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highqueenofelfhame · 2 months ago

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ROWAELIN MONTH DAY 11: SONGFIC

better late than never, right? this is kind of a mashup of tis the damn season and stick season.

warnings: language, sexual content

The irony wasn’t missed on her that she chose the middle of the night to drive into the sleepy mountain town. It was well below freezing and everything around her looked stripped from her very own soul: cold and dark. Almost like if she saw everything under the sun it would be too real and too hard to keep running from.

The thoughts were pushed, once again, to the back of her mind as she pulled into a long driveway that took her to a little cabin at the end of a gravel road. As soon as her car was turned off, she took a few moments to collect herself. In that short span of time, fog coated the windshield glass and she knew it would be a chilly evening all around. The interactions, the weather.

The part where she left.

Pocketing her keys and her phone, she slid from her SUV and approached the door. Snow crunched beneath her boots while two owls talked back and forth somewhere above her. Her breath was nothing more than puffs of vapor slipping from her lips as she raised her fist and knocked. It was so cold it stung her knuckles and left her rubbing her hands together to produce any sort of heat to bring them back to life.

“Rowan! It’s fucking cold out here,” she shouted, not worried about disrupting any neighbors. He didn’t have any for miles.

Aelin’s teeth began to chatter, the heavy cold settling into her bones as she waited. Just as she was nearly ready to kick the door, the porch light flicked on and it swung open, revealing a shirtless and slightly disheveled Rowan Whitethorn squinting down at her.

“You have a key.” She brought a gust of cold air with her as she breezed into the cabin, dropping her things on the coffee table.

“I lost it,” she lied. It was sitting in a landfil somewhere, rotting under thousands of pounds of garbage at this point.

“You were supposed to be here two hours ago.” Rowan stepped close enough that she could see goosebumps all over his arms and chest. Her eyes moved to his face and a fake smile forced her lips to attention.

“Work beckoned, traffic out of the city was terrible and all that.” It was getting too easy to lie to him– almost as easy as lying to herself. Maybe that’s why she was so good at it.

Aelin crossed the living room and put the kettle on, fingers tapping on the counter while she waited with her back to him. His presence sucked all of the air, along with her sanity, out of the room and being too close for too long while she wasn’t high off the touch of his hands was too much. She needed to be doing something.

“Oh, are we pretending you want to have tea and catch up? Not skipping straight to it?”

“We’re not pretending to do anything, I’m cold and want to warm up. You could have changed your mind since I clearly woke you up, and if that’s the case I’ll be out of your hair and on my way as soon as this is ready to go,” she rebutted, barely glancing over her shoulder.

“Gods, Aelin, I wish I could change my fucking mind when it came to you.” Rowan’s body was warm as he stood behind her, one arm bracing the counter and the other reaching around to turn off the stove before she was caged into the confines of his arms. She gulped down her anxiety, feet glued to the wooden floor as his lips grazed the back of her head.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The man behind her took a long deep breath as his fingers carefully pulled her hair to one side of her neck. Out of instinct her head tilted to the side and one of his fingers dipped beneath the fabric of her turtleneck and tugged down. Everywhere he touched was like she’d been branded, goosebumps following the trail of his fingers.

No word of admission would ever be muttered from her lips but she was touch starved for his hands on her body. The first graze of his lips against her neck had the smallest sigh filling the large room, and the first flick of his tongue elicited a moan. It was building up to be the perfect storm: his mouth on her neck, the pull of her shirt the mockery of what his hand would feel like around her throat. The final nail in the coffin was the low groan that Rowan let out at just tasting her skin. She knew he was dying for more, for everything, to be buried so deeply inside her that neither of them could think straight.

“Take it off,” she muttered, spinning in his arms while he pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor.

Aelin hopped up into his arms and he didn’t miss the catch, a hand on her lower back forcing her body to be flush with his while he carried her to his room blindly. Their kisses were feverish, punctuated with bitten lips and throaty moans. They didn’t even make it to the bed; Rowan was quick to push her back against the wall and sink to the ground in front of her. Clever fingers worked at the button on her jeans while she kicked off her shoes and the pants soon followed.

Standing in nothing but lacy underthings, Aelin combed her fingers through his hair. Warm lips pressed against her lower stomach while his fingers traced the shape of the lace on her hips.

“You wore this for me.” The growled words weren’t a question. Both of them knew it was the truth. Aelin had a knack for driving him insane and she hoped he couldn’t see through the wall she built up when it came to him. He drove her crazy, too.

Soon he tugged them down her body, slowly dragging the lace down her thighs. Everywhere he touched felt like sparks that would turn into a flame and engulf her entirely. She was proved right moments later when her thigh was over his shoulder, mouth pressed to her center.

Gods, his mouth, his tongue, the gentle nip of his teeth against her clit sent her spiraling into madness. Everything felt so good, too good. Waves of pleasure crashed over her as she cried out. Her fingers were knotted into his hair and daring him to stop, but he didn’t.

Rowan worked her until her legs were shaking, two fingers deep inside her. It was a tease of how his cock would feel and she needed it. She would wager they both did if the way he feasted on her was any indication.

“Please,” she gasped, pulling his head back by his hair and leaning down to press her lips to his in a messy kiss. Something about tasting herself on his mouth had her groaning again. “I want you inside me.”

“Fuck.” It was more of a hiss than anything else. Rowan was quick, stripping off his clothes and tossing her on the bed.

Aelin laid back, spreading her legs as he knelt between them. His thumb rubbed in smooth circles over her clit while his cock slid against her center. Rowan loved to tease her like this, loved to have her begging for pleasure only he could give her.

“Please,” she groaned, reaching down to line him up.

“Say it.” Fuck.

“I need you inside—” her desperate pleas were cut off by a sharp inhale that twisted into a moan as he slid into her. Gods above, nothing and no one could compare to this feeling. Every thought she had turned to ash. There was only Rowan.

Moments like this made her wonder why she ran from him, made her wonder why they didn’t and couldn’t work. Anything that felt this good had to be right. Nobody else could compare. Only ever him.

“You feel,” he breathed, leaning over her body to kiss her mouth, “So fucking good.”

Aelin swallowed his words, lifting her head to catch him in a searing kiss that threatened to undo her. All she could do was nod in agreement and allow him to take her hard and fast. Everywhere he touched was lit with flames, heat coursing through her body down to her toes. They curled when he hit a perfect spot inside her, a gasping moan escaping her swollen lips.

Rowan groaned, lifting her leg onto his hip to get even deeper inside her. Every thrust elicited a moan from her. Red nails scratched over his back and he bit the curve of her shoulder. He went faster and harder and Aelin knew he was close.

“Come for me,” she groaned, angling her hips up for him. Those words seemed to unravel him because he finished deep inside her.

In the aftermath he remained on top of her and inside her until he slipped out. Rowan flipped them and pulled her on top of him, strong hands rubbing up and down her back while they came down from the highest high Aelin had felt in a long time. Since the last time she saw him, if she was being honest. She had a knack of lying to herself, though.

“I need to go,” she whispered, raising onto her knees and smoothing her hair from her face. Rowan sighed heavily.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I—”

“It’s the middle of the night, you don’t have anywhere to be. You’re just running like you always do.” Aelin sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and gazed toward the window. He was right. “All you have to do is stay with me, Aelin. I’m not going anywhere.”

It was a conversation they’d had a million times over but the words never seemed to sink in. She didn’t like getting too close to people, they always left. Her parents had died in a car accident when she was young, her foster father was abusive. Even her romantic partners always decided she was too much and turned away.

Everyone except for Rowan. It had been ten years of tip-toeing around a relationship but her fears drowned everything else out. They dated in college until she got scared and broke things off. Yet he remained, patiently waiting for her to come around to the truth: that he wasn’t ever going to leave her or give up on her.

Rowan propped himself up on one shoulder and used his thumb to coax her lip from her teeth. Aelin’s eyes dropped to where he tangled their fingers together, how he lightly tugged on them.

“Baby,” he said softly, and Aelin curled up on her side next to him. With her head on his arm, she looked at his face. “You know I’m not going anywhere. You know this is a good thing. What are you scared of?”

“People change their minds.”

“I’m never going to change my mind about you. I would have already done it. I want you. I want us. I've been so devastatingly in love with you from the moment I saw you. There’s no one else for me but you.”

“Okay,” she whispered, fingers tracing lines over the tattoo on his chest. Maybe she could try. Maybe Rowan wouldn’t be like the others.

“Yeah?” With her ear on his chest, she heard the quickening beat of his heart. Aelin nodded, face nuzzling his side.

“I want it all, too.”

“You’ll be here in the morning?” Aelin chewed on her lip again. Everything in her told her to run because she could get hurt. But she was tired of running. In her bones, her soul, she was exhausted. She wanted to feel safe and secure and the only source of that lately was Rowan.

“Yes,” she breathed, a slight nod of her head.

In the safety of his arms, she drifted off to sleep.

@rowaelinscourt

#rowaelinmonth2024 #rowaelin month #rowaelin month 2024 #tog #rowaelin #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #stick season #tis the damn season #fanfic #fanfiction #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fic

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soraviie · 2 years ago

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you compare yourself to him 2.txt

━ type: bts x f! reader ━ navigation ━ part I here

━ about: angst atop of angst and some fluff

━ a/n: Bacchus here is a reference to a Korean energy drink in Yoongi's part. Jimin's part is my own favourite one :)

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: The world is...beige. Since when? Blinking away the heavy grogginess, you reach to touch the material on your face before removing it. Looking around one might think you'd slept through the whole warfare as every surface is covered in clothes. Amidst the maelstrom like a blur in the wind is Namjoon, tossing everything he could find all around. You reach to hook a finger around a silver chain necklace inexplicably dangling on a bedside lamp. You remember this one. You'd gifted him this in Tartu on a whim of being overwhelmingly lovesick for his dimples.

"Are you fleeing the country?" you rasp, voice falling gruff from the disuse. It had been...hard to talk after the gallery. Or look at yourself in the mirror. Or leave the bed.

At the sound of your voice, Namjoon whips around, accidentally pulling along with him a lightbox. Dimly you watch it clatter on the ground.

"Baby! Hello! Did you sleep well?" he asks with an eagerness of a zealous labrador and you frown.

"Well enough. Have you gone mad? Perhaps?"

He laughs as though this simple remark was the finest joke in the land.

"No, I'm very focused and logical," he chirps and your frown deepens. No way his brain was not harmed somehow. This was...suspicious to say the least.

"Listen, I'm going to be on the TV today -"

"You always are," dryly you point out but then he crawls on the bed and practically sticks his face into yours, so close you go cross-eyed.

"Make sure you watch it, okay? It'll be a live. Starts at 3."

"Okay," flustered you comply and as his breath fans your face the suspicion surges. "How many energy drinks have you had?"

"Nine!"

Your eyes pop open but you can't do much about it as he glimpsed down, finds the necklace glimmering between your fingers and lets out a jubilant cry.

"I've been looking for this thing! Thank you!" he begins leaving rushed kisses all over your face, graciously ignoring any protests. "Thank you, baby! My moon and stars!"

Was he drunk as well?

Pulling back just as haphazardly he glanced at the clock, breathing a horrified gasp.

"Oh, shit, I'm late! But the mess..." he tosses a guilty glimpse at the destroyed closet before you push him.

"I'll..I'll clean it, just go."

You had little to do anyway, not like you could go to a gallery to have worldly people fun. At that, a natural scoff worms upon your face.

"Thank you! I love you! I love you so much!" he yelps and presses himself fervently against you, capturing your lips in a sloppy, frantic kiss. The taste of energy drinks spills onto your mouth. The next you know, your boyfriend becomes Sonic and is out of the door leaving nothing but destruction in his wake.

Typical.

You're still folding some pants when reluctantly the weight of the promise burdens you too much and end up switching the TV, knowing in your heart that seeing him in his role as an idol, you'll only feel more distant. What sort of girlfriend tunes into the TV to see their boyfriend not just call them? What sort of girlfriend were you at all? You frown at the leg of the pants, bunching it in your palms before releasing it. A lame one. You were a lame girlfriend.

It couldn't be said that this interview was anything else that you hadn't seen and heard hundred times before but one thing does stick out like red in a sea of mourners. Namjoon looks like a goddamn patchwork game. You can squint and frown, an action which is done by many, including the interviewer, his band, and the camera operator probably as well. The look presented makes it seem he was blind, drunk, and high when choosing his clothes and also made that choice in a closet belonging to a crazy person. Green baggy pants, a red turtleneck, a white, little scarf, a beret and the necklace proudly laid to glisten in the middle of his chest which that turtleneck is giving it all to protect.

Was this his way of saying he needed a break?

"Uh, Namjoon, to address the uh...elephant in the room," the interviewer begins, pulling the collar of the shirt aside, under pressure to both ask and be very polite about it. "Are you experimenting with new fashion these days?"

"No," he beams back, suspiciously innocent and wide-eyed. "These are my favourite clothes! They give me comfort and remind me of being loved whenever I go."

You think back and start piecing together, a patchwork of your own if you will, that these were all things you got him. Some you had forgotten - the joke beret, the necklace but the red turtleneck was an impromptu Christmas present while the green pants he wanted but didn't have the time to go out and buy himself.

"I see," the interviewer drawls. "To segway off what you said, as k-pop idols, love is certainly a big part of your songs, may I ask how you view love on your own? Is it something you share with your image or is it completely different?"

"Well, I-" Taehyung begins but is immediately interrupted by Namjoon whose eagerness makes him look like a complete maniac. Poor Taehyung can only blink owlishly and then let the matter be.

"Thank you so much for asking! I've thought a lot about love, I always made it complicated in my head, but now I know better. Love is being understood," his eyes snap straight into the camera and you flinch as you hold eye contact. "It's to be comfortable and feeling heard. Most of the time you know people say you have to be of similar interests, that then you'll be able to bond better but that is simply not true. People are not bonded together by their diplomas, how many stamps they have on their passport or how many painting meanings they can discern."

Your cheeks flush.

"They are bonded because they share one another and that's what's important not the trivial nonsense others may push upon them. The world is made of perspectives and whenever our loved ones express their thoughts it becomes a better, more interesting place. And I think we ourselves as well. What matters is not how many, let's say, artwork meanings they get but how much of us they get."

"And do you feel..."get"?" the interviewer asks awkwardly and Namjoon splits into a broad smile.

"Very much so. I need nothing of no one else."

YOONGI: He stands there menacingly. A (not so) tall shadow cast over your bed at the very break of the dawn.

"You slept well?" he asks. Menacingly. Cause that's what he was. Menacing. Even the package in his hands is...menacing. You scurry to press yourself against the headboard. There's a determined gleam in his eye, one that says he was up to something and will see the fruits of his labour even if it kills him.

"Umm it was okay. Why are you cosplaying as the boy from the Grudge?"

He whines and the sinister aura disappears. You had hoped to avoid him for some days. Despite your best intentions, the words that you were only charity to Yoongi repeated their heinous loop over and over in your head.

"It was meant to be cute," he pouts. "Like watching over you in a guardian sort of way."

"Ended up with Brahms," you mutter and then erupt in a fit of coughs, dryness in the throat making it hard to speak.

Yoongi's face sours in an instant.

"Did you fall mute again?"

You shrug. It's easy not to talk when you don't exist. He sighs but doesn't prod, knowing full well he can't force things to be alright.

"Would you be up for dinner? A fancy one?"

You incline your head to the package and he hands it over. Inside sits dinner wear made of the finest quality.

"Why?" you rasp. "You don't usually like dressing up."

He shrugs and something about it has your eyes narrowing.

"Just wanted to do something different," he replies a bit too offhand. "Are you up to it?"

"I-" another cough interrupts the sentence and Yoongi rushes to get a glass of water. "Thank you. Okay. We can go to dinner."

Another dinner, yey, you think to yourself dryly but he seems for some reason excited and it would be no good to be a curmudgeon to him as well.

"Thank you, Bacchus," he bids softly and leans to kiss the top of your head.

You snort at the nickname.

But the dinner extravaganza didn't simply end there. With every passing second, the mystery tightened like an Agatha Christie novel. Yoongi insisted on you taking the car he ordered, tinted windows to add, to an undisclosed restaurant and with the driver oathed to not speak a word of it. Your phone he asked to shut off as well. Not put it on mute but turn it off entirely. You partially wondered if he hit a psychotic break of sorts and/or has unfortunately turned into a murderer. Mulling over the heartbreak that would be if your honey boy would turn into a killer, you were stunned to see a familiar face when climbing out of the car. Your mother.

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

She was dressed to the nines as well and seemed rather shocked to see you climbing out of the car. Around her neck sat a pearl necklace one you don't recall her having and she was nervously twiddling with it in front of the restaurant's host. A restaurant that you very purposefully avoided as one of its managers was none other than that annoying, grating, stick-so-far-up-her-ass-its-practically-impaling-her cousin of yours.

"I don't know," she replied, glancing around. "Your boyfriend asked me to be here."

Before you could answer anything, the host urged you to enter into a private area as was the case when you dined with someone who needed absolute security at all times. The group wasn't all that large, consisting of yourself, your mother, your aunt, the aunt who wasn't as cool as the first one her weird husband and their dog even, who was sporting a fancy bowtie for the occasion. By the table sat Yoongi and though many would say he appeared stoic you knew exactly what that sly, scheming son of a biscuit had done this evening. He raised to stand, politely bid welcome to all your relations who as always didn't know how to act so they settled on an ungainly silence, and then gave you flowers before kissing your cheek. By the bar, her eyes glinting like two wildfires, sat your cousin gurgling her own poison most likely.

"I'm so going to choke you for this," you discreetly whisper into his ear but he only smiles.

With alcohol loosening much of the knotted tongues, the dinner progressed smoothly. Yoongi occasionally coquettishly leaned in, so unlike him, and brushed his nose against your cheek. All, of course, a part of an elaborate apology.

"But you were afraid of my mother," you argue, walking hand in hand back home. Where your cousin went you did not know but it was unlikely she would be present at the next meeting.

"Still am," he chuckles but even then there is an undercurrent of fright running deep. "But after you hung up I called her and she relayed that you looked like a ghost for the rest of the evening. And I know I said this a thousand times but I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm not always there for you, I'm sorry for being absent, I'm sorry if anyone ever made you feel like you're invisible," he sighed, stretching he tie looser from his neck and you adjusted his hair, mussed by a strong gust of wind.

"Still you don't need to do all that," softly you say. "It's enough for you to just show up sometimes and be awkward in the corner."

"I know," he kisses the top of your head pushing the doors open. "Just wanted to show that you're the only one I see."

JIN: In a fashion that probably millions of other people did before him he pretended everything was fine. That it was all fine. What was it? Fine. Normal. Nothing was happening. Everything's usual. The same old. And then he cried in the bathroom stall for ten minutes, before forcing it to all stop and pretending that it was all fine.

But as your things became scarcer and two lives that he meant to unite forever were separated, clinically and detached like a scalpel of a surgeon, the less he could pretend it was fine.

It wasn't fine. It was over.

Jin was never one for relationship theatrics to say that his life was over as well but now he realized that it was - the life he wanted at least and possibly could have had in the future - was dust.

But there is some truth to the idea that sometimes loving someone was leaving them, letting them go in a wind, like a migrating bird, away from the winter of discontent and into the summer of ease.

And you assure him it's nothing he had done. Perhaps that's the most infuriating part, it's nothing he'd done so he can't correct, he can't change the world for you even if he wants to oh so bad. But harder still is to watch, watch you be a hollow shell, driven to a point of insecurity so high you ill. No jokes of his, no smiles, no well-meaning words of his can change the sentiment.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't handle the world you live in."

Even if he wouldn't be an idol, it's a world Jin has always lived in. He knows how to not buckle underneath the waves of judgment cause he had swum in them since but a bare-bottomed infant.

"You can always crash here or call me if you need help," he offers, trying to sound as light as possible while helping you pack the last boxes. Such a strange thing to help the love of your life leave you but despite all Jin has always wanted to take care. So he takes care one last time.

"That's not how it works," you laugh. It's dry and humourless and he wonders how long will it take for you to move on. The love is not lost it just couldn't conquer all as lovely as that would be.

"Yeah, I guess so," he scuffs his slipper against the floor. The home is empty now. It feels physically wrong and Jin hopes to himself this would all be a bad dream. That this is the same night he got you from the police station and this was a concoction of the mind, wormed and plagued by guilt.

"Eat well, okay," he reminds. There's so much he wants to say but he lets himself choke on those words. Why? He doesn't quite know but the last thing he wants to do is make you feel any worse. That's not what a good partner does. Even if he's soon to not be one.

"I will," you promise. "Remember to stretch once in a while, you play too many video games, they can make your muscles tense."

He doesn't trust his voice so Jin nods. And just like that, it's over. A thirty-second walk to the elevator is all he gets instead of a whole life he'd been so certain of. But even now he thinks that better you be happy than miserable by his side. The elevator dings and he's buying seconds, he would put his entire fortune for just a minute.

"Where will you be travelling exactly?" he asks.

"I don't know. Somewhere warm, somewhere cold. Find myself again," you reply, pretending it's all fine as well. If you acknowledge the reality for just a second, you'll break and so you delude yourself. For just a bit.

Jin nearly says to send him a lot of videos but then bites on his tongue. The elevator opens and you climb in, a suitcase behind you, a carton box in the crook of your arm. Jin smiles.

"You know, life is strange. Should we suddenly cross paths five years later who knows how it'll turn out, right?"

It's, of course, a hopeful delusion, a length of rope many have tied around their necks with a smile on their face but he can't stop. He doesn't want to stop. If the movie has a hopeful ending, it's a love story, if not - it's a tragedy and Jin was never one for tragedies.

Be that as it may, you open your mouth to say something, anything, but the elevator closes and the rest is silence.

HOSEOK: He glowers. Hoseok is not known for glowering but he does so to his earnest. The foot tapping the floor nearly makes a dent in the material as he waits. Waits for you like a disappointed parent or a hunter lying in an ambush. Hoseok himself doesn't particularly care what he is as long as he gets what he wants which is you at home.

She's not cheating, she would never cheat, he tells himself but isn't that what all poor bastards of the world thought. The hallway is dark and you stumble freely, assuming he's not here and then nearly crack your skull open when seeing him stand stoic like a statue in the dark.

"Fucking hell!" you yell and he jumps, somehow startling himself by the loudness of your voice.

"Welcome back," he greets you cooly, turning on the lights. "Hoped I was out?"

You stand squirming in guilt and avoiding his gaze exactly like a cheater would but there's no cologne on your blouse or a hickey on the neck. The only thing you carried was a plastic bag with snacks. Cheap, cheap snacks.

He takes it away from your hands and peers inside. Ramen, cotton buds, chocolate chips, and seaweed for some reason.

"I don't understand," he breathes out. "You're...all this time...every time you're not home you're doing grocery shopping?"

You don't answer anything and his brows furrow in confusion.

"_____________, I don't understand. Please, tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing wrong per se," you brush off. "It's just I..."

"I?" he urges.

"It's where I feel like I belong."

For a while, he leans into the wall and then it clicks together.

The store was perhaps the most normal thing possible with people going about their day, hardly any limelight. Hardly any luxury.

"You're with me, I love you," he sighs. "My world is your world."

"Yeah," you brush off, clearly lying. "I know."

And perhaps it's the stress or perhaps the fierceness with which he's ready to tie himself to you, a move he never thought he could wholeheartedly make, he has none of it. Which brings him back to a party, one in his name once more just a tad more covert.

"I don't know about this," you stammer, trying to pull your hand away from his.

"Just trust me. Don't you trust me?"

"Not with that tone," you whine crossing the street. "Listen, I'm happy your album is a success, couldn't be prouder -"

Hoseok's ears flush to this day when hearing any praise from your mouth.

"Thank you."

"- but you can, you know, have fun and I'll chill out somewhere else."

He whips around.

"Is it something someone said?" he confronts and you awkwardly glance away.

"They don't need to say it, it's apparent. I'm sticking out like a sore thumb in these places."

"I don't care for them and neither should you! If these parties are about me, then you should always be a part of them. I invite all the guys, all the time -"

"Yeah, you all work in the same field," you roll your eyes and he lightly flicks your forehead.

"Dummy, they're my family, you're my family and my family is with me in celebrations."

You gaze at your intertwined hands.

"Obviously, I can't and shouldn't force you to be here but trust me and maybe I can make you feel a little bit better."

You draw a heavy sigh, bemoaning to yourself about the sacrifices of love and with gritted teeth step into the enemy territory. It's loud and bright with many strangers surrounding you like flies around honey. You notice Jin and Jungkook tucked away neatly in the corner and they offer knowing nods of the head. You frown at them and turn to the stage where there's a podium and a magnificent chair like a throne behind it. Hoseok sits you, confused, down in it, sort of in the background but always present like an overarching symbolic presence and if people look then even faster they swerve away in guilt. Hoseok's smile is bright and polite but there is no question about it that the line "let's be friendly" means no one so much as opens their mouth to toss a curt comment or swerve their eye your way in an inappropriate manner. In between Hoseok frequently checking back and Jin pulling you into a nameless 1v1 phone game, you forget of the crowd, their judgement and your need for their opinion. Whenever you glance up, Hoseok is there giving an encouraging smile and you realize the one opinion that matters the most will never waver from always being in your favour.

JIMIN: The money spilt all across the counter as Mari yelped, startled when the door was simply kicked open.

"I-I'm sorry but we're clo-"

"What is this?" Jimin's voice comes with a sharpness you'd never ever heard before. It makes you swallow nervously, eyes lingering on the paper slip clutched in his palm.

"I...I explained what it is," you squirm anxiously and Mari's head is a blur, switching to left and fro in between you both.

"We..we have to keep closing," she whimpers, shrivelled small by the register squeaking in a barely audible tone.

Jimin's eyes snap towards her and she immediately withers underneath his rage.

"Just go home," you order her, tired, and she doesn't have to be told twice. Only a second passes before she's scurrying to the door. Momentarily, you can see that she recognizes the masked stranger but that makes her eyes only hang lower as she desperately tries to not be remembered, probably counting the sum of his displeasure in her head. When the bell rings to announce her exit, the air presses down with tension.

You twist the towel in your hands, pulling a deep breath to speak a string of words that cut your heart open.

"Jimin, I want...I want to break up."

"No."

A pause.

"No?" stunned, you echo.

"I'm not breaking up with you."

He has pulled the mask off his face and his eyes are crazy. They're rimmed red. He's been crying.

"You can't just -" you begin to object but he quickly interrupts.

"Do you still love me?"

The question takes you by surprise but he's not content with silence.

"Do you still love me?" he reiterates with more strength and you nod, voice catching in the throat.

"I do, but -"

"When we got together I said it would be hard but we promised, you promised that we would work through our problems together."

"I'm sorry," you murmur.

"Not accepted," Jimin snaps and you flinch. "What was this - "I'm sure in time you'll find yourself a more appropriate partner with whom you'll feel happier." With all due respect, ______________, you do not get to dictate what or to whom I should feel something. I'm dating you because I want you, not a model, not an idol or whoever you think is "good" for me. I want you."

"But what if I begin to resent you?" glaring at your shoes you listlessly argue but Jimin's face doesn't differ from the hard scowl with which he barged here into.

"I'm not going to part with the love of my life on a what if," he sneered throwing your breakup letter decidedly into the trash.

"But I'll just be a burden-!"

"Oh for the love of!" he throws his hands into the air. "You're not a burden for asking my help. I want to do it, you understand? Me! I want to help you, I want to provide for you, that's what I want not what you force me to do," completely worked himself into a heated tirade, he barely took a breath before pelting the words one after another like hail upon your shoulders.

"We're going to go home, talk about our problems and then live happily ever after, god fucking damnit!"

You stand mutely, hunched in yourself quite like a berated kid. Exhaling slowly through the nose, Jimin's rage seems to abate, if a little bit, and for a lingering pause, there's only the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock filling the air.

"I still need to close," you shuffle, sensing the familiar sting in the eyes.

"Fill out the documents," he replies stiffly but at least not sneering anymore. "I'll do the rest. You must be tired."

You comply without a question sitting down to fill out the proper numbers. Jimin's ensnared with dusting the countertops, mopping the floor, and gathering the trash. An unsightly, lowly work that a national star like him shouldn't be doing but he does. He does it all.

TAEHYUNG: He keeps thinking that it can't simply end like that - on a slammed door in the silence. But it does. It's inevitable like seeing your favourite movie with a sad ending over and over again, always hoping that the familiar reel will somehow change, that the world will be a better place than it is but the movie is set and the ending is set and everything is set in stone. Taehyung's role is set to play the irredeemable villain and be ruined by his own actions.

"This..you know...big city...but lovers find their way," he slurs in a bar with only Jimin to keep tabs on him. He's angry, untalkative and quite upset as Taehyung lost the love of his life and he lost a good friend all in one fell swoop. It's only because of Jimin's curt text of "way to miss your girlfriend's birthday, prick" that he came to his senses. He'd rushed home all at once though it did no good. The apartment was empty, the neighbours vouched for you moving out and in the trash, he found a single, crumpled note. It began and ended with only one word - V. Not Taehyung the one he's always been to you but V. There was nothing after it but he kept it still.

"Lovers...they find each other in every life right?" he asks but Jimin remains obstinately quiet yet when comes the time to weep he reaches out to pat his friend's back.

"It's just a scarf!" he yells into the stylist's face. "It's just a scarf! What's the big deal? It fits the theme, right? Just let me keep it!"

Namjoon having rushed to the room inspects this strange friend of his, backed into the corner with an expression so vicious he fails to recognize him. He doesn't know what happened but he knows the way Taehyung hugs the scarf to his chest, to protect, to cradle it like a kindling flame. He knows grief when he sees one.

"Just leave him alone," he orders the stylist and Taehyung is let on the stage with a scarf on his neck, one he doesn't stop touching throughout the entirety of the event. It was the only thing left besides the note, otherwise, you'd been very thorough, combing your life free of him in all conceivable ways. World as always goes on and Taehyung hates it for it doing so. Rather it'd stop, rather it stand completely still so he can mould himself into time itself and stop existing. He sees fractures of you in scenarios of happy strangers, of hands intertwined and smiles shared, a life lived together as he always wanted to. He intended to with such certainty it's like the very basis underneath his feet is crushed. He never assumed it'd go so wrong.

Largely he keeps this obsession to himself, of fear of being judged, of being called crazy, only Jimin knows and in his neverending love for his friend, he tolerates it. Partially in the happier moments, Taehyung tries to romanticize the situation. In any good love story, one person meets another and they are split apart by circumstance only to end up together. Forgiveness always wins and love prevails. That's what he was told since being a baby. This was...this was his term of punishment, a way to apologize for his actions but nothing of the sort is of course real. The reality which Taehyung was never too fond of was much more sterner and cutthroat. You didn't love him anymore = you left. The End.

The End.

He lives in dreams and he lives in love that now is just an echo.

But the wronger still comes the day when your scarf splits at the seams. It can't be fixed, it can't be brought back, it's just ruined and gone and it sits in Taehyung's hands - useless. Still, he shoves the threads in his pocket, fully aware that there was a line, a fine line to be drawn but he can't bring himself to draw it. If he stops hoping, just for a second, his movie will end like it was always meant to be.

JUNGKOOK: "Please come home."

"No."

The begging had been going on for almost half an hour. Both attempts were fruitless, his - to get you back, yours - to get him to leave.

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't accidentally step on my foot! You told me my entire life is useless. That I'm wrong for being not like you."

He licks his dry lips and runs a hand through the messed-up hair. Unwillingly, you notice that his knuckles were faintly bleeding. The temperature had dropped suddenly overnight. He must have forgotten to lotion them. Not that it mattered now. Though he had quite a lot to argue about that.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for what I said. I was stupid, petulant and..." he sighs, staring at the floor. "Jealous."

"Over what?" you tilt an eyebrow.

"Yoongi. You get along with Yoongi. He gets you and I was scared so I lashed out."

"It's not an excuse," listlessly, you frown at his figure lodged halfway into your friend's apartment. A safe haven, he somehow managed to find out about. One couldn't argue with how driven Jungkook was. A quality you did not appreciate much right now.

"What do you want here? That I'll spring back into your arms, magically find some sort of passion and suck you off in gratitude?!"

"No!" he objects. "No! It's not like that!"

"Then explain! Explain for us lowly, dispassionate losers what is this all about?!"

He begins to twiddle with his thumbs, tongue playing with the back of his lip ring. It wasn't often that a 1.79m, tattoed muscle mass known as Jeon Jungkook could possibly appear small but he appeared as such in this very moment.

"I just want you back. Want to eat my words," when you open your mouth to tear him a new one, he hurries faster. "But I know I can't. So I am asking, I'm begging to give me a chance. Not forgiveness, just a chance to start over. As...friends...if you'd like. I'll get to know you anew, open mind this time. Be as you are. That's all I'm asking."

"Friends?" you parrot, part scornful, part impressed. He used to drone on and on about how he always wanted to be more than friends, how that name was like a lightless void to him, an unshakeable role in the distance he was desperate to breach so to hear him offer that very role so eagerly was if anything a symbol of truly wanting to listen. If he could be trusted.

You assess him sternly, tucking away the feeling of a girlfriend far way.

"If we do it, if!" you emphasize yet his eyes gain a hopeful tint. Retribution. "I want to be able to cut ties without you throwing a fit, tracking me down and doing this because this," you wave over his crouched figure. "Is not cute. It's annoying. One strike and you're out! And we start as friends!"

He's not deterred in the slightest on the opposite his face is glowing.

"I'll get to know you as I should have," he promises. "No judgement."

You let out a prolonged, irritated sigh.

"I hate you."

"I don't," he replies, nose scrunched in happiness. "Not in the slightest."

384 notes · View notes

czenzo · 2 years ago

Text

Consequences

[ao3]

summary: After Lucy wakes up one morning to find a dark red lovebite blooming on her neck, she frantically looks for a way to cover it up – and eventually drags Lockwood into helping, too. After all, he is the one who left it there.

words: 2335 rating: T

note: I fell SO in love with the netflix show then got so overwhelmed with lockwood content that writers block snuck up on me, but I have defeated it at last!! huzzah enjoy these kids being stupid and foolish and deeply in love

Lucy stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Her eye bags were slightly less pronounced than usual, which was a nice change. Only a few spots dotted the skin of her face – a small one on her chin, one on the side of her nose – but they were fairly calm and bound to fade soon. If she squinted and covered one eye they almost passed as freckles.

Her lips were alarmingly chapped, thanks to the hours upon hours spent in freezing cold haunted locations with little to no motivation to bother moisturising them; Holly had picked up a habit of commenting on it, and every time, Lucy responded by peeling off a bit of the flaking skin. It was always effective in cutting the conversation short.

Her jawline was soft as usual, thanks to the round face and thicker-set build inherited from her mother, but she’d grown to not mind it so much. After all, her appearance was never a hindrance to her work, so it had never mattered.

Aside from the blooming dark red bruise on her neck.

That was sure to stir up some commotion.

“Talk about unprofessional,” was the first thing out of the skull’s mouth when she flipped its lever that morning. Still half-asleep and brain somewhat foggy, she hadn’t registered his words and simply opted to ignore them as she padded over to the bathroom. She’d been at 35 Portland Row for so long that her morning routine was all muscle memory: haul herself out of bed, drag her body a few feet across the room before stepping to the right to avoid that oddly squeaky floorboard, then to the left to miss that nail haphazardly sticking out, then enter her bathroom, shiver as her feet hit the cold tiled floor, and grimace as her eyes fall onto the bright red hickey on her reflection’s neck.

Hold on.

Shit.

A strange, strangled noise escaped the back of her throat. The skull must have heard it, because he let out a cackle and called out, “Don’t tell me you’ve only just realised. He must’ve been sucking on your neck like his life depended on it!”

“Oh, shit,” she hissed, trying to tune out the skull’s taunting. She lasted less than a minute before stomping back out of the bathroom and flicking the skull jar’s lever with more ferocity than she ever had, before returning to the mirror to stare slack-jawed at her neck some more.

Her makeup collection started and stopped with mascara, and she hadn’t the foggiest of where to even start finding a product to cover the hickey – no, lovebite – no, god, how she hated all of its names. If only it was a bit lower, she could’ve hidden it with a thick turtleneck, but she knew just from looking at it that it still would have peered out over the top.

She desperately rummaged through the back of her wardrobe anyway, and heaved a sigh of relief upon finding something that would cover the offensive red splotch for the short term.

By the time she finally emerged from her room and followed the smell of toast into the kitchen, most of Lockwood & Co. were already there, either busying themselves making breakfast or, in George’s case, already in the middle of scoffing it.

“Morning,” Lucy said as she entered, making a beeline for the kettle to make herself a hard-earned cuppa. Holly paused from slicing a healthy-looking thing (it might’ve been an avocado, but Lucy didn’t care enough to look closely at it) and stared at her.

“Are you a bit chilly, Luce?” George said, lowering the last slice of half-eaten toast back to his plate.

“Hm?” Lucy replied, scooping up some sugar.

“I mean – I’m glad you liked my Christmas present, but you’re aware it’s July, yeah?”

Lucy paused, hand halfway to the kettle’s handle. “We live in England.”

“Climate change renders that a poor defence, really. I swear every other week’s a heatwave.”

“What’s this about heatwaves?” Lockwood said as he entered, newspaper in one hand and a mug in the other.

“Lucy’s wearing a scarf in the middle of summer,” Holly oh-so-politely explained.

Lockwood’s gaze darted to the scarf in question.

Then to Lucy’s eyes. And very, very briefly – for such a small fraction of a second Lucy almost wondered if she’d imagined it – down to her lips.

Then back down to the scarf.

“An… interesting fashion choice,” he said slowly.

“Indeed,” Lucy replied matter-of-factly, finishing making her tea and taking a long, scalding sip.

The room was silent for a long, excruciating moment, until reality suddenly restarted and Holly resumed chopping, George resumed chomping, and Lockwood snapped himself out of his trance to turn on his heel and head towards his favourite armchair to catch up on the news.

Slowly but surely, the rest of them followed, migrating into the living room and making themselves at home on the sofas in wait of an informal morning briefing. Holly was fully dressed and ready to go for the day, but the rest of them still lounged in their pyjamas while lazily sipping their tea, not quite yet ready to begin their working day.

“Okay,” Lockwood said after skimming through the newspaper. “Our priority tonight is to close off that case with Mr McShane… Holly, if you could give him a ring and look into why on earth he decided to not show up and give us the keys so we could get to work last night, that would be great – I can trust you to make it sound polite and professional. Maybe we should consider some kind of no-show fee… it could help us recover faster from that recent bulk order from Sunrise. Or is that too harsh? I don’t know. Something to think about later.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy spotted Holly jotting it down on a notebook she’d seemingly produced out of thin air. Lockwood continued his briefing; a client was due later that afternoon, George was to get a head start on the background research, and Lucy was to join him to visit a different client at their home in a couple of hours.

“We’re a bit busier than usual,” George mused from his deep, sunken-in spot on the couch.

“That McShane fellow knocked us off our schedule. We have a bit of catching up to do, but it’s doable.”

“I suppose we’d better get started then,” Holly said, closing her notebook. Lockwood solemnly nodded. Still, it was another fifteen minutes until they were all able to haul themselves back onto their feet, and another twenty for everyone to get dressed and make themselves look presentable.

Lucy spent most of that time checking her mirror. Each time she moved to look into it, part of her hoped and prayed the mark would have somehow magically begun to fade, though deep down she knew she was only setting herself up for disappointment.

The scarf was itchy and garish; realistically, she knew it couldn’t stay, but her limited wardrobe left her with – well, not a single other option.

She’d pulled on a jumper, skirt, and tights by the time there came a soft knocking at her door. In the seconds that followed came an intense internal debate as to whether the scarf was to stay on, or if she could get away with only facing whoever it was at a specific angle.

A voice softly called from the other side. “Luce?”

Lockwood.

The scarf was promptly thrown across the room. Lucy opened the door, and before she could even give him a scalding look, the sheepish grimace on his face said he knew what was going on already. Slowly, quietly, he shuffled inside, and took his time in closing the door behind him.

“So…” he said, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. “No more scarf?”

“I don’t know what to do, Lockwood. You did this, you should be paying the consequences – not me!”

He followed the sharp point of her finger, and the second his eyes fell on the deep red blotch on her neck he let out a whistle, long and slow. “It’s starting to go purple.”

“Thank you for that observation.”

“Perhaps Holly has–”

“I’m not letting Holly catch wind of this,” Lucy sighed. “Besides, our skin tones don’t match in the slightest. Her makeup would make it more obvious.”

“Oh– er, yeah. That’s true. What about–”

“Don’t even think about suggesting asking George. He’d never let us forget about this.”

Lockwood’s gaze drifted across the room and onto where the scarf had fallen, draped half on the bed, half on the floor. “Scarf it is, then.”

Lucy looked at the scarf witheringly. Before she could turn back around to face Lockwood, she felt a pair of hands settle gently at her waist.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her ear. “I got carried away, I didn’t think it through. It won’t happen again.”

Lucy sighed and replied with as much nonchalance as she could muster, “I never said I wanted that.”

“Hm?”

“It can happen again,” she said slowly, “as long as I have a reasonable way of covering the aftermath.”

“Oh,” Lockwood said. And then, a few moments later, “Oh.”

He backed away, his hands left her waist, and before Lucy could register the loss of his warm breath against the shell of her ear, he’d gone, leaving the door to swing shut behind him.

Lucy frowned. She turned to the skull jar, wondering why he hadn’t been incessantly ridiculing her throughout the whole fiasco, until she remembered she’d flicked its lever in a fit of rage earlier that morning. It was probably for the best that it stayed that way for the time being.

“Okay,” Lockwood said as he backed into the room, turning to reveal his arms full of medical supplies – plasters of varying shades, bandages, cleaning alcohol, the same supplies he’d uncovered after she’d slashed her wrist at Kensal Green – which he unceremoniously dumped onto her unmade bed. “We’ll just make it look like a minor injury. We were practising rapier techniques and I accidentally nicked your neck with my blade. That sounds reasonable, right?”

She sat on the edge of her bed, watching him rummage through the small pile. “I’d never let you nick my neck.”

“Well, you certainly let me do something else to it.”

For that, he received a swift whack to the back of his head. “Shut up and sort out my rapier wound.”

Lockwood tucked her hair behind her ear, gave one last dramatic wince at the mark on her neck, then fell quiet with concentration as he carefully placed a plaster over it. He took far longer than was necessary, but Lucy found she couldn’t complain. It tickled as he smoothed out the adhesive with his fingertips, and once he was satisfied with his work, his hands glided up to tenderly cup the sides of her face.

“Thank you,” Lucy murmured, feeling a smile creep onto her lips.

“Told you. I’m a fully qualified doctor. No wound is too much for me to handle.”

“Codswallop,” she scoffed. “This one scared you.”

He smirked, amused. “Only very briefly, before my fantastic intellect kicked in.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Maybe,” Lucy said, lips no more than an inch away from his. The air between them was warm and smelt faintly of Lockwood’s cologne. “Maybe I do.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Shut up,” she said breathlessly, closing the gap between them. The pile of plasters and bandages were left forgotten beside them as they became wrapped up in one another, hands roaming and mouths gasping for air between kisses. Lucy was sure they could have stayed there for hours if it weren’t for George shouting from downstairs.

“Lockwood!” his muffled voice called.

Lockwood took a moment to catch his breath. His forehead still pressed against Lucy’s as he called back, “What?”

“Can you come here? I need to check something with you before I head to the archives!”

“Is it urgent?”

“Er–” George paused. “It pertains to ghosts, which can be pretty fucking lethal, so, yes!”

“Be there in a tick,” Lockwood replied. It took considerable effort to untangle himself from Lucy and, once he’d hauled himself off the bed and onto his feet, to then smooth out the creases that now tarnished his outfit.

George shouted up to them one last time, “Bring Lucy, too!”

***

It hadn’t been that urgent. Just a minor query from an unremarkable case that he wanted to clear up before leaving because, well – he was George. And George found joy in leaving no question unanswered, no stone unturned.

Next to a bad drawing of a Rawbones, he’d jotted down a to-do list for himself on the thinking cloth. He contemplated his scribblings for the millionth time, and then peered up at Lucy over the rim of his glasses. “No more scarf, then?”

“No.”

“Shame. You were about to kick off a new fashion trend.”

Holly entered the kitchen. She’d been busy cleaning the living room, if the three apple cores she held at arm's length before throwing in the bin were anything to go by. “I thought it looked quite quaint.”

Lucy gave her a look. “You don’t need to lie, Hol.”

Lockwood rested a hand on her shoulder and lit up the room with his grin. “Lucy was only hesitant to admit I bested her during our rapier practice last night. I do feel quite bad for catching her neck with my blade, though.”

Holly and George exchanged looks, and for an uncomfortably quiet moment, Lucy feared they’d seen right through the cover story.

“Don’t feel bad,” George eventually said. “She’d be ecstatic if she managed to do that to you.”

Holly nodded in agreement, and Lockwood turned to Lucy with an almost wounded look. “Would you?”

“Of course. Better watch your back the next time we practice. Might get my revenge.”

end note: now with a Revenge sequel!

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co fic #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #locklyle #czenzo.fic

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ceilingfan5 · 2 years ago

Note

Lab UA and Supernatural elements AU

“I don’t want to accuse you of anything,” Taako starts, as the prelude to absolutely making a fucking accusation. “But I’ve been wondering about you.”

“What about me?” Kravitz is short with him. He’s been snappity short with him every fucking day since the incident. Taako has been so on edge and working in the lab with him has been…difficult. There’s no good way to come out and ask if someone is a just a fucking vampire now.

Especially not because Taako fucking knows he’s a vampire now, because he can smell it on him. Because Taako isn’t a human either.

But you can’t just be like. Straight up are you a vampire? Don’t lie, cause my werewolf nose knows.

Maybe he should have come into this armed a little better.

“Uh,” Taako says. “About how you’re doing.”

“Fine,” Kravitz says. “Can we do unethical science now?”

“Seriously? You’re fine??”

“Fine enough to do work,” Kravitz says cooly. “Besides, how does it involve you?”

“I mean you’re my fucking lab partner, asshole, and I care about whether or not you’ve been exsanguinated!”

Kravitz squints at him. Taako grits his teeth.

“Look,” Taako says, beginning to count on his fingers. “I haven’t seen you bring one of those fucking Lean Cuisines since last Tuesday.”

Kravitz winces.

“And you turned the heat up so high in the lab you ruined my psychic mold, and you’ve worn a turtleneck every day for the last week, and-”

“Taako-”

“And you’ve been a real bitch to me! Like it’s my fucking fault!”

Kravitz’s face falls.

“Taako, I- I don’t think it was. I- I guess I got wrapped up in my own head trying to…fix it…before anyone noticed, and…I’m sorry, I never wanted to make you feel responsible.”

Taako’s on a roll now, though, oops!

“Well, maybe you should! Cause I should have fucking stopped it! There shouldn’t have been a fucking vampire in my territory, and you got fucking bit, and now you’re mad at me, and my psychic mold is ruined, and-”

Kravitz blinks.

“Your territory, Taako?”

“Uh.”

Kravitz squints at him. Taako takes two full steps backward, like maybe Krav’s baby vampire senses might still be garbled enough to not smell a werewolf right in front of him.

The eye contact is so physically painful that Taako’s afraid his balls are going to fall right off and roll under the centrifuge.

“Taako,” Kravitz says, like this is occurring to him for the first time. “Why do you care so much?”

“Um,” Taako’s between a rock and a hard place, and both of them are radioactive. “I’m mad about the mold?”

“No.”

“No? You can’t tell me I’m not mad! It’s- who the fuck do you think you are-” Taako steps back again as Kravitz steps closer, and closer, and suddenly Taako’s back is to the locked door to the specimen chambers. Kravitz is so fucking close. And he smells weird, fresh vampire and all, but it’s hardly…bad. Taako’s just…not happy about it, is all.

“Why were you gone on Tuesday?” Kravitz keeps forgetting to blink. Has he admitted it yet? Taako’s brain is eating this whole awful conversation.

“Uh,” Taako says. “Fishing.”

“You’re out of personal time. You took your adoptive nephew to see the wrestling.”

“Fuck me,” Taako sighs. “Why the fuck do you care about my personal time?”

Kravitz finally blinks, and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No reason.”

“Hey,” Taako smells an out. It’s a dangerous one. But, you know, you take what you can get. “Do you fucking like me?”

“What??” Kravitz can’t go greyer in the face now, but he looks like he ought to be. “I- You’re- we’re coworkers! I can’t be-”

“You fucking like me!”

“Well-! It takes one to know one, doesn’t it??”

“What the fuck are you accusing me of?”

“You KNOW,” Kravitz hollers, looking totally unbalanced. “I’ve really lost track!”

Taako looks at him. Kravitz looks right back, looking downright pitiful, and Taako just has to laugh. Kravitz chuckles softly.

“You know, in our line of work,” he says, shaking his head. “I should have gotten the vampire insurance.”

“Yeah,” Taako says solemnly. “Dunno if it would’ve done you any good, though. I still can’t prove to Farm Bureau that I’m a werewolf.”

Kravitz’s eyes go wide. Taako may as well go in with the baseball bat, while everything’s all fucked anyway.

“Do you think we can still kiss?”

Kravitz opens his mouth, and shuts his mouth, and opens it again.

“You know,” he repeats, thoughtful, dazed. “I’d still like to try?”

#taz #taakitz #tazb #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #fan5fics #taz balance #taakitz fic #thank you!!#is it possible for a vampire and a werewolf to on purposed kiss

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silverflqmes · 10 months ago

Text

𓏲𓍢 𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋.

synopsis. in which our fourth anniversary is spent at the place where we first meant, complimented by a tupper of strawberries for us to share.

genre. fluff + comfort

disclaimer. selfship oriented post between tooru and i, written for an event and my own enjoyment. not comfy? click off, thanks.

event details. combination of ‘love story’ and ‘strawberry sweethearts’ for the selfship sweethearts event by mari<3 more information is on her blog!

it had been four years now, being in a relationship with tooru, ellie realized. time flew by so quickly, it almost felt like she’d known him a lifetime with how much joy he’d brought her on the daily. it was enchanting, being around him as she was.

the setter would spoil her endlessly with his love, purchase whatever her heart desired in the moments they shared and squeezed her to him to wash away the blues. it was complete bliss, like a fairytale come true between a knight and her king, who had somehow chosen his protector over a frilly princess.

it made said knight yearn to do something in return for his love and kindness over the years. although she had written him a mountain of letters on each day of july leading into his the day of his birth.. ellie felt compelled to go the extra mile this time around.

therefore — while her dearest boyfriend laid in their shared bedroom with his rayban frames situated on the bridge of his nose in exchange for the contacts he frequented, watching his nightly usual — old volleyball games.. ellie dried off strawberry after strawberry from the batch she’d bought earlier that morning at the market, letting out a breath.

cleaning the fruits were hard work when she couldn’t just give in and snack on them. however, the author’s desire to make her anniversary with tooru absolutely magical.. overpowered her longing tastebuds.

“pour chocolate pellets to your heart’s content into a mug and microwave when ready to dip strawberries..” she read over the directions before humming. “seems simple enough.” and that, it was. the final touches involved her dipping each berry into the bowl of chocolate before dropping a cat shaped sprinkle on each — a cute, final touch.

with her work done, she popped them into a container before pushing them a little towards the back of the fridge — a place tooru’s eyes wouldn’t easily reach. he always did snoop!

speaking of which..

“oh?? is that for meeeee?” a cooing voice inquired, the owner wrapping his arms around the brunette which had her rolling her eyes a little, suppressing a smile.

“it could be if you weren’t trying to spoil yourself a day early.” she huffed out, but there was no hostility to her words, as she turned around to look up at her boyfriend. “hi tooru-san.”

a grin etched itself onto his lips as he leaned down to nuzzle his nose against hers, laughing quietly. “hi ellie-chan, how’s my love fairing with the absence of her analytical, volleyball enthusiastic boyfriend?” he joked, pecking her lips ever so gently.

it made her face warm a little, though his descriptions drew a laugh out of her as she fixed his turtleneck for him. “oh tooru, it’s been horrific with your absence.. i simply cannot go on without you.. whatever will i do?”

a gasp left his lips as he carded his fingers through her hair, holding her closer. “truly?? oh no, that simply won’t do.. i can’t possibly have my dearest ellie-chan suffering!” he responded dramatically, on part with her own share — maybe worse. actually- very much worse. “i say we go fix that, hm?” he followed up, pushing up her own lenses — a pair that was nearly the same as his ( it was the feminine version ).

she allowed her head to tilt in thought as her eyes squinted. “mm.. and how do you propose for fix that?”

the smile he wore became cheshire as he lifted her up into his arms with little warning, racing off towards their room. “why, only with the best piece of cinema ever created, of course??”

ah. revenge of the sith.

what a good boyfriend, tooru was.

at last, the day of the anniversary had arrived. albeit six days after the national holiday of love and all the sappy stuff, it was still an important day for ellie and tooru. as it was the official proclamation of their love for one another.

“ellie-channn, how much longer do i have to wear this?? what if you turn around and impale me with a lightsaber to spend my entire salary on books?? i’ll be heartbroken and have become padmé rather than anakin!”

the female flattened her lips as she pulled on his ear as a means of scolding him, letting out a huff. “i’m never taking on anniversary plans again if this is what you think of me. we’re almost there now stop being stingy.” she pouted, guiding the pretty setter a few more steps before stopping.

tooru had his cheeks puffed out in offense, not happy with her choice of retort. “why are we stopping?? are we finally here??”

ellie was almost ready to throw hands ( she wouldn’t ). “yes. yes we are, now bend down..” she mumbled reluctantly, her face warming. “can’t reach you like that..”

“aww~ poor ellie-chan, see i told you to eat milk bread when we were kids! but it’s okay~” he cooed, somehow dodging her attempts at whacking him despite the lack of vision. “i love my teddybear-chan just as she is! and i can give her the perfect cuddles when she’s all cute and compact~!” he grinned, at long last leaning down for her to remove the cloth.

the first thing he saw was his girlfriend close to his face, flushing profusely, and the second thing.. was the scenery behind her.

confused, he blinked at her. “you.. brought us to iwa-chan’s doorstep?”

in her right hand, tooru now realized, was a container with a bow atop of it, and in her left, a crimson colored rose.

a deep breath left her lips as she nodded slowly. “this is where we first met — where hajime introduced us.. i remember being so scared for my accent and lack of proficiency, but you welcomed me with a warmth that made my heart beat incredibly fast..” she tried explaining, willing her voice to not quiver as she lifted her head to meet his eyes, her own glossing over.

“i’m so happy to have met you, tooru-san.. and so grateful to receive your love, i-i feel so lucky..” she whispered, wiping at her eyes with the back of the hand holding his flower before it was suddenly encased by tooru’s warm ones.

his eyes were tender, filled with adoration and a love that could carry into every lifetime they shared. “i should be the lucky one to receive all your affections — to have been able to meet you and become this close with.. you are my everything, ellie-chan.” he paused, releasing her hand to cup her cheeks. “my heart is yours, i love you so so much, agape-mou..” he whispered the last part, flushing a little.

oikawa heard the term between her family and her a lot — had even been called it before, himself. he figured it would bring his feelings across perfectly, even if more tears had left his girlfriend’s eyes..

without further delay, he pulled her into a mixture between a spin and hug — her most favorite type of hug. as a child, she had always expressed that whoever she got with would be the one if they held her as anakin did padmé. last night, even, revisiting the film again — tooru was reminded of the hug.

it made him smile as he leaned his forehead on hers, before letting out a breath. “what an anniversary, and there are still strawberries to be had.” the seijoh graduate commented, to which the girl blinked.

“h-how did you??”

“i may have spotted them in the fridge at midnight..”

“you WHAT??”

“whoops- did i say that?? i meant love you ellie-chan!!”

notes. and that’s a wrap, february 20th is when i first watched hq which was 4 yrs ago now yeesh.. so i brought that into this drabble in a sense with tooru<3 just a little late ehe.. anyways, bed time<3

#— ; 🏹 ) toorellie.#candy hearts : an event ♡#made my own self blush writing this #aside from sky flustering me with tooru being a total sweetheart anshsksj #anyways that was my entry #hope it was ok mari!!<3

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 9 months ago

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Have you never heard of such a thing, darling?

(The Timari Buzzfeed Unsolved AU)

Chapter 4: The Mysterious Case of Wang Fu

Two teens sit in frame this time. Marinette is half in Tim’s lap, her legs slung over his and leaning heavily against him. Assumedly in an attempt to be annoying. Tim doesn’t look bothered in the slightest, though. Both of them are snickering into their hands.

They look normal.

If only their cat wasn’t in frame, ruining the otherwise cute scene. It is staring unblinkingly at the camera, into the viewer’s very souls.

“Adrien,” coos Marinette.

It finally blinks, purring as it makes its way over to the two teens.

“Think we can get him to do the intro for us?” Tim jokes, picking up the cat and hugging him to his chest.

“Probably not,” she says.

Tim’s shoulders slump in defeat.

Then, the cat starts meowing. Insistently. As if it is actually telling people what the video is about.

Even Marinette and Tim look mildly surprised for a moment. They exchange glances. Before turning their full attention to their cat, nodding along attentively as it informed the audience.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” says Marinette, scratching beneath his ear.

Tim grins. “Now that we have all been briefed, I’m gonna roll the intro.”

The dubstep has made it to Paris, and is back with a vengeance. The pair of terrible songs from two videos back have been combined into one even worse amalgamation, a cacophony of sounds that beat down on the ears without reprieve. The words ‘Paris Files’, ‘Tim Drake’, and ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’ bounce around the screen and off of each other like the most aggressive of Windows screensavers.

The pair of humans sit on the beach. It is definitely chilly out, because both of them are wearing turtlenecks and long pants. It is a slightly windy day, though it is creeping into a windy night, the sun sinking lower and lower on the horizon.

It is a pleasant scene. Like one out of a coming-of-age movie, where the characters are about to have a deep conversation about life in which they plainly state the message the writers were trying to get across.

Save for the doll.

Between them is what must be the world’s creepiest doll. It is made of porcelain, which is never a good start. It is messy, but not in the way a doll should be, in that well-loved way that you might see in relation to a childhood toy. Instead, it is messy in the way that suggests it is old, likely older than even the two teens crowded around it. Its hair and beard would be, nicely, described as windswept. Not as nicely, one would call it scraggly. Its clothes are rumpled beyond repair. It looks as if it might have been colorful at one point, but now those colors are faded and washed out. It is actually not all that hard to believe that they had found the thing washed up on the shore while out doing classic coming-of-age things, only to have their movie abruptly change genres.

Neither of them seems particularly eager to get close to it.

To be fair, though, the doll is creepy enough to make even the staunchest of nonbelievers hesitate.

Marinette hugs her backpack closer to herself, watching the doll out of the corner of her eyes. “Now, I know Adrien has already briefed everyone, and he of course did an amazing job, but for those of you that don’t speak cat… today, we’re going to be trying to make contact with this… supposedly haunted doll,” she begins.

“We took it to the beach because, frankly, we don’t want to bring this thing home,” Tim admits, squinting suspiciously at the doll. “Because it’s creepy. But also because it was provided by a fan, and we don’t want to risk it having GPS trackers or cameras in it.”

“Not that we’re hiding anything!” Marinette adds, in a tone that very much suggests they might be hiding something. “Just… boundaries, you know?”

“Don’t be parasocial,” Tim says, nodding sagely. “Unless you’re giving me money, like this particularly wonderful viewer did, then it’s okay.”

“Do you think that counts as a sponsorship disclaimer?”

Tim considers this, and then shrugs.

Well, that answers that.

Marinette finally opens the backpack, reaching a hand inside. “Now, first, we should get our Spirit Box –.” She shrieks and almost chucks the bag at Tim in sheer shock and horror.

Thankfully, Tim’s response to fear is also flight, and therefore he is quick to dodge.

The camera pans to the backpack. It is wiggling, slightly, despite no one having touched it.

A furry black head pokes out of the bag.

“Adrien?!” Marinette says. “How did you get in there?!”

Adrien does not respond. Possibly because he looks somewhat dazed, wobbling uncertainly as he clambers out of the bag. More likely, though, it is because he is a cat.

Tim scrambles to pick up the cat, tugging it into his arms, letting it hang limp. The cat seems perfectly content to let this happen, unaware of the fact that it is done less out of love of snuggles and more because Tim doesn’t want it to run away.

Marinette picks up the backpack again, though warily, as if she is half-expecting to find another furry creature hidden inside of it. She pulls out her phone and points the flashlight inside. Her face pales. Perhaps there really is a second, secret creature.

“Hey, Tim… there’s no Spirit Box in here.”

Tim’s eyebrows knit confusedly. “What? I know I packed it.”

Marinette frowns and starts to check again, only to pause. Her head tips forward to rest against the backpack. She sighs, deeply. “Hey, Tim, do we have two Spirit Boxes?”

“No…?”

“Adrien kicked it out to make room for himself,” she says. “I saw it and thought it was just a spare so I left it.”

“You thought we could afford two Spirit Boxes?”

“I don’t know your financial state,” Marinette says, shrugging. “But I’ve been to your house. You can absolutely afford two Spirit Boxes.”

He hesitates. And then shrugs in vague acknowledgement of this fact. “Okay, fair. But you thought I would bother?”

She considers this, briefly.

And then she hums as if to say ‘yeah, true’.

Tim doesn’t seem to know how to feel about this.

He decides to move on with a small shake of his head. “Well, since Adrien has decided that the Spirit Box is of the devil, we’re going to be using a Ouija Board instead. Much less evil.”

The cat turns and looks at the camera. It looks exasperated, but when do cats not?

“It’s way less likely to be taken seriously by you guys, but it’s what we’ve got,” sighs Marinette.

She pulls out the Ouija Board. For a brief moment, the wind picks up. Marinette and Tim look vaguely annoyed by this. Probably because of their hair, which immediately finds its way into their faces.

But it dies down quickly after that, so they continue to set up, setting their Ouija Board in front of the being.

Tim takes a deep breath.

“You may interact with this plane for as long as I allow you to. The moment I tell you to stop, you must do so.”

The doll, being a doll, says nothing to suggest that it has agreed to his terms.

Tim does not seem to care for a response, though, because he sighs and sits himself down beside Marinette at the Ouija Board. He lets go of Adrien, letting the cat spill into his lap. He had clearly been hesitant to do so, but Adrien is surprisingly still, only the barest flicking of his tail to suggest that he is even awake.

“Right, uh,” says Marinette. “We’re welcoming you to…” she waves a hand vaguely. “Well, I’m sure you know.”

Tim clears his throat. “We’re welcoming you to use this board. You may move our hands, and only our hands.”

Marinette gives him a grateful look.

She sighs and sets her hands on the planchette with Tim’s.

Tim looks at Marinette, quietly expectant, but she says nothing. Her gaze has drifted to the doll. Her expression is hard to read.

Adrien’s tail, briefly, pauses. And then it speeds up. He narrows his eyes at the doll.

“... we would like you to answer some questions for us,” says Tim. He is watching Marinette, now, his head tilted to the side in silent question.

His lips begin to curl into a frown when she doesn’t respond to it.

“If anyone is there, say ‘Hello’.”

Marinette drags the planchette along the board, spelling out the word ‘He’ before her hands pause. Then, in a jerky motion, her hands push the planchette to the ‘Hello’ option, as if the ‘ghost’ has just realized it was there.

Her face hasn’t twitched once. There’s no humor there, nor is there fear. Her expression is blank, absent, to the point where it’s almost unnerving. Her head is not tilted in a way that she could even see the board, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the doll.

Tim’s hands have moved off the board by now. He looks – confused, to say the least.

Adrien’s tail is wagging so fast he could be mistaken for a dog. He is making a low growling noise in his throat.

Tim leans over the board to touch her shoulder. A ginger poke, at first, as if to see if she would jump, and then he shifts to rest his entire hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, Mari, I’ll cut around this… uh, you know we’re not supposed to fake things, right?”

Marinette doesn’t answer.

“You’re… freaking me out…?” he says, slowly, awkwardly.

She lurches suddenly, her hands locking around his throat.

There is no faking the terror that blows his eyes wide. He makes a choked sound, his lips forming a sentence no one can hear. He tugs at her fingers fruitlessly.

There is a blur of colors and motion. Tim trying to throw Marinette off. Marinette, completely unmoving, showing no signs of strain as she grips his neck tighter. Tim thrashing.

A flicker of black.

One of Marinette’s hands jerks away from Tim, towards the doll.

Adrien sinking his teeth into its neck.

Too-dark blood spilling from the porcelain.

Marinette falls limp.

Tim almost doesn’t seem to register the body collapsing on top of him. He is already gasping for air, after all, he can’t have the wind knocked out of him when he doesn’t have any wind in him to begin with.

The cat and the doll grapple only a few feet away. It is clear both of them are out for blood, and both of them are getting it. Inky black goo stains the sand beneath them.

“Sto-op,” Tim says, his voice cracking.

The doll goes limp.

Adrien continues to attack it, though, outright tearing the thing apart. Until the doll is nothing but a mess of blackened blood and ripped clothes and shards of porcelain.

And then, Adrien is still. He hops off of the doll’s corpse, finding a clean place in the sand to lick at his paws.

It is… silent. His eyes are wide and his jaw is working like he’s trying to say something, but no sound comes out for a long while.

Until he seems to register the camera. As if on instinct, a smile stretches across his face. He hugs Marinette closer to his chest, trying to hide her from view.

“That was… strange… but I’m sure there’s… an explanation!”

His voice is shaky when he says that. Possibly from the murder-attempt. Possibly because he’s trying to convince himself that that must be the truth, and is failing.

Adrien looks at the camera, rolls his eyes, and then changes.

There is no gradual shift. One moment, there is a cat, the next it is a human that is staring into the camera.

He looks, for all intents and purposes, completely normal. Blond with green eyes and an all-black outfit. He seems to be around Tim and Marinette’s age, or maybe a little older. It is hard to be scared of a teenage boy and yet this one is far more than merely unsettling. For all that his eyes are ordinary, they are absolutely not. There is something in them that is distinctly inhuman, that makes the skin crawl, even when the effect should be dulled by the fact that the viewers are not physically in the same area as it.

Maybe it is dulled.

But then what is it that Tim sees when the demon meets his gaze?

It is safe to assume that the answer is nothing good, because Tim faints immediately.

The demon looks mildly surprised.

“Whoopsies,” it says. “Guess that was too much.”

It sounds like a laugh track has been edited in, but both Marinette and Tim move slightly when it starts, an aborted wince, as if it is real and they, even in their unconscious states, can both hear and fear it.

The demon carefully pushes itself to its feet. Despite the sandiness of the beach, not a single grain sticks to him. He makes his way over slowly, as if he is scared he might hurt them if he moves too fast.

It pokes them with its foot.

The video cuts. The sun has long-since disappeared over the horizon. Marinette and Tim are stirring, however slowly, pushing themselves into what are almost sitting positions, if you’re being generous.

“Oh, you’re up,” says the demon. It comes into frame, smiling at them in a way that looks almost fond.

Despite this, both of the humans flinch away from it, wrapping their arms around each other tightly. Whether this is protective or done for their own comfort is hard to tell.

The demon sighs, as if Tim and Marinette being scared of him is inconvenient.

He takes a seat in front of them, so close that their shoes are in danger of brushing against his legs. It is obvious that the two are considering the pros and cons of scooting a little bit further away, it is so plainly written on their face that they might as well have said it aloud.

“Marinette, Tim, it’s nice to officially meet you,” the demon says, surprisingly gentle. “My name is… well, you called me ‘Adrien’, so let’s go with that, yes?”

At least one of the humans is shaking.

“You’re…” Marinette begins, only to trail off, unsure.

“A demon,” it confirms easily enough, as if that was really what she had been asking, as if that wasn’t already painfully obvious. “Your demon, technically.”

Marinette’s face drains of color. “I… didn’t do the rites right – correctly – you don’t have to be married to me.”

“Oh, I know, I don’t have to do much of anything,” it shrugs easily, smiling. “But you two are interesting, so I don’t mind being married.”

“... you’re married to her,” Tim corrects it, though he sounds unsure.

Adrien takes a moment to consider this.

“Would you like to be married to me?” Adrien asks.

Tim splutters, his eyes wide. “Uh.”

“Oh, humans use rings,” the demon remembers. It snaps its fingers, and a ring appears out of thin air. He holds it out towards Tim, invitingly.

Tim stares at the golden band with the same amount of fear you’d see in his eyes if he were to come face-to-face with a tiger. His gaze flicks up to meet Adrien’s, briefly. The demon has yet to move.

Silent save for an audible gulp the microphone by his chin can pick up, Tim takes the ring and slips it onto his finger.

Adrien beams. The night seems a little bit brighter for it.

Marinette and Tim relax, ever so slightly.

And then they tense up again when they realize it.

“There was – we brought a demon home,” Marinette says, her voice nearly a squeak.

“I turned away when you were changing and everything!” Adrien defends himself. “I may be a demon, but consent is very important to me.”

“That — I appreciate that a lot! But that is not what I was stressed about! Aren’t you going to – I don’t know – steal our souls or something?”

Adrien waves the concern off as if it is totally ridiculous. “If I was just doing this to steal your souls, I wouldn’t have bothered saving you from that ghost, now, would I?”

The doll is gone, everyone abruptly realizes. The only thing that remains of it is a pool of ectoplasm in the sand.

“I… don’t know,” Marinette says, not tearing her eyes away from where it had been. “Would you?”

“Nope. You are both safe, I swear.”

Marinette and Tim both jolt upright on the word ‘swear’.

“I just want to be friends with you,” Adrien continues, smiling.

The humans look at each other, wary.

And then Tim looks back at Adrien. He lifts his chin, as if he can make himself the more powerful being through sheer force of will. “Fine, but on one condition.”

Adrien’s eyes gleam. “Yes?”

“I want to interview you for my channel.”

Adrien blinks, once. The gleam in his eye disappears, replaced by what can only be described as mirth.

And then he tips his head back in a laugh so hard that he can’t actually answer. Instead, he gives them a tiny thumbs up.

The video ends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5/Epilogue

If you want a fully happy end I suggest leaving off here though

#its never textually confirmed to be fu #but it is #he is a doll because dolls are creepy and weird and therefore he is one #maribat #timari #timinette #timmari #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin #epilogue-type chapter comes out tomorrow #have you never heard of such a thing darling?

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banisheed · 2 months ago

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TIMING: Recent LOCATION: Wicked's Rest State Park PARTIES: Nicole (@nicsalazar) & Siobhan (@banisheed) SUMMARY: Nicole must deal with a stranger who claims to be boning. CONTENT: no warnings

It was a good day to get boned. If Siobhan was being technical, which she was wont to do, it was always a good day to bone. Boning was an art she had perfected; no one boned like she did. Today, she was boning in the state park, which was her favorite place to bone considering that the likelihood of a human interrupting her intimate boning sessions was low. She liked to bone in peace, was that so wrong? A banshee ought to be allowed her private boning sessions. In some ways, maybe she was glad to be out of Ireland; there was no peace to be had boning there. If you wanted to bone, there were half a dozen other banshees that eyed that same place for boning. Siobhan had fought banshees off enough femurs to understand the relief of a solo bone session. Yes! It was wonderful to be here, in this horrible country, in this city that she didn’t care for, far away from home, boning! Indeed, it was a good day to get boned.

The firecracker pop of a branch behind her stirred her attention up like a prey animal; Siobhan stared between the tree trunks. The sun hit the tip of her steel trowel, shooting a ray into her eye. She groaned and dropped it and with it, the phalanx she’d just dug up. Blind, she groped around for her bone-bag—the banshees of Ireland would descend on her treasures with hunger and the instincts of boning were hard to dislodge. She caught the strap of the black duffel bag and yanked it towards her. The results of her boning tumbled out: a mandible, a sternum, a tibia, even a pubis. It was, after all, a good day to get bones. She hadn’t identified them yet, she wanted to be in the comfort of her own home, out of the heat. She didn’t dress for the weather, she never dressed for the weather. Today she dressed like she planned on robbing a bank: black cargo pants (pockets for bones) and a black turtleneck (bones could be kept in the collar) and black gloves (she just liked gloves). Maybe she would rob a bank later, the day was still young.

She stood up quickly, kicking aside her tools. “I’m trying to bone,” Siobhan said, aggrieved. It didn’t occur to her that boning meant something else to the humans. She only knew the true meaning of the word: the way that she used it. “This is a park; I’m allowed to bone here.” In truth, she didn’t know if she was, but she also didn’t care either way. In fact, it was more desirable to her if she wasn’t allowed to. She’d gone off the trails thinking it would make finding her impossible. The sun cleaved her eyes, and even holding her hand up and squinting, she couldn’t make out the figure approaching. How had someone found her? This spot radiated death; something big was buried beneath her feet and she wanted it.

The pockets of her cargo pants were also good for knives. Her hand crept towards one on her thigh.

—

Nicole was at the station filing incident reports moments when her radio pinged. She stopped swaying on her chair and leaned forward, picking up the device and snatching a pen in case she needed to write something down. It wasn’t abnormal to move around the park, take on different roles, put out different fires. The crew was too reduced due to the dangerous conditions to stick to one job only. Most days, she was everywhere: the stations, the trails, the exhibitions, the gift shops, as were the other rangers, adapting to different demands. Whether it was injured wildlife, or issues at different campsites, or a collapsed trail, Nicole had to be ready to answer the calls and do her best to solve problems.

Some calls, admittedly, were less common than that. Hastings was radioing her to inform her about a suspicious looking figure, dressed in all black, venturing away from the marked area of the Whispering trail. He spotted it while guiding a group of tourists around the park and couldn’t turn around to deal with it. He trusted her to figure out what was happening. Hardly sounded like something to worry about, so Nicole ended the call, grabbed the keys to the vehicle and set out in the direction of the Whispering trail.

When she was there, it was a matter of finding the mysterious figure. She parked at the trailhead and continued by foot, aiding herself with her heightened senses to pinpoint human presence in the area. The footprints helped too. They suggested an odd choice of footwear to be trekking in the park. Perhaps, Hasting was correct in his assumption that there was more to this than a hiker with a love for the color black. Nicole walked slowly, quietly, knowing it was in her best interest to be silent around the trail. It didn’t get its name for no reason. But the fucking branch she stepped on had different plans. Fucking— She froze, gaze shifting amidst the trees, waiting on something to pounce. Blood pounded in her ears, until a feminine voice came through. Nicole decided against yelling at her to keep her mouth shut, because at least, the suspicious black figure revealed her location.

Nicole wasn’t alarmed by the woman admitting her intentions for the hike. Slightly weirded out, sure, but not alarmed. Couples looking for intimate places in the forest— she’d encountered a few of them, unfortunately. It was always awkward and embarrassing for everybody involved. For her sake, Nicole hoped the woman and whoever she was with had all their clothes on. The sun breaking through the cracks illuminated the dirt path ahead of her, and Nicole trudged through the bushes and overgrown roots following the sound of the woman’s voice until she was in front of her. All black clothing in place, thank fucking god. However, nobody else accompanied her, and Nicole wondered if she misunderstood what was happening.

She rubbed her jaw, closing her eyes for a second. Did she spot a tool on the forest floor? And a duffel bag? Bones? Yeah, it didn’t make any sense. Her shoulders screamed from the tension building. It was going to be one of those days. Ma’am, she hesitated before continuing to rehearse what she wanted to say. She was likely to test out a few options before opening her mouth. The woman didn’t look much older than she was. Some found that level of respect uncomfortable. Nicole found all levels of socialization uncomfortable. She opened her eyes, “Good—” fuck, what time it was, was it past noon? “Good…uh, m— yeah.” Worst of all, the woman looked familiar. Where would she know that kind of woman from? The fruit aisle at the grocery store? The pet store? A bar? Nicole’s options were limited.

Didn’t matter, she was going to handle this. “Don’t suppose you got a… reasonable explanation for—” she eyed the bag pointedly. No, reason didn’t exist in this town. When would she learn? “If you trying to bury your trash, we got places for that. Will show you, it’s called— the trash can.” She would worry about the trash in question being bones later. She was resolving one issue at the time.

—

“Trash?” Siobhan huffed; the insult stabbed her as though she were the trash in question. The insult worked in layers, much like trash itself: the insinuation that Siobhan would litter, the insinuation that bones were trash, the insinuation that she didn’t know what a trash can was. A cloud passed overhead and Siobhan sighed, relieved that the sun’s unrelenting light was paused. In the temporary dimness, Siobhan regarded the human. She looked familiar. Where did she know her from? The grocery store? The pet store? A bar? Siobhan’s options were rather limited. She didn’t know her from any graveyards; the only people she met there were dead and the woman was—sadly—not dead. However, the state of living was mutable. Siobhan’s various knives sang a resounding “use me” in her head but there was something gaudy about a stabbing in a place like this. This state park seemed to beg for some cliff-pushing.

“This….ealaín isn’t trash.” Siobhan gestured to everything scattered at her feet. The cloud moved along and the sun returned and suddenly Siobhan drew a conclusion as to the woman’s familiarity: she was dressed just like the strange, unfashionable humans that dotted the park. It was some sort of cult, she guessed. A strange cult that seemed to boast authority over the trees. They told her things she never listened to, such as how she wasn’t allowed to write messages in ‘red paint’ around campsites. Like the woman, they insulted her with their insinuations. She’d never be so tacky as to use red paint, it was blood. “The only trash here is your clothes. You look like you’re going to have a business meeting with a squirrel.” And she looked like she’d lose the meeting and the squirrel would run off with all her money.

“And I do have a ‘reasonable explanation’: I’m boning. I said that. Don’t look at me like you don’t know what being boned is. I could bone you but…” She eyed her silly outfit up and down; she didn’t even want her bones. Siobhan waved her hand out, shooing the woman like an animal. “Go on. This is sexy woman business.” Siobhan paused. “Actually, do you happen to know where the nearest cliff is?” She grinned. “Say, one as big as—oh, for example, if one were to push you off it, one where you would die a slow and delicious death? One about that tall?” She imagined shattered spines.

—

Nicole was on the slower side intellect wise. Stupid, but aware, if such a distinction could be made. Possibly why she managed to fool a couple of her coworkers into believing she was more capable than she was. Her eyes, however, worked perfectly, better than most. So the woman’s clarification was both unwanted and unnecessary. Sure didn’t stop her from opening her mouth, though. Why would it? “It’s— bones, I know—” she interjected, a hint of irritation edging her words. Did the woman believe her actions would somehow make more sense to Nicole by clarifying the bag’s contents?

Her forehead creased, frown more pronounced when she heard the comment on her uniform. Nicole wasn’t going to let her get on her nerves. She wasn’t. This was absurd. But it didn’t stop the growing annoyance slowly replacing her confusion. The muscle in her jaw jumped as she clenched her teeth. “What are you— Squirrels don’t—” She buried the rest of the sentence with a sharp exhale. The woman was right, and Nicole hated it. Almost as much as she fucking hated the uniform, it was beside the point. She had to wear it no matter what. At least summertime allowed her to swap the button-up for a T-shirt. Not switching to shorts, though. She would never wear those. Thankfully, she left the hat in the vehicle. If she already looked stupid, she didn’t want to know what commentary the woman would have on that.

The conversation was going nowhere. The stranger repeated her initial explanation, and Nicole should’ve seen it coming. “Right— You keep saying that like it makes sense” boning was sex, no? Even she knew the term. Unless definitions changed drastically during the years the jaguar trapped her in the zoo. The woman wasn’t here for that, no. But she had bones with her— A heaviness set behind her eyes. Some connection existed there, but where? What the fuck was she planning to do with— Her eyes widened. Did… did the woman…shoo her?

Somebody else would’ve been offended or hurt by the diss. Nicole didn’t have the time or the energy to care about her appearance. She knew it wasn’t an issue. If anything, after all those years the jaguar exiled her from her own body, she was thankful she had one at all. Regardless of how the woman liked it or not. “In that case, we should both go then,” she grumbled, pointing back to the trail with a curt nod of her head. Whatever attractiveness this woman did or didn’t possess was repelled by her attitude. She wasn’t sane, that became evident. Who would bluntly admit wanting to kill somebody? Nicole took her murder intentions calmly, brain trying to piece together a reasonable explanation. It was impossible not to wonder about the woman’s mental well-being. Did she lick one of the mushrooms around the park? Happened twice last week, that they knew of. Rangers didn’t put nearly enough signs to discourage visitors.

She reached for her radio, and considered calling Hastings, rope another ranger or two. But she didn’t act on it, thumb hooking on the belt instead. Nicole was capable of handling one odd woman. The park was full of them. But she couldn’t figure out if this one was dangerous or simply a nuisance. She wasn’t going to disclose cliff locations, logically, but half an idea formed in her head. “Don’t know, maybe I do,” for once her lack of facial expressions would help. “Been to every summit in the park. But— You don’t sound like the kind of person I’d— share that with. Don’t wanna be pushed off a cliff, you understand.” she glanced at the bones scattered on the ground. The size ruled out they belonged to humans. “Why don’t you explain what you do with the bones first?”

—

Siobhan wasn’t sure that she liked this woman. She had a nasty habit of cutting her own sentences off, which was irritating, but on the other hand it meant she didn’t have to hear a full sentence from her, which was nice. In the end, it left a confusing taste in her mouth. The only words she enjoyed hearing were “yes” and “you’re sexy”; the woman gave her a lot of “no” and inane questions. “It’s boning. I’m being boned. These are bones.” Was it so hard to understand? Human minds always seemed to be shrinking; it must’ve been all the Ticky-Toks and processed foods. Any big, wrinkly brained human would’ve fallen to their knees weeping, praising her beauty and cutting the bones out of their bodies themselves.

Siobhan stumbled back, pierced by the unfashionable-woman’s words. She crushed a phalanx under her wilderness-inappropriate heels. “What do you mean I don’t sound like someone you want to share a large, dangerous cliffside with?” She could understand the sentiment, she hardly wanted to share one with herself, but to be told that so brazenly was a shock. “I’ll have you know I’m very…very…” Very what? By her own doing, she wasn’t friendly. She enjoyed the sound of her voice too much to care to listen to other people. She was impatient, irritable, and arrogant. She didn’t like herself, she didn’t make herself into someone to be liked; she wasn’t meant to be enjoyed, she wasn’t born to be palatable. “Very sexy,” she said, as though it made her agreeable. It did to some people. The shallowness of humans was, ironically, a deep well for her to pull from. When it didn’t work, there was nothing to reach for.

“I collect them,” she admitted with a measure of shyness; honesty tended to make her blush. “I—what do you mean you wouldn’t share a cliff with me? I’m very—maybe I didn’t want to share a cliff with you anyway.” Siobhan’s hands curled to fists at her side. Why did this suddenly bother her so much? To be the sort of woman that couldn’t be trusted around a cliff was the sort of woman she wanted to be. Yet, to be told so, to have it admitted to her…. There was no control here, Siobhan told herself. Yes, that was it. She needed control and this woman took it from her by deciding she wouldn’t show her a cliff. Siobhan was a contrarian; yes, that was it. She liked to do the opposite of a thing. If the woman said she wasn’t the sort to share a cliff with, then Siobhan wanted to be the sort. Yes, yes, all of this was it, and nothing more. Nothing else.

“I wouldn’t push you off a cliff today,” she said. Tomorrow though, probably. And any day after that, definitely. “Why don’t you…” Siobhan tried to smile the nice way, not in her usual smirk. Her cheeks ached; was she doing it right? “Why don’t you show me one? I love a nice vantage point. I’m a little like a bird in that way.” Her mind flicked to Jade and the I-Piss. Jade would show her a cliff. “Are you familiar with Nelly Furtado? No, never mind, that’s not relevant.” Siobhan knelt, picking up the worn skull of some bird. She strode towards the woman, displaying the delicate bone in the palm of her hand. “‘We are the birds that stay.’ To see the blue horizon is a simple pleasure; the tops of trees like wild nests. This land is beautiful, don’t you worship it? Don’t you want to share it with a soul seeking salvation?” And as she believed that the woman’s attire meant she was a part of the strange tree authority cult, she meant the question with complete sincerity.

—

“Sure… not seeing the—” What was the word Nicole was searching for— what did sexiness have to do with bones, boning or anything? “Correlation, don’t see the correlation.” And she doubted whatever explanation the other woman provided would be satisfactory. She expected more confusing words, strange behaviors and dead threats from her. “Sounds exactly like I said. Wouldn’t share a cliff with you.” Yet she had the nerve to be offended by Nicole’s negative to share information on the park’s landscape. And why the fuck was the word sexy being uttered again? Was this— a prank? Hastings' call was strange from the start, she should’ve read more into it. But why? Was there some noteworthy date she forgot about? She was fairly confident her birthday already passed. Sometime in— June?

She glanced at the woman, looking and sounding far less theatrical when she spoke again. Was that it? “Ah,” Nicole said to fill the silence she required to process the information. Collecting. That was less odd. People collected weird shit all the time, didn’t they? Museums collected bones too. Why the fuck wouldn’t she say so from the start? She remembered Yadiel, when he was ten, going through a phase where he kept all those stickers on fruit. Her mom didn’t find it so amusing when he stuck them in the closet drawer, though. She didn’t know what to do with the sudden memory of her brother. She didn’t want it, not now. If only that was something she could control. “Shouldn’t you— collect them somewhere safe?” not a closet drawer, or the middle of the forest. “They’ll get stolen here—” she trailed off, eyes drifting to the duffel bag, then the tool.

Something else clicked. Possibly, the one thing that should’ve clicked from the start. She wasn’t collecting them inside the park, she was here to pick up new items for the collection. “Ah,” Nicole breathed again, embarrassment flushing her neck. She was unsure if the explanation was reasonable like she wanted it but— she appreciated the truth. “Alright,” she accepted it, a new assortment of questions quickly spinning in her head. How could the woman find so many bones in the short time she was in the park? Were collectors that talented? She didn’t ask any. She hated the phrase “ignorance is bliss” but— sometimes. Only sometimes, she could see value in it.

Why was the woman switching back? Acting as if Nicole was wronging her for not wanting to die. She was used to being confused, but this was completely different territory. “What? You don’t want to share a cliff. You wanted to push me off it,” and why, were those words she had to speak out loud? She frowned, looking more perplexed by the second. Her face would freeze like that, surely, if she continued to talk to the woman. At least the murder offer was put on the back burner. For one day. Nicole liked that, she very much wanted to live. The breath that caught in her throat felt like a laugh, but why would she laugh about anything the absurd woman said?

Deciding it was safe to go ahead and take the visitor where she wanted, and hoping it had all been an acute case of miscommunication, Nicole opened her mouth to agree. Before she could, the woman picked up something from the ground and walked toward her, carrying it in the palm of her hand. What was this, was she being offered a bone? “Not touching that,” her lips pressed into a thin line, her best attempt at a polite smile. Her eyes landed on the bone, briefly, because the alternative was staring at the strange woman who five minutes ago wanted to murder her. More words were spoken, and it was uncomfortable. Was she— was that poetry? A song? Who the fuck was Nelly Furtado? Was it the woman’s name? She was receptive to the tone, however, despite all the fancy words making it hard to follow. She chanced a glance, and to her surprise, the woman looked sincere. She supposed her voice wasn’t nearly as grating when she wasn’t dishing out dead threats either.

But they were talking too much, Nicole was increasingly aware of the fact. She didn’t want to do that in this particular trail. And risk drawing one of those creatures the trail was infamous for. “Pick up your stuff, I’ll—” she let out a defeated sigh, “there’s one close. Not great for pushing— one of the best views, though,” the bed of bushes directly underneath didn’t leave her mind either. Precautions. She waited until the woman grabbed all her bones to move. She was not walking ahead, offering her back to be shoved when she least expected it. “You know— Nobody would think anything of you if you weren’t… dressed like that.”

—

To reject a gifted bone was a terrible insult in banshee culture. Possibly because it was extremely difficult for a banshee to deny the liberation of a bone and so it must’ve meant that the other banshee was deeply and truly hated. This human couldn’t have known what she did, but Siobhan was wounded nonetheless. No one had ever rejected her bones before and she felt that even Regan would’ve accepted it. Siobhan slipped the skull away into one of her many cargo pant pockets where it clinked harmlessly against the other tiny bones there. She searched for her usual haughty anger but grasped only at hurt. It was a nice bone and she’d offered a line of poetry with it. Siobhan strode back to her bag, hips swinging as she was still in heels and the ground was uneven and she never learned how to walk like she wasn’t trying to seduce the air. She knelt down and stuffed her bones back into the bag and slung it over her shoulder. She was definitely going to push this woman off of a cliff now.

“Dressed like what?” She asked, more than a little annoyed now after the terrible insult paid to her. And then there was the matter of the heat. Siobhan had never fared well in it: she was a banshee and a winter child and dressed with funeral colors almost exclusively. Sweat beaded around her forehead. “With the utmost offensive I don’t think I want fashion advice from someone who looks like they could be posing next to a department store catalog lawnmower.” She grumbled. “This is work clothing,” she said. “Clothes for boning,” she said. “Normally there would be more cleavage; I don’t dress like this.” Siobhan wiped her sweat away. There were more murders in summer, she thought suddenly. “In fact, if you hate this so much…”

Siobhan dropped her bone bag suddenly, a move she’d regret later, and pulled her black sweater off. “There,” she said, stuffing it inside her bag and pulling it back over her shoulder. Immediately, her pasty, freckled skin screamed red under the sun. She had enough sense to keep her glamor on but not enough to have applied sunscreen; she didn’t think she needed it. Still, it was a relief to be out of her shirt. The cool wind grazing her sweaty skin was a feeling comparable to boning. “Happy?” She scowled. She could feel herself burning but said nothing about her glowing red skin. She tried to keep walking under the shadows where possible. “I don’t care what people think,” she said, “least of all you.” Never mind that she’d done this because of what the woman thought. If she made another comment, the pants were going next.

Siobhan’s black bra was also ill-suited for the weather and ill-suited for physical activity and though she’d been uncomfortable before, each step propelled her into new states of discomfort. “How close is it?” She’d push the woman and be done with it and sleep inside the big freezer she used for dead bodies.

—

Nicole didn’t think she was getting a headache. She knew it. The pressure behind her eyes grew heavier and unrelenting the longer she spent time with the woman. Why was she so abrasive one moment and then acted— acted what? Strange. Childish. Nicole watched her pick up her bones like a kid who was chastised and had to put away her toys. Nicole didn’t get it. Though there wasn’t much she got about anything in the first place, it wasn’t surprising. Once it was all over, at the very least she would be an interesting story to share back at the station. She should focus on that.

The woman seemed annoyed as she stood, ready to go visit the promised cliff. Good. Nicole didn’t allow herself the satisfaction of pissing someone off too often. It went beyond the type of interaction she was comfortable with. The snarky back and forth would make her anxious. But this woman deserved contention. What was the— a taste of her own medicine. English idioms were fucking absurd. The woman defended her outfit and the corner of Nicole’s mouth twitched, one side curving imperceptibly. It wasn’t a smile, she lied to herself. “And this is mine,” she pointed out, hand pulling down the hem of her shirt. One thing was true though, she wasn’t the person who should be offering any kind of advice. “Fucking hate it. Can’t do much about it,” she shrugged. She didn’t know what effect it was supposed to have on visitors. It didn’t inspire authority. To Nicole, it almost felt like dressing like a clown.

“Don’t hate yours, I’m saying it draws too much—” Nicole didn’t finish her sentence, eyes widening when the woman dropped her bag and started… undressing. What the fuck— “I didn’t— I wasn’t— I meant… the black. Nothing wrong with—clothes are fine. No— not everything. Those aren’t hiking shoes,” she looked down, eyes darting on the ground instead of the woman flashing her. Though could a bra be considered— This was a prank, of course. And now her coworkers came out from behind the trees and everybody would have a laugh. She’d try following along, but in reality, she’d be humiliated. Nobody showed up, however. It was only them on the trail, the realization that it was a real human interaction she was having sinking slowly. “You always take things to an extreme?” she questioned with a scowl, glancing up at the woman. She kept her eyes from wandering anywhere but… the vicinity of her face. Because she couldn’t look her in the eyes either.

“Right,” if the woman didn’t care about her opinion she had a weird way of showing it. Nicole couldn’t take any word that came out of her mouth seriously. Once she was done with her little show, Nicole was able to expand on her initial comment. “All black makes you look like a fucking cartoon robber,” what was so wrong about gray, or that military green, or brown? She processed her words, and her eyes widened in fear. “Keep the rest though, please” she added, for safety measures. This was not the type of woman she should be interacting with. Where were the simple people? Nicole needed at least one more year of being back in the human world to be able to deal with her.

Hoping no other acts of exhibitionism would be committed, Nicole turned her attention to the path ahead. The other was ready to go too, it appeared. Not that she trusted anything or anyone at the moment. Logic and reason were buried on the ground where the bones used to be. “Ten or fifteen—” she huffed out an answer, casting a side glance when they finally got on the road. Was it too much to hope for a quiet stroll? “Could be more, with inappropriate footwear,” she reached behind her, searching for something in her back pocket. She held out a small tube of sunscreen for the other woman. She had a feeling she would be bright pink in no time. “It’s no bone but— uh, will keep you protected”.

—

What was the world coming to? Did the humans think of their cults as work now? Siobhan grumbled, trudging over uneven ground, kicking the occasional rock. In her time, cults were a fun hobby, not work. “Take it up with your leader,” she said. “You shouldn’t walk around looking that ugly. It’s insulting.” Even the usual black cloaks were more flattering. She kicked a few more rocks, most tumbled back down to her feet, so she kicked them again. She wished she was still boning. Even to prove a point, or whatever it was she was trying to do—the whim melted out of her mind with the heat—this was one step too far. All this physical labor for what? A cliff? Why couldn’t she just stab her? Watching humans spatter like crushed insects was fascinating, yes, but now, with all this walking, was it even worth it? Siobhan counted at least ten good stabbing spots in the woman’s back. Oh, but it was so hot. Why even bother with that?

Energy drained out of Siobhan quickly and only stubbornness kept her moving. “Am I not hiking in these shoes?” Poorly, she thought, each step threatened a twisted ankle. “They are shoes I am hiking in. Ergo, hiking shoes.” Her grip on her bag tightened. “Extremes?” Her laughter shot up like a howl, sending one poor bird flying off in a lopsided flight. “Live long enough, and mild becomes synonymous with boring.” Which was a rather verbose way to say yes, she realized. Did she always talk like this? And in this weather? Under these circumstances? Maybe she ought to start grunting one word at a time. “I am a robber,” she said. There was no praise for her straightforward response, which disappointed her. She gave up any attempts to speak less immediately.

“Ten or fifteen what? Feet? Miles? Minutes?” Siobhan scowled at the distance. Could the woman be leading her astray? She wanted to go back to her house now—she missed the air conditioning. Siobhan snatched up the sunscreen. She squeezed the cool cream into her hand and spread it across her red shoulders. She offered no thanks, despite how her skin was soothed. She ought to have rejected it, as the woman did to her bone, but the day was getting to her. “How far away is it now?” She asked. And again, not even a full minute later: “How about now?”

—

“My… leader?” Somehow, Nicole managed to look dumbfounded. As if she didn’t learn by now who her hiking partner was. Did the woman truly not know the National Park Services? She walked slowly, due to the other’s poor choice of shoes, as well as her own paranoia. She didn’t trust her not to do something if she kept her back toward her for too long. “My… leader,” she repeated, kicking one of the rocks that landed by her feet. Tossing it as far away from the trail without much effort. “Out of my control, I guess. Too high up the chain. Will have to keep— offending you with my ugliness,” she shrugged, half a smirk reaching her lips at the thought of insulting the woman simply by existing in a stupid uniform. Better than any real confrontation, Nicole figured, and carried on.

The woman wasn’t wearing hiking shoes. Didn’t matter what bullshit argument she was spewing, she had to know that. So, no, Nicole didn’t fall for the bait, tempting as it was. It wasn’t often she was certain about things, she would’ve enjoyed the chance to call out her terrible outfit and footwear, but— better keep her mental peace than get roped into another pointless discussion. Her silence seemed to be an affront to the other woman, whose howling laugh made Nicole flinch. Her eardrums were intact, but she wished she had her earplugs with her, should another one of those… attacks come. She tensed as the bird flew past them. Knowing they were stepping away from the dangerous areas of the trail wasn’t enough, she grabbed the woman by the wrist and rushed her as much as her stupid, inappropriate hiking shoes allowed. She almost told her not to try that laughter again, but— don’t must sound like do in the other woman’s head, so she relented.

Why did she continue to speak and act as if she was much older than Nicole? it made no fucking sense. A decade older at most, no? She clenched her jaw, fighting the snappy remark long enough that her exasperation vanished. “Live long enough, you revert to acting like a child?” she asked flatly, though she admitted to herself— At this point, she was intrigued.

The admission that she was a robber would have been concerning, if Nicole could take anything that came out of the woman’s mouth seriously. That ship sailed long ago. Granted, she kept that piece of information in the forefront of her mind, should it become relevant at any point. Though it was difficult to keep anything important in her head, when there was a persistent voice chiming in behind her. “Minutes,” she grumbled. Did she forget to say that part aloud? Shit. It happened sometimes. Her mouth got tired and stopped uttering words. Sometimes, they stayed in her head, in a senseless mess that couldn’t be untangled, so they didn’t get a chance to come out. When the other accepted the sunscreen, Nicole kept her eyes ahead, paying little attention. “Make sure to get your back,” not that her polite advice would be well received, of course.

And if Nicole briefly hoped that her gesture would be perceived as conciliatory, those hopes were stomped on the ground by inadequate shoes when the woman called out, asking when they would arrive at their destination. Nicole let out a weary sigh. Should she let herself be pushed now? It would end this painful interaction, after all. A broken rib was potentially less horrible. She was finding joy in pissing her off, surely. She couldn’t allow that. “We’ll get there when we get there, you’re the one who wanted the cliff, no? Can take you to one of the exits, if you prefer.” What else could Nicole have done? This wasn’t a woman who would’ve taken a ‘please step out of the trail’ kindly. “So what is it?”

—

There was no relief under the unrelenting sun. The merciful trees shielded her as much as their pitiful branches could, but scorching rays of heat dappled through the leaves. It wasn’t this bad back with the bones and Siobhan guessed her misery must’ve been a combination of things: the woman’s ugly fashion and general unpleasant attitude; the physical labor; the wasted time; the lack of bones; her own blistering annoyance at everything. “Not a child,” she whined like one. “How many times can you stand the same words? The same events? How long until predictability grinds your mind to a paste? The same things over and over again—if your life is boring, you lose your years. The passage of time turns to sludge.” Siobhan’s grip on her bag tightened as she tried to remember the years she passed in exile. As humiliating as her false commands were, they were all she remembered. In forty years, what remained were a handful of hope drenched moments. Everything else was the unending, unrelenting shame.

“Is that what you want?” She added, allowing her bitterness to keep her legs in motion. “To forget your life? A lack of fun is merely a lack of life.” In someone else’s mouth, it may have sounded inspirational, but Siobhan intended nothing of the sort. She pulled the words from her throat with an acrid conviction; as much a product of her current state as it was her hatred for this truth—wouldn’t it be nice to be boring? She couldn’t bear it for long, the self-hating itch of her mind burned as terribly as the sun. Forty years, she thought. If she had to pass another second like that again, waiting for nothing, she’d shatter the world. How could she endure anything so monotonous again for the rest of her centuries? It was better, always, to live in extremes.

It was easier too. In extremes, one did not need to think. Siobhan had never been very good at thinking for herself. “I can’t reach my back,” she said. In truth, the act of rubbing one’s own back was an embarrassingly ungraceful gesture. “I’m not going to try. Are we there yet or not?” Clearly not, the horizon was still swallowed up by tree trunks. The exits were tempting; each human-made path of trampled grass pulled her attention. And she watched them until the trees swallowed them too. She liked to think each of those paths led back to the parking lot, where she desperately wanted to go.

“No,” Siobhan said. She didn’t know which way the official exit off this trail was, but eventually the sliced paths between the trees thinned out until there was only the trail they walked and she knew that leaving now would probably be a longer trip than simply finishing what they started. “You’re stuck with me. In fact, we’re glued together. Forever. Always.” Siobhan liked the idea only because she thought it would horrify the woman. How terrible was it to be going about your tree cult business with someone like her trailing behind? “I’m going to come back every day. I’m going to be boning. I’m going to find you. I’m going to remind you that your fashion is ugly.” She smiled, now accepting the unrealistic idea as the fuel for her jellied legs. If only she could get to the cliff, and then turn this woman’s life into a nightmare as punishment for…well, actually, this was her idea.

“Are we there now?” Siobhan punished herself enough; she was full of punishment, unable to make room for one more. It would simply have to be deferred to this unfashionable cult member.

—

“Could’ve fooled me,” Nicole argued under her breath when the woman whined childishly, after being called childish. She seemed to believe she had to prove Nicole wrong, if the weird existential rant that followed was anything to go by. Nicole frowned, hearing words she only understood on a surface level, growing annoyed with herself for being unable to keep up when the other was trying to outsmart her. She shook her head, “Got the wrong person, I don’t think about that stuff,” she opted to lie, in hopes of getting out of a conversation erring into a more serious discussion. “But you got me, I’m not fun—or have a life. Suits me fine.”

After what had to be the third or fourth insinuation that the woman was something beyond human, Nicole was forced to reckon with the fact. Usually, she preferred making conjectures about supernatural species after lunch. Mornings were often reserved for Nicole to live under the pretense that she worked at a relatively normal job in a slightly weird town. Nothing more. But not even that peace of mind the woman was willing to grant her. Despite her appearance, she claimed to be old. So what? Vampire old? If her reaction to the sun was anything to go by… possibly. Nicole reached for her neck, instinctively brushing the fang marks there. Sure as fuck she didn’t want to find out if her hunch was right.

“I want peace,” she answered curtly. Why should she need more than a dog to care for, walls to keep the cold away, the comfort of a solid mattress and a kitchen to make a warm meal? When she’d lived the alternative, no— when she’d survived the alternative, it was easy to find fulfillment in small luxuries. “I won’t live several lifetimes like you have, though.” Hopefully, she’d reach a hundred in good condition, a sound mind. To make up for the decade she’d lost to the jaguar. That would be nice. The universe repaying her for what it put her through at a young age. She didn’t linger on her hopes and dreams, focusing on the fact that despite living for many years, the other woman didn’t know shit about life either. Nicole had expected years would bring wisdom and experience, but looking at her companion, anxiety wormed its way into her chest. Was she doomed as well?

Hearing complaints about the sunscreen, Nicole shot a judgemental glance back, ignoring the small pang of pity she’d never dare voice. “I’d offer, but I wouldn’t hear the end of it,” going anywhere near a woman who had stated her intentions to push her off a cliff was plain stupid. She shook her head, answering the second part of the sentence instead. No, they weren’t fucking there yet. Like they weren’t two fucking seconds ago, when the woman asked the same question. They were getting somewhere, however. The path twisted before them, the trees growing dense, canopies closing in for long stretches, then trunks peppered along the trail as the sky revealed itself again.

It should’ve been a sight that brought relief within Nicole, a step closer to getting rid of the nuisance she’d stumbled upon, but the woman had a different idea. Stuck. Glued. What? Nicole looked back at her, realizing how pleased she looked for coming up with such an evil plan. She smirked despite herself, because the woman’s vindictiveness made her stride faster, stupid inappropriate shoes be damned. Whatever worked for her. “You sure about that?” She drawled through her smile, tugging at her shirt. “Would have to hand you one of these, if you plan on being glued… voluntary ugliness,” she was thankful the woman didn’t know shit about her, otherwise she might have believed she was joking with her. She wasn’t. Didn’t know how to, of course not. “If you say so. Sounds to me like you’re the only one who’s gonna suffer,” because Nicole was slowly getting the hang of the woman’s tantrums. While she’d never had what it took to be a good conversationalist. If anything, only one of the two would find her silent company aggravating.

“Got no issues with you boning, by the way. Could’ve gotten away with it— if you didn’t dress like you came out of— Scooby Doo,” an information sign ahead of them indicated they were close to the summit. She let out a sigh of relief. “So maybe you didn’t. Want to get away with it, I mean. Maybe you wanted someone to find you,” she mused, forehead creasing. Was that it? Children wanted attention, didn’t they? Most people did, she supposed, though she was foreign to that concept.

Thankfully, they reached the end of their path a moment later. Crisp air filled her lungs, a much needed dose of oxygen after walking up the trail with an argumentative woman behaving in erratic ways. A wide area of foliage and rock extended ahead of them, giving them a panoramic view from one of the highest points in the park. The sun was at its tallest, rays unforgiving on their skin sure, but illuminating the horizon and showcasing the best of Wicked’s Rest woodlands. The sky was a bright blue, with scarce wisps of clouds that refused to give any kind of shade. Sweat beaded her forehead, but it didn’t matter, it all made up for the trek to get there, and the company she’d brought along the way. She breathed out, taking it all in for a moment, heightened senses attuned to the sounds of nature, allowing the vast landscape before her eyes to speak for itself. A minute passed, then she straightened her back, pointing at the distance. “We’re here. Viewpoint over there, careful with the boundary, or—” No, she didn’t know how that sentence was supposed to end, so she refused to finish it. With a nod, she encouraged the woman to go ahead. “Forgive me if I don’t walk farther than this, I have a murder threat to my name”.

—

The apartments weren’t empty, they were filled with dust—it was the thought that coursed through Siobhan’s mind as the woman claimed not to have a life, not to desire fun. She thought of herself—she was always thinking of herself—and the empty apartment. No, not empty. There was the dust and there was her. If she stayed in one long enough, she became convinced she memorized the pattern of the wood grain. What was the point in furnishing a temporary space? What was the point in doing anything else but her duty? Which then, those forty years, demanded that she wait. Siobhan winced as she recalled it. The humid air transformed into the stuffy aroma of an unused space. Surely, the woman had no idea what she was referring to.

“You’re part of a cult,” Siobhan said. “That’s fun. Clearly you need fun. Clearly you need something.” The idea that anyone could live happily with nothing made her shiver. And then, the idea of peace made her laugh. “No such thing as peace.” Siobhan sneered. “Fate will disrupt you; it always does. And what then? Why desire a falsehood? This world has never known peace.” She should’ve asked the woman what she meant by ‘peace’, as Siobhan herself was unconvinced of it and unsure of the exact definition. However, it was more fun to deny it outright. In her estimation, they were beyond amicable philosophical discussions now.

But they were not beyond murder. Siobhan imagined it, yearning. She was going down her mental list of all the different kinds of sharp, pointy things—cleaver, stick, fork, particularly sharp pencil—when the ugly-dressed woman dared to interrupt her again. Nevermind the fact that they were having a conversation. “I was not asking,” she said and then: “no, you will not.” It would be a touch of poetic irony if she used a stick to kill her; killed by the very thing she worshiped in her unfashionable cult. “You are attempting to dissuade me from gluing myself to you. You are attempting to pretend as though it would not annoy you. You lie. I will not have to wear the ugly clothes.” Somehow, she was struck with the rather distinct feeling of being treated like a child. The stick she planned to use transformed into a dull, rusted saw. “You’re the one that will suffer.” She was struck with the rather distinct feeling of acting like a child.

Where was that damnable cliff? “I don’t want to be found. I don’t…” Siobhan’s voice faded away. Didn’t she? Why had she worn the outfit? Because she looked good in it, yes, but who exactly was she expecting to be seen by? No one, of course. But then why? “I don’t wear ugly things, it’s the principle of the matter. The principle of not being ugly. You wouldn’t understand.” But was that enough to explain it? Did that even make sense to her? Siobhan shifted, forever displeased with her own seemingly contradictory nature. “I am not someone who dreams of being found by another.” But wasn’t she?

Where was that damnable—oh, there it was. Siobhan met the cliffside. The tops of trees like a quarry of green greeted her, the glorious sun embraced her, and the cloud waved to her, rolling over head. At once, her unpleasant attitude dissolved; it was impossible to be mean in the face of nature’s beauty. “Thank you,” she said, and spun immediately to the woman with alarm on her face. If she knew to take it, if she accepted it—she swallowed. Maybe she wouldn’t? Maybe— “I take that back. I take that back.” But it didn’t work that way; she’d said it, the fae magic was out there. “I had decided to use a rusty saw to kill you actually,” she said quickly. “Not the cliff. If you wanted to…” Disgusting. Was she really inviting her over? “Do nothing. Do absolutely nothing. Go turn around and leave. That’s what I want.”

—

Park Rangers belonged to a cult, according to the woman. One more reason for Nicole to believe she wasn’t talking to a human. She rarely met people who cared so little about concealing that side of themselves. Hell, she could count the number of people who knew about the jaguar in one hand. Not this woman, no. She was too clueless or too proud —perhaps a mix of both— to care about secrecy. It made their previous misunderstandings slightly less annoying. Only slightly. Nicole couldn’t let the murder threat go. She looked back at the woman, who laughed bitterly. She’d given up acting like a child, speaking instead like the jaded old woman she kept claiming to be, talking about fate being disruptive and shit. Nicole couldn’t figure out exactly what emotion weighed in her throat as the woman gave her verdict, —the world has never known peace— but it was tight, and it dragged down its chest like lead. Didn’t she know that too? Didn’t fate disrupt her life at every turn? Maybe peace was an impossible thing to achieve, but Nicole was stupid, wasn’t she? It was previously established. So she’d keep believing in it, hoping for it. Like the idiot she was. She cleared her throat, the only audible proof that she heard what the other said.

“Not much of a liar,” she grumbled, as the woman doubled down on her “evil” intentions. She kept on walking like she had places to go, finally, so Nicole nourished that energy. “At least you’d have fitting shoes—” Why was the woman attempting to convince her of how awful she was? It was often the other way around, no? People liked to pretend they were better, kinder than what their actions revealed. Nicole trudged past the forest that was her perpetual confusion, determined to follow the conversation. This woman was weird. Contradictory. She was certain that she could cause any of Nicole’s suffering. As if. It was amusing, almost. But the words were consistent with a self-centered monologue. “I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference,” she dismissed the claims. It was meant to be reassuring, though if the woman’s goal was to cause the suffering— it was likely to have the opposite effect.

No, she didn’t understand. The list of things Nicole didn’t understand grew longer with each passing day. The other woman wasn’t achieving anything new. “You’re right. I don’t understand,” another thing they could agree on, regardless. She paid no attention to the empty comments and the woman’s fixation on ugliness. She was full of shit, Nicole gathered as much. If she was honest about not wanting to be found— “Gotta be better at hiding, then. Camo print… next time,” perhaps, left to…bone unsupervised, she’d be able to find the elusive peace she claimed not to believe in.

Cliff-watching didn’t last long. Certainly not for someone who faced the scorching sun to reach the destination. Nicole was wrong, nothing new, it wasn’t a good cliff to push people off. Right, that had to be it. She was displeased, annoyed to be pulled along for this in shoes that looked more like torture devices. The woman didn’t ask for a picture or anything. Nicole considered offering to take one, but again, they were too near the cliffside for her liking. Safety first.

Half expecting a snarky remark after witnessing such a disappointing cliff, Nicole was surprised to hear a thank you. Too abrupt to suppress the expression on her face. She accepted the words with a shrug, aware that she didn’t need them. “You’re welcome, but it’s my jo—” she was cut off by the woman taking her thank you back. Nicole frowned, confusion bringing out a dry laugh, “what— too polite for you?” she almost rolled her eyes, but chose to ignore the outburst. Being thankful seemed to disturb the other woman to the point she needed to get back to making death threats. Fucking weird. Nicole hummed, eyes narrowed. It was a much weaker attempt, though. “You won’t find one big enough,” she dared her, emboldened by her logic. If the woman expected her to cower in fear, she should’ve tried something else. In fact, being friendly to begin with would’ve set off her flight or fight response quicker than cliff-pushing or sawing ever could.

“If I wanted to do— What?” Nicole blinked at the woman. Did she— miss part of the conversation? Shit. She must’ve been too inside her head to realize it. But no clarification was supplied, instead, the woman seemed adamant about going. And do… nothing? What? Nicole looked behind her, in case a wild animal was creeping nearby, causing the sudden shift. No. Only other hikers reaching the summit. “Right. Uh— Can’t do that. Nothing. Doing my job and shit right now, but—” she gestured back to the trail, “if we descend the other way we’ll find my car. I’ll leave you at one of the exits.” She hesitated, looking over at the viewpoint. No picture then? No picture. Her loss. She shuffled back to the trail, waiting for the other woman, eyebrows furrowed tightly as she replayed the conversation in her head. Whatever she missed, she wouldn’t know until she was alone. For the time being, there was a not-too-happy woman right in front of her, finally ready

to leave. “I uh— can make the way back entertaining for you, if this wasn’t up to standards,” her frown eased, a small smirk creeping on her face instead. She made sure they were too far gone from the cliff to finish her thought. “Go over what you can and can’t do at the park. Rules. List is long, got plenty of time.” Torturing could go both ways, no?

—

Siobhan walked alongside the ugly-dressed woman, defeated. She did not bone, as she planned. She did not toss this woman off a cliff, as she wanted. The only victory she could claim was knowing that the woman intended to annoy her, but inside the monotonous drawl of her voice listing things-for-Siobhan-to-do—they were rules and thusly things-not-to-do but to Siobhan they were a to-do list—she found an odd measure of peace. The woman’s voice laid out before them as the sounds of the forest did, underscored by the crunch of Siobhan’s heels. She might’ve seemed tortured—stomping around as though she could stamp out the heat—but her erratic thoughts were scooped out. The section on littering only reminded her that she would litter later; something compostable, she wasn’t a monster. The section on after-hours visitation cemented plans to come in the dark. The woman droned on and Siobhan, a chronic insomniac, was sleepy.

When she crawled into her car, she didn’t consider that it was that feeling—the tension withered from her muscles—that the woman was referring to. Instead, she thought it was odd that a cult should have so many rules. What a boring cult that was and she’d be back to tell the woman all about it.

#the real hero is the cliff #cliff for sale; never used for murder #(ty 2 mary for this fun time)#(ty to nelly furtado for bird)#writing #s2 #c: nicole #a moment of peace

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winterzsurprise · 2 years ago

Text

Man In The Mirror || SBI

Characters: Wilbur Soot, Tommyinnit, Technoblade (Allusions), Philza (Allusions).

Tags: Soulmate AU, Orphaned Tommy, Hurt/Comfort (?), Mentions of Death, Famous Musician Wilbur, Not Beta Read, Swearing, Crime Boys Centric.

Words: 3.7k

I haven't written in so long hence, no updates. But I'll post the other parts of Thorned Exhales later on in life, have this SBI short fic that I tried writing before shit went down.

This is inspired by that one tumblr post where in a Soulmate AU, you other half dies and shows up at your mirror, I forgot their blog name so if you know them, let me know :DD.

As usual, I accept criticism and welcome them as I want to do better with my writing :D, enjoy!

_____________

There’s a man in the mirror, Tommy observed.

He rubbed his eyes hard enough that they might fall from its sockets but there's actually a man in exchange for his reflection.

He already had a shit day after the clinic's nurse scolded him for dislocating a kid's jaw --- he still thinks the fucker deserved it --- to have his insanity proven by the hallucination in front of him was the icing on today's cake.

No matter how much he blinked, rubbed his eyes and pinch his arms.

There’s a man in the mirror, staring back at him and there's no denying that he's actually there.

The man was tall, gangly limbs hanging off to his sides almost longer than his torso if you count his hands, chestnut brown hair curling to themselves to form a puffy mess at his crown, the side of his head trimmed short enough for the eyes to focus on the mop of a hair he has.

There were a couple of strands on his cloud fringe dyed in dark grey, like the old man he appears to be. Tommy thinks it's cool but he wouldn’t say it out loud.

He was dressed nicely, a thick and surely expensive trench coat with the hem stretching down to his knees, his yellow turtleneck, however was stained blue in shapes of fingerprints all around the fabric. The man looked well off and wasn’t that an irritating sight to see.

But what takes the crown was the bored look his eyes carried when Tommy met him first through his round glasses.

Dark brown eyes overflowing with nonchalance and apathy, the dark bags under his eyes only solidifying Tommy’s impression of him.

A dickbag who dares to look more tired of the world than Tommy is. How dare this bastard hold those emotions in his gaze when he hasn’t tasted extreme poverty or live everyday with your life on the line?

“Hey, get that stupid look out of your face, bitch.”

People normally get scared of the supernatural but not Tommy Innett no, the world would have to follow his whims and bow before he’d think of ever following their rhythm.

Hell, his full name is Tommy Danger Strong Smart Innett for fucks sake, how could he pussy out with such a name?!

“Who are you to order me around, stupid child?”

Tommy was floored, recoiling from the raw annoyance in the guy’s voice.

He dares to have that tone when he’s trespassing his property?! Tommy decided there on there that this man is the most annoying prick he has ever encountered, real or not.

“Tommy fucking Danger Strong Smart Innett, don’t you dare call me stupid when you look like a Jared named bastard!”

The man scowled before sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose to mutter something unintelligible before looking up again with an exasperated gaze at Tommy before shaking his head and tilting his head back to stare at the sky.

“God, why are you so cruel to me?”

“Because you’re a bitch!”

“Why do I even bother…” He looked away from Tommy to stare at the space beside him, looking at his shabby mattress. "Say kid, where are we? Rather, where are you?"

Tommy stared at the man, squinting with suspicion. The man whose eyes showed nothing but apathy and boredom intimidates him, Tommy admits to himself. He has seen many movies where killers held the same dullness in their irises for him to entrust the man with his address.

Seeing the distrust in his eyes, the man sighed in defeat. "I'm not gonna kill you man, I'm stuck in the reflection dimension or whatever this shit is."

"No, you're a figment of my imagination bitch, the other kids have them!" Tommy paused, remembering something. “But they’re walking around unlike you.”

At that, as if he realised something, the dullness in the man's eyes softened a little as he stared back at the child in front of him. There was a sad cloud of conflict that grew in his irises, as if he’s withholding a truth he couldn’t say, forbidden even.

Tommy doesn’t like how this man stared at him like that, stupid adults and their hero complex, always thinking their actions are for the best of the other party.

"Ok, I won't ask about your location but what about your name? Tommy was it?"

"Tommy Innett, the biggest and bravest man there is." He said with chest puffed out.

This got the man to chuckle lightly, pocketing his hands in his coat as he stepped forward and to the stray light escaping the closed blinds.

"How about you boss man? Are you a ‘Jared’ like I thought you are?"

The man's face scrunched.

"Fuck no, kill me if I were to be named so poorly like Jared. I'm a Wilbur type of guy."

“Wilbur.” Tommy repeats, the name rolling of his tongue smoothly, as if it was meant to be spoken by it. “That’s such a shit name.”

“You are so fucking rude, why didn’t your mother swallow instead?”

“You–”

Wilbur looked around closely, eyes darting from one place to another. Unwilling to be subject to Tommy’s word explosion, he spoke once more.

"So are you alone in this room?"

Tommy scoffed, crossing his arms. "And why would I tell you that?"

First he comes to his room — or rather his mirror — unannounced and uninvited and now he’s prodding into his lifestyle in the orphanage, didn't his unwelcomed ass already done enough?

Seeing the scowl displayed clearly on Tommy’s face, Wilbur continued.

“Said this once and I’ll say it again, I’m not gonna kidnap you or some shit. The fuck am I even gonna need you for?”

Tommy shrugged. “I don’t know! Maybe you’ll sell me off or gut me and sell them to the black market!”

“I’m stuck in this stupid mirror, what even made you think I’d ever want to stay here with you?!”

That hurted him, was he so annoying that someone wanted to leave him the first time they met? It reminded him of the parents that returned him to the orphanage, every one of them annoyed by his antics. Wilbur’s words hammered itself deep into the creases of his brain, a constant reminder of the parent’s distaste for him.

A reminder of his failure to reach their standards.

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking bastard, you don’t know anything.” he spat out through gritted teeth, feet dragging himself out of the room and away from Wilbur.

___________

When Tommy came back, exhausted from the overlapping noises outside and from the chores the caretakers gave him, Wilbur was still in his mirror, sitting crossed legged and his head supported by the arm he propped on his thigh. He was dozing off, he looked peaceful when he’s not being an insensitive prick, Tommy thought as he gently closed the door behind him.

He doesn’t want to wake him up, already sensing the awkward air build up if the man ever roused from sleep.

On his tiptoes, he trudged to his bed as stealthily as he could, his senses tenfold sensitive as he crossed the room.

“I’m sorry Toms.”

Tommy’s soul jumped out of his skin Wilbur’s raspy voice sliced through the silence, his heart rapping against his ribcage as he snapped his head towards the adult fixing his sitting position, eyes opening as he stretched his arms above his head.

He doesn’t know what to respond, honestly, he didn’t expect him to even apologise like any other adults in the area. Wilbur continues to ruin the expectations he had for people once more, maybe he’s from a fantasy world where ‘sorry’s aren’t a luxury.

"Do you really mean that Wilbur?" He asked, turning to him.

The man seemed taken aback by his reaction, furrowing his eyebrows before answering.

"Of course Tommy, I was such an insensitive dick to you earlier. I-I didn't figure out that you're in an orphanage until one of the caretakers went in to change the sheets."

At that, he turned to his bed to see his sheets were indeed switched with a cleaner one. Pristine white and a little ragged but it works just fine, providing him enough heat at night.

It must be pathetic to Wilbur, who seemed to be a silver spooned bastard, if not fed with a golden one instead. With such a fancy get up and expensive watch and rings, Tommy's living condition must be pitiful.

Of all the imaginary friends he could have, it has to be a rich guy.

"I shouldn't have said what I said. So I'm sorry Toms." Wilbur continued, hanging his head low as he picked on the laces of his boots.

Tommy felt uncomfortable by the man’s genuine apology. This is a first, he thinks as he stares at him.

He could monetize this shit, act upset and maybe he could earn a useful favor in the future from the ghost, scare off some kids or steal something for him, the possibilities are endless!

"You hurt me, Wilbur."

"I know, I'll make it up to you at some point."

A smile grew on Tommy's face. "Really?"

"Of course, is there anything you want to know about me or the world?"

Forgiveness in exchange for information? Tommy couldn't help but wonder if it was worth it but then again, what can Wilbur offer him when he's trapped in a mirror with no way out like he said he is?

Staring at his expensive and thick silver watch, Tommy wondered if the man ever travelled around the world? He must've been a guy fed with a silver spoon, he must've seen the stunning sights of Switzerland or maybe even Italy.

"Have you ever travelled abroad before?"

"Of course, I was a part of a band once."

Tommy's eyes widened. Wilbur is a musician? A popular one it seems, considering how he had international concerts, that's what big names do right? He's a huge music enthusiast, it was one of the things in life that motivates him. For a musician to stumble upon his door...

Tommy is curious about all things music. Maybe Wilbur can teach him a few tricks or so.

"What band were you in?"

There was a quick shift inside Wilbur's chestnut eyes before he spoke, hesitation and conflict, Tommy identified.

But why?

"That's the thing… I-I can't recall everything just yet." He motioned to his head. "I ca-can remember the basics but there's... empty spots in my memory."

"Oh."

It was all Tommy could say, disheartened.

All of his hopes of learning thrown out of the window, he wanted to hide how upset he is but he couldn't stop it from seeping out from the walls he established around him.

Seeing this, Wilbur's heart clenched in its cage, the disappointment in the kid's eyes leaving a bitter taste on his tongue but it was better that Tommy stays in the bliss of ignorance, at least until he hits the proper age.

With a sigh, he opened his mouth once more.

"Well, I can still remember a few areas we visited during our tour. Wanna hear about them?"

___________

Birthdays are overrated, Tommy tells himself.

Birthdays are boring, he said as he stared at the parties hosted on the 2nd floor of the fast food restaurant downtown when he passed by. Birthdays are boring, he muttered as he silently wished a celebration for his once in this lifetime.

Orphans don't get the luxury of celebrating their birthdays, Tommy knew that himself but he couldn't help but wish there was someone who'd valued them as much as he does.

Everyday he wakes up, he tells himself I'm going to be adopted today. But they never do, the adults don't want someone who's brash and loud, what they all wanted was someone soft, someone they can easily order around.

He could act docile and kind like they all want but Tommy doesn't like that.

He wants to be accepted for who he is, Tommy Danger Strong Smart Innett.

All of the adults ignored such a festivity except the man in the mirror.

It's been a few months since he appeared and Tommy doesn't know if he calls Wilbur a blessing or a curse.

The man was an enigmatic fella. One moment he's a menace, teasing and laughing with Tommy till his jaw aches then Wilbur's mood will abruptly drop into his misery and never-ending sadness even Tommy couldn't remedy with his usual antics.

Even then, he never forgets to worry about Tommy. His voice is soft, albeit rough from lack of use that day, as he reminds him about dinner, noticing him skip his meals throughout the weeks they've been together.

So when Tommy's smiles didn't reach his eyes, Wilbur knew something was up.

"Why do you look stupider today?"

Tommy scoffed. "Do you mean amazing? I think I look more handsome today."

"Your smile isn't reaching your eyes, what's happening?"

Tommy could lie and say it's just a bad day but he could never escape Wilbur's inquisitive eyes, it was almost annoying if it wasn't secretly endearing for him.

"Nothing much, big man just got bigger by a year."

Wilbur's eyes widened as he muttered unintelligible words under his breath before his voice grew. "Oh god, I'm sorry Toms."

"No worries, I'm used to it. Besides, you didn't know so it's understandable."

"Still, happy birthday man. How old are you now?"

"10 and yet I'm the biggest, strongest man in this building." Tommy puffed his chest as he stared up at Wilbur who's eyes crinkled with joy.

Then came a pause as Wilbur's eyes seemed to hold the same conflict of last time, swirling deep in his dark brown eyes as he pondered over something. Curiosity rose in Tommy at the shift in the man's mood.

But after a few ticks of silence, the man spoke once more.

"Is there anything you want, kid?"

Tommy laughed at that. There's no way someone trapped in the mirror just asked him what he wants for his birthday. It was more comical to him that Wilbur looked determined and dead-set on it.

How can he even leave the mirror and buy him a gift when he couldn't leave the place through all of those months spent together?

"How can you even buy for me man? Aren't you stuck in the mirror dimension or some shit?"

Wilbur scowled. "Just spit it out child, I have my ways."

Tommy knew he shouldn't let the tiny hope in his heart fester, it was impossible that he'd ever get what he wanted anyways.

Yet a tiny voice at the back of his head urged him to obey him, tell him what he wanted to taste or hold for so long.

It was Wilbur after all, what can that man do to ever harm him? He knew his address and name and nothing bad has ever happened to him the whole time they've been together.

If anything, Wilbur helped him in many things.

"I think I'd like a superhero comic book, I don't care what it's about and also McDonald's."

Wilbur nods, crossing his arms. "And what do you want from McDonald's?"

"A shit ton of fries, chicken sandwich and maybe a mcflurry?"

"Gotcha, go do your homework in the meantime." Wilbur said as he walked away from his sight, blending into the reflection of Tommy's bedroom.

He couldn't help but be curious why Wilbur held such a grim expression the moment he turned away. The man thinks he's quick and sly but Tommy saw how fast his smile dropped when he thinks his face is hidden from him.

He wondered how the man trapped in the mirror dimension could even fulfil his birthday wish, his questions leading him astray from his current tasks at hand.

He knows not to hope but he couldn't help the budding light from swelling in his heart.

So he followed Wilbur's order to finish his homework and wait.

Soon enough, the sun has set and the moon took reigns over the sky along with its dark background. Every tick of the clock after it went over 5 pm sent pricks into his heart as his already small hope trickled away.

Tommy knew he shouldn't have hoped for anything. He must've looked ridiculous sitting cross legged in front of the mirror, waiting for the man to reappear as if he held the cure to every illness and he's about to die.

But before Tommy could even stand up from the mirror to resign to his bed for the night, Wilbur returns with a triumphant smile, hands in his coat pockets as he strode into the view like a man who won the lottery.

There wasn't anything new about him other than his changed expression, Tommy wonders what happened.

"Where did you go, boss man?"

"That's a secret, but we gotta go somewhere quick alright? Bring your spoon with you."

Tommy followed, taking the spoon from his bedside table and waited for Wilbur to jump into the utensil's reflection before taking the blue coat at the end of his bed and leaving his room.

With not a single cent to his name, Tommy stole a spoon from the cafeteria months ago to take Wilbur to his maths lessons for help in understanding the lesson better.

He's still smart, sometimes geniuses need someone to explain lowly things to them taught through complicated methods and Wilbur was the only volunteer to do such a work.

"This is stupid Wilbur, where are we even going?"

"Let's go to the park, I told them to go there."

Them? Who are they?

The mystery of it all makes Tommy anxious.

What is Wilbur planning? Is he finally going to kidnap him after barely escaping this horrible place?

"If you think I'm abducting you, fuck off. I'm not that evil man, I don't even have the face for it!" Wilbur exclaimed as if he heard his thoughts loudly.

"You wanted me to go to the park at night, it's sketchy as shit man!"

"Whatever, you'll get it once we arrive."

Even the suspicion planted in his heart wasn't enough to trample the excitement that thrummed in his veins. He doesn't know what he was getting enthusiastic for when Wilbur might, for all we know, be out for his head after that time Tommy teased him out of the mirror.

The park was silent save for the rustles of leaves, the trees and shrubberies glistened lightly under the moonlight from the small downpour earlier. It was mildly made obvious by the street lights on the shining cobble pathways.

But what caught his attention is the man with his helmet standing under a lamp next to his parked bicycle, a paper bag in one hand as he typed into his phone with the other.

Tommy wouldn’t have found the situation more suspicious if the man didn’t have a familiar logo of a delivery company on the side of his helmet.

"Go Toms, that's yours."

He couldn't say anything.

For once in his life Tommy couldn't utter a word out of his mouth, not even a random stream of bullshit left him like it usually does. He was stunned, shocked and thankful all at the same time.

He pinched himself but he isn't waking up from his dream.

Wilbur really did give him a birthday gift. The first ever.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Wilbur?"

"No, get it."

The man turned to him once Tommy was close enough, handing the bag to him.

It shocks him that the man didn't even hesitate in doing so.

Is he not worried that the parcel might fall into the wrong hand?

Tommy looked around, he remembers those laughs for gag shorts on the television. Surely, this must be a sick joke where a camera is hiding behind the tree or something, waiting for him to be thankful before they jump out to ridicule him.

Turning to Wilbur again, Tommy's vision blurred, his heart clenching painfully in his chest as he registered the man's soft gaze and genuine smile.

Maybe not all adults are foul and annoying. Maybe some people do adore him. Wilbur really does love him, care deeply for him, so much that it pains Tommy to think of.

Is it alright for him to have such a luxury?

"Delivery from anonymous, there's two spider-man comics there." Tommy still couldn't believe his ears. Did he really get a gift on his birthday? "Happy birthday mate, he said."

Even when the man was long gone into the night, Tommy stood there astounded, the weight of the bag more apparent than it should be. His chest hurts and his heart swells from the thought, a smile broke from his lips as tears trickled out of his eyes.

Was he dreaming? If he is, Tommy wished he'd never wake up.

Seeing tears stream from his face, Wilbur's heart ached in its cage, his arms aching at his sides, he wanted to hug Tommy. Comb his hair back as he whispered reassurance into his head. Never has he felt so helpless as he does now, he wants so much but can't have any.

It was maddening but he shouldn't put a damper on their mood, it's a good day.

So Wilbur smiled and said. "Happy birthday Toms, I'm glad I met you."

___________

Even after his birthday surprise, Tommy’s opinion of Wilbur never changed

The man in the mirror is as annoying and weird as he is helpful.

Wilbur is smart, being an adult with more experience than him, and taught him how to count and do his basic maths assignments. When there’s problems that arose from the shelter, Wilbur would tell him his own solution, explaining the hard words with care and playful teasing.

Surprisingly, Tommy understands it better even if the man fucked around than a teacher who ironed a stoic expression and wielded a book.

He was brotherly in his own way, never fleeing from the reflections around the center to watch Tommy go around his daily chores and warn him if the head cook is about to enter the cafeteria when he goes to sneak a cookie out of the jar.

Wilbur is his buddy, his shadow.

They were attached to the point of Tommy sneaking out a spoon just so he could have Wilbur hiding in his pockets. The adults will scold him later on but he could care less. He wants the man in the mirror to see the world with him.

During the whole year with Wilbur in his pockets, Tommy has entered as many foster homes and left as much. It was embarrassing every time he was sent back to the orphanage, a reminder of his failure to reach a family’s vision of a perfect child.

Whenever the night is cold and dark with little sobs wrecking his small body, Wilbur would urge him to bring a spoon beside him, his eyes darkened with defeat and sadness as he whispered into his ears, offering warmth with his words till Tommy falls soundly asleep, a silent wish of feeling a phantom touch caressing his cheeks supporting the man’s comforting voice.

The whole year with Wilbur felt like magic, a stream of light after years of darkness and it couldn’t have been more perfect. Tommy wanted nothing more but to stay with his brother figure, although he wouldn’t say it out loud.

But today seems like a different kind of day.

On the morning before his 11th birthday, Tommy found himself staring at a new reflection on the mirror.

But unlike the gloomy cloud on top of Wilbur, this man had an aura of danger oozing off of his mildly muscular body, wide shoulders draped in white silk long sleeves and a beige pair of trousers hiding his well-toned thighs with a long, horizontal scar crossing his nose bridge and ending under his nonchalant eyes to boot.

He oozes nothing but pure masculinity.

Only if he didn’t wear those stupid rectangular glasses and had long bubblegum pink hair then he would’ve been truly intimidating.

The epitome of scary.

“Who the fuck are you supposed to be?!”

#tommyinit mcyt #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #dream smp #sbi au #soulmate au #platonic soulmates #crimebois #technoblade fics #philza minecraft #philza fics #tommyinnit fics #hurt/comfort

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sixty-billion · 1 year ago

Note

The trouble with prepared meals is that it is difficult to put any part of it back into the collective supplies. Can't exactly re-can refried beans on the go, not without risking spoilage, and that would just be wasteful. And... maybe a little rude. Not to mention apparent.

They need it more than he does, but they insist, and, well...

Some things are hard to refuse. He can make up for it in other ways while he runs with them. However long that lasts. They will have to part at some point for their safety, and that is a matter of timing.

(Even if it twists something cold in his chest).

Hard to feel cold with something spicy and warm in hand, basking in the warmth of their little campfire, with company that is likewise companionable, even after everything so far.

He squints at Wolfwood's elbow-nudge, scrunching up crosslegged without really retreating. "Yep!" He even pops the p for emphasis. "And if I can't I know it won't go to waste. Thanks for volunteering! Charity is a real virtue."

Delivered with a grin and a little flourish of spork, and then he tucks in, chewing thoughtfully where there are pieces to chew. This gives him plausible deniability, not piping up on the division of labor; he'll help out as he almost always does. Extra energy is one of the benefits of sleeping or half-sleeping during the long hauls of Meryl's driving, after all.

It is charming, heartening to see the way they all work together, even if Roberto clearly does not trust Wolfwood and seems not to give his protege enough credit just yet—a clever ruse. Meryl works twice as hard to prove herself when she is already brilliant as it is.

Around the time the idea of first watch company percolates in the back of his brain, a bead of sweat rolls from Vash's temple to the collar of his turtleneck.

"...oh, it's-"

It's. It's spicy. A creeping heat that adheres to his palate and the back of his throat. His eyes bug out just a little, cheeks blotchy pink in the firelight, and for a brief moment he avoids both Wolfwood and Meryl's looks to peer at Roberto, who has already polished off his portion and is midway through his flask.

Is that a knowing glimmer in the older reporter's gaze?

"G-gator sauce, huh?"

"Sneaks up on you if you're not hydrated," Roberto drawls.

"It's good—"

Oh no.

"Mhm. Plenty more. Eat up." Gruffing a guttural burp, not-quite-Drunkle hauls himself to his feet and moves to make good on his threat-promise to pass out. He fares perfectly well in the passenger seat of the van—something about being too damn old to sleep on the ground, you kids have fun.

Vash paints on a screwball smile and keeps spooning his portion into his face. Nothing to see here. Nope.

He feels awful. Like someone shined a flashlight directly into his eyes– no, no. That’s just because of the way Vash is looking at him right now. He gulps. Then again, Vash tends to have that effect on the people around him.

Vash springs up to meet Meryl and Wolfwood, awash with a sudden sense of relief when freed from the intensity of Vash’s stare (there’s no way that spikey-headed fool isn’t doing it on purpose), watches him go. He sifts his fingers through his hair and scrubs at his face with his palms in hopes of finding wherever his common sense ran off to. Failing that, he wonders what went wrong in a past life to have earned him such a fate.

They're brothers, sure, but Vash and Knives couldn’t be further apart in terms of personality. Wolfwood figured out within the first few hours of their meeting that he does not have to pretend to enjoy the Humanoid Typhoon’s company, nor that of his friends.

That just makes it worse.

He can practically imagine Zazie buzzing in his ear, taunting him. Damn worm.

Meryl’s furrowed brow is riddled with suspicion, but she lights up with a smile by the time Vash reaches her. “Refried beans, corn, and diced okra! Dressed with whatever spices we had on hand, sauce, and dried chilies. Roberto calls it his ‘special ‘gator sauce’ but I’m pretty sure it’s regular hot sauce.”

She doesn’t have complaints, really, especially considering no worms were harmed in the making of this particular meal. Meryl shoves trays at both of them. Not long after, Roberto emerges after stubbing a cigarette out with the heel of his shoe. He grabs the remaining two platters off the hood of their motor carriage on the way over.

“Here’s yours, Newbie.”

Wolfwood elbows Vash’s side as they all finally pile back up in front of the campfire with their meals.

“Gonna finish all that, Spikey?” he asks, tipping his head to give Vash a knowing look.

“He’d better,” Roberto grouses without looking up as he spoons up the earthy slurry in his lap and sticks it into his cheek. “I’m stuffing my face and going straight to bed,” the senior reporter announces, absolving himself of cleanup duty.

Wolfwood pipes up without missing a beat. “Dibs on first watch.”

Meryl sighs and puts down her spoon. "Argue over who does what later!" She points at the pile of drawstring bags with their sleep gear. "Setting up the cabana and bedrolls is a group effort, in case everyone forgot. Unless you all wanna sleep on rocks, then be my guest."

#verse: brave young world #keep me there until the song is over; wolfwoocl

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deathbyyoongx · 2 years ago

Text

everytime; chapter 4 — myg

╭ chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, ...

╭ word count: 5.3k

╭ summary: Everyone knew Min Yoongi as the guy who wouldn’t say no to a nice pair of tits. His cocky attitude and stunning looks made it hard for most girls to resist. And even though you would like to say you’re not like the others in that aspect, you unfortunately happened to be his ex. But even though you despised his guts for the last 3 years or so, he somehow managed to find himself a way between your legs on one semi-drunk night.

╭ pairing: fuckboy!yoongi x ex!reader

╭ genre: smut, angst, bit of fluff, more smut

╭ warnings: enemies to fwb, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, jealous ex!jungkook, bestfriend!jimin, hate sex, yoongi has a degrading kink but so does yn, brat taming, hair pulling, spitting, slapping, hickeys, choking, unprotected sex (STAY SAFE GUYS!), creampie, praise kink, hand kink, possessive yoongi, sexual content ofc, mentions of drinking, ...

╭ author’s note: this fic is inspired by the song everytime by ariana grande. I also recommend using the chrome extension InteractiveFics for a better reading experience ;)

Its been a while, woops

22/08/2022

The sound of your doorbell ringing caught you off guard as you were trying to find some milk for your cornflakes. You looked through the peephole, and the sight of Jimin send you into a frenzy. You cussed and cussed again as you were running towards your room. “I’ll be there, wait a minute.” You rummaged through your closet, finding the first turtleneck you could find before heading back to the front door. When you swung the door open, you saw Jimin waiting for you with a rather mad expression. “What are you doing here?” Was the first thing you asked, a sweat droplet running down your cheek.

“I came to help like you asked me too.” He nonchalantly answered.

You frowned your eyebrows. “Yeah, tomorrow, not today.”

He looked back at you with a puzzled expression, realising his confusion of the dates. “Oh, anyway. Where were you last night? You never came back we were so worried about you?!”

Jimin walked into your apartment, inviting himself to come in, closing the door behind him. “Uh, I-uh got sick.” You said, walking over to your couch before you placed yourself down onto it.

“Sick, huh?” He didn’t buy it.

What you also didn’t tell him was that last night, after your little rendezvous with Yoongi, you snuck out of Hoseok’s house as fast as possible. Not because you wanted to get away, but because your neck and chest were covered in hickeys that you couldn’t hide from anyone with what you were wearing that night. That’s why you had to wear a turtleneck right now, even though it was 30 degrees Celsius outside.

“Yeah…sick.” You smiled. “What, don’t you believe me?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to believe, but-” But before he could say anything further, another ring of the doorbell could be heard. This time though, Jimin decided to open up. “Oh, hey Jungkook.”

Jungkook looked a bit confused for a second, expecting it would be you opening the door. “Oh, hey.” He said before he noticed you behind Jimin sitting on the couch. “Jimin told me he was coming over so I wanted to do the same. Are you okay? I was worried sick yesterday! You didn’t respond to any of our texts.”

You could describe the feeling you were feeling now as standing on your tippy toes in a pool, keeping your head just above the water. You were suffocating yourself right now by your poor decision making from yesterday.

“I’m really sorry guys.” You desperately plead “I guess I drank too much and got distracted.”

Jimin pouted his lip with combination of squinting his eyes in doubt. “Distracted by what?”

“You also don’t seem to be so hungover.” Jungkook added to ruin your alibi even more.

“Aren’t you hot? It’s like 30 degrees outside?” Jimin spoke again, making you finally have enough.

You stood up and started hinting the two boys to leave your apartment. “No, very cold, very sick. So please, go I need some alone time like right now!”

By the way they’ve been looking you the entire time, you could tell they were very suspicious and confused about your secretive behaviour. But before they could say anything, you already closed the door in front of them, not answering their desperate pleads for you to open the door again.

You leaned against the door and sighed, quickly taking off that dreadful turtleneck.

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Y/n, you’re so dumb!

How could you be so stupid? Did you enjoy last night? Well of course…but it just made everything worse for you! You didn’t think about the consequences it would had. You didn’t really care about what Jimin or Taehyung would think, but it all boils down to protecting Jungkook’s feelings. You knew how much he hated him and how badly everything went down after the breakup of you and Yoongi. You knew he just wanted the best for you, but that led you to having the need to avoid even the slightest hint of Yoongi’s existent around Jungkook. He also was just fucking jealous of the guy too.

Beep beep

That’s when a small notification sound caught your attention, making you fish out your phone out of the sides of the couch.

[11:02] Jimin: Look, Idk with who, but I know you hooked up with someone last night

Your heart had sunken to your stomach and it felt as if you were really getting sick this time. Your blood started pumping from the sudden adrenaline rush since you couldn’t feel more stressed than in this moment. It couldn’t be right? Yoongi wasn’t the type to tell the others? Or was he? Did he change that much? Was he really just a cocky asshole? You couldn’t think straight, which led you to finding Yoongi’s account again and doing the dreadful thing you always wanted to do. So you pressed the button that you had been staring at for months.

Unblocked

[11:08] y/n:Did you tell Jimin about what happened yesterday?????

With biting nails you were waiting for a respond. With every passing second you started stressing even more. Maybe he wasn’t even home. Maybe he was with another girl. You shook your head. No, he couldn’t be with a girl. That guy is not the type to have fuck dates at this hour. He was probably working, which meant he would probably not read your message anytime soon, right? Maybe it’s better for you if he didn’t answer right away. But who were you kidding? You were in no state of mind to behave normally now. But before you could even think of putting your phone away, a text message popped onto the screen.

[11:12] Yoongi: Uhh…hey

[11:12] Yoongi:No I didn’t?

Your heart stopped. And all you could think was…wait ,what?

Were you really the idiot here or was he playing with you? Maybe you should’ve asked Jimin first how he got that information…

[11:13] y/n: Why do you think that???

You send to Jimin.

[11:13] Jimin: y/n, you were wearing a turtle neck in this weather…told me you were ‘distracted’ at the party…bit suspicious don’t you think?

You. Wanted. To. End. It. All.

[11:14] y/n: Heyy

[11:14] y/n: hahaha…

[11:14] y/n: Uhh…just forget I said anything

[11:14] y/n: Thank you!!!!!!

You quickly wrote to Yoongi, questioning your whole life existence in this very moment.

[11:15] Yoongi: …okay?

[11:16] Yoongi: Nice to see I’m unblocked again

[11:16] Yoongi: Can’t they know about what happened between us?

[11:16] y/n: No, they can’t

[11:16] Yoongi: Why not tho?

[11:17] Yoongi: We’ve fucked before, it’s not like they would care

[11:17] y/n: It’s complicated

[11:17] Yoongi: Right…

This was not how you wanted to spend your Sunday morning.

When work suddenly called to take over someone’s shift, you couldn’t be more than thrilled to go since you then had an excuse to ignore everyone’s text messages. And with everyone you meant Jungkook.

“Why didn’t you come and say hi to me yesterday?!”

What you didn’t know however, was that Jia was also working today.

Jia’s sudden question made you stop what you were doing. You awkwardly laughed as you turned yourself to her. “I-uh, thought you were busy.”

“Of course not! Yoongi wouldn’t mind you saying hi, you know.” His name alone made your heartbeat increase. “In fact, I didn’t see him for the rest of the night.” Memories of you and Yoongi that night flooded through your mind, making your cheeks unwillingly turn a subtle pink. “But he told me he’d make it up for me by taking me out for dinner.”

And with that, your increasing heartbeat got shattered. “How nice.”

“I know right?!” She beamed. “Oh, and I saw you with Jungkook yesterday. He got handsome didn’t he?” She teased, making me playfully roll my eyes.

“He has always been handsome.” You answer back, refilling the straws on the counter.

“Yeah, but like now he’s like a man and you can tell he had been going to the gym.” Thinking about Jungkook in the gym had made Jia a bit more excited than she should be. “Are you two back together?”

You chuckled. “No we're not.”

“Why not? Seems like a waste of a good guy, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“Then we could go on double dates!”

Ow yeah, great idea! A double date with two of your exes that hate each other and your obnoxious co-worker who doesn’t know you’re fucking the same guy. “With you and Yoongi?” She excitedly nodded to your question. “Jungkook doesn’t like Yoongi”

A quick pout appeared on her face. “Why not? They used to be quite close right?”

“Yeah, but something happened.” You turned to Jia, noticing she was waiting for you to add something to your sentence. “I don’t know the details.”

She sighed in dissatisfaction. “Yoongi’s also not the relationship type of guy though. So I guess that’ll never happen anyway.”

You mentally scoffed and decided to act dumb “He’s not?”

“No, I already talked about it with him before, but something in me says I can change him.” She said in full confidence.

“Good luck with that.” You said sarcastically, hoping she wouldn’t notice. And as you were refilling the milk, a thought popped in your head. “Are you in love with him?” You asked out of curiosity and out a bit of fear. You didn’t know which idea you hated more: her being Yoongi’s casual fuckbuddy or her being actually head over heels over him. But her answer made you sigh out of relief.

“Love is a big word.” She said after thinking about it for a second. “But I think he’s cute.” She smiled.

The hours passed, and happily for you without any mention of any guy named Min Yoongi or Jeon Jungkook. And even though you didn’t want to, but whenever you were eying down Jia, it reminded you of how Yoongi’s dick had been in her. A vile thought, but your jealousy had always gotten the worse of you. You really wanted to like her, but the thought of him doing all the things he did to you to her did something with you.

“Oh my god, he’s here!” Jia quickly took of her apron and took out her hairclip. “Tell him I’ll be right back. I’m going to get my stuff!” She beamed as she quickly hopped off to the backroom.

“Who’s here?” Asking was useless, cause you could see the man in question standing at the door, smirking at you. “Never mind.” You quickly looked away, acting as if you didn’t see him. You were searching something to make it look like you were busy, but luck wasn’t in your favour. Everything got restocked and cleaned for the next day, and worst of all, by you.

You felt his presence at the other side of the counter, which made you suddenly act if the cuticles of your nails were very interesting. “Not even a hello?” You suddenly heard.

Not looking up, you said “I don’t know you and you don’t know me, got it?”

A simple ‘tsk’ left his lips as he slightly shook his head. “Hoba found your panties by the way. He gave them to me.” He said, smirking as soon as he realised he got your attention.

With wide eyes you looked up at him. “Did you tell him?!”

“No, he just saw you leave the bathroom after me.” He said with a small laugh after that. “Anyways If you want them back, I guess you’ll have to come over.”

And all you could think was this bitch “You can keep them.”

He shrug his shoulders and looked back at the door of the backroom, which soon opened to reveal a dressed up Jia. He smiled at her, making your heart ache. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Jia giggled. “Oh, stop it you!” The way he put his arm around her…just how he used to do with you. Corners of his lips curling up, giving her a small smile. “See you next time, y/n!” She waved.

With pressed lips, you gave her a quick smile back. And the moment she turned her head away, that’s when you gave Yoongi one last look. This time he wasn’t looking at you. He gave Jia all of his attention from the moment they stepped out of the door. Whatever, you thought by yourself. Why should you care. It was a one time thing you kept telling yourself. Even though something in you really wanted your panties back.

Who would’ve thought that your little interaction would upset you as much as it did. Usually you would come home, filled with joy since another day of work was over. But when you finally sat down into your new bought couch, you couldn’t help but be filled with anger. Dinner wasn’t even on your mind. How could it be? Knowing Yoongi and Jia were going on another date, which would probably end in the same scenario you had with Yoongi the day before. You sighed out of frustration. There was only one logical thing to do now.

Text Yoongi.

[18:23] y/n: Hope you’re having fun

Your impulsiveness got the best of you again since the send button was pressed faster than you could comprehend. How dare he do all those things to you yesterday and then show up to work to pick up one of his other girls? No way. The nerve he had. And weirdly enough, you didn’t regret what happened yesterday. Your eyes suddenly sprung open of the thought of yesterday.

Oh no…

Was what Yoongi said true? Did Hoseok saw you leave the room after Yoongi? If yes, did he tell Jimin? Taehyung? Or worse, Jungkook?

[18:27] y/n: Hobi…

[18:27] y/n: Is what Yoongi said true…?

[18:27] y/n: Do you know what happened yesterday?

Fuck it, you thought as you walked over to your liquor cabinet. Since your stomach was filled with so much jealousy already, the only thing you could devour now was a nice glass of white wine. You popped open a new bottle and poured yourself a glass that suddenly got lit up by the light of your phone.

[18:32] Hobi: Yes and I think you guys are fucking disgusting

[18:32] Hobi: I invite you to my house for the first time

[18:33] Hobi: And the first thing you do is fuck my best friend in my bathroomㅠㅠ

“Shit.” You cursed out loud.

[18:33] y/n: I got carried away in the moment!!!!!! I’m sorry!!!!!!!

[18:33] y/n: Did you…tell anyone?

[18:34] Hobi: Of course not

[18:34] Hobi: Why would I tell other people if I didn’t even wanted to know

[18:34] Hobi: One good thing to came from that is you and Yoongi are back to talking

[18:34] y/n: I guess…

[18:35] y/n: I wouldn’t say back to talking…it’s complicated

[18:35] Hobi: I’m surprised…

You knew he meant that sarcastically

[18:36] y/n: Oh…and Hobi…

[18:36] y/n: Is it true that you found my panties…?

[18:38] Hobi: …

[18:38] Hobi: I did

[18:38] Hobi: But I gave them to Yoongi so…

[18:38] y/n: How did you even know they were mine?

[18:39] Hobi: Cause Yoongi told me…

[18:39] Hobi: He was helping with the clean up the day after

[18:39] Hobi: Then I found them…and I knew I saw you two leave the bathroom the night before so yeah

[18:39] Hobi: I just had to connect the dots

[18:39] Hobi: Yoongi also told me they were yours so yeah

[18:40] y/n: Well…thank you Hobi

[18:40] y/n: again…sorry

[18:40] y/n: ttyl

You took another sip to comprehend what just had happened. At least you got your answer, Hoseok did know. You were at least relieved that you could trust him enough that he wouldn’t tell anyone else.

But here you were again hours later, tossing and turning in your bed, thinking about the one and only Min Yoongi. His name kept lingering in your mind, no matter how hard you tried to think of something or someone else. Yoongi, Yoongi and more Yoongi. Reimagining how is hands felt on your body. How the petals of his lips pressed against your skin. The thought alone turned you on, which subconsciously led your right hand into your panties, mimicking the motions Yoongi did to you that night. And so you started fantasizing again. How his tongue circled around your sensitive nub, making you lose all sense of reality. Or how his husky breath against the nape of your neck made you shiver. Or how his growing bulge kept rubbing against your…

Beep beep

The sudden notification snapped you out of your trance.

It was him, which made you happier then you should be.

[01:16] Yoongi: Hope you realise how unsurprised I actually am that you texted me that

[01:16] Yoongi: Oh and don’t worry, she’s not the only one I had fun with tonight

His snarky little comment made your desire turn into full jealousy. And you knew damn well he said that just to piss you off.

[01:17] y/n: Min Yoongi fucking multiple girls? What surprise!

[01:18] Yoongi: Yeah and you’re one of them now

[01:18] y/n: That’s not true

[01:18] Yoongi: Oh, isn’t it?

[01:18] Yoongi: So we weren’t fucking when I was filling you up with my cum?

[01:19] y/n: Why you gotta say it like that????

[01:19] y/n: You’re fucking disgusting

[01:19] y/n: And that was a one time thing, it won’t happen again

[01:19] Yoongi: Oh? It won’t?

[01:20] y/n: No, it won’t

[01:20] y/n: I was just drunk and horny

[01:20] Yoongi: Why are you texting me then?

[01:20] y/n: What do you mean?

[01:20] Yoongi: Your basically telling me you want to go back to how it used to be

[01:20] Yoongi: Which is completely ignoring my existent

[01:20] Yoongi: But here you are

[01:20] Yoongi: unblocking me

[01:21] Yoongi: Texting me to ‘have fun’ cause that’s your way of telling me that you’re jealous

[01:21] Yoongi: Acting as if you don’t like me paying attention to you

[01:21] Yoongi: Cause if you didn’t, I assume you would’ve stopped responding a long time ago

[01:21] Yoongi: It’s almost cute how dumb you are

[01:22] y/n: I don’t know why I sent that, okay?

[01:22] y/n: Sometimes I do things without thinking twice

[01:22] Yoongi: How about you stop trying to convince me and yourself you don’t want me, and just send me something pretty to keep me busy?

You felt your cheeks turn red and your heart started pumping out of excitement. You shook your head, no. You shouldn’t let your sick desires for this man get the best of you…right?

[01:23] y/n: You got to be kidding me

[01:23] Yoongi: What? Its’ not like you haven’t done that before ;)

[01:24] y/n: Oh yeah, that’s right !

[01:24] y/n: Maybe you should think about those pics then instead huh

[01:24] Yoongi: But I’d like updated pictures

You bit your lip as you started to think if you should do it. Yoongi noticed it took you a while to respond in comparison to before, knowing you were having second thoughts.

[01:25] Yoongi: Look, you don’t have to send me anything but if you don’t want to

[01:25] Yoongi: But it sure is welcomed

You looked down at your sleepwear, finding your worn out shirt with holes far from sexy. Leaning over at your right, quickly reaching for your most presentable lingerie in your top drawer. As you hastily put it on your body, a part of you couldn’t believe you were doing this for him. So here you were, making mirror selfies in the most lustful way you possible could. Your hair messy and every curve visible just for him. And after being quite pleased about the results, it didn’t take you long to press send.

And no matter what you did or how much you tried to convince yourself you didn’t want him to fuck you senseless, he seemed to get exactly what he wants.

[01:29] Yoongi: You never disappoint

A very pleased grin appeared on your face after reading his message, feeling quite flattered he liked them. You laid down onto your bed, waiting for his next text, assuming this would be a lovely night of sexting. However, him suddenly calling you caught you off guard. “H-hey.” You stuttered as you picked up.

“Did you change into that just for me?” Was the first thing for him to ask, making you a bit embarrassed by his sudden call out.

So the only obvious thing you could do now, of course, was lie. “No, I-I just happened to have that on.”

You could hear him scoff on the other side of the line. “You’re such a bad liar. You looked absolutely stunning in it though.” Another smile came onto you as he said that. “Do you like pleasing me?”

You started playing with your hair. “Maybe.” You teased.

Yoongi smirked, finding your reaction cute. “Do you regret what happened yesterday?” He asked out of genuine concern.

“No.”

Your answer made some weight leave Yoongi’s shoulders. Even though he always loved testing your limits, in no circumstances would he want to take it on a level where you would feel uncomfortable. “Can’t believe how shy you are right now.” He teased.

“It’s just been a while since we talked okay”

“And who’s fault is that.” He scoffed.

“Not the point” You quickly added.

What you didn’t know was that Yoongi was being very smiley as well, reminiscing about the time you were still dating since you were acting the same now as you were back then. “Well, I didn’t mind seeing you again” You couldn’t control your smile after he said that.

“Of course you didn’t, but something like that won’t happen again”

“Why not?”

“Because I refuse to become one of your girls.”

“I don’t see a problem with that.” He said. “I’ll be nice.” The huskiness in his voice when he said that made you swoon. “Didn’t you like the way I made you feel?”

Memories from that night quickly flashed through your mind. “I did.”

“That’s what I thought.” That’s when Yoongi reminded himself why he called you in the first place. “Are you still wearing the same thing?”

“Yeah…”

“Still wearing the same black panties?”

“Uhu…”

“I want you to take them off.”

“W-what?”

“You heard me.”

A sudden excitement rushed down to your stomach, making you do as he told without thinking twice. Grabbing the hem of your blacked laced panties and sliding them off, throwing them to the side. “They’re off.”

“I want you to touch yourself and think its me between your legs” He asked with a smirk, feeling himself, literally, getting more excited. “Got it?”

“Yes, Yoongi.” His wish was your command. Sliding down your fingers, spreading your folds before you took some of your wetness to glide over your swollen nub. Subconsciously holding your breath as you were playing with it.

“Are you wet?” He asked in between the silence.

You bit your lip. “Of course I am” You reassured.

“Good girl.” He praised. “I wish I could see you right now.” Yoongi said, eyeing down his ever so growing bulge inside of his grey sweatpants as his right hand’s playing with the string of his joggers.

Your breathing became unsteady. “I wish you were here too.”

“What would you want me to do if I was there?”

“Hmh-“ Was all you could mouth. Even though this wasn’t the first time you guys did something like this, it still managed to make you timid.

“If you can’t tell me what you want, then you won’t get it.”

Oh god, those words had given you another round of sheer desperation for him. How you would love for him to come over now. This time, not a chance of anyone barging in. It would be just the two of you, accessible for one another for hours on end. With the amount of fantasies you had about him ever since that night, you were confident you two could go at it for hours. And you know he sure wouldn’t mind. A small moan escaped your lips “I’d want your fingers pleasing me instead of mine. I want you to make me come as you did yesterday.”

“You really enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

You hummed a ‘uhu’ in between your heavy breathing “I really did. I haven’t been able to control myself ever since.”

Your sudden confession had peeked his interest. “Oh, haven’t you now? I thought you didn’t want me?”

The combination of the white wine and your never ending horniness made you give in into Yoongi’s questions without second thought. “I think we both know what I really want since I’m finger fucking myself by the thought of you as we speak.”

“Ooh, there she is.” He responded as if he had found something. “The shy girl got replaced by the y/n I know. Gotten your confidence back, huh?”

Another moan slipped out as your grip around your phone tightened. “You don’t know how bad I want you right now, Yoongi.”

“Getting desperate there, huh? Just for me? I’m flattered.” Satisfaction took over Yoongi’s facial features as he realised he had been on your mind ever since last night. “You’d love for that to happen again, don’t you y/n?”

“Fuck-Yoongi, you don’t even know.”

His lips curled into a sadistic grin. “But yesterday was a one time thing, right?” Of course he said that. Of course he would use your own god forsaken words against you in this moment. And you knew he was enjoying every single bit of it. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be. But only if you make it very clear to me how much you want me.”

You started to have a hard time keeping your legs open. “I want you all to myself, Yoongi. I want to please you like no other girl would. I’d obey you like no other, just for your enjoyment.” Yoongi’s desire for you became hungrier as the minutes passed. Just the thought of you alone being so worked up about him made his imagination drive to unspeakable places. And you could tell by the size of the tent in his sweats. “I want you to fuck me senseless.”

You slipped out another moan without thinking much of it, but on the other side of the line you just flipped a switch for someone. “Fuck babe, I’d love to hear more of that. Just you moaning my name over and over again as I stretch you out.”

“I wish I had your dick inside of me instead of my fingers, Yoongi” You pleaded, as you started to pick up the pace of your fingers. “I need you so bad.”

“Of course you do, dirty girl.” Yoongi knew he wouldn’t be able to contain himself any longer by the way his dick was twitching. “My dick is rock hard for you baby.”

“Yeah?” You moaned, inserting both your middle and ring finger inside of you. “I wish I could help you to get rid of it.” Just thinking about Yoongi’s face while you’d suck him off made you even come closer to your orgasm. “I’d be on my knees begging for just a taste.”

“God just thinking about it makes me insane.” He groaned as he gave his clothed member a hard stroke. “You’d look real pretty sucking my cock.”

“I want you to grab my hair as you do it” You moaned. “You’ll be in full control of my motion, just the right pace for my Yoongi” Yoongi bit his lip as he eagerly grabbed his rock-hard cock out of his boxers, tip red burning full of desire, giving it a few slow strokes. “Looking up to you, watching you trying to hold in your moans as I suck you off.” Fuck, you wanted him so bad. “And when you cum, I want to lick everything up. Every last bit, I want to taste you.”

Wasting no time, He vigorously started stroking himself, unable to control his hormones any longer. The mere thought of you doing all those things made him sexually frustrated, making him rethink if he had should’ve spend the night with you instead of Jia.

He scoffed. “You’d do anything to please me, isn’t it?” He panted

“Anything.”

The grip around his cock tightened as a reflex to your words. “Come for me, baby. I want to hear your beautiful voice as I touch myself.”

“Yes Yoongi.” The more you started to focus on your orgasm, ,the louder you seemed to get. However, the louder you got, the heavier Yoongi’s breathing got. You started smirking, since now it felt as if the roles of the day before were reversed. It felt as you were more in control in this moment. And even if it didn’t felt like that for Yoongi, you sure were going to try. “You wish it was my mouth pleasing you instead of your hand, don’t you?”

A grin appeared on his face, knowing well enough what you were doing. “Of course I do, baby-fuck.” It was embarrassing for him how close he was already getting to come lose. “Then you’ll be able to show off your improvement, huh?” He teased.

Even though you wanted to scoff, a moan left your lips instead since you were almost at your climax. “I-I’m coming, babe.”

“Come for me, please.”

“Yeah- Yeah-“ Almost being unable to hold onto that damned phone as your whole body was clenching together when you finally reached your peek. Slammed thighs together and letting out deep breaths as you felt your body loosen up again. But the person on the other side was just getting to his orgasm with the helps of your messy moans. And the last thing you could hear was a deep groan and heavy panting on the other side, making you smile out of satisfaction. “Did you come too? That didn’t last very long.” You teased

Yoongi’s head was thrown back, his jet-black hair covering his eyes as he panted to come off his high. Cum dripping down his veiny hand, knuckles white from his grip. “fuck, y/n.” He needed a moment before he could respond to your snarky little comment. “As if you’re not a mess now.”

You scoffed. “I can handle more than this.”

“I bet.” He chuckled, grabbing the nearest tissue he could find to clean himself off. “Can’t wait to see your endurance next time I see you then.”

You suddenly got shy again. “N-Next time?”

“Come on, you can stop acting as if you don’t want to see me anymore, y/n.” He said slightly annoyed. “Besides, I would love to take you out again.”

“I doubt that.” You said, not because you didn’t believe him, but because you didn’t want to believe him.

Something in Yoongi’s tone had softened. “No really. How about tomorrow? I know your schedule. I can pick you up after work.”

“At work?? Jia would see us?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah? So? Unlike you, I don’t care who sees us. Besides, it’s not like it’s a secret I’m seeing other women.”

Him mentioning the fact you weren’t the only girl in his life mad your heart ache. Was going out with Yoongi again a good idea? Probably not, but something in you had been waiting for this opportunity for so long that it would be cockblocking yourself a this point. “Other women, yeah. But she doesn’t know about…us, you know”

“Then I’ll guess you’ll have a new topic to talk about then” He couldn’t care less about what other people would think. He only cared about you right now and how he would love to spend time with you, no matter who was looking. “But if you don’t mind me, I’ll have to clean up the mess you made me make.” He heard you let out a little giggle, making him smile. “Goodnight babe.”

“Goodnight Yoongi.”

And with that, he hung up.

A part of you was dreading the idea. Were you really going back to being emotionally drained by no other than Min Yoongi? Or was this time going to be different. You scoffed at yourself as you shook your head. Of course it would be different. It would be even worse. Cause this time you weren’t his and he wasn’t yours.

Taglist; @flowerblu00, @brinda-9, @seokjinkismet, @sugainmybowl, @mxxxnshine

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leggerefiore · 3 years ago

Note

What other bizarre conversations have Elesa and the twins had? I can definitely picture the whole "When you teleport you're reconstructed and it's just a copy of you" discussion

cw: cannibalism discussion theoretically, nothing serious

Elesa sat beside the twins as the train travelled along the tracks to their destination. There was no need for the closeness as no one else currently rode the locomotive alongside them, yet they naturally drifted toward one another. The two had babbled on and on about their hometown of Anville enough to pique her curiosity, so they agreed to show her around. The town was off from the far reaches of Nimbasa, however. A train ride was required. This was nothing that the model was not capable of handling. The hour ride there had drained her phone to half battery and led her to strange conversation with the twins. At first, they spoke about some weird Hoennians that had come around the station bickering of whether the land or ocean was better, and then about a tired old man with a strange detective sort.

A thought proceeded to enter Elesa's mind as she considered the twins. In their normal clothes, differences between the two led to easy an easy ability to distinguish the twins. Emmet's messier hair, baggy sweater shirt and loose, high-waisted jeans contrasted with Ingo's combed back locks, ribbed turtleneck and straight legged trousers. It was hard to confused them, yet she knew how truly identical the two were. Their very chromosomal build was exactly the same. The term 'auto-cannibalism' entered head without reason; the act of eating one's body.

"Is it auto-cannibalism if you eat your identical twin?" she pondered aloud, unaware the question had left the confines of her mind. Ingo's eyes squinted and a 'what' left his mouth unconsciously. Emmet tilted his head while his smile grew nervous and his eyes wide. Alright, so that was the discussion they were going to have. Why could nothing normal ever happen between the three?

"No, that is regular cannibalism," Ingo dared an answer to the strange inquiry, "If I ate Emmet, which I would never do, it would be eating another person. Legally and literally, Emmet is not me. Therefore, the action is cannibalism." Emmet darted his head between the two as he debated the question. Certainly, he could understand where Elesa was coming from, terrible as it may be, but Ingo was squarely correct. Ingo and Emmet were separate entities and eating of piece of the other was certainly not the same as eating one's own foot. Yet! Emmet would acknowledge that, technically speaking, Ingo's foot was the same as Emmet's foot.

"But you're the same!" Elesa argued, now properly interested int the debate. "Like, say you both some how lost your big toes, and for whatever reason you decided to eat them. If you mixed up your toes somewhere along in the process and ended up eating the other's toe. It is biologically impossible to distinguish your toes from each other, so you still technically committed auto-cannibalism, right?" Her sapphire eyes turned to Emmet in an attempt to convince him in her belief. His smile fell as he considered her words. Was that auto-cannibalism? They were both under the assumption that they were eating their own body but were not in actuality, yet if a test were to be brought in, it would be impossible to tell.

"You know. I hatched the cutest Joltik the other day. It was shiny, too. I couldn't believe it," Emmet changed the topic and stared out the windows on the train. Elesa huffed in frustration from his shift while Ingo sighed in relief, likely about to go into a full ethic and moral debate with the gym leader. Still, Emmet pondered it. His eyes closed as he nodded. Yes, his opinion was sealed in stone about that.

"You know. I think it is auto-cannibalism in that situation. We still technically ate ourselves," he added as the got off the train. Elesa gasped then giggled at his answer. Ingo gave him the most venomous glare one could give to their younger brother. They were not having this discussion around their parents.

#ingo.ima #emmet.ima #elesa.ima #based off a convo i had with my best friend and bf lol

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pasteljeon · 4 years ago

Text

sincerely, yours (m)

summary: in which you return to an apartment full of 7 horny boyfriends.

pairing: ot7 x reader

warnings: pining, dirty talk, heavy petting, sexual tension

length: 2.9k

notes: this is another blm commission written for the amazing @/himbeaux-joon. thank you so much for your support and donation! i hope you enjoy n forgive me for the wait.

“You’re fucked.”

You pull your phone away from your ear out of pure disbelief. Squinting at the screen, you’re assured you’re speaking to the right person when your friend’s name peers back at you.

“Sorry?”

She said it so casually and offhandedly you do a double take. Your luggage rolls noisily behind you, a hefty and rather rickety thing, though you don’t quite have the heart to rid of it just yet. It has character, stickers and stamps collected from your various travels scattered on the cover. Some are fraying and others greying and half-peeled. Some are new, recently added to the collection and sparkle almost obnoxiously next to your dying ones.

“You are so fucked,” she laughs. It’s less of a laugh and more of a cackle. You check your phone again. Still her.

“Are you going to elaborate on that?” You say dryly as you finally wheel yourself out of customs. The last month has been hectic, your job and position requiring you to fly overseas for the past three weeks. You would think your boys would have been used to the asynchronistic nature of your schedules considering how busy they usually are, but they did finish the last leg of their tour just as you left. Your company offered another two weeks of paid vacation is a thank-you for the generous contract you just signed. Your boys protested and pouted but you took it, adamant about finally taking that much needed break.

They reluctantly let you go, faking tears but understanding, their jobs equally as, if not more, stressful.

“Nope.” She pops the p with some dark sense of satisfaction, and you repress the shiver that crawls down your spine. “But I can say it’s a good type of fucking. You know, the one where you bend Jungkook over the—”

“Okay, got it, thank you,” you cut her off hastily, holding a hand over the speaker to muffle her voice that rises into a sing-song, glancing around discreetly to ensure no one’s eavesdropped over your rather scandalous conversation.

“You ever notice how whiny your boys can get when you’re away?” She teases when you return to the line. Rummaging in your purse for some change, you scan the airport café for some iced coffee, chuckling, “Yes. You have no idea.”

“You know all the boys have a chat exclusive for their very not safe for work thoughts?” she tells you. It makes you choke and laugh simultaneously, the cashier eyeing you strangely as he takes your order.

“I don’t know how they make it sounds so hot,” your friend continues blandly. “Normally it sounds so greasy. But they’re usually so well-behaved and polite. I was so shocked. I had no idea that Jimin liked—”

You yelp, staring down at your shirt. Luckily, it’s dark enough to hide the stain, so you mop it up sheepishly, thanking the server who offers you some napkins, clucking sympathetically.

“What?” You hissed, pulling to the side. You’re whisper-shouting into your phone now. “They did what?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? Didn’t Rhys tell you? He was rolling all over about it,” she snickers. You splutter. Rhys is a close friend to the both of you, and often spent nights gaming with Jungkook and Taehyung. You knew your boys had a group chat with your other male friends but … “But they’re usually so polite,” you exclaim.

Your friend clicks her tongue. “Cue exhibit A. Anyway, good luck girl. You’re gonna need it.” Without waiting for your reply, she ends the call, her cackles cutting off into an odd ringing in your ear.

“Oh dear,” you say to yourself, staring down at your drink. “What am I walking into?”

Your friend’s call is lousy warning, if you’re going to be honest.

Only the maknaes are able to pick you up from the airport, with the remainder of the boys caught up in the photoshoot. They were able to wrap up before your flight landed.

They’re a ball of hazed energy. Dressed casually, face masked and caps donned, they somehow manage to blend in with the crowd of receivers. Your breath catches. In the short time away, you’ve forgotten just how little justice pictures and videos do for them. They’re beautiful.

They watch you like hawks, glazed eyes dark and you’re genuinely a little concerned for Taehyung. The outline of his length presses insistently against his black slacks, but he pays no attention, half-lidded as he peers at you through thick lashes. You’re shocked no one’s carded him for public indecency yet. The image alone is enough to make your core to clench.

There’s no fanfare, no glee, no innocent excitement, no cheerful, “noona!” you expected from the youngest. Instead, Jungkook silently reaches over to relieve you of your luggage, fingers grazing your palm. He pulls down his mask to kiss the corner of your mouth. He visibly tears himself away, and you can see the way his veins pop under the pressure, jaw clenching hard. Electricity sparks down your spine, making you shiver.

“Heart. Welcome back,” Taehyung rumbles as he tips your chin up. His voice is more of a growl, the sound reverberates from his chest, low and incredibly sexy it makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

“I missed you,” Jimin pushes his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. He catches your hand when you reach for him, steadying your shaky knees. You clutch at the sleeve of his turtleneck, his palm cupping the back of your head as his nose skims the column of your throat.

“G-guys, we’re in public,” you manage in a faint whisper, and Jimin’s grip tightens briefly before he reluctantly pulls away. Jungkook takes your other hand, Taehyung leading the way to the car.

They brush your concern off easily, not even bothering to scan their surroundings in case anyone’s recognized them. You do a cursory sweep anyway, but find the airport still relatively empty, the crowd occupied with their own arrivals. Suddenly, you’re once again struck with a profound sense of appreciation for Namjoon’s forever careful scheduling of your flights so this could be possible.

The underground parking lot is quiet, and you exchange no words as Jungkook’s Mercedes comes into view.

The sexual tension is, as they say, palpable.

You move to follow Jimin into the backseat, but Jungkook grabs your wrist, twirling you around. The cool metal meets your heated skin for a brief moment before he pulls you close. “Noona,” he murmurs, bringing your arm to his lips. He fastens his mouth over your pulse point, suckling gently. His lashes tickle your inner wrist.

“Jungkook,” you say breathily, his leg coming to push your thighs apart. You nearly collapse onto him, and he releases you with an agonized sigh. The mark blooms darkly, and he lets out a long exhale.

“Gguk.” There’s a warning in his tone.

“I know,” the maknae bites back. He lets you down slowly, hungry gaze raking over your form one last time before he lets Taehyung help you into the car.

He walks to the driver’s side, forehead pressing against the hood fleetingly before sliding into the seat. It does nothing to settle the heat stirring in his stomach. He can’t bring himself to regret it, though, despite the way his pants dig into his hard cock.

Just a little longer. His fingers grip the wheel tightly, knuckles whitening as he pulls out of the lot.

They can hardly keep their hands off of you, glued to your side the entirety of the ride back.

Jungkook wants to scream out of pure frustration. He can hardly concentrate, though it is the crack of dawn and traffic is sparse.

He can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick sounds of your makeout sessions. He resists the urge to check the rear-view mirror for the nth time. He knows one glance is enough to make his thighs clench.

He hears your soft, melodic sighs between kisses, lips likely beautifully swollen and plump from their coaxing. He knows that Taehyung is sweet, and that Jimin is eager, a little rough. It's downright pornographic. His eye twitches.

“Mmm, Chim,” you mewl.

That's it. He growls. “Guys, knock it off. Otherwise we’re taking her in the back of my car.”

“Wouldn't be such a bad idea,” Taehyung murmurs, and Jungkook risks a glimpse, only to see Taehyung mouthing at your neck, one hand down your pants. You're a vision, sprawled on Jimin's lap, head tossed back against his neck. Back arched, shirt halfway unbuttoned, bra peeking out and hair disheveled.

“Taehyung,” Jungkook barks. He’s a second away from breaking the wheel. Red light. He watches Taehyung suck a blooming flower against your neckline. He pulls away reluctantly to admire it.

“It's fine,” Jimin pipes up, and Jungkook swears he pops a vessel with the way the older slides a hand up to cup your breast, thumbing your peaks from under the silken material. “We're here.”

The maknae parks the car hastily, all too relieved to be home. He practically yanks the hinges off the passenger door open. Jimin groans, almost falling flat on his ass at the sudden momentum. “Jeon!”

“Sorry,” he mutters, stepping aside for Jimin to step out. Jungkook catches you, stumbling with trembling legs and poorly adjusted shirt. He sweeps you into his arms without another thought, moving briskly towards the entrance. His strength makes you squirm in his hold, clutching his tensed bicep.

“Smell so good,” he groans, and he has to pause at the door, letting you down only to pin you against the glass, kissing you hard.

“Taste so good,” he pants, unable to stop himself from grinding against you. He wants you close, craves you. Your hands snake under his shirt, pushing it up impatiently to flatten your palm against his toned stomach, the other fumbling with his belt.

The sound of the leather and metal coming undone makes him hiss, hips jerking. “Sensitive baby,” you murmur teasingly, fingers digging into his v-line. Jungkook’s breath stutters, cock throbbing unwittingly.

“I’m going to lose my mind,” he moans, slumping onto you as you give his clothed length a tentative squeeze. He’s so incredibly hard it’s painful. The blood rushing to his dick is making him dizzy, a little breathless.

Before you can reply, the door is abruptly wrenched open. You gasp, Jungkook nearly toppling over, but he braces you under his arm, catching you easily.

“Told you he wouldn’t make it in before he succumbed.” You look up to see Hoseok gazing down at you with those strong brows of his, studying you with an intensity that has your body flushing with heat again. Even upside down he’s gorgeous beyond reason.

Jungkook flips you back up, and Hoseok’s lips quirk when he catches you floundering.

“Bet he came in his pants.” Namjoon walks forward, hands in his pockets and his tone is casual, like he’s discussing the menu from your favourite diner.

“Colour me shocked the neighbours haven’t carded the two of you for public indecency,” Yoongi drawls, smirking when Jungkook blushes darkly.

“I’m going to develop abandonment issues if you keep forgetting about us like that.” Jungkook rubs his neck, embarrassed, as Taehyung and Jimin step in with mirroring looks of disgruntlement. Taehyung walks over, lips quirking wryly as you slide your arms over his neck.

“Don’t tease,” you chastise, but he ignores you in lieu of pulling you close, swaying slightly to the sound of his quiet humming. His hands are hot, burning through the thin material of your shirt as he presses you flush against his body.

“Romantic,” you whisper, smiling. Taehyung smiles too, eyes still closed.

“Welcome back, beautiful.” You startle at the sound, but smile at the familiar voice, leaning into his touch. Taehyung allows you to slip from his hold, the newcomer twirling you around.

“Hi, Jin,” you say shyly, biting your lip. Seokjin beams, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Missed you so much,” he says softly. “Was about to lose my sanity if you were away any longer.”

You laugh aloud, and Seokjin looks a little awestruck at the sound, watching you with that soft, adoring look in his eyes. “I thought you would’ve enjoyed the peace while I was gone.”

“Hardly. I was left in a house full of horny kids. The testosterone levels were crazy,” he sighs dramatically. “Pass.”

Somewhere in the background, Namjoon snorts. “Please, hyung. You act like you weren’t jacking off three times a day to her pictures.”

Seokjin squeaks, Hoseok roaring in laughter. Jungkook claps a hand to his mouth, trying and failing to hide his mirth, sexual tension momentarily forgotten.

You loop your arms around his neck with a coy smile. “Is this true, Jinnie?”

“Don’t tease me,” he mumbles into your neck. He feels the shaking of your silent giggles and groans. “I hate you, Joon.”

“If it helps, I’m flattered, you know. And the feeling is mutual, in case you were wondering,” you whisper to him.

“It wasn’t just that,” Seokjin grumbles, glancing away as the tips of his ears darken. “I always want you around. You’re my home, you know.”

Your heart swells, fingers tingling. “Jin,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks. He looks everywhere but at you, complexion mirroring a tomato alarmingly fast. Seokjin, who can dish out sweetness but never take it, mood maker but so shy. Seokjin, who is kind and charming and gorgeous and has a big, beautiful heart.

“I love you so much,” you whisper. He looks at you wonderingly, as if mystified by such an all-encompassing sentiment.

“___ … You have no idea how much I adore you,” Seokjin breathes, a little giddy, a little lightheaded by that fond, warm expression you’re regarding him with.

“Not more than me.” The two of you jump at the sound, jolted from your secluded bubble, to see, shockingly, Yoongi pouting behind the eldest. The composer has his arms crossed, brows knitted and cheeks puffed out.

“Did you forget about us again,” Yoongi says, petulant. You and Seokjin look at one another, stunned, before bursting into laughter.

Namjoon and Hoseok join the rapper, crowding the two of you from the sides, sporting similarly roguish grins. Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook share a mischievous look, squishing in close.

“Guys,” Seokjin complains, broad shoulders being quashed by the sheer force of Jungkook’s biceps. Your face is pressed uncomfortable tight against his – impossibly solid and strong – chest.

“Can’t – breathe,” you yelp, voice muffled. A hand grabs your wrist and pops you from the throng.

“Hello again,” Hoseok grins.

“Hoseokie,” you gasp, a little winded but still incredibly grateful for a breath of fresh air, something the dancer himself seems to embody.

“Sunshine,” he says happily, reaching for you. Before he can wrap himself around you, Namjoon comes slamming in, dimples and all.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed our little reunion, my dick is hard and throbbing and the obscene amount of times I’ve simultaneously cried and jacked off to the sound of your voice is absurd, my cock should’ve wilted at the pure ferocity and angst I’ve poured onto the poor thing, and I am beyond ecstatic to have you back – so much so that I need to rail you against the our skyline balcony, lest I implode within the next two minutes. So! Let’s move to the bedroom, shall we?” Namjoon says matter-of-factly.

“Good idea,” Hoseok beams, completely unfazed by their leader’s rather lewd confession as he scoops you up easily, your boyfriends quickly following suit.

Hoseok sets you down onto the centre of the king-sized bed, silk sheets bunching beneath you as you sprawl over them. You move to sit up on your elbows, but Jungkook hovers over you, pressing you down instantly.

His dark eyes rake over your form unabashedly, one hand popping the surviving buttons of your top and the other pulling off his shirt.

“Greedy maknae.” Jungkook readily ignores Seokjin’s disgruntled mutter in the background as he leans down kiss you.

“Missed your taste,” he murmurs. Your hand trails down his bare chest, retracing every memorized groove and dip of his unfairly gorgeous body.

“Jungkook.” He tears himself away, panting heavily, to glance at Namjoon, who sends him a warning look.

“Don’t be selfish,” the rapper chastises. Jungkook drops his gaze to where you lay splayed out beneath him, hair mussed and lips swollen, chest heaving as you recover from his ministrations.

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound apologetic at the least. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, growling once before he slides off.

“You’re in for a long night, beautiful,” Hoseok tells you, cupping your face and thumbing your cheek slowly, revelling the heat that tinges your skin. “You have no idea how much we’ve missed you. And not just this.”

“I missed you all too,” you whisper, smile soft.

Yoongi closes the door.

Your phones blow up the entire night, left collectively buzzing beneath the couch cushions.

[03:21] rhys: damn, y’all still banging? it’s been 4 days

[04:28] rhys: i need a gf

“Mmm. Tickles.”

“Good morning, gorgeous.” You smile into the pillow, eyes still closed, turning your head to the side expectantly. You know your expression is a little blissful, and you hear his fond chuckle.

“Love you,” you mumble. Someone presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Love you too, heart.”

#smutcentralnet #ksmutclub #btsghostie #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jimin x reader #jimin smut #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #ot7 x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #seokjin x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut

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