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donteattheappleshook · 4 years ago

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Some Cupid Kills With Arrows

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A Captain Swan AU loosely based on Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing for the @captainswanmoviemarathon

Rated M

Read on Ao3 because tumblr eats my italics

Summary:

Emma and Killian hate each other. They have since the night they met. Or at least since the morning after. So Emma is dreading having to deal with them being Maid of Honour and Best Man at her brother's wedding. But, as their friends grow more and more annoyed at their constant bickering and a masquerade Stag and Doe turns everything on it's head, the entire bridal party come to a startling realisation: Emma and Killian might just be perfect for each other. With a little scheming and some well-timed chaos, maybe they can stop yelling at each other long enough to realise it too.

An enormous, huge, giant thank you to @ultraluckycatnd for her fantastic beta work and for helping me with this fic right up to the last second despite all my procrastinating. You are lovely and the best <3

Part One

Her head. Oh, god, her head. Why did her head hurt so much? Emma groaned, a pathetic whimper coming out as she tried to roll over on the couch. Her stomach gave an uneasy roll of its own at the movement, protesting against the liquor that was still swirling around inside.

Right. Liquor. Drinking. Drinking last night. Drinking with David. David. She was going to have to kill David. David, who insisted she show up early to this weekend extravaganza disguised as a wedding. The one who claimed that since he’d lost his best man when Mary Margaret stole his little sister to be her maid of honour that he was entitled to a brother-sister pre-bachelor party. It’s only fair, he’d insisted, flashing her those big puppy dog eyes and Emma had caved. She always caved when it came to her brother - or his fiance for that matter. She was weak when it came to those two. And now she had to murder one of them. Murder her only brother two days before his wedding for forcing what must have been an entire bottle of expensive scotch down her throat while they played poker and smoked cigars (and later sang along to the entire Mama Mia soundtrack - not that she’d ever admit that). Pity. She really liked David.

“Emma, Emma, bo-bemma, Banana-fana fo-femma, Fee-fi-mo-memma. Emma!” The loud singing announced her brother practically bouncing into the room and throwing himself on the couch near her feet. Emma groaned again and threw a pillow over her ears to try and block out the off-key hollering from the asshole next to her. She was liking him less and less with every passing second.

David laughed and ripped the pillow out of her grasp. “Rise and shine sister-mine!” he chanted. She was actually going to murder him. She reached out, a pathetic attempt to strike him but her hand just fell limply at her side.

“They will never find your body,” she told him. He laughed again and Emma cursed David and his super liver. She’d been his sister since she was ten; since Ruth found her on the street, burning a book of fairy tales to keep warm, and had taken her home for the night. That night had turned into forever and now, after eighteen years of living with the man, she’d never once seen him suffer a hangover.

“How are you so chipper?” she asked. Her voice sounded like she’d gargled sandpaper. David smiled, hauling her up by the shoulders until she was sitting like an almost-human.

He threw his arms out. “It’s a beautiful day?” he offered. “I’m one morning closer to marrying the woman of my dreams? Everyone who I love and who loves me is on their way to celebrate the happiest moment of my life?” Emma frowned at him. How dare he be so happy so early. David laughed at her misery again but patted her shoulder sympathetically before rising up and walking across the hall to the kitchen. Then, as if out of nowhere, a giant cup of coffee, a bottle of water, and two extra-strength Tylenol capsules appeared on the table in front of her. She wondered if she’d fallen asleep for a minute there.

Emma reached for the coffee like it was a lifeline - which it really was if she was being honest. She drank deeply and felt the effects almost immediately. She downed the pills and water next. She couldn’t quite manage a smile since this was still technically his fault, but she offered David a thankful look for taking care of her. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t have to murder him. Just some light maiming.

“You might want to jump in the shower,” he told her as she shuffled into the kitchen, he himself already looking and smelling fresh as a daisy. “You look a little rough,” he said with a grimace. Emma scowled at him and threw a nearby banana at his head which he easily dodged. She caught a glimpse of her reflection though, in the metallic gleam of the toaster and, well, he wasn’t wrong. “Just thought you’d want to freshen up and wake up before everyone gets here,” he suggested.

That’s right. It was Thursday. Everyone was arriving today. Oh, God. Emma had not played this right. Getting hammered on the night before the festivities even began. Today everyone would be arriving and settling into their respective rooms in the estate (read: mansion) owned by Mary Margaret’s parents - seriously the place was enormous. Mary Margaret had told her once how many bedrooms it had but the number had been so ridiculous and so superfluous that Emma had struck it from her memory. Nobody with an only child needed a house with rooms in the double digits. And this wasn’t even their home. No, they considered this place their ‘summer cottage’ where they would entertain friends on the private lake. It was convenient for a wedding though, she had to say. The whole bridal party was staying there for the entire weekend.

Tonight was the Stag and Doe. Leave it to David and Mary Margaret to find a way to avoid having to be apart even for their bachelor and bachelorette parties. It wasn’t like they’d ever been apart since they were fourteen years old - why start now? It was themed. Of course it was themed. Mary Margaret loved themes and David loved Mary Margaret so he let her have whatever damn theme she wanted, and since her parents had put their foot down against their daughter getting married on Halloween, they were having a costume stag and doe . She groaned. There were so many people coming. She knew. She’d had to organize it.

Tomorrow was the spa day for Mary Margaret and her bridesmaids and she assumed the boys would be treating David to some sort of manly pre-wedding tradition. All the out of town family would be arriving for the rehearsal dinner on Saturday. And then finally, the wedding was on Sunday. This weekend was a marathon, she mused, not a sprint.

Dozens of decorators, caterers, florists, and lots of other jobs Emma had never heard of were already running around the grounds - yes, the place had grounds - setting things up for what would certainly be the most lavish and extravagant (knowing Mary Margaret’s parents) yet classy and intimate (knowing Mary Margaret) wedding the world had ever seen. And all of them were under the direct orders of Regina Mills, David and Mary Margaret’s wedding planner and probably the most terrifying woman Emma had ever met.

Emma needed to boot and rally. She was the maid of honour and the groom’s sister. This weekend was not about her. Her job was to make sure everything ran smoothly. That the two most important people in her life had the most amazing few days of their lives and nothing and no-one was going to stand in her way.

Except maybe her speech, Emma thought as she turned on the shower and stepped under it. The hot water felt good and helped wake her up a little. The speech. The speech that she’d had nearly a year to write and still only had a blank page to show for it. How was she supposed to write a speech about love when she didn’t believe in it herself?

Well, that wasn’t completely true. She believed that some love was possible. But only for certain people. People like David and Mary Margaret who had found ‘The One’ when they were in the eighth grade and had never looked back. But they were the exception, not the rule.

Love had only ever left Emma hurt and alone. Love had only ever left her behind. First her birth parents who abandoned her on the side of the road as an infant. Then the string of foster parents that had cast her aside when they decided she wasn’t what they wanted. Then Ruth who had died far too young and left her and David behind. Then Neal, her high school boyfriend who had been her first everything before he disappeared to another city without so much as a ‘see ya’ text. And now David and Mary Margaret were getting married and starting a family of their own - one she wouldn’t be as much of a part of, no matter how much her brother insisted things wouldn’t change.

No, love wasn’t in the cards for Emma. She told people she didn’t have time for it but really she just didn’t have the heart for it. A heart could only take so many blows before it learned to rebuild itself out of something stronger. The taunting lilt of ‘always a bridesmaid, never a bride’ flitted through her head and she shook it away. She was fine like this. She was happy. She had a job she loved, a nice apartment, and good friends. She didn’t need love.

As she finished drying her hair and putting on enough makeup so that she didn’t look like an extra from The Walking Dead, Emma heard the commotion of people arriving. She could pick out Mary Margaret, Belle, Elsa and Ruby’s voices easily and she rushed out to greet her friends. They squealed when they saw her and her head only protested a little as they wrapped her up in a tangle of limbs that passed for a group hug.

Mary Margaret gave her a sympathetic look. “How was the pre-bachelor party?” she asked and Emma only grunted in response.

“You guys got here okay?” David asked, squeezing in to grab his bride-to-be and give her a kiss that would make you think she’d been away for months and not for a night.

“Save it for the honeymoon would you?” Ruby said in mock disgust and David looked at her with a wolfish smile.

“Don’t be jealous, Ruby! I’ve got one for you too!” David rushed to grab a protesting Ruby and planted a big, sloppy kiss on her cheek.

Emma smiled as she watched her friends laugh and joke and tease each other. She loved having them all here together. Soon the boys would get here too and for one, perfect weekend everything would be just the way it should be. All her friends in one place, celebrating together for the first time since her college graduation.

Well, almost perfect. All of them being here also meant he would be here. He and his snark and his ego and his womanizing ways. She supposed it was a small price to pay for the reunion. And she couldn’t deny that she really enjoyed the look on his face when she put him in his place.

“Oh! It’s Killian,” David said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check a message. Speak of the devil , she thought. “He says they should be here in five,” David informed them, tucking his phone away.

“Great,” Emma said sarcastically and David shot her a begrudging look. She saw Ruby and Belle roll their eyes as Elsa and Mary Margaret started putting things away.

“Be nice,” David warned her.

“I’m always nice!” she insisted, offended. “ He’s the one who can’t seem to manage to be a decent human being for more than five minutes.”

“Come on, Emma,” Mary Margaret insisted from the kitchen. “You’re just as guilty. I don’t know why you egg him on.” She shook her head and Emma balked.

“I do not! I just think that the man needs reminding every now and then that he’s not God’s gift to women.” It was David who rolled his eyes this time. “Seriously, David, how you can stand to have him be your best man -” she started.

“Nope,” he cut her off. “You don’t get to complain about that. You chose Mary Margaret over me when we both asked you, so I had to find someone else. Besides, Killian is my best friend.” She balked. David rolled his eyes. “My best male friend,” he corrected. “So, again, be nice .” He gave her a stern look.

“But he’s just so… so…”

“So what?” Ruby asked, looking like she was really enjoying this.

Elsa shot her a look. “Don’t encourage her, Ruby.”

Ruby grinned. “Oh come on, it’s fun! It’s like a free show watching those two go at each other.”

“We do not go at each other!” Emma insisted again. “I just find it hard to say nothing like all of you do when he goes around acting so… cocky.”

“Cocky?” Ruby prodded and Belle elbowed her.

“You know what I mean. Every time he comes here, it’s all, oh, I’ve done this and don’t worry, I know how to do that ... Look at me, I’m so handsome and -”

“Handsome?” Mary Margaret interjected with a raised eyebrow.

“Shut it!” she cast her friend a warning glare. “I mean he thinks he’s the hottest thing since the Hemsworths. And it doesn’t help that he always drags along some bimbo whose sole purpose in life seems to be to fluff his ego and his…” she made a vague hand gesture, “you know.”

“Woah, Emma, tell us how you really feel, why don’t you?” Ruby laughed.

“He’s really not actually -” David started but she cut him off.

“Look, it’s nothing against the women okay - I’m sure on some level they’re really nice or whatever, or have some great heart or talent, but honestly, any woman who is willing to be Killian Jones’ date must have the IQ and backbone of a slug.”

“He’s not bringing a date,” David told her before she could go on.

Emma reeled back from the news. Killian Jones without a date? Impossible. The man couldn’t stand to be caught dead without something shiny on his arm.

“What? Has he finally slept with every woman in America and abroad?”

David rolled his eyes. “He’s bringing his brother. Something about him being on shore leave and wanting to spend time with him.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groaned, putting her head in her hands.

“See?” Belle piped in softly, misunderstanding her distress. “I’ve always said you judged him too quickly-”

“ There’s two of them !?” she demanded, hoping someone would tell her it was a joke. There was a collective groan and a small laugh from her friends. “Is one Jones in this world not enough?” she asked the room.

Before anyone had a chance to answer, a smooth, accented voice called from down the hall. “Hello? Is someone getting married here?”

“Robin!” Mary Margaret cheered, perking right up as though there was anywhere left for her to perk. “We’re in the kitchen!” she called.

“How the bloody hell do we find the kitchen?” came another accented voice, this one rougher around the edges. “This place is a maze.” Will! Emma rushed out with Mary Margaret to help their friends navigate the enormous house.

They found them looking confused in the front hall and Emma practically threw herself in Will’s arms as Mary Margaret greeted her guests.

Will had been in the same foster home as her when they were little. He was only a few years older, but he’d made a point to look out for her when most of the older kids had been inclined to pick on the smaller ones. She’d run away when he’d been transferred to another home for fighting and, after Ruth adopted her, she thought she’d never see him again. But with some help she’d managed to track him down in high school and was happy to find out he’d been placed with a distant relative the state had managed to locate in the area - a second cousin, Robin.

Robin was in college and on his own at the time, but took Will under his wing and had brought him up more like a little brother than a son. When David, Mary Margaret, and Emma had all ended up at the same college as Will and Robin, the friendship had been inevitable. Will introduced them to Ruby, and Mary Margaret became quick friends with Belle and Elsa when they all joined and felt like the odd ones out in the same sorority. However, Will had also unfortunately introduced them all to his classmate and drinking buddy, Killian Jones - something Emma would never forgive him for.

“Hey! You’re going to ruin my shirt!” he told her, pretending he wasn’t hugging her back.

“Your shirt’s already wrinkled,” she told him.

“It’s disheveled,” he corrected her. “There’s a difference.”

“Come now, Swan, I know it can be difficult to find men at your age, but there’s no need to throw yourself at poor Will like that.”

And there it was. Ninety seconds. He’d lasted a whole ninety seconds before saying something rude and asshole-ish and just… ugh. She hated him.

She opened her mouth to retort but Robin beat her to it. He turned on Killian, finger extended in warning. “You! No. None of that. We talked about this.”

Killian snapped his mouth shut and held his hands up in innocence but she could see him biting back a smile. Ugh, he even looked smug when he was being chastised. She looked him over, arming herself for the battle that was soon to come, scanning for anything she could throw back in his face when she needed it, something to bring him back down to size.

He was handsome - she had to give him that. He was probably one of the best looking men she’d ever met and she remembered thinking so the first time they were introduced. But when he opened his mouth... god. The sheer level of douche that was contained in one man. It made her shudder at the thought and angry at her past self for judging a book by its cover. Why her friends put up with him, she’d never understand.

The others had joined them in the hall by now and pleasantries were being exchanged. But as she hugged Robin, and Killian exchanged how-have-you-beens with David and Belle, she could feel his eyes on her. That was another thing that drove her crazy about him. He always seemed to be paying too much attention to her - probably sizing her up the way she did him.

But sometimes… sometimes she’d caught him watching her with an expression that wasn’t mirthful or arrogant - a small smile curling the corner of his mouth as if against his will, his brow softened from it’s usual expressiveness. It made her unsteady, made her feel unbalanced because she didn’t know what to make of it. What to make of the fact that she kind of liked it. That scared the shit out of her.

“Allow me to introduce my brother,” Killian was suddenly saying and she realised she may have been the one staring this time. “Everyone, this is Liam. Liam this is… everyone,” he smiled. Emma raised her brow at them both. Another Jones. This could not end well. “It’s Liam’s first time in the States,” he informed them as Liam shook hands with everyone.

“Well,” Liam interjected, “first time off a ship anyway.”

“Welcome,” David said, patting him on the shoulder.

“We’re so happy to have you here,” Mary Margaret cheered, hugging him.

“Nice to meet you,” Elsa smiled, offering her hand. Liam looked from Mary Margaret to her and for a second his eyes went a little wide - Elsa could have that effect - before he took her hand and held it a fraction too long. Elsa’s smile shifted as she looked at him and Liam finally released her hand.

“Thank you,” Liam smiled, looking down at the floor and rubbing the back of his neck. “I do hope I’m not intruding,” he offered. “Only it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to see my brother and…” Holy shit. Was he blushing? Emma thought. How the hell was this guy related to Killian?

“Of course you’re not,” she found herself saying before she could stop herself. He must be adopted. That was the only explanation. “This family has always had a soft spot for picking up strays along the way,” she insisted. “Emma,” she told him her name.

“Ah, Emma,” he said, casting a look at Killian. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Emma cast her own look at the other brother, skeptical of what he could have possibly said about her. He maintained his look of innocence. Liam smiled and took her hand, shaking it. “A pleasure,” he said and she smiled back almost instinctively. Maybe her judgement had been off when she’d first met Killian but she liked to think she was a pretty good judge of character. And Liam, well Liam had an air about him. It was the opposite of Killian’s. Where Killian exuded cockiness and pretense, Liam was modest and sincere. Well what do you know, she thought, there is a Jones out there I could like.

Quickly, once all the greetings had been taken care of, Emma informed everyone of the schedule for the weekend. “What will the guys be doing tomorrow?” she asked, looking pointedly at the best man.

“We’re going camping,” Killian informed her. It almost pissed her off how perfect a choice that was. David loved camping. “Lots of good old fashioned male bonding,” Killian joked. “I’ve packed enough cigars and whiskey to take down a horse. Let’s see if we can get Dave hungover for the first time in his life shall we?” Emma braced himself for whatever he was going to say next. “Besides, it will give us a chance to give him some tips for the wedding night.” He winked at the groom.

“Well, that’s our cue, I think,” David said, rolling his eyes at his friend. “Let’s go find everyone a room and have a drink and maybe some pizza before people get here.”

As the gang headed into the kitchen, Killian went about hanging up his jacket and setting his keys down before picking up his bag, calling after them. “Don’t worry Dave! I can tell you what to do so you don’t bleed your first time!” Emma lingered behind. She couldn’t help herself.

“You know you talk a lot for a guy nobody listens to.”

And there it was, that cocky, amused smile he seemed to save only for her. Emma ignored the little flip her stomach did - convincing herself that it was just leftover hangover symptoms.

“ Swan ,” he said almost affectionately, but there was a mocking there too. “We didn’t have a chance to say hello! You look…” He paused, taking in what she was sure were dark circles and pale skin. “Alive... mostly. How absolutely wonderful for someone, I’m sure.”

She didn’t even let it phase her. If he was already relying on physical insults she’d already won. “I noticed you didn’t bring a date.” He eyed her skeptically. “Did you forget to pay your tab at Escorts ‘R Us this month?”

He smiled. “I don’t see your date, Swan. Or is he already making a hasty escape out the bathroom window? Don’t take it too hard. Not everyone can have as many suitors as some.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ha,” she snorted. “Yeah I know all about your many suitors. Tell me something,” she started, inching closer and speaking low like it was a secret. He leaned in almost like a reflex. “Does your right hand know that you sometimes cheat on it with your left?”

He laughed outright at that. “Ah, love, it might shock you to discover that some of us are capable of finding willing partners for the world’s oldest dance. But I can understand how some might be led to believe one’s hand is one’s only option.”

She tilted her head. “Yeah, I’m gonna bet that partners like you are part of the reason so many dancers prefer their own hand. Might have something to do with why you only ever have a date for one night...”

It was his turn to inch forward. He stepped closer until there was barely any breathing room between them but Emma held her ground, tilting her chin up at him and meeting his gaze. “Oh, believe me. My prowess leaves nothing to be desired,” he promised. His voice had dropped, sounding gravelly and making his accent more pronounced. Emma steeled herself, ignoring the way the heat of him and the smell of his cologne warmed her skin. He always smelled so damn good, like leather and the sea. It was destabilizing and she nearly stumbled on her next words.

“And yet, you brought your brother as your date. Something tells me he doesn't put out.” He smiled at her and it was that smile she’d seen before - the unsettling one. The one that messed with this thing they had going - this mutual distaste. She needed to wipe it off his face. “Maybe I should find out,” she added with a suggestive brow and watched with pride and a small flicker of disappointment as the smile fell from his face.

“I’ll not have you defiling my brother, Swan!” He said it in jest, but he didn’t seem quite committed to his mock offence. She worried she may have pushed too far.

“Emma! Killian! Let’s go!” Belle shouted from the kitchen. “We’re ordering pizza and Ruby is getting hangry. Killian I swear she’ll put mushrooms on yours if you don’t come tell us what you want!”

They broke apart and it was only a second before Killian’s regular cock-sure bravado was back in place.

“Shall we?” he asked, indicating that she should lead the way down the hall.

Only four days. She told herself. She could handle four days.

-/-

“So tell me, Mary Margaret,” Killian asked later as they were all eating their pizza. Emma had nearly let slide his ‘ really Swan, anchovies?’ comment, but then suggested he try the one with garlic since it was unlikely he would find anyone desperate enough to kiss him tonight. He refused, insisting that experience had taught him to be optimistic. She’d muttered something about women with no standards before Robin had told them to knock it off and eat their bloody pizza. “What exactly does this party tonight entail? All Belle said was that I had to dress up? It’s lucky I still had my Halloween costume from last year.”

“You mean your halloween costume from every year ,” Emma snarked. Killian smirked.

“Why mess with perfection?” he asked. “Besides, Captain Hook is always a killer with the ladies.”

“No!” Mary Margaret covered her ears. “We’re not supposed to know what you’re dressing up as!”

“Way to ruin the surprise,” Emma said harshly and regretted it when she saw genuine surprise and regret cross his face. She ignored it, turning to the groomsmen who weren’t aware of the plans for the night. “We’re having a masquerade ball. Belle and Elsa spent weeks making everyone gorgeous masks to choose from and wear with their costumes. Nobody can know who anyone is, though. We’re doing this the right way. Nobody reveals their identities until midnight. That’s how long Mary Margaret and David have to find each other once we separate them at the beginning of the party.”

“I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me that these two haven’t told each other exactly what they’re dressing up as? I don’t buy it,” Robin shook his head.

“We took care of that,” Emma laughed. “Well, Belle did. Belle picked out their costumes and has kept them a secret. Thanks again,” she said, turning to the woman in question.

“My pleasure,” she said. “Actually, Elsa helped a lot. Her taste is impeccable.”

“Well, you couldn't have left Swan to do it. They’d both be wearing jeans and leather jackets.”

Emma shot him a look but Elsa was quicker. “How exactly is that different from your everyday look? Worried she might have picked out the wrong shade of black?” she challenged, eyeing up his black jeans, black boots, and black shirt. His black leather jacket still hung in the closet in the front hall. Liam hid his guffaw behind his hand and Elsa smirked proudly.

“Don’t worry,” Emma jumped in. “Killian doesn’t need a costume. He’s always dressed like a giant tool.” It wasn’t her best insult but hey, they couldn’t all be winners.

Killian smirked, stepping closer to her, invading her space a little, His voice was low and suggestive. “I’d be happy to show you my giant tool, Swan,” he offered and Emma pulled a face.

“ Oh my god, just bone already ,” she heard Ruby mutter under her breath.

“What?” they both snapped but Ruby pretended like she hadn’t heard them.

Liam laughed again and Elsa turned to him with wide, almost sorrowful eyes. “Oh, Liam,” she said and he turned to her. Emma wasn’t sure if she imagined the slight redness on his cheeks. It was very like his brother’s. “I’m so sorry. Killian didn’t tell us you were coming,” she glared at her friend. “Do you have a costume? I’m sure we could put something together if you -”

“Don’t trouble yourself, love,” he answered. “Killian forgot to mention a costume when he invited me.” He shot his brother a look. “But thankfully, my brother still had his costume from the time he played Westley in that Princess Bride stage play in college.”

Emma lit up just as Killian grimaced. “I’m sorry, the time he what ?” she asked, beaming. Oh, this was too good. She definitely needed to hear that story. Liam smirked, looking at his brother’s embarrassment and Emma once again marveled at how much she liked the older Jones brother.

“Hey! No more costume talk!” Ruby jumped in. “We can’t have David and Mary Margaret knowing who anyone is! It will spoil the game!”

“Sorry,” Liam said, looking a little abashed. “Mum’s the word,” He cast Emma a glance out of the corner of his eye, leaning in to stage-whisper. “He had the ponytail and everything,” he told her conspiratorially. It took everything she had not to burst out laughing, instead settling for tossing a shit-eating grin and a ‘ just wait ” look at Killian. Killian looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Liam, you might be becoming one of my favorite people.”

He grinned.

“We should start getting ready,” Belle chimed in. “People will be arriving soon.”

“Oh I can’t wait to see the costumes!” Mary Margaret squealed and then turned suddenly. “Emma!” Emma jumped. “Will you let me do your makeup? Please? You never let me and it’s my wedding!”

Emma sighed, giving in to her friend’s decades-long attempt at dolling her up. The last time she'd caved had been prom night. “Fine.”

“Oh thank you! You’re going to look gorgeous!” Mary Margaret squealed before quickly catching herself. “Not that you don’t always look gorgeous!”

Emma saw Killian open his mouth but didn’t give him the chance. “Can it, Ponytail.”

He pressed his mouth into a tight line but the corners turned up despite how obviously he was trying to fight it.

“Wait, first let me show you your costume,” Belle said to Mary Margaret. Emma didn’t know which one of them was more excited at the prospect.

“Okay! Emma, meet me in my room okay?” The bride-to-be waited for Emma to nod in agreement (defeat) before rushing off with Belle, Elsa and Ruby following quickly behind. Emma stood shaking her head as they ran away giggling. David corralled all the boys, rushing them off in the other direction to do… whatever guys did to get ready for a party. She watched them all disappearing down the hall, whooping and cheering. She thought she might have heard Will shout something about David finding his True Love and she shook her head.

“This is why I’m never going to fall in love,” she groaned to nobody in particular, shaking her head. “It makes people act like idiots.”

“At least we can agree on one thing,” she heard a voice answer. Her eyes snapped up to see Killian, still hovering in the doorway. He smiled slightly at her. “Not in the cards for me either, I think.” There was something vulnerable about the way he said it, like there was some secret that she was missing. Just for a second, she caught herself wondering what it was, feeling a slight tug in her chest at the defeated way he spoke. A connection? She smothered that feeling right away.

“Lucky for the women of the world,” Emma answered.

He only gave her another one of those small, half smiles before following the others down the hall.

“Emma! Get your ass up here!” Ruby shouted from one of the bedrooms. Emma left the kitchen, doing her best to ignore the way getting the last word with Killian hadn’t left her feeling as smug as it usually did.

-/-

“Ah, there’s my best man,” David said as Killian walked into the room. “Leaving me in my hour of need already?”

“Please, I was gone for less than a minute. Couldn’t you guys keep yourselves entertained for that long without me?” he asked mirthfully.

“What were you doing back there?” Will asked, sounding like he knew the answer already.

“Speaking with the lovely Emma, I’ll wager,” Robin answered with a smirk.

“What else is new?” David asked, rolling his eyes before Killian could defend himself.

“Why is this your hour of need, exactly?” Killian asked, choosing not to contradict them. He had, in fact, been talking to her, so he didn’t really have a leg to stand on.

“Because Robin has a better costume than me!”

It was Killian’s turn to roll his eyes. “His name is literally Robin. Who else could reasonably dress up as Robin Hood?”

“But that’s just it! She’ll never suspect it!” David insisted. The men all paused, exchanging looks. David held up the costume that had been laid out for him on the bed. “Belle dressed me as Prince Charming. I love her to death, but she’s just as much of a romantic as Mary Margaret. It’s too obvious, she’ll find me in a second.”

“He has a point, you know,” Robin agreed.

“Hey, Belle put a lot of work into picking your costumes,” Will reminded them. He cleared his throat when Robin shot him a wry look. “And the others. They all put in a lot of work…”

Killian grinned. “And wouldn’t it just be great to see their reactions when they realise we’ve switched it on them?” Even David smiled, excited at the harmless though somewhat juvenile prank. Will looked nervous though.

“Listen, I just don’t want to be the reason we ensue Elsa’s wrath,” he defended. Liam glanced at Will, and Killian noticed a slightly downtrodden look on his brother’s face. He frowned.

“It’s my Stag and Doe,” the groom insisted. “I say we do it.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. He slapped a hand on David’s shoulder. “Let’s see if true love really does conquer all, shall we?”

Robin considered this for a moment, arms crossed as he stroked his beard. “All right, but if we do this, we should really commit. Everybody confess what your costume is so we can pick the most un-David-like one.”

Will still didn’t look convinced. “What’s with him?” David asked.

Robin smirked. “He’s just worried that Belle will be mad at him. Or is it that you picked your costume with her in mind and don’t want to give it up?”

“Really, Will? You’re still hung up on her?” David joked. “Why don’t you just tell her already?” Liam perked up then, looking back at Will after having been staring at the floor for a moment.

“Oh, I was under the impression that Elsa was your girlfriend,” he said casually. Four pairs of suspicious eyes turned to him. “You just seemed so set on not upsetting her is all…” Killian didn’t buy it.

Will looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Bloody hell, Elsa? No. She just scares the hell out of me and she should scare you too,” he warned. “That is not a woman you want to cross.”

“Indeed,” Robin agreed, coming up behind his friend and wrapping an arm around him. “Will only has eyes for Belle.” Will elbowed him. “Elsa is, as of present, unattached.”

“Huh,” was all Liam said, suddenly far too uninterested in the conversation. It took Killian a moment, frowning at his brother, trying to read what he was hiding before it hit him.

“ Oh, no, ” he groaned and everyone’s eyes snapped up to him.

“What?” Liam demanded, playing innocent.

“No, no.”

“ What?”

“My own brother!” Killian cried. “Abandoned. Betrayed by my own kin!”

Liam rolled his eyes but his tone was way too defensive. “Shut up, Killian.”

Robin snorted but hid it quickly behind his hand as Killian shot him a death glare.

“Am I missing something?” David asked, looking between the brothers.

“What you’re missing, Dave, is that my brother, sworn bachelor, the last of the sworn bachelors, the last of the Jones’ to carry on the good name and reputation of man about town and sea, has fallen in love.” He cast his eyes to Liam again. “Traitor!”

“Oh, come on, Killian. Stop being dramatic. I’m not in love.”

“Not yet!” he cried. “But I’ve seen that look before - it’s in the eyes. I’ve seen it in my fallen comrades. First David, then Will. Robin was lost to me before I even met him, married at nineteen like some lovesick fool.”

“Careful now, that’s my wife you’re talking about,” Robin warned. Marian and Roland were joining the group the day of the wedding, thinking that subjecting a six year old to three days of wedding festivities seemed unreasonable.

“And now my own brother! Seduced! Stolen away by the Ice Queen. We stood together! Now I stand alone.”

“That’s a bit much don’t you think?” Graham said.

“You like Elsa?” David asked Liam and Killian rounded on him.

“ That’s what you got from what I just said?”

“I mostly tune you out if I’m honest,” David said casually before focusing on Liam again. “If you like Elsa you have the perfect costume. The Princess Bride is her favorite movie. She and Emma are obsessed with it - it’s a little annoying actually. If you wear that, you’ll definitely get her attention.”

“Oh, well…” was all Liam said, clearly flustered to Killian’s disgust. He did not like how pleased his brother looked at the idea.

“Killian,” David said then. “Let’s see your costume. Mary Margaret won’t come near me if she thinks I’m you. She’s seen your pirate costume a million times now.”

“I think the hair might give it away, Dave,” Killian laughed, gesturing to his own dark hair that contrasted so drastically with the groom’s fair head. “Besides,” he smirked. “You don’t have the cleavage for it.”

David rolled his eyes. “Oh, far be it from me to deny you the opportunity to wear a shirt unbuttoned to your waist.”

“What exactly is your obsession with this Captain Hook costume, Brother?” Liam piped up. “I’ve never seen it but it would seem it’s rather famous. Why the fixation on Peter Pan?”

“It’s because he’s the boy who never grew up,” Will offered, receiving a punch in the arm from the person in question. “At least that’s what Ruby dubbed him for all his womanizing.”

Killian rolled his eyes, familiar with the nickname. He never bothered to mention that he liked the character of Hook, not Pan. Not the devil child but the melancholic man who clung to the last bit of hope left in him.

“I’m hardly a boy,” Killian glared. “And I don’t womanize. Every woman I take out knows exactly my intentions. I’m not some child playing games.”

“Then you won’t mind giving up your costume,” Robin insisted.

“I told you it would be too obvious,” he reminded them again.

“So am I understanding correctly?” Will asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re just all throwing the girl’s rules out the window?” Will asked with a bit of annoyance in his tone. If Killian himself weren’t so annoyed at Will’s crush on Belle, he’d have found it funny.

“Yes,” David said simply. “Liam, you keep yours so that you have an ice breaker with Elsa and Killian, well, I guess you can keep yours for your vanity.” Killian rolled his eyes. “The rest of you,” he demanded. “Let me see what you have.”

David, Will and Robin spent far too long debating who should wear which of the three costumes, even going so far as to look through the clothes they had brought to see if they could make a new, fourth costume, before finally making a decision nearly an hour later. As they headed to their respective rooms to change, Killian noticed his brother lingering. He sighed again.

“So, Elsa then?”

“I mean, she seems nice,” Liam answered but Killian could see him trying to fight the little smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Nice? Elsa? I mean sure she can be friendly sometimes, but I’ve always found her to be a bit cold, distant.”

“Perhaps she just doesn’t like you, brother.”

“Nonsense,” he smiled. “All women like me.” But then looked at Liam again. “You really like her?”

“I don’t - she seems interesting. I’d like to get to know her better, yes.”

“Unbelievable. You’re in the country for ten minutes and you’ve fallen for the first blonde you’ve seen.” He shook his head, utterly, totally disappointed by his brother.

“I wouldn’t be the first Jones now would I?” Liam muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Unbelievable,” Killian sighed.

“You keep saying that,” Liam pointed out.

“Well it is! A few years ago we were all free, unattached. We could head to the bar, meet some nice girls, have some fun. But now, I swear David has to ask permission before he goes out with us. And Will won’t go anywhere unless we agree to invite Belle along so he can stare at her like a git and not say a word. When did all of the bachelors die off? When did all my friends drop off the face of the earth. I’ll tell you when. When they decided to fall in love!”

“Don’t you think you’re getting a little old for this, Killian?”

“How dare you?” Killian snapped. “I’m thirty-two. I’m hardly at the age of needing to settle down.”

“Then pray tell what age is appropriate to settle down?”

“I’ll let you know if I ever hit it,” Killian smirked. Liam rolled his eyes.

“So what, you’re going to keep man whoring around? Don’t you want to be with someone? Have something real? Fall in love?”

“Love is overrated. I plan to die a bachelor.”

“You mean alone,” Liam corrected him. “I don’t believe you for a second, brother,” he said, but he shook his head in a way that told Killian he didn’t plan on arguing any further. Let Liam disbelieve him. He didn’t need his brother’s approval. He’d tried love once and it had brought him nothing but wasted years and endless torment.

Killian had learned young that love only ended in pain and heartbreak. He’d seen it with his mother, who’d been unhappy her entire married life only to pass away young and leave behind a father who was so heartbroken of the loss of the woman he mistreated that he abandoned his two sons.

He’d sworn off love at six years old. He’d only faltered once since, despite his best efforts to resist it. And that time had only served to reinforce his belief that he was right. Love was a waste of time. He didn’t need it. And he didn’t want it. Let the Davids and the Robins and the Wills - and apparently the Liams - of the world have love. He would stick to one night. One night was clear. One night left no expectations, set no precedent. One night was safe.

“So then,” Liam started, snapping Killian from his admittedly rather gloomy train of thought. “What about Emma?” he trailed off.

Killian’s head snapped up as though he’d been struck. “What about Emma?” he asked wearily.

“She seems nice, is all. Funny, smart, rather beautiful too…”

Killian felt his heart jump into his throat. Emma? Liam and Emma? Was his brother really suggesting that he was interested in Emma romantically? Or even just physically? The idea of his brother and Emma together stirred a feeling inside of him that he didn’t like. The same feeling that had come over him when Emma had taunted him with the idea of her and Liam earlier. What was it - anger? Disgust? Jealousy ? No. He wasn’t jealous. Emma could sleep with whoever she wanted. So could his brother for that matter. So could he. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“I’ll admit that she’s rather pleasant to look at but believe me, the woman is a harpie. She’s got a wicked tongue on her. She’s cold and defensive and she has walls a mile high.”

“She seemed rather pleasant to me. Witty too.”

“Oh, aye, she’s got wit, that’s for sure.” He caught the corner of his mouth ticking up and forced it down. “She’s quick and rather amusing when she’s not yelling at me.”

“You don’t seem to mind her yelling at you.”

He laughed. “She’s quick to anger, that’s all,” Killian shrugged, trying to go for blase but knowing he was failing. “Makes her rather fun to argue with. She has a way of seeing people… she’s quite perspective really.” She was. She could and would call him on any and all of his bullshit. He was always surprised to realise how much he enjoyed that. But she had him pegged wrong. Always had. And he couldn’t forgive her that.

“So you don’t like her then?” Liam continued, frowning. “I suppose I can understand that. I heard you talking in the hall. She does seem like she can be rather…”

“Rather what?” Killian said quickly, shocked by how vehemently his body reacted to the idea of someone speaking poorly of his rival - someone besides him anyway.

Liam’s eyes went wide and then settled into a knowing expression Killian didn’t like. “Nothing,” he said, but the word held weight.

“She’s just… she’s had a hard life,” Killian found himself saying. Shut up, why are you defending her? he demanded of himself, but he couldn’t stop the words that came out. “She’s been through a lot - like we have. And she’s done some rather impressive things with her life despite it. She’s a detective you know?”

“Yes, I know. You’ve told me. You’ve told me a lot about her actually…”

“Right,” Killian caught himself. Clearing his throat. He didn’t like what his brother was implying. Killian didn’t want Emma. Of course he didn’t. They fought and they bantered and they teased but that was all their relationship was. It was all it ever had been - well, almost. There was that first night... But regardless, he didn’t want his brother to get tangled up with her either. For his brother’s sake only. Emma pushed everyone away. He wouldn’t want to risk his brother being hurt like... “Well, yes, she is cold and distant and incredibly frustrating and - I don’t know if you want to go there. Not worth the effort I think and -”

“ Killian.”

“What?” he snapped.

“I’m not interested in Emma,” he explained carefully and Killian was angry at the relief he felt. “But I think maybe…” Killian steeled his jaw, fists clenching and shoulders straightening as his brother eyed him with… pity? sympathy? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. Something in his expression must have warned Liam off. “Nevermind,” he finished.

Killian let out a heavy breath, thankful that this conversation was over. “Shall we go get ready?” he asked. “I think people will be arriving soon. I’ve seen Mulan’s car pull up. And if she’s here, the party is bound to get underway quickly.”

“Aye,” Liam said, swinging his arm around Killian’s shoulders. “Let’s.”

-/-

“Emma!” she heard Elsa call for her from the room next door. She banged on the adjoining wall to let her friend know it was fine to come in. A second later Elsa was making her way into the room, awkwardly looking behind herself as she struggled with her costume.

“Could you give me a hand with these laces?” she asked, referring to the corset like back of her Swan Lake ballerina costume. It was pretty, graceful, and understated like her friend.

“Sure,” Emma said, gesturing for her to turn around so that she could help her with the intricate lacing. When she was done, Elsa brushed her hands down the front of her dress, making sure it looked right.

“Thanks.” She looked Emma up and down and frowned. “You’re not ready yet? The party’s already started. I’m running late because of these damn laces. What’s your excuse?” she asked, taking in Emma’s jeans and leather jacket.

“Oh, I’m ready,” she said, grabbing a hat and a pair of sunglasses and putting them on.

Elsa frowned. “What the hell are you supposed to be?”

Emma clipped her badge onto her hip. “An undercover cop.”

Elsa stared at her for a long moment before crossing her arms in front of her chest and frowning. “Are you fucking kidding me, Emma?”

“What?” she asked defensively. It was either this or a sheet with holes cut in it,” she said. “You know, to be a ghost,” she clarified when Elsa didn’t react.

Elsa let her head fall into her hand, rubbing at her forehead in frustration. “Jesus Christ, Emma. It’s a costume party. You are a cop. You can’t just go as yourself. This is a pathetic excuse for a costume and you know it.”

“You were actually a ballerina!” Emma insisted, gesturing at the dress she knew her friend had worn in a real performance in college. Elsa glared at her. She was annoyed at her friend, but probably more at the fact that she knew she was right. She’d really hoped they’d have let her get away with it. She was never one for dressing up.

“That’s different,” Elsa explained slowly, like she was talking to an idiot. “I wouldn’t go around wearing this on the street. You haven’t even changed out of what you were wearing when we got here.”

“So you think I should go with the ghost?” she asked, smirking a little. Elsa shook her head in exasperation.

“Emma, this party is for Mary Margaret. You know what she wants it to be. She wants magic and beautiful dresses and men dressed as princes and heroes. This is her fairytale wedding and you cannot wear jeans to a masquerade ball.”

Emma sighed. “Okay, but it’s a little late now. I don’t have another costume and nothing I brought is fancy enough to qualify as a gown.”

Elsa thought for a second, looking her over as she tapped her fingers against her crossed arms. “Hang on a second,” she said finally. “I might have something.” And with that, she disappeared out of the room, trailing crinoline and feathers behind her.

Emma pulled the hat and sunglasses off, groaning as she pulled her hair out of it’s messy ponytail. She should have seen this coming. She should have known her friends wouldn’t stand for her cop out of a costume - they fought her every Halloween and this was her best friend’s wedding. She just… she didn’t have it in her. The whole fairy tales and True Love and princes and princesses - it just all felt so… fake, unrealistic. She didn’t want to get dolled up and attract the attention of some guy who would make her promises and then break them as soon as the lights came on and the masks came off. She remembered the last time she’d let some guy she met at a party convince her she meant something - she’d learned that lesson quickly. Never fall for a pretty face - especially one with an accent and a penchant for seducing blondes.

“Here,” Elsa announced, returning to the room and shaking Emma out of her thoughts. She was holding a dress on a hanger, the skirt of it draped over her arm. It was beautiful. Ice blue and floor length with intricate beading. The neckline was modest but she could see the plunging back. It was Elsa embodied: elegant, sophisticated, and just a little ethereal.

“This is gorgeous,” Emma said, reaching out to tough some of the delicate stitching. “Where did you get it?”

“I wore it to Mary Margaret’s black-tie New Years Eve party last year, remember?” Emma shook her head. “Oh right, you weren’t there - you had that case. Anyway, I forgot it here in the morning and haven’t been back to pick it up since. I feel like it would do nicely for tonight.”

“You’re going to dress me up as a princess aren’t you,” Emma squeezed her eyes shut. Elsa beamed.

“You bet your ass I am!” she laughed. “If your brother’s going as Prince Charming, it’s only fair you get a royal makeover too. Come on. If I know Mary Margaret’s mom, I’m sure we can dig up a tiara or something in one of these rooms. Shall we?” Emma bit her lip. She knew she wasn’t going to win this one. “Hey, you’re doing this for Mary Margaret,” Elsa reminded her and then gestured pointedly to her own costume. “We all are.”

Emma sighed. “Okay. But you better have a damn good mask. If David sees me in this, he’ll never let me live it down.” Nor would Killian, she thought, cringing at the teasing that would surely ensue from him seeing her in something other than jeans. Elsa laughed and dragged Emma along in search of a crown.

-/-

“Liam!” Killian called, poking his head into his brother’s room and looking around for his absentee sibling. “Are you nearly done putting your face on? The party’s in full swing and you’re missing it!”

“There’s a slight problem,” Liam’s voice carried across the room from the bathroom as he walked out and Killian had to put his fist to his mouth to stop from laughing at the sight of his brother. It didn’t work. “Shut up,” Liam warned as Killian burst out in a fit of laughter. Liam stood in front of him, looking not at all impressed in the tightest shirt and pants Killian had ever seen. The sleeves ended several inches above his wrists and the pants several inches above his ankles. Liam threw the mask he was holding at his brother.

“I’m sorry,” Killian apologized, trying to contain himself. “I don’t think it fits,” he pointed out the obvious.

“Clearly it doesn’t fit, little brother ,” Liam said with a glare. Killian returned it.

“Younger brother,” he corrected.

“No, I believe in this case little brother is correct,” he smirked, gesturing to himself again. He turned around to head back to the bathroom and Killian, who had been glaring, burst out laughing again.

“Oh, I do hope Elsa’s an ass woman,” he said. “You’ll certainly win her over with pants that tight.”

“Alright, enough. Give me your costume.”

“My costume,” Killian demanded, stepping back and placing a protective hand out in front of him. “Why?”

“Because this is your fault. You’re the one who gave me your old costume without accounting for the fact that I am the much taller and broader shouldered of the Jones brothers.”

“Or the one who needs to cut back on sweets,” Killian shot back. “Besides,” he challenged, “how will this costume fit you if you’re so big and strong you can’t fit into that one?”

“Give me the jacket and the jewellery,” Liam said. “I’ll find a pair of black pants and a buttoned shirt and it will have to do.” He eyed his brother who was still clinging protectively to his costume. “And the hook,” he demanded.

“What will I wear then, if you’re going to take the very shirt off my back?”

“This,” Liam answered, gesturing to himself. “Should work. You’ve barely filled out since college,” he smirked.

“I’ve never had any complaints.” Liam gave him a leveling look and Killian rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he ceded, shedding the beloved jacket from his shoulders and tossing it to his brother. Liam caught it in one hand and headed to the bathroom to change, pausing at his suitcase to grab a pair of pants and a shirt.

“You know you’re blowing your chances at winning over Elsa though, don’t you? No dashing childhood crush to seduce her with.”

Liam cracked the bathroom door open and poked his head out, tossing the costume at him. “I’m not trying to seduce anyone,” he frowned. “Besides,” he smirked. “Even if I was, I wouldn’t need a bloody costume to do so. Not all of us need glamour and trickery to convince a woman to speak to us.”

“Oi!” Killian shouted, offended. “I don’t need any tricks to get a woman to speak to me!”

“Is that why you pick a fight with Emma everytime you see her?” Liam’s voice was muffled through the door.

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating,” Killian snapped. He was getting very tired of his brother speaking cryptically about he and Emma’s relationship. As though they were anything but friendly rivals. So what if he looked forward to seeing her at these get-togethers? So what if he was disappointed when she was kept away by work. He simply looked forward to having someone to spar with, someone who kept up with him and could challenge him. He loved a challenge, and if Emma Swan was anything, she was a challenge.

“Of course not,” Liam patronized as he emerged in Killian’s jacket. He held out his hand and Killian passed him the pirate necklaces and the clip on earring that completed the look. “Better get dressed, party’s started,” Liam told him then looked him over carefully. “Isn’t ‘The Princess Bride’ Emma’s favorite movie as well?”

Killian looked down at the costume he held in his hands, ignoring the fact that it was, in fact, her favorite and that she might, just maybe, forget their rivalry for a second if they had some common ground. It would be interesting to speak to her without their prickly game standing between them for a moment. The last time they’d done that had been… well, a very long time ago indeed. “What of it?” he asked his brother and hoped Liam wouldn’t push the subject.

“Nothing,” Liam said and when Killian met his eye he saw the same look he’d seen earlier. It unsettled him. But then his brother smirked and the moment was broken. “Just too bad you don’t still have the ponytail.”

Killian scowled, whipping the hook off his arm and shoving it a little too forcefully against his brother’s chest, turning to storm out of the room to the sound of Liam’s laughter following along behind him. “It was one semester!” he shouted but Liam only laughed harder.

-/-

Emma poured herself another drink from the bar, readjusting her mask which unfortunately, though beautiful, had the annoying habit of sliding down her nose. One corner was still damp from when it had dipped into her drink. She didn’t know how people did this back in the day. Wearing masks was fun, the mystery of it all and the anonymity was almost thrilling, but it was highly inconvenient. She set the drink down to tighten the silk string that kept it on for the tenth time that night.

The party was in full swing. The house was packed, every room full of people squished together dancing, laughing, drinking, and shouting at each other to be heard over the music. Emma looked around proudly. She had to say, she’d done a pretty good job for someone who hated fairy tales. She loved parties, though, so she chalked it up to that. Well, that and Elsa and Belle’s beautiful masks and Ruby’s awesome taste in music… and David had helped with the decorations. It had definitely been a group effort.

Emma scanned the crowds, trying to spot any of her friends and realized that she couldn’t. She almost laughed. The masquerade thing really did work. She knew what Elsa and Liam - and likely Killian - were dressed as, but she hadn’t seen anyone else from the bridal party’s costumes and there were so many friends and family here to celebrate that she wasn’t even sure she knew all the guests, let alone that she’d be able to identify them with half their faces covered.

She made her way across the kitchen which was being used as a bar and into what could only be described as a great hall where people were dancing, hoping to spot Elsa among the throngs of people. She perked up when she caught sight of white feathers and excellent posture. Squeezing between Cinderella and Gaston who looked about two seconds away from making out - weird - she crossed the room toward her friend, only to stop dead when she caught sight of a silver hook and a generous display of chest hair.

Ugh. Killian. Elsa was talking to Killian. His face was half covered in a silky black mask but she’d seen that stupid pirate costume enough times to know it had to be him. She rolled her eyes as he leaned down to say something in Elsa’s ear and her friend threw her head back laughing, her hand coming up to rest on his bare chest as she leaned in closer.

Gross . Emma thought Elsa had better taste than that. She wondered what Killian could possibly be saying to make her friend blush and giggle like some infatuated school girl. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and the uneasiness in her stomach when Elsa ran her hand up from his chest to his shoulder under the guise of trying to hear better over the music. His hand went to the small of her back and the smile on Killian’s face felt like a punch to the gut. She’d seen that smile, relaxed, excited, soft. She’d only ever seen it so rarely before and only ever…

She turned away, done with watching the disturbing display in front of her. If Killian and Elsa wanted to flirt and whisper little secrets to each other and exchange meaningful little touches, she wasn’t going to stick around to see it. Really, she thought Elsa had better taste. She thought Elsa was a better friend than to… what? What exactly was Elsa guilty of? Cozying up to her hot friend? Getting close to Emma’s… rival didn’t feel like the right word.

She just wasn’t prepared for it, that was all. There had always been some sort of unspoken thing between the women of the group - Killian was no man’s land - or, rather, no woman's land. Despite his constant flirtatiousness and innuendos, nobody ever took it seriously, nobody ever really considered dating him or going to bed with him, at least not since that night. But there was never really a reason, no agreement made. Elsa could do what she liked. Emma didn’t care. Why would she care? Killian, while awful, was undeniably attractive and if Elsa wanted to - well, Emma didn��t care.

“I see my brother’s not wasting any time,” she heard behind her, the voice somewhat dulled by the thrumming of the music. Emma turned, smiling when she was met with bright blue eyes, just noticeable through a black leather mask, and a cheeky smirk. She looked over the costume he wore so well, a little flustered despite herself at seeing someone dressed as her childhood (and adulthood) crush.

“Liam,” she greeted, holding up her glass in a toast. “How are you enjoying the party?” The smile slipped from his face for a moment before he bit his lip against another.

“Well, I must say it’s just gotten infinitely better,” he answered.

“Ah, so I see Killian isn’t the only smooth talker in the Jones family,” she teased.

“Alas, it’s a family trait. Inherited from our father unfortunately,” he answered, his smile faltering for only a second. “What do you suppose he’s saying?” he asked, gesturing at his brother and Elsa.

Emma scoffed. “If I know him, he’s probably showering her with insincere compliments and using that inherited silver tongue to convince a perfectly intelligent woman that she wants to do something incredibly stupid.”

“And what’s that?”

“Sleep with Killian Jones.”

“I feel as though I should defend him.”

“No need,” Emma assured him. “Everyone knows who Killian is.”

He frowned. “And who is he?”

“Take your pick: playboy, womanizer, egomaniac. I swear David and the guys must just keep him around for entertainment. There is not a sincere bone in that man’s body. Well,” she laughed, turning from the scene in front of them back to the better-Jones. “Maybe one.”

“I see.” His jaw was tight and Emma worried she’d gone too far. She’d forgotten for a moment that this was his brother. She thought about how she’d feel if someone talked about David like this. But then again, David would never deserve it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, regardless. “I shouldn’t insult your family.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure you have your reasons. I summarize then that you’re not a fan of him.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Surely he can be a bit of a scoundrel at times but I wonder… What exactly is the nature of your feud with my brother? Killian never told me anything apart from the fact that you seem to despise one another.”

Emma hesitated. She’d never told anyone this story before. Sure, her friends had asked in the past, wondering why she hated him so much, especially given their first meeting. But she’d always skirted the question, not wanting to explain herself, not wanting to admit how stupid she’d been, how blind and how reckless. It was humiliating really. But Liam was sweet, and seemed genuinely interested. And she’d just spent the last few minutes insulting his only brother (as far as she knew) and she felt she at least owed him an explanation for it.

“Did Killian ever tell you about the night we met?”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t believe so,” he said, bringing a finger up to scratch a spot behind his ear in a way that was so reminiscent of his brother it threw her for a moment. Between their eyes and their mannerisms and their smiles, for all their differences, the Jones brothers certainly had a lot in common. There was no mistaking their kinship.

“We met at Will’s birthday party about five years ago. He and Killian had a class together so Will brought him along with our usual group. You might not believe it, I don’t think anyone would really, but I didn’t hate your brother the first time I met him.”

“Oh no?” he asked, waiting for her to continue.

“No, we - we actually hit it off really well. He was funny and easy to talk to and actually kind of…” Emma trailed off, finger running over the rim of her glass as she remembered his easy smiles and the way his shoulders shook when he laughed. She remembered the way he spoke, loudly and animatedly with the group but also softly and what she’d thought was sincerely when it was just the two of them. “Sweet,” she finished lamely. “He was sweet.”

She cleared her throat. “I liked him. I was stupid and young and he was charming and well, you know how he is, he’s your brother.” She couldn’t look at him now when she told him the story. It was too embarrassing. She felt as vulnerable now as she had that night and while she’d let herself then, it had been a hard lesson on why she should avoid letting herself feel that way again.

“I do,” he said.

“Anyway, we ended up spending most of the night together in a back booth in the bar. Everyone was dancing and drinking and we just sat there talking.” They’d talked for hours. They’d talked about nothing, silly things, movies, books, what they’d wanted to be when they grew up. But also about real things, things Emma had never talked about with anyone apart from David, not even her closest friends; about her childhood before Ruth, about Neal, about what she wanted out of life but was afraid of going for, afraid of failing. She hadn’t even meant to tell him most of it, but he’d listened in that rare way so few people do, the way they do when they actually care about what you have to say and aren’t just waiting for their chance to talk. She felt stupid now for all the things she’d told him.

“We didn’t even realise the others had left until the lights came on and we were being kicked out because the bar was closing,” she continued. “He, um,” she cleared her throat. “He asked me back to his place but I said no.” She rubbed at her neck, feeling awkward now sharing this with Killian’s brother as she recalled the details of the night and the next morning. She’d said ‘no’ because she liked him, ‘no’ because she didn’t want to go and ruin something good by turning it into a one night stand.

Suddenly, his hand was on her arm, fingers brushing over the bare skin there and her breath caught at how warm he felt against her. It was comforting, familiar though, and almost unsettling in that familiarity. She remembered another set of fingers running up her arm outside her apartment building years ago.

“You don’t have to tell me -” he started.

“No it’s okay,” she cut him off. “He was surprisingly okay with it,” she said. Well, not so surprising considering what he got up to later. Liam didn’t need to know about the kiss - or the other one for that matter. She bit her lip, remembering. “It was late so he offered to walk me back to my apartment. I lived in kind of a shady area back then,” she explained. “He did and we went our separate ways,” after a while , she thought, “and we made plans to meet up the next morning.”

“So, what happened?” he asked, his fingers still idly tracing patterns on her arm up to her shoulder.

“What happened,” Emma started, clearing her throat again as the anger set in. Anger was good. Anger helped with the humiliation, with the hurt. “What happened is I went to his place the next morning and some girl in a towel answered the door.” She saw his eyes widen. She couldn’t see his eyebrows but she knew they were likely shooting up to his hairline.

“What?” he asked, mouth gaping open.

“Yeah. Some blonde, obviously a blonde. He’s got a type, you know. She told me Killian was in the shower and it wasn’t hard to figure out that after I turned him down, he went out and found someone else to get his rocks off with. So yeah, that’s when I realised exactly what kind of guy he is.” He’d probably only walked her home as a favor to Will.

“I’m sorry, love, that must have been awful,” he said. Emma shrugged.

“It is what it is. Honestly I’m just annoyed at myself for not seeing it sooner. I’ve met enough guys who are only after one thing and I don’t know why I convinced myself he wasn’t.” She gave him a small, insincere smile.“Must have been the rum,” she shrugged. There hadn’t been any rum though. Neither of them had had a thing to drink since they’d sat down in that back booth, hadn’t felt the need for it. It had been so easy.

“Perhaps,” he started, and Emma turned to look at him. She’d been fixated on her glass for the last few minutes. She couldn’t really make out his expression in the dim lights, his voice soft enough to be nearly drowned out by the music. “Perhaps you should ask my brother about that night,” he suggested. Emma’s eyes snapped to his in surprise and what almost felt like betrayal.

“Why would I do that?” she demanded, feeling defensive. She pulled back a step, wanting to put a little distance between them after this unexpected turn - what was it with her and baring her soul to the Jones brothers? Was she that much of a sucker for blue eyes and an accent? - but he followed her, moving with her and leaning in close to speak so he wouldn’t have to shout over the music.

“Because, Swan, there are two sides to every story and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that it’s always better to give someone the benefit of the doubt.”

Emma blinked at him, slightly distracted by him being so close to her. The room was crowded and she felt the stickiness clinging to the back of her neck from the heat of so many people packed into one place. A lot of that heat seemed to be coming from him. His hand was still on her arm, having drifted down to her wrist, his thumb tracing over the back of her hand as he spoke, his mouth next to her ear and his breath warm against it. The smell of him was heady around her, like leather and sea air and - wait, had he just called her Swan?

She looked up then, narrowing her eyes as she tried to make out his face under his mask. Something about him… something was familiar, more familiar than brotherly resemblance. His jaw ticked, the muscle clenching in a way that was so… she'd seen it before, it - Oh. Oh, no way . She looked him up and down, taking in the lean frame, the dark, flippy hair that stuck out of his mask rather than the curls she expected, the sharpness of his jawline where Liam’s was softer, the shape of his mouth… Killian. Oh, he was a dead man.

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” he said.

She turned her head up to meet his eyes, set her chin like she always did when she was ready for a fight. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” she started, ready to call him out on his little ruse and rip him a new one for tricking her.

“You’re right,” he said and some of her fight was lost to her surprise at the way his voice softened. Who the hell was this Killian in front of her now? Where was the fight, the ego? His hand was still stroking hers, his eyes were sincere and unpretentious and even a little self-deprecating. “So, just who are you, Swan?”

She pulled back, drawing her hand from his and crossing her arms over her chest, trying to wither him with her stare. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Wouldn’t he indeed. She was sure he’d love to find out all about her so that he could use it as fuel for their arguments, like some game. The nerve of -

He ducked his head, catching her eyes and stepping even closer to her. Her breath caught at the openness and the sincerity she saw there. “Perhaps I would,” he said and Emma felt her heart pounding against her ribcage. He hadn’t looked at her like that since that night. Since the night she felt for the first time in years that she’d found someone who understood her, someone she connected with, another lost soul, someone she could actually care about, maybe even - She wanted to believe him. She wanted it to be real. It sounded real. It felt real. And he was so close and the way he looked at her..

Emma didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember putting her drink down, but suddenly her hands were gripping the sides of his face and pulling his lips to hers as she rose up on her toes to meet him. He froze against her for a moment, in shock probably she realised, and she grasped the reality of exactly what she’d just done and how stupid it was. But before she could step back, his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her tightly against him, his body flush with hers as his other hand traveled up to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck.

She should stop this. This was Killian for god’s sake. Killian, who she hated. Killian, who she swore she’d never let get under her skin again. Killian, who was currently backing them against the wall behind her. She gasped as her back collided with the hard surface and he used the opportunity to slant his mouth over hers, letting his tongue slide into her mouth, making her let out a sound she should have been embarrassed about as heat rushed into her belly. He growled as his hand found her hip, tugging roughly and pressing them even closer together.

She knew she should stop it. This was Killian. Killian, who knew how to push every single one of her buttons, who’d pushed her and challenged her from that first night. Killian, who she looked forward to seeing at every get together if only so they could spend ten minutes insulting each other and she could see his mouth twist into that playful smirk. Killian of the Swans and loves . Of the soft smiles that crinkled his eyes. What if she’d been wrong? What if she’d misjudged him? All these years.

Emma slowed, her hands which had at some point ended up in his hair released their grip and she let one settle around his shoulders, the other sliding down over his chest to rest in the v of his shirt. She could feel his heart racing under her palm, matching her own’s frantic beating. Killian froze again, and then something changed. His hand released it’s nearly painful grip on her hip and slid up her back to rest between her shoulder blades. The hand that was fisted in her hair came around to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek as his lips slowed over hers, his movements no longer desperate and needy but gentle and exploratory.

She let him kiss her, let him open her mouth wider under his own, let him pull at her lips and slide his tongue against hers with a give and take that felt so familiar it sent her heart racing again as a warmth built in her chest and in her stomach and bloomed out through her limbs. She felt his shoulders relax under her own as he melted against her, pressing her against the wall like he wanted to feel every inch of her skin against his through their clothes, feel her heart beating against his and drown her in the warmth that was radiating off of him. She was burning up from the inside out.

He pulled back after a long moment, pressing his forehead to hers, eyes still closed and lips still close enough to touch if she just tilted her head every so slightly. The hand that had been at her cheek slid along her jaw, thumb brushing over her bottom lip as his breath puffed hot against her face. His fingers trailed slowly and featherlight along her spine.

“Emma,” he breathed as her hand came to his cheek, tracing the stubble under her fingers. She was only just pulling him back in when the music stopped.

The lights coming on were like a bucket of ice water being thrown over her. Somewhere, someone was announcing that it was midnight, that it was time for everyone to remove their masks and reveal who they really were.

She saw it in his eyes, the regret as he reached for his mask and it hit her like a blow to the chest. She caught his hand, stopping him from ruining the only excuse she had. If he didn’t, then she could claim she didn’t know it was him. She could convince herself it was all just a mistake. “Swan,” he spoke again, searching her eyes for something she couldn’t give him. This wasn’t who they were.

“Tell anyone about this and I’ll kill you,” she warned. She watched as his lips pressed together and his head fell before he nodded.

“Fair enough,” he said, dropping his hands and stepping back just enough that she could squeeze by.

She did. And then she ran.

***

tagging @kmomof4 and @xsajx because you asked :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in part two!

#captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #cs au #captain swan au #much ado about nothing #captain swan movie marathon #csmm #shakespeare au

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svnflowervol666 · 5 years ago

Note

Hey!! Could you write an imagine where the reader is an artist and wakes up early, Harry is sleeping next to her and for a few minutes she's there watching him and then decides to draw him while he sleeps and when she's finishing Harry wakes up? Thank you so much ♥️

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: mentions of smut

Author’s Note: Thank you for the request! Like always, if you’re interested, let me know what you’d like for me to write next. Take care and tpwk.

Y/N wasn’t very sure how she’d managed to wake up before Harry considering how hard they partied last night. Her head pounded in her ears and she felt an overwhelming sense of dehydration in her throat. The events of the evening were somewhat blurry after Harry handed her a shot of something wretched and led her immediately to the dancefloor to work up a sweat. She knew judging from the fact that she was stark naked in the bed she shared with Harry and the fact that she could see her dress from the night before shimmering in the sunlight off in the corner of the room haphazardly that they’d at least made love to each other when they got home. Aside from that, her mind was drawing a blank.

Seeing as the blinding light from the harsh, early morning sun made it impossible to go back to sleep, she carefully removed the limp, ringed hand that was draped around her waist and wriggled her way over to her nightstand to grab her phone. Fuck, she thought to herself. Her battery was dead and she couldn’t be arsed to lean all of the way down to the ground to reach for her charger. After lying there for a moment and contemplating how to proceed with the morning, in which she decided she certainly would not be getting out of bed to start the day just yet, she reached a bit further past her phone for the sketchbook and pencil that Harry had gotten her for her birthday last year.

It was almost completely full of her drawings and doodles, something she prided herself in. Often times, she’d lose her sketchbook or spill her coffee on it before she could finish drawing in all of the pages. Maybe it was the fact that Harry had gotten this one for her which meant it was special, or maybe it was just luck, but she’d managed to hold on to this one almost down to the very last page.

In an attempt to soothe her hangover without getting out of bed, she began drawing away. She started by finishing up the flower she had started the other day after saw the most beautiful bunch of daisies while on her daily walk with Harry. Sure, they were technically an invasive weed that took over greenery like wildfire, but Y/N always thought they were beautiful.

When she’d perfected that one enough to her liking, she flipped the page and started another drawing. This one was also unfinished, and it was a landscape portrait of the bungalow she shared with Harry while on their vacation to Bora Bora last year. She’d been on many vacations and stayed in many nice houses since that trip, but this bungalow she’d never forget. It was where Harry took her to tell her that he loved her, though she hadn’t known that at the time. They had been having the time of their lives, drinking sugary, alcoholic beverages all throughout the day and lounging lazily by the ocean. Harry finally told her while they watched the sunset on their third night there. It slipped out faster and not as smoothly as Harry had imagined the moment in his head, but the overwhelming, swooning sensation he felt in his chest whenever he looked at Y/N made it impossible for the words to not spew from his lips. She’d never forgotten that trip because it was where she fell significantly more in love with Harry than she already had been.

There wasn’t much that needed to be done on the portrait of the bungalow, just some shading on the roof and a bit more detail on the waves that surrounded the structure. She finished that one fairly quickly then moved on to her next blank page. This one, she fucked up. What she had tried to draw one of her old pets from memory, but for some reason, it wasn’t looking right. She quickly scrapped the piece of paper and moved on to the next page, which was coincidentally the final page in her sketchbook.

She pondered for a moment on what idea in her head would earn the final spot in her book of drawings. She could try to draw her pet again? No, she shook her head softly to herself. Hers and Harry’s favorite table at the coffee shop that was down the block from their London apartment? No, she’d need to get a better look at the place before she attempted something like that. She looked around the now bright and sunny space of their bedroom, trying to find something that would shoot a spark in her brain and cause her to think of the perfect thing to draw. As she turned her head towards the sleeping, seemingly unconscious body that burrowed itself into the gigantic, down comforter beside her, it struck her.

Y/N propped herself up on her side so she could get a better look at the scene in front of her. Harry was sleeping the morning away, though she couldn’t say she blamed him since she didn’t even remember coming home last night (or was it technically this morning?). His face was completely covered by the huge down comforter that he’d hogged from her, but she didn’t mind. All that was visible of Harry was the top of his head, adorned with messy, chocolate-colored waves, and the outstretched palm of his left hand. That was it. His hand.

Her hangover had more or less subsided by now without the need of a greasy diner breakfast or a handful of headache medicine, so she was able to work diligently on her newest and final sketch. She traced over every crease and dip of his long, slender fingers, making sure no detail went unnoticed. Every ring, including the large, gold ‘H’ and ‘S’ rings on his ring and pinky fingers got their own moment in the spotlight. His bright yellow nail polish, the color that she’d picked out for him last week, was slightly chipped at the corners, but it only added to the uniqueness of the piece. Each knuckle she shaded with the closest attention. Unlike her old pet or the table at the cafe, she was almost certain she could draw this from memory, but a little reinforcement never hurt. Plus, she felt like she could stare at Harry’s hands for days on end without growing tired of them.

Harry’s hands were miracle workers for her. They’d held her through both her darkest and brightest days. They’d made her feel safe in times when she’d never felt so alone, and during big moments when she couldn’t be sad even if she tried. Harry’s hands cooked her breakfast on Sunday mornings, carried her to bed when she’d fallen asleep watching Netflix in the living room, massaged her tired feet after a long day of work, brushed her hair out of her eyes before kissing her goodnight each night, made her see stars as he pleasured her over and over again with his skillful fingers. So many times people overlook what hands do in a relationship, but not Y/N.

It was right when she was shading the corner of Harry’s cross tattoo that was barely visible from beyond the comforter she felt the bed sheets rustle and the sweet creature beside her come to. The peaceful silence of Y/N doodling away was broken when Harry moved his hand, the one she had been drawing, towards his face to rub harshly at his emerald green eyes.

“Wha’ ‘re you doin awake? ‘ts so early,” she heard his groggy, morning voice pierce the walls of the room.

“It’s almost noon, Harry,” she responded softly, letting the sketchbook fall gently into her lap.

“Oh, shit,” the lanky brunette chuckled, “Wha’ did we do last night?”

“I was actually hoping you could tell me.”

“‘ve got no idea, princess,” Harry groaned before reaching over to pat her thigh, feeling the hard material of her sketchbook instead.

“You drawin’? Lemme see.”

He plucked the open notepad from her lap to examine what she’d been drawing while he was asleep. She didn’t feel embarrassed or like she needed to snatch the book away from him before he could see that she’d been drawing his hands whilst he slept. That was another thing Y/N loved about Harry, how she never felt shy or that she needed to hide her art from him. He always praised her work whenever he crossed paths with it, so she was always willing to share her latest masterpiece.

“M’ hand? You drew my hand while I was asleep?” Harry was still delirious from a combination of his hazy, half-asleep half-awake state.

“I love your hands,” she stated firmly but softly, “plus, it was the last page in my sketchbook so I wanted it to be of something important.”

“Hmm,” Harry pondered as he cased over the drawing once more, “I like this one, but I think I much rather prefer the one you drew of my co-”

“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” Y/N interrupted his sentence and yanked the sketchbook from his grasp before placing it back on its home on the nightstand.

She took her rightful half of the comforter back from Harry and nestled herself back into bed, making sure to cozy right up into Harry’s warm, bare chest so they could have a proper, conscious cuddle before dreadfully starting their day. The two of them were adults now and while they were still granted the privilege of being able to party, they couldn’t stay in bed and waste the day away after a long night of drinking like they used to.

Harry traced soft circles on Y/N’s back with the same hand that she was drawing just minutes ago, almost lulling her back to sleep. He watched as her breathing evened out and her eyes began to droop despite her awareness that they had a late lunch planned with Anne and Gemma in a few hours.

“Baby,” Harry beckoned her back to consciousness.

Her eyes blinked open quickly, unaware of how she’d almost went right back to sleep in Harry’s arms.

“Yeah?”

“We’ve got to meet up wi’ mum and Gem soon. ‘Need to get up.”

“Ten more minutes.”

This made Harry chuckle, seeing how she was acting like a grumpy teenager who refused to wake up for school in the morning. God, how he loved her.

“How about I show you just how important my hands are to you and then we hop in the shower, yeah? Sound like a plan?”

She opened one eye just slightly enough to see that Harry was giving her his iconic smirk that caused one of his dimples to shine through. Leave it to Harry to squeeze in a shag before lunch with his own mum.

She supposed she really couldn’t say no to that.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styes imagine #harry styles smut #asks

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depressedtransguy · 3 years ago

Text

heyy don’t ready this unless you’re @angelwiththeblue-box or I’ll cover you in peanut butter so my dog will eat you and then spray catnip on your legs so my cats will shred them

Loki raced down the palace's steps with the heels of his shoes clicking against the stone, his formerly perfectly done hair bouncing and swishing around his shoulders from his speed, the gel undoing itself as he moved. He could practically hear his servant lecturing him later about making her do it again with only minutes to spare before the jousting. But that small amount of time left was the very reason he was racing down the stairs, headed toward the stables where he knew that the knights were preparing their horses.

On the first Sunday of every month, without fail, the Kingdom of Asgard joined together in their royal coliseum to see the knights battle and win feats for the public's entertainment. And, as the prince, Loki was expected to attend each one for its entirety. When he was younger he found it incredibly boring and complained immensely as an attempt to get out of it, but as he aged and grew into his deep attraction for men, he found himself leaning over the royal box's railing just to get a closer look at their bodies, imagining the sweat beading at their foreheads and muscles flexing underneath the armor, soft grunts released as their swords clashed together. Yes... he was very gay. Especially when the winners pulled off their helmets and waved to the crowd, revealing their ridiculously attractive faces pressed with dirt and sweat. Loki winked down at them, and they winked back. And when he was even older, from a mature teenager to young adult, those winks became sloppy open mouthed kisses covered under the cloak of night and hours of the prince being fucked from behind, his cheek pressed up against the rock walls that bordered the knight's sleeping quarters, bruises growing at his hips while his moans could be heard throughout the entire wing. He had been passed around by quite a few knights by the time he reached 24. Sometimes when one was pounding into him another one would hear and barge in to fuck his mouth.

But that was all before he met Stephen. Dark brown haired with some curling over his forehead, gray eyed, snarky, funny, beautiful Stephen. Yet another knight was he, but one that surprisingly hadn't fucked him yet. They came together around his 25th birthday when Loki was watching the knights practice sparring, and they were all tripping over themselves trying to impress him as usual. Their overeagerness to prove themselves like enthusiastic puppies was adorable. But that time, one stood out among the rest. Stephen. His moves were beautiful and smooth, almost angelic, yet still strong and forceful. He easily topped all the rest. Until, in the middle of their last fight, Stephen spotted Loki staring and biting his lip, and paused then to wink at him. But that stunt got him knocked down and defeated. Loki keeled over cackling.

The man who took him down during the wink-Jeff was his name-struck a strong pose when Loki's laughing had ceased enough for him to look up at the scene, thinking he had won his affection for the night since he had won the training exercise. But when Loki stood up he pushed right past him and kneeled next to where Stephen laid on the ground. Was it worth it? was the first thing he said. Worth winking at you? Yes, I'd certainly say so, was the first thing Stephen said. After that, the two started talking and spent the rest of the day together walking along the grounds to discuss their similar interests with some privacy. That was different than what the knights usually did with him, but Loki was the last person to complain about having someone let him rant about Shakespeare until he was pink in the face. The night took an even weirder direction though. After it grew dark the pair still stayed out to look at the stars for a bit until Loki started to shiver and Stephen offered to walk him to his room. Now that Loki was used to. 'Walk you to your room' was a term that he was familiar with before his nails were tearing holes in his silk sheets. Loki assumed that's what was happening as he found himself backed up against his bedroom door with one of Stephen's hands holding his as the other cupped his cheek and him leaning in. But right before their lips touched, Stephen raised Loki's hand and kissed his knuckles with the whisper goodnight Your Majesty. Then he vanished down to his quarters, leaving the prince confused, irritated, and horribly turned on.

As weeks passed of the pair flirting yet no sex happening, Loki rejected every other knight's passes in his chase to get Stephen. Ironically, Loki despised those stories about how when one party (usually a man) deprived the second party (usually a woman) of either sex or a relationship, and then the second party wants them more. He found them gross and pretty misogynistic. But Stephen was being caring and sweet and kind, not jerkish and neglectful like those stories usually represented the guys, and he was just keeping him teetering on the edge of their relationship taking that step further. It was undeniably hot. Especially as the other knights got angry with Stephen for depriving them too of something. Loki. But he never stopped until once, at last, after a ball that Loki hadn't particularly liked, Stephen and him slowly danced in the empty hall with him in a small green party dress that he prayed would make the knight finally make a move, bodies pressed together from shoulder to hip, and they kissed for the first time. It was electric and soft and groundbreaking and knee weakening and drugging and Loki never wanted it to end. But they had to part for Loki to be shoved against the wall and fucked up into. They didn't even leave the room, Stephen told him that he needed to claim him in public so that everyone would know who he belonged to. At the moment Loki just whined and dug his nails into his biceps, yet somehow when Stephen kept grabbing and kissing him in public, it was even hotter because he meant it.

Especially when it was around the other knights. To try to make Stephen jealous in return for their own envy, having lost their pretty fleshlight as he and Stephen dated, they'd (in deep detail)described their past sexual experiences with the prince at any chance they could. But it never worked. It just made Stephen makeout with him more publicly, grab his ass more, and purposefully fuck him in places where they could be heard or seen by them. Loki was exhilarated to belong to someone who loved him to such an extreme extent.

So, every first Sunday of the month since their relationship had started almost a year prior, Loki wished Stephen luck before the jousting event began. Stephen swore he was his good luck charm. But that day he had overslept, so he was on a time crunch for meeting him. That was why he bounded down the steps, burst out the cast doors, and bolted across the plush lawn (thankfully only tripping once) until the stable was finally in reach. A chorus of whistles and shouts rained down on him as he shoved open the rickety wooden door with his shoulder and went inside.

"Calm down boys," Loki called back slyly as he moved further in, immediately making his way to the stall labeled 'Levi': Stephen's horse. "I'm owned."

As soon as he was close enough Stephen (who looked unfairly sexy in his armor) wrapped his non-sword wielding arm around his partner's waist and pushed him up against the wall, tucking the weapon into his sheath on his belt while he kissed Loki stupid. "Damn right you are," he whispered against his lips with a cocky smirk that made the prince giggle. "I'm glad you're here, I was worried you weren't going to make it. We're leaving in only a few minutes."

"Like I would ever miss this, darling. You'd lose horribly without me."

Stephen chuckled lightly and pressed forward to give him a more pushy and bruising kiss. "I won your affections though."

"First place. No contest. So I suppose you do have that going for you."

There was something just incredibly wonderful about declaring their love in front of so many men who had all plowed Loki like a field. Their heated stares made the couple's kisses only more passionate. But, eventually and unfortunately, the coliseum's bell sounded, signalling to the kingdom to start gathering for the event since it would start soon enough. So with one last adoring kiss, Stephen effortlessly swung over his horse's back and snapped his reins to break him out into a trot. Loki giggled again and gave him a small wave as he passed.

There he stayed in the stable, a stupidly giddy smile on his face as he watched Stephen vanish into the distance, only running back to the castle once all knights had left toward the coliseum and he knew he was most likely royally screwed.

And he was right; as soon as he burst back in through the doors his father was there-already dressed and ready-to scold him. "Loki! Where the hell have you been? The carriage is already ready, the bell has been sounded and- oh of course you're not even dressed, and your hair is a mess. Go upstairs and get fixed up- quickly. You have five minutes or we're leaving without you," Odin lectured, picking apart the flaws he already knew about one by one. But Loki was only really caring when he got to the threat. As previously stated, he didn't really care for the fights when he was younger, so the ultimatums then were more about not letting him bring his books to distract himself during the event. But as he grew gayer and Odin caught on that he actually liked it then (although he didn't know why), he started warning for the opposite.

Even though Loki was technically an adult, he still had to listen to his father as the king, so he jumped up the stairs three at a time until he finally reached his oversized bedroom on the top floor. His servant was already waiting for him.

"Oh, Loki, your hair!"

"Yes, yes, I know, I know, Darcy, could you just fix it really quick? I have five minutes."

She huffed loudly and was most likely not going to be gentle, but she motioned for him to stand on his dressing platform as she pulled over a stool nonetheless, other servants joining in to dress him quickly as she cleaned up his untamed locks. "I have no idea how you do this every time, I feel like I do this six times a day," Darcy grumbled as she climbed up on her stool, bobby pins held between her teeth and a brush already ready. The three other workers collected his clothing items for the event and started to help strip him down, then helping him fasten the new and exceedingly more fancy fabrics to his body until he was acceptable done up. Gold embroidered green jacket, stupidly tight but alluring black pants, matching boots, and a black cape colored in yellow underneath to match his mother. A minute or two after they had finished Darcy's work came to a close as well, ending up creating a small bun at the back of his head with two braids following from his hairline to the knot, and two loose pieces of hair framing his face in the front. "There we go," she murmured as she lowered his crown onto the top of his head and pinned it down. "Now if you screw this up, I will make all of your hairstyles from now on uncomfortably tight. You understand?"

Loki nodded as he patted the sides of his head, observing himself in the large mirror before them. He knew she wasn't kidding. "I'll do my best."

"You better." The two gave each other a faire la bise as a goodbye and he thanked her and the other servants before he slipped out of the room, hurrying down the steps once more with the same goal of seeing his boyfriend, but with the poise and grace that he was forced to keep in order to maintain the outfit and hair.

Odin still huffed when he reached him though, although this time Thor and Frigga were with him. "Finally. Now let's go, we shan't be late." Loki only smiled at his mother while rolling his eyes at his father as soon as his back was turned. Thor just avoided eye contact all together, them still not talking about when Loki walked in on him sleeping with the stable boy with fewer brains than Thor's childhood rock collection. But, despite the differences, they made their way down the steps and climbed into their designated carriage as a family.

Although Loki's mind wandered as soon as the horses' reins were snapped.

I wonder how Stephen's doing.

Seated in the royalty box with his mother, father, and brother all seated to his right, Loki bounced his leg in impatience, waiting for the games to officially begin and for Stephen to come out. Right then they were just prepping the area and a few spare knights were fighting. None of them Stephen. When he was a bit younger, older than when he was disinterested but before their relationship, Loki was certainly more invested in all of the event over just some of it, imagining either what they'd done to him or what they'd do to him for each one, but just the pure rush and excitement he got from seeing Stephen do... anything certainly made up for everything and more. But for now that feeling was withheld from him, and he'd have to wait. Stephen did always like to make him wait. Called his impatience cute and covered his body in hickies until he declared that he was whining enough.

Loki breathed deeply through his nose and pressed his thighs together and attempted to change the mental subject, being in front of his family for that matter, although his exhibionism wasn't really helping him to calm down.

Thankfully though he did manage to relax enough to pull a small book of Shakespeare out of his pocket and distract himself with the ridiculousness of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to wait until he was able to have Stephen all to himself in at least four hours. Jousting, sparring, chariot racing, etc etc, as well as the following cleaning up and Loki being able to escape from the royal grasp would unlikely take any less time.

Stephen had actually told him two nights prior as they lay in his bed, legs and fingers intertwined, that he had something special planned for them after that specific Sunday event. Loki questioned what it was, but the knight had just grinned and told him that it was a surprise. No matter how much Loki pouted he still wouldn't tell him. Cruel is what he had called him while also allowing Stephen to cover him in kisses.

But Loki did enjoy the element of surprise. Although sex was a pretty wonderful part of their relationship, the romantic element was something that he did thoroughly enjoy too, both getting something secret prepared for him and getting to prepare something secret for his partner filling him with a true boyish excitement that he hadn't experienced in years- if ever. His leg began to bounce in a more positive way. He was already thinking up what to do in return. Loki wanted him and Stephen to just keep giving each other romantic surprises for the rest of their lives.

A trumpet suddenly blasted from above and Loki was shaken out of his thoughts, forcing him to look up and observe the beginning of the event instead of thinking about the life he wished for him and the knight to have together, but the negativity of the interruption immediately washed away as he saw Stephen walk out into the arena to the roar of the cheering crowd, helmet tucked underneath his arm with his gorgeous smiling face presented to the world. Loki grinned from ear to ear and immediately leaned forward to get closer.

Despite their distance Stephen noticed him as he turned to wave at more of the crowd, casting a small wink up into the stands, making a few country people screech and squeal, but Loki knew it was just for him. Stephen told him it had always been him, ever since he first saw him, he being 19 as a beginning knight and Loki being two years younger at the time. Loki had felt bad at first for not remembering that, but Stephen had comforted him by saying he had his helmet on, so he wouldn't have been able to recognize him by face anyway. Then he kissed him until the prince was left breathless and grinning.

#also maraplankon you can read this #i just didn't get a response so no pressure #heyyyy hope you like this i had a lot of fun writing this and i am definitely not done but i still really wanted to share

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coureirsix · 4 years ago

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supernatural season 16 episode 4 - “lifeline” | ao3 link

it's roughly 11 PM on january 23rd when dean gets a call from eileen. he'd been out of the bunker with jack and cas for nearly three days; they'd taken jack to an amusement park. something about never seeing one before which reminded dean the last time he'd ever been to one, he was three years old and didn't remember a thing. which was fine, except that jack had wanted to go to six flags. he'd said something about finding old commercials with a dancing old man and the closest one was in kentucky. naturally, this wasn't an issue with dean. he'd driven farther for less, but on the way back he'd begun to realize that as he got older, the drives took more out of him.

they'd gotten back earlier that afternoon and had spent most of the day lounging around until the exhaustion got the better of them at around nine. well, except jack. who could have just driven back to kentucky if he wanted to. cas made sure he didn't want to. so, it's saturday night, cas is breathing deeply beside him, completely asleep, jack is probably watching TV in the dean-cave, and dean has been drifting in and out of sleep for the past 20 minutes when his phone buzzes to the tune of the Call Me Maybe song. it's the tone he'd set up for eileen because, well, she never calls. so, when she does call, it's usually an emergency flare that's followed up with an explanatory text.

dean's eyes shoot awake and he watches the call miss as he waits a second for eileen's message to come in.

dean, sam broke the tub. he can't get the hot water to stop running. SOS. please, my hair is disgustingly humid. his too.

and dean laughs. it was an emergency, but the kind that didn't have him spiraling into a depression. that was... almost nice, he thinks. they have normal people problems now. he leans over to where cas is asleep beside him and cas' trained as well as dean is. he stirs awake with the movement and opens his eyes in a half-awake gesture.

“sam’s in trouble,” dean says with a smile. cas’ eyes shoot open, but dean’s demeanour doesn’t change, instead he follows up with, “he.. broke his bathtub somehow.”

cas squints. dean laughs some more and gets himself out of bed. he’s gotta find the little duffel bag that they’d dedicated to tools that didn’t include weapons of mass destruction. it shouldn’t be too hard to find. the last time they’d used it was when sam actually broke a door off its hinges.

“i’m going back to sleep,” cas says, turning over as dean redresses. and dean laughs again. cas was grumpy when he was exhausted. it was endearing.

it doesn’t take him too long to get ready to leave the bunker. he finds the duffel bag underneath the bathroom sink and before he knows it, he’s pulling out of the bunker’s vicinity in the impala and headed toward sam and eileen’s place. the issue with them is they live roughly 45 minutes away. he texts eileen back, letting her know he’s on his way.

and dean thinks, as he drives over. that it’s his birthday tomorrow. well- he checks his phone, it’s basically his birthday. sunday january 24th, 2021. he didn’t think he’d live this long. he was the answer to the universe now, technically. 42. he looks down at his hands on the wheel. they’re worn. they’re the hands of a tired man who fought multiple apocalypses, multiple archangels, god himself. and won.

he takes a deep breath and thinks about sam. he loves his little brother more than he can ever explain. it’s unhealthy, probably, how much he’d done to save sam from everything. death, despair, sam himself that time he lost his soul. dean was there and willing to bleed for whatever sam needed. and he knew sam would always do the same. it was comforting. and even moreso now that they’d decided to take some time to really asses what was best for either of them. sam let himself want his apple pie life again. and it was the happiest day of dean’s life to see his little brother decorating the house he’d leased with eileen.

dean doesn’t hunt fulltime anymore. he’ll do an odd ghost job here and there, but mostly he mans the phones. he’s now FBI Supervisor Agent Harkness, police chief Richard Grayson, at cas’ request Texas Ranger Dean Swift, and at jack’s request Marlo Bridgers.it’s a living, he thinks. he still helps out other hunters and he passes off the bigger jobs to the younger people that’ve unfortunately ended up in the hunting life.

mostly, though, he and cas have been making up for lost time. they go out on dates. dates, like embarrassing 15 year olds. he’s taken cas to the movies, they’ve gone for walks at the mall. dean held cas’ hand under a tree and it was the most incredible thing in the world.

it’s embarrassing, it’s enough to make himself blush at the memory of it, but it’s also nice in that same breath. it brings him a sense of peace like he’s never fully properly known. because it’s about trust. and not trust in cas, not trust in himself, hell, the trust has nothing to do with either of them. it has to do with the fact that dean has finally let himself trust that things are going to be okay. that no matter what happens, he’s going to be okay.

and that’s what he thinks about when he’s sitting across from cas at the baskin robbins. that they’re safe. that things are okay. because they are, dean’s earned that much through his own tears and blood.

the sound of wind hitting the impala as he drives down the highway closer to sam and eileen is the melody to the memories of his life as it has been since they got rid of chuck and jack put god’s power back into the universe.

he pulls into the driveway of sam’s cookie cutter house. he’s in the middle of the driveway but dean doesn’t care and he knows neither sam nor eileen would care either. besides, the impala outshines the two normal cars they drive. he grabs the duffel bag and heads for the door, waiting for a second before the door clicks and he sees eileen in a crack in the door. he smiles at her.

“dean!” she says, visibly excited. dean keeps his smile on his face and waves, unsure why she’d be so excited that he’s here at practically midnight to fix her bathtub. she reaches out to grab his wrist and pull him into the house. she leads him through dark down the little hall that dean knows leads into the bathroom. dean notices there is no humidity in the house.

“eileen? is everything-” dean starts to ask when the lights flick on, blinding dean for a second before it clicks that it’s a party. it’s a party at midnight for him.

he sees jody, donna, alex, claire and kaia. sam and bobby among several other hunters dean had come to know. it’s a full house, yet dean notices the lack of jack and cas. there’s a stack of presents in a corner behind the kitchen, a cake with a single candle on the table. claire is approaching him with a party hat in her hands and an evil look on her face. dean glances over at eileen, who’s beaming at him. she knows what she did. led zeppelin comes through a little speaker in the corner, not too loud, but loud enough that its ambiance music now.

dean lets himself get wrapped in a hug from claire and then lets her put the hat on him before sam approaches him.

“this your idea?” dean asks. sam grins, but shakes his head.

“no, actually. i wanted to do it tomorrow morning. show up at the bunker with everyone, but, i know someone with worse intentions than me who said that tricking you into coming here at the moment of your birthday would be something you couldn’t see coming,” sam opens his arms and dean lets himself fall in. he hugs his little brother back and the emotions from earlier come back. he and sam were alive. dean’s greatest achievement in life was keeping sam alive and now here he was, reaping the benefits.

he goes through similar motions with everyone. jody gives him a hug and then leans up to kiss him on the temple. donna squeezes him so hard he swears his insides are flattened.

after a few moments of getting caught up with everyone, sam sits him down at the table where the cake is. dean rubs his hands, ready to light the candle in it when sam makes this “uh-uh” sound. dean looks up at him in confusion when eileen brings over a pie with those large novelty number candles set into it. 42 sure was a year.

dean sits there in the obligatory hot seat as everyone gathers around and sings him happy birthday. it’s awkward, it makes him blush and tears well up in his eyes, although nobody can really see it through the dimmed lights. and he looks around and his smile saddens a bit. he should have told cas to come with him. did sam not think to text jack?

he goes through the motions and cuts the first slice of the pie for himself and passes off the pastry to sam and eileen who take care of passing out the rest of it and the cake that’d been there. dean looks around, hoping cas and jack had been right behind him as sam brings him over a whiskey. it goes down ridiculously smooth. sam mentions he ran one last credit card scam for $3,000 whiskey for this. dean laughs and asks for another.

the night winds down fairly quickly, given it’s nearly three in the morning by the time everyone’s settled down into a less partying mood. dean ends up sitting outside with sam in some lawn chairs from walmart in sam’s cookie cutter back yard. eileen’s gone to bed and most everyone has gone home by then.

“you ever think we’d live this long?” sam asks.

“nope,” dean says without hesitation, “sammy, you died when you were twenty two. i died at twenty seven? twenty eight? god, i don’t even remember.”

“and those were just the first times,” sam says with an incredulous laugh.

“shit,” dean laughs with him, “yeah.”

“and we got out,” sam says. there’s a satisfaction in his voice that makes every single time dean died or did anything stupid for sam worth it. it’s a tone that dean knows means sam is happy. and that’s it, that was dean’s goal.

“we did,” dean agrees, taking another sip of the whiskey, “we beat hell, we beat heaven, we beat purgatory, we beat god.”

“kicked god’s ass,” sam affirms, “we get to choose what we want to do now. we write our own destiny now.”

dean reaches over and outstretches his glass. sam meets him halfway and they toast to that. dean watches sam pull his phone out and send off a quick text message. probably eileen telling him to go to bed.

they sit in silence for a while. and sam’s phone vibrates. dean watches him check it and not respond. trouble in paradise? he doubts it, but he doesn’t really know every single thing about sam anymore.

“i know you’re gonna tell me to shut up, but i do have to say, dean. thank you,” sam looks over at him.

“for?” dean asks.

“for everything, man,” sam has this look on his face like he’s going to cry, “you raised me. you were always there for me. im thirty eight, nearly sixteen years overdue if you hadn’t sold your soul to save me. i’m who i am because of you, and i like to think i’m in pretty good shape. and you, dean. i’m so proud of you. you’re the strongest person i’ve ever met. and i love you, and i’m happy that it was you that i got to have be my big brother.”

dean actually cries, but he turns around so that sam can’t see it. he composes himself in a second and turns back. he doesn’t have it in him to fight sam on the emotional distress this is causing him. instead he says, “thanks, sam. i’m glad i got to be your big brother, too.”

sam’s phone buzzes again. he checks it again and this time does respond. he sighs and looks over at dean again, “i gotta go. eileen says the bed is too cold.”

dean huffs a laugh and nods, “go fix that.”

sam nods and gets up. dean hears the door that leads back into the house slide open and then slide shut. and dean is left with himself at the end of it all. he sighs. he’s happy, he thinks.

and then he hears an unmistakable flutter.

“dean!” he hears jack yell. it’s louder given it’s three in the morning and most people in this neighbourhood are asleep.

“i’m so sorry,” jack says, rushing up to dean’s side, “we were planning to be there for the cake but it wasn’t ready and we kept trying to fix things-”

“fix what?” dean asks, curiously. he’s not mad.

“the-” jack stops short, looking behind dean. and dean realizes the missing piece of his birthday puzzle has to be behind him.

and he is. the angel castiel is standing behind dean on the cement part of the patio a few feet back, wearing one of dean’s old band tshirts under his trench coat. and there’s a book in his hands.

“happy birthday, dean,” cas says, a little smile on his face.

dean gets up. his foot nearly kicks the whiskey glass he set down with the speed he gets up at. and he doesn’t waste any time in grabbing the sides of cas’ face and pressing the most heartfelt, loving, tender kiss dean has ever given anyone in his life. there’s a warmth that always seems to be radiating from cas and dean wants to stick to it like a leech.

when he pulls back, cas keeps the little smile on his face and hands dean the book. it’s a photo album, he realizes, once he takes it and opens it. there’s- there’s baby pictures of him there. things that were surely lost in the fire in lawrence. as he flips through the album, he finds pictures of him and sam growing up. things nobody had ever photographed before, he’s pretty sure. at one point he finds a picture of him at age twelve, lying on roof of the impala.

“cas,” dean asks, in completely disbelief, “where did you get these?”

“i did!” jack says coming from behind dean in an awkward hug from behind, “i can still tap into the power of god if i want to. it wasn’t hard to pop into different points of your life and just take a picture.”

dean turns back and pulls jack forward to pull him into a better hug as he laughs. that’s somehow the craziest thing he’s ever heard.

“happy birthday, dad,” jack says. and he tenses against dean.

“did you just call me dad?” dean asks.

“no,” jack lies.

“right,” dean says, a grin on his face that he looks up and notices that cas shares.

“well, it’s kinda creepy that you existed for a second at different points in my life, but i love it, jack. a walk down memory lane, shit and all. i love it, thank you, son” and he leans down to press a kiss against the top of jack’s head.

“this what kept you?” dean asks cas as jack lets go and says he’s heading inside.

cas nods and he says with a little shrug, “it seemed like a kind gesture. i sort of gave him points to land on. that way he didn’t land in the middle of a hunt or something. i’m sorry, dean.”

dean shakes his head and goes to set the book down on the chair he’d been sitting in and he walks back over to cas. where cas is standing, there’s a cement step between the cement patio area and the grass that dean and sam had been sitting in. it makes it so cas is a few inches taller than dean.

dean finds himself turning around so that cas can come around him, head coming to rest on dean’s shoulder and his arms coming around dean’s middle.

“thought you were supposed to be sleeping,” dean says with a mocking tone.

“and miss your forty-second birthday?” cas asks, turning to press a kiss to the side of dean’s face. they look up at the sky and dean wonders how exactly he got there. there’s a feeling in his chest that he doesn’t understand, but he knows what it is. it’s peace, it’s happiness.

“i have a speech prepared for you,” cas says softly. his hands tap at dean’s stomach and dean brings up his own hands to cover them.

“right, right. something about how my eyes glitter like the moon?” dean asks, his tone is still jokey.

“something like that,” cas says, “and moreso how you’ve been the world’s lifeline and how i’m so happy you’re finally thinking of yourself.”

dean’s heart sinks a little as cas continues.

“you know sam loves you, you know your friends love you. you know that i love you with the wrath of heaven behind me. and somehow that doesn’t compare to the happiness i feel now that i know that you finally love you.”

dean’s face goes completely red. the warmth is different from the warmth of the next kiss that cas places against his cheek again.

“thank you,” he chokes out, voice breaking because he’s started crying again, “i... i don’t have heaven. but i love you with the power of a guy who fought god.”

cas laughs, “and won,” he adds.

dean’s blush comes down a little and he leans back just a little, so he can turn and meet cas full on in another kiss before turning back to look out at the normal neighbourhood sam’s found himself in.

“do you think we could do something like this? cookie cutter house. you me and the kid?” dean asks.

“if you think you’re prepared to let the bunker go, i don’t see why not,” cas responds.

the thought of turning the bunker’s lights out for good makes dean feel a certain kind of way. still, though. now it’s a thought that’s popped into his head. who knows.

for now, he’s content to stand there with his angel, looking out at the other backyards, at the stars while their respective kids sleep in the house.

#deancas #deancasfic #destielfic #HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAN #what's up it's 2 am and ive got WORMS in my brains #but this is cute.. i think.#.txt

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birbleafs · 4 years ago

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[fic] A Much Ado About (PSI)oulmates

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Humour, Breaking The Fourth Wall Character(s): Saiki Kusuo, Aiura Mikoto, Satou Hiroshi, Akechi Touma, Toritsuka Reita Warnings: None, save for canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Aiura decides to combine her divination abilities with Kusuo’s powers for a super special comedic segment on Affinity Levels. Fic can also be read on AO3 _______

Excerpt taken from clairvoyant Dame Mata-Mata’s advert for Amazing Psychic Services:

99.9% accurate affinity readings and guaranteed life-long happiness! Discover your twin flame with as little 10,000 yen per hour! Some would say it’s foolish to risk your future and wallet on such clandestine offerings, but we assure you, we are no worse than the underhanded brand marketing on children’s television series! Call 1800-TWINFLAMES -1234567 to book a reading today!!

***

Anyone who would believe such clandestine and shady offerings isn’t just a fool but a complete buffoon, Kusuo scoffs impassively at the flyer before him. This is definitely worse than the underhanded brand marketing on children’s TV shows.

“They’re a total noob at it, fer sure!” Aiura says, leaning in too close and posing next to Kusuo as she takes a wefie with her phone. “Like sure, the concept of twin flames and soulmates ain’t new, but to claim everyone has half a soul yearning to get jiggy with its other missing half for life-long bliss is like, a gross oversimplification.” I don’t really care to be honest, Kusuo deadpans. He stares sullenly at how Aiura’s arm is still wrapped around his; she offers him a cheeky grin and a peace sign, snapping yet another wefie before she finally slides away to the opposite seat. “Soulmates just have more natural affinity for each other,” Aiura says, batting her eyelashes at him coyly. “But just like with everything, it doesn’t mean you don’t need to put in any effort to make it work! Hey, speaking of which—the author has a super special birthday tradition where she writes and/or posts up a new story, so this fanfic can totally be about Affinity Meters, right?!” Don’t know what you’re going on about and still don’t actually care, Kusuo retorts, shoving a spoonful of coffee jelly into his mouth as he resolutely tries to enjoy his Sunday afternoon. But Aiura persists, easily breaking the fourth wall to elaborate further: “Just like how Kusuo can use the Affection Meter to quantify a person’s love for another, today we’ll combine Kusuo’s telepathy and my own divination abilities to measure soulmate compatibility via Affinity Levels! So, without further ado, let’s go, let’s goooo!” Aiura, no, Kusuo groans in quiet despair. “Miko-chan, YES!” Aiura whoops, fist-pumping the prologue away as the scene fades out. _______

Satou Hiroshi

Conventional. Moderate. Regular. Behold the quintessential stock background character, the pinnacle of normality—Satou Hiroshi. Standing at a height of 169.9 centimeters and weighing at precisely 61.0 kilograms—the exact national average of a healthy sixteen-year-old Japanese male—he is the gold standard, the epitome of normal. It’s a shame then that few recognize Satou-kun’s remarkable ordinariness, Kusuo muses, watching said background character ambling down the sidewalk with an approving smile. Nevertheless, perhaps that may be to my benefit. Surely our Affinity Levels must be pretty high; after all, we’re both normal and regular high-school teens who do not stand out much— “I don’t think using your powers to make yourself inconspicuous counts though,” Aiura says as she glances over Kusuo’s shoulder, puzzled at his fixation on someone so… well, boring. Kusuo isn’t even listening. We both have regular aspirations and hobbies, seeking only to live peaceful days! “Funnily, I now remember peeking at Normal-kun’s fortune for Hii-chan. And get this, his biggest dream is being on stage as a rock star! Like seriously, how typical can he get?” —So, taking into consideration all of the above, Kusuo presses on, undeterred by Aiura’s commentary, surely we would hit it off as friends with optimal affinity levels! “Uhm, Kusuo?” Aiura nudges him with her elbow, pointing at the meter hovering beside them. “Not to be a wet blanket and all, but the Affinity Meter started running again as you were waxing lyrical earlier, so now it’s showing that Normal-kun and your Affinity Levels are like, really just two stars at best.” She leans forward, squinting at the screen. “Simply because he thinks you’re okay but still a bit of a weirdo. Dayum, the nerve of this twerp!” Kusuo stares wordlessly at her for a beat, slack-jawed. A-Ahyuu…?

Affinity Level: ☆☆ _______

ii.

Akechi Touma

“It pains me to have to do this,” Aiura lets out a dramatic sigh. “But since Childhood Friends is a pretty popular trope in animanga, and therefore in fanfiction, I guess there’s no avoiding it.” Kusuo scowls, not liking where this is heading at all. It can totally be avoided. We can just avoid talking about it altogether. “Is that you, Kusuo-kun?” Akechi says as he suddenly appears at Kusuo’s side, curiosity in his eyes. “Oh, I see Aiura-san is here as well. I couldn’t help but notice how you two were standing and talking together so I thought I should come say hello, even though I was rather hesitant at first. I didn’t want to abruptly barge into your conversation, you see, as that would have been awfully rude, and I certainly don’t wish for you to think of me as rude, Kusuo-kun.” Yet here you are barging in anyway, blathering on incessantly like a runaway freight train, Kusuo remarks drily. “Well, I couldn’t help but overhear the mention of Affinity Levels,” Akeichi beams as he continues, unfazed by the jibe. “And I can’t say my curiosity isn’t the least bit piqued, even if I have little to no real interest or belief in the notion of soulmates. In fact, the existence of an actual soul remains debatable in scientific circles—” Exasperated, Aiura tries to interject. “Since you ain’t all that interested, mind if you just zip those lips for like five minutes? My hair’s gone all frizzy from the heat of your endless jabbering!” “However, these debates on the existence of the soul had also been instrumental to the understanding of the anatomy and physiology of the human body—” “Oh my God, please just stop yapping for ONE sec—!!” Aiura shrieks, tugging at her curls in frustration. She accidentally kicks the Affinity Meter to start running, and the lights blink and flash in a rapid blur before the meter gradually slows down to display four bright stars upon its screen. There’s a beat; the trio leans forward, staring at the meter in awkward silence. Kusuo’s brows are furrowed at the unexpected results; he shrugs it off as a fluke. Clearly there’s some technical issue with Affinity Meter (never mind that the meter works, in part, based on Aiura’s divination abilities, which have, to date, always been accurate). There’s just no way Akechi could ever beat Satou-kun on that scale, he’s too much of an abnormal— But Aiura is already moving forward, reaching out to grasp Akechi’s hand in a firm handshake. “Aiura-san? Is there something…?” She acknowledges Akechi’s curious gaze with a curt nod. “All right, I can’t deny it any longer. Not with that impressive detective aura of yours and with results like that on both Kusuo and my own Affinity Meter.” Oi, oi. Don’t start spouting weird nonsense now, Miss Abnormal! “All right, Akeinu! I hereby deem you a worthy rival in the fight to stand as Kusuo’s trusted sidekick!” “Oho! You’ve even given me a cutesy nickname as acknowledgment! I must say I’m quite flattered, Aiura-san.” How about I side-kick both of you out of my life right now? Kusuo sighs, mildly perturbed by this unexpected turn of events.

Affinity Level: ☆☆☆☆ _______

iii.

Toritsuka Reita

…… …… …… What, did you seriously think Toritsuka was getting a proper scene? He’s already way too pathetic. NEXT— “W-wait, did you just cut my scene?!” Toritsuka shrieks from the void like a headless chicken. “Don’t just write me off, Saiki-saaan!!” —Saiki exits stage left, pursuing normalcy. “And don’t just narrate yourself out!!”

Affinity Level: N.A. _______

iv. Aiura Mikoto

“At first glance, you might think we make for an odd couple,” Aiura says with a coquettish smile. “And how it seems absolutely cray that we could get along. Or like, that we don’t mesh just ‘cause our personalities clash way too much or somethin’.” She chuckles at the notion, running perfectly manicured nails through her luscious locks. “I mean, it’s obvs only those inexperienced with the inner workings of the heart would think that. Because opposites attract, y’know? It’s the push-pull dynamism between us that spices things up! Like two tango dancers stirring up a flame on the dance floor—it keeps things refreshing and exciting, but still comforting and familiar in the end, like sharing a nice, warm bath at the end of the day, or cuddling up together at the sofa, feeding each other spoons of dessert…” Aiura pauses, blushing when she catches sight of the Affinity Meter fluttering gently by her shoulder, at the line of stars glowing from the screen, a beacon of reassurance of their status as soulmates. She turns towards Kusuo, suddenly self-conscious as she tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Say, Kusuo… How about we head to that nice dessert buffet together and—” Only to realize she had been practically talking to thin air all this time. “H-Huh?! Aww, gimme a break! Where did you run off to this time, Kusuooo?!”

Affinity Level: ☆☆☆☆☆ _______ v.

Coffee Jelly

Good grief—finally some peace and quiet. Kusuo sighs as he leans back into the leather seat of his booth, in a nondescript cafe far away from his usual annoyances. He dips a spoon into his dessert bowl, lifting a dark sliver of coffee jelly to his mouth, and smiles in absolute contentment. There’s a soft whirr, and then a ping from somewhere below. He flicks a furtive gaze at the Affinity Meter hovering at the empty space beside him, curious despite himself. The endless line of glowing stars are probably a bit much, but he smiles anyway at the screen. Huh. I guess it works after all.

Affinity Level: ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

—End— _______ Notes:

It’s tradition for myself to spend my birthday writing and/or sharing a new fic (happy birthday to me!! lol). I also had this sitting in my draft for way too long and decided to kick myself to finish it. Apologies for any typoes/errors.

Comments and critique are always welcomed for my fics—I'd like to hear what you think, if you've enjoyed this! Thanks for reading :)

#saiki kusuo no psi nan #the disastrous life of saiki k.#saiki kusuo #aiura mikoto #fanfic #psychickers #too lazy to tag all the characters here #but it's basically the pk psychickers + mr. normal-kun lol

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clumsyclifford · 4 years ago

Note

i typed out a Whole thing and then changed my mind but how about like lazy sunday in before the work week w t-shirt verse jalex? ily bye x

omg hello this got (1) away from me and (2) so ridiculously romantic i have no excuse. there’s just something about t-shirt jalex. also i am currently taking suggestions for what color alex’s hair should be in this ‘verse bc as of now it is unspecified. okay hope you like it x

read here on ao3

Alex is at the stove. Jack’s barely awake and this is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Morning,” he croaks, slumping forward to affix himself to Alex’s back. Alex staggers, laughing quietly.

“Good morning, my love,” he says. The kitchen always feels somehow both bigger and cozier with Alex in it, spacious but flooded with love. Love, Jack finds, smells like pancakes and tastes like Alex’s toothpaste and feels like sunlight and the cotton of Alex’s shirt under his fingers. It fits nicely into Jack’s kitchen. Their kitchen.

Their kitchen. Jack is still having a hard time getting used to that.

“You didn’t have to get up,” he mumbles against Alex’s shoulders. “Coulda slept in.”

Alex shrugs. “Was up anyway. Thought it’d be nice to make breakfast.”

“But it’s nice to cuddle,” Jack points out, eyes still closed. He presses his nose into Alex’s neck, inhaling deeply. “Mm, you’re warm.”

Alex’s deep, gentle laugh fills the air. “You’re clingy.”

“It’s cold,” Jack slurs. Slowly but surely, the atmosphere is seeping into his senses, pleasantly waking him up. “I love you for making pancakes.”

“I know you do.”

“Gonna make tea.”

“I prepared your mug and boiled the water already. You just need to pour it.”

“Have I mentioned lately that you’re the love of my life?” Jack presses his lips to the tattoo behind Alex’s ear, lingering a moment.

“Doesn’t hurt to hear,” Alex says happily. Jack reluctantly detaches himself from his boyfriend’s body to go and make himself some tea.

Tea is a weekend drink. Jack drinks coffee to get through the mind-numbing work days, but tea is for Sundays like this one. It’s nine in the morning and Jack can already feel the laziness of the day settling over their shoulders; they’re going nowhere today, doing nothing. It’s not often a perfect Sunday comes along, but Jack clings to the opportunity whenever it does. Like today.

Dust hovers in the beams of light stretching through the room and the apartment feels alight with a glittering January. Unlikely warmth starts in Jack’s chest and spreads outwards, something he can’t even attribute to the tea since he hasn’t begun to drink it yet.

Glancing over at Alex, humming to himself as he flips the pancakes, the warmth intensifies. Oh, Jack thinks, not particularly surprised.

It stands to reason that the love filling the kitchen would saturate his body as well.

Light spills over Alex, highlighting strands of hair and shining on his skin, brown eyes glowing almost as golden as the sunlight. It makes Jack wonder why he’s not a poet or something, except there aren’t words for this image, and Jack would be hard-pressed to come up with an original way to phrase what thousands of artists have already expressed.

He takes a picture. They’re worth a thousand words, if what they say is true, and that’s close enough.

Alex looks up at the movement. Jack just smiles and shamelessly takes another, catching the fond look on Alex’s face before setting his phone face-down on the table again.

“Stop it, you creep,” he says. “Help me with this.”

“Alex, I’m so fucking bad at crosswords,” Jack says, shifting his chair around the table anyway. “You know this.”

“But you know things that I don’t! Together we can solve it.”

“You could also solve it on your own.”

Alex shakes his head. “You’re overestimating my skills. I don’t think I’ve completed a Sunday puzzle in, uh, my entire life.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you,” Jack says wryly, “but I am not your secret weapon.”

Alex reaches for Jack’s hand and brings it to his lips, brushing a kiss over Jack’s knuckles. “Yes you are.”

Jack sighs. He’s a sucker for Alex and he doesn’t see that trend slowing anytime soon. “Fine. Give me one.”

“Here, I bet you know this one.” A tap of the pen against the newspaper next to the clue for 6-Down. “‘For You’ co-singer Rita.”

“Ora,” Jack says immediately. “Everyone knows that song.”

“Ora,” Alex repeats to himself, like something he should have known to know. “Actually, I didn’t. See? Already fulfilling your secret weapon duties.”

The puzzle is sparsely and randomly filled out. “Why don’t you go in order?”

“Because I don’t know 1-Across,” Alex says. “And if I stopped there it’d be a very short puzzle.”

Jack hums, skimming the list of clues for any other answers he might have. Most of the clues he thinks he could get are ones Alex has already filled in. Some are ones Jack would never have known. “What the fuck is a superlative prefix? ‘Most’?”

“Yeah, like…high school superlatives,” Alex says. “Most likely to make it big. Most likely to, uh, go to jail after graduation.”

“What the fuck were your high school superlatives?” Jack says, amused. “I didn’t know that’s what they were called.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is wrong, though,” Alex says, face drawn in thought. He’s doing the hair-twirling thing again so Jack interrupts the motion, linking their fingers together and scratching gently at the nape of Alex’s neck. Alex hardly seems to notice. “Because I’m pretty sure 4-Down is ‘prince’.”

“‘Hamlet, for one,’” Jack reads from the clues list. He shakes his head. “I’m starting to think you’re smarter than me, Al.”

“Starting to?”

Jack scoffs and stabs at the remaining pancake on Alex’s plate, mostly because he knows Alex isn’t going to finish it. “Hey.”

“I’m teasing, completely joking,” Alex says, leaning into Jack and briefly resting his cheek against Jack’s shoulder. “I’m definitely not smarter than you. I teach middle school. If anything, that automatically makes me more of a dumbass.”

“You love doing that, though.”

Alex sighs. “Yeah. You can love something and still be an idiot for doing it, though.”

“Like being in a relationship with you.” Jack giggles. “Joking. Just kidding. I’m just kidding.”

“You better be,” Alex says lightly. “I know a lot of your deepest darkest secrets, Jack Barakat, and I am not afraid to unleash a pack of twelve-year-olds on you.”

Jack would like to argue that a horde of twelve-year-olds doesn’t scare him, but it does. It very much does.

“Fine,” he says. “You win this round.”

Alex kisses his cheek. As he moves away, Jack turns his head and kisses him on the lips. “You taste like pancakes.”

“You taste like you,” Alex replies, and it doesn’t sound sweet, but it really, really is. Jack licks his lips. He’s not sure what exactly he tastes like, but it charms him to think that it’s always more or less the same, or at least that Alex finds something familiar in every kiss he steals off Jack’s lips.

“Okay,” he says, leaning over the newspaper spread out before them. “We can do this. Who was in The Irishman?”

Whoever said that thing about how it’s better to have tried and failed than to never have tried at all might have been onto something.

They concede to the crossword puzzle after almost an hour of staring at it. To Jack it seems pathetic, until Alex grins at him and promises that this is rather impressive considering when he tries to do it alone he only ever gets, like, ten answers, and they’re often wrong.

Half-finished really isn’t so bad.

The rest of the afternoon and evening stretches out before them, in all its unscheduled glory, and Jack, like the mature adult he is, pulls Alex to the couch and insists they spend at least three hours of the day watching TV.

His second mug of tea is sitting, partially drunk, on the coffee table, Alex’s empty mug beside it. Jack’s is going cold but he’s warm with Alex’s head in his lap, eyes closed as Jack pushes a hand through his hair, and he can’t find it in himself to care. As a compromise, they’ve put on Project Runway, something Alex loves Jack enough to sit through but doesn’t care enough about to pay attention to. If Jack were a more petty person, he would be annoyed by this, but he’s not. Having Alex like this is arguably better, essential in the task of keeping Jack’s thighs warm and also giving Jack something to look at when the urge strikes him.

The angles of Alex’s face and the way his hair flops over his forehead are enough to keep Jack mesmerized for hours.

It’s in one of these moments of weakness, Jack gazing down at the boy in his lap instead of watching the high-stakes but decidedly less enchanting events unfold on the TV, that Alex opens his eyes. His gaze catches Jack unawares, but Jack doesn’t flinch.

“You’re not even watching,” Alex huffs, smirking. “It was your idea to watch something and you aren’t even watching it.”

“I’ve got a better view right here,” Jack says.

Alex just rolls his eyes. “C’mere,” he says, grabbing clumsily at the front of Jack’s shirt.

“I don’t think I am physically capable of kissing you from this angle.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” Alex picks his head up and pulls Jack down, and it’s not ideal or particularly attractive, but Jack has to admit that they do, technically, kiss, thus proving Jack wrong, which is probably in Alex’s top ten favorite things to do. Only for a second, though, before Jack pulls away.

“I stand corrected, but I also kind of hated that,” he says.

Alex laughs, musical and bright. “Sorry. Let me try again.” He shifts around, straightening up until his feet are on the floor and his body is upright, and this time Jack has no complaints when Alex curls his fingers around the collar of Jack’s t-shirt and drags him in.

Project Runway isn’t exactly the ideal soundtrack to making out on the couch, but Jack’s not picky.

A fluttering touch lands on Jack’s hip, sneaking just under the hem of his shirt to rest against his skin. Alex releases Jack’s shirt, sliding his other hand up and around to cradle Jack’s face, thumb brushing his jaw. The show in the background fades to nothing, as so often the world does when Alex’s lips are on his. Everything is Alex and Alex is everything — and maybe that’s always true, but it’s easier to sink into when they’re attached in so many places, lips under teeth and noses brushing cheeks and hands forever tracing skin, clothes, hair, whatever ends up beneath Jack’s fingertips.

It’s looking more and more like the love in the kitchen hadn’t been confined to the kitchen. Or maybe it had never been about the kitchen, but the company. And maybe Jack has known this all along, and the love he feels for Alex follows him around like a stray dog, like a best friend, like a promise. It bleeds from him, infusing itself into the air without ever lessening in himself. Sometimes it trips off his tongue.

Often it does.

“I love you,” Jack murmurs, like he’s just a ragdoll stuffed with love who’s coming apart at the seams, another stitch undone whenever Alex touches him. He’ll keep spilling this love over them and somehow he’ll never run out, and if that makes him weak then Jack is content to be weak.

Alex only laughs a little, but it’s not mean-spirited, just sweet. “Would it surprise you to know that I love you, too?”

It wouldn’t. This is the secret to Jack’s never-ending supply: the love he gives is the love he receives.

“I love you for making me breakfast,” Jack whispers, pressing his lips to Alex’s cheek, just outside the corner of his eye. “And for the tea. And for making me do the crossword puzzle with you. And for watching shitty reality TV with me.” With each proclamation he brushes a kiss to Alex’s forehead, his other cheek, the corner of his mouth. Alex’s smile stretches across his face, crinkling his eyes by the time Jack kisses him again, for real, though he still returns it to the best of his ability.

It doesn’t last long. “You don’t play fair, JB,” Alex breathes, then laughs again like he can’t help it. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

“You could start with ‘I love you too,’” Jack suggests, slanting a breezy smile at Alex. “That usually works.”

Alex gathers Jack’s wrists in his hands and kisses his palms, one after the other, before lifting his gaze back to Jack. In the light of the apartment, Jack has never seen anyone more beautiful. The truth of his own earlier words washes over him like a sedative, a comforting tranquilizer.

“Doesn’t feel like enough,” Alex admits, “but I’m not sure this love can be put into words, you know?”

Jack does know.

“Though it’s worth saying,” Alex continues, sliding his hands into Jack’s until their fingers are interlaced, “that I love you for doing the impossible crossword with me, and I love your half-drunk cups of tea, and I loved you in the morning and I love you right now and when we go to sleep tonight, I’ll love you then, and every night after that for the rest of my life, you know what? I’ll love you for those too.”

Jack understands that these are big, big words, promises that are much easier to make than keep. But with Alex holding his gaze and his hands right now, sheltered from the real world or maybe creating it, he knows that Alex means every word, and Jack does too.

#jack barakat #alex gaskarth #jalex #jalex fic #all time low #atl fic #fic #my fic #holy FUCK this is fluffy and romantic and ???????#one of the lines in this makes me lose it #i know i wrote it but it makes me LOSE it #ok i am gonna draft this until it's a good time to post it #aka probably in a day or two #bc the malum thing just posted tonight #by the way it is fully 7am #i wrote this in the last two hours #the sun has risen and the sky is a beautiful pastel rn #in case anyone was wondering #boy. my sleep schedule. it sure is. uh. a thing that does not exist #(insert calum yikes emoji)#man.........the words in this fic. the sentences #every single thing i write is like literally one word away from making absolutely no fuckin sense #arguably it already does not #i had to stop listening to my love songs playlist and put on this playlist of instrumental romantic music #cos i was trying to be poetic and shit but there were all these fuckin LYRICS going on and it was Not Happening #ANYWAY into the drafts this goes see yall in a little bit #tirednotflirting #ask #answered #ok im posting this now at half 1pm but . dont get me wrong. i wrote and drafted it at 7am

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purplesurveys · 3 years ago

Text

1240

Are you better at cooking dinners or making cakes/biscuits/sweets? I can’t make any dish. I wonder when I’ll get my ass up and start learning...

Have you ever cut someone else’s hair? I wouldn’t dare; I have no skills in that department at all.

Who was the last guest in your house and what were they staying for? Angela and Hans came over so we can watch Sowoozoo.

How many long term relationships have you been in? One.

Do you sleep with all the lights out, or do you leave a lamp or even the television on? My default is lights out, but sometimes I’ll fall asleep with my night lamp still on and that’s fine too.

Who is one person you have forgiven, but still have not “forgotten” what they have done? I don’t really do forgiving.

Are you a fan of Lana Del Rey? No. I’ve tried listening to her songs but I find them too slow for my liking.

Do you know your blood type? It’s O but I keep forgetting what specific type.

Do you know your mother’s birthday? Yes.

Have you got your period at the moment? It’s on its last few days.

Have you ever been pregnant? Nopes.

How old were you when you first went on a plane? I was around 10 or 11, can’t remember exactly. But it was in 2009 and we headed to Boracay.

Have you ever had to take out a loan for anything? No. OMG, adult activity I don’t quite understand just yet hfdhfkdjfhdf.

Are both of your blood parents still in your life? Yeah they’re both grumbling right now just outside of my room because the power went out lmfao.

When was the last time you went apple picking? I’ve never done this. Apples don’t grow here.

Someone asked you what you wanted, what would you say? My pay for the last two weeks haha, but that’s not coming until Friday.

Have you ever been drunk at school or work? No, I wouldn’t dare. I’m pretty unpredictable when I get drunk, so I’d rather stay safe haha. I’ve worked while tipsy, but it had been outside of work hours.

How many bedrooms are in your house? 4. One for each kid, then my parents’.

Are you smart about computers? Nah.

Have you ever played Just Dance for Wii? We didn’t have the game on our Wii, but I’ve played Just Dance before, just at other peoples’ houses.

Do you own a Xbox 360? We were a Playstation household.

Would you ever do a sex tape for a million dollars? Erm, sure, whatever.

So, do you need a nap? I think I should be taking one for the sake of my health, but I won’t.

What would you rather be doing? I stumbled upon a Facebook post of this newly-opened store in Greenhills that exclusively sells photocards and I wanna head the fuck over there rn with Angela. That store concept is practically unheard of so it’s a big deal and I wanna go there as I’m 100% sure the BTS ones would sell out pretty fast. But they heightened the stupid COVID protocols yet again and we have to stay at home, so there’s that.

What sport are you the best at? Table tennis.

Do you have a little sister? What’s her name? Yeah but she’s turning 21 this year, so little wouldn’t be accurate anymore. We call her Nina at home but everyone else calls her by her full first name, Janina.

Do you complain a lot? I do complain a lot but I also do the thing that is causing the complaint right after so I can shut myself up lmao.

Would you rather go to an authentic haunted house or an ancient temple? Both sound fun but I’ll probably take the temple. Yay for learning something new about culture!!

Do you like fruity or minty gum? I don’t mind flavor when it comes to gum because they fade out anyway.

Are you looking forward to any day of this month? My company set another mental health break day this upcoming August 27th, so I’ll be thinking about that day throughout the month.

Have you ever gotten detention? We don’t have detention.

Is there a traumatic event that you’ve experienced that’s changed your life? Sure.

Do you buy a majority of your clothes from a certain store, or do you just pick out items of clothing you could see yourself wearing, not caring about the store it came from? The latter. < Same. I can be brand-conscious sometimes, but generally if I find something cute, regardless from where I found it, I’d grab it.

Have any of the artists you’re fond of released new albums recently? Technically yeah. It was a single album.

Would you ever keep your favorite animal as a pet? I already have two of them.

Ever cried so much you threw up? Possibly.

Who is your best guy friend? Hans.

What do you two do when you hang out? We usually eat out and have a drink or two.

What is a movie that you thought you would hate but you ended up loving? Spotlight, just because it looked boring at first glance. It turned out to be very riveting and the screenplay was fascinating as well.

Do you even like horror movies? Yes, but they’re best watched with other people.

Do you live in the country? Nopes.

What is your favorite accent? I don’t have one.

Have you ever had a boyfriend your parents didn’t like? No.

Do you drink Pepsi or Coke? I had the chance to try out Pepsi when we went to Taco Bell two weeks ago - it was my first time to have it and it was...actually pretty good??? The soda-hater in me was scandalized HAHAHA but it was good!!! I think I prefer Pepsi now.

What do you plan to do on your 21st birthday? My 21st birthday started out terribly because Gabie’s family didn’t want her to hang out with me on a Sunday (the day my birthday fell on), so we were in an argument the whole day. Angela saved the day when she planned out an impromptu dinner + arcade date for me, and that was the only good part of the day, really. I’d rather forget the rest of it.

Do you have any person in your family with an addiction to beer? I don’t think so.

Do you take a lot of pictures? I’m starting to, now.

What kind of face wash do you use? Good ol’ water.

Does drama always seem to follow you? Not these days.

Does anybody in your family race? Nope.

Are you closer to your mom or dad? Dad, I guess. But I wouldn’t particularly call myself ‘close’ with either.

How much money did you used to get from the ”tooth fairy?” I never received money from them.

How long do you want to live with your parents? Maybe up until my mid-20s? Late-20s at the latest. I’m not exactly in the position to move out yet. The money I make at the moment would probably just be enough to cover rent, and just rent. I’d end up starving to death hahaha.

Do you have a laptop or desktop? Laptop.

Do you like your parents? Sure.

Do you secretly like someone? I don’t.

Would you ever date your best male friend? No. I also wouldn’t do that to Angela.

What are you currently listening to? Moon by Jin! Such a comfort song.

Do you want to be single? Yes.

Did you go out or stay in last night? I stayed in and was knocked out pretty early since I had been up since 1 AM.

Have you pretended to like someone? No. I don’t see why I would have to that.

How is your heart lately? Just filled with nothing but Bangtan at this point haha. It’s doing well!

Are you wearing socks? No. Socks bother me for the most part; they make my feet feel a bit suffocated.

What do people call you? Robyn.

Do you get stressed out easily? Yeah, I’m quite the overthinker.

Have you ever been taken to the emergency room in an ambulance? No, I’ve never actually been inside an ambulance, whether it came for me or for another person.

What is wrong with you right now? I should probably cut back on the vaping, for one.

Do you own something from Hot Topic? No.

Would you rather sleep with someone else or alone? It’s hard for me to sleep with someone else. Even when I had been in a relationship, I usually only got to fall asleep an hour or so after my partner already dozed off.

Do you still talk to the person you last made out with? No, I cut ties at the start of the year and have been substantially better since then.

Have you ever seen your best friend cry? I honestly don’t think so. I’m the bigger crybaby between us.

Did you get any compliments today? My mom thanked me for covering for Cooper’s shots today since they ended up being quite costly.

Have you ever gone to a beach? Yes, it’s one of my absolute favorite places to be.

What would you say if someone asked you to get high right now? Pass up on the offer.

Do you believe that everything happens for a reason? Yes.

Have you ever done volunteer work just because you wanted to? I’ve never had the ample time to, so no. I’ve always wanted to volunteer at an animal shelter, though.

Do you have long nails? They’re not dramatically long, but they have started to grow out.

Do you like the gender you are? I don't like or dislike it, honestly. I'm just neutral. < Same.

Do you generally look nice in photos? I think this is the case these days, yeah. I’ve started feeling more confident and I think it’s able to translate in photos.

Have you ever had a stick insect as a pet? No.

What colour are your father’s eyes? Dark brown.

If I handed you a concert ticket right now, who would you want to be the performer? BTS DUH

Name three facts about your family? I come from a family of lawyers; many of us are big history buffs; and many are also fantastic cooks so I don’t know where that talent could have possibly gone when it come to my generation hah.

Would you ever get into a long distance relationship? If I’ve reached a certain level of investment in the relationship, I could probably handle it.

What’s the most thoughtful present you’ve ever received? A Punk shirt and Petals For Armor physical CD from Andi this last Christmas.

What’s your favorite hot beverage? Hot chocolate. < Yessssss!

Did you ever play an instrument? If so what? I don’t.

Would you rather carve pumpkins or wrap presents? Carving pumpkins sounds fun, especially since I haven’t tried it before.

Do you think you’re important? Idk. I don’t really like drawing attention to myself though, so that could probably answer your question.

What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received? Andi wrote a letter for me to accompany the aforementioned Christmas gifts they gave, and it remains to be my favorite letter I’ve received. They essentially reminded and affirmed me that I’m stronger than I think I am, and that I’ve been through a lot and have grown a lot, and that that growth is seen by people around me.

Have you been diagnosed with any mental disorders? No.

Have you ever moved to another state or country? If so, how did it feel to be new? Just to different cities, but considering how tiny my country is, the move is quite insignificant lol.

Do you know how to properly eat food with chopsticks? I’m 100% sure I don’t know how to properly hold chopsticks, but I have my own way and it works lol. Fake it til you make it.

Are you more of a leader or a follower? Definitely a follower, but I can step up in certain situations. < Same. I don’t mind leading, especially considering the control freak I can be lolol.

What was the first thing you ate today? I haven’t eaten anything today. I skipped breakfast since I brought Cooper to the vet, and by the time I got back the dining table had already been cleared. It’s fine though, I don’t feel too hungry.

If you could spend the day, doing absolutely anything, with anyone, anywhere, what would it be like? I’d be with Angela, Reena, and Hans at that insane new photocard store I talked about earlier. IDEALLY, we’d probably pick up a photocard or two if the ones we want aren’t sold out yet (lol a rarity), then we’d have some nachos and stuff right after and just talk about all things Bangtan lol with Hans cracking us up the whole time since he is just naturally hilarious.

If I were to ask you how you are doing, and you were only able to answer completely honestly, what would come out? Content. Happy. I feel warm and loved and surrounded by the best people.

What is the one thing that you have been avoiding that you should do? Learning how to cook is one.

Is there anything that you wish you could take back? Not really.

What, in your mind, could make you truly happy? Being in the purple ocean with my best friends.

If you could change one conversation in your life, what would you say differently? Would it have REALLY made any difference? A part of me wishes my final face-to-face conversation with Gabie had been a more solid closure, just so we could finally put a hard stop to that chapter. But at that time I thought we would continue talking, so there had still been some stuff lingering in the air when we called it a day and parted ways. So in a sense we never really got closure when I finally cut ties, which the ESTJ in me remains to be nagged by, but I try not to be bothered by it anymore considering how much better I am doing right now. We didn’t know the future at the time, so it’s okay the way things turned out, ultimately.

When is the next time you’ll change your hairstyle? Will you color it? I have no clue. It’s not really a priority.

Do people normally say you’re a fast typist, or are you rather slow? I’m fast.

Have you ever been considered the ‘smartest person in school?’ Nah.

How many drugs are in your system? Just caffeine.

What’s on your schedule for tomorrow? Werkwerkwerkwerk.

Do you currently have any bite marks/hickeys on your body? Nopes.

Do you call anyone baby? I don’t.

What’s your current mood? I’m prety neutral. I wish I could be out right now, but stupid Covid and stupid quarantine. But I don’t really mind staying at home, either, so. I’m just so-so.

Do you think you are a good person? I hope so.

What were you doing before filling out this survey? I watched Sunday mass with my family.

How late did you stay up last night? Around midnight.

When was the last time you cried really hard? I cried just a few days ago because period hormones, but the last time I cried hard? I’m not sure. April maybe?

Is your hair longer than your shoulders? LOL yes it’s soooooooo long already.

#survey #surveys

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years ago

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 36: Martin

It’s an interesting weekend, to say the least, partly because of the startling news Sasha uncovered that Jonah Magnus isn’t the only avatar to attempt to extend his life (Jon Prime apologizes profusely for not telling them that, but Sasha points out that it wasn’t exactly important at the beginning and they have to discover some things for themselves) and partly because Tim tells them, Saturday night, that he thinks he’s got enough of a handle on his abilities that he can focus on a single person or object and not risk being blinded by anything else around them. He thinks he can control it. Jon is apprehensive, but agrees that if Tim really wants to test it, he’s willing to let him try a controlled test on Sunday.

They call Sasha, who turns up around teatime with the Primes. One by one they sit opposite Tim in the living room while he takes a deep breath, relaxes, and lets his eyes go slightly unfocused. For each one, he describes what he sees to them while Jon Prime jots down the notes for him, then passes the notebook to Martin so he can stand before Tim. They all know Jon Prime has been marked by all fourteen powers; Tim says he’s hoping to just get clarification on one or two colors he isn’t sure about. It’s apparently too much for him, though, especially since he’s done all the others first, and he passes out. He comes around fairly quickly, but he’s still weak and shaky and both Jon and Martin declare the test at an end. Tim doesn’t argue, but he also won’t go lie down on his own, and the Primes and Sasha quietly let themselves out so the other three can go to bed early.

He’s still a little shaky on Monday morning, but seems in good spirits. Jon hesitantly offers him one of the statements they’ve been saving for Jon Prime; Martin lets them argue for a couple minutes about the recordings before interrupting gently to ask, “Do you actually need to record it for it to count?”

“What?” both of them ask, turning to him in surprise.

Martin shrugs. “I mean…the recorders don’t belong to the Eye, right? So it’s not the act of actually recording them that feeds it. It’s just the reading of them. The…consumption, I guess? If you just go back into the shelves or into the Cavern of Secrets or whatever and read it out loud, that ought to be enough, right?”

Jon and Tim look at each other. “That’s…actually a good point,” Tim says finally. He holds out his hand, and Jon gives him the statement. “Be back in a bit. I hope.”

He brushes off their offers of help and half-staggers towards Document Storage. Jon watches him go, then turns to Martin. “How did you think of that?”

“They mentioned once that…” Martin glances upwards. It’s hard sometimes to be precise without actually mentioning the Primes, so he decides to take a risk and hope Elias’ attention is elsewhere. “Your counterpart used to go out and pounce people to get their statements. But he didn’t record them, just…listened to them. And since we really don’t know what’s actually behind the recorders, except that it isn’t what’s feeding us in return, it just makes sense that he doesn’t need to make it ‘official’ for it to count.”

“God, I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. We really do have a…symbiotic relationship with that thing.” Jon sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair. “I really shouldn’t let you three read any of these statements, but…”

“I don’t think there’s anything to be done about that now, Jon. We’re too tightly connected to it. We could none of us ever deliberately use the abilities it gave us again and I bet there’d be just enough…accidental occurrences to weaken us until we died. Starving ourselves won’t starve it.”

“You might be right, but I don’t have to like it.” Jon brushes his hand against Martin’s and changes the subject. “What are you working on today?”

“Um, we found another statement involving that space station, so I was going to see what I could dig up on that.”

“Good. Just be careful. I’ve got another backlog of recordings to do.” Jon grimaces. “Make Tim take it easy.”

“Easier said than done, but okay.” Martin smiles.

It’s easier than he expects, honestly. Tim is at least pretending to take care of himself, so when Martin tells him that both he and Jon want him to be careful, and Sasha makes it unanimous, he does. Apart from Jan Kilbride’s statement, everything else they’re looking into is something they all know is false, but they have to go through the motions. It’s oddly soothing, in its own way. Most of the morning passes with the three of them simply murmuring to one another when they find something interesting or mocking obviously false statements.

Tim and Sasha have a standing lunch date every Monday, something they’ve apparently done since they were in Research; Martin joined them once or twice, back at the beginning of everything, but bowed out after a while. It’s not that he felt uncomfortable or unwelcome so much as it is he feels like that’s their thing and doesn’t want to intrude. He waves them out absently, a pen clenched between his teeth as he tries to winnow down the list of Jenny Mackintoshes to a reasonable number that might be the one mentioned in the statement, false though it may be—they have to be sure, after all.

Less than five minutes after they leave, Sasha’s desk phone rings. Technically it’s for the Archives as a whole, and it used to be on Jon’s desk, but since that’s where he does his recordings and the relatively infrequent ringing forced him to have to redo a number of them, Tim managed to sweet-talk someone into installing it out on the main floor. Sasha’s desk is just the one closest to the connection. The ringing sounds more like a doorbell than a phone, and Martin’s still not sure it actually connects to the outside. He leans over and snags the receiver. “Archives, Martin Blackwood speaking.”

“Hi, Martin, this is the front desk.” Manal, as always, sounds slightly apologetic for having interrupted him. “There’s a Ms. Melanie King here to see Mr. Sims.”

“Thanks, Manal, I’ll be right up.” Martin hangs up the phone and glances towards Jon’s closed office door, then decides to just go get Melanie and let Jon know when they get back, if it’s important.

The front area of the Institute is a bit hectic, which it usually is this time of day as people pass back and forth on their way to lunch. He dodges around a few people, murmuring an absent response to the greetings of a woman who could almost be Quentin Blake’s drawings of Miss Trunchbull brought to life if she was a nicer-sounding person, and makes his way over to the front desk. Melanie King stands there, coat still on her shoulders and arms folded over her chest, tapping a foot impatiently against the floor, scanning the room as Manal looks up at her in amazement and adoration. Martin bites back a grin and approaches. “Ms. King?”

Melanie turns to him, eyes narrowed, and studies him for a second. “You’re—Martin, right? You used to work in the library?”

“Yep, that’s me.” Martin’s kind of surprised she knows that. “Martin Blackwood. You need to talk to Jon?”

“Yeah. You’d think at this point I wouldn’t need an escort.” Melanie says the last part almost under her breath.

“You’d think, but Elias gets his knickers in a twist about the oddest things sometimes,” Martin says. It elicits a surprised giggle out of Manal, who quickly covers her mouth with one hand and glances at the steps that lead to the first floor, to Rosie’s office and then the Institute Head’s. Sound travels oddly up those stairs from time to time, and now that Martin knows why the Institute was built, that doesn’t surprise him anymore. “Right this way…thanks, Manal.”

To her credit, Melanie waits until they’re halfway down the stairs before she says, “Does her mummy know she’s skipping school?”

“She’s almost twenty,” Martin says, briefly counting back to make sure he’s adding her age up right. “Been working here a couple years. I don’t think she was all that good a student.” He’s also fairly certain she pulled herself out of an abusive home life, or at least a shitty one, but he’s not going to say that out loud.

Melanie looks tired, but also determined. Martin feels like he’s got a mouthful of seltzer and bites his tongue to keep from asking her if she’s okay or what’s wrong; he knows by now what it tastes like when there’s a statement in the offing, and he doesn’t want to accidentally pull it out of her before she’s ready, or before Jon is. Something about her eyes says she’s only going to want to make this official.

Something about the way she looks at her wrist—take that, Tim, I’m NOT the only person under the age of forty who still wears a wristwatch—says she’s in a hurry, so he asks, as neutrally as he can, “Got somewhere to be? We can go faster if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got a plane to catch, but not for hours yet.” Melanie sighs. “No sense in breaking our necks over this.”

“Sure,” Martin says softly. A plane to catch. Ghost Hunt UK only investigates domestic hauntings—it’s right in their name, for Christ’s sake—and they’re on something of an indefinite hiatus anyway. Either Melanie is getting out of the country for a while, or she’s continuing her research on her own, and he’s not sure which outcome he’s hoping for.

Motioning for Melanie to wait once they reach the Archives, Martin pokes his head into the doorway of Jon’s office and waits until Jon looks up. Jon gives him a short nod, finishes reading the statement aloud, and pauses the recording. “Is everything okay? Tim—”

“Tim’s fine. He and Sasha left for lunch a few minutes ago,” Martin assures him. “It’s Melanie King, she’s back to talk to you. I…think you might need the tape recorder.”

“Ah.” Jon’s face goes through an interesting series of emotions that would make Martin smile in any other circumstances. “I…don’t know if you can sit in on this one, Martin, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’m going to finish up what I’m working on and then head out to lunch myself, if that’s all right with you?”

“That should be fine. I’ll run to the canteen when Tim and Sasha get back. Assuming Tim doesn’t try to foist leftovers on me.” Jon smiles. “Send her in.”

Martin ushers Melanie in and shuts the door behind her, then heads back to his desk. Oddly enough—or maybe not so oddly—the break seems to have done some good, because it’s a lot easier for him to winnow down the list, and before long he has five possible matches. He makes note of them, saves his work, and closes his laptop.

He can feel the edges of a migraine starting up, so he shakes out a couple aspirin tablets and swallows them with the last of his tea, wincing at the powdery drag down his throat. Just as he stands up and reaches for his jacket, Jon’s office door opens, and Melanie comes out, all but slamming it behind her. She’s obviously in a bad mood and Martin isn’t sure if it’s something Jon said or just her general irritation. Something in him, though, can’t leave it be. Not that he wants to know what’s causing the mood…just that he doesn’t want it to linger. Not if she’s about to leave the country.

“Melanie,” he calls.

She stops partway across the floor and turns to look at him, arms akimbo. “What?”

Martin holds up his jacket, feeling a little foolish. “I was just going out to grab lunch. Want to come along? There’s a little sandwich place a few minutes away that does some interesting things with turkey, if you like that sort of thing.”

Melanie blinks at him. “You’re asking…me…to go to lunch with you,” she says flatly.

“Yeah?” Martin makes a show of looking around the Archives. “You see anyone else around here I could be asking?”

“Why?”

“Because you look like you could use a friend?”

Melanie’s eyebrows draw together in a frown. Martin is about to elaborate when she says, seemingly apropos of nothing, “I’m a lesbian.”

“Great! I’m gay!” Martin blurts. “See, we have something in common already!”

Melanie actually cracks a smile at that, and her shoulders relax. It’s only then that Martin realizes she thought he was hitting on her and wants to smack himself with embarrassment. Before he can apologize, though, she shrugs. “Yeah, okay, why not?”

Martin manages a smile back, shrugs into his jacket, and leads her out the employee entrance rather than the main steps.

The morning’s haze has burned off, and it’s sunny without being too warm for comfort. Melanie keeps her hands in her pockets as she walks, her shoulders hunched forward. Watching her, Martin is more and more sure he’s making the right call. She was agitated when she got to the Institute and talking to Jon probably didn’t help. It so rarely does.

There’s something off about the sandwich shop when they get there, but Martin doesn’t know what it is until they step inside and see it liberally festooned in paper hearts and glitter-covered cupids. Both of them groan in unison.

“Want to go somewhere else?” Martin asks Melanie.

“God, yeah. Is there anywhere that won’t be doing…” Melanie waves a hand at the decorations. “This?”

“Um…” Martin tries to think. “Curry shop or a pub. Two blocks’ difference in either direction. Take your pick.”

“The pub. I’ll have plenty of chances for curry over the next…however long. And I could use a pint.”

Martin lets the door shut and turns to the right. “Heading to India, then?”

Melanie nods once, but offers nothing further. Martin lets it go for now.

It’s a workingman’s pub, nothing fancy or pretentious. When the team goes out for drinks—more frequently than they used to—this is the one they usually come to, partly because it’s not too expensive compared to some of the others and partly because the barman has a sense of humor as well as a sense of adventure and will make all sorts of weird mixed drinks for Tim. Also, the rest of the Institute prefers going to one of the more ostentatious, upscale places—the sort that cater to the tourists and the businessmen, really. This one’s quieter, which is just the way they like it. The owner, a man about Sasha’s height but closer to Martin’s weight called Pat, nods as they come in; Martin nods in reply, waves two fingers, then gestures at one of the tables. Pat throws him a casual salute in acknowledgment and points at the stack of single-sheet menus on the table by the door. Martin snags two and hands one to Melanie as they drop down in their seats.

Melanie grunts as she studies the list of daily specials. “I can’t think of anything worse than being single on Valentine’s Day.”

“Getting broken up with on Valentine’s Day,” Martin says dryly, also scanning the specials. “Don’t get the stew. It’s basically just last week’s leftovers. The meat pies should be all right, it being Monday and all.”

Melanie looks up at him in evident surprise, but when Pat comes over with their pints, she orders the pie. Once Pat lumbers off, she says, “Jesus, did that actually happen to you, or is that hypothetically speaking?”

“It was a few years ago, but yeah.” Truthfully, he’s always hated the holiday, dating back to when he was a child and lucky to get a generic card from a single classmate whose mother forced them to bring cards for the whole class. It wasn’t much better when he did start dating. By the time his mother waited until he got back from the disastrous date that culminated in his then-boyfriend storming out of the restaurant, leaving Martin with the check and no easy way home, to inform him she had decided to move into a care home effective immediately, he was pretty much over the whole concept.

“You’re well rid of him, then.” Melanie picks up her glass and stared at it. “Dated someone once who broke up with me three days before my birthday. Came back three months later, told me she was so sorry and wanted to give it another chance. I said yes. Like an idiot.”

Martin can’t help the bark of laughter that slips out. “Let me guess. Your birthday’s at the end of November?”

“Third of December. And I didn’t get it!” Melanie slaps her palm against the table. “She pulled the same stunt again that year, but this time I’d already bought her present. It was while I was returning it to the shop that it hit me she was breaking up with me to avoid all the gift-giving…stuff. God. Teenagers are so stupid sometimes.”

Martin raises his glass. “Cheers to that.”

Melanie clinks her glass against his, then takes a sip and relaxes back in her seat. “So…seriously. Why are you doing this?”

“Seriously, you looked like you could use a friend.” Martin takes a sip of his own beer. “And you looked kind of miserable. Didn’t want you going out of town like that.”

“Hmm.” Melanie studies him for a minute, then sets down her glass and holds out her hand across the table. “Melanie.”

“Martin.” Feeling a weird sort of relief, Martin accepts her hand and shakes it. They’re both smirking when they settle back. “How’d you get into doing Ghost Hunt UK, anyway?”

“Started back in uni. One of the buildings on campus was reputed to be haunted,” Melanie explains. “It was one of those stories that get told to first-year students at the beginning of term, you know? Everyone knew someone who knew someone who’d seen a ghost there. Either you believed it and stayed away from the building after dark, or you dismissed it as a story told to frighten gullible firsties.” She shrugs. “Me, I was somewhere in the middle. I was a lot more skeptical back then, you know? But I wasn’t ready to dismiss it altogether. I wanted proof.”

“So, what, you set up a hidden camera?” Martin asks.

Melanie shakes her head. “No, not exactly. I did research. Lots of it. I wanted to know if there’d really been a fire that someone was trapped in, or a student who jumped off the roof during finals week, or a murdered cleaning woman or whatever. And the thing was, there were a couple of events that tallied with some of the stories I’d heard, but, you know…”

“There’s still that question of whether or not it’s just got enough truth to be plausible so people stop looking.”

“Exactly! You get it. Anyway, I was studying Media and Communications, so when the opportunity came up to do our first student film project, I suggested to Andy—we were in the same class and he was my partner—that we do something regarding the alleged haunting. It was….um, actually, it was originally fiction. To be honest, I don’t think either of us really believed it at that point. But…well.”

Martin nods in understanding. “You found something, I take it?”

Melanie’s eyes sparkle. “Boy, did we ever. It turns out there were two ghosts. One of them was pretty harmless—the one that had jumped off the roof. Turned out it was a student who’d been on the verge of failing out and didn’t want to face his family. Mostly he didn’t appear, you’d just hear him crying in odd corners late at night, especially close to finals week. The other one…well, we weren’t quite sure which one she was, but she definitely didn’t die easy, and she wasn’t happy about it. We got some good stuff on camera and beat feet out of there. Our teacher complimented us on our brilliant script and asked how we’d done such good special effects, and…well, we kind of lied to her, but it worked out. After that I think we both knew we were going to make a career out of that. It was just such a thrill.”

She’s genuinely passionate about her work, Martin thinks, and it makes his heart ache for her that she’s not been able to do it for so long. “I talk with students sometimes—more when I worked up in the library, but one or two come down to use the Archives. Had more than a few cite Ghost Hunt UK as the reason they’re studying the paranormal.”

Melanie flushes. “Yeah, well…yeah.”

Pat brings their lunch about then. Martin’s about to prompt Melanie with another question when she throws one at him. “What about you? How’d you end up doing what you do?”

“Do you mean working at the Magnus Institute in general, or winding up in the Archives?”

“Either. Both. How’d you get interested in the paranormal?”

“Honestly? I just needed the job,” Martin admits. “My mum’s been…she’s been sick for a long time, but she suddenly got a lot worse. I was desperate for a job and the Institute was the only place that would hire me.”

“Oh.” Something in Melanie’s face changes. “I’m sorry. What—if it’s not too invasive, what’s…wrong with her?”

Martin shrugs, feeling the familiar prickle of uncertainty crawl up his spine. “Dunno. They’ve never quite been able to figure it out, actually? I’ve been given a big long list of what it isn’t. It’s not MS, it’s not Parkinson’s, it’s not ALS…and so on and so forth. At this point I’m prepared to say she’s got Liliana Blackwood’s Disease.”

Melanie winces. “God. That must be hell on both of you. The whole not-knowing thing.”

“Worse for me, honestly,” Martin says slowly. Something prickles in the back of his mind; he tries to shut out the feeling, but the Eye—he’s sure it’s the Eye—shoves it through his barrier like someone pushing an envelope under a door. “I think she has some idea what it might be, actually. Or why it suddenly got worse a few years ago. But I also kind of think maybe she enjoys it a little. The attention, anyway. Not the actual being…I-I mean, nobody wants their kid to have to take care of them like that.”

“Yeah,” Melanie says softly. “I don’t think my dad would have, either.”

Martin looks up sympathetically. “He was sick?”

“Dementia. Early onset. Mum took care of him until she died, and then—the job, and I just—I couldn’t be his full-time caretaker, and it wasn’t safe to have him at home alone. I had to put him in a home.” Melanie stares into her half-empty pint glass. “Wish I visited him more, before…”

“He stopped remembering you?” Martin asks gently.

Melanie shakes her head. “He remembered me up to the end, but he died a few years ago. I, uh…is your mother still at home or…?”

“No, she asked to go into a home a few years ago.” It’s a polite way of phrasing it. She hadn’t really asked so much as told him she was going.

“Then maybe you know about…not many people really paid attention when it happened. Even the crew at Ghost Hunt UK didn’t really…” Melanie hesitates, crumbling a bit of pie crust in between her thumb and forefinger. “Did you ever hear of a place called Ivy Meadows?”

Martin’s blood runs cold. “Oh, no.”

“Yeah,” Melanie agrees. “Dad was still there when it burned down. The official story was that it had closed down months before and all the patients transferred, but…I never quite got why they did that.” She sighs heavily.

“Corruption,” Martin says under his breath.

Melanie, unfortunately, hears him. “You’re saying the staff was corrupt?”

“No. Well, yes, but…” Martin hesitates. “Look, there’s…let’s just say someone connected to it made a statement to the Institute. It’s—it was a lot.”

“And you believe it?”

“Yeah. See…okay, look.” Martin picks up his glass and downs about half of what’s left in one go. He’s going to need it. “It’s a really long story, and I don’t think either of us have time for it right now, but…all of us who work in the Archives, we’ve got—we’ve developed these kind of…weird abilities. Powers, you might call them even. And one of them is that we can tell when a statement we’re listening to is something that actually happened—I mean, something that actually happened and really does have a supernatural or paranormal explanation—and something that’s fake or the result of a hallucination or anything like that.” He pauses. “It’s stronger for some of us than others, and we all get it in different ways.”

Melanie cocks her head at him. “Really.”

Martin nods. “Yeah, like—when I saw you at the front desk today? I knew you had a statement and I knew it was something that—uh—wouldn’t go on the laptop. You had to use the tape recorders, right? We only use those when it’s a proper spooky statement. Everything else will record digitally.”

Something about Melanie’s posture changes. “So that’s why he believed me.”

“Yep, that’s why,” Martin affirms. “If you want to know what we know about Ivy Meadows…I’ll tell you about it when you get back from India, maybe?”

“I don’t know that I will get back,” Melanie says frankly. She shrugs out of her coat and pulls aside the collar of her Ghost Hunt UK t-shirt, showing him a wicked-looking scar slashing down from her shoulder towards her heart. “These ghosts I’m chasing down are pretty nasty. It’s why I came to gave my statement—in case I get killed by one.” She lets the shirt fall back to its natural position. “I don’t want to die not knowing the truth. Go ahead and tell me.”

So Martin does. He keeps it as bare-bones as possible, but it takes a serious effort; the static gets louder in his mind and the pressure builds behind his eyes as Melanie gets paler and paler. The Eye wants her fear, and while Martin’s role is usually the comforter, the therapist, the let-it-all-out vent switch, in absence of anyone else to give Melanie the information to devastate her, it appears to be settling. Somehow, he manages to get away with telling her no more than the basics.

“Please don’t ask me for more details,” he mutters at last, breaking off a piece of the meat pie. “I won’t be able to not give them to you.”

Melanie visibly struggles to pull herself together, grief and rage mingling in her eyes as Martin tries to cope with the too-big bite he shoved in his mouth. Choking here in Pat’s pub wouldn’t be the most brilliant move in the world, but it was better than laying out someone else’s trauma to give Melanie more. He manages to swallow at last, about the time Melanie takes a deep breath and straightens.

“I want to see that file when I get back,” she says baldly.

“Deal. Anything to get you to actually make the effort,” Martin says pointedly.

Melanie looks slightly embarrassed. “I’m not suicidal.”

“No, but you don’t care if you die or not. I know what that looks like, Melanie. I’ve been there. You think you’ve got nothing left to live for and nothing to lose, so you’re willing to throw your life away on the off-chance it’ll improve things for someone else. The only difference is you’re not going to do it yourself.” Martin waits until she looks him in the eye, then says, “Whatever you’re looking into, Jon’s going to want to hear about it—we all are. I bet you want to know what’s going on at the Institute. And I really would like to actually get to be friends with you instead of—of speed-bonding or whatever we’re doing here.”

Melanie actually laughs at that. “Same, actually. Okay. Deal. I do my best to survive whatever’s waiting for me in India, and when I get back, drinks and I tell you all about it.”

“Sounds like a plan. Wait, here.” Martin grabs a pen out of his pocket—they seem to be almost as ubiquitous as the tape recorders these days—and scribbles his number on a napkin, then pushes it over to Melanie. “In case you need anything. Or just want to chat or whatever.”

“Thanks.” Melanie pulls out her own phone and types busily away at it. A moment later, Martin’s phone pings, and there’s a text from an unknown number: [Here’s mine back. Same deal.]

Martin saves the number and glances at the time to confirm he’s got time. “When does your flight leave?”

“Four. I’ve got to run home and grab my suitcase.” Melanie checks her own phone. “In fact, I should probably finish up eating here and call a cab.”

“Fair. I need to get back to work anyway.” Martin signals to Pat for the bill and hands over his card before Melanie can object. “It’s fine, seriously. I invited you, it’s my treat.”

“Fine, but the drinks are on me when I get back.”

“I accept those terms.”

Outside, Martin holds out his hand; Melanie starts to shake it, pauses, and then bypasses it and goes in for a hug. It startles him, but he hugs her back. In the back of his mind, he wonders when the last time someone touched her in a friendly manner was.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “You’re right. It feels a lot better heading off with having spent time with—a friend.”

“Good.” Martin hugs her tighter for a second, then lets go as a cab pulls up. “Safe travels. Let me know when you get back.”

“I will. You be careful, too.” Melanie winks at him. “Good luck surviving Valentine’s Day.”

“Enjoy a year without it,” Martin snipes back. She actually laughs and waves before getting in the cab. He waits until it pulls out of sight, then starts the walk back to the Institute, feeling oddly better about a lot of things. It’s nice to have a friend. He just hopes she means what she says about being careful.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#the magnus archives #tma #time travel fix it au #death mention tw #suicidal ideation tw #medical mention tw

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frownyalfred · 5 years ago

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chag sameach

Chag Sameach and Happy Hanukkah to all my Jewish followers. And Merry Christmas to all who celebrate later this month!

I’m still on my Jewish!Bruce kick, so please enjoy the mostly secular piece below.

»»————-　　————-««

There was an old menorah hidden somewhere up here.

Bruce lifted another dusty box out of the way, avoiding the cloud of dirt it flung up into the attic. He tried to recall where Alfred had carefully buried the box—a soft velvet, inlaid with silk—decades ago.

Perhaps he’d blocked it from his memory. Perhaps he’d merely forgotten.

“What are you doing?”

Bruce looked up from the boxes. Dick was standing at the attic door, a lone eyebrow raised. His hair was wet, like he’d just gotten out of the shower.

“Looking for something,” he muttered, turning away. Another box—no, this was china. Why did they have so much china? “How was patrol?”

“Quiet,” Dick replied with a shrug. He stepped into the attic, circling Bruce’s position. “You do realize it’s four in the morning, right?”

“I’m aware of the time, yes,” Bruce said, lifting another box from the floor. This one looked like linens, carefully marked in Alfred’s cursive on the side.

Dick nodded, silently taking this in. He was intuitive that way—he’d been like that since he was a boy; able to guess Bruce’s mood with a glance, then evaluate a course of action from there.

A second pair of hands joined him a moment later. Bruce’s mouth twitched as he opened a box of silverware.

“You’ll tell me if I find it?” Dick hummed, sounding tired. Bruce nodded.

They opened boxes together in silence, digging through old perfume and scarves. Dick exhaled in surprise as he saw the name on the side of the box he was holding, opening his mouth.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs, interrupting whatever he’d been about to say. Jason pushed open the attic door, wincing at the bright light.

“It’s four in the morning,” he said, crossing his arms.

“We’re aware,” Dick answered for both of them. “Go back to sleep then.”

“I can’t,” Jason said, glaring at his brother. “Someone’s tap dancing on my ceiling.”

“We’ll be quiet,” Bruce said, tilting his head. “Sorry, Jason.”

Jason blinked, drawn up short by the sudden apology. His arms uncrossed, falling to his side.

“What the hell are you looking for, anyway?”

And then they were three. Jason was less agreeable than Dick to look for something he couldn’t identify, but sleepy enough not to fuss too much. He was wearing cotton Iron Man pajama pants.

Bruce heart ached for a second, remembering nights like these a long, long time ago. When these men were boys. When he wasn’t looking for a goddamned menorah at four in the morning because the nostalgia of seeing it lit was enough to keep him awake all night.

“What are we looking for?”

Tim and Damian were at the doorway, looking mildly curious. Well, that was mostly Tim. Damian looked like he’d rather crawl back into bed and forget he existed for a few more hours.

Teenagers, Bruce thought, fondly.

“Wanna help?” Dick asked, instead of offering an answer. Tim shrugged, dropping his Superman blanket (Bruce rolled his eyes) to join his brothers.

Damian seemed to be waiting for an invitation. Bruce’s mouth twitched again.

“Come help, Dami.”

Then they were five.

The closer he got to Mother’s personal effects, the sharper the pain in his chest grew. It was surprisingly painful, even this many years down the road, to see her hairbrush. Her makeup. The soft leather gloves he remembered her wearing when they drove, elegant and a deep, dark red.

The menorah ended up being near the rest of Mother’s books, tucked in between a box of literary fiction and a box of murder mysteries. Bruce carefully lifted the case up, his mind traveling back to the last time he’d seen it, decades ago.

“Found it,” he said quietly. Around him, the boys stopped digging, looking up. He realized after a moment that they were staring at him expectantly.

“I...uh,” he said, awkward. “This is what I wanted.”

Jason snorted, getting an elbow to the ribs a second later from Dick. Tim looked curious; Damian was simply tired.

“Well, what is it?” Jason asked, wiping dusty hands on his Iron Man pants. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“It’s a menorah.” Bruce said, quietly. He avoided their eyes, stepping toward the door.

“Hanukkah started Sunday,” Damian said from behind him, a frown clear in his voice.

“I know that,” Bruce said, reaching the stairs. He bit back a smile as the boys followed him, eager to see what he was doing.

“Wait. We’re Jewish?” That was Jason. Bruce actually smiled this time.

Dick spoke up, the bearer of Alfred’s infinite wisdom in the elder man’s absence at this time of night. Morning. “Technically? Yes.”

“Rad,” Tim said, and that was that.

Bruce scavenged the pantry for the right sized candles and, upon finding an acceptable trio, went to the bay window in the southern end of the house.

He set the box down on the table. The boys were gathered behind him, waiting to see the contents with bated breath.

The latch was bronze, a beautiful, ornate piece of metal, Hebrew letters curling around the edges. Bruce flicked it open, lifting the lid.

Inside, a silver menorah laid in between dusty silk, tarnished to near-blackness with disuse. Leaves littered the stems of the frame, trailing towards the twisting trunk of its base.

Bruce exhaled, a soft smile curving his lips.

He set it on the table, careful to make it visible in the window. The candles were warm in his other hand, waiting to be lit.

“Don’t they usually light these at night?” Jason asked, breaking the silence. Another thud, and he reconsidered his tone. “No offense, Bruce.”

“Sunset,” he corrected, “I think sunrise will be an acceptable substitute.”

Damian and Tim took the candles from him, sliding them into the menorah. After some quibbling over their position, they stepped back, admiring their work.

“I don’t really remember how this is supposed to go,” Bruce admitted, sheepish. “Alfred does, but he’s—“

“Asleep,” the boys chorused.

“Yes.” Glad to see the do not wake Alfred unless someone is dying order was still in effect.

“Well, we can just light them,” Dick said, diplomatic as ever. “I’m sure that counts.”

Bruce nodded, reaching for his pocket. He realized he’d forgotten the matches in the pantry, and cursed. “Jason—“

A lighter flicked into existence next to him. Jason leaned in, narrowing his eyes at the candles.

“Which one gets lit first?”

“The tallest one,” Bruce said, pointing. When it was lit, he took the candle and drew the flame across the other wicks, one by one. Jason shrugged, dropping the hand with the lighter.

He stepped back, the warm glow of candles filling the dark room. Outside, he could see the beginnings of sunrise over the horizon, painting the sky a dull pink.

“Do you want to, um, say something?” Tim asked.

“No.”

“Okay.”

But they stayed, positioned unconsciously in a half circle, defensive. Bruce watched the candles burn, half-amazed that they hadn’t said anything yet. A jab, some sort of joke about being soft and nostalgic.

“Happy Hanukkah,” he said, when the sun finally crept over the horizon.

“Happy Hanukkah, Bruce.” Dick said.

“Yeah.” Tim added.

“Feliz Navidad.” That was Jason.

“Chag sameach,” Damian concluded, with a distant smile. Bruce returned it.

“Chag sameach.”

#jewish bruce wayne #bruce wayne #batfamily #batfam #batdad #myfic #theresurrectionist #i wrote this at 7 am on my phone so please excuse the mistakes #jewish batfamily #secular judaism #cultural judaism #family fluff #some light angst for flavor #martha wayne #trauma #healing #chag sameach everyone

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adonis-koo · 5 years ago

Text

don’t call me angel

Note: a parting gift for the new year! I hope you all enjoy because snarky best friends Seokjin/MC is my new favorite trope 🥺

↳ Summary: Life as an assassin was never what it was supposed to be, filled with bloody knuckles and bruised skin, sleepless nights and empty tears spilled. Life was hell, but it looked like just a fracture of heaven when Seokjin was with you. Until he’s become distant, tense when you speak to others, different, but just enough for you to subtly notice.

↳ Genre: Assassin!AU, angst, fluff, smut, fwb(?)

↳ Word Count: 14k

↳ Pairing: Seokjin/Reader, Jimin/Reader

↳ Tags: MC and Seokjin act like an old married couple, so much banter, jealous!Seokjin, dirty talk, begging, MC cries during sex, breathplay, overstimulation, oral (female receiving), tongue fucking, vaginal fingering, sex toys, bondage, possession kink, spanking, did I mention begging? Begging kink? Penetrative sex, MC doesn’t like to sub but Seokjin turns her into a little bitch, angry sex, HEAVY degradation, edging, cumplay

Namjoon | Seokjin | Jungkook

The seat was cold, the good news was your ass had become numb at least an hour ago, regardless, the metal outdoor chair that had been seated in front of the cafe that was well past closing time was anything but comfortable. Your knuckles were nearly blue and you had kept your teeth from chattering. How the guards didn’t bother to ID check you at this hour was honestly god sent. One lonely girl, three in the morning, a silenced beretta strapped to your stomach that was concealed by the hoodie you wore.

You thought at least the weeb kitsune masks you had begged Seokjin to buy would’ve raised some suspicious if not their interest in harassing a young girl late at night. But alas, it was early morning, freezing and you could tell even with an AR-15 in hand they all would much rather be in bed asleep. Surely they would’ve seen your lip twitch in a scoff had it not been for the black medical mask: Sloppy.

No wonder this was like stealing candy from a baby when your target hired shitty club level security. Glancing back down at your phone your eyes flickered up once more to the figure across the narrow street, also seated on a bench, Seokjin never did like the cold either.

You couldn’t even finish typing before fumbling with your phone at the familiar sound of the silenced shot sound, pulling the pistol from its holster you had quickly rolled from your chair to kneel before firing two shots into the men who had hardly any time to witness their coworkers splattered like pancakes on a sunday morning onto the ground.

“Can you fucking wait five seconds!?” You snapped standing up as you pushed the safety back on your firearm, “You’re lucky we’re as well trained as we are.”

Seokjin who had been strolling across the road suddenly flung his arms up in the air, his face shielded by the- in his opinion- ridiculous kitsune mask and medical mask both. But you knew his expressions well enough by now to practically see the snarky, raised brow and incredulous look, “You were the one who wanted to take governors avenue! Seokjin it will be faster.”

Your lips curled in anger as you squinted at him from your skewed, darkened vision of your mask, this little shit was mocking you! “It was! Who the hell wants to fucking scale a cliff at three in the morning!? Not me!” You opened your mouth only to scowl as you twisted around to face the direction you had been slowly commuting.

Technically the more discreet route would’ve been cliffside but that was also under heavy regulation and Yoongi didn’t have enough clarence, or strings to pull to get you an entry card. Therefore scaling would’ve been your only option, but jesus fuck! Three in the morning, nearly negative ten degrees. It would the slowest pace, but safest.

But for fucks sake you killed people for a living who wanted to freeze their ass off cliffside when you had a direct path. It was the most risky and crawling with security but goddamn was it less cold between the buildings and a whole lot closer to your destination, so honestly? The choice was obvious to make, Seokjin just wanted to complain and gripe about not getting his way, to which you’d ignore or tell him to suck it up, like now.

“You know what? Whatever, the longer we stay here the more likely trucks will be on rotation, come on put the bodies in that alley way, snow will cover up the rest of the blood.” You were already dragging the meathead of the group into the narrow alley as Seokjin groaned, kicking at the fresh pile of snow before- most likely rolling his eyes and doing as told.

“Wouldn’t have to put a body in an alleyway if you did what we were supposed too.” Seokjin grumbled under his breath as he slumped the last body down next to it’s new grave for the next...hour at most? Your brain was constantly ticking in the future, that would be enough time...If everything went too plan.

“Oh shut up where’s the fun in that.” You slapped his back earning a grunt from him as you let out a breathy laugh, appearing out of the alley way as you made your way back up the street.

This villa was technically under curfew yet the guards on rotation really just didn’t seem to give a shit, most likely out of not getting paid enough and less loyalty to their boss then to their wives, it was the cars Yoongi said you’d have to watch out for. They were the higher rank and the ones that could track you down if things went from bad to worse.

The good news was that was the last hurdle of this night...well on the outside of the mansion, The lights were all on and you could hear the music blaring even from here, they’d surely be up all night in celebration, Wonho and his cronies at least. Everyone else...well they might get the hint the party was over when you took your leave.

Seokjin and you had parted ways as he made his way to the watch tower that overlooked your room, or well the vacant one you’d be scaling too. The mansion was a little more tricky, guards were suspicious at every rattle and noise they heard and the time slot for you to scale up five floors was going to be crunched.

“Any day now.” You sighed, leaning back against the brick wall, branches uncomfortably sticking and poking every end of your body as you did your best to not breath as any time you did the bushes would rattle, a thin layer of snow was nearly coating your whole body and you couldn’t feel your fingers anymore, “Seriously for fucks sake, what are you doing? Taking a piss off the tower? It’s fucking cold and the little paranoid freak won’t stop staring at my bush everytime I try to move.”

“Staring at your bush?” Seokjin’s voice crackled from your intercom as he tutted, sounding thoroughly unamused and you could almost see his snide lip curl, “You need to go back to languages class.” You only rolled your eyes as he continued, “I just set up camp and got rid of the bodies, you’re underneath your window right?”

You managed to get up against the building and set yourself down but two guards just wouldn’t leave the perimeter despite rotation, glancing up you could see the ledge of your room’s window even from the ground but there was no way you’d make it fifteen feet without a bullet in the ass, or potentially head, “Yeah but those two won’t leave, can you get them out of here?”

“No there’s two over on the east side that could see from the position they’re in, let me wire Yoongi and see if he can help. Just sit tight for now.” You let out a silent groan as you pressed back against the wall.

You couldn’t say you weren’t getting paid enough for this, because in most casing you definitely were but honestly? No amount of money was worth sitting in ass freezing snow waiting for god only knew how long just to get inside. You closed your eyes trying to imagine the inside of the mansion, Wonho was rich, he’d have heating, it would be warm, maybe you could even get a drink if you’re lucky.

You nearly jumped out of your seat at the sound of the two guards who had been on standby suddenly rushing over to the east as if something urgent had happened. Fuck you could only hope Kim hadn’t blown his cover, he was a careful guy, there was no way it was him. Hopefully, he should be in the building by now.

“Yoongi scrambled their gates lock system, you have five minutes before west guards make their way up.” You didn’t need to be told twice as you stood up, wasting no time to utilize the window seals for your climb. Had you not been awake for over seventeen hours this would’ve felt like a piece of cake.

Your arms were still strained however as you paused, groaning as you muttered, “Namjoon better have unlocked that fucking window.” Kim was supposed to prep your room before making his way down to scope out the main floor, he was never sloppy, but being tired, sleep deprived and the first phase of hunger setting in was really making you question your life choices. Or what little choice you were given at least.

“You know if you keep bitching they’re gonna see you.” Seokjin replied, suddenly snorting as he continued, “Actually, bet they will. I’ll finally be free from your constant whining and stubbornness.”

Clacking your tongue you pushed open the window before climbing through, sighing you collapsed on the ground, temporarily closing your eyes as you replied, “Maybe, but your life would be a hell of a lot less fun without me.”

“Well it will be if you don’t get your ass up, come on Y/n we don’t have all day. Some of us don’t get the luxury of going inside.” Seokjin complained as you rolled your eyes, standing up as you shut the window. Turning around you made your way for the closet, pushing the hood down and peeling off your facial wear.

“Boohoo, suck it up. This shouldn’t take longer than a half hour at most.” Stripping down you let your skin bask in the heated warmth of the indoors. Your blood was pulsing and throbbing at the drastic temperature change as you began to dig through the closet. You could only hope Wonho had already drank enough to not be entirely straight on his feet or else this was going to be a lot longer than you wanted.

This however, was a celebration after all, Wonho just successfully took down one of Rio’s biggest militias and long time overseas rival. Everyone would be drunk tonight, and if not they were well on their way.

“Wow you couldn’t even dress for the occasion,” Seokjin whistled low while tutting, as if in disappointment as you stood up straight, glaring over your shoulder at the window where he undoubtedly had the scope of his sniper aimed on your ass, only covered in a plain pair of black thermal underwear in hopes of keeping you warm. It did not.

“I’m here to lynch him Jin, not sleep with him.” You rolled your eyes as you pulled the dress from the closet, pulling it over your shoulders before tugging down the tight material that strapped against your body, your cleavage decently on display, hopefully enough to keep Wonho’s interest compared to all the other, more than likely attractive women to keep his attention. Kicking off your boots and peeling off your socks you could hear Seokjin scoff through the static, “Could’ve fooled me.”

You decided to ignore his comment as you slipped on the heels, you were already fairly tall as it was and if he couldn’t see you before he definitely would now given you were at the same height as a fully grown man, “Alright, I'm on my way to location, keep me updated if rotation for guards changes.”

“On it.”

Shoving your clothes into the bottom of the closet you firmly shut the door before making your way out of the room, the hallway was packed just as you assumed yet no one questioned you stepping out of the room, all to absorbed in their conversations, or the person they were lip locked with. Shuffling through the hallway you made your way to the elevator, the woman inside was almost completely wasted, knocking you to the back where the greasy older gentlemen stood with a slight drunken leer in his eyes while licking his lips at the sight of your breasts.

Grimacing you folded your arms as you ignored the packed, alcohol reeked scene, finally breathing relief at the ding of the door before exiting the elevator.

The main floor wasn’t much better, it had been completely trashed and bottles had littered the floor. Honestly it rivaled that of a much more expensive, and dangerous version of a frat house. Your eyes however weren’t trained on the floor anymore as you scoped the crowd, your eyes landing on the three piece clad blue suit and slicked, styled hair as you swooped in, strutting towards the figure before standing beside him with a hum, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“We were briefed on this in the same room Y/n.” Namjoon glanced at you as he rolled his eyes, ever the pragmatic, glancing at your figure before giving a small nod, “Good to see you didn’t bust your ass trying to get in.”

Your lips twisted into a scowl, you were never known for your scaling skills and maybe that was why you snubbed Seokjin’s idea of using cliffside to get in, regardless, you made it and that was what counted, crossing your arms you said, “And if I had, do you think you could get Wonho to swing the other way?”

To that he rolled his eyes once more. Namjoon and you...had a long history one that was naturally shared with Seokjin of course. He was the leader of your group...well...as much as he could be. Operations were rarely held as a full team but usually he’d always lead them when they were. You and Seokjin were the first two to be assembled onto the team, or the first to meet Namjoon at least. You had met him before when you were younger though, briefly.

Not only was Namjoon a good assault expert and spy but he was like the glue that kept everyone from killing each other. He had your respect and that was the highest honor someone could ever receive from you. He was an excellent leader.

“You are the most stale person I’ve ever met,” You muttered under your breath, his lack of banter however was always something that made you grumble, he was dry, pragmatic and could always be relied on to get the job done. But where was the jazz? Where was the spice? The drama? Talk about boring, “Is the target on sight?”

“Back corner of the room on the right. We have company.” Namjoon tutted, his tone of voice suddenly on edge making you stand up straighter, glancing around in search for what he meant. What you found however was the familiar sight of burgundy hair and a charismatic smile that could rival the sun.

Squinting your eyes slightly you felt confusion suddenly cloud your thoughts at the unexpected appearance of your interrogation expert, “What is Hoseok doing here?” You glanced at Namjoon curiously but his expression told you he was just as in the dark, and his brooding eyes let you know he was less than happy about it.

“Who knows,” His eyes flickered to the ground, his icy glare enough to freeze someone had he looked up, “Park loves keeping us in the dark.”

It was the truth, in all fairness. Park almost always used the whole team for an operation yet never told one another, just leaving you all in the dark as the puzzle pieces fell together. You supposed you didn’t have a reason to know why Hoseok was here, but a heads up would’ve been nice had things gone sideways.

This was how Park ran though, it’s what made his business, his elite group from potentially selling him out and turning on him. You can’t leak an operation if you don’t know who else is apart of it. He always had more than one motive for something like this. You knew he did, you just couldn’t figure out what.

You shrugged, glancing at Hoseok’s figure one last time before letting your eyes slowly flicker to Wonho, he was still cramped up in the corner with his friends and right hand man, all laughing and looking about as drunk as you had hoped. Good.

“Where’s your little protege at?” Your lips curled slightly as you quipped.

Namjoon couldn’t stop the snort from escaping his lips as he curved an eyebrow at you, flecks of amusement in his eyes, “Sitting at home probably beating the shit out of a punching bag. Made him sit this one out, it’s too important and I don’t think he has enough experience for something like infiltration yet.”

Humming you glanced back at your target, “Not a lot of faith there huh. He’s never gonna gain experience if you don’t let him.” It was ironic for you to be the one saying that given he hated your guts for an unbeknownst reason but you did feel for the kid. He had potential, he just needed to hone it, and maybe mature a little.

“Maybe when he doesn’t threaten to choke slam you anytime you’re in the same room.” Namjoon replied as you threw up your hands, you couldn’t help it. Well maybe you could, you were well known for instigating when someone was in a bad mood but still, you had to keep yourself on your toes somehow.

“Alright fair enough,” You surrendered with a sigh, “Let’s just get this over with, stand here any longer and Seokjin is gonna be up my ass about how he’s cold. You should head for rendezvous, I got things from here.”

Namjoon only nodded as he replied, “Copy. Good luck L/n.” With that Namjoon took a step back before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you alone as you subtly kept your eyes on your target as you began your trek over to his location. Lingering around the bar as you shifted your expression into a far more pleasant one. It took a few more minutes but you had caught Wonho’s eyes just as you had hoped, tossing him a shy smile as you glanced away.

It was almost too easy getting his attention, you had played this little game for only a few more minutes before you watched him abruptly dismiss his friends as he walked your way. You had to drop your gaze back to the floor the glass you held still completely full despite acting as if you were casually drinking.

“I don’t think we’ve ever met, the names Lee Wonho.” Wonho had smoothly introduced himself as he loosened his tie, his eyes not leaving your figure as you bashfully glanced up, resisting the urge to let your lips cave into a full blown smirk.

Rather you kept the seemingly innocent look on your eyes as you smiled sheepishly, “O-oh...I...I didn’t realize you were the owner of the estate, Choi Dahyun, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

It was like a fish and reel and Wonho was practically racing towards the dry land as he wolfishly grabbed your hand you had extended, pressing it to his lips as he smirked, “The pleasure is all mine.” You had to resist the urge to cringe as you smiled once more. Easing into conversation with possibly one of the biggest underworld leaders at the moment.

It took months to set this up, to get to this moment in time. Finally, you’d be able to rest once this was over. It was almost amusing to think about, Wonho was a man in his mid forties, a whole empire behind him that had been passed down to him by his grandfather, he dealt in mafia affairs, one of the biggest narcotic dealers on the blackmarket and his stock of stolen military weaponry was uncanny. And yet, he was about to meet his demise by a pretty face and a set of tits. The irony was something you’d revel in for days and something that would look shiny on your resume.

It was almost too easy getting Wonho up to your room, you had even kept your eyes peeled, feeling as if this was too easy. Did he know? You could feel the small sliver of paranoia in the back of your head. Did Wonho know who you were? Was this apart of his plan? You couldn’t help but wonder. At this point though, did you have a choice? It was now or never.

You nearly grimaced at the way Wonho’s lips practically sucked against yours, his teeth messily gnashing as you pulled him into the room. The door shutting behind him as he whirled you around pressing you into the wall.

What you didn’t expect as your airflow to suddenly be cut off with a gag, Wonho only pulled away enough to look at you, smug and sneering as he hummed, “Nice try but I know Park’s bitches when I see them.” You gave an ice cold smile as you winced at the squeeze of his hand on your neck, “Why did he send you huh? Were you looking for the storage of narcotics? The data we hacked from Jang? Or did you just wanna get your little panties wet with the best?”

You let out a squeezed scoff, “You think you’re some hot shit don’t you? Well let me tell you, trying to be mr badass and take me on by yourself was the worst thing your dick driven ego has done yet.”

“Uh Y/n we have a problem.” You could hear Seokjin on your intercom, “I’m seeing a big head count on the eastern end of the perimeter, I think the bodies from earlier might have been discovered, are you almost done with Wonho?”

You could hardly focus on his voice though when you were thrown across the room, wheezing as you were knocked against the dress, falling to the floor with a thud as your body ached in pain, “You underestimate me little girl. You think I’m the leader of the most powerful group on the planet? I’ve already crushed Yun’s little militia, next I’ll sweep Jang out from under his feet and when I’m done with him? I’ll fucking string Park on his ass for his little boy to watch. I could be god-”

You jolted at the bullet pierced through his head, blood splattering the ground and leaking from the now grotesque state of what was once left of the man-god Wonho, or so he proclaimed himself to be. Sitting still for a total of ten seconds before you finally spoke, “Thanks- but I really wanted that on my resume…”

“Can you be grateful for once in your life? Get dressed and fucking light the place up we need to go now. There’s a helio on sight and I think Wonho was storing a good portion of his army in the warehouse.”

Standing up you made quick work of your dress and heels before opening the closet and dressing in your outfit once more, your lips curled into a smile at the sight of the small bottle of gasoline Namjoon had left as a parting gift. Perfect.

Pulling the hoodie up you popped the lid off the bottle before splashing gasoline throughout the room, opening up the window you poured the rest down the wall, your nose wrinkling at the pheromone smell before quickly throwing the bottle over your shoulder and scaling the wall. You could hear yelling and gunshots in the distant causing your adrenaline to spike as you swore under your breath.

Pulling the lighter from your pocket you lit up the gasoline, the fiery path licking at its substance as it spread up the wall and into the room. Quickly you glanced each direction before hurrying back to the watch tower. What was the gunfire from? And furthermore you couldn’t hear the helio.

“I’m headed for rendezvous, you good?” You had quickly pushed yourself up against the wall. Holding your breath as the two guards hurried past towards the west side, what happened?

“Already halfway there, you better hurry up before I decide to leave you.” Seokjin tutted as you scoffed, was that a challenge? He knew you could never say no to that.

Getting to the plane was already difficult as it was, the place was crawling with guards and security and by the time your room had exploded the whole place was being evacuated. It was an absolute mess. But the large crowd of panicked civilians gave you a big out to escape through the crowd on the bright side.

You couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when you saw the plane, Seokjin leaned up against the set of stairs in place scrolling on his phone, “Did you hear about Hyuna trying to get into Jimin’s pants last night?”

Peeling both masks off as your hoodie knocked down you looked at him incredulously as you both stepped up into the plane, nodding at the guard who shut the door as you huffed, “We literally just finished killing one of Korea’s biggest crime lords and you’re fucking concerned about who Hyuna is sleeping with?”

“It’s a valid concern!” Seokjin replied indignantly, pushing his own hoodie off before throwing his masks onto the other couch, collapsing on the couch you both stood in front of as he groaned, “Should be for you too since Jimin is the one trying to get in your panties.”

You groaned at his words, sluggishly flopping down next to him. Seokjin had been incessant on bringing up the younger college boys crush on you the past three weeks and just as every other time you still didn’t understand what he was getting at. Your body involuntarily curling against his own as Seokjin pulled you close. His chin resting on your head as you dug your nose against his neck, “Shut up.”

Seokin only snorted, “You know I’m right.” You could only let out a yawn, ignoring his probing. The kind he did when something bugged him but he never wanted to outright say it. It had been like this since you had the unfortunate luck to garnering Jimin’s undying attention. You had never pried though as to why it bugged him. At least not until he got on your nerves.

Regardless, you were glad the day was finished. Wonho had finally been lynched and you would get the well deserved rest you had earned.

“Shoot her.”

Your heart was racing and it hurt to blink. When did things come to this? No… you always knew this would be the outcome. Everyday of your miserable existence was spent in preparation for this, all the blood that stained your hands, all the screams that would forever haunt your memories, you knew it would come to this. You just didn’t think you’d be on the losing side. If there was one thing you were never prepared for, it was him who’d pull the trigger on you.

“I said: shoot her.” He snarled, the gun aimed at your forehead had been shaking, god you remembered this so many times.

Glancing up weakly his expression was one you’d never forget, the way Seokjin’s eyes were blown out, his knuckle white from how harshly he gripped the gun, adrenaline in his own veins forcing it’s view into life as it shook. He looked horrified, as if living the horrors he’d dream of every night, “Shoot her Kim and you could go places. You’ve come so far, you’ve already killed so many...What’s one more?”

You swallowed thickly, fear shooting through your veins at the way Seokjin’s expression morphed, his fear suddenly dampening as if curious by his words, his eyes leaving yours as he turned his head ever so slightly, as if listening to his every word, “Seokjin jesus christ don’t listen to him. Please.”

“Do it. Pull the trigger Kim, just another faceless person to add to the body count.”

Fear twisted onto your face at the way he tightened his grip on the gun, slowly his lips curled into a smile, almost sneering down at you. Of course it would end like this. The way it was supposed to end, “Better luck next time L/n.”

The scream in your throat had ripped out as you shot up from the sprawled on position in bed, the wet substance of tears dripping down your cheeks despite the constant tremor in your body, your breath shaky as you ran a frantic hand in your hair. It was just a dream! It was just a dream! Seokjin would never do that to you. He never did.

You jumped at the sound of the door opening, a small whimpered sob escaping your lips at the sight of Seokin’s sleep ridden appearance, having heard the familiar cry through the walls as he sat down on the bed, wordless as you practically flew into his arms, a hiccup escaping your lips as you burrowed into the safety of his neck.

“Shhh, it was just a dream.” Seokjin hummed gently, lips pressing into your hair as you choked out a soft sob, “Was it the same one?” Wordlessly you nodded as you forced the ugly sob down your throat, tears silently treading down your cheeks as Seokjin laid you both down, his arms securely around you as he tucked you away against him.

Your tears slowly began to cease at the feeling of his hand stroking your back, occasionally tangling and playing with your hair as he continued to pepper your head with soft kisses soothingly, your heart rate had finally begun to slow down as Seokjin murmured, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” You spat out, your voice raspy, anger twisting in your veins despite your watery eyes, your hands had balled into fists against the white shirt he wore, “I hope he’s rotting in hell.” Seokjin only sighed, pulled away a little as he laid his head on the pillow you both shared.

His eyes had that soft gleam in them, the kind he’d only reserve for you in moments like this, when it was four in the morning and you’d have to be up soon for debrief, “You know I never intended on shooting you, right?”

Your eyes dropped to his chest as you felt his long fingers brush your near cold tears from your cheeks, “Yeah, but that doesn’t change the fact that he still tried to convince you too,” You were well aware of the bitter tone your voice held as you bit out, “Wish I could’ve been the one to kill him. I would’ve been a hell of a lot less merciful.” You snarled anger twisting in your eyes at the mental image, “He’d be begging for me to kill him.”

“Y/n…” Seokjin could feel a piece of his heart chip at the borderline insanity in your voice, the kind he and you both tiptoed on every day, you had been put through such a horrendous childhood, it amazed him Park hadn’t put you both in a mental ward yet, or at least in therapy, ”He’s dead.” Seokjin cupped your cheeks, his gaze penetrating your soul the way it always would in these late, dark hours, “You need to let it go. Holding on to this isn’t going to do anything for you.”

You felt your lips quiver, a small scoff escaping your mouth at your own patheticness, a new fresh stream of tears trickling down your cheeks as you murmured, “I wish I knew how.” You knew he was right, that you needed to let the resentment that had festered in your mind for your childhood, the horror you went through, you needed to let it all go. But how? Where could you begin? There was just so much. And it wasn’t like you could go to a regular therapist for this.

“Shhh.” Seokjin cooed softly, pulling you close to him as you let out another soft sob, curling against his warm body for safety.

The only person you would ever trust on this planet, you both had gotten on one another's nerves now more than anything. But Seokjin was all you had left in this world, you’d never let go of him, “Just try to fall back asleep, I’ll be here if you wake up.”

Your eyes were already falling heavy against your cheeks, the smell of strawberry body wash he insisted on using lulling you back to sleep, you’d be okay. You’d be okay as long as Seokjin was with you.

“So, rough night?” The boldness in your casual words, as if you hadn’t been sniffling and bawling your eyes out last night, was immense, if not annoying to everyone in the room, all dead eyes with a lack of sleep. You raised your brows at the silence you were met with at the oval dining table everyone sat at as you took a sip of the motor oil Yoongi considered coffee.

The only person who had been absent at the table was Taehyung- who had been getting cozy with a governor's wife in Peru, not out of actual interest for her. But for his job at seduction and information retrieval, he could undoubtedly have everyone their knee’s for him in the matter of ten seconds if he wanted. The power of being hot and knowing it.

Namjoon only sighed as he facepalmed, his protege though- the one with the permanent brooding scowl on his face ever since he laid eyes on you let his face screw into an even more sour look, as if that was even possible.

You couldn’t stop the snort from escaping your lips as your eyes met, “We’re not here for small talk.” Jungkook suddenly snarled at you, as if breathing the same air as you pissed him off. It probably did.

You whistled as you leaned back in your seat, thoroughly amused at the way he gritted his teeth and snarled like a rabid dog, “Aite damn. You don’t have to give me such a constipated look though- I mean seriously, you look like you’re about to bust the fattest shit since birth.” The gurgled choke came from Yoongi- the only person who could appreciate your dry yet somewhat cheeky sense of humor.

Jungkook suddenly stood up from his seat, slamming his hands on the table as he growled, everyone not bothering to intervene, as they all knew this was the only form of entertainment they’d ever get when you were all in the same room, “Is this some fucking game too you? Park has never called for all of us to be in the same fucking room. And all you can do is crack a joke?”

You clacked your tongue as you leaned back in your seat, such a hot head...Namjoon’s protege was something else. Not that you minded though, at least not completely, it meant you had someone to provoke meanwhile until Park could be benevolent enough and make time for you all, “He’s never called us together since you’ve been here,” Your eyes cut slightly and your words pointed, “This isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. Now get your panties out of a twist, me and Seokjin just lynched Wonho, whatever this is, can’t be more difficult than that.”

Jungkook was, the newest addition to the team by a little over a year. You didn’t know the details and furthermore you didn’t care.

As long as Namjoon trusted him you would as well, as you did trust his judgement. He was pragmatic and had a good read on people and if he thought Jungkook was worth taking in, then you’d imagine he had a good reason to believe so.

And the more you worked with Jungkook- against his will, you could understand why. He was a remarkable marksman and a hell of a shot, but he was also ill tempered, foul mouthed and had the maturity of an eleven year old boy, dare you mention it made sense given he was the youngest out of you all at the staggering infant age of 21.

Jungkook would have chipped a tooth at how hard he grinded his teeth together, glaring you down as if you’d explode upon contact, his childishness never ceased to amaze or amuse you, his sour expression almost made you laugh. Fortunately, it was a good thing you still had some self restraint left, being ever the observant and noticing the bulge in his pants you were almost eighty seven percent positive that was not a boner.

You didn’t think Jungkook would kill you, but you wouldn’t put it past him to take out a kneecap if you pushed enough buttons.

The doors, thankfully opened to the sight of Park Woojin, CEO and billionaire to one of the world's largest corporations, he was well known for his reserved yet charming nature and was almost always doing good works, funding for charities and such. He also just so happened to be your boss, the one who owned his own elite team of assassins and special unit for his every underworld need at the drop of a hat. He was untouchable. He was the devil in a three piece suit, walking in as if he had owned your lives.

It only served to make you angry that he did. Jungkook was a talented kid, he was smart and a good shot, you could commend him all day long- though never to his face as he didn’t need an ego the size of Park’s- but if there was one thing you couldn’t understand, it was why in gods name did he willingly sign his life away.

On long nights you and Seokjin often mused the question; why would he do something so stupid? It was different with the rest of you, you didn’t get a choice in doing this, being who you were, Park did own you, he owned all of you. And for Jungkook to just...sign the contract. You couldn’t wrap your head around the concept. He didn’t just sell his soul to the devil, he gave it to Park on a silver platter.

“Good you’re all here.” Park pulled the seat out at the end of the table as he sat down, everyone had quickly straightened in their seats…besides you, too tired and not enough of a will to live anymore as you stayed slumped in your seat with said cup of motor oil in hand, “I have places to be so I’ll make this quick. L/n and Kim have terminated Wonho Thursday early morning. I’ve only found out last night that they were actually in deal with Jang.”

His dark eyes suddenly pierced on you, “You said Wonho was planning on destroying them correct,” You gave a brief nod, “My thoughts are he was attempting to earn their trust and take them out from the inside. Jang refuses to believe that and is out for redemption at the moment. You’re all to keep a low profile for now. They don’t know I was the one who sent you and right now we’re under suspect. No one is going on any missions or operations until this is resolved, understood?”

Everyone gave a nod yet no one spoke a word making Park stand up as he nodded, “Good. You’re free to stay or go but make sure you’re discreet in public. Especially you Y/n, you were the one inside the mansion last seen with Wonho.”

You only yawned with a nod, not taking his words too serious. This wasn’t the first time this had happened either. And if Jang seriously thought his shotty guys could take you out he was an actual idiot. Or at least that’s what you told yourself because you honestly didn’t have the energy to care anymore. Briefly you noticed Jungkook seemed to tense and Namjoon had shot him a look making you and Seokjin both glance at one another, as if catching the same moment.

At least there would be something to gossip about later.

Most people assumed by your dry, snarky and cynical personality you were above mundane things such as gossip. They were wrong in every way possible. What could possibly be more fun than to laugh at others misfortune and continue to spread false information, you and Seokjin took delight in hearing about any sort of campus drama, teammate drama, anything you guys could get your filthy hands on for discussion.

Hoseok was the first to jump out of his seat with a groan as soon as Park shut the door to the room, “Could’ve just sent us a text. Thanks for lighting the whole fucking mansion on fire by the way.” He sent you a sharp smile, yet when you looked closely you could see the minor flecks of annoyance that could cloud any sunshine smile he gave.

You clacked your tongue as you shot him finger guns, ignoring his annoyance because in all honesty if he wanted to get pissy with someone then he should’ve mentioned it to Park in the five minutes you briefly saw him, “Not my fault Park didn’t let us know we’d have a little imp crawling up everyone's ass last night. And here I had hoped you got toasted with the rest of that place.”

Hoseok couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping his lips, though annoyed, he was also one of the few who didn’t mind you. Well, most of the team didn’t mind you honestly. Hoseok in particular enjoyed word spar with you and was possibly the only person who never took it personally, “I’m like a roach babydoll-”

“Gross and ridden with diseases?” You cringed, initially realizing where he was taking the sentence but unable to resist another potshot.

“Unkillable.” Hoseok sent a wink, he was about as much of a playboy as Taehyung was, in all honesty, but the fact that he had really likened himself to a roach was both, cringeworthy and ballsy at the same time.

Seokjin lifted his lip slightly in disgust as he scoffed, “Babydoll and roach don’t belong in the same sentence.” He stood up as well, stretching out with a yawn, his hair dusting over his bangs and his eyes just as tired as everyone else's yet you could notice he seemed tensed and a little annoyed for reasons unknown.

Hoseok only let the smile curve on his lips again, pushing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants as he replied, “And Y/n would still jump in my bed if she went home with me.” You indignantly parted your lips to reply you most certainly would not. But then again...No words came out of your mouth as you considered, honestly, who were you to object to that?

“I...yeah okay fair enough.” You had come to terms with it, mutually agreeing that you would definitely sleep with him in such a scenario while watching Seokjin grit his teeth, looking at you sharply though you didn’t understand why.

Hoseok sent you a wink before exiting the room making you snicker, you were a shameless person, you wouldn’t lie and pretend like you were offended by his words when he was right.

Shrugging you stood up to join Seokjin as he rolled his eyes, choosing to say nothing though you could tell something snarky was on the tip of his tongue. You supposed you’d have to confront this new behavioral change eventually, just not right now when everyone was curiously eyeing you both.

“Y/n! It’s so good to see you!”

You froze at the angelic, sweet voice. All you wanted was a warm croissant roll and something sweet to drink. Was that too much to ask for anymore?

Coughing you whirled around to see the beautiful face of Park Jimin, his smile precious and sweet and eyes were practically sparkling at the sight of you. Why, why did he have to like the grungy, dead eyed kid that didn’t even go to college? You only hung around for the overly expensive coffee at this cutesy cafe.

You see, the problem wasn’t Jimin, well it was, but it really wasn’t because of him. He was the sweetest soul you had ever met and for some reason, had the most heart melting crush on you, except it was one sided.

Awkwardly, given he was your bosses son. If Park ever caught wind Jimin was associating with you, you were positive not even god could help you in that situation.

You still couldn’t see it. The fact that they were actually related. Jimin was nothing like his father, he was sweet and gentle, he’d probably cry if he ever had to hurt a fly, let alone a human.

And that was the saddest part.

Jimin wasn’t even aware of the empire he would soon inherit. The girl he had a crush on that he’d have to string up like a puppet and use for his benefit. You’d have to watch his father crush every ounce of innocence he had. The idea, actually hurt to think about.

You couldn’t help but wonder some days, if his smile would be the same after his father told him you were a slave assassin, that you had killed over hundreds of people and tortured plenty of others when Hoseok needed an extra hand, would he still like you when he saw the blood that stained your hands and the wrath in your veins?

Jimin, was the only person on the planet, that could possibly make you feel ashamed for who you were, what you did for a living. Jimin was like the sweet humanity you had been void of your whole life. You liked his presence, you genuinely could see yourself with him. Happy. But that was a reality you’d never indulge in. No this wasn’t a fairytale, and you weren’t going to act like there was a happy ending for you when there wasn’t.

“Don’t you have class?” You didn’t mean to come off as standoffish, but you could never fully get to know Jimin, at least comfortably. Furthermore, as much as you enjoyed his company you couldn’t help but wonder if Park knew about it already. About this, about his son’s interest in you. Was he waiting for the right moment? It was difficult to say but you didn’t want to risk it, you could toe the line with Park all day long but you knew when it was time to straighten up. The sooner you could shoo Jimin out the door the better.

Jimin raised his brows slightly, the soft tufts of honey blonde hair covering his forehead as he tilted his head in confusion, “It’s winter break Y/n. Are you busy…? I’m sorry if I interrupted something.”

You could almost feel invisible sweat bead down your neck as you gave a tense smile, “No of course not! I just uh…” You glanced away, unsure of how to tell him the truth, you were avoiding him like the plague in some false hope he’d get the hint and stop coming around, “Sorry, you know I’m not in college. I don’t know off weeks for shit.” You offered a weak, apologetic smile, accepting your fate that you’d just have to entertain him for a few minutes.

At least until Seokjin got tired of waiting for his french hot chocolate you were holding and you knew he got pissy if you took to long at the counter. Jimin only laughed softly, that pretty smile on his plump pink lips and his nose was red from the cold weather outside, “It’s okay, going to college isn’t for everyone. But that’s why I’m here, I…” He trailed off for a second and you could vaguely see the pink dusting his cheeks that couldn’t have been from the cold weather, “I noticed you haven’t been here in awhile. I was almost sad at the idea you were avoiding me…”

“Why would I avoid you?” You gave a strained laugh, forcing your mind to not list every single reason on the long list in your head, “I was just out of town visiting family. But uh- I’m back now. I have some time off from work too so it’s nice.”

Jimin’s eyes suddenly lit up, the way they always did when you brought up your personal life. It wasn’t a secret he was curious about you more then he should’ve been and you would always shut down questions that borderlined too close to the truth on who you were.

So to see you volunteering information like your job and family had Jimin obviously excited. You couldn’t help but mentally cringed at your lie. If only he knew you didn’t have a family and your job was far from artsy and cute like his major in photography.

“Oh? I’m glad to hear then! I sometimes get worried I mean...I know you have your roommate but I just can’t help but get worried if you get lonely, you can always call me you know.” Jimin gave a sweet smile causing you to shift in your spot, glancing away as you gave a cough, rubbing the back of your neck as you shrugged.

“I really am fine...think of me like the hermit on the mountaintop- besides me and Seokjin have known each other since we were kids, I’ll be dead before he crawls out of my ass,” You huffed making Jimin laugh once more, his eyes crinkled like little crescent moons and his whole being radiated nothing but warmth and gentleness.

“Y/n,” You jumped at the sound of the devil, Seokjin held your upperarm like his life depended on it making you wince as you shot him a look, “Hey Jimin!” He gave a tensed smile before leaning a little closer to you, “Y/n we’re supposed to head to the grocery store, do you have our drinks?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion at his tense tone, you never went with him to get groceries either…”Uh...yeah?” In your line of work you never openly questioned him in these moments before shooting Jimin an apologetic smile, “Sorry....See you around though.”

Jimin looked a little disappointed, his face falling slightly making your stomach sucker punch as his eyes flickered to Seokjin’s hand on you, “Oh...of course! I’ll see you later Y/n, take care.” You couldn’t even hear Jimin finish his sentence as Seokjin dragged you out of the cafe, your lips twisting into a snarl at his heavy manhandling.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You dug your feet into the ground as you glared at him, you were waiting for him to interrupt but he didn’t have to drag you out of the building! And what the hell kind of excuse was getting the groceries? You were supposed to stay in the cafe and enjoy your drink instead of staying outside in jack frost’s asshole.

Seokjin only dragged you along the street, gritting his teeth as his eyes flickered around, his voice low and stern as he snapped lowly, “Guy seven o’clock by the entrance hasn’t took his eyes off you since we entered the building. Call me paranoid but given what just happened I’m not risking it.”

“Oh for christ’s sake.” You dug your heels into the ground as you forced him to stop, groaning as you threw your arms up in the air, “No seriously what the fuck is your problem? I don’t give two shits about the guy who was checking out my ass from where I stood, guys can’t even breath in my direction without you getting all pissy anymore.”

Seokjin suddenly glared down at you his eyes darkening a little as he grabbed your arm, “Stop fucking shouting,” His growled with a low voice, “Let’s just get home you’re being delusional.”

Your lips parted in offense, brows shooting up as you scoffed. You could endure a lot, you could be called a frigid bitch when you turned down guys, you could be called a whore, a slut and everything else in between. But you would not stand for being called delusional when you knew damn well you were not.

“Delusional!?” You shouted purposely as he dragged you along the sidewalk, “I’m not the one who looks like something crawled up his ass and died just for talking to Jimin. You did the same shit yesterday morning at that meeting too! Just fucking admit you have a problem and tell me what it is!”

You nearly yelped as you were shoved into a back alley, your drink dropped and your back pressed into the cold brick wall and Seokjin towering over your as he shoved a hand over your mouth, You scowled while looking up at him as he mouthed for you to ‘shut the fuck up’. You could hear muffled talking and the distinct sound of a radio before crunching footsteps walking past, “Fuck I just saw her.” “Shut up and spread out she’s around somewhere.”

You swallowed keeping your heartbeat steady as Seokjin let go of your mouth, quietly grabbing your hand before you both began to further down the alleyway, “Are you done being a drama queen?” Seokjin grunted quietly, glancing at both ends before dragging you to the right and popping back out onto a main side street, you shouldn’t be too far from your apartment but you’d need to be careful if you didn’t want to be followed.

“This conversation isn’t over.” You snapped back quietly, letting Seokjin lead you to the safety of your shared home. The rest of the trip back was silent and most people glanced at you both like you were two delirious crackheads and to be fair you felt like one too with how much sneaking Seokjin made you both do.

Sighing you opened the door to the apartment walking inside as you tucked your tongue into your cheek, choosing to stay silent as Seokjin carefully shut the door before locking it, his eyes peeled on the small glass panel that revealed the outside world as you crossed your arms. Sighing he back away from the door as he stretched out, “At least we’re stocked up on food, those guys will probably be around for the next few days, which means no going outside.”

He gave you a pointed look as if having already forgotten what you had said while outside. Seokjin paused after a moment, noticing your lack of banter and complaint before honing in on your rarely serious expression.

Sure you looked dead most days, and most would assume you were always serious and both glaring at everyone, which was partially true. But most didn’t see your furrowed brows and lips pressed together as if focused on Seokjin’s figure alone, “Oh jesus christ…” Seokjin groaned as he turned around walking towards the kitchen as he ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t care who you choose to sleep with Y/n, it’s not that deep.”

Your lips twisted into a scowl as you followed behind him, glaring holes into those stupid broad shoulders of his. He could act like he didn’t care all he wanted but you knew something was up and obviously it needed to be addressed before it bled over into your work life, which could potentially be fatal for you or him, or possibly both of you, “Don’t feed me that line of bullshit Seokjin! You’ve been broody for the past month, whatever is bothering you just fucking tell me.”

Whipping around Seokjin’s eyes suddenly squinted into a glare as if warning you to drop the subject, his jaw beginning to clench as he growled lowly, “Who says I’m brooding? That’s you’re trope not mine. Drop it Y/n, when have you ever cared before?”

You suddenly stepped back at his venom like words, your jaw dropping before you felt anger shooting through your veins that heroin had nothing on as your fists suddenly bawled up. How dare he say that! After everything you both have been through? How dare he fucking act like he had the right to say that! “Where the fuck did you get that idea? Are you dead in the head?” You snarled, stepping closer into his bubble as you shoved at his chest, “We’ve been through over ten years of utter hell and you have the fucking nerve to say I don’t care!? I’ve done nothing but try to talk to you and you won’t stop bitching and acting like you’re fine when you obviously aren’t!”

“And when I said drop it you won’t fucking listen. You’re so stubborn you know that?” Seokjin snapped, suddenly stepping closer as he backed you against the wall, “You only bothered to ask because it fucking suited you in the moment- don’t you act like some saint- like you actually didn’t notice beforehand. You’re only asking because I took you away from your idiotic dream boat Park-fucking-Jimin.”

You couldn’t even believe the words you were hearing at the moment. You could admit he was right, you had noticed beforehand but you didn’t assume it was detremential, or that it was something he even wanted to talk about it. And fair enough, you should’ve asked anyways but seriously!? Bringing Jimin into this was such a low blow, “Do you ever hear yourself right now!? What does Jimin even have to do with this!? I’m fucking tired of being dragged away, glared at with snide comments anytime I interact with another male, so I’m sorry it just so happened to be with Jimin, and who the hell gave you the right to dicitate who I like and who I don’t huh?”

“Oh so you do like him?” Seokjin accused vehemently, anger burning in his eyes as he lunged down, caging you between his arms, his breath hot and nose close to brushing against yours, “Like him, when he doesn’t even know who the fuck you are? What you do for a living? That you’re his dad’s personal assassin at beckon call? I’ve known you my whole life, have had your back for fucking years Y/n, years. I know who you are and I don’t give shit- I never did. So why are you out daydreaming about shit that won’t happen? Can’t happen? I won’t fucking let you run off on some childish notion and get killed because of it okay!? You are all I have in this goddamn world and I’m not about to lose you!”

Your lips had been sealed shut and your pupils dilated as your head pressed back against the wall as you glanced at him, he...he what? It was quiet for a moment but Seokjin’s intense gaze didn’t falter, as if waiting for you to argue back. As if anticipating your resistment, yet it never came. Instead, you let out a snort, as if realizing what this was about and why your partner had to be a dramatic premadonna, “Are you seriously jealous? For real?”

You watched him part his lips several times like a fish out of water before snarling, “I’m not jealous! I’m just being your babysitter before you do something dumb.”

Clacking your lips you sighed exasperatedly, you should’ve known something like this was going to happen eventually, “I never said I liked Jimin, and where the hell did you get the idea I was gonna run off with him? Where? Do you honestly think I’d leave? I mean, seriously.”

Seokjin’s face was flushed now, looking both embarrassed but too angry to admit it as he clenched his jaw once more, his hands suddenly grabbing at your hips with a possessive squeeze he was well known for when he became insecure.

“You look at him like some doe eyed damsel in distress,” He growled, stepping closer, his hot breath against your ear stirring your body as you felt his hands slide to your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze.

“And I’m the delusional one,” You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way warmth quickly spread between your legs, “Seokjin, we’re partners. We have and always will be. Maybe the idea is nice but you're right.” You let out a breathy moan at the feeling of his lips suddenly attaching to your neck, giving a nip at your skin in warning as if not evening wanting to hear about you liking the idea of being with Jimin, “You’re the only person I have left too dumbass, the only person I trust, you’re just as stuck with me as I am you.”

Seokjin immediately hauled you up against the wall, the muscles packed against his arms bulging against his white shirt as he held you up, tongue hot and lathing against your neck before letting his lips drag against the shell of your ear, “Never said I was complaining dipshit. Im gonna fuck you in every single room tonight,” You’re lips quivered with a quiet moan at his hips thrusting into yours, his thick hardened cock restrained in his jeans brushing against your thigh, “Make you forget everything except my name.”

“God you’re so possessive.” You sighed as he kept hold of you, moving you to the counter to set you down before grabbing at the hem of your shirt, peeling it up as his lips moved down your neck. You could feel a brief smile on Seokjin’s lips, as if knowing you were right, yet not bothering to apologize. It was okay, you didn’t want one anyways.

When you knew him your whole life, it was easy to say this wasn’t the first time this had happened, whether it was him or you. Sleeping together was both convenient and safe. You trusted one another more than anyone else, it made sense you’d keep one another satisfied sexually.

Seokjin made quick work of your bra before attaching his plump lips to your right bud making you let out a louder moan, his hips slotting between your thighs as you squirmed beneath him, your cunt already sticky and clinging to your panties, “Mmm fuck, you like it though, I know you do. Always moaning like a little bitch when I say you’re mine.” Seokjin gave a cocky smirk as he squeezed on your left breast before sucking against your right bud again, your breathy laugh mixed with another moan.

He was right, you did think it was hot, there was nothing like angry rough sex at three in the morning, rough whispered words saying who you belonged too while the bed rocked into the wall, “Well if you’d just fucking admit you’re jealous this wouldn’t happen.” You wheezed at the feeling of his hand wrapping around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you gag at the expense of your airflow, “You know choking me is a good way to get a roundhouse kick in the gut. It activates my fight or flight response.”

Seokjin glanced up at you, his eyes lidded and smug as he dragged his tongue down your stomach, edging against the hem of your pants as he loosened his grip on your neck, “Can you not be sexy for five minutes?”

“Impossible.” You sighed dramatically as you leaned your head uncomfortably against the cabinet that held all of your mugs, acting as if this was an everyday topic rather than him about to eat the soul from your pussy, “We aren’t newly weds Seokjin, is foreplay really that necessary?”

Seokjin scoffed between your thighs, popping the button on your pants and unzipping them before curling his hands beneath the material as he peeled them off along with your panties. The cold air of the apartment was enough to make your soaked cunt all the more excited.

It had been too long since Seokjin had properly fucked you and your body was ready to wither beneath him, covered in sweat and cum from round after round of sex, “It isn’t when you’re that easy to make wet, look at that cunt,” He licked his lips, grabbing your thighs as he put them over his shoulders as he leaned down, a small whimper leaving your lips as your pussy lips spread and your wet cunt on display as he licked along your inner thigh, “So fucking wet and we haven’t even gotten started yet.”

Your lips twitched in annoyance at him as you replied, “Well if someone wasn’t so picky about where we had sex this woul-Oh!” You let out a high pitched moan as Seokjin wrapped those damn plump lips around your sensitive clit, having not been touched in over two weeks making your eyes snap shut at such intense attention, “Oh fuck…” You moaned softly as your hands tangled in his fluffy tufts of black hair.

“Yeah that’s what I thought,” Seokjin hummed before letting his tongue drag back against your clit once more, your hips eagerly rolling along his tongue as you felt his hand follow up your thigh until his fingers began to tease your entrance, “Mmm fuckin’ mine, bet Jimin wishes he was buried in this little cunt right now.”

You couldn’t even properly respond as Seokjin pushed a finger inside you, your walls clenching as his tongue lathed against the sweet spot of your swollen clit making you yelp as you kicked against his back, “F-fuck, Jin.”

Pleasure was rapidly spiking through your body and it was nearly pathetic how quick Seokjin could make you cum when he wanted too. Pushing another finger inside you he curled his fingers into that spongy little spot that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your back arching in probably an unflattering way as you whined, “Beg for it,” Seokjin lazily demanded, as if he could suck on your pretty clit all day, and if challenged, he probably would, “Fuckin’ beg for it.”

“You’re such an assh-Oh! Fuck please! Please jesus christ Jin please!” You whined at the way he harshly sucked your clit to get you to shut up, his fingers digging into your g-spot making your walls rapidly clench and convulse around his fingers, your orgasm as close as your hands tugged against his hair, “Mmm! Shit please, let me cum all over your face please.”

Seokjin let his tongue slip past his lips as he continued lathing against your clit, eyes focused on your fucked out expression as you clenched around him nearly screaming at the way your orgasm hit you all at once, walls squelching around his fingers as they were coated in your cum. Seokjin expertly helped you come down from your hazey high as your thighs began to tremble, pulling his fingers from you as he stood up, licking his lips smug as he demanded, “Suck.”

With quivering lips you parted them obediently as Seokjin pushed them into your mouth, sucking the salty thick substance from his slim fingers as he gleamed down at you proudly, “Bet he jerks his little dick to the idea of you sucking on his fingers too.”

Popping his fingers from your mouth you huffed, running a hand through your hair before clacking your tongue, “How many times do I have to say I don’t like Jimin.” It seemed that was the wrong wording though as any mention of Jimin’s name from you had Seokjin curving a brow, picking you up by the thighs Seokjin had lead you down the hall as he nipped against your neck, “Stop saying his fucking name.”

You were dropped at the head of the bed, subjected to watch Seokjin pulled his shirt over his head to reveal the godlike body beneath, there were more than plenty of scars and bruises, a few nicks here and there but his muscles were chiseled and toned from his years spent as an assassin. You’d kiss every scar on his body if he’d let you, “I’m not saying anything, I’m just saying Jimin- oh shit.”

You swallowed when he opened the nightstand drawer to grab the handcuffs that had been conveniently left there from the last time you both had slept together, his tongue tucked into his cheek as he raised his brows, your cunt dripping in arousal and cum at the way he always looked so hot when he was pissed, “Oh shit is right you little brat.”

He didn’t hesitate for a second as he straddled your stomach, your first reaction was to fight him but it was little use as he grabbed your arms, shoving them above your head as he wrangled your wrist into one side, “Maybe you shouldn’t be such a fucking smartass and I wouldn’t tie you up.” Seokjin successfully cuffed you to the railing, leaving you at his mercy as he straightened up, looking down at you like you were dirty beneath his feet, “But that little cunt likes it right? My filthy little bitch likes to be tied up and made to take what she’s given, right?”

Your pupils narrowed into a glare, not in any position to be objecting when your pussy was coated in cum and begging to be stuffed full of his cock yet you couldn’t stop the words from leaving your lips in a bratty fit of rage, “More like you can’t keep me in one spot without the help.”

Seokjin’s lips twitched at your defiance, yet on another hand also not surprised by it long too used to your bratty ways as he grabbed slid off you to grab your thighs, pulling them back over his shoulders before you felt a sharp sting on your ass making you yelp, “Should I gag that little bitchy mouth too?”

You couldn’t even find a haughty reply before suddenly whimpering, the feeling of his wet, warm tongue plunging inside you making your walls clench around him while giving a breathy moan, his fingers teasing their way up your clit before circling your sensitive bud, “Fuck! A-ah! You’re such a dick.”

His hand immediately left your clit to slam his hand against your ass in warning, the sting traveling to your cunt in excitement as your walls clenched around his tongue once more, a laugh escaping your lips that you disguised as a moan before curling your back at the way his tongue roughly dragged into your g-spot, the skin of your hands digging into the cuffs as you rattled against them.

Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your hand as Seokjin let his fingers circle over your clit once more, a whine of objection leaving your throat as he pulled his tongue from your, licking his lips as he continued to play with your sensitive bud, “Have you considered shower sex before?”

No amount of pleasure in the world could keep the glare off your face, watching the way that little shit’s lips were tempted to pull into a smile as you sneered, “You want my pussy at all or should I go ask Jimin for some help?”

His gaze twisted into a mutual glare, eyes darkening and it was only now you realized you had royally screwed yourself over as he dropped your thighs, almost ignoring your words for the moment as he stood up.

Your eyes however dropped down to his pants as they slid to the floor revealing the thick angry cock bouncing up to his abdominal, it was not only long but it’s girth had your body clenching all over against and his bulbous tip would always be a painful stretch no matter how much prepping, “Oh yeah? Well how about we give him a call then? Let him decide if you’re being taken care of?” Seokjin asked, his voice in a near sneer as he grabbed your legs, pressing them against your chest making you whine, “Let him know this pussy is getting stuffed and cumming all over my dick?”

You struggled to kick your legs as the feeling of the thick shaft of his cock running against your wet, cum coated cunt, rubbing past your clit as you moaned, too much teasing being done to you as Seokjin growled, “Want my cock you little slut? Then beg, I want to hear how bad you need it.”

Whining your face twisted into a rare pout, you had already begged once today and he was really going to make you throw your dignity out the window? You whimpered with a gag at his hand suddenly grabbing back against your throat again, “Should I get out a vibrator too?”

Your body was heating up with fresh arousal at the idea but before you could even reply Seokjin squeezed at your throat, “You know what? I will, I wanna see my little bitch in tears tonight, see how bad she needs me.”

Seokjin leaned over your body before grabbing the wand that was inside the nightstand, your thighs already rubbing together in need of another release. You couldn’t help but swallow at the click of the vibrator, the buzz worst then any gun to your head could imitate, “Spread your cunt, I know you like being a little whore and putting it on display.”

“Maybe I’d like it more for Jimin.” You challenged, eyes squinting as Seokjin gritted his teeth, not hesitating to pry your legs open before roughly pressing the vibrator into your clit, a loud whine echoing off the walls as your hips spasmed and rocked up into the vibrator.

“Jimin this, Jimin that,” Seokjin rolled his eyes, his jaw clenched as he turned it up a setting, moaned whimpers escaping you as you tugged rapidly against the restraints that held you, “Just admit you like being turned into a little bitch, you like when I play with this cunt until it’s dripping wet and soaked in cum,” You cried out at the feeling of two fingers plunging back inside you, the lewd wet squelch of your walls rapidly clenching around him as he clacked his tongue, “Is your little pussy gonna cum again? Do you need cum?”

“Please.” The cracked whimper wasn’t as enticing as you had hoped but you could hardly process a word anymore, too much stimulation overwhelming you as Seokjin sneered at your pathetic attempt

Seokjin suddenly curled his fingers inside you with a growl as you kicked your legs and your eyes began to burn with tears, “I know you can do better than that. I said: Fucking beg.” His fingers continued rapidly curling into your g-spot, the vibrator in your clit almost too much to handle as he skillfully continued to edge you.

“Mmm! A-ah fuck, please! Please! Shit, wanna cum so bad, please!” What was left of your dignity had completely crumbled as the words flew from your lips, vision blurring with tears as your body burned to intensely only for Seokjin to pull away, “Please! Need it so bad, please.”

Seokjin let the sadistic smile twist onto his lips, watching the way your body quivered beneath him, the tears trickling down your cheeks and completely submissive beneath him, turning down the vibrator before letting the tip circle around your entrance, enjoying the way your body twitched as he hummed, “Are you gonna be a good girl and apologize? You should be thankful I play with this cunt as much as I do.”

Dragging the vibrator up your slit before coaxingly rubbing over your clit, a small sob escaped your lips as your hips bucked up into the vibrator, his fingers pushing back inside you before curling once more into your g-spot, “A-ah I’m sorry! Please, please, please I’m sorry!”

Your cracked, whimpered words like music to Seokjins ears as he felt your walls tighten around him, “And what do you want baby? Use your words.” His mouth near watering at the way your hips rolled against his fingers, your little hole taking his fingers so easily as your face became nearly unrecognizable to anyone else besides himself. “Mmm! Please!” You whined your clit thrumming with vibration as you cried, a new stream of tears dripping down your cheeks at his torture, “Please let me cum, please! Need it so bad, please.”

Seokjin let his tongue graze against his lips, reveling in your pleading as he finally let out a smile, turning the vibrator up once more that gained another sob from you as he coaxed, “There’s my good girl, now cum all over my fingers, be a good girl and cum.”

Your walls were rapidly clenching around him and your clit was throbbing as the moan caught in your throat, the force of the orgasm enough to rip it out into a scream as a new sob escaped your, your body twisting and snapping in hot searing pleasure.

“Mmm fuck that’s a good girl.” Seokjin guided you through your orgasm with ease before gently pulling his fingers from you and turning off the vibrator as your thighs trembled. Your mind nearly blank as you continued reeling from pleasure.

You barely even registered when Seokjin had uncuffed you from the bed while whistling, “Jesus, I think this is the most fucked out you’ve ever been, are you gonna be able to take getting stuffed full?”

Despite his words he and you both were well aware this was far from the first time you had been this fucked out, Seokjin didn’t even looked worried at the way you trembled, having become so well acquainted with your body, “I didn’t just beg like a cheap pornstar to be told I’m not getting dick.”

That was enough to cause that annoying windshield wiper like laugh to sound as he spread your legs making you jump, mirth in his eyes at your crabbiness, having never been a fan of begging- or subbing before but Seokjin was also aware he was the one exception, “I know you love my dick but calm down it’s not going anywhere.”

A breathy whine escaped your lips as Seokjin let his thick bulbous tip circling against your entrance before pushing inside you, the stretch burning and pleasure shooting through your sensitive walls as Seokin didn’t bother to wait for you to adjust, his hips immediately slamming into yours as your back arched with a whine, “You know- you never did answer me, should we call him? Let him listen to your little pathetic moans? Let his dick get hard at the idea of fucking my girl.”

Your mind could hardly register his words, too caught up at the feeling of his cock squeezing into your small hole and brushing over your g-spot with each stroke as your hands clawed against his back, “Fuck- are you insane?” You tried to turn it into a snap but all it came out as was a pathetic whine, hips rolling with his as his hand dragged down to rub over your clit again, a moan escaping your lips at the sensitivity as you clenched around his thick shaft, “My phone’s back in the kitchen.”

Seokjin let out a moan before huffing, “I’m trying to be sexy, can you play along for once?” You both couldn’t help but let out a shared strained laugh as his hips continued to roll against your’s, his cock completely coated in both your cum and arousal making a mess against your thighs. Unexpectedly Seokjin pulled out of you making you whine as you popped up indignantly, royally fucked out with dried tears on your cheeks and a hoarse voice, “I am not finished with your dick yet.”

Sitting up Seokjin pulled you into his lap, the first time you’d gladly be manhandled all day as you quickly grabbed his throbbing dick, pumping his base a few times before properly sinking down on it, a quiet moan escaping you both as he let out a strained chuckle, “You’re such a fucking-”

You yelped at the loud smack of his hand stinging against your ass, “Cockslut.” Your walls clenched at the degradation, hips suddenly rolling as you bounced against his thick cock, whining as you buried into his neck, “Oh you like that? Being my little cockslut?” You moaned at the feeling of his hand spanking against your ass once more, the sting burning in your skin making your walls clench harder, “Riding my dick because you’re a needy little slut? Does that cunt need my dick?”

“Mmm please...!” You whined, having been teased too much to challenge him anymore, skin slapping against skin with every bounce of your hips, you were so fucked out on his cock you could hardly focus on anything but the way it’s thick throbbing shaft split your pussy open and the way it rubbed just the right way into your g-spot, “Yes, my pussy loves riding it.”

The wet squelch of your body clenching around him forced a moan from Seokjin’s lips, “That’s right, my dirty little bitch.” You whined at the smack of his hand on your ass once more. Seokjin’s hand dived down to your clit once more, rubbing it as you cried out tears immediately stinging your eyes once more at how sensitive it was, hips bucking and bouncing against him as his tongue dragged against your neck, “Gonna cum all over my cock? Make a big mess like the little bitch you are?”

“Y-yes.” Your voice desperate and cracked as Seokjin rubbed down on just the right spot against your swollen, sore bud causing you to clench once more, Seokjin let out a long deep moan as you felt the warm thick string of his release cream inside of you leaving your pussy a swollen, sticky messy as you slowed your hips down.

“You know…” You had to pause for a second as you let yourself heave and gulp for air, coming down from your high of sex before continuing, “If you ever feel like you’re being replaced, you should just talk to me about it- seriously.” You leaned a little away from him to look him in the eyes.

While angry sex was a personal favorite between you both, it was by no means an actual remedy to your problems, and Seokjin knew this, his eyes a little bashful as he sighed, arms wrapping loosely around your waist, “No...I...I was just childish...I never liked sharing you when we were younger either, this isn’t any different I just…”

He set his chin down on your shoulder to get away without having to look at you, feelings were always something that felt a little awkward to discuss, but you cared about one another so much you both would always force it out from the other, “You mean so much to me Y/n, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, whether it’s from dying, or you just getting tired of me and leaving-I just- I need you. You’re the only reason I have left to keep going.”

“Seokjin…” You sighed, pulling yourself off his now softened cock before properly seating yourself in his lap, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist before wrapping your arms around him in a much accepted hug, “I’m not going anywhere. And if you feel like I’m going too, you need to talk to me about it. I know you’re a total dumbass and it’s difficult to believe but you’re all I have left too. I’m not going anywhere, we’re partners, always have and always will be,” You pulled away from him before giving him a cocky wink, “Til death do us part motherfucker. Now let’s go watch a movie or something, your cum makes me feel like a sperm bank.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Seokjin furrowed his brows as you stood up, hobbling over to his dresser as you grabbed a hoodie.

“The same thing as beatface.” You wiggled the hoodie over your head before rolling your eyes. Your life was anything but easy, and there was still so much to come, but you’d be okay, you and Seokjin would always have one another’s back, and even the sky could fall but you’d be fine. As long as you had him, “You know what? Nevermind, you’re worthless Kim, just pick a fucking movie.”

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