#if you are in nc & trying to find an appointment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

somedaylazysomeday · 2 years

Text

Good Intentions (Part Six)

Another thirty days have passed and it's time for your payment.

Silco x fem!reader

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Rating: NC-17, explicit, lemon, etc. Minors DNI!

Word Count: 5,500

Warnings: Ongoing references to sex as a form of payment, mentions of drugs including use and sales of, oral sex (male receiving), piv sex, rough treatment.

Your deal with Silco had been going for several months now - four, not that you were keeping careful track. It had been a straightforward deal, if risqué: in exchange for keeping Shimmer out of the neighborhood surrounding your charitable outreach, the Haven, you would go to the Last Drop and have sex with Silco every thirty days.

It still made you cringe to think about it so bluntly, even in the privacy of your own mind.

So far, Silco had upheld his end of the deal. There hadn’t been any Shimmer around the Haven in quite some time. Now, the neighborhood was turning into an oasis of people who were trying to free themselves from the effects of the drug. Recovering addicts came to the Haven for help continuing their efforts and families who had been hurt by exposure to Shimmer in the past filled the buildings around the area.

Finding work for such an influx of people was difficult, but many families had found clever ways of supporting themselves. Those who couldn’t support themselves came to the Haven for help. Thanks to grants from Piltover that your clever staff members had wheedled from the city, and a hefty donation from Silco himself, you were able to offer help for living costs. The neighborhood was well on its way to thriving.

All of that being said, your monthly payment to Silco was here. You were on your way to the Last Drop, and feeling much more nervous about that than you had for a very long time.

Exactly thirty days ago, Silco had requested that you arrive at the Last Drop before noon. He hadn’t told you exactly what he was planning, but something was definitely going on. You had a few guesses about what it would be, but there was very little use in speculating. You would find out what was goin on in a few minutes.

The thing that you found the most striking about this meeting was the time of day. Your sessions with Silco usually took place in the morning when the Last Drop wasn’t open yet, but the polluted skies of the undercity were typically dark and muted enough that you could pretend it was early evening.

That day, the clouds of semi-toxic air between the undercity and the sun were thinner than normal, letting the sunlight filter weakly onto the streets below. You would have reveled in this on any other day, but it only lent a surrealism to the scene that morning. You had woken, eaten a light breakfast, and taken care of some normal business at the Haven. Now you were rushing across the undercity for your scheduled appointment to get dicked down by a crime lord so he would continue to keep his drugs away from the streets of your neighborhood.

Sometimes, you wondered what your life had become.

In any case, you arrived at the Last Drop and let yourself in, nodding at the cleaning staff as you crossed to the staircase that would lead you to Silco’s office. Unlike what you had found on any other day, Silco’s door was open.

He paused in pacing back and forth across the room to nod approvingly as you stepped in. “You’ve arrived. Good. I have a meeting that is set to begin at noon.”

You frowned. That was only ten minutes away, surely not enough time for Silco to get his ‘mindless pleasure’ from you, as he had called it during your last session. “Do you- do you want me to… wait downstairs?”

Silco smirked at your guess, shaking his head as he crossed behind you to close the door. “No, I had something rather different in mind. This meeting is going to be tedious - Ziik is a partner of necessity, not because I particularly like him or his business practices.”

“Then why meet with him?” you asked, genuinely curious. In Piltover’s undercity, Silco was often regarded as the ruler of everything, the absolute top of the proverbial food chain. You were fascinated and far more surprised than you really should have been at the idea that Silco also had to do things he would prefer not to.

“Because he was chosen to represent the rest of the chem barons,” Silco answered simply, glaring at the floor he was pacing. “I have to meet with them if I hope to keep them in line.”

You gave a considering hum at that, hoping the wordless answer would be enough to keep him appeased without drawing his attention until you had a chance to gather your wits. It was common knowledge that Silco had a great deal of power in the undercity. He even had half the residents calling the place ‘Zaun’. But you hadn’t known he was the leader of the chem barons, much less that he met with a representative on a presumably regular basis. That meant he had even more power than you had known of… and you had known of a lot.

Thankfully, Silco seemed lost in thought, content to frown at the wooden floors of his office and mutter occasionally to himself. Either he didn’t realize what he had revealed to you or he had assumed you already knew it. It wasn’t such a big deal, all things considered, but you were reluctant to keep learning things about him. The more you knew, the less likely it was that this deal would end with anything less than your death.

Finally, you shifted your feet, drawing Silco’s attention. “It’s almost noon. What did you have in mind for your meeting?”

Silco’s mismatched eyes gleamed, and you immediately regretted giving him control of the situation. You held both hands up warningly. “I’m not having sex with you in front of some chem baron.”

“I had assumed that would be the case,” he agreed easily. “As it happens, I think there’s another way you can help distract me.”

“What do you want?” a distant voice called, suspicion thick in its tone.

Silco kept his gaze on you rather than glancing at the door. “That’s the signal. Ziik is here. Seat yourself.”

The instruction wasn’t odd in itself, but the fact that he was gesturing under his desk was. You frowned at him, but noted at the same time that there was a spacious gap for someone’s legs and lap to fit under the desk… along with some extra room. There was a panel at the front of the desk that reached to the floor. Ziik would never know you were there.

“This is what I want for this session,” Silco reiterated as footsteps started making their slow way up the staircase outside of the office. “I want you under my desk. Keep me distracted as that idiot tells me things I am already aware of. Use your imagination - and your mouth - to keep me from killing him. Don’t bring me off, but you can get as close as you dare. Are you going to deny me this request?”

You considered it, but the ever-approaching footsteps forced your hand. You sank to your knees and slid under the desk, watching as Silco sat in his throne-like chair and began to position his legs in the cavernous space.

“Silco, wait,” you hissed. Silco glanced down at you. “What if I hear something you don’t want me to hear? Something bad?”

You had been half-hoping that he would have thought of that, maybe giving you a pair of ear plugs to keep you out of the conversation. As he directed a sardonic smile down at you, even those meager hopes fell. “Ziik is here to talk about drugs. I was under the impression that you want to keep all of those away from the Haven?”

Before you could answer, a knock sounded on the door and Silco straightened in his chair, closing you fully in the space beneath his desk. In the most bored voice you had ever heard him use, he called, “Enter.”

Ziik’s voice was low and rumbling, a startling contrast to Silco’s smoothly expressive one. “Silco. I bring greetings from the rest of the chem barons.”

And thus began a meeting of such startling boredom that you started to understand Silco’s desire to have you there. Ziik talked about chem baron’s budgets, complaining about the scarcity of funds even as he described amounts of money you could only dream of having access to. You snorted and Silco dropped his hand beneath the edge of the desk to snap warningly in your direction.

You rolled your eyes, reveling in the small show of impatience that he couldn’t see, feel, or control. Even so, you started unfastening his pants as soon as your eyes were back in their proper place.

When you peeled the panels of fabric away from Silco’s hips - no simple task, since he hadn’t moved even slightly to help you - his cock was pale, flaccid, and seeming extremely disinterested in the situation. You had never seen Silco so completely unaroused and had started to wonder if he walked around in a state of semi-hardness. You had to smother an inappropriate laugh. Maybe Silco was always hard, but Ziik was a previously undiscovered anti-aphrodisiac.

To distract yourself before the slight amusement could spiral into something else, you stroked your fingertips lightly down Silco’s length, then focused your attention on the head of his cock. The rest of him was interesting as he started to harden, but his head was particularly fascinating as it flushed with color and started to weep pre-cum for you.

You smoothed the liquid over his skin, smiling when Silco’s hips twitched toward you, cock seeking the heat of your mouth.

When you obliged, it was without warning. You didn’t grip him to get the angle right or let Silco feel your breath soothing over his skin. Instead, you arched up as far as you could get in the cramped cavern and captured him suddenly in your mouth, swallowing as much of him down as you could. When you finished, the coarse hairs around the base of his cock were tickling at your lips and you swallowed twice in fast succession as you adjusted to having him so deep.

A booming thud surrounded you and you jumped, pulling back before you realized that Silco had slammed a hand down on top of the desk. Fortunately, his angrily raised voice covered the sound of your small gasp.

“That is a lie, pure and simple,” Silco hissed venomously. “Do you dare to disrespect me by lying directly to my face?”

If you hadn’t known what had just happened, you would have missed the way he was slightly breathless under all of the fury.

“I meant no disrespect, Silco,” Ziik hurriedly said, lacking your insight into Silco’s current state. “I am merely reporting the facts as they were reported to me.”

As the meeting resumed, you wrapped your hand around Silco’s cock, giving him a few firm pumps to spread the lubrication from your mouth over his length. You continued exploring him, pausing to take him into your mouth every so often or nibble at the delicate skin of his thigh as Silco and Ziik continued talking over your head.

At one point, you were toying with the soft skin of Silco’s testicles as you sucked lightly on the head of his cock and all you could do was admire his composure. If this felt nearly as good for him as his ministrations the month before had felt to you, his willpower was incredible. You would have been a gibbering mess by this point.

With nothing left to do and no explorations left to make, you contented yourself with taking Silco as deep into your mouth as you could, then simply staying like that. You gave an occasional draw with your mouth so you didn’t start drooling, but didn’t move otherwise. He was so erect by now that it had to be painful, the deceptively velvety skin of his cock hiding the way he was impossibly hard beneath it.

Unfortunately, without something to focus on, your attention drifted to the conversation between Silco and Ziik.

“I believe you will be pleased to hear about my most recent business expenditure,” Ziik revealed, sounding thoroughly satisfied with himself. “I have developed a new substance, highly addictive and powerful. It incites feelings of strength and anger in users and artificially augments their strength.”

“Why should I be pleased to hear about something I’ve already done?” Silco asked. “Or are you going to steal my idea entirely and tell me you’ve invented something called Shimmer?”

“It isn’t Shimmer, though they have similar effects,” Ziik reported. “It is far more addictive. I have reason to believe no one will ever voluntarily stop taking it. They only stop buying when they die from an overdose.”

“And you’ve tested this, have you?” Silco asked, voice bored once more.

“I have, in fact,” Ziik said smugly. “There’s a neighborhood in this city that has none of your Shimmer dealers in it… so I sent one of my own dealers in instead.”

As it turns out, when someone gasps with a cock in their mouth, they choke. Fortunately, said choking is quiet since it’s muffled by the cock in their mouth. You found all of that out by first-hand experience, your throat spasming around Silco’s cock as you abruptly became aware of the hand pressed against the back of your head holding you in place as you tried to breathe.

“What’s wrong?” Ziik asked.

“Indigestion,” Silco huffed out, squirming under the pleasure of your throat contracting around him. The grip of his hand loosened, allowing you to pull away and catch your breath. His fingers stroked gently over your head, petting you like one would a small, disgruntled pet. You were irritated at how calming you found the touch.

Silco straightened, carefully keeping his stomach against the edge of the desk so he wouldn’t accidentally flash his bare skin or hard, glistening cock at the chem baron. Despite that potential weakness, Silco’s voice was cold as he addressed Ziik once more. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t have you killed for selling your… concoction… without permission.”

“You gave me full permission to sell Wrath in our last meeting, I just hadn’t finalized the formula yet,” Ziik reminded him. “Why would you kill me for taking advantage of an area with no sales at all? I turned a dead zone into a potential district. I don’t know why you aren’t selling Shimmer there. It shows signs of being a lucrative area. Lots of ex-addicts just waiting for something new to give their lives purpose.”

“I know it is a lucrative area,” Silco told him frustratedly. “It was one of my top-performing districts for years. Did it ever occur to you that I had stopped selling Shimmer there for a reason?”

“You sacrificed profits?” Ziik asked, sounding shocked. You only vaguely wondered what he looked like, but you had formed a picture based solely on the sound of his voice and you didn’t really need anything else. “Why would you stop selling in an area that you know you could earn money from?”

“Oh, Ziik,” Silco sighed pityingly. “This may be difficult for you to understand, but I am wealthy enough to sacrifice short-term profits in exchange for long-term gain.”

“What do you gain?”

“Knowledge.” It was a good answer, and Silco delivered it without a second thought. Your eyebrows shot up as you listened intently to the conversation. “Not that I owe you an explanation in any sense, but I use my most talented dealers in more challenging locations and test how far Shimmer addicts are willing to travel to access my product.”

A slight chill built at the base of your spine, threatening to run up your bones. Those were exactly the reasons you had given Silco months ago, the ones that had provided the basis of this deal. Did he remember them because his memory was better than you had believed or because he had been thinking about your reasons and had found them to be true?

“My sources say that there haven’t been Shimmer sales there in months…” Ziik said slowly.

“There haven’t,” Silco confirmed. “And look at the changes in the area. Over half of the residents have moved away in search of Shimmer and my dealers have increased sales in all of the surrounding neighborhoods. My profits have actually increased since cutting sales to that district, and I was able to reduce the number of dealers in my employ at the same time. As I’ve said: short-term loss and long-term gain. And I did not set up this scenario so that you can come in and undo all of my work by selling your Wrath.”

The pit of your stomach felt like a pit of ice. This deal had felt so promising, and you had thought you were making an important impact on the undercity. They had a neighborhood free of Shimmer, and it was thriving. But was it? Struggling to find work, living in cramped quarters, and relying on help from charitable organizations certainly didn’t meet most people’s definition of a good life.

And the fact that Shimmer sales had increased across the rest of the undercity was concerning in the extreme. Had you really helped the people you were trying to help? Or had you just found a way to make Silco’s business even more profitable than it had been? It was unexpected and concerning to learn that he had been keeping closer track of the neighborhood than you had ever thought he would.

You felt sick.

“How much longer are you going to be… gathering information in that district?” Ziik asked, more than a little sarcasm in his tone.

Despite your discomfort, you listened intently for the answer to that question. This might tell you more about Silco’s plans for you. Was he intending for this to be a temporary deal or would it last as long as you were willing to make your payments to him? And would he let you go when it was time to cut ties, or were you like the addicts of Ziik’s Wrath? The only way out was through death.

“As long as it takes,” Silco replied firmly… enigmatically.

You bit back a growl. That was no answer at all.

“Keep your dealers out of my district before I decide to make an example of one of them,” Silco instructed, voice sharp. “Now get out before I change my mind and decide to have you executed for overstepping.”

Ziik’s retreating footsteps were fast and unaccompanied by speech. As he left, you stared blankly at Silco’s hard cock, pressed against his own stomach and nearly brushing the underside of the desk. You found the sight erotic despite yourself - you had brought him to such a state - but it was only a backdrop to your tumultuous thoughts. What did any of that mean? And would Silco react poorly to the idea that a meeting that shouldn’t have had any impact on you ended up being intimately connected to you and the Haven?

As Silco’s chair pulled away from the desk, you squinted into the light that was filtering through the window behind him. It seemed that you were going to find out exactly what Silco thought about your presence here for that meeting… but not until you stood. At your current angle, the back of Silco’s chair was silhouetted against the light of the window, leaving him in full shadow other than the odd, muted glow of his orange eye.

You stood unsteadily, the air of the office feeling fresh against the warm humidity that clung to your skin after being in an enclosed space with your own breath for such an extended period of time. After a moment of adjustment, you glanced at Silco, waiting for him to say something - anything.

He didn’t.

Silco was staring at his desk, seeming as lost in thought as you had been a few moments before. He should have looked ridiculous, you reflected. He was perfectly put together, his hair and nails meticulously neat while his clothes were perfectly arranged… except for the way the panels of his trousers had been peeled away from his hips, displaying his pale skin and slowly softening cock as if it was being framed by the red and gray material surrounding it.

“Silco?” you asked eventually. You spoke softly, trying not to shock or anger him. His hand was half-covering his mouth while he thought, and it was difficult for you to gauge his mood. Still, you couldn’t not speak. You needed to know what was happening - and, more importantly, what it meant for you and the Haven.

Silco’s eyes flashed to you, his natural eye easily as inhuman as that of his artificial one. His hand dropped from his mouth and a feeling of unease ran up your spine as you realized his jaw was clenching with apparent irritation.

“Our deal was that I would remove Shimmer from the district around the Haven,” Silco reminded you, his voice hard and cutting. But you could hear an undercurrent of emotion behind the solidity, lurking like the winter currents under a lake’s icy crust. “I never promised I would keep other drugs away. I have not broken our deal.”

“I understand that,” you told him, mouth dry. You had never intended to hold him responsible for the actions of the other chem barons. Why would you have? You had never even known that he was their leader, even informally.

“But it was implied that I would keep the neighborhood free of contamination,” he continued. “I didn’t manage that. It would seem that our deal for this month is only half-fulfilled on my end. I understand if you want to make a half payment this month. What you have done so far is enough to be considered fair.”

Of all the things you had expected Silco to say, that was not one of them. A chem baron with a sense of fairness was unusual - even if you wouldn’t go quite so far as to call it honor. If you wanted, he would consider your monthly debt paid like this. He hadn’t even come. Perhaps you could live with that. After all, you weren’t thrilled that drugs had come so close to the Haven. Any drug - Wrath, Shimmer… there was little difference, honestly. For all intents and purposes, Silco had failed to keep his end of the deal.

But your own sense of fairness struggled to reconcile the idea. Last month, he had used his mouth on you and you had used your hand on him. That had already felt like a half-payment to you. Could you really leave things as they were and feel like you had done your part?

No, as it turned out.

“I’ll make a full payment,” you said, throat tightening with the understanding of what you were giving up. “You upheld your end of the deal in good faith. I’ll do the same.”

To your surprise, Silco didn’t immediately accept that offer. Instead, his gaze locked on his own hand as he absently swiped his thumb back and forth over his fingernails. “I need you to be certain. After that meeting… that idiot… I will not be pleasant. This will be rough and fast. I cannot manage anything else, not today.”

“That’s fine,” you agreed, swallowing as Silco’s eyes locked with yours. Surely it was your imagination that they suddenly looked darker than you had ever seen them.

“Strip.”

You fumbled to obey the soft, steely order, the muscles of your core already clenching around nothing. When you had finished and were standing in front of him, you did your best to ease the fine tremble in your muscles.

Silco looked over your bare form, eyes traveling down with an air of leisure. His hands stroked thoughtfully over his jaw, ending as he said, “Lean over the desk, legs apart.”

That was an order you followed, planting your feet shoulder-width apart and bracing your hands on the surface of Silco’s desk. You could hear him breathing behind you, feel his eyes on you.

“Farther.”

You waffled for a moment, unsure of whether he was talking about your feet or your posture, but quickly decided on the latter. You dropped down into a deeper lean, resting your elbows against the wooden surface where your hands had been a moment before.

“Mmm…” Silco trailed, making chills run over your spine. “Farther.”

You leaned as far over the desk as you could manage, planting the entirety of your torso against the coolness of the desk. You could feel your nipples tightening even further under the weight of your body.

Silco didn’t say anything at all. You couldn’t even hear him anymore, but you didn’t dare to look back. It would have been difficult to, anyway, with your cheek pressed against the desk just as firmly as your torso was. You felt ridiculous, exposed. As far as you knew, he was still sitting in his chair, staring at your cunt as you bent to put yourself fully on display for him.

Surely it wasn’t normal to be this wet when Silco had barely touched you this session.

Every thought you had left your head as fingertips trailed lightly over your ass cheek and down the back of your thigh. You shuddered delicately even as your cunt clenched.

“So wet for me,” Silco mused. Your eyes closed automatically, listening to the change in his voice as he rose from the chair. There was a small sound of fluttering fabric and you clenched again, knowing that he was shedding his pants.

The next moment, you were struggling to breathe as Silco shoved his cock as deep inside of you as he could manage. His hands were clutching at your hips, pulling you onto him and holding you still for him at the same moment. There was a half-groan in his voice as he said, “So tight.”

When you could breathe again, you sucked in air in a moaning gasp that would have embarrassed you deeply if you were capable of thought on such a high level. Instead, you were lost in the intensity of your fullness.

Silco gripped your hips even tighter, somehow managing to cram another shade deeper into you as you squirmed helplessly under him. His palm cracked down over your ass cheek before he withdrew, slamming back into place a moment later as you clenched desperately around him.

He hadn’t been lying about the way this would go. Most of your mind had been hijacked by pleasure, engulfed in it, but the depths of your mind managed to remember that he had warned you. You couldn’t even bring yourself to regret your easy acceptance - this was overwhelming, but only in the best possible way.

Silco fucked you relentlessly, responding to your cries with gutteral grunts and filthy praises that were only just audible over the smack of flesh and the noises of your wetness. When you couldn’t keep still for him, one large hand planted itself between your shoulder blades and pinned you to the desk as he picked up speed.

When you came the first time, his pace didn’t slow.

“Giving in already?” he asked mockingly. “Pace yourself, darling. We’re only just getting started.”

His hips continued moving between your thighs, thrusting his cock as deep as he could get as you tried your best to breathe through the intrusion. Every inhale was silent, but every exhale took on the sound of a grunt or a cry or a moan. You writhed for him, though you couldn’t move much with his hand pressing you into the desk.

That wasn’t entirely true, though - you were moving, just not of your own volition. The force of Silco’s cock in you was moving you slightly, pushing you up. Before long, more of your weight was on the surface of the desk, leaving you leaning heavily across it and fighting to keep your toes on the floor. Every time he slammed into you, planting himself down to the root, you lost more control over your tenuous contact with the floor of his office.

And that was how you came, legs splayed wide enough for Silco’s hips to fit between them, desperately trying to keep your feet on the floor like it would give you an anchor in the disorienting storm of sensation. The papers and items strewn across the surface of Silco’s desk caught at your nipples, grinding hard against them with every thrust. It wasn’t necessarily a pleasant sensation, but in the middle of such an intense session, it was enough to send you into a toe-curling orgasm.

You shattered silently under him, jaw dropped and eyes clamped closed as your focus shifted inward. Silco praised you roughly, slowing down for you until your cunt had stopped clamping around him.

And then he picked up his pace again.

It was overwhelming and ruinous, bringing tears to your eyes as you rode the edge between pleasure and overstimulation. Silco’s free hand hooked behind your knee, pulling it up until it rested on the edge of the desk beside you. The altered position opened you up even further for him, leaving him hammering directly at that magical place inside of you even as your clit was pressed against the edge of the desk. Your mouth fell open and you choked on the suffocating pleasure he was forcing on you.

You felt that orgasm coming from much further away, as if it was frightened by the incredible sharpness of sensation emanating from his hardness in your core. It felt as though your body was in shock and needed a chance to process that before it could concentrate enough to fall apart.

When you imploded around him yet again, it was nothing short of devastating. You clamped down around him so tightly that his rhythm stuttered for the first time. When he kept moving even despite the way you were surely collapsing around his cock, you could only let a strangled shriek escape through your lips.

As you came down from that incredible high, your vision faded to white around the edges, Silco pulled himself from you and seized you around the waist. You barely caught yourself as he pushed you roughly to your knees in front of him.

With his eyes wild and his glistening cock throbbing in your face, Silco demanded, “Finish what you started.”

You were dazed, but managed to understand what he wanted, taking his cock into your mouth. This was far beyond anything you had ever experienced, but the taste of your slick on his cock wasn’t as objectionable as you thought it would be. Your hesistation made you slow, however, and Silco wasn’t in the mood for ‘slow’.

He sank those long-fingered hands into your hair, gripping your skull so that he could force his cock between your lips the same way he had done with your cunt. You gagged at the intrusion, but he held you in place as he spilled down your throat. You swallowed over and over until the surges of cum finally stopped.

Silco released your hair and fell backwards into his chair, ripping his cock free from your mouth once more as you gagged again, tears streaming from your eyes at the violence of everything that had happened in the last few minutes. You weren’t actually sure whether they were from the physical shocks or the emotional ones.

The tears stopped soon, though. They were more of a reaction to gagging that many times than any real distress, and now you were left staring up at Silco as his breathing slowly evened out.

“That… was precisely what I needed,” Silco said eventually, something like a smile crossing his face. It was faint and faded quickly, but it had undeniably been there.

He reached down a moment later, motioning for your hand so he could help you stand. When you were upright, knees trembling, he leaned down to retrieve your articles of clothing. He helped you into them one at a time until you were fully dressed. He fastened his own pants and stood, guiding you carefully toward the door.

Your throat ached - whether from the screaming or the intrusion of his cock, you weren’t sure - and you stayed silent, but Silco was apparently feeling verbose. For the second time, he broke the silence of his office.

“You continue to impress, my little philanthropist,” he told you, and you had to look away from the look on his face. It was almost… warmth. “This deal has consistently been a good one. I look forward to our meeting next month.”

“Do…” you cut yourself off to clear your throat. “Do I need to be here at a certain time?”

“No, no meetings next time,” Silco said with a small chuckle. “Just set aside some time. I would like to try something new for our next session.”

“Something new?” you asked, frowning suspiciously at him.

“New,” Silco confirmed without further explanation. “Thirty days.”

And then the door closed behind you, leaving you in the stairwell wondering what the hell had just happened.

---

Author's Note - Word count may be slightly inaccurate since I was doing some heavy edits as I read through this chapter. If you catch anything that doesn't make sense or places where I repeated something, please let me know so I can fix it!

Hope you enjoyed! Have a great day!

#Good Intentions #good intentions #arcane silco #silco #silco x reader #silco x you #reader insert #rating: nc17 #nc17 #nc 17 #smut #lemon #spicy

167 notes · View notes

dirty-urie · 3 years

Text

McBrendon

Second Person

Brendon x Female Reader

Unspecified Era

Smut Oneshot

NC-17

3.2k Words

Warnings in order of appearance: RPF, language throughout, not pre-discussed roleplay scene, medical roleplay and language, sex

Author's Notes:

So, basically, I was re-watching Grey's Anatomy, and I was like, "What if Brendon was here?" and then this was born. I have no idea if someone who's never watched Grey's Anatomy would understand or appreciate this, but basically what I think you need to know is that Derek Shepherd and Mark Sloan are sexy manwhores (in the earier seasons), and a common recurring joke in the earlier seasons of the show is putting "Mc" in front of adjectives to describe love interests. The fic is supposed to be more silly than sexy, but maybe it's sexy too, I don't really know.

"Wait, what about those two?" He asks, and you sigh exasperatedly.

"Brendon, just assume that all of the doctors on the Doctor Sex Show have slept together. That's the whole point."

He groans and slumps back in his chair, "Remind me why we have to watch this overdramatic doctor smut in the theater? The theater should be a sacred space for Disney movies or action movies with boobies and explosions, not 'ohhhh does McCreamy only like Natalie because she hooked up with Appendectomy?.'"

"It's my week on laundry duty, and whoever's folding laundry gets to watch whatever they want wherever they want. That's the rules, but you can go watch something in the living room or on your computer or on your phone if you don't like it," you offer, trying to get rid of him. You love Brendon, you love him so much, but sometimes you need to sit in the dark and fold laundry with no other noises except your soapy little doctor show.

"Fine. The men of the house are going to go watch something manly, don't bother us. Come on, Bogart!"

Brendon's little Jack Russell turns to look at you as if asking to stay, but you pat his back and send him off to go snuggle with his dad. You don't think you could handle Brendon's betrayed gasps if you let Bogart finish the episode with you. You and Penny will be fine ogling at Patrick Dempsey while file-folding Brendon's 68 pairs of gray and black sweatpants alone. Brendon kisses your cheek before he leaves. "Have fun with the boobs and explosions, babe," you tell him on his way out of the room.

"Oh, you know I will!"

•••

Two weeks later, it's your turn to fold laundry again, and you're back to watching Grey's, this time in the living room. The dogs are sitting next to you, eyes glued to the screen. Brendon's also in the room, bitching about "introducing this drivel into our home," but you're ignoring him because you don't need that kind of negativity in your life.

He finally quiets down, and you appreciate the five minutes of peace. Until… "Are you unsatisfied with our sex life?" He asks out of the blue.

You're taken completely aback for a second before you scramble to pause the tv. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, what? Where did this come from?" you ask him. What the fuck? Is he unsatisfied with your sex life?

"Well, we haven't had sex in weeks practically." Three days actually. It's been three days, but you don't interrupt him. "And you keep watching this sexy doctor show, so I don't know, maybe you're feeling like a bored housewife," Brendon explains.

You laugh at him, and he looks offended. "You're overthinking it, baby boy. It's just a show! Sure, the sexual tension between the entire hospital and Mark Sloan is spicy and exciting, but I'm not trying to compensate for anything lacking in my life. If anything, all that spice just translates into better sex for both of us. Okay?"

He looks very skeptical. "Hm, sure. I totally believe you."

You don't necessarily think you properly got your point across to him, but Meredith just made another bad decision, and you need to see how it pans out. "Okay, great, now go watch a manly show with Bogs in our room if you're going to keep whining."

Brendon does not, in fact, go into your room to watch a manly show on his laptop. Instead, he and Bogart start watching season 1 of Grey's Anatomy, immediately getting highly invested in the lives of the ambitious-yet-messy surgical interns. He's trying to figure out what exactly appeals to you about the show.

•••

It's his turn to fold the clothes, and he's doing it wrong, but you're resisting the urge to do it for him because you're a feminist, damnit. He's still letting you watch Grey's Anatomy because he's a doll (and you don't know this, but he's also become a bit of a fan.)

"Do you think I'm more a Mark Sloan or a Derek Shepherd?" He asks.

You scoff, "You're a George."

"I am not! I'm way sexier than George!"

"You're just jealous because I'm an Addison."

"Pshh, you're a Bailey. You wanna know how I know?" He asks.

"Fine. Tell me." You give in.

"You desperately want to correct my laundry technique."

•••

"Meet me in the on-call room in five," Brendon whispers against the back of your neck while you're drying the dishes from dinner. What is this man doing? "Meet you where?" You ask, but he's already walked away. You're not sure whether to actually wait the five minutes or just try to go find him.

You give him three minutes before going to the bedroom. You honestly don't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't Brendon laying on his side in the middle of your bed, shirtless under a white coat. He has on a pair of navy blue scrub pants that aren't particularly flattering, but they still look nice on him.

"Explain to me what's happening here, homie," you tell him.

"I'm being sexy for you! So sexy! I'm Dr. Brendon "McKinky" Urie, I'm a general surgery attending, but my real specialty is pleasure."

You visibly cringe for him. "You're a McDoofus, and your real specialty is probably malpractice."

He pouts. "Play along. Come on. Please? Be Dr. Y/N Sexy."

You roll your eyes. "Why do you get your real last name, but I'm Dr. Sexy?"

"Because we're not married in this fantasy! We're both cheating on our spouses but not in a tragic way, in a sexy way! Come on! Let yourself have fun," he pleads.

You feel yourself start to cave. "Fine, I'll play along, but I'm stopping this the minute I feel weird, okay?"

"Of course. And, babe, if you don't want to do this, you absolutely do not have to," he says, serious now.

"No, no, Brendon. I'm down for this. I think you're a total goof for doing it, but I trust you."

He brightens, "Great! Now it's time for your examination." He waggles his eyebrows, climbing off the bed and gesturing for you to take his place.

"Exam? Am I a patient? Why am I in the on-call room if I'm a patient?" You ask.

"Doctors need exams too, y'know. We're both doctors, but I don't know, you need a routine exam for like moles or something. Take your clothes off." He says, and you take a split-second to be grateful that Brendon got discovered for his musical talents and will therefore never be an actual doctor.

You stifle back your laughter and strip down to your underwear, lying on your back on top of the white sheet he put over the comforter to protect the bed from any potential messes. He stands over you next to the bed, and you're happy that you at least get to stare at his body during this little experiment. The whole "doctor" thing may not be driving you wild on its own, but your half-naked husband always will.

"Thank you for coming to this appointment, Dr. Y/N Sexy," he says. Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh, you chant in your head. "First," he says, making his voice husky, "I need to test your reflexes." Something tells you he won't be using one of those little hammers. He bends down and breathes against your neck. You shiver, and goosebumps appear on your arms. You're glad you wore your front clasp bra when he unclips it and has immediate access to your breasts. He circles around your nipple with his finger, and they harden quickly. "Mmm, good reflexes indeed. Very responsive," he purrs. "I don't think your test results are conclusive yet. You should keep going," you encourage. He rubs your scalp, and your head rolls back. You're worried that you'll start drooling.

Brendon smirks at you a little, and his smugness is slightly infuriating. Yes, you like him touching you, but that hardly proves that his weird roleplaying was a good idea. "Just like I observed, fantastic reflexes. But I now must move on to the chest exam." He rests his head on your chest, and you're beginning to suspect that this whole thing was just a ploy to touch your boobs a lot. "Is your heart rate always this fast or just when your hot coworker is touching you?"

"Normally only my husband, also named Brendon… for some reason, can get me so worked up, but now I'm thinking of leaving him for you, McCrinkly."

"It's McKinky, and your husband sounds gorgeous and super smart. You should keep him around," he says, climbing onto you and groping your breasts. "In my professional opinion, these are nice tits."

You have to bite your lip to resist the urge to laugh again. You wouldn't quite say you're aroused, but you are having fun at least. "Okay, okay, doc. Enough of the preliminary exam; I need five and a half inches, stat."

"You couldn't round up to six while we're playing!?"

"Oh, come on, you're lucky I rounded up to five and a half!"

"Rude! So rude!"

You kiss him to shut him up. "Sorry, baby, I won't bully you anymore. Now, how about a cervical exam?" You suggest, craving his thickness inside you.

That cheers him up. Brendon resumes his doctor roleplay. "First, let me complete the dermatological examination. If you could remove your undergarments, please."

You throw your bra on the floor and take off your underwear.

He admires the small amount of newly-exposed skin. "So many marks on your breasts and pubic region. Did your hot husband leave these too, or should I investigate for a skin condition?" He asks, ducking between your thighs to add some more.

"Yeah, he left them there. My sexy husband is kind of the best, but enough about him," you say.

New dark spots pop up after he finally moves his mouth from the sensitive skin of your thighs. "Oops, I think I just burst a couple of capillaries."

Well, someone did some light googling. "Do you think I'll make it?" You ask, faking drama.

"Yes, but you'll need someone to pay lots of attention to the area between your thighs."

He never mastered the art of subtly, did he? "I don't think that will be an issue. My husband will be thrilled."

"Great, that's taken care of. Shall we commence with the cervical exam then?" He asks, rolling off you to tug off his scrubs and underwear. He keeps his dumb coat on, which is more goofy than sexy without clothes underneath, but you don't tell him that. "And we can test your motor skills at the same time. Hands and knees, please."

You obey, and he moves behind you to enter you. He pushes into you quickly and hard, just like you like it. "God, there's so much blood in my, hm, um corpus cavernosum… I think," he says.

"Your what? Are you trying to cast a Harry Potter spell? because that's a whole different roleplay," You crane your neck back to see him, and your eyes widen. "Brendon, are you," you need to pause to choke back your laughter, "are you reading from a flashcard? While inside me?"

He's on his knees behind you, squinting at a white notecard. He flips the card over and reads from it, "the corpus cavernosum is, um, the main erectile tissue in the genitals. So, uh, I was trying to say that I'm hard for you."

That's it, you can't contain your laughter. You can't even bear to look at Brendon without cracking up. Tears are streaming down your face. He hisses, and you think it's because you've upset him, but you turn back to look at him, and he's biting his lip, his head tilted back.

"Are you good, B?" You ask, a little worried.

He's breathing hard. "Yeah, just your laughing caused contractions around my cock, and I was not prepared. Felt good, just unexpected." He pulls almost all the way out and then jerks back in, not quite slamming but gearing up to it.

"Faster, please. Careful still, but faster," you request.

He speeds up perfectly, finally filling you up and relieving the ache inside you. You relish each time his hips meet your body, feeling close to him, even if the position isn't as intimate as he usually likes. You suppose successful Dr. Kinky, notorious womanizer, wouldn't necessarily want to make loving, passionate eye contact with all of his conquests.

"So, Dr. Kinky-"

"No, it's doctor Urie, McKinky."

Jesus, you need a script. "So, Dr. Urie, do you have enough energy after all those lobotomies or whatever to rub a girl's clit? I bet my husband, the other Brendon, would touch me."

"Well, I would never even bother to compete with such a stellar man, but I can still try to get you off." His hands move between your thighs to touch your cunt. "Oh no, so much excess fluid here. I hope nothing's wrong." He puts a finger on your throbbing clit and feigns a sigh of relief, "Good, I've found a pulse." His touch is feather-light as he slowly strokes you. The contrast between his fast, hard thrusts and delicate strokes somehow enhances both of his actions.

"Oh, that's nice," you moan.

"You mind if I have you roll over? I still have to test your flexibility, and I'd love to do that with your legs on my shoulders."

"Fuck yeah."

He pulls out, and you get on your back; he gets you ready by situating the pillows underneath you. You rest a leg on either shoulder, and he thrusts in again. You don't want to admit it to him, but you feel like you'll need to come soon. The spikes of pleasure pulsing between your legs have been getting stronger and closer together, and now that you can see what you do to him, rather than just hearing his occasional grunts, you feel even closer to crossing that finish line.

"I'm observing some rapid contractions, Sexy. Should I note in your chart how close you are to coming all over me? Because it seems to me that you're failing your stamina and endurance evaluation," Dr. Urie teases.

You close your eyes to try to eliminate a source of the arousal, but you still feel painfully close to the edge.

Brendon inadvertently shifts a bit, and that does it. Your arousal peaks intensely, and you try to restrain your reactions on the off chance he doesn't notice. However, you're pretty sure he does notice your orgasm when his movements slow to a stop, and that's confirmed when he outright says it. "You just came," he states. It's not a question.

You nod, not bothering to deny it.

He pulls out, and you finally get to see his still-hard cock soaked with your wetness. "Well I suppose, we can run… further tests to reach a full diagnosis," he practically croons, pulling his scrub pants back on, and a wave of lust spreads from your stomach. Fine, the doctor thing is a little hot. "It's up to you though, I defer to your professional opinion."

"I think my exam is complete, actually, but I know you've been complaining of some pain in this region," you give his crotch a quick squeeze. "Do you mind stripping so I can investigate?"

He immediately takes off his coat, obviously excited, and gives it to you, so you put it on. "So, can you describe the pain?" You ask, putting a hand on his thigh.

"Kind of an ache, I guess?"

You squeeze his thigh, "And you'd say the pain is mainly here?"

"No, uh, um, to the right."

You squeeze his other thigh, "Oh, I see, right here?"

"No, not, um, my thigh."

"Sorry, I understand." You lay your hand flat on his stomach, still carefully avoiding his cock. "Your stomach must be hurting."

"Still not quite."

You clench your jaw in fake frustration. "Well, could you just show me where you need my attention, Doctor Urie?"

He shoves down his pants and grasps his leaking cock, groaning in relief when he starts to tentatively touch himself.

"Yes, very good, thank you. Would you say the ache subsides with stimulation?" You ask professionally.

Brendon nods and smirks a bit, "Yeah, you could say that."

"Well, I think you just need to achieve ejaculation," you diagnose.

"Is that, ah, covered under my insurance?" He asks cheekily, still jerking himself.

You laugh, going to dig the lubricant out, "Okay," you nudge his hand away, "leave this to the professionals." You pour the clear lube into your hand. "This may be a bit cold," you warn. He doesn't really need the lube, he's both leaking profusely and still slick from being inside you, but you want to keep up the "doctor vibes." You grasp him firmly and stroke quickly, trying to get him off as soon as you can. You kind of want to use your mouth, but you can't think of a good reason to within the roleplay. That's mostly fine, though, because you can tell he's about to come.

He comes all over your hand without warning a minute or so later. He shudders and groans, spurting twice more. You didn’t realize how worked up he was. Of course, you saw how hard he was, but to come this much from just jerking him off means he was really turned on. "Outstanding sperm production, sir," you say, crudely wiping him up with a tissue.

"Okay, no more doctor talk. My brain is too mushy," he groans.

You take off the coat and get into bed, cuddling against him. "If your brain is mushy, you probably should see a doctor."

He giggles. "So, would you do this again?"

You think for a second. "Well, I'd roleplay with you again, but you have to warn me next time. And probably not the doctor thing again. It was hot playing with you, but thinking about actual medical procedures is not my thing."

He yawns, "Noted about the warning you next time, and that's too bad. I was really looking forward to the oral exam. How big is your mouth? How's your swallow technique?" He says, half-jokingly.

"Hey, don't push it, or we're doing a prostate exam, and due to budget cuts to the hospital, we're going to be low on lubricant."

He cringes, "Point taken. I don't need a doctor roleplay; the next time I want a blowjob, I'll just ask."

You get out of bed and put on your pajamas. "Well, if it's in the next 45 minutes, your request is getting denied because Penny Lane, Bogart, and I are watching the real Grey's Anatomy in the theater while you're still too weak to complain about it. And this is a good time to tell you that my character is not actually a medical doctor. I have a PHD in film studies. I’m a fraud.”

His mouth drops open, "You're telling me that wasn't an official medical handjob?!"

"I trust that you'll get over this. Love you, babe."

He scowls but still mutters a quiet, “I love you too.”

#brendon urie smut #brendon urie fanfiction #my work

21 notes · View notes

ladyfogg · 3 years

Text

May I? - 29/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she’s truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

Data glanced up from his violin to see that Faith had closed her eyes.

Even still, he continued to play until he finished the piece and was sure she was asleep. Judging by the steady rise and fall of her chest, she had been able to find rest. He was glad as part of him could not help but feel concerned that her anxiety would keep her from doing so. After carefully packing away his instrument, he adjusted the bedsheets around Faith and made for his workstation after dimming the lights. He knew she was nervous about her first day in Geordi’s absence but he had every bit of confidence that she would do remarkably.

She always did.

It seemed that their vacation had the desired effect on Faith’s mood. Before their departure, she had looked quite ill and both Data and Dr. Crusher were concerned she was heading for a mental breakdown. Data had witnessed many in his days in Starfleet and it was not something he wanted Faith to endure. Thankfully, that no longer seemed to be the case. She had a follow-up appointment with the doctor in a few days, which he hoped would go well.

Data had noticed a shift in his own mood as well. It was strange. Without the background processes of his Starfleet duties, his entire focus had been on Faith, and to have to switch away from that did not feel right to him. He had to admit, when they beamed aboard and he had been immediately summoned to the bridge, he was disappointed to file his vacation program away. Hopefully, it would not be too long before he needed it again.

Deep down, it almost seemed wrong to no longer have Faith as his focus. He could not understand why. In the past, he had been quite content with the ratio of work to Faith in his programming. Just as she had balanced her work and their relationship. Although, by her own admission, not as well as she would have liked. He did not have that problem as every process and subroutine was measured perfectly. At least, it used to be. It was something he would indeed be speaking to Counselor Troi about in their session at the end of the week.

At his terminal, he scanned through the reports from the last two weeks so he would be up to speed on what the Enterprise had done in his absence. Most of it was standard maintenance leftover from their previous two-month excursion. There were several transfers, some new officers, and many had taken shore leave just as they had. Their next mission was small, a simple diplomatic one that would take no more than a week. All seemed well.

Data was about to switch over to his personal projects when Captain Picard’s voice filtered through his com.

“Picard to Commander Data, please report to my Ready Room.”

“I am on my way.”

On his way out, Data paused by Faith one more time. She had not moved since she fell asleep and he admired her calm face for a moment, before carefully leaning down to kiss her forehead. Only then did he take his leave.

Data was unsure about the nature of the Captain’s meeting. He had seen the Captain not two hours prior and he had given no indication that he would be calling for Data so soon. He could only conclude that something serious had happened. His theory was confirmed when he arrived and found Worf and Commander Riker already there. Captain Picard stood by the window, staring out into the vastness of space, his body stiff with tension. Once the door closed behind Data, Picard turned to face the three of them.

“Thank you all for joining me, I know it’s late but this matter could not wait until the morning,” he said, stern eyes focusing on each of them, one by one. “What I am about to discuss will not leave this room. The information is sensitive and is on a need-to-know basis, am I clear?”

The three men nodded in agreement.

Picard sat down at his desk. “As I’m sure you will all clearly remember, several months back Mr. Data and Ms. Diaz were held captive by Kivas Fajo. He was taken into custody once we managed to secure their rescue and there were many questions as to how he was able to pull off such a kidnapping, given his limited resources. Starfleet takes the capture of its officers very seriously and immediately launched an investigation into how Fajo was released early.”

“What did Fajo have to say?” Worf asked.

Picard was silent at first. When he did speak, he cleared his throat. “Mr. Fajo passed away several weeks ago.”

Data could feel Riker and Worf’s eyes on him. “Was it due to his injuries?” he asked.

Picard nodded. “It would seem so.”

Data felt nothing. Which, in the past would not have been unusual. But given his recent emotional growth was a tad alarming. As he considered this, the conversation continued around him.

“Given what we learned about the man, death was too good for him,” Worf said gruffly. “He should have been made to answer for his crimes.”

“Be that as it may, it left Starfleet in a bit of a predicament,” Picard continued. “Since they couldn’t question Fajo directly, they had to use his ship logs to backtrack his movements and figure out what he had been doing after his escape.

“I take it they found something,” Riker said.

Picard nodded. “Thankfully, Fajo kept very good records of dealings. They were encrypted but Starfleet was able to access them after some time. We have a certain young cadet to thank. One who has a natural talent for accessing things he’s not supposed to.”

Riker chuckled. “I take it that’s the real reason Mr. Crusher is going to be visiting us soon.”

“It is,” Picard said with a nod. “He will have the files and full details. Starfleet did not want to take any risks sending them by subspace. From what I understand, they were able to account for all his contacts say for one. A Cardassian by the name Vorbos Konro. Does this name mean anything to you, Mr. Data?”

“I have no knowledge or memory of encountering this individual,” Data said.

Picard gave him a grim nod. “I’m not surprised. Very little has been able to be found on this person. However, we don’t believe they are aware of Fajo’s capture or death. Starfleet intercepted a message meant for Fajo. It contained coordinates and we believe that the two were meant to rendezvous in a week.”

“Are we intercepting?” Riker asked.

“That is up to us to decide. Naturally, Starfleet has their own desires and suggestions,” Picard explained. “But given it was my crew Fajo toyed with, the decision has been left to me. I’m open to suggestions. Mr. Data?”

Data had been silently processing the new information. “I would be curious to see what other information Wesley is bringing,” he said. “But from a personal standpoint, I would like to pursue this, sir.”

“Yes, I thought you might.”

“If the contact isn’t aware of Fajo’s capture, this might give us an advantage,” Worf pointed out. “We can lure them in with a false sense of security before springing an ambush. Simple, but effective. Once we have this Vorbos in custody, I’m sure I’ll be able to get them to talk.”

“You don’t think they might anticipate that?” Riker asked.

“If they are not connected enough to know Fajo has been captured, I doubt they will expect the flagship of the Federation to appear in his place.”

“There is a possibility that they are aware of Fajo’s death and are attempting to deceive us,” Data pointed out. “We do not know what their plans were, only Fajo’s intentions.”

“Exactly,” Picard agreed. “We very well could be heading right for a trap.”

“If that is their intent, it would be a fool’s errand,” Worf said.

“Data, how do you feel about all this?” Riker asked. “I know you want to pursue it but I mean, deep down. Not to be distasteful, but it was your injuries which led to his death.”

“I do not feel one way or another about Fajo’s death,” Data admitted. “He had injured Faith and would have killed her. He has killed before. I have seen it.”

“And the other part of this? The personal connection? After all, it was you and Faith who were targeted. I highly doubt someone with the resources to get Fajo freed early did so just so he could rebuild his collection.”

Data had been wondering the same thing in light of the recent information. “I am certainly curious,” he concluded. “There are still several unanswered questions regarding our capture. The fact that they were aware Faith and I were close is troublesome. From what I know of the Oz’ods, their communication was stunted at best. Even if they fed information back to Fajo about Faith, I highly doubt they could have explained our relationship.”

Picard sat back, listening to the back and forth. “I think we are all in agreement that we should follow up on this lead,” he said, reclaiming their attention. “And Mr. Data has brought up several questions Starfleet themselves have posed. I want each of you to consider what our approach should be and report back here at the same time tomorrow.”

“Sir,” Riker said with a frown. “Is it safe to say that Starfleet suspects someone on the inside?”

Data had come to such a conclusion himself. It was the only logical explanation for the Captain’s secrecy and the late hour of their meeting. While it was clear the Oz’ods had assisted Fajo, it cannot be ruled out that they worked alone. There were one-thousand and twenty-two people aboard the Enterprise. Any one of them could have had contact with them or this mysterious third party before, during, or even after the abduction.

“While I don’t like the idea that someone on our crew would intentionally work against a fellow officer, it can’t be ruled out,” Picard said. “Mr. Worf, I want you and Mr. Data to work through the passenger roster and compile a list of all those individuals who might have had motive or means to carry something like this out. We’ll reconvene tomorrow once Mr. Crusher is aboard. Dismissed.”

Riker and Worf immediately left. Data did not. Something was weighing on his mind which he wanted to discuss. He approached the Captain’s desk once they were alone.

“Captain, may I ask something?”

“Certainly.”

“Would it not be wise to include Faith in this investigation? Or at the very least, ask if she knows this individual?”

“Starfleet is very clear on who should and should not be involved in this investigation.”

“I do not understand. By being one of the persons abducted, Faith is involved.”

Picard sighed and motioned to the chair across from him. “Mr. Data, please sit down.”

Data did as he was told.

He studied his Captain, noting the way he avoided eye contact, something he only did if he was about to broach a subject he had no interest in. “I understand that your relationship with Ms. Diaz is very special,” he said in a carefully measured tone. “And while, yes, I will agree that she is involved due to the nature of her abduction. That being said, she is not a senior officer and does not have clearance for this highly sensitive mission.”

Data understood the logic. He followed it easily. And yet, he could not help but push back. “I am sorry, sir, but I am not comfortable keeping such an important development to myself. I have a duty as her partner to be honest.”

“Your duty, Mr. Data, is to Starfleet and this ship,” Picard said sharply. “This mission is classified and Faith has not been brought into it for a reason. You will keep this information to yourself, are we clear?”

An argument was on the tip of Data’s tongue and he was fully prepared to defend himself. But the Captain’s tone of voice stopped him and all he could do was nod. “Yes, sir, of course.”

“Good. Dismissed, Mr. Data.”

Data left the room, unsure of how to proceed. He had never had to actively hide something from Faith and truthfully, he was not sure if he would be able to. But it was the captain’s orders. He could not disobey his commanding officer. He was so distracted, he almost missed Lieutenant Worf who had waited for him.

“Commander, I have time now if you would like to review the roster,” he said.

“That would be acceptable.”

He headed over to one of the terminals with Worf and began to work. While his primary functions were relegated to the task at hand, his background ones could not stop thinking of his interaction with the captain. He was confused. Not at Captain Picard’s reaction. That he understood. Starfleet regulations were clear and Data was well aware of what his role as a senior officer required, along with the confidentiality that came with it. His confusion came from the fact that all of a sudden, his Starfleet programming seemed to clash with his romantic subroutine. That had not happened before.

“I have a list of fifty people who could have possibly had access to such a contact as well as yourself and Lieutenant Diaz,” Worf told him after they had worked for some time.

“Cross-reference those names with anyone who started after the abduction. Set those names aside for now,” Data told him. “It is more likely that those who were already in Starfleet were targeted as it would have been easier for them to gather information. I would suggest we go through those names first.”

“I agree. I am also looking through logs to see if any of their subspace communications coincide with the sector where your shuttle went down.”

That reminded Data of another factor. “We should also look at who would have had shuttle access. The Oz’od on board tampered with the shuttle but someone could have easily assisted them.”

After all the factors were inputted, it took several hours for the computer to generate a list of appropriate names. Once it did, there were only ten people who fit all the factors outlined.

“It should be relatively easy to conduct all the interviews tomorrow,” Worf assured Data. “I will attend to it personally with my team. I assume you wish to sit in.”

“Yes, please,” Data said. “Kivas Fajo was a smart man and knew how to cover his tracks. Even still, I am hoping that any accomplice he may have had on the Enterprise is not as talented.”

“If there is a mole, I will find them.”

Data took note of the firmness of Worf’s voice and though he was used to his Klingon companion taking his security role seriously, he could not help but think there was more to his reaction. “Lieutenant,” he said. “Correct me if I am wrong but you seem to be taking this assignment personally.”

“It is personal,” Worf said. “Two of my crewmates were abducted and their shuttle had been tampered with. As Head of Security, it is my duty to keep everyone on this ship safe. I failed to do so with you and Lieutenant Diaz. I will make this right by exposing the traitor.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. It is much appreciated.”

With their work at a standstill, until they could conduct interviews, Data left the bridge.

But instead of heading to his quarters, he found himself standing in front of Deanna Troi’s office. By now it was in the early hours of the morning so he knew she would be there. However, he did not have an appointment and yet, he felt he needed to see her at once. What he wanted to talk about could not wait until the end of the week.

She answered the door after the second ring, smiling at him. “Hello, Data. This is a surprise. Is everything alright?”

“I do not think so.”

Deanna’s smile was replaced with a look of concern and she stepped aside, allowing him to enter her office. “Please, have a seat. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Data sat in one of the empty chairs, hands in his lap as Deanna took the seat across from him. “I am unsure of how to phrase what is bothering me. I believe the most accurate description is confusion.”

“Confusion about what?”

“Last evening, I received express orders from Captain Picard regarding a confidential mission,” Data explained. “And for some reason, those orders are conflicting with another subroutine.”

Deanna frowned. “How so?”

Data hesitated for a moment, trying to think of the most succinct explanation. “I was told to keep certain information from Faith and it feels…wrong.”

He watched as Counselor Troi broke into a wide smile. “I see,” she said. “And this conflict is what’s confusing you?”

“Well…yes.”

“Data, it’s very natural when you’re in a relationship to want to share everything with your partner. I know as a Starfleet senior officer that isn’t always feasible—”

“Counselor, I am sorry, but I do not think you understand. It should not be possible for me to be conflicted. My Starfleet programming and romantic subroutines have specific parameters in place so these conflicts do not happen.”

Deanna considered his words for a moment before resting her elbows on her knees and leaning towards him. “Data,” she said in a careful tone. “Has it ever occurred to you that while your feelings start to develop, your programming will do the same?”

“I do not understand.”

“You love Faith, correct?”

Data nodded without hesitation. “Of course, Counselor.”

Deanna’s smiled softly, reaching over to lay her hands on top of his. Without realizing it, Data had been fidgeting. It was small and subtle, mostly his fingers seemingly twitching and moving on their own. But still. It happened. Since when did he fidget? That was another thing he had not done before.

“The fact that you answered that question so quickly should explain what’s going on,” she said. “I believe, and correct me if I’m wrong here, that your romantic subroutine was just that, a subroutine. Not one that took center stage, so to speak.”

“That is correct.”

“But as your relationship with Faith developed, along with your feelings, your priorities shifted so, what I believe is happening is that your programming is compensating.”

Data processed this new information. While it made sense, he could not help but still feel conflicted. “I was not aware that was something my programming could do,” he admitted. “It has not before. At least, not to this degree.”

“Well, you haven’t loved someone to this degree before, have you?”

“No. I have not.” Data paused for a moment. “But this does not help my conflict. I do not know how to proceed.”

At that, Deanna patted his hands and sat back. “That is a little more complicated,” she said. “Data, you now find yourself in a predicament that most humans do when they have someone special in their life as well as an important job.”

“What would you suggest I do, Counselor?”

Deanna pondered his question for a moment. When she spoke again, she chose her words carefully. “If you are under orders from Captain Picard himself not share this information with Faith, then it is your duty as a senior officer to honor those orders and obey them. Even if they may seem wrong.”

“I do not wish to lie to Faith.”

“And you don’t have to. Nor would I ever recommend you do so. Just…carry out your mission as you are supposed to and should a conversation arise with Faith in the future, I suggest you simply explain the confidentiality of the mission. Faith is a smart woman and a capable officer. She will understand.”

“But is not a lie by omission still a lie?”

For once, Deanna did not seem to have an answer. She opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it and took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Data, I know you two share with each other at the end of the day,” she said. “I would suggest, the next time you have this talk, would be an appropriate time to tell her you were given a classified mission. That way you are not lying, nor are you omitting anything.”

That sounded acceptable to Data. He felt less concerned. “It is a strange sensation,” he said.

“What is?”

“Wanting to tell her,” he explained. “The idea of keeping this from her does not seem right.”

“It’s probably not,” Deanna agreed. “Especially if it involves her in some way, which I am only assuming it does given what little you’ve told me. You wouldn’t be so upset if it didn’t.”

Data was silent for a moment. “So I must do something I feel is wrong because of my duty to Starfleet.”

Deanna studied him carefully. He did not know what she was thinking but clearly what he said had given her pause yet again. After a moment of consideration, she said, “Unfortunately, sometimes that’s the case. And if this is something that is going to be an issue moving forward, you’re going to have to think of what you want to do about it.”

Data left Counselor Troi’s office with new insights, though still no clear answer.

When he finally got back to his quarters, Faith had already left for Engineering. Data studied his surroundings, taking special care to notice the little bits of Faith that were scattered throughout. Her drawing of him. A pair of her shoes by the closet. Her shorts and t-shirt crumpled on the floor by the side of the bed. Her empty breakfast plate was on the replicator, where she had forgotten to dispose of it on her rush out the door.

It was like his programming had become their quarters, imprints of her scattered throughout every time he turned around.

Data walked over to the wall and opened one of his drawers. Inside he held a few keepsakes: his medals, Tasha’s will, a few books given to him from Captain Picard. He reached into the back and pulled out the small velvet box that had been tucked away for some time. He opened it, admiring the diamond ring that sat on the small pillow inside. It was not replicated. No. This ring he had sent for. He wanted to give Faith something real. She had given him so much already, made things so very real for him.

He carefully put the ring back and closed the drawer.

He had a lot to think about.

#Lt. Commander Data #commander data #data tng #Data Soong #lt commander data #may i?

9 notes · View notes

collecting-stories · 4 years

Text

Your Father Says - JJ Maybank

Request: hey love ur stories btw obviously so can i get an imagine for jj where inspired by forget what ur father says by the vamps it's ok if u don't wanna write it.

A/N: I’m not obsessed with JJ running away, you are. Just kidding, it’s me.

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

~cause a boy like me and a girl like you got no degrees and a lot to prove.~

“This is a bad idea.” You said, standing in the middle of the living room holding your duffel bag in your hands. You had packed all the clothes you would need and any essentials you could think of between the duffel and the backpack on your back. “JJ, are you listening to me? This is a bad idea.” You repeated, watching your boyfriend as he pulled a few of your dad’s beers out of the refrigerator and into his cooler.

JJ stopped what he was doing, standing up and looking over his shoulder at you. “It’ll be fine.”

It was JJ’s idea. On a rare day that you were able to duck your dad’s watchful eye and meet JJ down by the marsh, he suggested the idea that the two of you runaway. Not forever and not far, but just for a little while. Just to get away from your dad and JJ’s dad and the Outer Banks in general.

“We could take my cousin’s van and just go.” JJ had suggested, “it’d be awesome. Camping all over the country, sleeping under the stars. Just you and me.”

“I don’t know. My dad would never let me.” And it was true. You knew there was no way in the world that your dad would let you go anywhere with JJ. He didn’t even want you seeing the boy that he deemed ‘a lost cause’. Kids like that were nothing but trouble and you weren’t ever going to let that kind of trouble into your life.

“So, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“I can’t just go.”

“Why not?”

Your dad couldn’t watch you all the time and it hadn’t taken long for JJ to become an unwavering part of your world. You snuck out to a party when your dad was away for a weekend and the next thing you knew JJ was sneaking into your room. He was the one who thought about leaving and decided to put the plan into action but you were happy to go along with it. If only a little freaked out about what your father might do if he found out you had left with the only person, he had expressly forbid you from ever even talking to.

You followed JJ out to the van, watching as he loaded the cooler into the trunk. “No, we’ll get caught. My dad said if he sees you around anymore, he would-”

“And he won’t see me around anymore.” JJ pointed out, “if we leave now.”

There was only a small window of opportunity while your dad was at a doctor’s appointment to leave and make it to the ferry. If you missed your chance there might never be another one.

“Okay. Hold on.” You put your duffel and backpack on the ground for JJ to load into the van and hurried back inside your house.

“We gotta go.” JJ called, following after you, standing in the open doorway. He kept glancing over his shoulder as if he could hear the car coming down the road but it was just phantom noises putting him on edge.

“I’m not gonna disappear from my house and not tell him anything J. He’ll literally freak out if he comes home and I'm missing.” You explained, grabbing a pad of paper and a pen from the counter and beginning to write a note to tell him that you were leaving. You tried to think of all the things you wanted to mention, that you would call, that you would be home before the end of the summer, that you were safe and happy and with a friend (you were careful to say friend) as you rushed through the letter.

“You aren’t missing, we’re just...taking a vacation.” JJ replied.

You stopped writing for a moment to look over at your boyfriend, a brief moment of panic seizing you, “a vacation out of North Carolina. He’s never even let me off the island, do you know how freaked he’ll be when he realizes I’m leaving the state?”

“We’ll be back.” JJ stressed. He finally came back into the house, letting the screen door bang shut behind him as he came over to you. He put his hands on your upper arms, rubbing his thumbs against your skin to comfort you.

“And your cousin is okay with us using his van?” You asked, trying to run over all the things that you would need to know about the trip. Did you have everything you needed? Would you be safe? Did you have enough money? It was all starting to sink in.

JJ laid a kiss against your forehead when he caught the look of anxious terror that crossed your face. He knew exactly where you were going. He had gone there a time or two as well though for a different reason. “Yeah, totally.”

“Okay.” You nodded. You looked at JJ and took a deep breath, letting yourself focus on the boy in front of you and not the mess you were potentially leaving behind. “okay I’m ready.”

“You’re ready ready?” He asked, making sure you weren’t having second thoughts. He’d unpack everything if he had to but he didn’t want to stay another minute on the island.

“I’m ready.” You promised. “I want to do this.”

“It’ll be good and we’ll be back before you know it.” He let go of you, stepping away and heading back toward the door. You signed your name and folded the paper before laying it on the table for your dad to see.

“I know, and I want to go. I want us to go.” You said, following him back outside, stopping on the porch to lock the front door. “I just...my dad is going to be pissed when he finds out I’m gone JJ and I’m just really freaked out what he’ll do when he gets home.”

“Well I don’t want to stay here and find out.” JJ replied. “Let's go. You left him a note, so let's hit the road. We can call him when we’re out of NC and then when he screams, we can hang the fucking phone up.”

“Okay.” You pocketed your keys and walked down to the van, getting in the passenger side as JJ started the car up. As he pulled out of the driveway you chanced a look in the rearview mirror, watching your house get smaller and smaller in the distance, unable to stop the smile when you thought of a summer away with JJ.

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife @freckled-and-daydreaming @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @summer-clouds-and-long-days @jellyfishbeansontoast @minigranger @hoewkeye @love-someone-special @tiredfeels @strangerthanfanfiction713 @the-only-nana @tomzfrog @mozz-are-lla @vindictive-hearts @poguestyleskye @ssprayberrythings @jenahbell @beautyandthebleh @gothackedalready @teenwaywardasgardian @sarahcxmeron @haha-fuck-you-thot @stillbelieve398-5 @rewindlr @queenniccimicci @kissessforharryyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @alytavzla @bqmblebee @linniep @nerdypartytrashpsychic @xxchxrryxx @spencer-reid-is-a-cutie @mirjanak @danielladreaming @obx-saltlife @youngestxhearts @spnobsessedmemes @wowitswondergurl @celestialmaybank @mybnkjj @pineappleandcherries @mysterious-adventurer @justawilddreamerchild @rhyetaylor62 @calm-rejects @balletandyuzu @oh-annaa @aiifandomsunite @x-lulu @ceruleanjj @wicked-laugh @obxwriterfan @allie-mcginn @pcterparxer @literarycharleton @khiaraaa-in-spacee @crushe-s @teamnick @daydreamlilys @collectiveuniverses @activist-af @mdgrdians @buckys-sunflower @vindictive-hearts @copper-boom @talksoprettyjjx @5am-cigarette @smiithys @dontjinx-it @outerbanksbro @mysticsthinking @heavenlymama @rudy-pankow-needs-an-oscar @babymatilda @raekenliar @jolomez @timotaychalabae @summerkaulitz

230 notes · View notes

surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #508

“how long will you last through these memories of the past?”

What accent do you have? Is it heavy? I have a slight southern accent that I hate. Does your best friend live near you? Lol nooooo, she lives many states away. Whose birthday is coming up? Mine, actually. Did you have a role model growing up? Steve Irwin. Who is the last person you hugged for a long time? Girt. We have the best hugs before he goes home. Are both of your blood parents still in your life? Yes. Have you ever made out on a couch? Yeah. When’s the next time you’ll be drinking? I'm probably gonna order a drink when we go out to eat for my birthday. Have you ever been drunk at school or work? No. Have you finished school yet? Well, I didn't technically finish college, I dropped out. Have you ever been on a cruise? No, but when my friend Summer and her mother visited recently (they shared stories and pictures of their own), we actually talked about the idea of saving up to go on one, but I don't know how realistic it is. When was the last time you slept on the floor? I couldn't even try to guess. Ever been leeched by a leech? Possibly? I don't remember for sure, shockingly enough; leeches are another animal that terrify me, so you'd think I'd remember. Ever had a fear of mirrors? No. Do any of your friends grow weed? Not that I know of. It's illegal here, so that lessens the odds, too. Have you ever owned an unlucky object? I don't believe in objects being "lucky" or "unlucky." Do you think voodoo works? No. What habit do you find most disgusting? Probably chewing tobacco. Does it scare you to walk over sewer vents in the street? No, I actually like looking down them, haha. What’s something you wish you could start over? My job pursuit, honestly. My huge gaps in employment history are always questioned, and I literally lie about my job history; I worked so, so incredibly briefly at a deli and dollar store that I don't even list them on my resume. Are you a loud person? I can be. Sometimes my mom catches me talking too loud if I'm excited, and I know I'm capable of yelling way too loud, but it's not exactly common that I yell. Do you like morbid things? Hell yeah. Can you sew? No. Do any of your exes bother you? Not actively. My PTSD stems from one of those relationships, so it's kind of like his memory does, but he himself has been out of my life for years now. Do you like dragonflies? Yes, they're very cool. If you knew you had the right person, would you marry them today? No. I want to live with him first. Have you ever been banned from anywhere? I was never banned, but I did have to have a moderator verify my posts as a kid towards the end of my stay at the Meerkat Manor Animal Planet forum, lol. I was a trip. What was the last thing you drank from a mug? Hot chocolate. Have you loaned anything out to anyone recently? No. Who was the last person to spend the night with you at your house? My late grandmother's husband. He was driving through NC and Mom invited him to sleep here because it was a very long drive. Where is the last place you applied for a job? I don't even remember. :/ Are there any concert venues where you live? Without a doubt no big ones, but I wouldn't be surprised if there truly are none. The only two places that ever really get concerts are Raleigh and Charlotte. Are there a lot of tourists where you live? Hell no. Have you ever made out in the backseat of a car? No; I wouldn't do that. This question implies someone else is driving, and I'm very private with this kind of stuff, so I am nooot kissing someone like that when someone else can see. Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to on the phone? My psychiatrist. We've done phone appointments since COVID hit. He takes the virus VERY seriously (as everyone should) and wants to ensure he does his part with keeping his patients safe. Who was the person you lost your virginity to? I think I mentioned in a previous survey that I'm just back to saying I haven't lost it because I feel like a doctor, who knows more than I do, would say that I technically am a virgin, regardless of "loopholes" taken. Would you ever get a tattoo? Bro, that needle is CALLING. I'm just trying super hard to be responsible and take care of more pressing matters. Are you excited for the future? More like terrified. Have you ever held a snake? I've held pleeeeenty of snakes over the years. Loved 'em since I was tiny. One of my favorite pictures from my childhood is of me sitting with a gigantic snake, I believe a reticulated (or Burmese?) python. It was such a darling, and I remember I was absolutely entranced. Mom was TERRIFIED to let me do it, but I obviously convinced her. We still have the Polaroid picture somewhere, and I'd love to find it. Were there any sex scenes in the last movie you watched? I don't remember any. Would you ever date someone who is blind or deaf? Yes, that doesn't matter to me. If we click, we click. Do you still talk to the person you last made out with? Yes. Do you have anger management problems? No. Would you ever consider piercing your lip? It already is. What was the most recent overwhelming thing you experienced? Thankfully my mom was there to help, but putting together Venus' new terrarium was quite the trip. It took us like a whole hour. Whose grave did you last visit? I've never visited a grave before. I'd like to visit Jason's mom's, but I kinda feel like it'd be bad for my trauma and drag me back too far. Also, by some insane coincidence, I don't want to run into him there. I just really want to say thank you to her one last time. How many different picture IDs do you have in your wallet? Just my driver's permit, I think? Are you on birth control? Yes. Do you know anyone who has gone missing? If so, were they ever found? No, thankfully. Have you ever deliberately tried to get someone drunk? Wow, no. What’s the most you would be willing to spend on a good bra? I don't know what a reasonable price for a "good bra" even is. My size is SO hard to find though, so you REALLY have to shop around (pretty much exclusively online) to even find one. What’s the one thing you apologized for this month? Ummm I'm unsure. How do you feel about chocolate-covered strawberries? Good stuff. What was the last musical instrument played in your presence? No clue. Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream? Noooo, I hate sprinkles. Who is the best cook that you know? idk On Facebook, do you have people listed as your siblings who aren’t really your siblings? No, but I did that when I was younger. Have you ever been falsely accused of something serious? No. Did you ever set up a lemonade stand when you were a kid? No. That wouldn't have been the smartest thing to do where I grew up. If you have siblings, have they moved out or do they still live with you? I'm the only one who still lives with Mom. Do you think you are a good role model? Absolutely not. Would you say you mess up more times than you succeed? Yep. Do you wish you had more money? Being better off financially is one of my biggest wishes, dude. Be poor your whole life and TRY to not believe money doesn't matter. Do you think having a son would be the worst thing in the world? Having a child, regardless of gender, would probably be one of the worst things that could happen in my life currently. Are you afraid of dogs? Nope. What's the most disgusting drink you've ever tasted? This one alcoholic drink that my little sister somehow loves. It was some coconut flavor. Had "Malibu" in the name, I think. Completely inadvertently, I spat it out. Has a medication ever made you gain weight? Yes; that's how I first gained an absolute shitload of weight, because that specific med (Abilify, calling you right out) MURDERS your metabolism. But my idiot primary physician (who doubled as my psychiatrist at the time) kept me on it anyway and blamed me for the weight gain. Guess what the fuck happened when I changed psychiatrists and he took me right the hell off it? Dropped weight like it was NOTHING. Do you think most vegetables are gross? Yes. Not all of course, but most indeed. Have you ever had an ER doctor refuse to treat you? No. What is your favorite drug? I don't do 'em. Have you ever been under anesthesia? Yes. Is your skin sensitive? VERY. Has anyone ever tried to sell weed to you? No. Have you ever worked as a waitress? No, and I never will. Who has the ability to hurt you the most emotionally? My mom would be the most capable. Has the last person you kissed ever made you cry? No. Have you ever done anything illegal on school grounds? No. Was middle school a bad experience for you? Sure was. Why did you last cry? I was just very frustrated and at a loss with my life. Has the last person you texted ever been mad at you before? My mother has definitely been pissed at me before. Would you rather have roommates or live alone? I genuinely don't think I could ever live alone. My depression and loneliness would murder me. What was the last compliment that you got? That I'm really understanding, from Girt. Would you hug your last ex? Bro I would love to hug her. Do you go clubbing a lot? I never have. Don't want to. Can you flip your eyelids inside out? aldksfalsdjfalksdj;kJLAKSDJLFKASD that shit REALLY freaked me out when people would do it as kids. I've never tried it and do not want to. Would you rather be a ghost or a zombie? A ghost. Being a zombie sounds absolutely fucking miserable. Like, what if they're still sentient and just trapped in that body? Who is your favourite to watch on YouTube, if you watch any? My favorite will forever and always be Markiplier, but I now go through spells of who I watch and how much, really; I don't even watch all of his videos anymore. I go through phases of favoring pet channels, herping YouTubers (my most recent obsession), WoW channels, my typical let's players, etc. Any song you’ve been listening to over and over recently? DA Games' "Break My Mind" has been a frequent lately. I'm back in my FNAF phase y'al asdklfjalkwe

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''break my mind'' by da games

2 notes · View notes

kerikaaria · 4 years

Text

Hanging by a Thread

(Yoongi x Taehyung) Oneshot, Soulmate!au

Genre: (NC-17) ANGST. BUCKETS OF ANGST. With some fluffy fluff.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption (just some friends hanging out and going to a bar and club, nothing crazy), mentions of past abuse (undetailed and brief), homophobic side character, brief mention of minor character’s death (happened in the past)

WC: 16.3k

Description: Yoongi thinks he is unlovable, and Taehyung doesn’t believe in soulmates. When they meet, Yoongi feels a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, this person can love him the way he craves. Except, Taehyung only gives Yoongi a single glance before walking away, taking the last piece of his heart with him.

A/N - This fic is submitted for the “Dishonest Love” project for Valentine’s Day 2021 with @thebtswritersclub ! It was something that the amazing @eternalseokjin had pitched to me months ago when I said I wanted to write something angsty but didn’t know what, and here it is, FINALLY done! It’s also my first official MxM fic, in honor of the great MxM writer who pitched me the idea. Thank you, Dean! <3

Also, I had wanted to get a beta reader for this but.... I literally just finished and am posting it LITERALLY last minute after quickly reading and editing through myself. So if there’s stuff I missed, sorry! I hope it still reads well!

Yoongi walked into the now familiar building, easily directing himself to the third floor as usual. He had been routinely coming here for a few weeks now, and he found himself looking forward to his meetings with Jimin. The building itself was a bit smaller than he had originally expected for an entertainment company, and he remembered needing to stop and take a look around the first time he walked through the front doors. The lobby was rather welcoming, not so monochrome and sleek as many other businesses liked to keep their interiors.

The comfy-looking couches in the seating area were complementary tones of brown and blue, the plants placed nearby looking much more real than the plastic ones found at Yoongi’s workplace. The bit of actual life brought into the lobby just added to the much more welcoming feel here, something Yoongi had really come to appreciate these past weeks. Wall-length windows brought plenty of natural light into the open room, and along with the colorful but tasteful art hanging on the walls, the area emitted a warmth that reached into Yoongi’s bones. Much different from the cold atmosphere he was used to.

He didn’t even need to stop at the reception desk on his way in anymore since the staff easily recognized him. After the first week, he didn’t need to schedule appointments anymore either. He and Jimin would text and arrange their own times when they were available to meet.

Walking into the studio they were using, that now had temporary touches of Yoongi as well since he spent a fair amount of time working there, was more than natural by this point. It even felt more comfortable than his own studio lately.

Jimin smiled lazily at Yoongi. “Hey, Yoongi!”

“Hey, Jimin,” Yoongi responded as he pulled out the couple pieces of equipment he liked to use and always brought with him since they weren’t available here. “I have a demo to share with you today.”

Jimin’s eyes widened in excitement. “Really? Let me hear it!”

Yoongi chuckled. “Let me get set up first, huh?”

The first meeting Yoongi had with Jimin weeks ago went better than he had expected. He seemed to be just about as nice and personable as he acted in public, which was something Yoongi certainly couldn’t say for many of the other artists he worked with. By the end of it, he felt like he had a pretty good understanding of the type of song that Jimin was hoping to sing.

To be honest, Yoongi was surprised his company even agreed to let him meet with Jimin at all. This certainly wasn’t the first time someone from another label had requested a song produced by SUGA, but it was the first that his company approved. Usually they’d instantly refuse the request, wanting to keep Yoongi’s work exclusively for them.

Maybe they felt like Jimin wasn’t enough of a threat to compete with their own artists. But even just from the research Yoongi had done prior to meeting him, listening to his music and watching a few interviews to get an idea of who he’d be working with, he knew better. Jimin might not have been at the top, but he had been steadily gaining popularity since he first debuted a few years ago. He for sure had the talent, not only in singing but also dancing, and with just the right song and publicity he was sure Jimin would become a force to be reckoned with in the industry.

Working with Jimin on this song had been more than a breath of fresh air for Yoongi as well. The label Jimin belonged to didn’t feel the need to dictate every step they took with the song, letting them have the freedom to come up with a song that was a pleasant middle ground between what Yoongi wanted to write and what Jimin wanted to perform. Which surprisingly enough, was much less of a middle ground and more like almost exactly what both of them wanted.

After getting everything set up and pulling up the track that he finished putting together last night, Yoongi pressed play. It was still rather rough, needed finetuning and a more solid melody to go with it, but Yoongi felt like he managed to write something that both of them would be happy with.

The first few demos he made didn’t quite fit the bill, either Jimin not liking it as much as Yoongi wanted him to, Yoongi himself not being completely happy with the outcome, or a combination of both. But this one, he felt was different. He had a feeling this song was going to be it.

A smile quickly spread on Jimin’s face as he listened, giving away that he was indeed pleased with the song. He refrained from commenting until after the last beat had finished, but as soon as it did words flooded from him.

“Wow, that sounds amazing! It’s almost like you looked into my mind and managed to turn exactly what I was hoping for into a reality. I absolutely love it!”

Yoongi tried not to feel embarrassed from the praise as he smiled to himself. “Well, I mean my notebook filled with notes on what you wanted your song to be is pretty much that.” He shrugged. “I just wrote something based on those notes, and based on what I wanted to do.”

“I might be prejudiced,” Jimin said, “but I really think this might even end up being better than all your other songs,” Jimin said, tone light but seeming to only be partially joking. “It just sounds more… I don’t know. More real? Like not as artificial or manufactured.”

When Yoongi stared unmoving at Jimin for a moment, the singer backtracked a bit. “That’s not to say that your songs are bad, or anything! I really love them! It’s why I asked if we could reach out to your company, see if you could write me a song. But, I don’t know. It just sounds different.”

“I agree,” Yoongi admitted, nodding. “Sometimes I don’t even recognize my own work by the time it ends up being released, to be honest.”

Jimin furrowed his brows at him. “What do you mean?”

The elder casually shrugged. “It’s nothing. But if this gets through, I think I’ll be really happy with it.”

Jimin smiled brightly, eyes almost closed from the force of it. “Everyone will love it. I just know it.”

Yoongi was a pretty reserved person, finding very few people who he considered friends. But despite not being nearly as social or chatty as Jimin was, he found himself hoping that even after their song was done and released that they would keep in touch.

During the second week of working together, he had caught himself staring at the string on his finger that was only visible to himself many times. It was almost as if he hoped that it would suddenly connect to the other man in the room. Of course, he couldn’t be that lucky. It didn’t bother him, though. He quickly stopped the habit and was perfectly happy with the friendship that was possibly forming between the two of them.

However, it wasn’t much longer that he had to wait for the string that usually faded out into nothing to finally connect to its other end. In fact, it was later the same day that Yoongi had played the first draft of what they finalized as the new song for Jimin.

Yoongi was on his way back to his apartment when he felt it. A tiny tug on his hand that he barely noticed at first. But just a moment later, there it was again. When he looked down, he could see that it was the thread attached to his finger, the string longer than usual and pulled taut.

His heart sped up at the idea of his soulmate being nearby. After 26 years, he thought he’d never meet them. That he was just doomed to be alone and never feel loved. But his soulmate would love him, wouldn’t they? They had to.

Yoongi followed the string, trying to focus on that single task and not think too hard about who could be on the other end. The red thread was leading him toward a higher end clothing store, growing even longer the closer he got until he was standing just outside of the entrance to the shop.

He took in a deep breath, preparing himself before pulling the glass door open.

Once he was inside, the thread no longer tapered off into nothingness, but instead finished its path. Yoongi carefully followed it until he found the person it was connected to. He slowly took in the figure, feeling all of his breath leave him at once.

On the other end of the string was the most handsome man Yoongi had ever laid his eyes upon, perusing a rack of colorful shirts. Curly dark locks just long enough to fall into his eyes, facial features striking enough for him to be a model, and a gorgeous tan to his skin.

Yoongi was speechless, suddenly unsure of how to approach this man who was made to be his soulmate. He couldn’t help the brief feeling that he looked vaguely familiar, but shrugged it off. He would have certainly known if they met before. Worried that he would come across as a creep just staring at the stranger, he turned around to find something in the store to pretend to contemplate buying—although everything here was more expensive than what he’d usually buy.

As he started walking in the other direction he felt the tug on his hand once more, the string apparently wanting him to keep approaching the man on the other end. Yoongi looked over his shoulder to see if the other had noticed, and he froze when he met the beautiful man’s gaze.

The stranger’s eyes flickered down, clearly looking at the red thread tying them together. He then glanced up once more, again meeting Yoongi’s line of sight, before starting to walk in his direction.

Yoongi opened his mouth as the handsome man approached, ready to introduce himself to his soulmate. But before he could even get a syllable out, the man had walked right past him, opening the door and leaving the store. He didn’t look back even once.

Yoongi could feel the string pulling and tugging, not wanting the two of them to be separate after it had finally connected. The line remained taut, not dimming or fading out for a few moments. But then Yoongi could have sworn he felt it snap as it slackened, the string falling and its connection fading out into nothingness and resuming its usual length on Yoongi’s finger, a little duller than it had been before.

Yoongi stood in the middle of the store, unable to move. He had waited for 26 years to meet his soulmate, the one person in this world that he had hoped would be able to love him, only for him to walk away without a word.

“Sir, if you’re not going to buy anything, would you please leave?” a store associate said, returning Yoongi’s mind to the present.

He bowed in apology before walking out the door, staring wistfully in the direction that his soulmate had left.

Apparently not even fate had the power to make someone love him.

By the time Yoongi downed his third beer, Namjoon was looking worried. But he wasn’t going to ask. That was one of the things Yoongi loved about his best friend. He could read him like an open book, but also knew that if there was something to talk about he would come to it in his own time. Namjoon didn’t push or pressure him to talk before he was ready, just waited for him to be.

When Yoongi had knocked on Namjoon’s door with an abundance of beer and chicken wings, the latter already knew that something was up and his friend needed company. His understanding wife called her own friends to arrange a night out and let the men have the house to themselves. She was also Yoongi’s friend, but she knew this was something that only Joon could help with.

It wasn’t until the fifth beer that Yoongi had enough liquid courage in him to tell Namjoon what was on his mind. Gripping the half-empty bottle, he muttered out the words he never thought would end up being as solemn as they were.

“I met my soulmate.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened as he took a good look at the elder. “Seriously?” Answered with a single nod, he only became more confused. “So what’s wrong?” he carefully asked. “I figured when that happened we’d be drinking to celebrate, but you’re not exactly in a celebratory mood.”

Yoongi took in a deep breath in preparation for the next words he would mutter. “He took one look at me and walked away. Didn’t even say a word.”

The look on Namjoon’s face fell into solemn understanding. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah, that… That explains it.”

“Am I that disgusting?” Yoongi asked, looking up at the other earnestly. “Am I that ugly? That undesirable? Just one look, and he hated me already.”

“I highly doubt that, Yoongs,” Namjoon said. “First off, you’re not ugly. You’re actually very good looking, and not at all disgusting. But to hate someone just by looking at them without knowing anything about them? Impossible. Are you sure he saw you?”

“He looked me right in the eyes, Joon,” Yoongi said exasperatedly, harshly setting his bottle down on the table. “Looked me in the eyes, looked back at our string, then walked right past me and out the door.”

Namjoon chewed on his bottom lip in thought. He was going to try to rationalize, just like his smart brain always did. Always trying to think logically before emotionally. “Maybe he had never been interested in men before,” he suggested. “It may have been a shock to him to see that his soulmate was a man.”

“I don’t know. He didn’t look shocked or confused or anything. He had the most blank expression on his face. Like he just didn’t care.”

Namjoon opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it, looking away. But Yoongi had a pretty good idea what he was thinking. That maybe he was one of those people who didn’t care about soulmates. It wasn’t very common, but not unheard of. Maybe that was him, maybe he was already in a relationship. But did he have to just ignore Yoongi, though?

“But did he have to just ignore me, though?” Yoongi voiced his last thought. “He could have said something, at least.”

Shrugging, Namjoon took a swig from his second bottle. “It would have been nice of him to, definitely. I’m sorry man, I really don’t know what to say other than whether it’s your soulmate or not, you’ll find someone for you.”

“Yeah, the odds aren’t looking too good for that,” Yoongi scoffed before chugging almost the rest of his bottle.

“I’ve already said it so many times, but I’ll say it again,” Namjoon said, honest and strong gaze fixated on his friend. “You’re worth love, Yoongi. Regardless of how others have treated you in the past. They don’t matter. And if this soulmate of yours really doesn’t want to even give you a chance, then he doesn’t either. You’re worthy of being loved, deserve to be loved. The right person will come around eventually.”

Yoongi wanted to argue, but he knew he wouldn’t win. When it came to this topic, Namjoon would always have the last word, refusing to let Yoongi believe anything else. Every time he had been hurt, whether it was by yet another person who found his sexuality disgusting or someone who told him all the right words only to break his heart in the end, Namjoon was always there. He always gave him the ‘you’re not worthless’ speech. While Yoongi was heavily inclined to not believe it, it had always been enough to at least keep him going.

The two fell back into silence—not uncomfortable, but still heavy with the weight of Yoongi’s heart. It didn’t matter if no more words were exchanged until they decided they were done drinking and went to sleep. Yoongi would fall asleep next to his best friend, at least comforted by the fact that even if he never found someone who would love him the way he craved, he had someone who did love him in some way and would never leave him alone.

One of the benefits of Yoongi’s personality that he’d realized years ago was that when he was upset about something, the average person was none the wiser. A storm could be brewing in his mind, but because his expression was blank and his eyes had a hardened look to them during even a normal day, no one would have any idea. Well, except for Namjoon.

It meant that he didn’t have people constantly asking him what was wrong. Which he was extremely thankful for when he saw Jimin again two days later, the singer coming to visit Yoongi at his own studio this time. It was possible he took notice that Yoongi was a tad less talkative than normal, but if he did notice anything at all he just shrugged it off easily.

“Do you not like decorating?” Jimin asked after they finished working on the song for the day.

“What do you mean?” Yoongi asked, eyebrows raised.

“I noticed that you don’t really have much of a… personal touch to your studio,” Jimin shrugged.

“Not allowed,” Yoongi mumbled in response as he shut down the computer.

“You’re not allowed to decorate? Not at all?”

“Nope. The studio belongs to the company, not me. I just use it.”

“Huh.” Jimin seemed genuinely confused at the concept. “But like, people who have office jobs are allowed to decorate their spaces. They have pictures at their cubicles, or if they have a room to themselves they can arrange it how they want, can’t they?”

Yoongi shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know. It’s not like the studio we’re using at your company is decorated with your stuff.”

“Yeah, but we’re just borrowing it,” Jimin countered. “After we’re done with the song, someone else will use it. Whenever I visit the producers at our company, their studios are always decorated. Each one looks different, unique to them.”

“I don’t really care either way,” Yoongi said. “It’s just a room.”

The younger’s face scrunched up a bit, deep in thought for a moment. “It just feels like you don’t have much freedom here,” he carefully said after a moment.

“Comes with the territory, I guess,” Yoongi said. “I work for my boss, not myself. He decides what is good and what isn’t.”

“But the tracks you showed me earlier, they sounded so much better than the versions that were released. They were amazing.”

Earlier when they were a bit dry on ideas for the song, Jimin had been curious about demos of some of Yoongi’s other music, and so the producer had decided to play a few samples for him. Yoongi absolutely agreed with Jimin, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t up to him what was good or not.

“Our company doesn’t do that,” Jimin mumbled, almost too quiet for Yoongi to hear.

But he did. “Do what?” he asked for clarification.

“I mean, it’s not like they don’t ask for revisions on songs if they need some work still,” the singer said. “But our producers have a lot more freedom than it seems like you do here. They’re happy with the versions of their songs that get released. I just wish you could be, too. Your music is absolutely amazing and it deserves to be heard the way you want it to be.”

Unsure of what to say, Yoongi stared at the other, blinking. Eventually, when his mind caught up he said, “Well, nothing I can really do about that at this point.”

Jimin frowned, knowing that he was right. “Well, I’m positive my company is going to love this song we’re releasing,” he attempted to lighten the mood a bit.

“I hope so,” Yoongi said. “I haven’t enjoyed writing a song this much in a long time.”

“Well, I’m honored that it’s a song for me, then,” Jimin said, a smile back on his face. “And I hope that it’s just the start of you enjoying it again.”

Butterflies flying into his chest at Jimin’s kind words, Yoongi found himself glancing at the thread on his finger once again. He already met his soulmate, he knew it wasn’t Jimin. But he couldn’t help but wonder if only.

His expression must have become more readable than usual because it was only a few short moments later when Jimin asked, “Yoongi? Are you alright?”

It took Yoongi a moment to look back up at Jimin. “Have you met your soulmate, Jimin?” he blurted out.

The singer seemed surprised at the sudden question. “My- my soulmate?” His expression changed to the saddest Yoongi had seen him yet. “Well, yeah, I met her. I met her a long time ago. But we’re not together. Why do you ask?”

Yoongi couldn’t help being curious about why that was. But, he realized asking about Jimin’s soulmate was already treading dangerously into overstepping and it wouldn’t be appropriate to keep prodding. “No reason,” he shrugged. “I was just curious. Sorry.”

Jimin’s smile returned. “It’s alright. It’s natural to be curious, I guess. I’m a bit strange for not being with my soulmate, huh?”

“No,” Yoongi immediately responded. “I don’t think you’re strange at all.”

“What about you?” Jimin asked, somewhat hesitantly. “If you feel like sharing.”

Yoongi stared at his string one more time. “I ran into them once in a store,” he said, being careful not to specify gender. “But no, I haven’t properly met them.”

Nodding, Jimin seemed to understand that Yoongi also had left something unsaid but didn’t pry. “Well, whoever they are, they are a very lucky person to be your soulmate.” He was smiling, but the expression on his face was one that Yoongi couldn’t quite read.

The song was an absolute hit. So much so, that Yoongi’s boss seemed incredibly surprised. If he had presented a song like this to his boss, he would have been told to make a ton of changes before it hit the masses. He’d be told it wasn’t good enough, not perfect enough.

However, this song blew up so much faster and stronger than any songs that Jimin released before, and even more than any other song yet produced by SUGA. The love for the track made Yoongi happy, not just because his song that he was really happy with and proud of was getting love, but also because of how much it made his boss question everything he knew.

Barely even a week after the song’s release, Yoongi received a call from the company Jimin worked under. At first, he assumed that maybe it was an effort to try to get more collaborations with him, maybe a short-term contract. But much to his surprise, they were offering for him to work with them permanently.

To say that he was floored would be an understatement.

Switching companies like that was not easy. Especially since Yoongi knew how hard his current company would try to hold onto him, knowing that they’d be losing one of their best and most popular producers. Even if he had somewhere else to go, there were clauses in the contracts that made it difficult for one to just move from company to company. By offering Yoongi the job there, they were also promising to spend the time and money to handle the technicalities in order to ensure his successful transfer.

Shellshocked from the unexpected phone call, Yoongi could only muster a promise that he’d consider the offer before the call ended. It took a few good minutes, but once he was able to gather the remnants of his brain together, he pressed the call button on Jimin’s contact.

“Hey, Yoongi!” the ever-so cheery singer answered. “What’s up?”

“Park Jimin, what did you do?” Yoongi asked, no venom to be found in his voice.

There was silence for a moment while Jimin seemed to think about the question. “What do you mean, what did I do?”

“I mean, why did I just get a call from your company offering to hire me?”

“Oh, that,” Jimin breathed out through a nervous laugh. “Well, I didn’t know they were going to actually call you, for the record. Although, I really am glad that they did. I mean, you really des-”

“Jimin.”

Jimin cleared his throat. “I just asked them if they liked you, and what it would look like if they signed you on as a producer for us. I guess they started thinking about it and decided they wanted to.”

“Why did you do that?”

“You know why. That place doesn’t treat you how they should. You could have so much more freedom here, Yoongi.” After a few moments of silence, Jimin added, “Plus, I really enjoyed working with you. I was kind of hoping that we might be able to write some more songs together in the future.” Another silence. “You’re not mad, are you?” Jimin asked in a small voice.

“No, I’m not mad,” Yoongi replied. “I’m just shocked, is all.”

“Do you know how you’re going to respond?”

Yoongi sighed into the phone. “I’m not sure. I’d have to talk with them and figure out what working there would mean, make sure it’s worth the effort battling my current company to let me leave.”

“Well, let me know when you decide?”

“Yeah, sure.”

It didn’t take long for Yoongi to decide. After asking for more information on the offer, there was no way he would refuse the deal. Not only would he have proper rights to his music—still shared of course, but actually a reasonable percentage compared to what he was currently getting—but he’d also get a higher percentage of royalties. Like Jimin had mentioned, he would get his own studio that he was allowed to decorate and even refurbish, within reason of course. All of that, on top of the experience he’d already had with them not forcing him to change his songs entirely, made the choice a no-brainer.

Apparently, they were already prepared for him to say yes to the offer, quickly going in to get his contract with the current company terminated as swiftly and easily as possible. There was of course still pushback, but it could have been much more difficult if Yoongi’s original employer had been more prepared for it.

That still didn’t stop his boss—ex-boss, rather—from repeatedly asking Yoongi to stay, trying to convince him that he’d give him a better deal. Out of curiosity, Yoongi had humored the idea just to see what he’d come up with. But when the man showed him the new contract he had written up, Yoongi couldn’t help but laugh at it. It wasn’t even close to being as good as what Jimin’s company had offered, and he certainly wasn’t going to be hanging around there either way.

The day the transfer was official, Yoongi couldn’t help but feel excited to go to work for the first time in a long time, other than the days when he got to work on Jimin’s song at least. He already had everything prepared to put into his new studio, equipment he already knew they wouldn’t have there that he preferred, and just a few simple things to start making the space his own.

His spent the first hour or so of the day arranging everything the way he wanted, placing equipment where he could work efficiently, and finding places the his small trinkets he wanted to try decorating with. Afterwards, he texted Jimin to see if he was at the office, wanting to show him his studio. Yeah, it wasn’t really much quite yet, but it was his own space. And he knew Jimin was going to be just as excited as he felt.

Jimin’s quick reply let Yoongi know that he was currently in one of the dance practice rooms, and he insisted Yoongi stopped by.

After taking the elevator one floor down, he could hear laughter coming from the room where he knew Jimin to be. Jimin’s recognizable tinkling laughter was accompanied by an airy, deeper one. It was only one short moment later when he felt a pull on his hand. Furrowing his eyebrows, he glanced down to see that once again, the string attached to his ring finger extended farther and was clearly reaching out to the other end.

Sight following the line, Yoongi’s heart raced when he realized it led into the room where Jimin’s laughter could be heard. Without thinking, his footsteps became more rushed as he neared the door, quickly pushing it open and looking for its occupants.

“Yoongi!” Jimin greeted just as Yoongi’s eyes found them. Sure enough, sitting next to him was the dark-haired man that Yoongi had met in the store that day—his soulmate. “Come meet my best friend!”

Yoongi tried to not let the storm going on inside his head to show in his expression as he approached the two.

“This is Kim Taehyung,” Jimin introduced the mystery man. “Tae, this is Yoongi. Better known as SUGA.”

“Ah, Jimin has been talking a lot about you,” the other man, Taehyung said, no hint of embarrassment or apology for their last encounter in his tone. His voice was deep and rich and sent an involuntary shiver down Yoongi’s spine. “It’s nice to meet you.” A hand, the hand which their string attached to, reached out toward Yoongi.

Hesitantly, Yoongi grabbed it, gently shaking it once. “Nice to meet you too, Taehyung.”

Jimin was incredibly persistent, and it was a problem. Because that meant that it was impossible to ignore Jimin's pleads for Yoongi to go out to a bar with not only him, but Taehyung as well. He said something about wanting two of his favorite people to get along, or something along those lines.

So there he was, sitting in a booth next to Taehyung—under Jimin's insistence again—and feeling stupidly nervous about being in such close proximity to his soulmate. While Taehyung hadn't made any active effort to speak with Yoongi outside of the social obligation to generally not be rude, or to please Jimin when he encouraged the two to interact more, he wasn't acting like anything had ever happened between the two of them before.

This was the same man who walked out of the store to get away from Yoongi. Who saw they were connected by this string and still felt the need to completely ignore him. But he genuinely acted like this was the first time they met, and he most certainly seemed to be intentionally ignoring the fact that they were soulmates.

"Everything okay, Yoongi?" Jimin asked when he hadn’t spoken for a while.

"Hm? Yeah, I'm okay," Yoongi said. "Why?"

"You just, have that look," Jimin answered. “Like you’re deep in thought about something.”

Yoongi’s not sure if he imagined seeing Taehyung glance at him from the corner of his eye. “Ah, sorry. It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

A slightly worried look sat on Jimin’s face, obviously unconvinced. However, he seemed to think it best to move on, a smile soon lighting up his features. “So, you haven’t told me how your old boss took your transfer to our company.”

With a light laugh, Yoongi’s face loosened up as well. “It was funny. He tried telling me that he’d offer me a better contract if I was unhappy with the one he had given me. But it was still terrible, definitely not as good as what they offered me. He was trying so desperately to keep me.”

“Yeah, they’re no doubt going to lose money without you,” Jimin said. “Their loss. If they wanted to keep you, they should have treated you better. Your songs are amazing. Right, Tae? We’re always listening to songs you’ve written.”

Yoongi glanced between the two, trying not to linger too long on Taehyung’s undeniably gorgeous face. “Really?”

It was Taehyung who nodded. “Yeah, your music is really great. Some of my favorite songs were written by you.” Yoongi tried to hold in his surprise when Taehyung turned to him and gave him what seemed to be a shy smile.

His heart still felt like it skipped a beat, though.

“Thank you,” Yoongi answered, a small smile of his own returning Taehyung’s before taking a sip of his drink.

“Although, I still have to say that your new song is by far your best,” Jimin said smugly.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “You’re biased.”

“Am I wrong though?” Jimin challenged.

Taehyung was quiet for a moment before he ultimately just shrugged.

A short, not so uncomfortable silence sat between the three. Yoongi still couldn’t forget that first encounter he had with Taehyung, and was trying his best to not look at his left hand. However, it was slowly getting more comfortable with him thanks to Jimin. He made a mental note for himself to definitely try to talk to Taehyung later about what happened that day.

“So, how did you two meet?” Yoongi decided to ask to keep conversation going.

“I transferred to a new school when I was… what? Twelve?” Taehyung started. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Jimin was the first friend I made there.”

Jimin nodded. “And we’ve been inseparable ever since. He’s my soulmate.”

Yoongi’s brow furrowed in confusion, glancing subtly at his string, which most certainly was connecting to the man sitting beside him.

“Not literal soulmate,” Taehyung nonchalantly clarified. “We call each other that because we were basically just destined to be best friends.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin laughed. “I’ve definitely caused a few misunderstandings with that one. I sometimes forget other people still have soulmates.”

Now Yoongi was even more confused. “Still?”

Recognizing what he said, Jimin’s eyes widened before he put a smile on his face, looking somewhat forced. “Oops. I’ll tell you some other time. Don’t want to sour the mood. Anyway, when Taehyung was scouted by our company I was so excited that we’d be able to work close together. It was like a dream come true.”

“You’re signed under the company, too?” Yoongi asked the dark-haired man next to him.

Taehyung nodded. “Yeah. I know I’m not like super famous, but most people recognize me. You don’t?”

Unsure if he should feel embarrassed about the fact that he had no idea what Taehyung was talking about, Yoongi didn’t say anything as he looked between the other two.

“Oh, really?” Jimin finally said, giving Yoongi some relief. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know, sorry. Tae is a model.”

The mentioned man already had a picture pulled up on his phone to show Yoongi. It was obviously from a photoshoot, the image expertly taken to show off all the perfect angles of Taehyung’s face. Now it made sense why he felt like he had recognized him when they first ran into each other. Thinking about it, it wasn’t so surprising. The man really was strikingly handsome.

“Oh, that- that actually makes a lot of sense,” Yoongi said before he could stop himself.

“I know, right?” Jimin cheered from across the table. “It’s like he was made to be a model. He’s absolutely gorgeous. Don’t you think so, Yoongi?”

Yoongi spluttered for a moment, caught off guard by the question being directed toward him. As he felt heat rise to his cheeks, he settled on nodding in agreement. He couldn’t help but think about how that meant he’d probably end up running into Taehyung a lot, then. There was a high chance they’d see each other frequently at the company, and even outside of it if Jimin kept insisting on having them hang out together. Maybe it was a chance to get to know each other, maybe Taehyung could warm up to him and consider giving him a shot.

It was interesting to see a contrast between the two best friends in their drinking behavior. An hour later, Jimin was most certainly well past the point of tipsy, while Taehyung was still sipping on water. Yoongi himself had a few beers, but not anywhere enough to get more than a light buzz.

“Not much of a drinker?” Yoongi tried to make light small talk with Taehyung when Jimin left to go to the bathroom, not for the first time that night.

“Nah,” Taehyung said. “Don’t really like the taste at all. I can tolerate some wine, but that’s about it. Jimin loves it though. Obviously,” he chuckled.

Yoongi just nodded, taking another small sip from his cup.

“Did you say anything to him about this?” Taehyung asked, lifting up his left hand where the red string hang from to connect to Yoongi’s.

“No,” Yoongi replied honestly. “I had mentioned that I ran into my soulmate, but I didn’t know who you were at the time, and I didn’t tell him anything else. Just that we ran into each other once. Did you?”

Taehyung shook his head. “We don’t talk about things like soulmates. Not a great topic for us.” He took in a deep breath. “I want to apologize for that day, though.”

Yoongi’s head snapped to look at him, surprised at the sudden apology.

“I’ve never had much interest in the whole soulmate thing,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t rude. I had had a pretty bad day, not that it excuses my behavior. I just didn’t think. I’m sure you have questions, since I know most people care about this string. I’m not comfortable sharing my life story with you yet or anything like that. But you seem like a nice guy, and Jimin wants us to be friends. I wanted to clear that up so that we can try to be friends. If you wanted.”

“Yes,” Yoongi responded, quickly feeling embarrassed of how fast he did. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’d like to be friends. And thank you for that apology.”

The two shared a smile, but didn’t get to say anything else when Jimin came fumbling back to the table and started animatedly talking about some girl that he was sure had been checking him out.

Maybe Taehyung wouldn’t end up being so bad afterall.

This was not going as well as Yoongi had hoped.

It wasn’t that he and Taehyung weren’t getting along well. In fact, they were getting along perfectly fine. Most of the time when Jimin asked Yoongi to hang out, or when one of them would visit the other at the company, Taehyung was there. The more time Yoongi spent with Taehyung, the more he liked the man.

Half of the time, Yoongi would even forget about the fact this handsome, charming, warm-hearted person was his soulmate. He’d just be hanging out with Taehyung. Yoongi felt as though he had been doomed from their first conversation. That as soon as things were friendly between the two of them, it became inevitable for him to be sucked in deeper and deeper, for him to slowly fall for the man.

Okay, maybe not that slowly. It had only been about a month or so, but Yoongi could already tell he was in too deep with no way out. Hence why things were not going well.

Taehyung made no indication to having any interest in Yoongi other than just being friends. He was hands down a great friend and there was nothing wrong with that. But when Yoongi could feel himself longing for Taehyung more and more each day as he saw the string connecting them slowly become duller, things were obviously not okay.

The thing with soulmates was that they weren’t set in stone. No one quite knew how people ended up tied together by some intangible string that only you and your soulmate could see. There were many theories, mostly spiritual, on the topic but no one had figured it out for sure. However, there was a substantial amount of research put into the topic to decipher as much as humans could about them. One thing that was clear was how the string read emotions. Just because you had become tied to someone didn’t mean you always would be. If there was emotional distance, betrayed trust, or anything else that would drive a couple apart emotionally, the string would reflect that by disappearing. Sometimes slowly, sometimes as fast as a snap of the fingers, depending on each situation.

Every day that Yoongi’s feelings grew stronger for Taehyung, the string faded a little more, becoming more and more transparent. Which meant that while Yoongi had the emotions and felt the connection with him, Taehyung didn’t. Even though Yoongi didn’t know Taehyung’s story of why he didn’t care about soulmates, one thing was made very obvious to him—that Taehyung valued honest, emotional connections more than anything. Yoongi had hoped that as they became closer, maybe Taehyung would start to warm up to him and want to give him a genuine chance, soulmate or not.

Yoongi was, as always, stupidly hopeful.

It was a night where Jimin visited Yoongi at his studio, now much more decorated to reflect his likes and personality when the topic of soulmates was brought up once again.

“You’re staring at your string, aren’t you?” Jimin asked quietly after he had just been gushing his growing crush on his choreographer, which Yoongi had only been paying half of his attention to.

Yoongi looked up from where he had indeed been staring at his left ring finger, apologetically smiling at Jimin. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

The younger remained quiet for a moment before asking, “Have you met them again? Your soulmate.”

Heart clenching, Yoongi nodded. “Yeah, we’ve met properly.”

Another silence sat while Jimin examined Yoongi’s face. He was annoyingly becoming rather good at reading his poker face. “It’s not going well, I take it?”

Yoongi shrugged. “Debatable. It’s going fine, I guess. Just- not where I wish it was going.”

Jimin nodded, taking a moment to stare at his own finger where his string would have been. “It’s been a long time since I had my string,” he said quietly.

It was Yoongi’s turn to examine Jimin’s face, finding a wistful expression as he sighed.

“I met her in high school,” Jimin said, lifting his gaze to Yoongi to check if he seemed okay with the subject change. When Yoongi nodded in encouragement, Jimin continued. “Like the stupid kid I was, I put blind faith into the fact that some red string told us we were supposed to be together. It was fine at first, she was sweet and we had a good time together. I don’t know now if I was legitimately in love with her, or if I just felt like I was supposed to be. But either way, it still hurt more than I could have imagined when I found out she was cheating on me.”

Yoongi’s heart clenched in empathy for Jimin but didn’t have anything he could say. He could understand exactly how that must have felt for young Jimin, having had his fair share of people using and hurting him, but this conversation wasn’t about him.

“You’re forgetting to mention about how she started treating you like shit even before that,” an unmistakable, deep voice came from the entrance to the studio. Taehyung fully entered the room, sitting next to Jimin on the couch and pulling him into his side. “She would insult him in front of friends, convince him to do ridiculous things for her all the time, just generally treated him like he was lower than her and should be lucky she was with him.”

“She wasn’t that bad,” Jimin quietly defended.

“Yes, she was,” Taehyung insisted. “She broke you down and tore you apart before she even decided to cheat on you with that sleazebag. You said your string was already gone by that time.”

Jimin relented, sighing as he lay his head on Taehyung’s shoulder. “I’m just lucky I had Taetae. I don’t know what I would have done without him holding me up.”

Yoongi observed the two of them, Jimin still looking sad as he relived the memories in his mind and Taehyung holding onto him, almost protectively with a hard look on his face. It started to become more clear to Yoongi as to why Taehyung might not care about soulmate connections.

“Some people are assholes,” Yoongi settled on saying. “I’m really sorry that happened to you, Jimin.”

Jimin lifted his head, offering Yoongi a smile that brightened his expression a bit. “It was years ago, I’m okay now. And it doesn’t mean I can’t find someone. Same with you. If things don’t end up working between you and your soulmate, you know that doesn’t mean that you won’t find someone for you, right?”

Yoongi tensed up, trying his best not to look at Taehyung at the mention of his soulmate. Instead, he stared at his left hand, the string extending past his vision toward Taehyung as usual. “Thanks, Jimin,” he answered, not wanting to say anything else.

“Anyway, we’re all here now,” Jimin said. “So let’s go!”

“Go?” Yoongi asked. “Go where?”

“It’s the weekend, Tae and I don’t have any schedules tomorrow, and you have been slaving away at that computer all week,” Jimin said, as if that answered the question.

Taehyung chuckled when Yoongi just stared blankly at the singer for a long moment. “He means we’re going out. To a bar or club, or whatever he feels like doing.”

“Why am I included in this?” Yoongi grumbled.

“Because I said so,” Jimin answered. “You need to get out more.”

“I’m good with my music and dark rooms, thanks,” Yoongi insisted.

“I don’t know why you bother fighting this every time,” Taehyung said with a smile on his face. “You know he’s always going to win. Just gotta learn to go along with it.”

“Yes, precisely,” Jimin said, grabbing Yoongi’s arm to pull him out of his chair. “Now come on. Let’s go!”

Jimin was feeling up for a club today, apparently. Yoongi was most definitely not dressed appropriately for one, not that he had anything in his closet that would be, but Jimin and Taehyung were by far well-dressed and good-looking enough to get all three of them in.

It still surprised Yoongi that whenever they’d go out, no one really paid much attention to Jimin and Taehyung. They were both well-known and steadily getting more popular every day, yet they were left alone and unbothered when they were so out in the open. Yoongi couldn’t figure out how they did it, but he assumed that it might have had something to do with the fact that every place Jimin picked out looked higher-end than the bars Namjoon would drag him out to.

The three had barely ordered their first drinks before the first woman approached them. Yoongi paid no attention, subtly turning away from her to stay out of it. Every time this happened, they always had their eyes set on either Jimin or Taehyung—and they weren’t exactly Yoongi’s type anyway. And if it were Taehyung she had her eyes set on, it was better for him to not watch.

To his complete surprise, he felt a tap on his shoulder just a moment later. “Excuse me,” a light voice said.

Yoongi carefully turned back to face the woman, trying his best to keep his face as emotionless as usual despite how shocked he was feeling. “Yes? Do you- can I help you?”

From behind her, he could see Jimin and Taehyung both watching the interaction with rapt attention, amusement on their faces.

“I was about to dance, but I don’t want to go alone,” she pouted. “Would you come with me?” Objectively, this woman was rather beautiful. She was clearly skilled with her makeup, accentuating the soft angles of her face really well. The bold purple dress she wore was club appropriate, showing off a fair amount of skin, but also had a more classy look to it to make her stand out among the other girls in the crowd and it hugged the shape of her body really well.

“Sorry,” Yoongi replied, “I don’t really dance. My friends dragged me here.” He nodded in the direction of the two, certainly much more handsome men behind her in hopes she’d maybe pay them some attention instead.

She looked disappointed, but didn’t push, seeming to sense a rejection when she heard one. “Alright. Well, if you change your mind, feel free to find me.” Her gaze very obviously dragged up and down his body before walking away with a very intentional sway of her hips. If Yoongi were interested in women, he was sure his gaze would linger on the action, but instead he just turned to look at his still amused friends.

“You’re not going to get anyone interested in you that way,” Jimin teased.

“I don’t want anyone interested in me,” he rebutted quickly, being extra mindful to not glance at Taehyung. “I’m not even dressed well, either. Don’t know why she decided to hit on me.”

“Have you ever looked in a mirror?” Jimin asked. “You don’t need the right clothes when your face is that gorgeous.”

“She was pretty hot, though,” Taehyung said, not-so-discretely looking in the direction she had left in. “Wouldn’t have hurt to indulge her a bit.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Not my type.”

There was a time Yoongi would have been cautious about saying anything that could have even subtly hinted at who exactly his ‘type’ was. But after a while he realized that if someone were to judge or dislike him for it, then they didn’t deserve his trust anyway. He didn’t know what Jimin’s stance was and assumed that Taehyung probably at least didn’t have an issue with it since he never appeared repulsed by the fact they were soulmates, despite also not seeming to care much about it. He figured if they were going to figure out what he meant by that, this couldn’t have been the worst time for them to.

Jimin certainly seemed to be in thought after that, carefully scanning the crowd until he apparently found someone of interest. “What about him, then?” he asked completely nonchalantly, bringing Yoongi’s attention to a very handsome man.

From this distance with the dark lights, he couldn’t trust that he was seeing everything fully accurately. However what Yoongi did see was someone whose looks almost seemed to rival Jimin and Taehyung’s. A sharp jaw line, swept back brown hair and soft eyes, and he most certainly seemed to know what he was doing on the dance floor.

After taking the moment to appraise him, Yoongi gave a slight nod. “He’s definitely really attractive, at least from here.” He took a sip from his beer as he waited for one of them to say something more. When they remained quiet for a moment, he decided to ask, “It doesn’t bother you?”

Jimin smiled, shaking his head. “Of course not. I’d be lying if I said that he wasn’t my type as well. My choreographer is a guy, too. What do you think, Tae? He’s a cutie, wouldn’t you say?”

Taehyung’s gaze narrowed as he assessed the stranger. “Yeah, he’s definitely cute. Looks pretty young, though. You know I like it when they’re older, especially men.”

Jimin’s head threw back with laughter. “That’s true.”

Yoongi tried not to be too obvious about how relieved he was to find that out, hiding his smile behind the cup when he took another sip.

Ten minutes later found Jimin on the dance floor, a few shots in already, dancing with the man he picked out earlier while Yoongi and Taehyung hung back at the bar. During the few times that Yoongi had gone out like this with them, it wasn’t a common thing for Jimin or Taehyung to indulge someone else for very long. He’d seen Jimin dance with women on an occasion or two, and Taehyung would have short chats with people who were interested in him. Although that was the first time he saw either of them approach someone themselves. He wondered briefly if this might be the first night they might not all leave together.

“Don’t want anyone to be interested in you, huh?” Taehyung asked after long moments of a comfortable lull in conversation, filled only with the sounds of the club.

“Nope,” Yoongi replied, pulling his eyes away from where Jimin was dancing incredibly close to the stranger. “In places like this, people are usually just looking for a hook-up. I’m not really a hook-up kind of guy.”

Taehyung nodded. “Same,” he said, swirling his glass sitting on the bar. “Although, I find it fun to indulge. Chat a bit, see what they’re like. But if they seem to only be interested in who’s house we’re going to after, that’s the end of that for me.”

“What about Jimin? It kind of looks like he’s interested in not going home alone tonight.”

Shaking his head, Taehyung’s mouth turned down into a stupidly cute pout. “Nah, he’s too much of a romantic. He’s probably going to go home with the guy’s number, though. Jimin has a weird habit of making friends with the people he flirts with. Why? Are you jealous?”

“No, not jealous,” Yoongi replied easily. There may have been a time where he wondered if he could have had a thing with Jimin, but he was far too gone for Taehyung to even remotely consider that now. “Just don’t want him to get hurt.”

“You and me both. But he’s smarter, now. I don’t think he’d let another Miyoung into his life.”

Yoongi assumed that was the name of the ex-soulmate they talked about earlier. There was another pause in the conversation, this time heavy from the thoughtful expression Taehyung wore.

“It happens too often, you know. Not even just with teenagers. People in any stage of their life blindly trust this thing.” He was clearly looking at where their string attached itself to his left ring finger. “They assume that the person on the other end is going to be loving and compassionate, and there’s no way they wouldn’t work out. It’s so stupid.”

That felt like a stab to Yoongi’s chest. “Maybe some people just don’t have anyone else who can love them.”

“I’m sorry, that sounded harsh,” Taehyung backtracked. “I didn’t mean that about you, it’s just a general observation. Everyone in this world has a string connected to them at some point. But not everyone in the world is a good person. People who are assholes, abusers, criminals, killers, they all have a soulmate. But so many people assume that the person they’re attached to is just going to be amazing when it’s actually not often the case. Did you know there are some really interesting statistics around divorce rates?”

“Oh?” Yoongi asked, genuinely interested. He had never thought about that before, but Taehyung was really making a lot of sense so far and he was curious of what he had to say.

“Among divorcees if you divide the couples into who were soulmates when they met and who weren’t, there’s a much higher percentage of soulmate couples. It was somewhere around 70% soulmates last time I looked. It makes sense in one way because that’s also the majority of people who end up getting married. But when you hear their stories, almost all of them are the same. It’s some version of how they put faith into the string and rushed their relationship without properly developing a connection, and then they found out too late that they weren’t actually compatible. Or worse, that one of them was abusive in some way, overly possessive, or anything else from a list of red flags you’d usually find out during a relationship where you would have gotten to know them properly without a silly string telling you they were ‘the one.’ Non-soulmate couples who have talked about their stories tend to boil it down to other things, like growing apart over time, their partner cheating or becoming a ‘different person’ than they used to be. Rarely anything about rushing into something blindly.”

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Yoongi said after waiting a moment to make sure Taehyung was done explaining. “I realized earlier that what happened with Jimin might have had something to do with our first meeting.”

Taehyung cringed. “Yeah, I’m still sorry about that. But yes, he’s one reason. He’s not the only person I care about who’s been burned by their soulmate though.” He stared into his drink, a distant look in his eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yoongi caught sight of Jimin walking back to them with the mystery guy he had been dancing with being dragged behind him.

“Guys, say hi to Jungkook!” Jimin excitedly said as he approached.

It was almost scary how abruptly Taehyung’s expression changed as he turned to his best friend in amusement. “I was just telling Yoongi that you have a habit of making friends by flirting with them. Nice to meet you, Jungkook. I’m Taehyung.”

“I mean that turned out amazing for us, didn’t it?” Jimin said through a laugh.

Jungkook turned out to be a really sweet guy, and the four of them spent the rest of their night just chatting at the bar. Well, mostly Jimin and Taehyung were the ones chatting. Jungkook seemed to be more reserved like Yoongi, so the two mostly just responded when asked a question or being dragged into the current topic.

“You know,” Jimin slurred when he had already gotten well past the point of being drunk, a wobbly finger pointing at Yoongi, “that soulmate of yours must be really dumb.”

Yoongi quickly glanced at Taehyung to see him looking uncomfortable. Tensing up, Yoongi cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, I would,” Jimin insisted. “Whoever he is, he should be thankful that he gets to be your soulmate. You are amazing.”

“Jimin,” Yoongi sighed. “Maybe he has his reasons.”

“But it’s not fair.” The pout was obvious in his voice despite Yoongi not being able to see it due to the man now draping himself over Yoongi’s back. “You said you weren’t happy with how things were going between you two. I don’t like that he’s making you upset.”

Yoongi closed his eyes as he took a steadying breath, not wanting to see Taehyung’s reaction. He already knew the model wasn’t interested and didn’t want to feel that sting of rejection right now. “We should get you home,” Yoongi said to change the subject. “You’re really drunk.”

“I’ll pull the car around,” Taehyung said, seeming really eager to walk away.

Jimin continued to whine, sniffles interrupting here and there while he kept saying how it wasn’t fair and he wanted Yoongi to be happy. While Yoongi’s heart clenched with appreciation for his friend’s concern, he didn’t want to feed into the conversation again.

Hurried knocks on Yoongi’s studio door cut through the track that Yoongi was currently editing. Finding a spot he felt comfortable to stop at, he answered the door to a very smiling and excited Jimin throwing his arms around him.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it, Yoongi!” the now pink-haired singer yelled a little too loud for being right next to Yoongi’s ear.

“Can’t believe what, Jimin?” Yoongi asked as he gently pushed the man back a bit.

Jimin raised his left hand in between them as if that would answer Yoongi’s question. “I have a new soulmate!”

Well, that was unexpected. Confused and surprised, Yoongi tilted his head as he tried to figure that one out. “What do you mean you have a new soulmate? That’s possible?”

“Yeah! It was something I looked into years ago when I was upset about losing mine,” Jimin elaborated. “It’s actually more common than you’d expect. Soulmates drifting apart or separating, whatever causes the string to disappear. But it’s possible to find a new one later. I always hoped it would happen to me but I had no idea how it would. Like, would it happen when I met them, or if I started feeling something for someone?”

“So how did your string appear?” Yoongi asked through his amazement of the new information.

A blush settled on Jimin’s cheeks, looking suddenly shy as he said, “We kissed.”

Jimin was certainly full of surprises today. “Oh, well that’s… good, I guess. Who is it?”

“Hoseok,” Jimin said with a smile. “My choreographer that I’ve been gushing to you about lately. We’ve been getting closer and, I don’t know. It just- it felt right. And we kissed, then the string appeared and connected us. He’s so great, Yoongi. He’s so funny and nice and, I just- I feel so happy.”

“That’s really great, Jimin,” Yoongi genuinely said, a smile sitting on his face. “I’m really happy for you.”

Sighing, Jimin relaxed into the couch in Yoongi’s studio just as another knock, much more calm this time, sounded on the door. Yoongi opened it once more, letting in a confused Taehyung.

Nothing had changed between Yoongi and Taehyung after that night at the club even after another few weeks had passed. They still talked and hung out, usually with Jimin and oftentimes Jungkook as well now. They both seemed to silently agree to act like Jimin’s drunken outburst had never happened, while Yoongi’s heart continued to break every time he saw the string fade more and more. It was almost gone now, hardly visible. It probably wouldn’t make it through the week.

“Is everything alright with Jimin?” Taehyung asked as he stepped in. “He just texted me to come meet him here and that it was a red alert?” He turned to the singer in question, starting to examine him over as if looking for injuries.

Which queued Jimin filling him in on his new soulmate. Taehyung’s eyes widened in shock, but seemed just as happy and excited as Jimin was. Yoongi couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy in his chest, staring wistfully at his own string.

“It’s been a few weeks since we’ve talked about the soulmate thing,” Jimin said to Yoongi after they both calmed down. “I want to ask, but I don’t kn-”

“Same as it was last we talked,” Yoongi interrupted. “Nothing new to report.”

Jimin sighed. “I know I was drunk when I said it, but I’m serious that whoever this guy is dumb. It is a guy, right? I just assumed since you seemed interested and made it pretty clear you’re not into girls.”

Turning to his computer so he didn’t accidentally look at Taehyung, Yoongi steeled himself for not being able to dismiss the conversation this time. “Yeah, it’s a guy. And also, you should stop saying that. He has his reasons. And just because we’re soulmates doesn’t mean he needs to like me.”

“But he should!” Jimin insisted. “You’re really a catch, Yoongi. He’s really dumb for not wanting something with you. And he’s making you feel sad, I don’t like that.”

“Jimin, please drop it,” Yoongi said as gently as he could, pleading tone to his voice.

It was quiet for a moment before an, “It’s me,” sounded into the room.

Yoongi’s head snapped around to stare at Taehyung, surprised at the words he just muttered, while Jimin’s face morphed into confusion.

“What?” Jimin almost whispered. “What did you say?”

“Yoongi’s soulmate,” Taehyung elaborated, pausing to take a deep breath. “It’s me.”

Jimin’s eyes widened, looking back and forth between the two. “Seriously? You’ve been talking about Tae this whole time? Really?”

Looking at the nearly faded string that only one person in the room couldn’t see, Yoongi nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you guys tell me?” Jimin asked, almost sounding offended. “I just- oh my god, I just said- Yoongi I’m so, so sorry. I just-”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi said. “I think he knew, anyway.”

After a moment of loaded silence, Jimin broke it again. “Alright, I take back what I said, then. Kim Taehyung, you-” Jimin hit him over the head with one of the throw pillows from the couch “-are undeniably, one hundred percent an absolute moron! You have a whole ass Min Yoongi that your soul is literally tied to and you’re not taking that opportunity? What the fuck!”

By this point, Yoongi’s neck should be sore from the amount of whiplash he’d experienced today.

Taehyung looked a little bit like a cornered animal, unsure of what to do. “Jimin, you know about how I feel about soulmates.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jimin said, still seeming exasperated at his best friend. “You don’t trust it, fine. I get it, I really do. But seriously? You guys have been getting along so well, and you’re telling me you haven’t felt like you wanted to date him at all? I know you, Kim Taehyung. I can tell when-”

“It never ends well,” Taehyung interrupted, remaining surprisingly calm.

“Just because both your dad and I got screwed over by our soulmates doesn’t mean everyone does, Taehyung,” Jimin said. “I get why you’re hesitant. And I think it’s really great that you’re getting to know each other instead of jumping into something too early, but seriously?” By this point, Yoongi just felt like a bystander even though the conversation was about something he was very much in the middle of. “How strong is the string?”

When Taehyung’s eyes shifted, settling on the floor without answering, Jimin finally turned back to Yoongi. “How strong is the string?” he repeated.

“It’s um-” Yoongi cleared his throat “-it’s pretty faded. Getting kind of hard to see.”

Jimin sympathetically smiled at Yoongi before turning back to Taehyung and smacking him with the pillow one more time. “I repeat. You are a moron. You guys are talking this out. Right now.”

“Jimin-” Taehyung started.

“Nope,” Jimin stopped him. “I am leaving the room and standing guard outside. And you are going to sit in here and talk your shit out.”

Standing up, Jimin stopped to give Yoongi a strong hug and then threw one last glare at his best friend before closing the door behind him.

While Yoongi tried to process the roller coaster Jimin just put him through, Taehyung leaned back into the couch, running a hand over his face as he sighed. “I don’t know what he expects us to talk about.”

The door opened once more, Jimin having known the password and just usually knocked to be polite, to say, “In case you’re having trouble figuring out where to start, your baggage is a great place to, Taehyung.” Then he firmly closed the door once again.

An awkward silence sat between the two for a moment while Yoongi did his best to look anywhere besides Taehyung or their string.

“You don’t have to,” Yoongi was the first to speak. “If you wanted to give us a shot the string wouldn’t be fading, so I already know your answer.”

“The most valuable lesson I learned from my parents,” Taehyung said, “was to never trust the soulmate string. They did, and my dad ended up so much worse because of it. He always tells me the only good thing he ever got from her was me.”

Yoongi’s mouth was firmly shut as Taehyung started pouring out what was probably his most personal story.

“They were soulmates,” he continued. “They trusted it, didn’t take their time and just rushed into a relationship like so many other people do. But my mom was a bitch, told me all the time I was a mistake and she didn’t even want me. She was so abusive in every way. Verbally, mentally, physically she abused us. Mostly my dad because he did what he could to keep her hands off of me. It wasn’t until I was twelve years old that my dad finally was able to get us away from her. The courts even tried forcing him to give me back to her, too. That’s a really weird thing about the court system, they tend to favor the mothers in these situations. But luckily my dad had taken pictures, and I guess I was barely old enough that they took my testimony against her somewhat seriously so in the end I got to stay safe, with Dad.”

Taehyung stood, walking closer to where Yoongi sat at his desk and sitting on the floor in front of him. “So needless to say, I kind of have a really bad opinion on soulmates. Between him and then Jimin, I just started to feel like they were pointless, that it was always going to be a bad idea to trust the string. I promised myself I’d never let the people who care about me see me go through what they had.”

“I understand,” Yoongi said. “I don’t think you should feel obligated to care about me just because we have this string. And you certainly don’t have to feel bad for me about it.”

“You, um,” Taehyung seemed nervous. “Jimin made it sound like that you are, uh, interested in dating me.”

Looking at the floor, Yoongi nodded. No point in trying to lie about that.

“Why?” Taehyung asked.

Yoongi turned back to him, confusion knitting his brows together. “What do you mean why?”

“Is it because of this?” Taehyung lifted his left hand, the string moving and bending with it as if it were an actual, tangible thing.

“No,” Yoongi didn’t hesitate to respond. “I can’t deny that I had been looking forward to meeting my soulmate. I- well, things have just always gone wrong for me, I guess. And I hoped that could change when I met my soulmate. But I usually forget about it when we hang out. I just enjoy spending time with you, as Kim Taehyung. Anything I’ve ever felt for you has nothing to do with us being soulmates.”

It was silent for a few moments while Taehyung seemed to be in thought. Yoongi turned to his computer, not really doing anything in particular, but just wanting to keep himself occupied to ease the anxious knot in his stomach.

Before either of them said anything else, Yoongi’s phone started vibrating on the desk. The manager of his apartment complex was calling, which was never a good sign. Sliding the green button on the screen, Yoongi tried to keep his voice from shaking as he answered.

“Hey Yoongi,” she greeted. “Sorry to bother you while you’re probably at work, but he’s here again. He’s just sitting outside of your door and won’t leave.”

Yoongi sighed, feeling bad for the poor woman. She was a really nice lady and didn’t deserve to deal with his father’s bullshit. After probably the fifth time the police were called to forcibly remove him, he had figured out that if he didn’t act violently and appeared innocent, they wouldn’t interfere. So now, the only way to get him to leave was for Yoongi to attempt to deal with him, and then call the cops if he did start to get violent. To be honest, he was lucky the woman refused to evict him over it.

“Alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he replied. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “I’m sorry for needing to ask.”

“Not your fault, either. I’ll handle it, don’t worry.”

He hung up the phone as he got up to gather his things and leave.

“Yoongi?” Taehyung asked, almost nervously, from the floor.

“Sorry, Taehyung,” Yoongi said. “Something came up and I have to go home.” As he walked toward the door, a thought popped into his head. “I promise this doesn’t have anything to do with what we were just talking about. I just genuinely have something to take care of and it can’t wait.” He wasn’t looking forward to this, both him and the apartment manager knowing this was going to be one visit that would end with the cops dragging him out.

“Is everything okay?” Taehyung asked as he got up from the floor.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

When he opened the door, Yoongi was unsurprised to not see Jimin standing there like he said he would be. Knowing him, he probably stuck around just long enough to make sure they started talking before leaving, and probably to go hang out with his new soulmate.

He could feel Taehyung’s presence closely behind him as he walked down the hallway, finding it oddly comforting since he could tell the man seemed genuinely concerned. It was then that Yoongi remembered something important.

“Fuck,” Yoongi said as he stopped in his tracks. “I walked to work today. It’s not that far, but I don’t want to be too long and risk him causing a scene.” Yoongi turned around, and probably would have laughed at Taehyung’s surprised expression if it weren’t for the situation he was preparing to handle. “I’m really sorry to ask, but did you drive here? Do you have something you need to do soon?”

Taehyung gently shook his head no, but didn’t say anything. When Yoongi continued staring at him, he seemed to realize he needed to elaborate. “Oh. Yes, I drove here and no I don’t have anything else I need to do today.”

“Okay, again I’m sorry to ask but could I borrow your car?” Yoongi hesitantly asked. “Or drive me there and then you can leave. I just want to get home as quickly as possible.”

“I’ll drive you,” Taehyung said, and the two continued walking toward the elevator at a quickened pace. “Seriously, is everything okay?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Yoongi insisted. “I’ve had to handle this a ton of times before, and this time isn’t going to be any different.”

They spoke very little on the way there except for Yoongi to give Taehyung directions. His heart flipped in his chest to think about the fact that this was the first time Taehyung was seeing where he lived, but it wasn’t exactly something to be excited about at the moment. He’d see it and then drive away. And the next time Yoongi would see him, the string connecting them may very possibly be gone. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that other than the fact that it scared him.

“Thank you so much,” Yoongi said as Taehyung pulled into the parking garage with ease. “You don’t need to wait for me. I can get back to work on my own.”

“I’ll wait,” Taehyung rushed out before Yoongi closed the door. “I want to talk to you when you get back, so I’ll wait. Should I come with you?”

“No, please don’t come with me. I’d rather not get you mixed up in this. I’ll be back soon. Hopefully,” Yoongi said before closing the car door and walking to the elevator which he could take directly to his floor with his ID. He tapped his foot anxiously as he waited for it to climb up and up, until the doors finally opened on the right floor and he did his best not to rush out. As much as he didn’t want his father inside his home, it was best to not get him agitated before then. Especially if he had been drinking.

Pretending to not have noticed the man leaning against the wall next his door, Yoongi made sure his father couldn’t see the numbers as he typed in his code and opened it. Without looking behind him, Yoongi left it open for him to follow before acknowledging his existence.

“Yoongi,” the man said, elongating the vowels. Definitely drunk.

“What do you want this time?” Yoongi asked, already annoyed. “More money?”

“What? A father isn’t allowed to come see his son?” The look on his face would have appeared as offence to anyone else, but Yoongi knew better.

“You never want to just see me for no reason,” Yoongi said. “What do you want?”

“Always straight to the point,” his father said, almost sounding like praise. But again, Yoongi knew better. “I need some help.”

Sighing, Yoongi turned into his kitchen. He hadn’t eaten lunch yet and was getting pretty hungry so he figured he might as well do something useful while he listened to his father’s excuses this time. “So you want money again.”

“I’m going to get kicked out of my house.”

“Good, maybe that’ll teach you to be more responsible with your money.”

“I’m your father, don’t talk to me like that.”

“Yes, you’re my father.” Yoongi dug around his fridge for some leftovers from last night. “My father who won’t get a job, spends all his money on alcohol and gambling, and then comes crawling back to his son for cash when he can’t afford to pay his bills or buy his groceries because he wasted all the money that his son had lent him the last time. The same money that is always given with the condition that it’s to be used only for your rent and groceries, but it never is.”

His father scoffed. ��What good is it to have a son who makes a ton of money when he won’t take care of you?”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you treated your son like he was a worthless piece of shit. You reap what you sow, I guess.”

“You fucking-”

Yoongi placed his food on the counter and turned around in time to block the punch that was far too sluggish to be effective anyway. “You might want to add some new tricks to your bag, old man. You’re too predictable.” His father lowered his raised fist as Yoongi let his grip loose. “And I’m not giving you any more money. I told you last time that I wouldn’t be doing this again, and I intend on keeping that promise.”

“You don’t care that your father’s about to be homeless? When you’re living in this nice apartment in a nice neighborhood?”

“No, I don’t. You only care about me when I’m useful to you. Before, you used to think of me as just some piece of shit who wasn’t worth your time. Now, you only care that I have money and could support your alcoholic ass if I chose to. But guess what? I’m done. I told you a month ago that was going to be the last time and I meant it. Now fuck off.”

“I didn’t raise you to be a disrespectful piece of shit.”

Yoongi prepared for the next attempt to hit him, but to his surprise it didn’t come when they were both distracted by a very familiar voice calling from the entryway.

“Yoongi?” Taehyung’s deep timbre sounded into the house. “Yoongi, are you here? Is everything okay?”

“I told you to stay in the car,” Yoongi sighed when Taehyung made his way into the kitchen. “You shouldn’t be here. Please go back to the car. I’ll be down in a bit.”

“Who the fuck is this?” Yoongi’s father asked.

“Who the fuck are you?” Taehyung deflected back.

“I’m his father,” he replied before turning back to Yoongi. “Don’t tell me your gay little ass got yourself a boyfriend.”

“Excuse you?” Taehyung answered while Yoongi bit his tongue. “First of all, that’s apparently none of your business if that’s how you’re going to talk to him. Second, Yoongi, are you okay?” his voice became much softer as he asked, making Yoongi’s heart feel warm.

“I’m fine,” Yoongi replied. “No need to get yourself involved. I’ve got this under control. Now, if you would leave, Dad, we have nothing else to talk about here.”

“I need fucking money, Yoongi!”

“Yeah, I’ve gathered that.” Yoongi turned back to the counter to open his container of leftover food and pop it in the microwave as he spoke. “But you’re not getting it from me. How about you stop drinking and get yourself a job. Maybe then you’d have some money.”

“Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean it’s easy to get fucking money. You think it’s easy?”

Yoongi was more than done with him at this point. “I know it’s not easy. I grew up with you as my parent, remember? After mom died, you could hardly even keep a roof over our heads and I had to work low-paying shit jobs as soon as I could to help you before I got out of there and slowly worked my way to where I am. So yeah, I know it’s not. But I’ve given you so many chances, way more than you deserve, frankly. And I’m done. I don’t know how many times I need to tell you for you to understand.”

When Yoongi’s father knew he had nothing to say back, he resorted to his fists. When the first one extended it was Taehyung, who had been silently standing back and watching their argument, who moved forward to restrain him.

“Keep your filthy hands off of me!” Yoongi’s father struggled as Taehyung kept his arms locked behind him.

“That’s what Yoongi should be saying to you,” Taehyung rebutted as he dragged the man toward the entrance to the apartment. Yoongi followed, watching as his soulmate shoved the still yelling man over the threshold and quickly shut the door behind him, locking him out.

“Taehyung, what-”

“The woman downstairs said she would call the cops,” Taehyung spoke over the pounding and yelling from the other side of the door.

“How did you even know where my apartment was?” Yoongi asked, still trying to process what just happened.

“The way you phrased things made me worried,” Taehyung said as he walked further into the house. “So I got out of the car not long after you and asked the lady at the front desk about you. She seemed relieved that you had someone to help you, and then told me she’d go ahead and call the cops then if you were already up here talking to him. Obviously, I got even more worried so when she told me your room number I hurried up.”

“But how’d you get in?”

“The door was left open.”

Of course his father hadn’t closed the door. Sighing, Yoongi retreated back to the kitchen to get his food from the microwave which had been annoyingly beeping at him periodically to remind him that it was done. His hands started shaking as he placed the container back on the counter, residual adrenaline from the argument keeping his body over fueled.

After taking a breath to steady himself, Yoongi grabbed some chopsticks and took his dinner to the table to eat, Taehyung closely following. While he settled in to eating, he could hear the police filing into the hallway to collect his father and drag him away.

“Yoongi, if he ever comes back here again, please don’t face him alone,” Taehyung said as he pulled back a chair to sit in. “Call me next time.”

“I’ve handled him all my life, I can take care of it on my own.” Yoongi poked his food around as he spoke, not yet having taken a real bite of it.

“But you don’t have to.”

Looking up at him, Yoongi’s gaze met Taehyung’s. A silent moment sat between them, charged but not uncomfortable. “I guess it’s time for me to tell you my baggage, huh?” Yoongi asked.

“Only if you want, but you don’t have to,” Taehyung replied easily. “You could always tell me later.”

Yoongi chanced a glance toward the string, heart dropping when it was still just as faded as before, maybe even a little more. “It’ll be gone soon,” he whispered before shoveling the first bite of rice into his mouth. After he finished chewing, he sighed. “I feel like I need to talk about it now. I just- he gets me so angry. There’s only been one person I’ve ever been able to vent to about anything, and I just really want to get it all out right now.”

Nodding, Taehyung said, “Okay. If you want to, then go ahead. I’m here, I’m listening.” The sincere look in his eyes could have fooled Yoongi.

“My mom was really nice, at least from what I remember. I think she was the only thing that kept my dad held together. But she got sick when I was still young, so then it was just me and my dad. He had a hard time keeping a steady job, would start going to drink and just didn’t pay much attention to me. He didn’t hit me or anything back then, but he just didn’t seem to care much. And then, when I realized that I was gay, he became disgusted with me. Told me how wrong it was, how much of an abomination I was, use slurs with me. That was around when he started becoming violent, too. Was always a bad hit, though.”

“Asshole,” Taehyung muttered under his breath.

That got a chuckle out of Yoongi. “Yeah, basically. I tried to find other people who would accept me. I didn’t think anything was wrong with me, despite what he said. I had heard about same-sex couples who were soulmates not being very uncommon, how it is a really old idea from back when soulmates were completely ignored that it was somehow unnatural and wrong. And even before I started making a bunch of money, he’d always expect me to support him. I had to try to make enough to support myself, and him at the same time because he never got his act together. It’s always been like that.”

Taehyung shifted in his seat, seeming to have something to say but was too nervous to. When Yoongi looked at him and nodded once in encouragement, he gently spoke. “You mentioned earlier that you were unhappy and hoped meeting your soulmate would change that. Is it because of him?”

“He was the first reason. It became a pattern in my life for people to just not care or hurt me. My best friend, Namjoon, he’s always trying to tell me that I deserve to be loved. But everyone has always made me feel like I can’t have it. My father was just the first one to show me that.”

“You do, though,” Taehyung said. “Deserve love, I mean. You really do.”

Trying his hardest to ignore the painful clench of his heart in the irony of Taehyung being the one to say that, Yoongi pushed his food away and set down his chopsticks, no longer feeling hungry.

“Do you want to talk about the others?” Taehyung carefully asked.

Nodding, Yoongi took in a breath to brace himself to continue. “So the first person I told about my sexuality was my closest friend at the time. He didn’t take it well, either. He was always really nice, but then suddenly he became cold and didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. It only got worse after that. When I went to college, I had a crush on this one guy who knew about it but all I was good to him for was to be used to get off, and eventually he got tired of me. Anyone who ever acted interested in me in some way, it was never for me. No one ever cared about me, just that I was a guy they knew was gay and could be used for their closeted asses.”

“That’s why you were hoping your soulmate would be different.” It wasn’t a question that Taehyung muttered, barely above a whisper. “But when we met I just walked away without even talking to you, just like another one of those jerks. Didn’t even give you a chance.”

Yoongi said nothing, just stared at their string that was still hardly there at all. He was so shocked when Taehyung’s hand covered his that he almost pulled his own away.

“Jimin’s right,” were the next words out of Taehyung’s mouth. “I’m a moron. My whole issue about soulmates is that people don’t take the time to properly get to know someone and run so far ahead without even thinking. But we’re friends, we’ve been getting to know each other for quite a while now. And instead of thinking that means it’s okay to give us a chance, I’ve been stuck in this mindset of thinking that I can’t follow the string. That it’s somehow inevitably going to lead me to pain. Even though I-”

Heart pounding, Yoongi’s eyes searched Taehyung’s face in hopes of seeing what he was about to say.

“Just the thought that this string connecting us is going to disappear forever because I’m being such an indecisive, baggage-carrying ass, it absolutely terrifies me. I don’t want it to disappear. I used to hate it, I thought it wouldn’t do anything but cause me problems. But, Yoongi-” Taehyung’s eyes finally connected with Yoongi’s “-I feel like it was impossible for me to not fall for you. I’ve just been ignoring it because I’ve been scared and- fuck, I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense to me now that I’ve actually thought about it. I just feel like an idiot for fighting it all this time now.”

Surely Taehyung had to be able to hear how fast Yoongi’s heart was pounding in his chest. Was he being honest? It would still make sense as to why the string kept fading, but if he was being honest about it now, the string should be becoming brighter, shouldn’t it? Looking at it again, he could see that it wasn’t. Was the damage that’s been done to it permanent?

“I understand if it’s too late, though,” Taehyung said, nearly breaking Yoongi’s heart in half. “Even if we’ve been good friends up until now, it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve let you get strung along while I didn’t know what to do with myself. Oh wow, that was a pun right there. That wasn’t even intentional. But whatever, I just mean-”

“Taehyung,” Yoongi interrupted. Blinking back at him, Taehyung stayed quiet while he waited for Yoongi to continue. “If you really mean all of that, then you have a lot of making up to do.”

“Do you mean…”

“The most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, the same man that I have been falling for so hard and so fast ever since the first time we spoke to each other, just told me that he’s been falling for me too. How am I supposed to reject that?”

Taehyung’s chest rose up and down with how hard he was breathing. “Maybe- maybe we should think about this. It’s been an emotional day and we should take a moment. I don’t want you to do anything you’d regret because you’re not able to think properly-”

“I’m a grown man who can make his own decisions and have been practically praying for this day to happen. Kim Taehyung, if you meant everything you just told me, then you better come over here and kiss me within the next five seconds or so help me, I-”

It was Taehyung’s turn to cut Yoongi off, but by joining their lips together. One of his beautiful, large hands rested on the back of Yoongi’s head, making him tilt it just a little to make the kiss easier from the awkward angle. Yoongi felt like his heart was soaring as he eagerly returned the kiss, pressing back into Taehyung’s soft lips. He could swear he felt something tingling on his left ring finger, but was absolutely not breaking the kiss to take a look.

Gripping onto Taehyung’s shirt, Yoongi stood up carefully enough to make sure their lips stayed connected. Wanting to deepen the kiss, he parted his lips just enough to give Taehyung the invitation to do so. He was rewarded with a delightful groan as Taehyung’s tongue tangled with his own. It was only their first kiss, no time yet to learn how to navigate each other and what each of them liked, but it was by far the best thing Yoongi had ever experienced in his life. It was almost as if he could feel Taehyung pouring his emotions into it.

When they finally pulled away from each other minutes or maybe hours later, out of breath, Yoongi thought that maybe Taehyung really did. They rested their foreheads together for a moment, smiling at each other like they’d never been happier in their lives—and maybe Yoongi hadn’t. Yoongi was the first to chance a look at where the string wrapped around his finger only for his smile to grow wider. He looked back up into Taehyung’s eyes once more as he lifted his left hand for the other to see for himself.

“It’s back,” Taehyung breathlessly marveled. “Is it-” he pulled away just enough to look at his own “-is it just me because I got so used to seeing it fading, or is it brighter than before now?”

“I don’t think it’s ever been this vivid,” Yoongi answered. “I always remembered it being just slightly transparent. But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was an actual, real string on my finger right now.”

Taehyung’s light laugh made Yoongi’s already palpitating heart jump even more. “Kiss me?” Taehyung asked.

Who was Yoongi to refuse that request?

“So does this mean I’m not going to have you coming to me to mope about your soulmate anymore?” Namjoon teased when Yoongi finally introduced the two. It was a stupidly large gathering at Jimin’s house, who had insisted that they had to celebrate not just one, but two soulmate pairs getting together. Jimin demanded that Yoongi invited Namjoon so he could meet him, and had invited Jungkook who also brought his older brother Seokjin since Jimin saw a picture of him and demanded that he needed to meet such a beauty in person. And of course Hoseok was there as well.

So there were seven of them. Maybe not large for Jimin’s standards, but this was absolutely a huge gathering for Yoongi who preferred to just chill at home by himself—well not so much by himself since he now had an actual boyfriend who he just couldn’t help wanting to see all the time.

“You act like I did that all the time,” Yoongi said, rolling his eyes. “I only did that once.”

“Twice,” Namjoon corrected. “Once when you first met, and then when you met the second time. You came to my house so late at night, already halfway to drunk, and kept me up way too late telling me about how you could just tell that it was already doomed to fail.”

Yoongi didn’t need to look to know Taehyung was pouting. He could practically feel its aura. “We’re not doomed though, are we, Yoongi?”

“You would have failed if it weren’t for me,” Jimin inserted himself into the conversation. “You literally owe this whole entire thing to me. If I hadn’t met Yoongi through work, and I wasn’t best friends with you’re dumb but beautiful ass, you probably wouldn’t have even talked at all. And I was the one who forced you to air out your dirty laundry so that you could actually talk things out like adults.”

“Yes, thank you, Almighty Jimin who shall never let us live that down,” Taehyung said as he exaggeratedly bowed to him. “I promise to name one of my future children after you to honor the good deeds you have done for me and my boyfriend.”

“I shall accept that payment,” Jimin said, definitely enjoying himself more than he should.

“If we have or adopt kids in the future, we are not naming them after Jimin,” Yoongi said, bursting Jimin’s bubble of delight. “And also, please don’t compliment my boyfriend’s ass, it’s off limits.”

“So’s mine, so it’s even.” Jimin laughed, leaning into his own boyfriend since he could never keep himself standing when he laughed too hard for some reason.

“Dude, why did you never introduce me to your new friends before this?” Namjoon cut in suddenly. “I like them already.”

“Of course you do,” Yoongi rolled his eyes. “You can have them if you want. I don’t think I want to keep him anymore.”

“Hey! We literally just established how you two owe me a child for putting you together,” Jimin said.

Sighing, Yoongi rolled his eyes. “That is not what we-”

“I promise to not forget my debt to you, my Savior Jimin.” Taehyung yet again played up worshiping the man while Yoongi merely questioned every choice he made to put himself here.

But when he saw the string on his finger, bright as ever, he couldn’t help but smile. Thanks to not just Taehyung but also the other people who had recently entered his life, he smiled much more than before. He had people who accepted him for who he was and cared about him.

Sometimes, the string was wrong. Not even that could be perfect. But sometimes, it got this so, so right. And Yoongi was just happy that in the end, his soulmate did end up being the person who could love him the way he had longed for for so long.

My ask box is always open!

Also, if you’d like to donate to my Ko-fi, feel free! Absolutely no pressure though :) You can also check out my Etsy shop for BTS inspired charms as well!

#bts fanfic #bts mxm #yoongi x taehyung #taehyung x yoongi #suga x v #v x suga #soulmate!au #soulmates #oneshot #angst #thebtswritersclub #btswriterscollective #btsbookclub #btscreatorscorner

30 notes · View notes

soft-thrills · 4 years

Text

XF Fic: Too Much, Just Right

I fear that if I don’t post this now, I may never post it.

Summary: Mulder/Scully smut. Dom Mulder. NC-17. Classic PWP. Mulder and Scully get kinky on a vacation to Big Sur. That’s it, that’s the plot. It’s embarrassingly long, what else is new.

It satisfies two prompts from the Dec ‘18/Jan’19 @xfpornbattle, which, LOL, could I be any slower?

Those prompts are:

Dom Mulder draped over Scully's back, pounding into her and whispering the dirtiest things in her ear while playing with her clit. Bonus if there are people nearby.

and:

Dom Mulder blowjob, slapping Scully's cheeks with his dick while she touches herself

I reserve the right to revisit this setting, by the way, because Big Sur is the most surreal landscape I’ve ever visited, and it’s a BIG Mulder/Scully mood.

If I’ve not scared you off, keep reading, friends. Unbeta’ed. Sorry for the typos or tense slips. I tried to catch ‘em all. If you like it, hate it, it makes you feel something, anything, please let me know.

He books them a cabin in a redwood grove on the California coast. Their cell phones lose reception as they begin the winding drive through Big Sur, dramatic scenery seemingly all around them — jagged cliffs and primal, roaring ocean waves on one side; mountains and thick forest on the other. It feels like the edge of the universe.

They are in a rented Jeep, with the top taken off, and Mulder had popped The Beach Boy’s Pet Sounds — somehow at once upbeat and melancholy, not unlike him — into the CD player.

They are relaxed, happy. Blessedly alone.

“No shared apartment walls out here, Scully,” he says, his voice dark and low, the way it always sounds in the evenings when he takes charge.

His hand lands on her thigh and she jumps. He smirks. She feels off balance — the rush of the wind around the Jeep, Brian Wilson’s voice, the sheer edges and the blue sky — and it feels good.

“No neighbors. I’m going to have so much fun making you scream,” he promises. “Just you and me in the middle of nowhere.”

...So he hadn’t realized there would be another cabin about 20 feet away from theirs, occupied by a friendly couple in their twenties who wave when they pull up, just as the sun is setting. She shoots him a trademark raised eyebrow.

“All alone in the middle of nowhere, huh?”

In the end, it works out. Ed and Mary are lovely, and they spend the evening sitting around a fire pit between the two cabins, sharing a cache of West Coast IPAs, pinot noir and marshmallows. Sadly, Mulder and Scully have to politely turn down the couple’s generous offer to enjoy some fine California Gold marijuana, what with the federal employment and all.

A couple hours later, it is well and truly dark. Scully knows from past trips out to Big Sur when she was young that the sky is full of stars, though they can’t see it from their vantage point beneath the thick canopy of redwoods. She feels warm from the fire and the drinks and the easy camaraderie. She feels happy, relaxed, far from her responsibilities.

“Ready to hit the hay, Scully?” Mulder asks, a voice so sweet she’d almost forgotten the mood he’d been in earlier.

Almost.

She felt warm all over again.

“Yeah, if we want to get up early tomorrow and hike, I suppose we’d better.”

And so they say goodnight to Ed and Mary, who say they’d be outside a little while longer, making sure the fire safely dies down. Very responsible.

The cabin is small but well appointed — for once it really is a nice trip to the forest. It has sliding glass doors, and once they were inside, Mulder drew the curtains almost all the way. Almost. It would be unlikely Ed or Mary could see anything from their vantage point, but not entirely impossible if they ventured out of the clearing. The walls are thin enough that she can hear Mary laughing at something Ed said outside.

“Guess it would be a little rude to make you scream, Scully,” he says, and she jumps, because Mulder’s low voice is right against her ear, and she hadn’t even realized he was behind her.

“I guess so,” she says, not happy about how shaky her voice is already.

“Maybe I’ll just have to settle for making you whimper. Making you beg. Making you moan.”

She could settle for that. Doesn’t really feel like settling at all, actually.

“And maybe, Scully, if you’re very good, and you promise not to make too much noise, maybe I will let you come.”

She watches her own chest rise and fall, listens to the sound of her own breath. He is so annoyingly, wonderfully good at this. It was hard, at first, for her to accept that she liked it — that bossy Dana Scully liked being bossed around in bed. She supposes it’s not particularly shocking. It might even be predictable. It took Mulder next to no time to figure out, brilliant profiler and whatnot. But it’s still hard to be vulnerable with someone when you want them to treat you as an equal in a relationship. Harder still when you also work with that someone in an environment where it is imperative that they treat you as an equal.

Needless to say, she got over it.

“Would you like that, Scully? Would you like me to make you beg?” he asks, running his hands up her sides, and she can’t help but shiver.

“Yes.”

“Take your clothes off,” he says, not a whisper anymore, and his voice is enough to make her jump.

He stalks out from behind her as she sheds the fleece jacket she’d worn to keep warm by the fire, then her t-shirt, then her jeans.

“Stop,” he says, when she was down to her underwear and bra, simple but matching black cotton.

He kisses her, hands in her hair, like he’d been waiting to do it since he’d made his now-amended promise back in the Jeep all those hours ago. A needy sound escapes from the back of her throat, and she can’t tell if she’s squirming because of embarrassment or desire but she’s pretty sure it’s both.

She is out of breath when he pulls away.

“You’re so beautiful, Scully. You’re perfect,” he says, and while she doesn’t think of herself that way, in that moment, she believes him.

“I want to make you deliriously happy,” he tells her.

She leans into his chest as he strokes her hair.

“But first,” his voice drops again, his hand goes from stroking to gripping the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling back so she looks up at him. “You’re going to suck my cock.”

He is good at that — setting her at ease with sweet little touches and then jolting her back into their kinky little game — and she is a real sucker for it.

She glances in the direction of the bed, but he shakes his head. She feels herself get hotter. He pulls a pillow off the bed and places it in front of him. She knows what he wants, but she wants to hear him tell her.

“On your knees, Scully.”

She’s always been good at following directions. When she is settled, he unbuttons his fly. He takes his cock in hand, but instead of pressing it against her lips, he rubs it against her cheek. She feels herself blush and then he gently taps it against her cheek, and then a little harder, and that’s something new and Christ, it’s almost too much, which means it makes her wet.

“Does sucking my cock turn you on?”

She silently curses him for expecting her to speak in this condition. “Yes. Please,” she says, although she’s not entirely sure what she’s asking him for.

He slaps his dick against her cheek again and she squeezes her legs together. Too much. But God, she likes it.

“You can play with yourself,” he says. Of course she can, she is a grown woman, and she can do whatever she likes to her own body… and yet on this evening, in this mood, she wouldn’t dream of it without Mulder’s permission.

He puts his cock in her mouth, and she takes him up on his offer, slipping her hands inside her panties and finding herself predictably wet.

She takes him as deep as she can, concentrating until she gets into a rhythm, then looking up at him and making eye contact. He groans, and she’d smirk if she could.

“I’ve been waiting all day for this, Scully,” he mutters. “Been thinking about sliding into your mouth since I started teasing you in the Jeep. I could barely concentrate out by the fire, I wanted you so bad.”

She moves the busy fingers under her underwear a little faster, and he notices.

“It makes you wet to have my dick in your mouth, huh?”

She moans around his cock. Too much. Just right.

Kinky sex with Mulder never fails to remind her what a good interrogator he is. He is constantly talking to her, asking her to react, asking her to admit her secrets — yes, I want you to make me beg, yes, I want to suck your cock, yes, I like having your dick in my mouth. It is a temporarily lopsided power dynamic — there is no doubt that Mulder is in charge right now — but there’s rarely any sense of force. She wants every filthy thing he does to her, and he makes her tell him that.

It is overwhelming to be the object of his intense focus, his questioning, his curiosity. At first it was terrifying how little she could hide from him. It is still a little scary — in an exciting, pulse-quickening way that reminds her why she turned in her stethoscope for a gun. It’s also oddly comforting: She doesn’t have to hide, or pretend, with Mulder. She just has to be herself, strange quirks and kinks and all. He could see through any pretending she could try.

She takes him a little deeper, deep enough that it makes her eyes water. A gentle thumb wipes away a tear that had formed at the edge of her eye. She looks up into his eyes and when he smiles at her, she nearly melts.

“Hands where I can see them, now, Scully,” he says, and she reluctantly stops touching herself.

Mulder withdraws from her mouth a moment later, and helps her to her feet. He steps out of his jeans, then pulls his t-shirt over his head.

“Did you enjoy that, Scully?”

That he calls her by her last name, even now, as she wipes the corner of her lips, it’s somehow a thousand times more intimate than if he’d used her first name. It’s like he sees right through whatever walls she might want to build, flimsier than the walls of this cabin, outside of which the fire is still burning as Ed and Mary keep talking.

“Yes,” she says simply, finally, answering his question. Then she flicks her eyes at his erection. “I could feel that you enjoyed it as well.”

Despite how much she likes it when he’s in charge, she can’t help but try to claw back a little pride.

“Of course I liked it,” he says, pulling her close against his erection. “What’s not to like about my buttoned-up partner getting on her knees to take my cock down her throat while she plays with herself?”

She moans -- an embarrassing, unintended, not very quiet moan.

“What did I tell you about being quiet, Scully?” he teases, followed by a sharp swat on her ass.

Too much. Just right.

“I can’t help it,” she whines, a whisper.

“Well you’d better try, if you want me to let you come.”

On any other evening she’d laugh. She’d scoff at the idea that anyone could *let* her do anything. But it isn’t any other evening and she’s ready to dissolve into a puddle at his feet and so she bites her lip and she nods like a --

“Good girl,” he says.

When she is back in her right mind she is going to murder him. Or buy him breakfast. She can’t really be sure.

He shoves her -- shoves her! -- onto the cabin’s king size bed, which takes up most of the small space. Her pulse is racing.

Scully knows, rationally, that there are lots of reasons people like any manner of kinky sex -- the trust, the intimacy, the letting go of responsibility, all of those things are appealing to her. But she thinks the biggest draw is the sheer thrill. She doesn’t know what Mulder will do next. She is a little afraid but terribly excited, the way she is as a roller coaster cranks its way up a hill, or when her heels click on the pavement as she chases a suspect. She slinks backward on the mattress, away from him, back up against the headboard, even as all she wants is his touch.

He slips out of his boxers.

“Where ya going, Scully?” he asks, all boyish charm and wolflike grin. He yanks one leg, hard, pulling her down the bed until she’s flat on her back again.

“Mulder, please, I --” and she stops, because she doesn’t even know what to say.

“You looked very pretty with my cock in your mouth, Scully. Would you like me to touch you? I haven’t yet, have I? Touched your pussy, I mean,” he says, marking that last bit with a firm squeeze of her left breast.

“No,” she replies.

“No, you don’t want me to touch you?”

“Oh, god, please touch me. You haven’t, but please,” she begs, and it’s embarrassing to beg, but it’s also hot, and it’s also all she can do, because if Mulder doesn’t touch her soon she’s going to lose her mind.

He slides her underwear, embarrassingly wet, down her legs, his fingernails scraping their way.

“Turn over,” he says.

She does, arching her ass up almost unconsciously. He gives it a playful smack and she moans.

“What do you want?” he asks her, drawing his penis up and down her labia, teasing.

“I want you to touch my clit,” she says.

He waits. She waits.

“No,” he says, the only real warning she gets before he slides his cock inside her, to the hilt.

She cries out -- and his hand covers her mouth.

“What did I tell you about being quiet?” he growls.

The feeling of him inside her -- hot and hard and so big -- is overwhelming. But she knows she won’t come without his fingers on her clit, and so does he. He’s going to keep teasing her.

He moves his hand away from her mouth. She’s prone on her stomach and he’s draped over her, all over her. His lips are against her ear.

“Are you going to be quiet for me, Scully?” he asks her.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Good,” he says. “We wouldn’t want our friends outside to hear what a little slut you are, now would we?”

Too much. Just right. She whimpers, muffling the sound into the mattress beneath her.

“I bet you’d like to rub your clit right now, wouldn’t you?” he asks her.

“Yes, please,” she says.

“But you’re not -- why aren’t you touching yourself?” he asks.

She squirms, just another subject of his interrogations, just as helpless against his probing questions as any of them have ever been.

“Because you haven’t let me,” she admits. “You haven’t given me permission.”

“That’s right, and I’m in charge, aren’t I?”

She has heard Mulder’s voice crack like a whip. She has heard him bellow, heard him snarl, heard him command a room of men with just his words.

But this — this rough, ragged whisper, so close to her ear she feels it more than she hears it — it’s so unbearably intimate, so unnerving. It reverberates to her very core.

“Yes,” she admits. “You’re in charge. Please.”

“Please what, Scully?” he asks, as he slams into her. “Do you want to touch yourself?”

“Yes,” she breathes. And then: “No. I want you to touch me. Please.”

“That’s my girl,” he says.

Before she knows it, two fingers are working her clit in tight little circles as he pounds into her. In another moment she might envy his athleticism, be impressed by his coordination. But all she can do right now is moan into the pillow beneath her, overwhelmed, overloaded.

Too much, just right.

“I told you to be quiet, but you just can’t help yourself, can you?” he asks.

She assumes all he can hear is a moan, but what she’s muttering into the pillow is: “Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“I like it when you can’t control yourself, Scully,” he mutters. “Because even if you can’t -- I can. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes yes, please, please.”

“Come for me,” he says, his voice practically a growl. “Come for me, Scully.”

She’s so worked up that a few flicks of his wrist is really all it takes for her to tumble over the edge, as sharp and severe as the cliffs they drove past a few hours ago.

“That’s right” he says, so fucking smug she wants to suffocate him, except she’s busy gasping for air herself.

She’s coming down as he starts moving faster. She realizes, appreciatively, the amount of self-restrain that was probably necessary for him to focus so singularly on her orgasm. She arches a little higher, moans a little breathier. He deserves it, doesn’t he?

“Give it to me,” she moans, knowing what buttons to press, wanting it to be as good for him as it was for her. “Please, Mulder.”

A moment later he spills into her, collapsing on her back, overwhelming her, surrounding her in the best possible way.

For a moment they both just lie there, flattened, useless, happy, sated people. Scully feels empty in a good way, a way she rarely feels. Divorced from her worries, from her expectations. Elated.

He slips out of her, slides to her side and spoons against her.

“God, I love you, Scully,” he murmurs into her shoulder.

“I love you too, Mulder,” she says, pressing back against him.

“I hope I wasn’t --”

“Stop. It was perfect,” she sighs.

A beat.

“But I hope we don’t run into Ed or Mary tomorrow.”

#xf fic #xfiles fic #dom mulder #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #Mulder/Scully #msr fic #msr smut #xfpornbattle #myfic

148 notes · View notes

alexthepi · 3 years

Text

Ian Mykael Ray, who now goes by “Mike” Ray, is a professional liar living amongst us in Charlotte, North Carolina. The man you may know as “Mike” would have you believe that he is a friendly, harmless guy who is trying to make a difference in our world. However, it’s the things he doesn’t reveal and, in fact, goes out of his way to cover up with lies that will leave you floored with disbelief.

Before 2018, Mike, then known as Ian, made a name for himself as a real estate investor in the Charlotte and surrounding markets. He also spent his days running his consulting firm IR Consulting (Note: IR being his initials for Ian Ray). Now, if you look for IR Consulting, you’ll find that it is ran by Mike Ray.

As a man in his thirties, it’s not that common to start going by a different name out of nowhere. No, Ian started going by Mike only after his arrests in Greenville, SC in 2018.

What was Ian/Mike arrested for? If you use a search engine to look up “Operation Millstone,” you’ll find a horrifying story that tells you just what Ian/Mike was doing before his arrest in 2018. The mugshot pictured below gives a glimpse into his 2018 arrest.

Public records show that Ian was arrested on three charges involving a minor between the age of 11 and 14. They also show that he is out on the streets to this day on $70,000 worth of bonded bail and with a pending status on his case. It has now been over three years since Ian/Mike was arrested, and he has been free to live his life ever since.

So, how has Ian/Mike spent his free time? On the surface, you might think that Ian/Mike has decided to repent for his sins and turn over a new leaf. Knowing Ian/Mike, however, only reveals a disturbing deeper truth.

On May 14, 2021, qcnerve.com published an article boasting Mike’s new involvement with a coffee company titled Coffee Cartel Co. This company was formed in November 2020 and is registered by a Registered Agent company in order to keep the true owner(s) anonymous. The QC Nerve article confirms that the owner(s) of Coffee Cartel Co. wish to remain anonymous. The article appoints “Mike” Ray as the “spokesperson” for the company, with quotes stating things like “Things go easier when you don’t force someone to change their behavior.”

Here’s the creepy thing about Ian/Mike: he has developed such a knack for lying and manipulation that it’s the small details you have to pay attention to...

- Shortly before Ian/Mike’s arrest, he was hiding out at Lake Lure...you read that right...while he was luring children on the internet, he was camping out at Lake LURE.

- After being handcuffed and charged with minor solicitation among other charges and then being released on bonded bail, Ian/Mike set out to form a coffee company claiming to help raise funds for human trafficking nonprofits in the area (his arrest was part of a larger human trafficking sting). He proceeded to create the logo for this coffee company incorporating handcuffs as a visual.

- Ian/Mike makes claims of being married with kids. But a personal account from his ex-wife tells a heart wrenching story that differs from his own:

So when a person such as this says something like “Things go easier when you don’t force someone to change their behavior,” you have to believe him. Believe him when he says his behavior hasn’t and won’t change...

As a citizen of Charlotte, NC, it disturbs me that people like Ian/Mike are roaming the streets cloaked in everyday clothing with the freedom to paint a picture that tells any story he wants, rather than admitting what he has done and seeking help. It begs me to wonder - how many more seemingly normal people are there amongst us each day who are actually hurting children and women and committing heinous acts behind closed doors? With each new detail that unfolds about Ian/Mike, the more disturbing reality becomes about him. Beware of this man, and be careful about who you trust to do business with, become friends with, and let into your daily life. Because I will tell you this: he walks around with confidence, if not arrogance. He will walk up to any stranger with a friendly face and shake their hand, looking for new partners to do business with and friends to take advantage of. He has no shame in covering up what he has done and continues to do, no matter how disturbing or shady his actions are. I’m sure he wasn’t expecting something like this to be shared with the public, but here I am, trying to uncover his lies and reveal his truths to those he has and plans to deceive.

For more information and details, continue to look through the profile at other posts, where you’ll find news articles and public records revealing the truth about Ian Mykael “Mike” Ray.

#Child predator #Human trafficking #sex trafficking

2 notes · View notes

mountainviewsanctuary · 3 years

Photo

💜This lil guy arrived safe and sound yesterday evening. A huge thank you to: Karen & Leisa of @2galsandagoattransport for the driving him all the way to MVS and the rest of the traveling they had to do to make this happen with their time and efforts, to everyone who donated to help cover the expenses of getting him here, to Tammie for loving him so very much and giving so much with him, to Anna for contacting @lawsonsheart for placement and especially to Leanne of Lawsons heart for everything she does to help these animals find homes. I'm so happy he's here. He's been eating, drinking and getting adjusted to his new life. We'll be contacting the vets Monday to see when we can get him in for a potential diagnosis. He's a great lil guy. He has some interesting twisted features (his mouth and chest are a bit twisted) which might be indicative of his mobility issues. He's a love bug and so very sweet. ♿We'll be trying a wheelchair to see how that goes, if it works we'll need to raise the funds for his own. He'll be trying Honeys chair as she's still taking a while to trust it. We don't force it as that just causes back tracking. We're trying in different names to see what fits and what he responds to. 🙏If you'd like to help us get ready for the cost of his veterinary appointment, his wheelchair or to help with feeding the rescues of MVS please donate at any amount at: www.MountainViewSanctuary.org/donate #Mountain #View #Sanctuary #MountainViewSanctuary #vegan #animal #animalsanctuary #buddhist #rescue #cute #viral #trending #goat #goats #CO #Colorado #animallovers #sanctuarylife #nonprofit #nonprofitorganization #donate #specialneeds #handicappedpets #specialneedsgoat #specialneedsanimals #travel #crosscountry #airplane #roadtrip #NC https://www.instagram.com/p/CQUP_HjDzuA/?utm_medium=tumblr

1 note · View note

mychemicalficrecs · 5 years

Note

Any longer fics to get us through the pandemic? Thanx! (No waycest please) :)

Hi Nonny!

We're living through difficult times right now and many of us could probably use a little comfort. I hope there are a few fics on this list that bring you some joy.And if you can, spread the love and leave comments and/or kudos on works you liked and brighten an author's day!

Be kind and stay safe

Longer Fics

L For Lucky (M for Mine) by orphan_account, Ray/Mikey, 42k, Explicit. “Yeah, look.” Mikey turns his head to peer at the crowd over his shoulder. “This is going to seem weird, but.” He stares behind him and seems, for a moment, at a loss for words. “Well, there’s no tasteful way to say it.” Mikey looks Ray in the eye and just shrugs. “This is a highly organized sexual gathering for very specifically kinky people.” Ray feels a bit of spittle lodge in his throat and tries his best not to sputter when he disagrees, “That’s actually a pretty tasteful description of an orgy.”

Paradox 'verse by stoplightglow, Frank/Gerard, 42k, Mature, Teen And Up Audiences. You know the saying. The best part about hitting rock bottom is that you get to meet a hot psychic.

Skin of the Canvas by sinsense, Frank/Gerard, 42k, Mature. The typical nude model is someone like Phil. Phil is forty-nine and paunchy. He's starting to go gray at his temples and in his pubic hair; he likes to pose on a stool, curving his back and curling his fingers together between his knees. Phil is secretly awesome -- he likes the Misfits and builds model trains -- but he's not what Gerard would call prime ogling material. Neither are any of the other models who have posed for the life modeling or anatomy classes Gerard has taken. This semester, Anna was kind of cute, but she whined about the conditions the entire time she was there. In his four years of art school, anyway, Gerard has never once dealt with being attracted to the model. But this guy is hot. --- Or: Gerard goes to art school. Frank is a nude model. Somehow their relationship gets off the ground, in spite of everything working against them.

Let The Darkness Lead You Home by rivers_bend, Frank/Gerard, 49k, Explicit. Vampires are in charge and most of the humans on earth are prey, so Frank Iero's parents have him train as a cyber tech to protect him. Leaving the family he's born into may have saved his life, but his parents never could have expected the lengths he'd go to in order to find a new family to call home.

Stunning Someone by morbid_beauty, Frank/Gerard, 82k, Explicit. Frankie, a tattoo artist living in Brooklyn, has basically everything ze wants...except, like, someone to cuddle with at night. As lame as that sounds. Gerard, an art student living in Manhattan, meets someone of questionable gender and starts a friendship with an unrequited crush. (Or: the one where Frankie is genderfluid, Gerard is kind of ignorant to much of the queer community, and sometimes you just fall for a stunning someone.)

Envision the Magic by innocent_wolves, Frank/Gerard, 69k, Teen And Up Audiences. Gerard is a talented magician, responsible for much of the success of the famous Envision Destiny cruise ship. He's also one of those people. You know, one of those people who just seem to take up all the space they come across with their arrogance and confidence. You wouldn't wanna touch their personality with a 10-foot pole, but still people admire them. That is beyond Frank. Working behind the cruise ship bars and seeing Gerard pretty much every day, he can't understand what's so great about him. Besides, everybody else doesn't have to deal with his snide remarks and rude comments. Because if there's one thing Gerard seems to love, it's the act of constantly pestering Frank.

Rentverse by gala_apples, Frank/Mikey, Ashlee/Patrick/Pete and more, 77k, Teen And Up Audiences, Explicit. It's Frank's senior year, and it seems like he's constantly having new experiences, at least half of which come as a complete surprise to him. He falls in love, comes out, and has sex, not necessarily in that order. /// It's Pete's senior year, and with every day comes a new mistake. But he can handle them, as long as his friends can.

(To Die Will Be) An Awfully Big Adventure by FayJay, Frank/Gerard, Lindsey/Gerard, 73k, Mature. Gerard has always vaguely liked the idea of being a vampire, in much the same way he's always vaguely liked the idea of time travel, or of being a pirate - but it's only when he wakes up dead that he realises that not all his fans (or friends) are actually human. This is rather a shock to the system, but Gerard does his best to deal with the fact that he's now an undead American, and he's lucky enough to get a little help from an unexpected corner. Just as he thinks he's starting to get the hang of being a vampire, however, everything suddenly goes to hell in a handbasket, and before he knows it there are angry vampires slayers chasing him around LA, and an urgent appointment with the Fairy Queen looming before him... A story about love, family, metamorphosis, art, trust and geekery.

Fit to be tied by maryangel, Frank/Gerard, 56k, Explicit. Frank is a bartender. Gerard is an alcoholic. They were clearly made for each other. Also, Frank is a werewolf.

Only Going One Way by ataratah, jjtaylor, Frank/Gerard, 73k, Mature. Crossover with due South. Constable Gerard Way of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and Detective Frank Iero of the Chicago PD team up find Mikey Way in a city where bowling alley score cards hide secret codes, where the good guys are either lying or undercover (and sometimes lying about being undercover), and where criminal bakers make drug-laced frosting.

Time Travel 'verse by ladyfoxxx, Frank/Gerard, Ray/Mikey, 79k, Explicit, General Audiences. In which 2005!Frank and Fun Ghoul get it on. Then Frank accidentally winds up in 2019.

play and record, held down together by morphosyntactic, Mikey/Pete, 54k, Explicit. High school AU. Mikey Way likes keeping his head down and blending into the background at school. Then Frank signs the two of them up to do the school's weekly radio show, and keeping his head down gets more difficult, especially when he keeps running into senior soccer star Pete Wentz everywhere he goes.

Rock and Roll Never Looked so Beautiful by corruptedkid, Frank/Gerard, 58k, Explicit. Gerard Way is a rising solo artist, set to become the next big thing in the alternative scene. Frank Iero is a trashy punk with a reputation of his own as the frontman of Pencey Prep. When their paths cross, a love story is born, only to come crashing down when Gerard hits it big. As Gerard ascends to the A-list, Frank adjusts to life on his own. He almost manages it - until two years later, when fate puts him face to face with Gerard once more. Everything has changed, but the connection between them is still there. Their story has ended once before, but if they're lucky, they just might make a new one.

It's Hard to Say "I Do" When I Really, Really Do by wakingup, Mikey/Pete, 58k, Not Rated. Pete is trying to not fuck up this time. His friends don't have much faith in him, even though they love him. Mikeyway makes this easier and harder at the same time.

I never told you what I do for a living. by not0_fuckin_kay, Frank/Gerard, 60k+, PG-13 to NC-17. Frank Iero, male nurse at Pete Wentz's private hospital and possibly more to one new patient he can't keep his eyes off of. When a new pateint is brought in with amnesia, just days before Christmas, and with nothing but the clothes on his back and a strange drawing, it's left to Frank to find out who he is and what happened to him. When he does, it changes Frank's life forever, as he's thrust into love and health scares he never thought would complicate his life. This is the story of how he tries to make it through, juggling his job and his love-life and just trying to make things better. With Patrick the doctor, Bob the ward supervisor, Travis the unlikely therapist, and Mikey, the sometimes wannabe homicidal geek.

The Marching Band AU by frankiesin, Frank/Gerard, Mikey/Pete, Brendon/Dallon, 150k, all ratings. A bunch of gay teens are in a band and do dumb things while in high school. There will be a lot of pairings, each part can be read without reading the others, and the series is in chronological order.

Gerard Way's (Vampire) Detective Agency by jjtaylor, Pennyplainknits, Frank/Gerard, Mikey/Pete, Bob/Ray, Lindsey/Jamia, Spencer/Brendon, 164k, General Audiences to Mature. Pete, in Decaydance Mansion, with a yarrow stake. Frank and Gerard, in the greenhouse, with a plant of questionable origin. Bob, everywhere you look, with a gang of assassins for justice. Vampires, valets, pamphlets, haunted furniture, dub-thrall, disembodied voices, zombie couriers, and sinister rituals.

Nightswimming by waxjism, Mikey/Pete, Frank/Gerard, 163k, Not Rated. Summertime and the livin' is easy...

Unholyverse by Bexless, Frank/Gerard, Ray/Mikey, 187k, General Audiences, Mature, Explicit. Religion! Horror! Exorcisms! Piercings! And Gerard is a priest.

shut up and drive by Trojie, uglowian, Patrick/Mikey/Pete, 139k, Teen And Up Audiences. Pete Wentz is the grid girl, Andy Hurley loves him (not like that), and Jared Leto is the bad guy. A.K.A.: the bandom The Fast and the Furious AU that literally no one asked for.

#ray/mikey #rikey #frank/gerard #frerard #frank/mikey #mikey/pete #frikey #petekey #lindsey/gerard #bob/ray #lindsey/jamia #patrick/mikey/pete #fic rec list #longfic

57 notes · View notes

jade4813 · 4 years

Text

Like Moths to a Flame, Chapter 7

Fandom: North and South

Title: Like Moths to a Flame

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: John/Margaret

Synopsis: “I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over.“ Margaret decides to confront John about his unjust judgment of her character, but the two have always been drawn to each other, and things quickly get out of hand. In the aftermath, she agrees to marry him to satisfy propriety, but she cannot forget how ready he was to believe the worst of her. Can love survive without trust, or will the two find a way to work through the misunderstandings that have plagued their relationship from the start?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

It snowed every day leading up to John and Margaret’s wedding, the weather unseasonably cold for the season, but the morning of the ceremony dawned crisp and bright, without a cloud in the sky. Soon enough, the air would fill with dirt and smoke, eclipsing the bright sunshine, but the morning sun promised to provide the perfect day for a wedding. John would have credited the favorable weather with bestowing good fortune upon his marriage if he were superstitiously inclined, but his mind had always tended along a more pragmatic path.

Though not normally given to fits of nervous anxiety, he found himself incapable of remaining still, his hands repeatedly worrying at the folds of his cravat as he paced the length of his drawing room. The hour was early, yet, and he supposed he should turn his attention to work in the hopes it might occupy his mind until the appointed hour. However, it seemed a waste of time to even make the attempt, when he knew his mind would fail to fixate on any particular task, no matter his intentions.

Once more, his hands raised to his cravat, giving it a slight tug. This simply wouldn’t do. If he couldn’t manage to get this newly developed habit under control, he would have to replace the wrinkled fabric before heading to the church.

“You’re looking fine.” His mother’s voice drew his attention to the doorway, where she lingered to watch him with her eyes filled with maternal affection. Embarrassed that she had caught him in his preoccupation, he turned to her with a smile, forcing himself to remain still as she approached to worry at his cravat in turn.

“Well?” he teased her gently. “Will I do?”

She scoffed. “Oh, you’ll do well enough,” she replied, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice entirely. “Any woman of sense would be proud to stand up with you today. Maybe she will too, if she doesn’t decide she’s too high and mighty to take you after all.”

He had no worry on that account. Whatever her failings, he was certain that she would hold to her promise. “She’ll be there,” he reassured her with quiet confidence.

“Perhaps,” his mother allowed as he stepped past her to gaze out the window. The smoke had already begun to fill the sky, blotting out the sun. “I know you care for her, and for your sake, I hope she makes you happy. I only wish you could have found someone who deserved you. Someone who could love you in return.”

Though he continued to stare out the window, he no longer took in the sights as he turned his mind to contemplation of her words. “I could never expect a woman like her to love a man like me. My love for her will have to be enough,” he remarked in a soft voice. Clutching his hands behind his back, he turned to face his mother once more. “Regardless of her feelings, I’m certain she won’t do anything to dishonor our marriage.”

She wasn’t so trusting. “If she had so much honor, she’d have had more care for her reputation, and there’d be no need for you to offer her the protection of your name.” For once in no the mood to argue, he forbore to mention that Margaret would never have agreed to marry him if her reputation had remained unsullied. She had made it quite clear when he’d proposed to her before that she was too far above the likes of him. She only agreed to marry him now because she’d fallen lower in her own estimation, if not in his.

Capturing his mother’s hand, he asked, “I know of your feelings toward her, but she’s going to be my wife. I wish for my sake that you’d make an effort with her.”

She sniffed. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about me. I hate her, but if you’re right about her, she’ll be a Thornton soon enough. I don’t have to like her to take care of my own.”

He had no cause to doubt the truth of her words. Whatever his mother’s feelings, she was fiercely protective of her family and the Thornton name. Her pride would compel her to defend the new Mrs. Thornton as staunchly as she did either of her children.

Having said her peace, his mother squeezed his hand. “Now, everything’s ready for this evening. I’ve asked Jane to prepare Miss Hale’s room, and she’ll stay behind to make sure all her things are set up properly when they arrive this afternoon.” Her own things would be taken to Fanny’s, where she would stay for the next fortnight at least, allowing the newlyweds some privacy since they wouldn’t be able to take a wedding tour until the mill’s financial difficulties were resolved.

“Separate bedrooms, Mother? I didn’t think you’d hold by those Southern traditions,” he asked in good humor.

“A proper lady like her? We wouldn’t want to frighten her with our rough Northern ways. Now come. Sit with me for a while. I won’t have you to myself much longer.”

Indeed. In a few hours, Margaret would return to this house to assume her position as its new mistress. As his wife. He took position in the chair by his mother’s side, reaching up one more time to worry the fabric of his cravat.

Across town, Margaret had awoken determined to conduct her morning walk through the cemetery. The morning breeze carried a chill that brought stinging tears to her eyes as she stood on the hilltop and looked toward the mill that would soon be her home. It would be bittersweet, to leave the house she’d shared with her parents behind. She worried about her father growing lonely in her absence, as he’d never entirely recovered from her mother’s death. But that small, dingy house had seen such sorrow in so short a time, she would never look upon it as she did her beloved Helstone, with joyful nostalgia.

When she was younger, and still wrapped in the throes of romantic sensibility, Margaret had occasionally wondered how she might feel when this day dawned. She’d always assumed she’d walk beneath the trees whose bows were as familiar to her as the rosebushes that brought such color into her life to meet her beloved at the church where she’d attended sermons from the time she was a child. There had been no question of whether she’d look upon her wedding day with eager anticipation – merely whether she’d also be overcome by such genteel flutter of nerves that were befitting an innocent young lady.

Now confronted with the reality of her upcoming nuptials, she found that she could claim to be neither. She wasn’t eager to become a bride, for although she’d always imagined she’d marry for love, her attachment to Mr Thornton was not based on such sentiment. Nor was she overset by excessive anxiety, for the course of her future had been set from the moment the news of her engagement had been made public – if it hadn’t been put on its inalterable path sooner, during her shameless display in her father’s sitting room. Though she could not yet claim the title of “Mrs Thornton,” the upcoming ceremony had more of the essence of a formality, to sanctify their union in the eyes of God. There was no purpose in fretting over that which she couldn’t change, and so Margaret faced the day with a calm pragmatism that would have scandalized her younger self.

Her emotional equanimity lasted until she returned to her house to prepare for the day ahead. She had barely mounted the first stair when she heard her father’s voice call out to her. “Margaret? Is that you?” She smiled with warm affection at his beloved countenance as he looked over the railing at her. “Come up here, will you? There’s something I want to give you.”

Dutifully, she did as he asked, though her heart plummeted when she realized his destination. She’d avoided his sitting room as much as possible, ever since that day with John, afraid that her father would somehow mystically divine her scandalous behavior the moment she stepped foot into the room. Unable to avoid doing so now, she purposefully turned her back to the table that had played such a pivotal role in that ill-conceived illicit union, desperate to avoid the memories the sight of it would evoke. Though she hoped to convey a composed demeanor, she was afraid her father would read her mortification and shame – prompted both by the act itself and her own acknowledgment that she did not regret their behavior that day as much as a proper lady should.

It had brought her to this moment, after all. It was about to make her John’s wife.

But wait. She stopped short at the thought. Surely that could be no cause for celebration. Hadn’t she already decided as much? So where had that errant thought come from now?

Pushing the inconvenience of that question aside, she asked, “Yes, Father?”

For a moment, she was afraid she might have been found out, as her father threw her a considering look, his expression grave. Her relief was immeasurable, therefore, when he said kindly, “It’s only natural to worry about the future ahead of you, but try not to fret. His ways may be different, but I’m confident he’ll give you no reason to regret becoming his wife.”

Before she could reassure him that she was of the same mind, his gaze grew distant as his thoughts drifted to the past, to happier times he had shared with his own bride. “Your mother and I…we married for love, as you know. I’m afraid I made her desperately unhappy, in those last few months of her life, but I hope that the years of joy that we shared were enough for her to never regret having married me.”

When Margaret would have protested, he cut her off. “No, it’s all right.” His eyes focusing on his daughter once more, he offered her a soft smile. “I never regretted her, at least. Whatever mistakes I’ve made in my life, loving her was never one of them.” He cleared his throat. “I worried, when I brought you to Milton, that I was taking you away from any chance that you might form a similar attachment of your own. I cannot tell you how pleased I’ve been to watch you and John fall in love, just as I once did with your mother.”

Abandoning all pretense of composure, Margaret felt her face flame bright red. “N-no, I – that is, we don’t – that’s—” she stammered, scrambling for the words that would disabuse her father of his foolish notion without divulging the secrets this room carried. Secrets he would never believe.

But perhaps she should allow him his delusion. It would only break his heart, causing him additional grief and concern on her behalf, to realize the truth of the matter. Let him think theirs would be a marriage of love, if it brought him peace.

“Mr Thornton and I would be blessed to claim half the love you and Mother shared,” she replied as honestly as she could manage.

The smile on her father’s face was worth the deceit. “Oh, I have something for you!” From his pocket, he pulled out a necklace. The delicate gold chain supported a pendant – a single pearl. It was simple and beautiful, and Margaret remembered her mother wearing it on occasion, in simpler, happier days. “I gave this to your mother at our wedding. It isn’t much, but…I think she’d want you to have it.”

Overcome by emotion, Margaret nodded and leaned up on her toes to press a kiss against his cheek. She turned, closing her eyes to avoid compounding her mortification by the sight of that table, to allow him to fasten the clasp around his neck.

“There now,” he said, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she turned to face him once more. “I won’t keep you. I know you have a lot to do to get ready.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, pressing one more kiss against his cheek as she fled from the room. Taking refuge in her former bedroom, she attempted to regain her composure. Once her heart had resumed a slow, steady pace, she stared at her reflection in bemusement for a long moment.

That she and John might be in love? Whatever could have given her father that impression?

Her earlier composure notwithstanding, Margaret quailed as she approached the wide church doors on her father’s arm. Although she felt certain she’d made the right choice in deciding not to cry off the engagement, she hadn’t forgotten her earlier fear that Mr Thornton might come to resent her for binding him for life to a loveless union. That he would always endeavor to treat her with respect was certain; he was too good a man to do otherwise. But although she’d never sought his love, her heart ached at the prospect that she might need to one day reconcile herself to polite disdain as her only cold companion.

The future was uncertain, she told herself as she stepped into the serene sanctuary of the church. Her eyes locked on John’s, and the steadiness of his gaze gave her courage. He didn’t look as though he might one day come to resent her. Indeed, he looked pleased to be taking her for his bride. Their life together might not be all that he had wanted, but perhaps her fearful premonitions would never come to pass, after all.

Finding comfort in the presence of her husband-to-be, Margaret kept her attention fixed on him as she made her way to the front of the church. She hardly noticed the words of the holy ceremony, struck as she was by the handsomeness of the man by her side. He had always cut a compelling figure; even when she had believed herself to dislike him, she’d been unable to tear her eyes away from him. She’d sought him out in every room, searched for him on every street. He’d challenged her, frustrated her, even angered her, and yet she’d found herself compelled to send one last look at him over her shoulder, every time she walked away.

Now, dressed in his Sunday best, it was enough to make even the most sensible girl’s heart run away with her, to spark the imagination of even the most prosaic minds, inspiring an endless stream of fairy tale love stories and happily-ever-afters. She watched him out of the corner of her eye throughout the ceremony, silently cataloguing every expression that crossed his countenance, her heart racing anew at each subtle gesture and movement.

Was every bride so fanciful and foolish at her wedding? It seemed only right that one should be so, the recognition of this fact sufficient to soothe any alarm that might otherwise overtake her at the realization of his effect upon her.

When it came time to exchange their vows, Margaret found her voice surprisingly calm and firm, her words carrying over the congregation with confident authority. To her astonishment, it was her groom, typically so self-assured, who gave in to a slight display of nervous excitement, at first attempting to slip her wedding band upon the wrong hand. The crowd tittered in indulgent humor as she offered him a gentle correction, guiding him to the correct appendage, and the wedding ceremony concluded without further incident. His lips pressed upon hers, the embrace properly chaste for the occasion, and it was done.

In the eyes of the law and of the church, Miss Margaret Hale was no more. She was bound to him for all eternity as his wife. Mrs John Thornton. Margaret Thornton.

He slipped his hand in hers as they faced the congregation, and her gaze roamed the crowd, searching for familiar faces. So few of her own friends and family had been able to attend the ceremony – her party consisted primarily of her father, the Higgins family, and Mr Bell. Still, Nicholas offered her an encouraging smile when their eyes met, his own aglow with mischievous happiness, and she was warmed by both his presence and genuine affection. Though he had once held her fiancé – no, her husband, she reminded herself sternly – in a sort of contemptuous distrust, she understood the two men had formed a sort of understanding, gaining mutual respect as they worked together to address some of the more pressing needs of the millworkers under Mr Thornton’s care.

They left the church in a flurry of well-wishes and stood outside to greet their guests in turn. As Margaret accepted Mary’s congratulations, drawing the younger girl in for a brief embrace, she saw her new mother-in-law (was she to refer to her as “Mother Thornton” from now on? What a terrifying thought!) approach, remaining nearby until the last of the guests had trickled through the church doors. At first, she thought perhaps the older woman remained close to ensure Margaret did nothing to discredit herself or her new family, but she was amazed to realize that her mother-in-law did so in a tacit show of support for the new couple, silently conveying her approval of the newest member of her family – an approval Margaret had more than sufficient cause to understand wasn’t genuine, but was appreciated nonetheless.

Still struck by this unanticipated extension of familial loyalty on her behalf, Margaret found herself compelled to speak of it to her husband upon finding herself alone with him in the carriage on the way to the wedding breakfast. “Is your mother feeling entirely herself today?” she asked teasingly as she resisted the temptation to relax into his arms for the duration of the drive. “I could swear she wanted everyone to believe she approves of our marriage, when I can’t believe her opinion of me has changed so dramatically.”

Reaching for her hand, he covered it in his own, his fingers absently stroking against hers as he remarked, “You’re a Thornton now. Whatever her private reservations, my mother would never discredit our name by speaking publicly against any member of our family.” After a moment’s pause, he ventured in a grave voice, “I know you’ve had your disagreements, but would you make an effort with her? It would mean a great deal to me if the two of you could come to an understanding.”

“Of course,” she agreed readily, though she knew it was easier said than accomplished. Leaning in slightly until her shoulder pressed against his, she lifted one hand to cup his cheek, marveling at the newfound freedom to do so without the risk of public embarrassment or ridicule if they were seen exchanging such a tender gesture. “You’re a fortunate man, you know. Your mother loves you very much.”

“As your mother loved you, I’m sure. And as she would have loved a son, if she’d had one,” he agreed readily. It was her opportunity to explain the truth of that scene he’d witnessed in the train station. She even opened her mouth to do so – to divulge the truth that her parents did have a son, but he was currently (and perhaps forever) separated from them by fear of an unjust punishment accorded to him for his role in a morally just mutiny. But she found she could not. If she told him the truth, she had no doubt that he would forgive her readily, but then she would never know if his trust in her would have ever overcome his pride. And though she couldn’t explain why, it had become increasingly important that he not just treat her with honor. She needed to know that this man – John, her husband – believed in her.

Heedless of her mental preoccupation, he continued, “It’s true. I am fortunate in her love.” The carriage had slowed, and his gaze drifted out the window as he mused to himself in a voice almost too soft for her to hear, “She’s the only one who truly cares for me.”

The carriage rocked to a halt, but Margaret refused to release his hand, giving it a slight tug when he would have pulled away. “Surely you don’t mean that!” she protested hotly. Sadly, before he could reply, the carriage door opened, and the newlyweds were swept into such celebratory revelry of their nuptials that drove all thoughts of his softly spoken declaration from her thoughts.

The remainder of the day passed in a blur, leaving Margaret exhausted as they returned to the house that she would now call home. Resting her head against her husband’s shoulder, she allowed her thoughts to drift, lulled to a state of hazy consciousness by the rhythmic rocking of the carriage. She was only brought back to herself when the carriage came to a halt and she felt the soft press of a kiss against the top of her head.

Her eyes fluttering open, she flushed in embarrassment, but John didn’t appear to notice her discomposure. Instead, he stepped out of the carriage before reaching inside to help Margaret onto her feet. To her surprise, however, he didn’t escort her down the carriage step. Instead, he lifted her easily into his arms, carrying her to the front door. When she let out a tiny gasp of surprise at her sudden weightlessness, he smiled down at her, his eyes glinting with tender affection. “Come now, Mrs Thornton. Surely it’s tradition to carry the bride across the threshold in the South, as well?”

She nodded, too struck by the strength of his arms to reply. He carried her as though she weighed nothing, and she closed her eyes as she marveled at the play of muscles against her side as he moved. She found herself struggling against disappointment when he ducked through the front door and placed her gently back onto her feet.

His voice embraced her like a caress as he pressed a kiss against her lips. “Welcome home, Mrs Thornton.”

#like moths to a flame #fanfiction #my fanfiction #john thornton #margaret hale #north and south #john x margaret

8 notes · View notes