#the perfectly cut nature of this exchange is sending me

[nyantodamax145]

My friend’s pulls did not go well

[jeonghantis]

✧ — IN ALL HIS GLORY.

PAIRING ⇝ kim mingyu x reader.

SUMMARY ⇝

waking up next to your lover, you can't help but admire his unearthly beauty and consider yourself unbelievably lucky that he's all yours.

TAGS ⇝ established relationship, romance, suggestive, Fluff (yes, capital F Fluff), domestic-ish.

WARNINGS ⇝ language, gn!reader, fluff (lol), nudity, makeout scene, alludes to sexual content (MINORS DNI!).

WORD COUNT ⇝ 1.2k words and some.

note: yeah, this was a draft i had originally scratched for mingyu's birthday because i was unsure of its direction, but the innisfree behind got me scrambling the pieces back together. this was meant to appreciate mingyu and his beauty and i hope i did him justice.. (and if you can't tell when you finish reading, i am still mourning the loss of his long curly hair). anyway, i hope you enjoy reading <3 p.s. this is 1 out of 2 fics i have to celebrate mingyu month. stay tuned. <3 p.p.s this so not proofread i am so sorry

reblog if you are terribly in love with kim mingyu too (and to support me).

explicit warnings under cut.

EXPLICIT WARNINGS ⇝ nudity, implications of top!mingyu, implications of bottom!reader, mingyu was Rough, mentions of oral (reader receiving).

The first glint of sun spilled through windows, swathing your lover’s slumbering figure in its golden light. His lips were parted, a hand rested atop his chest that rose and fell with easy breaths. His hair that he grew out was a dark halo from where it splayed over the pillow, so vividly stark against the paleness of it. But unlike its sable tone, Kim Mingyu still had his radiance, even in his sleep, that could set light to the darkest dark.

From where you lay beside him, you reached out, gingerly brushing away the lone curl that had tumbled over his still face. Sleep had long left your body, waking dazed with ease and warmth. The outcome of the passion that had stretched all throughout the night clung onto your bones heavily, straining you from making any big movements. But you did not mind. Though you ache all over, you could lay perfectly still without complaint if it meant not interrupting this peace. 

But Mingyu woke up, blinking life back into his eyes. Then, he found you.

“Good morning, my love,” he mumbled, lips curled into a drowsy smile.

You mirror him, a hand cradling the side of his face. “Good morning, my heart.”

Then you’re reaching for each other, lips naturally finding one another.

It’s innocent at first, a tad bit clumsy with movements still sluggish, his from slumber and yours exhaustion. Airy giggles pass between you two at the lumbering bumps of noses and teeth, but eventually, a steady rhythm comes with practiced ease, a slow pace of melding lips that’s nothing short of passion. Nothing really ever is when it comes to being with the love of your life.

It’s Mingyu who grasps for more first, a palm resting atop the small of your back to draw you even closer, your body pressed flush against his. It’s only then do you remember how you both did not bother with clothes after last night’s events. And he seems to have just remembered in the moment too because he’s now groaning into your mouth, his face slanting to deepen the amorous exchange in search of more of you. You’re very quick on the uptake, the fervency of the kiss heightening, as you pour all of yourself into him and he drinks it up with an unquenchable thirst, every slip of breath, every movement of lip. You tug on the soft pink flesh of his bottom lip for him to part open. When he did, your tongue slinked in, licking into the wet cavern of his mouth with languid strokes. Mingyu is all too ready for it, welcoming your voyage with another moan and a wet caress of his own tongue over yours, as his palm smooths over the underside of your thigh, hoisting it up to lift it over his waist.

The blankets twist around your tangled limbs. Mingyu shucked it off. The cold air sends a shock through you and instinctively, you’re seeking the warmth of your lover with a tug on his shoulder. Mingyu gives in easily and shifts his body around until the upper half of him rests on top of you, pushing himself impossibly closer. 

The added weight of him was not something you had considered in your daze and you’re sparing yourself some breath as you ease back with a gasp. But the man is just as lost in his daze and chases after your retreating mouth. Mingyu managed to swallow down a couple of your breaths with fervid lips until you had to stop him with a hand pressed firmly against his shoulder.

“Stop, wait - ” you exhale with a staggered laugh, gently urging your lover back. “You’re heavy, Gyu. I need to breathe.”

“Yeah, and I need you,” he whines petulantly like a child, though he is pulling back anyway until he’s back laying on his side. “Which, arguably, is more important.”

“Can’t exactly have me if I stop breathing,” you counter with a playful roll of your eyes. “I’m already exhausted from last night trying to keep up with your insane stamina.”

A prideful look crosses his face. “I did go pretty hard on you.” 

You smother the urge to smile as you give laudatory pats on his chest. “You did and I do love you for it, but now my entire body hurts.”

“Want me to help make you feel better?”

“Please.”

Mingyu grins. “I have to fuck you again though.”

“Thought so,” you snorted and slapped his chest, but you were smiling.

“Or I make you breakfast,” Mingyu laughs and reaches to hold your hand, interlacing your fingers with his. “Then I could give you a massage. How’s that?”

“Heavenly,” you hum.

Mingyu props himself up on one arm, staring down at you with glittering eyes. “Then give me a kiss before I go?”

You laugh softly and cast your gaze up at him, a hand already reaching to pull him down by his nape.

But you still. 

Kim Mingyu was beautiful. This was a fact you knew. A fact that you should be accustomed to. But no matter just how much you set your eyes upon his perfectly sculpted features, your breath catches in your throat every time.

Mingyu was outlined against the risen sun; his radiance coming to full glory as the light kissed his bronzed skin to gold. Each dip and curve of his toned body, each sharp and soft line of his handsome face appeared meticulously carved onto skin, like marks of a sculptor’s tenacity. Even the moles adorning his face—one flecked on the tip of his nose and the other on his cheek—looked thoughtfully placed, somehow adding their own strange allure to his already captivating charm. 

The mole on his cheek twitches when a smile pulls at the corners of his lips.

“What is it?” Mingyu whispered, his dark eyes peering. “What are you staring at?”

You had not known you were staring for so long, but who could blame you when he looked the way he did? When you love him the way you do?

“I was just thinking about how beautiful you are,” you answered honestly, brushing back the raven strands that had fallen over his eyes. “And about how I am absolutely in love with you.”

“Suddenly?”

“I’ve always thought so,” you smiled. 

Mingyu regards you for a silent beat, the faintest blush dusting his cheeks. Then he’s dipping down and capturing your mouth with his in another heady kiss.

“Fuck breakfast and a massage,” he grunts against you. “I am going to fuck you.”

“Gyu,” you start to groan, which should have been a warning but it comes out half-hearted and laced with desire instead.

“Or I can use my tongue on you instead,” he offers as his mouth already strays away, mapping down kisses down the column of your throat. “Please?”

“Just because of what I said?” You try for a laugh and it comes a bit breathy.

“All because of what you said,” Mingyu says and draws back. He’s peering at you with those big, sparkling eyes again. “Because you’re beautiful and I’m absolutely in love with you too.”

“Charmer,” you huff, a smile itching your lips. “You’re still making breakfast and giving me a massage right after though.”

Mingyu smiled as blinding as the first glint of sunlight. "Deal."

© circlesol. all rights reserved. do not re-publish, translate, plagiarise, edit any of my work on any other platform.

[bagginshieldweek24]

Bagginshield Week 2023 - Guideline, Dates, Prompts

Welcome all to Bagginshield Week 2023, an event meant to inspire creations surrounding the relationship between Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakeshield! Keep reading below the cut to find out how to participate, when will it take place, and what are the prompts!

What is considered as Bagginshield for the purposes of the event? Any kind of relationship between Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield, whether that be platonic, romantic or sexual, so long as said relationship or the interactions between these characters are the main focus of the work you create.

Is there one specific incarnation of the characters/story that we must abide by? Not at all, you can write them following the lines of the book, the animated film, or the live action trilogy, and even add your own flavor to them. As for the story, you may observe either canon, or make it as canon divergent or alternate universe as you wish (prompt notwithstanding).

Are other pairings featuring Bilbo or Thorin welcome? Yes. So long as Bilbo and Thorin remain the focus of the work, you may include any other background pairings, other relationships (of any nature) that feature Bilbo or Thorin, and polycules/open relationships. I find it perfectly understandable and more than acceptable if you wish, for example, to develop a platonic relationship between these two characters, while also hinting at either of them having a romantic relationship with someone else. Different strokes for different folks.

What mediums are allowed? Are there any minimum requisites for completion or participation? Officially speaking, all mediums are allowed and there aren’t any requisites , since the purpose is to simply inspire more creations of this pair, but the following minimums are encouraged -

Art: 1 sketch.

Fiction: 250 words.

Commentary: 250 words.

Podfic: 5 minutes.

Edits/manips: 2 pictures.

Gifset: 2 gifs.

Moodboard: 4 pictures.

Playlist: 5 songs.

Any other mediums you can think of are more than welcome! If what you wish to create in (animation, cosplay, embroidery, essay, poetry, video edit, you name it) isn’t mentioned above, is simply because I couldn’t even begin to conceptualize what could be considered a minimum for it or wasn’t entirely sure if what I had in mind would work out. You’re more than welcome to drop any comments on other mediums in the ask box, and to participate just as freely as anyone else! Again, these minimums are suggestions, after all!

Event Specifics

Date: June 4th - 10th. 2023.

Two extra days (June 11th and 12th) will be available to post/finish creations.

There are two prompts to chose from or combine per day.

There are two alternate prompt sets (regular and whump), with five prompts each, which you can exchange or combine with any daily prompt.

For those posting in Tumblr, you must use the tag #thilboweek23 to have your post reblogged. For those posting in AO3, a Collection will be set at the beginning of the event. For those who may post somewhere else or would prefer remaining anonymous on Tumblr, you may: make a short Tumblr post to promote, request me to share your work through the Discord server (that is still being set up) or an ask through Tumblr, or send me an email with the link to your work through an account I will share later (I’m afraid I don’t have Twitter or Instagram accounts, sorry).

Prompts

June 4th: Fairytale AU | Domestic June 5th: Bilbo in Erebor | Piercings & Tattoos June 6th: Pride & Prejudice AU | Blade/Sword June 7th: Nautical/Pirate AU | The Moon/The Sun June 8th: Ghibli AU | Hobbit Culture June 9th: Erebor Never Fell | Flowers/Flower Language June 10th: Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies | Haunted House/Castle/Palace

Regular Alternate Prompts: Courtship | Secret Relationship | Thorin is an Errant Smith | Meeting the Family | Enchantments/Spells

Whump Alternate Prompts: Believed to be Dead | Nightmares/Hallucinations | Silence | Left Behind | Hidden Injury

[novantinuum]

🤡 or 🛠, for the ask game?

Thank you very much for sending some in! :D

(Fanfic writer ask meme- I am still taking these!)

_

🤡 What’s a line, scene, or exchange you’ve written that made you laugh?

Oh, good question- let me poke into my works...

Admittedly, I don't often try to write humor into my stories as I don't feel I'm a naturally funny person in writing, but sometimes silly little character beats just pop up organically.

I still quite enjoy this exchange in Crack the Paragon chapter 12, between Steven and Peridot:

“So,” she begins, nodding towards his stomach. “Your gem.” With a tired sigh, he tugs his shirt back down. Boy, does he already know where this conversation is heading, and boy, is he sick of having to walk everyone through it. “Yup,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ and getting ready to deploy the exasperated eye roll. “All this time everyone thought you were a hybrid quartz, but now you’re telling me…” “…that I’m actually a dia—” “…that I, Peridot, certified Kindergartener, a skilled specialist on every variety of Gem to ever exist, was wrong??” “Hold on, what?”  She holds her hand over the diamond emblazoned on her chest as she passionately continues, wholly oblivious to Steven’s bemusement. “I was the brightest Gem of my cut back on Homeworld, and yet somehow I mistook a perfectly formed diamond for a quartz! Ah, hahahah!” Eyes glinting with what he can only describe as a borderline feral energy, she moves to clutch at the sides of her head, thick tufts of lemon yellow spilling out from between her fingers. “Oh, my stars. I’ve lost my touch!”

🛠What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

I exclusively use mobile Scrivener! Basically every scrap of fic I post is written on the go on my phone, usually while I take a long walk at my local park on weekends, but also during my breaks from work. (Or, uh... while overtly on the clock in lab. Listen, boss gets a dollar, I get a dime-)

I've also made great use of the NaNoWriMo website this past year in keeping up a daily writing habit. I use it to track my word counts per month/every few months, and set personal goals for myself when there's not an official writing event happening on there otherwise. I don't always reach the goals I set because I'm a very busy person, but it gives me something to strive towards! In any case, I've written at least one word (AKA opened my WIPs just, at all) daily since last November. I hope to make this a habit that lasts a lifetime, writing is great fun to me.

Currently, my goal is to write 30K words by the end of August. (I started this goal back in June.) I'm decently on track right now, which I'm very pleased about!

[sen-no-kotowari]

PGR A Lee Character Profile

Good day! As promised, I'll be catching up and post more of the character profiles. Here's A Lee's character profile. You can learn more about him in his Interlude story and the cut down below (*´ω`*)

Voice Line Data

Motion Voice Lines

Lobby Voice 1

Lee: Welcome back. It's already praise-worthy to be able to come back in one piece.

Lobby Voice 2

Lee: Let's begin the mission operation for today, Commander.

Lobby Voice 3

Lee: Does the external mission this time around take that much time?

Raise Affection Level

Lee: You're more manageable compared to the previous Commander. And yes, I think it's not a bad thing.

Repetitive Taps

Lee: Will you stop that...!

Introduction and Formation

Structure Acquired

Lee: So you're the new Commander, huh... I just hope you're not a fool.

Level Up

Lee: That's just natural.

Advancement

Lee: Doing good. I think I'll get stronger from here.

Model Improvement

Lee: So it's like this huh... There's more room for improvement.

Skill Upgrade

Lee: This mobilization pattern seems to be useful, might use it next time.

Equipment

Lee: Hmm~... Seems easy enough to use. Not bad.

Add in Team

Lee: You made the right decision by choosing me.

Assign as Captain

Lee: Me? Captain? I'll show you how to lead perfectly.

Mission Accomplished

Voice Line 1

Lee: Seems like we've received the rewards, let's go claim them.

Voice Line 2

Lee: We'll receive a reward once we've finished the mission... It's common sense you know?

Daily Small Talks

Voice Line 1

Lee: "Tactics" and "Strategy" are two different things... Well, not like you can understand what I'm talking about anyway.

Voice Line 2

Lee: It's my principle to avoid troublesome things.

Voice Line 3

Lee: Good morning. Are you done with your preparations?

Voice Line 4

Lee: Go get some rest, or else you're gonna be a hindrance to the battle this afternoon.

Voice Line 5

Lee: If humans don't get the recommended amount of sleep, there's a high chance you'd easily get bald you know.

Voice Line 6

Lee: Yesterday, I've already analyzed the data from the Infected. I'll send it over to your terminal later, Commander.

Voice Line 7

Lee: We Structures can work without resting so we're fine.

Voice Line 8

Lee: Don't look down on Analytical-type Structures, I have confidence in my battle capabilities.

Voice Line 9

Lee: Since I tend to think about how things work logically, I sometimes cannot understand the Commander's out-of-the-box way of thinking. That's why please, tell me honestly about the things you're thinking about.

Voice Line 10

Lee: Since I tend to think about how things work logically, I... sometimes cannot understand the Commander's out-of-the-box way of thinking. That's why please, tell me honestly about the things you're thinking about.

Voice Line 11

Lee: For me, remaining here in this unit has been one of the most correct decisions I've made.

Voice Line 12

Lee: I wish that all humans are just like you Commander, yet at the same time, I have thoughts of wanting you to always stay the way you are.

Voice Line 13

Lee: As long as you are here, I won't lose even if a formidable enemy is standing in our way.

Voice Line 14

Lee: I can't exchange with you a promise of the future. However, I want to grant you a future. That's why I'm working hard for it.

Raise Affection Level

Voice Line 1

Lee: An average competency.

Voice Line 2

Lee: I'll think about changing my attitude towards you—if you manage to stay alive in the next battle.

Voice Line 3

Lee: You're more manageable compared to the previous Commander, and I think it's not a bad thing. Yeah...

Voice Line 4

Lee: Please remember this—it's for the sake of a better advantage in battle.

Voice Line 5

Lee: Okay fine I understand, "we get along well," as you say.

Voice Line 6

Lee: This is...a device used by humans to communicate with one another...? Why are you giving this to me...?

Voice Line 7

Lee: Am I... your number one?

Voice Line 8

Lee: I'm the only one who gets along with you like this...right?

AFK

Voice Line 1

Lee: You know I'll be considering this as work negligence, right?

Voice Line 2

Lee: Where the hell did you go... Are you slacking?

Voice Line 3

Lee: Do your work properly.

Voice Line 4

Lee: What, you plan to get back to work only if someone coaxes you to do so? What are you, a kid or something?

Online for a Long Time

Voice Line 1

Lee: An extended period of Consciousness Link is mentally taxing. I've already warned you about it. [1]Audio: An extended period of Consciousness Link is mentally taxing. I've already warned you about it, so I'm not gonna be responsible for that whatsoever if you become crippled later on because of it.

Voice Line 2

Lee: You've been awfully linked for a very long time now. Are you okay with not getting any rest?

Voice Line 3

Lee: I understand that your sense of control over your own body feels out of order whenever you're with us, but an extended link period can be quite taxing to your body. Please get some rest.

Voice Line 4

Lee: Be more careful in working too hard—extended links are remarkably taxing to the body... Don't make me repeat myself, geez...

Log-In

Voice Line 1

Lee: Let's begin the mission operation for today, Commander.

Voice Line 2

Lee: Kept me waiting. First off, let's start analyzing the infected sample specimen from yesterday.

Voice Line 3

Lee: Finally arrived, huh. Because I'm free today, I'm willing to accompany you on your whims.

Voice Line 4

Lee: I wasn't really waiting for you. ...It's true, I'm telling you.

Offline for a Long Time

Voice Line 1

Lee: Does the external mission this time around take that much time?

Voice Line 2

Lee: Can you tell me the reason why you were away for a long time?

Voice Line 3

Lee: Wow, that was a remarkably drawn-out external mission. I thought you've already forgotten about this place.

Voice Line 4

Lee: Where in the world did you go, being away for such a long time... I thought you were never gonna come back... Oh. Ahem—Welcome back.

Shake

Voice Line 1

Lee: W-what!?

Voice Line 2

Lee: Are you a kid or something...!

Voice Line 3

Lee: ...Are you satisfied now?

Voice Line 4

Lee: You really... love doing this huh.

Repetitive Taps

Voice Line 1

Lee: Will you stop that...!

Voice Line 2

Lee: Are you trying to make me sick or something?

Voice Line 3

Lee: Is there something fun about this...?

Voice Line 4

Lee: Just wait, if I meet you in person, I'll make sure to poke the living hell out of you.

Activity Task Full

Lee: Activity level's already at max. Don't forget to get your rewards.

Triumphant Return

Lee: And another perfect line of fire.

Squad Member's Return

Lee: Welcome back. It's already praise-worthy to be able to come back in one piece.

Battle Dialogues

Battle Start/Character Switch/Voice Line 1

Lee: Think you can escape the bullet trajectory I've calculated huh.

Voice Line 2

Lee: You call that hiding?

Voice Line 3

Lee: It's wise to just give up.

Ultimate Skill

Lee: There's only one end that awaits you.

Light Damage

Lee: Tch... Not bad...

Heavy Damage

Lee: Situation's...looking bleak huh...

Incapacitated

Lee: It's all right... I...won't...

Friend Support

Lee: You won't have any problems so long as I'm here.

QTE

Lee: Just give the orders.

Battle End

Lee: And another perfect line of fire.

Structure Documentation

Document Detail 1

A member of the Gray Raven Unit. An Attacker-type Structure. He uses two handguns as his weapon and is an expert in engineering. In addition to accurately perceiving the weak points of the Infected, Lee takes pride in equipment construction and device terminal maintenance.

Document Detail 2

"Leave the isolation device to me." Besides his high intelligence and exceptional calculational abilities, Lee possesses a database storage capacity that exceeds the average Structure. He is mainly responsible for installing the isolation device and maintenance of the equipment Gray Raven uses. It seems that he has some knowledge of repairing the mechanical components of Structures.

Document Detail 3

"Your level of IQ might've exceeded the standard value of an ordinary human." Many of his remarks often determine the essence of things, tackling the heart of the matter. The frank words he speaks out of kindness and consideration are mostly twisted with sarcasm. In order to understand his intentions, it's best to guess based on his behavior.

Document Detail 4

"Uh... Being called 'older brother' is..." There seems to be something that comes to his mind when he was called "older brother." He may look apathetic outside of assigned missions, but he actually watches over everything from the shadows. When Liv was attacked by the Aberrant Infected "Tifa," Lee risked his own life to protect her. Though his steadfast feelings towards his "friends," including the Commander, could be seen, the person himself is trying his utmost best to hide it.

Document Detail 5

"As long as you are safe and sound, that's all I could ever ask for." The origin of his consciousness belonged to a young man named "Morrian." In order for his younger brother to receive medical treatment, he voluntarily participated in the Structurization Project as a subject of the experiment. His heart when he was still human was transplanted to his younger brother. He has the highest overall ability among the Structures of the same production year.

Document Detail 6

"I'm sorry, but I've seen your cheap tricks for a while back now." As a result of taking the brunt of Tifa's attack in place of Liv, the anxiety of being controlled by Tifa grew inside Lee. A spasm had occurred right after their fight against Tifa, but he had successfully avoided a life-threatening situation due to taking precautionary steps beforehand. He is a Structure you can fully trust with entrusting a mission.

Rumors and Secrets

Secret 1 He runs on the impulse of wanting to analyze the things he likes.

Secret 2 He frequently overhauls a variety of firearms during rest times in between battle.

Secret 3 He seems to be quite good at sewing.

Secret 4 He has been thoroughly researching about formal dress wears for humans and how to look fashionable.

Secret 5 He minds being called "big brother" by other people.

Secret 6 Excluding Liv, although Lee has the highest level of efficiency towards radar function, he actually has no sense of direction.

Secret 7 Although he has shown some interest in games, he has refrained from getting involved after hearing Kamui likes gaming.

Secret 8 His way of constructing and deconstructing things is more on the "scientific approach," and thinks that Nanami is more of a "touch-and-go" style of approach.

Secret 9 He adds impractical new features to weapons from time to time. An example of the said feature is a bottle opener.

Secret 10 He has no intention of showing the implemented new features to anybody.

Secret 11 Whenever he performs precise calculations, he stylishly catches the guns he threw mid-air, and the probability of him failing to catch them is 0.372%.

Secret 12 Has the habit of turning important matters into data and putting them on record.

Spoken dialogue is different from the one that's written.

[mistydeyes]

Hi, I hope you're having a good day! 🥰

I'd like to ask for a cod pairing pls ✨️

(I hope this ends up being coherent because I did just get back from spending several hours in the blazing sun lol)

as for appearance: I'm 5"4', have wavy brown hair that goes just past my shoulders, green eyes and I'm pretty pale with some freckles. as for body type I guess I'm more on the skinny side but I do have some curves and have been building some muscle lately.

personality-wise, I'm a fellow infp 👋🏻 I tend to be shy around people I don't know yet but once I get to know someone enough to be comfortable I get very talkative and make (sometimes really bad) jokes. my sense of humour bounces from silly to pretty dry or even sarcastic/cynical sometimes. I try to be kind to everyone unless they give me a reason not to, and I very rarely get angry or loud. I also try to always give my friends a sense of reassurance that I sometimes wish someone would give me. I do struggle with generalized anxiety disorder but I've been working on it, trying to live with it and move out of my comfort zone one step at a time.

in terms of interests/hobbies, I love playing video games, especially story-driven or open world adventure/fantasy games, as well as reading and writing, and going for hikes in the woods (I also do a bunch of nature photography). I work out twice a week and am pushing to get to a third time. this is definitely something I need since I work in office administration and sit a lot haha. but I do also like getting physically stronger, it helps my confidence quite a bit.

okay this is starting to get long so I'll cut it off here lol

thank you!💖

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

How you met: Civilian Hikes in autumn were some of your favorites. You loved the crisp, cool weather and always had your camera on you to capture the changing of the seasons. You zipped up your fleece jacket as the soft breeze flowed gently through the trees. Your camera roll was filled with pictures of the wildlife making preparations for the winter and the silhouette of birds against the colorful leaves. The ground crunched under your step as you walked the nature trail. Eventually, you came across a man who was enjoying the beauty of the forest. He wore a warm flannel jacket and his bright smile was picturesque. You shamelessly snapped a picture of him as he was perfectly contrasted against a collection of yellow, red, and orange foliage. You weren't going to say anything until he approached you with a friendly wave. "Was it a good picture?" he asked and you blushed in embarrassment. You looked at your camera and it was, his smile perfectly capturing the enjoyment of fall and the leaves descending elegantly behind him. You sheepishly showed him it and he awed in response. "You have to send me a copy!" he exclaimed and quickly handed his phone over to you to exchange numbers. "I'm Kyle, by the way," he said as you sent yourself a text, "being a model is just a hobby of mine." You both laughed at his comment and said your goodbyes as you continued in opposite directions. You wouldn't find out until months later but he saved your contact as "the pretty photographer."

A peek into your relationship: "My turn!" you exclaimed as Kyle finished playing through another character's unfortunate demise in What Remains of Edith Finch. You had a tradition when he was on leave to play a game you each picked and trade off controlling the main character. It had taken you months to get through the Borderlands series as your boyfriend was terrible at making quick decisions and completing dialogue branches. He pushed the keyboard and mouse to your direction as you continued to direct Edith through the sprawling maze of a house. You had started the game this morning and after many breaks (Kyle was so upset after certain character deaths) you were finally approaching the ending. You had just played through Lewis' story and both were heartbroken at his fate. "This game is so twisted," Kyle said as you finally navigated to Edith's great grandmother's room. "I know but the art and the story is just so good," you said as you sat back and watched another tragic cutscene playthrough. "You are something else," he joked as he gently held your hand to pull the mouse away. By now, it was only Edith left and the plot twist left you both yelling and screaming at your pc. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE WAS PREGNANT?" Kyle yelled as tears pricked your eyes. "Why did she have to die in childbirth?" you sobbed and shut your computer off as the cut scenes rolled. Kyle picked you up and placed you in his lap to comfort you. "Next time I pick the game," he joked and you could even see he was getting a little glossy in the eyes. "Deal" you said as you wiped at your cheeks. "Can we watch something silly like FNAG reaction montages or something?" you asked and he nodded as he carried you off to your living room for some much needed laughs.

[lewistoferrari]

I just saw that ask about Kyle with a girlfriend who doesn't know how to do braids.

As a mixed woman in her 30s, I feel embarrassed that I never learned how to do braids. I had a step-aunt who did my braids when I was little. I have had them done professionally as a little kid. Otherwise I went most of my school years with relaxed hair. I've tried to take care of my natural hair (3c-4a type) but I get so frustrated dealing with it. I'm about to buy a glueless wig so I don't have to mess with it anymore.

Now imagine Kyle having a girlfriend who always has "salon blowout" hair all of the time. She never lets him know that she wears a wig. She only takes it off in the bathroom then throws on a bonnet.

This goes on for a few months until he catches her mid exchange. He questions her about it. She tries to come up with some slick response only to cave and confess that she can't do braids. He offers to do them for her. He has her look for a style so he can get an idea of what she wants. He still lets her use the wig. She doesn't use it now unless he is gone for months at a time.

don’t be embarrassed, i can’t braid either and don’t think i ever will. i can do everything expect but that. i go right to the braid shop around the corner from my house lmao. and yes wigs are always a good solution imo

i wrote a lil mini fic under the cut lmao

you always keep your hair routine a secret because you don’t want kyle to know that you wear wigs. you don’t even let the man touch your hair, so how would he know it wasn’t growing out of your scalp in the first place? you’re also a little embarrassed because you can’t braid hair to save your life and you can’t tolerate sitting in someone’s chair at the shop for 6-8 hours.

one day when you’re in the middle of swapping wigs, kyle just barges into the bathroom, because he has to piss and he’s not going to another bathroom. he freezes once he realizes what you’re doing, and so do you.

“so this is what you’ve been up to,” he says with a look of amusement. he looks at the wig in your hand. “that’s a nice wig, sweetheart. totally different from the one you have now, but similar to the one you wore last month.”

what?

“what!?” it comes out unusually high, because what the hell is he implying? “what do you mean by that?”

but you know exactly what he meant. he knows. he was just waiting for you to mention the wigs to him.

“it’s okay, you know,” kyle says softly when he sees how tense you’ve gotten.

you relax a little at his words, and even more when he gives you a dazzling smile. “so the cat’s out of the bag huh?”

kyle barks out a laugh. “was it ever really in there to begin with?”

his response sends you into a laughing fit because he’s absolutely right. you weren’t being subtle at all, if he caught onto it before you could confess. you even ask him what gave you away, and you’re not surprised when he gives you a deadpan look.

kyle has always been an observant man. he pays more attention to you than you think he does.

“wearing wigs is easier for me, because i can’t braid to save my life, kyle.”

there, you’ve finally said it.

you look at him in surprise when he asks you what kind of braids you want. you let him know right away that he doesn’t have to spend any money on braids,!when you have a perfectly good wig to use. he shocks you even more when he tells you he’ll braid your hair for free.

you laugh a little, because, “since when did you know how to braid?”

kyle learned how to braid when he was fourteen, he just never told you. “so, what kind of braids do you want?” he repeats.

you definitely panic a little because you don’t know what style you want. so kyle just shoves his phone into your hands and shoos you out of the bathroom. you take a little longer to choose a braiding style. but when you do, your man gets straight to work.

you take way too many selfies when kyle is done admiring his own work. and he definitely lets you wear your wigs when he knows he’ll be gone for more than two weeks.

[svgoceandesigns1]

Vintage Made In 1964 Aged Perfectly SVG - 60th Birthday Gift SVG PNG, Cricut File

Vintage Made In 1964 Aged Perfectly SVG, 60th Birthday Gift SVG PNG EPS DXF PDF, Cricut File, Instant Download File, Cricut File Silhouette Art, Logo Design, Designs For Shirts. ♥ Welcome to SVG OCEAN DESIGNS Store! ♥ ► PLEASE NOTE: – Since this item is digital, no physical product will be sent to you. – Your files will be ready to download immediately after your purchase. Once payment has been completed, SVG Ocean Designs will send you an email letting you know your File is ready for Download. You may also check your Order/Purchase History on SVG Ocean Designs website and it should be available for download there as well. – Please make sure you have the right software required and knowledge to use this graphic before making your purchase. – Due to monitor differences and your printer settings, the actual colors of your printed product may vary slightly. – Due to the digital nature of this listing, there are “no refunds or exchanges”. – If you have a specific Design you would like made, just message me! I will be more than glad to create a Custom Oder for you. ► YOU RECEIVE: This listing includes a zip file with the following formats: – SVG File (check your software to confirm it is compatible with your machine): Includes wording in both white and black (SVG only). Other files are black wording. – PNG File: PNG High Resolution 300 dpi Clipart (transparent background – resize smaller and slightly larger without loss of quality). – DXF: high resolution, perfect for print and many more. – EPS: high resolution, perfect for print, Design and many more. ► USAGE: – Can be used with Cricut Design Space, Silhouette Cameo, Silhouette Studio, Adobe Illustrator, ...and any other software or machines that work with SVG/PNG files. Please make sure your machine and software are compatible before purchasing. – You can edit, resize and change colors in any vector or cutting software like Inkscape, Adobe illustrator, Cricut design space, etc. SVG cut files are perfect for all your DIY projects or handmade business Product. You can use them for T-shirts, scrapbooks, wall vinyls, stickers, invitations cards, web and more!!! Perfect for T-shirts, iron-ons, mugs, printables, card making, scrapbooking, etc. ►TERMS OF USE: – NO refunds on digital products. Please contact me if you experience any problems with the purchase. – Watermark and wood background won’t be shown in the downloaded files. – Please DO NOT resell, distribute, share, copy, or reproduce my designs. – Customer service and satisfaction is our top priority. If you have any questions before placing orders, please contact with us via email "support@svgoceandesigns.com". – New products and latest trends =>> Click Here . Thank you so much for visiting our store! SVG OCEAN DESIGNS Read the full article

[donsvgfile]

Elephant Mom and Me svg Cutting File Mommy and daughter SVG image for Cricut baby vinyl decal vector

Elephant Mom and Me svg Cutting File Mommy and daughter SVG image for Cricut baby vinyl decal vector

Mother Day SVG Files, Mommy vector cut files, Holiday SVGs for T-Shirt designs, Elephant Mom and Me cutting file, Mother's Day svg images for Cricut, Mom DXF for Silhouette Cameo, Mothers Day SVG Designs, Happy Mom Day PNG for Sublimation, Mother Free SVG. Item description: ► This is a digital download, no physical product will be delivered. ► This design comes in a single ZIP file with the following file formats: - SVG cut file for Cricut Design Space, Silhouette Designer Edition, Inksape, Adobe Suite and more. - DXF file for Silhouette users. You can open this with the free software version of Silhouette. - PNG file with transparent background and 300 dpi resolution. ► You can use Elephant Mom and Me SVG cut files perfectly for your DIY projects and handmade products (t-shirts, mugs, pillowcases, blankets, bags, invitation card, heat transfer vinyl, wall decal, party decorations, home decor, paper crafting, sublimation, crafts, etc). ► Due to the nature of digital files. No any refunds or exchange available here. ► SUPPORT / HELP: If you have any question or need help we are always there for you. You can contact us by going on CONTACT US PAGE and sending us your query. How to Download Elephant Mom and Me svg Cutting File Mommy and daughter SVG image for Cricut baby vinyl decal vector ► To Download Elephant Mom and Me SVG Design you need to follow these steps STEP 1: Click on “ADD TO CART” on all the files that you want to purchase. STEP 2: Once you added the files to cart, click the “PROCEED TO CHECKOUT” button and enter your billing details on checkout page. STEP 3: Complete the payment with Paypal or Credit Card. After payment you will be automatically redirected to a Download page where you can download the files. Click on the file to download it. STEP 4: Also you will receive an email from DonSVG.com, this email includes download link, just click on it and your Elephant Mom and Me images will start downloading automatically. NOTE : If you had chose to create a user account before purchasing, your purchased files will be in the downloads section inside your user account. Get your hands on the Elephant Mom and Me SVG files for your Cricut or Silhouette Cameo cutting machines! Buy it now! Thanks For Shopping!! Read the full article

[atozfic]

lessons in law.

⎘ pairing: fem!reader x choi san.

⎘ genre: dilf!san, lawyer!san, tutor!san, law-student!reader, smut, all parties are of legal age!!

⎘ warnings: dom!san, sub!reader, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, hair pulling, light name calling, mentions of punishment, san is a simp in denial.

⎘ description: sometimes, there’s nothing wrong with an oral exam.

⎘ word count: 1.6k

⎘ author’s note: this was supposed to be a less-than-500-words timestamp. 🧍‍♂️

⎘ taglist: @yunhobabygurl, @eonghwa, @iusrene, @nari-nim, @couchpotatoaniki, @vanishingboots, @yoheyyosup, @spacepiratehongjoong, @rainteez02​ unable to tag: @harry-the-pottypus

masterlist.

navigation.

© atozfic, 2021.

“for a d-defamation lawsuit to turn out success- fuck!” from the moment your resolve slips, you regret it, almost going as far as to complain verbally, if you didn’t already know better.

talking back will only get you punished, and not in the way of whips and chains and all things spice, but in the way of being left high and dry, pussy wet and unfilled. 

cold air brushes up against your sensitive folds as the man beneath your desk pulls away from your sopping core. you glance down in time to catch the way he swipes his tongue over his lips, collecting the juices you’ve covered him in, in as little as the three minutes he’s been down there.

he’s looking at you with one eyebrow raised, expectantly, awaiting you to correct the error of your ways.

“did i tell you to stop reading, princess?” his voice, the way the gruff in it curls over his words and his beautiful lips move as he speaks, sends a fresh rush of arousal down your nerves.

“no, mr. choi.”

“and what did you do?” 

“stop-” you start, only to do the very thing you said when you jolt in your seat, moments after he’d blown air onto your pulsating heat, torturing you with the minimum amount of pressure against your clit. it takes a deep, calming breath on your end to centre yourself again. “i stopped reading.”

“tsk.” his response worries you. so vague, you’re yet to figure out if he’s going to even bother continuing with the pleasure he was giving you. as if sensing your unsure nature, the drag of his pointer finger over your soaked entrance becomes his answer to the unasked question. “how am i supposed to know you’re studying the notes i gave you if you do that, hmm? do it again and we’ll have to cut the tutoring lesson short today.”

he could have whispered the words and you still would have heard him loud and clear. your eyes reluctantly snap back to the textbook instead of staring down at the sight of him between your legs, hair perfectly slicked back and begging to be messed up, tie undone and hanging from his neck, shirt sleeves rolled up his arms and straining against the muscles of his forearms.

“the act of defamation occurs when someone makes a false and harmful statement...” you begin reciting the words again, after you’d cleared your throat.

as san’s face lowers back onto your aching cunt, you remind yourself over and over to read, just read. that’s all he wants you to do and, in exchange, he’ll take you to heaven with his tongue. but oh, it is so much easier said than done. your hands soon find a grip on the edge of the desk, a place to root yourself down while his tongue drags over you lazily.

“there’s two different types of defamation-” his tongue teases at your hole and you want to beg him, scream at him to shove it- or any other part of him- into your cunt, walls clenching around nothing but your own wetness, causing it to ooze out onto your tutor’s waiting tongue. “libel is the name given to any defamatory words that are written...”

“my princess has the prettiest pussy.” a hand snakes it’s way up your leg, wrapping a tight grip around your thigh before he props it onto his shoulder. when his tongue finally breeches your walls again, it’s at a whole new angle than earlier, and that alone has you wishing you could throw the textbook off your desk only for you to bend over it while mr. choi takes you from behind.

“slander is spoken defamation, and often more trickier to prove in court...” instead, you keep reading so that he’ll keep eating.

“what would your dad say if he knew this is what you use our tutoring sessions for, huh?” san continues to taunt you between licks of your cunt, switching his focus between your hole and your clit. he’s trying to get you to disobey him. “if he knew his dear friend who he asked to help his pretty little daughter get accepted into his law firm has actually been teaching her how to take a proper cock? oh, and just imagine his face if he knew that i fucked you under his very own roof.”

“d- defamation cases are often costly and are a long procedure...” you can’t help it when, instinctually, your hand flies down to tangle itself in his perfectly done hair. instead of pushing you away like you’d thought he would have, san only closes his eyes and let’s out a moan as you tug his hair, face nestling itself deeper between your legs and causing his nose to bump against your clit.

“you have no idea how much i think about you, baby.” his free hand lands on your heat, cupping it as he pulls back to stare up at you. “got me wishing i could have you every hour of the day. that you were mine alone to touch, and fuck, and kiss.”

“w-what would-” you become brave suddenly, spurred on by the moment of vulnerability from the man between your legs, looking so much more at your mercy than ever before, like he’s begging to worship the only goddess he’ll ever know. “your son, or your ex-wife, say if they knew you were doing this, hmm? that you took on an apprentice only to corrupt her?”

“you were corrupted long before i got my hands on you, y/n.” he smirks up at you, only to chuckle when he thrusts a finger into your cunt, no warning, and you gasp, tugging on his hair again. “the only thing i’ve done is show you how good sex can be when you’re doing it with someone experienced instead of some sweaty frat-boy who finishes in two minutes and doesn’t even know where your clit is.”

“you’d be surprised, some of them are better than you give them credit.” you’re lying, without an ounce of shame about it. and it’s more than worth it to see the way his eyes darken, his eyebrows frown, his hand picks up the speed that his finger thrusts into you.

no warning comes when he inserts a second finger. 

“really? can they make you beg for their cock like a bitch in heat?” he doesn’t bother to stall any longer, head diving back down between your legs to shut you up.

his mouth latches onto your clit, rolling it between his lips and prodding at it with his tongue while he continues to fuck you with his hand. a third finger enters you and you throw your head back, body curling off the leather of your desk chair while you tighten your grip on san’s hair.

“mr. choi, please.” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for.

“yeah, just like that. a little slut begging to be fucked full, that’s all you are, right? and no one knows how to give you what you want but me.” every whine, moan of your voice, every time your walls tighten around his digits, it strokes his ego and keeps him giving you more, more, more.

when the coil in your body is so close to finally snapping, he rips his hand from you. it’s a moment of devastation only, until you feel his hand, soaked in you, clasping around your other thigh and dragging it over his shoulder too. then his tongue is back in you, drinking in every bit of essence your quivering hole offers him.

when you cum, it’s with your body more sat on him than the actual chair, hands on your ass and holding you against his face as his tongue continues to work you through the electrifying feeling, nose bumping over your clit every so often. while your jaw is slacked open in a silent scream, san makes no attempt to hold back the moans and grunts ripping through his chest.

“shh, shh, i’ve got you.” he coos when he rises from under your desk, lowering your still quivering body back down onto your chair. you have half the mind to wonder if he’s a completely different man to the one who’d been buried between your thighs minutes ago, as he brings up a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. instead of a smirk or a scowl, he wears a smile, even when you feel his fingers dip back between your swollen folds.

“mr. choi, i need a break first-”

“shh, it’s okay.” and you believe him, as he retracts his hand and brings it up to your mouth, commanding you to open it. your eyes flutter shut as your mouth wraps around his fingers, tasting yourself all over them. “so pretty, aren’t you?”

you can only nod, so relieved he gave you what you wanted even though you’d stopped reading. you’re unsure how long he lets you sit there with his fingers in your mouth but him removing them brings you back into the room instantly. coating your cheek in your own spit-mixed cum as he cups it, he leans down to place a kiss on your neck.

“i need to go make a quick call but, when i come back, i expect you to be naked on your bed, ass up and face down.” this time it really is nothing but a whisper, yet you hear him loud and clear.

“why?” it seems like a silly questions to ask, when you already know exactly why he wants you in that position.

“you didn’t think i was really going to let you get away with talking back to me, did you?”

[primofate]

I was rereading your volleyball au because it's literal gold, and i pictured a scenario that i wanted to send you. I love all the modern Au/volleyball content. It's epic and so well written

(Im sorry this came out so long and that was without all the members separate reactions 💀 )

I also switched between 2nd and 3rd person so...ignore that (i say putting it in bold)

_______

In a match the reader is attending, they're up in the stands tense but smiling, completely invested in the game.

The team is struggling despite how far they've come against someone with spikes real strong (like the episode of shiratorizawa vs Karasuno) and well a spike absolutely smashes it's way past the their 3 man block. Just barely skimming Thoma's hand.

The cut-shot the opponent squeezed out in that moment was impressive, you were stunned. The power and speed it had accumalated had you barely processing the instant in which Xiao had moved into the way of it.

His stance was immaculate, and the posture of his arms clearly showed how he was intending to bring it up for his teammates. However it still spins out of control, the power still being something he was adjusting to, heading into the audience smacking reader with a solid hit in the face.

There wasn't a moment to process or dodge. It was hit. Received. And then sent straight into your face. Naturally their eyes had followed the direction of the ball, and naturally after that their eyes had seen what could've given them a heart attack.

You've practically been punched. You had been knocked back, toppling onto your backside, and in that second you drag yourself up quickly to look at the team with a thumbs up and a smile.

Still in a state of shock, they kind of watch for a moment, some of the audience members staring as well, concerned and some amused. You only last a good 5 seconds before the reassuring smile you sent twitches and you squat behind the stand's barrier as the pain sets in.

Your friend is there alternating between the stares of the team and you doing breathing excersises to minimise the pain you're feeling. The horror Xiao felt on that day.

The team would never forget that expression on his face, and the way it contorted into something akin to hate. Seeing you back up and standing again, the team regrouped, Diluc giving Xiao a pat on the shoulder and Zhongli reassuring the libero with him.

"Don't mind. She's fine," Zhongli looks up at your startled expression, you'd noticed too, an expression you'd probably never see on Xiao again, "and you'll get the next one."

Fists clenched he took a long breath, ridding of whatever malice he expressed. Back to indifference, back to control.

The whistle blows and as Xiao readies himself, his fingers twitch, damn right he'll get the next one. He didn't know what he had hated more. The spiker, the spike itself, the fact that he failed to receive it?

No. The spiker did his job, so why couldn't Xiao do his. His job as a libero is to recieve, and he simply messed that simple thing up.

It wasn't as if he lost you on some battlefield, but the fact that you got hurt because of something like this had set a fire inside of him.

He hated it. He hated all of it.

____ this is an ask. It's too long ;-; ____

And blah blah blah, he got the next one up, not perfectly, but it was a breakthrough, and the point the team received at the end of that rally had boosted team morale. The stern look of determination he sent your way, and the returned smile of adoration was an exchange filled with such strong emotion.

EXCUSE ME???? If you are not a writing blog I am gunna be so mad, the way you described the volleyball scenes?!?!?! Bruh that's a talent (I, for one, suck at sports scenes and battle scenes so I tend to stray away from them hahahahha!)

Everyone say thank you to @micheya for the good food.

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Never Back Down

Warnings: the usual - tickling, fluff

Word count: 2500

Ok, I know I just posted like 2 days ago, but this idea started plaguing me on my drive home from work today and I had to just get it written out on (virtual) paper. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

You don’t back down easily. Certainly not from a prank war. Especially when it meant you had captured the attention of a certain Asgardian.

Admittedly, you had been the one to start it. Although, you had good reason – Loki had been teasing you incessantly that day, doing everything in his power just to push your buttons. So, naturally, you did what any self-respecting Avenger would do, and stole his ‘secret’ stash of chocolate from his room when he wasn’t looking. It’s not like you ate it or anything (well, maybe just one… or two…) but it was still enough to poke the bear. Loki, of course, knew exactly who had taken it the moment he noticed it was missing.

The chocolate had disappeared from your room by the next morning. Along with every pair of shoes you owned.

It took much longer than you’d have liked to admit to track down all of your shoes hidden around the compound. You knew you had to step up your game. So that evening, you pulled the classic ‘hair dye in the shampoo bottle’ trick (temporary, of course). The look you received from the now green-haired god the next morning could have shattered glass, but you still couldn’t help but snicker at him.

You made sure you were cautious the rest of that day, knowing he would likely retaliate. Before showering that evening, you double and triple-checked the color of the soap and shampoo before using it to make sure there wasn’t anything unusual about it. You even ordered take-out for dinner; afraid he might try to tamper with your food if you tried to cook something.

Nothing happened. Which only made you more suspicious about what the trickster was planning.

You found out the next morning, when you went to exit your bedroom and suddenly were knocked backward onto the floor as your face struck an invisible barrier. Plastic wrap. Clever. As revenge, you slipped hot sauce into his morning coffee. Needless to say, he didn’t appreciate it.

At this point, you weren’t sure who was winning. The most likely answer was really neither of you, but you figured you should probably be on your toes anyway assuming he would probably be plotting vengeance after this morning. Luckily, there was a mission briefing that afternoon; you figured at least he wouldn’t be bold enough to try to pull something in front of an entire room of Avengers. Or, at least, you hoped.

Tony was having renovations done on your usual conference room, so the briefing had been moved to one of the smaller meeting rooms on the second floor. You were running late, having gotten lost trying to find your way to the new meeting location, and you were cursing yourself for it because you were really hoping to be assigned to this particular mission. By the time you located the room, everyone else had already arrived and taken their seats.

The room was much smaller than the conference room, with a few chairs surrounding a table in the center of the room and additional seating against the walls. You cringed when you saw the only remaining available seat was in the corner, directly next to Loki. He smirked when he noticed you in the doorway, patting the chair beside him as if being polite, but you knew him better by now. He had something planned, you were sure of it.

You quickly walked across the room, trying to minimize the time that you were blocking your teammates’ view of the front of the room where Steve was reviewing the mission location on a projector. Begrudgingly, you slouched down into the seat beside Loki and leaned against the wall.

“You’re late,” Loki leaned over and whispered in your ear.

“Shh! I want to hear about the mission. Steve was thinking of sending me this time,” you hissed, glaring at him.

Loki was silent for a few moments, so you turned your attention back to the front of the room. Steve now had some images up on the screen of the artifact the team would be responsible for retrieving, which had been stolen from one of the local museums. You wished you had thought to bring your notepad – you knew it would impress Steve if you were taking notes, and you really wanted to have the chance to prove yourself by going on this mission.

“He is insufferable to listen to.” Loki had leaned over again to whisper to you, his breath tickling your ear, and you reflexively shrugged your shoulder.

“Shh! Stop whispering!” you demanded.

“Shh! You should be listening,” he mocked, winking with a mischievous grin. You rolled your eyes and turned your attention back to the front.

Another few moments went by when suddenly you felt something soft tickling the shell of your ear. You flinched and swatted your hand up to your ear, realizing Loki had taken a loose strand of your hair and had experimentally swiped it across your ear.

“Loki!” you whispered, your face heating up. “Cut it out!”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, an expression of mock innocence on his face.

“You know what’s wrong. I’m trying to listen!”

“What is it? Are you… ticklish?” He emphasized his question by poking you swiftly in the side, causing you to jerk away from his touch.

“Loki… d-don’t get any ideas,” you warned, starting to get nervous. He scooted slightly closer to you in his chair.

“Hmm. Surely you must regret tampering with my coffee this morning, now, don’t you?” You narrowed your eyes at him, fixing your gaze on his. He snuck his hand up to your side out of your line of site and gently squeezed, making you jump. “Now, darling, you wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

“Y-you’re the one causing a scene!” you protested, glancing up to see if anyone had noticed this exchange yet. It seemed no one was the wiser to what was going on in your corner of the room, all watching Steve as he continued to provide intel for the upcoming mission.

While you were looking around the room, Loki slid his arm around your waist to attack your other side. You jolted again as you felt his fingertips gently scratching at both sides simultaneously, biting your tongue to keep from laughing. You refused to gratify Loki with a reaction, so you did your best to remain perfectly still as he continued to lightly trace your skin through your thin t-shirt. You could still see his smirk in your peripheral vision despite your attempt to focus on Steve’s briefing.

Gradually, Loki’s light touch became more of a gentle kneading of the soft skin of your sides. It was becoming more difficult not to move, and a reluctant smile started forcing itself across your face. You had to fight even harder as you felt his fingertips moving up your sides, moving agonizingly slowly, gently digging into the spaces between your lower ribs.

“Very good, pet,” Loki teased, his voice deep and smooth as he leaned close to your ear. You shuddered involuntarily, your face burning, flustering you in a way that only the god of mischief could. Unfortunately, Loki was perceptive, and noticed your sudden change in demeanor. His fingers crawled higher up your ribcage and it took everything you had not to let out a squeak. “It would seem that I’m not trying hard enough, wouldn’t it?”

“S-stop it!” you mumbled, leaning as far away from the god as you could with the wall on your other side holding you captive in your seat. He chuckled, low and deep in his throat, suddenly shifting the hand that wasn’t wrapped around you so he could flutter his fingertips against the back of your knee while continuing to torment your ribs with his other hand. You let out a nearly inaudible squeal, biting down on your knuckle in an effort to avoid laughing out loud. You were trembling now, trying desperately not to jerk away from his touch and draw attention to yourself.

“It’s unfortunate for you, really, that you’re so devastatingly ticklish. Tell me, darling – where are you more ticklish? Here?” He scribbled his fingers faster against the delicate skin on the underside of your knee, making you jolt your leg away from him, “Or here?” The slender fingers latched on your ribs squeezed more rapidly, and you arched your back slightly to evade his touch.

“I’m n-not telling you that!” you hissed.

“Alright, then.” The hand under your knee darted back up to your side, and in one swift motion he slipped his fingertips into the hollows under your arms. You couldn’t help but twist harshly, shaking in silent laughter as you leaned into him involuntarily. “I see I’ve found the answer.”

“I’ll be right back!” you announced suddenly, standing abruptly from your chair, and scurrying out of the room. You shut the door behind you and leaned against the wall, trying to catch your breath and regain your composure. Your cheeks were still on fire and your heart was beating a mile a minute in your chest. If it weren’t for the fact that you actually wanted to pay attention during this meeting, this whole interaction with Loki might have been more enjoyable. His persistent teasing had you completely flustered, though, and while under normal circumstances it may have made you feel giddy, you knew you couldn’t let the team see you like this.

You needn’t have worried, though – the door to the meeting room opened again only moments after you’d left the room, and everyone filed out into the hall, chattering amongst themselves, none the wiser to anything that had been going on in the back corner of the room. Loki was the last to leave, trailing behind the others with a few extra feet of distance between himself and the rest of the team. You took advantage of this, quickly grabbing his arm and yanking him off to the side, slamming him up against the wall with your forearm pressed across his chest.

“Damn it, Loki! What the hell!” you growled, glaring at him, although admittedly with less fire in your eyes than he probably deserved.

“Do you admit defeat?” he asked, grinning.

“Wha- no! Of course not!” you retorted. “You fight dirty, Loki!”

“God of mischief, darling,” he responded proudly, snaking his hand under your arm, and digging his fingers into your uppermost ribs. You shrieked and released him from the wall, stumbling backward to escape the torturous tickles. He was too quick for you, grasping your wrist and spinning you around so he could pin you against the wall where he previously stood. After grappling with you for a moment, he managed to grab your other wrist and pin both arms behind your back in one hand, spidering the fingers of his other hand randomly up and down your side. You snorted, now able to laugh and squirm freely. You managed to twist enough to break his hold, spinning around and sweeping his legs out from underneath him with your foot. He fell to the floor, a shocked expression fleeting across his face as you knelt down beside him.

“You know, I’m willing to bet you’re only good at this from personal experience,” you noted with a smirk. Before he could react, you latched both hands on his sides and squeezed, praying for a reaction. He let out a strangled laugh, jerking away from your touch.

“Don’t!” he demanded, sounding somewhat frantic.

“Aha! I knew it!” you gloated, scribbling your fingers into every possible ticklish spot you could think of, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he overpowered you and escaped your hold. He started to giggle – actually giggle – thrashing violently to throw you off. His laughter made you even more flustered than you were before, never having seen the god in such a state.

“Eheheh – I DEMAND you stop this!”

“Sorry Loki, it’s pretty hard to take you seriously when you’re giggling like a schoolchild,” you teased, working your fingers down to his belly. Unfortunately, this caused him to jolt so hard he knocked you off of him, not having expected the sudden motion. In a flash, he had you pinned to the floor, hovering over you with his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

“I-I am going to make you regret that,” he growled, his characteristic smirk returning as he resumed his tickle attack, his fingers darting across your skin, sending ticklish shocks through your nerves. He was agile, never staying in one spot for long enough for you to get used to the sensation before moving his torturous fingers somewhere else.

“L-LOKI! I CAHAHAN’T TAKE IHIHIHIT!!” you pleaded, pounding your feet against the floor in ticklish agony.

“You should have thought of this before crossing the god of mischief,” he retorted, pinning your legs down with his shin and pinching the skin just above your kneecap. Your abdominal muscles were too sore from laughter to even try to sit up and shove him off you. He slid his other hand under your knee to scratch at the sensitive skin there simultaneously.

“I YIELD! I YIELD! STAHAHAP!!” you begged, slapping the floor with your hand to tap out. Thankfully, he obeyed, releasing you so you could roll onto your side, holding your stomach as the last residual giggles bubbled from your lips.

After taking a moment to compose yourself, you sat up and grinned at the trickster. He raised his eyebrows at you.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I just never pegged you as the ticklish type,” you observed. He folded his arms indignantly across his chest.

“I am not ticklish. That is a weakness that only plagues mortals such as yourself,” he insisted. A sneaky poke to his side told you otherwise, causing the Asgardian to jolt and let out a strangled yelp.

“Mmhmm. Ticklish.”

Loki stared you down for a moment, and you started to worry that he might attack you again for that comment. You were surprised when he held out his hand, offering to help you off the floor.

“Truce?”

“Truce? … What are the conditions?” you asked warily, staring at his outstretched hand as if it might try to bite you.

“You keep this little… incident to yourself, and I will stop pranking you. Provided you do the same.” You squinted at him, trying to assess the sincerity in his expression. Satisfied, you grasped his hand in yours and allowed him to pull you to your feet.

“Deal.” You shook his hand once to seal the deal. You both turned to walk down the hallway to catch up with the rest of the team.

“I shall warn you, though – I made no promises that you would be safe from tickles around me. It’s quite amusing, tormenting you. Almost… adorable.” You felt your face flush hot again.

“Well… I guess I won’t protest too much to that.”

[ephemerlskies]

of honey and cinnamon | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: fluff, one shot, slice of life au, enemies to lovers, musician!jungkook

⇢ word count: 14k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of terminal illness, mentions of death, themes of grief, slight plot twist, a surprising consumption of sugar, enough cheesiness to last you a lifetime

⇢ summary: what makes a three-day train ride back to your hometown anything but dull and dreadfully long? the answer, and your salvation from a boring trip home, was being stuck in the same cart as jeon jungkook for the entire ride there. unknown to you, he would turn this mundane trip into an unexpected adventure.

♪ playlist: dream a little dream of me - ella fitzgerald, departure - joe hisaishi, a journey (a dream of flight) - joe hisaishi, longing for mother's return - satoshi takebe, the sixth station - joe hisaishi, a town with an ocean view - joe hisaishi, you're in love - joe hisaishi, one summer's day - joe hisaishi ♪

a/n: this was honestly one of my favorite fics to write! ever! it was heavily inspired by studio ghibli movies hence the playlist because i recently binged a bunch of ghibli films (and i do not regret it) so, i tried to replicate the vibes from the movies i watched as best as i could!! :)) i hope you lovely readers enjoy!

They tell you love takes time. If you are patient and attentive enough, it courses through your body easier than your own blood and sinks itself in each vessel and bone and cell. Love will melt into your heart until that is all it knows. And in tales where lovers make grand gestures, like slaying the dragon and giving the moon and the stars and the sky along with the world underneath it and bestowing true love's kiss, it takes an entire story to get to the part where they are in love.

Love takes time, and in that time, there is a series of sometimes likely, and sometimes unlikely, events woven delicately within each minute that leads to the moment you know, you are in love. Traditionally, love makes itself known. It is loud and beautiful and anything but hidden within the ordinary moments used to fill in the gaps between the bigger moments. 

This story, your story, existed during the moments in between.

This train station had always emulated such an archaic ambiance. So much so that you believed you'd traveled back in time to when it was first built. Everything felt surreal, when you stepped on the train making a beeline to Cart 102, the floors felt like water; the surface tension clinging just strong enough to keep you afloat not without the occasional toss and turn. You swore it was just the rusted tracks that jostled you, but a part of you knew it was the water.

"Single rider?" The attendant stood at your cart's checkpoint, hand extended and waiting for your ticket.

"Yes, here." You handed him the paper, along with your baggage but kept the book for future entertainment and the pillow because you could tell the seats were no softer than wood.

"The train is fully occupied, so someone will be sharing your cart."

Perfect. If the world wants to do you a favor, just this once, then you hope that it sends you a quiet passenger. One that exchanges the customary 'hello' and 'goodbye' which is the extent of your interaction with them because you were tired in a way that sunk you into your zone of unsociability and on your way back home for the worst possible reason.

And the world did, in fact, do you a favor. It delivered Jungkook to Cart 102. But it just was not the favor you expected.

At first, you believed him to tick all your requirements for the ideal travel companion. Perfectly manicured company with a clear sense of boundaries. For one, he entered with a wall of silence that not only kept a greeting gated in but even the slightest acknowledgment that you were seated right across from him. It was so natural for him to ignore you that you had to glance down at your hand to check if you really were invisible.

He took his seat, stared out of the frost dusted window that reflected the sliding door that separated you and this man from the rest of the train and the world, and sighed. For a moment, he just stared and you thought it would get easier from here. But then he turned to you, and smiled.

"Hi, I'm Jungkook." It was a full smile, one that showed nearly every tooth, which reminded you of a rabbit. That paid enough respect for the previous shouldered entrance, and at first it was cute. Then, it made you feel guilty.

It was a smile you couldn't afford to return at the moment, so instead, you offered back a slightly upturned lip and a cordial nod.

"___." His hands looked strong like they had handled an array of heavy things and had the calluses to prove it. The way he sat made you feel a spark of something.

It was only a few seconds later when you realized that something was an unbridled annoyance. His legs were spread out, having you picturing the times he'd monopolize the space on a crowded bus. Jungkook was probably the type of man who was born with an entitlement that carried through to every part of his life, including the way he sat down on trains and pissed the living hell off of you.

"Like what you see?" Now you were pissed off for two reasons. The way he sat and the fact that you just got caught staring at him; his lap to be specific.

Soon, the two reasons doubled when your eyes returned to the smile on his face that didn't seem to have gone away. He was proud to catch you in the act, and most likely assumed your staring was due to an attraction so gripping that you couldn't help yourself but to stare at his crotch of all things.

"No, I was just..." Your words caught in your throat, because you weren't about to explain why his spread position on the seat had drawn an irritation from you thicker than the blood pulsing loudly through your body. You didn't want him to know you cared enough to be irritated in the first place, even if that meant letting him believe your staring was a form of unspoken flattery. "No."

"Okay, whatever you say, ___." It was the sarcasm this time, and the way he said your name that pissed you off. There was a seed inside you, ready to bury in your gut and grow just enough for you to rip his tongue from his mouth so he'd never have to say your name again.

"You'd think you didn't want to make the person you're about to spend three days on a train with angry, but maybe you're just that dumb." Insulting him gave you instant relief from the headache you knew was about to assume your forehead.

"Damn. Guess you're not the type to take a joke." Jungkook revealed his teeth one by one again, but you didn't describe it as a smile. A smile is something you thought to be beautiful, a physical expression of joy. No, what his face possessed was something sadistic. You were sure of it.

The way he carried himself and voiced his thoughts were more concentrated than arrogance. There was not a word in any language that could properly describe Jungkook. Nor was there a feeling that could render yours into something palpable. And the world had sealed you inside this cell marked Cart 102 with the person who was grainy and slick like quicksand, and just as deadly because you were sinking into him and every feeling he had provoked within the ten minutes you'd known him.

Jungkook was the first person you hated. Beyond every rude customer, every demanding boss, every high school bully, every cut tie, there was Jungkook who wore that heavy medallion of hatred around his neck like he was proud of it.

In all honesty, you thought he should wear it. He earned it. Everyone should know that you hated Jungkook and that it only took him a record-breaking ten minutes to attain the once unattained title.

You began to read your book, however 'read' didn't accurately describe what you were doing, which was staring blankly through the same words while collecting more reasons why you hated this man. It became an obsession of yours in a few short moments, because now you didn't just hate the way he sat and spoke and smiled. You hated how his breathing was somehow louder than the wheels grinding against the metal tracks or how whenever another train would pass by, he'd bring his face so close to the window you could see the warmth of his breath cling onto the glass and form a small, foggy patch.

You especially hated that you could quite literally feel his eyes on you, blistering your skin like the way a magnifying glass would redirect the sun's rays onto a target, which just so happened to be your face. Jungkook was unrelenting; as if he were trying to sear your skin with a permanent brand of his eyes.

Between the rhythmic flipping of the pages that you weren't reading, you were compelled to reprimand him for the staring. Maybe throwing his own words back into his face about 'liking what you see' would do your own vengeance justice. But that might indicate you were thinking of what he said to you this whole time.

"The weather looks so cold. It's practically raining." You moved only your eyes up from your book to study him.

He was looking out the window again, eyes chasing each speck of mist preluding the raindrops that were surely going to fall. It always rained at night.

"Looks like another thunderstorm." You packaged up the gasp that was about to burst from your chest.

For reasons you'd rather not share with a complete stranger you were hellbent on hating, you were terrified of thunder. Not lightning, but the loud crash that followed it. It was the last thing you wanted to experience while bottled up in a train with Jungkook.

"Excuse me." Your abrupt stance interrupted Jungkook's rain watching.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"None of your business." The slam of the sliding door echoed the anger you didn't express before as it snapped shut, fractionating the air you once shared with Jungkook.

You took a deep breath, the air outside felt cooler. The attendant was loyal to his assigned post, which was convenient for you.

"Sir, is there any way I can switch carts?"

"No, full train. And your ticket says Cart 102, so that's where you were meant to be." His eyes were sheltered by his hat, so there was no chance of pleading with your eyes if you couldn't even see his.

"Fine." It was a long shot, one that you didn't have the aim or trajectory for. You suppose he was right. Cart 102 was where you belonged for now. You just couldn't accept that Jungkook also belonged there with you.

Inside, the warm yellow light was beckoning you back in. Through the door, the brightness glimmered out until it was consumed by the dark hall where you stood. Jungkook was looking out of the window again with a rising and falling chest; you could hear his breathing even from behind the door or at least, you could imagine how it would sound.

"If we're going to share a cart, we could at least be friends." Jungkook's suggestion made him too human, too real for you to hate. You wanted to cling on to the idea that he was a horrible person, harboring more vices than the devil himself. But his voice was friendly sometimes, and his smile looked loving, occasionally, when he presented it to you.

"I don't see why we can't just be silent for the rest of the ride."

"Why are you going back home?" For a second, you were shocked enough to forget you were supposed to hate him. His gaze was calm and carried none of the worries yours had. You wondered, just for a second, about all the others who were on the receiving end of his gaze, and if they felt the way you felt when he looked at you. That look that distinguished him from anyone you had ever met.

You didn't want him to be right, because you didn't want the 'why' to be real. The tragedy, the only thing demanding enough to peel you away from your life away from home, should not have been the 'why' that put you on this train. But it was, and it made you angrier than he did.

"How do you know I'm going home?" You injected each word with a sharpness that you hoped would sting Jungkook.

"Well, are you going home?"

"Yes... are you?"

"No, just visiting." His eyes returned to the window, like a refrain in a poem. Always returning to look somewhere out into the beyond.

"Well, you should count yourself lucky." And you returned back to your refrain, pretending to read just so you wouldn't get caught staring at him and listing more reasons you hated Jungkook because that was easier than thinking of what was really bothering you.

"Lucky. Huh." You wanted to know what was so captivating on the other side of the window. What could have possibly supplied his eyes with something that was more interesting than the inside of this train? "Why are you going back home?"

"You already asked that."

"And you didn't answer me." Perhaps it was the stars, and he was tracking them in his mental inventory, examining until they were replicated along his memory the same way they were plotted across the sky. "Why are you going back home?"

"My mom. She's dying." Stars seemed to be a beautiful thing to keep your eyes occupied in a way your mind couldn't be, but you couldn't see past the thick fog and lack of light. "She's sick."

"I'm sorry to hear." His sincerity worked against all the animosity you'd cultivated for him.

How could he see the stars? You were going to ask, but you didn't want him to know what lied beyond the small beacon of light surrounding the train was lost to you, or rather you lost them. You wanted to hate him, so you didn't ask.

"I knew something bad must have happened to get someone like you to come home." That comment certainly suffocated any benefit of the doubt you were going to bestow upon him. Jungkook was arrogant and entitled, and in your most recent discovery, presumptuous and judgmental. Everything wrong with this world. No amount of dashing smiles and considerate questions could change that. You had to remember, you hated this man

"How dare you! How- How dare you assume something so rude!" The cloth of your pillowcase had almost worn through from how tight your fists were gripping them. You felt the fire burning through your nerves, soon about to combust and set Cart 102 ablaze. "I hate you."

It was two in the morning, or at least those were the numbers shining from your watch. The window offered the same pitch blackness that frustrated you, so you decided to give your legs some employment from sitting.

The hall of the train was nearly as dark as the outside; the overhead lights once drizzling down a soft glow were turned off. You wandered down the stretch of the medium but the further you walked, the thinner the walkway felt. Soon, the walls on either side of you were pressed against your shoulders so snugly, you had to turn your body to squeeze through.

"Having trouble?" You knew that voice; you hated that familiar inflections and conceit planted in each word he spoke.

"Can't you see I'm trying to walk?" Squinting proved to be obsolete while trying to see whatever destination was in the distance. "Why is everything so dark?"

"Because, you're not trying." If you could turn around, if these walls weren't beginning to smother your body to immobilization, then you would have run over to him and slapped the smile right off of his face. Because you were trying, you were trying to see this whole time but the dark had infested everywhere.

Unfortunately for you, the walls were connecting closer and closer, as if trying to move through you so they could reach each other and close altogether. But where would that leave you? When the gap was stitched shut, where would you be?

The walls were softer than you thought, but still forceful enough to steal all the air from your lungs leaving you a panicked mess lodged between these unkind walls. And the pressure wasn't enough to kill you, but it was just enough to leave you stuck and miserable.

"Jungkook, help me, I can't..."

Day One

Your dream was vivid enough to mislead you into thinking it was real. It wasn't until your eyes fluttered open, and consciousness spilled into your mind like a gentle breeze that you realized the nightmare was over. The window allowed a soft light into Cart 102, making you more thankful for the day than you had ever been in your entire life. You lifted your head from your pillow placed on the seat that you didn't recall placing there, and now that you think of it, you didn't remember falling asleep either.

You especially didn't remember covering yourself with this wool coat that smelled like the air after a bonfire had just finished browning marshmallows and dissolving wood.

"Someone's finally awake." Then it all came back to you. You wondered why everything felt so tranquil. It was a shame you couldn't enjoy the peace before the omen of annoyance, your special nickname for Jungkook, had returned.

"What time is it?" Your eyes were blinking away the sleep, and when that failed, your hands began to rub them until they were able to prop open fully.

"Eight-thirty. Here." He set down a Styrofoam cup of something hot enough for steam to escape through the open space of the lid. It smelled sweeter than coffee.

"What is it?" Your question came after you had already picked it up to furnish your hands with warmth and your nose with the delectable aroma leaking from this cup.

Jungkook’s smile was hidden behind his cup, already half empty, withholding an answer from you because he wanted to see if you would try it before you knew what it was.

"Don't worry, it's not poison." You figured it could be counted as retribution in the form of a nice pick-me-up for all the irritation he'd caused you, not to mention the fact that even in your dreams, he couldn't seem to leave you alone. No, Jungkook's presence was something that would slip through the realm of your sleep, the only place you thought you could escape him.

You sipped slowly, and the drink inside the cup made a quick and favorable acquaintance with your tongue. The contents were something you'd be able to identify separately, but when combined, they were delicious and elusive all at once.

"Wow, this is great!" The smile escaped faster than a spilled cup of water, and before you could clean the messy evidence of your gratitude, Jungkook returned the same smile, but his wasn't a spill; his smiles were never an accident, and you could almost resent him for it.

Almost.

"You like it, huh? Didn't take you to be a fan of sweet things." Both pairs of eyes were taken by the scenery just on the other side of the window decorated with streaks of the fallen dew drops.

His pride was untamed, and you assumed it was because Jungkook never took any action to dilute his own conceit. You liked to imagine how often Jungkook could arm himself with that smile, that laugh, which you were not too blind in your own despise to admit were both conventionally attractive assets of his, and everyone in a ten foot radius would fall into his hands. The world seemed to rest in his hands, and all he had to do was smile.

Not you, though. You were certain you had polished yourself with enough perspective so you wouldn’t be foolish enough to let something as shallow as a charming smile fracture your walls. Though, it was increasingly frustrating, verging on the point of catastrophe, how difficult it was to convince yourself of this and to ignore the image of his smile, sneaking its way to the forefront of your thoughts after brushing it off seconds before.

It was overcast, and the grey from the sky had permeated along the air below, yet it didn't puncture the vibrancy of the ever-extending grassy plains. They seemed to continue on forever, as if you walked out to the horizon it would take an eternity to find the end of the green landscape. The wind acted as music to which each blade of grass had been dancing an instinctive choreography.

And every so often, a patch of flowers would appear, perform its part, then disappear just as quickly.

For a moment, you wondered what Jungkook thought of the small bits of the world this window was displaying. Did he think it was just as beautiful as you did?

"It's honey, cinnamon, and milk. My mom used to make it for me when I was a kid." Though the view was timeless, you finally broke your gaze to look at Jungkook.

It was hard to imagine this man, the harbinger of almost every ounce of anger you have ever felt in your life, as a child who would drink milk with honey and cinnamon made by his mother. But then again Jungkook's face began to change, or at least the way you saw it morphed into something entirely different.

His bright eyes didn't look like they could be from this world. Not when they seemed to hold everything in his line of vision within them so warmly that it could spread magic over everything around him; like a fairy tale, but this magic rested in the two sockets of his eyes. Something so enigmatic made you want to snap at him just so he would look at you instead, and hold you in his eyes. As though to be held by his eyes would fix all your problems.

"Hm." You looked down at the cup, trying to savor each sip however ultimately failing since the honey melted in with the milk and perfectly heightened each flavor.

Without thinking, you wrapped the coffee-colored coat tighter around your body. It was blissful, sipping a cup of delight inside Cart 102, protected from the prickly wind of the winter while still being vended a view of its beauty. This train ride was almost perfect, if not for the (slightly less) bothersome burden that sat across from you.

"Looks good on you." He didn't have to specify he was referring to his jacket that was giving you comfort.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't-"

"Nah, keep it. You looked cold when you were asleep. You were shivering so much it basically sounded like you were begging for my jacket." Jungkook laughed softly.

Maybe two hours ago you would have been brimming with enough rage to rip his jacket off of you and throw it in his face because it sure sounded like he was pitying you or guilting you into a 'thank you' that you were too petty to relinquish. But now, in the morning that tamed you, stomach digesting a tasty drink given by none other than Jungkook, you let it slide.

Just this once, you thought.

"Well, that was very kind of you. And thank you for the drink, but I don't need some stranger doing me any favors."

"Wow, you sure are stubborn!" He laughed again, even though you had been nothing but uninviting of his advances, he just laughed.

"Am not." You muttered.

"Whatever you say." Just this once, you let him have the last word. Just this once.

One emptied cup of Jungkook's special later and you were energized enough to read, and hopefully retain the story rather than flipping mindlessly through the pages while you fueled your attention with rage.

Jungkook was busying himself, putting thought to paper. The quick ticks of his pencil against the wooden table was enough to earn him a passive-aggressive sigh from you, and you hoped he was perceptive enough to get the hint.

The ticks continued, even spaced out to a consistent pace as if he was beating a drum just to anger you. Your annoyance was once again brimming over, ready to spill into another display of it that consisted of a furrowed brow, a scowl, and a slew of incoherent retorts that had been brewing in your mind.

"Can't you write any quieter?" It hadn't measured up to all the clever insults you had loaded into your verbal weaponry, but it did the job to convey your frustration which obviously hadn't been communicated through your previous sigh.

"I'm not writing, actually! I'm trying to figure out the time signature for this piece. Three-six just isn't right." The pencil once tapping out a rhythm was now tucked between his teeth, and you could tell this was a habit of his from the various other tooth-shaped indents along the end of the pencil.

"Whatever, just... do it quietly."

"Quietly? This process is anything but quiet."

"Then try your very hardest."

"I'll try. Emphasis on try."

Though your eyes had reunited with your book, your curiosity pledged allegiance to what Jungkook was writing on his paper. It took an effortful battle between your urges and your restraint to finally ask him.

"What's a time signature?"

"Kind of like a rhythmic guide. For music. I'm a composer, and I'm hoping I can get this fellowship to work with professionals all around the world!" Jungkook's response came almost immediately after your question and his answer consisted of more information than you asked for, which meant this was something he was passionate about. Either that or he just loved talking about himself. It could have easily been both.

However, from the way his eyes held the world, they seemed to hold the music etched onto his paper the tightest. Like, if he were to let go then he would lose any and all purpose to hold on to anything else.

"You make music? Like songs on the radio and stuff?"

"No, not really. Songs for movies. I want to be a film composer."

"Oh. Is that why you're traveling? To study with a professional?" You surprised yourself more than him with that question.

"No... I, um. I wish that was the reason." Before asking him what his reason was, you stopped yourself from letting yet another question slip from your mouth.

Because you were supposed to hate him. Jungkook made everything difficult, even the notion of hating him was made to be a challenge. Asking him questions, learning about him, making the person in front of you turn into something with more dimensions than two was pointless when in a couple days, you'd leave this train and never see him again. Better to go back to hating him.

It wasn't as satisfying as before. Now that you've acquired some knowledge of who he was beyond an obnoxious seat hog and arrogance asshole, the reasons to hate him were beginning to be outweighed by all the other reasons to not hate him.

So far, you learned he was a musician. A passionate up and comer who gives strangers his jacket when they look cold, and shares a drink of milk and honey and cinnamon because it reminds him of his childhood. Someone who has made biting his pencil into a habit when he was working through a thought, who would often stare out windows and saw all the stars you couldn’t; someone who was quick to try to make friends with even the most emotionally withdrawn people.

Shortly after taking more time than planned on recounting all the things you learned about Jungkook, you felt indebted to him since he only knew two things about you. 

You were stubborn and you had a sick mom. Or at least, you believed these were the only parts of yourself he picked up on. The rest were things he’d observed with an attentive eye of which you had not noticed had been studying your mannerisms in the same way you studied his. 

When you left the cart abruptly after he mentioned the thunderstorm that was somehow delayed for tonight, he was correct to assume it was because you were afraid of the storm. Now, whether it was the thunder or lightning that rattled you so viciously you had to walk off your fear was yet to be discovered. Jungkook was confident he’d figure it out.

Or, how he watched you when you were sleeping in a way he wouldn’t describe as creepy since it was endearing to see you sleep. In fact, he was doing his best to ignore you, but your muffled groans had revealed to him you were the type to have the occasional nightmare. Again, the dream itself was something he was more than interested in discovering.

And your adorably executed performance of passive aggression didn’t evade him in the way you presumed it did. He heard the sigh and understood exactly what you were attempting to accomplish with that, but decided to act like your effort to shut him up wasn’t completely transparent. Mostly because he wanted you to ask him what he was doing. 

Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but he enjoyed the way you spoke, even if it was drenched in a thick layer of annoyance. For now, he decidedly stuck with finding innocuous ways to fall back into a conversation with you, to slowly but surely learn all that he could in this three-day train ride. 

At half-past three, lunch had been served, consumed, and digested. Jungkook’s plate, however, was just short of being completely gone. Everything had been notably ravaged by him except for the pile of walnuts he picked out of his salad at the beginning of the meal.

“Not a fan of walnuts?” You convinced yourself this question came from a place that was starting to feel queasy from the silence that was more intoxicating than the small glass of complimentary wine you downed a little too quickly. 

“Allergic. Nothing too serious, though. My throat gets itchy and sometimes I get a rash on my skin.” You made a mental note that Jungkook was allergic to walnuts, which you stored in the part of your brain that harbored knowledge that was completely useless to you yet you still reserved space for it to be memorized.

“That sucks.” 

“Yeah, but it did come in handy when I was in class and didn’t want to be. I’d tell the teacher the cafeteria food had walnuts in it and I needed to go home and get my EpiPen before I died.” The list of things you knew about Jungkook continued to lengthen, and you couldn’t specify when it happened, but you began to enjoy every detail that made the list grow. 

You wouldn’t have guessed it would take a single day for you to wish it would never stop growing. But then again, you didn’t realize this at the time.

“And that worked? Sounds like you had your luck laid out for you from the beginning.” Jungkook smiled at this, the same bunny-toothed smile from yesterday, but it felt much different to you now, as if you were one smile away from forgetting your once insistent hatred of Jungkook. 

“Yeah, I guess so. What about you? What are your allergies?”

“Other than overly friendly weirdos on trains? Nothing.” It was the strangest reaction to feel proud, of all things, when you were rewarded by his laugh. It was softer than the wind rushing against the side of the train, however his laugh outperformed every other sound in the surrounding area until it was all your ears could focus on.

“Then it seems you’re the lucky one. No allergies. Free to eat whatever you want.” His eyes parceled between the sheet music in his hands and you. Though, it was difficult to pull them back down to his work since this was the first time he had your undivided attention that was not born from annoyance or repulsion to whatever he was doing. 

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m free to eat whatever. I have standards.”

“Really?” It was his not-so-discreet way of trying to capture all the pieces of you that he could, but from your slow intake of air, it seems as though you weren’t entirely finished with talking to him either.

“Cilantro. It’s absolutely disgusting. And mushrooms. I can’t stand mushrooms.”

“I love mushrooms.” Of course, you do, you thought. He didn’t have to say it, but he most likely loved cilantro as well. And you were most definitely right. 

“I suppose you love everything I hate?” Eye contact with Jungkook was more than you could handle ever since his mannerisms stopped annoying you and started intimidating you, so you found refuge in the scenery beyond the window. It never failed you during the day, but at night you would have to scavenge for something to stare at when Jungkook’s eyes were close to stealing your breath away. 

“I suppose you hate everything I love.” 

It took a careful eye to catch the subtle hints of emotion that even you were too distracted to notice. Jungkook’s eye was trained pretty well in observation of the hidden traces of even the most thoroughly subdued emotions. His eyes were so well versed in gathering the scarce evidence of emotions that it prompted him to ask his next question:

“What are you looking for?”

Now, your eyes were still averted by his, so you held on to the slowly fading daylight while you still could. But, sadly, the window was a distraction of sight, not sound, so you heard his question loud and clear and felt obligated to give him an answer. Even if your answer was pathetic.

“Just looking at the grass. It’s pretty.”

“I didn’t ask what you were looking at, I asked what you were looking for.” 

Determining what emotion you let slip through the quiver in your lip was a task Jungkook wasn’t well equipped for just yet. In all fairness, he had only known you for a short while and he still felt disappointed in himself for not being able to know what he made you feel with that question. 

“I don’t know.” You couldn’t help the stunned tone of your voice, but that was all that could fuel your words at the moment. “I guess… A distraction. It’s so beautiful out there.”

“Everything looks beautiful when you only have a small amount of time to admire it.” Whatever distraction you were looking for had certainly met your eyes and did its job since you had absolutely no clue he was staring right at you when he said that. That he was savoring the small amount of time he had to admire you.

Jungkook was right, which was a habit of his that he took unrestrained pride in; life was beautiful when you moved through it with such little time to spare. Though slamming your hand in a doorway was something you would sooner do than admitting he was right.

The fabric of time moved in a peculiar fashion when inside a train. You move so fast and yet, not at all, and it is as if there is a tear where the train moves through, and evades the grips of each minute that transports the future into the present and the present into the past. It felt this way the moment you stepped onto the train, so when you checked the time, it didn’t surprise you that it was already an hour before midnight. 

The daytime had slowly melted away, carefully, the way ice shrunk inside a glass of water until it combined with its surroundings, and the plains of grass could only exist in your memory right now. The blackness of night consumed everything beyond your window once again, though there was the occasional streetlamp that provided a glimpse of everything you couldn’t see as of now. 

What you couldn’t see was nowhere near as frightening as what you were about to hear. 

The first flash of lightning felt like a warning. It took a few seconds for the wretched boom of thunder to follow, which was the interval of time you foolishly hoped it would, just this once, fail to accompany that streak of light. That perhaps this train moved quick enough to outrun the storm.

“___? Are you okay?”

You didn’t notice your hands had immediately cupped your ears until Jungkook’s voice was filtered through as a jumble of indiscernible noises.

“Sorry, I just…” Steadying your breath was a toll that required an upfront payment of all your attention, so your previously muted voice and steady tone had gone out of the metaphorical window, along with the rest of your response.

“So it’s the thunder.” Jungkook said softly to himself. It didn’t matter since your hands were being utilized as makeshift earplugs. They seemed to deflect every sound except for the thunder that punctured through your barrier effortlessly. 

Before, Jungkook had this preconception of you. From the minute he stepped into Cart 102, he could tell you were the type to carry yourself steadily, the type that supplied their own assurance and isolated their emotions in the same way you isolated yourself. But here you were, hands clamped against your ears, eyes pressed shut and body shaking; this was a surplus of emotions you let seep through your walls. It was expressive enough for any dimwitted onlooker to know exactly what you were feeling: pure fear. 

And Jungkook had always been adept to telltale signs of what was buried beneath the obvious emotions. He could tell you wanted to be distracted. You needed help.

It was easier to stifle one sense if you stifled them all at once. If you didn’t want to see, you had to plug your ears and hold your breath. And in this case, to block out the sound, you had to shut your eyes and numb the rest of your body in the slim chance that the thunder wouldn’t penetrate through your poorly constructed firewall. 

Suddenly, you felt the space beside you sink lower which meant Jungkook had taken the liberty of invading your space at the worst possible time. It was difficult to focus on blocking out the sound when you could feel the side of his shoulder bump lightly against yours. 

“___.” You shifted towards him slowly, waiting for his explanation of why he was on your side of the cart. “Can I touch you?”

You were past your wit's end, spending the last bits of your sanity trying to calm yourself from the second crash of thunder that made your body lift from the seat for a solid two seconds. All you could do was nod, and hope he wasn’t a serial killer that was about to strangle you to death in a moment of vulnerability. 

He was working in your favor, just like when he wrapped you up in his coat and set that cup of milk in front of you, he moved in determination to comfort you. And if it weren’t for the dire circumstances, your pride would have refused the security of his arms that were carefully enveloping your body and eliminating the frigid space around you. You hadn’t realized how cold this train was until you were invited into Jungkook’s warmth. He had somehow silenced the storm, and all you had to do was let him. 

The third blast of thunder pushed you deeper in his embrace, and you wrapped your arms around him tightly like the lifejacket he was that kept you from slipping below the surface of the angry ocean currents. 

“If you couldn’t tell I-” Boom, “I hate thunder.” Your voice came out strained through the fear-induced filter lodged in your throat.

“No, actually, I couldn’t tell at all.” Nine out of ten of your thoughts were concentrated on the thunder, and that one exception was applied towards how annoyingly sarcastic Jungkook managed to be through thick and thin. It was impressive enough that he could subtract the fear even by a small fraction for you to laugh. 

“You’re so-” Boom, “You’re insufferable.”

His laugh was noticed through the gentle bounce of his chest that rocked your head more than the actual sound of it. Soon, a hand came to run through your hair and with each stroke, he somehow removed your terror layer by layer until you were afforded with indifference to the storm simply because you were lulled into a half-sleep and were now too exhausted to care about the thunder. 

“You’re okay. Everything is okay. You’re doing great. Breathe deep.” His chest smelled the same as his coat. A fire burning so brightly, sending the aromas of everything it consumed into the air.

Now your attention belonged to the warmth of his arms, and how he moved his hand through your hair with something deeper than kindness. It was selflessness because he too was scared and tired and in need of rest. Despite this, he used the last of his energy to ward off the threat of a second panic attack. 

“Thank you.” You whispered into his chest, and it seemed as though it permeated through his flesh and ribs and absorbed straight into his heart from the way he held you even tighter. 

The storm had settled, and the horrors of loud thunder were abandoned for quite some time now, but it felt too comfortable, too perfect for you to be anywhere else but here in his arms. So, what went unsaid was more than enough for him to retract any intention to return to his seat and instead hold you against his chest, where his heart would retain strength from being close to you. 

You couldn’t tell if you had already slipped into a dream when you heard him singing softly, or if the melody of Dream a Little Dream of Me was actually being crafted by his voice so beautifully and fell into perfect synchronization with the rhythmic beat of his heart. Either way, you were thankful to bear witness to a sound that reduced the idea of thunder down to something that could never hurt you again, and instead made seeing all the stars the heavens could offer possible even through the darkest nights. You felt a well of tears moisten your cheeks.

In his arms, with his voice, you could see the stars.

Back in the dimmed hallway of the train, you could make out the outline of a figure standing in the distance, waiting for you. Waiting, but about to run out of time. You saw her slowly disappear the way wind would rustle the dying leaves off a tree in autumn. Slowly her body was wilting, disappearing, and the wind only picked up speed. 

All you could think to do was run to her, your mother, the shell of a woman you had known and loved your whole life. Her frail body being stripped of flesh as easily as wind undresses a tree of its leaves until there is nothing but branch and bone.

The walls began to close again, and you knew you had to act faster. You had to push past the pressure of closing walls even if they were squeezing so tightly movement became impossible. All at once, the impossible became your burden to redesign into something possible, which was the only thing crushing your spirit more than these damn walls.

You were so close; you held your hand out and—

Day Two

Winter mornings always start the same. Your eyes began rediscovering sight before the rest of your senses flooded into function, then your stomach would get angry for digesting nothing but its own acid until you filled it. And just like yesterday, your pillow cushioned beneath your head on the seat and your body shielded from the rogue winter winds that snuck inside of your cart by the same bonfire scented coat.

“Rise and shine.” Jungkook said from behind the sheet music he was examining. He must have been stealing glances of you every five minutes or so to catch the moment you’d finally wake up.

“Time?” Part of you didn’t want to get up. Part of you, the more persuasive part, wanted to remain tucked under Jungkook’s coat and slip back into a light sleep. If it weren’t for the hot drink waiting for you on the table then you would have done just that.

“Nine. A little later than yesterday.” You sat up eventually, wrapping the coat around you, and for a moment life was comfortable on the train. So much so that you didn’t mind how your hair was in complete disarray. 

Jungkook enjoyed seeing you this way. When you had first woken up and didn’t wear the usual veil of detachment from the rest of the world. Your guard had surrendered to your sleep ridden body. He guessed very few people saw you like this, natural and raw and untouched by the pressure to be presentable, and counted himself lucky, just like you would say, to be one of those few.

“Thanks, again.” You said softly into the warm cup between sips. “How much?”

“No. It's okay.”

“But-”

“Seriously! Don’t mention it.” He was firm, but that didn’t stop the gentle smile that crept its way back onto his face. You didn’t know what to say other than the thanks you had already said, so you just kept drinking. It was still just as delicious, but today familiarity was peppered into the milk among the honey and cinnamon which gave it that much more reason to love it.

“You get up this early every day?” You asked, because you were at a loss for words but felt less comfortable without hearing his voice to accompany the brisk, quiet morning. 

“Usually I do. I like the morning. It feels like I have the world to myself before everyone else wakes up.” Charming. It was the last thing that came to mind when you would picture Jungkook. Now, however, it seemed to be the only characteristic that came to mind when you thought of him. 

Sitting in front of you, half mindedly scribbling notes onto the staff and half his attention expended on sharing the small ways he saw the world, he was just charming. As easily as he once drove a blunt edge of annoyance into your chest, he erased every bit of evidence that he could ever be anything but charming.

“Sorry to steal the morning from you. I gotta wake up sometime.” You felt entirely unpracticed in the realm of light, friendly conversations, and that was evident from the way you wanted to gag at your own response to his. What you thought was a tasteless, almost pathetic attempt at banter was, to Jungkook, another reason to enjoy the morning. 

“I’m glad it’s you that I have to share it with.” Jungkook certainly sat higher on the hierarchical scale of wit compared to you, but even that didn’t agitate you in the way it would have before. What was more shocking than that was the fact that you felt the muscles in your cheeks changing your flat lipped expression into a smile.

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Jungkook.” You responded that way only to save face. It was a habit of yours you didn’t realize you were doing until the words had already been deployed by your tongue.

“It seems to have gotten me a smile from you. Those are hard to come by.” You jerked your head quickly over to him, the same grin stained with smugness there to meet your surprised ‘o’ shaped mouth. 

He was right again. Your smiles have always been punctuated lately, but you were too busy paddling through every distraction available to even notice.

“Very funny.” Your voice was low enough for Jungkook to nearly miss it. Once the soft tone of your voice delivered to his ears, he looked away from his sheet music to mine through your face like a cavern, searching for the hidden bits of the treasure-like emotions strewn in along the subtle details. 

“What’s wrong?” It was a leap of faith, his question, a leap that sent him plummeting blindly into the depths of everything he craved to know about you. 

“That thing you said the other day.” Your expression was unreadable to the whole world. But inside the train, the whole world rested just on the other side of the window. There was no reason to come off as impassive, cold, or unconcerned, to care so much about trying not to care. “About going home.”

“Mhm?” You waited to see if he had anything to say, anything to stall what was about to escape from your lips. You knew it wouldn’t take long for your thoughts to go rogue, especially when he made you smile like that. 

“I’m angry.” He gave you a look that said ‘no shit’ without having to actually say it. It made you nervous, but still willing to go on. “You're right. I didn’t visit home ever until now. I thought I grew out of it. I thought I became someone too big to fit in a town so small and stuck in its way. But I was never too big, I don’t think I ever actually grew. Because when I got the call, after stupidly ignoring it a hundred times before, I felt like the same child. So scared of the idea of a world without their mother. So, yeah, I’m angry. I’m angry I could be arrogant and stupid enough to think I could live the rest of my life never looking back.”

Jungkook just watched you, with those eyes that held the world. His eyes were holding so much right now when they were looking at you. So much weight from a source he couldn’t define with his own intuition. So much weight, he couldn’t understand how you had been shouldering it on your own this whole time, if he couldn’t stand a few minutes holding it now. 

“Going back home.” You scoffed. “It's not about looking back. It was never about that. I think returning to something familiar is almost just as scary as fleeing somewhere new. All your past mistakes and demons that you have to face…”

“Demons. Is that any way to talk about your mother?” It was his way, unique to Jungkook alone, to litter in a bit of lighthearted teasing even when he was supposed to be serious. As if he couldn’t stand to let the air in Cart 102 become too damp with sadness, as if his heart wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

“I made a mistake. I spent too much time away, and now the last way I’ll see her is weak and sick. That’s my demon. My mom was just unfortunate enough to be the arbiter of it.” 

Jungkook wanted to tell you that if he could, he would take all your pain away and send it back into the universe to find someone else to harbor it. Someone who deserved to feel a loss so heavy, because he knew just by looking at you that you deserved none of it. But he held his overly romantic tongue for now in regards to easing you into him smoothly. Since he had come such a long way with you, making gentle strides to win your affection, it would be greedy of him to tarnish that by saying something as outrageous as that, even if that was truly how he felt.

“Come with me. I have an idea.” It would have been easy to refuse him, to swat his hand away and never speak to him again for the rest of the train ride. But what prevails after the wear and tear of expecting the worst and knowing the painful and permanent scars it will leave you is the trust of someone who turned scowls into smiles, who held his hand out to you and waited for you to take it kindly.

Those tales they tell about feeling sparks when you make contact with your soulmate were decidedly wrong. Wrong to you, because when you touched Jungkook’s hand, you felt those sparks nestling under your skin and learning its way through the rest of your body. Wrong, because Jungkook was no soulmate of yours, just an unlikely stranger you met on a train once. 

And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder, you couldn’t help but hope he too felt these sparks that supposedly meant nothing.

Jungkook pulled you into the hallway, which was brighter than the way it looked in your dreams. At the end of the walkway, there was no ghost resembling your mother, and the walls weren’t closing in, and instead of pushing through alone, you had Jungkook holding your hand tightly, and graciously guiding you down.

“This way.” He whispered, and you mimicked the stealth in his voice through the way you muffled the sound of your feet hitting the train floor, which felt less like water and more like sand with him; soft yet solid sand.

You arrived at an unattended area of the train. The only hint of what Jungkook was up to was that grin. That grin was too playful to be a grimace, and too mischievous to be a smile. That grin that you hadn’t noticed you were looking forward to seeing, the same one you could sense you would miss when the train arrived at its destination. That when he grinned, you finally found the courage to return it. Needing no conditions or second guesses, you were just you, somehow smiling on the train that was taking you to your sick mother. And it was all because of him and his stupid, lovely grin.

“What are you doing? Are we supposed to even be here?” 

“Shh, we’ll get caught.” He began to wriggle with the door handle until it opened. 

“So we’re not supposed to be here! Jungkook, let’s go before we get kicked off!” To silence you, he simply held his hand up. You pouted your lip but did as he commanded. 

Inside the door, there was a collection of all the food meant for purchasing. Your assumption was confirmed that Jungkook had no intention of paying for the bags of pretzels and packets of cookies he was stuffing into his pockets. Hands full with quite the assortment of foods, he looked to you and raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Come on, put these in your pockets! Hurry.” He held the food out towards you. There was no convincing him to put all the stolen goods back, and there was no convincing yourself to not go along with his sinfully sweet plan. 

The fast-paced walk back to Cart 102 was the most exhilarating thirty-five seconds of your life. Jungkook looked all too calm, like spontaneity fell into his hands naturally or like it was a birthright, belonging to his life from the beginning. Life with Jungkook, even if the short span of time he’d claimed part of yours was fleeting, was the most excited and fearless you had ever felt. 

Jungkook and you emptied the haul of food onto the table. For a second, they went untouched only for the two of you to admire your successfully pirated goods. Then, for the first time on the train you met eyes with Jungkook and laughed.

It was the sort of laugh that exercised muscles in your abdomen you weren’t aware that you had in the first place. The kind that began at the top of a hill, and with one push it was tumbling faster and faster, growing louder and wilder. 

Jungkook was laughing too, a sound which could qualify as the only competitor to surpass the beauty of his singing. And whatever music he was scribing onto the paper would have to be beyond masterful to sound anything close to as immaculate as his laugh.

“I can’t believe we just committed grand larceny.” The words came out of your throat between fits of laughter, eyes now with an abundance of happy tears.

“Woah there, “‘grand”’ is a stretch. I like to think of it as unlawful borrowing.” The rest of the afternoon was spent with celebratory feasting of your unlawfully borrowed goods. Your favorite was the packs of chocolate mints, and Jungkook had cleverly avoided eating them when he noticed how much you liked them. 

When dawn arrived, Cart 102 settled into a comfortable silence, now consisting of you reading your book tempered by a glance out of the window every few pages and Jungkook tapping his pencil against the wooden desk while marking up every blank space on his page. To anyone else, including the likes of you, the page was nothing but a jumble of incoherent scribbles. To Jungkook, it was his next masterpiece; the best idea he made tangible on paper and hopefully soon, audible when someone agreed to commission it.

“Done!” 

His remark startled you, being that there had been no warrant for him to exclaim his progress with the music he was working on. You chuckled softly, closing your book and looking back to Jungkook.

“Done with what?” 

“This song. I know this one will sell. I just know it! It’s perfect.” Jungkook’s passion was bursting past the seams of his body. “I just wish… I wish I had more time.”

“What does that mean?” Again, all he offered was the same grin, and that was all you needed in order to know he wouldn’t be dropping any more hints on the account of your curiosity. 

“It means this train ride is ending tomorrow, and I’ll have too much on my plate to work on anything else. So this right here,” He held up the paper with the same tact one would for a pile of pure gold, “Is my last chance to get my work out there for a while.”

For reasons born from an unidentifiable place, you felt like crying. Last chance. It sounded serious. Something you weren’t ready to know and something he wasn't ready to tell. So, instead of pestering the answer out of him, you let him have his secrets. You let him have all the secrets he had somehow gotten out of you. 

And somehow, you were okay with it. Just this once.

Jungkook said he was taking a quick nap. Quick must mean something entirely different where he was from since it lasted about three hours and counting. For someone who had nothing to do but sit on a train all day, he sure was tired. It would have concerned you had it not been for witnessing how much energy he exerted into writing his music, as if each tap of his pencil required the same amount of energy as running an entire mile.

You were looking out of the window, which looked like it had been coated with tar. The departing sun left no remnants of its light and the moon must have been situated on the opposite side of the train, so it was up to the stars to illuminate your view of the world. But, outside the train was dark. Dark, and almost pitch black.

The first few specks were thought to be a hallucination that bloomed from your own wishful thinking. But soon, there were more and more twinkling lights dusting the sky and that outshined any doubt you had before. The stars were so bright and glimmering clearer than you had ever seen. Only something so beautiful, something that ingrained itself into the grooves of your brain to keep forever, could elicit the gasp that came louder than expected.

“Woah.” It jolted Jungkook awake and you would have felt bad if he weren’t already supplied with three and a half hours of extra sleep. 

“What?” His voice was hoarse from being unused for such a long interval.

“The stars! I can see them! They’re so bright, Jungkook. So bright.” The tears began to form in part from the lack of blinking and in part from how happy you were to see the stars. The same stars your mother was probably looking at and the same ceiling of glitter that loomed protectively over you and Jungkook. They were more than just constellations tonight; they were a celestial map navigating you back home and an astronomical assurance that everything would be okay. Even if the worst happened, everything would be okay.

“They are. They’ve been bright for a while. It took you long enough to notice.” Your smile was not yours to control anymore. It was a small price to pay considering you had a world full of stars to last you a lifetime.

“I guess I haven’t been trying as hard to see them as I thought I was.”

And you turned to him, which was the only thing besides the starlit arena above you and Jungkook and the train you’d rather be looking at right now.

“I can’t wait to go home. I miss it so much.” It was the first time you said it out loud, as well as the first time you were able to admit that to yourself. 

“I’m glad you feel that way. You should feel that way.” 

“Thank you.”

There were a plethora of reasons that prompted that thank you. Far too many reasons that were decidedly unfit for just a single thank you. So, you concluded that the thank you was for Jungkook; for becoming a part of your life. For every decision he made on this train that rearranged your feelings towards him into something pleasant. Something that felt warm and safe.

Tonight, the last thing you saw before slipping away into sleep was all the stars that weren't at your disposal before. Every silvery diamond brandished along the expanding sky was so mesmerizing, you wished you could imprint them into the backs of your eyelids when they eventually lulled you into a calm slumber. That and the memory of Jungkook’s rendition of Dream a Little Dream of Me set on repeat in your head. 

This time, you weren't trapped in the confines of a dark train hallway. You were standing in the middle of a grassy field, laden with a diverse collection of wildflowers. The mellow green hues seemed to lift from the blades of grass, stretching into the air around you.

And your mother was there. She wasn’t being blown away by the wind. Just like the sturdy trunk of a tree, she stood with dignity and conviction at the top of the highest hill that provided a view of your hometown; it was the most beautiful you had ever seen her. 

“Mom!” The way you were running felt more like gliding, or flying even, because you moved through the wind without a bit of resistance. Your body was frictionless and unstoppable. And when you finally fell into your mother’s arms, it was the most freeing feeling in the world. 

“I’ve missed you so much. I thought you were going to leave me.” The blue sky that sealed you and your mom into the earth made a stunning partner for the fields of green underneath you. 

“I’m always with you, darling.”

It was difficult to decide whether the sound of her voice or the sentiment behind it made you cry, so you decided not to decide at all, and instead, you simply let yourself cry. Everything was so beautiful, but still not complete. 

“Mom, I feel like something’s missing.”

“There is.” She responded, but it wasn’t a question. Your mom was not your mom, just a figment herself cultivated by your own mind. She was one with you, and she knew exactly what was missing. 

“Where do I find it?” Her hands cupped your cheeks, just like she would when you were young and crying over a scraped knee.

“You know, love. You know.” 

The wind pulled a gentle melody from the spaces between the leaves. A melody you were quite familiar with and grew to love. It slowed, then everything was silent.

Day Three

Waking up came to you in a hurry, as if you shouldn’t spend another second living life through dreams because today was the last day on the train. The last day you’d spend with Jungkook, and possibly the last time you would ever see him.

It was uncharacteristic of you to feel this way. Disappointed at both yourself and your situation. You knew from the beginning that this was a temporary arrangement, and Jungkook was not a permanent fixture in your life. In fact, you used to be thankful for those circumstances because you hated Jungkook. 

But, of course, you went ahead and let him in. You let him buy you tasty drinks, hold you during thunderstorms, and offer you a coat, a smile, a laugh when everything felt cold. You let him ripple currents of fun into your life, but that would be giving yourself too much credit, you suppose.

Because it was never a matter of allowing him to do any of this. He did all of those things, and more, all by himself.

What was even more uncharacteristic of you was greeting the early morning before Jungkook. He was sound asleep, with skin being lightly freckled by the glints of sunlight shimmering through the gaps in the clouds. The morning sun was always docile, kindly shedding light in a way that wouldn’t pull sweat from your skin like it did in the afternoon.

You liked the sight of him sleeping, mostly because it was one of the few moments of the day when he was completely silent, and those were rare.

“Better take this opportunity.” You whispered to yourself before getting up, covering Jungkook with the coat, and heading to the concession stand you had raided with Jungkook yesterday. 

Wondering if the workers noticed the missing inventory, you idled by the counter before ordering but they all looked too tired to care to serve you let alone realize a quarter of the chocolate mint packs were taken.

“Hi, two warm milks with honey and cinnamon please.” The attendant seemed to appreciate how closely your voice was to a whisper. He sluggishly poured two steaming cups of milk and sleeved them before exchanging them for the money already placed onto the counter. 

“Honey and cinnamon are over at the self-serving station.” You followed to where his finger was aimed towards and nodded politely with the two cups in each hand.

You didn’t know why, but imagining Jungkook making this drink himself, instead of ordering it premade, ranked this act as something more motivated than customary kindness. Because getting these drinks wasn’t simply walking to a stand, purchasing, and walking back to Cart 102. There was now an erroneous step you hadn’t accounted for. The act of making milk with honey and cinnamon. 

As you scooped a spoonful of honey to mix into the creamy liquid, one of your mother’s many proverbs rang in your ears, as if she was standing right beside you saying it.

“When you make food for someone, it’s just another way to express that you love them!”

It froze you for a second. Recalling what she would say when you would throw together a meal for the pair of you when she was too tired to. She worked so hard as a single mother, so every shortcoming felt like a colossal failure, no matter how little it mattered to you. And she would always say that to you because ‘thank you’ just didn’t cut it.

This was the first thing you made for someone other than your mother and yourself. But, there’s no way it was because you loved him. 

Just this once, you thought. Just this once I’ll make food for someone that I don’t love.

You were relieved to greet a still sleeping Jungkook when you returned to your cart. The cart you studied closer, because you were about to leave it and wanted to retain all the details that you could before it became a memory you would only visit when you were feeling reminiscent.

The beige walls, the small table where you would read and Jungkook would compose, the stiff leather seats that you had surprisingly gotten used to, and the large window that gave you a glimpse of the blurry world waiting for you.

Jungkook’s groan snapped you out of your trance. Before he regained full cognizance, you placed the cup in front of him so you’d be able to boast that you had woken up before him and had the morning all to yourself for a moment. That now you were the one sharing the world with him.

“What’s this?” He said groggily. 

“You know.” You tried your best to mirror his smugness, the way he would sip his drink after sending a witty one-liner through the air like it was no big deal to him. 

Before you became lost in the person you changed into with Jungkook, a person that felt more like a fun costume to wear when you didn’t feel like being yourself anymore, the more neurotic and controlling part of you fell back through when you remembered that the measurements of the ingredients might have been off.

Maybe you had gotten the drink entirely wrong, so your deed would shrivel down to a failed act of kindness. Nothing at all your mother would consider a gesture of love. And that was more frightening than any blast of thunder.

“It's delicious.” Jungkook said out of nowhere, almost as though he knew he was interrupting your thoughts. Breaking them down into a powder thinner than flour, so he could blow all your worries away with one puff of air. He wasn’t lying either, it was delicious.

You spent a gracious amount of time and energy avoiding the book you were meant to finish during this train ride. Instead, your efforts were fully consumed by the last person you thought would ever be the center of your attention. At least, you thought if he were going to be the focus of it, then it would have been because you were mentally berating him for reasons that didn’t bother you much at all anymore; in fact, they started becoming admirable.

“If you could run faster than a train, where would you go?” He asked.

“Paris. Or Italy. I'd just have to figure out how to run on water.” You earned a good laugh from Jungkook with that comment. And finally, you felt like you were beginning to find your niche in conversations, and it relied heavily on sarcasm.

“I’d love to see the day when ___ walks on water.” 

“What about you? Where would you go?”

“I would make my legs take me straight to Carnegie Hall and force the organization to play one of my pieces.” Each word was formed by his tongue as if he had that response rehearsed a hundred times over. Jungkook knew exactly what he wanted, and given the chance, he would use any and every asset to get him there.

That alone was why you fell into something deeper than attraction. Why you began to take notice of things about him that weren’t of importance before. And why your intentions to observe how the world designed this man to be so stunningly unique was less cryptic than you’d hoped.

Maybe if you noticed how his white button-up was undone down to his sternum and tucked into the waistband of his slacks tastefully, then your heart would have taken a quicker pace long before now. If you noticed how his jet black hair was gentle and fluffy when it draped over his eyes, then you would have been frustrated with yourself sooner for not seizing the chance to introduce your fingers to its texture. And if you noticed how the ridges along his palm looked perfect to be held in, then you would have savored every second he held you the night of the storm. There was an astonishing number of details about Jungkook, about as many as the stars in the sky, that would have made you mountains more intimidated to even speak with him. 

One of the attendants left all your observations of Jungkook scattered when she peaked her head through to give the two of you an update on your arrival.

“Looks like we’ll be getting in earlier than expected!” In theory, that was a blessing. You’d get to finally deboard the train and be with your mother. Though, you’d be lying if some piece of you wanted this train to continue west until there was no more land to travel on; and if you could, you would redistribute each part of this train to assemble a boat, so you could sail Jungkook across the seven seas. “Our arrival will be in twenty minutes! I hope you both enjoyed your trip.”

And if Jungkook felt the same way, he didn’t show it through his polite smile and nod at the attendant. 

“We’ll be getting off soon.” He said to you, though you could tell it was his way of interrogating your thoughts on the matter.

“Time moved by so oddly on the train. I didn’t even notice it was already day three.” You paused and took one last glance out of the window. “Funny.”

"It's funny,” He began, and you settled into what you knew was about to be another piece of Jungkook's mind served in the form of his delicate words, “when you're inside a train you don't feel like you're moving. Even though you are, of course. You're moving faster than you would outside of a train. But we feel like we are still because we are moving with the train. When you're in a train, you are moving with time too, so it feels rushed and stagnant all at once. When you're not inside, time moves past you. It feels better to move with time, don’t you think? It feels like you could outrun it if you wanted to, or it feels like you will never run out of time at all. That you and time are equals. But soon, we'll have to get back onto the platform, and time will move past us again, and it’ll feel like we’re running out already."

“You’re right.” You finally admitted. “We’re running out of time.” 

We’re running out of time— together, you wanted to say. However, courage and boldness was a currency you weren’t rich in. Unspoken desires and lost hopes were all you had left to tender. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Hey, I-” He hesitated as well, because when you looked at him with such wishful eyes, it made what he had to say entirely too real and all too scary. “I really liked being your travel buddy.” 

You could tell he was holding back too. That everything you wanted to say to him and everything he wanted to say to you wasn’t meant to be translated into words, that exchanging sentimental smiles was all you and he could afford. Instead, it was better to exist through the language of emotions, floating around the train, moving with time, and eventually, when you and Jungkook returned to the world, those emotions would remain with the train and travel beyond your destination. 

That’s why you let them go. Sometimes, a train is only meant to be a train. 

“Me too. Though, I have to admit I hated you at first.” 

“I know.” He grinned as you etched the most accurate memory of it in your brain as you could. 

His stance came unprecedented. The small radio tucked in his bag now sitting on the table, serenading an unfamiliar melody and overtaking the silent air inside Cart 102. Then, came his hand, extended to you just like he had yesterday. Only this time, you didn’t need to wonder what he wanted from you because you would give whatever he asked. 

You took his hand, or rather you gave him yours, and followed his gentle tug until it led you to his body, pressing away all the space once separating the two of you. Jungkook’s hand followed the curve of your waist until it landed at the small of your back while you instinctively rested yours on his shoulder. 

You and Jungkook swayed to the music until all those words about moving with time became real. The way he held you close had you immune to the passage of time. The soft brush of his breath against your cheek felt welcoming, and you would try your very best to remember the way existing felt when your skin was touching his. It was odd, dancing on a train with someone you didn’t know well enough to call a friend but weren’t estranged enough to call an acquaintance. Again, it felt like you were in between two walls, stuck, trying to out-think your way through a collapsing maze of judgement. 

Though, no matter how odd it was, it stopped neither you nor Jungkook from holding onto each other for the last few moments available. 

The train must have hit a rock, one you would like to thank because it knocked the two of you over until you had fallen into his lap, laughing so hard your bodies shook. You would have been uncomfortable in this compromising position if not for the sense of belonging fostered in the empty space in your chest while being in his arms.

Jungkook didn’t notice you were detangling your limbs from his until you were already gone, seated across from him in the same spot. 

Once, he learned in science class of this phenomenon called ‘afterimage’, which is when your eyes get so accustomed to staring at one particular thing that when you look away, the thing stained your vision in the form of a silhouette, like an echo of something your eyes grew so comfortable seeing that it stayed with you, even when you looked away.

And he knew, even when the view of you sitting across from him in this train wasn’t there anymore, he would carry that afterimage of you, always echoing in his vision like a beautiful melody he couldn’t get out of his head. Not that he wanted to let go anyway

It was sour, the cruelty of letting go. When the train began to brake, it felt like a lifetime of agony. A bitter, unforgiving slap in the face courtesy of the confines of reality, stealing you away from the shelter of a train; a place that made it so easy to be swept up in something as dazzling and impossible as magic. You were onto important things, you knew this, but it was nice to live, even if it were just for a bit, inside something as magical as Cart 102, where you could count on a generous supply of warm coats, milk with honey and cinnamon, and Jungkook.

“Well, our stop is here. Hey, how about we share a cab? Why not save some money, right?” You could only nod, because speaking would have led to tears, which would have led to a failed explanation of why you were crying.

Jungkook hailed the yellow vehicle over, the opening of his shirt widened just an inch too much to let your mind wander.

“You’re going to the hospital, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, the only one in town.” You said, knowing the driver wouldn’t need any more specifics than that. This town was so small there were a lot of singular facilities that made the layout equally difficult to be crammed into and easy to memorize. One library, one park, one church, and one hospital.

As Jungkook went to give the driver your destinations, you packed up the luggage into the trunk. Not too long after, you were side by side in the back of a cab. All you could bring yourself to do was gaze out of the window and watch all the familiar scenes of your hometown pass by, each landmark dousing you with a strong presence of nostalgia. 

No matter how sad parting ways with Jungkook was, it was good to be home.

The cab finally arrived at the hospital, and you got out not expecting the other person in the car to get out with you. Perhaps he was being polite and saying goodbye. You knew you would have done the same if his stop preceded yours.

The two of you stood in front of the entrance, gawking up at the tall building that was in desperate need of reconstruction. You turned your gaze over to Jungkook. 

“Where to now, Mr. Jeon?” You asked, since this town was small enough, and you were fluent in every secret hiding spot it had to offer, you might be able to visit him if that wouldn’t come off as too invasive.

“I'm here.” He responded just as ambiguously and ever so matter-of-factly as always. This time, you demanded to know more.

“What? What do you mean?”

“It took a long time to find a doctor that specializes in my condition.” Jungkook finally turned to you, his eyes crowded by tears. “My heart is weak, ___. I came here to get better, and hopefully, I do. I'm going to be a famous composer one day, and I’ll need a strong heart to get me to that point.” 

You felt angry at him again. For not telling you, because it felt less like keeping something from you and more like lying to you. For telling you, and making it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, that it wouldn’t break your heart into pieces weaker than his own.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was the harsh snap he expected from you, but he was committed to keeping this a secret until he couldn’t because it was easier that way. 

“I didn’t want to admit it. I’m scared, ___. Really scared. If I don't get better…” 

“Well, you have to! Carnegie Hall is waiting for you and I didn’t waste my time getting to know you for nothing. So, you just go ahead and get better okay?” Your words were coated in anger but layered on top of something compassionate, sweet even. Sweeter than milk, honey, and cinnamon. 

“I’ll try.” He grinned again, knowing it would satisfy you for the time being. Grinning, like a goodbye gift. 

“You’re an idiot, Jungkook.” 

Before you could lose the last word, you gripped your luggage in one hand, the pillow in the other, and made your way into the hospital, leading to what you knew would be countless nights spent at the side of a hospital bed, eating foods you’d rather not eat, and watching daytime cable while taking care of your mother.

What you didn’t know was that a good portion of those nights would be spent with someone else. Someone who resided in the west wing of the hospital. 

Someone who would bring your hand to his heart, and ask you if it felt stronger, and you would always reply with ‘yes’, or ‘yes, you idiot’, even when you were terrified that one day your hand wouldn’t feel the tap of his heart against his chest. Someone who would sing to you in exchange for the times you would read to him. Someone who you would leave notes and small gifts for, his personal favorite being the packet of walnuts accompanied with a folded paper inscribed ‘for when you need to get out of class’. Someone who, when he would be having a particularly difficult night, you’d fall asleep holding hands with, and you’d wake him up with a warm cup of his signature beverage.

Someone you would inevitably begin to fall in love with. 

A month later, one of two people you loved dearly would walk out with you through those hospital doors. That person was Jungkook. And the melancholy of losing your mother to the battle between her and her cancer would also follow you, and stay with you almost as long as Jungkook had.

A year later, you would return, hand in hand with Jungkook. Every two months. It was the promise you sealed onto your mother's gravestone that you would always return every two months. Even if the weather dispatched the most terrifying thunderstorms, or your work piled a stack of paperwork high enough to reach the sky, you’d still return home.

You and Jungkook placed a bundle of wildflowers you picked on the way to her grave, sitting at the top of a grassy highland, at the base of the granite stone. She was overlooking the world, with a perfect view of you; it made you feel safe that she was watching over you, and she was watching over Jungkook and his slowly recovering heart. 

The weather was perfect. The sun blanketed everything beneath it with a generous warmth but didn't restrict the gentle breeze from tempering it. The leaves and grass moved with the wind, but your mother’s tombstone was strong and unmoving, losing no part of herself to the fluid motions of the spring air. 

“I kind of like it here.” He said softly, adorning the view of the hilltop with you. It was the morning, and it didn’t feel like he was sharing the world with you anymore. It felt like it was yours to begin with, and he was just lucky enough to be allowed a part of it. 

“Me too.” One hand was with Jungkook, and the other was with your mother.

“I think it would be a nice place to get married and raise our children. You know, after I become a world-renowned composer and all.” This would have shocked you if you had not been wishing to hear him confirm these dreams of yours for a while now. “Did that scare you? I didn’t mean to be too forward.”

“No, I think this would be the perfect place to live. Only if it's with you.” Because you knew, something was missing here without him. He made this hometown of yours finally complete in the wake of your mother’s passing. 

When you kissed him, he tasted like honey. And he would have told you that you tasted like cinnamon.

It could never scare you, because you were in love.

You were in a debt of gratitude that was deeper than the ocean. There was so much you wanted to say to him.

The town is milk. It is up to you and me, Jungkook, to provide the ingredients that will liven this town of milk into something sweeter, something survivable, something that will continue to sustain a force as powerful as love. Without the honey and cinnamon, all you have is milk. It seems we are the perfect blend of the two to make this bitter place palatable when it hits our tongues. This town needs us together in the same way milk needs honey and cinnamon. 

You didn’t say any of those words out loud. You didn’t need to. All you needed to say was:

“I love you.”

And all he needed to say was:

“I love you too.” 

[ifmywishescametrue]

WAIT I DIDNT KNOW YOU SHIPPED SAMTONY TOO!!! another oneeee #13 "I saw you looking at it last time we were in the store together, so I got it for you." for samtony

samtony is a very pure ship 😌 thank you for sending a prompt, and I hope you like it!

It starts on a perfectly average Tuesday morning.

“Why do I do this to myself?” Sam pants out, folding himself in half with his hands on his knees. “Every damn time I say it's the last time, and every damn time here we are again.”

Bucky claps a hand on his back and almost knocks him over with one touch. “Maybe you're a masochist, Sammy.”

Sam feebly flips him off, walking off the elevator on jelly legs. “I told you not to call me that.”

“You let Tony call you that,” Bucky points out, following him towards the kitchen.

"I actually like him. We're friends."

“That's offensive. I'm literally your best friend. Your favorite person. The Abbott to your Costello. The Tom to your Jerry. The Lucy to your Ethel.”

Sam snorts, “You're not even my favorite hundred year old man in this building. Also, if anyone’s the Lucy here, it’s me.”

Bucky scoffs, but whatever retort he had coming cuts off when they enter the kitchen. “Oh, damn, are those banana pancakes?”

He reaches for one on the top of the stack, and Tony slaps his hand away with the spatula. “Where are your manners, Barnes?”

“You’ve got like ten there,” Bucky whines. “Why can’t I have one?”

“You can have one when it’s your turn.”

Bucky gives him a dramatic pout that has no effect, and Sam laughs at the scene as he collapses into the stool next to Nat at the peninsula. She gives him a raised eyebrow and a quirked lip at the complete lack of grace.

Tony flits through the kitchen, exchanging lighthearted quips with Bucky as he goes. He has on an apron that Clint gave him at Christmas last year, covered in snowflakes and purple hearts with arrows through them in a mimicry of an ugly Christmas sweater pattern. Underneath it is a t-shirt dotted with Captain America shields, and the sweatpants have a cartoon version of the War Machine suit on the thigh. As usual, all of the colors clash.

A mug of coffee is placed in front of Sam with a small smile before Tony returns to the stove, and Sam is still drinking the first sip when he comes back with a plate of pancakes for him, topped with just the right amount of syrup and a dollop of whipped cream. Tony’s gone again before he can even finish saying thank you.

“Why is it his turn before me?” Bucky complains, and Sam laughs again through his first mouthful at how petulant he sounds.

“I like him the best,” Tony says, sending a wink Sam’s way. “And they’re for him, anyway. Your favorite, right?”

Sam’s eyes widen a bit in surprise. He doesn’t remember telling him that. “Uh, yeah, they are. How’d you know that?”

Tony shrugs, “I pay attention.”

He hands Bucky a plate of pancakes with another jab at his lack of patience, and the moment passes as quickly as it came, but it keeps happening after that.

Tony pays attention to him.

Maybe it was happening all along, before that morning with the pancakes, but just too subtle for Sam to take notice at first. Now that he has, though, he sees it all the time.

The next is just a few days later, when Tony knocks on his door holding a small, nondescript black box.

“What’s this for?” Sam asks, taking it from Tony’s hand. He doesn’t get an answer before he opens the lid to a simple, leather-banded watch. It’s nothing overtly expensive, nothing that screams ‘gift from a billionaire,’ but it is exactly something Sam would have chosen for himself.

“I saw you looking at it last time we were in the store together, so I got it for you,” Tony says simply. “Figured it would go well with that suit Pepper picked for you for the gala tomorrow night.”

Later, Sam will realize that Pepper had nothing to do with the suit choice that fit him perfectly, but for now he runs a thumb over the dark brown leather and says, “Yeah, it will. Thanks, Tony.”

“No problem,” Tony replies, and he lingers in the doorway for a while longer, lower lip between his teeth. Sam is about to ask if there was something else he came here for when Tony claps his hands together and says, “Well, I should get going. Workshop things to do and all that. I’ll see you at dinner.”

He disappears quickly, and that becomes part of it, too. Never dwelling on it when he does something just for Sam. Fleeing if he can, but sometimes staying when that’s what Sam needs instead.

“You look exhausted,” Tony says, and Sam manages a grumble from where he’s slumped on the living room couch, rubbing a hand over his bruised abdomen.

The mission took longer than either him or Bucky expected, and the fights were more intense. It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out type of deal. Infiltrate the base, take out the lower level minions, and apprehend the leaders. But the intel wasn’t as accurate as they were hoping, and there were nearly double the number of enemies than predicted. No major injuries for either of them, but he’ll be sore for at least a few days. Bucky’s cuts and bruises healed on the way home.

Sam doesn’t notice that Tony left until he comes back with ice wrapped in a kitchen towel. He places the ice right on the worst spot over his ribs, holding it there until Sam replaces his hand with his own.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Tony remarks. “You should probably head up to bed. You’ll feel even worse if you fall asleep here, trust me on that one.”

It’s somewhere past midnight, Sam knows, but even with how tired his body is, his mind is still wide awake. The mission replays in his mind. Every faulty move, every chance to do better, every little detail both good and bad.

Sam shakes his head, “Not ready for bed yet.”

Tony takes the seat next to him, leaving an inch of space between them. “J, turn on the Saints game from yesterday.”

Sam smiles a little and asks, “Do you even like football?”

“It’s not the worst sport,” Tony replies vaguely. He settles back into the cushions and pulls the blanket off the back of the couch to cover them both.

“Yeah, what’s the best?”

Completely serious, Tony says, “Ping pong.”

Sam laughs, “That’s not a real sport. Pick something else.”

“Of course it’s real. It’s in the Olympics and everything,” Tony grins. “Give me one good reason it’s not a sport.”

“Alright, fine, maybe it’s real, but there’s no way it’s your favorite.”

Tony shrugs, “It’s entertaining sometimes. The professionals get really into it. There’s an awful lot of grunting involved.”

They stay up for a while longer, talking about nothing of importance, and Tony slowly shifts closer to him until that bit of distance is gone. His arm presses up against him, and Sam starts to have a hard time keeping his eyes open, it seems only natural to rest his head against Tony’s shoulder.

“You can go to bed,” Sam murmurs. “You don’t have to stay here with me.”

“I don’t mind,” Tony whispers back.

Sam does regret it a bit when he wakes up on the couch in the morning with a sore back, but there’s a fresh mug of coffee already waiting for him on the table, still warm and exactly how he likes it, and he smiles to himself anyway. That night is a shift to something different, and he knows it right away.

He starts to pay more attention to Tony’s interactions with everyone else, just in case he’s part of the rule and not the exception. Generosity is one of Tony’s best traits, but even so it tends to extend even further to him. More personal and frequent.

“So there’s this place in Brooklyn that claims to have the most authentic cajun cuisine outside of New Orleans. Want to come with me? Tell me if it’s true?”

It isn’t true, and Tony comes to him the next day with another one, until they’re on a quest together to find one that doesn’t make Sam miss home after just one bite. It takes them all over the city and into Jersey once or twice, and Sam doesn’t point out that Tony doesn’t even seem to like crawfish, no matter where it comes from. He doesn’t want it to be over if he does.

“This is pretty close,” Sam says. He thinks it might be place number eleven, but he lost count a while back. “Could use a little more spice, but at least they didn’t try to add their own spin to it.”

Tony’s watery eyes widen. “This isn’t spicy enough for you?”

Sam grins and shakes his head. “Remind me to bring you with me the next time I go home. You won’t know what hit you.”

Tony’s face does something complicated at that, before it settles on a soft smile. “Yeah, that would be fun.”

Sam fully gets it then, what exactly it all means, but he doesn’t quite know what he wants to do about it yet. Tony has taken up residence in a place in his heart that he wasn’t sure was capable of opening up anymore. He did it so easily, sneaking in like a thief in the night and catching Sam unaware.

Now the sound of Tony’s laugh makes his stomach flip. He seeks it out, telling him stupid stories and jokes to make it happen more. He stares a little too much to catch glimpses of his smile, and now he can see just how often Tony looks back.

It isn’t subtle anymore, this thing between them. Lingering looks, too long touches, and every quiet gesture all build up. Bucky teases him and Natasha gives him knowing looks. Steve tells him that he hopes they make each other happy, and Sam doesn’t tell him that nothing has happened between them like that. They’re still just friends, and they don’t talk about what any of it means.

“Do you want to see a movie with me tonight? There’s that weird one with the killer robots playing downtown,” Sam suggests, and neither of them say anything when Tony slips his hand into his in the darkness of the theater. It goes unmentioned, too, when Sam holds tight after Tony almost lets go when they reach the sidewalk afterwards.

It’s another late night when the last piece finally falls into place.

Sam is nursing bruised ribs again after another mission that turned a little sideways through no one’s fault. He’s still sweaty, dirt under his fingernails and dried blood caked around a shallow cut on his cheek, but Sam still asks JARVIS in the elevator to take him to wherever Tony is. It isn’t as surprising as it should be that Tony is waiting for him on the edge of Sam’s bed.

He stands there patiently while Tony looks him over, and he looks his fill in return. It’s strange how days away from him feel longer now. His balance is off center until Tony is around to set him right again.

“I missed you,” Sam murmurs, and Tony smiles softly.

“You were only gone a couple of days,” he points out, but Sam knows now that it’s his way of saying that he missed him just as much.

Normally, Sam would let it move on from here. Tony would lead him into the bathroom, gently clean up his scrapes, and click his tongue at every bruise. It would end with them on the couch, Sam’s head in Tony’s lap or vice versa, depending on what mood it takes. Sometimes he wants to hold Tony and remember that he survived another fight so he could come home to this, and sometimes he needs to be held to forget about everything else that was lost along the way.

But tonight he reaches out to grasp Tony’s hip, and he draws him in a little closer. The room is dimly lit, and each shadow on Tony’s face is accentuated. Sam can’t remember quite the first time he looked at him and thought the word ‘beautiful,’ but it’s all he’s thinking now.

“You love me,” Sam says. “For a long time now, right?”

Tony nods, and he wraps his arms around Sam’s waist, careful not to hold too tight. “You caught up eventually. Didn’t take as long as I thought it would.”

Sam smiles, cupping Tony’s face in one palm and stroking his thumb across his cheekbone. “How long were you expecting?”

“Maybe never,” Tony admits. “I would’ve kept trying, though.”

“Stay with me tonight?” Sam asks, because nothing more needs to be said for now. They both already know.

“How about every night?”

Sam leans in slowly, murmuring against his lips, “Sounds like a plan.”

[sirensmojo]

“KINDRED”, 2 - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy meets a librarian that he discovered to be the chief of an underground organisation. Needing man enough allies to dirty their hands in the battle against Oswald Mosley, he shakes hands with the devil. Feelings intertwine with business, a mix that leads to unalterable ends...

Warnings: Swearing, romance, fluff.

Word Count: 6K+

❰ ​Previous Chapter

(...) 

Several days later.

You were walking London’s street with the confidence of someone that ruled the place. Your back, straight, your head high as the air moved your hair gently, as if you were starring in an old Hollywood movie. 

Your suit fitted you perfectly, a little loose so you were comfortable. You were wearing the jacket closed, one hand in your pant’s pocket as the clicking sound of your high heels resonated against the cobblestones of the empty streets.

It was early in the morning, so early the thick mist nearly extinguished the cigarette hanging on your red painted lips, but your gaze was already as determined as one can be. 

‘This day will be great’ was the mantra you were singing in your head. You were supposed to open the library in less than an hour now, and you had to meet with your new employees to discuss the rules before opening.

You thanked God some of them were already a part of your organisation, which made it easier as they knew the way things needed to be done under your management. 

Entering the building, the women were already waiting, in uniform and standing in a perfect line side by side. 

You offered them a warm smile coming closer to them as you took your woollen coat off.

“Misses and Madams, let me welcome you to the Bridgehead Library. Now, you may or may not know me, I’m Y/N, you, strong fighter for women’s rights & aspirant to a world where we would walk the streets unafraid of any danger. Because we know how it is, for those of you that are single moms, for those of you that were disowned by your own family, those of you who don’t want to get married.” 

You paced back and forth in front of the aligned women, looking at each one of them straight in the eyes, as talking with a firm and confident tone.

“You’re not taken seriously, you’re misused and abused. You fear the barmaid will not serve you a drink cause no man stands on your side, you fear the man that is staring at your body will be lurking in the shadows, following you, and rip off your clothes when you’ll be in an empty street.”

You stop in front of a face you saw in the files of Thomas Shelby while doing some research on him. You identify the individual as Ada Thorne, born Shelby, Tom’s sister. 

“Well, you should know, for as long as you're willing to work here, none of the things mentioned before should ever happen to you. And your family will be fed and more... I guarantee you fifteen pounds a week. If anything… A-ny-thing may happen to you due to your gender, consider turning to Bridget, we will find a solution.”

You motioned to a blonde-haired woman sitting legs crossed at the principal desk to their right. Her hair was middle length and perfectly waved to one side as the other was tucked behind her ear. 

The named Bridget glanced up to you before colliding her lit matchstick with her cigarette. 

“You’re under my protection, use my name for doing whatever pleases you, whenever you want. This is your ticket to a brand new life, for all of you. And all of us, together, we can achieve great things. If the counsellor job isn’t enough for you, I invite you to turn to Ana.” 

You pointed a brunette on your side, her facial expression was passive & aggressive, but for some reason, it was comforting. As if you knew you were in security in her presence. 

“Now, as for the library…” You gave your instructions. 

As soon as you finished your speech, it was 7, the hour of the opening. 

The day was slow at the beginning, but soon enough the library was packed. Not only by people here to find a book, but packed with numerous women, all in a single file that led to a small room at the back of the first floor that had been designated as Ana’s office.

It was almost impossible for Ada not to wonder what was going on. 

Were all these women wanting to find another job than counsellor?

All employees tried their best to keep quiet the visitors, following your orders, but as Ada was passing by the single file to pick up and put back books, she could hear murmurs. 

The individuals were talking about politics, but something so far from what she had ever heard.

Some were talking about the tragic death of a certain Emily Davison before the war at the Derby Epsom and how they rallied the WSPU(Women’s Social and Political Union). 

Others were talking about a recent speech by Emmeline Pankhurst to which they couldn’t assist due to coppers. The Shelby sister surmised that woman must be the leader of the political party given the amount of respect they paid her. 

No need to say Ada was drowning in a tide of data and names she vaguely heard of before.

She didn’t pay that much attention to the women’s cause. Even after the death of her Freddie, after which reality smacked her back into the world she was living in. 

It was either her family or her convictions, as being a Shelby meant drifting from the oppressed to the oppressor. But she was so focused on not being a Shelby that she closed herself to other opportunities. 

She wanted to be a part of something bigger and better to help those in need. But she ultimately admitted to herself she needed her family in order to survive, which led her to jump off the communist boat.

But a part of her was always keeping her beliefs close to her heart. 

(...)

*The library, fourth floor*

You turned the keys in the lock, opening your door’s office. You switched on the light and when turning back, stumbled on a man sitting crossed legs, at the edge of the sofa.

When he was sure he made his presence known, he lied backwards, extending one of his arms on the armrest, his head held high.

He was dressed in an elegant dark blue suit, white shirt, the chains of his watch knotted around one of his buttons with a fine red & blue tie around his neck.

Right above his upper lips was a full mustache, and as your gaze reached his dark eyes, you glimpsed the stranger’s neat hair flattened backward.

“What a surprise.” You let out, walking to the desk as if it was normal for him to be here. You then hung your coat on the coat rack, turning your back at Mosley.

“A good one, I hope.” The man put on his fake smile, lying eyes everywhere he could on the woman’s silhouette in front of him.

“Always, Mr Mosley. How could you be any other thing than a pleasure to see,” you came back to where he was and sat in one of the armchairs ahead “and meet.” You added, offering him a smile.

“It’s a shame we never had time to properly exchange--”

“That’s why you crept into my office.” You cut him and nodded to herself, your knuckles hitting on her thigh.

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips before he stared even more at the light-haired woman.

“It is to be said, your name doesn’t get quite unnoticed in society or amongst politicians.” 

“So you’ve heard of me, even more charming.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm.

 If he thought he could cajole you that easily, he was wrong.

“Not only have I heard of your deeds, Miss you, but I’ve been reported daily about the people you keep company with.” He stated as if it was normal for him to send people spying on whoever.

You remained silent, waiting for the man to say more. 

He was gauging your reaction towards his words, lurking at any sudden change in your expression, but you kept on an unreadable face. Mosley tilted his head to the side, curiosity animating his iris.

“Leading me to question the nature of your relationship with Mr Thomas Shelby.” He continued, squinting his eyes.

“Perhaps socialists are your thing?” He spitted that last part with all the distaste he felt toward both the worker class and Tommy.

By the way your piercing eyes didn’t flinch a bit at his sneaky comment, Mosley surmised you weren't impressed, which eventuated in him smiling while keeping up the stare.

“Did you come all the way down to my library to give me a lecture on your inauthentic Dasein, Mr Mosley? There are doctors for that.”

A rictus at the corner of your lips distracted the eyes of the man in front you, who unwittingly broke the stare.

You won.

You took great delight in the void of Mosley’s expression that surely didn’t understand what you just said. 

“Oh, beg pardon. Perhaps I’m using concepts you don’t understand.” You didn’t even cover the fact you were making fun of his ignorance, your eyes still as sharp as razors.

“Don’t you know Heidegger, Mr Mosley? He discusses a neat difference between what he calls Sein, that covers what Is, what constitutes human existence with the Dasein that covers the phenomenological analysis of human existence. In other words, he says there is a gap between how things are and how we perceive them.” 

You got up and walked to your desk, making sure to pass by him pretty close so your perfume would meet the man’s nostrils. 

You then opened the ceramic piece in which you kept your cigarettes, and as you grabbed one, you concluded.

“When it may seem to you something is occuring, that doesn’t mean it’s actually happening. It just means your senses want to believe it is happening for numerous reasons, but the main one is almost always the fear of something. You don’t believe it wittingly of course, it’s your inconscient working. But still, you just confided in me an unconscious worry named Thomas Shelby.” You ignited your cig.

By using a psycho-philosophical reference, you were showing him your hand, how studious you were, which meant he couldn’t look down on you or intimidate you easily. 

His attempt to pressure you wasn’t working. And you were setting the standards high.

Mosley didn’t miss any of your movement since you got up. Eyeing you top to bottom. It was crystal clear your monologue satisfied him the most. He, that considered you as illegitimate of the high-society status you had been given. 

Perhaps he was wrong?

“May I add, no offense here, that whatever concerns him, or me doesn’t concern you a bit? I’m afraid you came here in vain.” You smacked her lips at the end of her sentence, faking to be annoyed by the fact he lost his time coming here.

“I found you, Miss Y/L/N, I found you.” He repeated, fluttering his eyes as tilting his head to the side.

His way of intensely eyeing the individual he was speaking to would be quite uncomfortable for you if you hadn’t been a woman in a man’s world for so long.

No wonder why this man was so feared and yet adorned. His whole character emitted mysteriousness while arousing wonder and curiosity. It was hard, nearly impossible to read his face or even get in his mind, but you didn’t need that to face him head-on. 

“And to answer your question, no. Socialists aren’t my thing, Kings are.” His brows raised at the end of your sentence.

You stared at each other some more, Mosley trying to discover the implied meaning of your sentence as you were internally laughing seeing him struggle.

“Anyway, I hope you’re finding our city to your liking. You’re from Birmingham after all.” He paused and got up, walking closer to the door with a hand in his pants pocket.”Talking of which, may I ask why not opening in a library there?” It was obvious the displeasure he felt towards your decision.

“I’ll call it ‘modern conquering’.” You responded with enthusiasm.

(...)

Ada poured wine into two cups when hearing the keys turning in the lock of her house. She first thought it was Ben, her lover coming back from his office, or wherever he was working as they weren’t truly speaking of work when together.

Her eyes widened at the sight of her brother when she turned back to the entrance of the living room. “Tommy?” Her high pitched tone expressing her surprise. 

“Let’s sit down, Ada.” The man always looked worried and thoughtful, but this time it was different, his eyes were actually reflecting emotions, which usually never are. 

“What’s happened”

Tommy came nearer the table and pulled a chair for his sister, without looking at her. “Sit down, eh?” He repeated before sitting down himself.

Ada didn’t stop looking at her brother, she knew him too well. Something wasn’t right. She pulled a chair for herself. 

Tommy tried his best to look at the face of his sister while talking but he just couldn’t, his eyes kept drifting away. “Ben younger is dead. Someone put a bomb in his car.”

As the brunette wasn’t talking, her mouth slightly opened in shook, he kept on talking, “I don’t know how you felt about him or how bad this is going to hurt, but whatever happens just remember you have a baby inside of you.” He pointed to her tummy.

His sister let her back hit the chair noisily, searching the void for answers. “God.” She hardly sighed. “Anyone you touch. Which means anyone I touch. Which means anyone any of us touch. He never knew I was pregnant… I hadn’t told him.”

Tommy that was looking at her to support her pain, once again looked down hearing the hard truth. 

“God, I didn’t love him.” She sighed heavily. “But I liked him. He was decent and good. And I wasn’t gonna marry him. The baby was a mistake but that’s okay… because I didn’t ask anything of him. God he didn’t deserve us.” A tear rolled down her cheek before she exhaled loudly again.

“Well I’ve spoken to his family. They’re going to take care of the funeral” Tommy said as Ada sniffled. “It will go down as an IRA assassination of a British military officer.” He felt the need to divulge her all he knew.

“But what was it really?” She calmly asked, looking intently at him her head tilted to the side.

Tommy smacked his lips and breathed deeply. “It was… a consequence of good intentions. My good intentions.” 

She scoffed.

“I pushed him to report on the fascists. I thought it was the right thing to do. And as a result, Section D or the Branch or intelligence had him killed.”

She scoffed again, looking away this time.

He abruptly took back in hands his beret he previously dropped on the table and started fidgeting with it, looking down. “There was a kid, died in the explosion. He was ten years old. It’s funny isn’t it, how it works?” He cleared his throat and got up, starting to move forward the door.

“No, Tommy.” 

He stopped, his back still turned to the woman.

“Don’t give yourself this excuse. “ Ada’s eyes were filled with tears, some of which hurtling down her face to her chin.

“He was ten years old. if I would stuck to what I do, he’d still be kicking a ball in the street. It’s funny isn’t it?” The meaning of his words was amplified by the thunder rumbling outside. 

(...) 

Days later.

It was the end of the day, employees had started to leave when Ada came to the entrance.

“Can I get the changing room keys?” She asked Bridget, who was sitting behind the desk, lost in a book.

“Ada Shelby? Miss you would like to borrow you a moment.” She pointed to the stairs behind her. “She’s waiting for you.” The desk lady invited the woman standing in front of her to get on her way.

Ada rolled her eyes at the mention of the Shelby name. “It’s Ada Thorne.”

The light-haired woman smiled at Ada’s comment.

She got up to the second floor and then to the third one before she wondered what her boss had to say that somebody else couldn’t tell her.

Ada rapidly caught sight of the wooden door at the end of the long corridor. She stops walking when hearing voices, a male and a female one. She stops, not wanting to get into their intimacy, but the door wasn’t completely closed, which allowed the voices to slip out pretty clear.

Not too long after she heard steps approaching and moved backward, so it didn’t look like she was eavesdropping. The door ultimately opened, and the fascist man she saw only once before with Tommy passed by her, without even glancing her way.

She knocked on the door and cleared her mind.

“Come in.” 

She cleared her throat. “Miss Y/L/N, am Ada Thorne, you asked to see me?” She peek into the room. 

“Yep, come in. Take a seat.” You motioned your hand that was holding a cigarette to the chair in front of her. 

Her back flat against the backrest, your E/C’s eyes entered those of the Ada’s.

You were searching for the same light that was twinkling in Thomas’ eyes, in vain.

“Do you know who I am, Ada? I can call you that, right?” 

“I heard about your achievements in Paris. What you did for women.” The brunette answered, uncertain of where this discussion was going.

“Do you know what I do?”

At the question, the woman ahead of you didn’t know what to answer.

Was there even a correct answer for that?

Of course, she knew part of her activities was illegal, she wasn’t blind. And, come on! She was a Shelby too, she could feel those things thanks to her brother’s choice of life. 

But what her boss wanted her to say, exactly? And for what reason? 

“You’re talking about the illegal part?”

“The criminal one” You snapped back.

Ada’s eyes widened.

“I surmised you didn’t. Why did you think there were that many women in here today? I offer them jobs in my London’s counterfeit money’s enterprise.” You leaned forward to Thorne, squeezing the cig into the ashtray. 

You crossed the fingers of both your hands together. “You don’t really want to work here.” You forced out the words as if to convince Ada.

“Understand this library covers an underground organisation that is beyond you. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not particularly involved in the “business” of your own family. Tommy gave you a title in it but still, you’re here, working in a library to prove yourself something.

Why would I want someone like you in here? Someone that is unsure of what they are, what they want.” 

The venom entered Ada’s ear going directly to her chest, depriving her of oxygen for a short instant. But her eyebrows surely knitted in anger. 

“Stop acting like you know everything when it is clear you understand nothing.” She gained composure again.

“I heard, you didn’t even want to be a Shelby in the first place, running away from your home and your family.” You nodded, your eyes still deep into Ada’s.

“You ‘hear’ things and you take it as the absolute truth? And you’re the leader here.” Thorne chuckled to herself, her eyebrows raised high.

You sneered at the comment.

“What is the problem with my family anyway? If you want to fire me because I’m a Shelby then just do it. I’ll not come burning your library if that’s the matter.” 

The librarian cackled, putting your head into your joined open hands, elbows on the table. “God! No! That’s not that. It is more about the fact that the first time you’re getting involved in that kind of organisation it’s not your brother’s. Not your family’s.” 

Ada looked away, realizing what the light-haired woman meant. She, who never was included in the family business, rather by choice than by abandonment of her family, was employed in a pseudo library that was covering for dirty activities.

“It’s ironic indeed. But what makes you think I wouldn’t want to work here knowing the truth?”

You shrugged. “You never worked with your brothers. Even your aunt, Polly is actively working there.”

“It was my choice.”

“So you’ve changed your mind.”

Ada dismissed the talk, another question seeming to be more urgent:

“But why didn’t you just let me be unaware of all this and be like the others.” She retorted.

“Because you’re not ‘like the others’. You’re a Shelby and a Thorne. Your brother is sitting at the House Of Commons amongst politicians while getting his hands dirty here and there, and your deceased husband was a very known communist leader. You’re everything but random, understand that.” 

“So you’re telling this to me out of goodness?” She laughed at you without even hiding her reluctance toward this eventuality. 

“Respect.” You rectified with a solemn tone. 

The brunette stops laughing, her expression becoming serious again. She didn’t quite get your the true motives, but she had other questions.

“What are your relations with my brothers, are you enemies?”

“No.”

“Allies, then?”

“No.”

Even if you told Ada about the true roots of this library, she wouldn’t talk about the arrangement between her and Thomas. It wasn’t your place to do so, and you didn’t think Ada needed to know, at least for now.

“It’s not like you’re going to get your hands dirty anyway, but if anything should happen to me, they will associate you with me, so they’ll come for you.”

“Who’s they?”

“Coopers, I don’t have them in my pocket.”

Thorne seemed to be in her head, probably rethinking her intention to keep working here as a counsellor.

“You were already working here with the old owner so I’ll let you choose rather you want to stay or leave. But don’t stay because you want to prove something to yourself, or your family. I don’t need a crybaby. If the communist cause you defend isn’t matching with the cause I fight for, leave.” 

Your words cut in pieces the thick atmosphere that had settled between the two women.

(...)

Thomas convened a family meeting.

Everyone was already waiting for him at the pub. Charlie Senior and Curly were sitting at a table drinking from the bottle, while Johnny Dog and Jeremiah were sipping on whiskey at the counter, next to Aberama Gold, too occupied looking at his future wife Polly. 

She were sitting at a table with her son and his wife, Gina.

As Arthur and Finn passed the door, the oldest Shelby got behind Michael and didn’t miss the occasion to stumble wittingly on his cousin’s chair, pulling away the younger’s back from it. 

Next, he hassled to sit near the counter, pouring himself some liquor that he drank in one go. Finn reluctantly came and sat at the table between Gina and Polly.

Tommy finally arrived, walking around the table to place himself in front of everyone. 

“First of all, an apology from Lizzie. She can’t be here. Charles has a violin concert. Also, welcome to Mr Aberama Gold. He and Polly are to be married in three weeks with my blessing. From now on, Aberama will be welcomed at our meetings. First item: business. A bereavement. Colonel Ben Younger, who may perhaps have become a member of this family, was taken from us, four days ago, by dark forces. We’ve made some investigations, we think we know who planted the bomb. In the meantime, our thoughts are with Ada and the baby inside of her, who may one day, sit at these meetings but… Hopefully under happier circumstances.”

“Let’s drink to happier circumstances.” Pol’ offered while pouring some whiskey in her and Tommy’s cup.

“Yeah.” Arthur agreed, raising his glass. “To Ada.” He added, soon joined by all the people in the room.

Tommy coughed at the burn of the whiskey and continued his speech, “Item number two: an announcement regarding Michael.” He coughed again as if to release some tension in him, his hand rose toward the younger Gray. 

“Before you go on, Tommy, there’s something I’d like to say, to the whole family directly, regarding finances and the future of this company.” Michael stated, getting comfortable in his chair, and from the corner of his eye, he could see his mother glaring at his wife.

Gina ignored her, looking down and smoking a cigarette.

“According to your own estimations, this new venture of the delivery and shipment of opium will bring into the company around £2 million per year. Therefore, due to the amounts involved, I think this company should be restructured.” He continued, looking fearlessly at a pissed Tommy.

“Michael. I think this can wait ‘till outside the family meeting.” His mother tried to postpone the confrontation.

“Restructured in what way?” Tommy asked, not because he was genuinely interested, but because he needed to know if Michael’s betrayal had limits. Which it didn’t have.

“Because of the amount of money involved, shipment and dispatch will become the primary source of income in the company. It’s simple mathematics.” Gina proudly announced, deciding to match her husband’s audacity as she looked Thomas the wrong way. 

Her husband got up, going behind her as he placed his hands on both her shoulders rubbing them gently. “With the help of my wife, I will organise an expansion into America, where the narcotics business is just beginning to grow. I have very good contacts in Detroit, New-York, Boston, who I’ve already spoken to about this. And Gina has family who are very experienced in this kind of business.”

It seems like the woman surely gained composure thanks to the assurance in her husband’s voice because she finally decides to look back at Polly, who was staring at her the whole time with an unpredictable longing to plant her butterfly knife in her. 

Gina, quickly glanced away as if to snub her husband’s mother.

“According to the conversations I’ve had with them, with a regular supply of pure opium from China, within a short space of time, the American narcotics business will bring in $20 million per annum. Enough money for you to enjoy an easing burden you all now feel. See, I know that the scars and the wounds, they’re on the inside, not on the outside. And as a member of the new generation, I am able to take that burden off your weary shoulders. A new decade is coming. There’ll be new opportunities and new territories, more money than we’ve ever had before.” 

He stops looking around to everyone to pause on his cousin only.

“Tommy, you can still do the good work that deep down you want to do. Mum, you can get married and live in that big house.” 

Polly happily glanced at Aberama, letting herself dream of a good life for a second. 

“Arthur, you can be the man that Linda wants you to be.” 

“Fuck Linda.” Arthur interrupted.

Michael turned to Finn, walking toward him to rest behind the seated man, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it proudly.

“Finn, you’ve proved yourself. You’re part of the new generation. You could come to New-York with me.” Michael finished his speech. His wife handed him a file that he gladly took in hands. He walked to Thomas and dropped the file on the table that rested between them two. 

Tommy’s eyes went to the file before lifting to Michael’s determined face.

“Here is my proposal. A full restructuring of the company. I will be managing director… and you can be non-executive chairman. But under an assumed name to protect your reputation. I found the name of a dead man. You will be registered as Mr Jones.”

He turned toward the other people in the room. “You will each receive a percentage of the profits as an annuity. And you will no longer have to engage in any of the associated activities.” 

Michael then grabbed the file to hand it to Tommy.

“Take a look at the future, Tommy. At least read it with an open mind.” 

The head of the Peaky Blinders paused, looking at Michael intensely before taking the file. “It’s cold in here, Michael.” He finished, turning to the fireplace and throwing the catalogue there. 

Johnny Dog let out an excited laugh, surely due to the heavy atmosphere the two cousins had settled. 

“Tommy the Americans want to deal with me.” Michael’s jaw tensed as his voice raised with impatience. 

“Item number three--” Continued Thomas as if nothing happened. But he was cut off by Gina’s venom:

“Tell him the truth.” She seemed unsatisfied with the way his husband chose to handle the situation. Tommy’s eyes hassled toward the young woman, speechless. “Go on. He can take it.” She continued.

His eyes went back to Michael that looked away, immediately, as if he didn’t want to come to this end.

“Tell me the truth, Michael.” Tommy encouraged, exasperated by this whole scene.

“The Americans don’t want to deal with an old-fashioned backstreet razor gang. Those days are done.” Michael gained composure again, looking blankly at Tommy.

The latter couldn’t even correctly react that some men entered the pub, needing some help to handle Bartley, who was convinced he was still at war. Everybody got out of the room in a hurry except for Michael, Gina, Tommy & Pol’.

Passing by Michael to get out, Arthur leaned to his ear slowly, “Fuck the Americans.”

Tommy turned around, hand on the wooden piece as he was leaning above the fireplace, looking intensely into the orangish flames.

“I’m doing this for you Tommy. It’s time… And you know it.”

The concerned one, closed his eyes taking a deep breath in and tried to calm his nerves and think. But nothing came to him, he couldn’t even properly swallow how much Michael’s betrayal had extended, the worst was that he was sure, it wasn’t the end of it. His cousin probably wanting to take everything from him slowly he surely voluntarily omitted things. 

“Tommy, Mum’s leaving. John’s dead. Arthur needs help. Ada’s man was killed in your own backyard because you fucked up.” Now that there weren’t people to impress, Michael let the anger he felt toward his cousin’s actions.

The elder blue-eyed man couldn’t stay calm a second more, he abruptly turned around, grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was on the table and violently threw it in the fire, creating the flames to only grow bigger. Gina was scared, she held her chair with tightened hands and Polly and she jumped with surprise on their chair.

He turned again to Michael as the latter held him a butterfly knife already open.

“Go on, Tom. Go on cut me. Like the good old days. Or… See this for what it is. A natural succession that someday must happen” His arm going down again.  

At this point, the Shelby brother had calmed down, finding funny the proposition he was offered. His lips smacked and breathed deeply, looking at anything but his opposant. He shook his head in disbelief, “I gave you an opportunity, Michael. You betrayed me. Don’t be here when I get back.” He looked at his younger cousin, deceived by him and angry at himself.

After losing $2 millions in the Wall Street crash., Tommy gave him an opportunity to come back to England and pay him what he owed him, but even there, in the boat, Michael met with people that are Shelby’s family enemy. When that happened, Tommy gave him the benefit of the doubt. And now this? Michael went too far, and this time Tommy will not close his eyes on it. The only reason his cousin was still breathing was that he's Polly’s son.

He walked around the table and addressed Gina, smacking his fingers as he pointed her, leaning forward. “You. You can tell your family--”

“Let me guess.” She interrupted him, the same satisfying face she had at the beginning of the meeting. “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” That wasn’t a question.

Michael grinned, as Tommy quickly got out of the pub. 

“Right?” Gina mockingly asked.

(...)

Tommy was spending most days at the House Of Commons lately doing speeches in favor of fascism to the greatest pleasure of Mosley. 

That day, he was there from early in the morning to the evening. It was already around 10, but his assistant opened the door to his office, saying someone was there but without having an appointment. 

“Who it is?” He asked, raising a brow, one of his hands went in his pocket to check on his watch.

“The librarian.”

It’s been nearly two weeks since your last meeting and at the simple mention of you, he would find his blood boiling in anticipation of the wave of feelings you brought him.

His pulsions talking for him, the Shelby brother ordered to let you in without questioning why you were here that late.

“Mr Shelby, you asked me to get information about a certain Michael Gray?” You came in like a tornado, your voice filled with sarcasm mixed with enthusiasm as you were the one pushing him to act on his cousin’s betrayal weeks ago.

How ironic was it that he had to learn the hard way you had been right since the very beginning,  you surmised something must’ve happened between the younger gray and him given the determined words he’d written on the note he left at the library sat in one of the two chairs facing his desk. “No time for formalities.” You agitated the folder in her hand.

He almost gasped at your movements, he had forgotten how sensual you were.

Whenever they would meet, you would succeed to arouse something in him, maybe even igniting a fire that couldn’t be found when you weren’t around. 

“You might want to read that!” You nodded to yourself, your brows raised high as if you detained the most important information of the decade.

“You do me the lecture.” His playful tone made you look up to him. Your head tilted at the sight of the glasses hanging on Tommy’s nose as you released a little “huh” from your lips.

He squinted his eyes, not knowing why the actual fuck did you do that. Did you just judge him or was he dreaming? 

He took off the glasses and placed them on the table, not wanting to deal with that face you just made again, all while remaining silent and invited you to begin.

You clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Do you think it’s going to be free, Mr Shelby?” You looked intensely at him, your own eyes devoid of emotions.

He hated the fact you were able to just erase your emotion from your face and your eyes as he desperately wanted to see things in them. But him being him, he too put on an expressionless face.

“What do you want?”

“Everything, but you can’t give that to me. So I’ll just answer ‘whatever’.” 

He frowned, not understanding her point.

“When I’ll need something, you’ll be answering present without the option to say no.”

He remained silent, quite taken aback by how forward you  was. His jaw clenched, tension building up in the room. If stares could send lightnings, they’d both be nothing but a pile of ashes by now.

Reading his silence, you deduced it means he was alright with the deal and proceeded to answer his previous wish, do him a lecture.

“It is written here that Gina Gray’s family isn’t rich, but they weren’t starving either…” You begins. You then allowed a sweet “bla-bla-bla” to come out your lips as passing over the words searching for a specific part.

Tom didn’t miss your deeds a bit. From the enthusiastic tone in your voice to your serious face. He looked at the way your were sitting, legs crossed with the file on your thighs as you was slightly leaning forward. 

No wonder your were excited to show him your findings while handling business like a boss. He caught himself thinking your were cute. 

It was the first time he’d seen your that commited. He’d seen you focused, but you were always passive whereas now, your seemed completely into what your were talking about.

“The part that interests us is this one ‘Has an uncle that meets up at the docks several times a week with a group of people being a part of the drugs industry. It seems they cover their activities by the image of a protestant group and illegally sends rifles under God’s cause to our beloved Scottish friends, in other words, the Billy boys. And this, on a daily basis.” 

You patted the paper.

“It is written here, they counted around 6 boats per month, Tom.” You raised your kindling gaze to the icy blue-eyed man. 

He paused, his lips slightly opening before sliding a hand on his face and looking down.

It seems Tommy didn’t believe what he was hearing.

He leaned on the desk and opened the wooden box where his cigarettes were. 

His back harshly met his chair as he stared at the woman, blinking.

“I’m serving it on a plate, to you, Thomas.” You”d serenely let out, as if you understood him without having him saying anything. “Just deal with it.”

“How much do you trust this contact?” 

“I trust him with my life.” You responded.

With this partnership, he didn’t proceed the same as usual by offering something in return. He didn’t have the time to give you a proper offer that you'd already started to work in favor of his plan against Mosley, so this relationship was more based on the trust they have into each other rather than a commun exchange of services.

Today was the first time you’d ask him to return the favor, and it was today as well that the man had to wittingly choose to trust her blindly.

He coughed and lighted his cig, and put an elbow on the wooden desk as he was still deeply in thoughts.

You got up, moving slowly and leaned on the desk, hands flat on it, her face not even a centimeter away from his. “If you don’t trust that,” you pointed at him and then at you, “end it.” You finished.

The mood automatically shifted due to the tension that has quickly installed between the two individuals. 

Not for even one second did you imagine things to get this sensual. Here you were, desperately searching other's eyes out of each other’s grip.

Tommy’s eyes hungrily drifted to your lips, and stayed there more than it should’ve.

You moved back and turned your heels, leaving the room.

Too much in too little time. This. What that even was, and what did it mean?

This was the reason why you never got emotionally involved in business . But that was different now. But for you, that always kept the idea that the past wasn't supposed to repeat itself, the present was slapping maybe too hard.

Thank God you succeeded at getting out, not because of Tommy, but utterly because of yourself. If you had stayed so much as one second more, you didn’t know what you would’ve done, or maybe you did know but preferred to bury it away.

It was easier that way.

Following Chapter ❱

[preciousthingsareprecious]

Around the Carousel

Catch me joining Damian Wayne Week after it started with some impulse fics. This is for day 2 (I almost made it to actually posting on the 14th my time). I selected the: Undercover prompt.

Summary: Bruce and Damian go undercover at a school fair. They're supposed to be investigating, instead they stop to enjoy themselves.

AO3 Link

~

Bruce tucked his hands into his pockets and smiled down at Damian as the boy adjusted his hat. It was the third time he’d done it in ten minutes as the wind kept pulling at it, trying to tease it off his head.

It was a windy night for them to be out. A steady breeze blew through fair stalls, kicking up banners and tablecloths, and threatening to blow papers and smaller items off of tables. It cut the late Spring heat in a nice way, making the night mild and perfect for a school fair. Which, was exactly where they were at.

“If you’d like, I can carry that for you.” Bruce said.

Damian dropped his hands and looked up at Bruce, “I am fine, Fa--Uncle Matches. It is not bothering me.”

“Alright, whatever you say, kiddo.” Bruce smiled, “You wanna adjust those glasses while you’re at it?”

His son frowned, his nose wrinkling, and sending the glasses sliding a little further down it. It was unreasonably cute. Bruce held up his phone and snapped a photo of his son. The flash went off and when Bruce dropped his phone Damian was looking surprised.

“For posterity's sake.” Bruce explained, examining the picture, it had caught Damian’s expression perfectly.

He attached it to a text and sent it to Dick, anticipating a response of jealousy from his eldest. Dick was in Bludhaven, working his own case, and had to bow out of joining the Matches boys as they went undercover.

“Uncle Matches, are you planning to spend all night looking at your phone or are we to explore the fair? You promised to examine my entry for the art exhibit.”

How Damian had managed to get a piece in an art exhibit at a school he didn’t even attend Bruce was still figuring out. Apparently he’d had Oracle hack into the system and create a profile and enrollment information for one Matthew “Matches” Malone. Damian’s art was set up under the moniker Lil’ Matches, and even thinking about it made Bruce smile.

“Of course, lead the way.”

Damian nodded, the action shaking his glasses loose again. Bruce bit back a smile. It was Damian who’d insisted on going the Clark Kent route with glasses and selecting clear ones to help obscure their identities, instead of the normal shades that paired with the Matches persona. It would be hard to defend sunglasses at a fair that took place mostly after dark.

It had been a good call, so far no one had recognized them in their suits and glasses, and they’d been able to enter the fair and purchase game tickets with ease.

His kid adjusted the glasses again, turned on his heel and began to lead Bruce. He followed at a leisurely pace, enjoying the lights strung across stalls, the smell of food frying, and the calls of students manning games and trying to get them to use their tickets to purchase sketches or experiences.

“I believe our target is one of the art students. Most have been asked to spend time by their pieces at the exhibit.” Damian explained as he walked.

“What time is their slot?” Bruce asked, eyes catching on a bottle toss game.

“He should arrive in approximately an hour.”

“An hour you say?” Bruce hooked an arm around Damian’s shoulders and spun him back towards the bottle toss, “Then why don’t we spend some time enjoying the fair, my dear nephew?”

Damian stopped and looked up at him with open surprise, “But we are on a case?”

“At a school fair. The likes of which I don’t think you’ve ever properly attended. Didn’t the one at your school get interrupted?”

“No.”

Bruce frowned, “You didn’t go, I remember that. What happened?”

His son looked down at the ground, fascinated by the way dust coated his shoe, “There was a Scarecrow attack the night prior. I--was incapacitated by it.”

He remembered now. Damian had taken a dose of toxin for Tim when his brother’s mask had cracked. Both of them had been down for a while, but Damian had been exposed longer than Tim by the time Batman and Spoiler had arrived. He’d been shaky and sick for days after.

Bruce squeezed Damian’s shoulder, “All the more reason to enjoy this one.”

He tried not to think about how Dick would have remembered right away and not pushed the subject, or how even if he had fallen in this pit he’d have figured out how to cheer Damian right away, “We can afford some distraction, you don’t want to be bored for an hour do you?”

Damian hummed, and glanced up, “I would not be opposed to trying a game or two.”

“Perfect, let’s start with the ring toss.” Bruce smiled.

They traded in some tickets for both of them to get a chance at the ring toss. The operator pointed at some green rimmed bottles, “Get at least three rings on the green and you’ll win a prize. If both of you get three onto green you can get one of the big ones or two smaller prizes.”

They had four chances each. Bruce glanced at Damian. He was focused, feeling the weight of the rings in his hands, and eyeing the bottles like he was doing the math in his head calculating what it would take to get them perfectly in place.

After a moment Damian tossed the first ring, it caught at the edge of one of the green bottles and slipped off. He frowned at it, nodded, and then tossed his remaining three in quick succession. All three landed around bottles.

Bruce grinned, and looked up to see the surprise on the operator's face. His son was extraordinary, and Bruce loved seeing him show off.

He took his own time tossing his rings, landing three as well, and missing his last. He shrugged, not minding missing one. They still met the requirements for the big prize.

“Well, kiddo, what do you want?” He asked.

Damian looked up at the racks of plushes hanging from the top of the booth, considering. He pointed at two of the smaller ones. One was a dog dressed as Batman, with a little cowl and cape, and the other was a duck wearing a green deerstalker cap, with a small magnifying glass attached to one of its wings.

The operator handed Damian both animals with a smile, “Good choices, looks like you’re a fan of detectives.”

“Yes.” Damian said, “I am, as is my brother. He will enjoy the duck. Thank you for the diverting game, and best of luck with others.”

As they walked away, Damian handed Bruce the duck, “I trust you to keep an eye on this.” he said, “If you lose it Timothy will be terribly disappointed. I cannot miss bringing him a souvenir twice in a row.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, “It’s not for Dick?”

“Tt, I would have selected a different animal for him, perhaps an elephant or bird.” Damian fiddled with one of the ears of the cowl on his dog, “I promised Timothy a prize if I won one last time, it was supposed to be in exchange for driving Jon and I. Even though the event did not happen, he might still enjoy one from here.”

“I’m sure he will.” Bruce said, resisting the urge to tug Damian into a tight hug, “What would you like to do next? That didn’t take us very long.”

His son looked around the fair, “Perhaps we could try one of the rides? Is there one you particularly enjoy?”

Bruce looked up around them, the fair had a variety of rides. The school had managed to hire a good selection, including a carousel. Bruce pointed at it, they could just see the pointed top from where they were.

“The carousel, you’ll love it.”

This time Bruce led, with Damian close by his side, as they walked, Bruce gave into the desire to reach down and take Damian’s hand in his own. When the boy looked up at him Bruce smiled, “It’s normal for families to do, especially in a busy place like this.”

The crowd wasn’t so thick Bruce was worried about losing Damian, but the move felt natural. He’d held his other children’s hands at events like this before, even Tim’s, though they’d gone well after the boy was the usual age for hand holding when wandering around an event. Damian didn’t seem too upset, in fact he gave Bruce’s hand a squeeze.

“That makes sense. As my Uncle you would be concerned for my safety and wish me to stay close.”

“Of course.” Bruce nodded.

Soon they reached the carousel. Bruce watched Damian with a close eye as they approached. Damian’s face went from cautious and curious, to delighted. There was something about being at the fair and undercover that seemed to let his son react a little more openly than he might if they were somewhere else. Bruce contributed it to the magic of the night.

“It has animals?” he asked, looking up at Bruce.

“Yep, different types. Carousel horses and animals are actually a really unique type of art. There are some horses that have sold for tens of thousands of dollars.” He explained, “And some artists who spend their whole lives making just horses for them.”

Damian’s eyes had gone very wide now, his face open with childlike delight, “And we are allowed to ride them?”

“Most yes, this one probably isn’t as fancy as some, but if you’re interested I’m sure we can visit a few of the more famous ones. I bet Dick’s seen some really cool ones from when he was younger.”

The look on Damian’s face, of excitement and anticipation was enough to melt Bruce’s heart and say yes to anything the kid might ask. Bruce tugged him forward.

“Come on, let’s get in line.”

They didn’t have long to wait, just until the ride stopped and emptied off. From there, they traded in a few more tickets for a chance to ride. Damian wandered the whole of the ride before selecting a white horse with gold trimmings. Bruce took the brown one beside it. They’d taken so long selecting, that almost the moment after they were settled, the ride began to move.

Damian’s laugh when the horse he was on began to rise and fall along with the forward momentum of the carousel was like music. Bruce wanted to take him on every carousel in the world to keep hearing that laugh and seeing that smile.

“May we go again?” Damian asked, the moment the ride stopped.

“Of course.” Bruce told him.

After the second ride, they stepped off and back into the crowd. Bruce checked his watch, they still had some time to spare before they had to be at the art display. He glanced around and caught sight of some food stands.

“Have you had a funnel cake before?” He asked, elbowing Damian.

His son shook his head.

“Then we’re getting one.” Bruce declared, “They’re the perfect mix of fried dough and toppings. We’ve got enough time to enjoy one before getting back on track.”

Damian looked less excited by the prospect of fried dough, but agreed to try it. Soon, the two of them were seated at a picnic table with a funnel cake between them. It was topped with powdered sugar, chocolate, sprinkles, and even some whipped topping. Damian gaped at the concoction, but Bruce passed him a fork with confidence.

“You just have to go at it.” he explained, “Dig in and enjoy.”

His son snorted, “That sounds like something Richard would say.”

Bruce grinned at him, “It should, he told me the very same thing when he introduced me to funnel cakes.”

Together they managed to eat the entire funnel cake. As Bruce set his plastic fork down, he thought finishing it off might have been a mistake even if they weren’t in the middle of an undercover operation. His stomach felt heavy with grease, sugar, and bread.

“That was--a lot.” Damian said, finishing his bottle of water.

“Yes.” Bruce said, wiping at his fake moustache, “It was. But I think we’ll be fine. It’s about time to head over to the exhibit.”

He wanted to get there early enough to see Damian’s piece. The kid had been very secretive of what he’d been working on for it. Taking the project as seriously as he would have as if it were for his own school fair. Bruce wanted to be able to enjoy it before they disrupted everything.

They were here to catch one of the students in the act of trying to blackmail a teacher. Damian had gotten news of it from his friend Collin, letting him know that strange things were going down. After some research, Damian had found some discrepancies in grades with a few of the students, and noted one teacher withdrawing large sums of money on a regular basis. Not enough to make a kid rich, but enough to placate a teen who’d watched too much television.

Damian had brought the case to Bruce, and together they’d worked out that this would be the next best place to find the kid and teacher interacting in a public location. From what Bruce could tell, the teacher hadn’t done anything against his students, instead he seemed to be in the middle of an affair with a seperate teacher. The plan was to bust the student, or at the very least record the exchange and get it in the hands of the administration.

The teacher in question? One of the art instructors.

They tossed their trash into a bin and Bruce let Damian lead him over to where the art exhibit was put up. It was tucked in one of the further corners of the fair, out of the way of chaos, but on a busy enough route that plenty of people were stopping by to look at the art.

“Which one is yours?” Bruce asked.

“Ah, it is this here.” Damian led him to a painting hanging up on a temporary pillar.

It was a painting of the garden outside Wayne manor. Done in bright beautiful colors it looked like you could step right into the painting. Portions of the paint were raised up to create texture and shadows, like the petals on flowers. In one portion, Bruce could see Alfred the cat sleeping in a patch of sun.

“It’s gorgeous.” Bruce said, “the detail is incredible.”

Damian was blushing, “It is nothing, a quick painting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, I know you were working on this for hours.” Bruce told him, “Do you get to bring it home?”

“Yes.” Damian said, “I was not sure what to do with it.”

“We’ll hang it up, of course. There’s a spot in the library I think will work well. Some greenery in a very brown room.”

At this point, Damian’s ears had gone red, “If you are sure.”

Bruce nodded, “I am.”

They spent a little longer looking at Damian’s painting before they shifted to look at some of the other pieces on display. There were quite a few that were really good, and a number of interesting ones. Some looked as if they had been submitted just for a grade, but all in all it was enjoyable.

Bruce was busy looking over a self portrait when he felt a small sharp elbow jab him in the side. He looked up to see Damian staring at another young man. Probably about sixteen, who’d just walked into the display area.

“That him?” he asked.

Damian nodded, “Let us wait to see if he approaches Mr. Franklin.”

Bruce slipped his phone out of his pocket and played with it, as if he were taking general photos.

“Matches, why don’t you stand by your painting? I want to get a picture of you with it.” he said, affecting a delighted uncle voice, “I’m sure your dad would love to see it.”

They moved over to the painting, and Bruce aimed the phone as he walked. Mr. Franklin was situated just behind the pillar with Damian’s painting on it. He snapped a few pictures of Damian, directing the kid to smile and pose, before slipping the phone’s setting over to video. He shifted slightly so that Franklin was in frame and hit record.

After a moment, the other boy approached him. Bruce inched forward to make sure he could get sound, and glanced over at Damian. The kid was hurrying away, off to find a separate teacher to bring over and hopefully stumble on the blackmail scene.

The exhibit was a good place to meet as Franklin was in charge of it and there wasn’t any reason for other teachers to wander over unless they were just checking things out. Most were too busy for that, with their own booths and class exhibits to care for.

Thankfully, Bruce did catch the conversation clearly from where he was. He hoped that no one would notice he’d stopped recording his kid, and started just recording the area. If he had to, he’d just say it was b-roll for a home video or something.

It wasn’t very long before Damian came back, a teacher at his heels. Bruce shifted the camera subtly back towards Damian’s painting.

“And here is my Uncle Malone. He can vouch for my skills if my piece does not convince you.” Damian was saying.

The teacher opened her mouth to say something, and then suddenly the boy speaking to Mr. Franklin shouted, “This is not what we agreed on!”

“I’m sorry--” she said, “Matches, Mr. Malone I’ll be right back.”

With that, she split from them to intervene on the argument. Bruce stopped his recording, and sent the video to Oracle who was going to forward it to the school.

“Well, that should take care of that.” Bruce said, turning to Damian, “How about we enjoy the rest of the fair? We’ve still got tickets, and there’s some rides we haven’t tried yet.”

Damian nodded, “That sounds acceptable. This fair has been, quite fun. And I am enjoying spending time with you.”

Bruce grinned, and tugged Damian into a hug, “Me too.”

“We should do the carousel again.” Damian said, stepping away to take Bruce’s hand, “And after that there is something that apparently spins you at such a speed you are stuck to the wall.”

“Oh? Well, lead the way, we’ll go until I feel like I’ve had a full patrol.”

Damian grinned at that, and Bruce felt his heart soar. He was going to have to figure out other ways of getting them undercover to things like this. Or just take Damian out to fairs more often as father and son.