#maybe make the promotion tasks real hard. so it takes a while.

[ssspringroll]

Ideally this isn't a career that will have like... a ton of promotions. i might do like. 3 levels. and im not even gonna attempt to make a bgc version you will need packs probably. bc i make this for me ♥

[v1nsmoke]

𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐘 // 𝐂𝐎𝐏!𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

oneshot - cop!shanks x fem!reader

tw: age gap (both are adults though), mention of guns, smoking

summary: when your cop dad brings you to his promotion party at the police station, you don't expect to meet a red-haired coworker of your dad

fandom: one piece

a/n: remember that zoro oneshot i wrote back in 2023 october with a tiny cop shanks cameo at the end? and how i mentioned that i might make it a full length oneshot? yeah, this is it! I never wrote romance oh lawd and this feels new…

tags: stargirldelight 

wc: 1.2k

notes: modern au, first person pov. 

Dads with daughters - if they don’t despise them - usually threaten boyfriends or suitors with something along the lines of “if you cross my daughter or make her cry, i’ll break your jaw,” and mine was no exception. Unlike most of those dads, he actually could. His ultimate, go-to threat was that if any boy hurts me, he will take them to jail. He did once. That guy was involved in some illegal marihuana deals and owned a gun without any permission, so he went to jail for actual reasons. 

With my single dad being a cop, I used to spend my free time at the police station where he worked whenever he couldn’t find anybody to babysit me. Luckily, his co-workers didn’t mind, and often took care of me while I was there. The last time I visited that station was when I was around fifteen, after that I was allowed to stay at home alone for days. Up until that, I had to be supervised at the station. It wasn’t as boring as it may sound at first, there is lots of exploring to do and many gadgets to ruin. I didn’t do the latter. Maybe once, as an accident, but it got fixed up real quick. My dad’s colleagues taught me how to shoot a gun, which my dad disapproved of. I was seven years old back then, of course he did.

It’s been almost a decade since that happened, and now, I’ve been invited to a get-together to celebrate my father’s promotion at the station. It was well-deserved, he’s done many great deeds and had been working hard, harder than anyone. I was tasked with the food. I thought that the best would be to make pizzas and something sweet for dessert, maybe some of those mini pretzels for a snack, but there was no way I’d make the latter. There are shops for that.

“How’s the progress?” My dad asks, sneaking up on me.

“Almost done,” I answer, adding the finishing touches.

“Hm, they look good,” he says, taking one of the freshly prepared cupcakes.

“You’ll get them at the station, until that, no more!”

I load the two boxes into the car, dad sitting in the driver’s seat picking the music while he waits.

“I could use a hand here,” I call out.

“Grow a third one,” he replies calmly.

I hop into the car. Dad revs up the engine, and the vehicle finally gets moving.

“Lots of things have changed since you were last there,” he starts the conversation. 

“Like what?”

“I got some new coworkers, you’ll like them. We also renovated some rooms.”

“You mentioned the renovations before. I remember that you ruined most of your jeans because of it, we had to throw out like ten pairs because they all had paint on them and I couldn’t wash it out.”

“The good old times,” he sighs. “It’s been real lonely since you moved away. Feel free to move back if you feel like it.”

He parks the car in the tiny parking lot of the police station. He sits in the car, immersed in the song playing on the radio.

At the ripe age of twenty, I moved to my own tiny house. Up until that point, I didn’t even stop to think that he might feel alone. I made a mental note that I’ll make sure to visit him more often now.

“You’re not going in?” I ask.

“Do I need to? There’s gonna be lots of people,” he whines.

“I thought you were my dad, not my son.”

“Go, get the food out from the trunk, in the meantime, I’ll mentally prepare myself,” he instructs.

With a sigh, I get out of the car, and lift the trunk open.

“You need help with that?” an unknown voice asks.

I turn around to find a man leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his fingers. Light smoke swirled around him as he stepped forward.

“I think I can handle it,” I nervously answer.

“Here, let me,” he says, taking one of the boxes from my hand with a gentle move.

My dad gets out of the car.

“Shanks, good to see you!” He greets the man next to me. “I see you already found my daughter.”

“This fine lady is your daughter? You better watch out, then,” he smiles at him mischievously.

“Don’t you dare, Red Hair!” Dad replies.

“At least he helped me with the boxes,” I intervene.

“Your pa didn’t?” 

“He told me to grow a third arm.”

The red haired man chuckles, looking over to my dad.

“Not too nice of you, Hank,” he says, walking off with the box.

Inside gathered a swarm of people. Some people I knew, some I didn’t. Dad did say he got some new coworkers, and I assumed this red-haired man was one of them. Most of them wore their regular uniforms, some, who were off-duty that day, had casual clothes on.

I place the box on one of the tables, the red-haired man following suit. I take the food out of the said boxes, placing them onto separate trays and plates.

“Where can one get this food from? Looks delicious,” he speaks, picking up a slice of pizza. Luckily it was still fresh enough.

“From me,” I answer.

“Thank you, it’s nice to hear someone appreciating it,” I reply.

“You made all this? Impressive, I might just move to your house only for the food,” he says before taking a bite of the dish. “No, not might. Definitely.”

I chuckle at his statement.

“Your dad doesn't? He should, it’s amazing,” he says, his mouth still stuffed.

“Even if he does, he doesn’t say it out loud.”

“Are you a chef or something? Or is this just a hobby of yours?”

“More like a hobby. I work in an office, I hate it. I want to see the world or do some action, y’know.”

“Of course I do. I wanted action too, that’s why I’m an officer. They still give me paperwork, but when there really is some action, it’s worth it. We can teach you some things if you want.”

“You really would?” I enthusiastically inquire.

“Why not? I’ll do it in exchange for more food of yours. Deal?”

“Deal,” we shake hands.

“So first, I really want to teach you how to shoot a gun. You did that before?” He asks, walking back and forth in front of me.

“A few times, many years back.”

“You remember how to do it?”

I hold the handgun firmly, bringing it upwards. I lock my eyes on the target, an old soda can that he likely got from the trash, and I pull the trigger. The bullet was close, but flew by the can. I lower my hand in defeat.

“Mostly.”

“Here,” he says, handing me a handgun, “aim at that can right there.”

“Give it another try,” he encourages.

I lift my arms back up, aiming again. This time, the bullet made a dent into the can.

“That’s it! Off to a good start,” he speaks, patting my shoulders. “Maybe your posture is the only problem I had, though really minor.”

He comes closer, behind me. He gently places his hand on my arm and adjusts my shoulders. 

“There you go,” he whispers next to my ear. 

“Officer,” my dad interrupts.

“Yes sir?” The red-haired man turns to him. “Keep the posture,” he instructs me.

“Is that my daughter?”

“Yes sir.”

“Please don’t call me sir. Makes me feel old,” my dad grunts, walking closer. He comes to a halt next to me, observing me. Please don’t take the gun away, please don’t take the gun away…

“Keep up the good work. Teach her good, officer,” says my dad, walking back to where he came from.

red-haired shanks belongs to eiichiro oda.

© v1nsmokes 2024. Do not modify, translate or rewrite.

[probablyfunrpgideas]

Hierarchy as a tool for Fun

Some players like to go into a roleplaying game and say "let's escape from the real world". They want their character to be independent! Answering to nobody! Nothing wrong with that, but I believe there's some good opportunities to use an organization in the game for rewards, development, and consequences. Hear me out:

The Rewards: Your PCs return from a dangerous mission, and not only receive a reward of cash and prizes, but their names and portraits go up in the Hall of Knights forever! Now NPCs will have to address them with a title, or take their advice seriously when everyone stands around that map table with the little army figures. I recommend being extremely professional until you've acquired fantasy tenure, so you can legally drink tea with the Queen while polymorphed into an ostrich. Or maybe you like the ranks and rewards, but not the good deeds? Your PC might ascend through an organized crime network, via murder and blackmail, until you have the power to track down the people responsible for your tragic past.

The Development: Your PC (perhaps as a result of a promotion) is given authority over some NPC members of the organization. Perhaps you've been tasked by your vampire Baron with setting up a new outpost and blood alchemy lab in the contested territory of Staten Island. Should be self-sustaining after a while, but for a month or so you've got to keep a half dozen Kindred on task, make sure they set the patrols properly, etc. Do you have what it takes for leadership? It's a neat little arc to try out! Or, what about this: your PC, one of the apprentice Navigators on the Rogue Trader ship, watches their mentor from the other side of a malfunctioning airlock. If they save him, they'll be celebrated. If they walk away, they might be promoted.

The Consequences: If you make a PC who believes in something, it makes a great story when that thing turns against you. But it doesn't have to be corruption and treachery every time. Sometimes, a failed mission or a hasty decision might create an epic scene where you try to explain yourself - or shout at the chief that you shouldn't have to explain yourself! Alternatively, what if your PC in a game of Masks is pulled out of a tough fight by the Justice League Hero Headquarters, avoiding the villain's plot but being demoted and losing their hard-won responsibilities? There's always fates worse than damage.

[tomorrowxtogether]

YEONJUN: “I’ll just keep trying till I make it”

TOMORROW X TOGETHER The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY comeback interview

2024.11.15

Let’s hear from the idol who has “nothing to fear” and who’s only grown stronger as he “hit it over and over down down down”: YEONJUN.

What’s it like getting ready to promote with the group again after doing promotions solo for your mixtape? YEONJUN: It put me at ease, honestly. (laughs) When I was working on “GGUM,” I was like, “Gahh!” having to take part in everything on my own, but when it’s with the group, I’m with them. But then it made me wonder if I wasn’t doing as much as I did for “GGUM.” Whenever I felt that way, I tried not to fall short. I kept reminding myself to work just as hard because our group album is more important—so I wouldn’t lose that.

I heard you were focused on your diction and the rhymes while working on “GGUM.” What were you mainly focused on for the new album? YEONJUN: My tone. Like having an overall light and airy voice, maybe? For “Heaven” and “Resist (Not Gonna Run Away),” I tried to make my voice dense and strong, and on “Higher Than Heaven,” for the line, “I’ll take you,” I imagined being able to hear the excitement in my voice and then sang it that way. I have a feeling MOA will really love this album, so I’m really excited. It has a completely different vibe from “GGUM”.

You also contributed lyrics for both “Heaven” and “Danger.” YEONJUN: Right after finishing the lyrics for “GGUM” and going, “Done! Sent it in today!” I jumped straight into “Heaven.” I wrote a lot of lines in the chorus, like, “heaven isn’t far, it’s now,” “the instant our lips touch,” “as long as you’re there, it’s heaven,” but it was really hard. “GGUM” is all about my own view, you know? So writing lyrics for the album was way harder than for “GGUM”. (laughs)

The lyrics to “Touch” (ft. YEONJUN of TOMORROW X TOGETHER) are interesting too. I felt like they really showcased the real you, like how you love food and watch lots of movies—a kind of condensed summary of what you’ve always said about yourself. (laughs) YEONJUN: Exactly. (laughs) And I used the word “ghosting” because we have a song called that. There’s also “YJ” from “GGUM,” which is there in the intro to the “Touch” remix, too. Our producer Slow Rabbit was the one who came up with the idea to put “YJ” in, and he got all excited and was like, “Let’s put ‘YJ’ in again!” (laughs) I liked that. When I heard it, it felt like it’s my signature now. And you know how we sing together from the pre-chorus all the way to the last chorus? That wasn’t actually part of the plan—it got added in after recording. Just a little behind-the-scenes tidbit for you there. (laughs)

That makes me think of how you said you wanted to show more of yourself as an artist, starting with “GGUM.” What does that side of you look like exactly? YEONJUN: I’d say someone who sets trends. I see myself as someone who can make anything work. When it comes to music, at least, I want to try out a ton of different things, and sometimes I want to convince MOA of that by trying new things like that. I think, like, How will it help my music if I don’t explore musically or take any risks?

I see you’re aiming even higher when it comes to music. YEONJUN: I’m always thinking about how important it is to make sure the music tells our story, whether it’s with the group or on my own. I’m the kind of person who wants to be recognized for my continued work in the field and I’m really driven to do a good job. My mindset has always been, no matter what I’m doing, I’ll just keep trying till I make it. And I think that’s really important. Putting my story into the music is always going to be a tough task, but it’s a good challenge. I want to keep dreaming big.

Is that why you wrote on Weverse that you’re happy with your work–life balance? (laughs) You’ve been really busy this year with all the touring, your first solo mixtape—GGUM—and working on a new mini album. YEONJUN: I was overflowing with excitement every single day I was working on GGUM. I actually get anxious when I have some downtime. I was working on the mixtape, getting ready to promote with the group, and featuring on “Touch.” Crushing it all made me feel like I’m at peak life and productivity. I was secretly proud of myself—like, I’m straight fire! (laughs)

And even with all that going on, you streamed an Essence of Dance🦊 on Weverse LIVE. That isn’t exactly the easiest kind of stream, either, given you have to have everything memorized and dance on the spot. YEONJUN: Right. (laughs) But MOA’s always waiting. I already said I’d do it, but it kept getting pushed back because I had other obligations, and even still, MOA was so understanding, and it just made me feel even sorrier. So I ended up squeezing it in after deciding I should do it before “GGUM” came out, even if it was short. I usually keep at it until I’m happy with it, but I was so physically drained that day, unfortunately. (laughs)

You must have felt really proud when “GGUM” finally came out after all you went through. YEONJUN: I knew it was the one the second I heard it. It’s hip hop but has a pop feel, and it’s sexy and mysterious at the same time. It feels really multilayered. It made me happy to see people all over social media covering my song and the dance moves. Even my friends used the gamja-ggang joke on me, and they’re never like that. (laughs) I thought, Whoa, they know my song? Every single reaction was great. And hearing MOA chant my name that loud and clear—like, “Choi Yeonjun! Choi Yeonjun!”—was amazing. Now I have even more things I want to say through my music and more musical styles I want to try, and I love my work even more now. I’d say it’s a combination of, “it was really fun,” and, “it’s exhilarating,” but at the same time, “I’m not fully satisfied yet,” maybe? (laughs)

Why aren’t you fully satisfied? YEONJUN: I tried a lot of new things with the group and with “GGUM,” obviously, but I think there’s still more I haven’t tried yet. I’m a big rock fan, for example. I’ve done a lot of pure, emotional rock with TOMORROW X TOGETHER, but if the chance comes up, I want to try some really hard rock, like, “Let’s tear it up!” When I was working on “GGUM”, I started thinking about trying an R&B ballad, too. There’s different subgenres even within hip hop and R&B, and I want to try the ones I’ve never done before. I really just want to try a wide variety of things.

In the ‘YEONJUN’s Mixtape: GGUM’ MAKING FILM making-of trilogy, you were open about the struggles you experience as an artist. Even though you always work in front of the camera, wasn’t it still a lot of pressure to document the whole process? YEONJUN: I actually feel that I need that pressure to give me that extra push. In my everyday life, I try to keep things chill—put on some chill music, watch movies, eat—but when I’m working, pressure motivates me. (laughs)

Is that what let you send in your rough lyrics for the first verse of “GGUM” without any hesitation? You didn’t seem worried about getting feedback. YEONJUN: I used to feel a lot of pressure, but I think my personality has changed a lot. It’s inevitable that the lyrics will be rejected more often than approved when I send them over, to be honest, so it’s better to just send them right over and get the feedback back quickly to get rewriting. That’s why I don’t feel pressure about feedback anymore. I don’t find the whole, “No good? Okay, I’ll give it another shot,” thing hard anymore. (laughs) If it were before, and things didn’t go my way or something stressful came up, I’d be distracted by thoughts all day, but now I just take a deep breath and say, “It is what it is.” Kinda like TAEHYUN? (laughs) That’s exactly what TAEHYUN says.

Your MBTI changed too, didn’t it? YEONJUN: Yes, it did. Actually, it’s always been the case that, whenever I do an MBTI test, sometimes I get a type N and sometimes a type S. But then I kept getting ENFP for the longest time and that didn’t sit right with me somehow. I always thought I was sort of imaginative, so it made me think I was still a type N! (laughs) But when I took the test again recently and still got a type S, I was like, I guess I just changed. Now I can acknowledge that I changed, and that’s kind of a weight off. (laughs)

You said you used to be the kind of person who couldn’t show anything that wasn’t fully polished. I guess that’s also changed, seeing as you made the process behind your mixtape public. YEONJUN: Hmm … True. The promotional period’s all wrapped up now, and I wanted to show people how I might’ve been lacking at first but that I’ve slowly grown since then. MOA usually only ever sees our highlights, really. I wanted to give as much of a glimpse as possible into my work behind the scenes, like pitching ideas for concepts and finalizing the choreography with everyone. I also wanted to show how it wasn’t just me but all the staff putting in so much effort and how we all worked together to make the most amazing thing we could. I feel like the staff cooks the whole meal perfectly and I’m just there to set the table. I think it’s our responsibility to tell people about how much hard work the staff puts in and make sure they get the credit they deserve.

You also mentioned in another interview with Weverse Magazine last year that you never want to forget that you can’t take anything for granted. YEONJUN: That’s a mindset I plan to cling to until the day I die.

Is there a reason why it’s so important to you to stay humble? YEONJUN: Is that being humble? It seems obvious to me that you can’t take anything for granted. I really stress that a lot when I talk with the other members: We should never take this lifestyle for granted. We also have to be thankful. We get way more than we deserve.

Then I guess that’s why, in the MAKING FILM, you said, “They were like, ‘There’s gonna be a lot of pressure and you’re gonna be really busy.’ As soon as I heard that, my heart started pounding.” YEONJUN: Oh man. I guess I’m just destined to be an idol. (laughs) I used to think I had a really weak mindset—like, bad—but now I think it’s good? (laughs) Everyone goes through rough patches. Me, I’ve practically collapsed while promoting and felt frustrated before. Endless torment and pressure have crushed me many times. That’s the reason I thought I just had too weak of a mindset to be an idol, but after I “hit it over and over, down down down,” I toughened up, you know? (laughs)

Before shooting the music video for “GGUM,” you recorded yourself, pretending the camera’s MOA and getting some things off your mind, expressing how you were feeling anxious and afraid. Talking it through on Weverse could’ve been an option, but you seem more like the kind of person who likes to deal with things yourself. YEONJUN: Yes, that’s true. I used to be the kind of person who would turn to others immediately, but I worry I’ll become overly dependent on them. I thought that constantly talking about having a hard time was making me weaker. I was also worried that the other members or my family especially would feel concerned or that I’d be placing a burden on them if I opened up to them, so I started to bite my tongue. I think I should just know how to deal with problems myself. Sometimes I think I’m no good or hate myself, but I try to love myself. I mean, I have to.

But in “GGUM”, you sing that you’re “not alone, got ma team by my side.” The whole group was there to support you at the music video shoot, in the practice studio, and at the pre-recording. YEONJUN: I really felt those lyrics. I realized I’m really not alone—that I really do have my team at my side and a whole army to back me up that I can rely on. That was my first time shooting alone for that long and it made me feel a little lonely. I could really feel the group’s absence, but I was so grateful to them and so touched that they kept coming by periodically to boost my spirits, even though they were all busy with their own things. And Huening coming by himself, just grabbing a taxi and coming by with dakgangjeong, was so sweet of him. It was so thoughtful. I really appreciated it.

Just like you said in the MAKING FILM : The group comes first. YEONJUN: The group always comes first, no question. The group comes first in everything.

[blainesebastian]

kiss & tell

words: 3,184 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (request from @lattedreamer): “actress who finally got her big break in a film with Austin + ‘first kiss’” warnings: none notes: tweaked the request just a little, but the general concept is the same!  tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylesmendeshearted, @rairaielv​

If you’ve learned anything in the industry thus far, it’s to take advantage of opportunities that fall into your lap. Your agent would say otherwise, that the films you’ve gotten to be in are purely based on talent and word of mouth, that you’ve done your fair share of B side films to get you exactly where you are. Maybe it’s a mix, who knows. You don’t feel as if you had to compromise your character or morals to reach for something well deserved, which you know isn’t always the most typical Hollywood starlet story.

You’ve worked really hard, lost some friends along the way because of commitments you couldn’t break, a boyfriend abandoning you in the midst of filming because he was possessive and jealous and some family members doubting the paths you’ve taken to do something you love.

It has been one of the most difficult, enthralling, emotionally exhausting thing that you’ve ever done in your life.

But all of it has been worth it.

It’s how you find yourself starting a movie with Austin Butler, a rom-com at that. And while the plot is a bit predictable, you know that sometimes films can pull themselves right past that if the acting is enchanting—and how wouldn’t it be with Austin as your opposite? The guy’s success speaks for itself and admittedly you’ve seen Elvis an embarrassing amount of times. But what you’ve also learned, while at table reads and getting to know him through going to interviews together to promote the film, he’s incredibly down to earth, genuine, and a hard worker. Like yourself, he puts the craft of the movie he’s working on above all else, he dedicates himself and puts all of his energy into creating the very best character he can for whatever plot he’s immersed into.

It’s also just really nice working with someone who’s patient and supportive, who knows more of the ins and outs of the industry while you’re still learning. Austin doesn’t pretend he knows everything either, he’s humble, a lifelong learner himself but it’s nice to be able to depend on him because he’s been through it a bit more than you have.

You understand how lucky you are—not only to have the opportunity to work on a film that you could consider your big break into the industry, not something that’ll go straight to streaming services or anything like that, but that you’re working with someone who makes it so easy too.

You’re trying not to read into the fact that your agent, amongst others, have noted that there’s real chemistry between you and Austin as well. You’re a professional and so is he, both of you put every fiber of your being into the task at hand…so you would hope that’s quite obvious in your scenes together.

But you’re also well aware that you’re definitely developing somewhat of a crush on your co-star. Probably unavoidable, right? You’re not going to let it get the better of you, the last thing you want to do is cause some sort of drama on set but…this never would have happened with your B side horror films. There’s no room for chemistry there, it’s just cut and dry scary movie tropes.

Not only that? —

“There’s a kiss scene,” You hiss into your phone as you pace in your trailer, your sister on the other end of the line. She’s quiet and you can kinda sense that she’s blinking at you because,

“Uh,” She clears her throat, “You’re doing a rom-com, aren’t you? Isn’t that like the bread and butter of those films?”

You groan lightly, glancing up towards the ceiling before you take a seat on your couch. You can hear your mother’s voice in your head telling you to stop wearing down the carpet. “It’s bad enough that I have a crush on him and now I have to kiss him?”

Robin laughs, the sound ringing against your eardrum, “Oh right, I feel so sorry for you that you have to kiss Austin Butler. Literally, one of the worst things imaginable.” She teases, voice dripping in sarcasm.

You pull the phone away from your ear, glaring at the device as if it’s personally offended you, before bringing it back, “You don’t get it—”

“Does he still have the scruff on his face?” She asks, clearly an important question for her. “Like he’s not clean-shaven, right?”

Your eyebrows draw together before shaking your head, “No I mean—just a little bit of scruff.”

She hums, “I’d definitely be thinking of that mouth elsewhere then.” And oh my god, it clearly was a wrong decision to call her.

“I’m hanging up.” You state, squirming just a little with heat gathering low in your stomach and seeping between your legs.

“Wait,” She laughs, “Stop, I’m sorry.” Robin sighs and you can hear the eyeroll in her tone. “What’s going on, why are you worried?”

You open your mouth to try and explain when there’s a knock on your door with the announcement, “Hair and makeup in five!”

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath as you stand from the couch, “I gotta go, I’ll text you.”

“Hey look,” Robin squeezes in, “It’s just like riding a bike, alright?” And while you know that’s supposed to be comforting as you hang up, it doesn’t exactly help.

You kinda suck at riding bikes because you could never quite get the brakes right.

--

You tug on the turtleneck you have on, feeling a little overheated. You’re seated on the floor in front of a working fireplace in this makeshift cabin (because of course you are). For this kissing scene, your character realizes that despite losing people in her life that believe in her dream about becoming a veterinarian (her grandfather), Austin’s character is very much her person (always has been) and her family of support.

You’re already on edge because unlike some other rom-coms, this scene is emotional rather than cute. You have to work up tears in your voice but not overdo it, and the kiss is a mutual understanding, rather than Austin’s character leaning in and cutting your words off. Which would be so much easier and less for you to worry about.

Austin sits down next to you on the floor, in a dark green sweater that compliments the blue of his eyes and the dirty blonde curls in his hair. “Nice turtleneck,” He smiles, reaching out to gently tug at the fabric along your neck.

A soft huff of air leaves your lips, swatting his hand away, “I feel like I’m melting into a puddle.”

“We might, depending on how many times we have to do this scene,” He smiles, running a hand through the front part of his hair. And God, right, you haven’t even thought of that—it’s not just one kiss, one scene, one run…it’s multiple so that they have lots of takes to choose from.

Your stomach flip flops all the way into your throat.

Austin’s eyebrows draw together slightly as he looks at you, “You alright? You’re flushed.”

Swallowing over the lump in your throat, you nod, “Just…trying to get into the headspace for the scene.”

Austin nods softly, though it doesn’t seem like he completely believes you. Doesn’t matter, long as he doesn’t ask any questions.

The filming begins after a few moments of calling for silence on set and just as suspected, you’re too caught up in your thoughts for the lines to come out of your mouth organically. You mess up on the one take, the director asks you to go a different direction in the second, a third take turns into five and by the seventh time, your hands are shaking.

You can tell that the director is a tiny bit irritated but not about to take it out on you—but he’s definitely wondering what the problem is when you haven’t had any issues thus far with filming. Your eyes are twinged with tears from the scene itself, the lines, working yourself up and Austin squeezes your fingers in solid support because as the takes get more frustrating, his hand has moved to rest against yours. Which works perfectly for the scene anyways.

“You can ask for a break,” Austin says quietly as the cameras reset, a few lights are fixed.

Shaking your head, you’re feeling utterly stubborn about this, wanting to get it over with and yet stuck behind a barrier that you’ve built up inside your head. “No,” You sniffle, “I can do this.”

“I have no doubt that you can,” He rubs his thumb along your knuckles, “But I can tell you’re upset, beyond the lines you have to say. What’s goin’ on, Y/N?”

Lifting your hand up to wipe at your cheek but hopefully not rough enough to ruin your makeup, you’re suddenly feeling completely overwhelmed at the heavy emotion, your fears and this stupid turtleneck making it a hundred degrees warmer next to this fire.

You go to…say something? Anything that’ll just move this scene along but you can’t get the words out, all that leaves your lips is a small whimper of frustration.

That seems to be more than enough for Austin, who turns towards the director, “Can I take ten?”

The director glances between Austin and you before nodding, yelling out a fifteen-minute break. At that point you don’t care if they have to touch up your makeup, you wipe at your cheeks as Austin pulls himself up from the floor. He offers you a hand to take to help you up and once you’re standing, his palm settles on your lower back to lead you out of the set and towards his trailer.

He walks up the steps, tugging the door open so that you can walk in first. Once inside, you take off this stupid sweater, a sports bra underneath, feeling like you can actually breathe once the fabric is thrown onto the couch. Sniffling, you run a hand over your cheek and neck, skin warm to the touch, probably pink on your cheeks.

Austin moves to the small kitchenette, grabbing a glass to fill with water to hand you. You greedily take a few sips, your heartbeat returning to normal and no longer thrumming against your eardrums as you sit down on his couch.

Austin lets you take the time you need, moving to sit down across from you on his sturdy coffee table, his one hand resting on your knee as a point of comfort.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” He asks, blue eyes concerned and patient.

Not in the slightest—but you know you’re going to have to, there’s no way out of it. Especially since you have to go back to set when the break is over and work through the stress of that scene all over again. Closing your eyes for a moment, you take another sip of water before putting the glass beside Austin on the coffee table.

“I know how difficult the emotion scenes can be,” He offers, “You have to dig deep for stuff like that, make it feel as authentic as you can—but it takes a piece of you.”

You sniffle and nod, and while he’s not wrong, “It’s not that,” You say after a moment, “It’s not the script.”

Taking in a short breath, you feel embarrassment hit into your chest like a goddamn tidal wave. You can’t lie to him—not when he’s sitting there worried about you, when at this point in filming Austin can read you a bit like an open book. The last thing you want is to ruin the chemistry of the film by making things uneasy, even though this admittance is definitely the last thing you wanted to discuss with him.

“It’s the kiss,” You blurt out and Austin…draws his eyebrows together, clearly confused, because that’s not what he expected you to say.

“You—don’t want to kiss me?”

“No,” You reply far too quickly, your cheeks heating—pretty sure if you still had that turtleneck on it would have been close enough to catch on fire, “No, I mean—of course I want to kiss you.” Oh my god.

Austin smiles slowly, amusement dancing in his eyes and you’re this close to finding somewhere in this trailer to hide. You let out a groan, your head tipping back as tension slips out of your body, curls off your skin like smoke. A long breath leaves your lips, picking your hands up to cover your face for one moment.

“You’re the worst.” You mumble.

“Clearly,” Austin jokes, moving to take your hands down from your face. He squeezes your fingers. “Would completely explain why you don’t wanna kiss me.”

There’s this playful glare you give him, allowing him to keep hold of your hands as you squeeze back. “Stop,” You laugh softly, “Stop teasing me so I can explain.”

Austin straightens his shoulders and nods, not making fun of you, but conveying that he’s seriously listening to what you have to say. His thumb traces a circle along the back of your hand and with that soothing motion, you continue,

“I had a boyfriend about three years ago who dumped me because I was working too much. There was all this…other stuff about being on set and how he didn’t trust me,” A soft eyeroll, “Just utter bullshit. But what I’m trying to say is that…” You take a short breath,

“It’s been a long time since I’ve kissed anyone—I’ve been busy working and starring in B side horror films and the last thing I’m doing on those is kissing anyone because I’m running from zombies or…ax murderers. Aliens.”

A soft chuckle rumbles in Austin’s chest but he nods, this…affectionate gaze on you that makes your whole entire body buzz with warmth.

“I let it get into my head, kissing you. And how I might be bad at it.”

There was a lot more to it, about it affecting your chemistry with him, about it being obvious during playbacks that there were sparks missing, that directors and casting leads might start second guessing hiring you in the first place.

All these self-doubting, self-conscious moments wrapped up into one, topped with an overly emotional scene that already had your heart pounding in your ears.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Austin smiles and he’s far too sweet for his own good.

You crinkle your nose, “Not to make this sound like a schoolyard fight but—how would you know?”

Austin hums lightly, licking his lips and before you can throw another question his way or maybe derail this conversation entirely, he lifts his hand to cup your cheek. Your heart soars right into your throat as he leans down and captures your mouth with his own. It only takes you a half of a moment to react, tilting your head into the kiss.

It lasts a bit longer than you expect, a soft noise of pleasure leaving your throat as Austin deepens it, a little flash of tongue. It’s over before you even have time to process what’s happened, your breath catching in your chest as you look down at his mouth when he pulls away, bruised a bit pink. That reaches right into your ribcage and clenches around your heart.

“Not to sound all schoolyard back,” He says after a moment, his voice an octave lower, a bit rougher around the edges, “But ‘told you so’.”

There’s a definite eyeroll that follows that but…you can’t deny that the sentiment does make you feel better. You carry it with you when the break is called and you have to dive right back into the scene.

“Figure we’d get that out of the way so we can concentrate,” Austin teases as you settle into the scene. And…when it comes time for the kiss? It a lot more natural, soft smiles shared between you and Austin that have nothing to do with acting as you lean in and capture one another’s lips.

Both of you miss the yelling of cut! at least twice.

You feel your body heat up once again, pulse racing, but attempt to blame it all on the turtleneck you’re wearing. Once the scene is over, you leave the set with Austin, walking with him towards the food tent to grab some dinner before the late-night shooting begins. You’re definitely proud of how the scene turned out, despite being slightly emotionally exhausted at having to produce tears that feel authentic.

And you can’t stop thinking about how Austin’s lips felt against your own.

“Tired?” Austin asks as you both grab to-go containers to fill up, “You’re practically swayin’ on your feet.”

You offer a small smile, “Yeah, nothing a cat-nap and some caffeine won’t fix.” You attempt to stick to a light dinner so you don’t feel even more weighed down—a chicken salad, garlic bread because you can’t pass it up (and because there are no other kissing scenes tonight).

“I guess that’s the trade off though for a pretty heavy scene.”

Austin playfully bumps your shoulders, “Definite pay off though, you were great.”

A soft laugh even though you appreciate the compliment, you feel as if you can’t quite take it, “Right, after my three meltdowns.”

“All part of the process.” Austin grins, closing his to-go container.

You hum lightly even though you are thankful for him, for the conversation you had in his trailer. You’re not quite sure you would have gotten through the scene, or at least done it well, without talking to him about what was bothering you.

“Though I guess the moral of the story is,” Austin turns his body towards yours as you both walk out of the tent, back in the direction of the trailers, “If you’re havin’ trouble with the whole kissing thing—you know where my trailer is.”

Your eyebrows raise in amusement, the corners of your mouth pulling into a smile, “I can’t believe you said that with a straight face.”

“Oh I’m completely serious.”

“I can see that,” You laugh, your stomach doing a total somersault.

You then pause right outside your trailer, reaching out to touch his elbow to get him to stop walking. You take a step up onto the stairs, almost making your heights equal, your eyes taking in the warmth from his expression. You lean down just because you can and kiss him, something short and sweet, your noses brushing in a bunny kiss once you part.

“Thanks for the offer.”

Austin smirks, nipping at your lower lip with his own, “Sure, just lemme know if you want to take me up on it.”

You smile, watching him head back to his own trailer to eat dinner. Walking up the rest of your steps, your phone buzzes on the counter where you’ve left it, reaching to open up a text from your sister as you sit down on the couch.

Robin: well, how’d it go?

Still smiling, you text back,

Y/N: not about to kiss and tell 😉

[brandycranby]

one thing about us is we will combine our interests! so i present to you: soft thoughts about you and jake jensen — animal crossing new horizons edition! 🤍

when he completes his museum, jake asks you to go over to his island for a virtual (but in-person) date night. he says you two can walk around and read all the facts on the signs together. you arrive at his island and he’s waiting for you in front of the museum. when jake’s character gives yours a flower in your favorite color, it’s hard to do anything but giggle into his shoulder as his arm around you pulls you even closer.

on the custom design app, you make a few designs for jake that are a copy of the t-shirts he owns in real life and he loves it so so much.

you don’t think there’s anyone else in the world who uses the nookphone camera app as much as jake. when you finally get your favorite villager on your island, he wants a picture of you 3 together. when you gift him clothing that matches the outfit your character has on, jake quickly puts it on his character so he can get a cute photo. when you’re giving him a tour of your remodeled island, he insists on taking a picture of you in front of your pretty garden of cross-pollinated flowers.

jake is a bit of a history nerd and this extends to art history. when redd visits your island, jake is always happy to help you choose the real artwork. he never has to look it up and it impresses you every single time.

with jake’s military background and line of work, he’s used to living and doing tasks by a schedule. he has a sleep schedule and doesn’t oversleep. lounging in bed is different; he has no problem with that, especially if it’s next to you. jake feels comfort from your presence under the warm sheets, even if you’re still asleep. very rarely does he go past a certain number of hours a night. so on sunday mornings when he’s awake and you keep drifting in and out of sleep, he grabs your switch to help you buy turnips from daisy mae while he cuddles you.

aghhhhhh tt!! 🥺🥺 I love and cherish all of these headcanons so much!!! 🫶🏻💕💕

yes yes going through the entire museum, sitting on the benches together while you're cuddling together irl. or would it be cuter if you were in separate rooms? hehe going into the bug section together and spending time in the pretty fountain room (also screaming and running away from the spider tree, it jumpscared me today 🥲)

his sd card will get so full aaaa but i love that. maybe he's like that irl too. at his niece's soccer games? at your first day of work or promotion or whatever? on a roadtrip? photos, photos, photos. ooo secretly artsy jake? mr art history? photography whiz?? im loves him

hehe tomorrow will be my first time meeting daisy mae (i'm excited - she's so cute) and i'm nervous 😖 jakey needs to take over the stalk market for me, im no good at these things. i see ur veteran jakey details, i love u for it!! hehe just bc he wakes up early doesn't mean he needs to leave me all cold in bed 😌

[matenrou-fan]

OTOME TOHOTEN TIME YES YES YES YES YES YESSSSSSSS

hcs for otome falling in love with her fem assistant, a new me,ber of chuuo. nobody in the country knows they've got a thin g but otome is really loving to her and...theyre very passionate

maybe office sex hcs too...hehee

Otome falling in love with her fem! assistant (+ office sex hc)

I'm on my kneeeees 😩 she's a real goddess so I think I get carried away a little..

femreader, fluff, petnames, praising;; also teasing, fingering (receiving), oral (receiving+giving), semi-public sex, overstimulation, mention of vibrators and Master/pet relationships;;

NSFW UNDER THE CUTS

;MINORS DNI;

SFW:

-Honestly, when you just joined the "Party of Words", you feel both fear and awe of the Prime Minister.

-Her face is just always so calm and cold, it seems like nothing can ruin her stoic figure. But maybe that's why you decided to work in government now - cause she was a great leader, who's trust in logic, not passion..

-Well, but this is what you thought in the beginning, not knowing just how much romanticism this woman hides in herself.

-For some time she didn't pay you that much attention, treating you like all other women here - with respect yet nothing more. Only when you get a promotion and start to meet her more often during work does she look at you more closely.

-It even looks like Otome is the one who gets interested first. You have no idea why your leader makes you report about your work more than other subordinates, when she's actually just getting quite amused by your light nervousness.

-Maybe you get a hint much earlier if she would smile more, but her face was so still.. As she doesn't know for sure about her own feelings and doesn't want to get open too fast.

-You start realizing what's going on when you get more promotions and quickly turn into one of her closest members of the "Party of Words". Even as close as Ichijiku, cause now you're Otome's personal assistant.

-Yet you didn't get as much hard work as you thought you would get in such a post. Yes, it's starting to take more time to do all the paperwork and now you spend more time alone with the Prime Minister, but you feel more.. relaxed than drained?

-You didn't even notice how you got so close to her, not only in your status but in a psychological sense too. Otome loved to talk a little with her subordinates, knowing how to win someone's attention and trust.. And now she lures you close enough to herself.

-You do suspect something more in your relationship with all these 'accident' touches, more intimate talks in private.. She always asks you to stay longer due to a large amount of work but you don't really remember to actually work in these extra hours.

-And one day, as you bring another report and read it out loud for her, while Otome stands in front of the big window of her office, everything happened. She suddenly got closer, still with a calm face yet some tender undertone appeared in her emotions. You get kinda nervous as she almost comes so close, and keeps reading your papers with a little trembling tone.

But when her hand touches your hair, fixing locks, you gasp and finally look at her just to see her leaning closer and kissing you right in the lips.

"Mm.. You did a great job.." - she nods, enjoying your surprised blushing face. - "But I wanted you to stay for a while as we need to discuss everything.. in more details.."

-After this evening she's finally revealed her more soft and emotional side, as now Otome is sure that you're attached to her no less than she's to you.

-Who knows the cold soul of the Prime Minister can actually burn with such passion? As she's always get really affectionate, almost worshipful in private.

-Sharing some soft, tender kisses is the first thing that you do in your work now, before you get to work with tasks. Otome don't really like quick light kisses, preferring to keep you in her office for five-ten minutes more to let you taste the depth of her obsession over you.

-You're her weakness, as you are the only person for whom she would abuse her duties. Because having you sitting on her lap as she slowly runs her tongue along your lips and then slides it further, deepening the kiss, is much more pleasure than any other things can ever be..

-Despite your lover not liking quick kisses, she does love some light touches during work hours, especially if there is someone else in the room. Just a simple touch for your shoulder as she leaning closer to ask something.. For everyone around it looked absolutely casual, but just because they didn't see her tempestuous eyes, full of adoration.

-Would almost worship the ground you walk on. Not because she's so desperate, but one of her love languages is words of affirmation. It doesn't matter if you're really shy or bold or something in between, she always will praise you. Otome didn't see anything embarrassing about this - you're her lover, so it's only natural for her to show you this in any way she can.

-"Bunny, you're much more energetic today than usual.. Has something happened?" - she smiled, noticing any small changes in your behavior or appearance. - "You just happy to see me? Oh, what a smooth talker you can be.."

-Of course pet names. Any cute pet names, you name it. She just loves to shower you with sweet little talks between kisses, holding you to herself in a tight hug. There's so much passion in Otome's heart that it's almost overwhelming, getting so much touches, praises and affection every day.

-Especially when you both stay alone..

NSFW:

-Ok but it's actually happened more often than you thought.

-Otome just love to take you on her lap at the end of the day, while most of the other workers left the building and it's so calm and empty.

-Her hand is always on your thighs as she's reading some of the reports, fingers tapping on black fabric of uniform. And then she suddenly gets more playful, as her hand gets lower, tickling your inner thighs.

-And yes she would still read her papers like nothing happened, maybe even make small talk with you.

-This woman just loves to tease you sometimes, as she's great at hiding her emotions. Well, maybe just sometimes you can notice how the corners of her lips lifted a little as she enjoyed your little whimpers and mewls.

-"Is something wrong, my dear? You get uncomfortable?" - her calm voice behind your back sends shivers down your spine. As she notices how much you start squirming around, her tone gets more playful. - "You always can tell me if there is something you want or need.."

-So yeah, this is neither first nor last time as she just gets under your panties and plays with you right here, in the office.

-And you have a really hard time controlling your voice, whining more and more under her touch as she knows all your sensitive spots by heart, maybe even better than the rules of her own party.

-The way she gets more passionate, murmuring in your ear sweet nothings and worshiping you like that just makes everything worse. And when she whispers about getting in her room, describing in detail what she would do with you here? All you can do is just squeeze your thighs as your mind melts, imagining all these things.

-For some reason she just loves to see you cumming on her fingers, grasping her other hand so desperately and calling her name in a trembling whisper.

-Also loves to keep you under her desk, as it helps to pass the time while she's working with paperwork.

-And yes, she wouldn't mind if some of her other subservient would walk in the office at this time, as Otome can keep the most straight calm face while you're pressing your face in her folds, licking her cunt so hungrily.

-"You're just such a passionate girl.." - she cooed as soon as the other worker walked away, patting your head. - "Keep being like that and I will reward you with something more today.."

-Oh yes, you would be a good girl, clean and lick everything after her, right? You both don't want to get things too messy, aren't you?

-And if things get really heated up she wouldn't mind getting down to you too, pinning you right to her table. Of course she would lock the door before that, as this beautiful view of your naked skin as you slowly lift your skirt, revealing your wet panties, is just for her to enjoy..

-Sometimes she likes to put you on her chair, also getting under desk as you did before. The view of the Prime Minister herself sitting between your thighs like that, kissing your clit with such passion.. Sometimes you think it would be enough for you to pass out.

-She's actually really gentle and soft in oral, always preparing you very well before she starts speeding up, pushing her tongue more intensely.

-"You're really enjoying yourself, aren't you?" - her voice gets so much softer and loving, so it sounds more like a real question than a tease. And of course you nod, whimpering under your breath for more. - "Of course, my buttercup.. Just let me take care of you.."

-It's like a little game: just how many times she would be able to make you cum on her tongue before you turn into a completely trembling whining mess.

-Spoiler: Not that much cause as soon as she gets really into it, slurping on your folds with such passion and sucking hard your clit you're already minimally conscious, mewling her name again and again as the burning pulsation in your core gets more wild.

-"You look absolutely stunning while drowning in pleasure, butterfly" - of course she was watching your beautiful face all the time, enjoying it no less than you. - "You just make me want to start a round three.. or four?"

-I'm sure she likes something like a Master/Pet relationship but as Otome is quite dominating, but in a light way, not something too extreme. She values you and sees you as a worthy person that is equal to her, after all..

-Also, about teasing: she would play with you a little during the day just to amuse herself with your blushing face, but nothing more, like making you walk around with a working vibrator or something. She prefers to leave these things to more private places like her room where she can pay more attention to you.

[lemonjoonah]

The Garden Thief (M)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Word Count: 9.3K Genre: Hybrid AU, romance/drama/comedy, enemies to lovers Warnings: Unprotected sex, oral sex (fem. rec.), they get down and dirty outside but no one else is there to see them, cum play? (just a little), there’s also a bit of mud (sorry, but also not sorry, they’re outside what do you want from me?!?!), referenced hybrid neglect and oppression (hybrids are wrongfully deemed as pets by law and the majority of society).  

Summary: Your beloved vegetable patch has once again been victimized by a hungry thief in the night. The prime suspect? Jeon Jungkook, your neighbour's rabbit hybrid. But when you finally confront him, he pleads innocent, and proposes a plan to clear his name.

A/N: I wrote this fic’s premise and opening scene for the ‘A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words Game’ that I played oh so long ago and now I’ve finally finished the tale!

...

“Oh for fuck’s sake, not again!” You swear upon seeing the leafy green remains of several carrots lying in your garden, inches from where they used to be buried. This maddening mystery of the vanishing vegetables has been playing out all summer. You’ve set out deterrents for every possible garden pest, rolling out chicken wire and spraying natural remedies to repel anything from bugs to small rodents. Yet you still wake to find that your garden has been robbed in the night. The only possible suspect you haven’t been able to protect against resides just next door, in fact—

You squint up at the boarded fence, spotting a pair of long dark ears peeking out over the posts. “Jungkook, is that you?”

The ears immediately disappear, ducking down behind the barrier. The sound of his hurried footsteps trailing away are followed only by the slamming of a door.

You rush into and through your own house carrying the wilted carrot greens. Exiting out the front, and over to the house next to yours, where you repeatedly press the bell.

The entry whips open on the fourth ring to reveal Jungkook. His face is flushed, beads of sweat racing down his brow, and a shirt that one would normally use to cover their chest, is instead thrown over his shoulder. “Something wrong neighbour?” He asks with a carrot stick in hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he taunts you with a bite and crooked grin.

“Is-is your caretaker home?” You stutter trying your best to swallow your nerves. Concentrating hard on his face, you plead with your eyes not to wander down. That’s exactly what he wants, a reason to put you off your mission, to make you so flustered that you have to walk away. He’s always trying to use his allure against you, and you hate how often he succeeds doing just that...  

“No, he’s at work.”

“When will he be back?”

“Not sure, maybe a week, or two? He’s on a business trip.”

Your gaze falters in it’s determination for a brief second as a drop of sweat descends from his neck to his chest. Holding your breath you watch it’s path, tracing the valleys between his muscles. When Jungkook finally wipes it away your brain catches up and scolds you for your weakness. “And he left you here, alone?”  You ask, while trying to recollect your dignity, reminding yourself of how much grief he has put you through.

“Of course.” Jungkook’s smile grows. “I’m not just some common pet. I know how to behave myself.”

The statement makes your brow twitch, enraging you enough to overcome his tactics. “I know you haven’t been here long, but you should know, people typically don’t like it when someone steals from their yard.” You lecture him, waving the carrot tops in front of his face. “So stop treating my garden like your own personal snack bar!”

“Now why would I take from you? I have plenty of food here, even got another delivery this morning.”  The hybrid kicks at a box next him filled with a vibrant collection of fresh produce and grains.

“I don’t know why. I just know it was you.”

“Prove it.” He prods, while taking the last bite of the vegetable from his hand.

The loud crunching gnaws on your composure, stripping you of any patience you may have had for the hybrid. “This all started when you moved in, and I’ve ruled everything else out!” You shout, but as good as it might feel to finally vent your anger, you feel as though you’re somehow playing into his hand.

“That doesn’t seem like very good evidence. It’s circumstantial at best. If you want to find out who the real culprit is you should have a stake out.”

“A stake out?”

“Yeah, you know, watch over the garden for the night, catch the criminal in the act. I could even help if you’d like.”

You scoff at the ridiculous notion. “You really think I should invite you over to guard my crops?”

“I do, so I’ll come over tonight? Say around seven?” You open your mouth to object, but the rabbit hybrid jumps from one statement to the next casually inviting himself into your own home. “Perfect. See you then.”

“I didn’t-no wait, that was sar-” The door closes between you before you can finish. Leaving you baffled and alone on the doorstep. You ready to knock but stop just before your knuckles hit the wood. Trying again right now is a lost cause, it’ll just play into his game. So why waste your breath when you know it’ll just end the same way? Tonight then, as he suggested, that’s when you’ll be ready to hit him with some hard evidence that he won’t be able to refute.

Admitting defeat for now, you retreat back to your garden to pick the surviving vegetables and contemplate the encounter. You wish your could have just spoken to Jungkook’s caretaker—fuck what was his name again? You’ve only seen the man a couple times since they took the house, but at least he doesn't give you a nervous knot in your stomach, or leave you confused and speechless like his hybrid does.

It’s been three months since they moved in. You were excited at first, to have new neighbours in your almost vacant cul-de-sac. Buyers don’t seem to be interested in the old houses with large lots in your area. Too much work to maintain, and not enough good job prospects to go around. So when you saw the sold sign go up you were beyond thrilled. Greeting the new residents with a fruit basket and a smile.

The rabbit hybrid you now know as Jungkook appeared rather shy at first, you did your best to welcome him. Always greeting him when he was outside, trying to engage him in small chat, but the first time you caught him during his workout everything changed. Until that point you had not considered him as anything but a prospective friend. You were stunned to see him in such a confident state, throwing around his weights like they were nothing. In that moment, with you too nervous to admit that you found him attractive, you became the anxious and blubbering fool in his presence, and he, unfortunately, took note. The once quiet and cute rabbit, became a flirtatious and bratty bunny.

And since then, whenever you would work in your garden he’d be on the other side of the fence grunting and panting. Staying close to the gap in the divider, a missing panel you had yet to replace. On days like today you would often look up from your radishes and accidentally lock eyes with the hybrid, drenched in sweat and showing off his skills.

Out of respect and self preservation you tried your best to not to pay attention, to keep your nose buried in your garden, but as the weeks went by the vegetables under your care started to disappear. The ample crops you tended to in the evening, lessened by morning, with only the refuse remaining to indicate it’s former presence. You didn’t want to point fingers immediately, but today was the final straw, and tonight no matter how hard he tries to distract you, you will find him guilty.

After harvesting the choice crops for the day and watering the rest. You dust yourself off, settling inside and in front of your computer; opening the visitors page for your place of work, the city's greenhouse conservatory. To help promote the centre in the community the staff all take turns writing articles revolving around their own projects or home gardens, and you’re up next in the rotation. You stare at the blank document for several minutes trying your best to concentrate on the task, but you are unable to think of anything other than the mischievous hybrid next door.

Embracing the topic of your aggravation, you start the post off with a title sure to catch the eye of any reader, ‘Garden Thieves.’

‘We’ve all been there, finding a tomato just about to reach its peak ripeness. We give it another day to grow into perfection, only to find it missing later on. In your absence something else has taken it into its own clutches. I myself have been dealing with a vegetable thief for several weeks, so if you are struggling like I am, here are a few things that might help. ’

You proceed to outline several garden pests uploading photos of their damage, along with quick remedies to deter their presence. Netting to block the sparrows, raised beds and fences to keep out most rodents or mammals, and a caffeine solution to stave off slugs.

‘I hope this may help you all in your efforts to keep your plants safe, but I must add a disclaimer. Unfortunately nothing here is completely foolproof. Even if you do follow all of these steps you still might lose some of your crops to a crafty critter. But I wish you the best of luck on all of your backyard battles. I myself plan to face off with my own long-eared menace tonight.’

You finish your post with a smile. Sending it off to your coworker Namjoon to get his approval before you make it public.

He calls a few minutes later, his laughter carrying through the speaker. “That was easily the best article you’ve written all year. You should definitely post it.”

“Thanks.” You chuckle, hitting the submit button. At the very least feeling a bit relieved to have one less task weighing on your mind. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I take it you’re still having trouble with that hybrid neighbour of yours?”

“Yeah,” you groan. You’ve complained to Namjoon about the issue several times in the past month. It must have been all too easy for him to read between the lines and see what set you off to create this specific entry.  “But he refuses to admit it was him. It’s like he’s trying to make me question my skills as a gardener and I hate it! I went over to talk to his caretaker but he’s away on business for a couple weeks.”

“He left him alone for that long? What about food?”

“He’s been getting deliveries. By the looks of it, he has a healthier diet than I do.”

Namjoon pauses on the line giving you only a simple, “Huh...” in a long break.

“What?”

“Well it’s just-” A loud buzzing sound erupts through the phone line cutting off his answer. A noise you know to indicate someone is at the back door. “That’s weird. I didn’t think we were supposed to get anything delivered today. No one else is here.... did you have anything scheduled to come in?”

“No.” You double check the calendar sitting on your desk. “I shouldn’t have anything until next Monday.”  

Namjoon puts you on hold while he checks on the reason for the interruption, returning only a minute later. “It’s a delivery all right, but are you sure these aren’t yours? I’m seeing a lot of tropical species on the invoice. Combretum rotundifolium, Heliconia angusta, Myrciaria dubia-”

You mouth a swear as Namjoon carries on with his list. It’s obvious they are indeed the specimens of your expected batch. You're in the process of redesigning one of the tropical habitats. The lead director was adamant that the conservatory host a butterfly exhibition in the next coming year, and in order to support the grandiose endeavour you are required to introduce a vast amount of new flowering species over the next few months. “How many in total?”

“About two dozen. Looking pretty rough from the journey too.”

You’re not surprised by their current state. This summer is already one of the hottest and driest on record, and all the stock you had received this season was excessively wilted and near death because of it. “Do we have any holding houses with humidifiers available?”

“Not at the moment,” There’s a clatter in the background as Namjoon sorts through what must be the slack of clipboards. “But I’ve got the inspection chart here and your last delivery did just finish it’s quarantine. No signs of pests or illness, so they’re clear to plant. That should free up some space for you.”

“That’ll have to do. Thanks for checking.” Standing up from your desk with a sorrowful sigh. You mourn the loss or your afternoon off as you start to dress for a day of hard labour. Throwing on your work-issued overalls over your t-shirt and shorts. Unfortunately you can’t just leave the new stock to sit out under the beating sun. With little humidity outside and no protection they’ll be burnt to a crisp if you delay too long. But the worst part is that your planting staff isn’t scheduled until later in the week, and that volume of work will put you well into the middle of the night before you complete it. “I’ll be in soon to deal with it.”

“That’s a lot of planting to do on your own. I can help if you-”

“I can’t take you away from your trees, isn’t there a bonsai exhibition next week you have to prepare them for?” He’s been agonizing over this showcase for so long you couldn’t possibly inconvenience him now with your own troubles. “It’s fine, really. I’ll call to see if anyone else is willing to come in today.” You hang up letting Namjoon return to his tasks, and work your way down the contacts for the gardening staff as you prepare yourself to leave. Though as expected, all of those who answer have prior commitments and won’t be able to assist.

Grabbing your badge and plans for the updates to the garden you slip back out into the noon-day sun, so strong it’s turned your car into an oven on wheels. You’re just about to pull it into reverse when you spot the blinds shift in your neighbour’s window. Prompting you to recall the plans he had made for tonight.

With all the work you have, it’s doubtful you’ll be back home for seven. You return to Jungkook’s door to give him the news. He has it open before you can even knock, his usual smirk crawling across his face as he greets you.  

“About tonight... something has come up at work and I really don’t know how late I’ll be.”

His ears perk up. “You’re going into the conservatory?”

“Yeah,” you respond, somewhat shocked that he remembered where you work. It’s been a couple months since you mentioned it while introducing yourself to him and his caretaker. “An order came in earlier than expected. I’ll likely be planting all day and night.”

“I can help,” he offers, already stepping out to join you, and locking the door behind him.

“You want to help?”

“Of course, isn’t that the neighbourly thing to do?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t want it or expect it from someone who terrorizes my own garden.”

“Allegedly,” Jungkook corrects. “And wouldn’t you rather have me with you, under your supervision, than here, all alone with only a measly fence between me and your impressive bell pepper harvest?”

“Stay away from my peppers!” You scold, pointing your finger at him. “Even if I wanted to take you, what about your caretaker? Don’t you need his permission to leave and work?”

“He’s never paid attention to my whereabouts before, and it’s not work if you don’t pay me. I’ll just be a volunteer. You have people volunteer all the time right?”

“Yes but-”  

“I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright, fine.” You finally agree though with a heavy dose of reluctance. Namjoon often brings his own hybrid in so it shouldn’t be a problem. “But if I see you nibble on even a single leaf, you’re coming straight back here.”

“Deal.” He rushes past you straight to your passenger seat and buckles himself in. Practically bouncing with excitement beside you as you pull out and head towards the conservatory.

The minutes pass and you try your best to focus on the road but you’ve never been so close to Jungkook in such a small space. And with his built frame taking up most of the car, he’s hard for you to ignore. His ears folded against the roof and his shoulders so wide they brush repeatedly against yours.

“Ever been to the conservatory before?” You ask, trying to divert your mind from the battle which builds inside you. A wavering war between frustration and attraction, with the former trying it’s best to pin down the latter, a move which only arouses the latter more...

“No, I’ve wanted to go ever since you mentioned it but my caretaker hasn’t had the time.”

“Oh.” A sense of pity joins the ranks of your emotions, nudging at you as you pull into the lot. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Why are you sorry?” Jungkook asks in a low whisper, snapping back to his flirtatious behaviours. His mouth turns up at the corner as he leans into you, so close that his drooping ears graze the top of your head.  “Would you have taken me earlier if I had mentioned it?”

“N-no,” you choke out. Placing your hand on his solid chest, you push him back and away. As tempting as his advance might be to accept, you know his forwardness to be nothing more than an act to make a fool of you. Why else would he try to both seduce you, and steal from right under your nose?  “You’re only here today because I am in desperate need of help, and I can’t trust you to be alone.”

...

You lead him through the unoccupied greenhouses. The conservation is closed to the public today (as it is every Monday and Tuesday); which usually allows for some time off, but at least now it’ll give you a chance to work unimpeded by visitors. Your own curated section is located in the most humid of all the houses, set in such a way to mimic the tropical environment you are attempting to represent.

The first stop is the holding house where the carts of new stock wait just outside.  Grabbing an empty trolly you enter and start to load up those that are ready to plant. Jungkook following your actions does the same, easily lifting the heavy planters that you yourself struggle with. “Thanks,” you whisper as he relieves you of a particularly burdensome tree. To which he smiles in return.

After making the switch, by placing the recent delivery in the house for it’s quarantine, you lead him to the supply closet. Where you collect a couple shovels, trowels, and two pairs of gloves. As you continue to scan for anything else you might require, Jungkook pops in behind looking at the shelves with a sense of curiosity. He reaches up and over you to a spray bottle labeled ‘slug repellent.’

“We won’t need that, it’s for the outdoor gardens,” You explain. “It’s just a mixture of ca-”

“Caffeine and water?”

You snap your gaze to him. “How do you know that?”

He bites his lip as a snicker starts to escape. “Just a bit of morning reading. I found an interesting article with that particular tidbit. One which also happened to reference the exploits of a long-eared menace.”

“Y-you read the conservatory blog? You read my post? No one reads that, there can’t have been more than ten views!”

“Which is such a shame.” He goads you. “I’ve found your work to be both informative and comical. You really have me rooting for you in your quest to catch your thief.”

You groan in utter fury. “Why must you be so-so-”

“Handsome? Funny? Caring?”

“Antagonizing!”

“Because you seem to take more notice when I am.” Jungkook answers, with a turn of his heel, his tail poking out from under his shirt as he starts to walk away with the cart. “And I like seeing that perplexed look of yours. Your nose is cute when you scrunch it up like that.”

You remain in the shed, your traitorous heart beating erratically over the fact that he called a part of you cute. While your more sensible side grabs your nose and smooths out the wrinkles he referenced.

“Should we get to work?” He calls out after you. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can go home and expose that bandit of yours.”

You roll your eyes and follow him out, before taking the lead to your tropical glasshouse. The air sticks to your skin the moment you enter. Jungkook lets out a long exhale behind you tugging on the collar of his shirt. “Is it always like this in here?”

“It’s a bit warmer today, but not by much. Are you already regretting your decision to help?” You tease him.

“Nope,” he answers, slinging a shovel over his shoulder. “Show me where to dig, and I’ll get to it.”

Pulling out your plans for the new exhibit arrangement, you select a couple species placing them on the empty plots of garden as directed, careful to allow for future growth. Jungkook follows behind digging out their new homes faster than at least three of your staff members combined.

You stare at him for a second, unable to believe the pace at which he’s going. “Something wrong?” He asks, pausing to lock eyes with you.

“No, I just didn’t think you’d be so quick at digging.”

“I’m part rabbit, what did you expect?” Jungkook boasts with a chuckle and a raised brow. “I share their strengths. Especially when it comes to burrowing and fu-”      

His words are cut short when a fresh breeze from the outside washes over the both of you, a  sure sign that someone must have entered the greenhouse. Your neighbour goes rigid, his nose lifts into the air and his ears fall back flat against his head. “Jungkook what’s-” Leaping up he closes the gap and grabs you. Tucking you into him with his chin resting on your head, where a  warm and earthy scent envelopes you.  His breaths are quick and deep, causing his chest to rapidly rise and fall against your back.

Namjoon’s voice calls out to you. “... are you in here?”

“Over here!” You yell out in reply, before turning back to the hybrid who still has you locked in his clutches. “What the hell Jungkook? Let me go! Now’s not the time for your games.” Sure it might feel nice to be wrapped in his arms, to get lost amidst his aroma. At any other time you might even consider taking a moment before chastising his boldness. But here? Now? And with Namjoon coming to greet you? No, this is too much.

You try to push him away like you have before, but this time it’s as if he’s set in stone, and not registering you at all. He focuses only on the direction your coworker's voice hailed from. “That scent, he smells like-”

“There you are.” Namjoon interrupts stepping around a flowering bush and into view, looking surprised by your guest. “Oh, hello there.”

The point of Jungkook's chin rubs against your head as he grips you even tighter. Embarrassed and confused by the hybrids embrace. “Jungkook, this is Namjoon.” You introduce your coworker while delivering an elbow to Jungkook’s gut. He finally snaps out of his trace and lets you go though he continues to hover behind. “He works with the bonsai of the conservatory.”

“You must be the neighbour I’ve heard so much about, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Namjoon extends his hand to the hybrid, but Jungkook ignores the gesture, choosing to glare instead, with his nostrils flared and his ears pinned back.

“Jungkook?” You whisper trying to chase him from his mood.

Namjoon gives him a nervous smile. “You probably smell my hybrid, on me don’t you?”

“A hybrid?” Jungkook confirms, his eyes narrowed at Namjoon.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t intend to scare you. I’m sure the scent of a predator, especially a tiger, is a bit of a shock. He’s harmless, I promise.”

“Is Taehyung here?” You ask, hoping to see his affectionate part-feline companion.  

“Nah, he’s with a friend today. I needed to get some work done and he’d be more of a distraction than a help... but it would seem that didn’t stop him from scenting my shirt before I left.” Namjoon explains, and then turns to your neighbour again. “Jungkook would you mind if I borrow her for a second? I need help with one of my tropical species.”

Jungkook gives a solemn nod. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks frightened, and somewhat hesitant to release you over to your coworker.

Worried by his current disposition, you reassure him with a squeeze on his arm. “Just keep digging where I’ve placed those pots and I’ll be right back.”

Namjoon leads you into the adjacent greenhouse where you can continue to keep watch of Jungkook through the pains of glass. But the instant the doors close between you, Namjoon starts bombarding you with questions. “Why didn’t you tell me? How long has it been going on? ”

You take a step back having been caught off guard. “Tell you what?”

“About you and Jungkook! Is the feuding neighbours just a cover story?” Namjoon’s eyes are wide and hopeful as he carries on, not letting you fit a single word in. “Don’t worry, I won’t inform anyone you're together. I know it’s not easy having a human-hybrid relationship out in the open. But I think you should be careful about going out into public because he’s far too obvious about it.”

“We’re not- we’re not a couple. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because the way held you, he looked like he was marking you with his own scent. That’s what rabbits do isn’t it? They rub their chins on what they want to claim as their own.”

“They do what?” You ask, stunned by the possibility, before the realism settles back in. It must just be Jungkook’s idea of a joke. “No, that’s not what he’s doing, our connection is nothing remotely like that. Don’t get me wrong he’s very attractive, and he knows it.” You mutter the last part under your breath. “But-”

“But you really are having trouble with him. It's not a cover?”

“You think I would keep something like that from you?” Namjoon over the years has come to be your closest confidant. A good friend and coworker, you would never dream of hiding something like that from him.

“I suppose not.”

“Is that why you brought me back here, to question my relationship status?”

“Not entirely.” Namjoon shakes his head with a small dimpled smile and changes the subject. “I do actually want to get your help with one of my new acquisitions.” He points out an unusual tree on his work bench, much too big for the pot it’s currently situated in. It’s extensive roots spill out over the top and threaten to swallow the pot whole. “A Ficus microcarpa, far from the most sought after species when it comes to reputable bonsai, but I couldn’t pass this one up. It has such good character.”

“What made it grow in such a way?” You examine the plant and it’s container with care, prying between the roots and taking note of cracks starting to form in the terracotta.

“The last owner neglected it for far too long. It sat hidden in the back of a commercial greenhouse, still under the watering and fertilizing system, but since it was confined to such a small space it tried to root it’s way out. If I were to guess, it probably hasn’t seen a new pot for at least five years.”

“It’s a miracle it survived.” You nod impressed by the tree’s determination. “What’s your plan for it?”

“Give it what it wants, let it leach out. I doubt I would be able to pry it out entirely without causing significant damage to the roots that are gripping the sides, so instead I want to put another bellow to catch it and give it the fresh soil and room it needs.” Namjoon lays the tree and pot down on the table, and asks you to hold and support the trunk, while he taps and pokes at the bottom of the vessel with a metal trowel.  Enlarging the cracks, but not breaking the pot fully. It’s a tedious process. The small chunks of clay are removed piece by piece, giving him access to see and free some of the tightly bound roots inside.

While your coworker continues his task, your eyes are free to wonder. You check on Jungkook through the glass, as he kneels in front of the garden bed digging even faster than before.

Namjoon appears to notice your distracted state. “How's he doing?”

“Fine I guess.” You whisper. “He’s acting stranger than usual today though. He stole from my garden again. Invited himself over to my house, then here, and you saw what he did back there.”

“Huh...” Namjoon mutters, trailing off the same way he did on the phone.

“What is this ‘huh’ you keep giving me? You know I don’t like games Namjoon. If you have something you want to say, say it.”

“It’s about what you said earlier, how his caretaker leaves for extended periods of time. Usually if an animal is alone for too long they look for ways to stimulate themselves and resort to their natural instincts, scavenging and such. But he’s a hybrid and therefore part human, so if you were isolated and restricted to your house what would you do?”

“Probably look for the closest person I could find. So he’s acting out in my garden and teasing me, because he’s lonely?”

“I think so.” Namjoon responds as he extracts another root, freeing it from its confines.

“But why?” You ask, worried for the answer to come. “Why wouldn’t he just say something?”

“There could be a number of reasons. He might not understand what he’s doing on a conscious level, or he might be afraid to show any sign of weakness to you or anyone else. Jungkook is part prey animal, and humans are all too often predators.”

“If that’s the case...” You curse yourself for not realizing it sooner. The fury you held for him slowly fades away as you replay every encounter in your mind. He was literally jumping at the chance to spend time with you, to help you with your work, and you were to blind to see it. Your anger over your missing vegetables is so trivial in comparison to what he must have been going through. The loneliness he must have felt, and the inability to admit it, you can’t imagine how he suffered through it alone. “What can I do to help him? I have no legal claim to him Namjoon. What can I do within such limitations?”

He looks down at his work in progress. “The way I see it  you and he, like this small tree, have three options. You could maintain the status quo, leave him be, but how long will he be able to survive like he is? Creeping over the edge but grasping on to nothingness?”

You shake your head vehemently rejecting the idea while Namjoon continues.

“You could report his caretaker for neglect, breaking the container entirely, but that too could be very damaging to him, tearing him away entirely could put him in a state of shock, and in a home that is no better for him, while the legal battle is decided. Or...” Namjoon grabs another container, slightly wider than the one in which the plant is seated. Filling it with substrate he takes the tree clinging to it’s partial pot and places it on top. Pressing the newly freed roots down into the soil.

“You could support him, give him a better home just outside of his own where he can be himself and access what he needs. I personally think it’s your safest option for now.” Namjoon leads over inspecting the bonsai and lowers his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “Until the day, when it is possible to fully cast the pot aside.”

You nod, though now left to grapple with what you could possibly have to offer the hybrid.  “I’m not sure I would be the best person to care for him.”

“I think Jungkook would disagree. He was already trying to scent you. That to me, implies his desire for something more in the realm of an intimate relationship.” You choke on your breath as Namjoon comes to an additional conclusion. Upon seeing your distress he makes a suggestion. “Of course you could keep it strictly to friendship between the two of you and I’m sure that will improve his situation, but his other needs will need to be met for him to feel completely at home...”

“His other needs? You think he wants to be with me? Intimately?! No! Surely he would have acted differently if that was his intent! He’s done nothing but tease me when he catches me even remotely looking in his direction.”

“So you have been looking at him!” Namjoon taunts you with a massive grin. Apologizing a second later when you proceed to glare at him. “But to answer your question, no, not necessarily. You have to remember most of society deems him a lesser being. He could be feeling a lot of guilt and pressure not to engage with you in that way. Though he might not outright say it, I bet his instincts will continue to shine through. I’ll even prove it to you.” Namjoon takes off a glove and rubs your head. “I bet this rabbit of yours will take less than a minute before he tries to replace the smell of my hand with his own again... trust me.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I should probably get back to him.” You are just about to step away when your thoughts return to the long neglected plant. “Where do you plan to house that when you’re finished? Ficuses naturally belong in a more tropical location don’t they?”

“They do, especially if I want to give it a better chance. It’s going to need a place far more humid than this space.”

“Was this all your calculated way of guilting me to store it in my greenhouse too?”

“The thought might have crossed my mind.” Namjoon gives you a sly grin.  “But my logic is still sound in regards to Jungkook. He needs someone, he needs a better home... and it would seem he’s chosen you.”

...

You wander back to your greenhouse, still full of doubt. Finding Jungkook to have finished most of the required digging.

“Sorry for leaving you.”

“You-you okay?” He asks, upon seeing the dazed look on your face and then scowling in the direction that Namjoon led you.

“Fine, he just needed help with one of his plants. Sorry about earlier, I didn’t think you’d be affected by the scent of his hybrid, Taehyung is rather sweet though, you’d like him.”

“You trust him then?” Jungkook grumbles as he pierces his shovel into the ground. “You trust Namjoon and his hybrid?”

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it wasn’t just a tiger that I smelled. He’s been around a lot of hybrids. Every scent on him told me to run, all of them put there by dangerous predators.”

“Oh,” you shoot back in surprise. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Taehyung is rather popular, he has a lot of friends and Namjoon often caters them at his place. You don’t need to worry, you're safe here.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about.”

Jungkook inches closer as you crouch to place the plants in the holes he dug. His nose twitches as he takes a deep breath, his eyes watching while you bury the root ball in the warm soil, firmly securing the trunk of the young tree.

While you are leaning down, Jungkook reaches across to the other side of you. Grabbing the trowel to your right despite the fact that the same tool can be found on his left. The bottom of his chin grazes the top of your head and lingers for a spell. Your heart stops in that moment while questioning his motives. Though Namjoon said he’d do just this, you still can’t be entirely sure that it proves him correct; Jungkook might just not have seen the other option available to him, and he’s never bothered about invading your space. This could be nothing, though there’s a small growing part of you that wants it more and more to be something.

“He’s a good guy,” you promise, returning to the conversation so as to not dwell on his actions. “He even suggested that I should bring you along more often, if you’re interested in spending some of your days here.”

“He did?”

You nod.  A small white lie, but not entirely incorrect, and if it gets him to accept Namjoon easier you’ll all be better for it. “I wouldn’t expect you to work, but you're more than welcome to just hang around. The staff here could always use some company and I’m sure it would beat staying at home alone all day.”

“I would like that. I would like that a lot, but would you want me to keep you company too?”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“No, I need to know if that’s what you want.” He looks over to you pinning you down in his line of sight.  

“I suppose I would....” You answer and turn your head, unable to bear the nerves that his gaze brings. The both of you fall quiet. Knowing what you know now, being free of your anger for him leaves you vulnerable, open to his persuasion, and now you are no longer certain of how to act. So you start to rely on what has made him comfortable in the past, and interject with a new condition to bring an end to the awkward silence. “As long as you treat this garden better than mine back home.”

Jungkook lets out a long laugh. “I have nothing but the highest respect for your garden.”

...

When planting is finished your clothes are entirely saturated in sweat and your muscles aching from use. It’s hard to believe how much you’ve both done in such a short amount of time. While carting up the supplies, Jungkook’s eyes catch on something behind you. You look around spotting the newly potted bonsai on a back table. Namjoon must have dropped it off while you both were busy.

Looking at it now you can’t help but notice how even the shape of its leaves remind you of the hybrid’s ears, long, pointed, and reaching up to the sky. You consider your friend's words one more time and while Jungkook leans over to inspect the tree. Reaching out to his back, your hand shakes with hesitation before setting down on a spot just below his shoulder. He softens under your touch, a low hum leaving his lips. His attention turns from the plant to you. With your hand still in place, your arm is now wrapped around him, leaving only an inch between the two of you. You stand there fixed and unmoving, but content in the knowledge, that you seem to have left him speechless this time. His eyes darting away from yours, to your lips, your neck, and finally the hand you place upon his chest.  

Only to have the moment broken when you can hear and feel the rumble from his stomach. His nervous laugh follows as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear.

“Hungry?”

He nods in response, his eyes wide as he remains unusually silent.

“Come on, I’ll buy you dinner.” You offer as you turn him around to head to the car.

...

You both settle on a take out spot, and return home to wash up and eat.

After finishing your meal and tearing off your overalls, you both settle down on the hammock in your yard. With Jungkook’s legs long enough to touch the ground, he slowly rocks the seat back and forth.  He’s been near silent since that close moment together. He’s never had a problem with banter and flirtation, but now you’ve come to notice that any attention which can’t be passed off as a joke causes him to flounder.

Laying back in the hammock, both full and content, your eyes threaten to close after the long day as Jungkook continues to sit beside you. The sound of crickets lulling you to sleep. “Keep an eye out for that thief of mine will you?” You may not like games but if it makes him comfortable, and keeps him talking, you’ll continue to play this ruse with him.

“You trust me to keep watch without your supervision?”

“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t?”

“No, it’s just a lot more credit than you usually give me.”

“I think you’ve earned it.” You whisper as you finally drift off.

It feels like only a few minutes of rest before the sun sets and the air turns cool. Jungkook’s chin comes to rest on the top of your head like it did back in the greenhouse. He shifts his weight, burrowing his arms around and behind to cover you as he takes deep breaths. You lean into him seeking the warmth of his chest. No longer restricted by your childish anger to enjoy his company is a welcome relief, you only wish you could relinquish him of any of his own troubles and doubts.  And then, you feel it, a drop of cold rain hitting your neck. The hammock moves again as he adjusts, the back of his fingers running across the damp spot. Another finds your cheek and he wipes that away too, your skin shivering in response.

But when a speck lands your mouth he stops. You wait, a second, then two. Your anticipation grows with face heating up and your chest tightening as you continue to crave his touch. You want him to wipe it away, to touch you, to act on whatever desires he might be keeping. You part your lips with the desperate hope that he will take the hint. Rejoicing when the warm pad of his thumb spreads the drop across the delicate skin.

He comes down on to you, his mouth catching any and all remains of the droplet as he encases your lips. Jungkook places a hand on your neck while the other grabs the ropes of the hammock, his legs straddle your hips. The scattered rain turns to a downpour as he remains fixed to your mouth, even his form isn’t enough to shield you from the current washing down from the sky.

As your hands reach up to his own damp and curling locks entwining your fingers in the strands he moans and nips. But as quickly as it started, so too does it end. When Jungkook snaps up as though jolted from a dream. His ears point back as an apology flows from him. “I-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Jungkook,” you call out to him but he ignores you as he tries to detangle himself. When one foot hits the ground. You grab his waist and try again. “Jungkook, you don’t have to be sorry.” But instead of stopping he merely pulls you off and along with him, sending you both to the muddy ground, but this time with you on top of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks the loud pouring of the rain forcing him to raise the volume of his voice.

You chuckle at his concern considering he’s the one flat on his back. “I think I should be asking you that question instead.” You pause as he mirrors your grin. “Why did you stop? Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He looks up at you, his brow furrowing. “You did nothing wrong. It was me. I was the one acting on my instincts. I shouldn’t have done that when I know how much you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you...” You explain, trying your best not to be drowned out by the water cascading down. “The things you did might have annoyed me, but I get it now. I’m just sorry it took me so long to notice.”

“Notice what?”

“How fucked up your situation is. For not realizing how alone you must have been. How caged you must have felt. I’ve been so focused on my own little world that I didn’t realize what was happening or why you were acting the way you were. I like you, a lot, but I was too wrapped up in my frustration to say how I felt...”

“It’s not your fault.”

You shake your head. “I am not innocent in this. I should have been paying more attention.”

“Then pay attention to me now.” He begs with his round eyes shining up at you.  

“But in what way? As a neighbour, as a friend, or maybe something more?" Your voice cracks in desperation, trying to find his needs while also hoping they are the same as yours. “Is that why you were always teasing me the way you did? You wanted something more?”

“You really want to know?” Jungkook’s tone is low as it grips on to his every word. “I did it because it was the only thing that could distract me from my incessant need for you. Seeing your reactions and having your attention kept me in check. I’m very different from you and I’m aware it could cause a problem. I wasn’t sure if you could ever fully want me because of that.” He reaches to rub around the base of his ears. “But every day that I looked over I wanted to hold you, to claim you, to take you right here on this very spot. So often I dreamed of jumping the fence and coming for you instead of...”

You smile down at him, noting his near admission. “Instead of?”

“Instead of watching from a distance.” He smirks, catching and narrowly fixing his statement. Pleading guilty only to his longing for you.

“Then do it.” You demand of him.

He groans from his position beneath you. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’m not. You weren’t the only one peeking through the fence Jungkook.” Reaching up to your collar you tug off your shirt. He follows your lead with his own to reveal his sculpted chest he’s taunted you with so many times. “I don’t care if we’re different from each other. I don’t care if it causes a problem.” You shift back on his body traveling from your seat near his stomach down to his hips, his clothed dick firm and pressing against you. A moan escapes his lips, confirming that you’ve made your point. “There’s no one else nearby, so if you want me so much that you’re willing to fuck me out here, in the rain and mud-”  

His hands come to grip your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifts you off, maneuvering out from underneath, to fall into place behind you. From there he pushes you down to your hands and knees, his body bent over yours. “You have no idea how much I want to.” He whispers with a kiss to your bare shoulder damp from the rain that continues to pour.

He takes off your bra before his face moves down your back, nose trailing against your skin and pausing at your shorts. Unfastening the button he pulls them down, freeing you of your underwear too before they are both cast aside. “I want to smell you, and taste you.” Jungkook takes in a deep breath, wrapping an arm around your legs, and barring your thighs. He buries his face between your legs, his tongue reaching out to deliver a long lick to your folds pausing after every lap.

Your palms dig into the ground, the cool mud coming to the surface to meet them. You buck against his tongue but the forearm holding you remains firm, sending your squirming downward to bury your elbows in the soggy grass too.

Jungkook chuckles as you inadvertently give him a better angle. From behind you can hear the zipper of his own shorts. Rubbing the head of his cock against your damp folds, he covers it with the slick of your slit, and with a long groan he eases it inside. He’s slow at first, letting you savor the girth and warmth of him. So you start to edge back and forward on his cock. Taking the time to enjoy every inch, along with the sounds that leave him. But when he returns to take control, the first thrust is so powerful, his thighs hit your ass with a loud clap, and every jolt of his hips after, drives you further down each time.

A stuttering groan escapes him as he fills you. Thinking he’s finished you lean forwards and until his cock pulls out, but in response he grabs your waist. Turning you over, back to the ground on top of the discarded clothes and facing him.

He lowers himself pressing his chest against yours. His fingers reach to grab your chin and take a kiss. His cock, despite having come only moments before, is hard once more and poised to enter once again.

“How are you-” You manage to squeeze a few words in the gaps between his kisses as he draws breath. “Ready for more-” Another pass of his tongue. “Already?”

“You have my hybrid traits to thank for that.” He moves to nibble on the side of your throat. “I have more to give you, if you want it.”

You nod unable to emit any noise other than a gasp as his mouth finds a sensitive spot on your neck. His dick forges in again, your slick and his cum dripping out of you as he fills you with himself instead.

You’ve avoided touching him with your own hands as they are patched with mud, but as his thrusts grow more powerful than even before, you’re forced to grab on his arms and chest. Leaving behind streaks of dirt which display the path of your grip. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though, in fact looks rather encouraged by your touch, and the marks you leave him.

“What a dirty woman you are, and getting me all messy too.” He scoffs while admiring your handiwork. “Can I return the favour?”

“Help me come first and you can do whatever the fuck you want.” You gasp on the brink of your climax.  

His ears perk up and a grin streaks across his face. “Close are you?” He grabs your calf and wraps your leg around his back, the other follows suit and his hand comes to rest on your lower back pushing you up and into him effectively grinding your mount against him.

You gasp and flinch with the sudden pressure, but he holds you firm as your back arches to meet him.

His hips beat on at a rapid pace, a small whimper escapes him as you reach the peak, tipping you over the edge. The chilling rain can in no way can douse the searing heat that spreads through you. You're still gasping when his jaw clamps down hard, his teeth poised upon your skin. The first pulse of his cock comes inside, but on the second he pulls out to splatter your chest and stomach with the rest. His hand comes to clutch his shaft, spilling more out and on to you with each stroke.

After every remaining drop has been cast on you he smiles, dragging his fingers across the rain drenched mess of mud and cum on your skin. “Never thought I’d ever see you so thoroughly soiled.”

You giggle at his remarks through your deep breaths. “And now that you do, what do you think?”

“I think it suits you, the dirt, the rain, and me...” He lowers himself down onto you, with his head now resting upon your shoulder. “It’s too bad though. Now I just want more, but we’re both far too filthy to carry on like this.”  

You turn to whisper at the base of his ear. “Who says we can’t continue in the shower...”

...

You wake early the next morning with the sun spilling into the room, lighting up your bed, and the hybrid sleeping next to you. His ears and nose twitching as he continues to rest. Slipping out from the covers, and into a set of clean gardening clothes, you exit the room with as little sound as possible.

On the tile floor of your hall, muddy footprints trail from your backdoor to your bathroom.  A smile pulls at your lips as you recall the events which brought them there. Jungkook had been so excited to keep going he picked you up and rushed you inside.

The feeling from the warm water and hands in contrast to the cool rain was enough to bring back the waves of pleasure. He was so thorough in washing you down, you might have to ask him to join you for another this morning and repay the favour.  

Outside in the garden you find all your harvest from the day before present and untouched. You’re pleased by this new development, but it’s not the fact that your crops are intact which makes you happy, it’s the comfort in knowing that Jungkook didn’t feel the need to take them.

A few minutes later the hybrid in question comes up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist pulling with him a blanket he took from the bed to cover the both of you. “Morning.” He mumbles, as his nose finds the crook of your neck where he exhales with a deep and relaxed sigh.

“Morning.” You respond, enjoying the tickle of his breath before you turn around to better see him. “It seems the thief didn’t strike last night. ”

“I guess they found a new garden to plunder and devour?” Jungkook suggests, giving you a sly grin, before he opens his mouth again. It’s easy to see that he’s getting ready to confess, his face shifts to a stern expression as he looks down at the ground, the guilt weighing heavily upon his brow. Placing your index to his lips you stop him. No longer needing to hear those words of admission, you offer a new proposal instead.

“Maybe, but that was just one night. The thief might still come back. So if it’s alright with you I would like you to stay here. Until we can be sure they won’t return.”

Jungkook lets out a satisfied chuckle, pushing aside your finger and pulling you tighter into his warm embrace. “You’re right, I suppose it would be safer if I stayed.” His lips plant a kiss on the top of your head where he then rests his chin. “A temptation as enticing as this, shouldn’t be left alone and unattended.”

...

[allthingschrisevans]

our feelings are mutual

pairing: andy barber x reader

warnings:  love/hate relationship?, two curse words were mentioned, bad writing (biggest warning of all lol)

word count: 1,5k 

summary: you’re andy barber’s assistant but you seem to get the feeling your boss doesn’t really like you that much, or maybe he does?

a/n: let’s just pretend andy is single in this one, so laurie and jacob don’t exist 

italics = thoughts, flashbacks

read part two here :)

Andy Barber. The majority saw him as this incredibly handsome, smart and strong man. You thought the same thing, before you met the real Andy Barber. A heartless and unappreciative workaholic who had zero understanding for anyone or anything.

Ever since becoming his employee you felt like he couldn't stand you. Fair enough you couldn't stand him either. The difference is that you had every right to, he didn't. He was the one who ruined your chance of being promoted, thinking you weren't ready. You always gave 100% of yourself. You completed any task in record time and were always available, even after your working time ended, so why wouldn't you be ready?

You had to cancel plenty of dinners with friends, even dates with guys because Andy thought him never stopping work meant nobody could. As a matter of fact, you were convinced “freetime” wasn't part of his vocabulary. He worked 24/7, work was all his life consisted of.

Not that you didn't love your job but unlike Andy you had a work life balance. You were a hard worker but also enjoyed relaxing, having fun and letting yourself focus on something other than your job.

Lost in your thoughts you didn't even hear your name being called.

"Y/N?" Andy repeated while standing in the door frame of your small office.

"I'm sorry, I was lost in my thoughts. How can I help you?" you asked before looking up at him.

"Yeah. I noticed that. This is not the best place to be daydreaming though." he said before shaking his head and continuing "I need the files of Mrs. Morgan's case as soon as possible.“

"Got it. I'll get them to you in no time" you said before smiling a bit trying to be polite, when in reality you just thought what an asshole.

He just nodded and returned back to his office which was opposite of yours.

Seconds later your phone rang.

"Yes?"

"Oh, and call Mrs. Morgan and remind her of today's meeting?" Andy said through the phone.

"Consider it done." you replied "Anything else?"

"No……Thank you" Andy quickly said before hanging up the phone.

You were taken back by the sudden 'thank you' since you rarely heard him say that.

After two and a half hours you finally collected all documents Andy needed. Just as you were about to give him the file you heard a knock on your door which made you look up.

"Simon, hey what's up?" you asked seeing your friend in the doorway.

"Lunch time girl. I'm starving come on." he replied pointing to his stomach signalizing his hunger.

You chuckled at his comment "Alright. Let me just drop these off and we can go".

Making your way towards Andy's office you knocked on the glass door before stepping into his office going towards where his desk was.

"Here's the file you requested. Mrs Morgan has been reminded she'll be here at 3 pm." you said while handing him the file.

"Perfect." he said while taking the grey folder from you.

"I'll go get some lunch. I'll be back in about an hour. If that's okay. Should I get you anything?" you asked.

"A coffee would be nice. Other than that, I'm good. " Andy replied after looking up at you nodding slightly.

Taking that as a que to leave you nodded back and made your way towards Simon who was waiting for you.

"Having a hot boss must make work so much easier. I wouldn't get shit done though. I'd be too distracted staring at him. I mean just look at him...ugh he's so hot. You're officially winning at life, sis. I'm stuck with fucking Peter who spits like a fountain when he speaks." Simon said not taking a breath.

"Yeah, no he is a complete nightmare, Simon. Guess what. Today was the first time he thanked me for something. He shows zero emotion, like a robot. " was the only thing you could reply before Simon cut you off.

"But a hot robot though. I'd do anything to be in your shoes. Those eyes, the suit and the beard. Hot damn. I'd just drool all day long" Simon said while being all heart eyes.

"You are crazy." you were in disbelief at Simon's comments.

Everyone was head over heels with Andy Barber which didn’t really make any sense to you. You had to admit he was a handsome man but that‘s about it. He was arrogant and had no empathy. Giving orders that you just had to follow otherwise you would lose your job. Even if you‘re in the middle of something Andy expects you to drop it all and focus on whatever task he has for you. Whatever it is, calling a client, getting files ready, bringing him coffee, scheduling appointments, you had to do it all. Maybe you overreact sometimes, after all you are his assistant and that‘s what assistants are supposed to do, right?

In the meantime, Simon and you reached the cafeteria, where other colleagues were already enjoying their meal. Almost everyone, except for Andy of course.

——————

After chatting with your co-workers a bit, it was time to get back to work. On your way out you quickly grabbed a cup of coffee for Andy. Simon and you both walked back parting your ways as you reached the floor your office was in.

"Go get Daddy Barber his coffee before he gets mad." Simon said winking at you.

You just rolled your eyes letting out a little chuckle.

Shortly after, you reached Andy's door knocking before entering "Here's your coffee, Mr. Barber."

"Thank you. Y/N." you were ready to head back to your office when Andy spoke again.

"Y/N, wait."

Great. I bet he's not happy with the coffee. What is it this time, too much sugar? Wrong mug?

Turning around you looked at him expectedly.

"Mr. Logan won't be able to fly out here, apparently there's been an issue with his flight and the next one won't leave until next month. So-" Andy said straightening his tie.

"So, you need me to book a hotel for you. Got it. How long do you plan on staying?" you asked accidentally interrupting him.

"No. Let me finish. We have to get out there. I need you to come with me." Andy said.

"Me?" you asked slightly shocked.

"Yes. You are my assistant and working on this and other cases with me, if I recall correctly?" he said raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, yes, I was just not expecting that, to be honest. When should I be there?" you asked while looking at him.

"I know it's quite short term, but we'll have to leave tonight so we can get to the appointment at 11 am tomorrow." Andy said scratching his beard.

"Tonight? I’ll try to get a flight for tonight but I-“

"You are coming with me. Didn't I just say that?” Andy looked at you with raised eyebrows.

"I'm sorry. That sounds good. I mean is fine with me." you replied. "So how long are we staying, so I can book the hotel?"

"Simon's got it covered. No need to worry about that." Andy said while opening his laptop.

"Simon?" you asked confused.

"Yes. Simon. Peter's assistant. Are you okay, Y/N?" he paused for a second. “I thought you might need some time to pack. I've got your schedule for today cleared so you can leave after getting all the files for Mr. Logan together" Andy said.

"But Mrs. Morgan she-"

"I've got it, Y/N just please don't forget Mr. Logans folder" Andy said a slight smile plastered on his face.

"Okay." was the only thing you could get out.

What the hell was happening? In all these months you were working for Andy you've never had your schedule cleared off by him. He insisted on having you at every meeting, now you were off 4 hours before you were supposed to be? And he suddenly seemed to be so nice?

______

You quickly collected all the needed documents for Mr. Logan's case. You grabbed your coat and bag before heading to Andy's office where you dropped off the folder.

"This is everything related to the case. I'll be heading out now. Unless you need something else?" you asked holding your bag in your hands looking down at Andy who sat at his desk, raising his head.

"No, that's all. Our flight will be taking off at 9 p.m. I'll pick you up at around 7:30 so we get there on time." Andy said taking you by surprise.

"Oh, that's fine. I can get there myself. You don't have to pick me up. Just send me the address and I'll be-" you tried saying before being cut off.

"Why make yourself any trouble when you're on my way anyway? I'll give you a call to let you know I'm there, just be ready by 7:30."

"Okay, thank you. See you at 7:30." you said hesitating for a short moment before turning on your heels leaving his office. You suddenly noticed Andy’s eyes following you, when he noticed you looking at him he quickly turned his gaze back to the screen in front of him.

"What just happened?" you thought to yourself...

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my new series. ❤️

Please tell me what you think and whether I should continue writing this. Thank you for reading this I love you all so much it means the world!! ❤️❤️

tags ♡ :

@patzammit

[mjolnir-steve]

Foolish

Frank Adler x fem!Reader

Word count: 5027 (oop)

Warnings: light drinking, very brief mention of suicide, some cursing, smut (18+ ONLY!!!), unprotected sex (m/f) ... Please let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Hi, y’all! Here’s my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817’s Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge!!!! I haven’t written smut in a LONG time, so please be gentle with me LOL. Here’s what I got:

Frank Adler

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

Breeding / mutual pining 🥴

I’d like to dedicate this to @rodrikstark for always sharing the Frank Adler feels and @sparkledfirecracker for bullying me (with love) into finishing this. ❤️

If you like this fic, please comment and reblog!!! I hope you enjoy. :)

Fridays never seemed to come soon enough. You looked forward to the beginning of the weekend as much as the next person, but over the last few months, Friday nights took on new meaning for you. You moved to the trailer park a little less than a year ago, wanting to buy a small place of your own and start making a home for yourself. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t expensive, and it was only a ten-minute drive from your office where you’d just secured a promotion. Roberta, the manager, helped you make it feel like home right away, insisting on going with you to pick out paint samples and providing copies of menus for the best take-out in the area.

Before long, Roberta introduced you to the trailer park’s resident certified genius, Mary Adler. Mary and Roberta spent Saturday mornings with you when you were free, which unfortunately, was pretty much all the time. You played games, sang karaoke, and even let Mary’s one-eyed cat Fred come over. He took a liking to your swinging chair in the living room, and if Mary couldn’t find him at home, odds were he somehow squeezed through your window and ended up in that chair. 

Another two months had passed, though, before you met Mary’s uncle and guardian, Frank. You came to learn that Mary stayed with Roberta every Friday night because “Frank needs time to be an adult” and she was not allowed to come back to the house until noon on Saturdays. This information made you feel like Frank must be some kind of sad, perpetual fuckboy. You were right about the sad part, not so much about the latter. One morning while Mary played with your watercolors, Roberta let slip - ironically over a cup of tea - that Frank did have the occasional hookup, but usually, he drank himself sleepy on Friday nights and just needed the time to himself. He worked himself to the bone as a boat mechanic, often late into the night because it was too hot to do some jobs during the day. Frank took Mary in when she was just a baby after his sister, her mother, tragically committed suicide. He spent the majority of his scarce free time with Mary, so when Mary was still a toddler, Roberta offered the Friday night deal. Frank countered that he would do any repairs in the trailer park for free, but she refused to let him do that work without pay, saying he deserved to have a life, too. 

She also informed you that Frank was a former philosophy professor, single, and very attractive, especially if you were into the rugged thing. You rolled your eyes with an amused exhale and took another sip of your tea. You’d be lying if you said your interest wasn’t piqued. Mary then shouted over her shoulder, confirming that she’d been listening to your entire conversation, “Frank is great, but he’s a grump. Good luck cracking that egg.” You snorted, nearly spitting out your tea, and she went back to reading your color theory book to Fred.

With that, you heard a sharp rap at the door. You set your tea down on the kitchen table, curious who your visitor might be. You didn’t know anyone else in the trailer park, or in town, really. You opened the door, taking in the sight of possibly - no, definitely - the most handsome man you’d ever seen. You quickly guessed it was Frank, judging by the grease smeared on his quite large hands. His eyes, though tired, had the same bright look as Mary’s, and he had the most perfectly imperfect fluffy hair and overgrown stubble.

“Good morning,” he said with a sweet, closed-mouthed smile. “Is Mary here?”

You had to remind yourself to breathe. Stammering, you opened the door wider, gesturing inside. “Hi, y-yes. She is!” Why am I like this? “She’s just painting with Fred. Please, come in.” You moved aside so he could fit his broad shoulders through the doorframe and then held out your hand. “You must be Frank. I’m Y/N. Mary is just wonderful.” You smiled at him, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

He took your hand in both of his, gentler than you’d expected. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m Frank. It’s great to meet you, finally.” He smiled wide for the first time and you were certain you’d pass out. Who LOOKS like this? “And thank you, she really is wonderful. I couldn’t do it without Roberta. She’s family.” He smiled and waved at Roberta, who was looking at you over the lip of her mug.

Mary didn’t even bother to turn around and face Frank. “What are you doing here, Frank? It’s only 11. I have a whole ‘nother hour with my friends.” You tried to keep your laugh quiet, covering your mouth with your hand and shaking your head.

“Well, excuse me for thinking you might like to go out on the boat with me this morning. I guess I’ll go by myself.”

Mary jumped up from the floor, scrambling to clean up your paints and books. “Can Y/N and Roberta come?”

Frank crouched down to meet Mary’s eyes. “Of course they can, if they’d like.” He looked back at you over his shoulder, trying to gauge your interest, then turning back to his niece. “But do you remember what I told you?”

You could see that Mary was making a conscious effort not to roll her eyes. “You told me that my adult friends have adult lives that include adult responsibilities, and they might not always be available to spend time with me.”

“And?” he looked at her expectantly.

“And I need to invite them to do things without assuming they will do them.” She couldn’t hold back her eye roll any longer, but she made sure not to let Frank see. “Roberta, Y/N, would you both like to join us on the boat today?”

You were amazed by the exchange taking place in front of you, able to see where some of Mary’s brains and tenacity came from. The conversation between the two flowed so easily, playful yet intelligent. It was clear that Frank treated Mary not as a child, but as a person, and you chided yourself internally for thinking that was kinda hot. 

Shaking yourself out of your mildly inappropriate thoughts, you responded. “I’d love to come, Mary.” You smiled at her, bending over to help her pick up the last of the paints from the floor. “Roberta?”

Roberta gave you a look and you just knew she planned this somehow. “I actually do have some of those adult responsibilities to handle today, but thank you for inviting me.” You sent a glare in her direction, quick but no less scathing. “Maybe next time.” She winked at you before washing out her mug and saying her goodbyes.

You spent the whole rest of the day and night with Frank and Mary, doing everything from building sandcastles to cooking dinner together. Mary eventually fell asleep in your lap as you were watching Oliver & Company, Frank’s favorite Disney film that had become Mary’s, too. “An underrated classic,” they told you in unison.

You helped Frank put Mary to bed, a task made easier after such a tiring day. “I guess I should get going.” You stood awkwardly in the small kitchen, unsure of yourself and painfully aware of how close your hand was to Frank’s resting on the counter.

“Yeah, I have a job early in the morning.” He looked down at his shoes, unable to look you in the eye, and you wondered if he hadn’t found your company as enjoyable as you’d found his.

“Listen, I don’t know if you’ve been to Ferg’s? The little bar down the road? I go every Friday night just to relax and have a few beers. Maybe you’d like to come with me next weekend?”

Is he asking me on a date? You could feel your heartbeat racing. The look on your face must not have matched the excitement you felt at the prospect of spending time alone with the dreamy, kind, sarcastic man in front of you. 

He felt like an idiot when you hesitated to answer. He clearly read everything wrong. He had to fix this. “It’s a good place to meet people, you know? I know you’re fairly new to the area, so if you’re looking for more local friends, it’s a good place to start.” He winced, hoping you couldn’t sense his embarrassment at thinking that you would want to go on a date with him.

You swallowed, trying not to let your disappointment show outwardly. Of course he’s not interested in me. Stupid. “Oh, yeah! That would be great, Frank. What time?”

Frank let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, relieved that you didn’t seem offended by his offer. “How’s 7? I’ll pick you up? We can walk over together.”

And that’s how Fridays came to mean so much to you. Almost every Friday for the last six months, Frank met you at your door and you walked to Ferg’s together. Frank told you it would be a good place to make new friends, but you paid no mind to the other patrons. You only had eyes for each other, yet neither of you could see it, even though Roberta pointed out (repeatedly) that neither of you had taken anyone else home in all that time.

The more time you spent with Frank, the more certain you were that God was real and your life was His favorite trainwreck reality TV series. Even if you could have customized a dream man Build-A-Bear style, Frank still would blow your creation out of the water. He was smart and funny, not to mention an adoring parent to Mary, to whom you grew more attached each day. He was kind and thoughtful, talented and hard-working. Although he was a grouch, as Mary would say, he always was sweet to you. He took a genuine interest in anything you had to say, whether you were venting about work or filling him on the latest episode of whatever show you were binging. He was ridiculously sexy without even trying. All those hours he spent doing manual labor in the sun did wonders for his physique. You’d only seen him completely shirtless on one occasion, and the image of him with sweat dripping down his chest was burned into your memory, fueling your late-night thots and causing you to break out your vibrator on what was now a regular basis.

Six months had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and you’d begun to accept that Frank didn’t want to be anything more than friends with you. You decided tonight was as good a night as any to talk to someone new, to start letting go of your unrequited feelings. 

You swapped out your usual jeans for a sundress, t-shirt bra for a push-up, and lip balm for lipstick. Putting your phone and some cash in a wristlet, you considered wearing your new strappy sandals. The walk to Ferg’s was about five minutes each way down a sandy road, though, and memories of the sticky floor inside aided your preferred pair of Converse in their victory for the night. 

Just as you finished tying your shoes, you heard a knock at the door. You adjusted your cleavage and fluffed your hair a final time with one last look in the mirror. Here goes.

Frank felt like he had the wind knocked out of him in the best possible way. He suddenly felt entirely underdressed in his aloha shirt, even though it was his go-to for nights out of the house. He’d never seen you dressed so nicely when you weren’t going to work. 

You were the kind of beautiful that didn’t require makeup. Your natural hair always framed your face perfectly, even if you didn’t think so. He thought you were adorable when you were concentrating on something, blowing your hair out of your face with a huff. Visions of your soft curves made their way into Frank’s dreams on more than one occasion. He had seen you in your swimsuit several times, sunbathing with Roberta and swimming with Mary at the beach. It wasn’t even all that revealing, but it accentuated your figure in ways that forced Frank into needing a cold shower or two. Above all, though, he admired your heart. You’d allowed Mary into your life without hesitation, spending time with her because you wanted to and allowing her to ask all those questions that Frank just wouldn’t be able to answer. It killed him that you didn’t see him the way he saw you, a perfect partner for him and a worthy maternal figure for Mary.

“Frank? You okay?” Your concerned voice shook him out of his thoughts, prompting him to close his mouth which apparently had opened wide in astonishment when you stood in the doorway.

“Yeah, um... You look…” He looked a little confused, his brow furrowed and lips pursed. “Why are you all dolled up? It’s only Ferg’s.” He wished he could’ve kicked himself in the teeth when your face fell at his question. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit. Let me try that again,” he nearly begged, running up to you to stop you from going back inside. “You look really nice, honey.” He ran his calloused hand up your forearm, but quickly returned it to his side when he realized what he’d done. “Is it a special occasion, though? Should I change?”

You gave him a watery smile, given that you were three seconds from slamming the door in his face and crying. “That’s better. Thank you.” You lightly pushed at his shoulder, trying and failing to ignore the electricity you felt at the contact. “No occasion, though. Just thought maybe it was about time I actually introduced myself to someone new.” 

You couldn’t quite read his reaction. Little did you know he was certain he just felt his heart physically crack in his chest. “What do you mean?”

The two of you started walking, the tension between you thickening the very air you breathed. “Well, when you first invited me to Ferg’s, you said maybe I’d get to know some other people in the area, right? But we’re always with each other. I’m sure you’re itching to talk to someone other than me. I don’t want to hold you back.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Frank abruptly reverted to the quiet, distant state he usually occupied before he met you. He sped up a bit, walking ahead of you and desperately attempting to school his features before you caught up with him.

Frank practically ran to the restroom, not slowing down even to hold the door open for you. You took a deep breath and rolled your shoulders, relaxing before entering the bar. Normally, whoever made it first would order drinks for you both, but Frank made it painfully clear that he had no desire to be in your company tonight. You ordered your usual, an Angry Orchard with a shot of Fireball in a tall glass. The combination tasted like apple cider, but the burn in your throat was caused by liquor rather than heat. It was strong enough to get you buzzed, but not so strong that you’d be stumbling home. You swallowed half the glass in one gulp, wanting to feel the warmth in your veins boosting your confidence as quickly as possible.

“Y/N? How are you?” You turned around, eyes meeting those of Jamie, your coworker. He leaned in for a hug and you accepted somewhat reluctantly, having interacted with him only in passing.

“Hey! I’m all right. What’s up?” You smiled at him, taking another sip of your drink. Jamie was not very subtly staring at your chest. You weren’t crazy about him, but the attention felt nice, so you allowed it.

“Not much. Just happy it’s Friday, ya know?” He looked around for a moment before returning his attention to you. “You’re usually here with that mechanic dude, right?”

You stifled a laugh thinking about how Frank would react if he heard himself referred to as “dude” by this prick. “Yeah, he’s around somewhere. We’re just-“

“-Just friends?” he finished for you with a hopeful look.

You nodded in response, looking him up and down. He was no Frank, but you couldn’t deny he was handsome. It had been so long since you’d even been kissed, and though you hated to admit it, you were touch-starved. One night couldn’t hurt, could it?

Meanwhile, Frank was splashing his face with cool water. He couldn’t believe he’d fucked up so royally. He was sure you didn’t want him how he wanted you, and now he was sure it was too late to tell you how he really felt.

He knew from the moment he saw you that he’d never get you out of his head. Roberta had been talking you up to Frank for weeks, but he wanted no part of it, mumbling something about there being “a reason why no one used matchmakers anymore.” He had no choice but to make your acquaintance when he was looking for Mary, and he’d never been so happy that Roberta could say she told him so.

Later that day at the beach, Mary approached him while you were dozing on a towel in the sand. She sat on his lap and reached for his face, using her pointer fingers to turn the straight line of his mouth up into a smile. “Roberta says you have a ‘charming’ smile, Frank. We think you should use it more.” He chuckled quietly, careful not to disturb you, and pulled Mary in close, planting a wet kiss on her cheek. She grimaced at the feeling, dramatically wiping at her face until he let her go back to reading with Fred.

The sound of the jukebox starting up cut short his reverie. He had to get out there and explain himself. Frank dried his face and hands with a paper towel before smacking his cheeks and stretching his neck back and forth to each shoulder. 

Frank exited the restroom only to find some douchebag staring at your ass as you leaned over toward the bar. He saw red when the piece of shit held out his hand behind his back while his friend slipped a twenty-dollar bill into it, seemingly winning some sort of bet.

Jamie didn’t stand a chance when Frank stormed in between the two of you. “That’s IT,” he yelled, so intense he borderline bellowed. He threw whatever cash he had in his pocket on the bar to pay for your drinks before he pulled you outside, almost getting to your door while you fought against his grip. He only stopped when you spun your body around like something out of Dancing with the Stars and jumped in front of him, forcing him to catch you.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, what are y-”

“-What are YOU doing, Frank? What the fuck was that?” You put your feet back down on the ground but remained facing him, arms crossed over your chest.

He groaned in frustration, suddenly realizing he actually had no clue how to respond. “Fuck.”

You looked at him, tapping your foot in anticipation.

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” He rubbed at his temples in the way he did when he felt a headache coming on.

“And how was he looking at me, Frank? What does it matter to you?”

“He was looking at you like you were a piece of meat and I… FUCK!”

You both turned when your neighbor opened his window. “Can you kids keep it down out here?”

You waved bashfully at the old man. “Sorry, Mr. Parker,” you said in unison.

“Come inside, Frankie.” The nickname that typically made him roll his eyes at you never had sounded sweeter, now that its use confirmed you didn’t hate him for the scene he made. You both toed off your shoes at the door before you made your way into the living room, motioning for him to sit next to you on the couch when he tried to sit in the armchair across the room.

You leaned forward, pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. “Now what’s going on in that sun-damaged brain of yours?”

He let out a laugh so soft you almost missed it, but you were glad you didn’t. Sitting back against the arm of the couch, you pulled a pillow into your lap and hugged it, giving Frank your full attention.

Frank cleared his throat, doing his best to accept that it was now or never. “That guy was leering at you, and it pissed me off. You deserve better, Y/N.” He pried your fingers from where they were locked around the pillow to hold your hands in his.

“If you want to meet new people, that’s great. If you don’t want to be with me, that’s a little less great, but I’d understand. He didn’t even pay for your drinks. And I th-”

You covered his mouth with one of your hands, and he knitted his brows in confusion. “You’re making it sound like it’s an option to be with you.” You were in disbelief, side-eyeing him, waiting for Ashton Kutcher to announce that you were, in fact, being Punk’d. 

The corners of his mouth lifted into the soft smile he reserved for you. It was the same one he gave you whether you were on a tangent about how “Obsessed” by Mariah Carey is “the single greatest diss track of all time” or you were helping Mary put a harness and leash on Fred “just to see how he’d do” on a walk.

“For a distinguished professor, you’re kind of a dummy, Frank.” You took his face in your hands, thrilled to be feeling his stubble against your palms. Before he could talk back to you, you kissed him, unsure how you denied yourselves such a simple yet extraordinary pleasure for so long. It only took a moment for him to relax into it, his hands removing the pillow between you before finding your waist and pulling you almost into his lap.

You deepened the kiss, threading your fingers through his hair. He pulled away first, pressing his forehead to yours. “Seems like we’re both dummies, huh?” 

You were going to ask why pulled away until you looked down to see a considerable tent forming in the front of his jeans. You laughed as he pulled you into a tight hug, one arm wrapped around you while the other hand held your face against his neck.

You kissed the side of his neck softly before leaning back to look at him. “All this time? I thought you didn’t see me this way.” You held his face, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. “You asked me to go to Ferg’s and then said I could meet other people, so I thought that was it, you know?”

He covered your hands with his and pecked your lips softly. “Honey, I thought it was the other way around. I was trying to ask you out and you looked like you’d seen a ghost.” You giggled, spluttering a bit because tears had started falling at some point. He wiped your tears away before swiping his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down a bit. “We’re fools, aren’t we?”

You nodded slowly and Frank saw something wicked flash in your eyes before you took his thumb in your mouth, sucking lightly. “Jesus, honey.” His length hardened underneath you and you could feel the wetness beginning to pool in your panties, prompting you to grind down into his lap.

You released his thumb from your mouth, pressing your chest into his before kissing him again. “I think we’re only fools if we don’t take advantage of the rest of your adult time.” You removed your dress easily, returning your hands to Frank’s shoulders to push off his shirt.

He surged forward to kiss you again, working magic with his tongue against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he picked you up, walking you into the bedroom. Placing you on the bed carefully, he removed your bra and panties before pulling off his boxers and jeans in one go. You thought you wanted him before, but now that you could see everything he’d been hiding under his baggy clothes, you didn’t see how you could ever let him leave your bedroom.

The next few minutes were spent exploring each other’s mouths while Frank stretched you with his fingers. You didn’t think you’d ever been so wet in your life and thought you might pass out if you didn’t feel him inside you immediately. You gave his cock a few strokes before sliding his head through your folds, coating him in your slick.

“Waitwaitwait, honey. Do you have a condom?”

“You don’t need one if you don’t want one. It’s okay.”

He looked like you just gave him tomorrow’s winning lotto numbers, taking a deep breath to steady himself before he looked at you again. “Oh, God. Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I wanna feel you. Make me yours?”

“Anything you want, honey, but if you change your mind, just tell me, okay?” He lined himself up, seconds shy of entering you for the first time.

“I figured if you were gonna be possessive of me tonight, you might as well take it the whole nine, Frankie.” You laughed as he let out an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, though, I’m clean, I’m on the pill, and I’ve wanted you for a long time.” You reached up to scratch lightly through his chest hair.

“The only thing I wanna hear right now is you moaning for me.” He drove into you harshly, but waited a moment for you to adjust once he was seated to the hilt. “So damn wet and tight for me, honey. You’re so perfect, so beautiful.” He kissed you again before he began to move, slowly but surely making you lose your mind.

He dipped his head down to take one nipple in his mouth, then the other, effectively shutting you up and emptying all thoughts from your head. He nipped at the swell of your breast, soothing the bite with his tongue. “Fuck, Frank, please!”

“Please what, honey?” He picked up his pace, fucking into you so vigorously you moved up the bed. “Tell me what you need.”

“Make me cum, Frank. Please, baby, I need it. Need you,” you cried, leaning up to bite into his shoulder, stifling your moans.

“I wanna hear you, Y/N. I wanna hear those pretty moans while I’m making this perfect pussy cum for me.” The combination of his filthy words and the sight of him sucking on his own fingers before rubbing at your clit sent you over the edge, making you scream his name over and over again for what felt like forever and not long enough.

You could tell he was close, his hips stuttering and losing their rhythm. He began to pull out, unsure if you were willing to let him finish inside you, but knowing he was too close to wait for an answer.

You hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him close, pushing him back into you. “Fill me up, Frank. I wanna feel all of you. Please give it to me,” you whimpered. His release triggered another for you, chanting each other’s names surely loud enough for the neighbors to hear. 

He stayed inside you as you both came down from your shared high, gingerly flipping you over so he laid on his back with you on his chest. He kissed the top of your head, fingers fluttering up and down your sides. 

“What’s on your mind now, Frankie?” You looked up at him through your lashes, mildly terrified of the answer.

He looked down at you with the most adoration you’d ever seen, lifting your chin so your eyes met his in the moonlight. “That wasn’t too soon, was it? You mean so much to me and to Mary. I don’t wanna mess this up. I don’t ever wanna hurt you. You’re the best thing in my life besides Mary, you know that?”

You kissed his chest before looking back up at him, smiling. “First of all, I would argue that wasn’t soon enough.” He hissed as you clenched around his still softening cock inside you.

“You’re evil.”

Winking at him, you continued tracing patterns on his chest with your fingers. “Second, that all kinda sounds like you might be in love with me, Frank Adler.”

His hands stopped moving for a second before he responded. “Would you run away if I said I am?”

“Well, I wouldn’t run away. This is my house.” You thought your heart might explode in your chest.

“I didn’t even say it, but I take it back,” he huffed, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“What if I told you I felt the same way?”

He grinned, sitting up to kiss you feverishly on your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. You could feel him starting to harden again inside you, leading to round two of… well, you lost count.

You ate breakfast and showered together in time for Frank to return home before Mary did, agreeing to talk more later and to hold out on Roberta for a while.

Frank stood on your doorstep, leaning in to kiss you once more. All of a sudden, you heard a familiar meow and thanked God you were dressed and not in your robe.

“Frank, what are you doing here? I thought I’d come see Y/N since I’m not supposed to come home until noon.”

You bit your tongue to keep from cackling. Frank ran a hand over his face, his blissful bubble burst. He was getting you a hotel room next weekend.

[alluringjae]

queen of hearts - sjn

summary: for the first time, one of your star students hasn’t been fetched right after class. but when she finally does, you weren’t expecting such a fine man to be her father.

pairing: johnny x female reader

word count: 5.5k

genre: fluff, romance, comedy | ceo and single dad!johnny + ballerina!reader + modern day!au

warnings: mentions of an absent parent, johnny being an overthinker, sexual innuendos (ten saying dilf hehe), slight explicit language, technical terms of ballet, a mini reference to mean girls

author’s note: sooo i came in touch with my former dance life, which led me to write this. there are links for the variations i used; their names are underlined when they’re mentioned. i am going to get technical with ballet terms here (even when my ballet knowledge decreased), so to any dancers reading, i really did my best, so please don’t come for me or do correct me for any mistakes.

although one character and her dance background, plus the name of the setting, are real, everything else about it is still a work of fiction.

i miss dancing, no cap.

leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Ballet student and teacher by day, a soloist of the Korean National Ballet at night.

This was your daily routine, and it wasn’t the typical 8-5. But it’s debatable whether or not it was worse, because you’re always going overtime. That’s the thing when you’re an overachiever. Nonetheless, you loved what you do. It’s the lifestyle you gradually built since your preschool days.

Mornings on the weekdays were mostly vacant since all the kids were still in school. You’d start at 10 am for a warm-up class for the company. Before you delved into teaching and assisting, you’d train right after your lunch break. Partnering class, en pointe class, 1-on-1 sessions with choreographers, self-practice, then the company night class, that’s the organization of your week.

Now adding the teacher title, you mostly handled kindergartners to 5th graders in the academy aspect of the company. Your first teaching class would start at 1 pm. It’s when the younger students who finished their morning classes zoom into your assigned dance studio. One class would last an hour and a half, then you have a 30-minute break in between another class with the older kids. Their lesson repertoire was more strenuous due to the added across-the-floor lessons and jumps. Water was always your best friend, water refilling stations located everywhere in the company building.

You wouldn’t say you’re a strict teacher, but you weren’t shy to correct anyone from wherever you stood. You’d lightly align their arms or back properly so your students were working on the correct body parts. Compared to the other teachers, a lot of students enjoyed your kind yet frank approaches. Your former students, who’ve already gone to the higher levels, missed your lively presence and wished repeatedly that they want you back as their teacher.

“Teacher (Y/N), I miss you so much! Teacher Ten is so intense. I get the jitters especially when we’re en pointe on the floor.”

“Teacher (Y/N), Teacher Sicheng and Teacher Seulgi scare the heck out of me during partnering class. Especially when I tried to lift my partner, I keep losing focus because of Teacher Sicheng’s never-ending comments!”

Not to be sadistic, but you’d simply laugh at their minuscule complaints. Even if they’re struggling in the academy, those comments were directed to fix their techniques if they wanted to breakthrough.

“Kids, you’re going to be fine! They wouldn’t say or do those things just because they wanted to. They’re here to push you to the next level, like how I used to do with you. It’s a cut-throat industry after all.”

This was always your reply, bittersweet and truthful. Not everyone makes it, unfortunately, so if you’re really striving, you’d do whatever it takes. Throughout your career, you’re relatively impressed with how far you’ve come.

Trainee at 17, Corps de Ballet at 18, Demi-Soloist at 21, and Soloist at 23.

You’ve been a soloist for 4 years. The final stage, which was to become a principal dancer, is your running goal. Becoming a soloist was praiseworthy enough because you’ve seen so many give up in the Corps, but claiming a spot as a principal dancer has been the ultimate dream. Since you’ve watched Swan Lake for the first time at 4 years old with your parents, that’s where you found a passion for dancing and the stage. Here you are years later, practicing numerous variations daily, performing in opera houses, and mentoring all these gifted kids.

Your last class with elementary kids, which began around 5 pm, reached its end once all the students curtsied in front of you and scurried to their mothers or their nannies. The remaining plan on your agenda today was the company class at 7:30 pm, which exceeds the average hour and a half. It’s worse during show season. There have been times everyone went beyond midnight to polish every scene from head to toe.

Currently, there’s no upcoming show for the public, though the annual summer recital for the students was around the corner. Selected members of the company were chosen to perform individually in it, which was both exciting and intense. It’s also because it’s an evaluation on whether you’d get promoted in status or staying put. You’ve partaken in 3 recitals in the past, two of which elevated you from the corps and demi-soloist ranks. The recent one, however, didn’t change your soloist ranking.

It was a major first in your career in ballet, and after finding out the result of the latter, it emotionally pained you. Recalling how much soul you put into that piece, the rejection from your artistic director clenched your heart. Though in time, you moved on from it and viewed it as a stepping stone. Also, Sicheng and Ten personally stormed your apartment to pull yourself together with wine and pizza after going on a short leave.

Since you were trainees, Sicheng and Ten were your best friends in and outside the company. Working daily to occasional barhopping, that’s your youth summed up. It wasn’t because you didn’t like the girls you’ve worked with (though a lot of them were fake and bitchy), but these two were frank and humorous as hell. Together, you’d help each other with your goals rather than be competitive. Over time, Ten leveled up to a principal dancer for 2 years running while you and Sicheng were still soloists. The way you’d watch Ten take all the big roles, that’s where you want to be one day.

Back in your last teaching class, the entire dance room was vacant. Since it’s mainly used for ballet classes, you’d either run through anything you’ve practiced from the company classes and polish it or warm up a little bit more.

Except for today, this was the only free time to sew a new pair of pointe shoes because your current ones were dead. Dead in a sense that the hard shell turned soft, which won’t be able to support you when you’re up on your toes. You’re not taking any risks of minor injuries especially when you’re in the current lineup of company members performing for this upcoming recital again. You have to prove to everyone that you deserve a position as a principal dancer.

As your legs sprawled in a half middle split, your sewing equipment laid in front of you like you’re about to perform surgery, a tiny girl stood by the ajar studio doors. In her neat bun and holding on to her small duffel bag, you’re convinced everyone has gone home already since it’s quite late.

You may have your priorities as a company member, but she was still your student.

“Minji!” You shouted her name, speedily waving your hand. You’re not one to have favorites, though you couldn’t help wonder how extraordinary she was. She’s always taking charge in demonstrating the lessons to everyone and improving every session in the 3 years she’s joined the academy. “Come in! Come in!”

At age 7, she’s gotten taller through the years, above the average from how you see it. She must have amazing genetics. Her legs sauntered in seconds to you. Sitting down across you, she marveled at your setup. Specifically, at the fresh pointe shoes.

“Are those yours, Teacher (Y/N)?” She perked up, caressing its soft fabric and playing with the mini bows of the drawstrings.

“Yes, it is, Minji!” You answered while trying to insert the thin thread through the small eye of the needle. “Why are you still here? Is your nanny stuck in traffic or something?”

“My nanny went on sudden leave, so my dad’s the one fetching me. But I think he’s running late from his job.”

Oh, this was a first to know about her father. In all the years she’s been your student, you rarely caught sight of him, even in recitals. Maybe he sat in an unknown section, but you’re pretty much acquainted with all the parents of your students. Even if some were snobbier than the rest because they wanted their child to have more stage time, you still got to know them out of respect. Quite odd, if you said so yourself.

After deep concentration, the thread triumphantly passed through the eye so you tied the two ends of the thread in a double knot. Seeing as Minji attentively watched you, you tasked her to cut the ribbons of your shoes according to the trail of pencil marks. This was so she wouldn’t cut it too short or too long. While she did that, you hammered your shoes against the floor to soften the hard front, bending the shank back and forth so the arch of your feet could move without difficulty later.

Minji wasn’t expecting such loud sounds, her entire body shaken awake. Her facial expression was priceless, explaining to her, “Once you get your first pointe shoes in a few years, this is one of the basic things you need to do so your feet won’t hurt too much while dancing.”

“Will you be there to teach me how to make my pointe shoes?”

“Absolutely! Come to me first then I’ll mentor you all that I know.”

The process of sewing and breaking new pointe shoes engraved your mind since your adolescent years, with changes along the way. Inspired by some tricks from your former teachers, but there were some differing rituals you followed. There’s no definite process of it, just as long you’re comfortable to dance after.

With your feet, you stepped on the hard boxes of the shoes to soften it more, creating a popping sound. Followed by sewing your elastic bands in. For your ribbons, you liked to burn the edges with a lighter so the thread of it won’t run. Kindly asking your cute assistant for the lighter beside her, you scanned the edges back and forth the flame. In seconds, the edges had a distinct mark, fully closed. From there, you slid your feet to your shoes to make final sewing adjustments. Sewing your ribbons took you another few minutes, plus adding superglue inside the shoe so the shoe won’t collapse when it unstiffens and scratching the shank with a cutter so you won’t slip later while dancing.

Voila, the final product is done! Hopefully, it can last you a week at least.

“Wow, Teacher (Y/N), it looks pretty!” Minji applauded, collecting the mess you’ve both made to dispose of later. You, on the other hand, gave her your thanks once you applied some bandages on your big toes and put on your toe pads. Slipping inside the shoes and tying them, you rose up back to your feet and headed to the bar to break them in. From plies-relevésto forced arches, the shoes gave you the sensation that they were an extension of your feet. The ease flowed through, meaning you were ready to practice your variations.

While you stepped your shoes in rosin for friction, your curious student moved to the front where the mirror lied to watch what you’ve prepared.

“What variation are you dancing to?”

“This is the Gamzatti variation from La Bayadere.” You replied, tapping the play button on your phone and racing to your position on the side. Talking a short ballet walk, you strongly prepared your arms before the music of the orchestra takes off.

This variation consisted of a lot of jumps and turns. Grand jetés, attitude turns, chaîné turns, you needed a lot of core control and proper spotting so you won’t get dizzy. The thrilling music lessened your nerves because you enjoyed learning this piece from one of the principal dancers, smiling and letting the music guide your legs. Once you nailed 3 consecutive grand jetés, the variation ended with a sus-sous and the wrists of your hands flicking upwards.

Holding it for 5 more seconds, you landed back on your feet with heavy breathing and a need for water. But before you could, small claps and cheers from Minji in front erupted. Momentarily, you’ve forgotten her presence because dancing solo puts you in your own space. You’d never let anyone take you away from it.

“Teacher (Y/N), that was wonderful! Are you performing that in the summer recital?”

Yikes, she’s right but she wasn’t meant to see it yet. Solo performances from the company members for the recital were top secret, only unveiled during the production rehearsal. Well, you didn’t think this through, but you didn’t mind.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Time ticked a lot faster today, only 10 minutes left until the company class on the ground floor whereas you were in the second. Just a few steps down the stairs away, yet Minji was still here. You only presumed that within your hour break, her father could’ve made it already. But maybe he’s stuck in traffic or at work.

“Minji, my class starts soon. Have you contacted your father?”

“I already texted him earlier, but he hasn’t responded. This happens often, he’s a busy man.” She bowed in front of you suddenly. “I’m sorry, Teacher (Y/N) for the hassle.”

“Oh no, please!” You shook your hands so she’d stop. Because this situation was relatively new, you were unsure of how to handle it. Or that was until you remembered what Ten texted you earlier. “Minji, the blinds of the main studio are going to be lifted so anyone from the outside can view us practicing. Would you like to watch until your dad gets here?”

With her insistent nodding, she situated herself in one of the seats in the front row. When you entered the main studio, your two close companions already carried a metal barre to the center and leaned towards it while observing you walking to them in your flat shoes.

“I see we have a bit of an audience here.” Ten glimpsed at the young girl, astonished by the many dancers prepping and chatting away with their cliques from the glass barrier.

“Her dad isn’t here yet, and you did say the blinds were up today. Might as well give her a show while she waits, you know.” You lifted your right leg to the top barre, stretching it with your arms.

“Hmmm, shouldn’t her dad be more cautious though? It’s getting late and it’s a Thursday. Doesn’t she have school or something?” Sicheng pointed out, discarding his muscle tee to straighten out his leotard.

“That’s not my business though. She’s just my student, and since she’s still here, I have to entertain her while she waits.”

Before your friends said anything back, the artistic director of the ballet company strutted her way to the center of the room. It’s a common rule here that once she entered, everyone must be silent to listen and race to any free spot in the numerous barres spread out if they haven’t.

“Alright, everyone. We’ll do the typical barre, then before doing across the floor exercises, I’ll be requesting those performing solos already in the recital to dance any variation tonight as another evaluation on who deserves to perform twice.” She eyed the pianist directly beside her. “Proceed first with two demi-pliés then one grand plié. Don’t forget to do the port de bras of each position.”

As the live piano music played, your focus was divided. Partly properly executing the exercise while your artistic director roamed each barre area, partly thinking about what variation to perform. This was a first for the company, and everyone was just stunned to hear the breaking news. It’d be nice to get an extra opportunity to showcase to people your potential.

30-40 minutes flew by quickly. As the guys carried the bars to the side to clear out the floor and the girls changed to their pointe shoes, the artistic director ordered all the performers of the recitals to stand in a line in front of her. Everyone else was seated around the room, so the interested eyes of everyone were on you. There were 10 performers, half are from the corps and the other half are either demi-soloists or soloists. You and Sicheng stood beside each other, internally shaking with nerves under the intimidating eyes of the artistic director. She used to be a principal dancer for the Stuttgart Ballet in Germany before moving back to Seoul, making her undeniably capable of leading all of you.

“Okay,” From her seated position observing the 10 performers, her finger pointed at you directly. “Ms. (Y/L/N) (Y/N), you perform first.”

Your nerves intensified and more sweat streamed out your upper body. Even if going first felt more relieving, no one was ever brave enough to perform individually in front of the esteemed artistic director. Principal dancers aside from Ten that you’re close with were intimidated when they have 1-on-1 or partnering sessions with her. But anyhow, in less than 2 minutes, you’d be done. This wasn’t the first time she’s had your full attention either, so you’ll treat it like the other individual performances you’ve had.

You smiled to yourself when the other soloists left you alone, while you gave the name of the variation you’re dancing to the pianist. Running to the side to put on a practice tutu, the artistic director asked, “What will you be dancing for us tonight, (Y/N)?”

“I’ll be dancing Queen of the Dryads from Don Quixote.”

The last time you did this variation was 3 years ago during the recital that didn’t change your position as a soloist. Even if this variation hurt to think about for a while, it was still one of your favorites to watch and do. Moving on, you could only muse how powerful and beautiful you felt at that time. This isn’t an easy piece to perform in your opinion. Yet according to the members of the company, this was their favorite solo of yours.

As the starting notes unfolded, you took a deep breath and elegantly walked into the frame. You only wished you wore your fake crown again for this. Minimal smiling and light arms, you imagined yourself as an actual queen who captured the eyes of many. In this case, your fellow seniors and juniors held their breaths at the captivating sight of you.

Off you go into a series of glissade jeté developpé on relevé at elevating heights, then a fouetté arabesque and another arabesque on relevé before ballet walking again to the side to dance across the stage. Sissonne to the front, right developpé to the front on relevé, pique to prepare for a single pirouette, you gracefully did a chassé to the front twice and stood on your toes with a sus-sous.

Doing it a few more times, the climax of the entire variation was nearing. Returning to the center, you took another deep breath and lifted your left leg for the Italian fouettés. Spotting to the front and back while maintaining your balance, the variation approached its end with lame duck turns, posing with your arms were positioned at a 45-degree angle, your back slightly arched and your left leg doing a tendu derriére. Your eyes reflected at the mirror in front, surveying your alignment. Once your 5-second hold was finished, you properly put your arms down and closed your back leg into 5th position.

The applause from everyone in the room roared, Ten and Sicheng wolf-whistling even for more support. It’s a usual thing every time any of you perform individually, and no one minded it. The artistic director grinned, giving a quiet clap from the front before calling out the next performer, who was from the corps. Bowing to everyone hastily, you paid more attention to spot your student by the window. She was smiling ear to ear, waving both hands at you.

“You did amazing, Teacher!” She mouthed. Hearing words of praise from members was one thing, but hearing them from students was another. You’re so used to watching them and giving them your compliments that you often forget that you’re a dancer first before a teacher. Seeing them all delighted, saying that it motivates them more, showed that you’re doing a great job teaching them. You’re a reflection of what you pass down, and all you want was for them to be the best they could be.

From her jolly expression, a tall masculine silhouette hovered a part of the window. Her instinct of giving a brighter smile when the hand of said silhouette patted her head then carried her duffel bag again, that could only mean one thing. Excusing yourself to the artistic director, you stepped out to bid your goodbye and maybe meet her father. Minji and the tall man were about to leave the building if it weren’t for your breathy voice calling them out.

“Seo Minji and Mr. Seo?”

They stopped their tracks. Minji was fast to react, familiar with your voice and racing towards you for a sweaty hug. Meanwhile, your focus shifted once the masculine silhouette came into full view. You finally understood why Minji’s growth spurt spiked up, noticing that he was taller than Sicheng.

The top buttons of his shirt were off, yet he kept his formal blazer on. His hair was a bit tousled, some strands falling in front of his forehead. He must’ve run here. Peeking through were some roots of his scruff growing. His eyebags were almost as dark as his brown hair. Yet by the way his Rolex remained spotless, you blatantly assumed that he was more than well-off. Especially when the ballet academy was one of the most prestigious ones in Seoul.

Out of all the parents you’ve met, none of them appeared youthful like him.

“Teacher (Y/N)?” Thanks to Minji, you moved your staring eyes away from him. This was another first, since meeting only the fathers of your students wasn’t your norm. Meeting young-looking fathers, to be specific.

“O-Oh,” You ate your words, suddenly blanking out. “You’re leaving me without saying goodbye, Minji? Not polite of you.”

“My father was rushing right after watching your performance, and I don’t know why.” She responded, her finger scratching the top of her head in confusion. Speaking of said father, his strong presence appeared right in front of you. The wrinkles of his forehead creased while his eyes barely looked at yours.

“Uhm,” His fingers toyed with his Rolex. “I apologize for my tardiness. I got caught up in work and all, plus her nanny le-”

“Mr. Seo.” You halted his rambling, already aware of the situation. Like father, like daughter. “It’s fine. Minji loved watching us practice while waiting, and she wasn’t a bother either. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Phew.” He swiped an imaginative bead of sweat from his forehead, displaying his relief with his playful nature.

At age 23, Johnny Seo started his own company in the fashion scene and it grew internationally in the coming years. Then when Minji unexpectedly joined the picture, he’s been multi-tasking to make ends meet. Lately, as a CEO, he has had meetings and conferences on a daily. So, his position as a single father was always tested. It worsened when he rarely has proper time to spend any time with Minji unless it’s the weekend or late in the evening. Breaking it down, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to meet you. It was more like he couldn’t when his schedules were packed from head to toe.

Having the guilt of taking your precious time, “Seriously though, I am sorry for being late. Her nanny resigned suddenly, and I have no time to find her replacement.”

“Mr. Seo, again, don’t worry about it. As her teacher and a company member, I am practically here 24/7 so it won’t be a nuisance at all if this happens again.”

“Thank you so much, Teacher (Y/N). That is your name, right?” He planted his palm on his forehead, stressed. “Being a single parent is hard. I am always forgetting things.”

A part of you couldn’t restrain from feeling sorry for his struggle. Taking care of a child should be the work of both the mother and father, not one of them being absent. You’ve feared this would harm Minji, but she’s a strong girl.

“The fact you didn’t forget to fetch Minji despite the late time is still something to be happy over. I’m not a parent or anything, but parenting, in general, is a challenge.” You added an insight, patting the head of the young girl beside you. “Cut yourself some slack, Mr. Seo. I’m sure Minji still loves you, right?”

Minji shouted a big yes, now clinging to the leg of her father. “It’s okay, dad. Really.”

Over the years, Johnny has been doubtful of his parenting skills. He was an only child, and he struggled to ask for guidance from his own parents due to the shame of having a kid at a young age. So, he’d ask for help from his other friends and co-workers. No matter how many times they’ve reassured him that he’s doing well, he’s an overthinker who always reflected on the bad scenarios. There’s also that pressure to find someone who can fill that absent position not just for Minji, but for himself too. No matter how many girls he’s asked out or been set up with, he failed in the love department badly.

It’s the soothing way you voiced out your truth that made all these negative thoughts running through his head freeze briefly. Over the past 3 years since Minji started ballet, she always had a great story about you to share. One of them was how ballet made her a lot happier because of your influence. If he had at least an hour of his day to meet any of his daughter’s mentors, it would’ve been you.

“Do feel free to call me Johnny instead.” He casually introduced himself, taking his hand out for you to shake. “Mr. Seo makes me feel like I’m at work right now.”

Despite his informal approach, you understood his intentions and returned the action with a promising smile. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Johnny.”

“Pleasure is all mine, Teacher (Y/N).”

Earlier, the nerves from performing in front of the artistic director died down fast. But for some reason, they rose back up when you’ve spoken to this man in a matter of minutes. As someone whose feelings don’t flourish in a single glance, why did this man specifically deliver you such a strong effect?

If it weren’t for Ten calling for your name by the door, you would’ve held on to Johnny’s hand longer, which would’ve been inappropriate. Letting go first, this was your cue to return to your class.

“I must head back inside, Johnny. Don’t sweat on fetching your daughter late, though she is still a student with school the following day. Right, Minji?”

Minji nodded as Johnny kept that mind, knowing where he has to improve next.  “Yes, Teacher (Y/N). Thank you again, sincerely. I’ll definitely see you again in the coming days until Minji has a new nanny.”

“That’s no problem with me at all, Johnny.”

Soon as Johnny held his daughter’s hand to exit the studio and you were re-entering the studio with an impatient Ten, he swerved swiftly as if he forgot something.

“Oh by the way Teacher (Y/N), I saw your whole performance awhile ago. I was blown away, you deserved the applause.”

Although you could only distinguish his silhouette, you didn’t suppose he watched you from head to toe. Most parents or nannies would’ve dragged their kids out of the studio once they find them like they were on a tight schedule, so this was novel to experience. That performance showed your prime too.

“Thank you, Johnny. See you again soon.”

Giving a final nod, you led yourself back to the studio, not bothering to acknowledge the erupting heat on your cheeks and entire body. Not to sound narcissistic, but compliments weren’t foreign to you. You’re conscious of the hard work that you put in your talent and if they pointed out your greatness, why would you deny it? However, receiving one from Johnny was like gearing your engine with new fuel.

Before you could try to reject these harboring feelings, Ten was fast to pick up on it. You cannot hide anything from this man at all because body language was like another language he’s fluent in (aside from the other 5). Unlucky for you, the saga continued.

“You’re so into dilfs, (Y/N)!” He shrieked in your ear, nudging your shoulder repetitively. He placed things in his own way, yet they always shocked you because it was so inappropriate. Typical Ten for you.

“Shut up, Ten!” You objected, watching the other performers. You’ve improved in ignoring his remarks over time. That was until Sicheng sat down beside you after his solo and got up in your business. That placed you in the middle of boys from the water sign clan of astrology. They just loved getting down to your love life, going raunchy and whatnot.

“Who’s into dilfs, Ten?”

“A Miss (Y/N) beside you, who met Minji’s dad awhile ago, was basically eye-fucking him.” Ten elaborated, planting his elbows on your leg and gave you a sneaky glare. “Minji’s dad is fine as fuck, guys! I’m telling you, like a literal god! I’m surprised this is the first time he showed up here after 2-3 years?”

“How come (Y/N) is always getting students with good-looking parents? Especially the single moms.” Sicheng slumped his shoulders, attempting to get your attention too. “Is he that hot, (Y/N)?”

“Yah.” Sighing with annoyance, you’ve given up trying to appreciate one of the corps dancers with her rendition of Dulcinea from Don Quixote. “Don’t speak of Johnny like that. You barely know the man, yet you talk about him so unprofessionally."

“Oh, Johnny is his name, huh?” Sicheng sing-songed, bobbing his head. He’s certainly going to stalk him later on social media, you felt it in your chest. Like it was ESPN or something.

“Talking about being unprofessional, yet you’re here referring him as Johnny, not Mr. Seo.” Ten barked back, his lips pursed and one eyebrow lifted.

Just as soon as you could retaliate, the artistic director’s velvety voice boomed the room.

“Alright, thank you to the performers. I will deliberate with the staff and principal dancers over the weekend, and let you know the results on Monday. Now please, let’s proceed to the center.”

Everyone began to spread out on the wide floor, snatching a good position so they could monitor themselves in the mirror. Maybe you’ll defend yourself later after class because now, you needed to beat everyone else and have a crystal-clear view of yourself doing these following exercises.

In the meantime, Johnny was in the middle of driving Minji home. He had a designated chauffeur, but he gave him the night off because he wanted to spend time with Minji. Around this time, she’d be sleeping soundly, but instead, she’s boosting with so much life. She hasn’t even eaten dinner yet, which was the first thing on Johnny’s agenda now.

Playing Coldplay in the car, Minji belted some lyrics from her favorite songs while Johnny smiled to himself while listening to her attentively. Taking a breath, her thoughts reverted to her fantastic ballet teacher and shared them with her father.

“Dad! Don’t you just think Teacher (Y/N) is so cool? Ugh, I want to be just like her when I grow up.”

“Oh, to become a ballerina like her, you have to work hard every day and memorize lessons fast. Are you up for it, Minji?”

“Absolutely, dad! I want to pull off perfect jumps and turns like her one day!”

In the other after-school activities Johnny enrolled Minji in the past, none of them compared to the passion she had for ballet. Her work ethic was alike to Johnny’s: if they want something, they’ll do whatever it takes to make it possible.

Aside from being a star student in her school, she’s aiming to be a star ballerina. Being the supportive father he is, Johnny was on board to do what it takes to make it happen. Unlike his parents trying to mold him into the next heir of their company, he’s all ears to the dreams of his daughter. His only dream for her was to be live long and happy, not to merely pass on anything.

Johnny lost so much in his young life, so he doesn’t want to lose Minji in any way. As much as he loves his profession, he wanted to be an active father as much as time allowed it. He mostly received complaints from others that he’s not prioritizing his time well, but after hearing your kind words, this heavy weight on his shoulders decreased. All this doubt started to vanish after meeting you for the first time.

“Dad! Isn’t Teacher (Y/N) so beautiful?” Minji honored whilst gazing at the twinkling night sky. “She loves what she does and shines at it.”

Johnny was accustomed to his female co-workers throwing themselves at him due to his attractiveness, more than flattered even to have them feeling weak for him. Yes, there were times he used it to his advantage, some he frankly turned down. 

However, the radiance you carried whether you’re dancing or not was something Johnny couldn’t cease wondering about. Unknown to him, he’s the one getting weak. Behold, an unlocked first for the confident CEO.

“Yes, Minji. I do think Teacher (Y/N) is absolutely beautiful.”

[hotwings0203]

i’m thinking abt Police officer reader arresting scummy smexy Touya. Like he smirks when she arrests him and cuffs his hands to his back. I want him in me fr 😍‼️

Tw:none really, maybe sexual harassment and implied noncon

“Officer 776, we got a black sedan coming up your way on I-10. Do you copy?”

You sign and turn your music off before reaching for your walkie talkie and responding, “Yes, I copy.”

And sure enough, the only car that zooms by at 2 am on a Saturday night is a black sedan. It’s a shame, really, you were enjoying the city view by yourself without anyone to keep an eye on. You’re usually posted for ticket duty, but this time you got promoted for night watch.

You would’ve liked to continue leaning back in your seat and watch the only sky slowly dust with stars, but duty calls as the blue custom headlights go streaking past you.

Begrudgingly, you pull your driving handle back and start going after him, turning your lights on in the process and raising the siren.

You’re not even surprised when it takes some slight honking and almost a two mile mini-chase to get the car to pull over at the side of the gravelly road.

The car in front of you stalls, and you observe the status of the car itself. It’s hard to make out the look of the vehicle in the dark even with your headlights blaring in front of it, but you guess it’s a Mazda sedan or something of the sort just like how your higher-up said.

You take a deep breath and gather your flashlight as you open your door and swing outside.

On the short walk to the driver’s side you notice darker marks on the car…almost like they were scorch marks.

That’s strange.

The window is tinted and up. You roll your eyes in annoyance and give three sharp raps to the glass.

“Open the window and keep your hands on the steering wheel after.”

You wait a moment. It doesn’t budge.

A crease appears in your eyebrows and you quickly glance around. It’s completely deserted, just you and the perpetrator.

“I’m gonna have to ask you once more. Open the window otherwise-“

You cut off as the black glass slowly rolls down, revealing a man with ivory hair and black tips at the ends, his face scarred but astonishingly handsome. His mouth, eyebags, lower half of his face and ears are laced with silver piercings…stitches? Maybe, but whatever. Focus on the task at hand.

“What can I help you with meter maid?” Comes his sleazy, gravelly voice.

You lean down and rest an elbow on his lowered window, squinting at his smug face. His eyes are crinkled with the slight upturn of his lips, imitating a crude smirk.

No ones in the car with him, but you can faintly smell some kind of skunk aroma, and alarm bells go off in your head.

“Sir, do you know how fast you were driving?”

“Fast enough apparently, if I copped a sexy thing like you all for myself.”

He props his chin on his scarred hand and rests his elbow right next to yours, mocking your petulant expression.

You grimace and move your hand away from his. He pouts as you continue berating him.

“It’s 2am on a weekend, sir. Where were you headed off to that you had to be there in such a rush?”

The man sighs loudly and lets his head fall back against his leather seat, lips puffing out and fingers moving to drum against his steering wheel.

“Oh you know, the usual. Fucking bitches, getting money, anything a no-good handsome bastard like me does on the regular. Not like I’d expect you to know, meter maid.” He smirks showing his white canines and slowly looks you up and down.

When you scowl he raises his hands innocently and shrugs.

“Just kidding sweetheart. I was actually on my way to burn a few bodies, I’m a hit man y’know. Very much on the wanted list. I’m good at what I do…if you ever need a man, or a body,just call me.” He winks and his infuriating grin doesn’t falter as you yank open the door and practically throw his lanky figure out of the car.

He doesn’t put up any effort of resistance, just lets you push him down by the neck onto the hood of his car, his body bent as you begin searching him.

You know you smell some type of drug in the car but you’re not actually rooting through his pockets looking for gold. You just want a little bit of saving-face from his sleazy mouth.

He exhales and laughs as his cheek smushes against the black steel, his breath puffing up condensation on the hood while you pat his sides down.

“Put your hands on the car sir, and don’t move unless you want to be taken into a cell overnight.” You mutter as you feel his studded belt, his white tee revealing a toned yet sharp body underneath.

The man sighs in faux annoyance. “What’s with the attitude babe? If you’re feeling me up you might as well lose that cold shoulder. The name’s Touya by the way, I would’ve given it to you sooner if I knew you just wanted to get under my pants.”

You freeze as his words register right when you pay down his inner thighs for any suspicious substance-just following protocol.

Nevertheless, you instinctively shoot your hands to your side and sputter indignantly.

“You-you can’t talk to an officer like that! Are you drunk? Count to 100 for me.” You try to divert the conversations to where you have the upper hand, but you should’ve known Touya wasn’t gonna let it be that easy.

“Sure thing meter maid. It’s 1-800-*******.”

“What?”

“That’s my number. Be grateful, I don’t usually give opps my digits that easily, but you’re giving me a fun time so why not?” He cranes his head toward you and licks his lips seductively.

You’re thankful for the darkness of the night, for you can surely feel the best rise to your cheeks at his blatant…flirting?

“Shut up. Just let me do my job asshole.”

The walkie talkie crackles with static as your supervisor calls in to check on how you’re doing, but before you can speak into it Touya cries out suddenly.

“Help! Oh, help me officer! This meter maid is touching all over my little willy! She has ulterior motives I swear it!” He moans loudly and you snap the device shut before turning to him.

“Are you fucking crazy? Do you want me to get fired?” You hiss, but all you get in return is a maniacal grin.

“Sure, ‘means you can fuck around without any protocol then, right?” The man starts arching his hips up in a perverse manner and shoves his ass back into your torso.

You snarl and reach over his back, grabbing both of his hands and slapping a pair of cuffs on him before manhandling him the other way, his face finally aligned with yours, back against the cool steel.

“Oh, so you like it rough, huh?”

You ignore him and drop to a squat, taking his combat boots off less-than-gently and shaking them out for any real baggie.

“Shoulda’ told me sooner doll, we could’ve gotten this along wayyyy sooner.”

You slowly raise your eyes up and take in an eyeful of his thrusting hips mere inches from your eyes.

He’s looking down at you with one eyebrow raised and his usual smirk adorning his features.

Your blood rushes through your body like you just ran a marathon, and you abruptly stand before him, making sure your shoulder checks his straining bulge on your way up.

He yelps and doubles over, unable to clutch his prized possession.

This time when he straightens up with a twisted scowl, you’re the one grinning at him instead.

“Yeah, you’re right, actually. If you’re gonna get me fired anyways might as well do what I want, right?”

You open his passenger door and give him an innocent smile as he watches you warily.

After about 10 minutes of looting through his car and trunk, sure enough you produce a couple of large ziploc bags filled with white powder and copious amounts of cash under thinly concealed pockets in the back.

You hold all of these findings up, and each one of the revelations are either met with a mocking pout or a careless shrug.

Your skin starts to get hotter despite the chill of the night as none of your efforts to match his energy are met with any fruition. In fact, it seems to rile him up more.

“Looks like you’re getting tired hon. Why not use all that energy on this dick?”

“Hmm, I guess you’re not very good at this job, huh? You’d be better as some kind of stripper. Actually, nah, that’s too good of a job for you, maybe a prostitute stuck in my bed would satisfy you.”

On and on he goes as you practically raid his car, even throwing out belongings that aren’t in any way questionable.

Eventually you reach your tipping point. You make sure he’s watching you as you walk around back towards him and plant your feet squarely in front of him, taking your stance.

You reach into your pocket to produce your walkie, cock your arm back, and throw it as far as you can into the surrounding field.

“Where’s that smile now Touya? You scared you can’t defend yourself without anyone on the other side listening in?”

The ivory haired man shakes his head and sighs as if dealing with a grace loss. Your own brows furrowed as he looks up at you with a sorrowful expression, one that doesn’t quite scream sincere when the car lights reflect an excited gleam in his cerulean eyes.

“Nah, sweetheart. I’m actually more worried for you.”

And with a sound as soft as bell chimes, the tugs his hands at the back for a moment and brings his arms forward, palms spread and showing you cuff-less palms of blue hellfire.

He thinks you look pretty when the blue light reflects pure terror on your shadowed face.

“That was a stupid move, throwing your only hope of salvation away. I wasn’t lying, y’know. I really am a hit man. But I’ll take my own offer.”

As you turn to begin to sprint away he smiles again, this one more earnestly remorseful.

“I’ll be a hit man and a body you need for tonight.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

"The Untamed", but Jiggy has a white cat whom he tells everything.- May or may not be sentient or 'spiritual' like Fairy in the book. (From an idea I've thrown around with my friend @yraelviii)

ao3

He found the cat in Qinghe.

“What are you doing here?” Meng Yao said, crouching down to try to scoop out the little handful of white fluff underneath his cabinet only for it to bare its infantile fangs and him and hiss, moving its butt around as if it thought his fingers ought to be running in fear from its fearsome pounce. “How did you even get in here?”

The cat – a kitten, really, small and scrawny, dirty and covered in ashes as if it had just run out of a forge, but no less passionate for it – squirmed in his hand as he picked it up.

“Who owns you?” Meng Yao asked, and the cat hissed viciously as if to shout no one owns me!

Something about that echoed in Meng Yao’s heart – no one owns me, he thought – and so he fished up some extra meat from his plate, filled a small platter with water, and used the sleeve of an old outfit that needed to be taken to be laundered anyway to wipe the grey ash off of the cat’s white fur while it was distracted by sniffing suspiciously at the food and water that it ultimately declined to consume.

“Just this once,” he told it.

-

Doing good work will often only bring you more work, Meng Yao reflected, and so it was with the cat as much as with anything else. He still didn’t know how the cat managed to get into his rooms, and he sometimes dwelled on paranoid suspicions that there were hiding-holes in his chambers designed to allow others to spy on him, just as there had been in certain rooms in the brothel – though even at his worst moment of uncertainty and doubt he didn’t really think so. He knew that it wasn’t Nie Mingjue’s style even if Meng Yao had been someone important enough to care about, and anyway he didn’t question his own ability to discovery such a thing if it had really existed. He’d checked.

At any rate, however it kept getting into his rooms, the cat was now a regular presence there, lurking around.

It didn’t want to be petted and greeted all attempts to feed it with utter disdain, but despite its general standoffishness it seemed to like being in the same vicinity as Meng Yao, enjoying nothing more than to settle haughtily by the window in his room and watch over Meng Yao as if it thought he might get lost without its supervision.

Meng Yao thought it was probably someone’s pet gotten lost, or maybe even just a feral cat from outside (Qinghe had a fair number of them) that had figured out that it could access the good life by going inside, but it was very hard to sincerely worry over the ill-intentions of a cat, and he was already very busy.

If he didn’t need to care for it, then it wasn’t adding to his troubles. Let the cat sit where it liked!

Meng Yao had found that life in Qinghe was both different and similar to life in Yunping, the only life he had to compare it to, and it amused him to think of the great and righteous Nie sect as an overly large brothel, with the main difference being that they sold their strength where women sold their bodies. In both places there needed to be order, someone to sort things out and tell people where to put things and what to do; in both places Meng Yao, with his quick mind and excellent memory, his sense of understanding people and anticipating their needs, was utterly invaluable in arranging such things.

He had, admittedly, expected it to take a little more time to climb up to the top – the only person he couldn’t understand in this place was Nie Mingjue, who was far too easy to deceive and smiled at him like he really thought they were friends instead of just being master and servant, who appreciated his talents and told him so, who shrugged off his mistakes and had faith that he would do better, who ignored his status instead of lording it over him the way Meng Yao had expected him to. Even when he was angry, when he shouted and slammed his hands against things, Nie Mingjue never once mentioned Meng Yao’s background, and the only things he seemed to hold against him were his own mistakes.

Meng Yao still didn’t know why Nie Mingjue would act so rashly as to promote someone he had just met to a position as high as viceroy, much less actually trust him, but it didn’t really matter. However quixotic his method of reaching a place of power, he was here and his next task was to keep his place until he’d made a reputation for himself.

Part of that he did through his work, good critical work that people needed and which had always won him gratitude even if not respect, but the other part of it was in cultivation. That was the way in which the Nie sect was not like a brothel: you couldn’t just be clever, you couldn’t even just be beautiful - to be respected, you had to cultivate.

Not that wanting to cultivate was a problem for Meng Yao.

He’d always had a memory like a sponge and a body that obeyed his every wish, his childhood of mimicking the beautiful dances of his mother and her ‘sisters’ serving him well in transitioning to learning the sword even if he was years behind everyone else; his mother had bought a thousand fake cultivation manuals for him and he’d learned them all, each one of them more useless than the next, and now that he was here in the cultivation world at long last, he was finally, finally, finally able to cultivate for real.

Using Nie sect methods, of course, even if that wasn’t what he really wanted.  

He’d started as soon as he could when he arrived, endlessly grateful that the Nie sect provided training sabers without cost, and he’d snuck one away back to his room so that he could practice on his own time, knowing it would take a long time to form his golden core. He’d debated with himself for a long time as to whether or not it was worth it to invest in a real one – if the training sabers were free, then real proper Nie sabers were somehow three times as expensive as the swords you could buy in the marketplace, and you could only put in a deposit without any notion of when you’d actually get the saber, apparently subject to the contrary dispositions of the spiritual weaponsmiths that made them.

In the end he decided to go for it more or less on a whim, emptying out his hard-built savings to place the order, even though he knew he would one day need to discard whatever they made for him in favor of a sword.

The Jin sect would accept him one day. He would make them.

(If the Nie sect cultivation style was good for one thing, he thought as he went through endless drills of slashing and thrusting, it was that you could work out your anger while you were doing it. There was nothing quite like imagining the face of someone you hated and then bringing down the practice saber in a vicious slash, and oh, but Meng Yao hated so very many people.)

The cat liked watching him train most of all, although Meng Yao suspected it was because seeing him jump around panting was funnier than watching him sit at his desk and gracefully write out letters. It would occasionally start purring, a sound a little like a crackling fire, and eventually Meng Yao got into the habit of going to run his fingers through its fur as a reward for himself when he successfully completed a training sequence.

After a while, he started talking to it, too.

“That commander,” Meng Yao said as he brought the training saber down. His real saber was still on the order, probably stalled purposefully; the smith assigned the task was probably one of the people that thought they were too good to deal with him because of who his mother was, and it’d all been a waste of money in the end. Completely a waste, even if Nie Mingjue had smiled so happily at him when he’d heard about Meng Yao placing the order, his eyes warm and soft and how had that man survived so long in this wretched world of politics and pain, didn’t he know he would always be deceived and betrayed?

Why should he be the exception to the rule, when everyone else had to suffer?

Meng Yao threw away the unhelpful thoughts and thrust the saber forward, as if piercing his invisible opponent straight through the chest.

“That commander.” He minutely corrected his form and stabbed again, this time as if piercing through the belly: a gut wound, a slow and awful way to die. “He’ll regret what he said to me.”

The cat’s purring intensified.

Meng Yao briefly had the wild thought that it approved.

“I just –” Another thrust. “– need to figure out –” An overhead slash. “– how.”

-

Meng Yao ended up taking the cat with him when he left Qinghe.

It probably was someone’s pet and he was opening himself up to a charge of stealing, a charge he wouldn’t be able to defend himself against now that he no longer had Nie Mingjue’s protection –

(Nie Mingjue who had wept tears and blood at what Meng Yao had done, betrayed at last after having finally encountered a deception he could not swallow, who had banished him from the Unclean Realm even after everything Meng Yao had done for him – who had, despite it all, still hidden an entire bag of gold and Meng Yao’s favorite Qinghe snacks in Meng Yao’s things with a short note claiming that it was for unpaid wages. As if Meng Yao had ever let a single pay period go by without claiming exactly what he was due. As if Nie Mingjue still cared despite throwing him out, as if he worried about how Meng Yao might live, as if he hadn’t given up the privilege of caring about things like that – )

He didn’t really care.

He wanted the cat, so he took it. It was the least Qinghe could do for him.

The cat spent all its time in his new rooms in the hotels he stayed out as he traveled: in his bedroom and study, the little gardens that, when available, he liked to use to train in the mornings and evenings. It would even follow him when he took a bath (although that was with great reluctance on the part of the cat, and only if Meng Yao were taking an especially long time in the bath and the cat was worried he’d drowned, yowling angrily as if it could revive him through the power of its voice). If it had once belonged to someone else, it now belonged to Meng Yao, and Meng Yao didn’t give away anything that was his.

“I’ve made worse mistakes,” he said defiantly to the cat, which blinked at him from its side of the carriage he’d used some of the gold to rent. “It’s only that I don’t want to review them in order to think of which ones those might be.”

The cat got up, stretched its back, and walked over to butt its head against Meng Yao’s hand before turning and going back to its spot by the window.

Meng Yao wasn’t sure if that was a sign of agreement or if the cat just thought there was a treat in his hand. Not that the cat had ever accepted treats from his hand.

He still wasn’t sure what the cat ate, actually, but he was sure the cat would make its feelings known now that they weren’t somewhere with a dependable kitchen, though he supposed there was always the possibility that it would start picking up hunting.

“Wen Chao said that they’d aimed at the Cloud Recesses,” Meng Yao said, deciding not to dwell on the things of the past. There was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he could do about Nie Mingjue’s betrayed eyes or the snacks he hadn’t even known Nie Mingjue had known he’d liked, about the hand-me-down guans and trinkets that Nie Huaisang had insisted were part of his wardrobe when he’d helped him pack even though he knew Nie Huaisang still wore them sometimes, about the fact that he should have been ordered to take the Nie sect’s braids out of his hair when he passed by the gates for the final time since he didn’t deserve them anymore but the two disciples there had just nodded at him and let him pass without a word – nothing to do about the saber he’d ordered, still on the list to be made, and maybe if he made something of himself out in the world alone he would one day come back to claim it at last. “That’s where we’re going now. Lan Xichen might be in danger. I have to help him.”

The cat made a sound like it was considering hacking up a hairball.

“He was kind to me,” Meng Yao said, feeling defensive. “The only one who never judged me –”

Since he’d decided to forget about Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang, wiping it out of his mind as if it had never been, that was even true.

“– and he’s a proper gentleman, a good man. I’ll help him.”

That Lan Xichen was also a powerful man was something he wished he didn’t think of, but he couldn’t help the way he was.

“After I help him, I’ll figure out what to do next,” Meng Yao said, like a liar, and the cat looked at him like he was stupid – which he was being, because of course he’d already planned out what to do next, figured out his next move, and there was no point in lying to a cat about it. Meng Yao had skills that were only useful in management, not labor, and the only thing he left to sell was information about the sect from which he’d just been ejected. “No one owns me, right? Let it be the Wen sect.”

The cat did not purr, but it didn’t condemn him, either.

That would have to do.

-

It was a good thing that Meng Yao’s cat was self-sufficient, he thought, because he had neither the time nor the stomach to feed it during his time at the Wen sect.

If he had thought he had worked hard at the Nie sect, he now knew differently: at least there the worst he had faced from his colleagues had been disdain and not outright murder attempts, back-stabbing and undercutting to try to show off to Wen Ruohan, and all the while the man himself demanded more and more from him without the slightest care for his own well-being. He was grist to the mill for Wen Ruohan, no matter how much the Chief Cultivator enjoyed having another man’s prized deputy as his own – Wen Ruohan might had been very nearly driven insane by the Yin Metal, but he still remembered old grudges – and it was night and day away from Nie Mingjue’s reliance on him that was based on trust, rather than reluctantly satisfied suspicion and paranoia.

Meng Yao had hidden the cat as best as he could from the start, thinking rightfully that people would try to use it against him, and to his relief it seemed that no one else had yet laid eyes on it and identified it as his own, despite its white fur standing out like a beacon to his sight. Unfortunately there were some people that had managed to figure out that he had a cat, even if they didn’t lay eyes on it themselves, and he’d had more than a few incidents in which someone had left poisoned meat out on the floor by his room in order to catch it.

The cat seemed as unimpressed with that as anything else.

Instead, the cat seemed to have taken up hunting as its pastime. It brought back the corpses of small birds, the Yin Metal-infused little spies, full of resentful energy, that Wen Ruohan had developed for his sons to use. At first Meng Yao worried about the cat getting somehow poisoned by them, but time went on and it seemed to be fine, even thriving. It had grown into a proper cat now, no longer a kitten, and it enjoyed licking its white and shining fur until it was gleaming.

It didn’t like Meng Yao’s training sessions as much – he trained with a sword now, two-faced just like him, and in a dozen different styles, Wen and Jiang and Jin, always Jin – so sometimes Meng Yao would go back to doing the old Nie sect style again, knowing the cat would recognize the familiar movements, and it was a surefire way to get the cat to purr.

The Nie sect style was also still the best for getting out anger, all aggression and sharp movements, and Meng Yao still had a lot of anger inside of him. He was starting to think he always would.

At least here in the Nightless City he could kill the people he hated, as long as he did so in low and dirty ways that didn’t trouble Wen Ruohan or interfere with his plans, and yet every time he did it, he felt no relief, only a vile and wretched stickiness that came, perhaps, from that awful Yin Metal that he had schemed over yet couldn’t seem to escape.

The cat didn’t like the Yin Metal one bit. It hissed and scratched, and in one notable incident seemed like it was going to pounce on it directly if Meng Yao hadn’t caught it mid-leap and shoved it into his sleeve before anyone had noticed it.

“You’re going to get me into trouble,” Meng Yao told the cat next time he trained, using the soft sword he’d hidden away for a time of need to hack and slash in the Nie way, which didn’t work with a soft sword at all but which made him feel strangely better. He was currently imagining Wen Ruohan’s head underneath a saber, his head and the heads of all those corpse puppets he’d created. “I will cut you loose if you do that.”

The cat rolled onto its back and showed its soft and fluffy belly, which only the truly unwise would seek to lay a hand on – Meng Yao still had scars – and Meng Yao rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know,” he said. “No one owns you, not even me. But do me a favor and don’t screw this up for me. Not when I’m so close.”

Lan Xichen had been accepting his letters and feeding them to Nie Mingjue, who trusted as blindly as he ever did. Meng Yao wished sometimes that he didn’t, that he would learn, that he would put some defenses up on that stupid reckless heart of his, but on the other hand it suited his plans very well that he didn’t.

Soon, he thought. Soon.

Soon he’d know what he needed to do.

-

“Now he chooses not to trust people,” Meng Yao complained to his cat. “Now. Now!”

The cat purred.

It wasn’t that Meng Yao (damnit, Jin Guangyao, he had a new name, he was Jin Guangyao now) couldn’t understand Nie Mingjue’s reluctance to trust him – fool me once, fool me twice, but three times seemed to be the other man’s breaking point – and in some ways he understood it more than ever now that he had been accepted back by the Jin sect, clothed in the gold he’d always deserved to wear.

Jin Guangshan hadn’t lost much in the war, not like the other sects, and the second it was over he was already scheming. Meng Yao – Jin Guangyao – was pulled right into the thick of it at once, less for his spying capability than for his sheer disposability, the fact that Jin Guangshan wasn’t willing to burden his pure and righteous heir with black matters that he was more than happy to taint the son of his whore with. With Nie Mingjue, general and hero of the Sunshot Campaign, representing the only real threat to the Jin sect’s domination, even if he didn’t want to be, Jin Guangyao was bound to be in opposition to him.

It made sense for Nie Mingjue not to trust him.

It irritated him regardless.

Still, lack of trust or no, Nie Mingjue had succumbed to Lan Xichen’s impassioned arguments and had agreed to swear brotherhood with him, even if Jin Guangyao suspected that Nie Mingjue’s primary motivation was to keep a better eye on him and scold him the way he did Nie Huaisang. It would be politically beneficial to Jin Guangyao to be tied in such a way to Nie Mingjue – it would suit his own desires as well, though that was less important – and so he had of course agreed as well, and he was planning on going to their oath ceremony in the outfit he had chosen for himself, gold from neck to foot, a sword he’d taken from the treasury since no one would order him one of his own, and a hat on his head like the ones his mother so admired to make up for his lack of height and to hide the Nie sect braids he still habitually wore underneath.

An old habit, and one he really ought to break, really. Ideally before Nie Mingjue figured it out and told him to cut it out.

There was a knock on the door, a familiar pounding, and the cat looked up, intrigued, even as Jin Guangyao sighed voicelessly to himself. Perhaps he had waited too long.

Perhaps it would be better to make a clean cut in this way, too.

He opened the door.

“Sect Leader Nie,” he greeted, thinking to himself that it would only be a few more hours before he was entitled to call the man da-ge as if they were nearly equals and how strange that would be. “Can this humble one help you?”

“Can I come in?” Nie Mingjue asked gruffly, his eyes lingering on Jin Guangyao’s uncovered and Nie-braided hair, just as he might have expected. Had expected.

Jin Guangyao nodded and stepped back, allowing him in, and closed the door behind him. “Could I get the sect leader some refreshments?” he asked politely, but Nie Mingjue seemed to have come to a stop right in the entranceway, surprise written all over his features. “Sect Leader Nie?”

Nie Mingjue was staring at Jin Guangyao’s cat.

“…Sect Leader Nie?”

Did Nie Mingjue not like cats? There were an endless number of feral cats in Qinghe, so it seemed implausible, and yet, here Nie Mingjue was, looking at the cat like he’d never seen such a thing before in its life.

Of course, at that exact moment, Jin Guangyao’s cat, the traitor, hopped off its pillow and went straight to rub itself against Nie Mingjue’s leg, purring like a little maniac.

Jin Guangyao stared at it, feeling thoroughly betrayed by what he would have previously said was his thoroughly unsociable cat, who had taken years to warm up to him enough to give him half the attention it was now bestowing freely on Nie Mingjue. Was this the heavens deciding to mock him for his earlier betrayals?

Alternatively, Nie Mingjue might just be very good with cats, which Jin Guangyao could believe. Perhaps he even carried in his pockets some of the Qinghe vine that cats were said to be so enamored of, although certainly Meng Yao’s cat had never once before shown an interest in such things before.

“…what’s its name?” Nie Mingjue croaked, voice hoarse. He was still staring fixedly at the cat, looking as though his entire world had shattered around him. He hadn’t even looked so unsettled when Jin Guangyao had so viciously mocked him at the Nightless City, and at the time he’d thought he was going to die and be turned into a corpse puppet to murder all his loved ones.

Jin Guangyao was tempted to say something rude or facetious, something like ‘I just call it Cat, why, do you name random cats?’, but the cat had been a good companion of his for a long time now and he couldn’t do that to it, even if he was currently planning on taking an extra long bath to force the cat to miserably linger by the door to the bathing room, screeching in unhappiness at the wet, but bravely (if grumpily) supervising him to make sure he didn’t drown.

“Hensheng,” he said, because that was in fact what he’d named it – it meant hatred for life, which was not exactly an auspicious name but which had stuck from the very moment he had thought it up – and waited to hear Nie Mingjue’s judgment. “It’s not normally quite so sticky,” he added in an attempt to save some face. “With most people.”

“Well, it’s me, that’s different,” Nie Mingjue said, and maybe the man really was just the human incarnation of the plant cats liked so much. Meng Yao really wouldn’t put it past him. “You...you cultivate in the Nie sect style? Still?”

Jin Guangyao blinked, surprised by the change in subject.

“Yes,” he said, a little hesitantly. He cultivated many styles now, although it was always the Jin sect style when he was in public. But he still had all the anger in his belly to vent – even more so now than before, anger at his father, anger at Madame Jin, anger at his brother born to a blessed life, anger at all those disciples that sneered at him even after he’d been legitimized, anger, anger, anger – and the Nie sect style had always been the best for that.

And anyway, it made the cat purr.

“Is that a problem, Sect Leader Nie?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Nie Mingjue said, and when he turned to look at him his eyes were warm and soft the way they’d been all the way before the fiasco with Xue Yang, shimmering with tears of joy and a smile that seemed to come straight from his heart, the foolish easily deceived man. It was so unexpected that Jin Guangyao actually took a full two steps back, his jaw dropping a little. “I’m happy for you. Very happy.”

He actually wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, dashing away the tears.

“You should come back to the Unclean Realm to pick it up when the brotherhood ceremony is done,” he added nonsensically. “I can’t imagine how long it’s been waiting for you.”

“…what?” Jin Guangyao said. “Pick up what?”

“Hensheng,” Nie Mingjue said, which – what? “Your saber. Hensheng.”

His saber?

The saber he’d never gotten, having been banished from the Unclean Realm before the order was finished, the one he’d spent all his savings on just in putting in the deposit, the one he’d never actually finished paying off? He remembered it, of course, and sometimes it still itched under his skin that he’d never gotten what he was owed because everything that was owed to him he deserved to get in the end. But…

“Hensheng is my cat,” he said.

Nie Mingjue blinked at him. “That’s not a cat,” he said. “That’s a saber spirit.”

Jin Guangyao’s gaze dropped down to the cat.

The cat that never seemed to eat anything or drink anything, that never once fell for the poisoned meat or accepted his offers of treats, that no one in the Nightless City had ever seen with their own eyes; the cat that could consistently get into his rooms despite there being no holes for it to enter, as if it had simply passed through the walls like a ghost.

Like a spirit.

The cat, which purred whenever Jin Guangyao practiced the Nie sect forms, swinging a saber with rage in his heart.

The cat to which he had confessed all his anger, all his frustration, all his rage, all the feelings he never gave to any human being around him – the sabers of the Nie sect thrived on such emotions, those feelings that encouraged them and strengthened them, developing the saber spirits that made each one of them a spiritual weapon unlike any other, with power and rage infused into the very blade.

Saber spirits, which only those born into the Nie sect or adopted early, raised in their ways, one of them, could form.

“A saber spirit?” Jin Guangyao said weakly, and his knees suddenly didn’t seem strong enough to hold him; he swayed and Nie Mingjue stepped forward quickly, catching him by the shoulders to steady him. “I cultivated a saber spirit?”

“The saber is back in the Unclean Realm,” Nie Mingjue said, not without kindness. “It was only ever waiting for you to pick it up once you developed the spirit, so that you could introduce the two.”

“It hasn’t been – I would have thought it would have been thrown away, or repurposed –”

“It’s a Nie saber, Meng Yao. It won’t obey anyone else ever again, not in this life; it is yours, yours alone. When one day you die, it will be buried with honor in our saber halls, just like all the others.”

The cat looked up at him and purred.

No one owns me, Jin Guangyao thought – the first thing the cat had said to him, and he’d always had a good understanding of what the cat wanted from the very first. No one had owned that wild spirit then, but it had stayed by his side, at first from curiosity and later from habit, and it was his now.

His, and no one else’s.

“Will you come pick it up?” Nie Mingjue asked, hope in his eyes. “Will you come home, if only for a little while?”

“Yes,” Jin Guangyao said. “Yes, I will.”

-

Later, Jin Guangshan told his son to kill Nie Mingjue, that fool who trusted too much and didn’t know when he was being deceived, finding him in his rigidity and righteousness too much of a burden on the power he planned to wield.

Jin Guangyao bowed as deep as he could, a smile on his lips, saying nothing, and the next day, when Jin Guangshan went to the brothel as he always did, drinking tea served by his son the way he always did, he never did figure out why his heart had stopped.

(The saber Jin Guangyao began to wear openly after the funeral – a gift from his sworn brother, he said with a smile, in remembrance of his time at the Nie sect – purred in pure satisfaction.)

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑴𝒂𝒇𝒊𝒂! 𝑨𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒛: 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑶𝒖𝒕 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑨 𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, justifying, encouraging nor promoting mafia behavior or lifestyle. This is all a work of fiction and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

❥𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰

Hongjoong was confused when the strange parcel was sent to him. The big, bold 'SKZ' was a clue it was from his rivals. He carefully opened the package, making sure it didn't contain any weird substance. He was shocked when he opened it to find a note that read:

"Give us what we want or we'll harm those you love most."

He widened his eyes when they sent photos of you, obviously taken without your knowledge of your daily life. This was the exact reason Hongjoong broke up with you. It was too dangerous to be with him, so he thought if he left you, you'd be safe, even if it broke his heart to leave you.

But then he saw a few photos that sent a shock through his body. He scanned them closely, making sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. He saw pictures of you..... with a baby.

Hongjoong nearly fell out of his seat.

"Does this mean....?"

Hongjoong quickly got in his car and drove over to your place. He desperately knocked on your door, hoping you'd answer. When you opened the door, you were surprised to see him there and were about to ask what he was doing there, but he spoke up first.

"Do we have a child together?"

Your facial expression was a dead giveaway from the start, confirmed also when you nodded slightly. Looking down, you were afraid that he'd be mad, but instead, Hongjoong pulled you into a hug. Tilting his head, he whispered in your ear:

"I don't want to alarm you, but I'm going to have to relocate you both for your safety. I'll make sure nothing happens to you both. But you gotta come with me now."

You didn't even hesitate to do as he asked, grabbing just a small backpack to pack the important things you needed and to grab your son, who had just woken up from his nap. Hongjoong waited in the living room, anxiously waiting for you to come out. His heart started pounding hard when he heard a small whimper from behind. Turning around, he finally came face to face with his very own child. He smiled tenderly as he came closer to look at him.

"Can I...hold him?"

Hongjoong looked at you for permission, which you happily granted. He choked back tears as he held his son in his hands, unable to believe that this was real.

"Hey little one. I'm your daddy. Nice to finally meet you."

❥𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪

Seonghwa completely forgot about what his task in the little town was the second he saw you. At first he couldn't believe that after months of not knowing about your whereabouts, now he's finally found you. He wanted to break down then and there. He had been so lost after he came home only to find you gone without so much as a goodbye. He spent restless nights and chaotic days trying to find a sign of you, but got nowhere. He didn't even know if you were alive.

Before you could get in your car, he approached you.

"Y/N..."

You dropped your keys when you saw him. You tried reaching down for them, but you were too slow and Seonghwa grabbed them, hindering your plans of escaping once again. He was not going to let you go before he got an explanation.

"Why?"

That was all he asked and you knew what he meant.

"I was afraid....."

He looked stunned.

"Of what?! I told you I would protect you! I would never let anything happen to you! If you had asked me to quit, I would do it in a heartbeat for you!" He didn't mean to get so emotional, but he couldn't contain his emotions that had been bottled up for so long.

"No Seonghwa....I was afraid that you would leave me..."

You sighed as you slowly closed the car door that had been covering you the entire time. Seonghwa trailed his eyes down until they landed on your swollen belly. It didn't take long for him to figure out that you were pregnant and he was the father. He looked back up at you, who had tears in your eyes.

"I was afraid you wouldn't want the baby, afraid you'd leave me if you found out...so I left before you could ever find out-"

You couldn't finish your sentence as you began sobbing. Seonghwa stepped closer to you, pulling you into an embrace, one of his hands resting on top of your bump.

"Y/N, I love you and I would have never left you. I love kids and to find out you're carrying my baby, I......I can't even explain how I feel."

He couldn't help himself and pulled back so he could kiss you. His kiss was filled with yearning and when he pulled back, his eyes were brimming with tears.

"Please come back to me..."

❥𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸

Once Yunho found out that you were kidnapped, he gathered all his men to get you out. He did not care about the fact you broke up with him, he still loved you and could not bear the thought of you getting hurt.

It was a bloody and difficult situation, but he was determined to get you out of there. He finally found you, unconscious and locked inside a cold room. Picking you up, he quickly got you out of there and rushed you over to Yeosang's laboratory, which also served as the clinic for them in case of an emergency....and clearly this was an emergency.

Yunho waited outside, desperately praying and hoping you would be ok. It seemed like forever before Yeosang finally came out.

"How is she?" Yunho immediately asked.

Yeosang sighed as he removed his glasses.

"She'll be fine, only unconscious for a few hours, but she'll pull through. She's a strong girl."

Yunho smiled and tightly hugged his friend.

"Thank you Yeosang."

When he pulled away, he noticed that Yeosang had a grim look on his face.

"Yeosang....is there something wrong?"

Yeosang hesitated before telling Yunho what he had discovered as he was checking on Y/N and running tests on her.

"Yunho....there's something you should know.."

Yunho widened his eyes as Yeosang revealed something he was not prepared for. He looked at him incredulous.

"Are- are you sure?" Yunho asked again.

"Positive. I'd say she's around 4 to 5 months in."

It all made sense to Yunho now. It had been 4 months since you left him and he had most definitely been intimate with you the month before you left. Although he was shocked, he was also happy. Happy to know that you didn't leave him because you didn't love him anymore, and ecstatic to find out he was going to be a dad.

When you finally woke up, Yunho's smile was the first thing you saw.

"Yunho..?"

"Shhh. It's ok. I'm here and you're all right.."

He kissed your forehead as one of his hands went to hold yours.

"And our baby is going to be fine."

❥𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰

"Yeosang?" San called out to him once again after he didn't answer the first 3 times.

"Go away. I'm busy." Yeosang sternly said, refusing to even spare a glance at his friend.

He had been like that for a while. Ever since you left him 2 months ago, he had been locking himself up in his laboratory, refusing to come out, hardly eating or sleeping. He just immersed himself in his work to the point all the other members were starting to get worried about him. San knew it was a distraction, distraction from you and from the pain of your abandonment. Which is why he had gone out of his way to stalk you out and find out exactly why you left all of a sudden. And what he found out, he knew Yeosang needed to know.

"Yeosang...I've been following Y/N for an entire week-"

"I didn't fucking ask you to do that." Yeosang harshly spatted out.

"Yes.....but there's something you should know....the other day I saw her walking out of an obstetrician's clinic.."

Yeosang dropped the glass vial he was holding onto the floor, liquids splashing all over. Panic was written all over his face, which then quickly became rage.

"Fucking knew it. There was somebody else."

San was in disbelief at Yeosang's words.

"What? Yeosang! Are you even listening to me?"

Yeosang grunted as he began cleaning up his mess, not wanting to listen to anymore. But San wasn't giving up. Crouching down, he ripped away the rag in Yeosang's hand and made him look at him.

"Yeosang did it maybe cross your mind that the baby she's pregnant with might be yours?"

Yeosang stayed quiet, not even blinking as he thought over San's words.

"Could be mine......and also could be someone else's.."

San nearly punched Yeosang right then and there.

"You know, I didn't know Y/N half as much as you did, but if there's one thing I knew and never doubted was her love for you. So really ask yourself if you truly believe she'd be unfaithful to you."

Yeosang pondered over San's words for the entire night, tossing and turning as he began reminiscing about your time together. Unable to bear it any longer, he quickly went to your place, not caring that it was early dawn. When you saw him, you freaked out and were about to close the door, but he pushed himself in. Even though he already knew the answer all along, he wanted you to say it.

"Am I the father?"

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷

You let out a tiny giggle as your daughter played with the rattle in her hand. You had decided that since the day was lovely and the weather not too hot, you'd take her out for a stroll in the park. She was already a little over a year old and of course hated being inside for too long. You were so occupied in her cute little antics, you failed to notice the man that was walking towards you until he was right in front of you.

"San..." You cupped a hand over your mouth when you saw him for the first time in forever.

"Hey Y/N." He awkwardly greeted you.

"I thought you..." You couldn't finish your sentence, but San knew what you were talking about.

"You thought I was dead?"

He of course expected that reaction out of you. The last time you saw him was when he had to go out on a dangerous mission. He kissed you and promised you he'd come back, but you didn't hear from him again. When months turned to a year and still no word, you gave up hope and resigned yourself to move on and continue with your life.

Little did you know, that he was alive. He was in a coma for a long time, but he regained consciousness. It took a while for him to function and recuperate, but once he did, the first thing he wanted to do was see you again, hold you again and keep his promise of coming back.

"I told you I'd come back..."

He stepped closer to you. You hesitantly reached out to touch him, afraid of it being another one of your dreams and have him disappear once again. Sensing your worry, San took your hand and placed it on his cheek.

"And I never break a promise."

Unable to hold back, you wrapped your arms around his neck, tears spilling out as you were reunited with the love of your life. San was crying as well. The tiny babbling of the baby in the stroller reminded you that you two weren't alone. San pulled back and gazed upon the little girl in the stroller, who looked at him with curiosity. As San studied her features, he realized how much she resembled him.

"Is she....?"

He looked at you, who were donning a proud smile.

"She's our daughter San."

San cried more as he looked at the baby again, unable to resist himself as he picked her up and kissed her tiny face.

"Oh my God! have a beautiful daughter!"

❥𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲

Mingi carefully opened the door, hoping not to wake you up since it was so late, but unbeknownst to him, you were already awake.

"Mingi!"

You jumped out of the bed and went to go hug your loving boyfriend.

"Wow! Somebody missed me." He chuckled in between kisses.

"Well of course I did. I just needed you back here......I was afraid the entire time you were gone."

Your tiny pout made his heart melt. Mingi had always been a sucker for your cute and adorable nature.

"Baby it's all right. I told you I'm bulletproof. Nothing will ever happen to me." He assured you.

"I know...I was just particularly scared this time..." You bit your lip.

Mingi could sense something was wrong with you. His hands that were still wrapped around your waist felt the tiny tremble that coursed through your body.

"Baby...you're trembling. What's the matter? Is something wrong?"

You weren't sure if you should tell him at that moment since he was probably tired from his long trip and it was late, but you were so overwhelmed and excited to share the news with him that you couldn't help yourself.

"You know how I've told you that I hadn't been feeling well lately?"

Mingi nodded, recalling your phone conversations.

"Well I decided to take your advice and went to see a doctor..."

He couldn't handle the suspense. For a moment he believed something was wrong.

"Oh baby please tell me you're not dying!"

You bursted out laughing.

"No Mingi! I'm not dying. It's nothing bad...it's actually something wonderful."

Taking his hands in your own, you stared at him, wide smile as you delivered the news.

"Mingi, I'm pregnant."

He sucked in a sharp breath at your words, feeling so many emotions at once.

"Are you serious?- Y/N, don't play with me. My heart wouldn't take it if it was a joke.."

When you confirmed it was true, Mingi lit up and picked you up, peppering kisses all over your face.

"You just made me the happiest man alive."

❥𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰

It was a devastating night for you. You had gone out to buy a cake to celebrate and share the good news with Wooyoung: you were pregnant. But on your way back home, you heard weird noises coming from an alley. Keeping out of sight, you were shocked to see the man you loved pull out a gun and shoot someone dead.

You ran back home, trying to process everything you saw. Your first instinct was to run and that's what you did. You only took your wallet and a few things and just ran out of the apartment you shared with Wooyoung. You completely forgot about the fact you left the pregnancy test wrapped in a cute little bow for Wooyoung to see as soon as he came home.

When he did, he was alarmed that you were gone, thinking someone had kidnapped you. But then Yeosang called him.

"She knows. And she's gone."

Wooyoung didn't blame you. He was afraid of you finding out who he was because he knew how'd you react. Instead of going after you, he decided to give you the space you needed, knowing you wouldn't want him around yet. He secretly had people watch over you for him, so he could keep an eye on you and the baby.

He only went back to see you when you suddenly went into labor 8 months into the pregnancy, thus resulting in an emergency c-section. He knew he needed to be there for you and for your child, even if you didn't want him there.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, afraid when you saw him in your hospital room.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm here to take care of you and our baby."

You widened your eyes at that, but refused to show your fear.

"I don't need your help. I'll raise him on my own."

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow at you.

"You don't get to make that decision by yourself. He's my son too and you're in no condition to protest. Once you're both released, you're moving back in with me." He stated firmly.

"I don't want to! I don't want to be around you! You're dangerous-"

"Y/N it'll only be more dangerous for you both if I don't keep you by my side. I don't want rivals getting close to you or the baby. So whether you like it or not, I'm staying by your side."

Wooyoung's resolution only deepened when he went to go see his son in the NICU. He smiled fondly as his finger touched the glass separating them.

"Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you or your mom. I love you both too much."

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸

"Sir? I have something important to share with you?"

Jongho gestured for the man to come in. The man held a folder out to him.

"I'm sorry it has taken so long, but I finally got the information you wanted. Address, phone number, everything is in there."

Jongho's heart stopped for a moment. Finally, he'd be able to find out where you were after searching for so long. He shakily opened the folder and took a deep breath when he saw a most recent picture of you. You looked fine and healthy, looking like you put on a little bit of weight. His fingers gently caressed the picture, wishing it was really you in front of him.

"There's also something else I found out..."

You came home from another long day at work. You rubbed your eyes as you made your way into your bedroom. When you turned on the light, you gasped when you saw Jongho sitting on your bed.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

The color drained from your face as you realized he knew. You tried so hard to conceal your secret, but Jongho still ended up finding out.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Don't play dumb Y/N! You know exactly what I'm talking about!" His voice resonated through the room, hurt and pain could be heard in it.

You looked down at the floor in shame, your hand instinctively resting on top of your baby bump. You sniffled softly as you tried to hold back tears. You didn't notice Jongho had gotten up until he was standing right in front of you.

"Why couldn't you just tell me? Do you not know how torturous it was not knowing your whereabouts? Not knowing if you were even alive?"

You knew he was crying as well and it made you feel more guilty about running away and hiding the fact he was going to be a father.

"Do you hate me?"

Jongho sighed, his arms wrapping around you, one hand tilting your chin up.

"Of course not. I could never hate you. I love you so much my darling."

He pecked your lips before placing a hand protectively on top of your bump.

"And I already love our child."

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners.

[leiawritesstories]

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

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

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair. 

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job. 

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth. 

As if she knew anything her staff actually did. 

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together. 

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation. 

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself. 

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order. 

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English. 

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

~

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple. 

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved. 

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure. 

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved. 

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve. 

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind. 

“You broke both of your hearts” 

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart. 

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

~

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice. 

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds. 

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city. 

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner. 

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed. 

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction. 

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth. 

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love.  We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. 

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages. 

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan. 

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof. 

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech. 

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying. 

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan. 

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow. 

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything. 

She was worthy of him. 

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified. 

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

~

Present day. 

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked. 

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch. 

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.” 

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

~

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

~

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I’m Always Curious Part Twenty Eight

Previous Part | Next Part |  Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕

Sooo….. How are we doing…………….

Warnings: ....Less angst than last week? I think? I mean by my gauge anyway y’all might disagree

Also cursing and mentions of canon-typical violence Summary: “I don’t want to sound insensitive or glib, Kat, but this better be fucking good.” 

Can we talk? I had taken my time in answering Una’s message.

Maybe it was a little petty of me, but it was the first time she’d reached out to me in months, and I was tired. Despite the fact that the armistice between the Federation and the Klingons was in effect ahead of the Peace Accord in Paris, my work had yet to be completed. I’d been selected and summoned back to the Academy by Starfleet High Command to work closely with a number of other Comms specialists and the Klingons to draw up a treaty that would be beneficial to both sides, and would help to ensure that the armistice held. Are you going to hang up again? Was my answer, finally. Her response stunned me - but then, Una typically found a way to catch me off-guard. It would be difficult for me to hang up on you in person. 

-- I had this inexplicable urge to hug her, if only to ensure that we were both there, both real and solid, but I knew that Una was not a hugger. Instead I nodded to her as she slid into the booth seat across from mine. I’d taken up brief residence in one of the vacated mess hall spaces in the Academy while I’d waited for her. “How much time have you got?” She asked. “About an hour. It’s technically lunch break.” “We can get something to eat.” “I’m not hungry.” “...How are you?” She asked after a moment. “I’m not sure you deserve that answer.” I didn’t mean to snap, but— seeing Una in person, seemingly unchanged after what I had gone through - after Somonia, after the war, and after she had been so harsh to me, I was not in a mood to be warm and cuddly. Una nodded a little, unflinching. “I do deserve that,” She conceded, “I was...Processing. I should not have said that to you, it was a blatant disregard for your feelings. I’m sorry.” “...Well,” I bristled a little, “Thank you for that.” I glanced out of the window for a moment, gathering myself before asking, “So, why are you on Earth?” “There was a hitch in installing the new Holographic Communications System, it had to be brought in to space dock.” “Crew’s in one piece?” “Yes.” “Are you the only one down here?” “...Yes.” I lowered my gaze to my hands again. “Why did you want to meet with me?” I asked. Una stood and walked around to my side of the booth, sliding in to sit beside me. I didn’t turn to look at her, and she didn’t push for me to. “When...Spock told me that you were alive,” She said softly, “When he brought the timeline to me, the evidence… There was some little part of me that almost hoped he’d made it all up-- Not because I wanted you to be gone,” She hurried to explain, “But because I… Could not fathom the fact that we had left you behind. And seeing your medical file, reading the briefing that you gave Command-- the hell that you went through. If we’d turned back when Cornwell contacted us--” “You couldn’t have known--” “That shouldn’t have stopped us,” Una insisted, “We should’ve gone back, should’ve...Made sure.” I glanced over at Una to find her staring ahead of us, shoulders and jaw tight. “It was hard, watching the crew learn that you were gone. You were missed, you were needed, but seeing the news spread that you were alive, that you’d been drafted into service for the war so soon after you were found— And that we were constantly being told to stay out of the war on top of it … I was angry. I focused that anger in the wrong place when we spoke,” She admitted, turning to meet my eye, “I have regretted that every single day.” I felt tears prickling at my eyes and I lowered my eyes to the gold fabric of her uniform, clenching my jaw. “I’m not apologizing for not telling you,” I shook my head, "I’m sure Cornwell was monitoring my communications, and I don’t know what the repercussions would’ve been-- for either party.” “Considering the Admiral’s tendency to run a tight ship, as it were, I understand. I think you did the right thing...Commander,” Una tipped her head forward as she addressed me by my new rank. I rolled my eyes a little, a small smile creeping onto my face. It had been a battlefield promotion for the sake of my ability to command a small vessel during the Battle of Xisad, one of the last battles fought during the war. Cornwell had promoted me herself. “You know I had to take the Bridge Officer’s test when I got back?” I told Una, slouching down in my seat a little bit, “Just to make it official. They told me that if I didn’t, my rank would revert. I almost let it go.” “Why didn’t you?” “Durling.” “Eli Durling?” I nodded, humming, “Bastard goaded me, said I wouldn’t pass first try, so it wasn’t worth bothering.”

Una smiled. “Stubborn as stone,” She shook her head. “Don’t start,” I began to laugh, and it soon overtook the two of us. As it settled, I gathered my courage to ask the question that had been sitting on the tip of my tongue since Una had told me she was the only one on Earth. “Where is he?” “He’s on Starbase five at the moment. Visiting someone.” “Is he alright?” “Yes.” “And he...He knows?” Una frowned, nodding a little. “Of course he knows,” She confirmed, “You haven’t spoken to him?” “No. He hasn’t reached out and I...I didn’t, I wasn’t sure,” I admitted. I suddenly felt jittery-- sharp, and sensitive. It was like I’d taken a gulp of the worst kind of Koutovian tea. “So--” I cleared my throat, “When do you leave?” “In a few hours, most likely. Starfleet’s set us another mission. Do you know where you’ll be stationed next?” “No. I don’t know how long we’ll be working on the treaty and Command doesn’t want to set me to another post prematurely.” “I understand.” I could see the disappointment in Una’s eyes, but rather than say anything, she just tipped her chin up a little bit. “Do you think you’ll leave Communications for Helm now?” She prodded, and I snorted. We both knew the answer to that. 

-- Tilly and I nearly knocked one another over with the force of our embrace. I squeezed her as tight as I could, grinning from ear to ear, wholly uncaring that the transporter room crew and the Cornwell were nearby. “I have to check on where you’re staying, but um-- I’ll come and find you and show you and-- excuse me, Admiral,” Tilly ducked around Cornwell before hurting out of the transporter bay.

The Admiral arched a brow at the sight of me before gesturing for me to follow her. I fell into step beside her, glancing around. The Discovery hadn’t changed since my last stint on it, of course, but it was surreal to be back on the ship that I thought had been destroyed. But as nice as it was to be on a starship with no threat of war, I was not in the best mood. Treaty completed, peace talks aside, Peace Accord signed, I had been afforded leave. Shortly after that leave had been granted, I'd received a message from Admiral Cornwell. 

“I don’t want to sound insensitive or glib, Kat, but this better be fucking good.” “You’re not in uniform.” “No. I’m not, because technically, officially, I am not here,” I reminded Cornwell as I cast her a sidelong glance, “Were those not your exact words?” “They were.” “Well, then if I am still technically, officially on leave,” I gestured to my civvies, “Then why would I be in uniform?” “You’re in a fine mood.” “Do I need to remind you what happened the last time you pulled me off of leave for an assignment?” I retorted. “The Discovery has been tasked with chasing down signals that have appeared in varying points throughout the galaxy.” I frowned. “I thought that the Enterprise had been tasked with that directive.” “It had, but it experienced catastrophic system-wide failures. The Discovery took over the mission.” “And I’m here because…?” “There is a colony on the way to the next point that’s in need of monitoring. Starfleet is not interfering, but we’re keeping an eye on them. We need you--” “A Tag and Run?” I asked, stunned, “You’ve really pulled me off of leave for a Tag and Run? Why not pull Durling?” “I have. He’ll be here in a few hours to oversee the op. I’ve business to attend to elsewhere.” “Of course you do.” “Commander, I may’ve tolerated a certain amount of this disposition in the midst of the war, but please trust that I have no such patience for it right now.” I fought the urge to snap back and roll my eyes. “I thought that Tag and Runs were only sanctioned outside of the war in the most extreme cases.” “Trust when I tell you that this is extreme, and sanctioned by Starfleet.” Cornwell stopped at the turbolift, turning to face me. “There’s something else that I ought to make you aware of.” “Oh, there’s more?” “I need you to keep your head.” I looked over her face, at the slight grimace on her lips, and that sharp, jittery feeling bubbled back up in my stomach. “...Kat, what--” “Admiral, a question.” I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help but turn at the sound of his voice-- my body was moving before I even fully registered it, half turned from Cornwell, half turned toward Pike. It almost didn’t register, at first, that it really was him. I hadn’t seen him anywhere but my mind’s eye, my dreams, for the longest time. He looked… Well. Almost just as I remembered. There were maybe a few more streaks of grey around his temples, but I didn’t get a good enough look. My brain finally caught up with my body, took in his bewildered expression - the narrowed eyes, his parted lips, the scrunch of his brow - and I turned my head away, eyes set on the turbolift panel. “...You couldn’t have mentioned this before I beamed aboard?” I asked Cornwell quietly. “I wasn’t sure if another ship would be in range. False hope would’ve been cruel,” Cornwell's voice was no louder than mine, her eyes set on the Captain.  I turned my head a little as the turbolift doors opened and Tilly stepped out. “Oh! Wow, just who I was looking for--” She glanced between the three of us, taking in the tense silence, “I...Am sorry to interrupt, but, um, your lodgings are ready, Commander.” “Thank you,” I mumbled. “Commander?” Pike’s repetition was hushed, almost awed. I turned my head toward him a little, unable to meet his eye. He’d missed so much-- and what the hell had I missed? “If you’ll excuse me,” I answered tightly, stepping onto the turbolift with Tilly. “See if you can find a uniform,” Cornwell watched me, “And try to give Durling less lip.” “No guarantees,” I retorted before the doors slid shut. -- 

“That seemed… Tense. Like cage-fight-with-a-Mugato-tense,” Tilly commented over the hum of the turbolift. She was right - it felt it, too. I couldn’t get that look Pike had given me out of my mind. It was buzzing through me; it was a stone in my stomach; it was behind my eyelids when I blinked. “Speaking from experience?” I tried to tease as we stepped off. “Ah-ha,” Tilly shook her head, “No.” I gave her a small shrug, following her down the hall, “Pike used to be Captain of the Enterprise.” “Right.” “And I haven’t seen him since…” “Since he thought you were dead,” It dawned on Tilly, “Oh… Oh that’s worse than a Mugato.” “It’s like two Mugatos.” “Well, here we go,” She stepped aside to let me in, “You’re gonna have a roomie, but it won’t be me.” “Who’s it going to be?” I asked as I stepped inside. “Well, it’ll be me, and if you don’t like that, you can sleep in the frickin’ cargo hold.” I froze again at the sound of that dry, almost raspy voice. “Jett?” I asked, stunned. “Is that a yes or a no to the cargo hold?” She added, standing from her bed, “I mean you don’t actually have a choice, but it only seems polite to ask.” I flexed my hands before I asked, “Can I-- Are you-- Can I hug you?” “Once,” Jett conceded, “But make it a quick one.” I didn’t approach her too fast, didn’t hug her too tightly, just patted her shoulder twice and took a step back. “What, um…” I asked lightly, throat growing tight, “What happened?” “It’s a long story-- And you haven’t even heard it yet,” Jett frowned, watching me step back to what would be my temporary bed and lower myself down onto it, putting my head in my hands. “Hey,” Tilly sat down beside me, resting a hand on my shoulder and rubbing it, “What is it?” I couldn’t answer. I just shook my head a little as I took deep breaths, trying to slow my pounding heart, trying to steady my breathing. “Are you mouthing ‘pie’? I should get her a snack?” I heard Jett ask Tilly-- which made me laugh through the few tears that were leaking from my eyes. “Pike,” I mumbled, “She’s mouthing Pike.” I could understand why the two were trying to be careful with me. I surely seemed panicked by what should’ve been amazing news. And it was amazing. I was overjoyed, relieved that Jett was alright, but-- between the mission, Tilly, Pike, and Jett, I was overwhelmed. And Pike had looked right at me -- Right at me. He’d seemed so startled, like I was a figure that had stepped out of a dream-- or a nightmare: unknowable, unplaceable, but strangely familiar and to be dissected. Maybe that was one small consolation. While Cornwell hadn’t warned me, she'd been remiss in warning him, too.

I tipped my chin up from my hands, looking between Jett and Tilly and giving them a weak, watery smile. “I won’t lie, though, pie sounds amazing right now.” "Sure! We can do that,” Tilly said quickly, more than happy to put a baked band-aid over this hurt, “Jett, you coming?” Reno shrugged, “I could eat.”

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