An entire other limb, one that grew haphazardly from the trunk of the tree and threaded upward into a ridiculous, jagged shape, came from Taehyung’s mouth, not something that was even in the realm of what Jimin imagined. 

“Oh!” Taehyung called your name quietly, clapping his hands together, “Another dancer! That’s what you wanted to do! Contemporary too—”

Jimin’s moment of elation died into a nauseating sickness when your stature had froze much like it had those handful of nights ago, the hand not holding onto a bag of produce reaching out to dig your fingernails deep into the plastic of the table. 

When you turned around, Jimin tried gently, “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s because it’s in the past. Wanted, past tense,” You began tying a knot in the plastic bag in your grasp, frantic and jerky in your movements, “Not anymore.”

There was a similar sympathetic smile to Taehyung’s features as there had been one of stone on Hoseok’s, rolling his lips inward as his throat bobbed harshly. “Beautiful, nonetheless. I remember the showcases you used to put on down at the dock.”

“Muscles don’t quite move like that anymore,” You diverted this time with a tight lipped smile, one that didn’t even try to reach your eyes as you finished the knot, “How much do I owe you for this?”

Taehyung dropped it, squinting when the wind picked up in that moment, “You don’t owe me a thing if you help Tannie and I pack up before the storm rolls around.”

Jimin jumped into action to divert his thoughts away from the look you kept casting him, somewhere between regret, fear, and unadulterated sadness. 

He’d brushed his teeth three times since you’d descended the rickety steps of his porch to trek the short distance through the drizzling rain to your house yet, somehow, there was still bits of the seasoning fermented in the honey colored salad dressing you’d dollaped en mass over freshly washed lettuce leaves. The tiny black flecks on their own were foul, spreading in the back of his molars where he’d dug one out with the natural lay of his tongue, one that made him stop with rag in hand to grossly spit onto the dock. He smudged it with his shoe, wrist wiping at his lips while the disgust mulling on his facial features lingered, momentary pause causing his conscious to squint up the dock, thoughts scattered into the prior evening. 

So it was only fitting that you emerged in that moment, as if an apparition from the misted droplets clinging to the grasses on the shore. 

“Ducky! Slacking off?”

Jimin’s first instinct was to scramble because well, kind of, and if his routine was lacking so where you’d already appeared, he was most definitely behind. He jerked a singular headphone out as a first precaution. But the dramaticized mist cleared to reveal your soft smile, chin tucked into the zipper of your jacket as you paused in front of him. 

“Always,” He answered anyway, blackened taste of something burnt forgotten where it still festered underneath his tongue. 

You scuffed your foot into the dock, balled fists shoving into your jacket pockets. “I had a good time last night, by the way,” Another pass of your foot, toe heel, “You’re not a half bad cook.”

“Thank you. I had a good time too…” It was Jimin’s turn to duck his head, eyeing the frayed threads on the rag he clutched in increasingly white knuckles. His fist didn’t clench because he was lying but rather the bubbling question resting on the tip of his tongue, one he’d suppressed since leaving Taehyung with all his produce neatly packed into the shaded back of his truck right as the rain began. 

Kind of like media outlets who focus on one relatively small aspect of a much larger concept simply because it’s inherently negative. Jimin’s question was inherently negative, instead contextually negative based solely on the reaction you’d given Taehyung when he’d brought it up. 

And evidently, Jimin was a shitty reporter. 

“So you used to dance, huh?” He kept his tone soft, leaving infliction open for you to take. You could deny him. You could dismiss him. He really didn’t care if you ignored him. He just had to get it out. Quieter, he added, “I didn’t know that.”

You laughed, the opposite reaction that Jimin was preparing himself for, and he tracked your eyes as they swept over your feet. “You’d have no reason to know,” A sigh set your shoulders, allowing you to raise your gaze to his, “I quit not long after the...the accident.”

“It just seemed fitting you know,” You shrugged, arms lifting where your fists still sat deep in your pockets, “I mean you know what I’m talking about. Contemporary isn’t exactly the same thing elicited by a few beers and some fluorescent lights.”

Jimin laughed but stayed silent, nodding quietly for you to continue. 

“I had a scholarship. To get out of here...that’s what I was going to do after the tourist season ended. But after everything that happened here, from the incident itself—” You swallowed, tilting your head back slightly, “—from that, to the media coverage that made the town nearly desolate, to going into the off season with far less profit than we normally garnered. It didn’t feel right to leave my town like that.”

“I understand,” Jimin murmured.

“No, you don’t,” You laughed again, just as genuine, “You probably think I’m an idiot.”

“Far from it,” He assured. 

A lingering silence ensued, one that had you scuffing your opposite foot this time. “Well...that’s my sap story about why I don’t dance any longer, so…”

You trailed off when Jimin extended a hand in your direction. He wiggled his fingers when you gaped, free appendage working at yanking his headphones from his phone, attention focused to navigate to a different playlist while he regarding you with a lopsided smile and one quirked eyebrow. 

It was something instrumental that filtered from his phone speakers, a piece he’d done for an assignment in college yet still had stored away in the depths of his music library. It was just eerie enough to curl into the fog that slowly began to lift over the sea, opening up to the heat of the day that began to rouse coastal wildlife into action, singing in crescendo over the melodies. 

“You think you’ve still got it?” 

It was the first instance that Jimin hadn’t seen you hesitate in the face of something that seemed to scare you, immediate in sliding your palm to his and squeezing. 

“We’ll see I guess,” You taunted, gliding closer to him at the pull of his arm, a playful glint shining in dawned irises, “Won’t we?”

Jimin grinned as you began to move at the extent of his forearm, leg curling outward into a purposeful movement that elicited musicality he heard too in the rouse of the music curling outward from his phone in his pocket. You stayed connected until the last possible moment, falling at the contract of your muscles into a turned out squat, gliding in front of him and then straightening on the farthest side, arms connecting into the next movement as something trilled in the music. 

It was the same sort of improvisation that carried the remainder of your movements, leaving Jimin in awe of the way your body curled into the melody only for half an eight count more before he was moving with you, twisting in such a way that made his foot slide from the slip on shoes curled on his heels but he took no mind, foot connecting at his knee, torso arching the opposite direction, following the dying crescendo of movement. 

You connected your touch to him once more, curling two forearms over the flat of his back where he’d bent at the waist before trailing crawled fingertips up the expanse of his forearm, latching first to his wrist with a beat in the music and then taking his hand on another, harsher, beat. He tugged you closer at the contact, one hand gripping both your hands, the later sliding around your waist to press a stabilizing palm into the small of your back. The lull of your head came, falling away from the beat of the music as you rose to look at him, not quite a smile but bliss nonetheless plastered to the part of your mouth.  

Jimin smiled, though. 

He deposited one of your hands onto the round of his shoulder, keeping his tight grip on the later as he began to move you in gentle circles to whatever the next song on his playlist was, something slow and with words that he vaguely recognized from popular radio play a few years prior. 

“I think you’ve still got it,” Jimin softly encouraged when a laugh caused your gaze to fall away from him, forehead nearly pressing into his shoulder as you gripped harder to his hand. 

“Eh,” He saw you smile no matter how you tried to hide it, “You’re not a half bad partner, ducky.”

There were footsteps on the dock in the next moment, ones that overpowered the music Jimin had reached to turn down in his pocket, music he now rushed to silence. Instinctively, he held you closer, squinting up the wood path. The footsteps were simultaneously too loud and too quiet to be Hoseok. They were too purposeful as well, slapping and consistent with the sound of flip flops as it grew closer until Jimin finally froze at the familiar face approaching at a ridiculous pace. 

You glanced up from Jimin’s shoulder when there was a tripping sound, the front of Namjoon’s flip flop catching on a protruding wood board but it didn’t stall his advancements by much, pausing a safe distance in front of you with two hands perched on his hips. 

Namjoon was struggling to find the words for you, attention darting to you where he scuffed the tattered sole of his canvas shoes into the wood, one curled fist in his pocket and then back out, as if he weren’t even aware of Jimin’s presence. Hesitant leg movements brought him a few steps closer, before he said lowly, “You should probably get to work.”

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” You countered, making no movement to budge from Jimin’s hold. 

The older man held up two hands, taking an equal step back, “I didn’t say you were, love—”

“Then why did they send you down here?”

Namjoon stared hard now from underneath the cap of the white hat shoved onto messy black tendrils. His free hand joined the latter in the depths of his short pockets, rocking back onto his heels and Jimin could spy the surface of his tongue searching the tops of his molars for a response. 

“They didn’t,” He said finally, carefully, like he’d plucked the obvious lie like a piece of corn from between his teeth. 

“Joon,” You pushed yourself from Jimin, taking two steps in front of him and he couldn’t see your face any longer but your voice grew softer instead, “You—”

“Please, just...separate. They’ll come down here if you don’t and it’s almost opening time,” Namjoon looked frightened now, a far cry from the assured monologue that had informed Jimin of the basics on the steps of his front porch. 

You didn’t turn until Namjoon’s flip flops clacked safely off the deck into the sand pathway, solemn smile not quite meeting your eyes as you shrugged. 

“Guess party time is over.”

Jimin watched as you almost robotically moved for the boat, your boat, one foot bobbing in the sea when he called with clenched fists, “Who’s they?” 

There was a lack of filter in your voice, blunt as you snorted, “The town officials—” You hoisted yourself fully into the boat, speaking to your work rather than to him, “—the ones who created this whole mess.”

“...they’re watching us?”

You pointed haphazardly over your shoulder, shrugging as you began to curl a rope from out of the water, “Town hall building is up the shore—” A heave in your voice as you dragged the rest of the damp twine into a messy pile underneath your knees, “—you know, so they can watch their biggest source of income fail day in and day out.”

“Or they were just tired of seeing me move around like a dead fish,” You tried to lighten the mood when you turned to him, an easy smile on your lips, “...no one’s seen me do that in years so...it doesn’t surprise me that they got worried.”

Jimin stifled his worried about what? when you waved. “See you later?”

The man just nodded, watching as your smile grew fainter. 

“...see you.”

The incident with Namjoon lingered somewhere just on the inside of Jimin’s conscious the longer his work continued through the season, partially because of it’s implications, mostly because of your blunt yet empty words, words he didn’t quite have a grasp on. It was a topic everyone quite literally danced around, draping the unaware stranger like Jimin in a darkness that mirrored that coating the entire town. It was your lipped their biggest source of income that resonated the highest and the easiest with Jimin’s spinning conscious, something he acknowledged yet came to see as fact the longer he stationed himself on the shore throughout the day. 

Business was seemingly non existent, your boat trips, specifically designed to take tourists on extensive, historical journeys of the beautiful seasides, full but few and far between from the schedule of potential times hung from the front boat house; Hoseok’s boat trips, designed for fishing, to find the best pockets where men in cheap sun hats purchased from Taehyung’s day time flea market style stalls could take one coveted picture with a giant bass before eventually letting the creature free, barely making the cut to plausibly allow the boat to pull away from its tether. 

It was as though all the money went into paying the metaphorical security cameras, the lavish town building up the shore coated in a fine layer of fresh stone, paying the salary of the camera lens’ themselves, the three men Jimin had only garnered fleeting glimpses of as black blurs crossing to and from a small parking lot just outside the grey, hazed building. 

Because there certainly weren’t literal security cameras. There were barely rags for Jimin to use to clean that wouldn’t get the surfaces dirtier than they had been before touched by dirty soaked cloth. Maintenance arose daily, a piling list that the contractor repair man, Jeongguk, a lanky, tattooed twenty something fresh from trade school who was rarely seen with a shirt on, could barely handle. This left for various boats out of commission on the worst days, weekends and the dead center of the week when business seemed to grow the highest, when they could justify filling all the time slots and taking out the half dozen fleet of boats at the same time. Turning away the business they so desperately needed because the lack of funding otherwise to maintain what little resources they did have. 

Jimin confronted Hoseok about the issue one day while lounging on the shore, Hoseok’s very presence a product of the neverending cycle of a dying industry in the dead center of the day on a Sunday, generally one of their busiest days now desolate with the whir of your engine in the distance the only source of light in the shrinking wallet available to the business. 

“It’s been like this for a few years,” Hoseok shrugged, red hair splayed into the grassy patch they sat upon. His eyes fluttered shut, folded hands coming to rest across his forehead, “It’s not as bad as it seems from an outside perspective. We...make ends meet. But nothing more and we can’t afford anything less so…”

“Has anyone proposed an alternate business model?” Jimin cringed when Hoseok’s eyebrow cocked over where his hands shielded his face, “I just mean like...if this isn’t working, why not try something else?”

Hoseok groaned as he moved to sit up, links in his spine audibly cracking as he arched over knees bent in towards his chest. “We know what works,” He said finally, “They know what works.”

“What’s that?”

Hoseok smiled at Jimin from underneath his arm, “Lift the stupid dance ban.”

“Oh—”

The red haired man shook his head, uncurling from himself to correct his posture, arms straight behind him, knees stretching out into the grass, “Let me explain…”

“That was the appeal of our little town. Not the boats and some cool pictures of sea bass. There used to be a thriving festival business. We had a pamphlet made especially for the town, one that detailed all the weekends in which various themed things would be happening down at the shore. People who pay us to use our coastline, basically.”

Hoseok shrugged, “Now no one wants to pay us except like...the elderly to have their fifty year class reunions. And even then, they don’t want to fuck with our policies—” He flattened two dark eyebrows, “—do you know how many restrictions there are for what music can be played out loud in a public setting? At any public gathering? Too many. A whole book too many.”

Jimin started slow, a thought that formulated the same way in the forefront of his conscious and it didn’t pass through any filters as it crawled off his tongue. 

“...so why don’t we...throw our own festival?”

Silence. 

And then Hoseok laughed, cackled really, returning to his splayed out position on the grass with his limbs starfished outward so far his hair nudged into Jimin’s thigh. The younger watched quietly, letting the implications of his own suggestion soak in and he briefly thought to glance over his shoulder for some sort of microphone attached to the bee buzzing to a pretty pink wildflower vining upward from the loose sand granules.

Hoseok came to, straightened again next to Jimin and he nudged his side with his elbow, nodding simply. 

“Okay.”

Jimin started to sputter out an apology, one on a knotted tongue, the words equally tangled in his throat when he was whipping toward the smiling man next to him. His eyebrows met in a single line at the bridge of his nose, unconsciously leaning closer to Hoseok. 

“Wait, what? What do you mean okay?” 

The older man nudged Jimin again with one curt nod of his chin, “I mean...okay. Let’s do it.”

Jimin blinked, once, twice, four times in the dying silence of Hoseok’s giggles before he admitted quietly, “I didn’t think I’d get this far, honestly—”

“Listen, kid,” Hoseok slung a heavy arm across Jimin’s shoulders, tugging on the smaller man until he was curled against his side, “I don’t know what it is about you...but I like your enthusiasm. And your idea, of course.”

He glanced up from where he’d ducked into Hoseok’s shoulder, cocking an eyebrow, “...so you’re saying?”

Hoseok beamed again, an infectious giggle falling from his lips as he happily clapped at Jimin’s shoulder for a passing moment before springing to a standing position, presenting his palm for Jimin to take. He waited until Jimin had joined him on his feet, lowering his voice a half octave as he brought Jimin in by clasped fists between their chests.

“I’m saying, let’s plan a damn festival.”

Jimin expected Hoseok to take off at a dead sprint up the shore like any other cliche romantic comedy would, hurdling them into a montage of planning that involved highlighter marks etched into the pores of their skin and mountains of rejected flyer options with a dying laptop battery mocking the open document of logistics information, where, when, how the festival would occur. 

Instead, Hoseok stood still, eyes frozen on something in the distance and again Jimin jerked to look for a bee and his high tech audio visual equipment when Hoseok provided in a thick monotone. 

“One issue.”

Jimin with the bee in mind quipped, “I think there will be a little bit more than one issue but that’s fine, that’s...common knowledge—”

“No, like,” Hoseok’s lips formed a sheepish shape, “With me.”

An endless whir of possibilities stirred so much so that Jimin couldn’t consciously pluck out a few tangible options but among that strangled mess, Jimin certainly didn’t expect Hoseok to utter hoarsely, “I can’t dance.”

“I’m sorry you…” Jimin tried not to show amusement on his features, “You what?”

“I can’t dance.”

“Everyone can dance.”

“No, they can’t. Because I can’t.”

The chaotic scene came later, the montage Jimin had envisioned as the grooves of a DVD shoved into the ancient player tucked away in the closet of his newly acquired home. Hoseok’s arms were colored in at least four different colors of highlighter, hair frayed at the edges of the headband wrapped haphazardly on the high rise of his forehead. Jimin had nearly broke his toe twice in his quest to hurdle a dining room chair to plug in his dying laptop as the spreadsheet he’d worked so meticulously to format hung in the balance of the singular electrical outlet at the far end of the dining room. 

They had a date. They had a venue. They had a backup venue. They had a caterer. They had a playlist. They had a playlist that would survive policy inspection, if need be. They had a mock flyer. 

They didn’t have a confident Hoseok. 

“I don’t know,” He huffed finally, fingers stalling on his laptop keys as he studied Jimin from over the lid, “...will anyone even come? Like, on the off chance that we do get this approved—”

Jimin knew the answer was an ardent no, but he teased nonetheless, “Is this because you think you can’t dance?”

“I know, I can’t dance. That’s beside the point—”

The hollow floorboards underneath the peeling linoleum of Jimin’s kitchen floor croaked in protest when he shoved his chair back, rounding the table to collect Hoseok’s wrist and drag him with him out the front door. 

“Where are we going?” Hoseok complained at the extension of Jimin’s digits curled into his skin. 

Jimin didn’t answer as he dragged Hoseok up your porch steps and rapped on the loose dangle of your screen door. He waited until you half emerged from the wood door you pulled back, palm on the screen door and clearly confused as he stated, “Hoseok thinks he can’t dance.”

You tried to fight the smile that curled onto each corner of your mouth, addressing your friend first, “You can dance. Everyone can dance—” and then to Jimin’s triumphantly beaming figure, “Why would he need to know how to dance?”

“We’re planning a festival,” Jimin said absently, a grin morphing higher on his features when your expression flattened into slightly horrified confusion.

“You’re what—” 

“Oh yeah,” Hoseok stepped up to be shoulder to shoulder with Jimin, squishing his presence into the tiny door frame, “Do you want to help?”

“I have no idea what’s fucking happening,” You blurted finally, lips fished, pupils dilated to the ambiant starlight that curled over the figures stationed in your doorway. 

Jimin’s smile turned sympathetic, a gentle hand on your waist guiding you safely away from the rustic contraption of doors at the front of your house. There was a catch in your breath for two reasons, allowing Jimin to lead you to the swing dangling off pillars screwed to the deck. You sat first, a series of concerning creaks following as Jimin took a seat next to you, Hoseok situating himself delicately to the railing circumventing your porch. 

“We’re going to try to revive the town,” Jimin started, simply albeit daunting in that stripped down sense. 

You blinked, realistic, to some sort of nocturnal worm that had weazled it’s way between the floorboards, “Just the two of you, huh ducky?”

“And you!” 

“It’s got to start somewhere,” Jimin curbed Hoseok’s enthusiasm with a gentle palm on your shoulder. 

More blinking. A threat of that shriveled up rigidity to your stature that Jimin loathed like the bile that curled onto the back of his tongue. And then it relaxed all at once, like a daunting wave that suddenly cut under itself, the current nothing but a gentle lap over some vague footprints in the sand. 

“...so who’s going to cater this thing?” It was a gradual build up in the rise of your cheeks but it was there, shining in Jimin’s direction once it had fully developed and he was unconscious of Hoseok’s happy hollering as his own smile began to stretch across his features. 

“We were thinking Taehyung,” Jimin said again in favor of Hoseok who was still violently fist pumping from his perch, “Unless you have another suggestion?”

You shifted, chin plopping onto a palm where fingers curled upward into your chin. The digits patted your lips for a few passing moments before you nodded, muffled a bit by your hand, “Taehyung and maybe one of the restaurants up the coast would be willing to provide. So that their affiliation isn’t biased, you know.”

There was a light ambiance that followed, a continuation of the chatter that had taken place across the lively chaos cluttering Jimin’s rickety kitchen table until Hoseok, silent for the vast majority of the conversation, shifted on the railing enough for a groaning creak that drew two attentions to it. 

“We’re forgetting one thing,” The red haired man beamed into the insinuation he knew was going to earn him grief, “I still can’t dance. And what’s a festival organizer who can’t dance? Useless—” 

The movement of the swing underneath his toes barely perched on the ground startled Jimin but it was your hand in his that had the air escaping from between his parted lips. He was useless, limp in letting you drag him up as you collected Hoseok in a similar fashion, fingers wrapped around his wrist as your drug the two men down the porch steps. 

Your houses resided on the up most part of the main road, leaving the nature beyond virtually untouched to human editing aside from a few decorative flower pots curled outward from a concrete slab out your back door and a singular ceramic frog chipped at it’s right eye that Jimin had found in his own garden. Your, loose term, backyard, was much larger in comparison to his simply because the clearing was larger, more space between curved trunks of tropical trees and centuries old stands by older oaks and maples. The grass was uncut by a few passing weeks, short enough to wade through, long enough to tickle ankles, dotted in various shades of wildflowers that hadn’t been cut by sharp metal blades of machinery. Rounded petals seemed to glow in the crescent moonlight that shaded through the expanse spaces left by soft, flicking leaves.

One white flower glowing a pale blue unintentionally squished under the sole of Jimin’s shoe, resilient in the way it sprung back to half of what it’s stem height had previously been. Jimin couldn’t say the same for the way his conscious was able to recover to the feeling of your hand in his palm to the pointed grip of your fingers at his waist, situating him to a similar position you’d been in all those weeks ago in the fog of the morning dock. 

“Dancing is easy,” You were chattering but Jimin was too focused on the color lens that coated the yellow flower itching into the bone at his ankle and how it cast across the adorable determination on your features. The very thing that had him in a trance, your touch, was what broke him out of it, grip jerking him closer so that he was forced to curl a stabilizing hand around the small of your back. 

“See,” You continued, dragging Jimin messily to the side and he recovered enough to correct his stumbled step, “Watch us.”

He allowed you to lead, entertaining the newborn deer act for a few moments, purposeful in squishing your toes in one instance and in flopping his stature around in a dramatic circle to prevent you from dipping him. When you were laughing, giggling to the stars that reflected on the scattered petals below your feet, he took miniscule steps to regain your faux control, tensing his muscles, holding you tighter, swinging you to the soundtrack of grasshopper titters. 

“Yeah,” Hoseok narrated dryly when Jimin spun you in a series of particularly dizzying circles, stopping only when you collapsed against his chest from fatigue, “Looks extremely simple.”

You exchanged a glance with Jimin, one that made his heart stop to swell within the cavity of his chest underneath your palms placed at the very spot and it was more than the cool evening breeze that made him shiver when you stepped away to offer your hand to Hoseok. 

It was a process to get Hoseok to fall in step with a simple slow dance guided by the music off Jimin’s phone tossed carelessly in the grass, squashing your toes and earning playful yelps as you adjusted his position. You beamed at Jimin in each instance, joy directed at the amused man who stood a few feet off with his eyebrows raised and arms folded to his chest.

Hoseok managed to shuffle in consecutive eight counts without breaking one of your smallest appendages with the clumpy sole of his tennis shoes, going as far to attempt a dip that nearly had you crashing backward into the wildflowers, one that had Jimin rushing forward to try to brace you while your laughter just let you carry your slow descent to the grass, two amused men curled over you. 

The lesson shifted to basic steps, a jazz square (“Jazz hands?” Hoseok had peered hopefully, long fingers elongated outward as they shook slightly), simple hip rolls which he proved to be quite, in your words, lethal at. He took a liking to a viral dance craze Jimin had the misfortune of seeing on the internet a few times, combining that rigid hip swivel with equally rigid arms, moving back and forth at a speed that had Hoseok exclaiming, “Hey! This is great!”

“Maybe that’s your signature move,” You teased, bumping shoulders with Jimin. 

“Really?” Hoseok sped up the movement, red hair bouncing over his eyelashes as he glanced toward Jimin, “What’s yours?”

Jimin tried to stay neutral in tone, “Not the floss—”

He adapted something called the shoot too, something that carried his descent down the dock one morning while Jimin just grinned and prepared music in the muffled confinement of his pocket, letting Hoseok wiggle around him until you appeared, stealing Jimin’s towel and smacking Hoseok’s ass with it, ordering both of you to get to work. 

Jimin lent him a spare pair of earbuds, logging him into his Spotify account so that he could navigate through Jimin’s meticulously put together playlists, something that proved to be quite distracting when there were three figures huddled in the dim light of Jimin’s dining room and Hoseok didn’t hear each of your called inquiries until at least the fourth time, too preoccupied with a shimmy neither you nor Jimin had taught him while he mouthed along to the song, notebook pressed to his nose. 

“I want to show you something—” proceeded the encapsulation of Jimin’s knee caps with Hoseok’s hands, pulling back with a full featured grin as some vaguely familiar tune began to blare down the otherwise serene coast line. Jimin watched as his older friend added arm movements to his hip swivels, a little bit of unintentional chest too, but most importantly a smile as he executed choreography he’d came up with himself. 

He stopped short of the entire routine when they’d spotted Namjoon’s bike descending the trail, instead presenting it to you and Jimin behind the curtains of your living room.

Final nights of preparation came with less anxious staring at completed outlines, typed documents, laminated folder fronts, but more dancing, silly twirls of Jimin’s hands on your waist as your bare feet sank into the couch cushions, Hoseok declaring the coffee table as his stage to show off his increasing footwork skills (watch this turn!), not so technical reviews of desired playlists, or in other words, the ones that most definitely wouldn’t pass through the town council meeting. 

“Will any of this pass, you think?” 

It was a grossly simplistic way of expressing the worry that stirred in the pits of your stomachs but spoken calmly to Jimin one evening after Hoseok had gone home, leaving your knees curled towards Jimin’s figure on your couch. 

“I have no idea,” He tried to smile, a soft encouragement as he shifted toward you, thighs bumping your knees, “You know them better than I do. I’m just the new guy…”

“You’re pretty intuitive, ducky,” You patted his thigh, “Don’t bullshit me. What do you think?”

“I think they’ll say no,” Jimin sucked the end of his tongue between his teeth, afraid his answer was too quick until you laughed, hand still on his leg as you leaned closer. 

You didn’t speak until your cheek had subconsciously shifted to his arm, glancing up at him through smiling eyelashes that expressed so much more, just as your expressions always seemed to contradict themselves. You were an open book, intuition told Jimin, and he smiled back in hopes it would amend the sad red lingering around the iris ring. 

“Me too,” You looked away from him, one leg stretching out to nudge a particularly battered piece of notebook paper, scrawled over in Hoseok’s messy handwriting and Jimin’s incessant color coding, “I don’t want to get my hopes up it’s just...been so long—”

Jimin shifted to accommodate your figure better, tentative in the hand that slid around the small of your back and when you didn’t react, he cupped your far hip, squeezing your curled figure against his side. 

“—it’s been so long since I’ve felt this kind of joy at the prospect of anything,” Your fingertips were just as hesitant in touching his stomach, gradual in expanding to lay your palm just underneath his ribs, “I...I don’t want this feeling to go away.”

He bypassed the urge to kiss your forehead by nudging his nose into your hairline, squeezing you a bit tighter. “There are only two options to what they can say, you know,” When you let out a shuddering sigh, he continued, “Yes or no.”

“Fifty fifty shot,” You muffled from below him. 

“Exactly. Worst case scenario, they say no. We ask what we can do, if anything, to alter our plans. We regroup, and try again at the next meeting,” Jimin swallowed, “Best case scenario...they say yes and we’ll throw the best damn party this town has ever seen.”

There was a prolonged silence between your mumbles of acknowledgement, paired with the slump and lull of your stature further into Jimin. “You’re right…” You slurred last, cute in the stars that shined in Jimin’s eyes. He struggled not to jostle you, snatching a quilted throw blanket from where it was neatly folded over the back of your paisley upholstery. 

He curled the blanket around your stature, gentle in dragging pillows around you to gently pry himself off of you, laying you into the tiny fort he’d constructed on your couch. He blew out the years old birthday cake scented candle on one of your end tables, flicked off the stereo system in the corner, turned out all the lights aside from the one in the threshold. A last pass by your dozing figure, adjusting the blankets until your slumbering state curled the ends into fists near your face. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Jimin soothed, palm curling down the back of your head to your shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your response was muffled but his heart heard it loud and clear. 

“Goodnight, ducky.”

Jimin didn’t realize the crushing weight of your fingers curled around his, knuckles anemic, pressure borderline painful, until he let out a breath when the stocky man at the head of the front podium glanced up. His thumb did gentle work at soothing over the back of your knuckles, releasing some of the tension as you let out a similar breath, gaze set forward on the mayor, a stark black nameplate with gold engraving advertising Moon Jaejin, head of council. 

“A festival, huh?” He spoke lowly but the quirk in his eyebrow suggested he was speaking to an elementary student. Condescending.  

Your mouth parted but nothing came out, Hoseok’s admission from the other side of you affirming, “Yes, sir. A sort of revival of the seasons end festival that we...used to have.”

Namjoon shifted from his position two chairs down, uncomfortable. The mayor drew out his rhetoric this time, “You’ve spent quite the time planning this, haven’t you?” He glanced up from the purple folder Jimin had meticulously fretted over the entire morning, “In secret, I presume?”

“We’re presenting it to you now,” Jimin challenged, letting you curl a death grip on his fingers this time, “Aren’t we?”

More of the council members shifted this time. One cleared his throat. Moon laughed. 

“Ah, so it was your idea then, young man?”

Jimin set his shoulders, “It was. I’d like to continue having a job here, and by the way the season is wrapping up, it’s seeing to it that none of us down at the dock will be employed by next year.”

Nervous tittering. Nail marks crescented into his palm as you shifted forward, crouching over your knees. 

“Quite the radical claim for a newcomer,” He seemed to take pride in the way he crumpled the front of the folder as he placed it to the table, effectively crumpling the cover Hoseok had spent hours editing. “Our economy here is doing just fine, particularly after—”

“For you.”

You spoke now, chin lifting as you still hunched into yourself. 

“What was that—”

“I said,” You straightened now, letting go of Jimin’s hand to flatten a clammy palm over your thigh, “That for you, the economy is doing just fine. We’re all aware, with the new pool you just had installed.”

Moon lifted his chin higher, a challenge, “What are you suggesting, dear?”

“You must have some idea. You wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

There was another uncomfortable pause in the exchange, silence filled with the ruffling of papers, Namjoon’s pointed cough into the crook of his elbow, Hoseok’s fingernails clacking against the chair he sat in. And for the careful consideration the mayor took of his words, it seemed that they were in preparation to grab his nearest dagger just to slice it through your heart. 

“You, dear, of everyone should be resentful of this idea,” He smiled as he lounged into his chair, “What would your late boyfriend think of you suggesting this, hmm? Reimplementing the various vices that led to his death.”

This silence was frightening, devoid of white noise aside from Hoseok moving for you, wide eyes curled like wallpaper around the perimeter of the meeting room and it seemed to drop an octave lower when you stood, shrugging out of Hoseok who reached for you. 

“You won’t even say his name,” You quipped and the sentence relayed over again, far less confident before, wavering into something higher pitched and painful, “You won’t even say his name and yet you continue to sensationalize the tragedy to further build the mountain you’ve created for yourself over the rest of us.”

“So continue to run this town into nothing if you want. Once we’re all gone, you’ll be nothing too,” A bitter smile twitched onto your lips, one now coated in a fine layer of tears that tracked in haphazard directions down the surface of your cheeks, “but don’t you dare continue to do it in Yoongi’s name.”

Jimin found himself frozen, numb to the call of your name from Hoseok that you’d ignored, needles pining their way into the clenched nature of his muscles, faced with a shade of grave he’d never imagined to see Hoseok wearing, something that rimmed red around his eyelids too and he blinked away from Jimin’s starkly different gaze to touch the back of his wrist at his eye. 

“Gentlemen—”

A silent exchange, a question, who was going to go after you, and when Hoseok didn’t move quick enough, Jimin forced the static and stars from his eyes to flee from the building.

Polished dress shoes unpacked specifically for the occasion became scuffed in a fine layer of dust as he took the winding path at elongated strides until he essentially broke into a run. Darkness didn’t help his any of his already jumbled senses but instinct carried him to the one place he did know, dust curling into the moisture clinging to the wood from the remnants of dusk as the moon began to sigh quietly over the water. 

He heard you before he saw you, a horribly muffled sobbing noise deep within the recesses of that tiny boat at the end of the dock. He barely used the ropes and ladders designed for the very thing, uncaring with how the boat rocked with the force in which he propelled himself inside. 

You were curled into the seat at the front, a jacket held around your shoulders with a harsh fist while your latter hand was firmly clasped over your nose and lips. Jimin took his trek to you gently compared to his frantic rush from the meeting hall, toeing over each of the bench seats until he made it to the front row, balancing gently on the edge of the tattered and splintered wood. 

The ambiance of crashing waves spurred by the sighing moon continued over the sound of your sobs and Jimin’s bated breathing for a dozen or so heartbeats, your raw tone cutting into the sound of receding water away from the shore. 

“You didn’t have to come after me, ducky.”

Jimin shared a look with your eyes that cut to the side, trying to smile on one side of his face. “If I didn’t come, Hoseok was going to.”

“Hmm,” You sniffled, straightening a bit to drag the jacket sleeve underneath your nose, “Only one of you doesn’t understand that mess back there, though.”

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“I should have told you a long time ago,” You shrugged, “I’m just as bad as them, if you think about it.”

Jimin’s eyes rolled so far back they could have touched some of the glittering stars in the dark night, “Don’t ever compare yourself to them.”

“I don’t talk about it because it’s hard. They talk only about it because it benefits their stupid—” An unwarranted sob cut you off, ripping your spine forward to cup your palm over your mouth and Jimin surged forward this time, moving closer on his knees to rub at your shoulders. 

His soft touches curled own your spine, fingertips brushing soft patterns into the small of your back until the tremors in your shoulders subsided, allowing you to rub at your nose again. He waited until you were looking at him, cry ridden eyes reflecting the angry curl of water around the collection of boats that sat idle in the darkness. Then you smiled, pitiful but there as a short, single syllable laugh escaped, dropping your gaze again. 

“I’m a mess.”

Jimin shook his head, fingertips never ceasing. His chin dropped searching for your gaze until you managed to maintain it for a few passing, deep breaths. Then, gently, he encouraged, “Tell me about Yoongi.”

You froze but unlike previously, you began to speak almost immediately, rigid into the genuinely joyful laughter that followed. “He was everything good in the world. Seriously,” Another laugh, one that punctuated the pick of your finger into your nail bed, “Like...litters of puppies and sweet vanilla candles and fresh baked cookies. But...as a person.”

“We had been dating for three years. We were going to get out of here. Same university. Dance for me, music for Yoongi,” You laughed again, making eye contact with him now, “Dancing wasn’t really his thing. He could do it, he was great at it but he preferred the music thing. Which worked perfectly, if you think about it.”

“We were going to leave after the season ended. Work one last summer just to save up a little extra,” Jimin saw the tears well before you scrunched your eyes shut, “Wish I would have just listened to him and left early.”

A moment to collect yourself. “Anyway, it was a great season for us. Yoongi had just gotten his hands on one of the newer boats. Believe it or not, we used to have nice tourist yachts that were equipped to travel miles down the coast. A whole fleet of them,” You affectionately plucked at the worn leather you sat on, “This was his old boat.”

“He had a particularly rowdy group one evening. Not anything out of the ordinary, definitely not something him and the staff on board couldn’t handle but a distraction when there was a horrible storm approaching,” You sucked in a breath, chest expanding where Jimin’s fingers had traveled back up, still rubbing soft patterns into your jacket, “You can...uhm. You can imagine what happened…”

“They blamed it on the party that was happening on the boat. Said that if we just took people on boat rides for an hour or so, none of that would have ever happened. That the dancing and the alcohol and the atmosphere cultivated here in our little town was to blame. He wouldn’t have been as distracted without all of it and he certainly wouldn’t have been out that late...”

“Press got ahold of the story, took things out of context, didn’t have all the information. The town became deserted for more reasons than just the ridiculous executive order the mayor signed the night of Yoongi’s funeral—” You grit your teeth, “—like he deserved some sort of reward while Yoongi was—”

Jimin wrapped an arm around you then, tugging until you placed your cheek on his shoulder. His knees burned but nothing like the pelt of his heart against his ribcage. 

“That’s why I couldn’t leave. It didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right. I didn’t want to listen to music. I didn’t want to dance. I didn’t want to look at the dock. I just wanted my Yoongi back…”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

His hand now rubbed up and down your arm, giving into the urge to press his lips against your hairline, letting softer sobs emit out of you now until the pass of his fingers to the jacket still clutched to your person was in time with your attempt at controlling your breathing. 

“I think you would have been friends,” You said suddenly, tears shining when you peeled your cheek off his shoulder to look up at him, “...and I’m really glad you came here.”

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed, but you cut him off with a gentle finger to his lips. “I’m really glad you’re here for a lot of reasons, but that specifically. Hoseok’s my friend but Yoongi was his best friend,” You smiled sadly, “He’s just been kind of lost for a while. It’s...refreshing to see him like this again. A little bit of me feels normal seeing Hoseok be normal.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I’m still going to,” Your fingertip traced from his plump bottom lip to follow the line of his flushed cheekbone, “Thank you, ducky.”

“If anything, you’ve made the whole town think again. No one has played music out loud from their front porch in years. No one has danced on the dock in years,” You blinked suddenly, “But like fuck them. You’ve made me realize a lot too.”

“Stupid little things, like bike riding is fun and viral dance trends are cheesy but most importantly—” You inhaled through your nose, “—Yoongi would fucking hate everything about what they’ve done to our town.”

“You know what he’d love, though?”

Jimin shook his head, gentle in holding your waist. 

You grinned, genuine through the tears that wreaked havoc on your features as you cupped both Jimin’s cheeks, jacket slumping off your shoulders a bit as you nodded once, a curt pout on your lips. 

“A secret festival that oozes in...how would he put this,” A loud laugh, a sound Jimin hadn’t earned the pleasure of hearing before, “fuck the system.” 

“Taehyung!”

The farmer nearly dropped the neat pyramid of tomatoes curled into his chest when you hissed his name at an elevated whisper, high steps picking your way up to one of his tents. He deposited the tomatoes first, an ungraceful roll of the produce into a nearby bin before he braced his hands on the card table, leaning over it to repeat in the exact same whisper scream, “What?” 

You stripped one lapel of your jacket back to snatch a stack of the paperclipped, neatly cut flyers. One glance over your right shoulder, a prolonged glance over your left, and then you were shoving the stack of papers to Taehyung. “Take these.”

Jimin approached then, gentle in the index finger he prodded against the side of your head. “Subtle.”

Taehyung began speaking as you whipped around to glare at Jimin, “Oh? I thought this wasn’t happening—”

“It’s not supposed to.” “You can’t tell anyone,” You added, “Just...add these into bags of tourists. And the occasional trustworthy local, I guess. Just not Namjoon. Obviously.”

He pocketed the flyers into the front pouch of his forest green apron, hidden from view. “So...then this means you’ll need my catering?”

“You’re invited as a guest first. If you’d like to take a night off and come party with us, we’ll find something us. We already had a few ideas—”

“Who says I can’t serve food and party?” Taehyung beamed, lips all geometric edges as he cupped his hands over his lips, “I’ll be there. And your secret is safe with me.”

The look the broad man that stood before Jimin cast made his joints freeze in his pocket, name tag not blurred by the yellow lensed glasses perched on the edge of Jimin’s nose as he began to stutter over nothing in particular.

Seokjin. 

“Uhh…”

“Forgive my friend,” You touched Jimin’s elbow, reaching past him to snag the stack of flyers out of his jacket to slap them down on the counter. Jimin warily regarded the reaction, watching at Seokjin’s eyes traveled down to where your palm still covered the majority of the cover art. 

“We need a favor,” Hoseok added from Jimin’s opposite side, unabashed in slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Can you help us out, Jinnie?”

Seokjin’s expression remained stoic for a fraction longer before he was breaking into a series of wheezing giggles, bending at the waist to make his tie escape from his suit jacket and dangle to the floor below. He came to seconds later, holding a hand in Jimin’s direction.

“Of course, Hobi,” He beamed once Jimin deemed it safe to accept the handshake, giving one firm squeeze, “What can I do for you guys?”

“Can you hand these out to your guests?”

The suit clad man’s lips pursed into bloomed tulip as he fiddled with the clip on the stack, lifting one paper up to his eyes to squint at the font. Realization hit after a second and he nodded, “Oh? So we are having the festival?”

“Secretly,” You nudged the flyers a little bit until Seokjin got the hint and peeled them off the top part of the hotel counter to place them down near his desktop computer, “We want you to hand these out to guests.”

“Of course,” Another bellowing laughter, full of sweet eye crescents and a gentle shape to his mouth, “...I can’t give one to Mayor Moon, right?”

Hoseok moved to snatch the flyers back when Seokjin swatted at his hand, shaking his head with that same smile on his features, “I’m joking, I’m joking. I can even give you access to our valet services here, if you like. To get people down the shore, you know...”

“This is ridiculous,” Hoseok grunted when you placed two hands on his shoulder blades and pushed, “They’re going to catch us. The whole thing is going to be ruined!” 

You sighed, glancing at Jimin, “Think you can self teach yourself to drive a boat in five minutes?”

He beamed, “I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Hobi,” You rolled onto your toes, squishing his cheeks between your thumb and index fingers until his panicked ramblings ceased, “They’re all out of town until the morning. Namjoon is with them. No one’s going to notice. We’re only taking two boats. We’ll move the rest around so it looks like nothing is missing.”

“Will that work?” 

“You spent hours photoshopping a party hat onto a boat,” You tweaked the pliable skin of his cheeks once more, “Do you really want to go back on the boat rides promised on the flyer?”

Miserable, Hoseok moaned, “No.” 

“Good. Take Jimin and let’s get this show on the road or else someone is going to catch us.”

All traces of whiny Hoseok were gone when the pair stood on the deck of the singular yacht the boat service still owned in front of an entire panel of controls that looked entirely too daunting for Jimin to even begin to comprehend. Hoseok, on the other hand, seemed like a kid in a candy store, some sort of high pitched giggle leaving his lips as he clapped his hands, turning to a series of switches and dials as the boat began to revv to life underneath them. 

“I haven’t done anything with these in years—” 

A third voice cut him off, followed by the soft whir of something through water as your boat began to poke by in front of them. “Are the two of you coming anytime soon or are you going to let it get daytime?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes, a good natured gesture as he fiddled a bit more before the boat finally began to move. “Pretty cool though…” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he turned to Jimin, “Right?”

Jimin nodded, tossing his arm around his friend’s shoulders, “So cool, Hobi.”

They’d chosen the area around an abandoned dock just outside of the town limits, beach area sufficient after a little tender love and care from the help of Jeongguk and the bed of his work truck, secret for the premise but technicalities making it so the town council members would have no grounds to shut it down. Taehyung provided the tents complete with various colored fairy lights and other lighting contraptions that Jimin couldn’t quite pinpoint the names of. Seokjin provided the transportation in the form of various high school aged children and golf carts, ones that were ordered to take the route down by the beach so that the ride was enjoyable in itself. 

Food had its own designated area, homemade from Taehyung’s garden recipes, a dance floor in another area sectioned off by multicolored streamers and party decorations Hoseok had raided his attic for. Music, certainly not approved by the town ordinance, played from speakers attached to Jimin’s laptop hidden underneath a black sheet, playlist set to shuffle different on each loop. Jimin had polished the boats after they’d successfully moved them, available until the hour that darkness would completely envelope the coast, leaving them available to take food and drinks and dancing to someplace other than the wooden panels pressed deep into the sand. 

You stood shoulder to shoulder with him as cool winds curled off the early evening waves, just at the entrance to the event. Taehyung had just declared The Coastal Cabaret open for business, lifting lids of expensive cooking contraptions that sent piles of steam billowing into the corners of the light lined tents, yet Seokjin was the only one who lingered around with a glass of champagne tucked delicately between his fingers. 

“Do you think anyone will come?” You spoke finally, words wisped into the wind. 

“I hope so.”

Taehyung called after ten minutes that the food was definitely edible, earning the attention of Seokjin who could be heard uttering ridiculous moans of approval with each new thing the farmer thrust toward him on a decoration paper plate. 

“This was stupid,” You concluded twenty minutes in when the breeze had picked more clouds over, rushing the night faster than first intended. “We shouldn’t have—”

There was a chatter, a voice that didn’t belong to either of the figures already tailored to the party. Some crunching, the sound of a soft engine, and then a loud hollering could be heard as Jeongguk steered the first golf cart into a makeshift parking space in the grass. 

“Here you go, have a wonderful time,” The younger man cheered, long curls stuck to his cheeks as he beamed at you and Jimin, offering a thumbs up over the steering wheel, “I bring you guests! And there’s plenty more where that came from so I have to go—”

It was an elderly couple, not unfamiliar to Jimin. He’d seen them around town, at the convenience store on the far corner from his house, roaming the shore hand in hand while he was doing his nightly closing duties at the dock. The woman touched his arm when she grew close enough, startling him out of his recognition as she softened, “We’re awful glad you arranged this, darling.”

“Oh it wasn’t just me. Hoseok and—”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand, shaking your head as you absently pointed toward the spot Jeongguk had just been before leading the couple down to the tents, explaining all the way what they had to offer. At the end of your point came Hoseok in the second golf cart, a group of teenagers this time that bolted from their seats the second the machine came to a stop, bypassing any sort of explanation as they went straight for the neon lights flashing to the dance floor. 

It continued like that for what seemed like hours, golf carts guiding people in, others parking their cars in messy rows just off the street to walk their way down to the coast. The unfamiliar face was few and far between, the majority of the festival goers residents of the town. The boats barely left their place at the dock on the far end of the happenings, people too preoccupied with the music and the dance and the atmosphere they’d been deprived of for what seemed like far longer than a handful of years. 

Jimin found you at the corner of the dance floor, stance wide as you watched people crowd the small area without a care to who they were near, taking the part off into the sand where the music could still be coherent enough to make out some sort of body movement to. He touched your shoulder in greeting, coming to copy your stance. 

“Awesome, isn’t it?” He mused, fondly watching as Hoseok slithered his way to the middle and returning with a toddler in hand, hoisting her up so that her pigtails bounced and her laughter rang in time with the beats of the music. 

You nodded, awestruck in the moment but that snapped when there was a figure in your peripheral, slinking in steps, stumbling more like, in trying to be stealth but hopelessly failing. Hoseok turned with you, eyes widening as Namjoon approached with a sheepish smile. 

He took both hands from the pockets of his jacket, holding them in solace to the protective step Jimin subconsciously shifted in front of you. 

“Did they send you down here?” You questioned anyway, negating the step Jimin had taken by moving around him. 

“Yes,” Namjoon answered truthfully, but rushed to amend when your gaze flattened, “but not for the reason you think!”

“What do I think, Joon?”

The taller man shifted from foot to sandal clad foot, fists curled back into his pockets. A smile graced his features, all dimples indented into his cheeks when he chuckled. “They told me to come have fun with you guys,” Bewildered, he continued to laugh, the sound growing in comical value, “Can you believe it?”

“No, I can’t—”

You placed a palm on Jimin’s chest, soft again in a way he’d previously heard you speak to Namjoon. “Go have fun, Joon,” You nodded when he made curious eye contact with you, “You deserve it.”

It wasn’t until Namjoon had vanished into the mass of bodies that you whipped around, searching for Jimin’s hand. When you retrieved it, you tugged, an answer to your question, “Want to go somewhere?”

Somewhere turned out to be the boat, the boat, clambering aboard a bit harder on the unkempt sway of the abandoned dock but you made it with Jimin’s support on your waist, your hands turning to offer him a similar service until you were both safely inside. You paused halfway to clambering to the front, where the space was certainly much bigger to maneuver, legs caught between the rows of benches. 

You blurted, “Do you want to dance?”

He obliged, swaying you in a simple circle about yourselves that was complete with a few pained knocks of your legs against the benches but it didn’t much matter in the ambiance and you adjusted quickly. Your music became the white noise of the party happening down on the beach, high hats in the music punctuated by the sounds of laughter, accents the call of Taehyung to whoever was coming to retrieve a snack, a crescendo the whir of golf carts continuing to drag in late strays, eight counts of a part of your heart that slowly began to heal within itself, emitting such an intense beam that Jimin could feel it radiating off of you the tighter he held you. 

“You’re the best thing to happen to this town in a while,” Your voice curled across Jimin’s neck, eliciting goosebumps up into the short hairs at his nape, “You know that right, ducky?”

“It was all you. I didn’t—”

“Park Jimin,” The way you quipped his full name had him startling to your gaze, finding a fond smile creeping onto your teeth just underneath tears that seemed to have already existed, “Do you know how to take a compliment?”

Softly, he answered, “Not really.”

“You have helped me though. Immensely,” Assured, you nodded, “All of us.”

Bashfully, he shrugged, pink to his cheeks harsher in the low lighting off the battery powered fairy lights Hoseok had spent hours weaving through the railing of the boat. 

“Sometimes we all need a little push.”

You cocked your head, deciding albeit reluctantly, “Something like that.”

Jimin grinned. “By the way—” He began to fumble at the back pocket of his jeans, “—what music do you want?”

You shook your head, making grabby hands at him until he took you back into his embrace, holding you close as you mumbled into his chest, “Don’t want any music... 

“...I just want to dance.”

[skeletorific]

Okay then, can I please get some good ol cuddlin with Marvus an a short female s/o that has been down in the dumps lately?

Oh now you’ve gone and done it. Marvus is on a one man quest to ruin my life, and what’s worse is, he’s succeeding. This got LONG but here we go!!!

The green rooms of clowntown were never exactly the most hospitable place to hang out. Aside from the usual motley crew of unstable clowns ( no one on Marvus’ team would kill you, necessarily, but that doesn’t mean injury wasn’t a threat when a clown was on a rager), the hygiene of the place left something to be desired. Sweat, spilled faygo, sopor slime usually smeared on the walls, as well as a medley of other fluids you usually didn’t care to think about. Combine that with the odors usually wafting from the concert pits out front and, well…..it took some getting used to, to say the least. You showed up to see him after his concerts when you weren’t busy, but all told, not your favorite locale on Alternia.

Usually Marvus’ dressing room was a bit nicer. In fact you could probably head back there now, but…something kept you rooted to the couch, curled up and facing away from the door. The same as when you’d first walked in and collapsed there a couple hours prior. Mindlessly scrolling through Chittr, barely absorbing what you were seeing but incessantly refreshing. 

You weren’t feeling up to it. That was happening more and more lately. It was odd, like the more friends you made, the more that empty spot inside you seemed to gape. And the harder it was to face it. It was like…how much more could you give? Or not give…devour. That’s what it felt like. Like you were one of those perpetually hungry insect lusii that demanded blood from their charges at all costs. Never satisfied, only in search of the next friendship meal.

And it was starting to burn you out.

That wasn’t the only factor, of course. Lack of sleep. Low seratonin. General Alternian shittiness. Rainy Day Syndrome or whatever the hell you wanted to call it. You were so tired and nebulously sad that all you wanted to do was burrow into your makeshift bed back at the outpost, but you’d done that all morning. Only made you feel worse.

So…..you came here.

Marvus was busy, which is a bit like saying the sky is gray or a tealblood loves justice. Its one of those immutable facts of nature that hardly bears repeating. But you came anyways. Because coming here, even those brief snatches of moments he could usually spare you after shows were usually enough to leave you feeling a bit….more real, if that made sense. Like you were a little more tethered to solid ground.

It was probably useless to try and define what you were. Tagora, who’d insisted on knowing the details of  your relationship (and the name of Marvus’ usual legal representation, “just in case” he was looking for someone with a bit more “verve”) had said it was floating on the edges of some quadrant, he just wasn’t sure which one. Tyzias had bluntly asked whether you’d found a matesprit, and Polypa wanted to know if you were looking for a bit of flexibility with the moiraillegiance.

The truth was you weren’t sure where things stood with you. Not just because the quadrants were still relatively alien to you, but also because Marvus didn’t seem pressed to put a word on it himself. Like nearly everything he did there was a casualness to it. He seemed to enjoy your company, and you enjoyed his. He was physically affectionate, but in a manner so light it felt entirely natural. Intuitively you knew that if you ever asked him to stop, he would.

You weren’t fooling yourself: this was something beyond friendship. But oddly enough the ambiguity of it all was appealing. It was nice to have something without the usual batshit stakes everything on Alternia seemed to have. 

You were so lost in this contemplation that you didn’t notice the music fading into screams, which signified the end of a show. The green room slowly filled with idle chatter and sounds of furniture moving as the clowns unwound. But it was a hand on your arm that finally snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned your head to see a familiar face.

“hey” Marvus said, the usual lazy grin on his face as he looked down on you. He looked almost as beat as you felt, sweaty from the stage lights and eyelids drooping low. Despite that, you feel your troubles start to dim a bit just looking at him.

You smile slightly, sitting up a bit to cover his hand with your own. “hey. Finished up for the night.”

“ye. big crowd 2nite so the roadies r gunna b cleanin up for a while. gunna crash here 2nite and head for the next spot in the mornin.” His thumb traced a slow spiral on your arm as he cocked a painted eyebrow. “u doin aight?”

“…yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”  You say, hoping that pause wasn’t as long as it felt. “Why? Something wrong?”

“nah lol. just usually dm me when ur gunna turn up.”

“Is it ok that I’m here?”

“Mmm…” He smirks, pretending to consider it before leaning down to peck your cheek. It pulls an unwitting grin from you, despite the definite greasepaint smudge its left behind. “maybe. u wanna eat smthn?”

You shook your head. You weren’t hungry.

“aight. brb. gunna grab somethin b4 i pass out.” He rose to his feet with his usual casual grace. 

“Ok.” You let go of his hand. He winks and heads for the catering table.

There’s a warm flutter in your chest, but…not as much as you were hoping? No, that’s not fair. But you’re looking around at all these chatty juggalos and it’s only making you realize how tired you are. You just want to decompress right now, but he’s a chronic extrovert. He could be in here for hours, and you didn’t want to pull him away from that just to tend to your own vague emotional needs right now. 

With a resigned sigh, you turn back to your phone. It’s fine. You’ve definitely put up with worse. And at least you’d get to spend some time with him…

About ten minutes later you hear footsteps behind you, getting closer, and then coming to a stop right behind you. You don’t turn around, just scoot your legs a big to give him the room to sit down. You hear a heavy sigh from him that you assume is the precursor to collapsing into the couch. 

Only to be startled by an arm slipping around your waist and hoisting you into the air. 

You yelp, nearly dropping your phone in surprise as you scramble to catch yourself against him. With a couple of effortless turns of your body, Marvus braces you on his hip with one arm and steadies a plate of food with the other, heading out of the room. 

You feel your cheeks growing warmer as you get a grip on his shoulders. None of the other clowns even spare you a glance as he walks by, but despite the apparent frequency of its occurrence, you don’t think you’re ever going to get used to him carting you around like a toddler. Marvus is average by highblood standards, but that doesn’t mean much to a tiny human. Something he takes no small amount of glee in reminding you of as often as possible.

“U-uh….where are we going?” You manage to splutter out. 

“dressin room” He said simply, nudging the door open with his foot and heading inside. The quarters, as always, are somewhat cramped, but luxuriously decked out, closets stuffed with fashionably shredded clothes, a recuperacoon in the corner, and a sectional sofa big enough to double as a bed. Not that anyone on this planet knows what a bed is. Marvus sets the plate of food down on the vanity and shakes off his jacket, trading you from arm to arm. 

“Er…didn’t you want to….” 

“mm. think they can live w/o me 4 a bit lol” Jacket successfully discarded to the floor, he tossed you on the couch like a sack of potatoes and crawled in next to you, bringing the plate with him and propping his elbow up on the arm of the couch to eat.

You frown, sitting up a bit. Marvus never leaves early. You’re lucky if you can drag him out after half the crew has blacked out from the faygo, and-….

Troll fucking jegus, did he really.

“….you don’t have to do this just for me.”

He flicked his eyebrows in that infuriatingly coy way he has, like a silent question mark. “do what”

“Put yourself out for my sake.” 

Dead silence. Which from Marvus is as damning as anything.

You look down at the couch, suddenly unable meet his gaze. There’s a loose thread that you pick at. “It’s not a big deal. Just a low tank day. I’ll survive.”

“if that were true ya wouldn’t be here”

“I wanted to see you.”

“so, ur seein me.” He grinned, licking a stray crumb off his fingertips. “less ur interested in seein more, cuz dan.”

You flush, nudging his shoulder. “I’m serious. Don’t worry about it. You can go out if you want.”

Marvus sighs, tugging lightly at the strings of your hoodie till you’re laying down face to face with him. He pushes some hair out of your face, claws scratching lightly at your scalp. It melts you, like always. Your eyelids lower instinctively as you lean into the touch.

“u think ‘m here against my wishin? shizz, babe, i ain’t that nice a guy.” He grins, continuing to stroke your hair. “‘m here cuz it don’t feel good watchin u b all low n slow. sacriligeous, if u think abt it.” 

His hand slowly traces from your hair, down to your side, coaxing you towards him. You give up fighting it, burying your face in your chest and wrapping your arms around him tight. He tucks his head in the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting on your skin. Like most highbloods, his skin was on the chillier side, but it contrasts nicely with the muggy heat of his dressing room. You feel his fangs gently scraping your neck as he kisses you softly.

“just lemme do my m-fin good deed for the day, aight?” He murmurs. “i gotcha…”

And somehow, you know that even if that hole isn’t getting any smaller….it sure as hell isn’t getting any bigger. 

Not with him around. 

[mistymark]

the one with the contract. [1]

part of the 100 things we’ve said project // lee jeno x reader // 1.5k words // masterlist // send requests here

summary; in which y/n really likes someone else so jeno offers to date her (naturally)

warnings; pure fluff so far

requested; yes but I cant find the request rip :(((

notes; this is a little teaser bc ive had this in my drafts for a while lol // prompts are: “Why didn’t you call me” + “you fell for me, didn’t you?”

You sat on the swing in the park, the night eerily quiet, all the children in their homes, leaving the area empty of the screams and yells of joy. You stared at your feet in silence, kicking the loose bark as you tried to ignore the boy sitting on the swing beside you.

Jeno cleared his throat, “You wanna talk about what happened back there?”

You sighed and let your head rest against the chain, frowning, “Look, I’m sorry.” You turned to him, “I don’t like you. Not like that.” You search his face for any signs of sadness, but it remains neutral, unreadable.

“So, naturally, you confess that you do,” Jeno raised an eyebrow at you.

You stared at him for a moment before looking away, at the empty street in front of you, lit by the streetlamps. If you listened carefully, you would’ve been able to hear the pounding of the bass at the party down the street; the party you had left. “I like this guy, Seungmin, maybe you know him?” Jeno shakes his head a little, “Doesn’t matter. He was at the party, and one of my friends dared me to confess to the guy I like, but when I looked over at him,” you hesitated, cringing slightly, “he had his tongue down someone else’s throat.”

Jeno winced at your story, pushing himself back and forth slightly on the swing with his foot.

“Yeah,” you nodded and cleared your throat, hoping to sound less choked up about the night’s events. “Didn’t seem like the right time.”

There was silence for a moment before Jeno spoke, “Did he notice?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well then, let’s make him notice.”

“What?”

“Let’s date,” Jeno said, simply. He tucked his hands back into the pockets of his black jacket, the coldness of the night finally inching its way through his clothes.

You rounded on him, eyes wide in disbelief, “Excuse me?”

At your explosion, Jeno suddenly looked slightly panicked, “I mean, you confessed to me. All your friends think you like me; if we date, we can make that guy Sangyeon jealous.”

“Seungmin,” you corrected.

“Whatever. Seungmin. We date, make him jealous, then once he’s trying to get into your pants, we break up.” He shrugged, as if he wasn’t suggesting a fake relationship but suggesting you get pizza for dinner.

You shook your head, “No, I don’t think he even knows I exist. It won’t work and I’d just be wasting your time. Do you know how many people are trying to get into yourpants?”

He shot you a look before watching the few cars trundle along the street, “Fine. Have it your way: Seungmin thinks you’re heartbroken and miserable. I bet he’ll be counting his lucky stars he gets to date you.” He stood up, dusting his hands off and tucked them back into his jacket pockets, readying himself to leave.

You thought for a moment as you watched him walk out of the park, sighing, “Okay, fine, fine. You have a point.” You walked up to him, the short fence separating you as he turned around with a smug look on his face. “But I don’t like you. There needs to be rules if we’re going to date.”

He glanced at the sky before his eyes met yours again, “You’ve made that abundantly clear already, don’t worry.” He starts to walk away again.

“Hey! Rules?” You prompt, walking on the other side of the fence to catch up with him.

Jeno looks surprised, “What? Now? It’s going to rain soon. I’ll call you.”

“Hey,” you can hear the smile in his voice already. His voice sounded softer over the phone. “You picked up fast.”

“Anything for my boyfriend,” you deadpanned, searching your desk drawer for a pen. “Ready?”

“Yeah. What’s first?” You can hear the familiar sound of a body flopping onto a bed as you focus on finding a fresh piece of paper in your notebook.

“Okay, we’re dating. We’ll have to engage in somePDA.”

He hummed into the phone.

“But no kissing.”

You waited for him to reply, practically able to see the way his eyebrows rose. “Uh, you don’t want me to kiss you? What do you want us to do? Link pinkies?”

You thought about it, “Okay, how about this: no kissing on the lips. But cheek is okay.”

“Cheek and forehead isn’t off limits,” he stated. “Okay, that’s fine.”

You smiled at your page, “Funny, I didn’t pick you for a forehead kiss type of guy.”

“I’m not.”

You quirked an eyebrow, “Mhmm, okay, Jeno.” He quietened for a moment.

“Are you gonna call me Jeno?”

You hesitated, confused, “Are you asking me if I’m going to call you by your name? What do you want me to call you?”

You could hear the change in his voice as he smirked, “I mean nicknames, idiot.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” you replied. “I’ve never dated anyone so…”

“I’ve never dated anyone worth calling-”

“Okay, new rule: no exes talk. It makes me feel gross.”

He laughed, “Gross?”

“Yeah, like I’m one of them.”

Confused, he clarified, “You feel like one of my exes? I’m dating you right now.”

You felt like your voice had gotten smaller, “Yeah, but you never really liked them, right? How am I different?”

“You’re…” He searched for an answer for a while, before giving up, annoyed, “It doesn’t matter. You’re different. But sure, no exes talk.”

“Okay, no talking… about… exes,” you added that to the list of rules you’d been writing.

He noticed the slow way you spoke and sat up, his voice suddenly much clearer, “Hold on, are you writing this down?”

“Yeah. Like a contract.”

“You’re making a contract for us to date? Damn, no wonder you’ve never dated before.”

“Hey!” You laughed.

He snorted, letting himself fall back against his bed, “Okay, okay, sorry. Read out what we have so far.”

You grinned as you read off the list, “One: kisses are fine but not on the lips. Two: no talking about our exes-”

“No talking about ourexes?”

“Shut up. Your exes. Three, this relationship ends when Seungmin gets jealous.”

“Four, you’ve gotta come to all my games,” Jeno added, his tone hopeful.

“Four, I don’t go to your games,” you corrected.

“Y/n, come on. What girlfriend isn’t supportive of her boyfriend?”

“Jeno, lacrosse is literally the most boring sport. I can’t even tell which one you are on the field!”

“Okay, fine. One game and then we’ll organise something from there. Doesn’t Seungmin play lacrosse?” He paused for a moment, hoping you’d take the bait.

You sat bolt upright in your chair, “Seungmin plays lacrosse?”

You weren’t able to catch the smile in his voice, the victory evident in his tone, “There’s someone on the Illyria team named Seungmin. That’s all I know.”

You hesitated, biting the tip of your pen as you hummed, “Okay. I’ll come to the important games, finals and whatever, and any Illyria games. Deal?”

His voice was soft, “Deal.”

You added that to the list, about to read out the list again when he interrupted, “Qualifiers are in a week. That means you’ll be there then?”

Annoyed at yourself for not having recognised the flaw in your own plan, you rolled your eyes, “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Cool.”

“No kissing, no exes, and I come to all your games. We break up when Seungmin likes me.”

“Sounds good.”

“Also, you have to treat me nicely in front of your friends,” you bit your lip in anticipation.

You heard ruffling as he moved around, confused, “What do you mean? Of course I’ll treat you nicely in front of my friends.”

Suddenly, you felt bad for even suggesting it, instant regret settling itself in your heart, “I mean, you don’t have the best rep-”

“I promise.” He stopped, and you felt as though you had suddenly ruined the whole plan; one wrong move and now it’s never going to happen.

“Jeno?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry.”

You could feel the ease radiating from him at your apology, and played with the thread hanging from your sleeve absentmindedly as you waited for his response.

“Y/n, you have to promise me one thing.”

You furrowed your brows, “What is it?”

“You won’t fall for me.”

You scoffed at his remark, pushing back in your chair as you laughed, “Okay, then, you have to make the same promise then. I’m very charming, you know.”

He laughed in response, “Sure, I’ll promise not to fall for you.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile, despite the fact that he couldn’t see you, before your attention turned back to the pile of work you still had to do, “I have to go. I’ll see you…”

“Monday.”

“I’ll see you Monday, Jeno.”

“Bye, babe.”

Before you could say anything, he hung up.

[ansu-gurleht]

rules: what does your character keep on their person? bold for always, italic for sometimes. then, tag some mutuals!

tagging: @nerevar-shid-and-fard @orsinium @devilsworddante @ptsilenthill @sheobaby @ anybody else who wants to do this, i’m bad at this lol. [tagged by @akulorkhan. the edit-tag worked buddy!]

Ku-vastei

➳ BAG

backpack | messenger bag | pockets | satchel | wristlet | purse | duffle bag | briefcase | pouch | drawstring bag | fanny pack

➳ WEAPONS

sword | dagger (or shortsword) | axe | mace | warhammer | staff | (conjured) spear | throwing knives | darts | shortbow | longbow | crossbow | arrows | bolts | enchanted weapon | poison

➳ APPAREL

light armor | medium armor | heavy armor | underclothes for armor | enchanted armor | mage’s robes | uniform | casual clothes | formal clothes | cloak | scarf | hat | helmet | gauntlets | bracers | gloves | shoes | boots | hood | mask | belt | coat | jacket | necklace | bracelet | ring | watch | undergarments

➳ HEALTH + MAGIC

health potion | mana potion | stamina potion | attribute potion | alchemy equipment | herbs | chemicals | ingredients | bandages | burn cream | antidote (spell) | moisturizer | medication (sub-potion salves) | scrolls | crystals | enchanting equipment

➳ STEALTH

lockpicks | probes | trap-making tools | trap-disarming tools | disguise kit | forgery equipment

➳ TOOLS

pen | ink | charcoal | parchment | paper | compass | ruler | saw | hammer | nails | shovel | pliers | needle | thread | utility knife | art supplies | fabric scraps | kindling | magnifying glass | fishing rod

➳ PROVISIONS

rations for themselves | rations for others | fork | knife | spoon | serving utensils | pot/pan | water | alcoholic beverage | nonalcoholic beverage | pet food | drug(s) | sweets | coffee | tea

➳ PERSONAL

small amount of money | large amount of money | map | soap | comb | brush | cosmetics | hair ties | hair product | journal | razor | nail clipper | religious paraphernalia | tent | sleeping bag | blanket | pillow | sentimental item | comfort object | musical instrument(s) | toys | eyewear | identification | important document(s) | torch | book(s) | plant

anything bold, (in parantheses), AND italicized is stuff i’ve personally added to this for clarification purposes. feel free to get rid of them if i tag you!

b/c i want to, im going to elaborate on this under the cut:

she has a backpack wrapped in a bandolier of potions, most homemade. the inside of the bag is....kind of a mess. she just throws things in and has to dig around when she needs something. (not fun when she needs the knife or needle. but that’s what restoration magic’s for, right? there’s no tetanus in nirn, right?) she keeps the shovel (more of a trowel really, mostly used for muck-ing about, hehe) fastened to her bag as well. on top she keeps her guar-hide sleeping bag, wrapped in kresh fiber.

on her hip she (currently) has a sparks-enchanted glass dagger she nabbed off the corpse of one of her first morag tong writs. she thinks. she doesn’t exactly remember where she got it, but she probably killed someone for it, and love it very much.

her primary weapon, however, is a conjured daedric spear. it’s very powerful, and she loves it. just a wave of her claws and it’s hers, ready to stab.

she wears minimal medium armor, just enough to conceal under her robes. right now, it’s an orcish cuirass and bonemold pauldrons. she has a scarf now, but only after having to brave the ashen wastes of molag amur for mage’s guild business, and then winding up almsivi-intervention-ing to ald-ruhn, where there was a helpful ash-scarf merchant. she brings it with her everywhere on this stupid island now. she’s got a belt just to secure her robes a bit, and a few magic rings. 

one of those is the ring of khajiiti, which she got from doing a quest for mephala that she didn’t know she was doing, who it was for, or why. first guy she talks to in the morag tong base when she finds it says “go poison this guy’s food and don’t ask why.” so she did it without asking why, and when she came back, the morag tong guy said “mephala wants to talk to you now” and then she gave ku a magic ring. really nice magic ring, too.

as i said, her backback’s potion bandolier is chock full of useful little brews. restore health, magicka, fatigue, some cure blight disease, some dispel, levitation, etc. anything she might need that she might not (reliably) be able to cast a spell for. (she knows a levitate spell, but it’s really, really hard. she has one shot for it to work, and if it doesn’t, she’s out of magicka.)

she carries a mortar and pestle for on-the-go alchemy, and a lot of herbs and ingredients. she’s very disorganized, but at least she tries to keep those ingredients separated in pouches so as to avoid accidental reactions. she also keeps some of the marshmerrow + saltrice poultice she learned to make from her naheesh so long ago, for those times she doesn’t want to cast a spell or drink a health potion. if you apply it to a wound and wrap it up, it’ll heal, slowly but reliably.

she wants to get into enchanting, and so carries around a fair amount of petty soul gems, and a few lesser ones, and she knows a basic soul trap spell. but she’s constantly cursing herself because she always forgets to cast it, and ends up just killing the thing. she’s got a loose kwama forager, rat, cliffracer soul here and there, but she decided recently to stop carrying them around, because hist knows when she’ll actually use them for anything. still, she keeps some empty gems on her, just in case.

ku taught herself how to pick locks and disable minor traps long ago, when sneaking around the plantation to get or spread information, or to unlock armories to arm her revolt. now that she’s more magically inclined, she knows an ondusi’s spell, but always tries to pick it first, to try and keep the skill fresh.

she keeps a piece of charcoal to keep up with her journal and update her maps. even in her late 40s, she’s not completely literate, having been first a slave, then a revolutionary, then a prisoner. but she can read well enough to get by, and can even write in cyrodiilic enough to keep as detailed a journal as she can. (unfortunately, despite her ability to read cyrodiilic, it doesn’t do her much good in vvardenfell, since a lot of things seem to be written in daedric.)

she keeps needle and thread to sew up any damage to her robes, and to close particularly egregious wounds to maximize the effectiveness of healing magic done on them. she has a knife for utility purposes, generally gathering/processing ingredients such as plants or hides, as well as anything she doesn’t want to dirty her precious glass dagger for. and she keeps some kindling and corkbulb to start fires to keep her warm during the cold nights.

she always carries food and a slaughterfish-gut water bag whenever she’s on a trip for business. usually she eats salted slaughterfish, mudcrab meat, saltrice porridge, and scuttle. she also never turns down any tasty bugs she comes across. she boils her water (and cooks her porridge) in a small cast iron pot, and has a similarly sized pan for grilling meat. she keeps some sujamma on her, not for recreation, but in case she ever needs a bit of a pick-me-up. 

as a child, she spent a lot of time with her khajiit friends, who always seemed to have a way to occasionally get a hold of moon sugar, despite the harsh punishment if a slave was caught with it. as a result, ku developed something of a sweet tooth, and occasionally like to treat herself to some.

she also carries extra food and water, just in case she ever runs into a situation where she needs to escort a slave to safety.

her money never seems to exceed about 3000 drakes, mostly due to having to bribe so many people for information, since she’s not always so good with words. now that she’s got a semi-stable job with the morag tong, though, this might change soon. and if she ever gets around to selling some of the junk she’s got holed away.

she keeps the journal and map she obtained from arille’s tradehouse in seyda neen in a front-pocket of her backpack, and tucks any books she finds interesting in her travels in the bottom of her backpack. currently, she is carrying one regularly: "a pilgrim’s path,” just in case she is close by to one of the shrines, or forgets what offering to leave.

she carries her sadrith mora hospitality papers, as well as her current morag tong writs, in a separate pocket from her journal and map. she’s also been collecting these strange, glowing, singing plants she keeps finding along the water with no discernible alchemical uses. she’s shown them to other alchemists, as well, but none of them knew anything about it. some, however, told her there was an alchemist in caldera who studies these plants. she has yet to visit caldera, though.

around her neck she carries a sentimental comfort item: a fire-proof twig from a hist tree (given to her by her naheesh, it is a small fragment of a branch that fell from a hist tree) bound tightly to a small pearl ku’s mother once found in the soil at the bottom of a marshmerrow paddy. both of these women are now long dead, lost either before or during her revolt. they’re all ku has left of them, and constant reminders of the futility of her actions as a young adult.

[tommyhollandaisesauce]

Let Me Do The Work TEASER [t.h.]

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ?k

Posted: 11/16/2020

Warning(s): Fluff, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids), oral sex (f receiving), maybe too much plot? and definitely a whole lotta lazy sex sue me.

Summary: Tom thinks you deserve a reward after a hard few days at work.

A/N: First smut in the bag lets go. Also, the point of view makes no sense but continuity is not in my vocabulary so. Anyway, the full part is almost finished so lmk how you guys like this!

When Tom got home on Wednesday night the last thing he expected his girlfriend to say was “Wanna have sex?” He had asked a few times before if you could and your response was usually something to the effect of “Sorry babe, another time, I’m just exhausted.” He knew your job was taxing and took a lot out of you and, frankly, Tom could survive the work week without getting any. He also knew that once Friday night rolled around it was all systems go; the weekend was yours to fool around as much as you wanted. And he was willing to wait.

Asking never hurt, though. Tom wasn’t annoying about it, at least he hoped he wasn’t. And for all the times you’d asked to have sex after he had a particularly exhausting day on set and he agreed, he didn’t feel super guilty about asking now and then.

It was unusual that Tom would be so exhausted from working that he didn't have any energy left to have sex. There had been some rare days when Tom could barely keep his eyes open even though you were right there, naked and sweaty, and riding his cock right on the living room couch. Your hands would be resting on his broad shoulders, your fingers digging into the muscles beneath his freckled skin as you bounced on his cock and his hands could barely stay put on your waist or hips to help you move. Sure, he liked watching you rise and fall on his lap and he liked seeing himself disappear inside of you and he liked the way your tits bounced with every movement and he liked watching your face. God, he loved your gorgeous face.

Your eyes would flutter open and closed the closer you got and you’d look at him with your big, beautiful eyes that were dark and lust blown and your jaw would go slack and you’d throw your head back in pleasure. Your movements would get sloppier as you’d start shaking and convulsing while you came. His arms would lazily wrap around your waist to pull you closer and you’d nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing hard against his skin as you came down from your high. But Tom couldn’t find it in himself to even worry about his own orgasm, he just wanted to sleep.

So when he came home to your shared flat around 7 pm from walking Tessa on a particularly boring Wednesday, now that he had a break, and saw you lying on the couch with a glass of red wine in one hand and your other arm thrown over your eyes, he figured it was pointless to ask. You had gotten home sometime while he was out, didn’t bother changing out of your blouse and jeans just yet, popped a bottle open, and poured yourself a glass.

Tom unclipped the leash from Tessa’s collar, allowing her to run free around the flat. Immediately, she trotted over to you, nuzzling your legs with her nose until you caved and gave her a few scratches behind her ears. Tom slipped off his sneakers, padding over to you, causing Tessa to run off in search of her favorite toy. The couch sank under his weight as he sat down next to your head, your eyebrows raised at the shift.

“Hey, stranger,” you muttered, removing your arm from covering your half-lidded eyes. Your eyes sparkled in the dim living room lighting as you looked up at Tom. He couldn’t remember a single time they looked dull. Not during a fight, or when you were sad or tired or sick, never. They reminded him of stars. No matter what, they kept shining.

“Hi love,” Tom leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your wine-stained lips. The upside-down angle was slightly awkward, but you’d be lying if you said you two hadn’t done the Spider-Man Kiss before, per his request.

You smiled up at him as he pulled away and closed your eyes. Tom threaded his fingers through your messy locks and you relaxed, even more, leaning your head into his hand.

“Long day?” He asked, continuing to run his fingers through your hair.

“Don’t even get me started,” you huffed out, dramatically throwing your arm back over your eyes, which made Tom chuckle at your antics.

“Tell me what happened?” He asked, and as you lowered your arm, you raised a single eyebrow at him.

“You sure?” You asked cautiously, “Because I wouldn’t wish the shit I dealt with today on my worst enemy.”

Tom scoffed, shrugging his shoulders, “Try me.”

You sighed before beginning your story. Today had been insufferable. From the minute you clocked in, to the minute you clocked out, it had been hell. One coworker in particular, with whom you were not super close or friends with in any way, kept nagging you about your relationship like she did every single day.

The incessant questioning and probing was getting old and, quite frankly, rude. The questions started out harmless, like everyone else’s when they found out the Tom Holland was your boyfriend. Some asked for autographs or pictures and you declined, saying that if he ever came in Tom would be more than happy to do that. And Tom agreed; you playing messenger was weird and not the type of thing either of you wanted people to get accustomed to. And most people understood; except for one.

The more she asked the worse they got. Personal questions were the norm now. Questions about family members and life together and sex. God, the sex questions never ended. ‘Is it good?’ and ‘What are you guys into?’ were some of her favorites. Sometimes she’d get creative with them and switch them up. And every time, you refused to answer. And you relayed this information to Tom like you did most days, and he rolled his eyes in annoyance at her ignorance before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead when he saw you were getting riled up.

You softened immediately and sighed. Tom had a calming effect on you. Just being around him was relaxing. After so long together he still could calm you down. And he was cheaper than your copay for therapy, so hey why not vent to him?

“Just forget about her for now, babe,” Tom sighed out, continuing to stroke your hair, “she’s not worth your energy.”

“You're right,” you said quietly, “I’m home, I got my wine, I got my boy, I can relax.”

“Exactly,” Tom said, laughing at your words. He didn’t feel the need to say anything else as you both relaxed, his fingers still threaded in your hair, until a few more minutes went by, your eyes opened, and you turned your head to make sure you were setting down your not yet empty glass on the coffee table.

A soft “hey” escaped Tom’s lips as he watched you use your arms to lean up and turn to face him. He would’ve spoken more but was cut off as your lips pressed to his, the kiss awkward since you had caught him as he was speaking. His lips were slightly chapped and he tasted like spearmint gum as you hovered over him and moved your lips against his.

Tom sighed into the kiss, bringing one hand up to cup your cheek. You clumsily clambered into Tom’s sweatpants clad lap to straddle him and his other hand sat high on your thigh. The kiss was slow and passionate, neither of you in a rush to go further just yet. You melted into the kiss as his tongue slid along your lower lip to ask for permission to enter. You parted your lips immediately, allowing Tom access. After a few moments of lazily making out like teenagers, you pulled away to catch your breath. You closed your eyes, leaning your forehead against Tom’s as you both panted, trying to catch your breath.

“Can we go to our room?” You mumbled, just loud enough for Tom to hear. Your voice was low, soft, and a little shaky from being so tired. His eyes opened at your words and his ears perked up. Tom pulled his head away from yours and your eyes returned to their half-open state.

“I thought you were tired?” He questioned teasingly, tucking some strands of hair behind both your ears and resting his hands on your cheeks. You reached up and wrapped your fingers around Tom’s wrists, smiling sweetly at him. He was sure his heart damn near melted in his chest at the sight of his sleepy girlfriend asking to have sex with him.

“I am,” you said softly, smirking as Tom ran his hands down your sides and settled over your hips, “why do you think I wanna go to our room?” You joked, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck and ducking your head down to place soft kisses along the side of it. He sighed, tilting his head in the opposite direction to give you more room as your fingers carded through the short, soft curls at the back of his head.

“You sure?” Tom asked breathily, as you continued laying kisses across his jaw and below his ear, “Because I don’t want you to do it just because I want to-”

“Tom,” you huffed, pulling away from his neck, your hands migrating to rest on his shoulders. He straightened up and opened his eyes as the feeling of your soft lips disappeared from his neck. “I’m sure. Now shut up and take me to the bedroom.”

-

FULL PART

A/N: AAAHHHH ok I mean I definitely put words on the page lol. Fr tho this is the first time I’ve ever posted anything so lmk if y’all want the rest! Feedback is always appreciated! <3

[kierarutherford]

Must be the wine talking..

I said earlier I had a thing in my head. So I wrote it down. I can’t do first person lol so instead I did a reader x Cullen. I hope it’s good. I’ve never done that before and I’m worried it isn’t as polished as I would like. But you can be the judge. It’s borderline NSFW but not all the way there.... uh 1,295 words worth of fun, enjoy :) Below line for length / NSFW ish stuff - Read it on AO3

You’ve been trying for weeks to garner his attention, but every time you seem to make progress, something pops up. You knew he was something incredible when you first laid eyes on him at Haven, but shell shock, and a myriad of tasks kept you apart. Only once did you get the nerve to ask him about his role as a templar, and those ‘vows’ you’d heard about. When his eyes lit up and he stammered, you were sold.

After Haven fell you immediately felt relief that he was unharmed. His face was the first your bleary eyes saw at the small camp in the mountains. Then Solas promised you a fortress, and what a fortress is was. But there was work to do. Wounded, crumbling structures, animals of all kinds and between the advisers and your friends there was time for nothing else.

“I am glad you made it out.” The way he said it was soft and his face bore something of fear. You had hoped beyond hope that you weren’t reading into it. But time and again you were unable to move forward from there. Reports and the odd meeting with you advisors was all the time you had. That is until that night. You claim to many you have idea what they speak of and you have no memory of it, but you do. Maker’s breath you do. It was the courage you needed to go to him, to push the border you thought lay between you.

After a few tankards of ale, you were feeling wonderfully giddy but that usual burn that sat low in your belly was calling. Begging for release and your mind wanted no other option but him. Drinking down the last of your mug, you’d tossed a few coins on the table and proudly proclaimed you were going to, ‘finally do it.’ With the icy cool breeze in your face you crossed the battlements. All the while that warm feeling continuing to assault your senses and warm your thighs. You could see him in your minds eye. That golden hair upon his head, always so neatly kempt. His copper eyes that seemed to pierce through you and undress you, slowly. You thought that had to be it, especially when he mixed it with that devilish smirk. It was always slightly lopsided, the scar upon his lip having damaged some of the muscle that held it up. Your mind floated to his lips. How you’d wished to kiss those lips, feel them against your own, explore his mouth.

Reaching the top of the stairway you paused for a brief moment, courage beginning to wick away with the cold. ‘I could always pretend I was drunk and don’ t remember’ you rationalize, just in case he says no. Brushing your messy hair back away from your face you take in one last deep breath before you put your best Inquisitor face on. Pushing through his door without warning, you walk straight to his desk where he is busy writing away. You nearly halt in your tracks. He had discarded his armor and was sitting in only a loose pair of linen pants. “Inquisitor?!” He half bolted upright from his desk and for a moment your brain completely went blank. Instead you were glued to his body. Drinking in those defined abs, how his hips are sharp and that trail of darker, course hair leading down into his pant line. There are scars, faint and silvery but right now you are thinking more along the lines of how sinful it would be to see those abs crunch and contrast as he fucks you right upon his desk. “Uh…” you try your damnedest to break your mind back to what your plan was but there’s no hope.

Your feet have continued to carry you, the entire time, and you are nearly on top of him by the time he asks again if you are alright. Something you’ve completely ignored. His cheeks are flushing red, specks of pink dusted his chest, edging about the spun gold hairs that pepper his pecks. Licking your lips, hunger takes hold. Pressing your hands into him, you send him back into his chair following on top of him. Eyes locked with his, you catch the exact moment shock is replaced with pleasure, with want.

There you are, perched upon him like a Queen on her throne. His eyes flick down to your lips and you can feel him hardening underneath you. This motion, although involuntary is enough to spurn you forward. Slanting your head, you kiss him. All mess and fumbles but he kisses back. Your hand instantly come to his face and grazed through his hair and you moan loudly when he groans. You’re so close you can feel the rumble of his chest, against your own. Edging the seam of his lips with your tongue you half expect him to throw you off, his hands are clamped on your hips, finger tips digging into your flesh in a tease way.

His bare fingertips pause at the edge of your shirt hem. Trembling against your skin. “Please, Cullen,” you purr in his ear and you can feel his hardness twitch against your molt core, the thin fabric separating you a curse in your mind. Suddenly, it’s over and he is wearing a look that makes you think of a small mabari pup. “Inqu… as much I… you are drunk, and this would be wrong of me.”

You groan, loudly, a whine ending the utterance. “But…”

“Seek me out when you are sober. We shall talk then.” He carefully brushes some of your hair back from your face and places one last kiss upon your lips. “Maker you are too much…” you barely hear it. His eyes are closed, and you can see the strain in him. His utter control just holding on by a thread. There’s a playfulness to you that wants to push, that is dying to see this hulk of a man lose it. Absolutely lose it and ravish you till your legs can no longer stand. But there is an incredibly hurt in his eyes that softens your immediately. Cupping his jaw in your palm, you love the soft prickle of his day-old stubble. “Okay. Can I… Can I come back tomorrow?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” He purrs your title out, his eyes still deep pools of need but he has regained himself. Composed mostly back to the hard Commander you know so well. Gingerly, and awkwardly you get up off him, your bottom lip tight between your teeth. “Tomorrow.” You half whisper it before clumsily rounding his desk and rushing yourself out the front door to cross the bridge to the rotunda.

The next day there is chatter. How a drunk Inquisitor entered the Commander’s quarters late at night and how he was heard praying at the small Chantry chapel shortly after, before heading to the bathhouse. You snicker to yourself and wonder about what happened. You know. His lips are far softer than you could ever imagine and after handling several small claims upon your throne, you tuck a few missives under you arm. With your head held high, and cheeks a dusty rose, you march towards his tower. Knowing all to well that he kissed back. That despite everything, he was a gentleman. Pausing at his door you are struggling to wipe the smirk off your face. Do you play the fool or cough up to it?

Pushing through the door you see him staring at a pile of papers, his face cleanly shaven and armor on as per usual. “Commander, do you have a moment?” His grin makes your belly tighten and heat pool low, “for you, always.”

[magnetvrs]

I loved your Fan/Star fic! How about #29 for Kylux? (Happy ending please, if you can)

thank you so much

warnings: period typical homophobia alluded to and lots of historical inaccuracies lol

29. going away towar au

He watches as Kyloputters about the room in early morningsun, keeping his eyes half-lidded and his breathing even - feigning sleep. Thesunrise paints everything in an orange hue, Kylo’s pale skin appearing sun-kissed and his ridiculous long hair shining.

He hears Ren grumbling, can’t make out what he’s sayingunder his breath as he shifts one of his many canvases. Watches the broadexpanse of Ren’s back, the way the muscles in his legs shift beneath the skinas he slots the canvas into the half-emptycloset.

Ren like this, a visual only disconnected from his smartmouth, is perfect. Long-limbed and largeacross the shoulders sloping down to a small waist, with a pretty face.Strong-willed and bad-tempered exceptwhen he’s not, when the mask slips andRen is unsure and self-conscious. KyloRen is everything he shouldn’t want but he’s never been entirely conventional. Huxlicks his lips, mouth going dry as he watches Ren moving across the room. Really, he thinks as Ren picks up astack of sketches, Ren deserves to be thesubject rather than the artist.

Hux had never realised before Ren had rented his spare roomquite how many paintings and sketches Ren produced, and quite how messy that art was. He fusses andcomplains, makes a scene often enough, shouting about his furniture andsweeping Ren’s materials out of the way. But it’s all just for show, theroutine of arguing that is comfortable to them. Really, deep down, Hux is strangelyproud of Ren. Of the beautiful things he can make with his hands, of the wayhis entire body is concentrated when he’s painting.

‘Good morning, darling,’ Kylo says, finally noticing thatHux is awake. He turns towards Hux, smirking as he adjusts the stack of papersin his arm – a feeble intimation of modesty to cover his almost nakendness.Ren’s mouth is pulled up into a smirk, teasing Hux with the pet names he hatesso much. It makes Hux’s blood boil and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

If anyone looked into their affairs, they would soon realisethat Hux has no reason for this arrangement. Hux’s paycheque is large enough for him to afford his own apartment, evenin such an affluent area of New York. But it’s this element of fear and thethreat of being discovered, that Hux enjoys. It helps that apart from when theyare intimate they act like enemies, barely tolerating each other’s presence so that nobody would suspect anything moreintimate in private.

‘Mornin’,’ he mumbles, mouth thick with sleep still pushingback the tick of annoyance at Ren. He pulls back the covers, revealing his nakednessshamelessly and pads across the room to where Ren is standing. Ren’s skin is warmto the touch as he slides his hand across one broad smooth shoulder, down thearm and grips Ren’s wrist. He can feelthe bones shifting beneath the skin, delicate and breakable. Kylo is watchinghim, Hux can feel his gaze burning into his skin as he slips his hand furtherdown and twines their fingers together.

His mind finally catches up to him, the thing that he’s beencarefully avoiding coming to the front. His mind had been slowed by sleep, rose-tinted by the warmth under the covers andthe soft picture of Kylo in the sunlight. He’s tried not to poke at it too much.To think of it as a series of events, calm and ordered instead of in anemotional dimension. Detached. But it’s hard to stay detached when Ren’s handis so warm in his, so warm and real and breakable.

It weighs heavily on his thoughts - the letter that’ssitting on the side table in the hallway, tucked between the lamp and a potplant as if was any other letter. As if it was nothing important. He’s seen itthough, his eyes have traced over every word on the page and the unfamiliarname at the top that still somehow belongs to Kylo,as Kylo had held it in a shaking hand. Heknew it was coming and yet he’d hoped that somehow it wouldn’t happen.

Ren’s been conscripted, called up.

Some part of him, the moral part he supposes (if such a thingexists in him), rails at the idea. Ren is an artist for god’s sake, he shouldhave a paintbrush gripped in his hand, nota rifle. Paint flecked on his clothes and through his hair, looking thoroughlyungentlemanly and improper, instead ofblood. The price of war. He squeezes Kylo’s hand and feels Kylo squeezeback.

A thread of panic runs through his chest at the thought of Kylo on the battlefield. A lowly private in anill-fitting uniform. He doesn’t belongthere. Of course, Hux knows that Renwill enjoy it. The glory, the fighting. While Hux runs cold, Kylo is blazinghot and Hux can’t stop him. It makes him want to do the one thing that heshouldn’t. To contact his father. Tosink down to his knees and beg him topull some strings, to get Kylo a false exception.But he knows that he can’t.

For one that would invite questions, his father would seeright through him. He would know that Hux would never humiliate himself simplyto save a dear friend. He would suspectsomething more. And for two, he can’t imagine Kyloever forgiving him. Kylo Ren wants to go, despite his lack of manners ordignity his sense of honour and a noble cause are unfortunately intact. Hethinks he’s a knight straight out of a storybook.

It’s pathetic, Hux knows, to be so undone by this. Hisfather would tell he was right all along – that Hux was weak and useless if he saw him like this. Almost broughtto tears by the thought of Ren not being at his side. Hux tries to pull himselftogether, slipping his hand out of Kylo’s grip. He pulls out his robe from thecloset, stepping nimbly around Kylo’s mess and steps out of the bedroom towardsthe kitchen. Outside the city is already waking up, the symphony of voicesreaching him even so many floors up. Inside, however,it’s quiet almost lifeless. The patter of his feet against the tile, the clunkof the kettle as he sets it on the stove to boil some water.

He tries to keep his thoughts contained, to focus only ongetting two cups of tea and a stack of toast prepared. Except he can hear the shuffleof Ren from the other room, his heavy footfalls and the thumps of him packingeverything away. Ren is there, just through the wall, packing up his belongingsso they won’t get in Hux’s way. Because he doesn’t need them anymore. BecauseRen is going to be gone.

His chest aches.

Hux is a hard man, a military man. His father may havelanded him his position as a General, despite being an Englishman his legacystill has a little sway over here, but Hux has kept it through skill alone. Ithelps that his position is at headquarters rather than out on the field, thathe can avoid almost all of the risks.

Ren will be exposed.  

God. Hux feels hishand shaking around his mug. He forces himself to take even sips, to keep his hand's busy buttering toast. His hand fumbleson the knife when he hears Ren come into the room.

He’s dressed now in his favourite button-down and pants as ifhe’s going somewhere important. He slides down into the chair next to Hux,slurping loudly on his mug of tea and fitting bites of toast between gulps.

‘When is it you have to leave again?’ Hux says, trying tomake conversation despite the way his mind rebels at the subject.

Ren merely grunts in reply, shoving yet another piece oftoast into his mouth and afterwards sucking the crumbs from his fingers obscenely.Obviously disinterested. Hux clenches his jaw and goes back to nursing his owntea, fingers drumming irritably on the side of the mug.

When Ren seems to be finally stated and the stack of toasthas disappeared, Hux feels Ren’s warm weight press to his side as Ren leansover him. Ren’s lips feel rough and warm where they brush his skin, and in hisfrayed state a snappy reply to leave him alone is on the tip of Hux’s tongue.Except that Ren releases his fingers with a smile that allows a glimpse of crookedteeth and the mismatched dimples on his cheeks that steals Hux’s breath rightout of his lungs.  

‘I’ll miss you,’ he says, keeping an iron grip on his voiceand refusing to meet Ren’s eyes. He thinks, feels the shake of despair within himselfthat if he does it will all come crashing down around him. That he’ll breakdown and the despair won’t stop.

‘I’ll miss-‘

‘Write to me!’ He can’t stop it, it slips from between hislips more frantic than he wants to sound.

‘If I have time,’ Ren huffs but his lips are soft where hepresses them to Hux’s hair.

Ren steps away, shooting Hux a last lopsided smirk beforeheading for the door. Hux listens to him as he walks down the stairs, to thethump of his boots as it gets fainter and fainter, frozen to the stop until hecan’t hear them anymore. He rushes to the window without thinking, barely evendaring to breathe and throws it open. Not caring about the danger he leans outas far as he can, one hand gripping the old crumbling frame and strains to tryand catch a glimpse of the dark figure.

-

He presses his face to Ren’s hair and breathes. It’s shorterthan before, army standard. What’s left sticks up in tufts, unruly matted snarls. The soft, silky curls are gone.

‘You smell terrible,’ he observes coldly, as he clings closer. Hishands bump along Ren’s spine, coming to rest on Ren’s shoulders. He’s thinnerthan before, still muscular but as if everything else has wasted away.

‘You’re crying,’ Ren observes back, disgusting breath hotagainst Hux’s neck. He’s here, flesh and blood and alive. His shoulders shiftunder Hux’s palm and he knows that somewhere beneath them Ren’s heart beats.

He’s here. He’s safe. Hux lets himself breathe.