#it’s such a cool concept! it’s a shame it only ever gets brought up to bring other fans down | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

Try A Little Tenderness

Summary: Han Seo gets treated with kindness and affection and he doesn’t know how to process these foreign feelings. Also he gets a first eye contact of the mafia couple.

Author's note: A few of you said you would like to read this so I popped it out real quick in between real life and all that mess, I did something like this for IOTNBO and really enjoyed that sometimes it’s fun to see a relationship from an outsider’s pov. I also saw a few people say that they ship our puppy with a certain someone so I threw in some crumbs because the visuals would be very pretty and good for my health. It has talks of past abuse (see psychopath brother) but I don’t think it’s any darker than the regular show. Happy reading!

He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to realize that he's nowhere near good or smart enough to keep alive such less work so closely to them and listen to their plans. They trust him, he can tell by the way that conversations don't taper off if he comes into the room with another question about how to use the copy machine- there are so many buttons and it's confusing figuring it out by myself.

This first time he sheepishly asks for help after reading articles online and coming no closer to understanding the massive machine, he expects more fanfare; a slap on the cheek, a rap on the forehead or just a simple sigh and "idiot" that he would smile in the face of but the word would stick to his heart for days on end. His eyes were glued to the ground after his inquiry so he missed whatever look they originally gave him but surprisingly enough Ms. Hong stepped forward, he almost flinched as the hand approached his view but instead of pain he just felt warmth on his shoulder.

Guiding him with the hand on his shoulder, she led him back over to the machine and patiently explained all the buttons to him, even smiling gently when he pulled out a little notepad to write down the many directions.

"You really only need these three buttons this is the power button, but this thing is ancient so sometimes it may need a good kick." He jumped marginally at the loud bang of her foot against the side, quickly writing that down as well.

Really old. Needs kick.

"Then you press this button to choose the amount of copies, choose double or single sided and choose with staple and that's it." His eyes darted rapidly trying to keep up with her directions while taking his notes. It sounded simple enough but his brother had taught him that if there was a way to fuck something up, he would find it, naturally. So his nerves skyrocketed when she turned to him with a grin and said, "Are you ready for another test? Make 20 copies of these." She handed him a small stack of papers.

His heart jerked in his chest and suddenly he was fifteen years old again staring at a test sheet and knowing none of the answers. It was hard to study with the fear of Han Seok barging into his room at any moment to do another sick experiment on him, once he had sliced his finger just to watch it bleed. He'd told his father that he accidentally cut himself while cooking and let the shame wash over him as he got a look that screamed that he was incompetent and pathetic.

"Han Seo? Are you okay? You seem like you're a million miles away." The pretty lawyer's concerned voice brought him back to reality and he could feel the stares of the other men in the room on his skin, Vincenzo being the heaviest. He really didn't want to look stupid on front of the man for some unexplored reason. He swallowed hard before facing the machine, feeling like he was going off to war.

He pressed the big power button, shaken when nothing happened but suddenly remembered his notes and with an almost unnoticeable glance he found his answer, swiftly kicking the beast of a copier he watched it roar to life and almost on autopilot he mimicked the motions that Ms. Hong had just demonstrated and watched in terror as the paper was swallowed and the copies were spit out from the compartment in the bottom.

I did it.

Everything seemed to be in order and the machine hadn't exploded. Yet.

"Oh."

The triumphant smile that had graced his face slide off like rain on a windowpane.

"I messed up. I'm sorry. Please let me try-"

He was bowing before he could stop himself, shame a familiar friend at this point in his life. There were very little moments that he didn't feel a tsunami of shame crashing over him in a thick heavy sheet.

"You just forget to select stapled. But that's minor, we can just staple them by hand." She responded nonchalantly picking up the copies and bringing them over to the table, "Good job though. Next time you'll probably get it perfect right?"

It was pathetic. He was pathetic. There was no reason for pride to grow in his chest like a mustard seed, he had only completed a basic task. Something that even a monkey could, actually monkeys could do even more complicated tasks. It was nothing to be proud of. He shouldn't have been smiling as largely as he was, they would think he was insane and kick him out.

But.

She'd said he did a good job. That wasn't a phrase he was used to hearing, he wasn't someone who did anything worth praising. He shuffled away back to the shelves that needed to be organized in alphabetical order, moving a large file to the front of the row unaware that there was an equally huge smile on his face. It stayed there for the rest of the day.

Working there was different from working with his brother. Astronomically. Nobody hit him there, even when he made mistakes. Instead he just got three heads over his shoulder helping him fix said mistake or Mr. Nam pushing his chair out of the way and taking over with only a gentle chide of, "Be careful next time." And it's clear that they all care for and respect each other. It's evident in the way that there's no clear hierarchy at the law firm, when they have meetings they alternate on who makes the coffee for the team, take turns buying meals and they are all allowed to speak and share their ideas without waiting for approval. It's nothing like he's used to and it makes him wonder if this is normal and what he's used to is...not.

It's enough to overwhelm him.

Then something catches his attention in the peripheral of his eye, Ms. Hong impatiently goes to take a sip of her coffee ignoring Vincenzo's firm warning against doing so and she flinches at the heat of the beverage, sticking out her tongue instantly after the first sip, blowing and huffing theatrically- something he's grown used to seeing from her. This isn't what shocks him though, it's Vincenzo's reaction. Immediately he walks over to the water cooler, filling a little paper cup before bringing it back over to her and thrusting the cool liquid into her outstretched hands.

"I told you to be careful." He says voices filled with exasperation as she gulps down the water, shooting him puppy dog eyes.

"I thouf it mould be cool enouf." She replies around her extended tongue and he watches the interaction with wide eyes, that only grow larger when the murderous Mafia member picks up the lawyers mug of steaming liquid and starts to blow on her coffee, his lips puckered into a perfect o. Ms. Hong watches absently as if this is expected behavior and after a few minutes, Vincenzo takes a sip of her coffee deeming it cool enough before handing it back to her. She takes a sip dangerously close to the spot his mouth had just occupied and hums at the temperature, shooting him a brilliant smile. To his utter surprise the usually stoic Mafia member smiles back fondly, before walking off to make a call. Ms. Hong watches him walk away before realizing that he's watching their interaction and a delicate blush blossoms in her cheeks before she stutters walking off to her table.

He glances between the two with his head tilted. Feeling curious.

Once he starts looking it's almost indecent how often the two touch each other, Vincenzo's hand never too far from Ms. Hong's back or arm and she never reacts to the sudden touches, no flinching or tensing up when a foreign hand is suddenly on her person. That's a new concept for him, he doesn't like surprise touches.

Then there's the fact that Mr. Cassano never allows Ms. Hong to hold anything, when she comes bustling through the doors with bags in her hand the smell of pasta permeating the room the older man is already making his way across the room tugging the bags from her hands wordlessly. He places them carefully on the table before smoothly dragging out her chair and guiding her into it with a hand on her waist.

"I brought your favorite. Authentic Italian food." She smirks up at him, opening the containers and he feels his mouth water at the tantalizing aroma that fills the room even more than before.

"It smells amazing! Where did you find authentic Italian food?" He asks inserting himself into their conversation and for a minute, he second guesses himself gearing up for a blow. But it never comes and Ms. Hong waves him closer, pushing a container of thick noodles in his direction.

"Are you hungry? Here have some!" She shoves chopsticks into his hand and watches him eagerly and he can do nothing but follow her orders, stuffing the tomato sauce drenched noodles into his mouth. When he looks up he sees that they are both watched him avidly, awaiting his review and he smiles around his bulging cheeks putting up two thumbs.

"It's delicious! Best Italian food I've ever had!" He stares excitedly and he's unprepared for Vincenzo's sudden glare, it's the first time the man has thrown such a look his way he gulps nervously at the unnerving sight.

"What- did I say something wrong?" He warily asks watching the Italian man angrily stomp off whilst muttering something indecipherable to him but that makes Ms. Hong smile mischievously, grabbing the container and chasing after the fleeing man.

"Stop being a snob! Have some, say ahhhh!" He can't comprehend the sight that he's watching, dumbfounded as the petite lawyer hangs on Mr. Cassano's arm and tries to feed him the Italian food.

"No! I don't want it, stop! Why do you keep bringing that here?" The Italian Mafia boss whines pushing her away but he notes that he never pushes her too hard, his shoves are very soft barely rocking her slight body. When she starts to chase him around the room, Han Seo can only watch in shock the behavior too childish for him to reconcile that these are the same people who have been thwarting all his brother's plans. Not even Mr. Nam entering the office is enough to stop their shenanigans and in the end it's Vincenzo who admits defeat, backed into a wall. Han Seo waits for her to give him the food and for this moment to come to an end. But neither one of them make a move, frozen against the wall staring at each other looking a million miles away.

It's then that it clicks for him.

They are more than just partners.

When one of the various plaza tenants burst through the doors only then is the tense moment severed, Ms. Hong jumps back flustered thrusting her hand at his face and Mr. Cassano has to open his mouth lest he get smashed in the jaw. He watches amused as a grimace crosses the older man's face as he swallows the food as if it's poison.

Ms. Hong flies across to help the cute pianist that he's seen around a plaza a few times. He stares at her from under his bangs, looking away when she catches his eyes. Coughing loudly he walks away to do something important that doesn't involve losing his wits because of a pretty girl. Maybe he can talk to Mr. Cassano later just to ask about her, there's nothing wrong with being curious about your neighbors after all.

He doesn't know where else to go so he comes to Jipuragi, letting out a sigh of relief when he sees all the lights off. He pulls the key that Mr. Nam gave him from his pocket, still in disbelief that they trusted him enough to give him a key to the establishment. He had blinked away tears when the older man pushed the small metal object into his hands, it felt like a huge responsibility. Almost like he was being accepted into their makeshift family. It was far more than he deserved.

Sitting down on his chair, he lets the agony wash over him. His cheek is throbbing, sore and swollen from the open handed slaps against the skin. Their stocks had dropped again from all the accusations and bad publicity, and his brother had once again taken it out on him berating him like a dog before kicking me out. It's nothing new, nothing he's never experienced before but it feels worst. Now that he's been around people who don't treat him like he's dirt, it hurts even more to go back to the old ways. He's so lost in thought he doesn't notice the door opening or the person creeping inside.

"What are you doing here?"

He jumps at the unexpected voice, twisting in his seat panicked. His heart rate settles once he sees the cool eyes of the man he's grown to respect. Vincenzo Cassano. He slumps in his seat, no excuses coming to mind and then it's too late and the other man is crossing the room and taking a seat across from him.

Those cold eyes narrow as they search his face, "What happened to your face?"

Images of his brother looming over him and slapping him on the ground flood his mind, along with his screams of pain as he pleads for him to stop. Then visions of a much smaller version of himself pleading similarly as his brother pulled his hair and laughed at his cries. He's crying before he ever realizes that the tear has condensed.

Vincenzo tenses across the table, looking lost and uncomfortable.

It only makes him cry harder. It's so much better than getting hit.

Without a word the Mafia boss stands up pushing his chair away, stomping powerfully to the door. He watches alarmed before finding his voice and calling out, "Where are you going?"

The man looks at him darkly answering, "To kill your brother."

He gapes at the statement said so matter of fact and a bubble of laughter rises to the surface, making him chuckle through his tears. He rears back further at the other man's blatant confusion following his outburst, feeling freer than he's ever felt because this is the first time someone has tried to defend him.

It feels nice. Better than nice, unbelievable.

His heart thumps as he looks at the other man that he has every reason to be scared of but instead he feels safer than ever in his presence, it almost feels like what a brother should. A real brother not the one that he has who would kill him tomorrow without batting an eyelash.

"He's not done suffering yet. But thank you." Vincenzo shifts awkwardly at his show of gratitude never accepting of thanks something he has noticed while observing the enigmatic man, he vaguely wonders what this man has been through to make the complicated person he sees in front of him. Maybe one day he'll ask.

"Well if you're going to stay here, there's a bed up there."

Impulsively he replies, "Have you ever used it before? Is it really okay for me to use?"

He's met with a puzzled look, which he returns with a calculating one and then he spares a quick glance over to Ms. Hong's table and the gears click and Vincenzo is tomato faced and yelling, "Watch your mouth you brat! Do you want a beating?"

It shouldn't be funny with his face still throbbing from a beating just hours earlier, but he laughs so much his stomach hurts and that pain dulls the ache in his face.

"Oh my goodness what happened to your face?" He's barely able to get out an answer before Ms. Hong is jogging across the room, ever so gently catching his face in her small warm hands. Immediately he's reminded of his mother and he has to look away before he embarrasses himself.

He mumbles a lie about tripping but she's already sending a ferocious knowing look over to her partner and he watches their silent conversation with large eyes, until her voice breaks the pregnant pause.

"I can't wait until we kill that punk. How dare he put a hand on you? I'll go get some medicine, you-" she points to Vincenzo, "get him some ice before it starts to swell." The man automatically follows her instructions, looking like a dutiful husband.

And that's how Mr. Nam finds them, Vincenzo pressing ice wrapped in towels against his cheek as Ms. Hong squeezes creamy ointment onto her finger and smears it across his cheek. He blames his glossy eyes on the pain in his cheek and not the one in his chest.

It's his first time walking around the plaza and he tries to ignore the suspicious eyes that trail him, he knows that they know him as their enemy's brother and underling so he doesn't blame them for not trusting him, he would do the same. The clang of piano keys catches his attention and leads him to the source of the noise like a siren luring lost men, he watches transfixed through the glass as delicate fingers fly across the keys in a frenzy. It’s mesmerizing.

He was forced to get piano lessons when he was younger, he was surprisingly good at it even better than Han Seok thus his brother became enraged and smashed his fingers putting a permanent end to his lessons.

The music lulls him into a sense of comfort so much so he doesn't realize when it ends and the small pianist notices that she has an audience.

When he finally looks up and catches her eye, he freaks out expecting her to look at him like all the others have today so he's unprepared for the door to slide open and for her to beckon him in with a crooked finger. He walks in almost as if in a trance, she's so pretty it's almost unnatural a supernatural glow surrounding her in her white flowing dress.

"How does it feel working at Jipuragi?" She asks suddenly catching him off guard, he sputters before taking a deep breath and looking away before replying, "I feel useful. It's....new."

That's all he can disclose and honestly it's more than he intended on saying but a knowing smile stretches across her pale face.

"Vincenzo, he's someone special who can make others feel special too." He smarts at the clear adoration in her voice, of course. She liked Vincenzo too. Every woman at this plaza probably did, the Italian was much more appealing than he would ever be- naturally charismatic and handsome, every woman's dream.

He smiles defeated stepping further into the space, running his fingers longingly across the piano keys. Something else that just wasn't meant for him.

"You like him too. It makes sense, he's really cool." He whispers, self deprecation swaddling him like a blanket.

It's obvious who else he's referring to only Vincenzo and Ms. Hong seem to be in denial at this point everyone else assuming that they're already dating.

She doesn't deny his accusation. It's his own fault for having hope but that knowledge does nothing to tamper the hurt that rumbles in his chest.

She hums before walking closer to him, fingers trailing across the black and white keys.

"I did. But they're good together."

He stills in shock, lightly pressing down on the key beneath his finger the sound vibrating through his skin. Then she presses another key that rings harmoniously with his and he can't not look over at her and he jolts breath stuck in his throat when he finds her already staring at him with a serene smile, "There are a lot of interesting people here though, someone else has caught my eye."

He plays the final note to fulfil the chord they started and their eyes never leave the other, music floating on the air between them.

Full. He’s never known what that felt like before but now he feels full of everything and he can't go back, can't ever go back to the way things once were.

There’s no looking back, only forward.

#vincenzo #jang han seo #best boy pov #chayenzo #but as his doting parents #a new ship that I think would be absolutely adorkable #I want to put han seo in my pocket #little brother energy #hyungs #Vincenzo #vincenzo cassano

375 notes · View notes

thevindicativevordan · 3 years

Text

On Kong Kenan/Super-Man

It should've been him. He should've been the Superman of 5G/Future State/right now not Jon, and he should be the one getting an HBO Max series not Val. Hell he should be getting a movie!

God this dude is literally the best legacy character Superman has ever gotten, wholly his own person with his own lore and status quo while still building on the idea of "Superman". I am so pissed at DC for essentially just dropping him after his ongoing ended, what the hell Lee? You keep trying to make the Wildstorm characters happen, I need you to get my man Yang another Kenan book.

Have to admit I was a bit nervous at first about whether or not Kenan would be a worthwhile character. Yang's New 52 Superman run had been a disappointment to me overall, with only the the arc where Superman has underground wrestling matches against forgotten gods really sticking with me. Now he was introducing a brand new Superman? Didn't feel like he had "earned" that yet. But from the first issue I was hooked on this new character.

Kenan was unlike any other member of the Superfamily. He wasn't kind or sweet, he was an asshole! He was a bully! He was fantastic! Right from the start Kenan was set up to undergo a very different kind of character journey than the other members of the Superfamily. Empathy, humility, respect for people weaker than himself, these are all traits most heroes wearing the S-shield already posses by the time they first don the crest, but not Kenan.

Like all bullies he was even a bit of a coward himself at first, trying to bail on the experiment meant to give him Superman's powers right as it begins. After "saving" Lixin (the kid he bullies and steals lunch from every day) from Blue Condor he demands all the money Lixin has on him as payment. He's not courageous or selfless either at the start, Kenan is as much of an opposite of Superman as you can get short of being Bizarro. Learning the appeal of these traits formed the basis for his growth over the course of his series.

Seeing Yang bring in a lot of recognizable "Superman" elements in the series, but with a twist, was also great. Kenan is the one who bullies "Luo Lixin" rather than the traditional Clark/Lex friendship of Pre-Crisis and Birthright. Initially Kenan develops a crush on intrepid reporter for Primetime Shanghai, Laney Lan, but she dismisses him as too young and Kenan eventually ends up pursuing Avery Ho (Flash) instead. Baxi the Bat-Man of China has a similar relationship with Kenan as the traditional Superman/Batman in terms of being vitriolic best buds, however Baxi is the one who has the most respect for authority while Kenan is the rebel. Kenan is a part of the "Justice League of China" which does not meet with the approval of the already established Chinese superheroes, the Great Ten. That contrasts nicely with the good relationship the Justice Society and Justice League have, as well as seeing Yang lampshade the "Chinese copy" trope and incorporate that into his storytelling.

One of the funniest differences is how Kenan chooses to immediately reveal his identity as Super-Man to the world by taking off the compliance visor he was forced to wear, contrasting with Clark's choice to hide his identity. He was so eager to impress people that he never gave any thought to the danger he could put himself or his family in by revealing his identity until it was too late, something Clark is well aware of and has taken great pains to keep his identity secret. Was a missed opportunity for DC to have Kenan comment on Clark copying him for once when he outed himself under Bendis.

But one of the most poignant differences between Clark and Kenan is the gulf in separation between their relationship with their parents. Clark has a loving relationship with Ma and Pa Kent, trying to live up to their lessons as best he can. In contrast Kenan's mom was believed to have died in an airplane crash when he was just a child, and he never really knew her. His father was distant from him after that and the two weren't really close despite Kenan's attempts to impress him. So Kenan lacks that strong connection while still clearly loving both of them.

Pa Kent's death is one of the most tragic examples of Clark's love for his parents, and I've always been a fan of takes where Clark promises his father to fight for the powerless on Pa's deathbed. Kenan gets a similar scene at the start of his career, his dad "dies" (after being exposed as Flying General Dragon, a pro-democracy "supervillain" from the Chinese authorities perspective) and wants Kenan to promise he'll fight for Truth, Justice, and Democracy. But because Kenan's dad never really bonded with him, Kenan doesn't know what those mean, and can only promise that he never wants to see people die, something his father takes comfort in at least. In classic comic book fashion it's revealed that Dr. Omen, Kenan's "boss" and the one who gave him his powers, saved Kenan's father, because she is Kenan's mother! Kenan's relationship with his parents forms a lot of the crux of his character arc, and seeing how Yang utilizes the classic Superman concept of family kept the storytelling exciting.

Yang's brilliant exploration of the concept of "Superman" through the prism of Chinese culture was a great way to differentiate Kenan as well.

I absolutely freaking love how he tied to the concept of Qi to the S-shield in particular. Connecting the shape of the shield with the way Kenan has acquired his powers along the path of the Bagua (eight trigrams used in Taoism that represent the fundamental principles of reality), with his octagon S-shield outline representing all eight principles together, was mindblowing! So was the idea of restricting Kenan's access to his powers unless he was actually acting in a Superman manner, that tied his character growth to his power growth in an entertaining manner. There were so many characters and concepts that meshed Chinese and DC lore together, like how Emperor Super-Man was Kenan's "Doomsday", they even recreated that iconic dual kill shot! The Chinese Wonder Woman Peng Deilan, being based on the Chinese Legend of the White Snake! There was even some Korean mythology referenced with the Aqua-Man member of the JLC "Dragonson".

Yang also managed to do a Superman Blue/Superman Red story with Super-Man Yin/Super-Man Yang!

Shameful that it took me a while to realize what Gene Yang was doing but once I caught on I was touched. You can tell how much Yang loved Superman and his mythology, and how he was excited to incorporate as much from Clark as he could, while still using it in a way that was solidly Kenan's. And not just Superman's mythology, but the history and lore of the entire DC Universe. I-Ching got to be brought in, fleshed out, and used as Kenan's mentor! The "Yellow Peril" villain from Detective Comics #1, the comic DC gets its name from was brought in and revamped as I-Ching's twin brother All-Yang! Hats off to Yang for taking a racist caricature and attempting to make him into something more.

This series was a beautiful attempt by Gene Yang to build a space for Asian heroes and villains where they could be more than stereotypes, Kenan himself being a defiant mold-breaker in every regard as the complete opposite of most Asian characters in Western media (a jock, a bully, loves his dad but not on great terms with him, a powerhouse as a hero, etc). So much thought and hard work was poured into this by Yang and his team of artist collaborators.

Especially the costumes, man Kenan had so many great looks. From his starting outfit (which is my favorite Superman variant not worn by Clark himself), to the one with the Yin/Yang shield he acquired later on, to his Super-Man Yin & Super-Man Yang outfits, Kenan looked damn cool. Part of me is bummed they didn't go with the Chinese character shield they toyed around with, but I loved how Yang used the "s-shield" as a plot point, so I'm not too broken up over it.

All that great work Yang did to build that space up has been more or less forgotten sadly. It was nice to see Kenan in the DC Asian Month Celebration issue. Avery is going to be in Justice Incarnate at least (unsurprising considering she was created by Williamson). So fucking bummed that Superman Family Adventures cartoon didn't happen, they were going to have Kenan and John Henry Irons in it! Would've been a dream come true for me to see Irons in animation again, and Kenan making the jump to outside media! Maybe that would've encouraged DC to let Yang keep writing New Super-Man, or at least encouraged them to use him elsewhere instead of allowing him fall into Limbo.

Unfortunately I'm not sure what the future holds for Kenan. Jon is being pushed as Clark's replacement in the comics, with DC keeping all the other contenders such as Kon benched. Calvin is leading the Justice Incarnate team likely due to the upcoming Coates reboot that will make Clark black. Val will probably get something once Taylor leaves Jon's book or once they officially announce the HBO Max show is happening. So where does that leave Kenan, my new favorite PoC legacy hero? Currently my only hope is that Yang is working on something for DC involving him. Yang left Batman/Superman, where I was hoping to see a Baxi/Kenan team up, to go work on "exciting other opportunities" per his Twitter. So fingers crossed that there's something in the works for Kenan!

One day I hope he gets his day in the sun again.

#kenan kong #new super man #gene yang #justice league of china #superman #dc comics

143 notes · View notes

timelesslords · 3 years

Note

Can u pls write a percabeth fic where Percy and Rachel are dating and percabeth are best friends and they end up spending the night together and it's been a week and they don't know how to tell Rachel and Rachel being bitter ?? Pls

This was kind of out of my comfort zone in terms of what I usually write lol but I tried my best!! I imagine this as like a mortal college AU :)

send me a prompt!

“Beth, you can’t walk home like this,” Percy said, exasperated.

“I’m fine! I’m hardly even drunk,” Annabeth said, trying (and failing) to quash the butterflies in her stomach when he called her Beth. Percy, having been her best friend for almost a decade, was the only person in the whole world who was allowed to call her that. He only pulled it out in rare situations, and every time he did Annabeth would swear her heart skipped five consecutive beats.

Not that he could ever know that, of course. Now felt like a more precarious situation than most-- she’d come over to his dorm so they could watch a movie together, and had ended up curled up together on his bed around his laptop. In fairness, his dorm was tiny and there was nowhere else to sit besides his bed, but if Annabeth imagined really hard she could pretend that it had all been completely intentional, and he was sitting this close to her because he wanted to.

“Hardly?” Percy asked, raising an eyebrow. And, fine. Annabeth had had… an amount to drink. A non-zero amount, some might say. More than Percy, and she had a way lower tolerance than him. She was buzzed, sure, but not buzzed enough to walk back across campus to her own dorm.

“I’m fine. It’s barely twenty minutes,” Annabeth protested. She started to stand up, but Percy gently tugged her back into the bed. She should have put up more resistance than she did, but, well. Who could blame her.

“It’s also three in the morning and you’re drunk,” Percy said, “Come on, just stay the night.”

“Stay where? Grover’s bed?” Annabeth asked, repressing giggles at the thought. It wasn’t really that funny a thought, but, well, she was tipsy.

Percy’s roommate was gone for the night to visit his girlfriend, leaving his bed empty. Grover was a cool guy, but he also had a weird tendency to leave soda cans just about everywhere, including in his bed.

Percy just rolled his eyes. “No, here.”

It took Annabeth a few seconds to realize exactly what he was saying.

“In your bed?” Annabeth asked, hesitantly.

“We’ve been sitting on it together all night,” Percy pointed out.

“Yeah, but…” Annabeth trailed off.

It was different. She knew it was different. And frankly, any other time she’d be absolutely delighted that Percy was offering that difference, but there was also the issue of Percy’s girlfriend. Percy’s girlfriend, who he’d met their freshman year and hit it off with despite the fact that Annabeth had been in love with him since she knew what love was. Percy’s girlfriend, who was in another dorm on campus not ten minutes away, not here but also not not here.

“But what?” Percy asked. There was the tiniest bit of a smirk on his face, and Annabeth shoved his shoulder, rolling her eyes.

“You know what,” she said. Maybe it came off a little more seriously than she’d meant, but he didn’t seem to care.

“It’s not like we’d be doing anything,” Percy said. Annabeth tried not to feel hurt at how foreign the concept of “doing anything” seemed to him in relation to him and her. But she didn’t have any right to feel any type of way about that, because she and Percy were just friends and Percy had a girlfriend who was not going to be happy about Annabeth spending the night in his bed, regardless of which activities did or did not take place there.

“Yeah, I know, but its just… I don’t know, don’t you think Rachel will be mad?”

“You’re staying here because you need a place to crash. She can’t be mad about that.”

“I’m pretty sure she could find something to be mad about,” Annabeth muttered, mostly to herself. Percy heard her though. They were sitting so close their shoulders were touching, so it would have been a miracle if he didn’t.

“Fine, I’ll sleep on the floor. She can’t be mad about that,” Percy said, actually making to get up like he was about to lie down right there and then. It was Annabeth’s turn to pull him back onto the mattress.

“Don’t be stupid, you’re not sleeping on the floor in your own dorm room,” Annabeth said, “Besides, she’d just say I kicked you off your bed.”

Maybe Annabeth should’ve kept that last bit to herself, but she’d never been very good at hiding her feelings about Rachel. Percy sighed, knowing she was right but not wanting to admit it.

“Well I’m not letting you sleep on the floor,” he said stubbornly, despite the fact that Annabeth hadn’t even suggested it. She had to bite back a laugh at the indignant look on his face.

“Percy, I was never going to sleep on your floor. I was going to go home,” she reminded him.

“Well I’m not letting you do that either,” he said, “So I guess you’re stuck in bed with me, unless you want me to spend the night on concrete.”

“You’re so goddamn annoying,” Annabeth grumbled.

“Does that mean you’re staying?” he asked. His expression brightened considerably at the prospect, and Annabeth had to physically force herself to calm her heart rate down.

“Well apparently I don’t have a choice,” Annabeth said, rolling her eyes, praying to every god in the universe that she wasn’t blushing.

“Right,” Percy said, putting on some exaggerated confidence, “Obviously. So am I taking the floor or the bed?”

Annabeth knew he would sleep on the floor in a heartbeat. If she told him that she was uncomfortable being in his bed with him, he would gladly spend the night on cold concrete in the middle of winter in a dorm that had, frankly, terrible heating.

But she wasn’t about to make him do that. And if she was honest with herself, being in bed with him was the opposite of uncomfortable.

“The bed,” she sighed. Percy grinned triumphantly.

“I knew you wouldn’t make me sleep on the floor,” he said, and Annabeth finally let herself laugh.

“Yeah, because I told you so twice.”

“I think it’s because I know you so well, actually,” he said, finally closing his laptop that had been playing the movie earlier, and setting it on his bedside table. They’d turned the lights off earlier, and without the soft glow of the computer screen the only lights in the room were the faint street lights outside.

The bed was just a regular old twin, with not much space for either of them. That was why they were touching so much, Annabeth reminded herself. Just that. No other reason. He just put his arm around her shoulders because it was more comfortable that way, that was all.

It was late, and Annabeth was drunk, so falling asleep was easy. But she’d be lying if she said Percy didn’t help with that too.

***

It’d been a week since Annabeth had spent the night at Percy’s dorm, and they hadn’t talked about it at all.

She’d woken up the next morning completely hungover, and also with her and Percy’s limbs completely tangled together. The bed they’d shared was small, but it wasn’t that small.

Percy, of course, had acted like it was nothing. He’d teased her about her bed head and she’d half-heartedly teased him back about his morning breath, and then she’d packed her stuff from the night before and made her walk of shame back to her dorm. Except it wasn’t even a proper walk of shame, because they hadn’t actually done anything.

He hadn’t brought it up since, like it had been no big deal at all. Annabeth wished she could be so lowkey about it, but it was the only thing she’d been thinking about that entire week.

They’d already planned to meet up at the end of the week again, only this time in a group setting. A group setting meant Rachel was going to be there, and Percy might think their little sleepover hadn’t been a big deal, but Rachel was definitely not going to share that opinion. Annabeth was honestly dreading facing her so much that she considered bailing at least ten times. In the end, she decided that she had to just suck it up— she was going to have to face Rachel at some point, it might as well have been now.

All that to say Annabeth was a little surprised when she showed up at the party, only to find Rachel acting completely normal towards her. She was irritated towards Annabeth, but that wasn’t unusual. Rachel was always irritated towards Annabeth, and Annabeth was always irritated towards Rachel. But Rachel wasn’t pissed at her like Annabeth expected her to be. She wasn’t even not pissed, she was downright cordial.

All it took was one look at Percy for Annabeth to confirm what she already knew. He hadn’t told her.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, grabbing Percy’s arm and pulling him down the hallway. Rachel was going to be pissed at her for that, but Annabeth didn’t care. Percy followed along without complaint, not even bothering to shoot Rachel an apologetic look.

The hallway was empty, or as empty as a hallway at a college party could be. The music was loud enough to cover up their conversation, anyway.

“Did you not tell her?” Annabeth asked, keeping her voice barely above a whisper. Percy immediately looked guilty.

“You don’t know that,” he said, as if everything about both of their demeanors hadn’t given it away instantly.

“Of course I do, she wasn’t absolutely furious with me,” Annabeth hissed. Percy looked, if possible, more guilty than before.

“Okay, fine, I didn’t,” he admitted, “But what’s the big deal? It’s not like we did anything.”

And there it was again, those two little words and the way he said them, as if anything happening between the two of them was an impossibility. It felt like a dagger straight to the heart, but Annabeth ignored it.

“I dunno,” Annabeth said, “I mean if I was your girlfriend, I think I would want to know.”

Percy had choked on his drink halfway through her statement, and was already coughing before she could finish it.

“Are you okay?” Annabeth asked, alarmed. Percy just shook his head.

“Fine,” Percy managed to choke out, “I’m fine.”

“Am I going to have to heimlich you again?”

“Hey, you promised you would never bring that up again,” Percy said, pointing an accusing finger at her as he coughed again, clearing his throat a few times for good measure, “Besides, I don’t think it works for soda.”

“Fair. But don’t change the subject.”

“You changed the subject first,” Percy accused, in a not subtle attempt to change the subject once again.

“Because I thought you were choking, dumbass. You have to tell her.”

“Why?” Percy practically whined.

“Because the fact that you don’t want to means you know she’s going to be mad about it,” Annabeth said.

Percy groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“Why are you so smart?” he asked. It sounded like a complaint, even though she knew he didn’t mean it that way. It sure felt that way, though.

“‘Cause one of us has to be,” Annabeth sighed.

If Annabeth were smarter, she would’ve never agreed to spend the night to begin with. But it was way too late for that now.

They went back and joined the group, but Annabeth knew Rachel was staring (bordering on glaring) at her the entire rest of the night. She couldn’t even really blame her. She was going to be a hell of a lot more mad at Annabeth once she found out the reason Annabeth had pulled Percy away to begin with.

The very next day Annabeth was in her dorm room, trying to finish a project for her architecture class. It was due on Monday, but she’d been so distracted the entire week that she’d barely even made a dent in it at all. It wasn’t coming together the way she wanted to and Annabeth was three seconds away from snapping her pencil in half and throwing the whole draft away. Before she could, there was a sharp knock at the door.

Annabeth glanced down at her phone, but she didn’t see any texts. Maybe it was the RA doing an inspection, or maybe Piper had forgotten her key again.

But when Annabeth opened the door, she found Percy standing in the doorway. He spoke before Annabeth could even open her mouth.

“So, I told her,” Percy said, with absolutely no context. He knew she didn’t need it. Annabeth found herself gripping the door so tightly she thought her fingers might break.

“You did? What happened?” Annabeth asked, trying not to sound frantic. Why was he here? Why didn’t he just call her? What if Rachel had made him swear to never talk to her again and he was just here to say goodb--

“She asked me to tell her with 100% certainty that I didn’t have feelings for you,” Percy said, impossibly calm.

If Rachel had asked him that, why was he standing in Annabeth’s doorway?

“And?” Annabeth said, voice small. Her heart was practically pounding out of her chest, but Percy just shrugged.

“And, I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t?” Annabeth repeated, just to make sure she had heard him correctly.

“Nope,” he said, easily, too easily, “To be honest, I couldn’t even give her like, 1% certainty, but that would’ve felt a little rude to say.”

“So…” Annabeth trailed off. She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. It didn’t make sense in her brain. Percy had feelings for her. And he’d broken up with Rachel, which meant— which meant—

“I think now is the part where you tell me if you like me back,” Percy said, interrupting her thoughts. He was smiling though, like he already knew the answer.

Annabeth did not currently have the mental wherewithal to form words. Thankfully her feet did the thinking for her, closing the already small distance between them and kissing him like she’d wanted to do for years.

“So I take it that’s a yes?” he said with a grin, when they finally broke apart. Annabeth was pleased to see he was a little breathless, at least.

“Shut up,” she laughed.

“Gladly,” he said, leaning down to kiss her again.

#this is so long and the ending is.... it is #i tried yall 😭#percabeth #percy jackson #percabeth fic #annabeth chase #pjo fic #rachel elizabeth dare slander #she truly is not even a person in this she's a cardboard cutout of a person lmao #percabeth fanfic #pining #so much pining

107 notes · View notes

wolveria · 3 years

Text

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 1

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Summary: Assigned all cases involving android-related crimes, saddled with a prototype that follows him around like a plastic puppy, Detective Connor Anderson knows this must be karma for all the bad shit he’s ever done.

He thought he'd hit rock bottom, that he didn't have much left to lose, but he's proven wrong by the android sent by CyberLife. And Connor learns just how much further he can fall.

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang 2020 challenge!

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

AO3

(Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet)

November 5th, 2038

Friday 11:21PM

The whiskey was harsh and burned like liquid fire as it slid down his throat. He dropped the shot glass onto the bar top and closed his eyes and savored the bloom of the cheap booze warming his chest. The music from the old jukebox behind him belted out tunes that would have been considered outdated when the place opened.

It was like this most nights. He was alone, exhausted, and well on his way to a pleasant buzz. The one thing Connor had going for him was that he hadn’t started in on his third drink until 11 PM.

That had to be some kind of record. On a Friday night, he was usually shitfaced by 10. Call it the long hours he’d been working, or maybe the fact he felt more self-loathing than usual, he’d somehow managed to hold off on spiraling until nearly midnight.

Definitely a record. And Connor deserved to celebrate.

When he tipped the glass with one finger and caught Jimmy’s eye, he nearly looked away in shame. The bartender had never given him shit before, at least in a verbal sense, but the cool stare he gave Connor now made him want to crawl into a hole and die there.

But Jimmy didn’t say a word, just gave him another dose of poison and turned away, leaving Connor in relative peace to enjoy the game. Denton Carter was kicking ass tonight, so at least there was that.

It was all going beautifully until the door opened and the sound of rain echoed throughout the tiny bar, along with a distinct smell of wet asphalt and dirty concrete. Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw two of the other regulars shift in their seats to stare at the newcomer.

Not another regular, then. And by how lengthy the stares were and the sudden shift in atmosphere, Connor guessed the barometric pressure had taken a drop due to a pair of long legs and pretty eyes.

Turning his body only far enough to get a glance for himself, Connor was not disappointed, eyeing the stranger from their black dress shoes, up their shapely legs clad in dark jeans, past curvy hips and—

Oh.

Connor turned back in his seat, hunched over and grimacing in disgust, put there by the sight of a blue triangle on a lapel and a glowing armband around one arm. He hadn’t even needed to look higher for the LED to know what the fuck had just waltzed into the joint like it actually belonged there.

He nursed his whiskey, praying the thing would pass him by and leave him the fuck alone. Or better yet, Jimmy would throw it out.

No such luck, of course.

“Detective Anderson,” spoke a smooth, raspy voice to his right. “I’m the YN800 model sent by CyberLife.”

He elected to ignore it. Maybe if he did so for long enough, it would take the hint and go away.

Again, Connor’s luck was not holding out.

“I called your cell phone, but you didn’t answer,” the voice continued, unimpeded. “I then looked for you at the station after checking your home, but you weren’t there either. Your colleagues indicated you tended to frequent the bars in the area, and I was fortunate to find you at the fifth one.”

His eye twitched. This thing had gone to his apartment?

“Well, here I am,” he answered, dry and caustic as he stared straight ahead at the wall of bottles. He calculated how angry Jimmy would be if he took out his service pistol and shot it through the head.

Pretty angry, Connor decided. It would probably leave a stain. Also, he didn’t want to compensate some asshole company for property damage.

“What do you want?” he finally growled, scratching his nail into the bar top already marred with various scuffs and dings.

“You were assigned a case earlier this evening. A homicide.”

Already, a headache was forming between the eyes at the sound of the android’s irritatingly friendly voice.

“Yeah, and?”

“It involved a CyberLife android,” it said in that same smooth inflection. “In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

You have to be shitting me.

Connor grit his teeth and clenched his glass tighter, a flush of heat moving through him that had nothing to do with his blood alcohol content. A fucking android was sent to help cops do their job?

Fuck that, and fuck this hunk of junk.

“Good for them,” he answered as he tipped the glass up to his lips. “I couldn’t give less of a shit. Now get the fuck out of my face. We don’t need any help, especially from a plastic pair of tits like you.”

He should have known that wasn’t the end of it. The android spoke again, adopting a tone of what it had probably been programmed as “sympathetic.”

“I understand you may be experiencing reluctance to having an android’s assistance in this matter, but I am—“

“—ruining a perfectly good evening, butting your nose where it doesn’t belong and sure as fuck isn’t welcome.”

Connor put his glass down harder on the bar top than he meant to, nearly spilling his drink.

“I suggest you leave before I void your warranty.”

Connor thought the machine got the message when it finally went silent. He could even see its mood ring spinning yellow out of the corner of his eye before it settled on that annoying placid blue.

He’d just brought the glass halfway to his lips when it said, “I’m sorry, Detective, but I must insist.”

Connor set the glass back down and started to count to ten. He couldn’t lose it now, he’d promised Jimmy he wouldn’t break anything else after the last brawl he’d gotten into.

But the fucking thing just kept on talking.

“My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you.”

“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Connor growled before downing the glass of whiskey.

It was a good thing he had, because its next words made him choke on spit.

“No. Where?”

Connor set the glass down, and for the first time that evening, fully turned toward the android and stared at it.

The damn thing was staring back, head slightly tilted like a curious puppy. It had large eyes to match the image too, earnest and innocent and entirely too sincere. Its attire at second glance wasn’t the typical android faire. A smooth grey android jacket and a dark, patterned tie marked it as something different. Unique.

And just a little too pretty. Every designed, group-focused imperfection on its face made it that much more appealing. Its hair was neatly coifed, pulled up and pinned behind its head, exposing the smooth curve of its neck.

Hanging down the left side of its face was a strategically-placed lock of hair that Connor immediately want to twirl his finger around. He suspected that was the point.

The further down Connor’s eyes traveled, the more he lost his train of thought. The perfectly sensible tie was lying on the slope of its breasts, something even the jacket couldn’t cover. Why the fuck androids had breasts to begin with, Connor couldn’t begin to fathom, and it seemed even more ludicrous now seeing them on a “specialized model.”

The android hadn’t moved apart from its artificial breathing, another thing about the machines that was uncanny. They weren’t human, and the fact CyberLife kept trying to pass them off as such was a goddamn insult to humanity.

He met the thing’s eye, gave an unimpressed huff, and went back to nursing his drink. If the fucking tin can didn’t understand a dirty innuendo, he certainly wasn’t going to ruin its pristine, virginal programming.

Connor doubted everything that had just gone through his head as those unnecessarily realistic tits were pressed against his elbow, without warning or any sense of decency or a concept of personal space.

“How about this, Detective?”

Connor fumbled, nearly spilling his drink, a massive what the fuck! warning flashing in his head as the machine pressed closer.

“I’ll buy you another drink, on the house. Surely that’s worth a few minutes of your time? And if not, you can send me on my way.”

Connor couldn’t speak with that voice right into his ear like a close confidant, sultry and low and borderline pornographic, so it was a good thing the android didn’t bother waiting for a response.

Instead, it turned to Jimmy and said in a louder, more normal tone, “Bartender, another round for the detective, please.”

Jimmy turned from where he was cleaning glasses on the counter, eyebrows shooting upward as he looked from the machine to Connor. It had backed up a few inches, but there were a lot of reflective bottles on the wall. Connor wondered just how much Jimmy had seen.

Connor gave a little helpless shrug as if to say, Don’t look at me, I don’t know what the fuck it’s doing!

But when the damn thing actually brought out real paper money and set it on the counter, Jimmy got moving. Seemed he wasn’t picky about where his money came from, and Connor almost resented the fact he hadn’t thrown the android out on principle.

Who the hell gave it money in the first place? CyberLife? What, did they hand it a few bucks of allowance before letting it off its leash?

Despite all his reservations, and there were a great many of them, Connor was not about to turn down a free drink. Or two.

“Make it a double,” he grumbled, purposefully avoiding the android’s focused gaze. He could practically feel the thing staring into the side of his head, but at least it remained at a distance and wasn’t pressed against his side like a drunk, horny badge bunny anymore.

“Thanks, Jim.” Connor took the glass and tipped it back, drowning it in one go. The slide of the familiar burn down his throat, spreading throughout his limbs, did quite a lot to help ease the tension in his muscles.

He released a heavy exhale, pushed away from the bar, and got to his feet.

“You want to play plastic cop? Okay, then. Keep up,” he said, tilting his head in its direction without actually looking at it. “Or I’m leaving your ass behind.”

Connor didn’t wait for a response, only raised his hand in parting to Jimmy, and pushed open the door to let the rain-drenched Detroit night swallow him whole. But even through the sound of the rain pinging off the hood of his nearby car he could hear the even footfalls behind him, just a little too close for comfort.

Fucking androids.

Next Chapter

#connor x reader #detroit: become human #human!connor #android!reader #dbh au big bang #my writing #my fanfiction #inside your wires #i make connor suffer but he's gonna be hard about it

247 notes · View notes

whoacanada · 4 years

Text

‘Wishful Thinking‘

Summary: Every NHL champion gets a single brush with ice magic. When Jack takes his first cup with the Falconers, he accidentally undoes the wish that brought him back from the brink of death in 2009, and Bitty becomes hell-bent on lifting the cup himself for a chance to set things right.

A/N: Finally posting some concepts I’ve played around with that aren’t 100% complete massive fics, but still pretty solid, just little things that might be enjoyed. Yet another cup-wish-gone-wrong-au with monkey-paw components. Also inspired by discord convos about canon!Jack meeting an older, veteran NHL!Bitty and having a lot of feelings. Also mentor/father-in-law!Bob trying to help Bitty navigate the NHL. There’s more to this floating around but this is the meat of it

____________

Bob can sense when it happens. A shift of something monumental that he’s only felt on a handful of occasions his entire life. A quick glance across the ice finds a number of the celebrating Falconers looking around curiously, unsure of the sensation; for so many, it’s their first brush with ice magic. A pleasant novelty. The vets, though, they look to each other.

Bob turns and doesn’t have to look far to find his son, one hand clasped around the cup, the other around Eric Bittle’s waist, smiling from ear to ear. Something about the moment is wrong, but Bob can’t quite determine why as he’s overcome with a wave of nausea. The stadium lights are too bright and he blinks hard, face scrunching, trying to force whatever wrongness he’s feeling out of himself.

Someone’s made a wish.

The moment passes. Bob’s vision clears. There, veiled in a shower of blue and gold confetti, is Eric; alone at center ice, face twisted in confusion as he looks around for the man who only moments earlier had been in his arms.

“You take the cup, you get one real wish,” the decades old, bourbon-lacquered voice of his first coach reminds him. “But only the one. Can be something small, like an empty cab in the rain, or it can be something big. World changing, even. The one thing, the most important thing — ”

“No,” Bob breathes. “Please, no.”

“— You never use your wish on another player.”

____________

They don’t know exactly what Jack wished for, but the next time Bitty’s blades touch the ice, it’s as if he’s stepped into the body of a new man. No more slurs. No more targeted chirps. He’s just one of the boys.

He plays. He wins. Then, the offers start to come.

NHL teams looking for fast wingers, team players, leadership material; not one of them mentions diversity, or Eric’s status as the first out NCAA hockey captain. No one cares. No one remembers Jack, and no one cares about Eric.

The best and worst case scenarios rolled into one. If this is the reality Jack unknowingly traded his existence for, Bitty has no choice but to walk through the door his partner opened.

Bitty swallows, trying to force the words out on one of his now nightly calls with the man who would have been his father-in-law in another world, if the shared connection between them hadn’t been interred in a Montréal cemetery almost a decade prior.

“I think . . . I think he wished for acceptance.”

___________

“No one remembers anymore.”

Eric scuffs his skate against this ice, building up a small pile of shavings before scattering them again, focusing on the soft white as if somehow he’ll be able to transport himself bodily to somewhere cool and quiet. Jackson Hole. Banff. Tremblant. Anywhere but here. Anywhen but now.

“Saw Tater last week at a press junket. Blank stares all around. Some days, most days, I wake up and I don’t know how I got here. I can go without thinking of him.”

Weeks. Eric doesn’t say aloud. Months. Those hideous mornings when he wakes up beside a warm body and forgets they aren’t him. They aren’t supposed to be him. Was there ever even a him.

Jack. Eric mouths silently, just to remind himself. His name is Jack.

The details always slip. The universe constantly trying to correct the fallacy of Eric Bittle remembering a man who died before they technically ever met. Faded photographs and corrupted memory cards. Selfies that used to have two people in frame. Vlog posts with cosmic ADR, swapping Jack’s name for someone else’s like a hastily rewritten script. Eventually, even Eric’s memories turn traitor. First times lost to reshoots and post-production magic. Blue eyes are brown. Black hair is blonde. Jack becomes Phillip. Eric’s first love recast. In desperation, he pulls a page from Memento, finds a tattoo parlor and has ‘Jack Laurent Zimmermann’ inked in dark, unmistakable letters on his inner thigh. Adds a cup, the Falconers’ crest, and the date they lost everything. It works well enough until the name fades; there are still days where a hook up will ask why Eric has a championship tattoo for a team he never played with.

Now, all he has is Bob.

“That’s why I’m here.” Bob reminds. “That’s why we talk.”

“But what happens if we don’t.”

Bob’s familiar assurances rumble through the phone. Constant. Refusing to acknowledge the harsh realities of the passing of time. The ever-present doomsday clock moving them both toward disaster — Bob aging, Eric aging out. He’s good, but he isn’t great, and the only offers coming his way are single-season contracts with teams that haven’t sniffed a championship in years. One day very soon, there will be no more chances for Eric to undo what’s been done. No more favors to ask of teammates that have long since forgotten a world where Jack Zimmermann was a college graduate and a rookie MVP. Not just an addict. Not just dead at nineteen.

Eric listens to Bob ramble, asks him to tell him a story, to tell him about the Jack that Eric never really got to know. The Jack he can barely remember. A man that Eric has dedicated his entire life to honoring, to bringing back — from where he cannot fathom — and Bob obliges in a soft tone Eric imagines is not dissimilar from how he must have spoken to his son as a child.

Eric ignores his teammates rushing around him — tossing chirps and gentle insults about his ‘Sugar Daddy’ — and focuses on the accented voice in his ear; grasping desperately at the memory of a man who doesn’t exist. Pretending. Hoping.

__________

Across the ice, Eric sees Kent Parson watching him. When they lock eyes, the aging star glides toward him, under a guise of one amicable captain greeting another. He’s pushing 37, and while the years of competitive play are starting to show, he’s just as viciously handsome as the day they first met. At least, Eric thinks he is. He can’t imagine a life where Kent Parson strolled onto a college campus and played beer pong at a frat party, but there’s a folder of old photos on Eric’s computer. Jack is in none of them, but there’s one of himself and Kent. Smiling.

Eric can’t recall why the image bothers him so much.

Parson used his wish years ago on something that he’s never bothered to share — and Eric’s far too much a gentleman to ask a man who was once a rival what he wasted his golden ticket on — but now, he’s slowing down, and this is supposed to be his farewell season. Going out with a bang, riding the high of his fifth cup win. He’s worked hard, and he deserves to shove the Penguins back down into obscurity for another season. Deserves it far more than Eric, with his selfish, single-mindedness that’s ruined god knows how many careers in the last decade between his own ruthlessness and Bob’s meddling.

Except. . . this is also likely Eric’s last season. His last chance to undo the great tragedy of his life, and Parson knows it.

“How you feeling, Peaches? You ready?”

Eric hates the nickname in the same way he hates when his father calls him ‘Champ’.

Eric fights his own shame because he wants to be honest, say, ‘No, I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready,’ but Eric can’t ask for what he wants, anymore. He wants the Aces to balk on a power play. He wants Parson to flub a pass and throw the game — he even knows the man would probably do it, too — but Eric needs to come by a win honestly. They learned the hard way in 2022 when Eric hands were wrapped around the cup, wishing, praying, crying, pleading . . .

Clear eyes, full hearts, or some such bullshit.

Cheaters don’t get wishes.

“I can’t remember, anymore,” Eric admits as they square up across the face-off circle, the resigned terror of an inescapable end creeping upon him like the burn of an old injury ignored for far too long. “Kent. Please.” Parson leans down, rests his stick against the ice, and holds Eric’s gaze as if to say, I’m here. Trust me. Just play.

The puck drops.

________

There’s someone watching him, young, handsome with dark hair and the kind of bright blue eyes that scream ‘notice me’ with all of the biological bluntness of neon plumage and a mating dance. The man weaves through the crowd, unnoticed by Eric’s teammates, and comes close enough that Eric can’t help but assume familiarity. He must be a fan, the way he’s flushed and excitable.

Eric’s drunk enough on the moment that he’s happy to indulge his baser instincts. He also literally can’t remember the last time he brought company home and if there’s ever been a night to get laid, it’s this one.

“Crisse, look at you, Bits.”

The man is caught between being awestruck and simply struck, reaching out to touch Eric’s arm but not quite making contact, like his depth perception is the tiniest bit off. He drops Eric’s old nickname so easily, so earnestly, that for a moment Eric thinks they might already know each other — but that’s impossible. Eric would remember someone so handsome, so very much his type.

“Only my friends call me ‘Bitty’.” Eric cautions, raising his half-empty champagne bottle in a mock toast and flashing his best ‘you’re coming home with me tonight’ smile. “But I’m more than happy to to get acquainted with you, Sugar.”

Eric isn’t usually this forward, this unrestrained. Tonight, it doesn’t matter, he’s celebrating: another championship, the end of a career, a life well lived. It’s to be expected. What isn’t expected is how the man’s relieved smile falters; as if Eric’s unbridled joy is somehow misplaced.

“Bitty? It’s me.”

“And ‘me’ is called . . . ?”

On very few occasions in Eric’s life has he been able to witness true devastation first-hand; and those instances were related to deaths, hockey losses, or blackout morning afters.

“Jack.” The man says softly, face slack with surprise. “It’s. . . Jack. Bitty, you know me.”

“If we’ve met before, I’m sorry,” Eric apologizes, hating to see the kid look so defeated. “I meet so many people — ”

Over Jack’s shoulder, Eric catches sight of Bob Zimmermann and waves, delighting in the way Bob’s face lights up when he catches sight of Eric, practically going supernova when he notices Jack as well, crossing the ice like a man possessed; Bob moves to pull them both into a hug but Eric’s new friend holds up a defensive hand and Bob stops mid-gesture.

It’s extremely apparent something is off, and between the reporters, the confetti, the champagne, and the fans, Eric is missing all of the context clues.

“Just won my last cup,” Eric singsongs, gesturing with the bottle between his mentor and the man Eric would very much like to fuck — who look very similar now that Eric can see them side by side. “Everyone’s super excited, right? Yeah? So, what’s going on. Did someone die?”

“No.” Bob says quickly, eyes flicking between Jack and Eric warily. “No. Not . . . that.”

“Severely injured?”

“. . . Non.”

“Okay, then, we should be celebrating!” Eric throws his arms wide and nearly clocks a passing teammate. “No more party pooping, Bobbert. Speaking, this is my new friend, Jack. Jack, Bob, Bob, Jack. Though, I’m getting the feeling you two might know each other. Or might be . . . related.” Eric gasps and smacks his free palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, the Tremblant retreat? Is that where I know you from? Listen, I was fucked up on pain meds that whole weekend, I am so sorry if we’ve already met.”

Despite Eric’s continued attempts at clarifying their shared mystery past, Jack keeps looking at Bob with that same wounded expression and it’s really killing Eric’s buzz.

“Bob.” Eric redirects. “Help me, here. Cutie’s nervous.”

“Eric, this is my, ah, well,” Bob’s smile is so forced, so tense, it looks more like a grimace. “Well, this is my son, Jack.”

There is only one ‘Jack’ Eric has ever known in relation to Bob Zimmermann, and he is not someone to be mentioned in polite conversation.

“Your son?” Eric echoes slowly. “Your son, Jack.”

Bob realizes what Eric’s tiptoeing around and casts a furtive glance toward the younger man, lifting two fingers to his cheek conspiratorially to imply ‘it’s a long story, not meant for public ears’. Eric knows how to play along.

“Wow, okay, did not expect that, but now that you’re saying it, I can one-hundred-percent tell. You have the same, well, everything.”

Eric takes Jack’s hand for an obligatory shake, not missing the way Jack’s features twist up into something caught between flattery and misery, before staring down his pseudo-mentor.

“My question is this, where have you’ve been hiding him — because how long have I know you, Bobby? Shame.”

“I’ve been . . . away.”

Jack’s tone is weighted with context Eric absolutely does not possess, but can definitely read into. Given the age difference and Alicia’s conspicuous lack of attendance this evening, Jack’s definitely a love child from some 90s Zimmergroupie. Or, original Jack didn’t actually OD and Bob spirited away his kid to keep away the prying eyes of the public; but that wouldn’t explain the age difference or the shared name.

Oh, Bobbert.

“Couldn’t wheel him out too soon,” Bob jokes, but Eric can tell the man’s heart isn’t in it, reinforcing Eric’s suspicion.

“Well, I’m happy you did,” Eric says graciously, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “He’s very handsome, when he isn’t doing this Eeyore impression.”

“Just like his father,” Bob says reflexively — defensively — as Jack goes pink. “Eric, will you excuse us for a moment? Back in five minutes, tops.”

Eric offers a gracious wave, gaze lingering on Jack’s retreating back — and backside, bless — watching Bob rest a firm hand on his son’s neck, gripping tightly to lean in and furiously whisper something. As Eric watches, Jack looks back over his shoulder; it’s not the fond glance of a potential paramour. Regret, maybe? Grief, definitely.

He must be as disappointed to be cock-blocked by his father as Eric is.

Across the ice, Kent Parson has rushed Jack, gathering him into a crushing embrace that the younger man returns easily — burying his face against Parson’s pads; pulling back only when Parson grabs Jack’s shoulders to push him away, taking a long look at him, holding his face between his hands briefly before pulling Jack back into his arms.

They don’t just look like old friends, it’s a reunion of desperation, like the videos his mother sends of soldiers coming home from war, but before Eric can think better of it, a teammate fists a hand in the collar of Eric’s sweater and pulls — away from Bob’s forlorn love child and forgotten first meetings — and the night goes on.

Bob doesn’t return. Neither does Jack.

Eric doesn’t even notice.

__________

#Part I #maybe?#zimbits #omgcp #angst #long fic #cup magic #ice magic #my stuff #my fic #NHL!Bitty

196 notes · View notes

cozycryptidcorner · 4 years

Photo

Kinktober 3: Naga/Semi-public

Tags: naga, semi-public, is there a word for female cockwarming? pussy warming??? idk, uhhh, yeah

You don’t know why you find the upper levels of the library so enticing. Once the archives are closed, no one very much cares to venture up to the near-attic, the scent of carefully dusted wood calming after a day of stressing over whatever class you feel like you’re falling behind in. Up here in the rafters, surrounded by ancient scripture and stories of lands almost forgotten, you can slip out of your mind and focus solely on what you must.

Okay, well, scratch that, maybe you do know why you like it up here. Thunder roars in the near distance, shockwaves of sound vibrating against the windows and stone of the walls. It doesn’t take too much of a temperature shift outside to suck out all the heat through the thin sheet of glass separating you from the raging storm, and by the way a frigid nose pokes beneath your skirt, someone doesn’t find the cold as enticing as you.

With a steady hand, you turn the page of your textbook, eyes scanning the page as a scaled tail wraps around your ankle. Tapping your pen against your notebook, you practically glare at the illustration, trying to ignore the imploring fingers slipping beneath your underwear. All you offer in response is a quick shift of your hips to ease his struggle, his breath almost cool against the wetness between your thighs.

“Malak,” you half-whisper, tangling your fingers in his white hair. “You said you would help me study.”

“I’m cold, baby,” he hums in response, hiking up your skirt further up to your waist. Teeth graze against your inner thigh, nothing more than a playful nip, but it melts your insides down to a boiling point. “Let me warm up first.”

Swallowing thickly, you only turn back to your schoolwork, trying to angle yourself on the chair in a way that lets you spread your legs as far as necessary. Focus, focus, focus, your mind chants as his tongue slowly teases the skin around your lips. Intention when casting runes is just as important as the markings themselves; to fully produce their desired effect, one must-

A burst of pleasure runs up the length of your spine; you have to catch yourself before you let out a sobbing whimper. Malak’s tongue has graced your clit with its presence, his bright blue eyes looking up from under the table with a sly triumph. Clamping your mouth shut, you turn back to your work, trying to focus on making a flashcard with the proper vocab words as he spreads the skin of your pussy out.

Trying to keep your voice steady, you say, “what are the three virtues one must exhibit while casting runes?”

“Clarity,” he kisses your slit, “focus,” another kiss, “and aplomb.”

“Good,” you manage to get yourself under control, taking a sip out of your thermos, “glad to see you’re keeping up.”

He makes a purring noise, flattening his tongue and licking from top to bottom, little sparks of thrill running through your core. Then, just to be infuriating, you think, he lets out a small whimpering noise that sets your entire being on edge. Still, there’s no one around to hear his little show of subjugation, so you decide to let it slide.

Up, down, up, down, a smile on his face as you wrap a leg around his cool back.

Keeping your voice under control, you look over your notes. “What is considered the rune for this modern age?”

He waits for a beat, flicking his tongue against your opening, then says, “Synthetic Moderna.”

You shudder as he delves back down, but you have to nod your head. “Ri-right. What about- what about the Acadian Revival?”

“A period in the nineteenth century revolving around the idea that older magicks were somehow better than modern- do I have that right?” Without waiting for your answer, his mouth closes on the upper part of your pussy, slowly pushing his tongue between your folds, sliding it back and forth against your clit.

You suck in your breath. “Y-yeah, that’s it exactly.” Trying to convince your quivering core that everything is alright and you don’t have to pay attention to what’s happening between your legs, you turn the page, eyes dancing over the chapter for more important information. “And what put the Acadian magic back into obscurity?”

You think you can feel his eyes rolling, but you’re so focused on the letters in your book that you don’t look. “Older magic was useful for the older world. New technologies mean new uses that don’t coincide with those ancient concepts.”

“Yes, that’s- that’s correct.” You don’t understand how he can be so very casual about everything while his tongue slowly probes your entrance, nor could you ever fathom why he might not insist you pay his own body any mind. Still, you suppose that you’re grateful for the release.

“Have I earned my prize yet?” He asks, batting his pale, thick eyelashes at you.

“Not yet,” your chest is tight, your core even hotter. “We need to get through this unit first.”

“Mmph,” he complains against your pussy, taking one of your lips and nipping gently with his fangs.

You don’t want to ask him for any more information, mostly because his face feels awfully nice against your throbbing core, but you also don’t want him to flunk out, no matter how much he seems to know his stuff, he has a nasty habit of not showing up to exams. “Who is an influential figure that began the development of Synthetic Moderna?”

He shivers against your body, tail wrapping up your shin and closing in on your knee. “Alphonsa Rodrigez.”

For being at the mercy of someone hellbent on making you cum, you think you’re doing an outstanding job at ignoring him… until his fingers become involved. Your vision blurs despite your desperate attempts to focus on anything and everything but him. Clearing your throat, you continue, “and what exact discovery did Doctor Rodrigez discover?”

He moans into your pussy, his throat rumbling low and sweet. Now that his fingers are involved, the stroking of your clit doesn’t cease when he looks back up at your face, “isn’t she the one who came up with the three virtues?”

You inhale sharply as he presses his thumb into your slit, but say, “no, she wasn’t the one to finalized the three virtues into mainstream practices… it has to do with the idea of clarity, though.”

“Oh,” he says, realization in his eyes as he offers a kiss to your thigh, “right, wasn’t she involved in the development of neural observation when it came to the actual casting?”

“Ye-Es!” Your voice lilts and almost becomes a whine as Malak, the fucking bastard, closes his mouth around your clit and sucks just as you open your mouth. You clap your hands over your mouth, face red, hoping desperately that no one heard. Judging by the lusty smile on his face, he knows what he did, and you feel the urge to smack him upside the head. ” Malak!”

“Careful, baby,” he says, infuriatingly quiet, “someone might hear you.”

As though the universe heard his words and decided that it would be super funny to turn against you in the worst way imaginable, you hear footsteps. Sucking in air, you’re quick to fix your posture, wrapping your legs around Malak’s neck in the hopes of keeping him still. Despite the hazy layer of sweat on your temple, you think, you hope that you don’t look like… well, like someone is mouth fucking you beneath the table.

“Are you alright?” A head pokes out from the back, eyebrows raised. A grad student you recognize, he’s one of the TA’s in your least favorite class this semester, though you’d never tell him that.

Silently, you thank every god who might have brought the desk you’re sitting at because it’s one of the older fashioned ones, the kind that closes off and hides whatever might be underneath from passersby. Briefly, you wonder if the person who first made them had this exact reason behind it. Malak’s tongue doesn’t give you an ounce of reprieve, working almost harder to flush your face, hoping with all the power in his fingers that you might squeal with pleasure.

But you’re stronger than that, more determined than he, so you offer up a casual smile and a noncommittal shrug. “Sorry, Martin, I saw a spider. You know how I am with those.”

“Ri-ight,” he says, drawing out the center syllable for longer than you would like. Maybe he’s just mocking you for the phobia? “Of course, sorry for interrupting.”

“Oh, I’m just studying-”

“Of course, goodbye.” And just like that, his head ducks back between the books, gone and embarrassed for reasons you don’t want to think about. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a tail poking out from where the wooden board almost meets the floor, thrashing about like in some kind of distress. Or some sort of perverse pleasure.

You don’t have time to feel shameful because Malak is attacking your body with a much more vicious gusto than you had thought him capable of… okay, well, maybe not, but you did think he would at least wait until the study session was over. Steadily, with so little mercy, he sucks on your clit directly; you have to bite down on your hand to keep from crying out.

Even if you offer up a meager question, you know that he’s so focused on your pleasure that he couldn’t be bothered to answer. You’re almost afraid that you might be squeezing his head too tightly, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the least, arm snaking around one of your legs to shift and position however he needs. Out away, then back closer when a chill of coldness threatens his delicate skin.

He’s sucking now, sucking on your clit, except it’s not like those quick, kissing motions; it’s full-on, and your vision tangles with a web of black. Everything in your core is tight, hot, yet Malak is cool enough to tie your body down to the mortal plane, even if he’s relentlessly licking like his life depends on your orgasm. And there, you can feel it coiling in your stomach. You have to bite down on your sleeve lest you start whining like a pup. With your other hand, though, you rake your fingers through his hair.

Now he’s looking at you, crystalline eyes filled to the brim with smug satisfaction. Still, his tongue moves against your lower regions with the skill of a well-seasoned whore, a kind of his own desperation on his face. Almost like his very being depends on your pleasure. He gently pushes a finger into your pussy, curving it slightly to hit that one specific spot, then slowly begins to massage your inner walls, and you are over.

You can feel the beginning of the orgasm creep up inside your core, small tendrils of pleasure reaching out through your nerves. The steady building turns into waves, though, morphing from a modest sort of feeling to something large, bright, and overshadowing everything else. Something slick and hot rushes through your pussy, trickling out and into Malak’s eager and waiting mouth.

The sounds he makes while drinking your cum are obscene, even though he tries to keep quiet, just as you asked. But he doesn’t slow down and instead lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, tongue still licking and mouth continuously kissing despite your body’s slow decline off that high. Everything in your body seems to shut off, muscles relaxing as the final rolls of pleasure ebb away, until you’re barely nothing more than a shivering, boneless mass on the chair.

He crawls up your body then, every movement with purpose and vigor. He kisses your stomach, a shiver pulsing out from it, then up your sweater, pausing at your collarbone, then goes to your neck. You wrap your arms around his torso and your legs around his waist, snuggling up against his solid, large body to ground yourself.

“Babe?” He asks.

“Yeah?”

“What leap of advancement does Synthetic Moderna have over its many predecessors?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Incorrect! That's a penalty."

#naga/reader #exophilia #naga #monster lovers #monster/reader #kinktober #story

385 notes · View notes

chanluster · 4 years

Text

non ducor duco | {m}

oneshot | historical! au | gang! au | 15.2k words

“The most notorious gang leader in Victorian London can gouge out the eyes of men, steal from the corrupted rich, and terrify an entire city, but cannot figure out a few complicated feelings with you.”

s u m m a r y >> the leader of the sons of seoul, the wanted criminal mastermind, christopher bang, has the courage to commit any deed save for confronting you, his most trusted accomplice, about his feelings. however, when opportunity arises, in the shape of an invitation to a grand seasonal ball, to take down his fated enemy, he takes you to the heart of a lavish estate, both of you unaware of actions that occur inside, and after the mission.

w a r n i n g s >> gonna be using chris instead of chan cause it’s set in 1860s london, chan is a dom of course, jisung and changbin are dumb and dumber, are also massive cockblockers, some cliché scenes cause i’m a sucker for them, sexual! tension!, gore, foul language, making out, dirty talk, aggressiveness, semi-public fingering, unprotected sex (stay safe homies!!), oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, chan has a thing for being called his korean name, whack spelling for ‘cum’ as ‘come’ cause technically that word didn’t exist in 1860s, there is a plot so there will be build up

a / n > > so i went way over the 10k originally planned lmfaoooo but i hope y’all enjoy this oneshot! i worked my ass off on it and hopefully y’all can appreciate gang leader chan in 1860s london cause honestly i’m a 100% whore for that concept

back to masterlist

IT WAS A UNIVERSAL LAW THAT ONE MUST NEVER FUCK WITH CHRISTOPHER BANG. EVER.

Whatever charge you may have against him, it must be withdrawn. Whatever he had done to you — robbed you, murdered your son, destroyed your entire existence — it did not matter. There were always limits, and trying to challenge this specific criminal would only result in your undoing.

It seemed the target, cornered before you and the very man himself, did not fully understand this order.

Chris Bang, in all his midnight suited glory, took a step towards the cowering man, the ends of his longcoat trailing him in the air. His gloved hands locked behind his back, a grave curve of his lips as he addressed his next victim. “Mr. Shaw, we know you have the documents.”

This said Mr Shaw hastily shook his head, raising his hands in immediate surrender. “Please, Mr. Bang,” he whimpered. “I have no inkling of what you speak of!”

“Don’t you dare lie!” You interjected, sliding out your knife, pointing it towards him. “We received reports of you. Don’t you dare forget the monthly checks we’ve sent for its safekeeping!”

“I was taking care of it, Miss!” He backed further, until the wall of his office stopped his escape. “They came to the office though.”

“Who did?!” You demanded, but the way Chris’s hand fisted in irritancy answered your question.

The Mayor had taken their shares. Once again, the tyrant had robbed them off their fortune.

“Mr. Shaw,” the man beside you started. The raw, dark matter in his voice had the owner’s eyes widening in pure fear. “Who was it specifically?”

“A really large man, about seven foot for sure…God, he had cuts all over his face, slight stubble,” he answered, knees slightly shaking. “Please, Mr. Bang, I have a family, children who have not grown—”

“Why is it that whenever man is at his weakest he mentions his loved ones?” A few stray locks escaped from Chris’ raked hair, caressing the ragged scar from his brow down to his cheek. “Why do you think that I’ll suddenly take pity because you have others who will mourn your existence?”

These questions had the man collapsing, leaning completely against the wall for support. You stole a glance at Chris, wondering if he was now capable of extracting the very souls from men. “Do not keep toying with me, Shaw,” he warned, leaning in slightly. “I know you have information.”

A soft, helpless whine escaped from the owner of the building. “Then-they'll kill me,” he mumbled, looking up at the criminal with desperation. It was a shame that never worked on a man with no sympathy.

“I can kill you too,” Chris countered, and in a flash a sleek, pocket knife appeared in his gloved hand, and hovered it right under Shaw’s chin. “So how about you tell me what you know, and I can prolong your imminent end, hmm? Does that seem fair enough?”

You almost felt sorry for the man. “H-his men…” tears formed in his eyes. “His men kept calling him Carter.”

“Brilliant,” you muttered. ‘Scar’ Carter, the Mayor’s link to the crime world, the dirty dealings of London. Carter, the lapdog of the socialites. The most irritating, disgusting son of a bitch you had ever encountered.

“I see.” The knife stayed, caressing the manager’s skin. “Now I know they’re to sell the documents. The bastard is greedy.

“Question is, Shaw, where is the transaction going to take place?”

Dear God, the man looked as if he was about to piss his trousers. “The ball.” He tried to gulp, but felt the curve of the blade. “The Mayor’s brother is holding a masquerade ball in a few days, and Carter already had a client. They’re going to do the dealing there, I swear on my children!”

A harsh scoff emitted from the criminal. “You better hope for the sake of your sons that you aren’t lying.”

“Did you get the invitations?” You asked, eyes darting around the dirtied room, the messy desks and chairs lopsided from your searching.

“Yes, yes!” He pointed to a set of drawers. “There are two in there!”

You walked towards the destination, opening the drawers and sure enough, finding the gold-edged enveloped, addressed to Shaw and his wife. “Are your names inside too?”

“No, just the envelope, but that is not important! I promise!”

You pocketed the invitations inside your coat pocket, joining your leader’s side again. Chris, after a minute of heart-wrenching silence, stood up, freeing Shaw’s neck from the knife, sliding it within his belt.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” His eyes were still upon the man when he said, “Let us return.”

The both of you were ready to leave when you heard Shaw’s sudden protests.

“The Sons of Seoul, everybody!” He declared, almost hysterically. “Coming in, fucking everything up, and leaving as if nothing had ever happened!”

Chris paused in his tracks, a quiet stillness passing over his whole figure.

“What are you going to do now, Mr. Bang?” He hissed, slowly sliding up. “Are you going to infiltrate the biggest ball of the season? Create a bloodbath on the dance floor? It’s what you love to do so ardently, no?”

You heard the harsh spit smack on the office floor. “Stop meddling with the business of the British socialites. Go back to the gutter you crawled out of.” The next words overflowed with hatred. “Go back to where you really came from, you slit-eyed prick.”

Your eyes flashed in shock, swerving around to see the raging expression on Shaw’s beady little face. Fisting your hands, you were ready to knock him out when you felt the man beside you move.

Chris whirled around, eyes promising a horrifying future as he pounced upon the manager.

A yelp was heard as Chris’ fingers dug at the corner of Shaw's eyes, and relished the cries of terror as with a roar of his own, he squeezed with his thumb and forefinger, swelling the balls of vision from their sockets. With a loud pop! the two eyes tore from their origins, gooey residue trailing down his face as Christopher Bang palmed the two organs in his hands.

He observed his victim bellowing in pain as he fell to his knees, hands covering his bloodied sockets. A ghostly smirk accompanied his lips. "Better slit-eyes than none at all."

You had to suppress the severe shivers that threatened to break your stance.

Shaw broke the universal law. His undoing was inevitable.

He flung the eyes upon the owner, and turned on his heel, eerily cool as he walked out of the office, blood and goo still on his black gloves. Not a hair ruffled upon his pretty head.

You spared a look at the victim, crying out in infinite pain, hands on his sockets still. “Do not fuck with Christopher Bang,” was all you said, before following the devil out of the building.

The afternoon London heat hit you as you exited the offices, Chris waiting as he examined the filthy streets surrounding you. People of all classes strolled by, beggars on the street asking for two-pence, children selling newspapers down the corners, and carriages riding away on the wide roads. The man still did not clean his gloves from the mess, and you pointed this out as you arrived at his side.

“It does not bother me,” he waved you off, but you brought out your leather skin.

“Bring your hands out,” you ordered.

Chris scowled. “I said I’m alright,___.” He began walking forwards, towards your humble abode, not far away from your starting point. “Besides, whoever strolls past us, they’ll second guess their evil intentions against us.” You glanced over the strange looking fellows, scattered across the roads. “Shows I am not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “Dirty pig.”

You felt daggers glaring into you. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” you said, turning a corner, already catching sight of the docks. “I expect this behaviour from Jisung. Perhaps even Changbin, but not from you.”

“Enough with this,” the man ordered, irritancy clear in his voice. Grumbling, you walked beside him in silence, the Thames entering your vision. You wished it would have radiated a rich, clear blue body of water, but from the stench which even reached your nose, it would be impossible. The river, a dump for the sewers, the rubbish disposed daily, was a toxic mass of water, and the cause of thousands dying from drinking its contents. When you first joined the Sons you nearly drank from the river, being saved only by Chris’ rough hand slapping the cup away. You remembered you received a harsh scolding from him that day, immediately providing you with clean water after to quench your thirst.

A small smile curved onto your lips at the memory.

“Hand it over.”

You perked your head up to see his filthy, gloved hands out. “What is it?” You asked.

“The water.”An irritated sigh escaped him. “I’ll clean the bloody gloves.”

Your smile grew as you handed him the leather skin. “But only because I don’t ever want to be associated with Jisung and Changbin,” he added, and you only laughed, watching the man rub the mess off his attire as you both arrived at the docks.

The first sounds heard were not of the boats bellowing at port, nor the waves lapping in underneath the stilts.

No, all you were welcomed with was a string of curses, spat by Seo Changbin.

“You fucking bastard, how dare you—”

“Here we go again,” you caught Chris muttering, who quickened his pace, thundering to where the two of his sidemen fought, caught in a scrap.

Han Jisung’s whines were carried through the river air, burning into your eardrums. “Bin, no, I said I’m sorry—!”

When you caught up to Chris, he opened his mouth, exasperation clear in his voice. “Boys!” He exclaimed.

Immediately the fighting ceased. The boys addressed, Changbin atop Jisung, ready to throw the final punch, turned back to see his leader scowling. Jisung let out a yelp, throwing the former from him and scrambling to his feet. Changbin followed suit, a little more slowly after rubbing his side in agony.

“Why the fuck,” Chris started, pointer finger darting between his two men, “Are you both fighting again?”

Changbin, fixing his ruined locks with his hand, shot his best friend a glare. “He took my fucking scones again.” He groaned, much too loud. “God, I specifically stored them in a place where no one would find them, but this greedy pig still managed to snuff them out!”

Jisung, a slender and more comical figure, crossed his arms, raising his chin in stubbornness. “I did not see a bloody name on them! Tell me Bin,” he matched his opponent’s stare. “Did you write down your name with blood-red ink across the scones? Because I certainly did not see the words Seo Changbin scrawled on the surface!”

“Argh!” The elder of the two turned his raging gaze towards the leader, who was watching his subordinates with slight distaste. “Chris, permission to cut off his tongue for being the bane of my existence?!”

Chris only stepped past them, heading for the big wooden table situated near the gang’s warehouse. The sounds of ships sailing in the dirty waters thrummed to the port, shouting heard all around over new, imported goods. “Another time, Changbin,” he only said, bringing out a chair and sitting down, propping an ankle over a knee. “I have encountered enough organ slicing for the day.”

Jisung’s face twisted in awed curiosity, settling himself down beside Chris. “Without me?” he let out a disappointed whine, turning to you. “I trusted you, at least!”

“I was surprised myself, Ji,” you argued, raising a hand towards the aloof man as you sat opposite your friend. “I didn’t know Chris gouged out Shaw’s eyes until they were in his hand!”

“You truly are a selfish man,” Changbin complained, plopping himself on the last seat. “Alway keeping the fun for yourself and ____.”

You did not really know why your face flushed a little at his charge, but you made sure to whack Changbin in the gut, earning a pained groan from the boy.

Chris locked his hands upon the table. “Well, gentlemen, then it is time for you to join in on the entertainment.”

The two boys exchanged confused glances. On cue, you brought out the pair of invitations within your coat pocket, tossing them to the table. “The Mayor’s brother is holding a ball,” you explained, rolling your eyes at the boys tearing open the envelopes, yanking out the oblong, cartridge paper, details inked with a precise hand. “Since it does not have names, anyone can enter the estate.”

Jisung let out an excited yell, grabbing onto Changbin’s arm. “Binnie, we can actually have some fun!”

“Not so fast, boys,” Chris said, tightening his gloves. “The invitations are not yours.”

Changbin’s face immediately fell. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

The elder held out a finger, silencing the complaints, but not the quiet grumbling of his members. “As I was saying,” he continued, hands interlocking once more, “____ and I will use the invitations to get inside, with the two of you as our bodyguards.”

“Marvellous!” Jisung exclaimed, sarcasm practically dripping on his words. “Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic!”

“Jisung,” Chris warned, “How about you clean the shit off the docks instead?”

“Chan,” you murmured, causing him to glance at you. His sour expression almost softened at the word, the name which only few have ever said to him. You pondered at the time the two boys, sat to your right, tried teasing him with this name, and nearly earned an ass-beating. You, on the other hand, rather liked the way the name sounded on your tongue.

Perhaps, you wished dearly, he liked the way it sounded on your tongue too.

The man, after a pause, averted his eyes from you, focusing them on his comrades. “You both can still enjoy the festivities, but you have to keep a low profile, because while ____ and I are socialising and distracting the guests, you both need to find Carter.”

“Is he at the party too?” Changbin propped his elbows on the table. “Lord above, I’ve been wanting to kick his arse for a while.”

“So you both just frivol away, then?” Jisung whined. “I want to drink and dance!”

“And you both will,” Chris persisted. “We all will keep a lookout for Carter and his dealings, and if any of us find him first, you report to me. At my signal, you and Changbin will break through their trade. I will be behind you as long as I slip away without anyone discovering our motives.”

You look to your leader. “There’s another problem.”

The three all turned to you. “If we are to go to the most lavish ball of the season, we certainly need to dress for it.” Suddenly, you sounded like a little girl when you pointed out, “I do not have a gown to wear for the evening.”

An eyebrow raised upon Chan’s face, while Changbin and Jisung snickered, puckering their lips. “Aww, poor little ____ has no lace to woo the rich men!”

You made to slap the pair’s arms and narrowly missed, glaring. “As if you animals have any decent attire to wear for the ball! When was the last time you wore a proper tailcoat?”

That was enough for their teasing to cease, but Changbin was adamant. “Don’t throw me in with Jisung! He doesn't even bother to shower!”

“Oi, you bastard!”

The pair were ready to fight once more when Chris cleared his throat.

“You’re right,____.”

A glance at the man who said it. “I have only seen you in stealth gear and rags, the first time I met you.” He leaned back in his creaking chair. “Perhaps it is time to flower you up a little.”

Jisung and Changbin were about to chuckle once again when you shot them a dirty look.

“I will order evening attire tomorrow,” Chris decided. “They will arrive on the day of the ball, which is adequate enough timing.

“Now,” he declared, standing. “Are we all aware of what we have to do?”

The two boys turned sheepishly to you, who sighed and addressed the leader. “You and I attend the ball with these two fools as our bodyguards—”

“Hey!”

“____!”

“We maintain a believable facade and enjoy ourselves while also looking out for Carter and the documents. Once we find out where he is, Changbin and Jisung take him away, and we slip out of the party unnoticed.”

Chris, after a pause, nodded, a ghost of a smile upon his lips. “Good girl.”

And just like that, he left the table, your eyes a little wide and heart a little raced.

When Chris retreated into the warehouse, the two boys turned their malicious gazes towards you, smirking much too wide for your liking.

“Do not,” you snapped, cheeks burning deeper, earning a smattering of laughter from the bastards.

“Whatever you say, good girl,” Changbin simpered, Jisung repeating the damned endearment until you hastily stood from your chair.

You rewarded them both with your middle finger before storming back into another warehouse, Chris’ words still engraved in your mind.

Just as Christopher Bang had predicted, the new attire arrived on the day of the ball.

More planning had been explained, more additions to the grand scheme of the evening which was mere hours away. The gang was ready, but you can never be perfectly anticipated for any ideas gone amiss.

You even taught Jisung and Changbin to dance, ranging from the Polka to the Viennese Waltz, which was popular amongst high society in the growing years of Queen Victoria’s reign. They were terrible at the start, both of them always falling on each other, but with hard effort they learned quickly, almost perfecting the art of leading your partner on the ballroom floor.

You had not bothered asking the other if he wished to learn. There was something about him which made you think that he could do anything. Not once had he ever doubted your theory.

It was as if there was nothing in the world he could not know like the back of his gloved hand.

Thoughts like these were what filled you with such awe for him. Such deep-rooted pride that you worked under this man. Those thoughts did, however, curve into darker corners — when his midnight-lined eyes and raven figure haunted you in restless nights.

You aggressively shook your head, swinging your legs over the dock. Sitting upon the wood, you watched the sun descend slowly, the stark yellows and whites of the sky beginning to darken. Ships docked and stayed, men with their filthy language and filthier intentions flocked outside, and strange women with too-tight corsets and lips too rosey, smirking at the newcomers, carrying out their own ways of living.

Sometimes, you’d watch this run-down life move on in this exact same spot, thanking the lucky stars for not being one of the boys with the weights on their backs, nor the girls with the untied top corsets. You thanked the same man, who brought you out of that hell, giving you the chance to fight all this wrong embedded in London.

You also thanked him, especially that day, for calling you that endearment.

God. The man was a criminal, yet you were the one being imprisoned.

“____!”

You turned, heaving to your feet when you see Jisung running to you, packages in his hands. “Your gown’s inside!” He exclaimed, gummy smile lighting up his entire face.

Throwing you the box, you caught it just before it flew into the Thames, shooting the boy a wary glare. “Careful,” you said, looking over the silk ribbon tied into a perfect bow upon the middle. Although there were greater happinesses in life, small ones such as new dresses had you in near giggles.

“I’ve got my very own tailcoat now,” Jisung yelled, ripping open the packaging, about to whip out his new clothing when you waved him to stop.

“Do it inside, Ji, or you’ll ruin your outfit!”

“Trust him to fuck up a perfectly new suit before trying it on,” Changbin’s voice drawled through the dock, who held a box of his own. “Also, the boss is saying to quit dallying and start dressing!”

You obliged, holding onto your box tenderly as you entered a little building beside the main warehouse, consisting of everyone’s rooms and privies. Your eyes glanced to Chris’ bedroom door before pushing open the door to yours, stepping inside to the small, yet decorated space, filled with a board of knives and bows displayed upon one wall and an erratic strokes of paint brushed along the textured surfaces, courtesy of Jisung and Changbin’s lack of motivation to finish your room. An undone bed was tucked into the corner, and a large mirror stood on its curled railing in the other corner, revealing yourself, hands underneath the package.

The sun fell further, sky being painted with dark oranges and purple and pinks, staining your bedroom the colours of soft autumn as you put your package on the bed, untying the ribbon and unboxing the whole treat.

The first glance of the dress had you smiling in pure incitement.

You brought the dress out of its box, letting it trail free right down to your toes, holding it to arm’s length to examine the details : it was a mysterious, dark red, a colour which instantly attracted attention within the golds of the ballroom. The neck line was low, dipping just enough to tempt until it swelled over for the openings for the arms, black ruffles on the fabric to accentuate off shoulders. The intricate, midnight detail was stitched to perfection, creating a network of swirls upon the bodice before flaring out into the wider skirts. Dear God, you had never seen such an exquisite dress on any noble lady in this damned city.

Your smile grew a little wider. Christopher Bang, once again, has not disappointed.

You turned it on it’s back, mouth parting in surprise at the silk lacing, undone and trailing down the dress, waiting to be tied and admired. Realising that we’re you to wear this, the entire ball would see your back half-exposed. Even the man you’re to be escorted with.

The thought alone made your insides sing.

Chris had ordered this dress. He knew what he was acquiring for you, what he asked you to dare.

Well, you were happy to oblige. Something within you wished to see his eyes blaze at you in the gown.

Closing the curtains of your room, you quickly lit up a metallic lamp, orange light leaking onto your dresser and walls. Setting the source upon a stool, you began shedding your coat, tossing it on the bed before going to the dresser.

You spent about ten minutes on your hair, lifting locks upward and curling them into a messy bun. You brought out clips of pearls, attaching them at the back of your hair, letting the few stray curls bounce along your ears and neck.

After finishing your hair you began shedding your clothing, excitement rushing in your gut at the thought of wearing the ballgown. When you were adorned in nothing but your underthings, you grabbed onto the arms of the new dress, entering one leg into the opening before sliding the other. You raised the gown, fitting the bodice upon yourself and the short sleeves cuffing just under your shoulders.

Looking over your shoulder at the back, it was bare before the mirror, saving your rear only with a small dip which was edged with more black lace. The laces for tightening the back still hung uselessly, begging to be entangled with their partners.

And you tried to oblige. You truly did, straining your hands behind your back and trying your hardest to tie the laces with the opposites, of creating a pattern adequate enough for the ball and announce your preparation. Unfortunately for you, your fingers refused to assist you that moment in the evening.

Letting out an irritated sigh, you called for your friends.

“Jisung!” you shouted, hands endeavouring still. “Changbin!”

Your back still to the door, you waited for the two fools to arrive, but no one came. Again, you called their names, but to no avail, only silence answering you.

“I swear to the Lord,” you muttered, arms now starting to hurt from the stretching. You were about to bring the warehouse down with your roar when you heard the door quietly creak open, the sound of boots emitting against the floor.

“Ah, finally,” you began as you turned around, hands clutching the bodice of the dress, ready to be irritated by your comrades when all words abandoned your tongue.

There, standing by the door, in all his midnight-tainted glory, was Chris Bang.

You hated how your eyes widened at the sight of him.

The man always took care of his appearance, but that evening he had truly outdone himself - His infamous woollen longcoat was hung over his arm, exposing his black tailcoat, shining slightly in the flickering lamp light. His waistcoat underneath fit snug, and his white cravat tie peaked just above the lapels, caressing his Adam’s apple. His raven locks were slicked back, a few stray flyaways drooping over his forehead. The gloves were worn still, skin never exposed.

You caught his eyes flicker, something within stirring at seeing you, holding onto your dress in case it fell to the floor. The prolonging silence was shattered when you forced yourself to speak.

“Chris,” you said, because his name was the first thing, the only thing you could comprehend.

He, too, inhaled, slowly. “Jisung and Changbin...they’re outside, so they could not hear.”

“Oh.”

Another round of silence. God, you wished you could just say something to him, anything which wasn’t a single syllable—

“____.”

You snapped into focus. “Yes?”

“Why did you call them?”

Blinking, you stumbled, “I, I just needed help with…” your hand gestured to your back. “...with the laces.”

There was an indecipherable undertone in his next words. “You could have called me.”

“You’re here now.”

Again. The world-heavy pause upon the both of you.

A few more seconds ticked by when Chris set his coat upon the dresser chair. His eyes never left yours.

“Turn around.”

You dragged your gaze away from his as you complied, baring your back before him, laces dangling. His footsteps sounded from behind you, and his presence was felt, large and magnetic.

Leather sliding from skin, you sensed his eyes on you, taking in your illuminated skin. You had the greatest urge to shiver, but suppressed it, waiting for his next move.

A small breath hitched in your throat when Chris grabbed onto the first pair of laces and tugged them back, pulling you to him.

Almost too conveniently, your rear backed against his crotch, and a minute noise escaped you before putting some distance between you two again. You instantly regretted the action, already missing the mere caress of what lay underneath his trousers.

“Stop fidgeting,____,” he ordered, and you immediately stilled, the tug still adamant at your back. Almost disgraceful how quickly you listened to him.

Slowly, he tied the first bow, right to the small of your back. When he started on the second, though, the first touch of his fingers against your back threw you off guard.

You should have expected this. You should have known from the start of his task that his fingers would graze your skin but each caress was like a lick of fire, threatening to singe the skin. Your breath caught in your throat, each time Chris touched you.

Those damned fingers skirted upwards, tying up the laces with such delicacy it nearly softened your stance, if only you didn’t notice his growing warmth. You realised with no small amount of pleasure that he, too, was possibly flustered.

Christopher Bang. Flustered over a girl.

You almost gasped when his hands brought a few stray curls over your shoulder, the dip of your neck exposed as he began the final bow of your gown. The process was excruciatingly slow, each little caress enough for you to turn around and—

And what?

How you desperately wanted to find out.

Sensing the ribbon curling upon your neck, you understood.

“It is done,” he whispered, and you shifted at the sigh which kissed your skin. God, he was so close, you were scared that if you turned around his lips—

You did not need to worry when you felt strong hands grip your shoulders, whirling you around in a sudden fashion. Your eyes widened at the close proximity of his face, his beautiful fucking face, and the warm, slender hands on your naked shoulders.

“Chan,” you let yourself say, and you swore the criminal’s eyes darkened. His grip on you tightened.

Perhaps he would have closed the distance, saved you from desperation when someone knocked on the goddamn door.

“___?!”

“Hurry up, the carriage is waiting!”

“Women, honestly—!”

You yelped at the sound of your friends bellowing behind the door. Even Chris looked a little surprised, a slight tick in his jaw as the noise grew louder.

Grabbing onto your skirts, you thundered towards the door, furrowing your brows as you twisted the knob, opening to see the same two idiots, shooting you irritated glares.

“Is Miss Fancy-Shmancy finally ready?” Changbin drawled, propping a hand upon his hip, tails of his coat dangling behind him.

“Madame certainly took her time,” Jisung went on, sauntering into your bedroom without a care. “Might as well not attend the ball at all—”

His incessant rambling was instantly ceased when he saw Chris standing before you, putting on his gloves. His face was impassive as ever, save for the jaw still tightened.

“Oh, Chris,” he said, and started backing away to the door. “The carriage is outside.”

“Let us go, then,” he only replied as he grabbed his longcoat, strolling out of your bedroom, leaving your skin tingling and heart confused.

Changbin watched Chris exit the building, turning to you with a raised brow. “What was the Mr. Thorns-up-his-arse doing in your room?”

You scoffed at the nickname, picking up the invitations from the dresser. “He was just helping me.”

Jisung’s lips curved into a smirk. “Helping you…?”

“Stop it!” You demanded, but both of the boys could see the blush on your cheeks, even from the dim lamp light.

“Come on, now,____,” Changbin said, holding out an arm, and hitting Jisung’s arm to do the same. “Let us follow Chris before he shouts at us for keeping you here.”

“Don’t say such things,” you cooed, looping your arms with the two boys. “He will kill you outright instead.”

Laughter emitted from the two, leading you out of the room, down the halls and soon the building.

The carriage was waiting at the entrance of the dock, horses neighing softly at your arrival. Jisung opened the carriage door, letting you climb inside. Chris, inside already, held out a hand, you taking it as he had you sit beside him. His hard figure brushed against your shoulders, reminding you of his fingers on your back not too long ago.

Just like that, you slumped against the seating. That man was truly going to be the death of you.

When the two boys scrambled inside, Chris’ hand thudded against the roof, indicating it to start riding. The carriage obliged to his command.

The small, interwoven streets widened as the carriage rode upon the main roads, going faster with each signal of Chris’ hand. The inside was alive with Jisung gloating shamelessly over his checkered waistcoat, with Changbin giving reassurances for his “ugly face ruining the clothing.” You laughed at every jab the two threw at each other, but would tense at the erratic touches Chris’ knee would send with every shake of the vehicle. Although the many layers of skirts cushioned these brushes, the blood rushing to your cheeks was evidence enough - everything he did made you so unhinged.

Soon, the big roads led from filthy, back-to-back housing to larger homes, the further the dirty central city strayed from you. A few touches of countryside teased your view when you saw mansions, estates the size of neighbourhoods gracing the surroundings. The carriage began to slow down, as more people adorned in fine attire entered your window view, no doubt going to the same destination as the gang.

The most illuminated estate welcomed you as the carriage stopped right before its vast, colourful gardens, smattering of couples taking intimate walks along the hedges. Chris, noticing the destination, opened the door, Changbin following suit. As the former got out he held out his hand to you. Surprised by his sudden manners, you took his hand, stepping down from the carriage, careful of your skirts as they brushed against the pavement. Jisung and Changbin were right beside you, uttering the driver to come back within a couple of hours.

“Now,” Chris began, bringing your hand to his arm. “You both stay behind me and ____. You wouldn’t need invitations if you both act like our bodyguards.”

“Right behind you, boss,” Jisung chanted, counting his knives inside his coat pockets. Changbin took one of the weapons from him, sliding it up his trouser sleeve, securing it with a leather ankle strap.

“Right.” the gang all looked at each other, silent understanding passing between all of you.

“Let’s ruffle some rich feathers.”

With your hand still on his arm, the leader of the Sons of Seoul led his gang inside of the massive estate.

Guards at the entrance shot you grave looks as they stopped you. “Invitations,” they said. You obliged, bringing out the golden paper. They looked over, convinced, and gave them back to you.

You and Chris were about to enter when Jisung and Changbin were stopped behind you. “Protection,” Chris said, but the guards were unconvinced.

“They need invitations too,” was their answer.

Dread, slight yet present, began to fill your stomach. Has the mission failed before it could even begin?

“I suggest you let them in, too,” Chris only said, black eyes piercing the two men with a glare. “Or my friend hosting this party will hear of this inconvenience.”

That seemed to stir the guards, for they said nothing more, letting your friends enter the estate. Jisung and Changbin made sure to smirk at the men before sauntering inside behind you.

Your eyes, upon stepping inside the main hall, were welcomed with paradise.

Gold. gold upon gold was painted, lined, moulded everywhere, upon the walls, on the floor, on the painted ceiling, hypnotising you with its kaleidoscopic pattern. Swirls of white and silver journeyed along the walls, and the floor bore solid treasures, sculpted into the ground and shining exquisitely from the chandelier lighting. Hundreds of lords and ladies, businessmen and escorts populated the manor, either being moved by the orchestral band, dancing, helping themselves to food from the lines of dishes or simply mingling among others.

It was the chaos of the rich. A place you didn’t quite fit in.

You stole a glance at the man beside you. Even though he looked contained as ever, you felt his arm tightening all over. Perhaps he knew he did not belong in this world either.

The grim understanding was cut off when Changbin’s shrill gulp sounded from behind you.

“Scones!”

The man immediately dashed towards the food section, earning blatant laughter from his friends as Jisung stepped beside Chris. “Once he’s done stuffing himself, we’ll get into positions.” He skirted his eyes over the buzzing crowd. “I have already spotted some of Carter’s men in different corners of the hall, so we can see where they’re going to go.”

“Any signs of Carter?” you asked, already feeling suggestive eyes on your body, the dark red curves of your figure.

“He’ll show himself soon,” Chris promised, beginning to take a step forward. “The bastard thrives in attention.” He turned to Jisung. “Make yourself scarce.”

He then saw Changbin making himself much too comfortable with the jam scones rapidly declining in his wake. “And for God’s sake, control Changbin.”

Jisung shook his head, mocking a salute before strolling to his friend. You and him were left to your own activities, and soon you felt the tug of his body, leading you further into the hall.

You looked up to see him scouring the room. His brows furrowed slightly, that stiffness felt underneath your fingertips. “Chris,” you called to him, and were answered with an uncertain stare.

“I’m alright,” he said, walking along the lines of the dance floor, looking away when he gave you the false assurance.

You did not know what was going on. In other missions his composure would never falter — this was what he was so notorious for, being calm despite the anarchy around him. Never before had you seen him so tense.

“Stop it.”

You blinked back into reality. “What?”

“You’re doing it again,” he hissed, raking his hand through his hair. “Looking at me that way. Like I’m about to snap.”

A pout formed on your lips, looking up at him underneath your lashes. “I can sense you’re distressed.” You squeezed his arm in comfort. “I cannot help if I worry for you, Chris.”

With small surprise, you found him soften, only slightly. “I just…” he sighed in exasperation. “I hate parties.”

You understood the connotations. Wealthy parties. The men and women who throw them.

“And I, too,” you agreed, earning a soft snort from the man. Your heart warmed a little at the sound, and thankfully the tension faded between the two of you, not necessarily from each other but from the socialites around you.

Your heart, however, received no such rest, beating much too loud for your liking.

The two of you took another turn of the room before a low, arrogant drawl paused you both in your tracks.

“Mr Christopher Bang.”

You and your leader both sighed simultaneously.

Turning, you tilted your head upwards to none other than ‘Scar’ Carter, smirking ridiculously down at the the two of you. He was something out of a children’s book, the grotesque villains with wanned skin and beady looks, ready to pounce and make you disappear without you ever realising. Although young, he looked to be in his mid-forties, unkept locks and curled moustache, being played by his fingers.

He held out his other hand, extending the smile to the man beside you. “Always a goddamned blessing to see you.”

Chris assessed his hand for a moment before he let go of your grip on his arm, slipping off his gloves. His own olive coloured hands were roughened, no doubt from years of manual labour. He took Carter’s hand, shaking the greeting in place, and the latter turned his enemy’s hold, looking over at the new image inked upon the hand.

“What is this, Chrissy?” He mused, the nickname causing the said-man’s lips to twitch. “Some flowery poetry?”

Your eyes strayed to what he meant; just under his thumb, where the joint began, was a tattoo, inked deeply in a cursive hand. It was a phrase you had never knew the meaning of, nor had you asked, but the Latin was beautiful on his textured skin.

NON DUCOR DUCO.

“Not poetry, Carter,” he only said, tracing his sole tattoo with a finger. “But something I live by.”

Despite Carter towering over the man, Chris Bang pinned him with a piercing glare. His signature phantom smile appeared on his lips.

“I am not led. I lead.”

The giant’s shit-eating grin faltered. You could not help but let a small chuckle escape at his reaction.

And maybe you shouldn’t have shown amusement, because when he focused his animalistic gaze upon you, you had the sudden urge to hold onto the man beside you again.

“Ah, Miss ____,” he jeered, mocking a deep bow which you did not return. “Chris’ little...protégée.”

He then held out his hand to you, and you knew it was not to shake the gnarled fingers. “Would you do me the honour of dancing with you?”

You scoffed, anger bubbling within your veins. How dare he even ask you, after all the trouble he had caused for the gang? Smirking as if it was all a little game.

Your mouth parted, ready to reject him outright when a warm hand settled on your back.

Chris’ fingers stroked the exposed skin, skirting over the lacing, and despite the heavenly feeling, you knew what this signal really meant.

Distraction. This would be the perfect opportunity to divert Carter’s attention while Chris joined in the other’s search. Listening to the instrumental, you realised that would spare them another five minutes.

Reigning in your fury, you offered the bastard a thin-lipped smile before taking his hand, already missing the mere touch of another seconds before.

Carter led you to the dance floor among the other dancers, you hardly radiating the same enthusiasm as the others accompanying you. The man’s other hand, one still holding yours, snaked around your waist, and you hated how it felt against your back, pure distaste staining your features as he tried to impersonate the idle lace curling that Chris did.

As if it physically hurt, you propped a hand upon his shoulder, and when the music began, the game started.

The giant kept ogling at you as the sly grin appeared on his lips. “I must say, I am very envious of Chris.”

You matched his stare. “Of course you would,” you only said, trying your best to sound like your leader, who was an embodiment of calmness. “You can never be the man Chris is.”

“Oh, I did not mean by what he is, my lady,” he corrected. “I meant by what he has.”

He pulled you to him, much to close, and you hissed as the fingers behind you played on your back. “He is much too lucky to possess a creature like you, Miss ____.”

Good God. If he endeavoured to make you as uncomfortable as possible, then he was doing a splendid job. You regretted ever listening to Chris, but for the plan, you will do what is necessary.

As if on cue, you felt dark, piercing eyes on you. By the little hairs which stood at the back of your neck, there was no doubt who watched over you, murmuring progress with Jisung as he sipped wine on a tightly held flute.

“Tell me, sweet,” he began once more, making you lose your thoughts, turning about the room as the music went on. “Why do you work for a man like him?”

You sighed at the question. Truly this man did not know how to initiate small talk. “Why is that any of your concern?”

“Because I’ve seen you in action,” he answered, and you could not mistake the awe that threatened to expose in his voice. “You have incredible potential, my lady, and it pains me that Chris does not use you properly. You waste your efforts in a silly gang.”

His condescending speech made you dig his nails in his hand. “Careful, Carter,” you seethed, watching his face crumple in pain from your action. “The silly gang you speak of will not hesitate to obliterate your entire organisation. And neither will I.”

Rage flashed in his eyes as he grinned at your claim. “I doubt the esteemed Christopher Bang would even let you participate,” he drawled, grazing his fingers against your back. “You being his whore is enough for him.”

You parted your mouth in slight shock. The reaction quickly evaporated with pure, unadulterated fury. A lot of people speculate your true relationship with Chris, but your own demeaning always struck deep. How dare people think that you only have the power you have because you slept with the greatest criminal in the city?

With your head raging, you sent your low heel down upon Carter’s boot, a yelp escaping the man as his dancing faltered, grip on you loosening. Fortunately for you, the orchestra smoothed their music to a close, and small applause rang around the room, you joining as you smiled at Carter’s slight groaning.

When the giant looked at you again, all his arrogance was gone, instead a face of wrath. “You bitch-”

You were sure he was going to strike, despite hundreds in the ballroom. Even your smug demeanour dampened when you saw his bear-like hand raise when its journey was paused.

Ceased completely as Chris’ hand wrapped around Carter’s wrists.

Your leader’s smile was sharp, like a decorated dagger. “Are you already creating a scene, just when you finished the first dance?”

Carter, dumbfounded by his enemy’s sudden presence, waved off the foreign grip on his hand. “You are never going to find the documents,” he crowed, glaring at the two of you.

Chris, the magnificent bastard, only kept his magnetic smirk as he took your hand, enveloping his fingers with yours. “We shall see about that,” he promised, and dipped his head in adieu, turning on his heel and taking you with him.

You felt your heart flutter when his grip on you stayed, even when Carter stomped off into the crowd. “Bastard,” you hissed. A hum of agreement followed.

Soon, music began to play a sensual tune, and you looked to the couples joining in the main circle of the floor. You made to leave that area when you felt the man refused to be led.

You looked back, noticing an uncertain emotion swirling in his eyes. “The dance is about to begin.”

“So?” he merely said, hands still clasping yours. The people around you began to take positions.

“Chris,” you got out. “You do not dance.”

A small smile enveloped his mouth at the claim. He answered in wrapping a hand around you, making you suck in a breath. You caught sight of the tattoo inked on his skin as he raised his hold on. NON DUCOR DUCO.

I am not led. I lead.

“You’re right,” he admitted. As the first tune of the violin settled in the ballroom, the man took a step. “But I let it slide on special occasions.”

You did not reply, only staring at him as you happily let him turn you about the dance floor.

Your assumptions were correct - Chris Bang was a wonderful dancer. The man already possessed a natural smoothness in his usual movement, but the way he led you across the room gave fluidity another meaning entirely. His hand on your back was an anchor to reality, keeping you from dreaming away in the skies above, and his fingers, interlocked with yours, were a silent promise that he was never letting you go.

You were so caught up in your fantasies that you did not hear what Chris said until he called your name.

“____.”

You perked up, raising your brows. “Yes?

“Did Carter say anything to you?” His fingers on your exposed skin began to caress you, and it took a lot within you to stay calm. “You were seething while you both danced.”

Oh, so he was watching you. The information didn’t help your nerves. “He was being his usual, charming self,” you drawled, careful of your feet.

He paused a bit at your unhelpful answer. “I see,” he got out, index curling with the ribbon of your back. You let out a shuddered breath, not going unnoticed by the man.

You changed the subject, focusing on the mission. “Are Jisung and Changbin still searching for the documents?”

Chris, on the note, twirled you delicately, and brought you back into his arms. “They have discovered the hideout, and have taken down half the men,” he informed, and you sighed in relief. “They’ll find what we’re looking for soon.”

“I hope so, too,” you murmured, listening to the music ascend in its pitch.

So much finery radiated in this room. As your eyes drifted to the surroundings once more, you became slightly envious of the family fortunate enough to reside in this estate, and drink in the liquid gold splattered everywhere in the vast hall. Complaints were heard from a rather nasty woman, who screamed at a young servant for spilling wine on her oh so expensive dress, and the jewellery which glittered upon necks and ears.

This. you hated this. Despised the wealth which accumulated in this ball, this entire neighbourhood. Not months ago you were about to die from the lack of food in your stomach. No doubt these people simply relished another one of these many balls, occurring every season.

It was the only reason the Sons of Seoul existed in the first place. To battle the ranks of the rich, and establish a sense of justice which had long faded from London.

Perhaps Chris sensed your growing disgust at the environment, for he sighed. “I hate these people.”

You nearly smiled at how similar you both think.

His touches still had you nearing closer to him as he continued, “I hate how everyone here can simply enjoy themselves without a care in the world. I hate the Mayor for letting this chaos happen as he sits back on his arse, corruption spiking under his office.”

His anger grew. “I hate that pig-headed prick Carter and all the trouble he’s brought me. I hate that he stole those documents and constantly fucks with me as if we two had not crawled out of the same hellhole.

“And God,” he snapped, pure venom now lacing his tongue, “I hate how he was touching you as if you were no one but his.”

Your eyes widened at the confession.

He groaned out in frustration, fingers tightening on your hand. “I hate how Jisung and Changbin walked in on us this evening. Despise that the moment I was about to close the distance they burst through the door, leaving me helpless. And I hate feeling helpless.”

You did not know what to say, what words to comfort him with. Not when you were thinking the exact same thing, and felt the exact same agitation, particularly at your core.

The man leaned in, eyes heavy lidded. “You know what I hate the most, ____?”

Gulping, you let out a little, “What?” afraid of what he was going to reveal.

His tongue ran along his bottom lip, fingers continuing their teasing.

“I-” he seethed, gripping your back tightly. “Fuck, I hate how ravishing you look in that dress.”

You parted your mouth in shock, blushing the colour of roses. “Why do you hate that?” you only asked, breath almost lost in your lungs as your blood began to thrum beneath your skin.

His eyes lost all dreamy light when a small curve enveloped his lips. “Because, my dear ____,” he muttered hoarsely, each breath ragged, “It makes me think of all the things I want to do to you.”

The strong hand on his back was felt much more, fingers playing with the laces of your dress. You nearly cried out in front of a hundred people over their idle play, and his bold, bold statement.

Chris relished in your whimpering reaction. “Aren’t you going to ask me?” he whispered, leaning in till his mouth hovered near your ear. “Do you not want to know what I wish to do to you?”

“What,” you rasped out, grip tightening over his neck. “What are you going to do?”

His husky chuckling nearly sent you over the edge. “I’ll find a nice little space, away from Carter and all these people,” he began, breath caressing your skin. “Then I’ll kiss you slowly, like so.” he pressed a chaste kiss underneath your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “These hands of mine will roam all over, but they will gladly trail up your legs, ____.

“And God, when my hands stop at your sopping cunt, I’ll make it cry with my fingers.” He drummed his fingers on your back. “One.” Tap. “Two.” Tap. “Three of them.” Tap. “Perhaps you’d like more.”

You whined into his shoulder, feet stumbling as you clung onto him tighter. “M-more,” you pleaded quietly, so careful to keep dancing, move along to the music.

“Of course you would,” he only cooed in your ear, and you were scared you would collapse over his words. “Luckily for you, I wouldn’t be finished with you either.”

Your hand, clasped in his his, squeezed at his words. “Chris, please—”

“Yes, just like that,” the man mused, whirling you on the dance floor. “Just like that, you’ll beg me to send you over the edge, but I won’t let you be satisfied so easily.”

On God and all his subjects, if he did not cease his filth you were going to come onto the floor by his mere words. You could tell Chris noticed, almost reading your mind as the ghost of a smirk widened. “Already afraid, love?”

Love.

Dear, fucking God.

“You see, ____,” he muttered, leading you to the final round of the song, the steps of the dance going faster. “I won’t let you be satiated with just my fingers.”

And as he broke his hold on you, twirling you with his tattooed hand, he pulled you to him, one last time, crushing you against his granite chest.

His eyes bore into yours when the last string of the violin wailed around the hall. All you could see was pure, unadulterated desire.

“I will have you writhing with my cock.”

Your eyes never left Chris’ as the music finally came to a close, gaze blurring at the dark promise. Applause scattered around the ballroom, yet your hands stayed upon his arm, the other enveloped in his.

You caught the words once more under his thumb. NON DUCOR DUCO.

Indeed you do.

“Chris,” you breathed out, waiting for him to let you go. He did no such thing.

Feeling a few suspicious eyes on you, your feet backed away from the man, hands escaping the feeling he emitted underneath your touch.

A whine threatened to escape you when you saw his desire had not dampened. His hands shook, only slightly, and your stomach erupted into a million butterflies, journeying lower and lower.

You wanted him. You wanted him so badly you feared you would faint on the dance floor.

Excusing yourself, you hastened your footsteps, sending a few smiles to passerbys as you picked up a flute of champagne, hurrying down long hallways, catching a few couples leaning towards each other. When you found a grand wooden cabinet beside another door, no doubt a guest room, you slumped next to it, breathing loud and ragged, too affected by a certain man’s eyes and the hidden intentions underneath. You drank the entire champagne in one gulp, propping the flute on a servant’s tray as he rushed by.

“____!”

Gasping, you turned to the source of the voice. The voice which filled you with such unexplainable hunger you had to clench your thighs as it drew nearer.

Footsteps thudded against the carpet, and you squirmed at the sight of Chris Bang, storming towards you with a ferocity which had your knees near buckling.

“Where,” he began, voice an octave lower as he stood not a foot from you, smacking his hands against the wall, caging you with his presence. “Were you trying to lead me?”

“Somewhere where they cannot see us,” you responded, excitement clear in your voice. The ballroom chatter was still within your range, so technically, anyone could wonder down these halls, look over the cabinet and catch you both.

The throbbing inside you didn’t particularly care.

“And what do you want me to do,____,” he murmured, and his voice was glazed with pure lust, “Which the world cannot see?”

“I…” slight shame tried to course through your body but the overflowing desire was too strong. Not when your tongue was not afraid to voice what was in your heart the moment you first saw him. “I want you to do all those things you said. I want you to ruin me.”

And perhaps that was all he needed, when Christopher Bang pressed his lips against yours and answered your prayers.

He was instantly rewarded with your surprised whine, drowned out by the movement of his mouth as his hands left the wall, holding onto your face. His thumbs caressed your cheeks as he led the fiery kiss, opening your mouth to let the little noises escape.

“Chris,” you tried to rasp out, but his lips refused once more as he tilted your head, gaining full access and truly discovering the sheer pleasure oozing from the swell of your lips. God, he had gone through every experience which gave him a sense of thrill, but the kiss he shared with you brought him a new, foreign high — as if he tried the drugs he had seen on the streets for the first time, and becoming addicted on the first dose.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air as the two of you shared a carnal gaze, chests rising at an unsteady rhythm. Chris was ruthless, only sparing you for a few seconds before pouncing back in on your mouth, this time tongue playing along, asking to be let inside and slide along the inner workings. You would have been a fool to refuse him.

The moment you opened your lips for him his tongue slithered inside, sliding it along the roof of your mouth, while his hands left your face and instead gripped onto your waist, driving you further against the wall, snuffing out any distance which dared come between you and him.

A slightly moan bubbled within your throat when he began to roughen your lips, capturing your tongue before closing the seam of your mouth within his own, repeating the action until you didn’t know whether you were sane or absolutely fucking crazy.

You were sure straight after when one of his hands began sliding down. Down. He hurriedly broke the kiss, letting out an angry groan at the never ending skirts which met with his fingers. “Fuck this dress,” he cursed as he descended a little, peppering kisses upon the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, trailing until he found the hem of your skirts.

Bunching them up with his one hand, he lifted the fabric, baring your legs to the dimmed chandelier light from the main hall. His hand trailed right up to your core, a single layer hiding it from Chris’ fingers. The poor, soaked fabric could not ever compete, when the criminal, with a single finger as he scattered kisses upon your face, hooked under the lacey underwear, sliding it down your thighs. So much desperation lurked he did not even bother to slide it down to your ankles, a chuckle rasping out of him as his fingers skimmed your upper thighs to find them dripping with the suppressed arousal.

“My poor, poor, darling,” he whispered in a menacing tone, the other hand caressing your face, “Couldn’t contain yourself for me?”

“Ch-chan,” you heard yourself say, because at this point your soul was not present, probably lurking in seventh heaven where this man was taking you.

Hearing his name on your slurred mouth only had him plunging the first finger inside you.

You let out an obscenely loud moan, which was immediately followed by hushing. “Don’t make a sound,” he demanded, smiling slyly at your whimpering, “Or else I stop. Understand?”

You could not nod fast enough, and he huffed out a laugh before sliding the second finger in, rubbing against your slit, drawing circles upon your throbbing skin, testing the rather sticky waters of you and your fucked out state.

Satisfied, he delved the two fingers in deeper, pulsating against your walls until they hit a certain spot which had you crying out in pleasure. Chris’ heavy lidded warning flashed in his eyes.

You nearly cried when he began to slide his fingers out over your moaning, your hand immediately stopping him from pulling out further. “Ch-Chan,” you pleaded, pleaded like the whores you heard on the docks, but you didn’t care, did not give a single fuck when those fingers needed to be inside you again. “Chan, please, I’m sorry—”

“One more fuck up, ____, and these—” his fingers plunged back into you once more, hitching you upwards with the sheer force, “—will be back out.”

Nodding hastily, you left your hand on his wrist. Chris continued to work so deliciously inside you that it took every ounce of strength left in you not to bring the manor down with your moaning. The whimpering could not be contained, but the criminal let that slide, finding great contentment every time you begged for more.

He curled his slender fingers, acquainting himself with that same bloody spot which had you seeing stars. Your hands gripped onto his neck for stability, nails digging into his shirt. How you wanted it off, along with all the damned layers he adorned.

The way he played with your sweet spot had you feeling heavy, a pleasured ball of pain forming at your lower back. You knew you were being led to an edge, an edge you could not, did not want to escape, and when you pulled away from Chris, looking into his eyes, he instantly understood.

“Oh my, love,” he simpered, his free hand thumbing your cheek. “Does someone want to get fucked against the wall? When I’m not even finished with them yet?”

Tears lined your eyes, cunt throbbing almost painfully around his fingers. “Chan, I’m going to—ah!” you cut off, closing your eyes as you barely held on to your last grips of sanity. “Chan.”

Your weakened, fucked out demeanour had the most dangerous man in London fearing for his own senses. He wished nothing more than you screaming his name for the whole city to hear, and with you, looking at him like that…

Oh, he was definitely going to drive you over the edge.

Christopher Bang nearly carried out his promise when a shrill call interrupted you two.

“CHRIS! ____!”

“WHERE ARE YOU—?”

Your lust-glazed stare cracked as you blinked. “Chan,” you said his name, but the man let out an enraged roar. You felt the hollow emptiness when those golden fingers were pulled out of you, sticky residue coating his skin. The footsteps grew closer, the volume of the shouting increasing.

Chris brought out a white handkerchief, cleaning your mess on his fingers rather aggressively. “I’m going to fucking kill them,” he guttered out, making your legs tremble. To your utmost misery you felt the orgasm, so close before, fading from existence, and you made a silent vow to break Jisung and Changbin’s legs the moment all of this was over.

Speaking of the Devil, the two hastened, opening all doors and closing them till the two stumbled upon the both of you, infuriated and worryingly turned on.

Changbin looked at the deflated expression on both of yours faces. “Chris? ____?” His eyes narrowed, trying to work out the reasons for the slight electric atmosphere he suddenly entered in. “Are you both...alright?”

“Perfectly,” the man answered in a ragged hiss, sliding on his gloves again, smoothing over his raven locks. “Now why the fuck are you both here?”

The two boys did not understand their leader’s anger. Choosing to let the snipe slide, Jisung said, “We’ve caught Carter.”

That seemed to send you and Chris back in reality. Well, not really, when your core still throbbed, the pleasure fading with each passing second.

“Where is he?” Chris flattened out his coat. “Where are the documents?”

Changbin brought out a small file from inside his waistcoat, holding it out for the former. “Right here.”

Chris took the file, skimming through the contents. His previously angered expression relaxed, just a fraction, and he held onto it as he set his powerful gaze on you all.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The four of you managed to slip away easily, you trying your hardest to fix yourself after the whole fiasco in the hallway. Your heart was still running a mile per minute, refusing to calm as your mind relived the events. The original carriage which you all arrived in was now accompanied with another one, with a dark figure hunched over from the window’s view.

“We threw the giant fucker in another carriage,” Changbin said, laughing as he recalled the takedown with Jisung. “Man could not believe he was failing!”

Chris ignored his story, turning to you all as he stood before Carter’s carriage. “You three, take the free one,” he ordered, his eyes rooted on you. “I will journey home with him.”

“But Chris,” you began, taking a step towards him, “Let me come with you.”

You caught a glimpse of the desire which swirled in his eyes, not long ago, and perhaps that was why he held your arm in his now gloved hand.

“Go,” he only said. “I have a few things to say to him alone.”

After letting you go, nodding at the boys behind you, Chris Bang stepped inside the first carriage, slamming the door shut. The metal wheels screeched as the whole thing began to move, accelerating away.

You watched the carriage fade from view, Jisung and Changbin stepping beside you.

“What happened, ____?” the former asked, the other trying to comfort you with his gaze.

Silence was their only answer, as you turned on your heel, climbing inside your designated ride and watched the stars twinkle from the window.

The two members of the gang really tried their best.

As you all journeyed home without your leader, the pair told their tale of how they took down Carter and his men, Jisung adding exaggerated gasps as Changbin demonstrated each kill he thrust upon his victims. You offered them a few laughs, giving them your attention, but really your mind was somewhere else, specifically a midnight-tainted criminal who nearly brought you your undoing.

You were insane. Insane as you thought of him, insane as you remembered how wonderfully he had you writhing over him, just by his fingers. The mindless pondering alone had your cunt pulsating, and you deserved an award for how unaffected you acted with your friends.

Soon, the carriage slowed to a stop, and you perked up, not realising you had already arrived home.

You waited for the boys to exit before you stepped out of the carriage, the only light on the docks emitting from lamps and the night sky, reflected on the surface of the river. The first carriage was already there when your feet met the concrete floor, and when you turned to the man who reigned in your mind he had his signature expression, an aloof distaste as he walked over to his gang.

“Jisung, Changbin,” he called, and the boys responded. “Lock the carriage door,” he ordered, jerking his chin towards his transport. “We will bring him out in the morning.”

“Chris, should we not throw him in the cellar?” Changbin glared at Carter’s direction. “Bastard might escape.”

He only slid his hands in his pockets, you catching the dried blood on his gloves. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, striking a step towards the building. “He’s not going to disturb us tonight. I can promise you that.”

Jisung cursed low along with you, only watching the man walk back to the bedrooms. Bidding goodnight to your friends, you followed Chris’ trail, opening the door and stepping inside the hallway.

You saw him before his bedroom door, bringing out a rusted key. His eyes slid to you as your feet brought you to your entrance. You looked back, waiting as Chris unlocked his room and began to enter.

He turned back, something dark and twisted still lurking in his eyes.

You waited, so patiently at the words you wished to hear, of him finally ruining you.

Instead, you received something else entirely.

“Goodnight, ____.”

And closed the door behind him.

Your heart dropped.

Fell to the floor, and shattered under the criminal’s bloodied boots.

The light of the hallway flickered as you stood rooted to the doorway, eyes staring at Chris’ door as if looking at it hard enough would get him to change his mind.

What did you know. The man is not led by exterior forces. Only by his own will.

When you gathered up the strength to the slam the door shut, you slumped against the wood, hating yourself for the tears which threatened to break the lines of your eyes. This was pathetic — utterly disgusting that you were about to cry over his decision.

But you could not help it. You were so enraptured by him. Hell, you were ready to throw yourself in the fires of damnation for him, as he whispered filth all the while rutting against you. Why had that suddenly changed?

“Argh!” You screamed, stomping over to the lamp, light now long extinguished. You relit it’s spark, illuminating the room once more, and set it on the stool before recklessly plucking out the pearls in your hair, a few tears daring to trail down your cheeks.

Fuck him. Fuck him for making you so rattled. Fuck him for having that effect on you.

You looked into your mirror and cursing yourself for the disheveled appearance. Again, the consequences for letting yourself fall for him.

“To hell with you Bang Chan,” you cursed.

You were about to untie your dress when your bedroom door was nearly ripped off its hinges.

Flinching, you grabbed the dagger on your dresser, raised to cut down whoever stupid enough to barge in on an assassin at midnight.

You were met with Christopher Bang.

And the disorder he brought with him.

Chaos reigned in his figure; his tousled locks, his star-struck expression, his rolled-up sleeves and his pandemonic eyes, all working together and against each other to create the man you had never seen in your life.

Good God. What had happened to him?

“Chan?” You got out, dagger now brought down. He said not a single word in response as he slammed the door shut, hard enough for the entirety of London to hear.

Instead, he imprisoned you with his stare, almost giving you his chaos. The chaos you had always shared with him since the moment he picked you off the streets.

No, he said not one word — only took the steps needed to march towards you. You could only watch with widening eyes when he grabbed your face in his rugged hands and collided his lips against yours.

You did not even hesitate to comply, hands grabbing onto his shirt, pulling him as close as you possibly could, so afraid that he would disappear from your grip if you dared let go. With the way he moved his mouth along yours, however, already opening up the familiar workings, you had a feeling he was not going to abandon you now.

When he broke away, breathing already erratic, his hands slid down to your neck, thumbs caressing the length of your throat. “I couldn’t,” he started, and he was sprinkling kisses all over your face. “I couldn’t leave.”

“I was scared, Chan,” you confessed, fisting the material harder. “I thought you truly did.”

His eyes focused on you. Within the turmoil, there was a promise. “Never,” he whispered, leaning in. “Never again.”

And suddenly his lips were on you, and the desperation was so rooted he nearly stole the very breath from your lungs. The sheer intensity, the longing implied broke your heart to the point you attached yourself to him, wrapping your arms around him and refusing to ever let him go.

The rather soft kiss began to heat up, as Chris broke the seam of your lips, swirling your tongue in his, already receiving incoherent praise from deep down your throat, making the man smile against his lips as he continued.

His hands slid further down, right to the small of your back, where he began to untie all the little bows he created for you at the dawn of the evening, the little touches of fire singeing you still. It was fascinating how effortlessly he loosened all the laces, fingers sliding through the patterns until one by one they fluttered down, until the dark red dress slackened around your chest.

A small gasp escaped you as Chris, while creating a trail of kisses down your jaw, right down to your neck, grabs the dress from your sides, hitching it down until it falls to the floor. Leaving you practically naked save for the scraps covering your dangerously soiled underwear.

Chris paused from his ravishing, taking a much too long look at your skin, glowing from the lamp light, and before he could stare any longer you brought your arms to your chest, suddenly becoming a little too embarassed to let him see you at your most vulnerable.

The supposedly unfeeling criminal, however, nearly broke into a smile at your flustered nature, and grabbed onto your wrists, opening the lock to your breasts, peaked by his actions, and the thought of what was to come.

The soiled underwear was about to drip at this point.

“You’re exquisite,” was all he said, making you almost burst into tears at the praise. You pressed a long, heart shattering kiss upon his mouth, and he responded perfectly, hands sliding to your naked waist, each drum of his fingers like a tug towards a dangerous edge.

Things began to take a turn, open mouthed kisses being plastered on the skin of your throat as the man pushed you back, further and further until the back of your knees hit the bed, stopping you in his tracks. His grip on your waist directed downwards, planting you on the mattress as his mouth descended to your collarbone, down and down until he licked your peaked nipple in a way that had you moaning obscenely loud. His husky chuckle resonated along your skin, still not pausing his trail until he hit the end of the dip of your cunt, barricaded by the fabric.

The moment he looked up at you, that alone made you nearly undo yourself. By the increasing volume of your breathing, Chris seemed to realise so too.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he got out, watching you whimper at each touch caressing your hips. “Already about to come when I haven’t even done anything?”

“Ch-Chan,” you pleaded, wishing for those damned fingers of his to plunge inside of you. The son of a bitch was taking his time, making you wait knowing it pained you to stay like this. “Chan—”

His name on your tongue had him gritting his teeth, hands on each of your side grabbing onto your lace, and sliding your underwear down, all the way till it fell free from your legs and threw it across the room, forgotten when Chris parted his mouth at the moistened treasure between your legs.

Those roughened hands steeled their grip on your thighs, pulling you closer till you sat right on the edge of the bed, cunt mere inches from his face. You could not even comprehend the insanity of this situation, that the hidden fantasies you dreamed of shamelessly were morphing into reality right before your eyes.

“So, so pretty,” he murmured, blowing a little air on your slick folds, earning himself a sucked in breath from his truly. “So pretty and wet, and all because of me.”

You let out a ragged breath, words of filth sounding so foreign on his tongue. It was not like he didn’t talk like the sailors living near you on the docks, but these dirty words and dirtier intentions, now all directed at you, made you feel so flustered, in a wondrous way you could not possibly describe. All you wanted was for him to keep singing this filth till you blacked out.

Chris, with the force of his hands, spread your thighs a little wider, and without warning broke his tongue from the seam of his lips, planting it upon your slit and moving it slowly over the surface.

That alone made you cry out in ecstasy.

But that was only a test, a taking on of foreign surroundings before truly welcoming himself, and by God, did he welcome himself in as more than a guest, when that tongue slid deeper and performed strokes which had you seeing all the stars in the universe.

What was first slow teasing then became a starved hunt, tongue relishing in the sweet arousal you emitted, lapping it up brazenly as if he had been wanting to do this for a long, long time. Your blubbering grew louder with every lick, fisting the sheets behind you with such ferocity you were sure they’d tear.

And if that wasn’t painstakingly enough, the man spread your legs a little wider, his tattooed hand, two fingers out, sliding straight inside you, making you mewl at the way they tightened they walls they journeyed in. Curling, just like they did earlier in the evening, they took their time finding the certain little spot which had you bringing the house down with your cries.

“Ch-Chan, please, please, I’m going to—AH!” You rasped out, when the said-criminal found the sweet little undoing of yours and stroked your fingers along the sensitive spot, making that bundle of pleasure resonating in your back appear once more, like a low throbbing begging to be released.

His tongue had not given you any breaks, still working ruthlessly along your clit and you cried for him to give you that sweet release, to just let you come but he had not let you be satisfied this easily. No, he wanted you writhing underneath him, wanted the final ruination to be from underneath his trousers, angered as it outlined against his leather.

You craned your head back, screaming out his name because you knew all else had abandoned you. “Chan!” Looking down, his mouth very much occupied with your cunt. Your orgasm was reaching, was on the very edge, and if he kept working on you like this he was on his way to taste the consequences of his actions.

Something about that image made you want it as a reality with a worryingly strong intensity.

“Chan, I’m going to—” you were about to warn but were interrupted by a squeeze of your thigh, done by yours truly as if he knew. And as if he knew, the two fingers began pumping much faster, harmonising along with his tongue, and the two actions at once, fucking you with that rapidity was so pleasurable that, with the first earth-shattering cry of the night, you were driven over the edge, releasing your orgasm straight into the criminal’s face.

You felt the work of his fingers slow down, along with his tongue, that with one, final lick, he retreated from your cunt, fingers still inside you as they comforted your aching core with slow, soothing strokes.

When he looked up at you, though, with your residue mostly upon his mouth, scattered on his cheeks, and basically a bit of everywhere, that sight alone nearly caused you to come all over again.

Perhaps that was his intentions.

Because when he licked his lips clean of your mess, ever so slowly, as if enjoying your orgasm like a man starved, you instantly saw in his eyes that this night was not over yet.

“Already so good, so wonderful,” he mused, slipping his fingers out, both hands now resting on your thighs. “Coming so quick even though I had been saving for the last.”

You knew exactly what he meant, but still had the nerve to ask, “The last?”

He raised a groomed brow, and that gesture was so breathtaking, more so when he raised himself slightly, so he knelt eye-level to you. “Don’t act oblivious, love,” he mused, leaving your thighs to your disappointment, but quickly diminishing when his fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt, slowly popping upon, each patch of skin being revealed like a show of your own. “We both know this isn’t how it’s going to end.”

Shivers crawled down your spine, but you only watched as the man finished undoing his shirt, peeling it off of him and throwing it amongst the other clothing. You nearly let spit trail down your chin at the sheer finery of his muscle alone, sharpened at his arms, his chest all the way down to his v-line, which dipped dangerously low. With no small amount of pride, you also noticed the large, angry outline of Chris’ cock, begging to be set free.

The man caught you blatantly staring, and a shit-eating grin twisted his glistening lips. “You may do the honours if you’re so keen.”

Blushing, you mumbled a shut up, but was captured by Chris’ lips, tasting your own arousal on his tongue, as his grip on you led you further into the bed, while you fumbled on the buttons of his trousers, popping them open one by one when you broke from the kiss, your turn to shower him with more along the veiny expanse of his neck as you pulled his trousers down, tossing them among the pile.

When you saw the slight-stained underwear of his, you felt the familiar throbbing again, so affected by how you affected him. Noticing your apparent pride, he pressed his lips upon you in a searing kiss, peeling off any last scrap of clothing and forgetting that too among the other clothing.

And by God, when Chris Bang’s cock escaped from his underthings your mouth actually watered at the sheer size it bore. Husky laughter resonated in your ears, and you flushed the colour of blood when he caught you staring much too audaciously than he would have imagined.

“Already fantasising about my cock?” He slurred, the tattooed hand curling stray hairs from your sweat-slick, flushed face. The way you scrunched your nose, clearly flustered by his comment, melted his stone cold heart, as he caressed your cheeks with his fingers.

You did not answer him, only whispering his name along his skin, waiting and waiting for the man to drive that force home inside you. “Chan,” you murmured, and the name you kept saying like a religious chant, like it was the only word that mattered, was what brought him to grip his cock, directing it against your entrance, the still slick folds which grew more wet every time the tip caressed the sensitive skin. “Chan, please—”

“Please what?” He demanded, demanded because he needed to hear you precisely want you wanted. The words he practically prayed would be on your tongue the moment he kissed you for the first time this evening.

Obliging him was like second nature. “Please fuck me, Chan,” you breathed out, holding onto his shoulders, knowing you were going to need a hell of a good grip for what was about to arrive. “Please, just ruin me with your cock.”

A malicious smile curled upon his lips. “Good, good girl,” he purred, and began the descend which you dreamed of the very first night you realised you were ridiculously attracted to him.

His cock slid inside you, and with a soul-wrenching whine, was perfectly snug as the journey went on, and on, and on, until you were certain you could not take anymore, despite the man retaining a few inches. He was slow at first, making sure you were not going to be pained by this action. Although your nails dug into the granite muscle of his shoulders, you only egged him on. “M-more,” you only said, and he readily obliged, until you felt him all around you in your body, as if he had filled you up to the brim.

“Ready?” He asked, and when you nodded, he rested his forehead against yours as gently, he began to pull out.

You nearly whined at the lack of inches filling you up, but then he brought his cock back in, creating this hypnotic rhythm which was so unimaginably ethereal you felt yourself float amongst the clouds. Each thrust out and thrust in was a drive in and out of reality, with Chris Bang holding the tether of your survival, pulling you in and out of his mercy.

Gradually, he began to fasten, panting as his drove into you with more force, and when the momentum hardened, you felt your soul leave your body. His cock created wonders for you, having you scream in unimaginable pleasure, and driving your nails into his back was not enough, your lewd moaning not enough given to his sheer skill, his pure simplicity in bringing his cock back and front which had you seeing stars. Hell, Christopher Bang showed you undiscovered universes, leading you across galaxies and unfamiliar cosmos, each thrust in a different vision, and when he lifted your leg a little higher for more access, you feared that you would wake the whole docks with your groaning, for this criminal, this heartless criminal provided you with the whole universe with the simple strokes of his cock inside you, and all you could offer him were screams.

Even your reactions were pure Beethoven to his ears, relishing in your fucked out state as he gave you all he asked, driving you to the edge of the world. You, finally, clashed your lips against his, offering him sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over his face and neck, and that alone had him greeting his teeth, knowing his own release was near. You were going to die if he was not given the same pleasure as you, so you reacted with each of his touches, each of his thrusts, him practically pistoning you upon this bed which very much would break.

“Ch...Chan…” you grated out, eyes blurring, vision completely fucked, “I’m...I-I—”

“I—fuck,” he too got out, for your last love mark painted onto to the curve of his neck nearly had him ruined. “I’m going to come, too, love—”

“Chan!” You whined, because the throbbing was there, and was so close that if the man did not send that last thrust home then it was all for nothing, everything that had ever happened will all be for nothing.

But he listened. The man who did not listen to anyone or anything listened, and pounded his cock so hard in approval that it had you crying out to the cosmos as you finally let go, orgasm spilling out from whatever space the residue could find between his cock. Your own release had Chris groaning louder than he had even done this entire time, praising you unconditionally, until the filth was cut off by a low curse, with his own release barrelling into you, some joining your spilled mess upon the sheets.

Chris let out a shuddering breath, slowly crossing his movement inside you. Carefully, when you stopped digging your nails into his shoulders, he pulled out, reaching for the blanket untouched and bringing it over you and him before collapsing beside you. Both of you breathed as if you had held your oxygen for a thousand years, chests rising unevenly.

A silence hung over you two, heavy yet not uncomfortable, lingering in your bedroom. Chris sat up a little, using your pillows behind him as comfort as he raked his hair back, sweat-slick all over, much like you. You held the blanket right up to your chest, hair in disarray, much like your heart. The poor organ threatened to collapse at the events.

Sneakily, you caught a glance at the greatest criminal in London, staring off at the distance, mouth set in a concentrated line. He looked dashing even in his post-sex state, the lines of his chest still stark against his sweat. You truly had never seen a man this beautiful in your life.

He turned his head to you, catching your staring, and when you tried to look away he captured his chin with his fingers, making you meet his fierce stare. Although dark, the lust had satiated, and instead held passive affection. Well, you hoped it did.

“Why do you still look away?” He demanded in a low, tired voice.

You tried to slide your gaze to the lamp, but was too bewitched by his midnight eyes. “Because you’re beautiful, Chan,” you answered, feeling the blood rush to your face.

He cocked his head, damp curls sticking to his face. “You say that as if you are not,” he countered.

You did not say anything then. Even so, he received your answer.

“____,” he said in a low tone. The grip on your chin loosened, and the hand went to your cheeks, cupping your face. “You are truly flawless. Don’t make me have to make you believe that.”

A small smile hinted at your lips. “And what if I still don’t?”

His answering smirk sent butterflies tumbling once again. After a moment, as if hesitating, he then snaked his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. You were surprised when his one hand fully encircled you, while the other hand, the tattooed hand, rested upon your head, stroking your hair with his slender fingers. You did not pull away, was never going to, only wrapping your arm across his chest.

It was the first time you had ever seen Christopher Bang hug someone in his life.

“Chan?” You asked.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you get that tattoo?”

He paused for a minute, never ceasing his fingers intertwined in your locks. After a small sigh, which you felt beneath your own fingertips, he said, “It is simply something I live by.

“Non ducor duco. No one will lead me, love. Only myself.”

You pondered over the roots of this phrase, of the significance for the man you lay with.

“Good,” you said after a while. “I wouldn’t want anyone leading you either.”

With that, you gave into the soothing movement of Chris’ fingers, working lazily in your hair. And while you dozed off to sleep, the criminal mastermind of the biggest city in the world pondered some more, specifically over his motto.

NON DUCOR DUCO. A phrase which had stayed true for so long no one could ever change it.

But after tonight, as you slowly dozed off under Chris’ caresses, he wondered whether there isn’t one person he wouldn’t mind being led by.

And as he stole a soft glance at the specific person beside him, he knew.

He knew that although he will be led by no man, there is one woman who he would, to his own shock, happily be led for.

So, with that new, and slightly terrifying revelation, Christopher Bang went to sleep, knowing that someone had fucked with him and gotten away.

And he was willingly going to let it happen.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #bang chan imagines #stray kids dark hours #bang chan #stray kids #stray kids oneshot #kpop imagines #kpop smut #skz imagines #skz smut #chris bang #christopher bang #skz dark hours

1K notes · View notes

stagbells · 3 years

Text

Summerdew and Sweet Kisses

From: @daikoski

To: @strawberryaeris

Written work under readmore!

notes: hello!! i had lots of fun writing this, it was such a joy to work on! it’s my first time writing lacenet, so i hope you enjoy!! summertime love :D

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

It’s date night, and Lace has full reign on what they’re doing today.

It’s less of a spoken thing and more a silent agreement that one of them can take the lead and decide what sort of day the two will share together. Whether it be cozying it up at home, or working on individual projects with the other close by, going hunting, or seeking out a new activity to share, most of everything is free game when it comes to them.

To which, she’s deliberately chosen something new.

Hornet had mentioned one time, in idle conversation, that she’d never really swam for the sake of it. If anything, it was a shortcut, if she couldn’t easily cross the body of water with her needle and silk. That she hadn’t really considered it as a fun passing of time, a recreational activity of sorts.

Well. Neither had Lace, but the thought of it now sounds far more appealing now that they’ve both claimed better lives for each other, for Hornet’s family, doesn’t it? It’s safer now, and they’re easing into a life beyond just fine, but something good instead.

And... there are plenty of beautiful, isolated spots within the land that Lace has seen, and what better to enjoy it than with her darling?

And what a pretty little area it is too; a pond, hidden within the depths of a lush grove. hidden, but with evidence of prior life, if the cute wooden dock is any indicator. The surface of the pond is scattered with aquatic plants in little vibrant clusters, pearls of colour that sway with the breeze.

“Are you sure you don’t want to enter the water, dear?”

From her spot, with Hornet sitting perched on the dock, dangling her peets into the water and swishing them around in such a way that makes Lace laugh, before settling her always so composed regard on her, she looks nothing less than perfect. And also very wary of getting wet beyond that.

Cute.

“I’m considering it,” is just enough of a not-response that Lace hums, a touch understanding, a touch mischievous. Ah yes. She’s considering it.

Hornet has been sitting on the edge of the dock for almost an hour now, the two making idle conversation as they enjoy the balmy air that’s heavy-sweet with ripening fruits and bright flowers, hot to the point of being almost unbearable, but alas, she is still considering it.

Such a shame.

Lace splashes the unsuspecting spider.

Not a full-on wave, of course, she isn’t that mean, but as of now, a little urging on her part wouldn’t hurt, and Hornet immediately shields herself from the water. The top-half of her cloak is soaked.

“Lace—!”

“Yes?” Her voice as innocent as she is not, she merely swishes her hands within the water, propelling herself back a bit from the dock before holding her hands out in gesture, as if to catch Hornet if she were to dive in. “My, dearest, do you need any help with that? You’re already halfway there!”

“My silk is going to melt, and my things could rust...”

“A little water won’t hurt, but if you need a place to keep them, there’s a little nook over there that’ll keep them safe.” Shrouded by bits of sweet grass and soft soil, it’s a perfect spot to keep anything important safe. Besides, they’re both well aware that both of their belongings are far sturdier than that...

“If you had wanted me in the water so bad, you could have asked.”

Kind of haphazardly, more deliberate than not, Hornet unburdens herself of all the little tools and trinkets she keeps within her cloak, before finally sliding into the water. (It’s a mess, but a mess that she understands and who is Lace to question that.)

“There. I’ve removed everything from my pockets, and I’m here now.” Her tone is just a touch grumpy, though that’s easily dismissed with the way Lace can feel the faint stutter-rumble of her purr as she rests a hand on Hornet’s chest.

“Cute, but I think the little questions I’ve scattered into our conversation were not given much heed.”

“Maybe if you asked again...” Ah, now that is most certainly petulance. “You’re enjoying making a fool of me today, aren’t you?”

Hornet’s claws are carefully gripping her own, smaller hand, and Lace brushes the pad of her thumb over her now damp fur. The distant, light waves that carry them ever so slightly kind of pushes her to Hornet, and she can only smile wider at the way her lover’s claws go to brace her gently.

“Ahh, my apologies, I'm not trying to be mean!”

“Really.”

“Mm. At least, just a little bit.”

“So you do admit it.”

“And you must believe me, dearheart, when I say I have no ill intent~!”

Intentionally, Lace lets her mandibles curl in a teasing, honey-sweet manner that always has Hornet unable to look away for just a little bit, and she relishes in the attention just as much as the way her darling swats a wave of water her way in reciprocation.

Because even if she says it in a teasing way, going so far to jab her elbow lightly into Hornet’s side with a laugh, she hopes that the cute spider knows she means every word of it.

Because she’s something wonderful, isn’t she? Direct in a way that’s refreshing, because how often is it that Lace gets to experience something like that? Sharp and honest (and even if she does sometimes struggle with expressing her feelings, she’s still honest) and it’s in such a way that makes Lace want to be the same towards her, be something more open, more real.

...Weird concept, and Lace finds herself laughing to herself, just a little trill of delight.

Yes, but nothing could ever make her stop wanting to tease the spider. Her reactions are so cute after all!

But, her sappiness can be saved for later. Not when there’s currently the cute culprit of these thoughts right in front of her. It’s fun to splash around and goad her dearest on into something of a playfight, one that results in the both being absolutely drenched, but it’s just as nice to relish the coolness of the water against her shell, and in turn be able to admire the many facets such a new experience has brought upon Hornet’s visage.

Cute.

Such as the vague flit of surprise that had so graced the spider’s face when Lace had dunked herself beneath the water; not so many bugs feel comfortable doing such a thing, after all. Or the fond, subdued smile that quirks her fangs just so with each sharp banter that slips so naturally out. It’s nice.

And when the sunlight becomes something a bit too bright and Lace can see the films of Hornet’s eyes try to flick up as she winces from it, she can’t help but bump shoulders with her, before drawing her hand over the smoothness of Hornet’s mask in an unsubtle way of blocking the light, for even just a moment.

“You’re getting water in my eyes,” Hornet half-protests, fangs scrunching but looking so much more relaxed now, and Lace can only think of it as a job well done.

She had purposefully made it so that they would go out later in the day anyways; noonlight was something so sharp sometimes, but alas, even in the evenings can the sunlight bother her dearest like so. They continue like that for a good while longer, idly floating about and conversing, one instigating another splash war on occasion.

It’s all fun and games until they have to get out of the water.

Hornet, the poor little thing, looks just a bit miserable as she works on flicking the water from the tufts of fur that lines her body, chelicerae working ever so slightly concentration. Well, it’s good she’s come prepared.

“Here you are, lover!” Easily tossing a towel around Hornet’s shoulders, Lace gives it a light tug to pull her spider down to press a little kiss and a nuzzle against the side of her mask.

“You planned for this.” Hornet is nothing short of accusatory, and she laughs, just letting a playful hum be her response as she helps tumble dry her.

“What, to trick you into the water so I can give you a kiss?”

Could it really be considered such a devious plan when she was planning on kissing her either way? Endearing thought, especially since Hornet herself is the one to go through some length to muster up something as direct as asking for a kiss. Usually all she’d need to do is start purring up a storm to leave Lace as the one giving the kisses!

At some point, Hornet had cuddled up to her, both drying beneath the steady heat of the sun, but indulging in the warmth of one another for as long as they were allowed. Laying back onto the wood of the deck, peaceful and soft and warm, where the only sounds were that of trickling water and slowing breathing.

Despite appearances, Hornet can be quite the cuddler, curling herself as close as possible to Lace, little tail and everything looping around her as she dozes. Well, this is her fate now.

She doesn’t have the heart to move and disrupt Hornet from a well-deserved nap, even if the way they cuddle always traps her beneath her weight. Not until the sun begins to fall, and the faint glimmers of the starlight begin to settle in, does Lace think of stirring the spider.

This is the sight she wanted to share with her, after all. To deliberately take a moment and enjoy the sight the massive void above has to offer, with all its strange mysteries and stories to tell. Stories she only really heard as a grub, but ones she’s more than willing to try and scrounge up to share with her lover if she so asked...

“Hello there, darling,” Lace carefully nudges her girlfriend awake, and Hornet untucks her face from the crook of her neck. “The sky is clear tonight, take a look.”

(There’s no teasing note to her voice—there’s no need to bring it forth, rather. Not when everything is so quiet, so subdued, and Hornet is still shaking off the last lingering bits of sleep from her eyes, looking so peaceful and comfortable that the sight brings an ache forth in her chest.)

(That this is something they both get to have.)

“It’s night time already?” Hornet murmurs, twisting herself to lay on her back, “Would you not get cold?” The sleepy note to her normally composed and cold voice is something so cute, and Lace leans in to give her a little nuzzle.

“No, and even if I do, I have you, as well as the shawl you had weaved for me so kindly.” And alongside that, the soft, genuine fondness in her own voice is still something so faintly unfamiliar, yet so nice. She could get used to it.

Hornet flushes a bit, perhaps at the prospect that Lace had decided to take the gift she had made for her along in case the night air became chilly, before letting a little ‘mrr’ of disappointment out.

“I am not sure if we should stay out so late...” she begins, before gesturing a bit vaguely, “that, and I had mistakenly assumed we were to return home by nightfall, so...”

Ohh, are her siblings expecting her?

Lace sits up, and unable to help it, stares for a moment. It clicks. Right. They usually go hunting during their dates, two belflies with one stone so to say.

“Did you leave your siblings at home with nothing to eat?” is her automatic question, more concerned for Hornet than anything else. Hornet sits up as well, adjusting her cloak.

“Not nothing.” Hornet frowns, but there’s a small smile hidden, tucked away beneath her mask and Lace knows she’s not truly upset at her question, “they’re most likely eating as we speak. And if they so happen to finish all of our food at home, neither are the type to allow the other to go hungry anyways...” so they could very well be hunting, too.

“Ah, but I can tell you still dislike the notion of leaving them without a fresh meal.” Lace points out, and Hornet leans into her side a bit.

“...Yes.”

“Cute! If it so soothes you, my worrier, then we can take a little detour. I wouldn’t mind if this date takes a turn for our usual.” Carefully extracting herself from Hornet’s hold, Lace hops up with ease to swipe up her belongings—including her pin.

Hornet visibly hesitates—and by visibly, there’s the slightest press of her claws against Lace’s arm, just a light pressure as if to gently tug her back to her side—before she too stands. Not one to leave things undone, not one to linger, but oh, so it seems for the both of them, lingering is just so much easier nowadays...

“Apologies...” she mumbles, and whether it be due to cutting their plans short, or the hesitation, Lace hums affectionately to comfort her. “We could stay a little longer?”

“We can always go stargazing another day, my dear. And hunting with you is always a treat, there's nothing to apologize for.” and with a little nuzzle, the two are on their way.

(A part of her delights so wonderfully at the fact she’s come to pick up so many of Hornet’s cues; not when so few bugs can say the same, and it makes her preen with a silly sweet sort of pride. Hers, just as much as she is Hornet’s.)

It isn’t until they’re both following an easy scent trail that Hornet speaks up again, breaking that routine silence and looking beautifully dangerous in the moonlight, needle and silk carrying her onwards.

“...Did you call me your ‘warrior’ or ‘worrier’?”

Pfft!

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

...

“I suppose I’ll just earn back my title as your warrior with this hunt.”

#stagbells #summer stagbells 2021 #hollow knight #lace #hornet #lacenet #written works

23 notes · View notes

supercasey · 4 years

Text

So I've been playing The Hades Game like fucking mad for the last few weeks, and although I'm not very far in it (at least, I don’t think I am; I’ve only beat Hades once!), I'm absolutely in love with it! Anyways, a certain idea has been kicking around in my head for awhile now, so I thought I'd share it with y'all; feel free to tell me what you think of it! (Warning: spoilers for when you beat Hades the first time!)

Anyways, I've already seen a really cool AU post for if Demeter raised Zagreus on the surface by herself (which you can find HERE; please check it out, the outfit for Zag alone is an amazing concept, and I love the artwork!!!) but I keep thinking about an AU where, after Zagreus dies at birth, Persephone runs away and takes his wrapped up body with her.

On the surface, she reconnects/reunites with her mother Demeter, and with her aid, the two of them manage to resurrect the newborn baby, though now he has more white in his hair than anything else. After that, Persephone sends Hades a letter to tell him that Zagreus is alive and well (because she actually has some fucking class), before proceeding to raise Zagreus on the surface with her mother, far away from the entrance to hell. The Olympians also help her out a bit, but mostly they just help by hiding Zagreus when it’s necessary.

(The rest is under a cut ‘cus this got a bit long, sorry!)

Years pass in relative peace, until Zagreus is about as old as he is in-game (I think he’s around 20-25ish???) and is living well, working with his mom and grandma to take care of their gardens and live peacefully away from mankind; he especially loves tending to the animals and guiding lost mortals to safety. However, one day while foraging for fruit in the deepest corners of his mother’s signature garden, Zagreus happens across a strange man in long robes, who introduces himself as Thanatos.

The two men get along swimmingly from minute one, and after agreeing to meet with each other again soon, they leave and tell their families/friends all about the experience, having no clue who they are to each other. After all, Thanatos was told growing up that his lord’s first wife died giving birth to their first and only child, who was a stillborn, and Zagreus thinks his father died of disease (his mom didn’t have to heart to tell him anything bad about his dad). Needless to say, they’re gonna be in for quite the shock soon.

Cue Hades losing his shit and calling on Thanatos, Megaera, and Achilles to go find his progeny and bring him home; he gives them special permission to leave the Underworld without any resistance, trusting Than to lead the way back to Zagreus. Achilles is less than thrilled to be performing such a morally grey task for his master, but Meg and Than are eager to prove themselves, so he begrudgingly agrees to help, even if it hurts his conscience to do so.

Persephone and Demeter also freak the hell out on their end, scared shitless by the fact that Death incarnate has just met their son/grandson, and they’re worried that he plans on coming back again soon. Demeter suggests sending Zagreus to live with the Olympians until this all blows over, but Persephone disagrees, wanting her son to stay nearby in case he grows ill (it’s implied that she’s a bit overprotective of him, mostly because she’s afraid of him dying again; this also means she refuses to let him know that he’s in any danger, believing it would only make things worse for him in the long-run). Frustrated but understanding her daughter’s pain all too well, Demeter at least convinces her to call on the Olympians for aid, which Persephone agrees to do.

The gods promise to help of course, but... well, they're low-key lying; they wanna see how this plays out first.

After several days of traveling through hell (literally), the “let’s kidnap Zagreus” gang makes it to the surface, and they immediately head to Persephone’s garden. All this time, Zagreus has no idea that he’s being targeted, so he goes about his chores as usual, only to run into Than again, and hey, he brought some more friends for him to meet! Zagreus is friendly with all of them, being raised to be very polite by his guardians, and while he’s busy chatting with Than and Achilles, he doesn’t notice Meg sneaking behind him. Just as Zagreus is rattling on about how the animals have been faring this summer, Meg stabs Zagreus in the back with a blade coated in Hades’s blood, cursing him to belong to the Underworld again.

With Zagreus now unconscious from a sedative that was mixed with the blood, the trio hurry off with him back to the Underworld, but not without Persephone seeing what they’ve done to her son. Horrified, she begins to sob, and winter arrives in the mortal world without so much as a fall season in-between this and the summertime.

When Zagreus comes to, he finds himself in a bedroom similar to the one he has in the game, but it’s much cleaner and has less objects of personal value to him. Hades is standing at the foot of his bed when he wakes up, and very calmly, Hades tells Zagreus that he’s his father, and that from now on, Zagreus will be living in the Underworld with him and his people, where he so obviously belongs. It’s a shame his mother can’t be here, of course, but they just need to wait awhile, that’s all; surely she’ll come to her senses and return home soon, now that her husband and son are here.

Zagreus jumps out of bed and faces his father as soon as he’s done monologuing, ready to tell him off for what he’s done, but to his shock, Hades hugs him as soon as he’s on his feet, and admits that he’s waited for this day for a long, long time. He asks his son to please just accept that this is his home now, and despite still being a bit surprised (and subtly hugging Hades back because Longing), Zagreus tells him straight up that he can’t, that he has to get home, especially with winter coming in a few months!

Dejected but not overly surprised, Hades simply nods in acceptance, but he still warns Zagreus that it’s no use trying to fight it; he’s stuck here, now and forever, so he may as well get comfortable and try getting along with him, because no one’s going anywhere anytime soon. Zagreus is horrified, but he nods nonetheless, unsure of what to say or do just yet.

Later that night, as Zagreus is struggling to sleep in this new, unfamiliar place, Achilles comes to him and apologizes about what’s happened, and although he can’t magically fix everything for him, he tells Zagreus that it actually is supposedly possible to escape; it’s just that no one’s ever done it before. Driven by his desire for freedom and the thought of reuniting with his mother, Zagreus tells Achilles that he’s going to find a way out, no matter the cost. Achilles congratulates him on his tenacity, but warns him that it won’t be easy. Still, he’s willing to help Zagreus as much as he can.

From then on, I imagine the game playing out very differently from the original, with a rather frazzled and scared Zagreus trying to get home to his mom and grandma, but with none of his training from Achilles in this AU, he has to rely on something his mother taught him; his connection with earth and all it’s inhabitants. Or, in his case, his connection with the spirits of animals (a cross of his dad and mom’s powers). That’s right, I’m making The Hades Game into a fucking Pokemon-ripoff, but still with some rouge-like elements mixed in (mostly with Zagreus not keeping his animals after runs).

Having royally fucked up in not stepping in sooner to protect Zagreus, the gods end up helping him out by sending down animals associated with them for the young god to tame for a run (I’ll come up with them later). They usually offer a selection to choose from, and from there Zagreus can build up a team and use it to try and escape the Underworld.

To replace weapons, I like to think he’d have “signature” animals that can help him out for any of his runs, specifically ones from Achilles, Poseidon, Zeus, Demeter (once he reaches the surface at least once), and eventually even Hades gives him one if they bond together enough ((yes, it’s Cerberus... kinda; it’s a puppy version of him, otherwise he’d be OP as fuck)). Zagreus’s signature animals can all be given names, and they keep certain skills that they pick up through enough experience battling in the Underworld for Zagreus.

As for story-line stuff, Zagreus ends up in a very fish out of water situation as he tries to get to know everyone in Hades’s house (he’s still our kindhearted Zag, after all, and he knows most of them aren’t to blame, not even really Than!) while also focusing on his goal to get home to his mom. Hades ends up being a lot nicer to him in this AU, perhaps overly so, as he’s trying to make his son like him more in order to make up for lost time (and fill the hole in his heart that Zag’s initial death as an infant and Persephone leaving with him created). It’s part of the reason he’s even letting Zagreus try to escape; he wants him to learn that it won’t work on his own terms (and maybe also scare the kid so bad that he comes running to him for comfort afterwards).

Also, I should really note that Zagreus is 100% a sweet country farm boy in this AU, and he has no idea what the fuck is going on with pretty much anything in the Underworld, much to everyone’s astonishment. For example:

Meg: Gods, it must be weird getting used to everything down here, huh? Sick of stepping in bat shit yet? Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it, and Dusa’s pretty good about cleaning it up to begin with. Zagreus: I mean, I guess? It’s not that different from chicken shit tbh. Meg: What the fuck is a chicken???

After that... yeah, I dunno. I’ll try playing Hades some more, see if I think up anything else that could be interesting, but for now, I hope at least someone ends up liking this dumb AU (if not, I’ll still like it... might even try my hand at drawing for it a bit tbh). Again, please check out the person who’s post/art I linked earlier in the post, ‘cus their art is really awesome and inspired me to include Demeter more in this AU!

#supercasey ramblings #hades game #zagreus #zagreus hades #thanatos #hades #persephone #demeter #megaera #achilles #hades farmboy au #i dunno what else to fucking call it #thanzag #if ya squint

211 notes · View notes

gladerwolfstarkimagines · 4 years

Text

Zuko x female reader series: Part Six

After leaving the firenation you and Zuko track the avatar down, break into a fire nation prison and you get into a fist fight with Sokka...but your fun summer aside, It all comes down the agni kai between Zuko and Azula. Although you’re only there for support you end up doing more harm than good for Zuko...

Part One here

Part Two here

Part Three here

Part Four here

Part Five here

Tagged: @taeeemin @creation-magician @kaylove12

The first meeting

After leaving the fire nation you’d found the avatar pretty easily and now it was just the matter of convincing him not to attack you that was the problem. Zuko rehearsed his speech to an audience of you and a frog you’d befriended and you and said frog glanced at one another not convinced as Zuko finished his speech. Zuko saw you expression and groaned “this is stupid! I’ve dragged us out here for no reason, they’re not going to let us stay”. You shook your head “no they will it just depends on what you say! Come on we can get this right! Try again but this time maybe don’t seem so...teriffied?”. Zuko sighed but tried again.

Zuko wouldn’t let you come with him the first time he approached them incase they reacted badly and you agreed only because one fire bender was less intimidating and punchable then two fire benders. Despite all your rehearsal the inital meeting didn’t go well but Zuko eventually managed to get the gang to agree to your presence. He only had to risk getting attacked by them and then save their lives from an assasin, almost dying in the process, but he came back beaming to tell you the gang was expecting you. Zuko led you to their camp and the gang came into view, each and every one of them staring at you. You stared back, putting names to faces and Zuko stopped infront of Aang. “Aang, erm everyone this is y/n, she’s a firebender so she can help teach you aswell”. Aang smiled at you hesitantly but the two water siblings huffed and the earthbender just frowned. “Nice to meet you, cool airbison” you said in greeting and Aang couldn’t resist a smile “thanks his name’s Appa!”. “He’s glorious” you grinned “can i stroke him?”. In reply Appa licked you and you made a noise of disgust and suprise. Aang laughed “that means he likes you! He must smell Zuko on you”. You exchanged a raised eyebrow with Zuko but smiled back at Aang “great I made a friend already!”. The water tribe girl, Katara according to Zuko, made a noise and rolled her eyes walking away. Her brother and the earth bender stared at you but seemed equally curious as they were angry at you, which for a first day you took as a win.

The gang’s reaction to you and Zuko

Straight away you could tell the gang was confused how you and Zuko worked. You knew Zuko had mentioned you were dating but still the gang all seemed shocked at the concept. The Zuko they knew was so different to the one you knew and even though Zuko was never one for PDA even watching him be casually sweet and attentive to you was like seeing a completely different person from the angry man they first met. The day after you arrived Aang started his firebending training and Zuko asked you to help. You were more than happy to but soon realised something was wrong with Zuko. He trired showing Aang the forms but he didn’t have any fire. You basically ended up demonstrating everything to Aang while Zuko got more and more stressed that he couldn’t do it. Aware Zuko didn’t perform well under pressure you told Zuko you should break away from the training session to give him and Aang time to bond. You’d barely been back at camp 10 minutes when Zuko and Aang came into view on their way back to camp, training apparently abandonned. Aang reached you first and explained Zuko still couldn’t fire bend. You looked up the hill to where Zuko was slowly sulking his way back to camp and frowned, he looked sad, his body language defeated, head slumped. You weren’t having this and without a word to the gang marched over to Zuko.

The gang’s POV

The gang watched super confused, and partially fearing for your safety due to the look on Zuko’s face, as you marched over to Zuko. You reached him and they all held their breath. They couldn’t hear what you said but whatever it was made Zuko more upset, he exploded, gesturing wildly to where him and Aang had been training and they all recognised that temper. What they hadn’t seen though was someone control it. You touched Zuko’s hand and his whole body seemed to deflate. You gripped his hand and stared speaking to him calmly with a small smile on your face. Zuko sighed but smiled too and you hugged him tightly. They were all shocked when Zuko sunk into you and wrapped his arms around you burying his head in your neck. You seperated and said something making Zuko smile and took his hand leading him back to the camp. Sokka raised an eyebrow but Katara rolled her eyes “so he’s kind to his girlfriend, big deal he still tried to kill us”.

Zuko and Aang’s went on a fieldtrip to re-learn firebending and when they returned the gang all watched amazed as Zuko animatedly told you details of what had happened. None of them had ever seen the boy smile let alone talk so happily, it was odd. You smiled at Zuko brightly and after he’d told you everything he seated hismelf beside you an arm around you. You leant into him, tracing his hand around you, and Zuko grinned at whatever you were saying. "Is anyone actually buying this?" Katara asked watching and Sokka frowned "what the fire duo?". Katara nodded and Aang shrugged "they seem pretty happy maybe Zuko was always tring to kill us because y/n wasn’t with him". Katara scoffed as Sokka nodded like that was a plausible excuse for trying to kill them.

The first fight

Your first argument with the gang was with Sokka and unsuprisingly it was about food. The daily rations had just been split 6 ways and there wasn’t much of it, something the ever perceptive Toph noticed. "That’s it for food?" she asked when Sokka passed her a bowl and he sighed "yes there’s not much to go around now there’s 6 of us". You were sat nearby and thought the tone Sokka used was very pointed but didn’t comment. Aang frowned "so we'll get more food, no big deal". "I mean it kind of is a big deal" Sokka sighed "it was hard enough the four of us and now there’s six of us...”. “I needed a firebending teacher Sokka you know that” Aaang shrugged and Sokka rolled his eyes. “Yes and I get letting Zuko in to teach you but do we really need to be responsible for every run away from the firenation?" Sokka asked talking about you. "First it’s his girlfriend but what next? His whole extended family? His gardener? This is hard enough as it is without Zuko’s girl tagging along". "Zuko’s girl? Tagging along?" you asked loudly and Sokka jumped seeing you’d heard. “You think that’s what I did?” you smirked "I was no use to Zuko during the escape, I didn’t help him get here or anything?”. “I didn’t say that” Sokka started but you cut him off “and we brought food too so i’m not the reason food’s short, you’re the one who eats like a horse. I’m just as much an asset as Zuko". Sokka raised an eyebrow "really because he’s a fire bending prince". "And i’m a fire bending navy expert, what can you do?". Sokka blushed "well i....". "Water tribe right?” you said not giving him the chance to repeat himself “but you can’t water bend can you?" you asked smirking as the boy glared "i can still fight" Sokka cried. "Really prove it, fight me" you grinned. Sokka frowned "i’m not going to do that". "Why because i’ll beat you?". "I’m a warrior of the souther water tribe" Sokka argued and you rolled your eyes "big deal i’ve been sparring with Azula Mai and Ty lee since I was 7, have you ever played fire knives with Azula? I don’t think so, you’ll be easy". Sokka glared and you knew you’d triggered him. "Okay no bending" Sokka said and you nodded "sure and no weapons, that includes boomerangs". "Guys are you sure..." Katara started but Toph shushed her “shut up Katara I want to feel Sokka get his ass kicked”. You and Sokka stood feet away from each other and Sokka smirked looking past you to Zuko "don’t worry i won’t hurt her too much" he said cockily and your anger peaked. You were going to teach this water tribesmann who was useless.

_ _ _

The fight over, you and Sokka sat beside one another on the floor. Sokka held an icepack to his head for the swelling, it was the only injury you’d given him Katara couldn’t heal, while you inspected the red mark from where Sokka bit you when you had him in a headlock. "I’m sorry about that" Sokka blushed "i don’t usually bite, it’s not noble for a warrior to do". "Any victory is a victory no matter the means...even if you lost" you replied. Sokka frowned but you smirked at him to let him know you were joking and Sokka laughed. "I let you win". You raised an eyebrow and Sokka sighed "okay maybe i didn’t but there’s no shame in losing to a better opponent". You grinned "friends?" And Sokka nodded "friends".

Zuko and Katara’s POV

Zuko and katara watched you two confused. You’d gone from arguing, to physically attacking one another to now laughing like old friends. "Is she...does y/n always fight people?" Katara asked hesitantly. Zuko shrugged "usually not physically but yeah she does that, does your brother usually bite people?". Katara shook her head "nope just your girlfriend". "I don’t know if i should be offended or pleased?" Zuko frowned.

The prison break

True to your promise, after you fight you and Sokka became fast friends mainly because you had the same reckless energy and it was utter chaos when you two were brainstorming ideas. Zuko was kind of jealous at first but you reassured him he’d always be your best friend even if he was your boyfriend and Zuko didn’t mind as much. Sokka didn’t object to you coming with him to rescue his dad and considering you actually knew where the prison was considered you a pretty important asset.

You were meant to stay on the ship during the prison break but that idea went to pot as soon as the steam made the ship useless. So you entered the prison with Zuko and Sokka and soon enough Zuko got caught. You managed to get the job guarding his cell though so could keep an eye on him when there was an announcement important guests had arrived. Your plan to escape was soon so you ditched your guard uniform and headed to your meeting point when you came across one said important visitor who spotted you straight away.

Mai.

You swore inwardly but tried to offer a friendly smile incase she was in a forgiving mood "hey Mai...". A knife was embedded in the wall next to you and you nodded "okay okay, before we start trying to kill each other any chance you'll accept my apology, realise me and Zuko didn’t mean to hurt you and let me go?". Mai sent a knife for you and you used your bending to only just knock it off course. "Fine i guess violence is the answer" and launched into an attack. You didn’t want to hurt Mai so mainly avoided her attacks in an effort to tire her so you could then take her out carefully. The best way to do that was to make her lose focus. You’d been told your best weapon in a fight was your mouth, you could make people angry and lose concentration easily and so tried to use some of that now on Mai. "Also just to clarify i’m not fighting you because of Zuko, i mean two girls fighting over a guy is so gross and demeaning i’m fighting you because you’re trying to stab me! Alright? Okay good, just wanted to make that clarification". "Stop talking!" Mai cried and you smirked, it was working. You carried on talking nonesense, apologising for that time at school you’d accidentally fell on her in gym, that time at the dinner party you’d knocked her drink over, that time when you were eight and called her knives dumb etc, until finally Mai’s anger peaked but it didn’t make her an easier opponent, the anger seemed to fuel her. Mai threw a knife and before you could move it landed in your arm. The pain was red hot and more intense that any burn or hit you’d been inflicted before. Angry and barely thinking you retaliated. You yanked the knife out of your arm and sent it right back at her. Mai hadn’t been expecting that and neither had you. It cut her hand and you stared "Mai i’m sorry...". "Stop apologising" she cried trying to attack you again “fight!”. “I don’t want to fight you” you cried and Mai glared “well i’m not letting you go, this doesn’t end until me or you can’t get back up”. You winced “I hate to disagree with you but no”. You shot a wave of fire at her knocking her back against the door of a cell. “Sorry” you winced and kicked her in the chest. She tumbled into the room and you slammed the door shut. Mai beat her fists against the door in rage and you grimanced opening the eye hole. "Mai i’m sorry but I’m not fighting you so this way I don’t have to, i hope you can understand that and some day we can maybe be friends again" and then rushed away. Your escape was still in motion and you had serious time to make up for. You ran down a tunnel and shot out into the sunlight of the main yard. You spotted Zuko and Sokka and worked your way through the crowd to them. You reached Zuko and the others and were panting hard "Mai’s here...very angry...we need to go". Zuko nodded gripping your hand "yep that seems wise, let’s go!". “The barge is this way” Suki cried and you all took off running again.

You’d finally reached the barge with minimal trouble when the pain in your arm flared and you held it awkwardly trying to ease the pain. Zuko spotted the blood on your arm and frowned “Y/n!”. "It’s fine" you smiled seeing his worry and he shook his head ripping a piece of fabric off his shirt “No it’s not, here”. He wrapped it around your arm tightly "i’m sorry we'll get you back to Katara soon" and squeezed your hand. You smiled and Zuko looked at you for a few more seconds before he had to turn away to help Sokka. Mai wasn’t the only one in the prison, Azula and Ty lee were here too of course. You watched the fight from the barge, furious you couldn’t join in but your arm was making you feel faint so you knew fighting was not an option for you. Azula and Ty lee appeared to be winning but thanks to Mai you got away. You cheered for Mai as she attacked the guards, taking out multiple men at once and Zuko looked at you confused “y/n she just stabbed you”. “But she saved us Zuko” you smiled “my apology worked...that or she just wants to kill us herself...no it’s hopefully the first one!” and then you prompty fainted from blood loss.

_ _ _

When you came round you were back at camp, arm healed courtsey of Katara, Zuko asleep at the foot of your sleeping bag. You sat up carefully not wanting to wake him but Sokka didn’t get the memo. “Y/n” he yelled seeing you and rushed over. Zuko jolted awake and stopped Sokka from touching you “don’t she could still be sore!”. “I’m fine Zuko” you smirked but still he pushed Sokka away from you so he could hug you first. “You worried me when you fainted...I had no idea your arm was that bad...i’m so sorry”. “Don’t be” you smiled “i’m fine aren’t i? and we got Sokka’s dad! and Mai might have forgiven us! All in all it was a good trip”. “Only you could think you almost dying was a success”. “Almost” you said pointedly “almost dying Zuko”. Zuko rolled his eyes and kissed you making Sokka groan “ugh I think I’ll take my hug later...” and left you and Zuko alone.

The campsite

Azula soon found your hiding place in the western air temple forcing you to move to a camping ground and there was a limited number of tents. Katara was trying to sort out the sleeping arrangements but she miscalculated. "And y/n you can share my tent" Katara announced, her long and careful explanation finished and you and Zuko exchanged a look. "That’s sweet Katara but i’m fine bunking with Zuko". You’d barely finished your sentance when Sokka spluttered in suprise. "But you can’t do that" Sokka cried and you raised an eyebrow "why not?". "Because you’re dating" he cried but you and Zuko shrugged "and?". “And? well it’s...it’s against the rules! I’m not allowed to share with Suki, tell them Katara!" he cried pushing his sister forwards who frowned awkwardly. "Well we’re older than you" you shrugged and Zuko nodded "and smarter". "Plus we’re engaged" you pointed out and everyone’s eyes widenned "what?". "Is she lying?" Aang asked Zuko shook his head "i mean no...just i didn’t actually ask her my father did it for me but yes, technically speaking we are engaged". You nodded to Sokka "are you and Suki engaged?". "Well no..." he blushed. "Then that’s why you can’t share a tent" you retorted and pulled Zuko’s arm as you went into the tent "night guys". Zuko followed you as Sokka called out protests and Katara just sighed "leave them alone Sokka". Sokka stared mouth wide-open before an idea formed in his head and he started towards Suki’s tent. "Go to your own tent Sokka!" Katara called and Sokka cursed "ow come on!".

You moved around campsites pretty regularly after that incase Azula found you again and ended up in an old villa Zuko’s family owned. Everything was going fine, you had a beach day, Zuko and Aang got better at firebending, you even managed to drag Zuko to the theatre and then Aang went missing. With Aang gone Zuko figured the only person who could take on his father was his uncle and so you set out to find him. Zuko recruited an old friend to help and you soon found King Bumi and the white lotus who took you to Iroh’s camp site. Bumi told Zuko the tent Iroh was in and you saw Zuko tense and fear covered his face. “Don’t worry” you said patting his arm “your uncle will forgive you, just tell him what you told me and it’ll all be okay”. Zuko nodded but seemed unable to do much else, he looked paralysed. “Can you...can you come with me?” Zuko asked softly and your heart exploded in sympathy. “Of course I will” you nodded hugging him tightly. The others all dispersed and you and Zuko walked arm and arm to the tent. Zuko took a breath before entering and you looked at him “ready?”. He nodded looking at you before fixing his eyes on the tent opening and he stepped inside. You followed a few steps behind and saw Zuko look around before his posture slumped. It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust but Zuko filled you in on what was happening “we should go he’s asleep”. You frowned knowing Zuko wouldn’t get any rest until this was done. “Why don’t we wait for him to wake up?”. Zuko looked at you before nodding “yeah okay”. You sat crosslegged on the floor beside one another waiting for Iroh to wake up. The hours stretched on and on and you felt sleep trying to take you but you resisted. You kept ahold of Zuko’s hand letting him know you were there with him. You were sure the time felt far worse for him and weren’t going to leave him, even if it was just to sleep. When Iroh did move Zuko jumped and you swallowed. “It’s okay” you assured him and he nodded standing up. Zuko moved forwards and you didn’t follow. This should be between him and his uncle, but when Zuko started to cry your heart did crumple slightly. Just as you were begging Iroh to forgive him already he wrapped Zuko into a tight hug and, also crying, forgave him. Tears fell down your cheeks too as you smiled at the sight of Zuko and his uncle. Iroh noticed you when he opened his eyes and he smiled warmly. "Y/n get in here" Iroh grinned holding out a hand to you. You blushed “ow are you sure? I mean this is your family moment...I don’t want to intrude”. Iroh scoffed "any girl who visited me in prison and snook me snacks is family in my eyes". You grinned and Zuko frowned "wait you visited my uncle in prison?". You shrugged "not too often about once a week". "How did i not know this?" Zuko asked and you paled "i purposefully didn’t tell you, i wanted you to work out your feelings on your own, i hope you’re not mad". Zuko shook his head "of course i’m not mad now come here". You smiled and stepped forward to join the hug between Zuko and Iroh.

Afterwards you caught Iroh up on everything he’d missed and Zuko explained his idea to have Iroh overthrow Ozai. Even as Zuko said it you got the feeling it wouldn’t happen, you could tell by Iroh’s reaction he had something different in mind. When Iroh said it wasn’t him who should be the new firelord you knew where he was going, you’d already been suspecting Zuko should have more say in how the fire nation was run and Iroh apparently agreed. "Me? Firelord?" Zuko asked "but i can’t...". Sokka, Toph, Katara and Suki just looked to you, now very used to you giving Zuko pep talks and you were on it. "You can" you smiled taking Zuko’s hand "i figured you’d have to do it for a while now and you’ve proven yourself Zuko, you can do this". Zuko stared at you blankly as his uncle joined in, listing the reasons why Zuko would make a good ruler. Zuko gripped your hand tighter as what you were both saying set in. "Okay" he barely whispered "i’ll go see Azula and become..." he swallowed and you smiled "you won’t be facing her alone" you told him and Zuko beamed at you.

The Agni Kai

Judgement day here you and Zuko returned to the fire nation so he could fight his sister. Katara accompanied you as you figured you’d need a healer no matter who won. You landed in the courtyard and told Appa to fly away in case Azula tried to hurt him. You stood behind Zuko, beside Katara, waiting for the fight of his life. If he won he became firelord, if he didn’t...lets just say there’s no way Azula would let any of you live. The fight began and you stayed out of the way of Azula and Zuko’s duel as much as you could. With the comet fueling their bending it was one of the most intense fights you’d ever witnessed but Zuko was performing well. As Azula started to lose you could see her eyeing her surroundings for a way out and she fixed on you. You were ready for this, back at camp Iroh had warned you about this and given you a crash course in deflecting lightning, you pushed Katara back and readied yourself to deflect your first lightning bolt ever as it hurtled towards you. Zuko yelled out chasing it but was too slow, not that it mattered. You caught it and using the technique Iroh had taught you shot it right back at Azula. It worked and you were thrilled until you realised Zuko had been running towards you and was now right in the path of the deflected bolt. The bolt struck both Zuko and Azula within seconds of one another and sent them both flying back at the force. The smoke cleared and you went cold as you saw Zuko smouldering on the ground. "Zuko" you yelled rushing to him, it had hit him on the shoulder and the wound was badly burnt. "Katara" you called and she rushed over. "Heal him! Please! please!" You pleaded "i didn’t mean to hit him, i didn’t know he was so close". Katara worked and you stared at Zuko’s burn, the burn you’d given him until his breathing evened out and you gasped in relief. "I’m going to go make sure Azula’s okay and bind her" Katara told you and you nodded barely even listening as you cradled Zuko "Zuko are you okay?" you asked "Zuko i’m so sorry!". "Don’t be" he smiled weakly "i should’ve learnt long ago you don’t need me to save you, when did you learn to do that? More secret visits with my uncle". "Maybe" you smiled before frowning at Zuko’s burn that would surely form a scar despite Katara’s help "i can’t believe i did that to you". "Don't' Zuko said moving your gaze to his face "you did it, we did, we won". You nodded smiling and hugged him, carefully, but none the less passionately.

When Zuko was well enough you helped him to stand and walked him to the balcony overlooking all of the firenation. Zuko looked over the city below and you followed his gaze. It was still barely light but dusk was approaching and small lights were lighting up around the city. They news would be spreading as you stood here that Zuko was the new firelord and the war was finally over. You smiled standing beside him "surveying your new kingdom? Looking for a place to build a statue of yourself?". Zuko tutted but smiled. "This doesn’t feel normal" he sighed "this...that i’m...". "Firelord" you smiled "Firelord Zuko". Zuko nodded "it even sounds weird you saying it". You smiled and wrapped an arm around his waist. Zuko didn’t hesitate to wrap his around your shoulder. "It sounds weird now but you’re going to be an amazing Firelord Zuko, you’re kind and smart and actually want to help people! We haven’t had a firelord with that mentality in...well forever! I have total faith in you". Zuko sighed "i’m glad someone does". "Hey" you said tilting his face to yours "remember what i said to you on that ship all that time ago, i never lie about important things. You will be an amazing Firelord Zuko, just you wait and see". Zuko smiled and kissed you softly. You smiled stroking his cheek as you kissed him back. Zuko broke away but pulled you to his chest wrapping his arms around you. You smiled looking out at the city. "With you with me i can’t mess this up too badly right?". You smiled "that’s right, together we can handle this".

2 years later

"Y/n" Zuko groaned as you messed with his hair but he didn’t push you away. You’d been on your longest voyage since you’d been dating and honestly Zuko wouldn’t push you away from him even if you were stabbing him he’d missed you so much. You’d returned this morning after a 6 month naval trip to the water tribe and Zuko had left your side once. He had to leave for a small disaster in one of the colonies and that had killed him but now he was back in his rightful place beside you and that was all that mattered. You were messing with his hair, trying to get his hair free of the crown he’d had to put on to attend his crisis meeting. You were never of a fan of anything restricting Zuko’s hair and finally yanked the clip from his hair and smiled as it fell down in all it’s glory. "There" you said patting his shoulders and Zuko shook his head blowing a piece of hair out of his face. "Y/n you know i can’t have my hair down all the time". "But why not? You’re the Firelord and now is the time for important changes!". Zuko rolled his eyes but smiled "and this is the big change you think i should make?". You nodded "ow yes, you need to look respectable as Firelord and with your hair down you look really really good" you sighed and Zuko smirked. "Well i’m glad you like it but it’s not practical, how would i even wear my crown?" Zuko asked and you frowned before pushing him down so you could reach his head. "Hmmm maybe we could fashion a little stand, or pin some pieces to hold it in place...". "That sounds like a lot of effort" Zuko commented when you gasped "or you could plait it!". "Plait it?" Zuko asked and you nodded. "I saw lots of men with plaits in their hair in the water tribe on my visit, Sokka’s dad has one and it looks very good on a man". Zuko raised an eyebrow "you think Sokka’s dad looks good?". "No...well yes Hakoda is hot but you’re missing the point, let’s do your hair like that!". "No i think we should go back to the Hakoda’s hot part..." Zuko commented but you hushed him and pushed him to sit on the floor as you fiddled with his hair. Zuko sighed but liked the feeling of you playing with his hair so smiled and closed his eyes. You were gentle and your touch soft so Zuko relaxed into you until you abruptly stood up "done!". You showed Zuko himself in the mirror and he smiled "wow it does look good". "I told you" you grinned when the door opened and Sokka walked in. You’d brought him back from your trip as a suprise for Zuko and he’d wasted no time settling into the palace and letting himself into rooms without knocking apparently. "Zuko where do you...." Sokka started before he stopped dead in his tracks seeing Zuko’s hair. He started laughing with glee while crying "water tribe!" multiple times as he pointed at Zuko "you’ve got a water tribe hairstyle!". "Yeah y/n apparently thinks they look good on the men in your tribe" Zuko said raising an eyebrow, still not over your comment about Sokka’s dad, but you weren’t listening. As soon as Sokka heard you could plait hair he’d grabbed you "do mine! do mine!" and shook his hair loose. Zuko watched as you pulled Sokka’s hair into a plait delicately until it looked like his. "Finished" you smiked and Sokka rushed to the mirror before laughing at himself in glee too. You smiled as Sokka grabbed Zuko "we look like twins!". Zuko raised an eyebrow but you saved him the effort of replying "now do mine Sokka!". Sokka complied and you made Zuko watch so he could do it for you when Sokka wasn’t here.

Plaits all finished it was quiet a sight, the three of you sat together with matching hairstyles. You had a games night and then relaxed and chatted. You soon fell asleep against Zuko, your journey and reunion with him tiring you out too much to wait for Sokka to leave, and unbothered Zuko and Sokka carried on chatting.The conversation went quiet and Sokka looked at you "is she asleep?" he whispered and Zuko frowned "y/n?" he called but you didn’t stir "i think so". Sokka smiled "so wanna see the necklace?". Zuko nodded and Sokka went into his pocket pulling out the betrothal necklace Zuko wanted. "I had Piandao help me make it like you wanted" Sokka told him and opened the box. Zuko didn’t want a design exactly like the water tribe one, the fire nation was different and so a different necklace was needed. The one he asked Sokka to make was thinner, with a black cord crisscrossing several times before dipping down where a red stone sat, glimmering in the light. Zuko grinned, it was exactly like he’d imagined it. "Do you think she'll like it?" Sokka asked and Zuko nodded looking down at you "yes". "Well she better or she’s never going to say yes to marrying you". Zuko gulped, that was true but Sokka hit his arm "i was joking, of course she'll say yes, she loves you more than anything, anyone can see that just watching you two together". Zuko smiled down at you asleep against his chest and thought about the proposal he’d prepared. He was going to take you to your favourite restuarant, a tradition you’d still kept up even after he turned into the firelord, and treat you to your favourite foods. Then you’d walk back to the palace through all your favourite spots in the gardens and end up by the turtle duck pond. He’d have your turtleduck come over with the necklace securely attached to his back and Zuko would ask you then and there. "I hope so" he sighed when you moved in your sleep suddenly. "Zuko can we go to bed" you yawned "i’m tired and the light is very bright". Zuko and Sokka froze as you sat up and you frowned "what? Did i drool or something when i was napping?". They both sighed in relief, you hadn’t heard. "Yeah we can go to bed" Zuko nodded and Sokka stood up "i’ll see you guys tomorrow" and sneakily left the box on a table for Zuko. You were oblivious already pulling the covers back to get into bed. Sokka grinned at Zuko and made his way to the door "night y/n" he called and you said a sleepy reply before face diving into the bed. Zuko smirked closing the door and turning the light off before joining you. You sighed sleepily as Zuko snook closer to you and pulled you against him. You shuffled your head getting comfy against him and eventually stopped "goodnight Firelord" you said sleepily and Zuko smirked, he still hadn’t gotten used to it but he liked how it sounded when you said it. "Goodnight y/n" he smiled kissing your head but you were already asleep. "I really hope you say yes" he whispered before resting his head beside yours and going to sleep.

You said yes of course.

______

So that’s it! I had to get in a comment about Zuko’s hair progression one last time because honestly that was one of the greatest things about the whole series. This was kinda hard to write cus so much happened once Zuko joined the gaang but i tried to split it into parts so hopefully it wasn’t too disjointed 😐

Thank you for all the likes and support it means a lot :)

170 notes · View notes

yuta1forme · 4 years

Text

like magnets | ten

summary: in which you and ten are up and coming choreographers who are forever at each other’s throats. but maybe fighting is just an excuse to get close.

pairing: ten x reader

genre: angsty fluff

warnings: some swearing, alcohol mention, loads of bickering

length: 4.3k

tag list: @sly-merlin @animegirl366 @yonoohcore

He’s confident to the point of arrogance. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. When the pair of you start fighting, all the other dancers make their way out of the studio, not wanting to get involved in another explosive Y/N-Ten showdown. He counters your every suggestion. He always has more critique for your performances than praise.

And yet, he is the best dance partner you could ever ask for. He matches your poise with his passion. In dance, you both have found a middle ground.

When Ten first joined the studio you really wanted to like him. He was a young, up and coming dancer from Thailand. What you had not seen coming was that besides being the same age, you and Ten had precious little in common. The day you first met Ten, you had decided in less than ten seconds that you two would never, to put this lightly, become the “best of friends”.

You had entered the break room of the studio that day, late and soaking wet because of the heavy downpour that had begun the night before. Hungry and disgruntled, all you had wanted to do was to grab a steaming cup of green tea and the last of your favorite jelly doughnuts. Only the thought of those jelly doughnuts had you hanging on during your hour and forty-five-minute long journey to work this morning. They were your emotional support food, your one and only indulgence. After almost three years at the studio, all the other dancers knew not to touch your jelly doughnuts. All except for the bucket-hat wearing Thai newbie who clearly hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Those were my doughnuts”, you had barely managed to huff out, focusing your mind on not raising your voice or worse, bursting into tears.

Now, if he had just apologized for eating them without asking you first, you both might not have started off on the wrong foot. No, the fucker just shrugged and said, “Didn’t see your name on them”. No shame in his eyes, not an ounce of regret in his voice. The powdered sugar from your doughnuts still around his mouth and dusted over his all-black ensemble. That fucker.

“So people just waltz into a room and eat someone else’s snacks where you’re from?”, you asked, your pitch becoming shriller with annoyance.

“No of course not. Because where I’m from, people don’t leave their snacks where everyone can see them, without putting their name on it first”, he replied, cool as a cucumber.

Taeyong had entered the break room at this point. He took one look at the powdered sugar on Ten’s face and the eyes-gonna-pop-out expression on yours and connected the dots. As one of the senior choreographers in the studio, Taeyong had developed a sixth sense for sniffing out conflicts before they broke out.

“Y/N! I see you’ve already met Ten! He’s the new dancer from Thailand. Ten this is Y/N”, Taeyong had prompted by way of introductions, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and inching closer to the door he had entered from.

“Oh, you’re Y/N. The one who choreographed the last Pink Cashmere comeback, right?”, Ten had asked, suddenly sitting up straight. Seeing that your conversation was turning civil, Taeyong had left the room just as quietly as he had entered it.

“Yes, that would be me”, you had responded. That was your first time working with an idol group and was a milestone in your career. You had spent weeks running on pure adrenaline and Americanos (and the occasional jelly doughnut), spending day and night listening to the new comeback track, reviewing concept photos and looking up old performances to get their style down just right. When you watched the girls perform the choreography for the first time, you were so immensely proud of yourself, you hadn’t stopped beaming for days.

“I should’ve known it was you, it had your signature footwork style all over it”, Ten had said, nodding his head slightly. You had felt flattered at that, surprised that anyone had even picked up that you had a certain trademark in your choreography.

“But, I thought it was too showy if you know what I mean”, Ten had continued, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, a slight frown on his face.

You were almost embarrassed at how much his words affected you. While you were used to internet trolls taking jabs at your work, it was something entirely different to hear full-blown criticism from your peers. As the youngest choreographer in the studio, you rarely got challenged when it came to choreography, with most of your colleagues wholeheartedly encouraging you to spread your wings and grow no matter the outcome. It probably was not intentional on their part but it had become a fear of yours - what if nobody would outwardly challenge your decisions because they thought you were too weak to handle the truth?

Still, you felt a need to defend your creative decision. You needed to stand up for yourself. “The girls are great dancers and I thought a more challenging choreography would push them out of their comfort zone. Sooji and Maya were actually part of a hip-hop dance crew pre-debut. They were itching to try out a new concept”.

“But why not use more formations in the dance? It’s an eight-member group. You could’ve used that to your advantage”, Ten had countered. He made a good point. But you didn’t want to concede to him. Who did this man think he was? Walking in here and questioning your vision as a choreographer?, you though to yourself.

“Most of the other girl groups that came back around that time had similar songs but only Pink Cashmere had a distinct choreography. I wanted to make their choreography memorable”, you had said.

Ten had remained quiet for a while. “I didn’t think of it that way”, he had replied, a thoughtful look on his face. “In that case, I think you succeeded at whatever you set out to do with that choreography. It was definitely memorable, Y/N.”

He turned his gaze up towards your face and flashed you a sweet smile. He looked like a whole different person, almost innocently brushing powdered sugar off his cheeks like a mischievous cat who had just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have done.

Your whole first interaction with Ten had confused you. First he walked in acting like he owned the place, critiquing your choreography as if he was a veteran dancer. But then he had just as easily praised your abilities. But at the back of your mind you had this nagging feeling that whatever Ten had said to you was not in an effort to undermine you, unlike some of the backhanded compliments delivered by your peers. He had criticized you because he thought you could take it, because he thought of you as an equal. And you kind of enjoyed that.

Arguing with Ten became a part of your everyday routine thereafter. So did labelling your snacks with your names and leaving passive-aggressive messages on post-it notes.

At nineteen, you gave up a full-ride scholarship to a prestigious law school in your country and moved to Seoul with a single suitcase and your old school backpack in hand. Your family had threatened to cut off contact with you if you left the country, but you left anyway; Your passion for dance was stronger than your fear of losing them. Dance was your first love. You lived and breathed it. Like hell were you giving up on your first love that easy.

You worked odd jobs during the day and filmed original choreographies for your YouTube channel during the night. After struggling for over a year, your hope slowly dwindling, you got a notification that changed your life. Kim Jongin, one of South Korea’s ballet prodigies had shared one of your videos on Twitter. Your subscriber count had quadrupled overnight, with hundreds of thousands of commenters dubbing you a “prodigy”. Fate brought you to Jongin, who then introduced you to Taeyong, who brought you to SM studios.

It was a dream come true - for years you had only struggled, floating in dark and murky water, swimming forward towards a hazy future. Now, you had thousands of fans, dozens of supportive friends, and a solid foundation from where you could dream. Your friend Hendery liked to joke that you would need more than twenty-four hours a day if you wanted to do everything in your planner. And truth be told, he was right. You had given up a lot to pursue your dreams. Given up on your family, most of your friends, your home country. You wanted to make sure it was all worthwhile. So you wanted to spend every day making the most of the opportunities that you now had. You went to bed each night with a head full of ideas and woke up every morning with the fire to bring them to life.

Of course, dedicating your life to your craft came at a cost. The rest of the world had not stopped moving just because you decided to make dance your life. This dawned on you one rosy Valentine’s Day evening, when you, date-less for the fifth year running, quite naively decided to scroll through Instagram. Amongst the sea of pink, flowers and picture-perfect happy couples were two faces that made your stomach instantly drop - your ex and a stunning woman posing for the camera with their fingers intertwined. On her ring finger, a diamond the size of a blueberry.

You remember the day you broke things off with your ex like it was yesterday. You were at the airport, waiting to get on your flight to Seoul, positively buzzing with nerves. You had waited until you were seated on the plane to send your ex a rather heartless text message saying you were breaking up with him to find yourself and that it was best if he forgot you. Very dramatic, even for you. But you were nineteen and had just watched ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’. In return he had left you an equally dramatic voicemail, pleading with you to not end the relationship and proclaiming that he would never stop loving you. You had all but laughed at his message then.

You weren’t laughing anymore though. He was happily engaged, while you were lonely, lying in bed on Valentine’s day in a pizza grease-stained sweatshirt. You had spent the last few years working relentlessly which had given you a career that you could be proud of, friends you could rely on. But besides the occasional fling here and there, you didn’t have much in terms of a romantic life. You guessed you deserved this, that karma had finally caught up to you. Didn’t stop you from feeling like shit though.

So you did what you always did when you felt particularly shitty. You went down to the studio, turned the music on full blast and dove right into a new choreography. You were freestyling, too lost in the moment to hear the door creak open.

“I gotta hand it to you, Y/N, that was pretty impressive!”, a male voice exclaimed. You had spun around expecting to see Sicheng or Hendery at the door. Instead, you were met with a tired but rather amused looking Ten.

He was dressed in a white silk shirt and a pair of black slacks. You noticed the roses in his hands, slightly wilted but still beautiful nonetheless. He was clearly dressed up for a date. He looked striking as always but you didn’t linger too long on that, thinking that it was your romance deprived mind projecting thoughts onto the first attractive male it saw.

“What are you doing here? It’s Valentine’s day, don’t you have a crowd of screaming fans to attend to?”, you asked sarcastically.

“One date. And they stood me up, actually”, he replied with a bitter smile. He must have been quite upset if he didn’t have a snarky response for you.

You were truly taken aback. Ten? Getting stood up by someone? Ten, who could charm the socks off of anyone he set his eyes on, getting stood up on Valentine’s day?

“But how?”, you blurted out, instantly regretting it when you saw the quizzical look on Ten’s face. Yet you foolishly continued mumbling, or rather digging yourself deeper into a hole.

“I mean, you’re just...so...you”, you said vaguely gesturing at his whole form. From his boyish good looks to his ability to sweet-talk, Ten’s charms were undeniable. Ever since he joined the studio, the number of signups for the afternoon classes had doubled. Dozens of people would come to the studio every day, just to catch a glimpse of him. And he indulged them all too, flashing them his signature grin or paying them a cheeky compliment. If only you weren’t all too familiar with the way he could run his mouth during an argument, you too might have fallen for his charms.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Y/N, but I’m not quite the Casanova you expected me to be. But I will take that as a compliment”, he said with a wink that had you resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here though”, you mumbled out.

“I like to choreograph at night. I think I’m my most creative after midnight. Besides I just got my heart broken and I should channel that emotional energy somewhere right?”, Ten said feigning nonchalance. You could tell he was genuinely upset from how his night had played out and couldn’t help but sympathize with him.

“Well, I’m here for reasons along similar lines. You could join me? Help me choreograph this new freestyle piece I’m working on?”, you had asked.

Ten cocked his eyebrow at you, clearly not expecting you to extend an olive branch to him in this manner given how you were still being snarky with him five minutes ago. But he accepted your offer nonetheless.

You both entered your element pretty quickly, letting the music move your body freely. You worked out a simple choreography, cheering for each other when you came up with a particularly impressive move. You were having fun, even though you wouldn’t admit it to yourself. At least you hadn’t thought of your ex in the last couple of hours, mind completely occupied with the thought that you and Ten surprisingly made good dance partners. Perhaps the friction between the two of you translated to great chemistry when you were dancing. Taeyong would be pleased to know that.

“I’m beat”, you exclaimed, slumping down on the floor after the final round of practice. Ten sat down next to you, resting his back against the mirrored wall. The pair of you sat wordlessly for a few minutes, letting your heartbeats slow back down. You lay flat on the floor, too physically exhausted to move. As soon as you closed your eyes, your traitorous mind brought back the images of your ex’s engagement and you groaned loudly.

“Long day?”, Ten asked, giving you a slightly concerned look. You just chuckled bitterly in response.

“Want to talk about it?”, Ten pried in an almost uncharacteristically gentle voice. You wondered if he had ever spoken to you in that tone before.

“I don’t know if we’re close enough to have little heart-to-hearts yet Ten”, you replied. There was an invisible wall between you and Ten that you were just not ready to tear down. The thought of sharing embarrassing details about your love life with someone you could consider a frenemy at best, too jarring. You didn’t miss the way Ten’s shoulders slightly slumped at that. You hadn’t meant to sound harsh, yet you felt somewhat guilty.

“But…maybe we are close enough to have a drink together?”, you asked, suddenly emboldened by a rush of confidence that confused even you. You took his cheeky smile as a yes.

You spent the rest of the night drunk and giggling with Ten. The thoughts of your ex were long forgotten. Perhaps you could learn to do more than merely tolerating Ten’s presence. Perhaps you could learn to enjoy his presence too.

Soon it became a ritual - if you and Ten were the last ones left in the studio, you would grab some beers and head to the roof. It was such strange departure from your usual selves that you often wondered why it was so easy for you to enjoy his company sitting under the stars like this when you would be at each other’s throats the rest of the time.

Over time your conversations had gone from discussions about art, to plans of travelling the world, what you were currently binge-watching on Netflix, and everything in between. Still, there were some topics that you both steered clear of - talk of family and love lives was seemingly off the table.

Until one night after a couple of drinks, when Ten pulled his phone out to show you a picture of two women, one older and one younger. The striking resemblance between the faces in the photo and Ten confirmed that they were indeed his mother and sister. His sister was clad in a dark blue graduation gown and his mother was holding a beautiful bouquet of light pink roses.

“She graduated last week, my baby sister”, Ten said practically glowing. The proud look on his face was a testament to the close relationship he had with his sibling.

“You must miss her a lot”, you said, voice barely a whisper.

“All the time. My family are my biggest supporters. I don’t think I would have had the courage to move out here on my own if it weren't for their encouragement”, Ten answered.

You hadn’t spoken to your family ever since you came to Seoul. In the past, the longing left a pressure in your chest that sometimes made it feel like your throat would close, choking you on your guilt. Now, it just left you numb.

“What about you?”, Ten asked, cautiously prying into your personal life.

“What about me?”, you countered, diverting your gaze away from the man sitting next to you, instantly wary of how much you wanted to share about your past.

“What about your family? Your old home?”, Ten asked.

It couldn’t hurt sharing with Ten, right? It’s not like what he thought of you really mattered to you. Right?

“I actually don’t keep in touch with my family any more. They weren’t too keen on me becoming a dancer. It’s been, what, three? Three and a half years since I last saw them. When I first left home for Seoul”, you said, trying your hardest to suppress any trace of emotion in your voice. You kept your gaze focused on the city skyline ahead of you, too afraid to turn and see the expression on Ten’s face. You wondered what he thought of you, whether he thought you were stubborn. Worse yet, whether he pitied you.

After a few moments, Ten broke the silence. “I guess sometimes, not having a family is better than having one that doesn’t love you for who you are. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t possibly know how you must have felt, all these years. But I want you to know that the people who love you now, love you without any agenda. Not because they are related to you by blood, not because they are obligated to love you. But because they just love you”, Ten said, eyes shining with an emotion you didn’t know how to react to.

“And they could be your family too”, he finished in a voice that was so warm, so gentle, you wondered if this really was the Ten who stole your jelly doughnuts when you first met.

You were speechless, processing his words for what felt like hours but was probably just a few seconds. Then you did the only thing your impulsive mind could think to do - you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. In response, he wrapped you up in his embrace. You stayed still, focusing on the faint scent of his cologne on the sleeves of his hoodie. You breathed out a thank you, soft as a whisper. Whether or not Ten heard you, he moved his left arm slightly, gently stroking your hair and continued to chatter on about some entirely different topic.

You knew that once the sun came back up and both of you returned to your lives inside the studio, this little moment would not be brought up in front of anyone else. That moment was just for the two of you to share and bury deep within your hearts.

You knew you were in too deep one day when Ten gave you a friendly smile in passing while making his way to the break room, and you felt your cheeks and neck heat up. You had finally let the Thai dancer charm his way into your heart.

Typical Y/N, you thought to yourself, Falling in love with any cute boy who gives you attention. But he wasn’t just any cute boy. It was Ten. Ten, your frenemy turned close confidant. Ten, who would send you pictures of cute animals he saw on the street just because you once told him you wanted to adopt a cat. Ten, who took you dancing to a club in Hongdae when you were feeling low and all but carried your drunk ass back to your home. Ten, who over the last couple of months had heard every single one of your deepest insecurities and had still chosen to stick by you. Ten who had just left a box of jelly doughnuts in the break room, next to a post-it note with your name on it. To make matters worse, you were supposed to start working on a new collaboration together this week, a contemporary piece set to an R&B slow jam. How were you meant to work with him all week when you could barely make eye contact with him? You had to physically restrain yourself from facepalming.

You spent the week, evading conversation with him beyond work and some small talk to fill the silence. But none of your usual banter. You had even turned down his suggestion to grab dinner together several times that week, to the point that even typically non-confrontational Sicheng had picked up that something was off.

“Why have you been avoiding Ten all week? I thought you guys had given up fighting?”, Sicheng asked after he cornered you one day.

“Avoiding him? Now, why would I do that when we’ve been working together all week?”, you had chuckled nervously, desperately looking for an out from this conversation.

“He’s been sulking around since Tuesday, Y/N. He said he doesn’t know what he did to upset you”, Sicheng had asked you sharply.

The guilt in your eyes must have been apparent because Sicheng dropped his voice into a gentle whisper for what he said next.

“I know the two of you are as good at dancing around your feelings as you are at dancing on stage. But maybe try talking to him, Y/N? I think right now, you two might have more in common than you think”, Sicheng told you as he gave you a knowing look.

The day of the performance shoot came and there was a noticeable awkwardness between you and Ten. You decided to cut the tension by apologizing to him, citing the nerves for the performance as the reason you had been on edge the whole week. Whether or not Ten believed you, he accepted your apology and wrapped you up in his arms. You wished you had psychic abilities so you could read his mind. Did he have the same butterflies in his stomach right now?

As soon as the music started any nervousness you felt around Ten melted away. Dancing with him was like second nature to you by now. The song started with you on stage alone, dancing under the single spotlight illuminating the stage. You could see him out of the corner of your eyes, following your every move and observing you with nothing short of adoration. You left the stage for Ten’s solo and you could feel the goosebumps on your skin from watching him perform. He was absolutely stunning, moving fluidly through the movements as though he was painting with his body on the canvas of the stage. You joined him on stage for the chorus, dancing apart but facing one another as though mirroring the other’s movements. Through the bridge you inched closer and closer to one another. You felt your heartbeat beginning to rise from the proximity.

Both of you could communicate with each other with your eyes alone. You danced perfectly in sync with one another, pulling apart only to fall right back into each other, just like magnets. So different yet inseparable. You could see it in his eyes, when he looked at you, that the emotion in his mirrored yours. You knew you weren’t imagining it when he audibly gasped as you melted into his embrace for the final move. His heartbeat was racing a hundred miles an hour, just like yours. The pair of you stood there, lips just a few millimeters apart, breathing deeply as the studio erupted into thunderous applause. You were no longer afraid to admit to yourself and to the world, that you had it bad for Ten Lee.

And when he kissed you on the rooftop that night, you knew that he had it bad for you too.

#ten #ten scenarios #ten angst #ten fluff #ten imagines #nct #wayv #nct ten #wayv ten #nct scenarios #nct imagines #wayv scenarios #wayv imagines #nct angst #nct fluff #wayv angst #wayv fluff #moonrise

155 notes · View notes