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happylittledrabbles · 3 years ago

Text

Like a Virgin

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Erwin Smith

Rating: 18+ (DNI IF A MINOR)

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 9K

AO3

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Levi is very sexually frustrated from all of Erwin's wandering touches and wants to know for sure whether Erwin is into him or not. He questions the commander on if he has a woman he wants to have sex with, and Erwin doesn't reply. That's the moment Levi finds out Erwin is a virgin. He proposes to "help" Erwin learn how to have sex before he goes on to have sex with the woman of his dreams.

Shenanigans ensue.

—

“Wine or champagne?”

Levi eyed the two bottles in front of him, his eyes then sliding to the blond man behind the desk, his uniform a size too small for him. But he knew that Erwin liked it like that since it showed off his body. He’d never admit to it, though.

“Wine,” Levi said ultimately, motioning to the opaque bottle. Erwin obliged with a nod of the head and leaned forward, the leather chair groaning underneath his shifting weight. He took the glass and let a bit of wine dribble into it, handing it to the black-haired man to taste.

“Didn’t know you were a sommelier,” Levi remarked with a scoff, swirling the wine in the cup and giving it a sniff before tipping it to his lips. He smacked them together, the oaky wine reminiscent of the nights when he and Erwin would get too drunk after a successful mission—their arms around each other, their hands roaming to places that only lovers should touch…

“Are you drunk already, Levi? Your face is flushed,” Erwin asked, breaking Levi out of his daydreams. He reached across the desk, brushing his fingers across Levi’s cheek (as if that would make the problem better) (it absolutely didn’t). “You only had one sip. Are you sick?”

“Get your hands off me, old man,” Levi grumbled, swatting Erwin’s hand away even though he desperately wanted to grab it and lead it to the places where his mind went a few moments ago. His blush had worsened tenfold, causing Erwin to laugh and raise a caterpillar brow in pleased confusion. He took Levi’s cup and filled it up the rest of the way before handing it back.

“I’m not that old,” he retorted, standing up from his office chair to lean on the edge of the desk with the cup of wine he poured himself in hand. He kicked the tip of Levi’s boot playfully before taking a sip of the wine, wincing away from the cup. “Wow, this is pretty strong.”

He was far too close for comfort to Levi—he could practically smell that warm, masculine cologne he peppered on himself every day. It seemed as if every sight, every smell, every taste, every touch...everything was reminding him of the fact that he was horribly frustrated. Sexually frustrated, that is. Erwin was too much of a dunce to ever figure out that Levi wanted to take him apart and put him back together in a fit of pleasure. He’d never figure out that those lingering touches when they had dinner together weren’t a mistake, but a silent plea to never let go. No, Erwin’s nickname was—lovingly—meathead in Levi’s mind. It was getting to the point that all of Erwin’s playful touches and sexual remarks seemed mocking, as if Erwin was saying, “Yeah, you’ll never have me. But every woman on the Scout Regiment wants to fuck me. And I’ll fuck them, too.”

That gave Levi an idea.

“Speaking of old,” Levi continued, taking another sip of wine. If he was to have this conversation, he’d much rather carry on drunk so that he could blame it on the alcohol if—when—it went south. “It’s about time you get a wife. Any women on the Scout Regiment looking like a nice piece of ass?”

“Levi, how crude,” Erwin admonished, his eyes widening in surprise. “You shouldn’t refer to women that way.” Levi would have missed the slight blush rising in Erwin’s cheeks if he hadn’t already been staring straight into his soul for any hint of a reaction at the mention of women.

“Ah, sorry,” Levi apologized, thankful that Erwin wasn’t the type to reply to that gross comment with an equally grosser response. “Well, anyway, we’ve been in close quarters with them for a while. Any lucky ladies get a little closer?”

Erwin uncrossed and crossed one leg over the other as if he couldn’t decide where to put his legs, taking a heavy swig of the wine. It seemed as if Erwin had the same idea as his friend: get as drunk as possible to answer this line of questioning. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Erwin, don’t play dumb with me,” Levi said, leaning his elbows forward on his knees and sipping his wine until there was less than half left. “You can tell me. I’m your best friend. At least I hope.”

An unreadable look crossed Erwin’s face—what Levi wouldn’t give to crawl inside his mind right now. The blond ran a heavy hand down his face, letting out a groan that made Levi sit back up as straight as a pole. His hands drifted into his lap in case the little friend in his pants made an appearance, as it so often did when he was alone with Erwin, getting drunk like this.

“You…you are my best friend. Although that sounds a little juvenile.” Erwin chuckled softly before rolling his eyes. “Why are you so interested in my private life? For the record, it’s highly unethical for me to sleep with members of the Regiment.”

Levi tossed his head back in laughter. “We’re all adults. Shit happens.”

Erwin balked before shying away behind his desk, turning his back to Levi. His back was tense—the muscles surrounding his scapula rose through his uniform as he crossed his arms firmly. “You shouldn’t refer to making love that way.”

Levi stood up, tracing the edge of the desk with his fingers. Erwin was pissing him off. Why was he so defensive of his answers? Usually, men would jump to brag about their experiences at the mere insinuation of having sex with women. Meanwhile, he acted as if he’d never had sex before and was avoiding the question as much as possible. Levi just wanted to know if those lingering stares or tender touches meant something more, and he needed Erwin to tell him that he was taken so that he could be turned down without making a fool out of himself.

“’Making love’? You’re a big ol’ softie, aren’t you?” Levi sat on the desk as he watched the muscles of Erwin’s back tell the story his face was hiding. He polished off the last of the wine in his cup and set it gently down on the table. He kept his eyes on Erwin’s back, biting his lip and hesitating before finally saying, “It’s like you’ve never had sex at all.”

It was supposed to be a joke, one that would make Erwin splutter about to defend himself and spill all his sexual experiences. Levi was illiterate at reading Erwin’s facial expressions but had an advanced degree in literacy in reading his body language. He thought it’d be laughable to anybody to insinuate Erwin had never had sex. After all, anybody who met the man had hearts glowing in their eyes. But his shoulders hiking up to his ears, both of which promptly turned pink, and his arms quickly wrapping around himself were an obvious confirmation of Levi’s suspicions.

Levi was far too surprised to say anything or even move. His jaw went slack as Erwin shifted his body weight from one foot to another uncomfortably. The tension in the room was palpable, dripping from the ceiling and coating each man in a layer of unease. Erwin was a man of honesty. He’d never outright lie unless it’d reduce panic among the population or his cadets. He’d never lie to somebody of his rank, least of all Levi. So, the most he could do was stay quiet in the face of the accusation. If he stayed silent, he wouldn’t be lying, but he wouldn’t have to talk about it.

Except, Levi wouldn’t take silence as a complete answer.

“Erwin,” he pressed, the chair groaning as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He laced his fingers together as a hammock for his chin, cocking his head at Erwin’s statuesque figure. “Are you serious? You’ve never had sex?”

Erwin flinched at the claim, and he turned to the side, the lamplight creating a halo around his profile. His aquiline nose and thin lips were put on prominent display, and it took everything Levi had to not grab his face and turn it to face him. He needed to see what Erwin was thinking. He needed to parse out what the wrinkles in his face meant, what each flick of the eye signified. This discovery was the last thing he expected. He expected the secret to the Titans be discovered before Erwin’s more-than-intact virginity.

Erwin’s eyes were set on the floor. “I…it just never happened—"

“You’re approaching middle age, Erwin! What the hell do you mean?” Levi finally moved toward Erwin, grabbing his bicep and whirling the blond to face him. “You’ve never had one girlfriend? One woman you've liked?” He paused. “Have you even had your first kiss?”

“Of course I have!” Erwin was finally animated, and he tossed Levi’s grip off him and stepped back. “My Lord, Levi, you think so lowly of me.”

“Erwin, you are a fully grown, extremely attractive man who hasn’t had sex yet. People have flung themselves at you for years.” Levi tried to find another explanation for his shock, but all that came out was stutters and word vomit. He truly was at a loss for words.

Erwin pursed his lips before catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “I just haven’t met the right person yet,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, I-I have, I simply…don’t know how they feel about me.”

Levi tried to catch Erwin’s eye, but the blond was resolute on keeping his gaze on a particular swirl in the hardwood.

“You’re kidding,” Levi scoffed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “You’ve been waiting all this time because you’re scared to admit your feelings? We’re on the brink of death every day, Erwin. We’re going on a mission tomorrow. Sure, it’s a run-of-the-mill mission, but you never know what could happen. One moment you’re there, the next, you’re being crunched on by a Titan like potato chips. I think you’ll survive a little confession.”

Erwin turned his body completely to face Levi, catching the shorter man off guard with the sudden confrontation. “Well, what about you? What’s your entire sexual history? I can’t be the only one on trial here.”

Levi shrugged. “The Underground is an interesting place. Prostitutes are very forgiving for your first time. They give you a discount.” He laughed at the pained expression that crossed Erwin’s face and waved his previous statement away. “I’m kidding. There were some cute girls down there. And then here…well, I got around as I rose the ranks.” He deliberately left out the part where he fucked and got fucked by plenty of men, deciding that was too forward. He needed Erwin to come to him first.

Erwin braced himself on the edge of the desk once Levi finished recounting his sexual tales, his knuckles turning white with how tightly he was gripping it. Levi’s eyes fell onto the other’s hand, the veins and bones in his hand rising above his skin, causing his mouth to go dry. Was this the right thing to do—to ask Erwin about his love life? Wouldn’t he be disappointed when Erwin told him all about the sweet woman he was in love with, the woman he wanted to lose his long-overdue virginity to? Especially after all those yearning gazes shared between them, the times when Erwin draped a blanket over him after he passed out on top of his desk, the handmade teas and horrible cookies (but they tasted perfect because Erwin made them)? Suddenly, Levi wanted desperately to renege on the topic of conversation.

He was about to ditch the entire thing when Erwin cleared his throat, his face pinkening. The lamplight couldn’t lie; the commander was actually getting embarrassed.

“But…what if they’re disappointed? I should’ve…done it…a while ago. I should be good at it.” Erwin covered his face with his hand, the other still digging its nails into the wood desk.

Levi’s whole mindset changed then. He could work with this. He could…do something with this. He had a brilliant idea.

“Men your age and older still can’t fuck right,” he said softly, a sympathetic smile on his lips as he slowly approached the commander. “With how caring you are, I’m sure you’ll do better on your first time than any man who’s had sex a million times.”

Erwin’s blush worsened, but instead of bashfulness, it seemed as if he was surprised. “You think I’m caring?”

Levi hesitated. “Well, yes. You do everything in your power to protect your cadets.” Now, time for the hardest part of the plan. He swallowed thickly before sliding his hand across the table, his fingers meeting Erwin’s before sliding on top of the back of his hand. His eyes flicked from their enjoined hands to the panicked blue eyes in front of him, analyzing them for any sort of resistance. “And you do everything to protect me. So, if you want…I can teach you how to fuck. Before, you know, you go and have sex with the right person.”

His eyes fell to the floor after he finished speaking, disappointment setting in. Sure, if Erwin agreed to this, he’d get to fuck the love of his life and finally see him in his true, pleasure-fueled element. He’d probably even get closer to him. But this was all a precursor to Erwin going out to “make love” to the woman he actually liked, and Levi would have to watch from the sidelines with a pained smile as they settled down and had beautiful children. Sure, Levi wanted to fuck Erwin. But he wanted to love him, too. He wanted a life with him—as much as a life within the walls could afford. And he wanted Erwin to love him back.

Erwin was silent, but he didn’t move his hand, nor his eyes. His eyes stayed on their hands, evaluating, dissecting, inspecting. Finally, he inhaled sharply, causing Levi to inadvertently tighten his grip on Erwin’s hand.

“You’d be willing to teach me?” he repeated. Levi nodded. Neither of the men was looking at each other. They didn’t have the courage to, even as full-grown adults. “Physically, you mean? Not with a chalkboard?”

Levi’s next move was a surprise to him, too; it was as if he was watching his own body from afar as he gripped Erwin’s wrist and flung him into his desk chair before settling in his lap, his legs snug between Erwin’s thighs and the arms of the chair. Erwin’s thighs provided a wonderful seat: they were big and strong, the muscle providing the perfect padding for Levi to sit back and still reach the blond’s flabbergasted face. His hand gripped Erwin’s tie and brought him closer, the tips of their noses kissing.

“Does this answer your question?” he murmured, and Erwin quickly nodded, looking like an obedient puppy in the hands of his equal.

His eyelashes fluttered as his gaze dropped to Levi’s lips. “When will the lesson begin?”

Oh, you fucker, Levi thought before diving in and massacring the lips he’d been dreaming about for far too many years. He never in a million years expected Erwin to accept his advances, and yet, unbelievably, it was happening now, in front of him, and not all in his head. He didn’t have time to process the fact that he was kissing his best friend, and that his best friend was reciprocating (with tongue). He had accepted that this was a dream, and he’d treat it that way until it was confirmed that it was real life—presumably after they’d both finished their “lesson”.

Erwin was an extremely good kisser. Whoever he’d shared his first kiss with evidently taught him well, or he was experienced in that department, or he was a fast learner. Or all three. Whatever it was, all he knew was that just a kiss was getting him hot and heavy. He sighed into the kiss when he felt Erwin’s hands on his back and hip, big enough to span from one shoulder blade to the other and for his palm to cover Levi’s entire hipbone. Unwittingly, Levi bucked his hips in Erwin’s palm, trying to get closer to his burning hot touch, only to elicit a delicious groan from the other.

“Fuck.” Erwin bit down on Levi’s bottom lip, his hand gripping onto the back of Levi’s shirt as if he were hanging on for life.

Levi was on fire. The kiss was like a drug. It was nothing like the drugs peddled in the Underground; no, it was far stronger. It was deadly because he would rather sacrifice his lungs than come up for air.

“Levi,” Erwin all but growled, causing Levi to grind his hips down in reply. All that did for the commander was make his eyes roll back and call out another “Levi,” except this time, his voice was soaked in need.

“Oh, what you do to me, Erwin,” Levi whispered. He ground his hips down again, making Erwin see stars. The fronts of their pants were equally and painfully hard at this point, and if it weren’t for their pesky clothing getting in the way, Erwin would’ve finished a long time ago. Levi relished in the feeling of Erwin’s hardness pressed against his inner thigh, making sure to give it ample attention whenever he moved his hips because it gave him the perfect reaction from Erwin: a drawn-out moan that left Levi lightheaded.

Levi wasted no time in tossing Erwin’s tie aside and ripping open his shirt, the buttons popping off and clattering on the floor. The clattering did nothing to distract him from Erwin’s muscular chest, however. He’d seen Erwin shirtless before, of course. Living in such close quarters, they’d oftentimes had to change in the same room. Levi began to wonder if Erwin looked at him the same way he had admired the blond; his broad chest, imposing upon the other males in the room as if to say “I know I’m stronger than you, and you do, too,” his bedhead locks hanging limply in front of his coarse eyebrows when they’d been woken up far too early, the gray sweatpants they wore during training that might as well have been lingerie. They left little to the imagination, and Levi was about to find out if the bulge he’d have to pry his eyes away from every day lived up to its potential.

Erwin slipped his hands up Levi’s shirt hesitantly at first, but when Levi leaned into the touch with another whirl of the hips, his tender touches turned ravenous. Levi’s shirt was also not spared from their hungry love affair, joining Erwin’s torn shirt on the floor. Erwin’s lips detached from Levi’s and reattached to his neck, suckling on the soft skin until Levi was forced to dig his fingernails into the blond’s shoulders to not alert the guards mulling around outside. It was dark out; all the cadets were asleep—however, he didn’t want to risk anything.

“This is very un-virgin-like of you,” Levi murmured before a groan overtook his voice, his spine curving so their chests were pressed against each other. “You’re—mmm—good…”

Erwin chuckled a reply, his hands roaming Levi’s chest until his thumbs got stuck on his nipples, which were hard and tantalizingly pink. All Erwin saw was candy.

“Do you like being touched here?” Without wasting a breath, Erwin kissed a trail down Levi’s chest to place a gentle kiss on the nub.

“Yes,” Levi breathed, tossing his head back as his arms moved to hug Erwin’s head to his chest. “Erwin, this is so—h-hey!”

Erwin’s teeth snagged on his nipple, and the blond looked up with a smirk of mischief.

“Apologies. My mistake.”

Levi scoffed. “Bullshi—a-ah!”

Levi wasn’t a small man—frame-wise. He was muscular and broad and sturdy; however, Erwin’s hands made him feel like a delicate plaything, they were so big. He was starting to feel his dominance wane, especially with the way Erwin made him moan like a bitch in heat. He was always in control whenever he had sex, and the only way to do that…was to make Erwin the bitch in heat.

“Have you ever gotten a blowjob, Erwin?” he whispered, placing butterfly kisses on Erwin’s head as the blond busied his lips with Levi’s nipples and chest. However, those lips stilled at that question.

“I…I have,” he replied reluctantly, raising his head to meet the other’s eyes.

Levi was a little disappointed because if Erwin already knew how a blowjob felt, that meant he’d have to out-blow the first person. Not that that would be a challenge, but still.

“So you’re not entirely a virgin,” he mused, drawing swirls in Erwin’s gelled back hair. If his hair wasn’t sweat-soaked and messy in his eyes by the time they’d finished, Levi would consider it a job badly done.

“I-I suppose not?” Erwin stuttered, confusion evident in his tone. “Why, what are you—”

Levi was already on his knees before he finished his question, ready to answer it. He quickly undid Erwin’s belt, licking his lips at the bulge he had very clearly felt against his leg a few moments ago.

Erwin immediately began to panic, his arms flying out to try and stop the other. “Levi! Y-you don’t have to—”

Levi was quick to interrupt. “I want to,” he replied. He was practically drooling, the clinking of the belt and the zipper unzipping music to his ears. It was pornographic just how much Erwin’s cock was straining against his drawers—the poor fabric was hanging onto his hips by a thread. It only took a short wave of his hand against the fabric crotch for Erwin’s hardness to emerge, leaving Levi breathless and confused.

How the hell am I going to fit this inside me?

“Don’t look at it like that,” Erwin said with a frown, breaking Levi out of his thoughts.

“No, Erwin,” Levi cooed reassuringly, brushing his fingertips against the vein encircling his shaft. “I’m just admiring it.”

Erwin didn’t seem convinced until he felt Levi’s fingers against them—then, all insecurities vanished. His whole body stiffened, his fingers digging into the leather arms of the chair.

Levi smirked at the whitening knuckles in front of him, his eyes drifting up to meet Erwin’s heated gaze. “Christ, if that’s how you react to a touch like that, I wonder how you’ll react to this…” With that, he gripped Erwin’s cock firmly and gave it an experimental stroke.

“A-ah!” The reaction was better than what Levi could ever imagine. Erwin’s body was pulsing, his eyelids dropping with lewdness and his gruff chest voice coming out in spurts. “Fuck…”

“Hm,” Levi hummed, leaning over to give the head a chaste kiss.

“L-Levi!” Erwin gasped. “Stop playing with me!”

“Oh, but it’s so fun,” Levi replied, his never-ending smirk on display on his lips. It only disappeared once he took the head into his mouth, letting the saliva he accumulated in his mouth drip down the shaft and gather around his hand that grasped the base. He gave it another pump as he sucked happily, lubricating it both to provide less friction for Erwin and for himself when he’d eventually have to put it inside himself. It was hot in his hand and heavy against his tongue, and all he was thinking was how it’d feel slapped against his cheek. But of course, he didn’t expect a virgin to do that for him.

“Mm—mm! Levi, ple-ease…” Erwin begged, his body racked with overstimulation.

“Pleath whath?” Levi asked, his voice muffled from the cock in his mouth. But Erwin’s answer was interrupted by another bout of moans that dribbled out of his mouth once Levi returned to dutifully sucking, taking more of the shaft into his mouth. He continued to descend, the corners of his mouth burning by how wide his mouth was stretching to accommodate Erwin’s size, not to mention how he was on the verge of gagging with how deep the blond’s cock was rubbing in his throat. And he was only halfway down.

This is going to be difficult, Levi thought, but he couldn’t focus on thinking when Erwin was making such a huge racket above him.

He pulled up enough to speak, saying, “If this is how you react to the beginning of a blowjob, then the one you got before must’ve been horrible,” before diving back down to his previous spot. He heard Erwin begin a retort, but he stuck out his tongue and stroked the vein in the corner of his mouth as a dirty trick, effectively shutting Erwin up with his own groans.

Even though he was focused on going as deep as possible, he couldn’t help but look up and try to make eye contact with Erwin, who was watching him with such a hungry expression, Levi couldn’t help but reach down into his pants to try and relieve some of the pain in his crotch as well.

However, after a few more strokes and gulps of Erwin’s shaft, he could barely prepare himself for the pressure at the back of his head or the gag that came from the back of his throat.

GACK!

“E-Er–“ was all Levi could say around the thick shaft in his mouth before Erwin’s heavy hand pushed him further down, burying himself deeper in the dark-haired man’s throat.

“Fuck, Levi!” Erwin groaned, his head tossed back in ecstasy. “It feels so…fuck! I’m so close…”

Erwin’s last curse came out as a growl, lighting Levi’s cheeks and groin on fire. However, his throat was also on fire, but for an entirely different reason. He liked control, but he couldn’t deny that being manhandled this way, feeling the sting in his hair where Erwin gripped it, made his body electrified. And he also couldn’t deny that the feeling of a cock lodged in his throat, as much as it was sexy, was also extremely uncomfortable.

“Er—!” he began, his voice muffled before being interrupted by another gag. His taps against Erwin’s leg quickly turned to slaps just as Erwin’s pushes brought him down to the base, his nose nuzzled into his golden happy trail.

“Oh, Levi!” Erwin exclaimed, suddenly broken out of his pleasure-fueled fugue state. He released Levi’s hair and the pressure on his head, leaving Levi to immediately lift off his cock with a lewd pop. He was left coughing while Erwin spluttered out apologies, his hands up in the air before one of them found a place on the top of Levi’s head. However, this time, there was no pressure. He pet the soft hair underneath his fingertips apologetically as Levi caught his bearings.

“I’m so sorry, Levi,” Erwin finally said after a myriad of unfinished sentences and stutters. “I-I got too into it. That’s never happened before…I—“

“No,” Levi finally said, his voice now hoarse. He wiped at the corner of his mouth, his hand streaked with saliva and precome. He took a moment to clear his throat before quietly adding, “I…I liked it.”

Both men could barely meet each other’s eyes, their faces as red as the candle flame dancing about on the desk.

Erwin was the first who dared to speak. “Uh, well, I—“

But Levi was quick to interrupt. “If that’s all it takes to get you to come, then we better move on.” He stood up, his hands dropping to his own belt as he held Erwin’s curious gaze. He dropped his trousers, leaving himself in just his drawers. “We wouldn’t want you to finish before we even got started.”

Erwin cleared his throat, his eyebrows furrowing together as he took in Levi’s body. His curious gaze morphed into something darker, his clear eyes turning stormy as they dropped to Levi’s crotch. “Y-yes, we wouldn’t want that.”

Erwin’s hungry gaze sent shivers down Levi’s spine. He had wanted this for so long: to be admired, to be sexualized by Erwin. He wanted to be wanted, and that was exactly how it was going. Erwin was physically restraining himself from reaching forward and pulling Levi to him; it was obvious from how tightly he was gripping the chair. It was perfect.

He carefully climbed back onto Erwin’s lap, sighing at the feeling of the blond replacing his hands to their rightful position on his hips once again. The position was the same as before, except now, Levi could feel Erwin’s leaking cock pressed against his asscheek, wetting his drawers.

“Nervous to finally lose your V card?” he asked with a smirk, reaching behind him to give Erwin’s cock a playful tug, earning a delicious grunt from the other.

“Should I be?” Erwin replied, cocking his head as he gazed up at his friend with lowered eyelids and heavy pants. His chest was rising and falling erratically the more Levi fondled him.

“No,” Levi cooed, reaching up to push down his drawers. He leaned forward and kissed Erwin’s cheek, delighting in the whimper that escaped those thin lips. “I’ll take care of everything.”

He lifted a hand to his lips, sticking two fingers inside his mouth and wetting them dutifully with his tongue. If he wanted to walk the next day and not bleed, he’d have to stretch himself very attentively.

“What are you doing?” Erwin asked. He was watching Levi’s every move with heated glances.

Levi chuckled between the fingers in his mouth, pulling them out and reaching behind himself. “Sex between men requires some stretching and lubrication,” he said as he slowly pushed a finger inside himself, letting out a low hiss. “When you have sex with the woman of your dreams, you probably won’t have to endure this. Women make their own lubrication, and if she’s not a virgin, she’s probably loose enough. Just give me a second.”

Even though he knew he shouldn’t rush the process, he didn’t want Erwin to think he was a boring lay, so he inserted a second finger, feeling a slight sting. Even though he only wanted to fuck Erwin in that moment, he at least wanted it to make it enjoyable and sweet for the man who was losing his virginity. He was sharing an important moment with his best friend, and even though sex between men wasn’t really counted as real sex, he might as well educate Erwin on real sex. So that was what he decided to do.

“You’re not exactly small, Erwin,” he continued, using his other hand to stroke Erwin as he fingered himself. It’d been a while since he last had sex. Perhaps a couple of years. Ever since he met and bonded with Erwin, he hadn’t had eyes on anybody else and wouldn’t let anybody touch him. In a way, he’d been saving himself for Erwin.

“You have to be patient with your lady,” he instructed, flinching each time he pumped his fingers in and out. He was loosening up, just not at the desired pace. “She might not handle it well.”

“Levi,” Erwin rasped, breaking Levi out of his teaching persona. “I want to do it.”

“Uh—” This was the last thing Levi expected, especially out of Erwin. “What?”

Erwin snaked a hand down Levi’s hip down to cup his cheek, his hand dangerously close to his entrance. His fingers inched up to stroke Levi’s wrist, which had since stilled from shock. He craned his neck up, his eyelashes fluttering as he looked at his friend.

“I want to prepare you,” he repeated. “Shouldn’t I learn how to do this?”

Levi hesitated. “Er, well, you probably won’t have to do this with women—”

“Levi,” Erwin interrupted, his eyes closing with annoyance, “for fuck’s sake, shut up about women. Let me help you.”

Levi’s ears went bright pink at that, and he had no choice but to let his fingers slip out and let his hand hang limply by his side. Erwin hardly ever cursed. It’d have to be a life or death situation for him to curse. And yet…

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” Erwin warned, lifting his hand to his mouth and wetting two fingers like he watched Levi do. He dropped his hand to Levi’s entrance once his fingers were sufficiently coated, pushing in his fingertip as he held his breath.

“You’re not,” Levi said after sucking in a sharp breath. Erwin’s fingers were much bigger than his own—he knew this very well after dreaming about them for years. They felt even bigger than in his dreams. “Keep going.”

Erwin pushed in until he reached his knuckle and slowly pulled out, using Levi’s sighs and breaths as a guide as to whether he was doing well or not. He decided to risk it and push in a second finger before the saliva coating it dried up, earning a squeal from Levi.

“Are you okay?” Erwin asked hurriedly, but all Levi responded with was throwing his arms around his shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck.

“Erwin…” Levi’s voice was shaky. Erwin had never heard him like this. Levi always had a monotone voice, one that was reassured and calm. Even when he yelled, it was controlled. He was always in control. Well, it was only fair. This experience was a first for him, and it was a first for Levi to not be in control.

“Should I continue?” Erwin asked again.

Levi let out a shuddering breath. “I-inside every man’s ass, there’s a spot. And when you touch that spot, it makes you see stars. A-and…” He shifted his hips backward, causing Erwin’s fingers to brush up against a walnut-shaped mound raised from Levi’s walls. Yet again, Levi let out a cry, his fingers digging into Erwin’s back and leaving behind crescent-shaped tattoos.

“So, it’s here?” he asked, pressing into that spot again as if it was nothing, but it was everything to Levi. His mind was foggy, and his head was light. He was so confused; how did Erwin find his spot so quickly and how does he continue to find it so easily? Big fingers are good for that reason, but it seemed as if he knew intuitively where it was.

“Are y-you sure you’re a…a virgin?” he asked, moving his hips to match the pump of Erwin’s fingers. For a virgin, he was finding the spot over and over with impressive accuracy and stroking it with beautiful mastery.

Erwin chuckled and buried his nose in Levi’s dark mop of hair, taking in the smell of his hair mousse and salty sweat. “Yes, I’m very sure.”

After a few moments of continuous pumping, Levi instructed Erwin to scissor him open with another joke about him being well-endowed.

“I think you’re a virgin because women are too scared to handle your giant dick,” he said with a breathy laugh.

“Oh, I doubt that,” Erwin replied, giving Levi another scissor stretch. He fell silent in his thoughts for a moment before beginning, “You know, women aren’t my—”

“Okay, I think I’m ready,” Levi cut in, his hand gripping Erwin’s wrist. “I’m ready to put it in.”

“P-put—“ Erwin spluttered, his face matching Levi’s pink ears. “O-oh, right.”

It was almost as if he just remembered what was happening, that he was going to have sex. It was frustratingly endearing.

“We’ll go nice and easy,” Levi whispered, his tone no longer having its usual bite. He wasn’t that drunk on horniness—he knew how much of a big moment this was for Erwin.

“Okay,” Erwin replied quietly. He sucked air through his clenched teeth when Levi gripped his cock against, standing it up as he hovered above it. “You can stop whenever you want.”

“I know that,” Levi replied hurriedly. It almost felt as if he was losing his virginity, not Erwin. He let out a long breath before lowering his hips, but his chest seized once his entrance made contact with the head of Erwin’s cock, the sheer size of it making his body shut down.

“A-ah,” was the small whine that escaped Erwin’s lips. It invigorated Levi—he had control. It was all he needed to lower his hips further, letting out a groan with each inch that entered him.

“Mmm, fuck,” he grunted, his legs trembling the more he lowered himself. However, as strong as his thighs were, they were no match for Erwin’s size, and they gave out, causing a smack to echo off the walls from Levi’s legs giving out and landing him in Erwin’s lap yet again, except this time with his full size inside him.

“Ngh-!” It was like ripping off a bandage—it was better to get it over with all in one swoop, but damn, did it hurt. It was confirmed: Levi would be walking funny the next day for sure. But it couldn’t have felt any better. He was finally joined with Erwin. And he couldn’t wait to fuck him into oblivion.

However, Erwin was suspiciously quiet. Levi tried to lift his head from being buried in Erwin’s gelled hair, but Erwin’s stiff hold on him prevented him from checking in on the blond or even seeing his face since it was pressed against Levi’s chest.

And then came the warmth flooding inside him. It was strange—did Erwin grow a few inches in the few seconds he was inside? But it felt like liquid… which sent Levi into a panic. Was he bleeding that badly? Was he hemorrhaging? If he died because of internal bleeding from a giant cock instead of going down in glory from a Titan, he’d have some hands to throw with God.

However, he quickly pieced together what was happening when he felt Erwin’s entire body shivering and a guttural groan escape from the back of his throat, reverberating throughout Levi’s entire body.

Erwin came.

“Erwin?” he whispered. He bit his lip apprehensively, unsure of how to approach the sensitive issue. Usually, he enjoyed a good creampie. But he needed to have his mind fucked out before he got to the point where he could tolerate the slimy mess inside him, and he was hardly there. Now, he was just uncomfortable, even if it was Erwin’s, the love of his life’s slimy mess.

Erwin wasn’t talking. He was a statue.

Levi took his perpetual silence and interpreted it as shame. He rubbed Erwin’s shoulder reassuringly and kissed the top of his head, making sure to keep his hips still to not overstimulate the poor man.

“It’s alright, Erwin. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of men do this, especially during their first time. It’s completely nor…” Levi trailed off when he realized something dire: Erwin wasn’t getting softer. He was preparing himself to lift off Erwin’s lap and have that difficult conversation, but how the hell was he supposed to get up with that thing still lodged inside him?

Erwin wasn’t just not getting softer; he was getting harder. Enough to stretch Levi open even more, causing the man to hiss both in pain and in confusion. What the hell is going on?

Before Levi could realize what was happening, he was being lifted into the air and subsequently flipped over, his face pressed into the cold hardwood desk. His legs flailed about before finding their place on the floor, his arms pinned behind him in Erwin’s strong grasp.

“Erwin—?!”

“Sorry, Levi, but I’m not done.” Erwin’s voice was gravelly, and Levi couldn’t see his face to match the voice to the expression he was making. “Mind if I come in you again?”

“W-wait—!” However, a powerful thrust cut him off, replacing his objection with a shout mixed with a lewd moan. His chin and knees thumped against the desk, and his softening erection was at full mast yet again. “Erwin, wait!”

Erwin was about to pull out again—he had become a machine—but stopped upon hearing Levi’s pleas. “Are you alright? Does it hurt?”

How dare you fucking ask that when I’m leaking like a hose over here? Levi thought angrily. He shook his head to the best of his ability and clarified, “N-no, just…what happened?”

“Oh.” Erwin chuckled bashfully, and when Levi turned his head, he could see the blond rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

The damn brute, acting all shy.

“Well, that was embarrassing. You caught me off guard. But I recovered. So, shall we continue?”

He pulled out an imperceptible amount before pushing back in, giving Levi a mouth-watering taste of what was to come.

“Erwin,” Levi breathed, his cheek heating up the wood underneath it as he tried to meet Erwin’s eyes. “Fuck me until I can’t stand.”

Levi liked to be in control. But something that he’d learned very quickly from Erwin (who knew he’d be learning something from the virgin?) was that sometimes…it was nice to give up control. He had been in control his entire life, especially now as a captain. Maybe he could let somebody take the reins for a while.

The small smile that crossed Erwin’s lips sent chills down his spine. “Duly noted.”

The subsequent thrust that followed made Levi’s knees buckle, but Erwin’s hold on his wrists pinned to his back held him in place long enough for Levi to barely recover in time for another back-breaking thrust.

“E-Erwin!” he cried, his skin prickling with each smack and squelch that hit his ears. “Erwin, fuck, it feels—ngh, s-so—"

Both his legs and voice were trembling, his legs close to collapsing at the feeling of Erwin’s size stuffed inside him and pushing out his semen with his thrust. The previous semen provided the perfect lube, and it only added to the lascivious sounds filling the room. Erwin’s groans and grunts were short but dominant, each one causing Levi’s body to seize up and his hole to tighten, which then caused Erwin to groan more. It was a vicious cycle, one that brought each man eye-rolling waves of pleasure.

“You’re so tight, L-Levi,” Erwin murmured, leaning over Levi’s body to lick the shell of his ear. He gave another rough thrust, relishing in Levi’s unhinged reaction. “Are you sure you’re not a virgin?”

Levi was about to reply with a sarcastic remark, but Erwin never gave him the time as he ramped up his pace and continued to give his ear—one of his erogenous zones—special attention. Erwin let go of Levi’s wrists, to which the captain responded by spreading his arms out and digging his nails into the wood. However, Erwin didn’t leave Levi’s hands unattended for long. In between hard thrusts, he slipped a hand over Levi’s, interlacing their fingers from the back and running his thumb over his knuckles. He kept his other hand staunchly on Levi’s hip, leaving angry red marks for Levi to enjoy afterward.

“You’re going to have to buy me a new desk,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the slapping and wet sounds behind them. “You’re leaving scratch marks. That’s pretty…ugh…s-suspicious.”

“Erwin!” Levi begged, both out of frustration and pleasure. He wanted Erwin to stop teasing him, but at the same time, that was the main thing that was sending him over the edge—other than the punishing thrusting pace, of course. “Fuck me, f-fuck me, f…fuck…mmm—! Harder!”

“As you wish,” Erwin replied. He complied beautifully to Levi’s request, each thrust leaving a fresh set of raised red circles on Levi’s ass. “A-ah, Levi…it’s getting quite hard to move…”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Levi demanded. Yet again, Erwin complied, leaning back over and meeting Levi’s cherry red and bitten-up lips with a sloppy kiss that only added to the wet sounds in the room. “Mmph!”

“Levi,” Erwin growled hoarsely in between kisses, causing Levi’s toes to curl in his boots. “Levi…are you cl…mmm…close? Can I...c-can I come inside?"

Levi nodded quickly, which only added to his disorientedness. He couldn't tell down from up—that was Erwin's effect on him. "I-inside...plea...please!"

They were breathing into each other’s mouths at this point, too afraid to separate lips and lose that connection between them. Levi nodded, his hand drifting down the desk.

“My…my cock…” Levi mumbled before a moan overtook him, his hand stopping in its movements as his body went stiff again.

Erwin understood right away. He acted quickly, wanting Levi to come at least once before he finished again. He moved the hand on Levi’s hip down, down until his fingers brushed against Levi’s leaking cock. Within a second, he had it in his grip, giving it a tight pump and utilizing the precome as lube.

Levi’s reaction was immediate, his voice coming out as a shrill squeak and his body ransacked by tremors. He could barely see anything between his sweaty hair clumping in front of his eyes and the way his head was being tossed about with each brutal thrust. All he knew was that he needed one more thing, and he was done.

“Levi,” Erwin whispered again, planting a kiss on the corner of Levi’s lips. “I like you. I like you so much. I’ve liked you for so long…”

That was all Levi needed. With all his erogenous zones activated, plus the romantic confession from Erwin, it was the perfect concoction that brewed up a warm, familiar feeling in the depths of his stomach. It only took the combination of a pump of Erwin’s hand and a thrust from his brilliant cock to send him over the edge.

“Er-Er—” His voice cut out just as his vision was overtaken by blinding stars, his come splashing against the inside of the desk and leaving it covered in the evidence of his and Erwin’s romantic encounter. His entire body seized, and every time he felt the fluid movement of Erwin’s abs moving against his sweat-slicked back, it overstimulated him to the point that all that came out of his mouth were pathetic whimpers. With the next movement, he used all the strength in his neck to move his head over to their conjoined hands and bit down on Erwin’s knuckles to silence himself.

It only took two more thrusts for Erwin to finish. He had been holding back ever since they first started back up again, but he needed Levi to enjoy this as much as he was. And his captain very clearly did. His captain.

His orgasm was quieter than Levi’s, but it wasn’t any less dramatic or took any less of a toll on his body. His hips stuttered forward, his chest erratically falling and rising to compensate for the lack of breath in his lungs. He grunted into the nape of Levi’s neck as he buried himself deep inside, spilling his second seed of the night inside his captain. His captain.

Levi was very much in that fucked-out-of-his-mind state of being because he thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of being filled to the brim with that sticky substance a second time. It was the perfect feeling to close out the night, followed by the worst feeling of the night: Erwin pulling out. He let out a pathetic whine, and he wasn't even ashamed—he loved Erwin's cock that much. He felt so empty, and he had to deal with the sensation of Erwin’s hot come spill out and wind down his leg. He’d have to take a bath right after this. But his legs could barely stand, and he could hardly hold onto the desk; all his limbs had turned into jelly.

Luckily, Erwin caught him by wrapping his arm around Levi’s stomach before he could collapse, seating him in his lap. Since when had Erwin sat back down in the chair? Levi didn’t know—all he knew was he had been thoroughly and totally fucked from the fact that he had no sense of linear time. All he knew was that he was still madly in love with Erwin, and he had fallen deeper in love…if that was even possible.

“Hey,” Erwin finally spoke up after a few uninterrupted minutes of them breathing heavily. “You’re the right person I was talking about earlier, Levi. You’re the person I’ve been saving myself for.”

Levi was so lightheaded, he felt as if his head could up and float away at any moment. But the second he heard Erwin say that, heard his meatheaded commander confess his love for the second time, he was all-too grounded.

“I…I think I figured that out pretty quickly, Erwin,” Levi replied softly, still catching his breath. He slipped his hands over the blond’s that were sitting over his stomach, and he leaned his head back to rest against Erwin’s shoulder. He looked up to see those blue eyes he’d wanted to focus only on him for so long, and he earned it. Now, those blue eyes never left him. “No normal man would’ve accepted my proposal without being a little attracted to men.”

“Well, then, I’m glad I’m not normal,” Erwin replied, hugging Levi closer to him. “I’m glad you taught me to love you, Levi.”

How could Levi not feel all warm and mushy at that? As much of the stern man he was, he wasn’t heartless. In fact, Erwin reminded him just how big his heart could be at times, as if it was too big for his chest and would burst at any moment.

“Okay, but you seriously saved it all these years for me?” Levi asked, lifting up and turning slightly to be able to look Erwin in the face. “Ever since we first met? Why didn’t you make a move earlier?”

Erwin sighed deeply and shook his head. “I was honestly about to lose it before I met you. I had a girlfriend, and I was satisfied with the thought that I’d be living out the life people expected of me. Get a nice wife, have a couple of kids, and retire from the Regiment or die with the honor of leaving behind a nice family and being a strong man.” He looked up, his eyes never having shone so brilliantly before. “But then I met you, and I realized I needed to share such an intimate part of myself with somebody I truly cared about. And as for taking so long…”

He snickered and tapped Levi on his behind. “That’s your fault. I dropped so many hints…”

“You dropped so many hints?!” Levi interjected. “I was dropping hints every time we were alone together! Your nickname in my head is meathead because you never understood anything!”

“Er, I—” Erwin hesitated, his eyes dropping as he gathered his thoughts. “Now, wait a minute—”

“Ugh, it doesn’t matter,” Levi sighed, lifting a hand to Erwin’s cheek and stroking his famously sharp cheekbone tenderly. “It took too goddamn long, but we’re here. We…” He bit his lip before saying, “We made love.”

Erwin let out a bark of a laugh and threw his arms around Levi, pulling him in for a tight, bone-breaking hug. “And you said I was a softie!”

“Be quiet,” Levi demanded, pushing himself off Erwin’s lap and grabbing a tissue from his desk to clean himself up to the best of his ability before pulling his drawers and pants up. “By the way, how did you know where to touch me? It barely felt like I was having sex with a virgin.”

Erwin smirked. “I read pornography.”

Levi whipped around, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. “Those pictures? There are ones with males?”

“Once you’re the commander, you can get a lot of things normal people can’t,” Erwin replied coolly.

Levi went silent, fumbling with his belt absentmindedly as he imagined Erwin masturbating to gay porn late at night. Dare he imagine that Erwin was thinking about him while masturbating, replacing the men’s faces with theirs? He was far too exhausted to get hard again, but damn it, could he still use his wonderful imagination. “Well, you won’t need that now that I’m here.”

Erwin chuckled and shrugged. “I suppose not.”

Levi finished fastening his belt, his cheeks heating up as he tried his best to ignore Erwin’s fond gaze on him.

“Stop staring at me and get back to work.”

“Oh, Levi, won’t you stay?” Erwin pleaded, reaching out to tug on Levi’s pants.

“With your come in my ass? I don’t think so,” he replied with a scoff. His first reaction was to smack Erwin’s hand away, but instead, he lifted it to his lips and gave his knuckles, which harbored a clean red bitemark from earlier, a soft kiss. “Besides, I only came in to drop off those documents and talk about them for a little bit. My side mission was to seduce you. I’ve been pretty successful today.”

Erwin grinned and nodded. “I have been thoroughly seduced.”

Levi was so in love. All he wanted to do now was get back in Erwin’s lap and kiss him until they both passed out. But he had to control himself. He just took the man’s virginity, they confessed both their feelings to each other, and he had to cope with the fact that he wouldn’t be able to walk straight the next day. He was exhausted.

He walked over to Erwin’s closet and pulled on one of his shirts since his had been ripped to shreds. It was far too big for him, which was both a blessing and a curse. He was far too tired to care about the curse—besides, it was late. He could run to his room without anybody seeing him, right?

“I’ll see you in the morning, Erwin,” Levi said after buttoning up the shirt.

“Can’t I seduce you to sleep in my bed tonight?” Erwin asked, standing up to fasten his belt and pad over to Levi. He towered over the captain, that pleading expression leaving Levi at a loss for any rejection words.

“I…” He’d never be able to say no to that face. “I won’t make it a habit. But since I took your virginity…” He tugged at Erwin’s belt, stumbling him forward enough so that his nose reached his downturned chin. “I can make an exception for tonight.”

Before Erwin could react, he added, “But I have to clean myself up. I’ll be back after my bath. You should probably take one, too.”

“Can’t we take one together?” Erwin asked in that pleading voice, but this time, Levi put his foot down.

“The entire Regiment probably heard us rutting about. Us going to the bath together is pushing it,” he said. When he saw the gloomy look that crossed Erwin’s puppy-dog face, he pulled the blond down by the back of the neck and smooched him hard enough to leave the other dazed. “I will see you in an hour. Goodnight.”

He shuffled out of the room before Erwin could object, closing the door and rushing down the hallway. He was smiling to himself, so excited that he made it out without being seen that he missed Moblit’s entire body in the middle of the hallway, bumping into him hard enough to get the other to grunt.

“Hey—oh, Levi!” Moblit exclaimed, quickly lowering his voice since it was late. “What are you doing out here at this hour?”

He stepped back, and it was comical how quickly his eyes dropped from Levi’s face to the oversized shirt he had on. It was less comical how they slowly drifted down the hallway to take in Erwin’s slightly ajar office door and how the lights were still on inside the room. Not to mention, Moblit certainly noticed how disheveled and sweaty Levi looked.

“What are you staring at?” Levi snapped, tugging the shirt tighter around his body as he shouldered past Moblit. “Get back to your post before I inform Commander Erwin about this.”

“So you’d go back to his office?” Moblit asked, hiding a snicker behind his hand. He barely saw the kick in the back of the knee coming, crippling him to the floor as Levi continued on his way.

“No more smart remarks from you, soldier,” Levi grumbled, slipping into his room and hiding behind the door. He walked to the bathroom and looked himself in the face: he was far too red. He knew he could trust Moblit to keep his secret—it didn’t make the encounter any less embarrassing.

Before long, he was bathed and clean. He made sure that the hallway was clear before sprinting down and slamming Erwin’s bedroom door closed behind him. He sighed, but before he could even turn around, Erwin’s hands were on him, around his waist, pinching his hips.

“You took too long.” Erwin had probably fallen asleep; his voice was gruff but melodic.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Levi whispered, turning around in his arms and taking in the refreshing cotton scent of his shirt.

“Mm.” They shuffled and practically fell onto the bed, Erwin out like a light before Levi could even adjust his position. He was convinced that they’d get up to some more funny business before falling asleep, but perhaps losing his virginity in addition to orgasming twice in one night was a little too much for the commander. It would have been too much for anyone.

Levi, fully believing Erwin was asleep, fit himself into his side. His head found a place on his muscled chest, the same one he had been envisioning himself laying on for far too long. And here he was, with that chest all to himself with no need to share it with anybody else. He draped an arm around Erwin’s waist and hugged him tighter.

“I like you, Erwin,” Levi whispered as he shut his eyes.

Erwin smiled to himself in the dark, his eyes fluttering open and casting down to take in Levi’s frame snuggled up against him. I like you, too, Levi, he thought. More than you could ever know.

153 notes · View notes

lubdubsworld · 4 years ago

Text

Blackberry Winters.

Part 1

Namjoon Werewolf Au !

Alpha werewolf!

Heavy angst.! Pregnancy, unrequited love, hate to love, prejudice, mental health issues.

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

There is a tide in the affairs of men, which , taken at the flood leads on to fortune. Opportunities had to be seized and made use of and you had to be bold and confident in order to lead your people to fortune.

Namjoon, as the head alpha of the Kim clan, knew this better than anyone else. Which was why he was here, in a meeting with alphas from the three neighbouring clans lining his boundary lines, hoping to get permission to access the seven or so aquifers that lay to the east of the packhouse.

The rains had been kind to them, the reservoirs were full but he wanted to make sure they had a backup plan just in case things went south in some way. His father had taught him that. Being prepared for the worst was second nature to him now. The land around the aquifers was rich and fertile and Jungkook had already let him plant tangerines and apples in the area for the little ones. The harvest was generally shared between the two clans and Namjoon was grateful for the easy camaraderie that the alpha of the land offered him.

The land belonged to alpha Jeon , a dear friend by all means and he knew that Jungkook would grant him permission as he always did . But still it was never a certainty. The council members had the final say and many of them held a grudge when he refused to marry Jungkook's sister last spring. That had been a no brainer for him. Junghee was beautiful but also like a sister to him, besides being incredibly intelligent. He didn't need a wife like that. And that was why he had picked, Jiah.

Sighing, Namjoon glanced back at the campsite where the women were gathered, sitting in small groups and laughing around a blazing fire while a few alphas hung about roasting meat and passing out moats of wine around . His eyes fell on his wife, timid and shy , sitting away from the rest and regret churned. He had been impulsive. She was ill suited to be his wife , and the last three months had been a bitter wake up call. Namjoon was well read, eloquent and bold. His wife was barely illiterate, with a stutter and shifty eyes that never met anyone's gaze head on.

He had chosen her because she had seemed docile and pliant and while she was definitely that, she was also ....at the risk of sounding rude and unkind, very very boring.

A simpleton. She seemed to know nothing about anything, content to disappear into the shadows, to hide and hang back and practically become one with the upholstery when he asked her to sit next to him.

It had been three months and they had barely spoken beyond a dozen words. It was awkward and stilted and just plain uncomfortable, sleeping with her. Sex was supposed to fun and passionate and filled with excitement and desire but with her , it was a chore he couldn't wait to cross off his list.

Leaning back against one of the poles holding up the makeshift tent, he watched her as she scooted away from one of the older omegas in the Jeon clan, the lady looking startled at the reaction. He shook his head in despair. He hadn't even wanted to bring her along but his mother had insisted. Something about her being young and innocent, too shy to stay behind with strangers for two whole weeks while he traveled to the Jeon's .

How was he supposed to explain that they were strangers as well ? That despite the label of mates, despite the fact that he had been the one to choose her, he felt nothing for her? Not even the idle curiosity one felt for strangers?

It was partly her demeanour, but mostly her appearance. She wasn't well groomed and it always made him frown. He had hoped that she would at least keep herself presentable, maybe hire the weavers to make her a few new tunics .

Something colorful and patterned like the ones the other omegas wore during festivities. The Kim clan had a lucrative fabric trade with the Min pack , and Yoongi and Hoseok always kept the most luxurious and vibrant silks and fabrics for him.

Jiah had shown a brief and fleeting interest in the luxurious threads, when his mother had brought her along to the tailor to get her wedding trousseau done....but the moment the young beta had asked her questions about her likes and dislikes, she had recoiled and went back into her shell. Namjoon had watched the whole scene, annoyance growing with every passing second. He wanted her to be pliant but also independent. Low maintenance . But apparently he would have to hold her hand through everything.

And that's when he'd begun to actively distance himself from his wife. He didn't have the time nor inclination to help her navigate her new life. He was busy, what with autumn coming to an end and the first chills of winter already beginning to permeate the air. The betas and alphas in the pack were already occupied with hunting enough meat to last them the winter, the women busy with curing the meat with spices and salt.....

He should have left her behind with them.

" A coin for your thoughts, Alpha Kim?"

Kim Jisoo came to stand by him, her scent of floral dust and vanilla cloyingly sweet on his senses. She had helped him with many a rut and he had always nurtured a sweet spot for the omega who was well versed in many languages. She was also one of the courtesans they had brought along for the evening entertainment. Jisoo slipped her hands through his arm and he smiled, letting her brush close to his torso.

His gaze went to his wife, who was staring at him, eyes blank and lips parted softly. She looked a little upset.

Which was understandable but still annoying. They weren't in love or anything and he wasn't cheating on her. Jisoo was a friend. He was allowed to have those. Jiah had no right to look at him with suspicion or with entitlement. He didn't owe her all her time. He wondered if she would react if he were to confront her now. As it is , he let himself stare right at her, half wishing that she would talk back to him.

But the moment their eyes met, Jiah looked away, entire body shifting as though in embarassment. He frowned , but lightly patted the soft fingers curled on his arm. He turned to Jisoo with a smile, taking in the pretty elfin features. The perfectly curled hair , threaded with gold and jeweler pins fell in soft ropes around her face, her lips tinted red and her cheeks brushed rose. She looked enchanting and unreal and he felt his blood stir in arousal, the need to feel her under him suddenly overwhelming.

He glanced back at Jiah and she looked a little green , her face ashen. His eyes narrowed when she shifted and looked around in a mild panic. Oh God, what was it now?

Irritable, he gently pulled away from the beautiful omega next to him.

" Excuse me, dear. I need to check on my wife." He said apologetically and she frowned staring at where he was looking.

"What's wrong?" Jisoo asked sharply but he ignored her, already moving to his mate.

Which was just as well, because the moment he reached her, her eyes rolled back and she toppled right into his arms.

She had fainted .

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

" I'm sorry we had to cut this short but I hope your mate feels better soon, hyung." Jungkook's voice was laced with genuine concern and Namjoon nodded, hugging the younger alpha tight.

Junghee looked just as sympathetic, next to him.

" She'll be fine . I tried to get her to stay but she's been panicking a lot and refuses to let any of the healers here examine her. I think she'll be more comfortable with your pack healer. " She said gently.

Namjoon nodded, glancing back at Jiah who sat side-saddle on one of the smaller ponies, her eyes wide and face still ashen. He had tried to tell her it would be okay , but she had insisted on going home. The stark terror on her face had unsettled him deeply. He didn't know why she was so scared of the Jeon healer? Could it be because he was a man? Whatever the reason she hadn't let him examine her and because he couldn't ask her to just forget about the whole thing ( he was still head alpha , he still had to set an example as a caring mate. ) Namjoon had been forced to arrange for their return back home.

He had left Seokjin and Taehyung behind to carry the talks on his behalf, and Jisoo stood a few dozen feet away looking annoyed as he gave her

an apologetic smile.

The journey back to the Main village would be a couple of days and he had packed enough food for the both of them.

As he turned back to mount his stallion, he caught a glimpse of her face as she stared at him.

She looked lost , apologetic and clearly upset.

And he wondered if he would have to spend the rest of his life reading her face, trying to figure her out.

He has no interest in either.

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

The journey became incredibly tiring, especially when the skies opened up on them. Rain Lashed the ground , intent on soaking the earth and Namjoon watched her shiver, trembling as they all huddled beneath the shade of some trees, blankets wrapped tight around her thin torso. Why was she so thin? Why did she look at food like it was poisoned?

They were only a mile from home but had to stop, the deluge was far too strong for the animals to see ahead of them.

Namjoon himself sat next to an omega from the clan. He recognised her as one of the maids his mother had given to Jiah.

" Is your mistress doing well?" He asked gruffly and the omega startled, bowing twice in respect before answering.

"I...she ... She doesn't say much, alpha." The girl blushed under his gaze, looking away nervously and he frowned, glancing back at Jiah.

So it wasn't just him, then. She didn't trust anyone. He stared at her till she felt the heat of his gaze and looked up, eyes wide like a startled bird, like one of the starlings that nested in the wooden beams of his hut. She looked surprised, then terrified, eyes darting away at once and he tried not to growl in sheer frustration.

He wondered if it was because of his face.

Namjoon had no large feelings about his looks but he knew he was far from beautiful. ( A/N : A whole lie , I know but please bear with me for the story :*) it was one of the reasons he had wanted a plain looking bride. But perhaps his own chosen mate had , had dreams of marrying a very handsome man? Perhaps she had been infatuated with someone like that , from the clan?

It wasn't a far fetched idea. But still, she had been free to refuse his proposal. When he had first met the clan's watchkeeper, old man Gong in the humble hut on the outer borders of the pack land, he had made it clear that it wasn't some kind of order. She was free to refuse.

But she hadn't.

She had merely bowed and agreed and promptly appeared with a satchel full of her things and followed him back to his own home.

So why did she continue to act like she was here against her will?

It irked him no end.

As the skies cleared, they began their trek again and Namjoon pushed thoughts of her out of his mind. He had to plan for the winter, make sure there was enough food and also make sure they had enough herbs and liniments and oils in the apothecary. Mind drifting off to the countless things he was responsible for, Namjoon forgot all about his awkward mate and the reason they were going back home in the first place.

Which is why, when they reached home and he took his bath, cleaning himself up and finally settling down to some delicious food from the kitchens , his mother's words made him drop the chopsticks in shock.

" She is with child."

Namjoon stared at his mother in complete shock.

Fuck.

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

Authors Note : I had this idea and just had to write it. Hope you guys enjoyed it.

#werewolf namjoon drabbles

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drabbles-mc · 4 years ago

Note

Could you do a HC on how the Mayans men would react to a girl getting hit on at a bar and the guy not taking no for an answer, like they don't know her or anything. I feel like they all respect women enough to at least do something about it; ya know?

All of the Mayans men wake up every day and drink a full pitcher of Respect Women Juice. They will not tolerate disrespect in their house. HC’s under the cut!

(I couldn’t decide if i wanted to do third person or reader insert for these but I settled on reader insert. Hopefully it works alright)

Bishop:

-Senses the tension immediately

-My man sits back and watches the entire clubhouse all night. He knows everything that’s going on. And when he notices that some guy is refusing to leave you alone, he instantly gets up and goes to intervene.

-He’s not hot-headed about it. He doesn’t have the time or the energy for that anymore. But he places himself between the two of you, looking back and forth, “Everything alright here?”

-The guy would try to brush it off and reassure him that yea, of course everything is okay you can leave now. But Bishop wouldn’t have any of that. He’d cut him off mid-sentence, “I wasn’t fucking asking you.”

-He’d turn to you and ask again if you’re alright. You’d give a slight shake of her head no, not wanting to stir up drama but also not wanting to deal with this dude anymore. And that’s all it would take.

-”I think you should leave,” he wouldn’t yell. Just state it as a fact. But when the guy would try to argue that’s when he would get a little more heated. He’d step in closer to the dude’s face, but not putting hands on him, “I said you should fucking leave.”

-Bishop only uses yelling and brute force as a last resort. Very rarely does it ever come to that. He would follow the guy all the way to the clubhouse door, making sure that he actually leaves before going back to check on the poor girl that he was harassing. He 100% lingers close for the rest of the night to make sure no one bothers you.

Angel:

-King of being the Fake Boyfriend.

-My tall boy might be emotionally illiterate sometimes but he can read a social situation. When he sees a girl scrambling to try and come up with excuses to make a guy leave her alone, he has no problem inserting himself into the situation.

-Smooth as fuck walking up to you, greeting you while resting a protective hand on your shoulder. Instantly setting the tone to whoever is talking to you that this was a useless endeavor.

- "Hey, querida,” he’d wait for you to look at him, “Sorry, didn’t see you walk in. You get a drink already? Want me to get you something?”

-The look in his eyes would let you know that he’s offering you an out to the uncomfortable situation that you’re in. He’s not trying to flirt--he’s just trying to drive away whatever asshole wasn’t catching the hint that you didn’t want to talk.

- "Who the fuck are you?” this is a problem that the guy did not see coming.

-Angel would look at him, eyes narrow, “I’m her boyfriend. Who the fuck are you?”

- The question is rhetorical. It doesn’t matter who the guy is. Angel doesn’t give him a chance to answer. He steps closer to the guy, towering over him. He looks down at him and is practically begging the guy to say something stupid so he has an excuse to physically throw him out the front door.

- He doesn’t get the chance, though. The guy reads the cue, knows that it’s a fight that he will not win, and walks away.

- Angel would turn back to you, “You good? Sorry about that. Didn’t seem like he was getting the hint.”

- You’d shake your head, “He wasn’t. Thank you, I appreciate the assist.”

- “No problem,” he’d pause, “But forreal did you get a drink already? First round on me.”

Ezekiel:

- Y’all remember the casino scenes with the cops? That’s how he handles shit.

- Master of keeping his cool in frustrating situations. Completely follows your lead. He sees a lot of weird interactions being on the serving side of the bar, always clocking what’s happening in front of him in case he has to step in.

-He’d notice you rolling your eyes and giving short answers. He’d also notice that the guy either isn’t picking up the cues, or is willfully ignoring them. EZ catches your eyes a few times, silently asking if you want him to step in. You shake your head--the guy is annoying but harmless for the time being.

- Then he tries to touch you. Casually reaching for your shoulder, trying to rest his hand on your knee. You recoil, trying to create more space between the two of you. He doesn't care though.

- That’s when EZ can’t keep it to himself anymore. He’d sigh, not looking up from the glasses that he’s cleaning, “I don’t think she’s into you, man.”

- You and the man would both turn to look at him, each of you with a surprised expression on your faces. You’d stay quiet, wanting to see how the situation was going to play out. The man next to you would scoff, “I don’t remember you being part of this fucking conversation.”

- “I might as well be if I have to sit here and watch it. You’re the only one out of the three of us not suffering from how uncomfortable this is.”

- His commentary would ruffle some feathers. The man next to you would get defensive, “No one asked for your fucking opin--”

- Knowing that EZ had your back would give you a little extra confidence, “You should listen to him,” you nod, “He’s right. We’re suffering.”

- He’d be caught off-guard by the two of you teaming up on him. Realizing it wouldn't be worth the fight, he’d huff and walk away. EZ would watch him and chuckle, calling after him, “Least you could do is pay your fucking tab!”

- You’d laugh, glad to be done with the uncomfortable situation, “His drink and whatever you want are all on me tonight. As a thank you.”

- He’d give you that little smirk, “Don’t mention it.”

Coco:

- Zero tolerance policy.

- Not coy or polite about it at all.

-Instantly uses himself as a barrier between you and whatever guy it is that’s not leaving you alone. He might not be the biggest guy in the MC, but he sure as hell carries himself like he is when the situation calls for it.

-Will not hesitate to get nose-to-nose with whoever is bothering you. If someone wants to invade your space, he’ll invade theirs. Fair is fair.

- “You really can’t take a fuckin’ hint, huh?” he’d shake his head.

- “What’s your problem?” the man’s voice would sound confident but the look in his eyes would show that he really didn't want a problem with whoever this guy was getting in his face.

- “You. Fuckin’ beat it,” he’d jerk his head towards the door, “Don’t come back, either.”

- Coco carries himself with the confidence of a man that will make someone pay dearly for coming back uninvited. Confrontational situations usually resolve themselves quickly. People tend to not want to mess with him if they can avoid it.

-When the guy inevitably leaves not just you, but the clubhouse altogether, Coco finally turns back to you, “You good, ma?”

- You nod, watching him light up a cigarette, “Uh, yea. I’m good. Thanks for that.”

- He nods, blowing out a puff of smoke, “We’ll make sure that fucker never comes back.”

Hank:

- The only thing that Hank Loza drinks is Respect Women Juice. When he runs across someone that doesn’t, it gets out of hand really quickly.

-Bull in a china shop.

- The same man who is usually calm and cool and collected, physically removes whoever it is that is causing a problem. The guys have tried to teach him deescalation skills but it never sticks. It’s the only thing that Hank gets heated about so they all let it go at this point.

- Hank isn’t a small dude. When he steps toe-to-toe with someone he almost always out-sizes them. They get about 5 seconds to hear what he says and leave on their own before he removes them on his own.

- “You should leave her alone,” the friendly suggestion is really anything but.

- The guys are almost always cocky, not thinking that anything is actually going to happen to them, “Or what, tough guy?”

- They ignored their first and only warning. What happens next is all on them. Hank grabs the guy by the collar of his shirt, lifting him from the ground. His voice is quiet, which is way more terrifying than yelling, “Let’s find out.”

- Hank lifts and carries the guy out, on the brink of dragging him like a caveman. The guy is yelling in protest, trying to swing, but Hank is unfazed.

- He throws the guy down the steps of the clubhouse, giving a final warning not to come back. No longer in an agumentative mood, the man takes off in a desperate attempt to avoid getting further tossed around.

- When he goes back into the clubhouse, the rest of the guys have moved on from the situaiton--to them it was business as usual for Hank. You, on the other hand, didn't see the situation unfolding that way at all. He walked back up to you, the anger gone from his face, a gentle smile there instead.

- “Are you alright?” he looks you over as if to make sure you didn't get hurt in the midst of it all.

- “Yea,” you nod, “I’m...I’m fine. Thanks. You...you didn’t have to do all that.”

- He’d chuckle, knowing that for him it was the only course of action, “Of course I did,” he’d gently rest his hand on the outside of your arm, “Let me know if anyone else gives you any trouble.”

Creeper:

- The smaller version of Hank, tbh. Constantly out here Respecting Women.

- Remember that scene where he catches a shotgun that’s tossed to him and immediately starts shooting on the highway?? That’s the energy he has when dealing with men who disrespect women.

- Cannot easily lift and remove men the same way Hank does, but he will throw hands without hesitation.

- The guys told him no more threatening with guns in the clubhouse. So fists will have to suffice.

- Does not offer a warning to the guy. If someone is being pushy or rude, they don’t deserve a heads-up. He will try to get your attention in some way first, to make sure that you want him to intervene. If he thinks that it’s going to get out of hand, or if you let him know with a pleading look that you could use the assist, he is instantly throwing himself into the middle of it.

- He’d catch your eye, motioning back and forth between you and the man in front of you to ask if you need an out. You’d give him a slight nod and that’s all it would take.

- Walking up, he grabs the guy by his shoulder and turns him around, “Hey, motherfucker,” he’d shove him towards the door of the clubhouse, “Leave.”

- Caught off-guard, the man would shove him back. Fully-bruised ego shining through, “Keep your hands off me.”

- That’s when you’d hear the first crack of a fist colliding with someone’s jaw. Your eyes would go wide, not ever having seen Creeper get like this. His focus would be completely on the man stumbling towards the ground in front of him, “I said get the fuck out.”

- It usually doesn’t take more than one punch to get his point across. HIs muscles aren’t just for show--getting clocked by him fucking hurts. They’re lucky that he’s not big on wearing rings.

- Once the threat is neutralized, he instantly shifts back into his quiet, gentler self to check in with you. He sees the surprise in your face at how things unfolded and he holds his hands up in surrender, “I’m done, promise.”

- It’d get you to laugh. You can see it in his expression that it’s almost like a switch he can flip on and off. “Um. Thank you. That...isn’t what I was expecting. But thank you.”

- “Are you alright?” he’d sit down next to you, mindful to give you some space.

- “Yea, I’m good. How’s your hand?”

- He’d chuckle, “All good. Nothing new.”

Okay this was a lot of fun. I love all these dorks. Hope you enjoyed! xo

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moonbaby26 · 4 years ago

Text

Title: A Party and a Spy

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!Reader

Summary: Story set nearer the Viking Age. You were a Greek sea goddess who crossed paths with the god of mischief. Continuation of previous chapter. Loki is forced to return to Asgard to unwillingly participate in the festivities honoring Odin and Thor’s victories in Alfheim. He ends up drunk and in a piss poor mood that he then wants you to help relieve. Your secret meetings also finally attract an unwanted visitor. Super brief cameos here by Sif, the warriors three, and Thor, as well as Heimdall again.

Warnings: Semi smut possibly, but no real sex this chapter. Sorry to tease, will be some next chapter. Here is just mentions of arousal, grinding through clothing. Mention of masturbation. Also some animal abuse, but a magical animal who will be fine I guess. The princes are just jerks like that.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @rosaline-black , @lawfeys , @loveableasshole , @insanitybyanothername , @just-wordsandthoughts , @cringingmemeries

My Masterlist

——————————

You still felt warm, your head just poking out from under the blanket as you stretched a little. Your hand ran out across the mattress after a moment though, contacting nothing to your surprise as you then opened your eyes.

As you quickly sat up, the look on your face must have said far too much as you heard a chuckle from nearby.

“No, goddess, I haven’t left just yet. My, you are expressive though.”

As you turned your head towards the voice, you saw Loki now sitting in one of the two chairs at the small table opposite your side of the bed.

He was still dressed only in a pair of pants you also quickly noted, yourself still so unused to seeing this much of him as your eyes lingered on the lean muscle and pale skin.

“What?” He asked, not missing that stare either, though the sly look in his eyes told you he knew damned well what you were now distracted with. He just wanted you to say it.

“Asgardians really do wear too many clothes, if you are any proper example anyway.” You replied simply though. Why hide so much all the time?

He raised an eyebrow, but was smirking as he taunted a little further. “Oh I can assure you, there is no one in Asgard like me. And you’d prefer this not be reserved just for you then?”

You tried not to look caught off guard. Even if he were only teasing, the implication that he’d still be keeping this type of intimacy for you alone was something that made your stomach flutter slightly.

“Come here.” He said next though, snapping you back to attention, though you still hesitated. Was that a command or a request?

He only rolled his eyes after a moment though. “Oh, don’t waste time trying to be proud now. I do have to leave shortly, it will already be late morning in Asgard by now.” He extended a hand to you. “So come, sit with me.”

You eventually acquiesced, standing from the bed then, though intending just to walk to the other chair. Yet the very moment you were close enough, he only grabbed you by the arm, pulling you down to sit on his lap instead.

He was surprisingly fast and strong when he wished to be, his arms already around your waist as well before you could think to try and stand again.

“There. That wasn’t so hard was it?” He spoke lowly against your ear as you shifted.

But to your surprise he didn’t touch you any further, even though one arm did stay around your waist to keep you steady as his other hand just went back to the table.

“I have a job for you.” He added, then moving his hand oddly as a piece of parchment paper and a writing quill appeared abruptly from thin air. “At least I think it may work. I’m sure the majority of these animals are illiterate. I’m hoping at least the clan chief has some shaman or someone of the sort that understands these runes. It’s the only written language I’ve ever seen in this land.”

But even as he started to write on the paper, your mind was still only fixating on what you’d just seen as you asked abruptly. “How did you do that?”

He seemed focused on whatever symbols he was now putting on the page, but he still answered. “How do I do what? They’re just runes.”

“No, how did you conjure the pen and paper?” Controlling the elements, moving objects by will, or casting illusions was one thing. But forming a very unnatural, man made object from essentially nothing was different than the typical kind of magic you were used to.

Loki paused a moment then, like trying to digest what you’d just said before he glanced back up to look you in the eyes.

“The woman can move the seas themselves and is astonished by a piece of paper?” He mocked incredulously.

Your eyebrows lowered. “Listen, I know good and well I’m no sorceress. That’s why I’m asking. How do you create something like that from nothing?”

He shook his head. “Gods, they really just give magic to anyone these days.”

A joke clearly, as everything you had you had been born with, though learning to control it had taken time. And to be honest, was still an ongoing learning process. But you still wanted an answer as you looked at him pointedly.

He sighed under your gaze. “I really don’t have the time for this. But I know you won’t let it go.” He had continued writing though even as he kept talking. “I didn’t make them, goddess. I brought them with me. You are at least correct in that nearly all instances of magic, nothing can be made without taking of something else. I’m sure when you make those little whirlpools of yours for instance, you’re drawing the latent energy from the water. The currents, the temperature differences, what have you. To truly make something from nothing...well, that would be chaos magic. Which, may or may not even exist depending which of the ancient mages’ tomes you most believe in.”

You could tell he did take pride in his studies and the principles behind them clearly. If he wasn’t already concerned about returning to Asgard, you could probably get a whole lecture on this subject right now. But you couldn’t help but point out again, as you just responded. “Yet you still haven’t really answered my question. If you brought them with you, where were they before?” You glanced down at his pants as if to reaffirm your doubt that anything other than himself had been hidden there as they were relatively tight.

Yet he still smirked at your continued insistence. “On the scale of the things I’m capable of, my dear, that’s just a parlor trick. And if you really care so much, I can teach you at some other time.”

At that, he paused writing again though, placing the quill down momentarily as he then moved his hand again for a long dagger to abruptly be held in his palm. “You see? There are far better uses to this trick.” He flipped the knife just as quickly though, letting the blade’s point stab into the table as the dagger then stood on end.

And as it did so he made sure to look to see your reaction, also asking you, “Do you really just depend on your servants to follow you around at all hours with any weapons you may need?”

Yet you just looked from the dagger, then back to him. Surprised surely, but not actually frightened. “And do you have so many enemies as to always need that at the ready?”

“One never really knows do they?” He answered smoothly, just grasping the dagger’s handle again before it disappeared once more.

It didn’t seem like a threat really. But you felt he still wanted you to know a bit more of what he was capable of. You quieted afterward as he went back to writing for a few more moments.

When he was done, you could tell he glanced over the letter briefly, as if proofreading before he rolled the paper tightly and folded it.

He spoke rather business like then, an odd thing honestly as you still sat so intimately on his lap. “If it wasn’t already obvious, I’d like you to carry this to the village leader while I return to Asgard. I don’t have the time to deal with the mortals right now, and besides, they’re your pets.”

“Excuse me? Have you forgotten whose idea this whole ‘protector’ role was to begin with?”

“Oh, I was willing to let the lot of them be wiped out if you’d chosen not to save them. I’d only need to spare whichever the nicest home was from burning as the marauders moved through, and we still would have ended up with a place to meet regardless.”

The sad thing was, you were actually sure he really meant that too. But he just continued.

“Yet you pitied them, and now here we are. And as the beasts held up their end of the bargain, I agree it’s fair at least to give them some recognition for their work. A pat on the head and a ‘good dog’ essentially, that’s what this letter says. So you see, I’m not wholly ungrateful.”

“A thank you letter?” You asked dryly. Relatively sure it likely didn’t read completely as such.

“Well, essentially. But with a reminder on the rules as well.”

“Rules?”

“Our privacy must be respected. I’ll put a green flame at the end of the trail nearer the village when we’re present. During the night, this place is also solely ours. If during the day there’s no flame, then they can come up and clean and maintenance this tiny wood hutch like good help should.”

“Your staff at your palace must just adore you.” You mused sarcastically. “The mortals are not our slaves, Loki.”

“It’s really an odd thing how you fancy them.” He retorted, though with an air of someone just humoring another person they already thought irreparably deluded. “But I suppose you have nothing else fulfilling to pass the time when I’m in Asgard. Some people like to paint, others like to craft things...you, you have your pets.”

Arrogant god you thought. As if suddenly you had no other purpose outside of him? Surely he saw that insulted look in your eyes as well, because you could see the entertained mirth in his own before he pulled you closer to kiss you suddenly.

And this one was rough again, briefly reminding you of that night in the cave as you felt his hands move down to your hips. His tongue was already in your mouth before you could even consider pulling away.

From last night when he’d only held you, to now seeming so hungry again, the sides of him could change so quickly you were learning.

His hands didn’t move beneath your dress though, even though you thought his fingers may be grabbing you hard enough to bruise as he twisted you to be fully facing him. Straddling him actually with each of your legs now on either side of him as he rested against the back of the chair.

He kept kissing you, and it wasn’t long before you felt that distinct hardness against you even through his pants. As always though, you wore nothing beneath your dress, a matter of practicality really for as often as you were in the water. Who would want any undergarments constantly rubbing and chaffing where you were most sensitive? You liked sheer and loose material in the dresses you wore, so that it moved easily as you swam and dried quickly when you were on land.

But he knew all this by now of course, as he just ground his hips then, that rough seam of his pants then moving between your legs as he drug it back and forth.

He was intentionally trying to work you up. You sensed the trap, but still found your own hands moving across his bare chest soon enough.

Your newfound lack of willpower was really astounding. Finally though, you pulled your head back to break the kiss and warn him. “If you’re just doing this with no intention to actually follow through...”

“If you wanted it so badly, you could have taken it last night.” He retorted though. “I’ve already stayed too long.”

“Why can’t I want both?” You answered, meaning it as well. It wasn’t just sex, nor was it just being in his company. Neither by itself was enough anymore. Each had its own place.

He looked frustrated himself though as you felt him thrust against you reflexively, that bulge in his pants wasted even as it scraped against where you were now becoming wet. “I’m telling you, Odin is back at the palace now. I have to be calculated in the times I come and go. There is some damned ceremony today, likely starting any moment by now for their victories in Alfheim. If I’m not there, they’re going to come looking for me.”

As much as you knew he liked to bend the truth. It wouldn’t make sense for him to deny himself this right now unless it was actually for good reason.

“Well you’re the one who pulled me into your lap and kissed me.” You relented, though your own body now fully flustered and urging you to return to him even as you stood up and stepped away.

“Well you shouldn’t have slept so late.” He grumbled back. Pulling at his pants in some discomfort as he stood as well.

But you watched as his armor manifested then, horned helmet and all as his magic washed across him. What you guessed would now be his attire for the ceremony he’d spoken of. You assumed that clothing and armor had been in whatever void the pen, paper, and dagger had been.

At least with his illusions he could also conceal his arousal if it hadn’t faded on its own by the time he reached the palace though, you thought with some amusement.

Yet, even as he walked for the door, he taunted to you as if sensing your enjoyment of his current predicament. “You’re welcome to get back in the bed you know. Think of me while you self soothe, goddess.”

So crude. But you just fired back before he could close the door. “And is that what you do at night in Asgard? Think of yourself as well to finish things off?” You were trying to mock his evident self importance of course.

Yet he didn’t even miss a beat at the intended insult. “Why be myself when I can just be you? Then I never have to forget how you feel.”

And just to prove that he could, you stared in disbelief as a perfect likeness of yourself then smiled back at you lewdly, thin dress and all before shutting the door unceremoniously.

Gods. That was just unnatural. And you had to sit down at that, arousal now paused at least as your body’s resulting confusion was almost palpable.

———————————

Asgard, not long after

Loki was back to his normal appearance, hurriedly stepping into the small grouping of warriors he’d recognized at once in the rest of the crowd at the palace ceremonial hall.

Sif’s head turned in immediate surprise and annoyance as those golden horns entered her peripheral vision. The irritation was evident even as she tried to keep her voice low with so many others still around them. “And just where have you been!? Thor was looking for you everywhere!”

“I was in the library, did he think to look in the library!?” Loki spat back immediately, knowing that even if his brother had checked there, Thor knew the layout of it so poorly, he could always have claimed to have been in another section.

“Yet why are you breathing so hard, chap? Were you actually running?” Fandral asked as well, also looking Loki over.

“And why pray tell would I have been running?” Loki shot a glare to him next. Could they not mind their own damned business for once?

“Because you were late?” Volstagg offered in that simplistic, yet matter of fact way that was always beyond annoying even on the best day.

“Well I’m here now.” Loki huffed, though not missing the way Hogun was also staring at him critically. “And do you have something to add?” Loki grumbled at him.

But only Sif answered. “Well if you hadn’t been lost in the library,” Her tone made clear how little she believed that excuse, “You’d know that Thor chose you to give the congratulatory speech before-”

“The what?” Loki stared at her, that odd mix of horror and disgust then abruptly clear on his face.

——————————

“So what more can I say of Asgard’s favorite son?” Loki’s public speaking voice boomed richly through the great hall, the throng of happy faces sickening as he smiled right back at them. What fresh Hel was this really?

“Alfheim counts her graces I am sure to have such noble saviors defend her-” By the gods he didn’t even know what Odin and Thor had done there the entire time. He assumed there’d been skull bashing and the normal heroics. But if they’d been working out peace treaties instead the last few weeks, who knew. He’d been looking for hidden portals to Midgard still on the days they’d held the main debriefings.

“And with peace secured in the realms once more, please join me in giving thanks to the noble Allfather and the mighty Thor!” Loki wasn’t normally one for alcohol. Not in comparison to most Asgardians anyway. He thought it dulled the mind too much. But by all the mages in all the realms...he so badly needed it now, as he took a large swig of the strongest Asgard had, before throwing the glass down to shatter it as was custom. “And let the feasts commence!”

The crowd erupted in cheers. And on any other day, that would have been something he obviously would have wanted. But Loki knew that not one voice was for him as he suddenly felt a large hand and arm go around his shoulders, shaking him roughly before his brother’s voice joined the yells, yet right in his ear.

“HUZZAH!” Thor cried, one arm still around Loki as his other lifted Mjolnir triumphantly.

—————————

And it was so many hours later before Loki had finally escaped. Time and time again as he’d tried to excuse himself from the endless barrage of drinks and food, it was as if his brother had somehow sensed it.

Then there would be Thor again, telling him any one of those same stories over and over as he’d somehow corralled Loki back into the feast room. If he’d had to hear one more time how with one hand forced behind his back, and Mjolnir still in mid air, that Thor had kicked one of the enemies’ bombs right back into their own garrison, taking out an entire enemy troop as more of their stored artillery then exploded...Loki may have finally vomited.

As it was now, he wasn’t exactly walking a straight line either though. Just carrying his own helmet in one hand, his head already throbbing as he made his way slowly through the corridors. His other arm reaching out occasionally, grazing the walls for balance.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drank so much. Well, more like been forced to drink so much, just to try and maintain his sanity in what was essentially just another gathering of his brother’s sycophants.

Honestly did Thor even see it? Did he really think all those hanger-ons were truly his friends? Perhaps there was some argument for Sif and the warriors three. As thick headed as they all were, they were about cut from the same cloth. And that was not a compliment.

But all the others? It’d be almost pitiable really if it weren’t so damned annoying. Yet maybe it was the alcohol there as well, making Loki linger on so many of these feelings again.

By the time he reached the entrance to his quarters, he was frowning as he pushed the heavy doors open. He still made sure that they shut fully behind him though as he waved his hand to lock them doubly with a spell.

It was not without precedent that in some true late night madness, either Thor, or Thor, Fandral, and Volstagg may still force entry to try and get him to accompany them on some additional drunken adventure while they were still riding so high on their accomplishments.

“Idiots,” Loki grumbled to no one though. Still stuck in that sour mood as he moved across the dark room, losing clothes as he did so before finally ending up in his elaborate bed. The silken sheets were then the only thing against his skin as he laid there in silence, though the room still feeling like it was moving slightly in his lingering vertigo.

But he just wanted to sleep. That and to will this headache and the thoughts that worsened it away.

But instead he only laid there. His drunken thoughts churning louder and louder as the minutes passed, alone in this extravagant, luxurious, and also very empty bed.

Scattered across the palace now, he could only imagine all the couplings likely occurring. Not necessarily in the full sense of the word. But he knew how these types of festivities normally ended.

Thor was likely in an archway somewhere with Sif, pawing at each other with all the finesse of a pair of schoolchildren. Fandral and Hogun would still be at a table, Fandral now showing off his sword to a couple maidens simultaneously with only thinly veiled euphemisms of how it compared to the hidden equivalent. And Volstagg would have his actual wife and children there, somehow still not bored of them yet as they all laughed together.

And that’s what it really was, laughable.

Loki rolled onto his side, glaring towards the balcony and the stars dotting the black sky beyond it. No, he didn’t need any of that farce of companionship. Not just for the sake of it anyway like all the others. He took what he wanted, when he wanted surely. Pleasure was one thing after all, but it didn’t control him.

You didn’t control him actually. Because no one controlled the god of mischief.

But the longer he lay there in silence, the more he could then imagine your fingers soon running through his hair, or the warmth of your lap to lay his aching head in. He’d had bad days before, many times retreating to this very room alone. But he didn’t have to be alone tonight. He didn’t have to be alone at all anymore did he?

“Goddamnit.” He finally hissed. It was foolhardy, dangerous even after just returning from Midgard already once today. But he wasn’t going to sleep tonight otherwise. Not until he had what he really wanted.

——————————

Loki certainly wasn’t going to be walking all the way to the bifrost gate. Not at this hour, and not in this condition. So he’d taken a form that at least no one would have second guessed if they’d just happened to look up as he’d passed quickly overhead.

One of Father’s ravens, or the rats with wings as he preferred to call them. And as he’d landed near Heimdall, then regaining his normal form, the older god just looked down at him, unimpressed.

“She’s returned to the ocean. She already sleeps.” Heimdall spoke unprompted.

Yet Loki’s eyebrows rose mockingly, even if his words took a little more effort right now. “Oh? Making a habit of watching her…even without me then? That’s a bit perverse.”

But the gatekeeper’s expression hardly changed at the insult, still so difficult to goad. “I saw you coming, and your questions to her whereabouts are becoming predictable.”

It was true. Loki had already come here several nights, yes. Mostly to check whether the mortals had finished that structure or not. And it’d finally been a pleasant reward just the other night when Heimdall had confirmed it already done and you there waiting.

“I don’t care where she is.” Loki retorted though. “I’m going to Midgard. Open the gate.”

“You are inebriated.” Heimdall warned.

“And you have a severely itritating penchant for stating the obvious…open the gate.” He commanded more forcefully.

“Anywhere in Midgard particular?” Heimdall answered.

Loki paused though, hearing that slightest change in the guardian’s normal stoic tone with those last words. “Are you…attempting to make a joke?”

“I did not wish to assume or state the obvious again as you said. And you also say you do not care where she is. So do you not care where you should land tonight then?”

He was! He was mocking him. Loki growled, pointing his finger for emphasis. “Now listen here…it has been a god awful, long day. Quit trying to dissuade me. Send me to the village, gatekeeper!”

“Any village?”

Gods. “My village, her village, whatever you want to call it. But do it or I’ll use the damned sword myself!”

With one last cheerless look down at Loki, Heimdall turned the sword then, opening the gate even as he warned a final time. “Do not fall from the bifrost, Prince. The universe is vast and does not suffer the careless well. Do remember as well that all things done have consequences in the end.”

But Loki had no time to search for deeper meaning in the words, just ruffling more as he walked towards the light. “Is that a threat?”

“Only a truth and a caution.” Heimdall again answered, just before the other disappeared back across the bridge.

———————————

And as the light left him again, Loki was once more in that dark forest. Yet, the ground far lighter colored than normal as to a little of his surprise, his boots now found fresh snow. Winter had finally arrived to this part of Midgard apparently.

He cursed, realizing it would have been far smarter to have told Heimdall to deposit him directly onto the beach this time as he’d now had to navigate back down the hillside and to the trail that led between the cliff face.

It had started snowing again as well as he walked, the large flakes sticking in his black hair by the time he reached the ocean’s edge. He should have told you just to stay at the cabin this morning. But he didn’t expect to be standing here again so soon either.

Loki didn’t care about the water at this point though, the waves rushing up around his feet and over the top of his boots as he trudged forward to call out. “Hear me, sea beasts! Hear me and bring your mistress to me!”

And it didn’t take long of course before he saw two feminine looking torsos rise just where the waves were breaking in the distance. Not quite human, but expressive enough that he could see the skepticism in their body language.

“She’s asleep!” One called back over the waves.

“Then go and wake her!” He only hissed back as if scolding an insubordinate child. Why did everyone feel the need to test him tonight?

But the two nymphs just looked at one another. The other then speaking. “What is so important? Are you claiming injury again?”

He scoffed at the jab, voice easily sliding into its darker range then, even in his continued drunken state. He did not have time for this. “Do not forget your place, water sprite.”

And as he made a move as if to step further into the water, he was pleased to see them both shrink back at that. When they disappeared not long after, he knew all he now had to do was wait.

—————————

You didn’t fully know what to expect. Why was he back so soon? Not that you should complain, but he’d made such a point about having to return to Asgard this morning, and he’d never come back so quickly before. Even though it was now dead of night.

The nymphs also said he’d been acting strangely, even a bit ruder than normal. They insisted you bring your spear, and so you had as you broke the surface only to find him sitting at the water’s edge. Though not even far enough onto the beach to stay dry as the water now ran around him and then pulled back with each successive wave. His pants and cloak were clearly soaked, snow also dotting all over him to your surprise.

“Loki?” You asked, concerned but cautious. Normally the rare sight of snow would have distracted you in its own right had you not been so focused on him. The north was still unique to you for all its differences.

“The cold doesn’t bother me either.” He said abruptly, seeing that worry in your eyes. But he didn’t stand out of the water. “You really should reprimand your servants…”

“It’s not quite that kind of a relationship.” You replied, though not defensively as you still tried to realize what was wrong with him. “Are you alright?”

“No.” He said simply.

If it was just another trick, it was a good one. But you felt you had no real choice but to behave as if he was sincere. You only laid your spear down in the water as you then moved to sit down beside him.

He looked over at you as you did, and you could see how tired he looked even in the darkness. So close to him then, that was finally when you smelled the scent of alcohol, impressively strong even over the salt smell of the ocean.

He was drunk.

“Loki…” You said again, unsure at all what would have driven him to this kind of excess. “Do you want me to help you to the cabin?”

He leaned closer though, as if to either kiss you or lay his head against yours. He did nuzzle your face slightly though as he whispered in your ear. “I want him to get closer first.” Before you could react though, he’d then grabbed your chin to keep you from looking away from him. “He can’t hear us over the noise of the sea…but don’t look away.”

And he did kiss you then, that heady taste of the alcohol almost as distracting as the nonsensical words. His hand was moving up your thigh as well as his other moved around to your back. It all seemed like only the beginnings of foreplay before just as suddenly, he then pushed you down beneath him. His hand that had been on your thigh pulled back simultaneously to throw a dagger violently out into the darkness.

You heard a distinct sound of a hit, a creature screech, and then chaotic flapping in the sand and snow somewhere near the cliff’s base.

Loki was now laying on top of you, your back still pressed into the wet sand as the water rushed back up around you both. He glanced back down at you then, ignoring the confusion in your eyes as he kissed you roughly several times more before finally pulling back again. “We’ll have to get back to that tomorrow…” He all but purred, mood shifting suddenly to satisfaction as he stood once more and offered you his hand.

Utterly baffled, you still took it, letting him help you up before he let go of you to walk off towards the distressed sounds you still heard near the cliff. You only hung back long enough to grab your spear before hurrying to follow him.

You didn’t know what kind of beast to expect from all the noise, and only found yourself more surprised as a pitiable looking black bird finally came into view. It flapped even harder upon seeing Loki, but with one wing clearly mangled and blood spattering the snow and sand around it.

“Oh, you over dramatic twat.” Loki fussed, snatching the hapless creature up with little fanfare as his other hand reclaimed his now bloody dagger, disappearing it again with his magic. “And which one are you?” He asked, holding it roughly near his face as it now continually tried to bite him in defiance.

You didn’t know what he was looking for, and you were about to say something about how harshly he was holding the poor animal before Loki smirked in recognition.

“Well…Muninn, you little vermin. You saw me leave the palace didn’t you? Did you really think I was your other half? Couldn’t leave well enough alone could you?”

What? So this was one of Odin’s ravens? But, Loki had just stabbed it! Was this not treason? Treason that you were now a party to? You had so many questions as your inner panic began to grow.

But Loki only kept smiling, talking with condescension to the injured bird. “Yet, for you to be here so quickly, then you’ve found my door for me. There’s a rift between Asgard and Midgard somewhere nearby…and for that you get to keep your other wing tonight, you little spy.”

—————————

As you passed back up the trail to the cabin together, you saw Loki had indeed kept his word about signaling to the mortals when you were here. A green flame floated, ethereal in midair at the edge of the tree-line.

It had a haunting look to it, but you said nothing, still so focused on Loki’s rough handling of the injured raven. And by the time you’d entered the woods, you could no longer contain yourself.

“Please don’t hold him by the chest like that. It makes it too hard for them to breathe. You’re going to suffocate him!”

At your outburst, Loki seemed to have a genuine moment of surprise, looking over at you before his normal superior expression returned. “Just because you can become a bird….doesn’t mean you should give a damn about this one. Don’t waste your time on kindness. Despite your bleeding heart, his loyalty lies only with the Allfather. He’ll snitch you out regardless.”

“But, he has lost a lot of blood. We can’t let him die, Loki…” You still kept on, worried the alcohol had truly made him lose all sense of judgement.

Again he just gave you the oddest look before outright laughing though. He shook the bird a little, making it squawk again, before continuing. “This rat and his brother are imbued with Odin’s magic. They cannot perish so easily as long as Odin still lives.”

Yet, that was still not comforting to you in the slightest. In what possible way could torturing a favored pet of the Allfather end positively for the two of you?

But Loki didn’t miss the way you still stared with disapproval, just rolling his eyes as you finally made it to the cabin. “Do you know how long we’ve dealt with these little pests? When Thor got his first slingshot as a boy, what do you think he practiced it on? When I learned my first spells, what did I test them on? There is nothing new to this…”

“That’s awful.” You grumbled, though watching as Loki did this odd movement with his shoulders, his magic shifting over him so that he was suddenly dry again.

As he walked inside, you had to shake the snow off yourself the old fashioned way. Your dress and hair still damp from that and the ocean combined as you followed him inside, leaning your spear against the wall before closing the door. “So you could do that the whole time,” You commented as to his drying trick, though not really surprised by anything else right now.

He smirked a little, knowing what you were thinking. With a wave of his hand a couple of the candles also lit. “Oh, I didn’t do it that night in the cave. You were supposed to take pity and ask me to take off some of my wet clothes…of course they ended up off anyway didn’t they?”

You crossed your arms, just frowning as he unceremoniously opened the chest on the floor next, tossing the injured Muninn into it before slamming it back closed.

“I’ll deal with you in the morning,” Loki threatened in response to the resulting angry squawk, giving the chest a light kick before the noise inside silenced.

When he turned to look at you again, he only offered a dark smile. Though still looking tired as he started to remove his clothes.

You tried to keep your disapproving look strong even as you realized he was using no magic at all, removing his vestments piece by piece as if to taunt you into further watching.

But looking away would have just goaded him too wouldn’t it? Letting him know the sight of his body still did things to you. You couldn’t win either way as all of his clothes finally laid piled on the floor, no neatness this time as he went lay nude in the bed.

You stood there a further moment, really not knowing what to do. He didn’t deserve to be rewarded right now in your mind. But were you just supposed to walk right back out the door? You didn’t have the willpower for that either, not anymore.

He watched you lazily too, waiting. His voice was quieter now though as he did speak again. “If I’d wanted to sleep alone…I would have just stayed in Asgard.”

Your shoulders lowered a little at the softer words, but you didn’t know how much you really believed him. You finally did approach the bed however, removing your wet dress, and not missing the way his eyes moved across your body before you climbed in under the blanket beside him.

But you could also tell he was in no condition for love making, even as you felt his hand encircle one of your wrists, himself then pulling your hand up so your fingers fell into his hair.

He gave you an imploring look, making his intention clear even if unexpected. It was so strange, but you complied, starting to rub your fingers through his hair and along his scalp gently.

The way he clearly relaxed into the touch reminded you so much of a placated animal truly. And he even closed his eyes as you just continued stroking, letting the black hair work repeatedly between your fingers.

To drunkenly cross the vast breadth of space just for this minor affection, also risking exposure by his Father’s informants, was it telling you that he really was so reckless after all? Or…was this becoming a real need for him?

Were you becoming a need in his life?

You felt him line up his body with yours, flesh to flesh as he got further comfortable.

“Thank you.” You heard him say at last. Surprising you enough that you could find nothing to say in return.

You just kept on with your soft touches though, comforting the troublesome prince all the way until he finally fell asleep in your arms.

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

#loki #loki fanfic #loki smut #loki fluff #loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki x oc #loki odison x reader #loki odinson #loki layfeyson x reader #loki lafeyson #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x y/n #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x y/n

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councilofelrond · 2 years ago

Text

Triple Entente

Summary: Celebrimbor recalls how exactly he wound up in Mordor.

For day 6 of @silvergiftingweek!

Read under the cut here or on ao3!

“A triple monarchy,” Melkor declares, lazily dodging Tyelpë’s half-hearted swipe at his shoulder. “Three thrones.” Mairon huffs. “With you in the middle, of course, darling.”

Tyelpë eyes Melkor, vaguely confused and annoyed. He is unfairly pretty, something made worse by the fact he is wearing nothing but a very revealing silk dressing gown.

Tyelpë reaches over again, this time to play with Melkor’s hair. It is unadorned and unbound, and there is so much of it. He shifts closer to Melkor, running his fingers through the mass of raven curls, yanking slightly when he finds a knot. Melkor lets out a soft gasp.

Mairon is there, suddenly, one of his hands brushing against Tyelpë’s hip, Melkor’s thigh.

His touch is warm and gentle. Melkor stares at him, then leans forward to kiss him over Tyelpë’s shoulder.

“Anyway,” he says as soon as he pulls away. “We should all have equal power.”

“A decent idea,” Tyelpë muses, “but ultimately, how would we split duties up? We each may have equal power on paper—” here Melkor, stubbornly illiterate as he was, scoffs— “but ultimately, Mairon knows the Mordain best. It would make no sense for us each to have the same duties.”

Melkor waves a hand dismissively. “I have thought of that.”

“Well, then. Carry on, lord,” Mairon drawls. His habit of calling Melkor ‘lord,’ as if they were still in Angband, is always unnerving to Tyelpë, but he understands it is some bizarre form of endearment.

“We split duties based on our strengths. I come up with the ideas, Tyelpë elaborates, Mairon executes, and advises, because otherwise we will all fuck up very badly.”

Tyelpë sighs. Much to his chagrin, it makes sense.

Mairon’s reaction is slower. He seems to dissect the words before he says, “I suppose…but one thing.”

“What?” Melkor asks, eyes narrowed.

“You cannot order the Nazgûl around. They will become cranky and everything will be stabbed with knives.”

Melkor and Tyelpë blink at him, stupidly, then burst out laughing.

It began like this:

A Man with a severe headache mounts a drake. He’s not quite a Man, actually, and the drake is a Maia in disguise, but what’s important is that he is going to talk to Mandos himself to fix his damn headache.

The headache is because of a person, a person named Celebrimbor, or Tyeleperinquar (or Tyelpë) depending on who you asked, who is very much in love but refuses to admit it.

And Talion (the not-quite-Man) is getting quite thoroughly tired of having homoerotic fights for him.

Which means explaining to Mandos why a) Celebrimbor needs a body other than Talion’s again and b) why Melkor should be released from the Void.

Mandos ultimately agrees with Talion (he saw it coming) and gives him exactly what he asks for.

Unfortunately, Manwë decides to make a thing of it, make Mairon pay a dowry for Melkor (Melkor is not pleased) and send a large party of people to escort them, since “you are marrying royalty, after all!”

Which is how Melkor and an unfortunate Tyelpë wound up in a carriage in a procession of some sort, staring bug-eyed at the celebrating Mordain, who are either very excited to see their ruler marry or very excited to party. Likely both.

Tyelpë stares at his lap and curses Talion, who is no doubt having a good laugh with Ratbag (that damned Orc) and Carnán (that damned Maia) about this.

At least the clothes are nice. And undoubtedly they will be treated well—a wedding is no small thing, even if it’s really just an excuse for a party.

“So,” Tyelpë says awkwardly when he realizes the silence is becoming unbearable. “Do you think he’ll abdicate in your favor?”

Melkor snorts, setting down the fan he had been hiding behind. “Absolutely not. I do not want him to. I have no knowledge of these people beyond their tongue and I am terribly sorry to say that official documents would have to be read to me, since I am completely illiterate. Hopefully I get to spend most of my time doing whatever I want.” Melkor eyes him. “Do you want the throne?”

Tyelpë almost wishes he hadn’t asked. “No,” he says firmly. “He would kill me if I asked anyway.” He shudders, remembering his death.

Melkor raises an eyebrow, then picks up the fan again. “Fair is this land and its people,” he says softly.

“Fair? The capital city sits on a plain of ash! We are in the plain of ash!”

“Fool Elf!” Melkor snaps, closing the fan with a snap. “It is beautiful because of that. Do you not see the effort that went into the land here? How carefully it is constructed? No, you do not, because you are a fool.”

Tyelpë stares at him.

As soon as they arrive, a very harried-looking woman comes to take them to their rooms, and then leaves to find someone called Catë.

Tyelpë stares at the ceiling. He isn’t sure exactly how all of this happened. Luckily, he does not have much time to think, because a tall woman wearing an elegant gown strides into the room, followed by three uniformed attendants. She looks him up and down and sighs loudly.

“At least my canvas is decent,” she mutters, taking a long drag on her smoke stick. “Right! Cream with gold and a muted orange with…hmm...silver accents. And then silver jewelry. Yes! Silver, silver, darlings, we must absolutely drape him in silver!” She shot a glare at the nearest attendant, a human woman with a mousy face, who quaked. “Why aren’t you writing this down?”

The woman scrambled for the notebook at her hip. Tyelpë watched as she began writing, hand moving in a blur.

Soon after, Catë sashays off, still smoking.

Tyelpë sits for a moment, stunned, then collapses backwards in exhaustion.

The rest of the time before the wedding passes in a blur.

He does see Talion, though. The man is taller, almost. More solid. His eyes are a deep brown, and now more than ever Tyelpë realizes how very not Gondorian he looks. His skin is a bit lighter, his eyes narrower, his nose broader and flatter to his face. He’s very Northern.

Talion only laughs. “I know, Tyelpë,” he says. “You called me Rhavan, remember?”

He does. “You were so mad,” Tyelpë says. “It took me three days to figure out that of course you wouldn’t like being called savage.”

“You’re a damn idiot sometimes,” Talion says cheerfully, and saunters off to talk to an Orc who is definitely Ratbag.

Mordor has a rhythm to it, one that bends around Mairon’s rhythm. Which, being very repetitive, is extremely easy to get used to.

Tyelpë wishes he’d listened to Talion when he said that Mordor was predictable.

Talion is right annoyingly often.

Even Melkor falls into a rhythm. Granted, it’s getting up at noon and wandering the cold halls of Barad-dûr in as little clothing as he can get away with.

And annoying Tyelpë. Mostly because all of their interactions have to be chaperoned (something Mairon likely made up to annoy his court), but Melkor is just a very annoying person.

Mairon is…

Well. He’s not there, because he has a country to run and nine perfectly good undead creeps to chaperone the people he is soon to marry.

And apparently will have to have children with, to satisfy a great many grumbling Men.

It’s stupid, Tyelpë thinks, that he knows exactly what Talion would say (fuck ‘em) but not what anyone else would.

The actual wedding ceremony is very simple in practice, but requires such incredible amounts of planning it’s really a wonder anyone is still standing.

Step 1: Catë delivers wedding clothes. His is an elaborate silver ensemble with some muted orange highlights. That’s not to mention the jewelry—there’s a crown thing called a kokoshnik, which is beautiful and apparently a traditional wedding garment, and so many other things he loses track.

(He doesn’t know what anyone else will be wearing, but Melkor’s will show copious amounts of skin and Mairon’s will be red and gold, that much is certain.)

Step 2: The dowries. Mairon’s given the dowry payment for Melkor, but there is also the presentation of both dowry gifts. Tyelpë can imagine his father’s smug look as he presents the no doubt ridiculous amount of things offered as a dowry gift. He almost shudders to imagine the wealth Manwë will bring with him.

Step 3: Rehearsing vows. Mairon apparently doesn’t need to—he came up with them—but Melkor can’t read and Tyelpë’s Orcish is awful. He always relied on Talion for that. So Talion teaches him.

He is genuinely surprised he didn’t learn it earlier. It’s a very simple language, honestly, and the vows are quite pretty.

It also explains Mairon’s accent, but you know.

Step 4: The preparations done on the actual day. There are insane protocols and he spends most of his morning with Catë’s assistant’s shoving him around. Then his family arrives and all hell breaks loose.

First of all, his uncles bicker. His father shouts in Quenya at Talion, who successfully pretends to be deaf, blind, mute, and stupid for nearly an hour. Then he just says, calmly and in flawless Quenya, “Fuck off.”

Step 5: The actual wedding. Melkor throws a tantrum, Mairon kills two people, and they’re supposed to be getting married now.

The ceremony is very quick. Vows are exchanged, tears are shed, and the Sun, the Moon, someone who apparently dropped a mountain on a Balrog, Carnán, and Melian reveal that a) they were invited and b) they have all been friends with Mairon since before time. The Sun is Mairon’s sister, actually. She was his giver.

It turns out, of course, that this is mostly an excuse to party.

And it is quite a party. Mordain music is loud and aggressive and fast, and the dancing is absolutely wild. People drink and eat like they’re doomed if they don’t.

At least now Tyelpë doesn’t need a chaperone. He, Mairon, and Melkor all are attached at the hip until they’re officially allowed to (as Talion put it) “bang.” It’s a funny thought—he doesn’t really understand the dynamic between Mairon and Melkor. Mairon keeps calling Melkor ‘lord,’ but Melkor behaves like he’s trying to get Mairon to bend him over a random surface right then and there.

Conversation between the three of them is easy. They share a bit in common, and Tyelpë and Melkor especially bond over their frustration at Mairon’s ability to see over everything (“He’s just too tall.” “I know, it was terribly awkward trying to intimidate people when there he is, looming over everything—”).

Talion is there, but before Tyelpë can talk to him, he’s absconded with not one, but two Nazgûl.

The Moon gets very drunk, prompting a song about cats and fiddles for some reason. The Sun cries into Mairon’s shoulder about how happy she is for him (despite the fact that he’s marrying two people he’s been married to before, this really isn’t new). Melian and the Balrog smasher (Túvo, apparently) say something about lasting peace.

Thuringwethil (and here Tyelpë nearly panics, because how many people from the Lay of Leithian are here) appears at one point. She makes several very obvious innuendos and several more dirty jokes, and then, when even Melkor is blushing, wanders off again.

Mairon, damn him, doesn’t blush very visibly.

The worst part by far is what leads up to the wedding night. The entire court sees them off to their chambers, which is awful.

But worse is the awkwardness as the door closes and everyone leaves.

“We do not have to—” Mairon starts, but Melkor interrupts him.

“We will.”

And that is how Tyelpë finds himself in bed with Sauron and Morgoth together.

He learns three things.

First: Mairon is very controlling even in his favored form.

Second: Melkor is absolutely on board with that.

Third: Melkor does not have the anatomy Tyelpë expected, and that explains very neatly why no one corrected the many people hinting at the three of them having children.

They fall asleep tangled in each other’s limbs that night.

Tomorrow begins Tyelpë and Melkor bickering, and Talion flirting (which Tyelpë should have noticed before now), and at least twelve more elaborate celebrations.

Tonight? Everything is just fine.

Several months later, as Melkor explains the idea of a triple monarchy, Tyelpë wonders how he got so lucky.

Even with the bickering, and the politicking, and everyone at court politely but obviously wondering why exactly Melkor isn’t pregnant yet (the answer is he doesn’t want to be, thank you very much), life has become very, very good indeed.

#celebrimbor #sauron #mairon #melkor #silvergifting #angbang #the silmarillion #third age thrills #silvergiftingweek #tyelpe #annatar #fics by lee #writing by lee

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warmcookiepuff · 4 years ago

Text

Hawks x GN! Pro Hero! Reader

About: his s/o gets injured in battle

Warning(s): slight angst, mentions of blood, curse words.

Note: this is my first time writing on Tumblr so please excuse my grammar mistakes or the lack of 'angst' you were looking for! Most probably would write a part 2 (don't worry, I'll put the link here)

| THIS FEAR OF MINE | PART 1 |

"Babe? Babe, c'mon," He holds your cheeks, a hand supporting your back carefully. His heart was beating out of his chest as the world felt like it was crumbling before him, a nasty blow had donned the pretty skin he loved to touch so much. "Wake up, baby. Wake up."

Love wasn't a decision, it wasn't a choice. Love comes and goes, sometimes it hits too hard for anyone's liking. If we could choose who we loved, life wouldn't have been so painful.

You were a pro hero of Japan, not as popular as your lover -- but just enough to be noticed. Strongwilled, you were. Stopped at nothing to keep people safe. If the world required them to lay their life down for a weeping child, they would've done so without hesitation.

That's what drove him mad. Hawks hated that side of them -- truthfully, he never intended to fall for someone with the same occupation as he did. He knew what the job entailed, so he'd never want to hear news about his lover's encounters with dangerous villains or possible injuries they would have come back with. He hated fearing for his lover's life, he just wanted to go back home to the arms of someone who he could keep safe.

So why did he have to fall in love with you? A strong, brave hero -- an illiterate idiot in a sense when it came to their own wellbeing. Maybe that's why he loved you so much, you reminded Hawks of himself. Even if it was just a tiny bit, every time he saw that gleaming grin of yours, he finds himself smiling as well.

"Hawks, we have to get them to a hospital," a nearby paramedic called, very anxiously. The pro hero had been rocking back and forth with his lover bleeding in his arms.

Had he loved you at first sight? Certainly not, the rivalry between you two were obvious, the both of you were practically the same person; cocky and outspoken. Even Miruko had given up in trying to break the two of you apart during your daily arguments. The second your eyes meet, a tired Endeavor could be heard sighing just a few feet away.

"Baby, please. Please, baby. Just open your eyes," He cooed on repeat, kissing their temple and nuzzling his face in the crook of their neck. They smelled like oranges and metal. "I'll let you go if you just open your damned eyes."

When did he start to like you? Probably when you realized he was having a fever and dragged him back to his own apartment.

Was it?

Or was it the time when you handed him his favourite canned coffee after a rough day at work? Maybe even when he saw you worry for the victims being caught in a crossfire between you and some rando villain.

He never knew when. He just knew he liked you at a certain point in time, which lead to him putting his ego down to ask you out.

"Hawks! The more you're holding on to them, the more they'll bleed!" Miruko grabbed his shoulder, only for him to pull away with a harsh shrug. "They have to go!"

He was afraid. So afraid. What if you pass away the second you reach the hospital? What if this was the last time he'd ever see the serene look on your face? He wanted to soak it in, he was being selfish but for a good cause; his sanity.

He loved you so much and he never even got to say it. What if--

"Hawks."

Endeavour places a hand on his shoulder firmly. He turns around, his golden eyes were tearful and his lips trembling. The No. 1 Hero took note on the tight grip the young bird had on your injured body, the fearful shaken look in his eyes even with the visor still intact.

The relationship was never made public but everyone knew they flirted often. Who wouldn't? The sexual tension was thicker than air, the press was kind enough not to make their relationship an issue, seeing as they both did their job flawlessly.

But it was Endeavour's first time seeing the cocky bird so vulnerable. It wasn't worry he was feeling, maybe confusion.

"I don't want them to die," He whispered. "Please, I can't see them go. I love them so fucking much. They're my baby, I promised them they'll be alright."

"Then keep that promise. If you loved them so much, take them to the hospital," The fiery man spoke. "Let's go. The longer we wait, the longer they'll suffer. Carry them if you must but pro heroes should continue with dignity. Come on, Hawks."

It was silent between the three of them. Alas, the winged Hero got up from his knees with you in his arms and flew straight to the nearest hospital without so much as a word.

Thank you for reading! Planting the link here for when I write the next bit. Have a nice day babes, bruvs and enbies

♡︎ literate-simp

#bnha hawks #hawks #hawks angst #bnha angst #bnha #bnha imagines

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 4 years ago

Text

Pawn: Two

Bucky flipped through the pages of the prenup and felt his eyes glaze over. You had quite the list of riders that you wanted to be included and, so far as Bucky was concerned, you were overestimating your value. “No infidelity clause?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at the man sitting across from him.

Tony shrugged, “Said she figures you’re smart enough to know that for this to work you’re gonna have to fuck around discreetly.”

That made Bucky take notice. It was something he didn’t expect. For you to not demand he stay faithful. He figured that you’d want… More. Not that Bucky was complaining. There was something to be said for the fact that you wanted some control over yourself, the house you were going to live in, things you wanted to not be prevented from doing. It said a lot about where your head was.

Reading between the lines told him that the material things you wanted were there to snow him. To not make him expect any affection from you. And even if he didn’t want you either, he’d be lying if he said that that didn’t sting a little. Sure. He didn’t expect to sweep you off your feet. But he wasn’t a monster. Or bad looking. He was used to women falling all over themselves.

“So she doesn’t want me to not sleep with other people but she wants to redecorate my house?” Bucky couldn’t help but not feel a little incredulous. And Tony’s smirk as he looked around the office made Bucky itch to pop him in the mouth.

“You could do worse,” he said looking meaningfully towards the outdated faux vintage sideboard that served as a bar cart. “She’s got good taste… Even if it is expensive.” Tony didn’t bother to explain that he was glad you had expensive taste. That you deserved everything you were asking for and more. He didn’t want to tip his hand and short sell you. Hell, he thought you were selling yourself short. And his stomach was turning at the thought of the Punk reading to contract being responsible for your wellbeing.

Sure. Tony had done his homework. He knew that Barnes wasn’t a woman beater. He knew that his only vice was a sweet tooth, really. And he knew that he’d probably do okay as a family man. But that didn’t make him feel any better about trading your future, your chances at being loved properly for security. He watched Bucky roll his eyes and turn back to the contract. He’d added some addendums of his own. Some things that he added not just to protect your body but to protect your heart. Something he never in a million years he would have thought to do before Pepper had dropped into his life like a bomb and brought you with her.

He’d never wanted kids. Least of all daughters. But now that he had them, he wanted them cared for. Properly. And he spent absurd amounts of time wanting to go back and punch his younger self in the face… But that was an issue for another day. Tony took a sip of his drink and smirked a little when Bucky looked up at his scowling.

“Stark-”

“The ball’s in her court,” Tony said shrugging. ‘And I want to make sure you’re gonna take care of my kid.”

“But-”

“Sign it or don’t Barnes… But just know. I won’t let her take any counteroffer. She’s going to get everything, ANYTHING she wants.”

Bucky watched Tony, feeling like he was in the middle of a western. Like he was playing Chicken. The first one to flinch was going to lose. And he could tell that that person wasn’t going to be Tony. Even if it was a pain in his ass, he was grateful. There was someone fighting for you. You weren’t being forced into this… Not like he thought Tony would do that. But there was some comfort in the fact that Tony was willing to play hardball for you. It made him feel less sick about doing all this.

He set the contract on the table and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll have my people look it over,” he said looking up.

Tony inspected his nails for a second and nodded, “She’s a good kid, Barnes,” Tony said quietly. And Bucky heard the underlying things he didn’t say. That Tony didn’t like this but he understood it. That you deserved better but “better” wasn’t an option right now. Not with the threat growing. The thunder growling in the distance. All Bucky could do was nod. Standing and offering Tony a hand.

“I might have a few things to add,” Bucky warned.

“And if she refuses them?” he countered, taking the hand that was offered as he stood.

Bucky smiled a little, “She’s got me by the short hairs,” he snorted, “And she knows it, doesn’t she?”

“Without a doubt,” Tony said smirking. “I might have got a late start with her but, she’s a fast learner.”

_____________

“I can’t believe you’re going along with this,” Pepper said, glaring at you over her coffee mug.

“What would you have me do, mom?” you sigh, “Tell him no? Let Rumlow murder us all in our beds?”

Pepper set the cup down but didn’t stop glaring at you, “They’re big boys.”

“And your Manolo pumps don’t pay for themselves,” you say smiling a little.

“But-”

“Mom,” you say gently, “It’s not like Papa is holding a gun to my head and telling me to do it or he’ll kill me. It’s not like I’m already dating someone and I have to break up with him. I don’t have to give up all my charities and stuff… I’ll still have a life. A contractually obligated one, sure. But, not too terribly much is going to change.”

“That’s not-”

“I know that’s not what you wanted. But it could be worse.”

Pepper sighed and patted your hand, “At least Morgan is excited to be a flower girl.”

“Someone is going to have a good day,” you say smiling a little. Morgan had already told you that she wanted a pink dress. The subtlety of your colors not involving pink was lost on her. Or, more likely, she was appalled that there was no pink and decided to add some.

Pepper watched you out of the corner of her eye for a moment. She could see the gears turning as you stared at the book shelf in front of you. She could see you planning how you were going to pack. How you were going to decorate. How you were going to make yourself comfortable in whatever little niche you could make for yourself.

“What are you going to do about kids?” Pepper asked softly.

“You mean the kids we don’t have yet? And don’t really need?”

“Y/N,” Pepper scolded, “What’s going to happen if he wants a legacy?”

“He’s got money. He can build a library… make sure no other kids are illiterate because he clearly didn’t read the contract.”

Pepper quirked an eyebrow and you smile a little. “I put a clause that I can’t be compelled to just start popping out kids. And that if that happens I reserve the right to get my tubes tied.”

“What about if you want kids?”

“I don’t so-”

“Y/N,” she scolded.

“You know I don’t. And if you tell me I’m going to change my mind I’m going to get my tubes tied out of spite.”

Pepper leaned back and folded her arms. “Sometimes when you open your mouth Tony comes out, you know that?”

And all you can do is smile a little, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “It’ll be okay, mom,” you tell her. “It’s not like I had any other plans.”

#Tony Stark #Pepper Potts #Bucky Barnes #Bucky x reader #mob!bucky #Mob!AU

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barricadebops · 4 years ago

Text

And He Falls With a Smile

Summary: In 1823 Feuilly arrives in Paris. In 1824 a man in a daring red waistcoat invites him to a student organization where despite his orphan status, Feuilly gains a family in the throes of rebellion and revolution. Read on AO3 here.

1823

In many ways, Paris is quite unlike the south. The city bustles with more people than Feuilly had ever seen in Aigues-Mortes. He will likely have to take a while to become accustomed to the constant crowds in the streets, the way everyone seems a stranger to each other.

However, to his due consideration, Paris is also in many ways quite akin to the south.

The language of French rolls easy off his tongue like the rhythms of Provençal and Polish, and casts no doubt on his employability when it comes to dealing with coworkers at the fan-making atelier. The streets are still lined with the poor who cry out for help, for just one sou while the haughty bourgeois stroll past leisurely, and there are still women thrown on the ground—prostitutes from destitution, children begging for alms instead of attending school, and there is so much misery that surrounds him when he steps foot in the city, and the orphan boy thinks that there has not been much significant change here, that he will work here until he dies never having known a true family.

Feuilly’s only family has been the concepts of France, Poland, Greece, Hungary, Romania, Italy—simply put, the rest of the world, the people of the rest of the world.

So, Feuilly resolves that he shall adopt the people of Paris too.

________________________________________________________________

1824

He meets a man by the name of Bahorel, down by the schools of law.

Three francs does not buy a man much. It hardly puts bread on the table. It certainly does not provide for better clothes than what Feuilly dons everyday. And only in his scarcely selfish dreams, do three francs provide him with a place at the universities of Paris, where every bit of knowledge is put within his reach with thought only of reading and reading and reading until his brain tires and he nods off to sleep, blissful in the knowledge that he will not have to rush awake the next morning to catch work.

But three francs does not lend him that reality. Three francs only lets him gaze wistfully outside the buildings and think of a life where he could read better, where he could write better, where he wouldn’t have to waste away toiling at the fan-making atelier—where others would not have to toil away—others who are younger, who are needy, who should be going to school. People from France, from Poland, from Greece and Hungary and Romania and Italy. People from around the world who deserve better than to have their inherent right to an opportunity, an education, a leap at life—taken away from them.

L'École de droit de Paris is teeming with young men, all affluently dressed, all hailing from wealthy families—men who care not for why lawyers are so prudent, why law needs to be so heavily examined. It is filled with men who walk without casting a glance at Lady Themis, their patron, who stands disappointed—though she may be blindfolded—knowing that her supposed guardians do nothing to bring about justice, to bring about her divine right. It is filled with bourgeois young men with haughty airs, fake smiles, and cold graces.

L'École de droit de Paris teems with such young men when classes are let out. For now, Feuilly can enjoy its tranquility, its academic aura without the glances thrown his way. Peasant worker.

So no one can really seek to blame him for the irritation that rises within him when he feels a man crash into his side, throwing him off balance and sending him sprawling onto the hard cobblestones of the campus.

"Are you quite alright?"

Feuilly has the strong urge to snap at the hooligan present above him now that he was not alright at all, not since he disturbed some of the only moments he is allowed to breathe free with his rough tumbling.

But he stops short. Something about the man's smile—though he must admit, it seems rather rude to smile in a situation like this—halts the words on his tongue.

The man, or well rather a boy since he looks like he cannot be much older than him—is smiling brashly, unabashed in his humour. Though he wears the red coat of a man bound to be wealthy, there is a certain quality in the way he holds out his hand to Feuilly, without disgust, without turning his nose up at him, without thinking that he is a great saint for doing so, that makes Feuilly think that he cannot possibly be of the bourgeois, and without thinking, Feuilly takes the proffered hand and rises his feet. As he regains his footing, the man nearly sends him back down by delivering a mighty clap on his back.

"My sincerest apologies, my good fellow. Here you were, wasting away your time like a respectable gentleman should be doing, when I so rudely crashed into you. But I do believe this is a fortunate coincidence! To meet another sensible individual—it is not everyday you have the great opportunity to meet another idler—they seem rather scarce in this dull profession. I do know of just one other, but unfortunately Bossuet is forced to remain in Blondeau's class—what amusement! Imagine Blondeau really considering that being kicked out of his class is a punishment! I fret for poor Bossuet who shall come out having truly come into possession of knowledge on property law. Just imagine!"

Much as Feuilly may have tried if he really did want to, he could not imagine, considering he was not actually a student of law, not to mention that he had absolutely no clue who this Bossuet was.

"But—" the man continues on, and Feuilly vaguely realizes that at this point he should make haste to mention that he is not actually a student of l' ècole and that he really should be heading back to the atelier, but the man barrels on, "say, I have not seen you in any class before. You certainly must be younger than I, for there can be no other way to explain it."

Feuilly flushes. How could this man seriously still go on believing that he was a student here when he saw the way he dressed and held himself?

Clearing his throat, he shook his head and clarified, "You're mistaken, Monsieur. I am not a student of the school."

The man's eyebrows furrow for a moment before his smile returns with massive force. "And I thought you could not possibly get better!" Feuilly's gaze darts up curiously. "How fortunate indeed!"

At this, Feuilly's mind staggers a little, and he bristles at the way the man's words rub on him. Did he think it was fortunate that a poor man like him could not afford an education, a right all deserve? Did he think it was fortunate that children lacked the opportunity to acquire knowledge because of the situations they were born into?

This man had to be of the haughty bourgeois, there was no doubt about it. His bold, rather daring waistcoat definitely spoke a testament to the statement.

There was work to be done at the atelier, there were fans to be made, money to be earned, another day to be lived. Feuilly needed to head back and throw this man out of the recesses of his mind, for he did not have any space freed up there either.

And yet—

And yet, Feuilly finds that this man is so incredibly wrong to have said what it is he said, and, well, someone must correct him one way or another—

"Forgive me, Monsieur," he says stiffly, "but I see absolutely no reason as to why this is a good thing. Do you really laugh at the thought of an orphan being unable to find the money to pursue an education?"

For the first time in their spontaneous conversation, the man's face is thrown off guard.

"Pardonnez-moi ?" His brows wrinkle before he bursts out with a hearty laugh. "Oh no! My dear fellow you have it all wrong!" The man grins and for a split moment Feuilly is sure he is the slightest bit mad. "I—of all people! I could never make fun of the peasants—my own parents are peasants, mon ami, it is why they have common sense."

There is something in this man's bold words that has even Feuilly amused enough to crack a smile. Perhaps he had simply misjudged him; though he would likely never understand Feuilly on the full on accounts of actually still having parents that evidently did love their son, the man hailed from a peasant background, so of all things, he was definitely not stuffy like the rest of his new-class, though the daring red coat did write him into Feuilly's books as just the slightest bit reckless—such was the effect of the colour red clothed on such a brash man.

He lets out a resigned sigh; at this point he absolutely has to get back to the factory if he wants to clock in on time. But the man is still grinning at him, and Feuilly cannot help but feel the urge to stay.

"Your words undoubtedly ring true, and it speaks a testament to the kind of life you have been made to lead." All at once, his face turned serious. "We need more men like you at our meetings—come join us, I beg of you."

Meetings? What sort of meetings could this man have been talking about?

Unless…

Feuilly was not illiterate. He had caught whisperings of secret Jacobin societies, groups that hid themselves away from the gaze of the King as they would secretly plot rebellion. A man of the people, the true common man, Feuilly too had been eager to join these groups—but where was the time? He hardly had any time to go back to the pathetic little apartment he had managed to scrounge up money for, how could he find himself time to attend Republican meetings?

At the atelier, the clock was surely ticking away, bringing Feuilly closer every minute to being late heading back to work. "I'm sorry," he turns away and makes to head off. "I find myself unable to join, unfortunately, at the moment."

There is an elbow at the crook of his arm easing him around. "I urge you to reconsider, Monsieur. There is always room for new recruits, and I assure you that your input will always be valued." He opened his mouth to argue when the man put up a hand to stop him. "Your time needn't be an issue—we are all but students, we will uphold your responsibilities if need be. But your word—your word will be no doubt incredibly valuable. Please think of it."

Feuilly hesitates; in the sky, the sun burned bright in indication of a rapidly approaching afternoon. "And what do you call yourselves?"

The man's eyes twinkled. "Les Amis de l 'ABC," he replies rather cheekily.

Les Amis de l'ABC? Somewhere, the name strikes at Feuilly's core. The Friends of the ABC. Surely an educational group—that was something he could support—and something he could personally understand, too.

"And what is it exactly that your group does, Monsieur?"

"Well, in name, we are dedicated to the education of children." (L'ABC). The man's smile turns a little sharp as he lowers his voice. "In reality, we… Well, I suppose you would have to come see yourself, would you not? Though I suppose if you ponder our name long enough, you should figure out anyways.”

ABC…

Abaisse.

Les Amis de l’ABC — Les Amis de l'abaisse.

The Friends of the ABC—the Friends of the abased.

A rather clever name, if he had to be quite honest. So it was as Feuilly suspected.

“And who exactly makes up your group?” he asks, attempting to keep up his inquisitive tone even as he moves to clasp the man’s hand.

The man laughs. “Well, if—when we succeed, I imagine we shall become a group that will belong to some measure of history, though that’s not why do what we do.”

“Succeed?”

“Yes! I have no doubts that we shall do exactly that. The question is, Monsieur, will you be there with us when we do so?”

There is no reason to say yes; in fact, there is every reason to say no. The minutes are still ticking by and the factory foreman is not a forgiving man, especially not towards orphans who need the job more than he needs the orphan, and there was never any time to join such organizations, and so many of them are run by bourgeois boys who did not know what they spoke of, never truly knew what it was their goals should be, why would they accept Feuilly among their ranks—

And yet, there is just something about this man, something about the aura he exudes, something brash and reckless but accepting, even if his words do not always come off that way, that makes him hesitate from immediately flatly refusing and turning to get on with his day, something about the unspoken promise held in his words, something about the name—the Friends of the Abased.

He heaves a breath and looks up at the sky; it’s approach towards afternoon and the way campus seems to hold its breath, ready to release when the professors adjourn their classes signals his inevitable tardiness at work.

He glances at the sparkle glinting in the man’s eyes—there is an entire future, a lifetime held within the promise of the society that the man informs him of that Feuilly is yet unaware of.

“Well where is it that you meet?”

With a mighty thump on his back, the man slings an arm around his shoulders, using his arm to point his finger towards the horizon in the direction of the north-east. “Follow the streets until they take you towards the Café Musain at Place Saint-Michel, near six tonight. Ask a patron to lead you towards the backroom—a male, however, for we do not allow women to enter—with the exception of dear Louison, that is—surely you can understand the delicate nature of women, my own mistress would tremble at the talk of rebellion and she is one to laugh at about anything I should think to say—and surely you shall see me there. And if I should be late—for it is not unheard of that I should be out late talking to others of the same cause—tell them you were asked to join by Bahorel.”

Feuilly swallows. Seemed rather a large commitment he was signing onto before even truly attending one of these meetings.

“I shall ensure my best efforts to attend one of your meetings then, Monsieur Bahorel,” he says at last.

“And we shall ensure our best efforts to work towards that future in which orphans are allowed to pursue the education they seek.” The man—Bahorel—tips his hat. “Now you must pardon me, Monsieur—”

“Feuilly,” he interrupts. Bahorel inclines his head in sign of having listened.

“—Feuilly,” he says, “but the afternoon approaches and classes will soon be adjourned for the rest of the day, and I must deploy myself to the mighty task of finding Bossuet and listening to his new complaint no doubt against Blondeau, and then head off with him to find young Enjolras and de Courfeyrac too, for though the former may be able to sway a crowd with his words, especially with his second-in-command by his side, those two cannot hope to find their way through the university streets and—”

“Thank you, Monsieur Bahorel, I shall hope to see you then, tonight," he interrupts, only the slightest bit ashamed for having done so; he really does need to be on his way.

If Bahorel takes offense to his interruption, he makes no sign of it; rather, he clasps his hand, and says, “Thank you, Monsieur Feuilly. Your presence will be greatly appreciated. No doubt everyone will be pleased. I look forward to seeing you sit amongst us.

Feuilly tips the ragged hat he has on his head in response.

This is how it begins.

________________________________________________________________

1825

It is ten at night, a most indecent time for respectable men to still be outside, and yet Feuilly can see no sign of Enjolras tiring while he listens with bright eyes to what Feuilly has to say on the subject of the partitioning of Poland.

It was indeed a topic of great rage and indignation for Feuilly, that date of 1772. How was it that a monarchy, a tyranny, had the right to strip a people of their identity? Of their nationality? He exclaimed as much to Enjolras, who watched on with awe.

"But how can they have the right? To tell a people that they no longer have the ability to climb atop their tables and exclaim 'I am Polish! Here I stand free in my country of Poland! ?" Running a hand through his fiery hair, he fumed just as he thought about it. "The audacity!"

At the table, Enjolras scoots closer, looks up at him with wide eyes. “Indeed. Tell me more of it.”

He glances at him, and, briefly, he allows himself to ponder the person sitting in front of him. Feuilly hesitates to call him a boy, though, at nineteen years, that is exactly what he is.

It is simply that, despite his excessively youthful face, there was something in Enjolras' eyes that gave him the feeling that the boy had already lived for hundreds of years, made him feel as if he were seated in front a man who had already, in some previous existence, traversed the many revolutions of the past.

And yet—

And yet, despite that, not having gone unnoticed by any of those few members who attended the meetings, it is Feuilly who Enjolras evidently idolizes—reveres, even.

And it is a fact that Feuilly cannot fully comprehend; of all the people Enjolras is surrounded by, all the people he has to idolize—Combeferre or Joly or even Bahorel—he sees first and foremost Feuilly, a poor orphan who struggles to read when Enjolras himself could make his way through the thickest of volumes with ease.

Feuilly does not think less of himself for his background, but how often can a man go on surrounded by people who excelled in a variety of skills than he could only ever hope to gain without feeling the occasional pang of self doubt?

He allows himself a smile. “But I thought you had already read about this, Enjolras? Combeferre tells me the matter is one that incenses you quite the bit—rightfully, might I add.”

He thinks of how strange it is—at the atelier, no one gave second thought to anything Feuilly had to say, so he never really thought to say anything anymore to his coworkers or his foreman who he knew would either ignore him or dismiss him straight away.

But Enjolras listens. He listens to the words of a poor orphan boy, and despite his upbringing by his parents that likely taught him not to pay heed to the words of a man like Feuilly, he instead leans forward, always leans forward at every meeting whenever Feuilly raises his voice to contribute, and he listens breathlessly and nods and says But of course, and Yes you’re right, and But if you could please tell us more, we need more of what you have to say.

Enjolras nods vigorously. “Yes, of course, the stripping of the autonomy of any nation is an injustice—it is simply that hearing you speak of it is all the more informing.”

Feuilly quirks an eyebrow at him. “And why would that be?”

“Because you are all the more knowledgeable of this, of course.”

He huffs a laugh. “It was not as if I was there when they put down the first partition. I am hardly an eye-witness, nor would I say more knowledgeable than you.”

In front of him, Enjolras reaches a hand to grasp at Feuilly’s. “But you are! For as well as I understand it, I could never truly know what kind of an effect such a monstrous event could have on the common man. But you, Feuilly, you know so well, for you have endured far worse than I have, you are a much better man than I am, surely you must know you have my eternal respect—”

As he blushes, Feuilly briefly thinks of scolding Enjolras for proclaiming Feuilly better than himself only on the grounds that he was born in a different circumstance.

He squeezes Enjolras’ hand back. “Do not declare yourself a lesser man than me, Enjolras. Over this past year you have demonstrated the fact that those of the upper class can still have compassion and the skill to identify injustice, and you have made me feel all the more welcome amongst your ranks.”

Enjolras smiles. “Les Amis de l’ABC would not be what we are without your inclusion, my friend. It is for people like you that we fight, it would hardly be a cause if we did not have your voice present with us. The gratitude should be coming from me to you for trusting us, for joining us. You make us who we are Feuilly.”

And Feuilly is just the slightest bit blown away by Enjolras’ words, for while he knew Enjolras held a special sort of respect for him, he had never imagined that his reverence shaped up like this.

“Will you tell me more about Poland?”

He glances down at Enjolras, who stares up with hopeful eyes, and he smiles.

“But of course.”

________________________________________________________________

1826

It is not unheard of that Jehan Prouvaire should be sitting quietly in his corner after meetings, staring dreamily at his paper as if he could see entire meadows and forests scrawled on it rather than the lushious words he pens to create his poetry.

“The stars are not out and yet you gaze at your paper as if you can already see the constellations they form,” he says as he lowers himself into the chair next to Prouvaire, having been beckoned over.

Prouvaire blushes and smiles softly. “Every constellation has a story tied to it, and poetry seeks to do much the same. Poetry is how our ancestors spoke of their tales around the fire.”

“Is that what you will be writing about today? The stars?”

Prouvaire hums and shakes his head. “No. I think I should like to write in Polish today.”

Jerking slightly, Feuilly looks at him, confused. “Write in Polish?”

He nods. “Yes. I think of it often, you know, and I feel it’s an injustice, the way the Polish identity has been stolen from the people, almost as if their right to thought has been taken. I figured, would it not be prudent, then, of me to write a poem in Polish, and reaffirm their status?”

Nodding vigorously, Feuilly agrees, “Yes, of course. Your words hold the utmost merit, and I’m glad to see you acknowledge this through your words. I can think of no better way for you to express your thoughts about this than through your sacred form of writing.”

He props his chin on his hand and leans forward. “Yes, but I seem to encounter a problem in that I do not know how to speak Polish. My friend, I only have one favour to ask of you: will you help me construct this poem?”

Feuilly blinks. Of all the honours he could have been bestowed with… For Prouvaire, reading and writing poetry was one of the very fundamental things that kept people humble. To connect to nature, to hear of stories past—it is what both allows humans to soar amongst the beauty present in the world, yet keep them humbled and grounded to work on what needed to be improved. For Prouvaire, poetry is his form of worship, his devotion to the miracles of the world before him, present in front of him, and the one yet to come.

“You would choose to ask… me, to help you?” he asks, bewildered at the thought of him sharing something so close to his heart, to his spirit.

There is a sort of sparkle in Prouvaire’s eyes, a look he reserves for when he gazes at wildflowers and oats growing in meadows, or for when he hears the nightingale sing—a look so impossibly soft that he can use it only when he finds himself looking upon a being he believes deserves to be showered upon with love and written about with the utmost tenderness—and it is present in his eyes when he gently places his hand atop Feuilly’s and says with the utmost solemnity, “My friend, I could think of no one else who I would trust more for such a matter.”

Feuilly is rendered speechless. Both with the love he feels for his friend, and by the astonishment at the trust his friend shows in him.

Feuilly hopes the world will see Prouvaire's soft verses and name him with the likes of Keats, whom he idolizes.

Jehan hopes that one day the world will read his poem—the one he writes now, that tells the story of a common fan-maker who spoke Polish and still strived to see the possibilities of the entire world despite the world never having strived to see the possibility in him—and understands the adoration that he and the rest of his friends had for a man who was made up of a thousand different nations and came from a thousand different stories and had with him a thousand different plans for the future.

________________________________________________________________

1827

The sky is dark and Feuilly’s perception of time has been skewed by the long, insufferable hours spent at the atelier crafting fans while harbouring a most dreadful headache.

He does not see that the clock has struck much past seven, much past eight, now half an hour after nine, and that his foreman kept him detained much longer than he realizes, taking advantage of the evident illness that has Feuilly dazed and unaware. With much effort, he pushes the door to the café open and stumbles towards the backroom where he expects his friends will be.

Upon reaching the backroom, he leans a hand against the frame and struggles to comprehend the image of an empty room, one where the meeting has clearly adjourned.

Well, mostly empty.

“Feuilly?” At his side, Combeferre reaches a hand to place on his shoulder, a steadying presence among the rushing winds that seem to have found their way into the café. “Are you quite alright?”

He coughs—once—twice—three times into his fist. “Well I do find myself in a bit of confusion,” he admits as Combeferre gently takes him by the crook of his elbow and seats him at a table. “Has the meeting for today been cancelled? I would not have imagined that everyone would be busy all at the same time.”

Combeferre tilts his head and looks at him peculiarly. “The meeting?” He frowns. “My friend, are you well? The meeting ended about an hour and a half ago.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, he coughs twice more as he shakes his head and says, “No, that cannot be. Surely it cannot be so late. I had only just seen the clock, look, there, it says…” he trails off as his eyes fall upon the small hand halfway towards its path to the painted ten, then glances back at Combeferre sheepishly. Clearing his throat, a rather painful task to do considering just how raw it feels, he manages to scrape out the words, “It appears I have missed the meeting. I apologize, I did not realize just how late it had become.”

Combeferre smiles sympathetically. “Evidently. Your presence was greatly missed at the meeting, Enjolras looked rather down about it, but nonetheless we understood, though we thought it was simply because you were working.

Burying his head in his hands, he croaks, “I was supposed to be working regular time. I don't know how I didn't realize the foreman had me working late without informing me of it.” At this, Combeferre’s eyes darken a shade.

“You cannot let this go unprotested, Feuilly,” he says, the slightest bit angry, though Feuilly knows it is not anger directed towards him. “Your foreman has no right to do so; we will go back tomorrow and demand he pay you what you deserve for working the extra hours you did.”

Raising his head, Feuilly looks up, a little surprised at Combeferre. “It will not work, Combeferre, for all that I would like it to. The foreman has plenty of people available to replace me should I start to fuss. Though it is wrong, you must know that he has the power to keep me longer without paying.”

Combeferre runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “However much power he holds, he cannot go against the principle of the matter and expect no retaliation. It is settled; we will go and speak to your foreman.” When Feuilly opens his mouth to speak, Combeferre holds his hand up and halts the words on his tongue. Silently, he reaches forward and gingerly places the back of his hand on Feuilly’s forehead, tutting at the heat that comes away. “Tell me how you feel,” he commands.

Feuilly frowns. “It is really not that much of a concern, my friend—”

“Feuilly,” Combeferre pinches the bridge of his nose before looking up at him again, “in about a years time I shall begin my internship at l’Hôpital Necker; as of right now, I have enough medical knowledge—well, really, anyone has enough medical knowledge—to diagnose you with the fact that you have caught a cold—no doubt from the rainy season we have all found ourselves trapped in—and while it is nothing serious, it can become something of a concern if you do not rest and allow me to take care of you.”

Feuilly looks away. “While I do not doubt your knowledge, Combeferre, you needn’t bother yourself with—”

“What is more so a bother, Feuilly,” Combeferre interrupts him once more, and does not even look the slightest bit embarrassed for doing so, “is when one of my friends fall ill, and instead of taking the time they need to get better, they only continue to work until it is worse and their recovery becomes all the more difficult.” He watches as Combeferre rises from his seat, holding out his hand when he says, “So, for my own convenience, if you believe—unjustly, may I add—that your own convenience is not worth it, please come back with me to my apartment so that we can have you back on your feet in mere matter of days rather than weeks.”

As Feuilly allows himself to be hauled up, his arm slung around Combeferre’s shoulders, for he does not believe he has the strength in him to stand a single second more on his own—he marvels at what it is he must have done that warrants fate to provide him with friends who care for him like a mother or father would their own child, though Feuilly is not well acquainted with the feeling.

________________________________________________________________

1828

Even before he feels Courfeyrac’s hand clap down on his shoulder, Feuilly can feel Courfeyrac approaching—because that is simply the kind of person he is; his aura is boisterous and bubbly, a loud that made you grin rather than cringe away.

“My friend!” Courfeyrac exclaims. “My friend, my friend, my very good friend!”

Feuilly smiles as he knows what is inevitably going to come up. “As much as you may ask, Courfeyrac, I simply do not have the time to stand out in the middle of the street only so you can ‘save’ me in front of that Genevieve girl you have recently taken a fancy to.”

Courfeyrac looks taken aback for a moment before he begins to laugh. “No, no, I was not speaking of that. Besides, I have most recently been made to come to sense that I do not need anyone to play the part of a man in distress who needs to be saved—as long as I somehow end her near Bossuet, I shall allow him to carry on with the way he already lives, and soon enough I shall have saved him from his own stupidity in front of her!”

At another table, Bossuet indignantly pipes up, “Hey!” In response, Joly waves his cane dismissively.

“Calm yourself, Aigle de Meaux, his facts are not incorrect.”

As Bossuet and Joly begin to bicker in that lighthearted way friends so often do, Courfeyrac turns his gaze towards him, and Feuilly finds himself blinking, trying to figure out what exactly it is Courfeyrac will be asking him as a favour, for he knows the beginning of their conversation is exactly what Courfeyrac will do every time he seeks to extract a favour from someone.

And whatever it is, Feuilly already knows he will be saying yes, for not only does he love his friend enough to do anything for him, he is sure that had it been Feuilly asking for the favour, Courfeyrac would have already been up from his seat heading off to help.

“Out with it, Courfeyrac,” he encourages with a smile. “What is it that you evidently need me to do?”

Courfeyrac grins. “You know me so well, my dear friend. Well, the matter is,” he lets out a long-suffering sigh, “my parents have been writing incessantly to me in hopes that I will, at their side, attend the ball of one of their long-time friends.” Courfeyrac grimaces. “I shall depart for Avignon in a week’s time.”

Feuilly blinks, confused. He could hardly grasp at what this entire affair had to do with him.

“But Courfeyrac, you have always struck me as a man who delighted in dressing in a nice coat and going dancing.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Courfeyrac huffs impatiently. “I like to go dancing with my friends. I would rather not have to suffer by my parents’ side at some ball surrounded by a crowd of people who cheer at the sight of the 1814 Charter.”

At his mention of the Charter, Feuilly allows himself a little laugh, his mind straying to a recent memory of Courfeyrac throwing a copy of the very same thing in the fire during a heated debate with Combeferre.

Calming himself, he manages enough breath to ask, “That is all good and fine, but what do I have to do with all this?”

With a beam, Courfeyrac shuffles closer to throw an arm around his shoulders. “So,” he begins, “all I ask from you is a small favour.” At Feuilly’s silence, he continues, “I want you to attend with me.”

At this, Feuilly nearly spits out the coffee he had taken in his mouth.

Once he finishes choking, he adopts a look of astonishment and asks, “Me?”

Courfeyrac’s grin is one of sincerity; try as he might, there is no sort of a joke written on his face. “Yes.”

Clearing his throat, he asks, “But… Why would you ask me of all people?”

At this, Courfeyrac frowns. “But why ever not you? I cannot think of a single reason why I would not ask you.”

He feels a humiliating blush stain his cheeks as the many, many reasons why he should be amongst the last people Courfeyrac should ask crosses his mind. For God’s sake, even Grantaire is a more preferable option—he, at least, hailed from a wealthy family, and so has the knowledge of the sort of behaviour and etiquette to be employed in such situations.

With a sad sort of smile, he places his hand on his friend’s shoulder and says, “Find someone else to go with you, Courfeyrac. I’m sorry, I truly am, but I must deny you this one thing.”

Courfeyrac’s frown deepens. “But why?”

Must he really push this issue?

Well, Feuilly is not ashamed of who he was, but it really is a little rude making him say the words.

“Courfeyrac,” he sputters, “I haven’t the faintest clue how to behave at such a social gathering. Neither do I… neither do I have the money for the sort of lavish clothing no doubt one is expected to wear there.”

Courfeyrac’s mouth flattens, and it is a rare moment that Feuilly sees him so frank. “Your background has not rendered you a scoundrel, Feuilly—I have only ever seen you act as a man should—honest and down-to-earth. You’re exactly the kind of person a man should be like, and frankly I do not care much for the opinions of my parents’ friends, and I believe you needn’t do so either. As for clothing, if you will not allow me to purchase you new clothing, I shall simply ask Combeferre to borrow his, on your behalf.”

His little speech shocks him. “But,” his voice is a little weak, “why would you ask me?”

At last, Courfeyrac’s face brightens once more into the sort of face he was famous for amongst his friends. “My friend! You are such interesting conversation! I cannot think of another person I would rather have by my side as I am forced to endure another gathering of insufferable royalists.”

Feuilly struggles with his words. Courfeyrac would have him attend the ball by his side? Once more he finds himself searching Courfeyrac’s face for any hint of a cruel joke, but finds none.

At his silence, Courfeyrac rises from his seat, grinning widely, for silence tends to give the impression that the opposing side has fallen into agreement. “Excellent! So, Tuesday next week we shall depart. And I shall begin my valiant search through Combeferre’s wardrobe!”

Feuilly remains astonished in his seat.

________________________________________________________________

1829

If he has to be completely honest, Feuilly does not talk very often with Grantaire, and so, Feuilly finds he cannot really come to a conclusion about him. He sees that the man is doubtful of their efforts, loud and rambunctious, and is drunk, always seems to be drunk.

But there is also a sort of melancholy present on his face when he thinks no one can see, when he does not constantly keep up that smirk as he goes on his next drunken ramble, a bitter and sardonic expression when he hears the rest speak of revolution and he finds himself too tired to even inject himself into the conversation. He sees a yearning, impossibly broken look grace Grantaire's face when their leader starts to speak or makes to smile or cries when upset or rages when he is furious—he seems to look as if he is reaching for something he can never quite have no matter how he stretches his fingers whenever Enjolras does anything, really.

Feuilly does not know much of Grantaire. So, he thinks to speak to him.

"Grantaire," he sits down next to him and inclines his head in greeting when Grantaire looks up from where he had been staring hard at his bottle of absinthe.

"Ah! The fan-maker makes time for me at last!" Grantaire cries as he spreads his arms wide. "Yes, young Feuilly, what is it that you find yourself in need of a drunk for?"

He ignores the young comment, only meditating briefly on the fact that he is the same age as Grantaire, and instead, hoping to forge a connection to the man, asks, "Did you really study under the guidance of Gros?"

Grantaire bellows out a loud peal of laughter. "My good fellow," he slurs, and Feuilly worries for how much he has had to drink tonight, "you must not believe everything that comes out of this drunkard's mouth."

He furrows his eyebrows. So he was lying?

"So you lied?" he asks in clarification. "You never did go to art school?"

A smile twists up Grantaire's face. "I only just told you not to trust everything I say. And yet! And yet, what is the first thing you do after I give you advice?"

He was beginning to get a little lost here. "I’m not quite sure I follow. Did you attend art school or not?"

Grantaire leans back in his chair. "Yes and no!"

"Yes and no?"

He grins at Feuilly. "A tale worthy of the likes of pleasant idlers, I am afraid, and while you are pleasant enough, you are anything but an idler—you cannot possibly hope to enjoy it."

He leans forward. "And yet, I find myself curious enough to hear of it nonetheless."

"Well," he starts, and for a moment, Feuilly fears that Grantaire will start on another one of his rather infamous rants, and while it is not that he is exactly opposed to them, but more so, he needs to get home so he can get however many hours of sleep Joly ordered him to get. "I certainly did attend classes at first. But the pretentiousness of it all! No man can tell you better that artists are amongst the most pretentious people to grace this hellish landscape we call earth. And the nude models were hardly anything to look at! I could get myself a better whore for less than a sou! Or better yet, not pay at all when it is me that such women always want!"

For a split second, Grantaire's gaze drifts, and when Feuilly tracks the movement of his eyes, he ends up looking over to where Enjolras stands at the table near the front, regarding Grantaire with a strong look of disappointment as he holds Grantaire's stare before returning to whatever it was he was discussing with Combeferre.

Grantaire tips his bottle towards the ceiling.

"No, I made the decision that no more would I waste away somewhere I knew I would rot. So instead I spent my time pilfering apples."

He huffs a laugh. “Pilfering apples? The ones used to model fruit?”

Within Grantaire’s eyes, Feuilly sees a mischievous sort of glint. “The very same.”

“And now? Do you still attend?”

He shrugs. “From time to time, though, I must ask why you think to ask me. My good fellow,” he reaches forward and lays a heavy hand on Feuilly’s shoulder. “I should think to ask you, rather, on your own painting.”

Feuilly flushes a little. “I haven’t the slightest of time for painting, Capital R.”

“And yet what little you have painted deserves to be hung up next to the works of Géricault!” Grantaire cries once more, and despite himself, Feuilly grins a little.

“It is hardly anything compared to Géricault.”

Grantaire waves a dismissive hand. “Bah! All these names—Géricault, Prud’hon, Delacroix—all of them are insufferable men who catch one whiff of fame and lose themselves to their pretentiousness. Your one work, young fan-maker, would be worth more than any of those scoundrels’ paintings put together.”

And Feuilly cannot help but gape, for this man in front of him, the very set definition of a skeptic, who once told their group, on his own whims, that believing was for the foolish and that he had no wish to believe in anything that would earn him an early death—he now sits here telling Feuilly that he finds meaning in his work, more meaning than in the works of the greatest painters to exist.

It leaves him shocked beyond compared.

Attempting to gather his thoughts once more into a state of decent coherency, he proceeds to ask, "Do you paint anymore?"

For a moment, just one quick moment that Feuilly admits he would not have caught had he not been looking closely, Grantaire's eyes flicker over to where Enjolras appears to be moderating some sort of a debate between Combeferre and Courfeyrac, laughing at something Courfeyrac must have said, and he notices the way Grantaire's face twists bitterly.

"Yes."

Feuilly does not ever ask what—or who—his subject is.

________________________________________________________________

1830

The weather of Paris in the spring signals the approach of a storm the Friends, unknown yet to their knowledge, will find themselves fighting in when the people decide in the season of July that tyranny must not be allowed to continue, and will resurrect barricades all throughout the city in the name of a free France achieved through a revolution that sees the overthrowing of King Charles X.

But for now, it is spring and the rain beats down upon the poor the hardest, upon those who have less shelter, fewer clothes, scarce food, and only in abundance do they have misery.

Feuilly counts himself lucky that he has a roof over his head, even if it is one that freezes in the night’s cold, and in the summer, swelters in the day’s heat.

Joly, however, does not seem to think so.

“I simply cannot allow you to go back to your flat when the rain beats down on our heads like this!” he cries, ignoring Feuilly’s several protests to the idea of spending the night at Joly’s residence, after Joly had taken one step into Feuilly’s own apartment and declared it uninhabitable in their current temperatures. “There is more than enough room at my residence, and I will not have one of my own falling ill when I had more than enough resources to prevent the ailment.”

“I wish not to intrude,” Feuilly repeats for what must surely be the hundredth time. “You already find yourself housing Bossuet, too, and—”

“Feuilly,” Joly scrubs a hand across his face, “helping a friend is hardly any bother to me. In the six years we have known each other is this how you expect me to behave?”

And Feuilly stops short, because Feuilly, who has never had a family—who has never had a mother or father or brother or sister—could hardly ever have imagined in his life that would have a friend—that he would have several friends—who would care for him—who would love him—like this, enough to offer up the chance at a residence that must look like a palace compared to his own shabby room, even if for one night.

“I simply… I simply would not want to cause any burden,” he mumbles.

Joly’s face splits into a bright grin, the one everyone who knows him is familiar with, the one that gives reason to why they all call him Jolllly. “But my friend!” he exclaims. “The more people to house, the more amusing the occasion, no?” Armed in one hand with his cane and the other holding Feuilly by the elbow, he begins to lead him towards his apartment. “Come! We shall make merry by the fire and drink to our heart’s content today—and we will not have to worry about rationing our drinking, for Grantaire is not here, either!”

“Make merry by the fire? But I regret to inform you that the Yuletide season is well past us,” an amused voice says by their side. As they both turn to the left, a familiar, laughing bald head makes itself apparent to their eyes.

Feuilly snorts. “I have not known you to be one to turn down an opportunity to nest by Joly’s fire, Bossuet. I find that I would rather while away the time in the false pretense that Christmas is still upon us rather than spend the hours shivering in the rain—would you not?”

“Bossuet can handle a little rain, what with the two sous in his pockets, he may even be able to manage a meager coffee,” Joly teases, carefully bringing the tip of his cane to rub at his nose.

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Do tell, how does one manage a coffee at just two sous?”

“With enough grovelling at my door once he realizes that his endeavour is an impossible one and he owes me for the medical supplies I would inevitably have to purchase to bring him back to health after shivering so long in the cold.”

Bossuet bellows a laugh as he makes way for himself in between Feuilly and Joly, draping an arm around each's shoulders. “The grovelling will not be necessary, Jolllly, I shall tag along anyways. I would never decline, having found myself in the company of our dear friend Feuilly.”

Feuilly shoots him a confused look. “And why might my company be so desirable?”

Bossuet and Joly both laugh as if he had just told them the most amusing joke, but Feuilly cannot quite catch what it is that is so funny about what he said.

“Friends do not ask each other why their company is desirable, Feuilly,” Bossuet simply says.

And Feuilly feels something warm in his heart turn to a roaring fire, despite the chill of the rain.

Later, when he finds himself tucked into one of Joly’s armchairs, a blanket around him, he feels Joly lay a gentle hand upon his shoulder, looking at him most earnestly.

“I beg you think not of this as charity, my friend, but rather as something a friend would do for another. Nay a friend—more a brother.”

And with that, Joly leaves to prevent Bossuet from setting himself on fire in the kitchen while Feuilly struggles to blink back a wetness that threatens to slide down his cheeks, though his feelings are far from any sort of sorrow he has felt before.

________________________________________________________________

1832

He is hungry and he is thirsty and he is tired and he knows he is going to die.

He also knows that not only will he die in triumph, but he can imagine no other group of wonderful, extraordinary, familiar people he would rather die with.

Enjolras has already delivered news of their abandonment. Now, they sit and listen as he speaks of the principles of their fight, of the principles of their deaths, and Feuilly can think of no better speech he has ever heard in his short life.

He realizes, with a jolt, that Enjolras has turned to him. “Listen to me, Feuilly, valiant worker, man of the people, man of the peoples. I revere you. Yes, you see the future clearly, yes, you are right. You had neither father nor mother, Feuilly. You adopted humanity as your mother and right as your father. You’re going to die here—in other words, to triumph.” He holds his gaze for a second longer before he continues.

And Feuilly nods. Because he believes in Enjolras. He trusts in his words.

He knows he will die. But what better cause could there be?

He wishes they had succeeded, he had hoped, had so ardently believed that the people would rise with them.

But if the people do not wish to answer the call of revolution, he knows it will not succeed. He has accepted this.

And he realizes it is okay. He has come to terms with it.

He dwells on Enjolras’ words.

You had neither father nor mother, Feuilly. You adopted humanity as your mother and right as your father.

And, he quietly thinks to himself, I have adopted my friends as my brothers. And there is no one I would rather die beside. There are no other people who I would rather see smile one more time, or hold one more time, or laugh with and cry with and sit with one more time.

When he had first arrived in Paris, back eight years ago, Feuilly had resolved that he would adopt the people of Paris just as he had adopted those of the rest of the world.

He never imagined he himself would be adopted in turn.

________________________________________________________________

Rather than the bullet, Feuilly feels a sort of warmth spread through him instead. He lifts a hand to place at his side, where his blood begins to seep through his shirt and waistcoat.

He thinks of Bossuet’s laugh when he comes up with only two sous in his pocket and still offers Feuilly a drink.

He remembers why Joly was named the way he was, remembers his jollity in just about every situation Feuilly had found himself and Joly trapped in.

He nearly laughs at the thought of Grantaire’s rambles, and he sympathizes with his pursuit to find a family after his own had thrown him out. He sincerely hopes he will find the family that Feuilly did, too.

He recalls the feeling of Courfeyrac’s warmth, recalls how he kept the group together, how he shared that warmth with everyone no matter who they were, even if they were orphans like Feuilly.

He remembers Combeferre’s care, the way he always seemed to keep one eye open to look after everyone in the group, the way he never stopped making sure Feuilly got enough sleep, or had enough food, or rested enough, and he thinks that the world has just lost one of its greatest doctors.

He smiles at the memory of Jehan’s empathy, how his eyes seemed to see right through anything, and the way he always knew when to sit with Feuilly and ask him if there was something he wanted to share, something weighing down on his chest that was suffocating him, something that seemed to be relieved only when Jehan would smile that soft smile of his and tell him that he always had him by his side.

He can still feel Enjolras’ passion light up the barricade, recalls how his passion showed when he preached of a free France, when he spoke of the plight of the poor, and remembers the way that passion would soften into reverence when he would sit with Feuilly and listen to what he had to say, despite the fact that all his life he was likely taught to disregard men like him.

He remembers Bahorel’s bravery, how could he ever forget? He remembers that reckless smile, the bold behaviour that led to him taking his hand after being toppled to the ground, remembers that single question Bahorel asked him that would change his life forever, and he wishes—he cries at the thought of never having had the chance to say thank you, to tell him he is the reason why Feuilly is content to die in the situation he has found himself in.

Feuilly thinks of being born into the world with no family, no one to call his own.

Then he thinks about leaving it having found the men he loves, he loves—oh Lord above he loves like he could never love a mother or a father, he loves these men so much that it tears his heart in two thinking of each and everyone dying—he catches a glimpse of Enjolras being backed up the stairs while the National Guardsmen continues to prowl their way towards him and he sees Combeferre glance towards the heavens as his chest is speared by three bayonets and he sees Courfeyrac fall to his side having been shot once, twice, three times, and he sees Joly and Bossuet look towards each other as they are both shot side by side and he remembers the strength in Jehan’s voice when he cried out one last time in the name of the world they had sought to build and he remembers Bahorel’s spirit being the first to leave and he remembers, remembers, remembers, and it hurts so much, it makes him ache with a pain that makes him want to scream and cry for he cannot imagine the thought of having finally found his family and then having them torn from him, one by one, he hurts so much and surely God cannot be so cruel that he snatches their dreams, snatches the only people he knows he will ever love away—

And then he finds peace. Because as he bleeds out, he hears a voice, clear as the dawn drawing above the new day, cry out Long live the republic! and it is Grantaire, and he can almost hear Enjolras smile when he hears what he knows is the final report resounding, and in Combeferre’s eyes there is a sort of divine trust as his eyes remain affixed to where he believes he will find salvation, and there is a sort of tranquility in Courfeyrac’s eyes, and he sees the way Joly and Bossuet are still looking to each other even in death, and he thinks of how Jehan went out exactly as he wished, with strong words on his tongue, and he thinks of Bahorel’s fighting spirit and how he died doing what he thought was right.

His hand grows damper and hotter as his blood seeps out quicker and quicker.

The world may not remember their names in history—but Feuilly knows they will have a permanent place in his.

Like Combeferre, he casts his eyes towards heaven, and he thinks he can see Bahorel hold out his hand like he did eight years ago.

He can’t wait to have his life change again.

And Feuilly falls with a smile.

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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years ago

Text

Back to school - chapter 5

Being sick at home, I have time to update my different stories :D

So, here's another Kira-chapter with a few surprises :))))

Fandom: The Hobbit (still an AU)

Characters : Thranduil x OC (and the others being awful)

Words: 4,5 k (+/-)

Rating: Gen

Warnings: reference to alcohol, silliness, awkwardness and a small surprise :D

Waking up was hard; Kira’s head vibrated with pain.

She should not have opened that aged rum just to numb the second-hand pain; she was not 20 anymore and she now paid the price for her reckless behaviour. “A new day, a new chance.” She told herself as she saw her bleary complexion in the tiny bathroom mirror.

A quick glance on another crumpled sheet of paper Gandalf had handed her informed her that she would have her class twice today. One hour for literature and another one, in the afternoon for “social studies and integration”. If she hadn’t been that miserable, she would have laughed as Gandalf had struck out the words and written “etiquette” beneath the line.

How the ever-loving hell was she supposed to teach those kids etiquette and manners? She had almost been stoned to death for taking them out into the courtyard and now she was supposed to teach them…table manners?

Brushing her hair back in a neat ponytail and slipping into her ratty old cardigan, she opened the door just to almost bump into a pristine white shirt. “Good morning, Kira.”

“Thranduil.” She sighed, recognising the woody, masculine scent, and the melodious voice. “I am quite able to find my way to school on my own.” She ground out, trying to push past the intrusive colleague. One could count on people like him to show up, perfectly styled and handsome as the devil himself, when one was feeling low and looking like a pile of…undesirable and unattractive things that might or might not have exited another organism.

When she turned around, he stood rooted to the ground, an unfathomable expression on his beautiful face. “I thought you might care for some company, even if it’s just me.” He murmured, lower than she had ever heard him speak.

Oh, here’s another one who isn’t loved well, Kira thought and her heart gave an unexpected and involuntary jerk.

“That is very kind of you.” She nodded slowly, seeing his eyes widen. When was the last time someone had called him “kind”, she wondered, feeling strangely sorry for him.

“The kids call me Thrandy.” He informed her as they walked to the unseemly building, earning a few nods and a few fearful looks. The kids call you all kinds of names, Kira thought to herself, but kept her mouth shut.

Her first class wouldn’t start for over an hour, but she had wanted to return Thorin’s file and maybe poke around in the school a bit before having to teach. Only, how was she to get rid of the man who seemed to have become her veritable shadow in the few hours she had been in this town?

“Don’t you have a class to teach?” She asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. “Yes.” He replied simply.

Without consciously choosing to do so, Kira walked alongside him to his class. She really was not at her best on this morning, otherwise she would have parted ways with him earlier.

“Hi, Miss Kira. Do you remember me? I’m…” – “Thorin’s sister.” Kira supplied readily, with a warm smile.

“Dís, go in, please.” Thranduil ordered and she obeyed with a smirk. “Oh, Kira, you’re early.” Gandalf hastened down the corridor. “I am not late, I am never late, I arrive exactly when I mean to arrive.” He informed Thranduil when the other man cocked an eyebrow and lifted his eyes to the clock fastened to the opposite wall.

“Yes…I had an idea. I will wander around some, except if the bogeyman might come and grab me off the stairs here inside the school as well?” Kira mocked, being met with two very disapproving looks.

“You should be fine here.” Thranduil replied calmly, making his class fall into silence by merely shoving his face, quite creepily if one asked Kira, into the classroom and giving them a punitive stare.

That man had an absurdly long neck, Kira thought, and he looked quite ridiculous, poking his head around corners like a grumpy giraffe. Really, he and Thorin seemed to be in a perpetual contest who could look dourer for the longest time.

“Miss Kira.” Ah, speak of the devil. Kira turned around to find Bilbo with Thorin hovering just behind him; the young boy’s very own dark raincloud. “Bilbo, Thorin, good morning.” She turned on her teacher-smile.

In the long months before coming here, she had almost forgotten how much she loved working with teenagers. They thought themselves so grown-up already, but they smelled like cheap shower gel and half-outgrown dreams.

“Did you have a nice night?” Bilbo asked. “I…Yes, I was very eager to come to work though.” Kira replied. Bilbo was an adorable kid: small with a penchant to growing slightly pudgy maybe, he had eyes that reminded her of the rolling hills of the countryside…and of its bustling, invincible life.

“Yes, I couldn’t wait either.” He gave her a wide grin and let himself be herded into class.

“Was it really bad?” Thorin nodded at the file sticking out from her satchel; a file that might well reek of spilled rum and tears now. “You tell me, Thorin, was it really bad?” She asked back earnestly.

“He’s a troublemaker.” Thranduil interjected, lifting his hands placatingly when Kira spun around, eyes ablaze. “But, there’s a but, woman, let me finish! This one is a pain in the ass, excuse my French, but not all of what you’ll find in the files is 100% true…or fair.” She stared at him in confusion, had he really said what she thought he had?

“I’ve got to go teach. The kids usually go home for lunch, but there is a lunchroom.” Thranduil nodded and went into his classroom without waiting for Kira to collect her thoughts and reply to his surprising admission of fallibility in teachers.

“What was that about?” Kira scratched her head. “I think the dear colleague wanted to invite you to have lunch with the staff?” Gandalf said gently, but his smile was sharp and too radiant to be honest.

Kira blushed, confusion writ plain on her face. “If…my idea works out, I shall have to go home again. I’ll be fine.” She smiled, wondering if her colleague would think that her no-show would be some kind of rejection.

Thorin was still staring at the closed door, apparently aghast that Thranduil would admit that he was indeed not actually the Antichrist reborn. “Thorin, can I beg for your illustrious presence in my mathematics class?” Gandalf prompted the boy with a rumbling chuckle.

Kira watched as he slid his impassive mask back on and trudged into the room as if he was under duress when she had clearly seen the tiny smirk he had given his headteacher before returning to being the sullen boy everyone expected him to be.

“I’ll hand them over soon enough, don’t you worry.” Gandalf grinned at her and closed the door.

Kira huffed, her superior seemed to know everything and have an amazingly good understanding of what went on inside of people’s minds; she had noticed that the previous evening already, but he was so humorous and nonchalant about it, that it had only struck her when she had returned to the void of her apartment.

Resolutely, she struck out for the administration office and returned the file.

“Ah? And? Already scared off?” The same lady asked her casually. “Not in the least.” Kira replied pugnaciously; the more people tried to warn her off, the harder she would doggedly stay true to her course.

“Is there a ballroom here?” She asked. “A what? There’s the festivity room, but it’s never used. Whatever do you need a ballroom for? Do you want them to dance? Dwalin will give you a bloody nose.” The woman laughed.

“Dwalin will do nothing of the sort. He’s a decent fellow.” Kira contradicted calmly which made the woman freeze in the middle of her movement as she was bringing a cup of coffee to her lips.

Her eyebrows rose in slow-motion. “Decent? Dwalin? He brawls like he’s paid for it. Always black and blue.”

Kira’s stomach turned into a block of ice. There were other reasons for kids to be bruised and she would have to look into it. No, his brother had not struck her as someone who would mistreat a young’un like that.

“Let that be my worry. Where is that room?” Kira enquired and took off as soon as she was given the information she had asked for.

Yes, she thought, this would do nicely.

There was even a small kitchen down a corridor. “A small lunchroom, huh?” She muttered to herself.

Table manners, yes, and who knew? She might even get the kids to dance.

Either way, if it was at all possible, she would organise a ball. A winter formal for her kids, for she saw them as her very own and she was fiercely loyal to them already, and all the others.

“Air…We need air and sunlight.” No matter how dark the times were, children needed fun and something to look forward to and she would be damned if she didn’t at least try to provide that for them.

If necessary, she would clean the whole room by herself, decorate it by herself, cook by herself. Kira had a purpose, and she would not be set adrift again, not when she remembered all too well how it had felt to haunt her own life as a shadow of herself.

Dreaming her time away, she had to run to be on time for her class and she nearly bumped into Thranduil again. He was like a moving wall, always in the way, he was the very symbol of the labyrinth she had fallen into.

“Kira…” He started, but then ran out of words. “Thranduil.” She replied in that same cold tone.

“So…Oh, the Silmarillion? You know that they’re borderline illiterate?” He mocked as he saw the book she was extracting from her satchel. “You know that you’re…unfair?” She shot back and pushed past him, which felt like squeezing along a statue of marble. He didn’t budge. She didn’t even throw him off balance. Cocky bastard.

“Hello Miss Kira.” Unisono, the class greeted her, and she could see the astonishment in Thranduil’s eyes as he was still standing in front of her open door, eager to see her flounder and fail, probably.

“Hello class.” Kira replied, her warmest smile on display and then, turning to her colleague, “Was there anything else I can do for you? If not, be so good as to close the door, please? Thank you.”

Kira was unsurprised to find that the kids were not anywhere near illiterate. Yes, their reading skills had to be improved upon, but they listened carefully as she explained J.R.R Tolkien’s early mythology and were willing to read some of the parts as their curriculum for this class.

“Will we have to buy the book?” Ori asked, worrying his lower lip. “There might be a copy or two in the library…but…” He went on, looking intensely miserable.

Kira caught Bilbo’s discreet look and the almost imperceptible shake of the head; his index rubbed ever so lightly across his thumb and Kira understood: money was an issue for some of these kids.

“I’ll see if the school can order them.” Kira replied vaguely. “And we get to keep them?” Ori exclaimed, his eyes sparkling like precious gems in a deep cavern.

Kira looked at her class, everyone but Bilbo looked wretched, but Kira knew that it was not for the same reasons. Having experienced Thranduil’s reaction first-hand, she could understand why Legolas would be afraid to bring home a book his father would think so far beyond his capacities that it would make the boy hate it; Tauriel, Ori and Bombur were probably loath to ask their parents or guardians for money for a schoolbook, especially as their actual schoolbooks were clearly hand-me-downs. Thorin and Dwalin worked hard for their money and should have the right to spend it on fun and extravagant teenage pleasures rather than dusty old books.

“The school will not spend one cent on us.” Thorin grumbled. “Well, tough luck for them, because I have a long wish list.” Kira replied, a steely note in her voice.

“What if the school says “no”?” Tauriel asked, taking into account everything that had been said.

“If the school says “no”, I’ll ask them why.” Kira answered. “Because they think we cannot read.” Legolas muttered.

“In that case, I will buy the rotten books myself and we will read them and that will teach them…No, I’m sorry, but is this a school or a prison? If a school decides that kids are denied materials to learn because they are unable to learn, then the fault lies with the school and not the kids. How about that?” Kira took a deep breath; it would not do to show the students her irrational frustration and anger with the school system in general and this school in particular.

“You’ll get yourself into trouble, Miss Kira.” Bombur commented between two bites of his sandwich.

“Good. I have to prove myself worthy of my class. So, where are we on those presentations?” Kira asked.

The minutes just flew, intelligent questions were asked, and answers were dug out, discussions were sparked and entertained, and Kira could feel herself breathe again. This was what she had dreamt of doing all her life.

“Listen class, I see you this afternoon and I wanted to ask you for a small favour. I want you to draw up, in your mind, your understanding of formal clothing. We’ll meet in the festivity room, and we’ll talk about an idea I had.”

Blank stares followed by excited chatter.

Bilbo’s eyes lit up. “I can wear my formal clothing. If I do, will you?” He asked Kira with earnest joy in his eyes.

“Deal.” She said and they shook hands on it. “No lunch for me then…” She chuckled, not in the least dismayed.

“See you this afternoon.” She waved at her class and made her way out of the school before someone else got it into their head to walk her to and from home.

What had she agreed to? Kira was exasperated by her hair and her sickly pale face, but she had given her word and she would not go back on it.

The long dark red dress shimmered in the midday light as she stepped out of the shower and pulled her hair up in a formal bun; she might as well go the whole nine yards, she thought, and put on make-up.

She felt silly and she couldn’t shake the impression of being watched as she walked back to school, her dress sweeping over the floor with every step.

“Kira.” Jesus Christ, was he everywhere? How many times had he said her name today?

“Thranduil?” She turned around, the flowing fabric billowing around her and almost making her stumble.

“Why do you…You look…Why…?” He would have looked adorably flustered if it hadn’t been for the frown that crossed his forehead as if some moody god had tried to strike out his face.

“Etiquette class this afternoon. We’ll start with formal clothing.” She replied haughtily and tried to walk away from him again, but he took one smooth step to block her path. Now, he was definitely doing it on purpose.

“Ah ok…Erm…Good afternoon.” He snapped, turned on his heels and walked back into the very direction he had originally come from. Did he often just walk to and fro for no reason?

“Miss Kira!” Ah, that was a much more welcome voice, Kira thought as Bilbo caught up with her. “Amazing idea, I am invited to Tho…Dís’ this afternoon and now, I don’t have to go home to change.”

Kira cocked her head questioningly. “That is nice, what is the occasion?” She asked. “Homework.” Bilbo replied.

“You do homework with Dís? In your formal clothing?” Kira frowned mockingly, exaggerating her confusion.

“No…erm…I…I do my homework with Thorin of course, but Dís invited me and I wanted to make a good impression on his…her…their family.” Bilbo spluttered, blushing a dark pink and rubbing his nose in embarrassment.

“Well, that is even nicer. I am glad to hear that you take your homework so seriously.” Kira smiled and let the boy lead her into the school. He was wearing a white shirt and a tawny waistcoat over a very formal looking pair of brown pants. Down to the pastel cravat and the pocket handkerchief, Bilbo looked like the very picture of sophisticated adolescence.

“I think you should not have worried that much.” Kira whispered as they approached the locked festivity room.

“Oh sweet potatoes and gravy.” Bilbo cursed under his breath, or at least his tone made Kira believe that it was meant as a curse.

Thorin looked like he was going to a funeral. All clad in black and dark blue, he reminded her of a raven more than of a boy, and his perpetual scowl had never looked as appropriate as in this moment.

“I look like a fool.” He complained, and Kira was about to tell him that she had never asked or forced him to don his most refined clothes, but Bilbo was quicker and his breathless “You look amazing” was probably also the better answer.

While she unlocked the room, a swishing sound got Kira’s attention and she turned around to see Legolas and Tauriel coming their way; they were both wearing clothes that looked foreign in cut and material: flowing, silky and absolutely stunning.

Kira patted herself on the back for her idea and, a few minutes later, when the whole class had arrived, she could feel excitement and interest burgeon instead of open hostility. Apparently, all of them had agreed to dig out their Sunday best for this class and Kira had to hold back not to stare at them in amazement.

They had never seen each other like that and the fact that they all seemed awkward and ill-at-ease made it easier for them to bond over the shared experience of trying to wear the clothes and not let the clothes wear them.

“You look absolutely marvellous.” Kira declared finally; her voice heavy with pride.

“I look like a clown.” Dwalin grumbled, the dark grey dress shirt taut over his broad chest and his dark hair slicked back elegantly. “You don’t.” Kira contradicted. He looked imposing and obviously uncomfortable, but he also looked very elegant and handsome in his dark trousers and his well-ironed shirt.

“We grown-ups wear our best clothes as an armour and as a reminder of who we want to be and what we want to represent. I see that you respect the weight that comes with formal clothing; your posture has improved, and this is the first time I don’t see any downcast looks and averted faces.”

She sighed: “You deserve to be proud of yourselves just as much as anybody else. This class is an etiquette class…and I want it to be a redemption. Children…we will have a ball.”

“A ball?” Tauriel piped up, her voice strangled with emotion. “A ball. We will have a winter formal.” Kira confirmed.

“Just us? Dís would love that.” Thorin blurted out and then hid behind his disapproving, grumpy mask again.

“No, not just us. We will organise it and the others will come and dance.” Kira smiled.

“We will?” Ori was doubtful. “Yup, we will see where your strengths lie and then we’ll work on everything that goes with it: cooking, serving, making small talk with Thranduil.”

“Are you sure you’re able to teach us that?” Dwalin muttered, apologising immediately when he realised that he said that out loud and that it was an insult that might well lead to ruining the good will Kira had for them.

“I am not, but we will all try. Should we try that?” Kira was worried that they’d refuse outright, that they’d laugh at her, but once again, the class surprised her when they all started talking at the same time.

“I am a good cook. God, I love food.” Bilbo exclaimed. “So do I!” Bombur laughed and ambled closer, already thinking up recipes that would work in that context.

“You’d dare organising a ball?” Thorin was standing right in front of her, his voice dangerously low.

“Yes…I’ve been told that Dwalin would give me a bloody nose for it.” Kira replied, acting braver than she felt.

“Dwalin? Never…He’s a good dancer and he loves it.” Thorin chuckled, a sound like faraway thunder rolling over the land and shaking the ground. “A ball…” Thorin mumbled pensively, his eyes wandering to Bilbo again and again.

Ah, yes, that was a part she had not thought about duly, Kira had to admit: with formals came the whole teenage anxiety-inducing ordeal of asking someone out and buying flowers and corsages.

“Hmmm, there should be fairy lights.” Ori muttered beside her, chewing on the end of his pen pensively. “We’d need a contraption of sorts for that, wouldn’t we?” Kira thought aloud, charmed by the idea and happy to have another one of them on board.

“That can be done. Legolas here is good at climbing things and we are good at crafting things.” Dwalin muttered in a low growl that was much less impressive as his eyes shone with a fierce glimmer of joy.

Kira had the feeling to grow taller by the minute; she was so proud of those kids who had been hailed as Satanists and who had followed her into every single thing she had pitched as a project. She would do her best not to let them down.

“Uh-oh.” Legolas made, standing a few feet away from her and looking around the walls to gauge how tall the ladder would have to be to attach fairy lights below the ceiling.

Whirling around, Kira almost ended up smothered in a dark grey woollen cardigan partially covering the white button-down she had looked at from much too close up this morning already. How many times could this man just manifest right behind her? Did he float? Was she deaf?

“The door was open.” Thranduil declared as if that explained his sudden appearance. “Yes, this is a school. If I locked myself in with a bunch of teenagers, with this bunch of teenagers, I’m sure someone would have called the firemen and the police by now.” Kira rolled her eyes. “Are you spying on us?” She asked with a wink.

“No…Class is over and I…I was curious what you were doing, looking like that…” He looked around and caught the embarrassed gaze of his son. “Oh, you look nice, Legolas.” He commented which made the boy’s ears turn pink with pleasure. “Thank you, Sir.” He breathed shyly.

“So…what is this going to be when it’s over?” Thranduil leant against the door he had pulled shut behind him and Kira couldn’t help noticing how tall he was; he had slender limbs and his whole body seemed to flow in almost liquid lines.

Snap out of it girl, he has asked you a question, Kira admonished herself and replied: “A ball. We’re going to have a ball.”

The closed door made her feel claustrophobic all of a sudden; it felt strangely as if she was the one pressed against the hard surface with Thranduil towering over her, the cool, gauging expression in his eyes making her squirm.

“Ah, really? And…will you send hand-written invitation to said ball?” Thranduil cocked one eyebrow. “Maybe we will.” Kira gave back in a stroppy tone. “So, the other classes are invited?” He pressed on.

“Why? Do you want to chaperone?” Thorin chuckled grimly. “As their headteacher, it falls within my responsibilities to oversee this kind of celebration if my class is to attend.” Thranduil answered stiff-lipped.

“Oi, lads, we are going to send old Thrandy an invitation.” Dwalin hooted under his breath, for he had caught the flash of embarrassment in the teacher’s eyes; Thranduil wanted to come, he wanted to be invited.

“Yes, quiet, Dwalin, thank you. Those are things to decide later in the process.” Kira tried to prevent a complete derailment of the conversation into complete and utter chaos.

“You are dismissed, I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.” Kira ushered the children out, confused by the fact that her colleague made no attempt to follow either the stream of chattering youngsters or his own son.

“I had hoped you would come to the lunchroom.” Thranduil murmured as soon as the students had vanished around the corner, flipping a strand of his perfectly smooth almost colourless hair over his shoulder nervously.

“Dude, this,” Kira pointed at her face and her dress, “did not happen in a jiffy. I had to go home and change. Otherwise, I would have come.”

“Ah…yes…well, it would be a shame to waste such a tremendous effort.” As he saw Kira’s face sour, he went on quickly: “Not that I want to insinuate that it would take a great deal of effort to make yourself look lovely, but as you’ve pointed out that you’ve taken pains to create this…” He waved helplessly at her, “I wondered what you had planned for dinner.”

I don’t cook myself a three-course menu, Kira thought, remembering the can of beans in her cupboard; she had not had the time or the inclination to go shopping since arriving and she was not exactly looking forward to the beans.

“Nothing. Why?” She asked, shrugging and retrieving her satchel from the floor.

“If you don’t mind seeing your students AGAIN today, there’s a little restaurant down the street. I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Maybe, we can resolve that issue over dinner.”

Was she seeing things or did his face twitch?

“What makes you say that?” She asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“You’ve called me an asshole? I am confident in saying that you do not like me overmuch.” He muttered, visibly annoyed. “True. I am sorry for insulting you.” Kira stood firm, not sure if she fancied having dinner with her stuck-up colleague whose eyes were dancing with dizzying stars like fireflies over a frozen lake.

#Fanfiction #Bagginshield #Kira chapter #AU #School AU #Thranduil #OC #dinner?#upping the cliffhangers #First try AU

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orphaned-kiirokero · 4 years ago

Text

Redamancy (OT7)

Redamancy: The act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full.

Part of the Protect the Village! Oneshot Series.

Masterlist

Pairing: BTS x Reader (Yes, all seven,)

Genre/Warnings: fluff, a bit of angst, strangers to friends to lovers, a lot of mediocre humour,

Note: The multiverse in this world just got more complicated. But I did it!

Summary: Seven men, all from different walks of life. Then there’s you, their best friend. Nothing good ever comes from loving those close to you a little too much, that’s what you think. Apparently they have another idea.

Word Count: ~12k

UNEDITED please forgive my illiterate ass. Might edit it at a later date.

It started with Jimin.

Having just moved to the village, you were just barely on your own two feet. You thought moving to the small town full of, what? 200 people? Would be enough to give you that cottage lifestyle you always wanted. Away from others, on your own, nothing but you and the forest. Of course, living in seclusion wouldn’t be as amazing as the stories make it out to be. You knew this, so you settled on moving to a small village.

You grew up in the city all your life. And you hated it. You hated the sickly smell of trash and cigarettes. You hated the constant buzz of people no matter the hour of the day. You absolutely despised the people who lived there too. You never thought people could get so narcissistic. Yeah, there were friendly people there, but the selfish and rude ones drowned them out.

So because of your less-than stellar experience with people, you didn’t plan on making many friends. Maybe becoming acquaintances with the lady who walked her dog every day or being on a first name basis with the barista at the local coffee shop. You planned to keep to yourself. Stay confined to your house and small garden, work from home. But the universe, or a stubborn blonde-haired delivery boy, had other plans.

Because it started with Jimin.

Today was like any other day in the oddly cheery village. The sun was out, there wasn’t a cloud in sight, and it was way too hot for you. “Ugh,” You groaned, flopping face first on your dusty couch that was fresh out of storage. You felt like you were sweating off pounds of your body fat. You were sticky and uncomfortable. But that wasn’t even the worst part of the day.

It was only the third day of moving into your new cottage, and you were already done with it. You’ve sneezed more times than you could count, your muscles were begging for mercy, and the movers broke your bookshelf. You swear you could kill a man. Now you had a box full of books and no bookshelf to organize them on.

Sure, maybe it wasn’t as serious as you were making it out to be, but adding on all the additional stresses from the past week, it felt like someone just kicked your cat. Not that you have a cat... But the point was made. You were on the verge of a breaking point.

Reluctantly, you went to your bedroom and opened your laptop, searching the internet for a new bookshelf. You tried to lift your spirits by telling yourself that you could get one that matches your mahogany coffee table, but one look at the price tag quickly brought you back down. “This better be an heirloom for my great-grandchildren,” You grumbled, going to checkout and typing in your credit card information.

The new bookshelf showed up in 2 days. You would think that would be enough time to get your shit together, but it wasn’t. The past 2 days made you even more stressed as you found important things were either missing or hidden deep in odd boxes they had no business being in. Now you're not a sentimental person, not a lot of items you own hold much sentiment to you. But if there’s one item you treasure dearly, it’d be your mother's necklace.

It was an old silver necklace that wound around a small teal stone. The chain was chunky and a bit rusty. Though it wasn’t falling apart, just old. It was a centuries old heirloom. Your mother said it used to be painted gold, but that was when your great-great grandmother had it. How she knew that? You didn’t know, you never asked either. Your mom was always just an oddball.

But that wasn’t what caught people’s attention the most. It was the teal stone itself. It was an unnatural shape. It looked like it was split in 2 pieces down the middle, almost looking like a pair of doors. They were trapezoids laid on their sides, wider edges together. You asked your mom why they were carved into such a shape, but she always said the same thing. “Honey, the stone isn’t carved, it’s natural. You’ll understand one day.”

To this day, you still don’t understand.

And now you never would, because the priceless family treasure was missing. You could practically hear your mother tsking from her grave as she watches you upturn everything in your apartment looking for it. You were currently bending yourself in half, peering under the couch, when the doorbell suddenly rang. You jumped, bumping your head on the coffee table. “Ow...” You groaned, standing up to answer the door.

Opening the door, you saw a blonde man standing on your porch with a large box standing upright next to him. “Hello! I have a package for, um... Y/n?” He said with a smile. “That’s me,” You chuckled, trying your best to at least look like you had your life together. “Is that... Heavy?” You asked cautiously, intimidated by the box that was almost as tall as the man in front of you.

“Yeah... A little bit... Would you like me to take it in for you?” He offered, to which you graciously accepted. “You can just put it by the tv stand,” You said. He gave you a determined nod, carrying the box over to the living room while you snuck away to the kitchen to get him a bottle of water. It was a hot day; it was the least you could do.

“Hey, um, is this yours?” He asked you as you walked back to the living room. In his hand was the silver necklace you were painstakingly searching for. “Oh! Yes! Thank you, where’d you find it?” You asked, quirking your brow. “It was peeking out from under the tv stand, and I don’t think you meant to put it there,” He chuckled, his eyes upturning into crescents. You couldn’t help but thinking that it was cute.

You held the necklace to your chest, basking in the sense of relief it gave you. “Yeah, I was looking everywhere for it. Odd that it was in such a visible place,” Your browns knitted together as you asked yourself how you missed it. You almost upturned the entire house looking for it. “Mystery solved!” The blonde man chuckled, “I’m Jimin by the way. I couldn’t help but notice all the boxes... Did you just move here?” Jimin asked, expression showing nothing but friendly curiosity.

You sighed, looking around at the mess that was your house currently. “Is it that obvious?” You joked, causing Jimin to chuckle. “Well, welcome to Bangtan! Not many people move out here.” He pointed out. You shrugged, “It seems nice out here. Peaceful,” Jimin gave you a soft, kind smile, one which you reciprocated. “I hope you like it here,”

As soon as he left, you’d quickly unclasped the necklace and put it on, vowing to never take it off again. It was the only thing you had left of your mother. You didn’t care if you weren’t a jewelry person; you were now.

It started with Jimin.

After that day, you would see him often. Whether he was zipping around main street, delivering inventory to the various shops, or he was bringing you a package. You once asked him if he’s the only delivery personnel in the whole village, worrying that whoever was employing him was running him ragged. “No, but we have our designated areas in the village. I deliver for main street and the forest houses. Aka the houses that boarder the forest... Aka you!” Was his explanation.

Besides the occasional run-ins, you and Jimin never really hung out. Until he came bouncing up to your doorstep, asking if you wanted to go to the arcade with him on his day off. You almost said no. Well, you said no... But Jimin practically begged you to come, so you gave in... Eventually. So, one Sunday afternoon, you got dressed and went to the arcade that Jimin was so excited about.

He showed up, but he wasn’t alone.

Because next it was Taehyung.

It was a nice day. Perfect temperature, lovely breeze, clear skies. You would’ve loved to sit in your garden, enjoying a nice glass of lemonade, but no. Here you were outside of an admittedly pretty, arcade. Waiting for Jimin to show up so you could kick his ass at some air hockey.

You picked at the invisible lint on your jeans. Tapping your shoes against the concrete. You don’t know why you dressed nicer than you usually do. Maybe it was because Jimin always saw you in sweatshirts and sweatpants and you wanted to prove that you weren’t the humanized version of a dust bunny. Maybe it was because he always looks like he walked off a runway, even in his work uniform. But now you're regretting it. Your jeans are a bit too tight because you haven’t gone clothes shopping in a while and your black shirt was attracting the heat of the sun.

“Y/n!!!” A voice yelled, and you instantly knew it was Jimin. Looking at the end of the street, your suspicions were confirmed when you saw his blonde hair flowing in the wind as he ran to you. It was odd to see him dressed in day clothes, but it was a welcome change. He had on light washed jeans and a plain white shirt hidden underneath a denim jacket. It was a simple look, but he rocked it.

He stopped in front of you, hands on his knees, gasping for air. “I wasn’t going anywhere.” You chuckled, patting his head patronizingly. “I huff was just puff excited to see you.” He choked out, taking a few more deep breaths before sitting upright again. You felt your cheeks heat up at his enthusiasm to see you, but you shrugged it off. “Well, you coming?” You asked, pointing your thumb towards the building behind you. “Taehyung’s not here yet.” Jimin said, nonchalantly.

You tilted your head, Taehyung? “Who’s Taehyung?” You asked, poking Jimin’s side. “He’s one of my friends! Best baker in town! Well... Only baker in town, but still. He has the day off too, I thought it would be nice for you to meet him,” He shrugged, “Is that okay?” His tone was a worried one, as if he was just now realizing that you could be uncomfortable with meeting others, but you just sighed. “It’s fine, Jimin. If he’s friends with you, I’m sure he’s pretty cool,” You said, and Jimin’s eyes lit up.

The two of you continued to talk about random things. What you did yesterday, your plans for the coming week... Jimin was currently telling you the story about one of his other friends being attacked by a giant squirrel when a deep voice called his name. “Jiminie!” The two of you turned to see a man waving at Jimin from the end of the street, jogging over to meet up with you.

You could tell that this man was a bit taller than Jimin, but not by much. He had short, light brown hair, like a honey blonde color, that almost reached his eyes. He had slightly tanned skin that seemed to glow in the sun and a boxy smile that showcased his perfect teeth. You wondered if all of Jimin’s friends were model level attractive.

The man, who you assumed was Taehyung, and Jimin hugged each other once they got close enough. It was a short but sweet one, and you could tell that they’ve known each other for a long time. “Tae, this is Y/n! Y/n, this is Taehyung!” Jimin introduced the two of you, and you gave him a friendly bow. “Nice to meet you! Jimin’s been blabbering on all the time about you,” Taehyung snickered, earning an elbow to the arm from Jimin.

“Oh, really? Only good things, I hope,” You raised an eyebrow towards Jimin, and he raised his hands in defense. “Only good things! Only good,” He chuckled, and you nodded your head in satisfaction. “It’s nice to meet you too. Taehyung,” You smiled, turning your attention back to the man next to Jimin. “Alright! Game time!” Jimin clapped, racing inside the arcade with Taehyung hot on his tail. You snorted at their actions, following after them.

When the 3 of you paid for your tokens, you instantly agreed on going right to the air hockey table. “Okay so... Tae and I will face off with each other, then the winner plays you, is that alright?” Jimin asked, looking between you and Taehyung. Taehyung nodded while you gave him a thumbs up.

The two of them went to opposite sides of the table, putting in their tokens and grabbing the strikers. “You're going down,” Jimin threatened, glaring at the man in front of him. “Jimin, you’re about as frightening as a newborn puppy,” Taehyung snickered, earning an exaggerated gasp from the blonde. “Asshole,” He murmured to himself, picking up the puck and starting the game.

To say watching Jimin and Taehyung play was funny, is an understatement. Every time Taehyung scored a point, Jimin would whine louder and every time Jimin would score, Taehyung would start the game as quickly as possible, cutting off Jimin’s little victory dance. “Come on, Jimin!” You encouraged, looking at the 3-point difference on the overhead scoreboard. “It’s only three points!”

Jimin tried, maybe a little too hard, but ended up losing in the end. Jimin pouted, his lower lip protruding exaggeratedly. He came over and laid his forehead on your shoulder, whining to you about Taehyung being a try-hard jerk. You just chuckled, giving his back a light pat as you gently pushed him off and went up to the table.

“You ready?” Taehyung asked after you put your tokens in. You nodded, waiting for him to start the game. Immediately, Taehyung hit the puck hard and fast, the plastic disc ricocheting off the sides in a zig-zag pattern. It was too fast for you to properly stop it from going right into your goal. Taehyung laughed from the other side of the table, holding his stomach as he bent over, wheezing.

You looked at him, unimpressed, snatching the puck from the space under the table. “You looked so helpless,” He wheezed, and you quickly put down the puck and hit it right into Taehyung’s goal, making the score even. “Oh no, you looked so helpless,” You snickered, mockingly. Setting off a competitive fire between you and Taehyung.

After Jimin it was Taehyung.

That day was full of laughs and friendly insults thrown back and forth in the heat of a competitive moment. After you won that air hockey game, Taehyung challenged you to everything after that. “I bet I can score higher on this!” or “I bet you can’t beat that,” To which you proved him wrong about 50% of the time, Jimin being your cheerleader for every game. Besides DDR. Nobody dares to go against Jimin on DDR. Unless it’s Hoseok.

But your interactions with Taehyung and Jimin didn’t stop there. Now Jimin felt more comfortable inviting you out, usually to Taehyung’s bakery, so you could get to know each other better. Sometimes you’d even go to Taehyung’s bakery (Aptly named “Kim’s Confections”) on your own, just to talk to him as he made his stock for the next day.

Jimin and Taehyung said they had other friends that would love to meet you, but they were just busy, so it would take time. They also told you that 2 were on a business trip and wouldn’t be back for another week while another was swamped with work and the others were just shy. You didn’t mind much; you’d meet them when you met them.

Which apparently was soon.

Because then it was Namjoon.

It was a nice day out today. It was slightly overcast and there was a cool breeze blowing through. Perfect for you. Not so perfect to the sunshine people of Bangtan. Nobody was out and about today like usual. People were treating a slightly dim day like it was snowing. It was amusing to you. When you first got here, you’ve never seen so many sunny days before. It was disorienting. The chilly day was a blissful blessing.

But going out on a lovely day was only fun when other people were out on that lovely day. Despite your previous woes, you actually wanted to get to know the community that lived in Bangtan. Jimin said that they didn’t get many outsiders, but everyone here was delightful to you. There was even this old lady how gave you a Snickers! A whole Snickers!

Instead of letting the lack of people get you down though, you opted to go on one of the nature paths that went through the forest that surrounds the village. Putting on a pair of jeans and a jacket, you grabbed your small backpack off the counter and headed straight for the forest that was behind your house.

When Jimin said you lived in a “forest house,” He really wasn’t wrong, the tree line was only a 2-minute walk from your backdoor. You love the fact that you can look out your window and see the wildlife running around, even if some of them look oddly larger than normal. But that was probably just your imagination.

Stepping onto a well-worn path, you began your walk. Listening to the songs of the birds and breathing in the earthy smell that surrounded you, it was like heaven. Maybe it was because you lived in the city for most of your life, but you really felt drawn to this place. The vibrant green trees, the lively wildlife, the calm atmosphere. It was all so... Nice.

The way the wind blew through the trees, rustling the leaves in a peaceful harmony, made pleasant shivers run down your spine. You would playfully wave at the squirrels and birds that you encountered on your path, and they would oddly look back at you, making you chuckle. “Cuties,” You whispered to yourself, your shoes crunching against the dried fallen leaves that covered the path.

About 20 minutes into your walk, however, you felt goosebumps rise on your skin. Like a second sense you weren’t aware about. Curiously, you stopped, looking around the empty forest. Nothing but trees, fauna, and flora as far as the eye could see. But it was also deathly quiet. You didn’t notice before, too trapped in your own thoughts, but the birds stopped chirping, like the entire forest had gone still.

Shivers ran their way up your spine, and you didn’t dare move a muscle. Suddenly the once refreshing forest air turned dry and suffocating, and it felt colder than before. The rustling of leaves caught your attention, and you whipped around in search of the source. Nothing moved as it went silent again. Scared, you started walking down the path again, eager to get away.

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears as your palms became sweaty from tightly clutching onto your bag. But then the rustling came again, this time it was closer. You whimpered, picking up your speed into a brisk walk to a jog, the rustling still following you. You took the risk of looking behind you, and what you saw made you gasp. There behind you was a grey wolf, briskly following you like it had all the time in the world. It wasn’t necessarily threatening you in any way, but it was a wolf, and all you were thinking about was getting away.

You broke out into a run, trying to get as far away from the animal as you could. You logically knew that it could easily run faster than you, but you were running on pure adrenalin at this point. Well, you were. Until you slammed face first into what felt like a brick wall. You fell backwards with a thump, groaning at the shock of pain that ran up your ankle.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” A deep voice apologized, kneeling next to you. All thoughts of the animal chasing you vanished from your mind when you looked up to see a tan, muscular man. He had sandy blonde hair that was swept to the side and chestnut brown eyes that were filled with worry. His grey shirt was tight, leaving little to the imagination. He was very well built. “Hello? Oh no, did you hit your head?” His voice spoke up again, waving his hand in front of your face.

You blinked a couple of times before lightly shaking your head. “No- I’m okay,” You answered, and the man let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good, can you stand up?” He asked, you tried to stand up, but a piercing, sweltering heat shot its way up your ankle and you groaned in pain. “I think I twisted my ankle...” You whimpered, bringing one of your hands down to support it.

“Oh no, um... Think Namjoon think...” The man, who you presumed to be the Namjoon he was referring to, paced back and forth in front of you. You brought your backpack around in front of you, looking through it until you pulled out the mini first aid kit you carried. You opened up the small plastic box and got out the bandage wrap that came with it. “Um, can you help me wrap my ankle?” You spoke up, getting the worried man’s attention. “Y-Yeah!” He nodded, kneeling in front of you.

“I’m so sorry... Um, I can, uh... Carry you back to my home? I think I have an ice pack in the freezer,” He offered while he wrapped the bandage snuggly against your ankle... You raised your eyebrow suspiciously, not quite trusting the random woodsman you just met.

He caught on to what you were thinking, quickly holding his hands up and smiling awkwardly. “I promise I won’t do anything! And if I make you uncomfortable, you can like... Punch me or something,” He said, and you relented, knowing that he was likely your only way out of this forest since you seemed to have strayed off the beaten path.

“I’m Namjoon, by the way,” He smiled, revealing a pair of deep-set dimples.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/n,”

After Namjoon wrapped up your ankle, he picked you up bridal style (After getting your permission) and carried you back to civilization. You made small talk along the way. Namjoon told you that he was the town’s mechanic and he lived in an apartment that was above his shop. You told him that you were new in town and you worked as a translator.

Soon, you arrived at a small store that looked very much like a smaller version of AutoZone. Namjoon carefully carried you up the stairs and set you down on his living room couch. “I’ll go get that ice pack,” He said, giving you a soft smile as he disappeared into what you assumed to be the kitchen.

You ignored the blush that made its way onto the tips of your ears, searching through your bag until you found your phone. Opening your messages with Jimin.

Hey. I know I said I’d meet up with you later but I kinda messed up my ankle...

Chim: What?! How?

I went on a nature hike and ran face first into this dude Namjoon

Chim: Namjoon? The mechanic?

Yeah, he brought me back to his house and is treating it. Seems super worried. Chill guy though!

Chim: Sounds like Joon. Stay there, okay? I’ll meet you there. I’ll bring Tae too.

You know him?

Chim: He’s the guy I told you about, the one that knocked over the can display.

Oh yeah! lol

After Taehyung it was Namjoon.

After you texted Jimin about your predicament, him and Taehyung showed up to gage how bad it really was. In reality, it wasn’t that awful. You only had to wear a brace for 3 days and stay far away from Namjoon’s clumsy tendencies for another 2.

Namjoon was surprised at first to find out that you knew the two men, and then they enthusiastically informed him that you were the Y/n that they’ve been telling everyone about. You don’t know if it was more embarrassing for you to find out you're a regular conversation topic, or for Namjoon who didn’t connect the dots earlier. Maybe it was both.

But besides your rocky first impressions. You and Namjoon bonded quickly. But instead of bonding over competition like Taehyung or frequent meetings like Jimin... The two of you bonded when you found out his love for books, especially old classics. It was only 2 days after your initial meeting. Jimin and Taehyung were busy, and you didn’t feel like being alone, so you visited Namjoon. (Much to his surprise)

You were keeping him company in the garage while he worked on a car when you referenced a scene from “The Odyssey,” Namjoon had shot his head up and looked at you wide eyed, asking if you were a fan of literature. When you said yes, he couldn’t help but talk animatedly about his favorites as you playfully indulged him. Not minding one bit.

The two of you frequently met up to talk about books. Whether it be a debate about whether “To Kill a Mockingbird” Should be as hyped up as it is or deep philosophical conversations about the meaning of “Where’d You Go, Bernadette?” But there was one day when you visited him that he asked if you wanted to go shopping with him.

Which is how you ended up in a grocery store with cans rolling around on the floor.

Then you met Hoseok.

“Shopping?” You asked incredulously as you watched Namjoon emerge from his room with a fresh set of clothes on. “Yeah! It could be fun! Also, Jimin begged me to go with him and I don’t want to go through that alone,” He blurted out, and you laughed, hiding your face in the arm of his couch.

Namjoon huffed at your amusement, whining out a “Please?” That you just couldn’t exist. You sighed, getting up from the couch and slipping on your shoes. “Let’s go then, you know how Jimin gets,” Namjoon quickly followed suit, not wanting to deal with a nagging Jimin alone. “You’re right, let’s go!” He rushed, and you giggled, following him out the door.

It was another sunny day in Bangtan, meaning more people were out and about. You smiled as people on the street waved at you, becoming more used to your presence in the town. “How different is the city life to this?” Namjoon asked from beside you, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Much different. People would usually bump into you, then sneer at you like it was your fault,” You snorted, earning a wide-eyed look from the man beside you.

“People were that rude?” He asked, exasperated. “Yep,” You nodded, finding his distaste for people he’s never met somewhat amusing. Namjoon scoffed, mumbling a “Dumb people,” Under his breath, causing you to chuckle. “Namjoon, there's no need to get so worked up about it,” You poked his shoulder. Namjoon looked at you with pursed lips, “Nobody should be mean to a person like you,” He declared, looking at you with deep intensity.

“Guys!” A voice called, breaking through the moment you and Namjoon were having. You cleared your throat, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans before looking up at Jimin. He was standing in front of the grocery store you often frequented. “Hey,” You greeted once the two of you got close enough. Jimin engulfed you in a hug, squeezing you tight, and you couldn’t help the giggled that bubbled their way up and out of your throat. But you missed the look of jealousy that crossed Namjoon’s face.

Once Jimin let go, he gave both of you and a cheeky smile. “So... I know Hoseok technically banned Namjoon from here after last time... But! Today is the day they restock the junk food” Jimin exclaimed, enthusiasm painted on his face. You forgot that living in such a secluded town meant that things like brand-named food went out of stock and stayed like that for longer than you were used to. It was one of the downsides to living here, but like, one out of five.

“Hoseok? You mean the manager that seems to avoid me like the plague?” You asked, earning a sympathetic look from both of the men. You’re heard about Hoseok plenty of times from Jimin, Taehyung, AND Namjoon. You’ve even seen the dude when you shopped here sometimes, but he always hid away in the backroom when he noticed your presence. Not coming out until you were gone.

You were convinced that Hoseok didn’t like you for whatever reason, but everyone told you it was just him. He was shy at first, then the loudest person you’d ever meet. “Y/n...” Jimin whined, and you playfully rolled your eyes. “Yeah. yeah. He doesn't have some sort of weird vendetta against me, I get it,” You groaned, walking past both of them. “Let’s just go, yeah?” You pressed, looking over your shoulder at the both of them.

The two of them looked at each other, then back at you before they followed you into the store. Jimin quickly took the lead as he guided you and Namjoon towards the candy and chips section of the small mart. “Ah, it’s beautiful,” Jimin sighed, grabbing a pack of spicy potato chips. “It’s unhealthy,” Namjoon mocking him, mimicking Jimin’s dreamy sigh.

Jimin whipped around to glare at the taller man, not caring that Namjoon had to look down to maintain eye contact with him. “Look, not everyone eats leaves like you Joon,” Jimin hmphed, turning back to the shelf. You snickered, earning an exaggerated gasp from Namjoon. “I’m offended, Y/n,” He said, and you chuckled harder.

“That’s it, come here,” Namjoon threatened, reaching out for you to which you immediately turned and ran away. You say run, but it was more like a jog. You and Namjoon were laughing with each other while he tried to catch you. “Weak sauce, Namjoon,” You teased from the opposite end of the aisle from him. “You wound me,” He chuckled, lunging at you yet again.

But this time, you narrowly dodged his grasp. You jumped out of the way quickly enough for him to miss you, but he wasn’t quick enough to stop himself from running headfirst into a display of cans. How ironic. The cans sounded a huge crash as they fell to the floor in conjunction, Namjoon falling with them. He let out a groan of pain as he landed on a can, one of them hitting him on the head.

You let out a pained hiss, almost feeling the headache incoming. “Are you okay?” You asked, kneeling beside him. This situation feeling familiar before. “Yeah... I’m good,” Namjoon whimpered out, wincing at the pain in his back. Suddenly, the two of you heard rapid footsteps approaching you. “You idiots,” Jimin sighed, kneeling on the opposite side of Namjoon. “This is why Hobi banned you,” Jimin flicked Namjoon’s nose, the elder letting out a choked “Ack” sound.

Soon, you and Jimin helped Namjoon back up to his feet, the taller man resting a hand on his back for support. “Of course it was you, Joon,” A new voice spoke up, sounding amused. The three of you focused your attention on the approaching man coming down on of the isles, his eyes trained on Namjoon.

He was taller than Jimin but shorter than Namjoon, somewhere in between. He had brunette hair in a mocha-like shade that was a similar hairstyle to Taehyung. He had deep brown eyes and heart-shaped lips that were upturned into a slight smile. You recognized him as Hoseok, the store manager who avoided you like you had a flu and he was immunocompromised.

“Well... This situation seems familiar,” Namjoon chuckled, wincing when he realized that made his back hurt worse. “Yes, it is,” Hoseok sighed, looking at the dented and disorganized cans that were scattered on the floor. “Sorry about the mess,” You spoke up, Hoseok’s eyes finally registering on you. He seemed to freeze up, a nervous smile plastered on his face.

“It’s fine!” He said a bit too enthusiastically. Jimin snickered from the other side of Namjoon, giving Hoseok a teasing smirk. “Hobi! This is Y/n! The girl I’ve told you so much about!” Jimin smiled, and Hoseok’s cheeks reddened as he avoided eye contact with you. “Nice to meet you,” He coughed out. “You’ve seen me before... I’m not exactly shopping for food anywhere else,” You pointed out.

Hoseok looked up to you for a brief second before looking back down at his shoes. “Yeah! Yeah... Sorry you’re just, new,” He nervously chuckled. “I get it, I’ve heard not many people come to Bangtan. You just don’t hate me, right?” You asked cautiously, not knowing what you would do if the answer was yes. “No! I don’t hate you; I swear.” Hoseok cleared his throat, fiddling with his fingers.

“What Hoseok is trying to say is he doesn’t know how to approach new people. Like I’ve been telling you,” Jimin interrupted, giving you a “I told you so,” Look. “Whatever Jimin. But um, Hoseok? Could you do me a favor?” You asked, turning your attention back on the brunette. “Hmm?” Hoseok hummed, urging you to continue. “Could you take my place supporting Namjoon? He’s heavy...” You chuckled. Getting a laugh from Jimin, a complaint from Namjoon, and a soft smile of agreement from Hoseok.

After Namjoon it was Hoseok.

When all of you arrived back at Namjoon’s apartment and threw him on the floor, you and Hoseok made quick work of getting him an ice pack and medicine. You got Namjoon comfy on the couch with some blankets and pillows, an ice pack on his back, while Hoseok got him some water to swallow the pills he gave him.

Namjoon fell asleep shortly after he took the medicine. Whether he was already tired or the pills knocked him out, it didn’t matter; he was out like a light. All three of you chuckled at the snoring man, even if he sounded like a train in the distance, you thought he was cute. Jimin eventually had to clock into work, giving you a wink as he waved goodbye and rushed out the door. Leaving just you, Hoseok, and a sleeping Namjoon.

At first, the air between you and Hoseok was quite stale. The two of you exchanging basic words of pleasantries to keep an awkward silence at bay. But “How old are you?” and “Where are you from?” can only get you so far. So when the conversation died down, Hoseok suggested that you should put on a movie.

You didn’t pin Hoseok to be a superhero nerd, but he totally was. If his simping over Spiderman was anything to go off of. You weren’t necessarily a Marvel or DC guru, but you let Hoseok talk your ear off once he got comfortable.

Jimin wasn’t wrong when he said Hoseok was shy at first, then the loudest person you would ever meet. Because after a few minutes into the movie, he couldn’t hold in his excited soliloquy anymore. Once he got more comfortable in your presence, he would make comments here and there on what was happening and eventually you joined in, asking questions about anything you were lost on.

Hoseok was very sweet about your lack of knowledge about the universe and even offered to switch to an earlier movie in that confusing connected universe. That kicked off an entire movie marathon of Hoseok explaining everything to you and you intently listening, genuinely interested in the weird, bizarre world of super heros. You even picked your favorite out of the enormous bunch. Ironically, it was Spiderman... He’s just so lovable. You couldn’t help it, he was too charming.

Eventually, after 3 hours of a lesson on superheros and some villains, Namjoon woke up, still sore, but better. He even joined you on your marathon, mostly because he didn’t want to get up from the couch, but he did pay attention! You, Namjoon, and Hoseok laughed, talked, and bickered over the lore and more trivial things for hours, but it was all in good fun. “You’re cool, Hoseok,” You remember telling the brunette. Hoseok sought out to be a friend you could have endless amounts of fun with after that.

But the eventful day didn’t end there!

Because then Seokjin burst through the door.

“Okay so... You’re telling me that there’s this ex-surgeon turned mystical time lord, and that’s canon?” You asked Hoseok incredulously, the brunette trying not to laugh at your disbelieving attitude. Because in this world radioactive spiders, literal gods of thunder, and a whole, invisible kingdom named Wakanda exists... But no! Time lords are too much! “Yes, Y/n. Doctor Strange is canon,” Hoseok chuckled.

You furrowed your brow, leaning back into the couch more and (unintentionally) leaning into Namjoon more. He doesn’t mind though, you’re warm. “What are like... The rules of this world? Things like time manipulation opens up a whole new can of worms,” You pointed out. Hoseok shrugged, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “I try not to like about the logistics. I mean, it’s superheros Y/n! Not exactly a philosophical conversation starter about the possibility of multiple timelines and aliens.”

Namjoon chuckled as you nodded, seeing his point. “It’s like those fantasy books you like to read, Y/n,” Namjoon said. “I guess I can see your point. Guess I’ll have to discuss the possibility of a multiverse with someone else,” You playfully sighed. Hoseok snorted, opening his mouth to say something before Namjoon’s front door burst open violently.

“Joon! You are so dead!” A masculine voice shouted. You shrunk into the couch while Hoseok and Namjoon looked towards the source of the ruckus. “Jin? What are you-” Namjoon speaks up, only to be cut off by this “Jin” person. “Oh you know why I’m here! You were supposed to help me organize files tonight!” The unfamiliar voice complained, and you slowly looked over the back of the couch.

Standing in the doorway was a man about as tall as Hoseok, dressed in a pristine grey suit with a green tie. He had dark brown hair that looked almost black in the low light of Namjoon’s apartment in a similar hairstyle to Taehyung. He had thin-rimmed circular glasses that enhanced his pretty brown eyes, that were currently wrinkled in annoyance. He was strikingly handsome with his plump lips and smooth-looking skin. You were seriously wondering what was in the water at Bangtan that made all these men seriously attractive.

Namjoon gasped, sitting up to get a better look at Jin, swallowing the wince as the pain from earlier in the day hasn’t quite dissipated yet. “I’m so sorry! It slipped my mind... I kinda... Got occupied,” Namjoon scratched the back of his neck nervously. Jin quirked a brown, still not acknowledging your presence even if you were right next to Namjoon. “What?” Jin asked, crossing his arms. “I... Ran into a can display,” Namjoon muttered out, looking down at his hands.

“Before you say anything. Yes, he did it again,” Hoseok spoke up, giving Namjoon a cheeky smirk. “But he got hurt this time,” Jin looked Namjoon up and down, taking in the bump on his forehead and disheveled appearance, finally letting out a sigh. “Alright just, text me next time, okay?” Jin said. Namjoon nodded giving him a thumbs up before he turned to you.

“Oh! Jin, this is Y/n.” Namjoon smiled. Jin’s head now turned to look at you, his eyes widening. “Y/n? Oh yeah! The girl you texted me about!” Jin walked closer to you, holding out one of his hands. You awkwardly took it, giving it a shake before Jin smiled. “I’m Seokjin. But please call me Jin because Seokjin makes me feel old and like I’m back at work.” He declared, and you chuckled at his practiced introduction. “Nice to meet you, Jin,” You replied, giving him a smile.

Jin’s attention then focused on the mess of junk food that sat on the coffee table, his upper lip furling in disdain. “Have you guys eaten any real food yet?” He asked, looking at all three of you briefly before he started cleaning up the mess. “No... And stop cleaning. It’s my apartment, I’ll get it,” Namjoon whined, only to get brushed off with a “You say that every time. What would you do without me?”

Jin continued to clean while you watched him and Namjoon bicker back and forth, turning to Hoseok for some sort of escape from how awkward you felt. Hoseok noticed your uncomfortable aura and chuckled. “it’s fine, they bicker like that all the time.” That made you feel a bit better. Knowing that you weren’t witnessing a rivalry go down right in front of you.

“You guys stay there and I’ll cook something that will actually give you nutrients, okay?” Jin called from the kitchen, but you quickly spoke up. “Oh no, you don’t have to count me in! I’ll just head home,” You said, standing up. jin quickly tutted you like a scolding mother with a “Nonsense! It’s nothing, really. Besides, I want to get to know you. What better way of doing that then over dinner?” You looked towards Namjoon and Hoseok, both of them shaking their heads, silently saying “There’s no use in arguing”

You surrendered, sitting back down on the couch. You missed the smile that crossed Jin’s face when he saw you give in, declaring to himself that he’d make an extra tasty meal. You, Hoseok, and Namjoon continued to watch Doctor Strange while Jin clanged around in the kitchen. The scent of what seemed to be bulgogi wafting through the air.

Soon, Jin called all of you over for dinner, Hoseok helping Namjoon to the dining room while you helped Jin set the table. Once you all sat down, everyone grabbed their bits of food, the three of them putting more food on your plate when they thought your plate was too empty. Using the excuse of “Leftovers are a hassle,” to subtly shrug off their doting over you.

After the first initial bites of food were on everyone’s stomachs, Jin piped up to ask you questions about yourself, offering information and embarrassing stories about him and his friend in return. It was easy to talk to Jin, his dad jokes and open personality meant that you felt it was easy to open up to him. Never once did he make a face of judgement or disgust at anything you said and it made you feel welcomed. (Not that the other didn’t make you feel welcomed, it was just that Jin was easy to talk to,)

“I love your necklace, by the way. Where’d you get it?” Jin asked, pointing to the old family heirloom that still hung around your neck. “It’s an heirloom, I have no idea where it came from,” You chuckled, fidgeting with the cool, teal stone. “Well, it’s beautiful. Seems oddly familiar too,” He commented, getting nods of agreement from Hoseok and Namjoon. You shrugged, stuffing the last bit of meat into your mouth. “Thank you for dinner. Jin,” You smiled.

After Hoseok it was Seokjin.

That night you went home with a full stomach and new contacts in your phone. All the boys you met so far sending you a goodnight text. Some filled with emojis, others declaring that you should hang out with them more. It made you feel all warm and gushy inside. The prospect of having friends that cared about you enough to send you goodnight texts was a dream a few months ago. Now you could send goodnight texts back.

The chirping of crickets and rustling of leaves narrated the walk back to your tiny cottage. Now that you were alone, you thought back to when you met Namjoon. That grey wolf you were chasing seemed to suddenly disappear once you bumped into him. Namjoon is tall. Maybe that scared it off? You didn’t know, who knows about the behaviors of wolves? Nature nerds. So probably Namjoon.

Then again, it didn’t seem aggressive, just curious. What if it saw you and got curious? Just wanting to see what you were all about. That made you feel somewhat guilty. You probably scared the poor thing by breaking out into a sprint. That didn’t mean you’d walk up to one the next time you see one, but it just meant you’d probably be a bit less anxious.

And you were right, the next time you saw one you were very calm. Whether that was because the wolf was surprisingly domestic or it was the man you found petting it that made all sense of danger blank from your mind. But the calm wind that blew through his hair as he looked you up and down was something you’d remember forever. Because now, in the strangest way...

Yoongi entered your life.

You decided to try a nature day again. A run in with a wolf and one sprained ankle isn’t going to stop you from admiring the beauty that is the forest of Bangtan. You were either brave or stupid. Probably a bit of both. Nonetheless, you grabbed your bag, slipped on your sneakers, and set off into the woods with a new sense of determination.

You don’t know what your end goal is; you didn’t plan that far ahead. All you cared about was appreciating nature, alone, with no interruptions. Today was a hotter day than before. The skies with nothing but blue as the sun beat down on the world below it. Luckily, the forest had a good canopy of trees to block you from being directly hit by the sun's rays.

It was another calming day of birds chirping and small animals scurrying about, no ominous rustling this time, just you and the odd animals of Bangtan forest. You kept up the joke of waving to the animals that would stop and stare at you, some of them taking a few steps closer, some of them tilting their heads, but none of them running away. It made you feel like a forest fairy that could talk to them, even if that was a ridiculous idea.

This time you were able to venture deeper into the forest, the trees getting thicker, and the animals seemed to get bigger. Not paranormally so, but enough to notice. “They probably just eat better deeper in the forest,” You observed aloud, continuing your walk as you stopped occasionally to smell the wildflowers that lined the path.

While you were busy admiring and smelling what looked to be chicory, a bump against your leg caused you to look down. Down at your feet was a large squirrel. The critter looked up at you with big beady eyes, its small hands holding an acorn. “Aww, hello!” You cooed, not moving in fear of startling the fuzzy creature. It ran laps around your feet a couple of times before stopping, looking back up at you once again.

You quirked your head to the side, chuckling at the squirrel's odd behavior. It did that routine a couple more times before you moved, taking a step back onto the path. The squirrel turned and ran a few feet down the path, turning around to look at you once again. The two of you stared at each other before it came back, circling your feet then heading down the path at the spot it was previously in.

Curious, you walked towards the squirrel. The fluff ball kept goes a few feet down the path every time you caught up to it, waiting for you before it continued that routine. You questioned yourself whether you were really blindly following a squirrel in hopes of it leading you somewhere important, but you just felt like you had to.

Soon the squirrel detoured off the beaten path, turning to look at you from the thick brush. “I’m not moving off the path, little guy,” You said, drawing this goose chase to a close when you felt like it could possibly endanger you. The squirrel didn’t let up though, it just went back to circling and bumping your legs, it’s eyes silently pleading with you.

Sighing, you decided that if it stayed straight, then you would follow it, thinking that it would be easy to turn around if this was really useless. The squirrel continued to lead you through the forest, staying on its own straight path before the forest opened up into a clearing.

The grass was a vibrant green and there was a thick oak tree standing on a hill, just slightly off center. But it wasn’t the odd natural phenomenon that caught your attention. It was the man and the wolf that were sitting under the tree. The squirrels bumped against your leg again, trying to get you to walk toward them, but you refused, slightly nervous.

But the wolf didn’t seem to give you a choice as it spotted you and bolted right towards you. You felt your heart jump to your throat as you tripped on your own feet, falling backwards on the ground. You prepared for pain. A bite. A scratch. Anything. But you only got the cold wet touch of its nose while it sniffed you and the soft tickle of its fur when it rubbed its head against your head.

Slowly, you lifted your hand up and the wolf took the liberty of putting its head under it. You pet the large animal with wide eyes, not noticing that the man from before had gotten up and walked towards you. The wolf curled up next to you, whining whenever you stopped petting it. “He’s a baby,” A sleepy voice spoke up beside you.

You whipped your head up to see a man with brass blonde hair and brown eyes. He seemed about as tall as Jimin, and he had a flower sticking out of his pocket. His face was stoic, looking at you with subtle curiosity. “W-What?” You asked, still a bit blown away by the sequence of events that just played out. “Holly, the wolf you’re petting,” He said, pointing down to the wolf that was now asleep.

“O-Oh... Yeah,” You said, perplexed, looking down at the sleeping canine. The man sat down next to you, petting Holly alongside with you. “You’re not from around here, are you?” He asked, looking you right in the eye. “Not really... I just moved here... I’m Y/n,” You answered. “I know. The others like to talk about you,” He shrugged, catching you off guard. “I’m Yoongi,”

Ah, you’ve heard about Yoongi. The others described him as a quiet, old man, and you could see what they mean. Yoongi looked like the kind of person that knew all of life’s secrets but wouldn’t tell you because you “Didn’t ask,” He had an aura of mystery around him, but everyone else insisted he was a kind soul who you could tell all your problems to and he’d instantly make it better.

“They really talk about me that much?” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Yeah, I’ve been excited to meet you,” He said, sounding very unexcited, but you believed him anyway.

“Have you been too busy to?”

“No, I had to wait for the right time,”

You tilted your head, furrowing your eyebrows. “The right time?” You asked. “I knew we’d meet, eventually. You’ll meet everyone eventually,” He responded cryptically, and you decided to drop the subject. The two of you sat together in silence, but it was a comfortable one. Neither of you felt to need to talk over the chirping birds or snoring Holly.

You didn’t quite notice how Yoongi kept stealing glances at your necklace or the hopeful gummy smile that crossed his face.

After Seokjin it was Yoongi.

After that day, Yoongi would invite you over to his flower shop more, insisting that you take a flower home every time you left. The two of you didn’t hang out as often alone as you did with Jimin or Namjoon, but you still became friends. Whenever you were upset, Yoongi would walk with you to that clearing, sitting with you under the tree while Holly rested his head on your lap.

The docile wolf used to weird you out, even if Yoongi explained that all the animals in the forest were friendly. You just couldn’t understand that an apex predator could shrug you off and even demand cuddles from you, but Holly was a sweetie, so you didn’t complain. Yoongi would often say weird and bizarre things, most of them very cryptic, but you learned it was normal and everyone just went along with it.

Yoongi would often ask about your necklace and your family. Asking where you got it, where your family was from, if they’ve even been to Bangtan. It was a bit odd, but you just chalked it up to Yoongi wanting to know more about you and your weird looking necklace. Besides, it’s not like the two of you didn’t have fun together.

Sometimes he would sit and talk to Namjoon with you, he’d bake together with you and Jin, get dragged along to the arcade with Jimin and Taehyung, or put up with you weekly movie nights with Hoseok. Yoongi became a friend too, never failing to be a rock for you to lean on or a shoulder to cry on, and he didn’t seem to mind. Not one bit. He even soothed your worries about the youngest of the bunch not liking you.

Cause then you finally met Jeongguk.

“Are you saying you don’t like my cream puffs?” Jin gasped, pointing his spatula at the 5 of you currently lounging in Namjoon’s living room. Yoongi shrugged and Jimin stuck his tongue out in disgust, earning another gasp from Jin. “Don’t worry Jin! I like them,” You spoke up, giving the elder a smile. “Thank you, Y/n. You’re the only one I can rely on,” He playfully sighed, getting an eye roll from both Namjoon and Hoseok.

You watched Jin move around the kitchen for a few more minutes, “Why are you baking so much?” You asked. Jin lifted his head to look at you, giving you a small smile. “Gukkie’s coming home from the academy!” He exclaimed excitedly. After hanging out with all of them for more that a month, you came to realize that “Jeongguk” “Guk” and “Gukkie” was the same person. “The academy?” You questioned.

“Yeah! He had to go for his yearly training, but some seniors asked him to help train the rookies, so he stayed. He’s coming home today!” Jin continued his ministrations as you let out an “ohh” understanding why you’ve heard so much about Jeongguk but he never seemed to be around, even if Yoongi said him, Jimin, and Taehyung used to go to the arcade often.

You let out a sigh, laying your head down on top of Taehyung’s lap, closing your eyes. You failed to see the red that painted Taehyung’s face or the way he looked up to everyone else to see if they were seeing what he was seeing. They were. And you all wished they were Taehyung right now. Hoseok pouted, Jimin gave Taehyung a sly smirk. The eldest looking at your tired form with soft worry. They knew you had a long night; it was written all over your face.

You don’t know when you drifted off to sleep, but you were awoken with a start. The sound of happy cheers pulled you out of the sleep realm, Taehyung running his hand through your hair to ground you. You looked up with dreary eyes, burying your face into Taehyung’s stomach in an attempt to hang onto the threads of sleep that were slowly slipping through your fingers.

“Sorry,” Taehyung whispered to you, feeling his heart pound against his ribcage at how cute you looked. But his efforts of lulling you back to dream land were thwarted and Jimin dragged you off the couch, rambling something about Guk and backs. You didn’t know, you could barely stand at this point.

“Guk! Meet Y/n!” Jimin chipped while you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You opened your eyes to see a tall man with brown hair like Jins. He had brown eyes like the others, but his skin was tan like Namjoon’s, a little lighter, probably because of working out in the sun.

He gave you a shy smile that showed off his bunny like teeth. “H-Hello,” He stuttered out, the tips of his ears reddening. “Hi, nice to finally meet you,” You smiled sleepily, leaning your head on Jimin’s shoulder for support. “You too... You’re very pretty,” He chuckled out nervously, his bluntness caught you off guard. “Thank you,” You giggled, cheeks heating up before he got whisked away by his hyungs so they could catch up.

Jin stuffed Jeongguk full of the food he made while Jimin and Taehyung pulled him into annoying Yoongi. It was amusing to watch how well he reintegrated into their group, like he wasn’t gone for 3 months. The boys fit together so easily and naturally, like a perfect ecosystem in play. You wondered if you could get to that point with them.

Jeongguk was obviously influenced by his hyungs a lot. He had the love for superheros like Hoseok, the mischief of Jimin and Taehyung. He was physically built like Namjoon put had a soft nature like Yoongi, The only influence that wasn’t overtly obvious was Jin, but you could see the subtle caregiver tendencies like putting extra food on Yoongi’s plate.

All 8 of you talked over dinner, everyone else trying to push Jeongguk to talk to you. Which you did. Jeongguk told you about his time as a police officer and some of the odd stories that came along with it. The others occasionally butting in to embarrass him.

By the end of the night, Jeongguk and you had gotten to know each other well, with the help of the other, as all 8 of you feel asleep in Namjoon’s living room. Infinity War playing on the tv. You laid on Jeongguk’s shoulder and he laid his head on top of yours; the others cooing at the two of you.

That was 2 years ago.

It was a normal day in Bangtan. Sunny, clear skies, and a whole lot of ruckus. The boys decided to visit you for the day, saying that they needed a day to hangout with everyone together. You didn’t mind though; you were more than used to the impromptu visits that any (or all) of them would make to your house.

Jimin, Tae, and Guk were sat in your living room playing a game of Mario Kart while Yoongi and Jin helped you make dinner. Hobi and Joon talking to the three of you while they sat around your kitchen island. “Alright, Hobi. Time lords were right on the line. Purple alien dilf? Crossing it,” You laughed, cutting up some radish for the kimchi Jin planned to make with you tomorrow.

Hoseok gasped, while Namjoon wheezed with his forehead on the counter. “Okay I’ve heard a lot of things about Thanos. Purple alien dilf is a new one,” He cackled, his lips stretching into the heart-shaped smile that make your face hot. “She’s not wrong,” Yoongi shrugged, throwing some beef into an already prepped pan. “Just because she’s right doesn’t mean she should say it!” Guk called from the living room, obviously hearing every word that was spoken despite him being in another room.

You giggled, offering a piece of carrot to Hoseok and one to Namjoon when he whined about you picking favorites. In these past 2 years you’ve grown to really care about the boys who slipped into your life so abruptly, some more oddly than others. (Cough. Yoongi.) But they all just stayed. Every day you would learn more about all of them and they would learn more about you. I mean, you wouldn’t have guessed that Jin loved stuffed animals. But he does.

The only problem that came with leaning more about them was slowly turning that care into admiration. What you're trying to avoid saying is the word “love” because you refuse to let yourself feel something that could be detrimental to the carefully crafted friend dynamic all of you have built. But deep down you knew that what you felt for them was anything but platonic.

Friends don’t want to cuddle with each other under the stars. Friends don’t look at each other's lips and think about how soft they’d be against your own. Friends don’t think about living in a house together and eventually growing old while you watch your kids carry on your legacy. Friends don’t do or think about that.

However, it’s not that you have a crush on one of them. It’s all of them. That’s what confuses you and makes you push your feelings away. How was that possible? Loving all of them? How was is possible to think about getting morning kisses from both Jin and Joon? Was is weird to think about holding hands with both Jimin and Jeongguk while you went to go meet up with Taehyung for a quadruple date? What would they say if they found out you thought about having a picnic out at that clearing with Yoongi, Hoseok, and Holly by your side under the tree while the others play around? The possibility of them being grossed out by you was scary. So you suppressed your emotions.

You ignored the way you would shiver when their skin brushed yours. You suppress the dreamy sighs every time you got stuck in a daydream. You forced a smile whenever jealously would bubble up in your stomach at the sight of other happy couples, wishing you could have what they have, but with all of your best friends.

“Our 2 year anniversary is tomorrow,” Yoongi spoke up randomly, very in character for him. “Random,” Hoseok snorted. “2 year anniversary?” Yoongi nodded, not taking his attention off of the cooking meat. “2 years since Y/n became our friend. We should celebrate,” Yoongi suggested, getting hums of agreement from the rest of the boys. “Wait a minute, I met you all on different days. Except Hobi and Jin. So technically there’s no date to pinpoint,” You pointed out.

But Yoongi merely chuckled, turning to you with a gummy smile. “I’m saying that the day you met Guk is the day that we all became friends,” Yoongi declared. “I don’t see why not,” Taehyung spoke up from behind you suddenly, wrapping his arms around your waist. You had to swallow the squeal that threatened to spill out of your mouth. “Maybe we can go to that clearing you and Yoongi are always seeking off to,” Guk said.

There was no room for arguments apparently since all of them eagerly agreed and they even gave you puppy eyes so you physically couldn’t say no. Soon enough, Yoongi and Jin switched to prepping food for tomorrow while Hoseok and Guk went to Hoseok’s mart to get some snacks. Namjoon pulled you away from the kitchen with the excuse, “We need to pick books to read tomorrow,” which made you playfully roll your eyes since Namjoon has raided your book collection 2 times already.

But you indulged them, letting them do their own things for tomorrow until eventually nightfall came and they had to go home. “We’ll pick you up and 8!” Hoseok called to you as they walked down your driveway. You watched them go from the doorway, heart in your throat as you thought about how amazing they were.

The youngest were always willing to cheer you up whenever you needed it. Yoongi was a shoulder to cry on. Namjoon and Jin were overprotective caregiver types that made your heart swoon. Hoseok could always whisk you away from stress and worries by distracting your overactive brain with silly movies and late night rendezvous star gazing. You wanted to cross that line between lovers and friends so bad. But you couldn’t. Because it was all or nothing and you’d never choose.

“Holly!” You cheered as the 8 of you broke through the tree line into the familiar clearing where the cheerful wolf was waiting for you. He always seemed to be waiting for you. Holly tackled you onto the ground, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck before he got up and playfully jumped around you.

“I still can’t believe you domesticated a wolf, Yoongi,” Jin commented.

“I didn’t,”

At this point everyone learned to shrug off Yoongi’s weird speech blips, filing them down as “Random Yoongi Things,” in your brains. Soon, a blanket was set up underneath the sturdy oak tree, you and Yoongi laying down on it, basking in the sun rays that peaked through the leaves. Jeongguk and Taehyung were playing with Holly while Namjoon read and the other three ate, the atmosphere one of comfort and content.

“You’ve been thinking about something recently,” Yoongi spoke up from beside you, turning his head to look at you. “You know everything, don’t you, Yoongs?” You snickered. continuing to watch the clouds blow by. “I’m serious Y/n. You seem... resistant. Are we making you uncomfortable or something?” He asked, looking at you with slight worry. “No... It’s not you,” You sighed, turning to look back at Yoongi.

“Is it work? You know Jin told you about overworking yourself,”

“Nono, please don’t get eomma Jin over here,” You laughed, getting a chuckle from Yoongi.

“Then what’s up? You know you can talk to me about anything.”

Anything? You thought. How am I supposed to admit to you that I’m in love with seven men when I can barely admit that to myself? You wanted to keep your mouth shut. You wanted to turn away and change the subject to the cloud shaped like a pizza roll, but you were trapped in the sparkling brown of Yoongi’s mocha eyes.

Just as you opened your mouth, a giggly Jimin tackled you. He hugged you close, hiding you away from everyone else. “Chim!” You giggled, trying your best to wiggle out of his grasp. Soon, Jeongguk and Taehyung joined in on the dog pile, making sure not to crush you but also not afraid to wrestle you a little bit. “Hey! Cut it out! You’ll hurt her!” Jin spoke up in his eomma voice, successfully getting them to stop.

Your earlier conversation with Yoongi is forgotten as all 7 of them pass you around for a day full of them. You play with Holly and the youngest, then Namjoon sits and reads with you, Jin makes sure you eat, why you take a quick power nap on Hoseok’s lap, missing the very serious conversation they had with each other.

“But what if your wrong Yoongi? What is she doesn’t want to be with all of us,” Jeongguk whined.

“She does, I can feel it,”

“Yoongi, we’re your best friends and you do have freakishly good intuition. But Jeongguk’s right, What if you’re wrong and she leaves?” Hoseok sighed, petting your hair unconsciously. “Trust me, it has to turn out like this,” Yoongi declared. “Or what? The world will end? Yoongi, sometimes I wish you’d speak less like a story narrator,” Taehyung snorted, earning an eye roll.

“Okay so, we all decided to man up and ask, problem is, how do we do that?” Namjoon questioned, an awkward silence following after.

“We just... Ask...” Jin suggested.

“Brilliant plan Jin. 10/10.” Jimin said sarcastically.

“I’m serious! What if we sit her down and just talk out our feelings?”

“That could work, alright that’s the plan,” Namjoon settled, the rest of them nodding and planning what they wanted to say in their minds.

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, looking at the men who were lined up, sitting next to each other in front of you. “Okay, so. What’s going on?” You sleepily drawled, letting out a yawn. “We have something to tell you,” Namjoon choked out, fiddling with his hands. “Alright, go on,” You pressed, giving them your undivided attention.

Nobody spoke up, all of them either avoiding eye contact or finding the blanket really interesting. Suddenly they all blurted something out at the same time, looking at each other before trying again and doing the same things a second time. “Oh for goodness sake,” Yoongi groaned, lurching forward to connect his lips with yours.

You gasped, eyes wide as the feeling of Yoongi’s soft lips clashed with yours. Your eyes eventually fell closed as you savored the feeling of Yoongi’s tongue dancing with your own, him sucking in your bottom lip, giving it a bite as you let out a small whimper. Your body felt feverish as your mind turned into slush. Nothing but the smack of your tongues and the warmth of his plush lips filled your thoughts as everything was solely just Yoongi.

“Yoongi! We were supposed to talk, not show!” Jimin complained, tugging at Yoongi’s sweatshirt. Yoongi reluctantly pulled away, giving you a chance to gasp for air, eyes lidded as both Yoongi and Jimin looked down at you with admiration in their eyes. “W-Wha..?” You gasped out, mind still struggling to pull itself back from the depths of passion.

Namjoon pushed them both to the side and he cupped your face in his hands. You leaned into his touch, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and swollen lips. “What we wanted to say was... We... We really like you. All of us. All seven. And I know it’s not the most traditional thing ever but we really want to be with you, all of us.” Namjoon spluttered out, trying his best to get his point across.

“How do you feel about seven boyfriends?” Jin asked over his shoulder.

“Sounds like heaven,” You sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. All of them broke out in smiles, pulling you into a big group hug full of kisses and sweet words that promised to take care of you and be the best boyfriends they could be. Soon, the enthusiastic hug settled more into a cuddle, all of you eventually laying down on the blanket, looking at the setting sun.

You slowly felt sleep clawing at your body, the eventful day mixed with the secure warmth of the cacoon the boys wrapped you in. “Does this mean we can hold hands, kiss, and cuddle now?” You spoke up hopefully. “Absolutely” Hoseok sighed, pulling you closer to him. “Um... Y/n?” Jin spoke up. “Hmm?” You hummed with your eyes closed. “Is... Is that normal?” He asked and you opened your eyes to see him pointing down at your necklace. Which was now glowing.

From that day your life got a lot weirder.

And Yoongi made a lot more sense.

#bts #bts fic #bts oneshot #bts x reader #jeon jungkook #kim taehyung #park jimin #kim namjoon #jung hoseok #min yoongi #kim seokjin

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