#thankfully I was only in there for like fifteen minutes because the other people I was with are also autistic/neurodivergent | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

werezmastarbucks · 2 months ago

Text

three hugs

idol!yoongi x f!reader oneshot

oneshot

oneshot!!!!

You will do well to remember that Yoongi is in love with his job first; he is married to his music and is merely cheating with you. There's no space or capacity in his life for commitment to a human; only, the way he cares for you betrays his inconvenient feelings.

warnings/tags: FWB, unreciprocated feelings, jealousy, emotionally cold lovers, dual pov, aerophobia, lovers to exes to ???, drunk sex, cursing, emotionally unavailable Yoongi, hiking in Japan, smut kind of hits you in the face a little, but it's not super graphic?

word count: 12652

music: on the low by justin park, i like it by skz, spring attitude by sunwoojunga

author's note: guys i am stuck in dramatic present. break me out pls

"Shit".

"What?"

You slide the chapstick over your lips.

"It's mint".

Yoongi makes the curious cat-face, raising his eyebrows and pressing his lips together.

"Let me try?"

He found you on the balcony at one of the corporate parties. Those same parties where there was always one particular asshole recording things from under the elbow, in secret, for "reassurance". Thankfully, that evening didn't leak. Yoongi found you on the balcony when you were standing with your hand outstretched, catching rain, and he thought, thank fuck. A normal person. Some piano music was playing, reminding him of Mount Tate. It made him think of low Japanese pines and the fresh morning up above the ground. The droplets were gathering in your palm. You recognized his silhouette although you hadn't spoken before that. You were in too deep from the very beginning.

Now he is kissing you in the corridor of your Hannam-dong apartment, tasting the chapstick and making a face.

"It's freezing".

He's leaving first. You leave fifteen minutes later after his car is half way out of the neighbourhood. You aren't seen together in the street or establishments, unless it's an idol-approved restaurant where mobile phone use is banned altogether, and all the staff is on a massive pile of various NDAs. You do not get to hold hands or speak sweetly to each other, but he gets to watch his dick slide in and out of you, your lips wrap around it, gets to squeeze your breast and twist it, slap your thigh as you bounce on his lap, gets to mess your hair in his fist, yanking your head back, and you get to hear him produce god-fearing moans as he is orgasming under you. You do not date, you are four times removed colleagues and fuck buddies, and for the longest time it works well and boosts productivity tenfold. Stressed? Fuck. Depressed? Fuck. Yoongi can growl at his soundboard, then fall backwards onto his chair and keep falling until he lands head first on your lap. You are careful not to linger with your hand in his hair for too long lest he gives you that look that you don't like. When the tint of pleasure and casuallness slips off his pupil and he starts looking inside of you.

The reason is has been working so well was because you were both too busy and aloof to think about it. Two consenting adults, surviving on coffee shots and IVs, just trying to cum once in a while, and have someone around, who doesn't piss you off. Who doesn't know the people you talk shit about, so they don't side with them.

The fallout happened for you when you noticed him wrinkle his whole face as he squeezed a silicone slime, anatomically correct heart, in a futile attempt to "release the stress". Producer laughed at his snoot. You thought, oh, he's cute.

Oh, shit, he's cute.

Then the whole wagon of romance bullshit started filling your head and it felt like from then on you had about twice as much work. The load that feelings put on you cannot be overestimated. It's the constant thinking, even when you need to be concentrated. It drains the fun out of the sexual arrangement because now, instead of laughing at his jokes, you feel the fire at your ears and awkwardly giggle.

As he brushes his open palm across your hip in a mindless gesture, all of a suden, your whole body jerks, reacts, like a car starting all over again, like you've been zipped.

"Whoa. Haven't had enough?" he asks in the deep, rumbling voice that always gives you one promise. If you want, he can fuck for hours. Ten minutes in between rounds, glass of water, and he's good to go again. Yoongi is never stingy with compliments about your body; he always lets you know when you look breathtaking, and how the angle is to die for, and how nice your curves are, and how he appreciates you.

What he isn't generous with, is the actual connection.

On the day when you simply hang out in the same space, you, with your laptop, getting the documents ready, you decide to annoy him under the guise of being mad at everybody else. You're glad you have established earlier that you're an easily irritable person, because now Yoongi isn't suspicious when you seek his company.

But when you step to him from behind, completely misreading the atmosphere, and put your hands around his shoulders, he flinches. Yoongi never yells, god forbid, or even grunts at you, but instead, he turns around quite coldly, and says,

"Don't make it weird, okay? There was no need for that".

He shows you your place. You are, to each other, instruments. Friends almost, he enjoys your sense of humour when you're cool, and, preferably, naked. He respects your space and expects you to do the same with him. You know he is somebody who needs a lot of alone time. You are the same. The elite type of people who know how to be alone. But you have miscalculated that, after all the sixty-nines, maybe, a hug wouldn't be too out of the line. It is though.

It hurts you because you had already lost. The day when he found you on the balcony catching the rain and made an adorably cautious conversation, you had recognized his frame before he stepped into the pool of light, and you should have known that the cup will overflow and you will fall in love with him.

Like, it's ridiculous, who wouldn't? He constantly makes these funny faces, shaking his oval head, and crunches his nose, and is so quiet that it draws you in. When he comes over for the first time, the fucking doesn't start for thirty minutes because he is fixing a closet door that caught his eye. He is this... an effortlessly lovable, rare person. Emotionally shut, which you interpret as manipulation instead of a fact. His gaze tells you, yes, it only takes two screws. What's the big deal?

You are deeply hurt by his rejection, then a little concerned when he doesn't text for a whole week; it's getting dangerous because you don't know where the line is, that you shouldn't cross. You practice with his brothers: Namjoon seems to like you, and you tend to work with him a lot, sampling his voice and sending him variants. You learn this about yourself: casual touch isn't a norm at all, so it's fair that Yoongi got alarmed at it. You avoid touching people even when you are very drunk: no matter how soft, attractive, squishy they look, you tend to keep your hands to yourself. His suspicion in quenched after a bit, he starts looking you in the eye again as you play annoyance. Yoongi is the type to quietly retreat from an argument, to give up if it takes too much effort to battle; to pretend not to notice rather than confront. When there's a quarrel breaking out, which happens relatively often considering how many different people he is surrounded with, and him, having his authentic, strong opinions; when there's a fight, he visibly shuts off, covers his stomach with his arms and slightly turns around, checks out. Especially when it doesn't concern him or his band. Especially with people he doesn't love.

And he doesn't love you. He likes you, respects you, finds you very attractive for some reason. But he shows love in a completely obvious, unmistakeable way. You know he loves Jimin because he never flinches when Jimin assaults him with hugs. He loves music because he spends all of his waking time with her; he speaks about music; he sees the world through her. He loves mountains, and it's simply easily readable in the way he looks around sometimes. He opens up rarely, and when it's about something that he wants to do, it's usually going to the mountains.

He doesn't love you because it's inconvenient, stressful and isn't booked in his schedule. In his daily life, almost every minute is dedicated to doing something. Even sleep is rationed; he knows what time he eats and what time he showers. There's very little space for improvisation, and at first you felt sorry for him. Because, even though you work in the same place, you are simply an office rat. You walk around the building teaching language models and giving them idol voices. You have days off, evenings off, lunch time and a circle outside work. You can walk the street without covering your head with a hood, a hat, glasses and a mask. You used to feel sorry for him because you thought Yoongi and his other boys were kind of victims to their jobs, but soon learnt that his insane schedule is his own doing. He made it. Training, gym, English, Japanese, guitar, vocals, piano, doctors, meetings, shooting, repeat. Asking him why he lives like that would be stupid. It's because he loves it.

You close up. Losers are left with feeling the sorrow and like the third wheel. That's what you get for catching feelings when you never wanted them in the first place. You're not star-struck: you see him in his least glamourous, in the mornings when he is so groggy that he looks like an old man, dragging his feet around the room, struggling to find his own pants. His hair is all but dead, dry, burnt, occasionally it gets softer when his hairdresser undertakes emergency treatments. You stop thinking of Yoongi as an idol three months into fucking him. That part of his life is constantly present, of course; you even get to see him in his public persona from time to time, but he feels like a different person then. Yoongi is just - surrounded by limits, often a physically unreachable lover, that you happened to get a crush on. You keep on living, having this affair, thinking that the feelings, undeveloped, tend to die sooner or later.

The only thing you can't forget is the look he has given you when he refused your hug. You're not enough to have the right to distract him from work. You aren't loved enough to nag on him or call him without a purpose. You should remember your place. He does good in not invading your space, so what's your excuse?

Otherwise, he's a good guy. Yoongi is generally kind and patient with everybody. If there's a choice, he chooses to do good.

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Like now.

You click your tongue and swipe the web page closed.

"Hm?"

Your favourite band is touring across Europe without thinking of dropping by your place, or at least somewhere in Asia.

"I can even get the tickets, but flights are too expensive because it's the season".

"Berlin?"

"Yeah", you reply absent-mindedly.

"I can take you. I can go there earlier".

"Don't you have the show in May?"

"They've asked me to choose the date, and I haven't decided yet", Yoongi stretches his arms, then falls on the side like a cat, pressing the top of his head to your ribs as his hand tickles them under your other arm. You shift. He knows you don't like tickling too much and does it when he wants a reaction. You clutch his hand shortly to tell him to stop, and his palm settles.

"But we have to go for three days then".

"I can't get time off work. On Monday I need to be back".

"Tell them you're sick".

You brush it off. It's not a big deal anyway. Yeah you haven't been to concerts in years, but you're not seventeen anymore. Life doesn't make it easy to constantly give in to all you desire. You don't have the power to move events like he does. Your hand instinctively touches his hair, and you manage to swipe through it once, before you catch yourself and let go. Yoongi isn't prickly at all, but that one time was more than enough. You don't need to be told twice.

"You know I can't just clear my schedule like that. They need me".

Even though your brain starts working immediately, weighing options, creating loopholes. Maybe you can say you have an emergency, or even leverage Yoongi himself telling them that since he is taking you out of the kindness of his heart, the management should give you a Friday and Monday off. He sighs without making it too sincere.

"You got time to think until tomorrow afternoon".

"Don't adapt for me".

"It's not a problem".

He leaves as usual, quickly and tidy, and you're thinking about the band. You haven't seen them in such a long time. If you get a free shot at going, you should probably take it. You shove all the other reasons deeper and out of the way because you know when Yoongi is working, he is all but absent.

By midnight, you send him a message saying you have dealt with it. He texts back a thumbs up. Asks if you need a ticket, too. Offers to go with you, and you don't take it as anything because when Yoongi is with you, he is actually nice. He is the kind of person who will offer help and then won't pout when it's accepted. You respond to him that you will go to the pit to thrash your head and slam people around, and he retracts the offer.

Then next time you meet, it's already on the private jet. You're taken to the plane fifteen minutes earlier by a security guy wearing flip-flops, while the airport is buzzing and waiting for Yoongi. You slither right through the crowd and to the gate, leaving them behind expecting the real star.

The star climbs up into the plane clutching his knitted hat in his hand and with a cup of iced coffee. Yoongi's eyes dart to the double seats on the other side where Mr Lee makes himself comfortable. You've chosen a single seat at the window, facing forward, so he crashes across the table from you, recalling vaguely that you are maybe afraid of flying. His memory is proven right when the take off begins, and he sees your face stuck to the window, hands clutching the armrests, mouth a lopsided smile like you're judging the gravity. He is sure there's something very loud going on in the airpods in your ears. He keeps observing, notifying with displeasure, that you're afraid for the most part of the flight, uneasy the whole way as the plane soars up, gaining speed and altitude, and then only mildly bothered for the other thirteen hours, only to get panicked again at the beginning of landing. As the runway approaches, he can see your chest freezing, like you are expecting to crash right into the ground, and he can't take it anymore: nudges your foot with his, pushing lightly, then leans over the table. You are too stressed to take an airpod out, so you just grab the hand that he puts out over the table, without taking your eyes off the land. The hold is so strong that Yoongi unwillingly imagines what it will be like at, say, childbirth. You will probably break his wrist.

"Why don't you drink before flight?" he asks, when the plane is firmly on the rest, as he stands up to get his bag from a nearby seat. Mr Lee leaves the plane with the manager and the stylists, to check if everything is ready.

"I get sick if there's turbulence. Once vomited all over a tiny Ryanair plane, it was horrible", you mumble. You feel positively exhausted after an excrutiatingly long flight. Yoongi had motioned towards the bed in the front segment of the plane, but you can never sleep while in the air: it's like the only thing keeping this thing going without nose diving is your pure terror.

"Jimin is coming, too. He wants to show up at the second performance", he remembers, "so you better fly back with us, too".

"Oh. The two us in one plane?"

He shrugs with a smile. Yoongi likes to note how you are a little similar to Jimin. He never clarifies in what ways; you don't work with his youngster a lot, so you have vague image of the guy. But you hear nice things about him, and like him by extention.

He hums instead of a goodbye, then leaves the plane as per Mr Lee's permission. You leave fifteen minutes later, when the arrivals hall is already clear, and the big SUV circles the terminal to pick you up on the corner. You feel happy after having survived yet another flight.

You attend your show and Yoongi attends his; only, while you're thrashing the life out of yourself in the pit to the favourite music, he is sitting like a good boy in the first row of a game, looking pretty. The next day, you would have left on your own to give everybody a surprise at work by showing up on time, but you weigh everything and realize that, if you were so terrified on a private flight, fifteen hours in commercial will be absolutely unbearable and result in some sticky mess. So you linger around Berlin, wander the city for the day after sleeping in, get cold in April weather, get caught up in the rain, eat some curry wurst and in the evening, go to see Yoongi's private performance for the lack of better things to do.

You hang around the dressing rooms before the performance, watching the stylists doll him up: it's always a pleasant sight. Brushes poking his button nose, he squeezes his eyes shut, moving the phone glued to his palm around. You know people are generally curious what the fuck he is constantly doing on his phone. Watches videos or plays mobile games. At the age of thirty-two, he already has several striking features of an old man, and the forecast doesn't look optimistic. Soon, he will start grumbling about the weather, too. His eyes dart to you as you start fidgeting with the coffee machine.

"Can I have one, too?"

"I am putting star anise in".

His stylist, a short quirky girl, turns around to give you a face full of disgust.

"Why?" Yoongi hoots. Like it's a crime.

"Experiment".

"You shouldn't have coffee now", his manager says.

"It tastes okay".

He is sent off to the tiny stage where he is going to entertain selected European fans and show off his average English. You wander around the place, expecting to see Jimin, who can't go on a week without his genius hyung's company. You heard he has a very packed month, promotions and too many rehearsals, all that while his knee injury isn't healed yet, but Jimin is always in a state of panic so he never wants to pedal back. Now he clawed three days out and darted from Seoul to Berlin to show support because he knows Yoongi doesn't feel too comfortable in Europe on his own. Even though he will never say. It's new information for you, and you have to constantly remind yourself you aren't entitled to it at all.

You find him in the smaller dressing room with monitors, observing Yoongi from a distance. There's a whole crew with the light and cameras swarming around him, while Jimin is hunched up on a chair, not even looking at the screens. His head is down, the lid of the cap hiding his face, hands in his pockets, one knee jerking up and down. You feel something like short-fused anger rise in you and don't think much before stepping in and getting into a shot.

"Hey", you look into the camera, then at the man trying to swerve around you, but you outpace him, making your way towards Jimin in little steps. You've seen this tiny guy at work often. Always running somewhere, his strong legs working. Always a smile on his face. You know much more about him from Yoongi who likes talking about his brothers. You know enough to want to protect him, which means, Yoongi always wants to protect him.

"Do you have to record him when he is like this?"

You can only see the tip of his chin, but then Jimin looks up at you, his eyes timid and glistening.

"He is upset. Is this content, too?"

You tilt your head, meeting their eyes. The crew starts grunting something quietly, cameras rolling.

"I am already in it, so I guess you'll have to delete it".

You sit down in front of him like he's a kid. Frankly, a lot of them look like kids. Most of them are only grown on paper, the age in their passports often doesn't respond to how they are. Many boys, stuck in the tender ages they have been traumatised in, by the company. Yoongi often acts like he is a mature twenty-year old which aligns with his debut age.

You put your hands on his knees and lower your voice.

"Who did this, Jiminie?"

The tone makes him chuckle immediately. He sighs like it's a relief. You're glad you have that sense of humour, coupled with your small size, that makes guys smile.

"I'm alright".

"Yeah? You just tell me who upset you, and I'll beat them up".

The recording crew retreats dissatisfied because you refuse to leave his side. Jimin throws them one cautious look and his face lights up just a little.

"Beat them up?"

"Yeah, I go to gym, bro, I punch the bag all the time".

His left knee shakes with his laughter. He adjusts the cap and takes the second hand out of the pocket of his hoodie.

"Thank you".

"No problem. I am a very angry person, I am always ready to protect pretty boys like you".

Yoongi returns to the dressing room a little sweaty, just a little agitated, his nervous system alarmed but satisfied with yet another linguistic adventure overcome without a catastrophe, and sees Jimin snicker at your words as your hands clutch his knees like he is the little princess and you're his suitor. He sees it from the door the handle of which he clutches, and he notices things instantly. How you smile, bowing to see his eyes, how Jimin's hand flies up to his neck, how his voice rumbles deeply to make him sound more manly. Yoongi also notices the tremor in his injured knee and walks over to join you.

As you see him, you stand up and give space.

Yoongi's hand caresses Jimin's head.

"Don't be upset about it".

"I let you down, hyung".

"You didn't. You're here, aren't you? I am happy you're here".

You step away quietly as Yoongi keeps comforting him, glowing in his white outfit, hair slicked back and with highlighter on his cheeks. Looks too much like a groom.

Back at the hotel, Yoongi keeps waddling in and out of the bathroom with a brush in his mouth, one hand in his hair.

"How was the concert?"

"You asked me yesterday and I told you everything", you reply, without taking your eyes off the phone.

"Right. You caught any confetti?"

"No".

"Why not? People gather them and stuff them in jars, you know. We always try to invent new shapes for confetti so that ours will have different jars with different confetti".

You look up at him. He looks like a guy you could spend the rest of your life with, and it hurts quite frankly. So cosy, handsome with his hair undone, plain white tee, one hand sawing something in his mouth with the toothbrush.

"You had coffee, didn't you?"

He shrugs.

"Why don't you ever babygirl me like you did with Jimin?"

A chuckle rumbles in your chest.

"You never show any weakness".

You see that makes him think, actually. Yoongi is probably too caught up in his life to notice such things, to pay attention to himself. He produces a short pondering hm and disappears back into bathroom. This chitchat pisses you off. He is usually way less talkative. Polite, friendly, but not very open. You don't like it when he acts like you have hope. The old grudge you have festers in you for too long, growing from a little childish sore into a sort of trauma. You avoid touching him for too long, talking to him about personal stuff. He usually doesn't respond anything, at best. Establishing limits in the beginning was kind of humiliating; he would take your hand off his shoulder softly, saying he will vacate you at once if you find someone serious. The same goes for him.

Now he gets into bed and his hand is on the top of your head, patting. His arm wraps around your waist as he pushes himself closer. These two days were too tiring and busy so you didn't have any sex, thus, it's even more intimate when he does this. You don't flinch, but instead tense your body up, bitterness a juice in your brain.

"Don't make it weird", you ask. Yoongi lifts himself up on an elbow to look you in the face.

"Huh?"

"I am uncomfortable when you hug me like this".

In the bluish darkness of the room, you can see his bewildered, surprised expression.

"Are you serious right now?"

And you know, you know his mind wanders back to that one time he flinched. Because you know he remembers.

You nod.

"I can't fall asleep with your arm on me anyway", you lie, "it's too heavy".

With a sigh in between his teeth, he removes his hand but doesn't turn away yet.

"What's gotten into you?" then pause, "is it because I told you to back off once?"

It's spectacular how for both of you, that one occasion is a sharp rock shining painful white of awkwardness and unspoken spite.

"Hey, I don't need you to repeat. But you have to respect the limits, too", you say calmly. You understand his shock, because nothing this evening indicated there were any problems. But the outburst is inevitable from time to time, simply because you react to his touch the way you wish you didn't. When it's not during sex, when it's not possessive, you have to ask yourself what's the reason for touching you at all. Yoongi sniffs through his nose.

"Isn't it a little too dramatic? You're really sore about that?"

"I am not".

"Then what's the problem? We sleep like this all the time".

"After we fuck".

"So let's fuck".

You fall back on your pillow and brush through your hair.

"Fine, Jesus", he closes up, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Yoongi does this very well, removes himself, it's not worth it. It's not worth being straightforward, and because he doesn't push, doesn't try to speak to you, you understand his touch, in fact, didn't mean anything. You're one of those soft, warm breathing pillows that help the sleeping. He simply turns around on the other side and purrs like he always does when relaxing his whole body. He doesn't snore and is quite proud of it.

In the morning things are back to normal. It was a slight glitch; in the dark, you can both bury it and pretend nothing happened. Yoongi is allergic to being direct with you, it's all subtle. You see he avoids brushing hands by accident as he takes your bag and pushes it in the trunk; then by the time you make it to the airport, and you go first, he is casual and light again, happy to go home. He gives you one concerned look then says nothing, pushing the mask up his face even though he stays in the car. You go fifteen minutes before him and pass through the waiting crowd, invisible, efficient, led by the security guy in flip-flops.

Mr Lee enters the plane first, and he motions to you, looking you in the eye with a kind smile:

"Take that seat, by the window".

Yoongi follows him and nods at the double seats as well and you understand he wants to make the flight a little better for you. So you plunge in the wide seat at the window, looking outside at the greyish Berlin sky, unassuming white keeping your night trick hidden away. Yoongi sits down next to you, quite ready to fence if you start acting up again, but you don't. The fear of death is much stronger now. Jimin arrives unexpectedly because you have completely forgotten he flies back with you: he lights up the space, happier than yesterday, ruffles his raspberry-lilac hair and eases the tension. Yoongi's gaze clicks onto him and you are grateful for that. You can suffer in silence and alone. Jimin notices how wide your eyes are, and how you clutch onto Yoongi's hand that reaches out as the plane starts moving. The rain makes it worse: you look at the trees bending in the distance, thinking about how a wind like this can knock a vehicle off the course easily.

"You're scared of flying?"

He also asks this because seeing Yoongi hold someone's hand - a girl's hand - is remarkably unusual for him. He studies this clutch of interlocked fingers with curiousity, like it's an animal he thought was extinct.

"That's to put it lightly", you coo back. The plane gains speed, and you are pressed against the back of your seat. Primal horror snatches your breath.

"You know planes crash very rarely? This one definitely isn't going to. Carrying South Korea's most important producer".

His rambling doesn't help. On the opposite, it exposes how naive Jimin's thinking is. You apprecite the movement of his plump, smiling lips, trying to distract you, but he only makes it worse. The plane doesn't care who it carries; if it crashes, it crashes, killing everyone.

"The only dangerous times of the flight are the take off and the landing", he continues, thinking he is setting your mind at peace. You are well aware of that. And for now, you just so happen to be in the middle of a take off.

"Jimin", Yoongi hoots, "you're not helping".

"Sorry", he smiles sweetly, like a little shit. You chuckle at that nasty grin and look away at the window again. Luckily Yoongi's hand actually helps. If you die, you die holding the person you love. The plane dips slightly as the gear kisses the ground goodbye, and you squeeze it, begging silently. For some reason, he thinks of child labour again, wondering why he gets this specific association. The grip is so strong it hurts his hand, and he gives in to the pain, takes it, without realizing what it means.

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The sex changes slightly, and it's a sign you're doing worse. You can't help it when he is close to you, with the body you have come to know well and love a lot, you start shoving your face close to his to catch his breathing, and Yoongi seems to enjoy that, feeding into your delusion. He is a needy, universal lover, always down for some tenderness, who likes to be handled with care. Always a giver, a helper in everyday life, he replenishes the affection from you by being caressed and held tightly, without asking. Only, it hurts you when he does this - allows you to pull him closer, share a kiss that's too gentle as you come undone, because for several seconds it feels like you love each other. But it's a position that he comes to like a lot: you on his lap, faces pressed together as he hunches his back a little to be on the same eye level, to then fall on the side like in water, clutching to each other.

"We okay?" he asks out of nowhere. You look at his soft profile. His upper lip trembling a little, the lower part of his stomach contracting. You push his thigh with your knee.

"Yes? Why wouldn't we be?"

He nods like he is getting ready to jump into a well full of sharks, or go on stage. Closing his eyes for a second, then heaves himself off the bed, like he usually does. He doesn't like to linger, sensory overload of your sweaty body pressed against his. He takes a quick shower and then leaves tidying after himself, ready to work. He never has you at his place like it's too sacred, or like he has some secrets there. It's always hotels or your apartment, a car, a locked office with no windows. He says something about his home being too far away, and how inconvenient it is. He knows it's bullshit, and you know it too. You live in the same neighbourhood.

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Jimin keeps smiling and it suddenly pisses him off. Yoongi folds a napkin and attempts to make a swan out of it, but all that comes out is a plane. He taps Jimin on the shoulder and hands him his little present.

Jungkook's eyes widen at the sight of it.

"And for me? Me, hyung?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes, catching a stare from Taehyung, too.

"Is it his birthday?" the second youngest demands.

"It's not Jimin's birthday", Jungkook confirms.

"What's that for?" Jimin asks, quite pleased.

He wants to jab him playfully, so naturally, it's a bribe: stop staring at my girl. It baffles him. His guts drop. Like when he realizes two meetings clash on his schedule. In that case, after a second of panic, he takes a deep breath and calls his manager. Now, he can't call his manager and say, hey, there's an inconvenience. I don't like the way Jimin can't seem to shut up about Y/N after she touched his leg and smiled at him in Berlin. This glitch is all his. And he closes up. Feelings, undeveloped, tend to die on their own. Whether he needs them is out of question: he doesn't. He's been doing that naturally; of course he'd developed an innocent crush on someone he has sex regularly with. Without it, he wouldn't be able to do that properly. He's a feeling, inspired human, artistic: he can't do it without trust. That's how his head works at least. This kind of light infatuation adds to the sex, it makes it truly relaxing and non-stressful without needing to act on it. Of course he feels something. It's a kind of a driving force in his work, as well.

The real problem arises when there's someone else in the equation.

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Namjoon is focused like a hawk as you fight for your life. You hate losing; perhaps something from childhood when your cousin constantly beat you and then gloated about it; there was a saying in your family, as a game was over, if you can't work your brains, work your hands. The loser shuffled the deck back in order. You hated being the loser. But against Namjoon it is impossible. He beats you every time, although thankfully, he isn't an asshole about it. But allowing himself to throw hands in the air victoriously. You smile about it, press your jaws together, crunch your nose to laugh it off.

You rarely play cards at all, maybe only in the breaks like these, while the laptop is working and you have to wait; and the foyer is realtively empty, and the disposition is relaxed. You have a coffee at your side on the low table, and the faint music creates a comfortable bubble to lose to your friends at a game of cards. You strike the table with the rest of yours, and Namjoon smiles with dimples, pacifying you.

Yoongi takes his place.

"Rematch".

He is surprisingly bad at it. To the point where his friend is at his side, pushing him with his thigh, so that Yoongi has to scoot over on the small couch to let the giant sit next to him.

"Yoongi hyung, but there's a..."

"Shh. I have a strategy".

You observe his eyes above the cards as he glances at you. The feral looks you give to each other are fun. Namjoon hums something when Yoongi has to scoop the cards and take them to himself, losing more and more.

"The strategy sucks", he muses.

"I know what I'm doing".

It makes you concerned but you beat him in the end with a little bit of wit, and at least it's not too humiliating. Namjoon gives him a look, then turns away, and there are dimples again. The banana palm on your side throws a shade on the table as the sun moves across the sky outside. You look at them both as your nostrils grow in size.

"Oh you let me win, didn't you?"

You lean over the table to get to him and see the cards, but Yoongi moves away, then takes the deck and starts mixing.

"I wish. Maybe I'm just bad at it".

Namjoon stands up with a swing, still with that shit-eating grin on his transparent face. Thing about him, he's not good at three things: acting, keeping secrets and lying. His eyebrows give him away every time.

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For you, it's like living. The feeling of love is a familiar thing to you, especially with him. He is a warm, unique human and as long as you meet from time to time, it's only half-way bad. You have things to distract you from it, and you postpone doing something about it, like breaking this arrangement. Maybe next month. Maybe next month again.

For Yoongi, it's like falling. Like his house of cards crashing down. Carefully curated existence spinning out of control. Control is very important to him: he likes to have control over his personal affairs. He likes to know what he is doing every minute of the day. He doesn't have obsessions; doesn't have urges that control him instead. Even though he is a feeling human, he isn't a victim to his desires. Now all of a sudden the peace is tilted, and he snaps. It's like a foot catching air instead of a step. He simply doesn't have time for this, it makes no sense. Feeling in love seems to him like someone demanding giving up his work and his freedom, and he will never do that. It actually makes him aggressive, feels like invasion of his space, and he doesn't like that. How dare you clutch the shirt on his chest in your fist, making those eyes he knows he isn't able to resist, saying "let's ruin it?" Will you buy him a new one? How dare you groan at your computer in a way that makes him so hard that he hits his dick on the desk, trying to stand up? How dare you have that laugh that sounds like gripping his hand, giving birht to his babies?

Love is a thing idols cannot afford. It's nonsense for others. He, he has a goal. A point to his existence, he has something to say and something to prove. It's below him to settle like the peak of his life has been reached, and all his ambition satisfied. Far from it. He gets angry with himself when he lets you beat him in a card game because he doesn't understand himself where the impulse came from. It's not that deep.

He breaks it off. Says he doesn't have time anymore. He memorizes your eyes when you size him up and say,

"I figured".

Although there was no indication before, because you were "okay". He lets it slide, the way you let go of him too easily, without questioning it, almost with a sense of relief. He tells himself it's not his burden anymore, and it should clear his head and lighten the load. After all, the affairs like these are often doomed from the start. One of you might fall in love, or meet someone else, or just grow tired. It's not supposed to be for life. He goes back inside his mind and assesses things left after you: memory of your elbow, twice smaller than his; hairs on his hoodie; the feeling of mountains; a new type of coffee: milk, cinnamon and star anise. He's sure there's more, but the feeling of frustration, like he was about to sneeze and never did, floods him and blocks his brains from thinking.

There's also mint. He remembers it when Jimin comes in one day smelling like it. Yoongi gives him a long look as his shoulders go cold.

"Hm?"

He shakes his head nothing.

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He also gets dreams. They aren't exactly dreams - rather, the lingering visions in his eyelids when on the brink of falling asleep. Pleasant pictures of something he regrets losing; if only there was a way to keep his emotions out of it, he'd watch your stomach contract under his hand forever. Gentle, careful knot of your belly button. The muscles in your sides flexing, soft birthmarks scattered on the skin, the tasty curve of your hip. He dreams again about that one evening when he paid a visit, but was in such a good mood that you ended up cuddling; he couldn't get enough of the sight of your ass in the underwear, squeezing, while you watched funny videos on his phone, and you laughed, thunderously, into his poor ear, snorted with laughter, your body shaking, until he suddenly started noticing the scent of your hair, too.

That's the adult way out: everybody has feelings. The choice is whether to act on them or not; you think, your feelings are only your business and nobody else's. If Yoongi asked, and you feel that at some point he was close to that, you'd tell him to fuck off and mind his affairs. You get to keep what you have inside your head.

Now, as he enters the studio with the hood on, you feel perfectly balanced and calm. Love hasn't hurt you as much as this man; he takes off the hood and you nod to the booth, and he casually follows your instructions. You step after him and hand him a sheet of paper. He's been to a facial recently, you can tell. His nose pores are clear and he's glowing, giving him a slightly pouty look. Smells like star anise. Imagining hugging him in his car as it's raining outside, hiding your face in his clean hoodie, his hair obedient under your palm, is so simple you could draw a picture if you had any talent for it.

"Read from here when you see the green light".

"I know how recording works", he chuckles, a little shy. You smile back and brush him off. He picks on the skin on his thumb and you shake his hands apart out of the habit you haven't smothered yet. However, he complies and puts them in the pockets, looking at the paper. You leave the booth and go to the laptop where you get ready.

"In Japan, women are considered superior divers", he begins reading, his voice unfiltered by his acting. Yoongi has many voices, you've heard most of them you think. The favourite of yours is the purring request he used to send straight into your ear canal, pressing his lips against the side of your head: turn to me, I want to see your face. His speaking voice betrays his origin, and you specifically asked that he drops the Seoul accent when recording. So it's authentic Min Suga, hands in pockets, hair on his eyes, head slightly moving with his own rhythm he weaves easily.

"...due to distribution of fat in their bodies and ability to hold their breaths underwater. Pearl fetching was a dangerous business and required light, swift, nimble women who could at the same time withstand the harsh underwater conditions. Very often they would swim up all blue, but pearls tucked neatly in the pouches on their waists. Gifts of the sea have never been easy to retrieve".

He is done in fifteen minutes, reading overall two pages of text. You can see he's not worried and stressed. Probably sleeps well; he unzips his hoodie and takes it off because it's a bit hot in the studio - you get cold sooner and easier than other people. As he pulls it off himself, the shoulder tugs on the hem of his T-shirt and exposes a bit of his skin, and you see a dark-blue bruise.

"Tsk".

He leaves the booth, turning his head like a mill, a little distracted.

"What?"

"That's such an asshole move".

When there's nothing to lose, as you've lost him already, you actually feel more liberated to speak your mind exactly as it feels. Yoongi is a bit lost, looking at you.

"Huh?"

"So big, as well. You told me you have no time for that business anymore?"

You actually pout, feeling shockingly indifferent. Your feelings have been, so to say, stomped upon, dull under all the cruelty.

His hand reaches for his shoulder as fingers send the impulse back into the brain, and he stretches,

"That- I'm a big boy, alright?"

You cock your eyebrow shortly.

"Could've just said you don't like me personally", you download the file containing his voice and begin renaming it according to the protocol.

"That's not it", he even puts the hoodie back on. "On the opposite, it was getting too personal".

"I agree. I am just surprised you found someone else so soon, that's all", you mutter, your eyes on your work. He hums. Retreats, it's what he does best. Slithers quietly through the door after making sure he is done here.

You tell him he is, hissing the words with a stretch, giving them double meaning.

Yoongi leaves, hands pulling on the sides of his zip-up hoodie, up and down, up and down, thinking about the idiocy of it. He's finished filming a Run BTS episode yesterday, where punishment was cupping. He's lucky he only lost once. Taehyung was roaring with pleasure as he vaccumed the fuck out of his shoulder. What would you say if you saw the back of Namjoon, who lost five times?

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Yoongi believes in karma and all that shit. Especially when he's drunk; he keeps thinking about that little misunderstanding and how your cheeks pouted as you stared into the laptop, accusing him of getting hickeys a week after he ended the arrangement. He's not feeling guilty or anything, but it's unnatural for him to not keep things straight. Although with you, he thinks, there's already so much shit tangled that he could as well just leave it be. First of all, never talked out that weird rejected hug incident; then again the breakup itself, like walking on the straight road and sudeenly falling into a manhole. He's not in the habit of leaving things piled up, but he just can't seem to learn to be direct with you. It's bad enough you make him horny like he is going through puberty again, you also tie his tongue down. He preferred to keep it deep inside of you to avoid talking at all. After all, that was the deal.

When he starts getting drunk at the Another Billion party, this awkwardness returns to him and he gathers all his might and good will to search you out and tell you what the bruise was about. He is ready to drag the other members with him so that they vouch for it; he finds he doesn't need to do so, because Namjoon and Jimin, of course, are already glued to you. Next to an ugly black-glass sculpture supposed to represent an idol throwing their arms up. Namjoon is swaying, he can't take his alcohol. Jimin is sturdier than him, but is also red in the neck; both listening to you with their mouths slightly ajar. When you talk, people around always listen, and Yoongi hates that, too. That this ability of yours, together with your body, your deafening screeching laughter, your iron grip, your moans, your fears, the mint of your lips, don't belong to him. He doesn't want any of it - but it sucks that other people get to experience it, too. He almost goes blind for a second, slapping his glasses back to his face, as the idea of Jimin knowing what the chapstick tastes like, crosses his mind.

"...that I was a huge black dragon. This is the best dream I've ever had in my life", you enunciate, making sure they are listening to you. Both Joon and Jiminie are so out of it, it makes you shake with the laughter you push down for the sake of the story.

"I was big, I felt big, I remember the feeling of absolute freedom" (Namjoon has exactly one hiccup) "as I was flying above the Aegean sea during black storm. Black dragon, black storm, the waves were gigantic".

"How did you know it was Aegean sea?" Jimin asks.

"I had this dream when I was staying in Greece. It's also my favourite sea".

"Yoongi really likes mountains", Namjoon mutters. You stare at him for a second.

"Okay?"

"Continue".

"And I was flying around, laughing out of happiness, I was so elated I actually laughed, and I was throwing these black pearls into the sea..."

"Sea and mountains", Namjoon continues, funnily, "nuah?"

"Are you sure it wasn't Black sea?" Jimin tries to ignore his hyung, putting his hand on Namjoon's chest as the leader starts to tilt forward.

"I mean you were black, storm was black, the pearls were black..."

You purse your lips because he makes a good point. In between their heads, you see Yoongi adjust his glasses and glaring at you three like you are dismembering a freshly caught deer with your bare hands.

"What's up with the nerd slut?" you nod at him, and the two turn around. The blood rushes back from Jimin's neck as his face lights up in a smile. His imperfect teeth make his smile infectious.

"Yoongi-ah", he coos softly as the cloud approaches.

"I need to talk to you", you can hear he's had a two or six, or sixteen. Yoongi is way too good at drinking, he can take a lot of it and then be drunk for a lot of time, hiding it, and only burst if someone really pushes him. His eyes are glossy behind the lenses of his glasses.

"You tired?" Namjoon becomes perceptive when he drinks. Yoongi nods and extends his hand on the waist level. You do not take it but follow him as he nods in the direction of a quieter corridor. Big hall is booming with music and it irritates you both; everybody reacts differently to alcohol: Taehyung is throwing his ass around on the dancefloor for example. It's his celebration and he is allowed. You, you get more yourself you'd say. All your impulses become sharper. Your loudness becomes louder and quieteness, quieter. Your insecurities shine, but so does your wit. Your laughter becomes irresistible, Yoongi would say, but you never asked him to know about it. His laughter is always irresistible to you, just like his word. So, even though you are sore, hate him a little, feel like aching next to him, insanely jealous, when he calls, you walk with him out of the room, plunging into the lukewarm shade of the corridor.

You sneak away like two schoolchildren trying to act tough. We need to talk. Sounds like giggling to you, and you do. His thick neck turns to you. He's been working out again lately. Of course.

"I need to make something very clear", he begins, harder than you expected him to, and your spine shivers, at the same time with your knees wobbling. You don't know if you're intimidated or upset. You must unintentionally give him a rabbit look, because he stops abruptly, looking you in the face.

"The... that? I was cranky, okay? It was one time".

You struggle to catch what he means exactly, having a moment of complete lack of clarity. All you see is his full lips letting a breath out.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what, why have you been punishing me for that this whole time?"

Your brows go up, brain struggling, because you just keep thinking about that hickey on his shoulder. And it makes you angry that he's irritated, and agitated after drinking. You can bet you have way more beef with him than he with you.

"Big deal, I brushed you off once, you need to get over your pride some time. Like it's cracking me that that's what you've been hung up on. Becasue I told you to back off, you've been refusing to hug me for six months?"

You bang the back of your head on the window glass as you throw it up. The last thing you need right now is lectures and complaints, but it's refreshing that Yoongi would speak in such long sentences.

"You replaced me already", you hum, like it's an unbeatable argument that is made of gold.

You hope he shuts up and decides to douse the tension in one last hookup. You're down for it. Arguments are tiresome and feel unnatural with him, the guy who prefers to tuck everything in and walk away before it spills out. You realize he isn't actually talking anymore, but his eyes are studying the window behind you as if he's considering breaking it.

"And you replaced me?"

It sounds like a half question, like he's not sure. The intonation going up. Suddenly you think of whales and their gentle, lonely calls, but also, about the wind, whistling in between the crooked branches. The 'fuck it' is announced without being uttered, as your hands reach in the half-dark for his pants. He isn't wearing a belt so your fingers crush into the hem of the jeans and go straight to the button. Yoongi's palm covers them, squeezes your fingers almost with rage, stopping you roughly, but he steps closer, and the last thing you see is the frame of his glasses. He kisses you, at the same time as you kiss him, mumbling something about the last time, just to be sure, your mouth opens simultaneously with your legs. Yoongi's hand slides off yours and grabs your side aggressively, hungrily; a month was the longest you'd gone on without jumping each other's bones, so it's not the withdrawal. It's something else. You tug on his jeans, unsure to unbutton them because you've read his gesture clearly. There's people behind the door. He lifts you up with one arm and sits you on the window sill and your arm snakes around him, touching the back, fingers clinging to every inch of his thick, white, moving body. Kisses slurp in bites, his tongue makes you dizzy. He has never kissed you like that before; not when he was needy, not when he was very horny, not when he was vulnerable which didn't happen often. Guess it's one of the bright colours of making out with a human; they surprise you. The love rises from the depths of your guts, making its painful way up, and you bend and lean against him, trying to feel his body pressed to yours. Yoongi's hand clutches on the top you're wearing like he's trying to tear it off you.

"Do they know it was once covered all over in my cum?" he grunts against your cheek, and your spine shakes like he's done a spell on it. Tiny shivers under his fingers. You grab his neck.

"I don't casually go around telling that to people".

His warm, hard hand sneaks under the fabric, fingers count the ribs, then pinch them, and his mouth slides lower, across your cheek and to your throat. You wish you could stay there forever. The blue and green in your inner mind, darkness around, and Yoongi clinging on you like he's turning during the full moon. You hear his glasses click against the plastic as he takes them off, then his hand returns to the small of your back and presses. He smells so familiar already that it feels like it's going to be your doom; you know all his scents, you're afraid. Eros by Versace, white vanilla detergent on his clothes, blueberry chewing gum, the leather of his car, cloudberry conditioner in his hair, and the skin smell, the clean smell that he has, the perfume no one can replicate and you can't explain. Unfortunately you love all of them, really love in the most genuine way, and it makes you sob all of a sudden, but you mask it as a moan. Yoongi hisses, letting go of your neck, and his hand makes its way up to cover your mouth. In the dark you see his eyes as he kisses the back of his palm. Can he even love you the way you have come to love him. Is he capable of that, with his fixation on his work. Constantly caught up in thinking about how to round up the beat, and how a bridge will come out, his head poking out above the chair, is he even capable of loving someone. He pulls you, your legs made of wool, deeper, looking for an empty room with a lock, and, preferably, optionally, without a cctv hidden somewhere in the foot of a desk.

You barely pay attention to the room; the dark eats away at it. You two, connected at the mouths, hands on each other's ribs, in each other's hair, stumble backwards, like a limping monster, trying to find a place to land. The space around spins; there's nothing but Yoongi, and if he pulled you after himself into a chasm, you'd only clutch his hand tightly. He kicks something behind you, and your calves feel the soft of a couch, and it's the signal to turn. Yoongi crashes onto it, making the vision you've had a fraction of a second ago, reality: you fall, fall into the darkness, guided by his well-studied hands, tracing the veins on the backs of his big palms, a little dry. The shape of them holding you tightly is something you want your mind, drunk or sober, to never forget. You might not have him after this, tomorrow, but now you land on his lap, knees spread, his hand on your back under the crop top, scratching lightly with his short-cut nails. His fingertips are the best - slightly rough from guitar, but sensitive; Yoongi has memorized all the spots on your body, dividing it into "yes-no-maybe" zones for scratching. He knows the "yes-yes" zone just around your spine, it makes you arch your back as you grind your hips against him. You like him for not being too chatty during moments like these; his breathing lets you know. The hardening of his cock is obvious through two pairs of jeans. Falling apart, you think about the mess of it all: you don't have any spare clothes, no extra underwear, and this one is already no good, soaked through. Your hands grab the back of his head again and hold on for dear life as Yoongi guides your hips against his, forehead pressed to your collarbone, your gentle mid-sized giant with dry, soft hair and prominent neck muscles. His shoulders, lean, strong, work under your hands, wet mouth grabbing at your breast through the top. He can't see shit without his glasses or lenses, and especially so in the relative dark, where the only light comes through the windows from the nearby buildings; so sensory study is all that's left to him. When Yoongi is ready to undress, he usually produces a sort of a tired sigh-groan, and then his fingers start pinching at your flesh. But now he doesn't. The alcohol is spinning your head, the heat in your core pooling, and you sort of forget where what is. The only thing that matters is to find his puffy lips again, bearing the taste of mint and whiskey. You raise yourself to deepen the kiss, and Yoongi pushes you back hard, lifting his own hips to connect. The breath is caught somewhere in the ribs, shiver crunching the body, but his hand steadies you in comforting strokes. You are trying to breathe, you really do, but it comes out in gushes, sometimes audibly, as your fingers trace his beautiful face. Yoongi is so good at making you come undone; you barely control your own body, he becomes the puppeteer at the thunderous wave of your feeling. The arousal at this point is animalistic, coming up to your throat, making you mumble. Not talk - talking is banned in between you, but the unconnected shreds of words dripping off your lips, that he catches with his teeth, are okay.

"I want you".

"No, I want you more".

You feel his shoulder flex as he lifts your hips, depriving you of the pressure of his groin, and you immediately whine.

"Oh no, I spoiled you", he whispers, Daegu words blurring with each other, his voice a soft purr. He turns you, pushing on the stomach, and you lie down, and his hands start working immediately, mouth at its favourite activitiy: tracing the lines of your shuddering stomach. Yoongi undoes the jeans and pulls them down together with the underwear. His fingers plunge immediately into you, without a warning, and you produce a silent shriek. Hands searching for him, nails digging into the massive of his shoulders. Yoongi likes the way his own words sounded: I spoiled you. Likes the absolute mess that you are, squirming at his touch, he feels appreciated, wanted, needed. He never managed to make anyone like this before; he has made a quiet unspoken promise long time ago to never tell anyone about it. About how you seem to lose your sentience when his lips are below the solar plexus. He is in love with this sensation. He wants to keep it going, but can't; he can't think; he pulls down his jeans because he wants to fuck you senseless, fuck you into amnesia, and himself; so that tomorrow the things are easier and clearer; you're a blurry silhouette for him, moving against the sea of darkness, the buoy he's swimming towards, and the tighter you cling onto him, the better. He feels cradled, he feels loved. It feels hot inside of you, incredibly tight, you always wrap your legs around his waist like a monkey, trying to push him deeper even when it starts hurting the hips. The best thing - you both cannot come easily because you're drunk, so it just goes on and on, the swimming, the touching, your sounds blooming like flowers on fruit trees. He thinks of sampling them, putting them within the underbeat, masking them, but using them; he has been trying to figure out the beat that would describe the way he feels with you: sharp hip bone in his hand, the heel of your foot on his leg, the tasty chemical of your peach fragrance that he licked clean off your throat. It's the frustration of never finding the right melody, because making music requires love, and he is too busy to allow it to himself, so he just fucks like there's no tomorrow, apologizing through his embrace, dripping feelings off the tips of his hair.

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A whole month away is good. For Yoongi. He gets to travel across all Asia and do some hiking, turn his phone off and just be completely alone. Not to think, he doesn't want to think, he wants to have his brains blank and just see pines, and the slope of the mountain, the birds soaring above, and the flowers fluttering in the wind. But the thoughts come by themselves; he realizes it's a trap that he had set for himself. Because mountains remind him of you, and he finally starts understanding what exactly makes the connection. It's the feeling of freedom, good loneliness and realness that they provide.

Relationships are promises, ruined plans, unplanned arguments, ridiculous commitments and distractions. Yoongi knows himself very well: he is not a multitasking person, and when he is in love, which thankfully doesn't happen often, he is beside himself with the feeling, and it affects work. Sometimes positively, sometimes negatively. It's been so comfortable, so well-organized - living in his independence bubble - that he is pushing the ghost away, because the ghost is whispering scary things to him. Coffee dates; he imagines sitting with you in a place in Yongsan-gu and watching your face and your beaded necklace not matching your band tee. He imagines you in his hoodies; you have stolen none of them, you always abstained from going through his things, touching him too much, and now he realizes it was because he had pushed you away that one time. He imagines you'll be trouble, headache, high maintenance. If you had been sore, had held on that grudge for almost a year, over a thing he had almost forgotten. He imagines these fights will make him feel so alive. You riding in his car, on your phone; cooking; lying in bed with one knee across his belly - all those things have already happened, but from sensual they are now turning warm. Yoongi understands he is losing, he is already taking this weight upon himself, little by little, because in the mountains he refuses to wear his earbuds and listen to music, and the silence is the ghost that follows him around, hammering the truth he's been avoiding into his brain. He imagines your hand gripping his palm, so hard that he yelps in pain, as you turn your face away, and the line of your jaw exposes the little birthmark you have on your neck. He's been kissing that birthmark in secret for months, pleased that you will never guess why he's choosing that very spot specifically.

You brew a coffee. Every time you're bored, the recipes become more and more complex, you keep adding ingredients until the coffee either sends you to heaven or is undrinkable. By now, there's cinnamon, star anise, almond syrup, and now... you're eyeing mint like it's about to jump you. Yolo, you think, and add a little mint, and it's still a success. You're becoming a coffee extraordinaire, you think; even if no one else appreciates your inventive mixing skills.

Jimin is there, of course; cruising around you like an albatross, appreciating every little thing about you. But his presence is breezy, light: he is a natural flirt and it doesn't set off any of your alarms. It seems he simply likes being around you. You see glasses case that he puts in another hand as he takes the coffee from you.

"Never seen you wearing glasses for real?" you're surprised.

"These are not for me, I picked them up from the store for hyung. He doesn't leave his little evil studio these days, got back to the 7AM schedule".

He shrugs. 7AM schedule with Yoongi means he works all night and goes to sleep at 7AM for about three hours, then gets up and goes back to working.

"He never found his glasses?"

"No".

"Somebody must have stolen them", you muse, recalling how they were left lying on the window sill.

"It's weird, normally he only loses things if they cost more than a thousand bucks", he snickers. You're expecting a feedback. Jimin's tastebuds have proven to be professionally sensitive: he is picky with food and always gives an honest opinion of the coffee. He frowns first, his huge eyes focused on the cup, full lips moving like he's chewing. Jimin is charismatic while doing nothing, and he definitely wouldn't have a problem with you, so you wonder why you can't just unlove Yoongi and fall for him instead. Or better, for nobody at all. Even in his brother's face, you're searching for his familiar features, but there aren't any. Jimin looks like a genie who will grant your wishes in the most perverted way so that you'll feel sorry after.

"It's... good?" he is, himself, shocked. "It makes me want to go to Morocco".

"That's an unorthodox review".

"You should get a patent. Name it Faux Morocco Latte and you'll be rich".

"I already have a rich inner world".

He chuckles ironically at that, keeping the cup close to his lips. His phone rings.

"Oh, there he is. I think he needs his glasses", Jimin ignores the call from Yoongi, putting his phone on the desk. "Let him wait a little, right?"

He pats you lightly on the shoulder, like he is siding with you on something. Like that one friend who is ready to smother your ex with her bare hands without needing to know the details. You are slightly bothered by it.

Yoongi lifts his arm and puts his hand into his hair, his eyes fixated on a spot on the desk. The underside of his shoulder is tense, he freezes in this position, thinking, and you can't avoid looking at him even though your eyes move. Your spot is never next to him, it's always a little away, in the back, not at the table. You do not see it as derogatory: without your work, they can't do it, and the hierarchy is there for a reason. When idols are present during the meetings with usual staff like you, everybody feels sorry for them. There go the scapegoats, the puppets, the clowns. Everybody is nice to them because they all have two features: beauty and lack of autono-

"I don't give a shit", Yoongi says calmly.

You doodle in your pad; these meetings are a must, and most often not a word is spoken about your area of work, so you just kill your time looking at Yoongi; at least something. Now everybody is looking at him.

The manager raises his eyebrows. He looks tired all the time.

"Sorry?"

Yoongi leaves his hair alone and places his hand on the desk, wrist caught in a hair tie.

"I said I don't give a shit about the deadline".

Namjoon purses his lips producing dimples. His silence indicates that he agrees with Yoongi. One by one, Bangtan Boys usually stand behind each other, but it always takes a first brave mouth to say something outrageous. Taehyung is rubbing his lower lip absent-mindedly. Yoongi's eyes are puffy, he gives the manager an unaffected shark-like stare that masters openness and simultaneously, stubbornness of a rock.

"It's there for a reason".

"We had discussed the update, and Taehyung hasn't slept in three days".

Taehyung doesn't even hear him.

"What about you?" manager asks softly, trying to lead Yoongi away from his deadly determination.

"I'm working. I'm fine".

His eyes start searching the room, landing everywhere except you. You cross your legs and go back to your pad.

"A week is fine", Namjoon adds, to defuse the tension. After a little back and forth the manager gives up. He always does; he's not the real boss here. Everybody gets up, the important people first: manager leaves the room pacing, hurrying to implement the schedule corrections, J-Hope leaves darker than a storm cloud, which is unusual for him; you gather your things from the floor: you're in a habit of just putting your bag and phone next to the chair since you're sitting at the glass wall. The line at the door gradually disperses and you walk to exit the meeting room but Yoongi turns his head, still sitting, and looks straight at you with a completely different stare. He doesn't say anything, so you just look at him and move on, but Taehyung closes the door in front of you like he didn't notice, and walks away. You see his back through the grey-transparent glass.

"Y/N", Yoongi sounds tired, more tired than he did a minute ago. His back hunched, he is softer, more undone.

"Huh, CEO?"

In spite of himself, he gives out a smile, and his teeth scrape over his lower lip, which makes you wince.

"What do you want?" you say quickly, colder, trying to wrap yourself up, zip up, close up. His hand reaches out but you're too far away, ready at the door, wondering what kind of games he is playing. The fatigue is obvious on his face but thankfully it's not your burden anymore. It does pull on your strings though, so in an attempt to keep up the strength, you frown.

"You win", he says. His words are round, it's the best shape. "I lose".

He stands up, and you want to roll your eyes, not with annoyance, but with an overwhelming feeling of unwillingness. The labour of trying to get over him is draining you like there's a huge gash somewhere that's dripping blood. Every time he is in close vicinity of you, the stream becomes only bigger, it's mentally tiring. Fighting feelings is exhausting. Yoongi is reaching for you, his face an impression of quiet need, and you try to avert his arm, a crusty cut on his elbow, gently. He goes for a timid hug with one hand and you grow stiff, putting up your shoulder. You end up straining your neck, chin up while Yoongi performs the softest forced hug. He needs to press his forehead into you, because he hasn't eaten in twelve hours, and he is so frustrated and a little terrified, and you are the smell of home.

The man of few words. His actions speak much louder.

What's even louder is the music that's on the USB he shoves into your hand. You listen to it at home, sitting away from the laptop like it can see your embarrassed face going through motions. The beats are clean, the rawest you've heard. Yoongi has his own way of polishing music that always makes it crisp like the air in January. They have no words, because it's Yoongi. But the beats, the melodies, talk to you. They sound like the night you met, when you caught rain on your hand to soothe it. Sound like his voice filling the space of his car, and like the hiss of the coffee machine, like the shuffling of your sheets, and like the streets, muffled by the windows, hooting outside. His melodies sound like the wind and the voices of pine trees, their ancient blood singing inside the hard bark. Sound like the sea. The music he has written and named after you sounds like he is diving for pearls and swimming up, panting, like he has given up to something. It's the crack of your hip getting back into place, and the click of his phone, the purr he produces when falling asleep. It's his flowers. The dark circles under his eyes mean he has gotten over the block, and two days after giving the USB to you he calls, and there's an audible strain in his voice, because he is learning to speak:

"I can't give you all those things that are normal, you know".

"Like what?" you are spiteful, although you understand his regret. He doesn't even go grocery shopping. All food is delivered to his house. Last time he got to walk around the city, he got ecstatic and wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks. He was like a child, describing the feeling of the asphalt in Gangseo-gu next to the botanic garden under his foot; you felt deeply sorry for him. Right until the point he mentioned having to borrow the jet again, because he wants to go visit a friend in America.

"Like walking home from a bar at night together, like, holding hands".

"Sounds like it's your fantasies".

"That's all I have".

You tell him you don't want to be the glaring vortex hole in his schedule, sucking in meetings, messing up sleep, putting a strain on the well-spinning parts of the mechanism. He replies it's too late for that. And for once, he actually sounds happy.

──────────────────────��──────────────

He points his finger:

"The line where the red roofs end? That's the Osaka Bay".

"If I get a really good start", you muse, "and have like a very big umbrella, can I jump and glide all the way there?"

He thinks about it seriously. Squirms his face in the sun like a sleepy cat. His black eyes blink.

"You'll fly for around seven seconds".

His hand touches the side of your head and then slides down to your shoulder, then moving your closer, pressing you into his side. The air is so fresh that it's putting you to sleep, and the tears in your eyes, provoked by the wind, make everything around seem blurry. Like you're in a cartoon. Like it's a dream. The sea far in the distance shines in separate flashes of sunlight.

"There was no need for that", you mutter, cosying up next to him, clutching on his big arm. His neck smells like aftershave and raspberries. The curse hisses in between his teeth, fingers pinch your cheek lightly. Then go back to your shoulder and start drumming a rhythm; writing music off the closeness of you. You leave the slope of the mountain together, at the same time.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #yoongi angst #suga x reader #yoongi smut

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togenabi · 2 years ago

Text

pick me up

roronoa zoro (opla) x reader

♡—zoro never paid your jokes or pickup lines any mind. that is, until something happens that makes you stop.

word count♡— 3.2k

genre♡— mild angst, fluff, straw hat!reader

content notes♡— opla zoro, fem!reader, reader wears a dress and tells very bad jokes, creepy dude oc, don't be creepy be cool yall, reader pulls off a heist with nami, zoro gets jealous, alcohol consumption, no use of y/n, barely proofread

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is a request from anon! I'm sorry if I tweaked a few things, I'm not the best at angst hhhh I hope you still like it!

“Okay, okay. Wait. I got it this time.” You say, already trying to keep from laughing.

“Why were the kids having trouble in pirate class?”

Zoro only side-eyes you with his arms crossed, vehemently unimpressed.

“Because they were overbored!”

Watching for his reaction intently, you keep your eyes focused on his face... Nothing changes.

You tsk, but aren’t seriously discouraged. This is how he always reacts to your jokes, after all. “I’ll get you one of these days, Roronoa Zoro.”

The swordsman only sighs, leaning back into his seat to take a nap. “You do that.”

“Don’t listen to him, love.” Sanji says from the other side of the kitchen as he cleans the counter. “I thought that joke was good.”

“You’re lying, but I appreciate the sentiment, Sanji.” You grin at him. Focusing back on the book you were reading, you miss the amused, challenging look Sanji sends Zoro.

Everyone hears Luffy approaching the kitchen before he enters. “Guys!” He bellows. “We’ll be reaching land soon. Be ready to leave in fifteen minutes!”

The majority of the day is spent restocking supplies. You were all split up into pairs, but before you left, Luffy pointed to a restaurant with a flashy, illuminated sign on top that reads: ‘Bistro of Light’. How cringey of them.

“We should meet there for dinner! You don’t mind taking a break, right, Sanji?” Luffy asks eagerly, and you think that no one could say no to him when he’s so enthusiastic. Sanji nods, and you all go through the town until the sun starts to set.

The inside of the restaurant is just as ridiculous as the sign outside. Chandeliers of every color hang on the ceiling. Huge fish tanks and fountains lined with lights almost blind you. You laugh when looking at it all causes Zoro to wince.

“Hey Zoro,” You call for him. “You know what’s faster than the speed of light?”

“...”

“My heartbeat when I think of you!” You wink at him, proud of the joke even when he only sighs and looks away.

Usopp walks up to a receptionist standing behind a desk. “Hey. Table for six, if you would be so kind.”

“I’m afraid we’re at full capacity at the moment.” They respond. “You’ll have to wait, is that alright?”

Everyone shares a look. Except for Luffy, who looks dead set on eating here, you all feel unsure about waiting.

“When’s the next table going to be available?” Usopp asks. “We’re actually a really big deal. It’s gonna be really embarrassing for you guys if you don’t let us in.” The person frowns, face screaming, ‘is this guy serious’?

But before they can reply, a booming voice enters the restaurant. A tall man, dressed in a pristine white suit and wearing jewels on every finger, pushes you out of the way to yell at the receptionist. You stumble, but thankfully Zoro is there to catch you.

“What on earth is going on here?! Why are there so many people crowding the entryway?!” He fumes, angrily gesturing to your group.

“If they’re not going to eat, then I strongly suggest—” The rich man freezes suddenly, his eyes trained on you.

You keep your face as emotionless as possible, but you die laughing inside when Nami swipes a brooch from his jacket while he’s distracted with you.

“Ah,” The man says. His tone softening a considerable amount as he walks over to you. “I thought I had the best jewels in my treasury, but you're the most radiant gem I've ever laid my eyes on.” It takes everything in you to not back away. Zoro tenses beside you.

“Why haven’t these guests been guided to a table?” He asks, turning back to the receptionist.

“We’re at full capacity, Sir.” Oh. He must own the place. It makes sense that the owner is as gaudy as everything else in here.

“That won’t do.” He looks back to you, and you swear you could feel your skin crawl under his gaze.

“I am Helios. Welcome to my establishment.” The man introduces himself with a flourish, bowing to you. His jewels and gold accessories glint in the light. “What might your name be?”

Reluctantly, you introduce yourself. Had this been a normal situation, you would have turned around and walked away from him the second he saw you. But, you could feel the crew going hungry, and you’re sure Nami will want to snag another ring or two—so you play nice.

Helios smiles, repeating your name. He was probably trying to sound romantic, but he’s not doing anything for you. Not when Zoro says your name much better.

You keep Zoro’s voice in mind, remembering how nice it sounds. It’s easier to smile at Helios that way. Time to lay on the charm, “I was really looking forward to having dinner here. I don’t suppose you could help us out?”

“Follow me, my dear. You deserve to dine upstairs. The view is simply spectacular at this hour.” Helios holds out his hand to you, but Luffy—bless his soul—grabs it to shake it zealously.

“Thanks so much for letting us eat here, Mr. Helios!” Luffy claps him on the back. Helios looks dumbfounded, and the crew does an impressive job keeping their composure.

Helios tries to walk beside you as he guides you all upstairs, but Zoro is steadfast on your right, and Nami smartly positions herself on your left. Luffy and Usopp tug the restaurant owner along, chatting his ear off. You almost feel bad for him.

Nami murmurs, her voice carefully silent so only you can hear. “Treasury, huh?”

You smile. “Of course you’d be curious about that.”

“Think you could get us to his mansion?” She dares you, eyes aglow at the promise of a good heist.

“I know I can.” You pause walking to check your reflection on an ornate, sun-shaped mirror. After fixing your hair, you grin at your friends. “I’m irresistible, after all.”

Maybe if you weren’t busy buttering up your host, you would have noticed that Zoro wasn’t eating properly. Normally, you would force him to eat. You would pile food on his plate, telling that joke about fake noodles being impasta that always cracks you up.

Zoro frowns at the meal in front of him. The fish seems to frown back. Sighing, he decides to just order another drink. But no matter what he consumes, a bitter taste always blooms in his mouth afterwards.

The glass in his hand almost cracks when he hears your voice sucking up to Helios again. “So, you own this place? Do you live around here?”

Helios leans far too close towards you, but you grin and bear it. “Would you like a private tour, my gem?”

You place a hand on his arm, he may read it as affection, but you hold him so he keeps that distance. “That sounds wonderful.”

Zoro huffs under his breath. He needs another drink.

Thankfully, Helios serves good booze at his manor. Zoro almost didn’t want to drink any of it, but he needs alcohol in his system if he has to watch you flirt with this idiot so Nami can rob him blind. Whatever she steals better be worth all this, or else he might punch something. Or someone. Preferably Helios.

You share a look with Nami and give her an imperceptible nod. With that signal, she passes by and pretends to lose her footing. Wine seeps into your clothes, staining the fabric and sticking it to your skin. Did she really have to pick red wine? You liked this shirt.

“Oh, my dear!” Helios gasps. “You should get cleaned up. I’ll have my servants draw you a bath and bring you fresh clothes.”

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve watched where I was going.” Nami loops her arm through yours. “Let me help you with that.”

And so, with another fake smile sent Helios’ way, you rush with Nami to find the treasury.

“Be quick.” Nami says once you enter the luxurious bathroom prepared for you.

As tempting as the bubble bath is, you only take a few wet towels to tidy up. You step into the curtained area, about to strip when Nami holds out a hand to stop you.

“Wait.” She says, her tone serious. A teddy bear holding a rose is propped up on a shelf behind you. Tapping its eyes, Nami scowls before throwing the bear into the trash bin.

“A camera?” She nods. “Seriously? What a creep.”

You and Nami inspect the room. It’s not clear if there are other hidden cameras, but she stands guard in front of the shower curtains just in case.

“Hey,” She starts. “Did you notice Zoro acting weird tonight?”

You frown as you change into the dress Helios prepared. “What do you mean?”

Nami hums in thought. “He’s just…” A dumbass, she wants to say, but doesn’t. “He seems extra grumpy.”

That causes you to laugh. “I guess I should prepare more jokes for him when we get back.”

She winces. “...I’m not that sure he likes those.”

“Hm… Maybe not, but,” You pause to think. He may not laugh loudly as Luffy does, but he never shot you down for being bubbly around him. “Zoro would have told me to shut up by now if he didn’t, right?”

“Huh.” Nami says. “You got a point.”

You push the curtains aside, grinning at her. “Come on, let’s break into that treasury.”

“Of course, my gem.”

“Oh my god, if that sticks I’m going to be so mad.”

The treasury was a vault full of everything from jewels to ornamental weapons. Nami playfully crowned you with a diamond tiara, and she put on dangling emerald earrings that looked stunning on her.

After filling your bags and pockets with the most you can carry, you and Nami head out to find the others. You run into Usopp on the way back to the lounge.

“I see you two cleaned up well.” He jokes. “Luffy and Sanji are in the kitchen. I was just on my way there.”

“Where’s Zoro?” You ask.

“With Helios. You know him, still drinking.”

“We should leave soon.” Nami insists. “We risk getting caught the longer we stay.”

“Right.” You hand Usopp your bag, his eyes widen comically when he feels how heavy it is. “I’ll just go say goodbye, I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Before you even enter the lounge, however, you hear Zoro speak your name. Are they talking about you? You press your back against the wall, straining to hear their conversation.

You almost wish you didn’t.

“She tells the worst jokes and doesn’t know when to quit it. Thinks she’s hilarious but she’s really not.” Zoro speaks in that deep voice that would usually be comforting to you—but his words now pierce through you painfully.

“What exactly is your relationship with her?” Helios asks, and Zoro is silent. It feels like your heart crumbles for every second he doesn’t answer.

You’re friends! You’ve been dreaming of more but, you’ve always been friends.

…Aren’t you? Doesn’t he think so?

“I don’t know.” Your heart fully shatters. What does he mean he doesn’t know? “She just sticks to me a lot. It can get annoying.”

“Well. That’s unfortunate, but it’s nothing to sob over.” Helios kisses his teeth. “I don’t care about her attitude. All that doesn’t matter as long as she has that pretty face.”

You wait for Zoro to say something. Anything. You want him to cut Helios where he stands.

But he doesn’t. The silence drags on. The air feels like it’s pushing you down, crushing your lungs. You have to get out of here.

You burst into the kitchen, trying your best not to cry. Nami immediately rushes to you, holding your shoulders to steady you. “What happened?”

Letting out a shuddered breath, you whisper, “You were right.” It’s impossible to think straight right now. “I want to leave.”

You look to Luffy, still shaken up. Your captain’s expression is serious as he nods. “Go ahead, we’ll get Zoro and catch up.” Not needing to be told twice, you head out the door.

Before she follows you, Nami hisses at Sanji, “Talk some sense into that dumbass, won’t you?”

The entire walk back to the Going Merry is silent. You’re grateful Nami doesn’t immediately press you for what happened, but you know that you should answer her questions. You finally get the words out in the safety of her cabin.

You sit cross-legged on the bed, and everything comes pouring out. “He called me annoying.”

“Zoro?” She asked, offering you a box of tissues.

“Yeah.” You sniff, taking the box.

“I’m sorry. That was fucked up of him to say.”

Unsure how to properly comfort you, Nami gets up and retrieves extra pillows from a storage compartment.

“Why don’t we have a girl’s night?” Nami asks, offering you a smile. It pulls a smile out of you too, the first one you mustered since Zoro crushed your spirit.

“I’d like that.”

Zoro is confused to find that you and Nami had left before them. Luffy gave Helios some lame excuse that you weren’t feeling well, but Zoro knew better. If you were really sick, the whole crew would be panicking and rushing to get to you.

He stares at Sanji and Usopp, trying to piece together what really happened. They both turn away from him, refusing to say anything.

In the next second, a maid rushes out, panting and screaming, “Mr. Helios! The treasury has been robbed!”

Fine. Answers can come later. For now, they need to run.

Once they’re back on the ship, Sanji follows Zoro into his cabin. He stares at the chef blankly, “Get out.”

“Did you do something?” Sanji leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Get out.” Zoro repeats, about to push him out of the room when Sanji speaks your name.

“She was upset. Asked to leave as soon as possible.” Sanji’s gaze is almost menacing, and his frown deepens when Zoro’s face falls. So, that’s what happened. You had heard him.

“Fuck.” Zoro groans, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Everyone noticed you getting bitchy over Helios.” Sanji notes “Did you confront him or something?”

Scoffing, Zoro sits on his hammock, the fabric dips under his weight. “It was something, all right.”

Wanting Zoro to explain himself unpromptedly, Sanji just watches him and lets the silence hang in the air. After a solid, suffocating minute, the swordsman caves.

“I called her annoying.” Zoro breathes out deeply. “I said her jokes aren’t funny and that she sticks to me a lot.”

“Man, that’s screwed up.” Sanji gapes. “I thought you cared about her?”

“Of course I do, but I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” Zoro defends. “Luffy’s the only one who laughs at her jokes, and she’s always by my side.”

Sighing, Zoro continues, “...but I never minded any of it. I learned to care for those parts of her a long time ago. I was only trying to get that shithead off her back.”

“You’re an idiot.” Sanji concludes. “You have the emotional depth of a sink, sometimes.”

Zoro, surprisingly, doesn’t insult the chef back. He stares at the wall, slouched and looking the most empty Sanji’s ever seen him.

“What should I do?” He asks. “How should I make it up to her?”

Sanji’s eyes light up, he beams and claps his hands together in excitement. Even if Zoro hasn’t heard it yet, he already dreads the chef’s suggestion.

“I have an idea.”

When you woke up the next morning, you had every intention of avoiding Zoro like the plague. It was still really difficult to look at him, the hurt you felt still stings your heart.

But unfortunately for you, he had other plans.

You’re gazing out into the sea on the forecastle deck when you hear a familiar set of heavy footsteps. You sigh. “I don’t want to talk, Zoro.”

“I’m not here to talk.” You turn to him questioningly, but you really shouldn’t give him the time of day. Wasn’t he the one who complained about you clinging to him?

You don’t say anything. Only glaring at him and hoping he sees how disappointed you feel. Zoro stands here, appearing strangely vulnerable. If you weren’t so hurt, you would have hugged him by now.

But you are. So he has to wallow in the awkwardness of the consequences of his words. He—wait. What’s that on his face?

“I…” Is he… blushing? “I’m sorry I wasn’t around in the past.”

You make a face and blink at him. What is he up to?

“...Can I be part of your future?”

That knocks the wind right out of you, your jaw practically falls to the floor. Did Roronoa Zoro just use a pickup line? On you? You can’t help but glance at your surroundings to check if the sky is still blue.

No—hold on. He can’t win you over just like that. He needs to explain why he said what he did.

“You said my jokes are the worst.” You grumble.

“They are.” Zoro looks straight into your eyes as he speaks. “But you’re one of the best things to ever happen to me.”

“You said I always stick to your side.”

He doesn’t miss a beat and answers earnestly, “You do. And I wouldn’t want you to be anywhere else.”

“…You said you didn’t know what our relationship is.”

That causes Zoro to pause, searching your eyes as if he’ll find the answer in them. “…I don’t.”

Oh, this impossible sword-brain of a man. Your lips quiver, and you realize you can’t fight back your smile anymore. “I love you, Zoro.”

His expression shifts from anxiousness to shock, relief, and a bit of something else...

“I love you, too.” Ah, of course. Love, that too.

Slowly, tentatively, he raises his arms, inviting you to an embrace. He’s adorable, looking a teensy bit nervous that you wouldn’t want to hold him. Giggling, you rush to him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he envelops your shoulders.

“I bet Sanji taught you to apologize with that line.” You murmur into his chest. “If you tell me another one…” Zoro cringes, his frame tensing.

“...I’ll give you a kiss.” His expression lifts, seriously considering it.

After a minute, Zoro clears his throat. You almost squeal in excitement.

“Roses are red, violets are blue…” A classic. This is going to be good.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel awkward, I just want to have dinner with you.” You gasp, squeezing him tighter.

“Yes! That was perfect.” Laughing, you reach up and hold his face to keep your promise.

You plant a sweet, short kiss on his lips. When you pull away, he’s looking at you like he would fight anyone for you. He probably would, if you’re being honest.

“You’re perfect.” He breathes, mouth against yours and then he’s kissing you again.

Hiding behind a pile of crates, the rest of the crew whoop and cheer. (Silently.)

“That was such a good line!” Luffy whispers.

“I still think he should have used the ‘I don’t speak angel’ one.” Usopp whispers back.

“What are you talking about?!” Sanji angrily, quietly mutters. “That was perfect because he apologized and delivered the line.”

“Shut it, you guys. I was right, he didn’t last a day with her mad at him.” Nami holds out her palm. “Pay up.” The others groan, handing her some berry. All’s well that ends well.

taglist: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @msmisasoup @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @appalost @hi3431 @akakaze @lownna

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ghostgirl-22 · 3 months ago

Note

you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to but..

patrick spiking arts drink with like viagra or an aphrodisiac and then “helping him out” because he’s such a good friend <3

Oh but I want to!! <3

This is post Artrick and Patashi break up and Patrick and Art end up in Vegas at the same bachelor party for a high school friend. Maybe Art has it coming? Maybe Patrick is like the best friend he’s ever had <3

Heed all warnings cause Patrick is totally remorseless and unlike everyone who does something bad in those old black and white movies I’ve been watching lately, he absolutely gets away with it. Sorry not sorry!

CW: intoxication, secret drugging, cnc, dub con (in the sense that Art doesn’t have all the information, but he wants it, he told me). This is pretty much what it says in the ask. Obviously don’t read if this makes you uncomfortable. Not proofread.

—-

It’s bad and wrong, and wrong, and so fucking wrong.

Patrick might tell the truth later. Might let Art get back at him because even for him this is kinda fucked up. But to be fair, he only did it because he was horny. And maybe he wanted a little revenge.

It all started at the bachelor party. It’s the first time they’d seen each other since Tashi’s injury and everything.

Both of them trying to put it all aside for their high school buddy Addison’s Vegas bachelor party. He’s hosting it with his husband to be…this older, rich tech company guy. Patrick thinks it’s a bit annoying. Even if he was gonna marry some dude he wouldn’t want the guy crashing his bachelor party— he should have his own and hang out with his own friends. but that’s beside the point.

Patrick thought Art wouldn’t dare show up because Patrick was always closer with Addison. Art probably thought the same thing about him. And yet…surprise.

Thankfully they barely have a minute alone together sober. Sober, Art is so cool.

Cool.

Cold.

Icy, even.

Totally Remorseless. They make small talk. He’s dating her now, the little shit. She’s coaching him. He’s playing Indian Wells in a few months. Patrick ponders hating Art. He doesn’t know if he’s quite there yet but it feels like he’s close.

He still looks so pretty though.

It’s a reunion of sorts. A lot of their old teammates came. Addison rented the penthouse suite in the Bellagio, private elevator, crazy views… fifteen guys… seven rooms, not that anyone plans to sleep.

Art and Patrick had been known to read each others minds in the past and it feels like that hasn’t changed. Apparently they’ve silently agreed that the last thing they want is people asking things like… “what the fuck happened? you two used to be so close.” Which is how they end up in this unspoken truce pretending like it’s all normal between them. All the way down to the expectation of them sharing a room. Which is fine because, again, no one is really planning on sleeping.

Everyone meets up in the afternoon and they start in the casino. Getting tipsy on watered down liquor while they all spend way too much money. All of them rich kids, or recovering rich kids. Patrick’s not using his parents money but he’s still reckless like he is, so certain he’s gonna make it all back on the craps table. Art doesn’t gamble so Patrick decides to make him blow on his dice, as a joke the way girls do in movies. of course he wins it all back and quite a bit more on a real risky bet. It’s annoying in the way. He’s glad he won but it feels like it’s Art that can’t lose. Suddenly everyone at the table is asking him to bless their dice. Like he’s just so fucking lucky all the time.

Patrick doesn’t push his own luck. Whatever the fuck is left of it.

The whole group cleans up and goes out to dinner in the evening. They catch up on their lives since school and tell silly, fun, embarrassing stories to Addison’s husband to be. Afterwords they go to a show. A magic show. Tipsy and cheering at the tricks like they’re back in 6th grade. It’s easy. It’s fun, actually. He barely has to be alone with Art.

By 11pm they’ve started bouncing around the strip from club to club. Bar to bar. Party to party. Mostly gay bars and drag shows which no one minds because honestly they all just love Addison so much. They’re getting properly drunk now.

It’s then when Art begins getting attention on a level that even he’s not used to from all these really hot guys… that’s when everything gets messy. Drunk and flushed, Art has no idea how to receive any of it except to turn all his repressed homosexual energy back onto the safest target. Patrick.

“We’ll just pretend to be together, you know? So they stop…touching me.” He explains loudly in Patrick’s ear.

Patrick smiles, just about drunk enough to put up with this bullshit. “Okay…fine… whatever… fuck it.”

It doesn’t feel pretend though, especially when they end up soaking wet at this all night foam party just downstairs in their hotel. It’s way too late at night, so many guys jumping up and down all sweaty and hot. Boys kissing. Touching. Shirts unbuttoned, the music too loud, skin too soft. Art hanging all over him, so drunk they actually start grinding to the music. The bass competing with Patrick’s heartbeat for which can go faster. Feelings so complicated Patrick might need 24 hours in the psych ward to sort it all out.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas right?

Patrick needs a minute. He leaves Art alone, barely able to take anymore. He uses the excuse of needing the restroom. It’s not even a second before at least two guys are swooping in, competing to take his place, one of them their other teammate Lachlan who’s got a wife at home and a child on the way.

God.

Patrick needs another fucking drink. Addisons already at the bar and Patrick leans in next to him.

“What’s that?” He asks Addison as he’s adding powder to his glass.

“It’s a magic pill,” Addison laughs.

”Magic?” Patrick hiccups.

“Yeah like… like horny candy.”

Patrick pouts, brows raised in confusion. maybe he’s a little too drunk for this game.

“Viagra. Sometimes i spike my boyfriend— my fiancés drink with it. See.” He holds up a little pill and crushes it under his glass on the bar

Patrick laughs. “Isn’t that kinda fucked up?”

“Well…I mean… probably yes… but you know he’s older. So I feel like I’m doing this for his ego.” Addison explains.

“Hm,” Patrick ponders. “Have you ever tried it?”

“I’ve had a sip of his drink before when i didn’t want him to know i spiked it. We ended up going at it all fucking night.” Addison grins. “It’s not necessarily for guys our age…but there’s no harm in it as long as it doesn’t last more than four hours i guess. which is easy if you just fuck. Here. You can take one with your… boyfriend? girlfriend?”

the way Patrick feels right now, his dick is so hard he can’t even fathom the point of viagra but he lets Addison drop the pill in his hand anyway. who knows? He’ll be 24 in six months. A proper grown up. maybe his dick will be the next part of his body that will lose the will to live.

“Are you still bisexual Pat?” Addison leans in stroking Patrick’s bare chest. “Cause we’re kinda open and wouldn’t mind trying it with you tonight, and you know… the more the merrier if you want blondie to join us.”

They both glance at Art, dancing all drunk and unabashed between both guys. their hands all over his lithe figure while the speaker blares Bad Romance by Lady Gaga.

Patrick rolls his eyes and looks back at Addison. “He may be a fucking tease but we both know he would never. But I think I need more to drink before I get back to you.”

“Well…You know where to find us… preferably before this kicks in!” Addison raises his glass.

Patrick waves to the bartender, fingering the pill in his other hand. Then it sort of hits him like a ton of bricks. This nasty idea. More than a little fucked up. He almost wants to touch himself just thinking about it.

He orders two drinks. Rum and coke. Nothing crazy different than what they’ve been drinking all night. Crushes the pill into dust under the cold glass and swirls his finger with the powder into the glass he wants to give to Art..

Oh he feels a little gross. Most people around him too drunk… the bartender too busy to notice what he’s doing.

Art doesn’t think twice; he trusts Patrick so much. What a wonder to betray someone and still think you can trust them so completely. like none of it matters. Art let’s Patrick “save” him from the other boys touching him.

“I swear i feel like Lach was turned on,” he hiccups, swallowing the drink down. “Like I could feel his… you know what.” He continues in Patrick’s ear.

”Really? Could you?” Patrick asks, dryly. Stupid. He still acts so… innocent oblivious. Patrick just wants to fuck shake him. He’s beyond hating Art. He doesn’t hate him. Could never hate him. He does hate that after all this fucking time he’s still not over him.

It doesn’t take long for Art to feel it. He’s back to clinging to Patrick. All over him as a way to keep the other boys away. Patrick starts to notice him adjusting himself, getting breathy, getting anxious. Gripping a little too tightly.

“Uh I need um…um… is it too hot in here?” He says in Patrick’s ear. “I need water.”

“What?” Patrick asks like he didn’t hear him. Keeps his body pressed close, hot breath in Patrick’s ear.

“The room… I think I need to go back to the room.”

Patrick shrugs. They tell a couple of the guys they’re leaving. And of course get teased for being lightweights at 4 in the morning. Only in Vegas.

Art has his eyes closed, knees knocked together, too drunk, so aroused. He’s resting the side of his head against the wall of the private elevator as they make their way up to penthouse.

”Sleepy?” Patrick asks, standing in his space.

Art’s all glassy eyed, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide when he gazes at Patrick. “Um… yeah… yeah.” He stammers.

Patrick smirks, tangles his fingers into Arts damp hair. He hums, eyes closed immediately, lips parted. And then the elevator dings and Patrick lets go. Arts eyes open and he stumbles out behind Patrick.

In the room Art’s trying to hide it from Patrick. Trying to keep himself together. He drinks a lot of water from the mini fridge. Tries to go in the bathroom but Patirck gets there first. Not to pee or anything, he’s too fucking hard for that. Probably just to keep Art from jerking himself silly over the toilet.

Patrick strips down to his boxers for sleep. Brushes his teeth in the mirror. The whole time he’s tenting, so ridiculously aroused, thinking of Art squirming, Viagra unknowingly coursing through his system.

Patrick decides he’s probably not a good person but right now he doesn’t fucking care.

He reaches inside his boxers to adjust himself before returning to the bedroom, but he has to touch himself just a little first. A few gentle jerks over the length of his dick and he’s catching his breath. He tucks himself up, snug against the waistband of his boxers and takes a few deep breaths.

When he walks back in the bedroom, Art is sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand down his pants, tugging himself, little soft moans escaping his lips. He panics when he sees Patrick and tries to save face but it’s kinda too late.

“Uh sorry… uh… it’s not—”

“You like boys Art?” Patrick teases.

“No… I just… I think I’m overstimulated.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah I… I… it was a lot of touching. I was…” he takes a deep breath. “I mean I know I was a little bit um… turned on when they were…when the three of us were…when I could feel…”

“When they had you sandwiched between them?”

”Fuck.” He whispers. “yeah a little…i guess more than I thought.” He admits.

Patrick sits next to him on the bed. “Yeah me too.” He pads his palm over the outline of his own cock.

Art staring, fingers gripping the sheets as he whispers a barely audible, “Jesus.”

“We could… maybe… help each other out,” Patrick suggests.

Art looks up at his face, eyes narrowed.

”I mean nothing would change. It’d just be a one time favor between… old friends.”

Art looks down again, knee bouncing. Desperate enough to say: “Okay um…you mean like jerk off together? Like in high school?”

“Or…” Patrick gets on his knees on the floor in front him.

“Patrick I—I’m not gonna do—“ he stammers.

“I’m not asking you to… do you want me to do it to you or not?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath and then he nods.

Patrick moves between his thighs and tugs his zipper down further, eases his boxers down and hears Art let out a gentle gasp as his cock is released. Oh it’s painfully full. Poor thing he’s practically humping into Patrick’s mouth the moment he gets contact.

“Mm, fuck,” Art sighs relieved to get the sensation. Patrick almost wants to touch himself. Can feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears while licking all along the base. Taking his time, swirling his tongue around the tip. He looks up at Art as he does it. He’s got his eyes closed, one hand holding himself upright on the bed and two fingers of his other hand shoved deep into his mouth as he moans around them.

Oh. Right. Fucking oral fixation. Patrick’s drunk brain vaguely supplies.

He’s distracted for a minute while kissing along the tip, licking, teasing, sucking and watching Art slide his fingers into and out of his mouth. Gorgeous little thing.

Patrick severely underestimates how close he is. And suddenly his face is getting painted with heated pearly liquid. “Oh.. ohfuckfuck’msorry… fuck.” Art groans around his fingers, hitching his hips involuntarily as more and more spurts out.

Patrick opens his mouth and catches some on his tongue, he can’t help laughing a bit at how fucking crazy all of this is. On the floor of the penthouse suite at the Bellagio and he’s on his knees for his ex best friend who’s all drugged out on harddick medicine, and probably just gave him his first ever facial.

Patrick wipes a lot of it off on his arm and thumbs some of the excess off his cheek and nose, licking it into his mouth. “Well fuck.” He breathes. “You got a lot of that in you.”

“Oh god…I didn’t mean to…Jesus, Pat look….” Art whines. Somehow he’s still almost as hard as he was before.

Patrick runs his fingertips gently over the length, still spasming lightly. “You really had fun tonight huh?”

“Oh fuck… this never… this never h-happens.” He stammers.

“Really? You don’t get this turned on for women?”

Art presses his lips together, like he doesn’t want to admit to anything. He sits on his hands. “I um…”

“Why don’t we try this,” Patrick says. “Don’t freak out…” He goes to his travel bag for lube.

“What—“ Art begins when he sees it.

“I said relax,” Patrick says.

Art leans back on his elbows as Patrick straddles him. “What are we doing?”

“You already fucking jizzed in my face, just relax. You owe me this.”

Art takes another shaky breath. Patrick covers his palm in lube and covers Art’s heavy, swollen cock. Art groans and shivers at the feel of it. So fucking sensitive. Patrick eases his own out and then takes them both in hand, lined up he starts jerking. Both of them moaning immediately, like a chorus, the sound filling up the room.

It’s sinful actually. The way it sounds. It’s probably something that would’ve made Art cry when he was 14 and so very afraid of drinking alcohol and swear words and sex before marriage.

Now he’s moaning like a whore around his fingertips, hips jerking up into Patrick’s fist, both of their cocks heated and swollen. Patrick is barely hanging on. He wonders if anyone else came home. If they can hear them fucking, neither of them holding back as Patrick moves faster and faster.

Art falls apart seconds later, come coating Patrick’s palm, dripping between his fingers. and then Patrick’s following shortly after. Shooting spurts of come, aiming some at Art’s bare chest maybe as a little bit of payback. “Take them out of your mouth,” Patrick hisses. Art gazes up at him and slowly pulls his fingers out.

Patrick pushes him all the way down on the bed and kisses him roughly. Art drawing his knees up, socked feet flat on the bed and arching into it. Tongues and spit everywhere. Patrick taking a minute to replace his lips on Art’s mouth with his come stained fingers. just to feel the eager way Art sucks them in, pulling hard with his tongue. If Art realizes he’s tasting himself, tasting Patrick, he isn’t complaining.

Patrick pulls out, wet and sloppy and turns Art’s pretty face back into the kiss, deepening it till he’s moaning into Patrick’s mouth. Doing everything he can for more of the sensation. Grinding his hips up, his still heavy cock sliding along Patrick’s bottom.

“Oh fuck,” Patrick groans because it’s still so hard. “You wanna fuck me?”

“mm, my god,” is all Art can manage.

“I won’t tell your girlfriend.”

That draws him out of whatever messy trance he’s in and Art pulls away from Patrick, panting. “Oh god… why won’t it go away? ‘m is there something wrong with me?” He whines, suddenly teary eyed.

“Like what?” Patrick asks, carefully. He doesn’t want to over do it.

“I dunno… I dunno. I’m so… did i drink too much? I just… i just wanna… i feel so fucking horny…and I can’t calm down. I just… i wanna just… fuck. I’m… I’m so sorry, Patrick.”

Tired and drunk and overstimulated from all the sex he starts getting emotional. “I’m so sorry for everything. I think I love you. I think I’m fucking in love with you, Patrick. I think about you all the time when I’m fuck—”

”Okay shut the fuck up,” Patrick snaps gently, because the last thing he wants is to feel bad for him on a sentence like that. The last thing he wants is to spiral thinking about the two of them together getting everything they want without him. “You want my help?”

”Yes,” Art sniffles.

“Here…” he hands Art the rest of the lube. “put this on and just… you can fuck me till you’re all fucked out. just imagine I’m a fucking fleshlight or something.”

“Really?” He hiccups, and he looks so grateful like he’s gonna cry again.

“Hey… come on, stop man. Just… I’m doing you a favor. Don’t fucking cry about it.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and wipes his nose on the back of his palm. “I’m sorry. you’re right. Thank you so much. I’m sorry.”

Patrick rolls his eyes and settles onto the pillow. he’s going to hell probably. Art is so fucking drunk, thinks he’s just trying to come down from some normal night where he got too overwhelmed. He thinks Patrick is just being such a good friend.

It’s so fucking messed up but honestly it also feels really fucking good. Covered in lube. His unbearably repressed ex best friends dick, the same dick he’s been dreaming about since the first time he saw it. That pretty dick pumping in and out of him over and over again.

“And don’t worry,” he whispers to Art. “it’s not even gay” because Patrick is just helping him relax. “It’s not even real sex I promise.” Even though Patrick can’t count how many times Art comes. Maybe 4, maybe 7. How many times Patrick’s nutted all over the pristine hotel sheets. He knows he’s managed to spill at least 3 times before Art is finally done, done. And Patrick is covered in his come and sweat and spit and tears he couldn’t be happier.

Art nearly wets himself in his rush to get to the bathroom after it all. Probably just relieved to finally be able to go.

Patrick is so pleasantly sore and drunk and warm. He’s still covered in the sticky mess of it, knowing it’ll be much grosser on waking but he can’t bring himself to move. Art stumbles, back into the king sized bed, moving away from the wet spot but still burying his head near the crook of Patrick’s head and shoulder. So yummy.

He’ll probably tell Art at some point, maybe. Possibly. But right now the city is hungover, the sun is peeking in through the black out curtains and Patrick hasn’t felt this satisfied in a very long time. So easy… he drifts off into a peaceful sleep.

(Flop era going strong. Sorry so long y’all. I couldn’t stop yapping.)

#challengers fic #challengers smut #artrick #art x patrick #tw: dubcon #tw: drugging #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut

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mxtxfanatic · 29 days ago

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Nie Huaisang: By Any Means Necessary?

I had actually begun to write this meta back when I did my mdzs re-read a few years ago, but it never came to fruition. Thankfully, this mxtx interview inspired me to pick it back up again!

A lot of fandom argues that Nie Huaisang is a morally gray character, usually to promote the idea that he is "just as bad" as the actual villains of the novel because he "doesn't care about other people's lives." I agree with the moral ambiguity of his character but not the idea that he is willing to achieve his goals by any means necessary, including recklessly throwing away the lives of others for a slim chance of gain. If you look at Nie Huaisang's actions and the sequence in which events played out, you would see this is not the case.

Yes Nie Huaisang released the arm at Mo Manor, but he released the arm way after the Lan disciples had shown up, as they appeared during the day and the arm only started rampaging that night. This is also after Wei Wuxian had already broken out of the shed (that he did not clean up) and publicly showed out in front of the whole spectating village. This means the arm was only released into the household after there was confirmation that Mo Xuanyu had completed the ritual:

Lan SiZhui, “This hand was coming for us.” Wei WuXian smiled, “How do you know?” Lan SiZhui, “Spirit-attraction flags of different levels are drawn in different ways and have different amounts of power. The spirit-attraction flags we drew at Mo Village had a range of only twenty-five hundred meters in circumference. Yet, this ghost hand has a strong killing intent, feeding on human flesh and bone. If it had been within that range in the beginning, with its level of malice, Mo Village would have been a river of blood since long ago. However, it appeared after we arrived... This means that it must have been set there purposely at that time, by someone with ill intentions.”

—Chapt. 19: Contentment, exr

Nie Huaisang shows up to the Sabre Hall after Jin Ling blasts his way through, but seeing as Jing Ling wasn't supposed to go there to begin with, it's doubtful that he had anything to do with this fluke. The next major event is Yi City, in which a "huntsman" points the juniors to Yi City after they'd spent days being harassed by dead cats nailed to their doors. Yes he leads them there but only after wangxian had entered Yi City, themselves:

Wei WuXian, “How long have you been here for?” Lan SiZhui, “Around fifteen minutes.” “Fifteen minutes?” Wei WuXian asked, “HanGuang-Jun, how long have we been here for?” Lan WangJi’s voice sounded from behind the hazy fog, “Around thirty minutes.” “Look, “Wei WuXian continued, “We’ve been here for longer than you did. How is it possible that you ended up in front of us, and only ran into us after you turned around?”

—Chapt. 34: Grasses, exr

Yes Nie Huaisang very likely knew that the second siege was a trap and doesn't warn anyone beforehand, but he also shows up and is the only voice of authority speaking on behalf of Wei Wuxian, saving lives:

Still hesitating, the continued their hard fight with the fierce corpses. Others were able to manage for a while with their spiritual powers stripped away, but Nie HuaiSang couldn’t. Everyone knew that he was both timid and untalented. He wasn’t ambitious either, and didn’t work hard as a cultivator. He was caught off-guard by the sudden change of events and didn’t receive any wounds only from his personal guards’ protection. Seeing that the corpses grew larger and larger in number with no end in sight, he hurried, “Are you all going to go in or not? If you don’t, I’ll go in first. Excuse my absence. Quick, quick, quick—everyone, come in!” Before he even finished speaking, Nie HuaiSang led the QingheNie Sect’s disciples into the Demon-Slaughtering Cave with quick decisiveness. He really was as anxious as a dog that had lost its owner, as scared as a fish that had escaped the net. Others were immediately shocked speechless by his straightforwardness. ... Right now, having lost his spiritual powers and spent half the day fighting, Jiang Cheng was exhausted, and somehow successfully pulled into the cave by Jin Ling. The Jiang Sect’s cultivators hurried to follow their leader too. At the same time, Nie HuaiSang’s beaming voice echoed from within the empty cave, “Everyone, come in! It’s quite big inside! Could a senior come in and help mend the array on the ground? I can’t! I don’t know how to mend it!” Hearing his last sentence, three large words appeared in everyone’s mind, “Good-for-nothing!” Lan WangJi’s fingers didn’t leave the strings of his guqin as he looked up, “Uncle!” In the first place, Lan QiRen didn’t want to go inside the Cave. He’d rather battle here outside until his last moment. Yet, right now, he wasn’t alone. He was responsible for many Lan Sect cultivators and the Jin Sect cultivators who’d been left to his command. The main force of the battle wasn’t him, either. He didn’t want to ignore the lives of these disciples, willing to catch any hope that there was. He didn’t look at Lan WangJi, raising his sword and ordering, “Proceed with caution!” Until now, the LanlingJin Sect, the GusuLan Sect, the QingheNie Sect, and the YunmengJiang Sect had all gone inside already. With them in the lead, the rest of the people immediately decided not to continue the struggle either. If there really was some beast or demon within the cave, there were four tall pillars blocking it for them. They hastened inside as well. In the end, the MolingSu Sect’s people were the only ones who hadn’t moved.

—Chapt. 79: Loyalty

Yes Nie Huaisang orchestrated the incest reveal against Jin Guangyao, but given that he already had Bicao in his pocket, there was no reason to have told Qin Su ahead of time about her sham marriage unless it was to give her a courtesy warning before making the information public. Qin Su is given a letter in private and allowed to make her own deductions, but it would not have been possible to predict that Qin Su would 1) immediately confront Jin Guangyao and 2) be immediately manipulated into killing herself before a crowd of witnesses less than an hour later. To say that he manipulated her death is nonsensical. Following this same thread, bringing Sisi and Bicao before the cultivation clans could have very well backfired had they been brought before an audience while Jin Guangyao was still in power, such as during the aforementioned cultivation conference where Qin Su is murdered. Instead, he waits until Jin Guangyao's reputation and credibility is tarnished beyond recovery to let them give their testimonies, compensating Bicao for hers and freeing Sisi from imprisonment for hers. On top of which, because their testimonies were so damning, the women, themselves, would be effectively untouchable for as long as Jin Guangyao and his faction remained unaccounted for, if only because the rest of the cultivation world are petty and wouldn't let evidence this damning against a man who tried to wipe out their clans be destroyed.

And then at Guanyin Temple, he is the only one not caught up enough in the drama that is Jin Guangyao's sob stories to forget to keep the child!!!! out of the mass murderer's reach:

Suddenly, Jin Ling screamed, “Why?!” He stood up from beside Jiang Cheng. Eyes red, he rushed toward Jin GuangYao as he shouted, “Why did you have to do this?!” Nie HuaiSang hurried to pull back Jin Ling, who seemed as though he wanted to fight with Jin GuangYao.

—Chapt. 106: Hatred, exr

On the one hand, Nie Huaisang could possibly be blamed for Mo Xuanyu's death as he is the one who planted the idea of the ritual in the man's mind, but he neither forced the other man to go through with it nor killed him, himself. Whether or not the man went through with the ritual or the ritual failed, Nie Huaisang had a contingency plan (the fact that the juniors were nighthunting with Hanguang-jun) as he seems to with a lot of these schemes. Even the juniors during the Yi City arc said that they hadn't been directly led to Yi City but only led around in circles for days until finally ending up in the city "coincidentally" after wangxian had already entered—as if their harasser was waiting for the main duo to find their way to the city first. If wangxian never went, then the person could have simply vanished and let the juniors get back to what they were doing with just a little more paranoia as a souvenir for the adventure.

On the other hand, Nie Huaisang wasn't at all the one who made Jin Guangyao hide away Xue Yang's continued existence and crimes, nor kidnap the juniors, nor plan to massacre all the cultivation clans together, nor kill Qin Su, nor take Jin Ling hostage. Blaming him for the fact that the villain of the story's instinctual reaction to facing adversity is to commit more villainy is nonsensical. While Nie Huaisang's actions were risky, at least it was a risk that he planned contingencies for and put his own life on the line to see through. Other than Yi City, there is not a single incident he was involved in that he didn't physically involve himself in. He was at the Sabre Hall, the siege, and Guanyin Temple where there was no logical reason for him to be and where an underling probably would have done just as well a job. Being at Guanyin Temple can be explained by him wanting to see the his schemes finally come to fruition, but that does not explain the other two instances. While he surely wanted to ensure that his plans went right, he also clearly wanted to minimize as much of the deaths as possible.

The difference between Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang as hidden schemers is that while Jin Guangyao is a "by any means necessary" type of snake in the grass, Nie Huaisang is undeniably a tactician who prioritizes minimizing losses.

#mdzs #human metas mxtx #i mean we could def talk about the animal abuse #cause wtf those poor cats?????#but otherwise nhs didn't really do anything with the intention that people would die #or with the negligence that their deaths wouldn't matter

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moonlitcelestial · 4 months ago

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Chapter 10

Beyond the Lens - Logbook Videographer!Reader x OT8 Ateez

W/C 6,436

🎥 Series Masterlist 🎥

☽ Masterlist ☾

Inspiration Pictures

Pinterest Board Masterlist

Previous Chapter (Chapter 9)

Disclaimer: This story is purely a work of fiction. It is not meant to assume or mock anything about Ateez, Atiny, or anything relating to what I do not know about being a videographer.

Contains she/her pronouns.

The logo in the center is mine. Please do not reuse or copy.

I strongly recommend looking at the inspiration pictures and the Pinterest boards (which will be updating as the story goes on).

General Warnings: cussing, conflict, angst, fluff, and obliviousness.

CHAPTER WARNINGS - Angst, overthinking, abusive family members. Read at your own risk.

Let me know what you think! <3 Moonie

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

You were filming your first official video for the next few days. You had spent so much time with the boys between the first day and now. It almost seemed like you have known them for years. Technically you had, but knowing them on a personal level is so much better.

They had been so excited and chattering to you every time they got the chance about your invite to game night. Most of the time it was Yunho and Mingi asking you about the games you play and what consoles you have; among other things. San was just thoroughly excited to see the giants again. Jongho seemed the most excited about the prospect of drinking and not having to worry about cameras and repercussions. You knew Hongjoong and Seonghwa longed for a night of relaxing and not being responsible for the other six men. You also knew that would be absolute chaos, especially if there were drinks involved; which always happened at your house. You had hosted your fair share of parties to know that you had enough room to host twelve people and possibly the spouses of your team which would bump it up to fifteen. They truly had accepted your team into their dynamic, they had seamlessly blended into each other. You couldn't be happier with how things were going. Sure it has only been several weeks but the energy was so perfect.

You knew that you would be spending most of your time inside tonight so you opted for a warmer outfit. Throwing on your favorite black oversized sweatshirt and some leggings topping it off with rings, necklaces, and your shitkickers. You grabbed your backpack with your laptop in it, put it on your shoulders and grabbed your travel bag. This one had several days worth of clothes in it as well as some more comfortable shoes. You had packed it because you would be far enough away that you wouldn't want to come back home. It was the opposite direction of where you lived which would put it anywhere from two to three hours away. Thankfully KQ thought ahead and reserved more rooms for your team. You were heading out the night before so everyone could get up bright and early for hair and makeup. You had made sure that your mom knew that you were gone for a few days and asked her to come and check on the giants. Once you were satisfied you had everything you made your way to the garage. You had to take your car, Aria. There was a little bit of a drive and it would be easier to load equipment into KQ’s vans and have all of you in one car than to shove all of you in company vans with the equipment. You popped the trunk and dropped your bags into the back making sure that it was situated so the others could fit their bags back there as well. You unplugged the car from the port that you had installed in your garage. Once you were finished you walked to the front of the car, got in and started her up. She quietly hummed to life. You drove for about forty-five minutes to get to KQ to meet everyone and help with any packing that needed finishing up.

When you arrived you saw several vans and people loading things up. Most of it was equipment. You got out of the car and walked toward the building to grab your personal camera bag before they got a hold of it. Sadly you couldn't take the portal to stream everything to your computer as it operated over wifi. That simple fact meant it would be a pain in the ass getting the film to download from all four of your cameras. Once you got up to the door you swiped your key and the door opened. You followed the now familiar path to the office space your team had taken over. Your bag was thankfully sitting where you left it next to your desk. You walked over to your shelves and grabbed one of the polaroid cameras and some film for it. This could be the perfect way to have some physical reminders of your first big shoot.

“Hi Y/n-nie,” you whipped around to see Mingi leaning against the door frame.

“Hi Mings, you scared me, for as much of a giant as you are you walk very quietly.” He chuckled at your reaction, his voice was still deep from sleep. He must have just woken up and come over here you knew that their schedule was horrendous so they squeezed naps in whenever they could. His voice was sexy before it was laced with sleep, but it was even better right now. You walked up to him with your backpack in hand and looked up at him, his eyes were half closed but he was coherent enough to pull you into a hug with the arm that wasn't against the door frame. He gave some of the best hugs, each of the boys was unique with how they hugged you but he and Yunho were just enough taller than you to make it even better; much like your team. You loved and hated being the shortest one even though you were above average height. Your head fits perfectly under their chin which was your favorite part. You put your bag down and wrapped your arms around him and let him rest against you for a minute. You had to take a step back because he leaned on you so hard, you had almost lost your balance.

“Mingi, what are you doing?” Yunho questioned. Once he got close enough he smiled at the pair of you. He wanted to be a part of this hug fest. He stepped in behind you and put his arms around the both of you effectively sandwiching you between the two of them. Your heart leapt, both of the twin towers were sandwiching you in a hug. This was the most comfortable hug that you had ever experienced. You could hear Mingi’s heartbeat and feel Yunho's breathing on the back of your head. Both of them rested their cheeks on you. You could feel your body relaxing and melting into the warmth of them.

“Lets pack into the vans” you heard Hongjoong yell across the hall. You couldn't tell if he could see your trio but at this point you couldn't move until they did. Yunho was the one to let go first, before he pulled away completely he left a kiss on the crown of your hair. He passed you and looked at you with a big smile.

“Come on Mingi we gotta go," he said quietly, Mingi pried himself away from you with a dopey half asleep smile, he kissed your forehead and walked away without a word.

What in the fucking world just happened, that was new.

You brought your bag over your shoulder and started back to Aria. Your mind was trying to come up with some reason for why they did what they did but it couldn't find one. You waved at some of the boys as you passed. Some of their eyes widened as they looked behind you. You turned around to see Wooyoung approaching at a quick pace. He grabbed you and lifted you off your feet and planted a quick kiss on your cheek. How the hell he was this energetic was beyond you. You felt the blush rush to your face as he walked away. Pausing you put your hand up to your cheek, this must have been how San felt after you did that to him. Seonghwa smiled at you before disappearing into the van. Hongjoong was the last to get in the van but he waved at you with a small smile before getting in. You made it back to your car, popped the trunk to let the team put their bags in and once you put yours in you closed the trunk. You walked around Aria and got in and pushed the break to be able to start the car. Once she started up you got in line to follow the procession of KQ vans. Somehow you had managed to get behind the van the boys were in.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

“She gives the best hugs. You know that?”

“I believe that. She has only quickly hugged me a couple of times. She is so perfect and I cannot wait to be able to hold her without limitations.”

“Her curves are something else, she fits into my arms perfectly.”

“I wonder what it would be like to be able to hold her on that motorcycle of hers.”

“Don't even get me started. I don't think I would be able to resist almost squeezing her to death.”

“We all will have to wait to find out, we haven't even asked her about joining our relationship yet. We will have to be patient, it will happen when it is supposed to happen.”

“Okay hyung, I hope we can talk to her soon. The more time we spend with her the more I want her to be ours.”

“I cannot wait to be able to hang out with everyone. While being in a professional setting is nice, I want to see them be themselves without restraint.”

“I want to see drunk y/n”

“I want to see the giants.”

“I want to see her house, she has an interesting aesthetic and I can't wait to see how her house matches that.”

“I am interested in the game room! I am almost positive she is a big nerd because of how many games she has.”

“Like you are any different, I am most excited for these drinks she has.”

“Of course you are.”

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

You turned to look at everyone with a wide grin. That hug had most definitely started your evening off on the right foot.

“What’s got you all smiley? Did something happen?” Forrest interrogated. The other two hadn't even looked up from where they were absorbed in their phones to notice your grin.

“I was just given one of the best hugs I have ever experienced.” Resting your head on the headrest you looked over to Forrest briefly. You put one hand over your chest to feel the slightly quick pace of your heart.

“Who was it?” Aurora asked, setting her phone in her lap. You had caught her attention now, she was always the gossip of the group. She was also the most knowledgeable because she loved to observe and ask shit tons of questions.

“Mingi and Yunho.” You sighed. You looked at her in the rearview mirror. She was wearing a shit-eating grin before her face morphed into shock.

“Holy shit you got a double hug from the twin towers?” Aurora excitedly asked. “That’s a dream come true for any Atiny, especially me!” For being a lesbian she would definitely make an exception for Yunho and Mingi. You had teased her about that fact on multiple occasions, you had only recently stopped because you both were afraid one of the boys would hear.

“It started out just as Mingi but Yunho came up behind me and joined in on the hug squeezing the both of us.” You turned to look so you could merge with the procession of cars. “But it doesn’t end there. As they were being yelled at to go and get in the van before they stepped away they both gave me a kiss. Yunho on the crown of my head and Mingi on the forehead. And then as I was headed back to the car Wooyoung attacked me, lifting me up off my feet and kissing my cheek.”

You heard Willow perk up in the back seat before she put her phone aside and started speaking. “I might be reading this wrong, and it is very rare that I read things wrong so take this as you will. I think they all might be flirting with you.” You looked at her through the rear view mirror incredulously before returning your eyes to the road. What you missed however was the look she gave Aurora in the back seat, they were conspiring.

“All of them?” You parroted.

For the love of all things sacred what the fuck was she on about. You’re just their videographer, you have a camera trained on them like 80% of the time and they are known to flirt with the camera. They are also flirty by nature. Could all of them actually be flirting with you?

“Yes, have you not noticed that they are completely different when it comes to you? They are nowhere near as affectionate with us.” Aurora butted in

You thought back to the past few weeks. Yunho having his arm over your shoulder the entire time he was showing you around KQ and keeping that as a habit. Him calling your face pretty while you were at their practice. Seonghwa resting his head on yours and continuing to do so any time that you sat next to him whether his head was on your shoulder or yours was on his. Wooyoung sitting in front of you and leaning his head on your knee the first day, letting you sleep on him last week, being very flirty every time he saw you, then the kiss on the cheek today. San allegedly sleeping on you, then being the first one to make contact with you after your panic, and continuously checking in on you. He also had joked with you while at their practice. Yeosang sharing his chicken with you when you noted that it smelled good and then Seonghwa calling you Yeosang’s favorite which he didn’t deny. He also followed you around like a lost puppy when you were around. Hongjoong guiding you with a hand on your lower back any time you went anywhere with him, keeping the polaroid of you and him in his wallet. Jongho not pulling away from your skinship and being genuinely interested in everything you do. He also actually took pictures with you and let you complete his hand heart and the hug. Mingi putting his head on top of yours while you all were conversing about plans for the trip. Finally The hug and kisses.

“Holy. Fuck.” You thought out loud. All three of them burst into laughter. You glared the best you could at them. You could feel your hands start to shake at the revelation. Were you nervous or excited with this revelation?

“What am I going to do?!”

“Go out with all of them?” Forrest asked. Your head snapped to him. He raised his eyebrow at you and smirked. You quickly looked back to the road.

“I never would have thought in my entire life that I would be having this kind of conversation. Eight men?” Eight very beautiful men at that.

“They have lots of love to share, I am sure they wouldn’t be opposed.” Willow remarked.

“You aren’t the conventional kind of person anyway” Aurora mentioned.

“Okay and? None of us are.” You sniped back. Sure you have had your fair share of flings, men, women, or non-binary. It wasn’t about what they were, it was about who they are that mattered to you.

“Okay fuck off.” she huffed.

“Let's be honest here, having had my fair share of men in the past, I think they are some of the best I have met aside from my Asher. They would be amazing partners, they are already so attentive to you and each other that I cannot help but to wonder how they would treat you differently if you were in a relationship with them.”

“I think they would get even more handsy and affectionate.” Willow quipped, both of them giggled in the back seat.

As the conversation drifted off you decided now would be a great time to turn up the music. The team put together a playlist for drives like this several years ago. You always kept it updated and were happy for the reprieve to the awkward ending of the previous conversation. When you turned up the music it always turned into a jam session. You absolutely loved that you could hear all of their favorite songs while sharing yours. It was one of the most interesting playlists you had, it ranged so widely that there was no specific genre that was most prevalent.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

“I wonder how the room arrangements are going to fall out. Do you think Y/n’s team will be close to us?”

“We have two suites, and they have three rooms, one for Forrest, one for Y/n and one for Aurora and Willow. The rest of the staff are going to be split up like they usually are. I know that much but not the placement of the rooms.”

“Do we have the floor to ourselves, like just KQ people?”

“That’s what I was told. I was also informed by the security team that they have pretty decent security and because it is in more of a rural location we shouldn't have to worry about hiding out in our rooms.”

“Really? So we can actually sit and have breakfast like normal people?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

“This is going to be so much fun!!”

“We are about ten minutes out.”

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

You had driven for about an hour before your ringtone chirped loudly over the car speakers. All of you jumped, you needed to mess with the settings to make it not as loud. Seonghwa was calling you. You clicked the button to answer it.

“Hey, you’re on speaker in the car, what’s up?” You heard a chorus of hi and general chatter come from somewhere in the background. You smiled at the boys. They always had to be loud when greeting you.

“We are almost to the hotel and I wanted to let you know.” Seonghwa said over the boys in the background. He was the one who kept you in the know most of the time aside from Hongjoong; who did it when he could. Managing seven men who acted like children was hard enough so you didn't blame him when he didn’t communicate with you.

“Okay, perfect, we are right behind your van so we should be there right after you.” You checked the lane next to you as you merged into the turn lane behind the other vans.

“Okay, sounds good, yeobo. We will see you guys here in a few minutes.”

“See you soon Hwa,” you responded. You hung up the phone and continued driving behind the vans.

“He loves you,” Aurora snickered, lengthening the words in a teasing manner. “So are we just going to ignore the fact that he called you darling or?” Aurora put her hands on the back of Forrrest’s seat and leaned up to look at you.

“He did what?” Your eyes widened but stayed on the road.

“Yeobo means darling. You know Korean, why did you not put that together?” Willow responded with a snicker. You glanced at her in the rearview mirror, she was smirking.

“You've seen so many K-dramas you should recognize terms of endearment. We knew your memory wasn't the greatest but simple cute names are something I thought you would remember.” Aurora giggled, flopping back into her seat.

“I’ve never heard that term before, I didn’t know. We generally bounce between English and Korean because they know I am not a native speaker. I am still learning to this day because most of my conversations do not float away from being professional. Terms of endearment are absolutely foreign to me even after watching k-dramas.” you defended getting quieter as you went on. You could feel the shame creeping up the back of your neck. You followed the van taking several turns to get to the hotel. You fell into the deep pool of your thoughts.

Do you love them? Technically you loved them long before you actually met them which you thought you were content with..

Are you content with the relationship and how it is right now? Maybe..

Is your relationship bound to be something more than friendship? Maybe..

Would you want to pursue something with all of them? You had never tried anything like it but flying by the seat of your pants was something that happened a lot.

Could you see them staying in your life if you did pursue a relationship with them? Maybe.. but everyone left so it wouldn't be a surprise if they did.

Do you want more than friendship with them? Maybe..

What were your feelings for these men? Love, adoration, awe?

What kind of love? I don’t know

The dating kind? Maybe..

Are you in love with Ateez? I think so..

Could you see yourself being with them? Yes

The deeper you fell into your thoughts the farther from reality you went. You fell into the deep end.

But how could you be a good partner without fucking things up like you had in the past?

Why would they want to pursue you? You're too plain, they are extraordinary.

How could you survive in a relationship without knowing anything? You didn't even realize that Seonghwa called you darling..

Were they just pursuing you to have a quick fuck like everyone did in the past?

Were they just going to use you to get what they wanted and then leave you?

Would they fall out of love with you like everyone else did?

You hadn’t even realized that you pulled into the parking spot before saying “We are here!” You leapt out of the car immediately after it was parked and turned off. You could not wait to escape. You snatched your backpack and bags from the trunk and started walking without the rest of your team. You kept thinking back to how you really wanted to answer Willow's question.

How didn’t you know? Well I don’t know, maybe because I have not had a long term relationship in ages. It had always embarrassed and disappointed you that you hadn’t dated in a long time; not for lack of trying. You had your flings but nothing lasted more than a few months. You sat back watching all of your friends and family get married and have kids. Here you were at almost 27 not having anyone but the three giants.

Even some of the people back in America had sent you invitations to their weddings, it had disheartened you to no end to see all of the people in your life having one of the things that you wanted most. Every time you had pursued someone they had always fallen out of love with you or called you clingy so you just stopped. No one had approached you, it had always made you feel like you were the problem. No matter how many people told you otherwise you were the problem. You wiped the tears away from the corners of your eyes making sure to look up so they wouldn't continue to fall. You could hear people talking in the distance and maybe someone calling your name; you kept walking. Right now was not the time for having feelings. It may have started off as something warm and fuzzy but the demons started creeping up on you like a wolf among sheep. This is not the time, nor the place for emotional turmoil.

Fake it till you make it.

Thankfully KQ had gotten you three rooms, one for Forrest, one for Aurora and Willow, and one for you. The manager handed your keycard to you and you quietly walked to the elevator before everyone else got into the building. Once you got to the floor they had booked out you walked to your room and shut the door locking it.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

“Do you know what is going on with Y/N?”

“She was perfectly fine when we left, something happened on the car ride here that is the only explanation.”

“She even ignored us and her team yelling after her, she never does that”

“I wonder what happened, the rest of them seem to be down too, her energy was off as soon as we got here. It worries me.”

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

You threw your bag on the bed, and gently set your camera bag and laptop bag down on the desk. You had half a thought to fling them against the wall, but that would be an expensive thing to do that with. You walked into the bathroom without even noticing and stood in front of the mirror looking at yourself. You met your own eyes in the mirror. The tears had started freely streaming down your face, you made no move to wipe them away. You took yourself in, your face was puffy and your eyes red rimmed behind your thick framed glasses. You looked down and all you could see were the imperfections. The hips that were wider than all of the people surrounding you. The extra you had on your stomach. The extra you had on your arms and legs. The stretchmarks littered all over your body. You shook your head, putting it down and resting your hands against the sink leaning into it. You couldn't stand to look at yourself anymore. Tears continued to fall down your face and neck, snot had started running and you sniffled. You glanced back up at yourself before looking back down. You squeezed your eyes shut. Your breathing was picking up. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears. Everything was so loud, even in the silence of the room. You could feel yourself start to shake. Your body was heating up, it felt like you were standing in the heat of summer.

Was this the reason you haven't dated?

Was it because of your body?

Were you not attractive enough for someone to pursue you?

Are you too fat for anyone to want to even consider dating you?

Your logical mind knew that it wasn’t true but your demons kept chanting it getting louder and louder. You dragged yourself away from the coolness of the sink and into the main portion of the room and changed into the knitted sleep set that you brought. Once you had gone through the motions you let out a large sigh and plugged in all of your things. You were utterly numb. Taking off your glasses and tossing them aside you threw the covers back and crawled into the bed. Getting settled you just stared at the blurry white ceiling, at this point you couldn’t tell if it was your tears or your lack of good vision. You could feel your eyes slipping into being unfocused as you fell into the hole in your mind.

“For fucks sake, why are you so emotional. Get a fucking grip or I will give you something to be emotional about.” You could still clearly hear your fathers voice as he threatened you. He held a beer bottle and was laughing with some of his friends at your expense. You had just found out that you did not get into your dream school, you had a right to be emotional. So you did what you do best and locked yourself away.

“You are too fat for anyone to want to even consider dating you.” This time it was your aunt's voice that rang through your head. Your fathers sister was the perfect woman with her beautiful blonde hair and little waist. She always looked down her nose at you, no matter the situation. You had grown to despise her and her family.

“You don’t date because no one would love some stupid whore who wears black all the time.” Your cousin sneered at you in the hallway of the school. Her friends all laughed at you and your now ex had his arm slung around her shoulder. He had only dated you because they bet him a decent amount of money to do so. What a great fucking way to start your senior year.

You clutched your head. Shaking it to expel the memories. All that did was make you dizzy. Your heartbeat and breathing were still erratic.

Stop. Please. Go away.

Shutting your eyes tightly you turned to your side and curled into the fetal position in an attempt to get more comfortable. You could feel the tear stains on the pillow below you, you were too drained to care. You knew that you wouldn't be able to fall asleep quickly but you begged your mind and body to comply. You were crying in earnest now the sobs were wracking your body.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

“Do you think we should go over there to see if she is okay Yuyu?”

“I think only one of us would be best. We don't need to overwhelm her.”

“From the few weeks we have known her she seems to leave to deal with things on her own. I think she will want more of a silent companion than someone who talks things through.”

“Then you are the more qualified of the two of us.”

“Are you sure you don't want to go?”

“Yeah, at least one of us needs to be here to tell Joongie and Hwa.”

“Okay, I’m going to go over now, I love you and will see you tomorrow.”

“I love you too. Go comfort our girl.”

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

Just as you were starting to slip into unconsciousness you were startled awake by a small knock on the door. You got up and stomped to the door forgoing your glasses. You opened ready to tell the person to fuck off. You could still feel the tear tracks on your face.

“Hi,” someone mumbled as soon as you opened the door. You squinted up and saw the tall blurry form. It was Mingi. He had changed into what looked like a different set of sweats and a t-shirt since the last time you saw him.

“What's up Mingi?" you lean yourself on the door. You avoided looking at him so he wouldn’t see your face and how swollen it was. You wanted to snap at him, you wanted to lash out, you wanted to just slam the door in his face. You knew better than to let that part of you take over, especially since he was just here to check on you.

“Can I come in?” He asked, shuffling his feet. You nodded and stepped aside, opening the door further for him. He stepped in and walked to your bed. You closed the door and deadbolted it again. He sat on the edge of the bed and held his arms open for you. He was looking at you with such gentleness, it only broke your heart further. You walked over to him and crawled into his lap. He wrapped his arms around you, one wrapping around your back and the other to cradle your head to his chest.

Everything erupted. You let out everything you were holding back. Your eyes were closed tightly as sobs wracked your body. Your breath came in short pants. You were gripping onto his shirt for dear life. You buried yourself in the junction between his neck and shoulder. You didn’t know how much time had passed but you could feel yourself falling into panic. Your chest was tight and it was becoming hard to breathe. His hold on you tightened just slightly which brought you back to yourself. He held you so carefully rocking you both back and forth, it was just enough to slowly start to put your broken pieces back together again. No one had ever held you this way.

“You don't have to talk about what is going on, but I wanted you to know that I am here for you. We are all worried about you. You weren't yourself when we got here and we could all see it and feel it.” He whispered into the top of your hair. You nodded into his chest, tears spilling faster down your face. You stayed in his arms for a while slowly coming back to your senses. Eventually he moved you toward the head of the bed and laid down with you still cradled to his chest. He tugged the covers over the both of you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You had regained yourself enough to actually look at him with your horrid vision.

“Don't mention it, I could see you were hurting. I know how that feels and sometimes the only thing that can fix it is someone being here for you in silent support.” You nodded against his chest wrapping yourself further around him and clutching the fabric of his clothes. He tucked some of your hair behind your ear. You felt it stick to the side of your face as he did so. God you must have looked absolutely horrid.

“Will you stay with me?” You knew that if he left you would fall apart again and this vicious cycle would continue for the next few days until you could focus enough and listen to your logical mind. You generally could pull yourself out of it but it took a few days.

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else,” You could hear the sincerity in his voice. He truly was one of the best people you could have at your side in these moments. He might be a big scary looking man on the outside but he was the sweetest man on the inside. You could feel yourself relaxing more and more as time passed. Mingi’s breathing was slow and steady against the cheek pressed to his chest. You listened to his heart, it was calm and steady, a presence you didn’t know you needed. Before you knew it you had fallen into unconsciousness. He had looked over you to make sure you were asleep before pulling you even closer to his chest. You had unconsciously cuddled closer to him. You were almost on top of him at this point. He looked down at you and vowed to himself that he would do anything in his power to never see this side of you again. He leaned in and kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger for just a second. He pulled away and tucked your head under his chin.

“Goodnight Jagi, sleep well.” He murmured before closing his eyes and falling into a deep sleep.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

Hongjoong and Seonghwa looked at each other with silver lining their eyes. They shared a wall with you and their hearts were breaking at the sound of your sobs. Both of them clung to each other in their bed while they listened. Before they could get up and go over to you they watched Mingi slip out. Shortly after they heard the padding of feet coming toward their room. Yunho appeared in the doorway. Hongjoong opened the covers and Yunho made his way to slip in behind him. They all knew that he would be the best person to help you through this. His quiet support was something they cherished in moments like you were having on the other side of the wall.

“You think he will be able to handle this on his own?”

“I think he is the best out of all of us.”

“We talked about it before deciding who would go over.”

“I don't know how you both do it. I wouldn't be able to keep myself from kissing her to make it better.”

“With great love and restraint.”

They relaxed into each other listening to Mingi’s voice soothe you. Your sobs got worse before they got better and stopped, Mingi had done exactly what they knew he would. They fell asleep knowing you would be well taken care of.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

“I want to go over there damnit. Let me go over there! Did you not see the look on her face as she walked in here; she was crying! Did you not watch her ignore our calls and her team's calls?”

“I saw everything I was right beside you Woo. And no, you know it isn't our place currently to do so, I want to go help too but we shouldn't.”

“If we went over there all we would do is overwhelm her.”

“Sangie and Sannie are right, it isn't our place. As much as I would like it to be, we aren't in a relationship with her yet. I also know you well enough that you would spill everything before Joongie hyung would get the chance to ask her.”

“Fuck off Jongho. How are you three so fucking level headed? The woman we all like is over there in a terrible headspace and you are sitting here stopping me from doing anything about it.”

“Look, I know you want to be there for her, but we can't go over there and comfort her without spilling our feelings. We are also not the most qualified for situations like this and you know it.”

“Fuck you all for being so logical.”

“We love you too, let's get settled and go to bed. We will see her tomorrow morning and then we can make sure she is okay.”

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

On the other side of your room Aurora and Willow paced. They knew exactly why you were crying. It was because of them that you had fallen into that state. They could barely stand it. Willow had to physically hold Aurora back from going over there. Both of them knew you would want space to clear your own head, which they would respect no matter how much it hurt them. They knew about your rough past with relationships so why did they push it, why did they tease you?

They heard your sobs get worse. Aurora was stomping toward the door before she heard a knock. She flung it open to see Forrest. He stepped into the room and sat on one of the beds. He was always the one to offer comfort in situations like these. He held out his arms and both Aurora and Willow hugged him. The three of them stayed there for a little bit until they heard your sobs lessen. Forrest had gotten up shortly after they stopped. He left without a word heading back to his room. They all fell into a fitful sleep, worried about where your head would be tomorrow.

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Next Chapter (Chapter 11)

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Thanks for reading! <3 Moonie

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lsunstreakerl · 5 months ago

Text

I wasn't kidding when I said this is like the ONLY thing I can write rn. I might actually compile all this and make it an AO3 fic.

more dark redbull! GP, Christian, and Max POV here. 1.6k words. READ ME: there's sensitive content here. if you're squickish about drugs maybe don't read this one.

Gianpiero catches Christian's eye as he shifts in his seat, standing up. He brushes a hand gently across Max's shoulder before stepping out of the room, making his way towards the kitchenette.

It wasn't exactly a pretty race, and everyone is frustrated, Max included. The team is so in tune with him- when Max isn't happy, neither are they. The problem arises when Max wants to sulk about something, let it creep under his skin and bother him long term. It makes him upset, and everyone picks up on it.

They need good team morale at this point in the season, and Daniel can't handle it all himself. Thankfully, GP and Jake have a system worked out.

Jake is by the blender when Gianpiero walks in, a variety of fruits ready as he carefully measures out a small bag of powder.

"How are the numbers?"

Jake hums in response, scrawling something on a note.

"He was a bit more dehydrated than I'd like at the weigh in, so I've lowered the dose a bit. Otherwise you'll knock him out in the middle of the meeting."

Gianpiero nods. He definitely doesn't want that- the team wouldn't care, but Max would feel bad, and probably get confused about why he isn't in trouble for it.

He watches as Jake dumps everything into the blender, measuring out the white powder carefully before tucking the baggie back into his backpack.

The smoothie itself looks perfectly normal. The sleep aid doesn't have any kind of taste to it, and it's not like Max has ever noticed anything. If he has, he's never mentioned it. GP will keep an eye on him for the rest of the meeting- they've got about twenty-five minutes left, and a fifteen minute drive home.

If Max has half before the end of the meeting and the other half on the way back, he'll be asleep pretty much as soon as they get to the hotel.

Jake passes him the container, fingers brushing against Gianpiero's for a moment.

"How'd you even figure out that works?"

Gianpiero shrugs.

"He overthinks it, after a bad race. It doesn't do anyone any good, just gets him all twisted up in knots. Sleeping is like-"

He hums.

"It's like a reset for him."

Jake nods. He shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting so GP can make his way back to the meeting room.

"Thanks again for taking care of him."

Gianpiero claps him on the shoulder on his way by.

"Thank you, mate."

------

Max is keeping quiet for the meeting, draining his drink a little bit faster than usual, so GP intervenes when he's about halfway done, pulling Max back into the conversation with carefully targeted questions.

Even so, Max's eyes are drooping when they're in the car back to the hospital, movements sluggish.

He brings his knees to his chest and props his chin on top in the passenger seat, head slightly tilted as he looks at Gianpiero, words starting to slur together.

"GP? Why'm I always so tired?"

Gianpiero reaches over to ruffle his hair gently.

"The debriefs are tough, Max. You probably just don't notice it after a win because of the adrenaline, but-"

He looks over at Max, flashing him a quick smile.

"-racing is exhausting. I'm not surprised it makes you tired."

Max gives a soft noise in response, eyes sliding shut. Gianpiero can probably get away with putting on a repeat documentary when they get inside, it's not like Max will pay a whole lot of attention anyways.

------

The energy after a win is always crazy in the garage. To have a 1-2 is a different feeling entirely, and Christian watches fondly from the booth as everyone celebrates. They're tucked away in a bar, one that Christian is pretty sure he actually owns somehow- a shell company of a shell company somewhere. The cameras are off, and he has people keeping an eye out scattered throughout.

Those are regular Redbull watchdogs though- he's given the racing team members a free pass to get completely wasted, and he shakes his head with a snort as he sees Max and Daniel get on top of one of the tables with a mechanic, singing at the top of their lungs.

Christian leans back into his seat, looking over at Gianpiero next to him.

"I much prefer it this way."

GP raises an eyebrow.

"I think we all do."

He gestures a hand out in front of him, lips curled into a soft smile.

"This high is going to carry them for weeks."

Christian nods, because Gianpiero is, as always, correct. The team loves a win. Max loves a win. The team loves Max. To have all those things combine is a glorious pressure cooker, much better than the tension of the past few days.

GP snorts next to him.

"And that was the first watered down drink of the night."

Christian turns back to keep an eye on Max, sees him thoughtlessly take a drink from one of the sober watchdogs. It's so watered down Christian can tell from here, but it clearly doesn't bother Max as he tosses it back. He's had quite a bit to drink already, Christian and GP have no shame about the blanket policy of encouraging water in the back half of the night.

"I hope Jake is ready."

Gianpiero takes a long sip from his drink.

"He is. He's a good man- I'm not sure where you found him Christian. It's hard to get medically trained people who care around here."

Christian sighs, heavy.

"Tell me about it. You know how difficult it was to track him down and get him to apply?"

Gianpiero grins at him.

"I'm glad you did. Max actually likes him, so you've pulled off a miracle there, getting an RN who does what we need, and gets along with everyone."

Christian absentmindedly swirls his glass.

"You just have to know where to look."

------

Gianpiero cards himself into Max's room, nodding at Jake as he steps in. They'd finally gotten everyone wrangled out of the bar, and Max is passed out on the hotel bed as Jake carefully wipes down the inside of his arm with an alcohol wipe.

"Christ, Jake, did you medicate him already or is that just the gin?"

Jake snorts, pulling gloves on before carefully poking his index finger at the inside of Max's elbow.

"Just the gin, believe it or not."

Gianpiero shakes his head fondly. He loves Max, he does, but he shudders to think of what could've happened to him if Redbull hadn't stepped in. No sense of self preservation, really. He'll take whatever drinks are handed to him, go with anyone who smiles big enough. He's lucky Redbull is around to take care of him.

Jake reaches next to him, and then he's handled it in one smooth stick, setting up the IV quickly. This is why Gianpiero likes him.

He twists the tubing together before hanging the fluids bag from the top of the headboard above Max.

"It'll be done in a few hours, before he wakes up. Should handle a majority of the dehydration effects, but just in case-"

He peels open a foil packet, carefully placing something under Max's to tongue.

"-that'll take care of any headaches. It just dissolves under the tongue, so you don't have to worry about anything there. I set an alarm to come back in and take care of everything when it's done."

Gianpiero nods, watching as Jake packs everything back up.

"Has he seriously never asked about not having hangovers?"

Jake flashes him a grin.

"I think he said something to Carlos and Danny once, but they steered him away from it."

As they should. Jake doesn't give everyone the IV dehydration treatment- Daniel and Carlos know better than to get that wasted. Still, they've all had a win tonight.

"Maybe check on them as well? See if they need anything."

Jake nods, zipping his bag together as he stands.

"I was planning on it. Have a good night, GP."

------

Max curls back into his pillows as he starts to wake up. Last night had been wild- he barely remembers the back half of it. There's a bit of a chalky taste in his mouth, but he probably had a bad breath mint at the bar.

The inside of his arm twinges slightly, but there's not any kind of bruise when Max looks down at it. Maybe he hit it on a table.

He stretches out in the bed, feels his muscles shift with him, sore in the way he likes after a race, a bone deep ache when he moves them.

They're having a solid season. It's been close running, him and Daniel neck and neck, but they're both solidly crawling their way up the leaderboard. They can't win this year, either of them, but they're hauling in points for Redbull left and right.

The team has been so happy about it- Max likes when they're happy. Daniel and Carlos are always nearby, but they keep rotating other drivers through the second Toro Rosso seat. Max hasn't really clicked with any of them, and they don't preform very well, so it's not like he's getting attached or something.

He hopes he likes whoever they pick. Not that his personal presence impacts their decision- that would be ridiculous. Max just can't help but notice he gets along very well with Daniel and Carlos, and both of them drive well, so maybe it's a little bit of superstition.

He gets out of bed and digs through his suitcase for his gym clothes. He can definitely convince Carlos to come workout with him- Daniel as well, if he's really lucky.

Somehow, they always both end up saying yes.

#dark rbr #organized crime redbull #yeah max no way they take your personal preference into account #that'd be wild #ficlet #darkbull verse

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pluvpluvpluv · 1 year ago

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Study Break

18+ || MDNI || Content Warnings: SMUT, characters aged up, established relationship, language, praise kink, thigh riding, lil bit of breeding kink, semi public sex I think that covers it all

Word Count: 1480 exactly

Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

A/N: Happy Thirsty Thursday :) This was written in one sitting and not edited at all. I read through it once before going “yeah post it”

~~~

MC was ready for summer. Summer meant NEWTs were done and she could take a month or so off to celebrate and relax before diving headfirst into her next adventure. She had spent the last two summers under an apprenticeship with Fatima Lawang, making the trip from Feldcroft to Keenbridge every day to study and learn business from someone she truly looked up to. She would be opening a small apothecary in the hamlet she now called home. It was a wonderful location, since she knew Bernard really stuck to selling beast byproducts and plants. She wouldn’t be encroaching on his market, and she could also source ingredients from him. It was going to be, thankfully, a mutually beneficial existence.

She had moved to Feldcroft at the end of their fifth year. Sebastian had nowhere else to live over the summer months, she really had nowhere to live over that time, and neither wanted to be alone. So, when that first year had come to an end, she just followed him home. He had started courting her about halfway through that summer. She had accepted and they had practically lived together like a married couple ever since.

Before she could get to the summer and enjoy her newfound freedom with the love of her life, she had to pass the NEWTs. In order to get her apothecary license, she needed to score high in Potions and Herbology at the very least, but that wasn’t going to be enough for her. The reputation of saving the wizarding world at fifteen years old meant she was expected to do exceedingly well on all of her NEWTs, and she was determined to do so.

She had taken up residence in one of the more secluded corners of the library. It always ensured that MC wouldn’t have to share the table and she could have all of her books open and spread out. Only a select few people knew of where she hid out to study, which limited the interruptions. Except in the case of her boyfriend.

She didn’t know how long she had really been studying when Sebastian finally sat beside her. She didn’t even look up from rereading a paragraph she had already read ten times before. She still retained nothing.

“MC. Love, you missed lunch. I brought you some food.”

“Thanks Bash. I’ll eat it in a minute. I just need to understand what this page is saying.”

He set the plate down and moved the book.

“Considering it’s well past lunch and I didn’t even see you at breakfast, I think you can’t understand the page because you’re hungry. Eat and take a break.”

MC glared at him, debating whether or not it would be worth the argument since they were both the most stubborn person the other had met. That train of thought was interrupted by a rather loud growl as she was betrayed by her own stomach. She ate the food that he brought her without further complaint.

While she ate, Sebastian sat beside her and scanned over the tomes she had laid out on the table. She was paying more attention to him instead. The way that his eyebrows furrowed when he was focused on a paragraph in one of the books and the way his lips moved silently with the words. She focused on his hands as he turned the page and the way that the muscles in his exposed forearms flexed even with that small movement. She could feel herself growing hotter by the second, and it led to the realization that she and Sebastian hadn’t been intimate in nearly three weeks. It could’ve been a record, honestly. Even before he was courting her, after they took each other’s virginities that first summer in Feldcroft, they hardly went more than a couple days without going after each other. The joys of two students living with no chaperone.

“I can feel you staring holes in the side of my head, MC. Have you finished eating? Do you want me to read to you to see if that helps you understand the material better?”

The way he cared for her had also always been one of her favorite things. She had never been good at keeping herself in check, but Sebastian always did his best to make sure she didn’t overextend herself.

“I—uh it’s mostly gone. But I was thinking about something else.”

“Were you? Care to share with the class, darling?”

“I could use your help. Just in a different way.”

He looked at her curiously for a moment before it seemed he registered the look on her face and his expression grew more heated.

“Have you been thinking too much? Do you want to turn that brilliant brain off for a minute?”

His tone was condescending, and while it would normally agitate her when he spoke to her that way, this time it felt different. She nodded slowly, her eyes not leaving his own while a smirk grew on his face.

“Do you remember over the winter holiday, you told me about how one of the girls had talked about grinding on a pillow when she didn’t want to do things herself and I made you do it for me? We don’t have a pillow here, but I bet I could have you grinding on something else and feeling as good as you did that night. Come sit on my thigh, darling. We’ll see if you can ride me like you rode that pillow. Maybe you’ll make just as big a mess on me.”

As she settled in on his lap, she was grateful she had opted for a skirt instead of one of the few outfits she had with pants. The back of the skirt that draped over her boyfriend’s knee would hopefully help hide what they were doing if anyone were to stumble back and find them.

She gave an experimental roll of her hips, and she felt Sebastian’s thigh flex beneath her. MC let out a shaky exhale as she did it again. The thin fabric of her knickers and the coarse fabric of Sebastian’s quidditch pants provided the most delicious friction to her clit. Sebastian’s large hands settled on her hips beneath her skirt, the feel of his fingertips on her bare skin lighting her nerves on fire.

“Make sure you stay quiet. Don’t need anyone hearing how I’m helping you study,” his voice purred, the effect going straight to her core.

As she grew more confident, her pace picked up. Sebastian helped, tensing his thigh and slightly pushing her hips down when she rolled them to make sure that the bundle of nerves she was focused on didn’t go a second without feeling something.

“That’s it, darling. Use me. Grind that needy little cunt on my thigh.”

MC gasped softly, biting her lip as the familiar tension in her lower stomach began to build. She was able to keep her volume down, but she couldn’t keep herself from whining and whimpering completely.

“Bash. Oh gods. I-I’m~”

“Keep going, darling. I can feel how bad you need it. That pretty pussy is drooling through my trousers. You’re making such a mess for me, my good girl. Go on. Cum on my thigh. You can do it, honey.”

With his encouragement and permission, she felt herself giving into the pleasure as her orgasm hit. Her hips stuttered, but Sebastian kept her in rhythm. She registered his low moan too, her chest heaving as she started to come down from her high.

MC’s hand moved to where she assumed she’d find Sebastian’s bulge, hard and aching for the attention she wanted to give it. Instead, her hand landed on a warm, wet patch on the front of his trousers.

“Sebastian Sallow,” she spoke his name low and soft, her frazzled brain slowly putting the pieces together as she looked up at him. “You came in your pants. Untouched. Because of me?”

The boy’s freckled cheeks flooded with color as he blushed. Her normally suave boyfriend seemed embarrassed by this turn of events.

“I may have. You didn’t see yourself. Or hear yourself for that matter. I didn’t realize it was going to happen until it just…happened.”

“That is one of the hottest things you’ve ever done. If we can sneak down to the library floo flame without getting caught, we can make it to the ROR. And I can give you something else to cum in.”

He let out a dark chuckle, looking at her with blown pupils.

“You think this is a game, MC? Hmm? Merlin, I’m gonna get you so fucking pregnant.”

Her eyes widened, and she couldn’t stop the giggle that fell from her lips. She was still giddy as she pulled him down the stairs and towards the floo flame on the back wall.

Thank Merlin for study breaks.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian sallow x mc

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astrae4 · 7 months ago

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WARDROBE WONDERS | choi chanhee

pairing: theboyz’s agent!chanhee x agent!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, forced proximity (wc. 861)

warnings: hateful words towards each other, mention of guns and violence, they’re stealing things…

notes: forgot to post this in drafts…

more works: navigation | tbz!mlist

YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME. You must have used up your luck this week after you found a five dollar bill under your couch and got a free pass to the onsen because you were their 1000th customer. You shouldn’t have passed that tiktok video saying that you’d have bad luck this week if you didn’t use their sound. (You believe it’s bullsht but you’d do anything to not be in this position right now.)

How else would you have landed a duo mission with Choi Chanhee of all people? The probability isn’t even small.

“Head out of the clouds, dumbass,” said the man, breaking you out of your trance, “Gosh, I wonder how you got chosen when a child has a better attention span than you.”

Ah right, you forgot that you were breaking into some billionaire’s mansion right now, trying to decode this fancy air vent door without notifying the whole world that ‘Hey! Two agents are trying to break in a house right now to steal some important documents!”

“Well it seems that this dumbass got chosen because unlike someone, they got the highest mark in the agent training program.”

You could practically sense his eye roll as you concentrated on opening the lock.

“Well hurry up, we don’t have all night—”

Click.

The sound of the vent door unlocking seemed to shut him up as you both put aside your dislike of each other to focus on completing the mission unharmed.

At the very least, you both knew when to stop spiting each other when the mission truly starts getting a bit life-threatening.? (worst thing that could happen was death, no biggie!)

I was silent as you both crawled inside the vents, and it was silent too when you both lowered yourself down inside the designated room.

Man, was this place screaming money. The room was huge—you think it could be the size of a hockey rink. It was supposedly a ‘guest room’ so it had beds and everything, but obviously, not everything is as it seems. This room contained many important documents (in hiding) and they had approximately 20 minutes to find it before security finishes their break shift.

Immediately, you both were against time to search this place.

It probably took around fifteen minutes before you saw a sealed envelope inside a hidden cabinet under the bed. You reached for it and smiled when you saw a red stamp. Yep, this was it.

“Got it, let’s go.” you said, turning to Chanhee. He nodded, tidying up both your traces.

However, just before you could open the vent door for your escape, the sound of footsteps could be heard. Both your heads turned to each other in alarm.

“In here,” Chanhee whisper-shouted, opening the wardrobe. Both of you immediately went in and shut it cautiously.

The door opens and you both hold your breaths. Thankfully, you didn’t leave anything suspicious. It only took a minute before the noise of a door closing could be heard, and the footsteps left alongside it.

You take out a breath of relief, before turning to Chanhee—

Oh, wait.

Only now did you realize your positions.

The wardrobe was SMALL. Like—XXS Bella Hadid small. (😏) Chanhee was under you, his legs shut together. His legs were long, though, so you could feel his knees pressing against your back as you were on your knees, both legs on either side of him. With no space between, you realize his hands made itself comfortable on your waist as yours did beside his head. You were so close to him—so so close that in fact, when you looked at him, you were only wee centimeters away from his face. You felt hot, and it surely wasn’t because of the temperature.

“Staring’s a bad habit, babe,” the said man whispered, a smirk on his face. You could feel your face flush as annoyance bubbled up your throat, but you forced everything down as you bit back your hand which was incredibly close to landing itself towards Chanhee’s face.

“So is being delusional if you think anyone in their right mind would find you attractive,” you spited, before opening the wardrobe slowly.

The road back towards the roof was quiet, as neither wanted to alert anything and risk themself to be caught.

Finally, you thought as you reached the escape van parked a few miles away from the mansion, I should enjoy a hot tub after this—

The alarms blared.

Ah, spoke too soon.

You hurried into the shotgun, same did Chanhee in the driver’s seat as he accelerated quickly. You could hear screams, security noticing you and starting to chase after you. Gunshots could be heard, as well as screams. You unload your gun to start shooting at them back as well. On top of all the chaos, the man still decided that he needed to get the last word.

“I’m not delusional, and you know it too!” He exclaimed in psychopathic glee as he swerved right sharply, “If we survive this, we will be talking about it.”

You could’ve just ignored him as usual, but why did you start shooting more precisely?

TAGLIST — @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @lonewolfjinji @teddywonss @taerae-verse @kyusqult

NETWORKS — @deoboyznet @k-labels

#tbz #theboyz #chanhee #choi chanhee #fluff #romance #tbz x reader #chanhee x reader #choi chanhee x reader #new #new x reader #tbz chanhee #tbz chanhee x reader #chanhee x you #choi chanhee x you #tbz images #the boyz x reader

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iaminfourthwing · 1 year ago

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The Generals Daughter

a/n: finally the first chapter is here and the next one is almost ready for upload. I apologize in advantage, because I am still a bloody beginner in terms of writing. still, enjoy!

Chapter I

Conscription day will forever be one of the deadliest every year, right before Threshing. Ever since the first time I witnessed this from afar I hate it with all my heart. All year I have the same “privilege”, how my father would call it, to watch the candidates, that passed the entrance exam six month prior, fall to their death. And those who survive the Parapet either graduate or going to get killed – due to other cadets or dragons. One wrong move and all you will be is dead meat.

Today is possibly my last day on earth. I have to cross the Parapet myself to get into the Riders Quadrant but according to the General, I will just do fine – I am a Melgren and I have ten years of training in my bones after all. I am still not so sure about this, but I have no say in this. Not anymore.

Somewhere in between these masses of candidates must be a certain other general daughter and I really fucking hope she survives this. Even though she doesn't look like she could kill a fly, I believe wholeheartedly in her. She is strong and if someone can do this, it's her, even if she doesn't knows it yet. I tried to talk to her mother but she wouldn't budge, nothing would change her mind. Even Mira tried it more than once and if the General isn't listening to her, then she won't listen to anyone.

The orders from my father five days ago were clear – wait till the end, when everyone else is done, then I'll cross the Parapet alone. On the other side at the entrance to the quadrant will wait a third year that'll bring me to formation into the Dragon Rotunda. Commandant Panchek is informed that I'll join the Quadrant and which wing.

And with that I am waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

I have a good spot to observe these kids, trying to survive this death trail and see some of them already fall. I don't understand how some of them want to become a rider after all. So many of them volunteer to join the quadrant while others don't have a choice, like me. Malek lingers at every possible corner and no one is safe from him. Having a dragon might be “thrilling”, how many officers describe it, but till you possibly get to this point you could be dead, or worse.

These dragons are terrifying, like that beast of a dragon my father bonded all those years ago, long before I was born.

The weather isn't in anyone’s favor today – the storm took a turn at some point. Even though the sunrise was beautiful, it left a bitter aftertaste as the dark clouds covered the sky. For some of them it was their last sunrise ever.

It's been more than two hours since the first one entered the Parapet and there aren't many candidates left. I make out a figure striking over the stones like they own this place and – did they just threw another candidate down?!

My heart starts racing, my breathing becomes uneven, and I feel like I'm having a panic attack. Shit, now?!

`Take a deep breath, Arya. You`ll do this alone, no one can throw you down and no one will interrupt you.’

I just really hope I`ll never have to meet this asshole. I may look tough and have more fighting experience than others, but those people are unpredictable. And I certainly don`t have my father’s signet to see if I could win a fight against him, so I really want to avoid this guy.

A knock on the door interrupts my train of thoughts and when I turn, one of the officers from infantry stands at the door. “It's time” is the only thing he says. Shit.

Around fifteen minutes later I find myself lingering at the edge of the Parapet. No one else is around, the officer walked away the moment, I stepped foot into the tower.

Only a few centimeters separate me and the abyss. Just a few centimeters left and then I'll be out in the open while the rain thankfully eases into a slight drizzle.

`Okay Arya – you`ve got this. Take a deep breath – and step forward.’

Well … it takes me about three minutes, with stumbling and cursing the shit out of every person that crosses my mind, to reach the other side and I am nearing the entry to the famous Riders Quadrant. Just like father told me, a third year is already waiting for me, looking annoyed. But it's not like he can disobey a direct order from above. “Finally, they are about to start” he grumbles. Hello to you too, grumpy, but I know better than to aggravate him, since he has a dragon that could incinerate me before I even have the chance to hide.

We make our way through the empty corridors of the college while I try to sort my thoughts. I really survived the Parapet and now I am allowed to call myself a cadet. Still alive and can't fucking believe I am now part of this hellhole. I already imagine the way the General will stand in his office and rant about how it was predictable that I would succeed. “She is a Melgren after all and it would have been a waste of time if she didn't survived.”

Faint voices in the distance interrupt my thoughts, which get louder with every step we take but before we can even walk out into the biggest courtyard one has ever seen, the chattering grows quiet.

“Three hundred and one of you have survived the Parapet to become-“

The third year, I have yet to know his name, and I interrupt Commandant Panchek, who stands on the dais in front of the cadets.

“I apologize, Commandant, but it's three hundred and two.”

There is a heavy silence that spreads over the rotunda. I stand behind the tall rider, most of the curious glances immediately find him, only a few of them spot me behind. Great.

#fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #iron flame #bodhi durran #xaden riorson #bodhi durran x oc #bodhi durran x reader

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lighthouseas · 3 months ago

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Hi I saw you have written a MistyNat fic. I'd love to read it but it says I have to be verified user on AO3, is there any way to be able to read it on Tumblr as the preview of it looked great!

Thanks! :)

hello anon, since you asked so nicely i have copy and pasted it here for you (and others) to read :) though for future reference the reason my ao3 is verified users only is because of ai scraping. if you want to read my fics there, creating an account is completely free!

oh, won't you kiss me on the mouth

Misty feels Shauna’s looming presence the most, oddly enough. She isn’t even playing with them—she’s just standing ominously by one of their wood huts, watching as they giggle by a hastily made fire. She’s been like this for weeks—more of a shadow than anything else. Misty had invited her to come play about fifteen minutes ago, but Shauna had just told her to fuck off. Unsurprising, but nevertheless ungrateful. This could mean that Misty will get more attention, though, so it might not be all bad.

Lottie is eyeing everyone in the circle, a cup of mushroom tea in her hands. Travis is side eyeing it, cautious of its influence—though Misty doesn’t really know why. Mushrooms are fun. She thinks fondly back on the time where everyone had accidentally gotten dosed on them. She’d really like to do it again. She doesn’t say that, though, lest she get kicked out of the circle for supposedly being “crazy”.

“Okay, here’s how this works,” Van says, placing a dusty beer bottle with a broken tip that they had managed to save from the burning cabin in the middle of the circle. She smirks evilly, but it’s all playful. Misty can’t help but notice that Van skips making eye contact with her, even if she probably looks the most excited to play out of everyone there. “We spin it twice. The two people it lands on can either choose to go into that hut,” Van points to the wood hut farthest away from them, and, thankfully, the one farthest away from where Shauna stands— “for…roughly seven minutes, or, if they’re cowards and don’t want to run the risk of getting too close with one another—” the group cackles at that. Misty notices Nat shifting on the ground, side eyeing Travis. She’s biting her lip. She doesn’t want to get paired with him, and for a moment, Misty feels a little bit bad. “...they can both take a sip of this wonderful shroom tea and start tripping balls. So, it’s a win win either way.”

The group laughs, loud and all consuming. Misty laughs along with them, notably louder than the others. Nat gives her a look from across the circle. It’s almost like she can tell that Misty isn’t really being genuine; that she’s only doing this to fit in. Which is—okay, it’s partly true, she supposes, but Misty also likes party games. She’s doing this for fun. Maybe she’ll get to kiss Travis. The thought makes her stomach twist, but it would still be fun. Probably.

Van spins the bottle, and Misty watches it go, lightly flicking dirt in all directions as it twirls along the ground. It’s oddly mesmerizing, and Misty can’t look away. She glimpses Nat in the reflection of the glass bottle—she’s staring too, equally intently.

She focuses on Nat’s brown eyes, just for a second.

The bottle stops—it’s pointing at Mari, because of course it is. The whole circle makes an ooooh sound, spare for Misty. It goes without saying that if it lands on Misty the second spin, Mari’s going to make her drink instead of brave the seven minutes with her. Most people will, actually, but Misty tries not to dwell on that thought too much.

The bottle spins again, eventually landing on Taissa.

Mari snickers. “I don’t think she’d want to go in with me, considering…” her eyes dart between Van and Tai. They both laugh, nudging one another affectionately.

“Alright then. Let’s drink, yeah?” Tai replies, unbothered.

The whole circle lets out a chorus of supportive yeahhhs in response. Lottie hands the cup to Mari, who takes a generous sip, and then to Tai, who grins and drinks. Van is giggling beside her, murmuring a soft “thanks” in Tai’s ear. For a moment, Misty feels something warm come over her.

It goes away soon enough as the bottle begins to spin again, marking the second round. It lands on Travis. He flinches, fingernails digging into the ground. Lottie throws a glance his way, gripping the mug of mushroom tea like she owns it. Misty can already feel the mood around the circle beginning to get heady—Tai is giggling at a stray leaf drifting across the forest floor and Mari is lying on her back, staring up at the evening sky. Misty shifts in her seat on the ground, trying not to let it throw her off.

The bottle spins again, landing on her.

It isn’t like before, with Mari. The circle goes silent for a moment, and Travis’s eyes go wide, almost like he’s…scared? Misty can’t imagine why.

“So, uh, Travis—” Misty starts, smile a little too eager and posture a little too straight, even if she knows where this is going.

“Drink,” he interrupts, motioning for Lottie to hand him the cup. Misty deflates, not because she had wanted to make out with Travis—as a matter of fact, the idea of that sounds absolutely revolting to her—but because of the snickers that she notices immediately start travelling around the circle in response. It’s embarrassing. Nat shifts in her seat awkwardly, briefly making eye contact with Misty before focusing her gaze on the ground.

Maybe she feels bad.

Travis takes a sip, and then Misty does too, though she’s infinitely more hesitant about it. She doesn’t want to get too high—not tonight, at least. If someone gets themselves hurt, they’ll need her help—someone will do something stupid and then Misty will have to swoop in like she always does. Good. That’s good. A large part of her wants that, craves the validation. She closes her eyes, trying to unhear the snickers and whispers vibrating throughout the circle.

She assures herself that it will stop soon.

The bottle spins again, and, finally, the two elect to be alone for seven minutes—Lottie and Akilah. The group waits, giggling and speculating on what they could be doing. When they come back, Akilah looks vaguely like she’s just been exorcised, and Lottie is smiling slightly. She had probably lectured Akilah for all seven minutes on how to become “one with the wilderness”. Whatever. They both look pleased, so no one questions it.

Tai and Van. Lucky. They make out for all seven minutes, undoubtedly. When they get back Misty can see a hickey forming on Van’s neck and can hear the laughter, though it sounds distant, like an echo in a dark cave. Everything looks wobbly—she’s starting to feel the shrooms.

Nat and Travis. Drink. Travis takes a modest sip. Nat does not. The interaction should feel more uncomfortable because of their history, but Misty feels too floaty to care.

Nat looks pretty by the firelight. Misty thinks that the brown hair suits her. She should tell Nat to grow out her roots more.

She won’t, though. She won’t.

Gen and Travis. Finally, Travis decides to go into the hut. Nat is lying flat on her back, chest rising and falling in distinctly rapid succession. She has no reason to be worried, really—Misty doubts that Travis is going to do anything, considering how high he already is. And Gen is nice. She wouldn’t take advantage of him.

They come out after what is probably more like five minutes, not seven. Travis stumbles, looking up at the trees. Gen walks behind him, a mildly frightened expression painting her features.

“You guys hear that?” Travis murmurs. Misty might hear it—the wind? It blows softly through the tree branches, singsongy in her ears. Like a lullaby. “The trees are talking.” Oh. She doesn’t hear it like that.

“He was like this the whole time,” Gen says tiredly. “Lottie, can you—”

“Travis, it’s okay. Come sit.” Lottie pats the empty spot next to her.

“No, the trees, I—”

“ Travis, ” Lottie insists, “Everything is okay. It wants you to hear it. Especially right now.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Travis blinks, almost in slow motion, before going to sit next to Lottie. Normally, Nat would be butting in to defend him, but she isn’t. She’s still lying on her back, and now her hand is up in the air, where she can turn it over and thoroughly investigate each knuckle. Misty watches her, unable to focus on anything else.

She doesn’t hear the trees. She wonders if Nat can, but just isn’t telling anyone.

“Misty,” Van snaps, and Misty startles out of her trance. “It landed on you and Nat. You in there?”

“What—” Misty stares at the bottle. It’s currently pointing towards Nat, who’s sitting up. When did she sit up? “Oh.”

The group laughs. Someone says “oh my god, she’s so high” in a mocking tone, though Misty isn’t quite sure who. Nat is looking at her, lips pursed and fingers digging into the earth below her. Her fingernails are starting to get dirty from all of the scratching.

“So, what’ll it be, Quigley?” Van asks, though it sounds more like she’s making fun of Misty.

“I, um—” Misty stammers, the mushrooms starting to impede her brain functions. “Well, I guess, I mean, Nat, you like drugs, yeah? So—”

“The fuck?” Nat shouts, louder than she probably should. Her eyes are completely bugged out, and she’s angry, shit.

Van looks between the two of them. “So…drink?”

“If that’s what Nat wants,” Misty says, softer this time.

“How do you know what I want?”

Misty can feel her face heating up, the smell of smoke and sweaty bodies overwhelming her. “I mean, I just assumed—”

“Fuck it,” Nat interrupts, standing up and wobbling on her feet. She uses a nearby tree for balance. “You want the seven minutes, and it’s your call, right? So we’ll do the seven minutes.”

“Oh—oh, okay,” Misty nods, maybe a bit too eagerly, and stands up. The ground shakes under her. She gives the group a two thumbs up, though she isn’t really sure why. “Uh. Bye guys.”

“Uh—okay. Yeah. Great. Have fun,” Van laughs, giving Taissa a look that screams what the fuck.

Nat walks fast. She’s way ahead of Misty, storming by Shauna, who’s sitting under a tree and writing in her diary. Shauna throws a glance at them, but Misty can’t decipher its meaning. She probably shouldn’t try.

Nat isn’t like the others. Misty knows this by now. She hunts the animals, sure, but she also feels bad about things, and usually leaves the butchering to Shauna. She’s a loner and a would-be high school dropout, but she’s not mean. She feels things, and Misty can tell she feels more than the other girls; she just doesn’t like to admit it. Misty recognizes this, but can’t really understand why she is the way she is—it’s sweet, but weird. Really weird, considering their circumstances.

Nat doesn’t snicker at her as much as the others do, though. So that’s nice.

Nat climbs into the hut first, disappearing into its darkness. Everything is still looking wobbly, and suddenly the hut looks much bigger than Misty could have ever imagined—towering over the trees, ominous-like, ready to consume her at any moment. When do the seven minutes start, again? Misty’s heart speeds up just a tad, her palms beginning to sweat.

“You coming or what?” Nat calls, then giggles. “Woah. My voice sounds different in here. Misty, the hut makes your voice sound funny. Come in, come in.” She wouldn’t be saying this normally. She’s high as fuck.

Misty chuckles, trying to quiet it with a hand over her mouth. She climbs in, and Nat is sitting there, eyes wide and inviting. Her pupils are super dilated, though Misty can’t imagine that hers are any better.

“Seven minutes, starting now!” Misty jokes as she sits down. Nat does not laugh. Misty swallows. “What do you want to do?” It’s all she can think to say, her mouth having gone bone dry.

It’s the drugs, she assures herself.

Nat shrugs. “I dunno.”

“Well, we could just talk.”

Nat huffs indignantly. “...About?”

“Um…” Misty shifts in place, considering the question. “Boys?” That’s what people usually talk about during these things. It seems appropriate to suggest.

Nat picks at a stick on the wall of the hut, trying desperately to get it free. “Fuck no.”

“Oh, well, I just thought—”

“Misty, I said no.”

“Okay. Sitting in silence, then.”

“No, I mean—” she finally gets the stick loose, grinning at her small victory. “We can talk, just not about that.”

“I mean, the other option is making out.” Misty’s mouth moves faster than her brain, which is moving shockingly slow. Shit.

“Ew, Misty, no!” Nat makes a face, but it’s impeded by the drugs pulsing through her system. It’s more of a slow blink in surprise. “No.”

“You say no a lot, Nat,” Misty chastises.

“Yeah, well, I think I have good reason to.”

“No, no, you’re the leader. I get it. You have to turn stuff down.”

“You really don’t get it,” Nat snaps, and Misty wilts. “You don’t get it.”

“Why?”

“Because you just—” Nat waves a hand at her, trying to indicate something that Misty really, really can’t decipher. “You’re you.”

“...Yeah.”

“You’re Misty-Fucking-Quigley. You don’t give a shit about the people here. You don’t—you don’t care.”

Misty wants to shout at her, but can’t. Her voice won’t go to that volume, not now. “That isn’t true. I help you guys. I nurse you back to health. I give—I give the most shits out of anyone.” She’s really struggling to form coherent sentences—she hopes Nat doesn’t dislike her for it. She should know by now that Misty isn’t always like this.

“Yeah, you do all that, but you’re also fucking crazy.”

“I’m not—” Well. She is. But that’s besides the point.

“I’m not saying you’re all bad. But you could never understand. Because you could never be a good leader.”

“I beg your pardon!” Nat is wrong. She’s so fucking wrong that it makes Misty’s blood boil.

At this, Nat snorts, then breaks into a chuckle, flopping against the wall of the shelter. She’s laughing at Misty, like, really fucking laughing at her, but it doesn’t seem like she’s trying to making fun of Misty. She just looks high, her cheeks flushed red and hair mussed from getting caught on the hut’s walls. She tucks a tress behind her ear, shaking her head.

“You’re weird as hell.” She accompanies the sentiment with an exaggerated wave of her hand, as if controlling her limbs has become physically impossible.

Misty doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t deny it. She’s too focused on the way Nat’s hands play with the twig she had pulled from the wall earlier, fingers bending and knuckles flexing. Dirty fingernails scraping incessantly, the soft sound accompanying their conversation.

“...Sometimes I like that about you,” Nat finishes, quiet.

Misty’s head snaps up, face flushed a deep red. Nat is giving her an incredibly obvious once-over. Without thinking, Misty moves closer, the rush of wind in the trees making her feel lightheaded. Every sound is amplified, including that of Nat’s breathing. She can feel her drugged up blood pulsing through her veins, delivering a blush to her cheeks and sweat to her palms and a hot, floaty feeling all over. She’s always admired Nat, and now, in the slight light of the moon creeping through the hut’s doorway, she looks like some sort of goddess.

In a way, she is. She’s their leader. Misty had gotten them stuck here, and now Nat is going to guide them through the Wilderness, not yet bending it to her will, but bowing to it, accepting its influence. And Misty knows, without a doubt, that she will be trailing behind her every step of the way. Nat will never know that Misty is the reason she’s found her purpose. That, in a roundabout sort of way, Misty is the reason Nat is sitting before her, high out of her mind, and looking goddess-like.

It’s okay. She doesn’t need to know. She just needs to know how much Misty wants this, even if it’s mostly the mushrooms that are giving her the capacity to admit it to herself.

“You like that about me,” Misty repeats, and she’s so close, she’s so fucking close, and Nat isn’t moving away.

“I think,” Nat whispers, breath hot, “You’re crazy.” She swallows, throat raspy and dry. “But so are we. You just flaunt it.”

She’s not wrong. It stings a little, though.

Misty has to ask—“Why did you agree to seven minutes in heaven? Why didn’t you choose to drink?”

“Honestly?” Nat giggles. “I need to lay off the drugs.”

“That’s all?”

Nat’s eyes dart downwards for a brief moment, and Misty’s heart skips. She can’t imagine what this would be like without the hallucinogens currently pulsing throughout both of their bodies. She moves closer, unthinking.

“Natalie—”

And then it happens, and Nat is surging forward, grabbing Misty’s blushing cheeks as she kisses her. Misty’s glasses are knocked askew, and she doesn’t even have time to enjoy it before Nat is pulling away. She looks alarmed.

“Shit, I don’t know—” Nat runs a shaking hand through her hair. “I don’t know why I did that, ‘m sorry—”

“Shut up,” Misty murmurs, a bit too aggressively. She’s the one to lean forward this time, capturing Nat’s lips in a kiss, and Nat huffs into her mouth as if she’s always wanted this too. Misty knows that she hasn’t—knows that deep down—but wouldn’t mind pretending for a while.

Nat pulls away for air. “You’ve never kissed anyone?”

Misty swallows, embarrassed. “No.”

“I can tell.”

Misty thinks it might stop there, that they’ll just go back to the group and try to forget about this tomorrow, but Nat pulls her back in, insistent. Misty doesn’t really know when it happened, but Nat’s tongue has made its way into her mouth, and her hand is in Misty’s mussed-up, endlessly knotted curly hair. Everything is hot and stuffy and maybe this is just some fucking hallucination. Who the fuck knows.

It’s seven minutes in heaven. This is what people do, right? Misty’s just doing what everyone does. And she likes that—but she likes kissing Nat more.

How long has it been? Three minutes? Fifteen? Where are they? Who are they?

Misty pulls away this time, acutely aware of the fact that she can barely breathe. Nat follows her, leaning forward to beg for more. “Sorry,” Misty pants. “Air.” She points to her mouth, as if it’s any helpful indicator.

“Yeah,” Nat replies.

“You know, you’re—” Misty pauses, trying to remember the word. The moon seems to shine brighter against Nat’s features. “You’re really pretty. I’m sure you’ve heard that before, but I just wanted you to know that I think you are.”

“Misty fucking Quigley,” Nat murmurs. “Misty fucking Quigley.” She keeps repeating it, like a whispered mantra. She pauses, looking Misty up and down. “I know what people say about you. But for the record, I think you’re pretty too.”

“Yeah? ‘S not just the mushrooms talking?”

“Oh, it’s definitely the mushrooms talking,” Nat says, breaking out into a fit of giggles again. She leans forward, placing a hand on Misty’s shoulder to steady herself; Misty tries her best to pretend that that the touch alone doesn’t make her want to pounce on Natalie.

“It’s okay…me too.”

“You too?” And then Misty laughs with her, and they’re all close again, breath hot in each others’ mouths. Misty hasn’t felt this way in so long. Not since Crystal.

They both lean forward this time, and the kiss is sweeter. Like people in a real relationship might kiss, like how Misty sees Van and Taissa kiss all of the time. And Nat—she draws it out, grinning madly against Misty’s lips. It has definitely been over seven minutes. People are bound to be wondering where they are.

Misty revels in the moment as it is, though. Nat does the same. She can tell that Nat doesn’t care about the time. Maybe, if they’re careful, they can just stay here forever. Nothing is impossible. Not right now. Not out here.

Footsteps sound outside.

“Natalie!” Fuck. “Misty! It’s been forever since you went in there, what the hell are you two doing?” It’s Shauna. Of all people. She isn’t even playing.

They jump apart right as Shauna peeks into the hut. She’s definitely seen them, if only for a split second, based on the expression that flashes across her face. She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Nat pales, looking like she’s just seen a ghost.

“Oh—uh. Okay. Well. I’m gonna…go,” Shauna murmurs, walking away and muttering something indecipherable to herself.

“She won’t tell anyone,” Misty whispers, nodding seriously. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”

Nat’s eyes blow wide. “Please don’t poison her.”

“I wasn’t going to!” Misty wouldn’t dare. Shauna would probably kill her before she’d even managed to get the poison in her drink, anyway.

“Hey, guys?” Tai pokes her head into the hut, looking between them questioningly. “Time’s been up for a while.”

“Sorry. We got sidetracked,” Nat says effortlessly. The color has returned to her face, thank goodness. “Misty was telling me a story.”

“I was?” Misty has no recollections of doing this, but she’s high. Of course her memory is going to be unreliable.

Nat shoots her a look. “Yes, you were. Remember, the one about Coach Ben?”

“Oh,” Misty nods. “Yeah,” She’s not too bad at lying. “Yeah, I was.”

Tai looks between the two of them. She likes girls, she probably senses something—but, thankfully, she doesn’t say it, just shrugs and tells them to hurry up so that they can continue the game. Misty climbs out first, slow and wobbly. The wind in the trees is screaming louder, now, whispering indiscernible things to her. Nat follows her out, stumbling and giggling. Misty wonders if she will remember this tomorrow, if she’ll just ignore Misty and try to pretend it never happened.

They were high. That was all. That should be all—end of story.

Nat’s hair, now mussed from Misty’s prior grip on it, flutters slightly in the whispered wind. The dyed parts are barely noticeable under the cover of darkness. Misty’s mouth moves before she can stop it.

“I like your brown hair.”

“Huh?” Nat isn’t really all there; she smiles lopsidedly as Misty turns to face her.

“I said, I like your brown hair. It suits you.”

“Oh,” Nat runs a hand through her hair, smiling. “Thanks.”

“Sorry, I just thought I’d say that. It’s cute.”

“No, no. It’s fine. Good to know that it doesn’t look shitty.”

They’re nearing the group now, almost within earshot. Van is about to spin the bottle again; they’ll probably only do a few more rounds before finally deciding to call it a night.

“I don’t think you could ever look shitty,” Misty says hurriedly. “I meant what I said. About you being pretty.”

“Ah,” Nat giggles again. “So it wasn’t the shrooms.”

“No, they just gave me confidence to say it.” Misty wishes that her mouth would stop speaking for her, sometimes.

“Okay,” Nat nods, “well, I guess I could say the same for you, too.”

“I—”

“Don’t think too hard about it, okay?” Nat says, patting her shoulder. “Please,” she adds.

Misty is definitely thinking too hard about it, though. Her mind lingers on it—Nat’s breath against her skin, her lips, her laugh, her staring at Misty in that particular way—

“Okay. Yeah. I won’t. This is just, like, fun sleepover things! Right?”

And Nat—she laughs at that, but she’s got this smile that says she thinks what Misty said is endearing, not weird. Misty grins, too wide and showing too many teeth, and Nat smiles that perfect smile that she’s had since before the crash.

“Right.”

That isn’t all it is. Misty knows this, and her gut is insisting that she keep Nat close, assuring her that maybe, just maybe, it will work out this time. Nat isn’t like the others, she repeats to herself—and it doesn’t sound like a lie.

She knows it to be true.

#i need to write more mistynat fic i miss them #yellowjackets #misty quigley #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio #mistynat #📝#📬#bee.txt

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pluviowriting · 1 year ago

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Study Break

18+ || MDNI || Content Warnings: SMUT, characters aged up, established relationship, language, praise kink, thigh riding, lil bit of breeding kink, semi public sex I think that covers it all

Word Count: 1480 exactly

Repost from original blog @/pluvpluvpluv

Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

A/N: Happy Thirsty Thursday :) This was written in one sitting and not edited at all. I read through it once before going “yeah post it”

Part Two Here

“MC. Love, you missed lunch. I brought you some food.”

“Thanks Bash. I’ll eat it in a minute. I just need to understand what this page is saying.”

He set the plate down and moved the book.

“Considering it’s well past lunch and I didn’t even see you at breakfast, I think you can’t understand the page because you’re hungry. Eat and take a break.”

“I can feel you staring holes in the side of my head, MC. Have you finished eating? Do you want me to read to you to see if that helps you understand the material better?”

“I—uh it’s mostly gone. But I was thinking about something else.”

“Were you? Care to share with the class, darling?”

“I could use your help. Just in a different way.”

He looked at her curiously for a moment before it seemed he registered the look on her face and his expression grew more heated.

“Have you been thinking too much? Do you want to turn that brilliant brain off for a minute?”

“Make sure you stay quiet. Don’t need anyone hearing how I’m helping you study,” his voice purred, the effect going straight to her core.

“That’s it, darling. Use me. Grind that needy little cunt on my thigh.”

“Bash. Oh gods. I-I’m~”

“Sebastian Sallow,” she spoke his name low and soft, her frazzled brain slowly putting the pieces together as she looked up at him. “You came in your pants. Untouched. Because of me?”

The boy’s freckled cheeks flooded with color as he blushed. Her normally suave boyfriend seemed embarrassed by this turn of events.

“I may have. You didn’t see yourself. Or hear yourself for that matter. I didn’t realize it was going to happen until it just…happened.”

He let out a dark chuckle, looking at her with blown pupils.

“You think this is a game, MC? Hmm? Merlin, I’m gonna get you so fucking pregnant.”

Her eyes widened, and she couldn’t stop the giggle that fell from her lips. She was still giddy as she pulled him down the stairs and towards the floo flame on the back wall.

Thank Merlin for study breaks.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #Sebastian sallow smut #Sebastian sallow x mc #Sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #Sebastian sallow fic

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tothelasthoursofmylife · 15 days ago

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The Curious Disappearance of Lady Henriette Woolahan (Part 2)

Diedrich and Vincent are investigating a (stupid) case for the queen. After a ridiculously long time... here I am with the second part of this fic!!! To upturn my own planning again, this fic will be a three-parter now because I had far too much fun writing this part...^^' Again, though this fic is part of my Watchdog of the Queen series, it can be read without knowing the main fic (or any of the other instalments)! The first part can be found here, and the whole fic is also on AO3.

London, England, United Kingdom – August 1871

For a moment, the world was perfect. Vincent was fast asleep and could not bombard Diedrich with a morbid topic he had recently studied. The sun was shining, the sky free of clouds, and the temperature pleasant; the London Season really took place during England’s best weather period. And they were on the way to the townhouse. Silence, good weather, an evening off – everything was perfect.

Like a fool, Diedrich lulled himself into a false sense of security. Still, nothing was ever perfect in the vicinity of Vincent Phantomhive, and reality crashed down on him when he realised that the hansom cab hadn’t moved a centimetre in the last ten minutes.

Swearing under his breath, Diedrich slightly opened the carriage door and asked the driver what was going on. He had no idea; he only knew that something was obstructing the traffic. With an annoyed sigh, Diedrich sank back in his seat. Fifteen minutes later, the cab was still perfectly immobile. Cab and carriage drivers as well as annoyed passengers and curious passersby investigated the origin of the odd blockage and passed it along by word of mouth. By the time the reason reached Diedrich, it had turned into a mess:

Diedrich had to hear and accept many ridiculous things in his life ever since he had met Vincent Phantomhive. Still, under no circumstance, would he ever believe that the world’s largest family of ducks had been waddling across the street when the ground suddenly gave away underneath them, and that people were now frantically trying to rescue the poor and highly uncooperative little creatures – even if it meant bringing a good portion of London’s traffic to a standstill.

When there was no improvement nearly an hour later, Diedrich dropped his head in his hands and inhaled deeply. Then, he reached out and tipped on Vincent’s shoulder. “Phantomhive, time to wake up.”

But Vincent didn’t.

Diedrich shook him, snipped against his head, and loudly clapped his hands together in front of his face. Nothing worked, and coldness ran up Diedrich’s spine. Numbly, he checked Vincent’s pulse – and sighed in relief when he felt his heartbeat.

But that relief lasted only a moment. No matter how exhausted Vincent must have been, he would have woken up or at least stirred a little when Diedrich had shaken him. Something was wrong, and Diedrich wracked his brain until one theory manifested itself in his mind: Vincent had drunk Undertaker’s tea! What if Undertaker had put anything in it? The mortician would never do anything to jeopardise Vincent’s life and health, but it would not be beyond him to give Vincent a sleeping tincture to annoy Diedrich.

Especially if three cakes and a plate of biscuits had to be delivered safely.

Diedrich pinched his nose and slowly counted from ten downwards. Zehn, neun, acht… Perhaps Undertaker had even trained that duck family to wreak havoc in London today?

When he had calmed down a bit, Diedrich gave Vincent one more shake, but he still did not react. Cursing Undertaker, Diedrich climbed out of the carriage before he lifted Vincent out and carried him on piggyback. When Vincent slept secured on his back – he was lighter than Diedrich had expected – Diedrich grabbed two boxes with each hand. His drill sergeant would be very proud of him if he could see him now.

Then, fuelled by annoyance and irritation, Diedrich set out to walk to the Phantomhive townhouse.

***

Thankfully, Tanaka, as the only sensible member of the Phantomhive household, had noticed the commotion that had taken over a good portion of London. Wanting to make sure that his master was not the cause of it, he had set out to investigate. Diedrich met him halfway to the townhouse and was very glad to be rid of some of the boxes. They must have looked odd to any passer-by as they carried dubious-looking boxes (of course, Undertaker had to place the cakes and biscuits in the weirdest boxes he could find and wrap them in see-through cloths; he could as well have stored them in urns) and a seemingly dead man through the city. The only reason they didn’t receive more attention was that everyone was captivated by the ducks. (Diedrich couldn’t believe they actually existed, though there weren’t as many as reported.)

When they finally reached the townhouse, Tanaka put the cakes and biscuits in the kitchen while Diedrich carried Vincent upstairs and threw him on his bed. Not even that woke him up. Whatever Undertaker had given him was insanely potent.

Diedrich wanted to collapse into an armchair and doze off right here and now but knew that it would not be comfortable. With the last bit of his strength, he dragged himself to his room and fell into his own bed – and into sound, dreamless sleep.

***

When he woke up the next morning, it felt as if he had only blinked. Diedrich was thoroughly confused when he checked the clock and it read that it was almost nine o’clock in the morning. At least, although his body had not recognised the time shift, it had rested surprisingly well. Diedrich felt great, though it did not lift his mood.

I cannot believe Undertaker did that to me, Diedrich thought while he got dressed. He wondered if Vincent was already up or not and was torn between wanting him to be asleep (peaceful breakfast) or awake (to make sure Vincent had not died during the night). In the end, Diedrich decided that both options would be fine and then headed downstairs.

Halfway to the dining hall, he spotted Vincent sluggishly making his way there too. Because Vincent was farther down the staircase, Diedrich quickened his pace a bit to catch up with him.

“Good morning, Dee,” said Vincent and yawned.

“Good morning,” Diedrich returned. “How come you are still sleepy when you have slept for about fourteen hours?”

“Did I really sleep that long?”

“Yes. And one hour of it you spent in the hansom cab – and another on my back.”

“Like a koala?”

“Like the world’s heaviest and most insufferable koala.”

“Breaking records while asleep, what an accomplishment, don’t you think?”

Diedrich glared at him. “I had to carry you back to the townhouse because you fell asleep in the cab and the traffic was stopped by a family of ducks! And I didn’t only have to carry you but the boxes of cakes and biscuits as well! You’re lucky that Tanaka came to look for us. Otherwise, I might have left you at the side of the street.”

“I did wonder how I ended up in my bed,” Vincent said absentmindedly.

Diedrich looked at him and asked slowly, “Have you always been such a heavy sleeper, Phantomhive?”

“No. I was just very, very exhausted,” Vincent returned in a tone Diedrich could not place but one that made him furrow his brows, nonetheless. “We moved around quite a bit yesterday, and I didn’t get much sleep the night before. Did you sleep well, Dee?”

“Yes, but –”

“That’s good!” Vincent interrupted him and pushed open the door to the dining room.

Although what Vincent had said sounded plausible, Diedrich didn’t believe he was right; no matter how exhausted, nobody would have fallen asleep that deeply. The whole situation made Diedrich uneasy, and with the words “I think Undertaker drugged you, Phantomhive” on his tongue, he hurried after Vincent. They did not get the chance to escape into the air though because Diedrich swallowed them as soon as he stepped into the dining hall and realised that they were not alone.

Her sheer appearance always disarmed him, ever since Diedrich had first met her during the cricket tournament’s celebrations in his first year at Weston College. Even then, despite her age, she had radiated authority, and her piercing gaze had only intensified as she had grown older. Now, although Francis Midford was casually sipping tea while sitting at the breakfast table, Diedrich felt the need to stand up a little straighter. Tanaka stood next to Francis (they must have been catching up beforehand), and Diedrich could have sworn his eyes glinted in amusement when he noticed Diedrich adjusting his posture.

“Franny!” Vincent exclaimed and hurried to his sister. “What a surprise!”

Seeing them side by side never ceased to baffle Diedrich. He hadn’t believed Vincent – who was, after all, a known liar – that eve of the tournament when he had told him that Francis was his sister. Diedrich could hardly believe it now, having known them for years and seen the dozens of childhood pictures Vincent liked to hold under his nose. (They were carefully curated and seldom showed their parents.) After all, the Phantomhive siblings were as different as day and night. Now, Vincent – having somehow managed to discard his sleepiness in his sister’s presence – was smiling and beaming while Francis put down her cup and glared at him.

“Why should it be a surprise? You are holding my cakes hostage, and I had to come to their rescue,” Francis replied and nodded to the chocolate cake in front of her; about a third of it was already gone. Diedrich supposed that the other cakes and biscuits were still in their boxes, ready to be transported to the Midford townhouse later.

“I’m surprised because you should rest after all – rest at home,” said Vincent. His words earned him another glare.

“I still have time until I’m put into confinement. And, at any rate, I’m not injured and can walk fine.” Francis placed a hand on her belly; the bump was barely discernible beneath her clothes. “I’m not the one who couldn’t wait though.”

“Deepest apologies to you and my little nephew or niece then,” said Vincent and bowed his head before he took place next to Francis. “Dee and I were very busy yesterday, and I didn’t get the opportunity to visit you.”

“I hope what kept you busy wasn’t the duck incident.” Francis raised an eyebrow at her brother. “That wasn’t your doing, was it?”

Vincent laughed. “No. I would have never subjected a family of ducks to such suffering.”

“I know that. I simply thought they might have put the traffic on a standstill because they were chasing after you. After all, you can be rather unlucky with animals at times. Recall Carrot…”

Vincent stiffened, and Diedrich asked, “Carrot?”

“We won’t explain Carrot,” said Vincent and Francis in never-before-heard perfect unison. It rather unsettled Diedrich.

“Well…” Diedrich said and cleared his throat. “At any rate, Phantomhive wasn’t even…” he began but Vincent cut him off by saying, “I wasn’t even on foot when the incident happened. Dee and I were in a carriage, on the way back from Undertaker’s.” With a flourish, Vincent pointed to Diedrich. “Fran, I hope you remember Diedrich? He was so kind to come all the way from Germany to visit.”

Diedrich crossed his arms in front of his chest and scowled at Vincent. “I haven’t come to England to visit you, Phantomhive. I accompanied my superior to an important meeting, and you found out and sent for me.”

“I see,” said Francis and mustered Diedrich. He stood up even straighter. “Good morning, Diedrich. It’s been a long while. If you have time before you need to return, Alexis would love to have you over.”

“I will try to make it work.”

Francis nodded and turned back to her brother. “Because you called Diedrich, I assume you are currently investigating a Watchdog case?”

Vincent gestured something to Diedrich. It took him an embarrassingly long time to realise that he was the only fool still standing (with exception of Tanaka, of course, who had to stand as a butler) and that Vincent was signalling him to join them at the table. Diedrich did, his nerves taut. Vincent smiled amusedly at him. Diedrich scowled at him and picked up a cup.

“You are right, Franny,” said Vincent then. “We’ve been investigating the curious disappearance of a duke’s daughter, Lady Henriette Woolahan. She has most likely run off with her lover.”

“I know that Duke Woolahan is in the House of Lords but since when does Watchdog business include running after lovesick fools?” asked Francis. Diedrich nearly choked on his tea. “Is everything all right, Diedrich?” she enquired.

“Yes,” he pressed out when he was out of danger. “I simply said the same thing a few days ago when Phantomhive told me about the mission.”

Vincent nodded. “An amusing repetition. ‘Since now, apparently.’ I can do it too, see?”

“If it was a simple elopement, surely Scotland Yard would have been able to handle it too?” Francis said. “Or is there something more sinister going on?”

“Very possible, though we cannot be sure yet,” Vincent told her, putting a cube of sugar into his tea and stirring it. “I suppose I and not the Met was tasked with locating Lady Henriette because her father being a prominent politician makes the matter more delicate than usual, and because Scotland Yard seems to have its hands full at the moment. They are currently looking for numerous people and have not come far with their investigations. Entrusting them with yet another missing person’s case would be, frankly, silly. Unless the Woolahans never want to see their daughter again, which is a possibility; you know how Old Harriet is, Franny.”

Francis nodded. “Mother said she’s always been that way.”

“This makes me wonder if Old Harriet is actually a twin or a triplet, maybe even a quadruplet – what a sensation! Only she ate all her siblings in the womb like sand tiger sharks do.”

Maybe it would have been better if Phantomhive had slept longer, thought Diedrich. “What a macabre thing to say in front of an expecting woman,” he said as nothing else he had in mind was passable enough to be voiced in polite company.

“Why? Franny told me all about adelphophagy when we were children,” replied Vincent. “When our parents took us to Paris in 1861, they found out that an aquarium would open in the Jardin zoologique at the Bois de Boulogne during our stay and promptly changed some of our plans to take us there. Fran was enthralled by the wet beasts and read every book she could find about them and read them aloud to us too, mostly to me because that is how it is when you have a sibling.”

Francis rolled her eyes. “As if you weren’t fascinated by the sea life too! You were simply too lazy to read yourself.” She looked at Diedrich. “He was an insufferable ten-year-old.”

“He is an insufferable twenty-year-old too,” Diedrich replied.

Vincent shrugged. “I’m simply consistent.

“Now, Franny, how receptive to grisly crimes are you today? I would love to hear your thoughts on this case, first partner.”

Francis chuckled. “Sure. I have nothing better to do anyway. But could I have some more tea first?”

With a bow, Tanaka refilled her cup. Vincent clapped his hands together, his blue eyes shining. “Brilliant. Franny, Lady Henriette vanished from her parental home five days ago, on the night from the 30th to 31st July. Her disappearance was first noticed in the morning of Monday the 31st: Her maid came to wake her and found Henriette’s room empty and her bed in too pristine a state for anyone to have slept in it in the recent past – and her mistress was not known to make her own bed. The hysterical maid, of course, alerted the Duke and Duchess who, in turn, called upon the help of Scotland Yard. The Met was to investigate the matter discreetly. They could not find out much before Henriette’s disappearance reached the ears of Her Majesty; someone must not have been discreet at all for this to have happened, but I digress.

“At any rate, the Met could only confirm that no one had broken into the Woolahan townhouse and kidnapped Henriette under great force before the case was ripped out of Randy’s claws and given into my hands. Henriette, thus, seems to have left on her own volition.

“All this – the alert, Scotland Yard’s investigation, and the case’s reassignment – happened on the same day which was endlessly amusing to me, less so to Randy, I suppose. The case’s silly nature could not even dampen my amusement as I wrote to Diedrich right after I received the Queen’s letter. Can you imagine, Fran, that Diedrich was in London for four days already when I sent him that letter, and he never came to see me or his only other friend in the world Alexis?”

“I have more friends, Phantomhive,” Diedrich interjected gruffly.

“I know your grandmother loves you, but that’s hardly relevant right now. Please greet her for me the next time you see her though and tell her that she can call me over for afternoon tea again at any time.”

“Wait – what? When did you meet my Oma, Phan-”

“Diedrich finally visited me the following day,” Vincent continued as if the last minute hadn’t happened. “After some persuasion, Dee agreed to help me out…

Diedrich turned to Francis. “He kept dunking his scones for far too long into his tea. He even dipped a sandwich into it.”

Francis sighed. “I might currently not be in the position to scold people over their eating habits, but…” She raised an eyebrow at her brother. “… I am with child and can be excused, and you aren’t, Vincent.”

“I just like my scones extra soft,” protested Vincent.

“And your sandwiches soaked?”

“And my sandwiches soaked. I can eat one like that right now to prove it to you…” Vincent reached for a cheese sandwich on the table. Instinctively, Diedrich slapped his hand away and pushed the plate away from him.

“Those are my sandwiches,” Vincent pointed out.

“No reason to maltreat them.”

Francis put her face in her hands. “Thank you. Now, I want to eat a soaked sandwich or two.”

Vincent burst into laughter. “Sorry, Franny, but my little niece or nephew seems to have fantastic taste already.” He grinned at Diedrich. “Hand over the plate, Dee. You wouldn’t want to deny an expecting woman her food, would you?”

Diedrich narrowed his eyes at him. “I hate you,” he hissed to Vincent as he passed Francis the plate of sandwiches. Having his eyes fixed on Vincent meant Diedrich didn’t have to watch Francis drown a perfectly fine sandwich; hearing it was torture enough already.

“Germans have such a fascinating way of proclaiming their affections for someone,” said Vincent.

“I can’t stand you.”

Vincent nodded. “Just like I was saying.

“Anyway, where was I again? Ah, right. After Diedrich agreed to help out, he very kindly spoke to Old Harriet so that I could interrogate the Woolahan staff in peace. From them, I could learn that Lady Henriette has become infatuated with someone. A maid – not the one who came to wake her mistress on that fateful morning but someone else – found Lady Henriette’s diary hidden under a pillow and learned that she has a mysterious beau who is a medical student. Because Henriette did not wish to make the matter easy for everyone, she did not write her beloved’s name a million times all over her diary’s pages as many people in love do. I’m sure Alexis must have written your name like a spell all over his notes after you beat him in that tournament, Fran.”

To Diedrich’s absolute astonishment, the tips of Francis’ ears turned ever the slightest bit red. “His secretary was very confused by the… additional notes he left on his documents, yes,” Francis imparted.

“As if I couldn’t like him more,” Vincent said with a nod. “Henriette, unfortunately, did not do that. Thus, her servants decided to christen her secret love ‘Maurice Enace.’”

“Menace? What a silly nickname,” said Francis while she stirred her tea with a sandwich. Diedrich did his best not to look her way – and to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged.

“Right? After we went to the Woolahan townhouse, Dee and I visited Randy at Scotland Yard. He still hates us, Fran. I’ve been sending him a basket of fruit cakes every week for two months now, and he still hates us, can you believe that?”

“Did you bake them yourself, Vincent?”

Vincent paused. “Yes, but I’m using the recipe from Mother’s recipe book.”

“Which is Father’s German fruit cake recipe. German fruit cake is more of a bread than a cake, and you put cinnamon in it – Lord Randall is allergic to cinnamon.”

“He is?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Vincent shook his head. “You can never truly know someone, huh?”

“Wait, Phantomhive can bake?” Diedrich enquired, puzzled.

“I wouldn’t phrase the question that way,” said Francis with a smile. “Rather, my brother knows how to combine ingredients, mix them up, and place the mixture into an oven.”

Vincent crossed his arms together. “My fruit cakes are all wonderful individuals.”

“Burned, over-sweetened, misshapen individuals with far too many candied citrus peels and too few currants, certainly.”

“I don’t think Randall took even a single bite out of these abominations,” said Diedrich. His face had become paler and paler with every word Francis had uttered regarding her brother’s baking “skills.” How could someone mess up a Stollen in such a horrid manner? But then we’re talking about Phantomhive, Diedrich suffixed in his mind.

“The man is still alive, so it is a given,” added Francis.

“I’ll include a strongly worded card the next time I send him a batch,” Vincent said with a nod. “One without cinnamon, of course.”

“The cinnamon’s not the only problem,” Diedrich remarked, but Vincent continued without paying him any mind. “Where were we again? Oh, right. Scotland Yard. When we were there, Randy’s men were a bit too easily persuaded into giving up information to people they’d never seen before. We just had to tell them we were brand-new plainclothes detectives, and they readily spilt everything. Makes you wonder if the Met has a staff problem and is currently accepting applications from anyone, but I’m digressing again.

“The chatty detectives of the Met told us that they’re currently investigating a string of serial murders. For the last couple of months, someone has been killing working-class and poor people. So far, they have murdered sixteen, and the only connecting factor between them is their low social status and the fact that their corpses could not be procured so far. When we went to Undertaker’s yesterday, I enquired whether they had ended up at his place or another funeral parlour, but he confirmed that they hadn’t. Lady Henriette also hasn’t found her way to a funeral parlour yet.”

“Why are you telling her this?” asked Diedrich and coated a scone with cream before he put strawberry jam on top. The proper way of eating these, he thought. “That case is not part of our case.”

Vincent smiled and looked at his sister, who tilted her head slightly as she returned the gaze. “Ah, I see,” Francis eventually said, making Diedrich blink in puzzlement.

“What do you mean?” he wanted to know, but Vincent waved his hand about and said, “You’ll understand eventually, Dee. You’re only an honorary brother as my fag after all; you will catch on.

“After our little visit to Scotland Yard, Dee and I went to a garden party hosted by the Bainsbridges. As you know, Rochelle is a friend of Henriette’s. Kitty was very helpful in getting us last-minute invites for that party. He’s sending his regards by the way, Franny. He also wanted me to pass on that he intends to write to you and arrange a visit.”

“Kit can come over anytime,” said Francis and held her cup out for Tanaka to refill it. “The further along I get, the less happy anyone gets that I go out or do anything besides lying or sitting down. It gets tremendously boring, and I haven’t seen Kit in a while, too.”

“The scheduling is mostly for him, I suppose. Little Kit’s very busy all the time after all.”

“Lady Francis, you know him?” Diedrich asked.

“Of course, she knows my fag. She knows you too, after all,” Vincent said before he rapidly continued, “Now, the garden party was absolutely exhausting to attend. Still, we found out that Lady Henriette’s friends are not very troubled about her sudden absence. Naturally, they were told a cover story, but they were not even sad she wasn’t with them. Merely Sophia Vanderbilt seemed intrigued by the fact that her friend had up and left without a word, as it is very unlike her. Beatrice Lawrence, however, only cried that her fiancé Oliver Breckenridge could not attend the party due to an illness…”

“… and Rochelle Bainsbridge only cared about throwing herself at Phantomhive,” continued Diedrich with a slight chuckle. “It was amusing to watch.”

“Oh, Rochelle.” Francis rolled her eyes. “She always asks about you, Vincent, whenever we happen to be at the same social function. It’s always very annoying.”

“Wait, you knew that she has her eyes out for me and never told me?”

“I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t until two days ago. I’m certain I’ve never even met her before too.”

Francis shrugged. “She might have seen you from afar once, and that is all it took. Or she heard about your wealth, title, and bachelorhood and decided you were good prey.”

“Or she’s a serial killer who knows I’m the Queen’s Watchdog, and now she wants to get close to me to stab me.”

“How are you two related again?” Diedrich said.

“When we were little, Vincent used to suggest that one of us – most likely he – was a changeling,” replied Francis matter-of-factly. “If faeries existed, this could be a good hypothesis, but they do not. As our mother would say, ‘there is nothing supernatural in the world.’”

“I still wonder if the true, human Vincent is just as happy with his faerie family as I am with you,” mused Vincent. His words made Diedrich shudder in a way he never had before; it was as if the bones in his body, no, even his very soul, were shaking too.

“For everyone’s sake, I hope there are no two Vincent Phantomhives,” Diedrich said at last.

“There is no need to conjure nightmares from this scenario,” meant Francis and then bit into one of her freshly soaked sandwiches. Diedrich felt nauseous.

“Come to think of it, Fran, as you seem more familiar with Henriette’s group of friends than I am,” said Vincent, “do you have any interesting insights regarding them?”

“I know that Sophia Vanderbilt likes gossip the most out of them,” Francis replied. “That’s why her friend’s sudden disappearance has piqued her interest. For that reason, and because they are close friends, I would also say that her observation that this situation – leaving without informing anyone – is completely out of character for Lady Henriette is a correct one. I also know that Beatrice Lawrence and Oliver Breckenridge are about to enter a marriage that will surprise them both, but not for good reasons.”

“Why?” asked Diedrich.

“Dee, you’re sounding like a nosy Nancy yourself right now,” remarked Vincent, amused. He leaned a bit closer to Francis. “But, really, why?”

“Beatrice is the heir to her uncle’s dukedom. Upon his passing, she will inherit a great title and great social standing; however, because of her uncle’s foolishness, she will not inherit any money,” explained Francis. “Her uncle is an impoverished nobleman because he has been and still is living well beyond his means. From what I have heard, Beatrice genuinely believes that Oliver is in love with her, but her mother has been pushing the couple together because the Breckenridge family may be untitled but is wealthy, and Oliver has his eyes on Beatrice because of her future title and the prestige that comes with it. Beatrice’s mother has also been hiding her brother’s financial ineptitude from the public; thus, not many know about it.”

“What a mess,” said Diedrich.

“Indeed.”

“That’s pretty tame,” remarked Vincent and plucked a strawberry from the fruit bowl. “Last Season, Lady Cassiopeia Trent and Lord Ezekiel Damyon wanted to wed, and their parents were vehemently against it, but did not want to give a clear explanation. Magnolia Royceston eventually managed to make their parents talk and found out that they opposed the marriage because they feared Cassiopeia and Ezekiel might be half-siblings. It’s not uncommon for noblemen and -women to do as they like after producing an heir and a spare after all, and the Lady Trent and the Baron Damyon apparently liked to frequent…”

“What stories you tell in the presence of a lady,” Diedrich scolded and interrupted Vincent with a red face.

“We were just talking about murder, multiple ones even,” Vincent reminded him and threw the strawberry at him. “If you are embarrassed, please say so instead of dragging my sister into your scolding.”

Diedrich narrowed his eyes at Vincent and caught the strawberry, but not without his face turning a slightly deeper shade of red. “You…”

In that moment, there was a soft knock on the door right before it flew open. Alexis Leon Midford strode into the room, perfectly combed and without a wrinkle or blemish on his clothes; still, he seemed rather dishevelled to Diedrich. This only changed the moment he laid eyes on his wife. He crossed the distance between them with surprising speed and wrapped his arms around her. “Dear, I’ve been looking for you!”

“Didn’t I leave a message that I would come here?” returned Francis with a smile on her face.

“Yes, but you only said you would pick up your cakes and biscuits, so I thought you would only be gone for a short while. It’s been hours.”

“I might have arrived too early. Vincent hadn’t even risen yet.”

“I don’t like this phrasing,” mumbled Diedrich.

“I’m sorry. I simply missed you,” Alexis said and loosened the embrace, but took hold of his wife’s hand. Diedrich felt thoroughly embarrassed seeing the loving, unguarded gaze that Alexis bestowed upon Francis and looked slightly away. “It was a horrendous three days.”

“I missed you too, dear,” Francis replied softly. “But we are not alone in this room.”

“Yeah, Dee, Tanaka, and I are also here,” said Vincent, his face propped on his hand and a wide smile plastered on his face.

At once, Alexis tore his gaze from his wife’s face and looked up, blinking as if he had only just noticed that he and Francis were indeed not the sole people in the dining room. “Vincent, Weizsäcker, Tanaka, good morning,” Alexis said, bowing his head. “I apologise for not greeting you immediately.”

“No offence taken, but please only kiss my sister when I’m not around,” replied Vincent, and Francis glared at him. “And we’re not at Weston anymore. You can call Diedrich by his given name, though I’m sure he prefers ‘Dee.’”

“I do not,” countered Diedrich.

“He loves it when I call him that.”

“I do not.”

“I am so glad you two get along so well,” Alexis said with such a serene expression on his face that Diedrich did not have the heart to tell him that no, they were not getting along at all, and that Diedrich was tricked and threatened into this position. While he knew that Francis was very dissimilar to her brother, he still could not fathom why Alexis willingly married Vincent’s sister. Not even a catastrophe of the highest order would be able to force Diedrich to accept becoming family with Vincent.

Francis patted her husband’s hand. “Alexis, dear, didn’t you want to borrow a few books from Vincent? Now that you are here, it is the perfect opportunity for you to get them.”

“Ah, right! Yes, I wanted to,” said Alexis.

“Right, I remember that…” Vincent said and jumped to his feet. “Come along, brother. I’ll get you what you’re looking for.”

With a few long strides, Vincent left the dining room. Alexis pressed a brief kiss on his wife’s head before he followed Vincent. Tanaka swiftly transferred the remnants of the breakfast table and the rest of Francis’ cake to a serving cart before he, too, exited the room.

It took Diedrich a moment to realise that he was now all alone with Francis. He didn’t quite know how it was possible, but he straightened his back even further.

“Diedrich,” Francis suddenly began, “how is my brother doing?”

Diedrich blinked at her, startled by the question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, whether Vincent has been behaving even more ridiculously than usual.”

He mentally went through Vincent’s doings over the last few days – the stupid bet with Tanaka, dunking cucumber sandwiches in tea, blabbering something about an “Invi” (Diedrich was still uncertain if Vincent had spoken the truth then or not), hurrying them through the city to check every medical school – before he ultimately replied, “Not more than usual, no.”

“Are you sure? Vincent always unravels for about a month after the fact.”

Diedrich frowned. “‘For about a month after the fact’?” he asked right before his mind connected the dots: It was August 4 today. Vincent had told him that he started going through all the Dickens’ books and novellas in order about three weeks ago – he had been going through his mother’s Dickens collection ever since the fifth anniversary of her death on July 13.

His realisation must have been written all over his face because Francis only nodded. “Maybe you missed the worst of it. It has been almost a month already after all.”

“I didn’t even realise,” said Diedrich slowly. “I’ve been too focused on not trying to strangle him. No offence.”

“I’m his sister. You are justified.”

“And you?” Diedrich asked carefully. “How are you doing, Lady Francis?”

Francis looked at him for a moment before she said, “Better and worse. Better than Vincent in some respects; worse than him in others.” She laid a hand on her belly. “Please let me know if his behaviour shifts too much into the nonsensical, would you?”

Diedrich had no idea how he should be able to identify when Vincent crossed the line between “regular idiocy” and “frightening, unhealthy lunacy,” but he nodded and promised that he would, nonetheless. He could not reject any of Francis’ requests, especially not one like that.

The door swung open again a moment later. “All baked goods and books are packed and loaded up in the carriage,” Vincent announced as he entered the room. He walked straight to his sister and held out a hand to her. “I had to beat Alexis in kitsune-ken so that he would wait by the carriage, and I could be the one to pick you up and get you there.”

Francis took her brother’s hand and gave him a look. “Did you even explain the rules to him beforehand?”

“Of course.”

“Vincent.”

“I might have spoken very quickly, but he got the gist,” said Vincent and helped Francis to her feet.

“You could have just asked.”

“Under normal circumstances? Sure. After you two lovebirds hadn’t seen each other for three days because Alexis was away? No. I had to beat him three times in kitsune-ken until he relented. If we don’t hurry up, he might drive the carriage through the wall to get you, and I don’t have time for renovations right now.”

Francis sighed, but Diedrich could see the small smile on her lips.

“Though maybe I could change some of the tapestries – what do you think, Fran?” continued Vincent and hooked his arm through Francis’. He kept on rattling on about tapestry colours and patterns and whatnot as he led her out of the room and the townhouse. Diedrich followed the Phantomhive siblings with a heartbeat’s pause.

He and Vincent (his hair was now combed back; Diedrich had wondered when his sister would do that) waved Francis and Alexis goodbye and remained at the gate for a few more minutes after the carriage had left their sight. Then, Vincent clapped his hands together and said, “Now, it’s time to get back to work, Dee.”

***

Ten minutes later, Diedrich and Vincent (now in his regular hairstyle again) were sitting in the world's smallest hansom cab to get to Hyde Park Corner. They hadn’t been able to go through all the relevant medical schools yesterday, of course, and had to continue their search today. Diedrich did not look forward to it, but the sooner they resumed their investigation, the sooner they finished it too, and he was looking forward to that with great eagerness.

Like yesterday, Vincent and Diedrich invaded the closest cafeteria, hopped casually and quietly between the tables, kept their ears perked up for anything of importance, and ate a lot of food. St George’s Hospital Medical School ultimately did not give them any leads, no matter how much Vincent insisted that “every kind of conversation contains overt and covert useful information.” Diedrich had to disagree. Sometimes, conversations held no value at all, and you left a place with nothing but a stomach full of porridge and sandwiches and a head full of someone else’s idle talk about horse races and how Anthony Mallory stumbled and fell into a bucket filled with blood eels.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Vincent meant when they sat in yet another hansom cab to get to yet another medical school. At least, this cab wasn’t as tiny as the last one. “You just learned enough about horse races to speak about them without pause for twenty minutes. How is newly gained knowledge not useful?”

“It’s not useful when I didn’t want to have it in the first place,” Diedrich replied, regretting to have ever told Vincent about his meagre “findings.” “I do not care about horses.”

“I really want you to repeat that sentence to Her Majesty’s horsekeeper,” said Vincent with a chuckle. “I can already hear his response, ‘How could someone be so heartless as not to care for these gallant creatures?’ And then he would pat his beloved equine and get chewed on in return.”

Diedrich stared at him. “I can’t tell if you’re joking, but I hope you are.”

“I really don’t. Old John’s… a bit particular.”

Diedrich pinched the bridge of his nose. “For you to say that… You Englishmen are all ridiculous.”

“I think he’s a Scotsman, actually.”

“You Britons, then.”

Vincent nodded. “Now, you’ve thrown us all into the same unfavourable pot. Oh! We’re there.”

The cab halted, and they climbed out of it. In front of them rose the splotchy old building of St Bartholomew’s Hospital, and students and staff hushed over the campus like busy ants. None of them paid them much attention – Diedrich and Vincent were the perfect age to be legitimate students of this facility after all –, and they could make their way to the cafeteria with ease. There, they began their regular spiel: Each of them grabbed a tray, loaded it up with food, and then dispersed into the crowd, keeping their heads down and their minds and ears alert.

Diedrich dug into his shepherd’s pie (one that was surprisingly delicious despite having been prepared for a cafeteria) and listened to a group of students tease one of their friends about his fiancée. After a while, Diedrich got up and sat down at another table. Here, some people discussed the latest news regarding their anatomy class (they would get to dissect a body earlier than they had anticipated, and this both excited and frightened them), and others conversed about going boating tomorrow if the weather stayed as lovely as it was today. The shepherd’s pie was switched with pastries, one table with another, one useless – yes, useless – conversation with another. At some point, Diedrich spotted a blond, flashy man on the other side of the room who looked somewhat familiar, but his head was smoking with too many useless facts, and his stomach was too full of soup (he might have overdone it with six helpings of tomato soup) to remember who this particular ridiculous Briton was again. That man, even from afar, irritated him enough for Diedrich to accidentally sit down beside Vincent the next time he changed tables.

“Oh, Dee!” Vincent greeted him cheerfully. “Did the German military give you the power of mind-reading?”

Diedrich stared blankly at Vincent, wondering whether this counted as “more ridiculous than usual” or not. Before he could come to a conclusion, Vincent continued to speak: “I wanted to seek you out just now, but you sought me out first,” he explained. “From your expression, I suppose, if you gained mind-reading powers, they are only working subconsciously for now.”

“I don’t even want to know why you believe this to be possible,” replied Diedrich, and Vincent lifted his shoulders a little, “but if you wanted to come to me, does that mean we are done here?”

“If you sound a bit more excited, you might lose your citizenship,” Vincent said and got up. “But don’t worry, I know how to extinguish your excitement at once: We have one more medical school left. Let’s go.”

They finished their “cafeteria investigation” at the London Hospital Medical College. Diedrich had never chewed on sandwiches with such little enthusiasm before as in that place. Vincent’s words from earlier had truly done what he said they would and more.

A few hours later, Diedrich climbed sick and tired of medical school horror stories (“John Clarkson chopped off his finger!” “Benedict Woodlark fainted when they cut open a body and maggots crawled out!”) and random chit-chat (why was the weather such a popular conversational topic? he never understood this) into the hansom cab that would take him and Vincent back to the Phantomhive townhouse. Unlike Diedrich, Vincent seemed to be in the best mood and whistled to himself as if they hadn’t just wasted hours of their lives doing a completely asinine task. This way of conducting the investigation could have never borne fruit; why the hell had they even done it that way? Which idiots thought this could ever work?

“Why the long face, Dee?” Vincent enquired.

Diedrich shot him a dark look. “I should rather ask you why you aren’t making a long face!”

“Why should I mimic you?”

“Because today was a complete waste! We accomplished nothing!”

“Oh, did we?”

“I swear to God if you say ‘Every kind of conversation contains overt and covert useful information’ again…”

“You just did that yourself, Dee.”

Diedrich dropped his face in his hands. “You make me sick.”

“I do? Not the twenty-five bowls of soup, the fifty-two sandwiches, the six croissants, the nine helpings of shepherd’s pie…”

Diedrich looked up. “Did you honestly spend your time counting what I’ve been eating at all cafeterias?”

Vincent shrugged. “Little exercise for the mind on the side.”

“On the side?”

“I was obviously doing my main task – listening to the conversations around me – too.” Vincent tilted his head. “Why are you making that face now?”

“What face?”

“The one that looks like ‘I don’t believe you one bit, Vincent,’ of course.”

“First, I would never call you by your given name. Second, you are spot on: I don’t believe you,” said Diedrich. “There is no way you could have managed to simultaneously keep your focus on me and other people’s talks. You couldn’t even have been able to see me at times because we weren’t even seated close to each other!”

Vincent propped his chin on his hand and gazed out of the window. “It’s not that difficult,” he replied. “Whenever we travelled somewhere as a family, Francis and I would grow easily bored. Father suggested one day that we could count all the cows or something that passed by while we played a game. We did terribly at first, but we eventually got better at this. It trained our focus and attention very well. Because of Mother, Francis and I also did ‘glimpse into a room and then tell me how many red shirts there were or so’ a lot.”

“That still doesn’t sound true,” Diedrich insisted. “I’ll ask your sister to verify your words the next time I see her.”

“Believe what you want,” Vincent said with a wave of his hand. “Just like you’re choosing to believe that we haven’t accomplished anything today.”

“It’s the perfect truth that we…” Diedrich glimpsed out of the window and then tensed. “Wait, that’s not the way to your townhouse.”

Vincent grinned. “Took you long enough to notice.”

“But it’s not the way to Undertaker’s either.”

“Of course.”

“Where on earth are you taking me?! No, wait, I don’t need to know.” Diedrich placed a hand on the door handle. “I’ll just jump and walk back to the townhouse, no, to my hotel room.”

“First of all,” Vincent said calmly, “you don’t have a hotel room anymore. I cancelled the booking…”

“What?!”

“Second, do you honestly want to jump out of a driving carriage in your current state? I wasn’t even finished with listing all the food you’ve intaken. You would either start vomiting on a scale this city has never seen before or explode on impact with the ground.”

“I highly doubt I would explode.”

“And the first possibility?”

Diedrich wordlessly crossed his arms in front of his chest. Vincent smiled. “And don’t worry…” began Vincent.

“As if those words could console anyone coming out of your mouth.”

“… we are simply visiting an acquaintance.”

“An acquaintance? Who?”

“The Breckenridges.”

Diedrich rubbed his face. “Why should we go to the Breckenridges?”

“Because Oliver Breckenridge’s name came up when we were at St Bart’s, and…”

Diedrich’s ears perked up, and blood rushed into his face. “St Bart’s?”

“It’s short for St Bartholomew’s Hospital, Deeee…”

Vincent trailed off, elongating the nickname, when Diedrich jumped from his seat to Vincent’s, grabbing him by the collar and shaking the entire carriage in the process. The driver yelled something, but Diedrich could not grasp the words. Anger pumped through his body, veiling the world beyond him and Vincent in rushing. “You’ve found actual useful information while we were at St Bartholomew’s Hospital, and you still dragged me to the London Hospital Medical College?!” Diedrich exclaimed and shook Vincent by his collar before he abruptly let go. “But, of course, you did,” he continued, exasperated, and buried his face in his hands.

“Finding something at one place doesn’t mean that it’s the only place where we could and would have found anything at all,” Vincent said calmly. “All places had to be checked. I thought you figured that out yourself.”

Diedrich glared at him and then sank back into his seat. “You could have still said something.”

“Well, I did say the day wasn’t a waste, but someone kept insisting otherwise…”

“Well, someone is basically the ‘Boy Who Cried Wolf.’”

“I knew they would write stories about me one day.”

Diedrich sighed. “Now, could you please tell me what exactly you’ve heard about Oliver Breckenridge at St Bartholomew’s?”

“Of course,” Vincent said. The lack of joking refusal or roundabout talking took Diedrich aback. “Apparently, Oliver’s a medical student, and he’s been sick since Monday.” Right after finishing his sentence, Vincent looked at Diedrich.

“That’s… that’s it?” Diedrich enquired, puzzled.

Vincent just kept gazing at him with a neutral expression on his face and without speaking a word in response.

“That’s what you’ve learned at St Bartholomew’s Hospital? Nothing else?”

Vincent still didn’t say a word.

“I cannot believe we’re going to his house because of this.”

Still silence.

“‘I’ve heard his name before, and he’s a medical student!’ is barely a reason at all. Just admit it, Phantomhive, you cannot figure out what’s going on, and you’re grasping at straws…”

Silence.

“And now you want to visit some sick person you’ve never even met before!”

Vincent blinked at Diedrich wordlessly.

“Why are you not saying a wor-” Diedrich frowned. “Something’s wrong.” He narrowed his eyes and stared back at Vincent before realisation fell like scales from his eyes.

“Monday!” Diedrich exclaimed. “Oliver Breckenridge’s sister said her brother got suddenly sick on Wednesday!”

Vincent smiled and then deflated on his seat, sliding half off it and placing his hand dramatically on his forehead. “That took you so embarrassingly long, Dee.”

“I didn’t play weird attention training games when I was a child,” Diedrich countered.

“So, now you’re choosing to believe that?”

Diedrich scowled.

“Very well,” Vincent said and sat up normally again. “We should arrive soon. Let’s see what Miss Anna Breckenridge has to say about her weird little lie, hm?”

***

The carriage driver mumbled something about “rough, troublesome customers” while Vincent paid him with a smile on his face. He drove off with a huff, and Diedrich watched the driver for a moment, wishing that it was him. Unfortunately, he was not and had to let himself be dragged – albeit with great internal reluctance – by Vincent to the townhouse of the Breckenridge family.

It was a polished building in the heart of the city. Right before they had got out of the cab, Diedrich had asked how they could justify an unannounced visit, particularly when the head of the house was sick and his unmarried sister presumably without a chaperone in their home. Vincent had merely waved his concern away and told him not to worry, which made Diedrich worry a great lot. His worry doubled as they walked up the stairs to the entrance. It tripled when Vincent knocked.

It took a few minutes until a maid opened the door. Her eyes widened in surprise before she hastily curtsied. “Good afternoon,” she said. “I was unaware that we were expecting guests. May I ask for your names?”

Vincent smiled brightly. Diedrich could see the maid blush and did his best not to roll his eyes. “How unpleasant,” Vincent began, “our calling card must have got lost in the post! The English postal service is usually so diligent and dependable; I wonder what happened? Could you please announce to your master that Earl Vincent Phantomhive and…” He gestured to Diedrich. “… Diedrich von Weizsäcker have arrived and kindly ask whether we could be received nonetheless?”

“Oh, uh… yes, of course!” the maid pressed out, her eyes fixed on Vincent and the brilliant smile he had kept plastered on his face. “I…” She looked around, chewed on her bottom lip in thought. “I suppose you can wait in the parlour while I speak to Miss Anna.”

The maid stepped away from the entryway and gestured for Vincent and Diedrich to come in. They complied with a slight bow of their heads, and she closed the door behind them.

“Please follow me,” the maid said and guided them through the building. Diedrich let his gaze wander through the corridors, glimpsing into rooms whenever a door stood ajar. The Woolahan townhouse had been tidy but cramped and tacky; Diedrich had felt slightly claustrophobic being inside it. The Breckenridge townhouse, on the other hand, was absolutely spotless. With great awe and fascination, Diedrich mustered its interior. Everything was perfectly balanced: There wasn’t too much décor, too many pieces of furniture that were shoved into any nook and cranny, that covered every centimetre of the walls and cluttered the gangways. At the same time, the corridors and rooms weren’t too empty either, but were clad in tasteful tapestries and paintings. Most miraculously, however, was the fact that everything shone. Actually shone. Diedrich felt bad knowing that he must be tracking some dirt into this wonderfully clean abode simply by walking through it.

Vincent scrutinised their surroundings as well, but did not seem captivated by the townhouse’s spotless state. Instead, he slightly furrowed his eyebrows for a brief moment before he summoned a smile again and said, “Miss Maid… Oh, that will not do! May you tell me your name?”

The maid blushed again. “It’s Mary, sir.”

“Mary,” Vincent said, and she sucked in the air. “You said you need to speak to ‘Miss Anna’ regarding Diedrich’s and mine presence, and it made me wonder… Is Mr Oliver Breckenridge not at home?”

“Oh, Master Oliver…” Mary looked around with reddening cheeks and fumbled with her sleeves. “Master Oliver’s currently indisposed. Did you want to speak to him specifically?”

“No, not at all,” replied Vincent. “How long has Breckenridge been indisposed?”

“For a few days.”

“Would you mind passing on that I wish him a speedy recovery and that I hope to visit properly when he is well again?”

“I’m afraid; I won’t be able to do that,” said Mary and led them into the drawing room. Like the rest of the house, it was immaculate.

“Oh, may I enquire for the reason?” Vincent asked as he and Diedrich sat down on a perfectly plush sofa. Diedrich was much inclined to melt into its cushions; of course, he did not.

“Mr Clyde has been caring for Master Oliver,” Mary imparted. “Master Oliver hasn’t left his room in days.” She sighed and put a hand to her cheek. “Poor, poor Master Oliver, to have come down with such a terrible cold!”

“Who is this ‘Mr Clyde,’ and would it be possible for you to relay the message to him so that he could pass it on to Breckenridge?”

Mary chewed on the bottom of her lip again. “Mr Clyde’s the footman, and I suppose I could. He is currently out of the house though; he’s running an errand for Miss Anna, but I will give him your message when he returns later today.” She paused. “If you may excuse me, Mylords, I will go and speak to Miss Anna now.”

With a curtsy, Mary hurried out of the parlour. Her steps echoed through the entire house.

“You’re lucky an easily impressed maid opened the door,” Diedrich remarked. “I’m certain anyone else would have sent us away at the entryway.”

“I’m a lucky one, aren’t I?” replied Vincent absentmindedly. He sat straight-backed next to Diedrich, his head tilted slightly upward. Diedrich followed Vincent’s gaze but found nothing of great note at the end; there was merely the painted ceiling and the small chandelier.

“Do you hear this?” Vincent asked then, to Diedrich’s surprise. Diedrich strained to listen but could not hear anything besides the opening and closing of a door, hushed talking, and two sets of footsteps. Both of them belonged to women in heeled shoes; one seemed to walk away from the parlour and the other towards it.

“What…” Diedrich started, though he could not finish his question as Anna Breckenridge entered the room a moment later. Immediately, Diedrich and Vincent rose to their feet to greet her.

“Lord Phantomhive, Mr von Weizsäcker,” Anna said, a pointedly neutral but polite expression on her face. “My maid informed me that you attempted to send me a card announcing your visit and that it got lost in the post. You did not tell the reason why you are honouring me with your visit though. I must also apologise for being unable to host you properly due to this postal mishap; all I can offer you now are tea and biscuits.”

Vincent lifted a hand. “Miss Breckenridge, there is no need to bother. We should be apologising to you for not delivering the note twofold to ensure its definite delivery. Now, we are intruding on you during such a hard time.” He put a hand on his chest and turned his eyes downwards. “We are very sorry.”

Diedrich glanced at him, trying his best not to look irritated. What are you blabbering about? Diedrich thought. It did not help that Anna’s expression faltered and folded into a frown at Vincent’s words. “A hard time? If you mean my brother, I assure you, he is only ailed by a cold and will be fine before the end of the week. Oliver merely has a penchant for drama.”

“I wish him a quick recovery, but we have not come because of him,” Vincent said. Diedrich could hear hurried footsteps in the distance; the source seemed to be coming closer. “I apologise for approaching you despite the fact that you have tried to conceal this matter to the best of your capabilities, Miss Breckenridge.”

Diedrich watched Anna and saw her shoulders tense up ever so slightly. Before Vincent could explain himself, Mary entered the room again, holding a large bouquet and a basket full of fruits and treats from what Diedrich could tell at first glance.

“Lord Phantomhive,” Mary said breathlessly and with great surprise in her voice. “A package for you has been delivered here…”

Anna let her gaze travel between Mary and Vincent, blinking. “I don’t understand…?”

Diedrich itched to glare at Vincent; unfortunately, he could not, lest he accidentally ruined whatever charade Vincent was currently performing.

“These are not for me…” Vincent started and took the bouquet from Mary. “They are for you, Miss Breckenridge,” he continued and held out the flowers to Anna whose composure had now fully disintegrated. She stared at the white chamomile and the pink tulips.

“I have faith that your aunt will return to good health as well,” Vincent added.

Anna’s head snapped up. Adopting a slight sheepishness in his voice and demeanour, Vincent said, “It seems to be a secret, but when I learned that your aunt Amelda was horribly sick, I could not help myself but feel awfully stricken that I had been unable to express my well wishes at the Bainsbridges’ garden party.” His gaze softened. “It must be so difficult, having lost your parents and eldest brother only last year and now having to live with the fear of losing your aunt too. It is a fear I can greatly sympathise with: I lost my parents when I was young and, thus, hope every day that my sister and her family will always be in great health and live a long and prosperous life.”

Diedrich shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. Anna mustered Vincent with wide eyes. “Thank you, Mylord,” she pressed out slowly. “I did not expect this.”

“Certainly! The note got lost in the post after all.” Vincent smiled slightly and then bowed his head. “Rest assured, Miss Breckenridge, I will not tell anyone else about your aunt’s precarious health. We will not impose on you any longer and take our leave now, if you may excuse us, Miss Breckenridge.”

***

“Okay,” said Diedrich when the hansom cab began to rattle down the streets. “What was that all about now? Why do you know all that about the Breckenridges?”

“The death of Anna and Oliver’s parents as well as the eldest son Daniel was a great, shocking piece of news last year,” Vincent told him. “It’s surprising that you missed it, Dee. News about the accident was everywhere. And I know about Amelda Breckenridge’s condition from Kit: He mentioned it in passing when we talked about the garden party and the invitations. Kitty sometimes learns the most curious things by accident.”

“Very well,” Diedrich said slowly. “And how did you organise the bouquet and the gift basket? When even?”

“I asked one of the many cab drivers who drove us around the city today – specifically the one that brought us from St Bart’s to the London Hospital Medical College – to please be so kind and get me a bouquet of pink tulips and chamomile as well as a very lovely gift basket of his own choosing and send them to the Breckenridge townhouse, to be delivered at a specific time. I gave him the money for the items and paid him extra, and the driver proved himself to be an honourable man of his word for not simply running away with all my money.” Vincent sighed. “You were right there, Dee. I spoke with the man at length because all these instructions cannot be contained in twenty words or fewer, unfortunately. Were you daydreaming?”

“No, I’m pretty sure I was very preoccupied with trying not to vomit on the sidewalk,” Diedrich returned. “And how on earth could you have known that the basket and the flowers had to be delivered at that specific time?”

“Perfect time management is one of the things you have to learn when Francis is your sister,” Vincent explained. “Not that I always utilise that skill as it is awfully tiresome and not needed all the time, but I did acquire it, and it came in very handy today, did it not?”

“Lady Francis succeeded in teaching you that at least, though I’m certain she would have appreciated it too if you had learned to comb your hair properly.”

Vincent shrugged. “Nobody can have everything.”

Diedrich leaned back. “Despite all your efforts, we couldn’t learn much about Oliver Breckenridge though.”

Vincent lifted an eyebrow. “I could not have possibly gone and outright interrogated Anna Breckenridge about her brother or her odd little lie without raising any suspicions.”

“I’m sure you raised plenty of suspicions anyway.”

“Not any more than I usually do,” replied Vincent. “I could gather plenty at least.”

Diedrich stared at him. “Plenty? We didn’t learn anything from this visit that we didn’t know beforehand!”

Vincent shook his head. “Dee, Dee… You disappoint me so. Franny succeeded in teaching me something, but I fear I might be unable to teach you anything ever.”

Diedrich glared at him.

“But then, you’ve only been my fag for a year, most of which you spent leisurely in Germany…”

“I was – and still am – undergoing military training!”

“… so, perhaps, I shouldn’t be too hard on you,” said Vincent. “Mother always said to get yourself a faithful German dog…”

“I’m not a goddamn dog!”

Vincent grinned. “Then why did you feel addressed before I could even finish my sentence?”

Diedrich narrowed his eyes. “I hate you.”

“And here you go again with your strange German way of expressing your affection,” noted Vincent. “What I wanted to tell you is that Mother used to say that faithful German dogs are greatly beneficial, but neither she nor Father ever bought Franny and me a dog, no matter how often we would beg and how many biscuits and milk we would leave out for Christmas. We once put out a grand feast of biscuits – and don’t make that expression, Dee; Tanaka helped us make them, or, rather, he made them all, and we decorated them – and still did not get a dog.

“As I still want one though to appease my childhood heart, I have been reading a few books on how to keep dogs well. From them, I know that miracles do not happen overnight: You cannot send your dog back to Germany and then wonder why it didn’t learn anything you wanted upon its return. You need to train it yourself.”

“You needed to read how many books to figure that out?”

“That being said,” Vincent continued unperturbed. “I have to run a little errand now.” Like magic, the carriage perfectly halted when he finished his sentence. “The cab will bring you back to the townhouse though, as I will run this errand on my own.”

Vincent opened the door and hopped out of the carriage. “This gives you plenty of time to think over the case and give me your educated deduction – not your guess! – tomorrow. I will give you a single clue to help you because I failed to train you properly so far: Our culprit’s rather old-fashioned.” He smiled brightly at Diedrich. “You can do it, dear German dog.”

“I am not your dog!” Diedrich shouted after Vincent, but he had already rounded the corner, whistling joyfully to himself.

#watchdog of the queen #bonus chapters #kuroshitsuji #black butler #vincent phantomhive #diedrich #francis midford #alexis leon midford #tanaka #(surprise! now you know why I wanted to get it done on May 31...)#(I almost made it too!)#(some details are extra fun now considering that we have reached certain similar parts in the main story in the meantime!)#(I really wanted to write sth fun again and finally managed to finish this as a result <3)#(writing vincent and diedrich's antics sure is fun)#(I had to reread the first part before I continued and I forgot that I wrote vincent like THAT XD)

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fuctacles · 1 year ago

Text

in love and war finale

Spicy Six Challenge by @thefreakandthehair, part 1 here, part 2 here, you know the drill

T | 2466 | pre-relationship | they are confused gay rookies in the 80s | sick-fic I guess?

“Why aren’t you in bed? Or the couch at least?!’

“He has a point.”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

“Well I’ll let you know I moved the phone and I’m sitting in an armchair wrapped in a blanket.”

“Who are you talking to?!”

Steve is glad for Dustin’s irrational fear of his viruses, because it’s the only thing stopping him from ripping the phone out of his hand, maybe pushing him back to bed too.

“Tell him I said hi.”

“Eddie says hi.”

Dustin starts hyperventilating.

Thankfully his mom came to the rescue with a steaming cup of tomato soup.

“It’s great you boys are keeping your spirits up but you shouldn’t be sitting on the floor, Steven. Maybe we could move an armchair for you?”

And thus with their leave, Steve had a cozy station next to the phone, piled with blankets and pillows. Not dissimilar to Eddie’s on the other end, whom he called as soon as the Henderson’s left.

“So, you were saying?”

“You know this stays between us? This is the most intimate Eddie Munson knowledge that you’re not to share with anyone else.”

Steve laughs. Just hearing him joke was helping his body recover and he feared he'll be ready to go back to work soon.

“Tell me your dirty secrets, Munson.”

“So, this dungeon I’m working on is a cursed tomb of an overthrown mayor…”

Steve likes a good story. Everyone does. He was never that much into fantasy, but the fact that one of his favorite people came up with it made it a thousand times more interesting.

“Ah, I guess it’s my turn for the kid’s visit.” Eddie interrupts himself about fifteen minutes in. “Do you also feel like you’re on a deathbed, visited by your grandchildren in hopes they'll be in the will? He’s getting the dice anyway...”

Steve snorts.

“Now that you mention it…”

“Are you guys still on the phone?!” Dustin’s voice is so loud Steve hears it clear as day on his end.

“Yeah, sorry babe, I’ll call you back.”

The line goes silent.

And Steve knows he’s joking with the pet names, teasing in the silly way that he does but the more he hears him in his ear, the more he realizes he wants it, wants to try. He hopes Eddie wants it too.

His cold lets off faster than Eddie’s and he’s anxiety-cleaning as soon as he feels the strength to do so. He cleans the pj’s and sheets at boiling temperature so instead of sweat and sickness they smell like ‘provencal dreams’ which he thinks means lavender. The pills and syrups scattered on the coffee table get into the medicine basket. The armchair though, stays by the telephone. He’s waiting for Eddie to wake up and call him (so he can call back not to put the enormous phone bill on him) like he’s been doing for the past two days. Being sick together was almost as bonding as fighting evil.

When the phone rings he runs to reach it and is almost embarrassed to do so, so he takes a second to breathe before picking up.

“Hello?”

“You don’t have to call me back.”

“Ah, sorry, the reception is shit, I can barely hear you. Let me call you back in a second.” He grins to himself when he hears Eddie’s resigned sigh. He dials the number from the emergency list above his phone immediately.

“Hi,” he says, smiling like a fool.

“Well, someone sounds chipper today”

“Yeah, I think I'm good to leave the house, finally. Also, this guy I like keeps me company in my misery.”

“Oh? He sounds like a nice dude.”

“He is,” Steve smiles, sitting down and pulling his legs up onto the seat. “He cares about his friends, saves the world sometimes, and hosts this dorky game for a bunch of nerds on the weekends. A true samaritan.”

“You think so?” Eddie sounds quiet on the other side.

“Yeah. That's how I see it, at least.” He frowns, fingers twirling the cord anxiously, worried he stepped over a line. That’d suck because he had planned to step over some more today.

“Thanks. I think you’re a nice guy too.”

It was the simplest compliment he’d ever gotten, but it made something in his chest tighten.

“Yeah?”

“Duh. You jump into demonic waters head first and ferry around a bunch of ungrateful kids.”

Steve snorts.

“That I do.” And then, before the conversation gets even further away from him, he adds, “Hey, listen. Since I’m feeling better, I’ll probably be back at work tomorrow.”

Eddie made a disappointed grunt on the other side.

“So I was wondering if I could visit you today? Maybe take over Dustin’s soup delivery?”

Eddie makes a sound that he’s unable to interpret.

“If you don’t feel up to it, it’s okay-”

“Shut up, I’m thinking.”

So Steve presses his lips together and waits.

Eddie sighs.

“I’m feeling better, I guess you can visit if you don’t mind a sick person mess.”

“I just cleaned up mine today, no worries.”

“Yeah, okay. But about… the other thing…”

He trails off and Steve is one step away from biting his nails off. Or the phone cord in half.

“You’re still sick and thinking about it, I-”

“Steve! Let. Me. Speak.”

He makes a noise of agreement into the receiver.

“Like, I think I need to see you. Because I know you are hot, objectively. But do I think you are hot? Does my dick think you’re hot?”

“Eddie-”

“I’m speaking.”

Steve bites his lips with a smile. He can feel himself blush.

“So I have some things to verify. Come over, Wayne’s not home.”

Steve can’t help it, he bursts into hysteric giggles over Eddie’s attempt at a seductive voice with his clogged nose.

“Hey, now-”

“No, no, I’d love to. Should I bring protection? Like a face mask?” He manages between giggles.

“Oh, you little-!”

He doesn’t remember the last time he had so much fun flirting. He curbs his amusement to manageable levels and looks at the clock.

“I’ll call Ms Claudia if she has any special deliveries for us today. I could pick them up and be at yours in an hour, maybe two.”

“Sounds great.”

“Want me to pick up something?”

“I’d kill for a can of coke.”

“Got it. I’ll bring a movie we could watch too.”

Eddie hums his approval.

“Something light that my sick brain can process, please. I’ve had enough fever dreams about war and Russians. Never again letting Wayne pick the movie when I’m sick.”

Steve snorts.

“Okay, noted. See you soon?”

“See you soon, Steve-o.”

Claudia isn’t thrilled by his plan to visit Eddie, but a mother’s disapproval hasn’t stopped him before and certainly wasn’t going to now. He accepts the jars of soup, kisses her on both cheeks, and lets her tuck him up for the short walk from the door to his car.

The drive is shorter than he expects, even with the partially shoveled roads. He feels completely unprepared for whatever might happen at his destination but he pushes on because the uncertainty might make him sick again.

A tiny note on the inside of the window tells him the door is unlocked so with little hesitance, he pushes in. He knocks on the door, looking around.

“Eddie?”

“Over here!”

His voice sounds way better in real life than it did over the phone and Steve locks the door and unties his shoes to follow it. Eddie is sitting on his bed, wrapped in at least two blankets, and there are books and notebooks surrounding him.

“Welcome, welcome!” he grins at him, which lights up his face prettily despite the unmistakable traces of battling the flu. His nose is red and dry from constantly wiping it, his face pale and his lips chapped. There are bags under his bloodshot eyes and the little hair peeking from under a blanket hood looks greasy.

Steve wants to give him a hot bath, wash and condition his hair, and moisturize his whole body, which is a weird thought to have about a romantic interest, even for him.

“Did you bring the goods?”

Steve holds up the plastic bag in his hand, making the jars inside clink. If only Ms. Henderson could see the sparkle in Eddie’s eyes at the sight of her soup, and how he brushes his hands together happily.

“Let’s go to the kitchen, then.”

Steve shakes his head.

“You can stay here, I can do it.”

But Eddie is already up, shaking his curls back at him.

“And burn our new trailer to the ground? No thanks. The stove is a bitch and only the chosen ones can operate it without injuries. I’ll show you how to work it.”

Steve is listening to him, but he’s also very fixated on the bat pattern of his pajama bottoms and the fluffy green socks he’s wearing. One of the blankets he kept on flows behind like a cape.

“Okay, but I’m doing it,” he insists, following behind and just a tiny bit unmoored by the conversation. He was expecting something less… Normal. More awkwardness, confessions, and hurt feelings. That’s what he’s been preparing for.

“Of course, my shiny knight, of course,” Eddie assures him, reaching for a pot. “Will this be big enough?” he asks, eyeing the jars Steve’s putting on the counter.

“Think so.” He shrugs, eyeing the pot and opening the jars.

“Okay, come here.” Eddie motions him closer and Steve obliges, standing right next to him and the heat he’s radiating. He smells a bit sweaty, which is understandable, but he can smell the minty toothpaste on his breath, meaning he brushed his teeth before Steve’s arrival. He tried not to think about the implications of it.

“Okay, so never try to light the right top burner…”

He listens closely to all the instructions and shoos Eddie away as soon as possible to operate the stove under his watchful eye from one of the kitchen chairs. He goes through three matches to get the fire going under the pot but he gets the soup on the burner without much more damage.

“Do I get the Chosen One title yet?” he asks as he idly stirs the soup.

Eddie snorts.

“Don’t get cocky before finishing, dear Steven.”

“Fine,” he huffs.

The silence settles between them and he doesn’t know where to go from there. But he told himself before coming that he’d wait patiently for Eddie’s answer and simply bask in his presence without pushing. Maybe turn up his charm if it feels right but that’s all.

“What have you been doing stuck at home?” he asks, the need to break the silence overwhelming.

Eddie hums, his eyes unfocused on the heating soup.

“Read Hobbit for the eleventy-first time, polished the postponed campaign, and planned for the next one already. Though, with these little bastards, it was probably a waste of my time. Rewatched a couple of movies?” he adds, voice tilting like it’s a question. When Steve hums in interest, he continues. “Paid extra attention to the actors. Turns out, Harrison Ford? Kinda hot.”

Steve snorts, taken aback, and when he turns, Eddie’s grinning at him sheepishly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I might be into dudes, after all.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” He smacks his lips obnoxiously and sucks in a breath. “You know, last time I tried to ask someone out, she said she was not interested at all, in anyone, and skipped town.”

Steve whines sympathetically.

“Shit, man. I’ve never chased a girl out of town.”

“It did numbers on my self-esteem, I’ll tell you that.”

“I promise to stay in town if you ask me out.”

“Would that make me the guy?”

Steve cocked his head and studied Eddie for a while. He never thought about the dynamics of a same-sex relationship. Would he like to be ‘the girl’? Wooed and treated gently, gifted with flowers? Kissed on the neck, and spooned to sleep? He felt his cheeks grow hot at the imagery.

Unfortunately, Eddie noticed and his smile grew.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

Steve shrugs, turning back to the soup.

“Aww, you’d like to be my princess, pampered with gifts and kisses?”

Steve made a point of focusing on his task and hiding his face.

“So what?” He bristled. “What if I do? Would it be… Is that bad?”

“What? No! Why would it be bad?”

He shrugs. He doesn’t know why but something in his gut keeps telling him it is.

“Why would wanting to be cared for, be bad?”

“Uh, well…” Steve focuses his stinging eyes on the soup. He’ll have to turn it off soon and won’t have any excuses not to look at Eddie.

There’s a shuffle behind him and soon a warm body presses against his back, hugging him from behind. Eddie’s still wrapped in a blanket so they make a slightly awkward bundle against the stove.

“Besides, Princess Stevie sounds waaay better than King Steve,” Eddie presents his final argument and Steve lets out a surprised snort.

“You’re such a fucking weirdo, I swear.”

“Well, it worked on you, sooo…”

“And I still have no idea how,” he sighs dramatically. He squeezes the arms around him gently and turns off the stove before nudging Eddie away so he can pour the soup into bowls. They sit down to eat and when he hands Eddie a spoon he ignores it and slurps the soup straight from the bowl.

“Savage.” Steve rolls his eyes but can’t fight his amusement at his antics. Eddie smacks his lips loudly and grins.

“So, anyway…” He drums his fingers against the bowl. “Do you wanna go out, whenever Wayne gives me the all-clear to leave the house?”

Steve grins, watching the loud man be hesitant for once.

“Are you asking me on a date, Munson?”

His already red nose gets even redder.

“We don’t have to call it a date, we can just hang out, just the two of us.”

“Nah, I’d rather call it a date.”

Eddie inhales and a smile spreads on his face.

“Okay. Let’s do it then. Arcade? I feel like cinema dates are such a cliche.”

“Yeah, but there’s this new movie I’d like to argue with you about.”

“Is it The Fly? Or The Little Shop of Horrors?” Eddie prods with excitement. Because a heated debate on the first date sounds utmost alluring.

Steve extends his leg under the table, nudging softly at Eddie’s ankle. He nudges back with a grin and they rest their legs against each other. A simple touch they can settle on until Eddie gets better, until the date they plan in the cramped kitchen over bowls of soup until the sky turns dark.

#spicysixwinterfanworkschallenge #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #mine #ff #st #stranger things 4 #steddie fanfiction #steddie one shot #steddie fluff

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illarian-rambling · 1 year ago

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can we get i an oc tour pretty please?

Sure!

Up first, we've got Izjik Meautammera, from Honor's Outcasts

(I'm so serious when I say these memes are the best refs I have)

She's 26 and a halawemavar selkie, which is just a selkie with catfish seasoning. Out of the four Outcasts, she's somehow both the most responsible and the most reckless. Her sense for emotion is keen, so she does her best to help everyone work through their pain, even when someone else might not notice they're upset. However, she's also the most likely to wrestle a greased elephant seal for a free beer. Let's call her the dad friend. She has a connection to a mysterious entity known as End as well, though she doesn't know much about it and would like to keep it that way. All she knows is that it gives her the ability to kill what shouldn't be able to die. Because of this ability, she was imprisoned in an undersea oubliette for eight years, alongside the man who would become her closest friend.

A man who's name is Sepo Kaiacynthus!

Sepo is a siren, though he can assume a human-like form as Izjik can. He was a priest to the god of song and drowned sailors until he burnt down the siren empress's palace and killed her daughter as revenge for the unfair execution of his brother. As punishment for this, his tongue was cut out (negating his vocal magic) and he was tossed into prison, where he met Izjik. Personality-wise, Sepo is prickly, easily aggravated, and generally grumpy. He loves to argue, even if he'd never admit it, and has a nobleman's sense of refinement tempered with a healthy dose of having lived in a pit for eight years. Together with Izjik, he took in a runaway sorcerer girl, by the name of...

Twenari Undetasib!

The daughter of the most successful smuggler on the Janazi sea, Twenari was raised as a tool more than a child due to her prodigious sorcery. When she finally broke under the strain, she ran away, pursued by her mother’s agents. She's a genius and not only a naturally talented sorcerer, but an ambitious one as well. She seeks to understand magic in all its facets, down to the most minute level. This can lead her down some dangerous paths, as she cares more about learning than her own wellbeing. Other than that though, she's a perfectly sensible and pragmatic girl (probably more so than the adult Outcasts). She can be rather awkward in social situations, as she's used to being a business asset, not a twelve-year-old. However, thankfully, she's not the face of the crew.

That distinction would go to one Djek Kagura

Djek is a 19 year old human who grew up on the streets of Fayuki after his parents abandoned him during a famine in an effort to save their six other children. This has left him with some pretty severe people pleasing problems, as he's terrified of being abandoned again. When he was fifteen, he fell in with the Tunnel Wasps (Twenari’s mother's smuggling operation), and was taken under the wing of a woman named Tyche, who forced him to commit many unsavory acts, including trying to recapture their boss's runaway daughter. Djek has a class clown sort of vibe. He's always trying to get a laugh, even if it's only as a distraction while he picks your pocket. Deep down though, he has a sensitive heart and longs for meaningful connections. He, like Twenari, is a sorcerer, though his magic is pretty measly compared to the average, and laughable compared to Twenari’s.

And that's the Outcasts quartet! They're a cute found family whose favorite hobbies include religious terrorism and uncovering maddening eldritch truths. The other group (just the MG crew, no catchy name) exists 20 years down the road from the adventures of the Outcasts, and though not directly connected, have a few similar encounters. Without further ado, here they are!

Up first is Astra DuClaire, the best witch of the borderlands

Or, at least, she says she's the best. Astra is a self-taught rune mage (hence the title witch, not mage, since she has no license) from humble beginnings. She seeks to pay off her mothers' debtor contracts, thereby releasing them from service in debtor's prison. Her personality might best be described as forceful. Astra is a loudmouthed braggart with an opinion on everything and a chip on her shoulder the size of a mountain. She believes deep down that she'll never be a truly good mage with her subpar education, so she covers this up with arrogance. Her story starts when she discovers a mysterious robot broken on the side of the road and decides to fix him up.

Said robot goes by the name of Mashal (surname Darezsho, but he doesn't know that at first)

Mashal doesn't remember anything before waking up in Astra's wagon. All he knows is his name, that he's lost, and that anything having to do with magic fills him with terrified paranoia and an urge towards violence. He seeks to discover what happened to him and who he is. Astra decides to aid him in this, and the two of them develop a friendship and later a romance on this quest. Mashal himself is rather soft-spoken, with a gentle heart that struggles to make sense of his violent instincts around magic. He has a talent for art and swordsmanship, and though his timidness can come across as weak, anyone who pushes him finds his morals are iron hard.

The third piece of this puzzle is Detevtive Ivander Montane

Born to a wealthy banking family, Ivander was always intended to follow along into the family business. When he was sixteen, he learned the truth of his family's dominance over the city of Unity's finances; the Montanes had made a deal with the god of greed. The contract Ivander signed with this god gave him the ability to call on miracles in exchange for his service. Only, when he couldn't bear hawking payday loans and convincing desperate fathers to sell their children as factory indentures any longer, he ran away. This default on his divine contract caused a curse to befall him. Slowly, Ivander's flesh is being eaten away and turned into smoke. This leaves him in terrible pain, though he covers his disfigurement with an illusion. Now 30 years old and disillusioned, Ivander works for the Unity Bureau of Arcane Investigation. His last hope to not die and be condemned to hell lays in mysterious killer known to strip the magic from their victims. Despite the horrors he's endured, there's still some good deep down in Ivander's heart. He's an incorrigible gossip, a selfish fop, and avoids emotional intimacy like the plague, however, he still loosely holds his childhood dream of helping people.

The next two characters are introduced in book 2. Sadly, I don't have funny little portraits for them yet.

First up is Elsind Cavernsight!

Elsind is a 20 year old changeling working for the Salis Legion of the People (a Skysheerian revolutionary group) as an infiltrator and spy. In Skysheer, changelings are frequently exploited, and like many of her kind, Elsind was kidnapped from a life with her loving elven mother at 13 to be used as a marquis's court freak. When they were 18, an SLP cell robbed the mansion they were kept in, and Elsind took a chance and escaped with them. Since then, he's been a loyal soldier fighting for his nation's freedom from tyranny. You might expect such a figure to be tough and jaded, but Elsind is nothing of the sort. They're a chatterbox, cry when nervous, and can't help but empathize with nearly everyone. They also have a deep appreciation for cheap romance novels.

On the other side of the coin, we have Duchon Avymere Kalaphon Spearsong III

Avymere is the Duchon of Salis (gender neutral form of Duke/Duchess), only child of the Archduke Eluan Spearsong. They are 153 years old and have been expertly manipulating the Salis gentry for nearly all of that time. To the court, they are a kindhearted, if ditzy, noble, who seems content to spend the rest of their days making social calls and practicing their odd martial arts hobby. In private, however, Avymere is a peerless spy who uses their unassuming persona to gather information for their father, to whom they are faultlessly loyal. They view themself as a servant of their people - more a tool than a person with wants and dreams. Despite their good intentions though, there is a disconnect between Avymere and the reality of Skysheer. They would consider easing tariffs to be a generous act, when in truth, most Skysheerians couldn't care less about foreign goods, and are more concerned with not starving or freezing to death.

And that's all the main characters! This turned out to be longer than I expected, but please let me know if you have any questions or comments. I also have their full bios (not Avymere or Elsind though, still gotta get on that) linked in my intro post, if you'd like a more in-depth look at anyone. Thanks for the ask, and you have yourself a bitchin day!

#writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs #writing asks #oc intro

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sunkissedpages · 2 years ago

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instead of you [part sixty] || th

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, angst

word count: 3.1k

“How much longer until we reach it?”

“You’ve asked that six times in the past ten minutes!”

“That’s because no one’s given me an answer!”

“Because no one knows, Harry! None of us have hiked this path before.”

Harry grumbled something behind his brother’s back but he must not have heard it because he didn't argue further.

The majority of the hike thus far had been uphill, something that the park rangers had neglected to mention when they sent you off into the forest. Thankfully, the mountains and canopy of trees provided some kind of shade but it was still scorching hot. And humid. And you were sweating like crazy.

Everyone was. Tom had already taken his shirt off and Harry had completely sweat through his. That was probably why he was complaining so much. He refused to take it off, though. Something about not wanting to get sunburned again.

“You doing okay?” Sam asked, looking over at you.

The two of you had found yourselves in the middle of the pack for once, walking behind his parents and in front of his brothers.

“Yeah, fine,” you answered, trying not to sound as out of breath as you felt.

“Did you bring your inhaler?”

“Um...”

“Why do I even ask?”

After fifteen more minutes of walking and a bathroom break, you finally reached the waterfall.

Harry sighed. “That’s it? We walked all this way for this?”

“Shut up, Harry,” Sam snapped. “It just looks small from the bridge, it’s not actually that small.”

“I’d say it’s a pretty average size,” you added, “maybe even kind of big.”

Tom laughed behind you. Thankfully, his parents didn’t seem to hear your comment. To be fair to Harry, it wasn’t a huge waterfall. It certainly wasn’t the biggest waterfall in Hawai’i, but it was one of the few that visitors could swim under. That’s what made it so popular.

And the bridge had made it look smaller than it really was.

There was an area to rinse off before and after getting in the water so you all took turns under the showerhead.

Nikki was the only one who didn’t want to swim, which meant that she was stuck with all of the bags. You felt sort of bad when Sam handed over the backpack you were sharing but Nikki assured you that it was fine, that she would rather hold them for you than have you rent one of the rusty lockers to store it in.

Waimea Falls required everyone to wear a life jacket, regardless of swimming ability. You knew it was a liability thing but you still couldn’t help but shiver when you slung on the cold, wet vest and buckled it around your chest. Who knows how many people had worn it before you today.

Shoes were optional so you left your sandals in the gravel by the bleachers and tiptoed your way back over to the edge of the water. The boys did the same.

The five of you stood there, staring at the rocks leading down into the lagoon, trying to figure out how to proceed without falling. It was hard to determine the best way in as all of the rocks that were big enough to step on were also either jagged and/or slippery.

“Ladies first,” Harry said unceremoniously.

You glared at him but decided to take a step down anyway. Someone had to go first and since everyone else was being a pussy it might as well be you. You moved at a snail’s pace, trying your best to move in a way that wouldn’t send you tumbling down the incline if you misstepped.

The rocks seemed stable enough to hold your weight without sliding around in the mud but one of them wobbled under you upon stepping on it, making you nearly lose your balance.

“Careful!” Sam and Tom shouted at the same time, causing you to turn around and make a face at them both.

They traded weird looks with each other before turning their attention back to you, who had made significant progress toward the water. By the time you finally reached the edge, the boys had started trekking down behind you, much more haphazardly than you had.

You extended your leg out in front of you to feel it out, trying not to scream when your toes grazed the water. It was freezing, way colder than you expected, but you knew it would feel incredible once you were fully submerged. It was one of if not the hottest days of the trip and you had sweat through everything. Even the life vest they’d saddled you with was beginning to feel sticky.

“How is it?” Sam called from behind you.

“Feels good!” you lied, not trusting yourself to turn around and show him your face. He’d know you were bluffing instantly.

Since you didn’t want to hold up the line, you took a deep breath and pushed yourself off of the ledge, finding your footing with both feet in the water. The bed of the lagoon was also covered with rocks. They were more slippery than the ones on the path seeing as they were wet and covered with algae so you had to be extra careful.

You moved away from the shore so that the boys could get in after you.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ!” was Sam’s shout from behind you.

You turned back to see him submerged up to his waist. He apologized to the people around him for cursing before glaring at you.

“You little brat!” he muttered, lunging at you.

You let out a yelp as the weight of your best friend dragged you under. You both emerged with dripping hair, laughing and sputtering.

“You said it felt good!”

“It does! It’s refreshing!”

“It’s cold as fuck,” he muttered, “and you knew that.”

“What, can’t take a little chill?” you taunted.

He splashed you.

“Are we going to swim over to the waterfall or what?” Tom’s voice echoed from behind you both, sounding annoyed.

Sam smirked before turning around to face his older brother.

“We don’t all have to go together. You could have gone on without us.”

Harry was the last to get in, gingerly stepping on the algae-covered rocks to make his way over to the three of you. Dom stayed by the edge, content to keep Nikki company from the water. He claimed to be too old to swim against the current just to get thousands of gallons of water dunked on him.

“Let’s go, babe,” Sam said, jerking his head over his shoulder in the direction of the waterfall.

Swimming to the base of the waterfall proved to be a lot more difficult than it looked. The current was strong and moving against it required a lot of effort. People who weren’t strong swimmers had no chance of making it all the way under.

It was doable for you, but not without struggle. The boys seemed to be in the same boat, save for Tom, who was the fittest out of all of you. He was already several strokes ahead of the rest of you when Sam called out for him to wait up. He paused and tread water while he waited for you and the twins to catch up.

“I thought we were going together,” Harry panted bitterly.

“Not my fault you guys are slow,” he rebutted.

“Maybe we should hold hands,” Sam suggested and pointed to another family who was making significantly more progress. “They’re doing it.”

“You think that’s going to work?” you asked.

“Yeah, how do we know you guys aren’t just going to hold me back?”

Harry clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Tom-”

“You could stand to pull some more way, Spider-man,” Sam pointed out.

“Tsk, fine. How should we do this?”

Tom obviously helmed the line. You were stuck between him and Sam, with Harry bringing up the rear. You didn’t argue about your place in the order but it did feel strange to be holding both Tom and Sam’s hands at the same time. You couldn’t tell whether they felt similarly but you had to assume they did.

Tom tugged you along and you pulled Sam in turn. They held on to you tightly so as not to lose you in the tide. You tried to focus on keeping your head above the surface instead of the feeling of both of their hands in yours.

Sam’s hand-holding strategy actually worked and you made it to the waterfall twice as fast as you would have on your own.

Trying to get under the waterfall was another ordeal. The water pressure was so aggressive that you had to fight against the water in order to get up on the rocks right beneath the stream.

“This kind of hurts!” Sam shouted over the roaring of the water.

“Yeah, I think I’m getting bruises!” Tom agreed.

“You guys are pussies!” you yelled, even though it did hurt and you wouldn’t be surprised if was bruising you.

“I think Mum is trying to take a picture!” Harry screamed.

Automatically, all four of you posed even though you couldn’t see where Nikki was and you could barely open your eyes under the stream. You grabbed for Sam but got Tom instead, accidentally squeezing his ass in an effort to hold his hand. How you mixed up the person standing beside you and mis-approximated where their wrist was, you didn’t know, but you immediately let go once you realized your mistake and fumbled for the right person’s hand instead.

If Sam noticed what happened, he didn’t say anything about it. Tom definitely did notice and you could see him trying not to laugh out of the corner of your eye.

“Should we swim back now?” one of the boys, you weren’t sure which, asked after you had stood there for what felt long enough for their mother to have snapped a couple of photos.

“You guys can, I think y/n and I are going to swim around by ourselves for a bit longer.”

That was news to you but you weren’t necessarily upset about it. You hadn’t been in the water for long anyway and you wanted to make the most of it. And if Sam wanted to be alone with you, you weren’t going to say no.

Your number one priority was winning him back, making it up to him, as much as you could.

You followed Sam to a secluded part of the pool, letting him tug you along as you floated on your back. Tom and Harry either got out or fucked off to another part of the lagoon. You weren’t paying attention when you split up and you weren’t about to look for them.

“Did you want to talk about something?” you asked your best friend.

“No, just wanted some space from my brothers.”

“Oh, ok.”

“Did you want to talk about something?” he parroted.

You made a face. “No, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

You could tell he knew what you referring to immediately from the way his expression shifted.

“Not here, yeah?”

You nodded in agreement. He was right, you should have that conversation somewhere private. Still, you took his answer as a good sign. ‘Not here’ implied that there was somewhere that you would have that conversation, which meant that he was willing to have it. You counted that as a win. A very small win, but a win nonetheless.

“What?” Sam asked, squinting at you through the sunlight.

“Huh?”

“What’s got you smiling like that? What’s on your mind?”

You hadn’t realized you were smiling until he pointed it out.

“Just happy to be here with you.”

You had dinner at some famous burger place that night. You were too tired to pay much attention to what you were eating or what everyone was talking about but you’re pretty sure the food tasted good.

The restaurant was in the middle of their dinner rush when your party arrived so you had to wait for a table. There was a small surf shop attached to the same building so you went with the boys to check it out while Nikki and Dom scoped out somewhere to sit. Everything was expensive so no one bought anything but window shopping kept you occupied for the time being.

After dinner, you rode with Sam’s parents back to the resort. He seemed indifferent to your presence this time, which you took as another win. He held your hand in the back seat and you rested your head on his shoulder. Neither of you fell asleep but you kept your eyes closed, enjoying the silence.

“We’re here, kids,” Nikki said softly once Dom had parked in the lot.

Sam stretched, forcing you to sit up too. You thanked them for the ride, and for dinner since they paid, before Sam asked if you wanted to take a walk on the beach.

“Sure, let’s go.”

He led you by the hand through the maze of buildings to the hotel’s beach entrance. You passed other couples as you strolled past the pool and the firepits and it made your heart sink a little. You were jealous of them. Jealous that they could enjoy each other’s company out in the open like that. Jealous that they looked so happy. Jealous that they weren’t sacrificing one relationship for another.

You were definitely projecting, they absolutely could have been in the same situation as you and you would never know but you refused to acknowledge that possibility because you were resolute on feeling bitter.

The sun hadn’t fully set yet despite the late hour. Being that it was still the middle of summer, it wouldn’t get dark until much later than usual. You were also convinced that daylight lingered longer in Hawai’i than it did in other places but you had no evidence to back that up.

“Here, I’ll carry your shoes for you,” Sam offered, holding out his free hand for them.

You paused. “Oh, are you sure?”

“Yeah, I know you don’t like the feeling of sand in your shoes.”

“Thank you.”

You bent down to undo your sandals and handed them to Sam. He looped the straps around two of his fingers and resumed holding your hand.

The sand was still warm, holding on to the heat of the day.

“Are we going all the way down to the water?” you asked.

“If you want to,” Sam answered.

“I don’t really feel like getting wet again.”

“That’s fine with me.”

You settled for walking along the outline of the tide where the sand was still dry. You followed the curves of the waves from hours past, tracing the remnants of high tide with your arms out like you were walking on a tightrope. Sam trailed behind you for a few moments before catching up with you again.

You had pulled your hand out of his grasp moments earlier to run ahead, distracted by the seafoam in the distance. You waited for him and put your arms back by your sides.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ditch you,” you sighed when he reappeared at your side.

“I know,” he replied.

Instead of offering you his hand this time, he gave you his elbow. You took it gently, resting your hand on his bicep.

He was uncharacteristically quiet. You wondered what was on his mind. When he invited you down here, you thought it would be to talk, to finally have that conversation. Maybe it had been and he changed his mind. Or maybe it had never been his intention in the first place.

You were starting to think you’d never get an answer when he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry for what I said.”

You tensed but kept walking, not wanting to confront whatever expression might be on Sam’s face. If you stopped, you would have to look at him or stare at the ground. If you continued walking, you could just look straight.

“I... didn’t mean that shit... about wishing I never met you. Or any of it really. I wanted to mean it. But I couldn’t, because none of it’s true. I was just really hurt. I still am, to be honest.”

“I understand,” you responded.

“I want us to move past this,” he continued, “but it still feels really fresh. I mean, I only found out about you and Tom a few days ago.”

You nodded as you listened. He was right. It had only been a handful of days even though it felt like an eternity. Being at odds with Sam was hell. He was your best friend, after all. You had lived life with him by your side for the past four years. You didn’t want to imagine what that would look like without him.

“Right.”

He cocked his head to the side, lost in thought.

“I’m sorry too,” you added, wanting to reiterate just how shitty you felt about the whole thing.

“I know,” he said softly. “I know you are. I knew you were then too. I’m sorry for invalidating your apology-”

“Don’t be!” you interrupted. “My actions and my words... they don’t add up. I would’ve thought I was bullshitting too.”

Sam forced a laugh. “Yeah, it wasn’t easy to wrap my head around. But I get it, I think. There’s just something about Tom, isn’t there?”

You snuck a glance at him but didn’t say anything. You had a feeling it was a rhetorical question.

“You must have been miserable this whole time. Trying to push down your feelings for him and then finally acting on them but being consumed by guilt when you finally do.”

“It hasn’t been the best,” you admitted, “but it’s my own fault.”

“Not entirely,” Sam reasoned.

You were surprised he was coming to your defense but you figured he’d go up to bat for anyone if it was against Tom.

“Enough of it is.”

Your best friend shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like you’re known for your decision-making skills.”

You scoffed and nudged him with your shoulder. He laughed a real laugh for the first time in days. You had missed hearing it. It made you smile too. You rested your head on his shoulder and for once it felt natural.

“I really am sorry, Sammy,” you sighed, your voice wavering.

“I know. I can’t pretend that I’m over it... but I will be. I also know that I can’t ask you to end things with him...”

“You can-”

“No,” he murmured. “I can’t. You would resent me for it.” You opened your mouth to protest but Sam shook his head and you closed it again. “You would. Maybe unconsciously, but you would. Things wouldn’t be the same.”

“Things won’t be the same if I don’t end things with him,” you pointed out.

“I know,” he agreed solemnly. Then he sighed as if it was something he had already come to terms with. “But you’ll still love me the same. And that’s enough.”

this one made me emo to write but I hope you enjoyed it lmk what you think I always appreciate feedback!!

#instead of you #iou #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x female reader #tom holland x bi!reader #tom holland series #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic

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