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ausbutlerhq-musings · 2 years ago

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therapy with laney #1 | austin self para

WHO: Austin Butler & Lainey Dowder (licensed therapist) WHEN: August 21th, 2023 WHERE: Austin's house SUMMARY: Austin has his first phone visit with his therapist. TRIGGER WARNINGS: Death, suicidal ideations, substance abuse, childhood abuse, mental health issues

Austin could feel his stomach flipping as he waited for the appropriate time and kept a watchful eye on his phone. He knew this was easier than going to see someone in person - and much quicker too, although he knew in the future he should probably bite the bullet and go see someone face to face. He was doing this alone though - no partner to hold his hand, no parent or sibling or even a friend to drive him. He sat in his office at home, with his phone and no one else. His thoughts faced and he'd already gotten queasy that morning, not knowing what to expect from the first step of many steps down a road that would hopefully make him feel better - that would help him to understand what he was so scared of and how to fix it.

Austin hit the answer button when the call came in from "Laney Dowder" a licensed therapist in the state of California. He'd found her at random, read her reviews and saw she had a cancellation and booked as soon as he could after his birthday ordeal. He heard the click of the other line and heard a gentle voice on the other end. "Hello, is this Austin?" she asked. "Hi, yeah that's me," he responded. Okay, first sentence down. He took a deep breath, very audible on the phone and nodded to himself. "Well, it's very nice to meet you. I'm Laney Dowder, a license therapist. I see that you found my profile online and chose to make an appointment with me. Thank you for trusting me. I can tell you a bit about myself." Laney went into detail about her life. She had a husband and some kids and a pet dog. She went over her educational background and shared with Austin what she liked to do in her spare time. Austin had to stop and think when she'd asked him the same questions. "Well, I'm Austin. I'm technically single but I do have a long term, long distance, low commitment, casual girlfriend," he decided to joke lightly. He received a genuine laugh from the woman on the phone. "A Barbie fan? My girls loved that movie!" she commented. He laughed, feeling a bit more comfortable. Okay, so she did the same things everyone else did that summer. "Thought I'd try to lighten the mood a bit," he said, biting his lip although she could not see it. She appreciated it and complimented him on his sense of humor in a professional way. "No pets right now. I graduated from high school and I've been an actor for about twenty years. I began doing background work in children's shows and now I've moved onto some movies and television shows, I try to keep myself as busy as possible." The two talked about what he enjoyed doing in his spare time and he could hear Laney jotting down notes as they spoke.

"Okay, so - we've made our small talk and we're getting to know each other. What brings you to me today?" she finally asked. "Um," he trailed off. "I have some problems. I have issues with avoidance, I have issues with feeling indifferent, I have anxiety that I can't really control," Austin listed off. "Okay - and would you say that you have episodes of panic? Panic attacks?" Austin bit his lip. "Yeah, definitely." She wrote more. "And how often would you say that you experience those, if you had to guess?" she asked. "A few times a week," he admitted truthfully. "Okay and let's focus on..childhood. Was it good, who did you grow up with?" Austin chewed on his lip as he thought back. "It was pretty good, I guess. Not super typical but both of my parents loved me. My sister, Ashley too. Ashley is five years older than me. My mom and dad got divorced when I was six," he explained. "Divorce can be quite traumatic for a child that age, were they on friendly terms while you were growing up?" Laney asked. "Yes. My mom was in an abusive marriage at one point and my dad took us back into his home. They ended up being like best friends more than anything, it was really nice for us growing up," Austin admitted. "You said your mom was in an abusive marriage? Was this physical?" she asked gently. "No, it was emotional and verbal." She jotted down more. "And was this man ever physically, mentally or verbally abusive to you or your sister?" she asked. Austin frozen a bit and shook his head slightly. "I - I don't really want to talk about that," he admitted. "Okay, no problem. We'll move along to the next question. How is your relationship with your sister and your parents now? How would you describe it?" Laney asked. Austin swallowed and took a deep breath. "My sister Ashley is - one of my best friends. I've been distant from her for some time but she is the most lovely, wonderful sister anyone could ever ask for. She is kind, compassionate, generous, loving - I couldn't ask for a better sister. My dad lives in Arizona now, I don't see him very often but when I do it's always positive. He keeps to himself and I do too, we're a lot alike in that way. And my mom passed in 2014," Austin revealed. "My condolences, I'm so very sorry to hear that," Laney said sympathetically. "May I ask how she passed?" Austin nodded to himself. "She was sick. Diagnosed late stage and - in a couple years it was over," he stated easily. "Oh, how terrible. I'm so sorry again. How was your relationship with her during her time on earth?" Laney asked gently. "Wonderful. My mom was my hero, my best friend. So wonderful, no amount of time would've been enough with her," he said, his voice getting quieter. He heard the pen jotting down more notes.

"Romantically? You said you have a complicated situation, is what I'm getting from your Ken reference?" Laney asked. Austin could hear her smile on the other end of the phone. "Yes - you could say that. I uh, dated this woman for about a decade. We broke up in 2019 and I've been pursuing her again for a couple of months," he explained. "May I ask what caused the initial breakup? Ten years is a long time to be together." Austin chewed on his lip again. "I ended up booking a big movie and I went method. Kind of became my character. My girlfriend didn't make the cut and I started to have inklings of developing feelings for my costar and couldn't ever cheat on my girlfriend," he explained. She hummed and made more notes. "I see. Okay and where does that leave you two now?" Austin shifted a bit in his seat. "That's a good question. Um, long story short I'm trying to get her to fall back in love with me. Because I want to marry her but she is scared," Austin explained apprehensively. "You want to marry her?" she asked softly. "Yes, I do. Badly. I want to marry her and have kids with her. I deeply regret my past choices and mistakes and have been trying to work hard to make it up for her. Being here today is a big part of that too," he admitted. "Okay - now to get a bit heavier here. Have you ever been suicidal or struggled with suicidal ideation?" Laney asked gently. "Ideation," Austin repeated. "Yeah, I've been there." She nodded. "Do you have a history of self harm?" she asked. "No," he answered simply. "Okay, what about substances? Drugs, alcohol, cigarettes?" she listed off. "I've never done drugs aside from marijuana. I drink, sometimes. I drink normally, socially, a little more than socially," he decided. "And yeah, I smoke," he confirmed. "What do you hope to get from therapy?" Laney asked. "I think..I'm hoping to learn what's wrong with me and maybe how to get a grip on my feelings better or more efficiently. I have a hard time dealing with big or difficult things and I tend to run away," Austin explained. "And what would you like to accomplish in our future sessions?" the therapist asked. "I would like to..learn how to cope with the symptoms that I have so I can be a better brother, boyfriendish person and friend to my loved ones," he confirmed.

Laney wrote some more and cleared her throat. "Excuse me. Okay, well - I think therapy could be very beneficial for you. We need to get to the root of some of these problems you are having and figure out some new ways to help you deal with your stress that maybe aren't quite as self-destructive to yourself and the relationships you hold with others," she explained. "Does that sound like a good goal to have for our future sessions?" Laney asked. Austin nodded, although she could not see him. "Yes, that sounds great." Laney clasped her hands. "Awesome, okay. Well would you like to come in the office in a couple weeks and then we can meet face to face and talk more about everything?" she asked. "That would be great, thanks." Laney closed her notes. "Okay, lovely. Well, thank you so much for speaking with me today. It was great meeting you and I look forward to our next session. Do you have any other questions for me?" the therapist asked. "I don't think so, but thank you for your time." Laney smiled. "Of course, thank you. Take care," she said. "Thanks, you too."

#self parax

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stormyoceans · 2 years ago

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bl\gl with what plot would you like to see? fm this is a detective story, a thriller, asexuals \ aromatics

OH THIS IS SUCH AN INTERESTING QUESTION!!!!!!

i actually agree with all the ones you listed and in general i'd say i would love to see more plotty shows with grown up characters. we're definitely getting more variety these days, but i really want both BLs and GLs to keep branching out and trying new things (though i do think GLs should be allowed to give us all the highschool and office setting shows they want since we're only just now starting to get some consistent content for the genre). anyway here are some ultra specific shows i would love to see one day!!!!!

(just as a quick note, when i put BL/GL is because i'd like to get that show for both of them)

heist BL. GMMTV made this spot for the LOL fan fest and i've been obsessed with the idea ever since. except you know.... love all these dudes but i actually want women in the cast too. just give me a dozen random characters with weirdly specific abilities coming together to pull off the heist of the century and ending up becoming one big found family with multiple queer pairings!!!!

police procedural BL/GL. you know all those crime shows where the main characters are often two dudes who at first deeply dislike each other so of course they get paired up together and by working together they eventually build an 'epic bromance' (god i hate that term)? YEAH SO WHERE IS THE SHOW WHERE THEY ACTUALLY SMOOCH IT'S ABOUT TIME THAT HAPPENS ME THINK.

revenge plot GL. i don't really have a specific story in mind, i just think female characters should be allowed to commit some crimes, especially if said crimes are carried out against people who wronged them in the past. and while they're busy taking revenge they also find a girlfriend. OR!!!!!! group of girls murders someone and years later it comes to bite them in the ass so they have to cover the thing up and then they all kiss (aka what i wish could have happened in p.s. i hate you).

merman BL. FRANKLY INSANE TO ME THAT THERE'S NO MERMAN BL TO DATE. we could have got this with 49 days with a merman but they didn't make it a BL in the end which is a pity SO YEAH I DEMAND ONE (my dream would be to have forcebook playing this but i'd take anything at this point).

historical BL/GL. i know we're getting a couple of historical BLs this year, but it's so funny to me that both i feel you linger in the air and love upon a time are gonna be about a character from the future traveling back in time. i mean, don't get me wrong, time travel is one of my weaknesses, but also i'd just like an historical show where BOTH characters are from the same time period.

BL/GL with a teacher who doesn't get paired up with a student. sadly this is one of my limits: i don't really get the appeal of teacher/student, especially when we could have teacher/single parent (I NEED IT SO BADLY) or even teacher/teacher (i personally think it would be really interesting to get a university BL/GL but from the point of view of the teachers).

BL/GL exploring other sexualities and gender identities. pretty self explanatory, like you said just give me ace main characters, trans main characters, non-binary main characters, ALL THE DIFFERENT QUEER MAIN CHARACTERS!!!!!!!

#pretty sure i forgot something but my mind is drawing a blank rn ;;;;;;#also i would definitely LOVE more thrillers or even horrors #but i don't have any specific plot in mind #anyway!!!! thank you so so much for asking me this and for sharing your wishes anon!!!!#hope you're gonna have a wonderful day!!!!!#bl series #gl series #bl wishlist #gl wishlist #m: ask #i also have a list of jimmysea BLs i would love to see but that's a different story

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reuinx · 4 years ago

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Jealousy (Yelena Belova x Reader)

Summary: Yelena has wanted to keep your relationship a secret, especially from Natasha. A party is a perfect opportunity for you to taunt her using Wanda Maximoff.

Word Count: 2,468

Translations: Printsessa (Princess), Krasivaya (Beautiful)

Yelena has kept you a secret for a while now, and she prefers it that way. As she suspected Natasha was becoming suspicious of your relationship, she instructed you both to cool it. Well, if you could even call it that. With her, you never knew where you stood. Many things with Yelena weren't clear to you. There was no way of knowing how she felt about you, what she was thinking, or what she would do next. You knew, however, that you were hopelessly in love with her.

Yelena had asked you to keep your distance from her, but that did not mean you couldn't have some fun, right? If she wasn't willing to commit, then why should you? You found yourself at an outdoor party during the summer heat. It was the usual thing for people to show off their cars. The speakers in the truck of an expensive vehicle blared music. You were beckoned by Natasha, who was sitting on the bonnet of her blue BMW X3 SUV as the cars were parked in a circle. You approached her without much caution. If you become nervous, it would be more evident that something was going on between you and Yelena if you avoided her.

"Mommy and Daddy let you bring the car, huh?" You called out playfully as Natasha shot you a look of disapproval, patting the bonnet beside her. As you climbed up beside her, you stared out at the familiar faces drinking, chatting, and dancing.

"Very funny. I see you didn't bring my sister" Natasha reached for a Budweiser, biting the cap with her teeth as she twisted it open while looking straight ahead.

"Why would I bring Yelena?" Your voice was laced with nervousness as you asked. You and Yelena have always been friends before all of that happened!

"Why wouldn’t you?" Natasha responded. During your attempts to assemble your thoughts, everything always went back to Yelena. What did she mean by that?

"A peace offering," Natasha offered as she handed you the Budweiser. Yelena wasn't going to like you drinking, she established how you were a lightweight, but there are no rules anymore; you might as well break them all. Fuck it. Without hesitation, you raised the beer bottle to your lips and took a sip of the crisp as she smiled at you, interrupting your chance to speak.

"For what?" What was she talking about?

"Fucking my sister," She said nonchalantly as you choked on your beer as you were in the middle of drinking. She gently slapped your back while leaning across to help you breathe again.

"I..I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't?"

"No."

"Huh, that's funny."

"What is?"

"The walls are paper thin. I can hear everything, and I mean everything. Especially your name being moaned-"

"I get it, I get it!"

"I'm guessing El didn't want me to know?"

"She doesn't want anyone to know."

"I've known. I see how she looks at you. She always looks at you like you're the only one in the room. It's cute but she is my little sister so I will be teasing her about it in the near future."

"That obvious?"

"Very"

"She's just keeping me as a little secret for now, I guess."

"You'll have to change that now, won't you?" As the familiar engine rumbled in the distance, Natasha teased you. When Yelena's car was brought to your attention, you and Natasha both drank simultaneously.

"Speaking of the devil," Natasha commented against her drink. As Yelena's arm hung out the window, the yellow Mustang made its grand entrance. Her car stood out like a sore thumb, attracting everyone's attention. Especially yours.

"The one and only" As you shook your head, you climbed off the bonnet slowly, feeling eyes on you already, but they weren't just Yelena's. The eyes of a stranger caught your attention - a girl with auburn hair and green eyes.

"Oh hey! The beer trick with the teeth? Don't try that. You'll probably smash your teeth considering you can barely walk and chew gum at the same time." Natasha grins widely as she calls after you.

"Noted!" Your voice filled with laughter as you acknowledged your clumsiness. As you lifted the beer to your lips, you took a sip. As you watched from the corner of your eye, Yelena had climbed out of the Mustang. Her blonde hair was perfectly straightened between her shoulder blades. Her makeup was applied perfectly. She had a red dress that looked like it belonged in a Lana Del Rey music video. It clung firmly to every curve of her body. There was no doubt in her mind that she was sexy. Dressed up for your attention and your attention only. Without hesitation, Yelena made her way to you and yearned for your gaze, but you declined her.

That didn't sit well with her at all. To get a reaction from her, you would do anything you could to get her to want you. While you walked past her, you tipped your head back and continued to drink. While walking, she looked over her shoulder to see where you were going. To sulk beside Natasha, of course. When you approached the auburn-haired girl, she gave you a look of surprise. As she slowly tilted her head at you, she adjusted her red leather jacket.

"Maximoff.. Wanda Maximoff" She introduced herself to you, her eyes fluttering as she did so. Her smile was soft but loving, and her eyes were friendly but held a wicked streak behind them.

"I'm-"

"I know who you are, beautiful. I've been paying attention, especially to your little blonde girlfriend. The Belova girl, Yelena right?" Wanda commented as her eyes flickered towards Yelena, who was sitting beside Natasha on the bonnet, observing every move you made. You glanced over your shoulder at Yelena, who was mouthing something to Natasha: "What's she looking at?" referring to Wanda.

"That would be her."

"It seems she doesn't like me that much now?" The corner of Wanda's lips curled into a smirk; she didn't seem to mind.

"She'll get over it."

"Me and Natasha go way back. She's already given me the run down on Belova. She's just hung up on you that she realizes I'm not a threat… unless I want to be," Wanda teased you as you raised your eyebrow at her.

"Is that so?"

"Mhm. Want me to put on a show for you?"

"Tempted"

"Come on then" Wanda extended her hand for you to take, and you put your hand into hers. It did not feel right when it wasn't Yelena's hand, but it was worth it to see her reaction. To be closer to the music, you followed her into the clearing. As you giggled, she spun you on the spot, holding the bottle to your lips as you finished it. They seemed to be enjoying themselves to the fullest, with Wanda in on it with Natasha.

Playfully, you wrapped your arm around Wanda's neck as your eyes fluttered to Yelena. Uncomfortably, she had now shifted on the bonnet. While watching the scene play out before her, she tightened her lips. She began to bite the inside of her mouth impatiently. She hated the idea of anyone touching you. Anyone that wasn't her. Yelena's face showed an expression you had never seen before, she was openly jealous of what was happening in front of her eyes.

"I'll give her three seconds before she comes over….one…two…." As Wanda leaned in slowly, she whispered to you, pulling you closer to her. Her breath was close to your lips, too close. From behind, you felt arms wrap around your stomach, tugging you back from the girl with the Auburn hair. You knew who it was by her gentle touch. Yelena. Your Yelena.

"I've got it from here, Maximoff" In response, Yelena snapped at Wanda, who clapped in surrender, bursting out in laughter.

"I was only teasing, Belova. Play nice now," Wanda playfully spoke as she made her way over to Natasha. They high-fived one another as Wanda climbed up on the bonnet beside her.

"You can look but you can't touch, Maximoff."

"Who said I was only going to look, Belova?" Playfully sticking her tongue out, Wanda added fuel to the fire.

"I did." Yelena explained each word laced with her accent before turning her attention to you. Now you're in for it.

"Drinking and chatting up Maximoff now? Haven't I taught you any better?" Yelena's question was directed at you now.

"Seems you haven't."

"Have you forgotten who you belong to, Printsessa?"

"I don't belong to anyone."

"Is that so?"

"According to you, "I don't belong to anyone," You replied bubbly; Your eyes peered up at the green-eyed girl whose lips parted. Observing her tense face, you could tell she was not happy with what you did. Your body was equipped with enough alcohol to make you brave.

"What are you going to do about it, Yelena Belova?" As she scowled at your sudden words, taken aback by your approach, you taunted her. Yelena didn't respond; she remained silent.

"Nothing, you'll do nothing" You rolled your eyes at her, turning on the heels of your shoes as you walked away from her once again.

"I'll show you what I'm going to do about it." Yelena finally spoke, snapping out at you as she quickly caught up to you. Now she was high on adrenaline. When she grabbed your arm, she spun you around so that you faced her. Alcohol could not save you from the intimidation you felt. She leaned in quickly, shoving her lips against yours, grasping your cheek with her hand.

As your body pressed up against hers in need, you swooned at her sudden movement. Lips moving in perfect sync. You craved her; you craved this. It caught you by surprise when Wanda and Natasha started cheering. Your face turned red as you pulled away from Yelena's lips. She whispered in your ear quietly with her lipstick now smudged.

"Lets go somewhere else. I want you to myself tonight. All mine." Her voice was alluring as you nodded at her. She grabbed your hand, tugging you over to her car. As you looked at Natasha, who gave you a thumbs up, you smiled widely. Once you reached the Mustang, Yelena put you in the passenger side, ensuring you secure your seatbelt. Before closing the door and climbing into the driver's seat, she made sure you were safe.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see" While starting the car, she spoke in a calm and collected manner. The rumbling of the engine begins to soothe you. As you both left the party, you rested your head against the window and gazed out.

"Natasha knows by the way," You muttered.

"I know. I told her before the party but she already had an idea because she could hear us through-"

"The thin walls, she said." Laughing, you finished her sentence as your face turned red with embarrassment. As the world around you began to fade into darkness, you both sat in comfortable silence.

"El?"

"Hm?"

"I forgot to tell you… well.. not that I forgot to tell you but you're beautiful."

"I'm glad you noticed."

"Of course, I noticed. I always notice."

"I was too busy looking at you, Krasivaya." She explained to you as you suddenly turned to face her, your eyes studying her face as she smiled at you. The sight of her filled your heart with joy. As you quickly glanced out the window, you frowned at the sight of where she had taken you. She took the keys out, climbed out, and opened the door as she made her way to you. Suddenly, you felt breathless and scrambled out. You were both alone, just you and her. Her parking spot was elevated so that you could see the night sky from a greater height. You joined her on the bonnet of her car, leaning back as you stared up at the stars in delight.

"Jealous of Wanda then?" You called out to Yelena, who was getting comfortable on the bonnet; she suddenly darted her eyes at you with the sudden mention.

"Me? Jealous? Please."

"So you won't mind if I go back and just happen to dance with her again then?"

"Don't." The tone of her voice was stern and direct, but you took it as a challenge.

"Why not?"

"Jealous doesn't even describe what I felt. You got lucky."

"I got lucky?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"If you continued your little act you were going to be put in the backseat of my car and I was going to show you who you belong to infront of everyone."

"Maybe that's exactly what I wanted"

"Maybe I should have made that a reality then but you would've enjoyed it too much," She explained as she broke out in a chuckle; the way she laughed made you fall in love with her all over again. She slowly climbed off the bonnet as you gulped, your eyes studying her every movement. She made her way to the front of the car, pressing her knees against the registration plate.

She grabbed your legs, pulling you forward as she stood between them. Her green eyes were wild as they gazed at you; you leaned back ever so slightly so she could tower over you. She liked being in control, and you gave it up so quickly for her. She studied your face; what was she thinking about? You could tell she was lost in thought. Maybe this was your time to ask her?

"Yelena?"

"Huh?" You caught her by surprise as she rapidly blinked; she carefully rested her hands on your thighs as she waited for you question. How you approached it made her nervous, you could tell. The lines on her face had become apart as she frowned at you. For once, she didn't know what you were going to say.

"Why did you keep "us" a secret?" Her entire face changed the moment you asked. As if relief had suddenly overtaken her. As she had difficulty managing her words, she shut her eyes and tried to manage her frown.

"I don't know..I guess.."

"You guess?"

"I guess I was afraid."

"Yelena Belova afraid? I doubt that."

"I'm being serious." Her voice wasn't as bubbly as usual, but it had a sincere tone to it.

“Afraid of what?"

"To fall in love with you." Her hands were adjusted off your thighs so that she could play with the rings. When she played with her rings, you knew she was nervous. She twirled her rings around her fingers. Since making things official made them real to her, she was afraid that the end result of all this would be hurting you.

"And now?" While you traced your eyes across the beautiful blonde nearby, you questioned nervously. As you watched her slowly turn toward you, you suddenly gulped. She was nervous; it was nice that it was the other way around.

"It's too late I've already fallen."

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seasonofthewicth · 4 years ago

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A Groovy Kind of Love - Epilogue

AN: It’s here... THE END!!! I’m almost sad to finish this fic off but I have absolutely loved writing it. Thank you so much to everyone who reblogged/commented/sent asks or spoke to me about this fic it means so much to me and I really appreciate you!!

warning: adult content ahead

previous chapter - masterlist - ao3

~1 year later~

“You need to rip the band-aid right off.”

Rowan could barely hold in his sigh at Lorcan’s pronouncement. He shared a look with Aedion who looked as baffled as Rowan felt.

“What the fuck?” Aedion shook his head. “This is not the kind of thing you just ‘rip off’.”

“How do you have a girlfriend?” Fenrys’ bewildered voice came from Rowan’s side.

Lorcan shrugged, unbothered by each of their reactions. “Don’t mess around. Just ask her, simple. Then it’s done.”

“Gods, above,” Rowan muttered.

“I should never have asked you three, I should have gone to Aelin. Or even Dorian.” Aedion sighed before clasping his hands in front of himself. “Okay, serious suggestions only.”

“That was a serious suggestion.” Lorcan said, not attempting to hide his indignation.

Aedion ignored him. “Fenrys go.”

The golden haired male took a moment to consider, barely holding back from stroking his chin as he considered the prompt. Of all of them, Fenrys had been in a relationship for the shortest amount of time, he and Dorian had only declared their relationship a few months earlier, even though Rowan knew things had been brewing for far longer.

It was strange to think that all four of them were in committed relationships, especially as they all still lived in what had been the bachelor pad of their first apartment together.

Rowan would never admit it out loud, but he felt sentimental to the old loft, even with it’s broken window and ever leaking shower. The draughty exposed brick would always remind him of the parkour phase Aedion and Fenrys had gone through not long after they had moved in. They had taken every opportunity they could to throw themselves around the loft without any kind of skill and they had only stopped after their neighbour complained of unexplained banging noises.

The red stain on the hardwood floor, now covered by a blue bean bag chair, would always remind him of the time Aedion had brought home a girl who had–for reasons still unknown to Rowan–thrown a bottle of red wine at his head. None of them had bothered to clean the stain, in fact Lorcan had posed for a photo with it and Fenrys had framed it on their refrigerator where it had stayed for years.

His main memory of their loft however, would always be their front door. The slab of wood, with it’s peeling grey paint and the lock that often stuck shut unless it was jiggled just so, would always remind him of Aelin. Rowan knew he wore a ridiculously soft smile at the thought, but he would always be grateful for the loft for bringing him to Aelin. Or more accurately, for bringing Aelin to him.

He swallowed the sly smirk that threatened at the memory of the time he had taken her against the door. She had wrapped her long legs around his waist as he had pounded into her and her nails had clawed his back as she had moaned in his ear. He had buried his teeth into her neck, savouring the salty and sweet taste of her skin on his tongue. He hadn’t been able to leave the loft without getting semi-hard for weeks.

“What are your first memories of Lysandra?” Fenrys asked eventually, somehow pulling Rowan’s thoughts from Aelin. It was a difficult task, even over a year into their relationship Rowan was still completely enamoured. “If you want to go big you could do something to do with that, girls love sappy shit.”

Rowan smiled as Lorcan nodded solemnly, finally appearing to take Aedion’s request for help seriously. His best friend seemed to consider the suggestion, crossing his arms over his broad chest and surveying the three of them where they sat before him.

“That could work.” He said slowly.

“Great.” Fenrys grinned. “We need to brainstorm. What are your big moments with Lysandra? Like when did you and Lys first meet?”

Aedion shrugged again. “I knew of her for years through Aelin but I only remember meeting her properly when Aelin moved in.”

Fenrys’ enthusiasm was rapidly gaining momentum. “Right, and any special memories from then? Any big gestures you could make as a throwback?”

Aedion’s eyes widened before a burst of laughter sprung from his lips. Rowan shared a look with Lorcan who shrugged.

“I told her I’d marry her then,” Aedion said, shaking his head and running a hand through his shoulder length hair.

“What?” Rowan barked his disbelief.

“You’re not serious.” Even Fenrys seemed bewildered.

Aedion only laughed again. “I said ‘girl, imma marry you’.”

Rowan groaned as he lifted a hand to cup his forehead before dragging it down over his eyes.

“You’re no better than him.” Fenrys said with a shake of his head as he gestured to Lorcan who did nothing but smirk back at him.

Aedion flipped him off. “I don’t come close to his level of inadequacy, at least I can actively take steps towards relationship milestones. Have you even brought up moving in with Elide to her yet?”

Lorcan scowled, before muttering, “don’t change the subject.”

Aedion took a sharp intake of breath, reading himself to speak, and Rowan dragged his hand away from his eyes. There wasn’t time to let those two get into it.

“Not to in any way agree with Lorcan but I think he could have a point,” He said quickly. “You love her and want to marry her, tell her that. Down on one knee with the ring, I doubt she’d say no.”

Rowan knew his words were the truth. He had known Aedion for a decade now and he had never seen his best friend as smitten as he was with Lysandra, nor had he seen him so secure. Aedion and Lysandra played off each other, she settled him and he excited her.

Rowan knew Lysandra would say yes but he understood Aedion’s need to over-prepare. While it was standard for Aedion to mull over the details, his mind was one for strategy and weighing-up the risks and it was part of what made him so good at his job, and Rowan knew that while this wasn’t a risk, it was important to his friend to get it right.

Proposing to Aelin was a thought that had drifted around the edges of Rowan’s mind for a while. From the start Rowan had known Aelin was it for him and he knew he wanted to marry her at some point in the future but the pressure of how to do it right, the way to make it right for Aelin was a task he knew he’d work hard on.

He knew Aelin would say yes even if he asked her over a mouthful of food at their kitchen counter but he also knew that she was a princess at heart with a taste for finery and he wanted to spoil her. It was a luxury in itself for Rowan that he could. Since taking over the bar, even with the large loan he had taken out, his bank account had a healthy level of cushioning that he loved using to take Aelin for weekends away or to fancy restaurants.

There was a savings account that he and Aelin threw money into every month for whenever they felt ready to move out of the loft, but there was also a separate savings account that Aelin was unaware of that Rowan was saving for something shiny.

“Thanks,” Aedion said, shaking himself somewhat. Rowan nodded, amused at the level of detail and reassurance Aedion appeared to need.

“You need to relax,” Fenrys’ chimed in, voicing Rowan’s thoughts aloud. “You’re overthinking it.”

“He’s right.” Rowan swallowed. “Just tell her the truth. Tell her you love her, how much you want to spend the rest of your life with her and how much she makes you smile every day. Tell her how you want to be eighty and still holding her hand, or how you hate the thought of going a single day without her.”

“Gods,” Fenrys scoffed as Lorcan snickered. “You’re making me want to marry you.”

Rowan narrowed his eyes. “You’re welcome to take notes.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need to.”

“Really? Not thinking of getting down on one knee for Dorian?”

Fenrys smirked. “I get on my knees for Dorian plenty, but no.”

“Why not?” Rowan asked, ignoring the comment and daring to bite, knowing he’d likely regret it.

“He’ll be the one proposing to me,” Fenrys explained as if it were obvious.

Rowan laughed, Aedion and Lorcan’s laughter echoing his own.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Fenrys turned to Lorcan. “Your proposal skills need some serious work.”

Lorcan shrugged, unfazed as ever. “Maybe I’ll let Elide propose to me too.”

Rowan snickered at the image of the tiny woman on one knee before his giant of a friend. He sobered when he paused to consider it, Elide probably was the kind of woman who could propose to Lorcan, she had him wrapped completely around her little finger.

“I can see it.”

“She takes what she wants, it’s hot.”

Rowan laughed again. “You could take her name too, Lorcan Lochan has a good ring to it.”

Fenrys’ howl of laughter from his side brought a grin to Rowan’s lips as he looked to his friend who’s eyes darkened at the ribbing.

“Lorcan Lochan,” Aedion repeated through a laugh. “Please, I’d pay money to see it.”

Rowan smiled as his friends continued their teasing and his mind wandered through the possibilities. Aelin had a number of surnames already but he quite liked the sound of Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius.

“You are not allowed to move in here.”

The panic in Lysandra’s green eyes as she hurtled around the corner was almost comical.

“Why not? What’s wrong?” She demanded.

Aelin ran a thoughtful finger along the sleek, oak mantelpiece admiring each of the twisting lines running through the wood. To the side of the fireplace sat a tall window, letting in plenty of warm daylight that reflected off the shining hardwood floors and crept into each of the corners of the large room. The archway Lysandra stood under led to the open plan kitchen-diner with it’s sleek marble countertops and extended dining table that could seat their whole group of friends.

“If you move in here I’ll be too jealous.”

Lysandra slumped in relief, leaning a shoulder against the archway as she smiled. “He’s done well.”

“I didn’t know Aedion had this in him,” Aelin said with a snort and Lysandra waved a hand.

“He has spent months putting it together,” her friend admitted and Aelin smirked.

“How much did he let you choose?”

Lysandra winced. “It was fifty-fifty.”

Aelin waited.

“Forty-sixty.”

Aelin only cocked her head as she waited a moment longer.

“I won’t go any lower than thirty-five. And I picked the paint for the bathroom walls.”

Aelin’s poker face cracked at her friend’s admission. She knew her cousin wanted their house to be perfect but he had taken his attention to detail to the extreme. The number of interior design magazines that were littering the coffee table in the loft was well into double figures and Aelin had been dragged on multiple trips to a number of shops to offer her opinion on almost identical shades of paint and patterned wallpapers. Lysandra had been content to sit back and let her boyfriend take the reins, confident that Aedion would choose well.

He had. The house was beautiful, and the dedication her cousin had offered was obvious. Each room had a multitude of tiny details that revealed the love Aedion had poured into the house, in the kitchen it was the large window that overlooked their garden, offering a glance at the wildlife that flocked to the numerous native plants Aedion had selected. In the living room it was the stuffed bookshelves, housing almost anything from Aedion’s old college textbooks to Lysandra’s abundance of romance novels.

Aelin’s favourite was the study her cousin had decorated for Lysandra to house her newly developed modelling agency. Lysandra had chosen more recently to take a step away from posing in front of the camera and had opted to manage a small group of models. The office was bright and welcoming, with splashes of soft green accents that suited Lysandra. The office sat next door to a room that was carefully neutral, but Aelin knew it wouldn’t take much work for it to be converted into a nursery.

Aelin took another glance around the living room they stood in, Aedion had truly curated a home. She could see herself and Rowan curled up on the loveseat in the corner with Aedion on the armchair by the fire and Lysandra perched in his lap. She could hear the sounds of Fenrys rummaging through their fridge as Lorcan barked orders from his space on the sofa.

Aelin was going to miss having them all under one roof, even if it meant her and Rowan having the loft to themselves. But she knew that as quiet as the loft would feel without the others, she was excited to make the space their own. And to get some much awaited privacy.

Lysandra watched her with knowing eyes as she surveyed the space. “You’ll all be welcome any time to come and visit.”

Lysandra plopped down onto the plush couch, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she settled into the pliant cushions. Aelin took the seat opposite, throwing her feet onto the footstool set carefully in front of the sofa.

“Just make sure your doors are locked at night, I think Fenrys could take your open door policy a little too liberally.”

Lysandra shook her head. “I’m not sure Aedion would mind, he’ll pretend he won’t but he’ll miss having the guys around. He’ll give them all a key.”

“What about me?” Aelin gasped, pressing a dramatic hand to her chest. Lysandra rolled her eyes as she settled further into their couch, it was an agreement that didn’t need to be stated that Aelin would get her own key to the new house. “I’m glad you’re not living with Blackbeak anymore.”

Lysandra’s eyes stayed shut as she laughed. “She’s really not that bad. You’d know if you ever bothered to get to know her the entire time I lived with her.”

“Lys, she’s awful. She’d strut about as if she was the queen or something whenever I came around. Making sly comments to… I don’t know,” Aelin waved a hand, searching for the words. “Assert her dominance or something.”

Lysandra cracked her eyes open to level Aelin with an unimpressed stare. “And you wouldn’t?”

Aelin shrugged, whatever displays she and Manon had put on were in the past. Hopefully she’d never have to see the scarily beautiful woman again. “I’m your best friend, I don’t need to try and posture.”

Lysandra grinned. “And yet you do anyway.”

Aelin stuck her tongue out at her friend, knowing the comment was too true to justify a middle finger. Her phone buzzed in her lap, signifying the text Aelin had been waiting for.

I’m 5 minutes away.

Aelin fought to keep her face neutral as she tucked the phone back into the pocket of her jeans and stood from her comfortable seat on the couch.

“You’re leaving?”

Aelin nodded, “Rowan just texted, he needs help with something at the bar.” A lie. “Meet us there later after the delivery has come?”

A serious invitation hidden within a number of half truths.

Lysandra dipped her head in a nod as Aelin swept to the front door, calling out her parting words as she did.

Once out the front door she allowed her smile to break through and it widened again as she spotted her cousin walking up the path in front of her. Aedion wore a shirt, and his golden hair was carefully styled. He was practically vibrating with excitement as he approached her.

“Good luck,” she whispered, not wanting to ruin the surprise.

“I don’t need it.” Aedion flashed an easy grin before wrapping one arm easily around her. “Thanks, Ae.”

Aelin drew back soon after. “Don’t make us wait too long to see you guys.”

Aedion only smirked.

“Gross,” Aelin couldn’t help screwing her eyes shut before turning away to make her exit. She flashed her cousin a final thumbs up as she got into her car and headed to where she knew she would find her boyfriend.

—

Rowan hadn’t changed much when he had taken over the bar, but what he had changed made it even more enjoyable. The first thing he had done was replace the ancient jukebox in the corner, he had replaced the jukebox with one that didn’t need to be turned off and on again every fifteen songs and had updated some of the music in its catalogue.

Each of their loft-mates had been allowed to offer suggestions for the updated library and Rowan had criticised every single one, his own music taste leaned into older rock songs Aelin had never heard, but the choices had all made their way in there anyway.

All apart from Lysandra’s only half-joking suggestion of a best-of-boy-bands compilation. That suggestion had received a hard no.

One of Lorcan’s choices, some alternative track with lots of drums, was playing as she made her way to the small office in the back corner of the bar. She nodded at the bartender who nodded back with a soft smile. He was a young man called Luca and he had been recommended by Malakai upon his exit. Aelin liked him, he was young and sweet but competent enough to make a mean drink.

She pushed through the door to the office and smiled as she took in the sight of her boyfriend. Even just the sight of him made her smile, and he smiled back as he dropped the papers he held.

Aelin flopped into Rowan’s lap, looping her arms around his neck as he leant in to kiss her. Even the softest brush of his lips against her own loosened every muscle in her body.

“Hey,” he murmured against her lips, unable to resist pressing another kiss to them.

“Hi.”

“Missed you.”

Rowan shared comments like that with a regularity that made her heart squeeze. Each one brought a kernel of warmth to her chest.

“You saw me this morning.”

“And?” His gaze was unwavering, and his sincerity made Aelin bite her lip.

“Everything all set for Aedion and Lysandra?” He asked smoothly.

“I left just as he arrived,” Aelin confirmed.

Rowan ran a gentle hand up and down her side as he spoke. “I’ll be relieved when it’s over and he’s finally asked her. I can’t give any more thought to the best way to propose to Lysandra.”

Aelin snorted as she pressed a kiss to his temple. She loved that her friends and family were all so intertwined. “He’s nervous, give him a break.”

“Why?” Rowan asked. “She’ll obviously say yes.”

Aelin cocked an eyebrow. “And you wouldn’t be nervous if you were proposing to the love of your life?”

Rowan shrugged. “Nope. I’m sure she’ll be very lovely and not at all scary. I’d have no doubt in my mind she’d say yes.”

She pinched the skin of his bicep and he hissed a laugh through his teeth.

“I can go if you need to find someone sweet.”

Aelin made to move off his lap but his hands tightened around her. “Don’t you dare.”

He skimmed his nose around her hairline, brushing the gentlest of kisses to her ear. A soft gasp crossed her lips at the sensation. Aelin leaned into the warmth of his hands at her hips and the touch of his lips at her neck as she turned to survey his desk.

“Working hard?” She asked playfully and Rowan buried his face in her neck and groaned. She ignored the heat that stirred in her at the sound and laughed as she petted his hair. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Invoicing is the worst. I have no idea how Malakai did it all on his own for so long, I don’t know how I haven’t made a catastrophic error yet.” Her boyfriend’s eyes widened. “Would I know if I had?”

Aelin laughed. Rowan worked hard and Aelin was confident he was handling the management of the bar well even if Rowan himself wasn’t. Financially there were no problems, the re-branding that had taken place after Rowan had assumed ownership had managed to attract a number of new regulars as well as large numbers of casual visitors that kept the bar easily filled with patrons.

One night, not long after Rowan had signed the papers giving him majority ownership, Fenrys had suggested a weekly karaoke night. The idea had started out as a joke until Elide had brought her tiny karaoke machine one evening and the bar had ended up packed with people cheering others on, so much so that Rowan had invested in a proper system and every Thursday hosted a karaoke night.

“Anything I can do to make it easier?” Aelin asked, scratching her nails against Rowan’s scalp.

He groaned again at the sensation and this time it was harder to ignore the heat stirring in her core. He looked up to her, his fingers curling more tightly around her hips, as his tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip.

“Do you know anything about accounting?”

Aelin laughed again.

“Absolutely not, but I know a lot about relieving stress.” She shifted where she sat in his lap, making sure to grind her backside against his groin. “And I have many techniques that I know are effective in releasing pressure.”

Rowan let out a deep, throaty sound at her words, pulling her hips down as he leant in to kiss her neck.

The start of their relationship had been a blur of passion. About a month into their relationship Aedion had attempted an intervention when he had walked in on them in a state of undress for the third time in a week, and Aelin loved that it hadn’t faded. She wanted Rowan every single time she was so much as in the same room as him, and even when she wasn’t.

Aelin tugged at the silver strands of Rowan’s hair as he trailed hot, wet kisses down her throat. She gasped as he scraped his teeth down across her jawline to nip lightly at her pulse point. She shifted impatiently in his lap and tugged his face up by his hair to press her lips to his.

His tongue caressed her lower lip and she eagerly opened to let him lick into her mouth. Each stroke of his tongue set her skin on fire and it wasn’t long until she was writhing in his lap.

“We don’t have long until the others are due.” Rowan slid his face back down to her neck, unable to draw his lips away from her skin.

“We have enough time if we’re quick.” Aelin heard the desperation in her voice, and Rowan did too if the way he rocked her across his lap was any indication.

“I don’t want to rush,” He said, his voice a low growl in his throat. “I want to take my time with you.”

“And you can.” Aelin pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Later. First let me be quick with you.”

Aelin stood off his lap and Rowan moaned his disappointment until she leaned back in to caress her hand over the bulge in his jeans. His head rolled back as his eyes fluttered shut and his hips jerked into her hand.

Aelin loved having Rowan at her mercy like this, usually he was the one who liked to take his time and watch her fall apart under his teeth and tongue until she was shaking and gasping his name, but Aelin loved to take care of him too.

She slid to her knees between his thighs and ran her hands up the thick muscles she felt straining against the desire to take her. She knew they didn’t have long so she wasted no time before unzipping his jeans and sliding a hand beneath.

Rowan’s head fell backwards against the back of his chair as her hand dipped into his boxers. Aelin bit her lip at the feeling of him, already hard and heavy in her hand. She gave a few pumps of her hand, enjoying the catch in his throat as she did, before tugging him out of his trousers.

Aelin trailed her hand along the length before wrapping her hand tighter and twisting slightly the way she knew he liked, enjoying the way his hips jerked off the chair slightly. She pressed her free hand to his hip, holding him in place as she leaned in to run her tongue up from his base to tip. At the first touch of her tongue his hips jerked forward and his hand slid into her hair.

“Easy,” She chided with a wicked smile. Aelin loved the way he reacted to her, the slightest touch would have him solid beneath her and kissing her forcefully the way she liked.

Rowan brushed his free hand along her cheek, before tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear.

“Beautiful,” He murmured, his voice low and thick with arousal. Aelin smiled up at him as she worked her hand again, and she let her gaze fall to where she held him, enjoying the contrast of her red nail polish against his skin.

He let out a curse under his breath as she leant in to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along his considerable length. His hand twisted more securely into her hair as she took him fully into her mouth, using her hand to work the base. He didn’t force her head, which she appreciated, but she loved the feeling of his hand holding her to him as she moved.

Aelin felt her eyes flutter shut, she loved doing this for Rowan, it made her feel sexy and the sounds he made were hotter than anything.

“Fuck,” He hissed. “You look so good like that.”

Aelin moaned, breathing in deeply through her nose as she bobbed her head. She loved how vocal Rowan was, how he would curse her name and anything he could think of as she worked her mouth around him.

She pulled back to press her tongue right under the tip, the way she knew sent him wild, and she was rewarded with a sharp thrust of his hips. She looked up to him finding his deep green eyes blown with lust as she swallowed around him. She read the question in his eyes and nodded as best as she could.

Rowan let out a groan. “Gods, I love you.”

His thumb trailed the corner of her lips as they stretched around him before sliding to join his other in her hair. Aelin moaned as he began to fuck her mouth, lifting his hips in a torturously slow rhythm that had Aelin grinding her hips against the air.

His pace increased as his hands twisted more tightly into her hair. Aelin moaned around his cock and he hissed a breath at the sensation. She slid her free hand down into her own jeans, matching her own strokes with Rowan’s thrusts and it wasn’t long until she felt her own climax building.

“Aelin,” Rowan cursed. “Oh, fuck.”

His eyes screwed shut tightly as his hips stuttered, Aelin moaned her permission as she stroked herself even faster. She was close, and the pulling of her hair combined with the hard thrusts into her mouth, timed perfectly with her own fingers, sent her quickly to a climax. Rowan’s hips jerked as he groaned, his head tipping to the side as he gasped her name.

“Gods.” His chest heaved as his jaw strained. “Fuck, Aelin I-I’m close.”

Aelin met his gaze and offered a shallow dip of her chin. Rowan clenched his jaw and screwed his eyes shut, each muscle in his powerful body straining beneath the touch of her tongue.

He spilled into her mouth with a groan, and Aelin swallowed around him, allowing her tongue to coax him along. He gave a few final shallow thrusts as he settled back into his chair, his eyes blinking open slowly to meet her own.

Aelin slid her hand out of her trousers as she drew her lips off him. She tucked his still half-hard cock back into his jeans and stood to press her lips to his, revelling in the blissed out expression on his handsome face. She crawled back onto his lap as his breathing evened out.

Finally, he blinked his eyes open and brought her hand to his lips to press a kiss to her fingers.

“You’re phenomenal, thank you,” He said, his voice still breathy. “But you did my job for me.”

Aelin smiled at the disappointed tone in his voice before she pressed her lips to his once more. “You can make it up to me later.”

He cocked a brow in a way that she knew meant he wanted to splay her out on this desk and taste her the way she had tasted him, but at that moment her phone chose to buzz. The second signal of the day.

“We have to go,” She said, beginning to slide off his lap. “We have a pair of fiancés to congratulate.”

Rowan grinned, a crooked flash of his teeth. “How long, do you think, until he asks me to be his best man?”

“I think he’ll ask Lorcan.”

“Right,” He grinned. “And Manon Blackbeak will be Lysandra’s maid of honour I assume.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“I think you’d prefer me being the maid of honour to your best man, much more than Manon. If it’s Manon your night won’t end up like today.”

He cocked a brow.

“You know, it’s tradition for the best man and maid of honour to hook-up in the bathroom and Manon would bite your dick off before she blew you.”

The fear in Rowan’s eyes drew a cackle from her chest.

“Don’t worry,” She patted his cheek with a hand before fully rising to her feet. “I’d protect you from the evil witch.”

Rowan smiled as she pulled him to his feet.

“And then I’d definitely blow you in the bathroom.”

“You’re filthy.”

“You love it.”

Rowan nodded, a sincere light in his eyes. “I do.”

He slung his arm around her shoulders as they made their way out into the main part of the bar to discover their friends already gathered in a booth. Lysandra sat in the center as Elide examined the sparkling diamond now gracing her left hand, Lorcan frowned at the same ring and Aelin barely managed to conceal her snort at the sight. She was sure Lorcan would get there someday, but she’d enjoy his discomfort in the meantime.

Aelin snuck out from under Rowan’s arm to throw her own around Aedion and Lysandra, unintelligibly cooing her congratulations and excitement. It was almost hard to believe sometimes, that her cousin and her best friend were together and now getting married.

“Nice of you to join us,” Fenrys snarked as she released her friend and collapsed onto Rowan’s lap. Aelin flipped him off, despite the wide grin she wore.

“We were barely late, we had things to finish off.”

Aedion winced as Lysandra and Fenrys cackled. Rowan hid his smile in her shoulder but she could feel his body shaking with laughter beneath her.

“Tell us more about these things you were finishing off Aelin.” Elide had a wicked glint in her eye.

“Please don’t.” Aedion sounded pained and even Lorcan grinned.

The booth was filled with her friends and roommates and Aelin wasn’t complaining as Rowan slung his arm around her waist, holding her tightly to his chest. Aelin pressed both of her palms to the table as she surveyed the group.

“I propose a toast,” she said. “To the happy couple.”

She made a gesture to Luca who flashed her a thumbs up and immediately made to collect enough glasses for the group.

“On the house I hope,” Lorcan quipped as Luca brought over a couple of bottles of champagne.

“When do any of you pay for drinks in here?” Rowan questioned as the group laughed.

Aelin leaned back into Rowan and lifted her glass in a toast. The sounds of her friends bickering wasn’t enough to damper the happiness she felt for Aedion and Lysandra, and the old Phil Collins song playing on the jukebox only added to the contentment she felt sitting in Rowan’s lap surrounded by her friends.

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@elriel4life

@bamchickawowow

@woollycat22

@claralady

@SHINYA-HIIRAGI

@fangirlprincess09

@darlinminds

@thenerdandfandoms

@danibutterr

@inthecityair

@autophobiaxx

@imaginedhaven

@endlessdaydream - I’m having an issue with this tag not sure why :(

@rowaelinismyotp

Thank you!

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #throne of glass #rowaelin fic #i'm going to miss this fic so much #it took me so long to post this because it means its done #thank you to everyone who ever let me know their thoughts about it #i love you #fingers crossed the tags work today #please let me know if they dont

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

selfie | jjk | 2

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Is this a rom-com, slice-of-life drama with unsolicited social commentary about gender stereotypes, idol music, and the meaningless meaning of the word, “adult”? Yes. But also, Jeon Jungkook shouldn’t be in love with his hyung’s little sister and he is. Shit.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of depression, anxiety, loneliness; fluff, but also frustrating because flirt already, sheesh; loons-to-lovers; non-idol!AU - oppa’s bestfriend!Jungkook x SHINee fangirl!reader

happy lunar new year!! year of the ox - jk’s lucky year <3

–

previous episode.

2. in which the two loons getting somewhere, only for more misunderstandings to happen.

Is this too much?

You stared at the picture and the message. Jeon Jungkook once again. Sending a picture of himself at the gym. It was a while since the last one, so his hair was slightly longer now. Was he growing it out? Oh well, none of your business. You sent your usual reply.

You sighed and went back to your journal, only to have your phone aggressively sing ‘3 PM’ from the Animal Crossing New Leaf OST. Directly asking for a video call this time. You thinned your mouth into a line and closed your journal, sliding it out of frame before accepting the call.

Jungkook’s big brown eye filled up the screen, directly on the camera.

“Why don’t you respond like a normal person?”

“Why don’t you start conversations off like a normal person?” you shot back, placing a hand on your cheek and leaning against it. There was stationery scattered all around you, but your journal was behind the charging stand.

Jungkook withdrew his eyeball, frowning. You could see his entire face now, his long black hair tied up into a silly sprout on top of his head. He was still wearing the dark gray sweatshirt from the photo, but he seemed to be in his apartment. All you could see was the wall.

“What about the pic though? Is it too much?”

“Too much what?” you responded irritably.

He waved his hand, shaking the phone with his movement. “You know… Too, ‘Hey I work out and am attractive, pay attention to me’ much?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not even looking at the camera. Or wearing a sleeveless shirt.”

He blinked at you. “Should I?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, those are things not to do. Picture is fine,” you added, shifting some pens away so you could rest your head on your forearms.

“Oh.”

He looked uneasy for a second before the camera jostled around as he scurried to a different part of the room. You puffed your cheeks and closed your eyes, not wanting to get motion sick.

“I’ve been playing Persona 5!” Jungkook said cheerfully, making you open your eyes to see him directing the camera at his television where the Persona music was merrily playing. “Just finished Sakura Futaba’s Palace.” He switched the camera back as you smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

“Nice.”

Jungkook seemed to spy your deflated form on your desk.

“What’s wrong?”

You breathed out. “Nothing.”

He frowned. “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

You shrugged. “Just thinking.” Your eyes flickered to him, smirking a little. “You wouldn’t know about that, I suspect.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. Other than that, he didn’t react to your remark.

“Thinking about what?” he asked, leaning back into his gray couch. His long hair flared out, sprout blooming against the cushions.

Your eyes shifted to the pens all over your desk. To your tablet, where you had been practicing digital drawing for a little while now. Just little drawings of cute animals, no people yet. To your journal, where you had been writing your diary entry.

“Lonely.”

You said the word without thinking. It was the title of your diary entry. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it was the only thing on your mind right now. Your eyes flickered back to Jungkook, who was watching you carefully. You sighed, feeling the need to explain yourself.

“All my friends are busy with school and their jobs. Oppa is always at work or with his girlfriend. Parents are always working.”

You could feel the distance between you and your high school friends. They were chasing your dreams and you were chasing nothing at all. You weren’t distant from your brother, but you were respectful of how much time he wanted to spend with his girlfriend. She might become his future wife someday, after all. Would you have a future husband one day? You wondered what he would be like.

You shook your head and shrugged. “But I did it to myself by taking a gap year, so it can’t be helped.”

“It’s okay to feel lonely.”

Slowly, your gaze shifted back to Jungkook. He was getting up from the couch, holding the phone up as he walked to what looked like the kitchen.

“I mean, you can’t help what you feel, right?” he said as he set the phone in a cupboard and went to the fridge. “Feeling lonely isn’t some kind of crime, so you don’t need to lock it away or anything.”

Jungkook picked up a take-out container and opened it, stiffing the contents. He seemed to be debating if it was edible or not. How long had that been there? You wanted to ask but then again, you didn’t want to know. Jungkook shrugged and dumped the mysterious contents into a bowl.

“I’ll talk to you whenever you want.”

You scoffed. “Why would you do that?”

Jungkook placed the bowl in the microwave and set the timer. The machine hummed as he turned around.

“To prevent you from feeling lonely.”

A butterfly danced in your chest.

You chuckled. “Why would I want to feel annoyed instead of lonely?”

Jungkook shrugged, taking out some chopsticks. “At least you have someone to be annoyed at instead of being alone?”

Two butterflies danced in your chest.

You huffed and rested your cheek on your forearms.

“Have you been talking to your Confidants?”

“What?”

“In Persona 5.”

“Who?”

You slapped your forehead. “Listen up, you monkey…”

“I’m an ox in the zodiac.”

“I mean your monkey gameplay…”

You began to explain the importance of Confidants in Persona to Jungkook.

That’s how you ended up in video calls with Jeon Jungkook several times a week.

He would usually start the call by sending a selfie, to which you would respond with your usual question mark. He was going to university for graphic design and worked at an electronics store part time. You, on the hand, were doing nothing. Well, not nothing, because you were clumsily learning digital art, but unless you were showering, you were always by your phone. Checking idol social media, especially SHINee. Sometimes your brother and his girlfriend asked you to accompany them to dinner, but you always declined, because being the third wheel was weird.

Also, watching your brother in love was weird.

Bleh.

“They always make out in front of me,” you were telling Jungkook as he asked why you weren’t at dinner earlier with your brother and his friends. Your brother had taken his girlfriend, of course. “It’s weird.”

Jungkook winced. “Yeah, I get what you mean. But I was there.”

“So what?”

Jungkook raised his hands. He was in his bed, rolling around in gray sheets. “Maybe you care?”

“I’d like to be spared watching oppa’s PDA, thanks.”

As usual, you were at your desk. This time your tablet was in front of you. You pushed the pen around, indecisively drawing lines and undoing your last action, twisting your mouth to one side, not really looking at Jungkook. He wasn’t doing anything of note, anyway.

“You don’t like PDA?”

You shrugged. “It’s whatever. I don’t really care.”

“What are you drawing?”

“Nothing good,” you sighed, putting down the tablet pen. The little cat character looked back at you, its expression the same bored and dispassionate face you usually had. You hadn’t really decided on a color for it yet. Maybe gray. That’s how you usually felt, anyway. You knew the collar color was going to be aqua though. A nod to your SHINee obsession.

“Show me.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

You looked up to Jungkook’s smile. There was a radiance about it. You felt the two butterflies dancing in your ribcage once again, fluttering, fluttering. His two front teeth where just ever so slightly too large for his mouth. It was endearing, like seeing a bunny. You looked back down at the little cat you created. Maybe you would make a bunny for Jungkook.

Pfft.

Why would you do that?

You laughed, confusing Jungkook as you placed your hand over your mouth, eyes squinting as you chortled to yourself, trying to imagine Jungkook as a silly little bunny. Probably one that worked out too much and drank banana milk every day. Probably loved to take selfies too. A cool bunny who wrote sunglasses sometimes and was probably altruistic and interesting.

Not like you.

Your laughter died down, eyes on the cat. You picked a cat to represent you because it was lazy and didn’t do much. Spent all day sleeping and staring outside, but never actually trying. Curious about things, but never committing.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook asked, lifting the camera and holding it above him. You saw his long black hair flare out around his head. He was casually handsome, the kind of attractive that didn’t need much to be that way.

That’s weird. Why would you think something like that?

“Your face,” you replied, missing the usual bite you usually had behind your words. “You need a trim.”

He raised his eyebrow, pursing his lips. “You don’t like long hair?”

You pointed at the phone even though he probably couldn’t tell what you were pointing at. “The ends of your hair are splitting. It’s not going to grow well at this rate.”

“Are you a secret barber or something?”

“I’m a human being who cuts her own hair,” you replied impassively, sitting back in your chair.

Jungkook looked surprised. “Really? Since when?”

“Since the last time oppa attempted to cut my hair in high school.” You cringed at the memory.

Jungkook looked apologetic and ready to burst out laughing at the same time. “He tried his best.”

“He did not,” you retorted, remembering the botched bangs and blunt shoulder length cut. It was horrible. You went to the salon afterward and had it trimmed into a short pixie cut, because you would rather be bald than look like an overgrown coconut.

“The pixie cut was cool though.”

“Eh.” You shrugged. “Too hard to cut it by myself. Need some length to hide my mistakes.”

“Your hair always looks nice though. A little messy.”

You touched the top of your head self-consciously. Maybe you should start brushing it before accepting his calls. You didn’t really brush it that often because, well, who was going to see you? You basically only brushed it when you noticed a tangle.

Jungkook was smiling at you. His dark brown eyes seemed sparkly because of the overhead lights in his bedroom. The butterflies in your ribcage circled each other, looping round and round. You made a disgruntled face, reaching up read the current time at the top of your phone.

“Don’t you have class early tomorrow? Go to sleep.”

And then you pressed the end call button.

For some reason, relief and disappointment washed over you. Relief because there was a palpitating anxiousness you felt when you looked too directly into Jungkook’s eyes. Disappointment because maybe you shouldn’t have hung up so abruptly. That was a little rude.

You noticed you had a text. From Jeon Jungkook.

Good night.

Jungkook placed his phone beside him after he sent the text. He thought about sending a selfie too, but maybe that was too much. She had just seen him seconds before, anyway.

Why had she hung up like that?

He smiled as he remembered her laugh. He liked her laugh a lot. She hid it behind her hands and her eyes always squinted when she did so, nearly making them disappear. It looked a little bit like a cat when it was purring in satisfaction. Jungkook wondered what made her laugh like that. It must have been a thought, because he could see her face changing as she observed him. When she stopped laughing, her face was different too, becoming introspective.

She looked pretty today too.

Her hair a little messy, combed through with her fingers. That’s how it looked best, he thought. She had a natural prettiness, the kind that needed no help to be that way. Every action she did seemed cute, from the way she held her pen, to the way she twisted her mouth to one side when she was working on something, to the way she touched the top of her head, lips parting in thought.

If she wanted to be a model, she probably could.

At least, Jungkook wanted to take her picture.

He frowned a little. He’d been consistently sending her selfies before calling her and she always responded with a question mark. Maybe she wasn’t used to taking selfies? Or maybe, and what was more likely, she probably didn’t even care about them.

Jungkook exhaled, flopping to his side. Should he give up? But then he remembered her face right before she looked at the time. It was like she was staring at the screen, at his face. And for a split second, he swore he saw her upper lip upturn a bit, shyness in her gaze, a bit of pink flushing her cheeks. Was it just the lightning or something? His mind playing tricks on him?

“Bleh.”

Jungkook made a weird noise and plopped his face into his pillow.

Jungkook stopped calling you.

You wondered why. You had been kind of rude to him last time. Maybe he was mad at you? Maybe he wanted an apology? But you weren’t really sure what to apologize for. And it was weird to call without a purpose, right? And besides.

You didn’t really need to apologize to Jeon Jungkook.

He wasn’t even really your friend. He was your older brother’s friend.

You chewed on your lip, staring at the last picture he sent you. He wasn’t your friend. He was… well, what was he trying to do? Why was he talking to you? Maybe he was bored. Maybe he was nosy. You did say you followed his art Instagram, so maybe he was enthralled with the idea of knowing he had a fan or something?

But you weren’t a fan, per se.

Well, a little bit. He was really talented.

But not that much!

Because Jeon Jungkook was kind of annoying. He still hadn’t returned Persona 5 to your brother. Not that your older brother noticed, at all. He never finished Persona 5 and it was mostly your game now, with how many hours you had sunk into it. Jungkook hadn’t even known about Confidants until you told him. Hmph. Didn’t he look up game guides? Well, he should. Confidants were really important to the game. They helped you with useful abilities during boss fights by developing relationships with the other characters.

You stared at the last selfie Jungkook had sent you.

You kind of wished he was looking at the camera.

Maybe you needed a Confidant. You certainly didn’t really know how to develop relationships with anyone, except maybe your older brother. But that was because he was your brother and familial responsibility. Well. Not true. Your brother was really nice to you.

That’s why you folded his underwear for him, even to this day.

Sigh.

Jungkook did like SHINee though.

At least that was one thing in common, right?

next episode: 3. in which only a major event can bring these two loons back together – SHINee is back!

masterpost

#jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Note

since i am obsessed <33333 with the sternclay fill you did for this prompt, can you do 57 with indruck nsfw?

Here it is! Note: this mentions mating talk.

57: we’re fighting over the last box of half-off valentine’s day chocolate and end up in a “who has it worse” battle

This is it. Duck’s new low. Standing under the high ceilings of Wal-Mart at two in the morning, trying to decide if his dignity can take the hit of someone seeing him scale the shelves to grab the lone leftover bag of valentine’s candy.

Fuck it, those are Ghiradeli caramel squares, he deserves them after today.

Just as he’s choosing his foothold, a large, feathery shape rounds the corner. It figures that the one other customer in the store would need to be in the exact same place as him. He’ll just wait the mothman out.

Duck’s mostly used to seeing random monsters around town; back in the fifties, an interstellar gate opened up in Kepler, making it the home of a small population of cryptids know as Sylphs. When he was younger, he hated the fact he grew up in such a weird-ass place, but these days his brain barely differentiates them from the other Keplerites. They come to the national forest where he works, order their dinners in line ahead of him and, apparently, come to big box stores in the dead of night.

“Ah, excellent.” The mothman chirps, grabbing the bag of caramel squares from the top shelf.

“Hey!”

The antenna-topped head swivels, owl-like, and red eyes regard him with surprise, “Yes? Oh, apologies” he tucks his wings in “I didn’t mean to block your way.

“That ain’t it. I was gonna buy that.” He points at the bag.

The creature cocks his head, “But it was still on the shelf.”

“Yeah, because we ain’t all seven feet tall. I was about to grab it.”

“It’s not my fault you’re short.”

Duck bites back an unkind retort, sighs, “will you just give me the damn bag?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve had a very bad day and this is my conciliation prize.”

“You’ve had a bad day? I went out to a singles night for the first time after gettin dumped a month ago. Figured I’d finds someone to take home, but not a single fuckin person OR Sylph was interested. If anyone needs that candy, it’s me.”

A haughty flick of antenna, “I see your disappointing evening and raise you a reminder that it’s been five years to the day that anyone’s wanted to touch you.”

“Please, this town is crawlin with monsterfuckers, you can’t find someone to mess up those pretty feathers, that sounds like a problem with your personality.”

The mothman chirrs, annoyed, “There’s no need for such remarks. Wait, what was that about my feathers?”

Okay, so maybe Duck has jerked off to mothman porn once or twice. Or a few dozen times. He’s not about to admit that here.

“Uh, I, uh, fuck, I don’t not know, fuck-” he grabs for the bag, hoping to distract the Sylph. It works, but the mothman simply raises it above his head. Duck growls, too committed to his bad idea to back down now, and jumps for it.

A toothy grin, “Since we’re speculating, maybe everyone you encountered tonight was simply in search of a taller partner.”

“Fuck you, I’m five six.”

“What was that? It’s rather hard to hear you down there.”

“That’s it fluffball” He jumps again, fingers grazing the bag before it’s passed to the mothman’s upper set of hands. Mid-leap, he can tell he’s going to fall on his fucking knees, and a broken bone is the last thing he needs. His body acts on panic and wraps his arms and legs around the only stable thing.

“What in the world are you doing?” The mothman trills, lower hands catching Duck’s legs so he doesn’t slide straight to the floor.

“Tryin to get what’s mine.”

“This is ridiculous.” He keeps the candy out of reach as Duck tries to climb him.

“I know, but I ain’t about to let you win.”

“Gentlemen.”

They stop grappling and stare at the beleaguered employee at the end of the aisle.

“Please just get out. Don’t even worry about paying for that, it’s like two bucks and that is not worth dealing with you for.”

They both mumble an apology. Then he lunges up, snatching the bag while his opponent is distracted and bolts for the door. He’s without his car, so he’s half a block from the store when a shadow glides overhead and drops down in front of him.

“That was rude.”

“So was insultin me.”

“You started it.” The cryptid looms over him, “and you only have minor ego bruising to blame for your short temper and poor judgement. I spent the entirety of my day arguing on the phone with government officials until one of them finally listened to me about a dam bursting north of here. I, I deserve something nice.” The last part is said more softly, as if he’s not sure he believes it. That slaps Duck back to his usual sensible state.

Duck sighs, reaches for the cryptid’s arm, “Look man, how about we-”

When his hand makes contact the mothman purrs, then flattens his antenna. Duck runs his hand up the smooth chitin, making the purr double in strength.

“I, I apologize. I didn’t even know this could happen with a human so I did not check the futures for it.”

“For what?”

“I, my kind use playfighting and chase as a mating ritual. Which, combined with those gentle touches just now, means my body thinks you’re a potential partner.”

A thrill creeps up his spine, and he pets the Sylph once more just to hear him purr, “So, uh, what should I do?”

“I suggest you take the candy and” he shudders, “walk home, and we both pretend this never happened.”

“What happens if I run?” Duck sets his hand on the down of the cryptids chest, shivering as it sinks into the fluff.

The mothman looks at him, confusion warring with desire on his face, “I chase you. And since I foresee you asking, if I catch you I will take you then and there unless you tell me not to.”

“Got it.” Duck steps back, smiles when the cryptid tries to follow his touch and then catches himself. He could just walk home and wolf down his hard-won candy. But they’re right by his shortcut through the forest to his house and no one has wanted to chase him for months…

He takes off into the trees.

For the first few yards there’s no sound but crunching leaves and his breathing. Then soft, determined wing-beats glide through the treetops. The canopy is thick here and no one but him knows this path, so he likes his odds of making it home. He even knows where the most troublesome roots are so he won’t trip and lose ground.

Duck’s nearly home when nature betrays him; a deer springs across his path, startling him and sending him to the ground. He scrambles up, listening for signs of the Sylph’s location, but the wingbeats are gone. Did he give up? Is he lying in wait up ahead? Did Duck actually lose him?

The questions spin through his mind as he scans the treetops. There’s nothing, only shadows and bark.

“You know” a voice lilts, coiling around him, “I’d think someone who worked in the woods would know many moths excel at camouflage.”

Red eyes appear in the branches to his right. He gets out a single “fuck” before the mothman swoops down and knocks him into the leaf litter. The candy hits the dirt a few feet away as he’s roughly rolled onto his stomach.

“Holy fuck.” He pants as clawed hands undo his pants and push his shirt up his back, “holy fuUUUuuck, oh christ that’s good.” He rests his head on his forearms as the mothman drags his tongue up his back again.

“Mmmmm, what a lovely little mate I’ve caught.” One set of hands pulls his pants and boxers to his knees while the other caresses his ass, “all dressed up too. I cannot imagine why others passed you up tonight but I am glad they did. Hmmm” claws prick his inner thighs as they’re pushed as wide as they’ll go, “you’re a bit aroused already-”

“Wonder why.” He teases.

“-but I ought to make sure you’re ready to take my cock.” A long, flexible tongue traces circles on his folds. He groans, pushes his hips back in hopes of getting more. The Sylph grants his wish with a purr, thrusting his tongue in hungrily. Duck moans, then snickers into his arms.

“‘At’s ‘o ‘unny?”

“F-feathers, ticklish.” Is what he manages to get out before the tongue curls and finds his G-spot, making it impossible to focus on anything but the being behind him. But the Sylph only gives him a minute of delicious sensation before pulling back.

“There, now you’re ready. I, ah, I suggest you hold on.”

“To whatAHFUCK, fuck, jesusfuckingchrist” his fingers dig into the earth and dead twigs scrape his knees as the Sylph grips his hips and shoves in all at once. The upper set of hands drops to either side of his head as the cryptid hunches over him, snapping his hips while sharp trills and chirps fill the air.

“That’s it sweet one, goodness, years without a partner and the first warm hole I can catch is a tight one, I, I do so love fucking humans for that reason alone, but you, you feel exquisite, ohyes, yesyesyes” he chirrs triumphantly and Duck moans; he’s never been able to feel a partner cum like this. When he glances down his torso, he’s surprised to see the droplets shimmering in the moonlight as they drip down his thighs.

“That was fuckin incredibleAH!” He’s flipped onto his back, the mothmans body blocking out the sky.

“Did you think we were done?” He’s grinning again, the expression as charming as the starlight on his feathers.

“Kinda? Not, uh, not that I mind if you wanna go again.”

“I do.” The cryptid lifts his legs, removing his shoes and clothes as he adds, “again, and again, and again. After all, look how much it likes you” He adjusts so Duck can see his dick. It’s not the size that startles him; it’s the series of ridges on it and the fact that it’s fucking pulsing like it’s got a mind of it’s own.

Duck spreads his legs, “Only it likes me?”

“I’m beginning to share it’s opinion” The tip presses in and the purring intensifies, “though I must say you’ll need to be far more polite and submissive a mate to make up for your--ohgoodness--earlier behavior.”

“Yeah?” Duck smirks, dragging his hands up the soft feathers of his chest, then glides them out to stroke his inner wing “how’s that for a start?”

The Sylph’s chirrs change, growing needier the more Duck pets him, “So very good. No, no one has touched my wings in years.”

Duck studies their sheen, the little speckles of grey and white, and digs his fingers deeper, “Damn shame.”

A soft trill accompanied by three demanding thrusts and then cum spills into him once more.

“Heh, you like when I compliment your feathers? Ohfuckyes” He moans as the Sylph starts thrusting, slower than before but made far more obscene by the sound of his cum being fucked back into Duck’s body.

“I, I do.” He drops his forehead to rest above the top of Duck’s head, “it’s been so long. As you said, this town is full of people who would gladly take a werewolf to bed but have...reservations about one such as me.”

“Their loss” Duck nuzzles the ruff of feathers around the Sylphs neck, runs his hands greedily along his wings, ��these alone are so fuckin gorgeous there oughta be a line of folks beggin for the chance to mess ‘em up while they ride you.”

The mothman whimpers, chirps when Duck leans sideways to trail kisses along his right wing. His hips are moving lazily in time with the roll of Duck’s own and he sighs with every thrust, as if Duck is his favorite place to be.

“Got some broken feathers.” He murmurs.

“A peril of fast flights and living alone. It’s better if someone else pulls them free and grooms them for you.”

“I could do that.”

A hungry moan as the mothman noses his hair, “You’re making me wish I hadn’t caught you so soon; had we played longer, my ovipositor would have joined the fun, and you’re so wonderful a mate I ought to lay in you.”

“Jesusfuck” Duck fists his hands into his chest feathers, bucking his hips.

“Oh, do you like that? The thought of being a handsome little hole for me to stuff my eggs in?”

“Yes, holy fuck yes.”

The thrusts turn demanding, “Just one more way in which you’re perfect. You’re strong, you’ve a lovely shape” one hand runs possessively across Duck’s belly and chest, “and it only takes a little bit of vigorous fucking to make you well-behaved and willing to be properly mated.”

“Fuck, fuckin christ that’s goodOH, ohfuckrightthere” one of the ridges is catching his dick, pushing him towards orgasm, “please don’t stop, don’t you dare fuckin stop-”

“Never” it comes out in a growl, “I want to see you be a good little human and cum on my cock while I fill you up. Oh yes, yes” he smiles down at him, “it seems you’re about to oblige meAHhnnnn, goodness you tighten so nicely when you finish” he speeds up, jostling Duck as his climax renders him limp, “yes, yes sweet one hold out just a moment, nnnf, oh, ohyes” He spills into him, Duck’s body unable to contain it all and sending it running down the cryptid’s shaft and the humans thighs. Then the mothman eases out with a low chirp and sits back on his heels.

Duck flops his arms about until he finds plastic, pulling the bag of candy to him as he sits up. He yanks it open, undoes the foil, and freezes. The cryptid isn’t looking at him, isn’t making any noise. He’s just hunched forward, antenna flattening.

“You okay?” Duck finishes freeing the chocolate square.

“Yes” there’s a sniff, “yes I’ll be fine.”

“That ain’t quite what I asked.” He holds the candy out. Antenna twitch, but the mothman keeps his head down.

“I apologize, I, I meant to wait until you left but I, I got overwhelmed. You were so sweet, you let me do all that and I, I don’t even know your name.”

“That’s an easy fix. I’m Duck. It’s a nickname.”

The cryptid finally looks up, takes the offered treat between his claws, “I’m Indrid.” He pops the candy in his mouth and chews miserably.

Duck pulls his boxers on to avoid getting any more pine needle pokes on his ass, then scoots closer, “So, uh, Indrid. Is there somethin special we need for groomin your wings? My place makes the most sense as a next stop, but if there’s a special tool might be better to go to yours.”

Indrid blinks, cocks his head, “You...you want to groom them? I, I thought that was just dirty talk.”

“Can be. But I was serious; now that I got a taste of those wings, I wanna touch ‘em whenever you’ll let me.”

“This is the least likely timeline.” Indrid whispers to himself

“What’d I do in the other ones?”

“Thanked me for a good time and left.”

“See, I thought about that” Duck tentatively moves forward, smiles when Indrid allows him into his lap to stroke his face, “but then I thought, ‘this fella’s fuckin mind blowin in bed, but I wanna get to know what he’s like the rest of the time. Can’t do that if I up and leave.” He offers another chocolate. Indrid eats it out of his hand, then wraps his wings around him.

“I, ah, there’s a special oil for my feathers.”

“Should we go get it?”

“We could. Or” he smiles, hopeful, “we could go to my place tomorrow morning. After we rest at your home and you let me buy you breakfast.”

Duck kisses his fuzzy cheek, “Yeah, let’s do that.”

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #trans duck newton #meet ugly #terato

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sweetestlamb · 4 years ago

Text

The Greatest Show

Summary: Come on, get into it.

Author's note: I haven’t been inspired to write for this fandom in a while because honestly the writers are doing amazing, everything I think of is pure filth because I am eagerly awaiting their next kiss. But episode 17 broke my brain with their squash the rumor scene, the growling and grunting that So-Bong was so unaffected by. These two need a tent, desperately. Enjoy my royal pervs, here is my offering.

p.s. picture borrowed from @tomorrowsdrama- thank you for the screenshots of this amazing moment!

He's doing what he must to survive, that's all. End of sentence. He takes no pleasure in slamming the King into the closest surface and rubbing their body against him like a cat in heat, not in the slightest. Rumors are weeds, you have to rip them out for flowers and crops to flourish. That's all they're doing, weeding the garden of Joseon so it can flourish for their future child.

That's what he tells himself as they cross paths in the royal hall, the King is flagged by the entire royal court animatedly discussing something of seemingly vast importance if their volume suggests anything. As he takes a step forward, Court Lady Choi seizes their hand halting them in place.

"Your highness you just not approach the King when he is with the Royal court. It is not proper. We just simply bow as they walk by."

But he doesn't care about propriety or appearing decent and well-behaved in front of these corrupt old bags, they are simply larger weeds that need to be disposed of. Smirking at their potential outrage, he grins evilly letting that fuel him even more before pulling up their dress to run over to their Cheoljongie. He looks bored out of his mind so it can also be considered a good deed, he's such a giving wife.

"My King!" Her voice rings out as he calls to his husband, who immediately looks over at them warmth filling those expressive eyes. Without hesitation the King bounds over to them happily, his movement only slightly faster than his usual glide ever the diligent King.

"My Queen, I have missed you."

The members of the backstabbing clan look disgruntled at the King's sudden departure, grumbling and pointing at them as if they have committed the highest crime.

If they think this is inappropriate then they're in for a huge surprise.

Looking down demurely, he thinks of his younger days when he was a junior understudy for the school play his acting prowess would come in handy now.

"Not as much as I have missed you, my love." He whispers the word of affection, reaching up to caress the King's cheeks softly making sure to appear infatuated. He has to force that after all because he doesn't do that naturally, despite what the royal maids claim. They are just confused, So-yong has a soft face that appears adoring at time despite his true emotions.

With a soft whimper he throws himself into the King's arm, feeling those strong arms encircle her small waist, lightning zips through their veins but he ignores her bodily reaction.

We're just acting, take the memo! He internally berates the other inhabitant of this hormonally charged body.

But when Cheoljong strokes their neck and easily lifts them off their feet, he gasps loudly clinging to him harder for balance and because her knees suddenly feel weak.

"Your majesty, we do not have time for such....improper dalliance. You must not do this in such a public venue." One of the old farts stage whispers sounding positively scandalized and it revs him up even further. As he feels the King starting to retreat he jumps forward, wrapping their body around the King's like a limpet.

Cheoljong's eyes sparks to life the new position placing them eye to eye, panting softly onto each other. The air between them is charged and thick like a bowl of porridge.

"Your highness, I agree you mustn't do this." Court lady Choi pleads with her, averting her eyes away from the tangled couple.

He looks over Cheoljong's wide shoulders to see the Royal court affronted and wide eyed and Court Lady Choi with a similar expression, Hong Yeon is trying desperately to smother her smile as she averts her eyes. Sending her a secret wink, he pulls the King's head forward staring hungrily at his lips.

"I cannot resist, seeing him awakens such deep passion inside of me. Just one?"

He looks at her dazed, as if he's forgotten everyone surrounding them.

"Just...one?" He questions, confusion morphing into sudden realization as he watches them slide their tongue across plush lips.

"Oh."

Ignoring the cacophony of voices around them, he closes the miniscule space between them puckering up and kissing the soft skin of the King's cheek. Cheoljong tries blindly to catch her lips when they retract but he places a slim finger on his pursed lips.

Shaking their head lightly, he starts to slide down the King's hard body feeling the tight muscles even through the layers of fabric.

"We must save the rest for later, my heart. Come and visit us soon." He rubs at his stomach fondly, staring up into Cheoljong’s red face, he looks good enough to eat.

Wait what. Who thought that? No, it's the baby talking I'm just hungry, that's enough of a show.

Bowing deeply at the men, he steps around the King who is still frozen in his spot. Gathering himself he turns to the royal court with an innocent smile, "I apologize, I could not control myself. I will take a long walk to reflect on my behavior."

They collectively stare at her with gaped mouths as she walks off regally, shoulders straight as if nothing happened. After a few steps he turns around, calling over their shoulder, "Don't keep me waiting!" And then to add the proverbial cherry on top, he curls their finger before letting out a roar to which everyone jumps looking bewildered, except the King whose eyes could pierce a hole through their face.

He looks like a starved man. Maybe they should make him some more ramyeon?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

To say he's flustered is a bit of an understatement considered the problem in his pants. Logically he understands the Queen's actions earlier, she'd merely been doing what they had both agreed to feigning affection to dissolve those erroneous rumors that were circulating the kingdom. But he would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying this immensely.

His Queen was an enigma he had even up on fully understanding, instead choosing to accept her and all that came with her. And her feelings for him were part of his confusion, she seemed to fluctuate between her emotions without rhyme or reason. He never knew which version of her he would be receiving at any given moment. So having her acting the way he'd only imagined in his dreams was both satisfying and unsettling.

It would be most difficult to go back to their normal, he wanted her in his arms always. Desperately yearned for intimacy that didn't dissipate when the sun peeked over the horizon.

Pushing his work to the side of the table he sighs leaning back into his seat thinking about his Queen.

"Why must she be so confusing?" He groans to myself thinking about their first night together, how passionate she'd been his ears burn remembering the sharp pain of her teeth sinking it. He had bite marks in... interesting places from that heated encounter but her behavior after had been consistent only in it's in inconsistency.

Running away from him, even going as far as hiding. Then just as suddenly she stopped avoiding him and they settled into comfortable nights together. However, they hadn't been intimate since despite his many efforts, he just wanted a kiss those plush pink lips were so tempting and today they'd been so very close. He needed that kiss like he needed air, he didn't care who was around. If she had kissed him he wouldn't have controlled himself, he would have hungrily devoured.

"Your majesty it is getting late, we must leave now if you wish to see the Queen." The head eunuch interrupts his inklings, bowing low in respect.

Is he ready for this? His control feels paper thin at the moment. But he did promise and they have an image to uphold.

Gathering his strength he rises, "Alright, let us take over leave. I shouldn't keep my Queen waiting."

The walk to Daejeon Hall is short but it feels like he's traversing miles, despite his previous concerns he is now eager to see the Queen. Her face is gorgeous at all hours but there's something about her face lit with candlelight, knowing he's the only one who is allowed to see her at such hours.

Accelerating his feet, he almost races to her ignoring cries from the head eunuch in the distance. Every second not spent in her company is a second wasted.

The Queen's Court lady announces his arrival before they all bow walking backwards out of the room before sliding the doors shut.

"You took your sweet time, I told you not to keep me waiting." She glares at him, pouting slightly bringing all his attention to her mouth.

"I apologize my Queen there were pressing matters to deal with." He lies easily no attention of clarifying his meaning, she doesn't need to know that dousing his arousal was the pressing matter at hand.

"Whatever. What's more important than me?" She scoffs looking offended turning away from him.

He lowers down into a crouch, crawling across the room until they are side by side. The Queen gasps at his unexpected closeness, staring at him with wide eyes and open lips.

Grasping at her hands he stares deeply into her gorgeous eyes solemnly with no humor in his voice, "Nothing. You are most important to me, both of you." Reverently he reaches out a hand to palm at her still small belly, impatient to see her round with his seed.

Her face slowly softens as he rubs her stomach and then she places her hand atop his, no longer resistant to these fleeting moments of intimacy.

Instinctively he starts to lean forward, laser focus on her lips as he inches closer to her. When he's close enough to breath into her mouth she snaps from her haze, moving back marginally he almost growls at her he's so frustrated, he's barely able to swallow the sound.

"What are you doing? There's no one to put on a show for."

He peers at her searching her face, her pupils are dilated and he can feel how fast she's breathing each puff landing on his face, her expression near identical to their last night together. But she's stopping him. Even though she clearly desires this too.

He thinks back to her behavior earlier too, she was brazen then comfortable climbing him in front of so many others all in the name of squashing the rumors.

She needs an excuse to do this.

He should feel offended by this epiphany but instead it brings him resolve, she clearly still hasn't fully let him into her heart but she feels something for him she's more than proven that to him. If she needs to draw a line to be with him then so be it for now, he will prove himself to her everyday.

"There are several court maids and servants outside your room, they are pretending they are not listening but they are. Sometimes your imagination can be even more powerful than reality."

She looks towards the door, eying the shadows through the thin covering before turning back to him and nodding in understanding.

"Okay. Let's give them a show."

Without warning she knocks a marble vase to the ground, the loud crash filling the room as it makes contact with the floor.

Then she moans. Loudly. A suggestive gasping moan that goes straight to his chest before zinging lower, tucking at his loins.

She pushes him when he sits silently merely staring at her, "You need to play along too. Come on, get into it."

There's it is again. That damn phrase.

Get into it.

If only she knew how into it he truly was. Grabbing at her ankle and tucking her underneath him, he slams his arms on either side of her head before groaning deeply, "My Queen, please."

Pride explodes in his chest when he sees a deep blush glide across her face. Not unaffected.

"Am I getting into it enough for you now?" He whispers darkly, itching to lower his weight and kiss that delicious look off her face.

Surprisingly she stutters out, "Ye-a-ah. You seem very into it now, nobody can see us though. We don't need to be like this." She motions between their bodies, unable to meet his gaze now. She motions between their bodies, unable to meet his gaze now. She's right but he also knows that he can't miss this chance, he has her right where he wants her and besides squirming distractedly she hasn't shown any desire for him to move away.

"Do you want me to stop?" When she doesn't immediately answer he begins to move backward giving her space but she latches onto his forearm, tight.

"Wait! Maybe we should commit even if they can't see us, it'll help us play our roles better." She reasons and he smiles, razor sharp. She wants this just as badly as he does, he's studied her long enough to read between these lines.

Swiftly he rolls them over so she's on top, pressed together from shoulders to feet her long braid swinging over and brushing against his cheek. Gently wrapping it around his hand he uses it to bring her closer, her breath hitches seductively and he whispers, "Louder. So they can hear you." Without waiting for a reply he tugs at her hair again harder this time and the sound that escapes her lips is orgasmic, a high whining moan that sets his skin on fire. Emboldened and aroused he grabs her neck, speaking into her opened mouth "Do you like that my Queen?" Her eyes are glazed over as she sways as if intoxicated by him.

"Cheoljong, kiss me."

It's too quiet for anyone's ears but his and that makes him even hotter, this wasn't part of the show. This was just for him, just for them.

Always one to seize the moment, he yanks her down to meet his eagerly waiting mouth swallowing the moan that rolls off her tongue. The kiss escalates immediately with both twisting and licking, wet sucking noises soaking the room as they bring apart to gasp for air and crash back together, chaotically and perfectly. When he feels a wondering hand graze his groin he can't resist the urge to thrust up into her touch. Wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her even closer, although there is no space between them.

When he pulls back, her eyes remain close as she licks her lips as if chasing his taste on them. His cock jumps jealously.

"I want you." He admits, wanting to make it clear if his intentions are not already crystalline to her. He wants no room for misunderstandings tonight.

She stares wordlessly before reaching across his body and then he sees the oil in her hand, he hadn't noticed its presence next to them but he eagerly takes it from her.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Don't go soft on me now, bring back the guy who was pulling my hair. Do you want me to call you Daddy too?"

His breath hitches at the word, he doesn't understand why but hearing her makes something dark coil in his belly. She lifts an eyebrow at his heavy silence, "You're so kinky."

He stares confused again, nothing new to him but he stores the word away for further inspection of its meaning. "Is kin-ky bad?" He asks reaching down to lower his pants and cover himself in the thick oil coating each inch of the hard pole.

She doesn't answer right away, avidly watching him stroke himself to fullness before rubbing at the bulbous deep scarlet head, serving to make him almost painfully turned on. "No, kinky is good. I like kinky." She tugs her skirt up and his eyes bulge when instead of seeing the various layers he should see there is only bare skin.

Had he been seduced? It feels as if he has been but he doesn't care enough to question her or pause this for a second. He would happily be her fool.

Gripping at her hips he rubs against her, groaning when her wetness smears across him obscenely. She grinds down onto him meeting him head on, they are definitely on the same page now.

Unable to wait for even another second, he envelopes her in his arms before sliding into her smoothly her natural moisture and the oil easing the way until he is completely encased. She moans long and wailing as he slides to the hilt, he groans loudly joining her as she scratches roughly down his back even through the sturdy material he can feel the burn. Absently he considers gentling his moves, she is pregnant and more fragile after all. But she must read his face and be vehemently against his plan because suddenly she rises up, slipping off his hardness before slamming back down the loud smacking of skin filling the room.

"It's time for the main event. Don’t stop now.” She challenges him, squeezing around his erection.

Pushing his reservations to the side, he gets into it full heartedly thrusting hard before capturing her mouth in a harsh kiss, hissing when he feels her teeth tug roughly at his bottom lip, his lioness has returned. He teasingly roars into her mouth and she laughs around his tongue, breaking free only to latch on his neck sucking hard. He hopes it leaves a mark.

Her laughter causes her to tighten around him and he groans at her vice like grip on his cock, he can feel himself nearing the end. Recalling their first night he suddenly grabs her neck, squeezing lightly and when she whines in a broken gasp he tightens his hand and delights as she melts slowly limp in his hold, he supports her weight easily bucking into her tight heat. When he thrusts up a second time he feels her wetness gush around him before he loses himself, his climax tensing his body as he slowly falls apart.

The entire kingdom will surely be in an uproar tomorrow.

He's looking forward to it. That will teach them to spread rumors about their intimate affairs.

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In the hallway, Hong Yeon brings her hands to her hot cheeks feeling overheated from the King and Queen's boisterous gathering. Every court maid is blushing as they look discretely at the door with every moan and groan that escapes. She hopes this will qualm the rumors in the kingdom, she cannot take this for much longer. Court lady Choi had left to retrieve water after their first moans and had yet to return, she surmised if the Queen were not already with child she would have been impregnated again going by the sounds they were making. It was all too obvious to her, despite the Queen's strange behavior at times, they were desperately in love with each other. She'd never seen two people who were more crafted for the other.

Anyone who thought otherwise was a fool.

#queen cheorin #mr. queen #squash the rumor.#do it for your kingdom #no touch princess #smutty smut #they just have so much chemistry I can't resist #my offering

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beermencjs · 4 years ago

Text

chapter 1 — when lives begin to collide [2.1k]

description — you and peter begin vying for the attention of a children’s books publisher.

genre — from past lives lovers to present lives rivals. fluff. angst. slow-burn.

warnings — some mistakes here and there. slight cussing. totally au.

a/n — i can’t find the op anymore but they made a post about this kind of plot. i really thought it’d be interesting to write one so here’s my take. not forcing you to read it but if you do, feedback would be greatly appreciated! thank you!

masterlist

“I can never erase my past. But the present is my pen and I can write a better future. After all, I am the author of my life.”

It was written in capital letters.

‘Damn,’ you thought. ‘That hit hard.’ You read it over and over, trying to take every single word in. It was true and it really did hit you hard. You were not proud of your past, but you were trying to make amends now, and you hoped that it would lead to something better. And that is exactly why the quote felt like a sharp pang in your heart.

You were sitting down on the last step of the education building on campus. The notebook with the quote you have written lay on your lap like an open book. You had just finished your lunch and were waiting for your friend to arrive. Y/fn woke up too late for the morning sessions but you agreed to meet them when they said they were on their way.

You were chewing on your bottom lip, careful not to bite it too hard. That was a habit of yours. Whenever you were anxious, you would chew on your bottom lip, sometimes without even realizing it. But you were not anxious because your friend was going to be beside you any minute. No. It was because it would be the first time you would show your professor the children’s story you wrote. What made you even more nervous was that they were the next class you had.

Writing short stories was a passion of yours. You loved making up characters and scenarios in your head and would write them down on any scrap of paper you could find. But that was all you could do. You knew children’s books always had illustrations, unfortunately, you could not draw to save your life. You were thinking that perhaps when your story would be chosen for some award or anything, they would find you an illustrator. That was how it usually worked, right?

“Hey.” You snapped out of your thoughts, froze your teeth, and looked up. “You okay?”

“Hey,” you greeted back. You shook your head, closed the notebook, and placed it inside your bag. “I was just thinking,” you admitted. “About showing Professor Y/pn my work. You think they’ll like it?”

Y/fn sighed. “Of course, Y/n. We’ve gone over this before, haven’t we?”

You frowned. You didn’t like the way they said it. You shrugged and pretended not to care. “Right. Okay. Let’s just get to class.”

You both walked up the steps and waited for an elevator to bring you up to your floor. Once you arrived inside the classroom, you noticed that some of your classmates were not in yet but your professor was fiddling around with their laptop. You placed your book down on the table, took out your binder filled with your writings -- and you could proudly say that you filed them by title in alphabetical order -- and took a deep breath before walking up to the front of the class.

You cleared your throat and called them, “Professor Y/pn?” That came out more like a squeak rather than the tone of voice you would give when you wanted to start a casual conversation.

Your professor turned to their side and smiled at you. “Yes, Ms. Y/ln? What can I do for you?”

“Well...uh, I was wondering if you could take a look at one of my written works. I need a professional’s opinion so that I know where I can improve on and all that. I mean, if it’s not too much trouble for you.”

“Of course, of course!” they said with a grin. “No problem at all, Ms. Y/ln. I’m honestly surprised that you came to me for a new point of view.”

“No one better than my favorite professor,” you said, copying their grin. “And I’m not just saying.” You giggled.

Your professor laughed. “Well, alright then. Which one should I check out?” They beckoned you to give them your binder and you obliged. “Oh, this is a little heavy,” they chuckled as they held your binder. “You must be quite a writer. Well, you always have been one of my top students in my class.”

“Just here,” you mumbled. “Not so much the others.” You took a deep breath and exhaled. “I was hoping you could look at The Bee and the Queen. Though maybe just that for now, I don’t really have much confidence with the others yet.”

Your professor waved their hand. “Right, of course. I promise not to pry. Do you mind if you leave this with me for now? I’ll give it back after class.”

You saw this as some sort of sign of commitment. Maybe, if they liked your story, they would be willing to work with you. “Yes!” you nearly shouted. “I mean, yes, professor. I’d really love that.”

They smiled. “Alright, I’ll check out The Bee and the Queen and I’ll jot down some notes.”

“Ehrm….”

“On another piece of paper, of course,” they laughed. “Don’t worry, even without the look on your face, I wasn’t going to write it on something so precious.”

You sighed in relief. “Thank you, Professor Y/pn. Thank you so much.”

They nodded. “Off you go, class is about to begin.”

The whole two hours class seemed even longer than usual. Your knee bounced constantly and you kept looking at your watch every minute. There was a seatwork, an essay about children and why they were more inclined to language at a certain age, and at some point, you looked up and saw your professor with their reading glasses on and had your binder open. Finally, the class was dismissed and you waited a bit, hoping for them to call you.

“I’ll go ahead,” Y/fn informed you.

“Sure,” you replied without looking at them.

As your classmates left, your professor smiled and gestured for you to come to them. You pursed your lips and briskly walked to them. “Well?” you asked. “Sorry, that came out a bit rude.”

They shook their head. “Well, Ms. Y/ln. I do like the concept and your style, but we need more creativity. I’m not saying that this isn’t creative, no, not all. But remember these are children we’re talking about. They need something that will catch their attention. They need to stay focused. I’m happy that you managed to apply the moral of the story in examples at the end. But again, put some more sugar in it. You get what I mean?”

“I think so.” You nodded.

They smiled. “I’ll give you a week to come up with something new. And if I’m impressed, you can work with an acquaintance of mine.”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

“Just show me what you got,” they said with a smile.

“Yes, Professor! I’ll think of something way beyond creative, I promise.”

“Let’s start small, Ms. Y/ln.” They chuckled. “We’ll work our way up as we go along.”

You nodded excitedly. “I won’t let you down, Professor. I promise!” You reached for your binder and bowed. “Thank you!”

They chuckled once more. “Go on now, Ms. Y/ln. You’ll be late for your next class.”

You ran to your seat, grabbed your bag, and waved at them. “Thank you!”

Days later, you were in a coffee shop. You were going to meet up with Y/bfn and you two would be brainstorming on how to make your story better. You already had a concept, you just needed to write down how you were going to execute it. Luckily, your best friend knew you all too well.

You had just gotten the tray with both yours and your best friend’s drink -- because really, you two knew each all too well, too. The place was packed and you had a hard time looking for a vacant table. When you did spot one, as soon as you reached it, another person had arrived as well.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were eyeing the table, too.”

You looked to your side to see a tall, blonde boy with very nice blue eyes. He, too, was holding a tray with two drinks. “You can have it,” you said. You didn’t know why but you were feeling a little bit bitter. “It’s fine.”

“No, no, please. Take it.” He tilted his head to gesture to the table. “It’s fine. I’ll just stay by the bar. My sister wouldn’t be here for a while, anyway.”

You brightened a little. “Neither is my friend.”

He smiled. “So…?”

You blushed a little. “I...I guess we can share for now?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’d be nice.” He waved his hand to allow you to sit first. As soon as you both placed your trays on the table and sat down, he introduced himself. “I’m Peter.” He held up his hand for you to shake.

“Y/n,” you replied and shook his head.

“Do I know you from somewhere, madam?” he asked.

“Does that line always work for you, sir?” you giggled and rolled your eyes.

He had nice hands. A little calloused but still nice. “I...um...do you live around here?” The shop you were in was inside a subdivision and you haven’t seen anyone as beautiful as him. ‘Oh shut up.’ You were always around thanks to your best friend living around the corner and you pretty much have seen everyone.

He shook his head. “My sister has a friend who lives here. I was in the area and she said we should all hang out for coffee.”

“Oh.” You nodded. “My best friend lives around here. I’m always here. Maybe that’s why I don’t recognize you.”

He nodded. “I’m from the other side of town, actually. Well, my job brings me everywhere so I guess it depends.” He chuckled as did you. “I’m an engineer.”

“Education grad student,” you said. “I work part-time as a PA for my parents. I mean, I was willing to do it for free since they are my parents but they sort of bribed me and said they’d be paying my tuition instead, so….” You didn’t know why this was embarrassing for you to admit.

“Mind if I ask what kind of business your parents run?”

“It’s a multinational company.” ‘Stop being embarrassed, it’s the truth for goodness sake.’ “Y/cn.”

“Oh! Yeah! I know that.”

You forced a smile. “Yup.” You two became silent and you began chewing on your bottom lip but you immediately stopped. It was getting a bit awkward so you decided to get your drink and tried to open it. Unfortunately, it was sealed too tight. Peter could definitely see you struggling, he offered for him to try and held out his hand.

When you gave it to him, you came into contact with his skin.

“It worked on you, didn’t it?” he said with a goofy grin.

You laughed at his confidence. “Not really.”

“Ah! But that usually means it did but not so much.”

You scoffed. “It means no.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well you should.”

Once he was able to open it, he gave it back to you. Your pinky touched his index finger.

“Oh stop it!” You stomped your foot and folded your arms.

“That’s not very lady-like,” he said.

“I don’t care.” You stuck up your nose. “You are impossible.”

“I would like to say that I am impossible to others. I’m always possible when it comes to you.”

“For some strange reason that makes sense.”

He chuckled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get your dress dirty. No need to get all stubborn with me.”

You pouted. “I am not being stubborn.”

“Oh yes, you are.”

You sighed in frustration. “You are impossible, Peter Pevensie.”

“Thank you.” You took a sip and subtly watched him drink his. “I didn’t expect them to take this long.”

“Same,” he murmured. He checked his phone and excused himself.

You watched him leave and then you were left alone. You thought of the surge of electricity that you felt whenever you came into contact with one another. Did he feel it, too? Goosebumps crept up to you and you shuddered. “Stop it, Y/n.”

Peter came back and smiled. “They’re almost here.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Then you realized how that may have sounded. “Not that I didn’t enjoy your company, Peter.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about it.”

‘And I like your company a little too much, even if it did get a bit awkward.’

The door of the store opened and you saw your best friend enter.

“Oh, there's Y/bfn,” you said. You waved your hand for them to see you. Your best friend found your signal and walked up to you with a smile.

“Ah, and there’s my sister,” Peter announced. Behind your best friend was another girl around your age. She was very pretty. “Oh.”

You looked at him as he said that. There was a slight tone to it but you couldn’t figure out what. You looked back at your best friend. “Oh.”

#the chronicles of narnia #narnia #peter pevensie #peter pevensie x reader #peter pevensie x you #peter pevensie x y/n #peter pevensie fanfiction #peter pevensie imagine #peter pevensie imagines #type: eve writes

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trashcatsnark · 4 years ago

Note

Oh, let me continue the subject of the jealousy of these two. You're saying that Johnny isn't the type to hold back when it comes to emotions. And it really is. But... there is a moment in the game when V talks about his exes or about stupid compliments in a conversation with River. And Johnny doesn't say anything. I would write it off as a scenario move, so as not to shift the focus from the River. But this isn't the only time Johnny ignores events in this quest line. See the second question

Part 2 for context: So... I continue. Do you remember the moment when you watched brain damage and lost consciousness, when you and River were searching for clues about the mayor's murder? Johnny never ignored the moments when V passed out. Here River comes to the rescue, and you would think that he knows that there is someone to help and nothing to worry about ...But in similar situations with Judy and Panam, he would appear and deliver his moralizing remarks or make snide comments. 🤔

Personally, I do believe this is sort of a meta issue. I’ve talked about it a little bit before in a general post; how given his characterization, Johnny does not in my opinion talk as much as he should. In a more comedic example, I mentioned how could anyone honestly look me in the eye and say that Johnny wouldn’t have a comment on the guy with the exploding penis implant???? Like Johnny is majorly characterized as a guy who can’t leave well enough alone and always has something to say; yet theres a fairly large percentage of gigs and missions and moments where you’d think Johnny would have something to say and he doesn’t. There’s also times where lines are blatantly reused and in a jarring way.

Like, I could be wrong, but I think they reuse him saying “There it is” with both V getting Nibbles and a man committing suicide in a gig. Like?????

Meta wise, I do think it’s partially a fear of over incorporating Johnny to the point players found him annoying. Because even now, some people find him irritating and wish he’d talk less. So, that could be a factor. The idea of not sidelining love interests is a factor of course. While, he has commentary through out each love interests questlines. He always does mostly bugger off during the romantic lead up and the actual kiss then sex. Because well, it might be a bit of a buzzkill and if you’re trying to get laid and Methed Out Future Keanu Reeves is yelling at you from the corner of the room. I mean, it’d probably enhance my experience but some people aren’t into that.

As for why stuff like, him ignoring V getting zapped by the braindance in River’s quest. I’ve always thought that was ooc. Like, short of potentially the bd having fried him up for a bit, kinda like the emp blast does when V and Panam take down the AV. But overall, over and over again, Johnny is shown to be the first one there when V gets hurt. Even if its to yell at them for going into the toxic water or he waits a beat to appear once Panam is done looking over V.

And that could be because they potentially again wanted to give more attention to River or... and I always hate to get into this sort of discourse, cause I know it aggravates some people. It was an oversight, something not caught, something not thought of, just because to be fair...River has the least polished questline of the love interests. The male love interests in general imo were sidelined more. But, River A) has the least amount of quests to build up to his romance, B) is the most easily missable love interest since he’s not even required to meet for the secret ending the way Kerry is. and C) this could just be my own personal experience, maybe cyberpunk 2077 provides unique bugs for everyone, but his quests are the buggiest for me.

And to be perfectly clear, this is not me being a dick to River. Do, I think some aspects of his character are kinda tone deaf, sure, but I like River. I think he’s a sweetheart, who’s usually pretty stiff, but has his cuter jokey moments and is a puppy dog underneath. I love doing his quests because they’re truly very emotional, being able to help his family. Like, being able to save Randy is one of the best feelings in the game to me, knowing you saved him and so many other young boys. That’s why it honestly breaks my heart to see how little polish and attention his quests were given. From the calls glitching, him not staying on comms in the first quest, Johnny in my game doesn’t even give the dialogue warning my V about River wanting to sleep with her, like it just does not show up for me, The cobbled together family photo. The weird pacing of the romance that goes from 0 to a 100. Randy’s face glitches and clips through the mask when you’re saving him. Like the concept, the investigation, the intense stakes, and the emotional impact of his quest are all so good; but CDPR just did not in my opinion take enough time with it.

So, maybe they didn’t bother to script and put Johnny in that scene despite it being something he’d most definitely pop in for; cause they just didn’t take their time with it like they could have/should have.

And in regard to Johnny in universe and talking; while like I said he’s more upfront and direct with his anger and side comments that he uses to hide his real feelings. I do think, especially if its post oils field convo, a part of him tries desperately to bite his tongue and just sit with his feelings if he think its best for V. In the more love dovey romance moment with River, I could see him being like, “okay, V wants this, as much as it pisses me off, V deserves to have some good in their life” and tries to hold back and be good and then five seconds later “CANT BELIEVE YOU’RE GONNA MAKE ME FUCK A COP” cause he can only behave for so long.

And I do wanna note; I am by no means consider myself a Johnny Silverhand expert. I’ve said this before, his characterization and just him as a person can be very messy, very all over the place, and contradictory at times. He can try to kill V and then the next day pop up to chat with them in a diner and be like “why aren’t you happy to see me?????? you still mad?????? its been a whole ass 5 hrs since I told you to kill yourself and bashed your head into a window, gotta learn to let shit go dude.” So, sometimes I worry I’m making him ooc, but its fun nontheless, so.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #cyberpunk 2077 spoilers #johnny silverhand #silverv #kinda???? i spent a lot of time complaining about how they did river's quest dirty so #not tagging him though cause uhhhhhhh me no wanty discourse #idk if i said anything discoursable but just in case #orly-view

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needtherapy · 5 years ago

Text

Huaisang’s Hit List

or, how I learned to stop worrying and love my cursed dick

Technically Huaisang never slept with Wen Chao, just...spent a few minutes extricating himself from what turned out to be that awful murder-tortoise cave adventure. And anyway, it doesn’t matter because Wen Chao wasn’t on The List. The List was the problem. Is the problem.

Remember that Top Cultivator’s list? You know the one, the one where the Twin Jades were the two most eligible cultivators and Wei Wuxian was ranked higher than Jiang Cheng?

Yeah, that was Huaisang’s fault. But no one regrets it more than he does.

Except maybe all the dead people.

Read more Kristina Writes Tiny Stories

Notes: Sort of explicit, and there’s definitely some terribly silly cursed sex acts. If you want to read it on AO3 instead, you can do that too! Many thanks to @coslyons and AO3′s mongrelmind and effienell who probably will regret being tagged. Read their fantastic work instead of this absolute travesty.

⟹ ⟸ ⟹ ⟸ ⟹ ⟸ ⟹ ⟸ ⟹ ⟸

In hindsight, Huaisang should have realized way before the Wei Wuxian Incident that he was cursed. But to be fair, people die all the time.

He should know. He has personally killed eight people with his cursed dick.

“So,” Jiang Cheng says, hands tucked under his head, staring up at the sky, “You’re telling me that everyone you have sex with dies. And therefore, you must be killing them?”

“More or less, yes.”

“Isn’t that a little…” Jiang Cheng pauses and kicks the water his feet are dangling in, apparently trying for once in his life to be tactful, which makes Huaisang even more miserable. If Jiang Cheng is being tactful, it must be the end of the world. “Conceited?”

Huaisang pulls another leaf off the branch he is mutilating. He really doesn’t think he’s ever been conceited. Conceited would imply a lack of justification, and he is quite sure he’s right about this.

“A-Cheng, I have evidence. Hard evidence.”

Jiang Cheng chokes a little, and Huaisang glares at him. “Could you not? This is serious. I am never going to have sex again.”

Jiang Cheng chokes again, this time gasping with pained laughter, and Huaisang throws the branch at him. “Fuck you a-Cheng.”

“Thank all the gods you never have!” Jiang Cheng is howling now, curled in a ball and wheezing, and Huaisang has never been so insulted in his life.

Huaisang gathers what remains of his dignity and stands. He doesn’t care how beautiful Lotus Pier is in summer, or how many different shades of pink the flowers blanketing the lakes are, or how wickedly indulgent the sun feels through only two layers of robes, he is going to walk back down this dock and leave.

“Oh sit down, you big baby.” Jiang Cheng grabs the hem of Huaisang’s green robe. “I know you’re just dying to tell me about your ‘hard evidence’ and as much as I would rather rather erase all knowledge of your sex life from…”

Jiang Cheng's utter inability to disguise any thought he has is a gift, Huaisang thinks. Not only does it mean that in almost twenty years, Huaisang has never lost a game of weiqi, it also means he knows the moment it occurs to Jiang Cheng exactly what he means. Or rather...who.

“You. Did not. Fuck. My brother.”

Huaisang glares at a pair of ducks flying noisily overhead—those bastards were probably using their wings to escape awkward conversations—and silently bemoans his sudden and inexplicable flirtation with honesty. Why precisely had he wanted to share the details of his humiliating curse with Jiang Cheng? He frowns down at Sandu Shengshou’s tight, angry slash of a mouth, crackling dark eyes, cheekbones that could slice open his fingers if he ran them over the ridges…

Oh yes. That was why.

“Well, not first,” Huaisang says, deciding that if he’s in for a piglet, he’s in for a hog. “What happened first was Wen Xu.”

Jiang Cheng rolls into the lake. Huaisang is speechless. As rude escapes from his presence go, it is unprecedented. Wen Xu only snuck out of the window.

⟹ ⟸

Huaisang wasn’t biting his lip because he was nervous. That would be preposterous. He wasn’t a virgin after all. But he had also never picked anyone up in a tavern...well, certainly not a tavern in Hejian...okay, definitely not anyone at a tavern in Hejian as spectacularly handsome as the man whose name he couldn’t recall and really didn’t care about currently stripping in front of…

He lost his train of thought when—what was his name...Yang...Tian...something about the sun—threw his undershirt on the ground and looked expectantly at Huaisang, flexing the outrageous muscles on his chest just enough to make Huaisang’s blood boil. Yes, oh yes, he was definitely going to bite Sun Man right over the top of his left nipple immediately. And then he was going to make Sun Man beg for mercy. He stepped forward, his mouth stretching wide in a practiced seductive smile, and everything went wrong.

Sun Man stepped forward too, eyes closing, an arrogant tilt to his mouth. Huaisang tried to avoid the kiss—who kissed a stranger in an inn?—but he avoided to the left, and Sun Man lurched to the left. Like a slow motion fall off a cliff, they crashed into each other, arms and legs flailing everywhere. Sun Man’s head smacked into Huaisang’s chin, and worse, Huaisang’s knee collided with the soft—well, not that soft, some distant, smug corner of his brain noted—flesh between the man’s legs. He grunted in pain, grabbed Huaisang, and they fell on the floor in a fairly uncomfortable heap.

Fuck. Well, there goes that, Huaisang thought. Another thrilling night listening to da-ge rant about the damn Wen dogs loomed in his future.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Sun Man said immediately, sprawled on top of Huaisang, and Huaisang realized he meant it, judging by the considerably less soft space between his legs that was currently pressed against Huaisang’s hip.

He cheered immediately. Sun Man liked being hurt. It wasn’t a great start, but he could work with that.

Yes, he thought, as he slapped Sun Man hard on his spectacular ass and Sun Man let out a hearty moan, he could work with this.

Later, history books would describe da-ge as glorious in battle, cutting through the Wen army to the Wen heir, knocking the arrogant smile off his face and the man off his horse, laughing when he begged for mercy and dismembering his body as a lesson to the others, all to the triumphant cheers of the combined army.

What the history books did not mention was da-ge dramatically throwing the head on the ground at Huaisang’s feet in the music room.

“I will take his head to Xichen,” da-ge announced proudly, and Huaisang winced. How could anyone be so bad at romantic gifts?

He looked down despite himself—it had been almost a week since da-ge had thrown a Wen body part on the floor—and gasped.

Huaisang tried to look away from Sun Man in time but in the grand tradition of brothers everywhere, da-ge was unfailingly observant at the worst possible times.

“Huaisang, what did you do?”

Nothing, Huaisang thought, snapping his fan open and trying to blink the hysterical laughter away. Just spanked the daylights out of Wen Xu the night before he died. Just made him cry and climax and collapse in snoring exhaustion before Huaisang had a chance to finish any kind of reciprocal satisfaction, the bastard. And then just watched him climb out of the window before dawn. He sighs. What a wasted night.

“Nothing, da-ge. It’s just...he’s leaking on the floor.”

Da-ge grunted and rolled the head out of the room with his foot.

“I was expecting it to last longer, honestly,” da-ge said, and Huaisang thought, me too. “He seemed spent before we even started.”

Huaisang covered his giggle with a sympathetic cough. “How disappointing for you, da-ge.”

“The thing is,” da-ge continued, eyes sharpening in a very worrisome way. “I noticed a distinctive shade of lip color on his neck, right before I separated it from his body. Almost...like...the mauve you’re wearing right now.”

“This is raisin,” Huaisang snapped before he could help himself and then cringed. He was in so much trouble.

But instead, da-ge sank into a chair laughing. “You could have just drugged him, Huaisang. You didn’t have to fuck him. Next time, tell me before you decide to single handedly give our enemy the serpent’s kiss?”

Huaisang decided to take credit for the tactical fucking, but did not want to be assigned any future war jobs, hand, blow, or otherwise.

“I am not having sex with any more Wens,” he said virtuously, sitting in a chair across from his brother. He did not appreciate the roar of laughter.

⟹ ⟸

“Oh gods, how many more Wens did you have sex with?” Jiang Cheng demands, wringing out his dripping hair next to the hearth fire in the kitchen. “The whole army? Wen Ruohan? Truly, you are the unsung hero of the Sunshot campaign. We should have made you chief cultivator.”

“First of all, I would be a phenomenal chief cultivator, thank you.” Huaisang throws a towel at Jiang Cheng, whacking him on the side of the head, but Jiang Cheng just grins charmingly, the wretch. “Second of all, none of course.”

Technically he never slept with Wen Chao, just...spent a few minutes extricating himself from what turned out to be that awful murder-tortoise cave adventure. And anyway, it doesn’t matter because Wen Chao wasn’t on The List. The List was the problem. Is the problem.

Jiang Cheng twists his hair into a knot on the top of his head and starts stripping off his wet clothes.

“Okay, so then you slept with my brother?”

Huaisang slumps in a chair and stares at the carved ceiling, not looking, not looking, not looking. Pretty, he thinks, focusing very diligently on the wood. It looks like a giant lotus flower.

“No, only the number sixes at first,” Huaisang mumbles, wondering if the splotchy paint marks on the carving are actually tiny lotus flowers. If so, he really has to admire how committed the Yunmeng Jiang are to the aesthetic.

Suddenly Jiang Cheng’s face is next to his face, his hands on the arm of the chair, and he looks angry again. Wet and angry. Like a scandalously unrobed cat that just crawled out of a well—Huaisang fumbles the metaphor, too distracted by Jiang Cheng’s chest.

“Are you talking about that plague of a ‘most eligible cultivators’ list? If I ever find out who ruined my life with that list, I am going to tie them to something very hard and beat them within an inch of their life,” he growls, and Huaisang is afraid he might be a little turned on by that. He tries something. A sort of experiment.

“I made the list.”

Jiang Cheng turns white, the blood draining instantly from his face. His eyes widen, his nostrils flare, and Huaisang decides that yes, indeed, he is terrified and aroused. He really does learn something new about himself every day.

“You asshole,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “Why?”

“I don’t remember,” he lies. “Maybe I was bored. Maybe it was a list of people I wanted to be friends with.” It was certainly not a list of people he and Meng Yao had wanted to see naked. Not at all.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t move. If anything, his nose gets a little closer to Huaisang’s nose. Tantalizingly within biting distance.

“It was a sex list, wasn’t it,” he accuses, entirely unfairly in Huaisang’s opinion. But then he frowns. “Your brother was on that list. That’s...a bit much, even for you.”

Huaisang sticks out his tongue, almost licking Jiang Cheng. Wisely, Jiang Cheng jumps back, protecting his precious nose with his hand.

“Okay, that was Zewu-Jun’s fault! He found out that da-ge wasn’t on the list and he looked so sad. You know how he is! ‘But Mingjue-xiong is so handsome and kind. Why wouldn’t he be considered the most eligible cultivator? You know I have no interest in such worldly things, but oh, woe, life has been too cruel to my dear, dear friend Mingjue-xiong.’” Huaisang knows he does a killer Lan-zongzhu impression, and Jiang Cheng’s mouth twitches at the corners.

“Fine. You didn’t fuck your brother. Good for you. Go ahead, tell me who you did kill. Since I apparently can’t stop you.”

“I didn’t know I was doing it, a-Cheng. I wouldn’t kill people on purpose.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t hesitate to reassure him.

“Of course you would.”

Huaisang is friends with Jiang Cheng for this exact reason: because he is the kind of friend who would steal chickens and bury bodies with you and not judge or ask questions.

Jiang Cheng freezes, closes his eyes, and asks a very judgmental question. “Don’t tell me you were responsible for Jin Zixuan too?”

Huaisang winces. “Not...only.”

⟹ ⟸

“So you’re second cousins,” Huaisang asked, drinking another cup of the finest wine he can afford, and staring at Jin Zixuan’s increasingly handsome face, already a work of art.

Naturally, it was the other one who answered, because nothing was easy today except for Huaisang.

“No, his mother’s sister’s husband’s sister is my mother. They were married in the same ancestral hall as my mother’s brother’s wife’s brother, though, and....”

Huaisang didn’t give two fucks about Jin Zixun droning on about his relations, but he liked the flush on Jin Zixuan’s cheeks when he caught Huaisang staring at him. He’d had two bottles of wine, and he seemed to be one of those drunks who got quieter and quieter until he fell over. Huaisang wanted to catch him.

He had found Jin Zixuan in Yudao Tang, looking at the map of the Sunshot Campaign without da-ge, and although he was fairly sure it was innocent, he was also fairly sure da-ge would absolutely qi deviate if anyone touched his little metal horses and toy soldiers. He was just going to shoo him away, but Jin Zixuan, the third most eligible cultivator, had given him A Curious Look, and Huaisang had shifted tactics with a military precision he thinks would even have impressed his da-ge.

“You’ve been working so hard, Jin-gongzi,” Huaisang said, testing out Jin Zixuan’s bicep with a soft and gentle squeeze that lingered long enough to promise something hard and rough. “Let’s go share a bottle or two to loosen up for the night.”

He hadn’t even realized the other one was there.

“You’re too generous Nie Huaisang! We accept your offer,” crowed the unwanted Jin, whose name Huaisang was unwillingly informed was Zixun.

So now Huaisang was sitting in an inn in Hejian trying to get Jin Zixun pass-out drunk faster than Jin Zixuan. It wasn’t working. The man had a hollow leg. Possibly two hollow legs. Definitely a hollow brain. But then he felt a hand on his knee, and Jin Zixuan was looking at him from under eyelashes as long and thick as butterfly wings.

“Would you like to leave?” he asked quietly, and Huaisang could not have been more relieved than if he had been plucked from the coils of a liangren she.

“Yes please,” he whispered under Jin Zixun’s droning. “You go first. I’ll follow.”

Jin Zixuan stood gracefully, only swayed a little, and was up the stairs before Jin Zixun had completely explained the intimate details of his mother’s sister’s son’s wedding tea service. Huaisang endured the description of osmanthus cakes for two whole minutes before he laughed loudly, interrupting Boring Cousin.

“Stop! I need to relieve myself and I can’t bear to miss one single detail! Wait right here and I’ll be back.”

Jin Zixun looked disappointed to be robbed of an audience even for a heartbeat, but he stayed, and Huaisang fled.

He found Jin Zixuan waiting in the doorway of his room, and he didn’t waste another second. Pushing Jin Zixuan onto the bed, Huaisang practically launched himself at the man, kissing him viciously, thrilled when Jin Zixuan groaned and locked his hand around the back of Huaisang’s head. He looked rumpled and flushed, and he tasted like heat and honey. Absolutely delicious. Huaisang didn’t understand why Wei Wuxian didn’t like Jin Zixuan. Probably because he’d never bitten the skin at the base of his throat or heard how sweetly he moaned when Huaisang got his pants down and started to stroke him, sliding his hand expertly along the smooth curve.

“There you go sweetheart,” Huaisang encouraged, when Jin Zixuan reached between Huaisang’s legs and finally wrapped those long, thin, elegant fingers around his shaft. He was exactly what Huaisang had hoped: beautiful, strong, and eager, if a little unskilled.

And then Huaisang heard the worst sound he had ever heard in his life.

“Fuck, this is hot,” Jin Zizun slurred from the door. “I want to join.”

⟹ ⟸

“And then he did, a-Cheng,” Huaisang whines, taking a bite out of the dumpling Jiang Cheng hands him. “It was the worst.”

Jiang Cheng looks unsympathetic. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you done detailing how you fucked my brother-in-law and his abhorrent cousin to death? I tuned out somewhere around the extremely comprehensive description of my sister’s father’s daughter’s husband’s dick, which I could have lived my whole life without hearing.”

“You asked,” Huaisang points out.

“‘Yes’ or ‘no’ would have been sufficient,” Jiang Cheng retorts.

Huaisang hadn’t considered that.

“Oh. Um, yes. I was responsible for Jin Zixuan. And Jin Zixun, although I didn’t mean to be. And...um...Ouyang Xi and Yao Shui. They were both number sixes. Ouyang Xi was the only girl I ever put on the list. Remember her? She was amazing.”

Jiang Cheng sits back, thinking. “Wasn’t she taller than Hanguang-Jun?” When Huaisang nods, Jiang Cheng whistles appreciatively. “Oh yeah, I remember her. She was something. I can’t even be mad about that one.”

He seems to realize how that sounded and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous. You aren’t killing people. They died in the war. They died because they were assholes. They died because people die. That’s not proof.”

Huaisang does not want to tell him about Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian is proof.

“It was twice with Wei Wuxian. And he died twice. Once his heart. Once his life. That’s when I realized, and that’s when I stopped having sex.”

Jiang Cheng’s mouth drops open a little and he stares at Huaisang, obviously dumbfounded, probably horrified. Finally, Huaisang thinks, Jiang Cheng doesn’t have anything sarcastic to say.

“I am so mad at you right now,” he finally replies, and Huaisang shrinks. “Once you realized, why the fuck didn’t you sleep with Hanguang-Jun? You could have made my life so much easier. Gods, Huaisang, you are never thinking about me.”

Huaisang’s mind spins futilely, a dog chasing its tail, but he finally processes Jiang Cheng’s sparkling eyes, the slightly raised left eyebrow, and the extremely provoking way he is biting his lip as “teasing.” Huaisang expects his eyes to stop there, but the traitors keep going, looking at Jiang Cheng’s muscular chest, disappointingly garbed in dry clothes, his long legs stretched out in front of him…no! Focus on being truthful! His mind—okay possibly not his mind—objects to both truthfulness and not ogling Jiang Cheng but he perseveres.

“You...you aren’t angry? About Wei Wuxian?”

Jiang Cheng shrugs. “He’s alive now. What can I change about the past? And I’m not sure I want to hear any,” he pokes Huaisang in the chest, “ANY details about whatever you two did.”

Huaisang thinks about Wei Wuxian at sixteen, full of sunshine and curiosity, kneeling in front of him in the woods behind Cloud Recesses, and he thinks of Wei Wuxian during Sunshot, his jagged edges so beautiful and sharp, begging Huaisang to tighten the rope a little more, hurt him a little more, distract him a little more.

“Nope, nope, see, that face is exactly what I don’t want to hear,” Jiang Cheng interrupts. “Not a word, Huaisang. Not a word.”

He leans forward and pours more wine into Huaisang’s cup. “Look, just stop making the list and you’ll be fine. You can go back to doing whatever, whoever, you want.”

“I did! I haven’t been in charge of the list for years! For a while, no one was updating it, and then I handed it over to Jingyi, oh, about a year before Wei Wuxian came back, but...it still works.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes roll back so hard, so long, Huaisang hopes they get stuck. “I assume you know because you tested it personally. I compliment the rigorous dedication to checking your theory, Huaisang.”

Huaisang sniffs. That poor Zhao girl (an exceptional number seven—Huaisang couldn’t argue with Jingyi’s taste, at least) had died horribly, he thinks, falling from her sword after a tragic mid-air goose collision.

“Well, I had to check, because…” If he is ever going to face a consequence, Huaisang thinks, today is the day. “For once, I wanted to use it.”

And then he waits for the dao to fall.

⟹ ⟸

Huaisang had planned of course, planned for years. Found evidence. Found witnesses. Found proof. But nothing was as good as a sure thing. So he would do this distasteful thing to ensure that no matter what happened, no matter how it happened, his plan would succeed.

Winning was so close he could taste it, like salty tears, like bitter fruit. It was a taste he remembered well.

“San-ge,” he sobbed, drinking his wine and immediately burning off the alcohol, “I just don’t know what to do. I’m going to die alone.”

Jin Guangyao, who Huaisang never thought of san-ge in his mind anymore, looked a little annoyed, but Huaisang poured him another cup of Emperor’s Smile, and his brother’s murderer relaxed.

“A-Sang,” he said in a patronizing tone, as though he was so much older and more mature than Huaisang. “We can visit another matchmaker and try again.”

“Noooooo,” Huaisang wailed. “I just can’t. It won’t help. You must have advice. What can I do to make a woman love me?”

There it was. The flinch. Huaisang loved the flinch. The flinch was winning. He gleefully drove the sword in deeper.

“Oh no, I’m a fool,” he moaned, with a dramatic sniffle, drying his tears and touching the back of Jin Guangyao’s hand, the lightest feather, only the tip of his finger grazing one knuckle. “I’m being selfish. This is such terrible timing, with everything that’s happened. I’m just so lonely. I miss…”

Huaisang sighed and turned away morosely, watching Jin Guangyao out of the corner of his eye. He really wasn’t as good at hiding his reactions as he thought he was. For instance, he bit the inside of his lip the way he always did when he was thinking of the past. And his eyes shifted to the right the way they always did when he was about to lie, so Huaisang beat him to the punch, pouring more wine. Four bottles down.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sure you never think about...well...you know.” He let his eyelashes flutter. Jin Guangyao looked a little alarmed, so Huaisang ratcheted the flutter back to a flicker. “But it was the best time of my life,” Huaisang said with a wistful jab, adding a twist of longing, and the thrust hit home.

“Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao said, sounding a little like he was drunk and a lot like he was weakening. “That was a long time ago.”

Huaisang was aware. He was aware that Meng Yao was never on The List, so sleeping with him never counted. He was aware that it was, perhaps, a bit callous to put a man whose wife died two days ago on a list of most eligible bachelors but he is Jin-zongzhu and chief cultivator. It would honestly be a crime not to include him.

“Maybe...maybe tonight I could help you and you could help me? Think of it as therapeutic catharsis, a-Yao.” Huaisang suggested, this time touching Jin Guangyao’s knee, and, when he got no objection, sliding his hand up further.

This is no worse than Su She, he reminded himself. Actually, a lot less worse, he decided, remembering the flash of raw meat that was Su She’s chest with a repressed shudder. He definitely can’t think about that, or he won’t even be able to coax The Cursed One into working order.

“Sang-er,” Jin Guangyao whispered, and Huaisang knew he’d won.

In more ways than one.

⟹ ⟸

Huaisang can’t tell what the look on Jiang Cheng’s face means.

“Ha!” Jiang Cheng shouts, and then tips sideways onto the couch laughing.

No, laughing is a polite word for polite people. Jiang Cheng is braying, quite a bit like Wei Wuxian’s donkey. It is frankly, very unbecoming behavior for a sect leader.

“You sound like Lil’ Apple,” Huaisang says crossly, and Jiang Cheng laughs harder, falling on the ground at Huaisang’s feet.

“You named your dick ‘The Cursed One’? No wonder it hates you. I’d hate you too. Here’s a suggestion. Try naming it something nice!”

“Oh, like ‘Princess?’”

Jiang Cheng shuts up.

But not for long. Never for long. The only person who shuts up less than Huaisang is Jiang Cheng. Huaisang considers himself a model of restraint compared to Jiang Cheng.

“What if you just kiss someone? Does that kill them?”

Huaisang eyes Jiang Cheng suspiciously, but he is sitting up, not laughing, and looks genuinely curious.

“My lips aren’t cursed.”

Jiang Cheng nods slowly. “That makes sense.”

“It does?”

“Not really, but I’m trying to be supportive of your bout with insanity. What happens if you have sex with people who aren’t on the list?”

“Nothing. But I never know who is on the list anymore. Jingyi and Sizhui are very protective of it. I don’t think they trust me not to tell anyone they write it.”

Jiang Cheng gives him a disbelieving look. “I can’t imagine why.”

Huaisang can’t either. It is a very unfilial lack of faith in his well-proven ability to keep secrets.

“Well, I guess if it’s the only way you’ll ever have sex again, I’m willing to sacrifice myself,” Jiang Cheng announces, holding out his arms and wiggling his hips suggestively. “Come and get it, Huaisang. I’m sorry, but this is your best, no, your only option.”

Huaisang kicks Jiang Cheng’s foot viciously. “You are so mean, a-Cheng, and it doesn’t help, because you’re still on the list, okay? Stupid Jingyi and his stupid crush. You’re number three now.”

Jiang Cheng grins so broadly, Huaisang hates him. Hates him a lot. Stupid, vain, irritating Jiang Cheng. He can’t remember why they’re friends. He can’t remember why he likes him.

“That’s so sweet! I knew I liked that kid for a reason. I should invite him over for tea sometime.”

Huaisang pops to his feet. “You go right ahead. I’m leaving.”

As fast as a striking snake, Jiang Cheng sits up and grabs Huaisang around the waist, pulling him down, startling a squeak out of Huaisang as he lands on Jiang Cheng’s lap.

“You idiot,” Jiang Cheng tells Huaisang fondly, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Have you ever tried having sex with anyone on the list who isn’t a fragile flower? Or who thought you were worth risking a little death for? Maybe you aren’t cursed. Maybe you just have terrible taste.”

He kisses Huaisang, so gently and tenderly, eyes closed, nose rubbing Huaisang’s cheek, and it is nothing like Huaisang expected, but it does feel a little like something breaks. Maybe it’s the curse. Maybe it’s the brittle ice around his heart that formed when da-ge died. Whatever it is, he can’t be bothered to think about it. He kisses Jiang Cheng back with everything he’s wanted to say since the day they met.

“Wait!”

Jiang Cheng wrenches away and glares at Huaisang. “Number three? Three? I can understand two, because ugh, Xichen, but who else could possibly be more eligible than me?”

“Cheng-gege, I’m probably just remembering wrong. You know how I am with details. I’m sure you’re second,” Huaisang soothes, wanting to return to the kissing part without having to tell Jiang Cheng that er-ge had put his foot down a long time ago about being on the list. It is actually his nephew who is number two and Ouyang Zizhen who is number one. He doesn’t think Jiang Cheng will see the humor in it.

“That’s true, you do have an atrocious memory,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “For instance, you seem to have forgotten that you spent the entire afternoon detailing your exploits with half the cultivation world.”

Huaisang’s thought process is somewhat compromised, and he can’t make himself connect Jiang Cheng’s words with the feel of his hands, those wide, strong hands cupping Huaisang’s ass.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, tipping his head back and letting Jiang Cheng nibble a path down his neck. “They were all terrible. I do not recommend any of them, especially not the dead ones.”

Jiang Cheng laughs, a rumbling sound that makes Huaisang’s fingers fumble at the lotus clasp on his belt.

“I didn’t hate it, but we’re going to start a new list, Sang-er, called ‘Huaisang’s Best Sex,’ and I am going to be the ony person on it,” Jiang Cheng informs Huaisang, biting his earlobe.

“It’s not…” Huaisang kisses Jiang Cheng’s exquisite collarbone, having cleverly freed him from his robes, “...a list if…” Huaisang wraps his arms around Jiang Cheng’s neck and rocks against him, “...there’s only one person on it.”

With a growl that might be hiding a laugh, Jiang Cheng flips Huaisang onto his back and grinds against him. “Stop arguing, Sang-er. I am busy writing my name on your new list, and I expect it to take the rest of the night.”

Now that he thinks about it, Huaisang decides, lifting his hips so Jiang Cheng can pull off his pants, it’s really a brilliant idea. The best idea Jiang Cheng has ever had. Jiang Cheng’s mouth engulfs Huaisang’s very much forgiven dick, and with a gasp and a moan, he vows to henceforth let Jiang Cheng have all the ideas.

⟹ ⟸

Huaisang stretches like a cat in the morning, as pleased with himself as the sun is to rise, and stares down at Jiang Cheng’s unfairly beautiful face. Last night, Jiang Cheng had seemed very determined to break the curse, or break Huaisang’s back, and Huaisang isn’t surprised that he’s still asleep. With one finger, Huaisang traces the line of Jiang Cheng’s jaw and leans down to kiss his cool, smooth lips.

Cool lips.

No.

No!

Huaisang flails out of the bed, scrambling backward, falling, shaking his head as though not looking directly at Jiang Cheng will change what he felt.

He knew he should have listened to his gut and not his traitorous, evil dick.

“No no no no no no,” he chants softly, like it will make Jiang Cheng any less dead if he says it enough times.

And then a ton of rocks falls on his head. He is in the Jiang zongzhu’s bedroom with a dead Jiang-zongzhu. The self-preservation instinct that has kept him alive this long kicks him in the ass. He hurries to Jiang Cheng’s side of the bed and rolls him over, tucking the blanket around him like a mushu pancake. First, roll up the body, he mutters to himself. Then, dump him in the lake. Then, run away. This would be easier if he had someone to help. Like Jiang Cheng.

He stops and frowns. Is that…

The rolled up blanket shakes and Huaisang leaps back, clearing the entirety of the lotus-shaped rug—gods, they are devoted to that theme—and landing on a chair as far away from the undead Jiang Cheng as possible.

The wildly panicking rabbit in his head only slows its escape as he recognizes the sound from the bed.

Laughter.

Fucking laughter.

Fucking Jiang Cheng rolls himself out of the blanket. Not dead.

Not yet, at least. Huaisang is formulating some very definite ideas on how to change Jiang Cheng’s living status right now.

“Your face! You should see your face. I swear, I will cultivate immortality just so I can remember this moment for a thousand years. I never thought there would be a reason to use my qi to slow my heart rate like that but I was so wrong. You were going to dump me in the lake!”

“What is wrong with you!” Huaisang shouts. “I thought I’d killed you!” He stalks over to Jiang Cheng, intending to make his assumption reality, but Jiang Cheng wraps his legs tightly around Huaisang’s waist and kisses him soundly.

“I don’t die easily, Nie Huaisang. Not for you, not for anyone. Besides, I’ve waited too long for you to figure out you’re in love with me. Now, come back to bed, and I’ll let you try to kill me again, as many times as you want. If you’re very good, maybe Princess will return the favor and try to kill you too.”

Dammit, Huaisang should have known he’d like the name. He’s going to be stuck calling Jiang Cheng’s dick Princess forever.

He grins and shoves Jiang Cheng backward, straddling his waist, and the aforementioned Princess twitches enthusiastically. Forever is a nice amount of time, Huaisang decides, and Princess is a small price to pay for forever.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #sangcheng #nie mingjue #jin guangyao #the untamed fic #I don't even want to tag the other people #wen xu #jin zixun #jin zixuan #there was a cursed idea #and then a cursed fic came out of it #it is quite silly but #not gonna lie I do sort of love the way it came out #kristina writes tiny stories

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hansolmates · 5 years ago

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jjk; angel’s trumpet [08]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, in this chapter–mentions of sex, a panic attack w.c; 4.5k a/n; can’t believe there’s one more chapter after this! (+the bonus chapter!) its such a bittersweet feeling to close this all up so i hope u all join me in my w2!jk sobbing party im making matcha cookies rn so i can wallow

[07] [08] [final] -> masterpost

Jungkook’s worried.

After he left your apartment, he dove himself into his work and tried to get you out of his head. Somehow he ended up from his living room table to his bed, bleary and with a pen jabbing him in the cheek. He doesn’t know how he feels right now, and has micro analyzed every bit of your relationship in between breaks.

He fell fast, and loving you (as much as it scares himself to admit) was so easy it hurt. It’s why it’s so hard for him to accept that you would betray him like that. What could he have possibly done to deserve this? If you had just admitted your issues from day one, this crisis could have easily been averted and you would be with him right now.

But that’s not why he’s worried. Jungkook wakes up the following day around 10AM, noting the dozens of messages and unanswered phone calls from Jimin and Taehyung.

According to Taehyung, you’ve been missing for three days. Off-the-grid type of missing, to the point that Taehyung is debating on whether or not he should call the police.

The first day you didn’t come home, Taehyung chalked it up as you spending the night at Jungkook’s. The second day however, he visits the library where your office hours are held only to find your usual table empty and your students upset over your lack of contact.

“Here,” Doyeon had said, pointing to the vague email you sent. Taehyung skimmed through the barebones message, mentioning that you had to take an indefinite leave and that the students can email Professor Kim Namjoon if they still had lingering questions.

Taehyung notes the sincere apology at the bottom, and how you tack on that “you are a wonderful group of students and I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.”

Almost as if you aren’t planning to come back.

He could hear Taehyung deflate on the line, knowing that Jungkook has no idea where you are either.

“Did you…” Jungkook scratches his head, sitting at his kitchen table, “did you check her room for a yellow notebook?”

“What?” Taehyung asks, “I checked her room yesterday. Y’know the weird thing is? Her room is clean, like clinically clean. There’s nothing on her desk, the sheets are washed, and her clothes are all folded and put away. Usually it’s like a whirlwind in here.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, remembering how your room is usually quite lived in, with warm sheets and a candle glowing.

“Why aren’t you more stressed out, dude?” Taehyung says, and Jungkook instantly feels guilty. “Your girlfriend’s fucking missing, are you gonna get up and help or not?”

“Y-yeah, I’m just a little shaken,” he manages to reply, thinking about how you tried to explain to him the other night. He pinches the bridge between his brows, regretting not letting you have your word when refusing to listen to you. Maybe if he heard it, things would have turned out differently.

Taehyung sighs, “Yeah, it’s a bit of a shock. She really isn’t like this normally, but I trust her. If you can, maybe contact Jung Hoseok? I already visited Kim Namjoon and he doesn’t know anything, but he’s the only friend I know that could have any idea.”

Jung Hoseok. He remembers that name frequently in your notebook. Not as frequently as his, but enough to have a good idea he could be involved in your sudden departure.

“Okay, I’ll visit him today.”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

The tables that you usually occupy for study groups are painfully absent of your presence, noted by your stressed out students that are hoping you’ll show up unexpectedly.

Thankfully, Hoseok is working today. Jungkook eyes him from the doorway of the playroom, seeing Hoseok carefully distribute plates of snacks as a movie plays on the flatscreen. He looks like a preschooler himself, decked out in a sunflower yellow bucket hat and denim suspenders. Jungkook tries to see if there’s anything strange emanating from Hoseok, like if he also has secrets to hide, but feels nothing of the sort.

“You’re really creepy, Mister,” the door swings open to reveal a little girl, tugging impatiently at his cargos.

Hoseok makes a face at Jungkook, rolling his eyes. “God, just come in. You’re scaring my children.”

The little girl practically shoves him inside, forcing him to sit at the playtable on the very end. She then hands him a plate of cheddar Goldfish and strawberry fruit snacks, a toddler’s delicacy. Hoseok makes a show of telling the children to be quiet, focusing on the movie’s “historical elements” and “symbolic imagery” but they don’t understand any of that and just want Hoseok to move so they can watch Mulan.

Jungkook feels like he’s being crushed in the too-small chair and Fisher-Price table, munching absentmindedly on his Goldfish. Hoseok is playing on his phone, not sparing him a glance as he texts someone.

Jungkook swallows, wishing he had some milk to down the snack. “Uh, are you texting y/n?”

“No,” Hoseok replies coolly.

“Well, do you know where she is?”

“I can tell you where she went,” Hoseok replies eerily, plucking a fruit snack from Jungkook’s place, “as to whether she’s still there or not, I’m not sure.”

“I’m sorry, but are you mad at me?” he whisper-hisses, not wanting to disturb the children enamoured at the front of the room. He’s tired of the secrecy and blurry answers.

“Yes, I am,” Hoseok snaps just as quietly, leaning in to get into his face, “I’m mad because I believed in you.”

“Believed in me?” he gapes, “you don’t even know me!”

“I may not, but I believed you’d trust y/n at least. She’s a victim too, y’know.”

A victim?

“Look,” Jungkook puts some space between them, afraid he would get too heated, “just tell me what’s going on so I can understand. I know I messed up, but I feel like I’ve been in the dark for God knows how long.”

Hoseok bites his lip, “It’s really not my story to tell. Y/n didn’t want to tell you right away because she wasn’t sure of the circumstances. She wasn’t sure even if she was supposed to tell you.”

Jungkook watches the expressions morph on Hoseok’s face. He sees the faith in his gaze, as he holds his phone expectantly, as if he’s also waiting for a sign that you’re okay. Jungkook suppresses a sigh, looking at his own blank screen. Shaking his head, he manages to smile knowing that so many people believe in you.

So why can’t he?

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

You hate this. Three days ago you felt peachy keen, ready to transcend into your own universe and live your life to the fullest.

Now three days later you’re sitting at the wine lady’s cottage, waiting for the past two days for her to show up.

“How long does she need to go on this ‘spiritual retreat’?” you admonish, looking on angrily at the same waitress that has served you for the past two days.

“I don’t know,” the waitress has grown tired of your presence, waiting all day in the little restaurant for the owner’s presence, “until she feels more spiritual, I guess?”

It annoys you further that this waitress has the spitting image of Sehlyung. It’s weird to see her with natural pin straight black hair, always loving the pretty blond-white color and sacrificing her hair health for the bright hue. Every time she sees you still in the same spot, she makes it a point to roll her eyes and walk a little louder. This version of her is just as temperamental, unwilling to budge.

You groan, shamelessly annoyed as you drop your head on your arm. “And are you sure there’s no angel’s wine in the bar? I’m willing to take the risk of switching lives with my third dimension-self at this rate.”

The waitress eyes the one empty bottle of soju that decorate your side of the bar, chalking it up as a drunk episode. “No,” she says flatly, jerking her hand out. “Now, please pay and leave. We’re closing up, but I’ll give you a call if she decides to show up late. Since y’know, you’ve left your number here despite our protests.”

“Can I stay until you’re at least done cleaning—”

“No.”

You narrow your eyes, snatching up your half-finished bottle of soju before tucking it in your purse and offering up your credit card in exchange. You know you’re not in the right mind, but you’re pulling at strings at this point and you don’t know what to do.

After a couple paces of shaky walking and trying very hard not to appear tipsy in public, you plop yourself onto the beach, overlooking the shore. You place your backpack next to you, taking off your shoes and dipping your toes in the sand.

You glare hard at the moon, despite the distance the big ball of extraterrestrial rock is bright and full. It reflects in the ocean and bathes you in it’s grace.

Sighing at its beauty, you take a swig of your soju as your feet wade in the water. The touch of the ocean is glaringly cold, but your body feels warm and the contrast is appropriately jarring. You feel stuck between two worlds, your body in one while your heart is in the other, desperate to find the bridge to bring you home.

What exactly was the goal in bringing you here? Did you need a break from your real life? Did fate want you to remedy your relationship with Jungkook? Were you supposed to rewrite the wrongs you committed in your other life?

You snort, taking a long swig. It's easy to see how well that went.

You miss your life back home. As much as you love the one your alternate self has made here, nothing compares to Sehlyung’s humor and dirty jokes. Nothing compares to the look on Beomgyu’s face after getting a sentence translation correct. Nothing compares to the way Jungkook looks for only you after a concert, desperate to give you a hug and an affirmation that he did well.

Just as you are about to sing to the moon and beg for a reprieve, a body plops themselves next to you, snatching the bottle from your hands.

“Y’know, normally when people run away, they leave a mysterious note.”

You frown at Jungkook, who looks absolutely ethereal as he stares at the moon. He’s glittering in his denim jacket and black jeans, as if he’s part of an intimate moment in a slice-of-life film. You have half a mind to grab your phone and yell at Hoseok, but it’s far too late since your location has already been revealed.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, trying not to snap when Jungkook pours the contents of your drink into the ocean. “Hey, I paid for that.”

Ignoring you he says, “I’m here to take you home.”

“I don’t have a home here,” you snap, and you mean it.

Jungkook digs a hole for your bottle, letting the sea green grass sit in the sandhole. He turns to you, looking weary and worried. You try not to feel worried over the slump in his chest, or the way he looks like he ran a marathon to find you.

“Then where is your home?” he asks gently, resting an arm over his knee and turning to face you.

You curl up further into your body, hoping you’ll shrink if you press your legs close enough to your chest. “It’s not here,” you mumble into your knees.

“Tell me where,” and you don’t shove him away when he puts his palm on your thigh, coaxing you out of your shell. “I’ll listen this time.” Deathly slow, you lift your head up, letting him catch your stray tears and spread your body with warmth. He scoots over to you, the rough sand making it difficult as he tries to wrap his arm around you. The both of you let out a breath, missing each other’s touch. “I’m sorry,” he says, the apologies melting into your temple, “I should’ve listened from the beginning, and been more patient. It’s my fault you’re all the way out here.”

The oceans crash against both of your feet, the water eager to swallow you whole.

“Two months ago I got into a fight with you, the other you,” you start, and Jungkook doesn’t budge, and you’re thankful he doesn’t attempt to bombard you with questions, “it wasn’t a stupid fight. It was something building for a long, long time. And I came home drunk. One second, I was two seconds away from being sideswept by an incoming truck, and the next second it’s daytime and it’s you that nearly runs me over.”

He rubs small circles into your shoulder, and you almost hum at his touch. You miss Jungkook so much.

“The Jungkook I’ve told you about isn’t dead,” you explain, “he’s—and I’m, we’re from another universe.”

And between you, Jungkook, and the moon you profess your journey. Starting from the anxiety you felt from the first week, how you holed yourself in your apartment until Namjoon had to whisk you out, to your relief when Hoseok believed your crazy ideas. Halfway through you decide to piece your theories within the story, your last conversation with Jungkook, coupled with the angel’s wine and explaining how scary it was to see your matching tattoos and the meaning behind them.

“But, I wasn’t trying to fall in love with you so I could go home,” you admit tearfully, feeling the weight of the night on your shoulders, “it, it just happened naturally. It made me believe that in another world, we would’ve worked out. Just like he said.”

“I believe you,” he says firmly, exhaling. The whole explanation, understatedly, is a lot to take in. But he isn’t going to reject it, in fact as absurd as it is it makes far more sense than you planning out a Jungkook-inspired sci-fi novel or questioning your sanity. “I—I didn’t want to at first. It was easier to say you were crazy but, it doesn’t seem like the case. The way you saw me that morning we met, I could see how much you cared for me—him—us?” he scratches his head, unsure of how he should refer to himself in the situation.

“I don’t blame you,” you shake your head, “Namjoon wanted me to see a doctor.”

“It must’ve been hard,” he states, “seeing so much of him in me.”

“You are him,” you retort, looking up so that your noses are touching. There’s pain in both your gazes, equally upset at the circumstances. “I’m sorry you got the short end of the stick. I wish you could’ve met me, the other me, under normal circumstances.”

“Remember what I said before?” he asks, lifting a hand to brush your hair behind your ear. “I said that our meeting was fate. And now I believe it more than ever.”

You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Y’know, Jungkook believes in fate too. He used to joke about hearing the bell when he found ‘the one’ like in Kimi No Na Wa.”

Jungkook grins, “That guy of yours seems pretty cool,” he jokes, “let him know that in our case, the bell was my horn because I didn��t wanna run you over.”

The whole situation is confusing, but you’re thankful that Jungkook seems to be at ease now that all your cards are laid out.

“So does your Jungkook do film too?”

“Uh,” you choke out a cough, “he’s actually a singer, dancer, producer, and films when he has the time. Mostly singer, the main one in a K-pop group. With Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Seokjin.”

He gapes, “Kim Seokjin? The actor Seokjin? Damn he’s like, super fine—”

“God this is so weird.”

“So how many figures are they making a year? In the hundred-thousands, like six-figures?”

“Er, more like eight,” you squeak, “and then some. But you put a lot of your money into donations.”

“Damn babe, you downgraded,” Jungkook jokes, and you smack him playfully on the arm. “So that’s how you got the song, huh?”

“Still With You? Yeah,” you say, running your hands through the soft sand, “it’s weird to live in a world without your music, byproduct of my job. It happens to be a big part of my life,” your eyes glaze over the ocean, “I missed hearing your voice.”

“Y/n,” Jungkook threads his fingers through the sand to find your hands, “I’m really, really sorry I doubted you.”

You disagree, “It’s a crazy situation. I don’t even know if I’m really sane at this moment,” you chuckle, “I mean, the time went by so fast. I would be paranoid because for you, it’s like being in a new relationship. I didn’t think it would be so easy to love you all over again like that.”

“Neither did I.” Jungkook replies warmly, and he smiles when he sees you gaping. He leans over to press a kiss to your lips, a feeling long-missed. “And a little part of me knows he feels the same way, too.”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s almost 12AM before you return to your apartment, dripping wet because neither of you anticipated the sudden spring shower. You tumble in like wet noodles, giggling like children in hushed whispers as you struggle to find the lightswitch.

The lights blare on for you, Taehyung’s fingers hanging by the toggle. His hair is wet from the shower, and he looks like he sees a Christmas miracle when he wraps you up in his arms, despite the protest of you being dirty with sand and salt.

“You dummy, don’t ever scare me like that ever again!” he sobs into your shoulder, and you return the embrace as you pat his head comfortingly.

“Sorry Tae,” you say, “had to do a little soul-searching.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, more like world-searching if anyone were to ask his honest opinion. But Taehyung is looking past your body to mumble a teary ‘thank you’ to Jungkook, and he nods his head politely.

“Well next time you soul search, you better call.”

“Done and done.”

Satisfied that you are going to stay the night and not budge, Taehyung returns to his room. He gives you a good scolding however, and he makes you promise that you’ll give him the full story over breakfast.

After that bump, Jungkook and you can’t keep your hands off each other. You two shower the grime off your bodies, taking turns shampooing and scrubbing. Even after you’re clean and towel-dried, Jungkook’s fingers fail to untack from your skin, pushing you eagerly to your mattress as he presses kisses along your clothed body. He’s singing against your skin, waxing poetics about how beautiful you are and how much he loves you.

“Jung—koo, Jungkook,” you say breathlessly, running your fingers through his damp locks, “Taehyung’s in the other room, we can’t be loud.”

“Don’t,” kiss, “give,” kiss, “a fuck,” Jungkook pants, large hands trailing over your soft skin, memorizing every inch of you, He presses his length against your thigh, insistent, “if this is the last time, we’re going off with fireworks, baby.”

And with that, you relent. It’s nothing short of electric, the way he takes great care but great power into your pleasure. He takes his time, as if it isn’t the first and last night, tracing every inch of your body because he doesn’t know what the future entails for the both of you.

You’re equally stung like live-wire, wracking with pleasure as he seals his affirmation to you with sweet nothings, bodies pressed against each other feverently like they’ve always meant to be. Every bit of contact is purposeful, unbridled and overflowing with affection.

When you’re done you’re both sweaty and almost painfully content, acceptant of the ambiguity of your futures.

“Jungkook?” you ask, holding his hand tightly.

“Yes, pretty girl?”

“Will you… fall in love with me again?”

“Is that even a question?” he balks, leaning forward to peck your nose. He smiles at the way you scrunch your face. “Your office hours are 1-3PM, Mondays and Thursdays in the general library. If you’re not there, you’re teaching the History of Neuroscience in the ARC building on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10:20 to 12:10. I also know where you live, so.”

You don’t care how sweaty you are, and tuck your head underneath his chin, needing to be closer.

“I will find you,” he promises, “hopefully not under my bike the second time around, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’ll have a lot of explaining to do, y’know,” you sigh into his chest, feeling it rumble as your hair dampens. Your hair has dried long ago from the shower, but you know Jungkook’s trying hard to be strong as he cries into your crown, “you should leave before I wake up, just in case.”

“Hoseok and I will handle it,” Jungkook assures you, “we’re like the Power Rangers, defenders of space and time.”

“Alright Red Ranger, make sure you’re at least clothed before I wake up, then.”

He pulls away lightly, seeing your equally red-rimmed eyes and ruddy cheeks. Both of you bump arms as you try to wipe away each other’s tears. The moon continues its power over your bodies, the only source of light in the room. Despite its movement since your time at the beach, it continues to illuminate the room and make the moment glisten with the rhythm of time.

“You really think this is the end for us, huh?” his voice cracks, his hands cradling your face.

Stretching to reach him, you press a kiss on every available centimeter of skin on his face. His forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his lips. You take care to kiss the tears away, silently wishing nothing but the best for him. He immediately melts into your touch, and he gives you a teary smile.

“It’s not the end,” you assure, “it’s our beginning. Thank you, for loving me.”

Jungkook nods, pressing a long, sweet kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to fall in love with you again.”

The two of you sleep like that, not with a goodbye, but with a promise.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1.

When you wake up, it’s loud.

The transition is jarring, painfully so. Gone are your soft flannel comforter, replaced with dry, scratchy sheets that are a poor excuse for bedwear. Your hands are heavy, bounded by the fluids snaking into your bloodstream. Your eyes are crusty and bleary, taking in the plain white and wood room. The sharp sound of the monitor reverberates in your ears, a high-pitched reminder of your slow vitals.

Everything is painful, confirming that in fact you did get hit by that truck. You give props to your alternate self for dealing with this for the past two months.

Your eyes dart around the room, taking in the night sky and the full moon looming above you. The only other person in the room is your baby niece, who is just short of five years old. She has since ceased coloring at her little table, her little mouth gaping open like a pufferfish. You make eye contact with her, and she nearly spills over her 64-count Crayola pack as she throws herself off the chair, running over to reach for your hand.

“Auntie!” she cheers, the biggest smile on her face, “you’re awake! Mama said you were hibernating like bears do, and that you would probably wake up by spring time. She was right!”

Although it pains you to smile, you manage to squeeze her hand in return. You open your mouth, the inside feeling tacky and gross. “Ah-ah,” you grimace when no sound comes out, just rasps and ghosts of what once was your voice.

Your niece’s face crumples, and she lets go of you. “Imma go get mama, she’ll bring help!”

She leaves you alone to succumb to the beeps of your monitors and the pain in your bones. Your fingers grapple the paper-thin sheets, and your gaze drifts to the moon. You think of Jungkook, sleeping blissfully in bed, holding you with so much tenderness and care. In a matter of what felt like minutes since you fell asleep in his arms, disappears just like that.

The doctors and your family find you hysterically crying, the monitors going crazy as you hyperventilate yourself into a stupor. You feel like you’re choking on air, whatever little tubes in your body restricting access to fully express how torn and conflicted you’re feeling all over again. The medical expertise does work to evacuate your family, chalking your reactions up as your trauma catching up to you and the shock of the past two months hitting you full force.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s nearly 3AM when the music cuts out with no explanation, and Jungkook is annoyed. He just got that set down and he finally felt confident in adding facial expressions, but the manager killed the music and now his head is spinning.

He’s heaving, hands on his head as he tries to get his body back to equilibrium. He watches intently as Namjoon immediately takes the call, not even bothering to leave the studio to answer it. The rest of the members watch as Namjoon’s expressions morph into happiness, combined with short “yes”es and “I understands.”

Namjoon makes eye contact with Jungkook first and beams, “She’s awake!”

What originally felt like a hot and stifling room, immediately dissipates into an air of relief. While not all the members may not know you personally, the thought of a fellow co-worker on the road to recovery is enough to ease their exhaustion.

“What?” Jungkook doesn’t hide it, and collapses on the floor, thoroughly spent for today. “Is she okay?”

“Well, she actually just passed out. But she’s conscious.”

“What, why?” Jimin asks, rolling a water bottle over to Jungkook.

“Doctors say she woke up in a panic, started freaking out when it sunk in that she’s been in a coma since winter.” Jungkook’s heart squeezes painfully of the thought of you scared and feeling trapped in that small hospital bed.

“Well, can we go see her in the morning?” Jungkook says hopefully, biting his lip.

“We can’t,” Namjoon confesses, looking down at his shoes in disappointment, “at least not right now. y/n was apparently terrified. The doctors think she’s suffering from some form of PTSD, because she can’t recall anything that happened after she got hit. Her guardians are sending her to a facility for her to process her trauma. It’s in the countryside, and she’s not allowed visitors until she’s fully recovered.”

Just when Jungkook thinks he has you back, you’re already far from his reach. He should be happy, knowing that you are well on your way to get better. He’s thankful enough that you’re finally awake. But the small, selfish part of him wants to visit you, and comfort you.

Whether you’ll let him or not is your choice, but this time, he decides he’s going to fight for you.

#jungkook fic #jungkook angst #goldenclosetnet #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook fluff

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mopeytropey · 5 years ago

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a beer bud series: chapter 11

author’s note: times are tough. stay safe. read some fluffy fic. take care of each other.

Timeline: this is set just before Lincoln and Octavia's wedding, probably in the realm of chapters 11 and 12 of apu, after Clarke has given Lexa a key and asked her to move in (because they are both too gay to function)

Beer: La Ferme Urbaine FARMHOUSE ALE

Influenced by the Belgian saison style, La Ferme Urbaine features a complex blend of German hops, pilsner and pale malts, wheat, rye, oats, and spelt. The beer pours a hazy straw color and delivers a spicy, dry finish.

ABV 7.8%

Posted to AO3 here, or below the cut:

:::

“This is going to require some intense renovations.” Lexa stands with her hands in her front pockets, neck craned towards a dilapidated two-story house on a small corner lot. Its Victorian architecture is nearly eclipsed by peeling paint, broken windows, and a sagging porch, but the way Lincoln’s face beams, it’s as if the house shows no signs of disrepair. “You sure you’re up to task?”

“Hell, yeah.” Lincoln’s confidence is as strong as the late afternoon sun, glaring in a burning orange glow as it reflects off the windows of the historic city buildings surrounding them.

He then launches into an animated diatribe of improvements and restoration projects, pacing the perimeter of the property as he gestures to certain aspects of the house with broad hands. He and Octavia have likely discussed these visions of their future home endlessly as they await inspection reports and closing signatures to make everything final. Their initial offer had been accepted almost immediately, and Lexa has to believe it is thanks to, in part (if not entirely), the authenticity of her good friend’s charming demeanor.

“It’ll be a massive undertaking, but with the right help—”

“You planning to swing a sledge with me during the demo stage?” Lincoln grins.

“God, no.” Lexa nearly shudders. “Though I imagine Clarke might enjoy the destructive release of aggression after some of her more challenging bar shifts.”

Lincoln chuckles and returns to stand by Lexa’s side as they continue to gaze up at the house. “Yeah, Octavia too.”

“I’m so excited for you.” Lexa smiles up at him, nudging their shoulders together as Lincoln meets her eye with a grin of his own. “About everything.”

His upcoming nuptials (which have explicitly been banned from being referred to as a wedding) are less than two months away, and Lincoln hopes to have the keys to their new house in hand before the ceremony. He and Octavia seem happier than ever—real life exemplars of a healthy, supportive relationship between two friends in love. Lexa feels a kindred satisfaction at having found something similar with Clarke. Perhaps no one would have predicted these outcomes, but she and Lincoln have done rather well for a couple of kids who spent years feeling unwanted and unloved.

“What can I say: I’m living my best life.”

“Truly,” Lexa laughs, leaning into the nook of Lincoln’s armpit as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

Even for early April, the weather has warmed, and the sun hangs in the sky for longer intervals. There’s no longer a bite in the air, even in the cooler, evening temperature. The breezes coming in off of the harbor have a fresh scent, like rejuvenation in the air that will soon breed blossoms on all the trees and fresh shoots of grass beneath their feet.

Lexa is perfectly comfortable in her jeans and a soft, grey henley layered with a pastel flannel that she has permanently borrowed from Clarke’s side of the closet. A closet that they now share in an official capacity. Lexa’s mouth slopes into a stupid grin at the thought of their now shared space. Her stomach swoops because of the new gold key in her pocket that she can feel between her fingers.

“I could say the same for you,” Lincoln tells her, somehow reading her thoughts. “You get all your stuff moved in yet?”

Her breath stutters at the mention of it, at the vision of scattered boxes and her random belongings that have slowly infiltrated Clarke’s space. “My lease isn’t up until the end of the month, so I’ve been moving things gradually.”

“Not ready to fully commit, huh?” Lincoln jabs with a teasing grin.

“I feel exceptionally confident about it, thank you very much.”

“What? Just like that?” Lincoln laughs. “Where is the torturous, internal Lexa struggle? Where are the mountains of anxiety about making the wrong call or moving too fast? Is this what four months as Clarke’s girlfriend has done to you?”

Lexa shrugs as if her chest hasn’t just snapped like a rubber band at being called Clarke’s girlfriend, a title that still sparks jittery excitement. Particularly when she is still grasping the house key that Clarke has recently given her. “Apparently.”

“Well, it’s a good look on you.”

“Thanks.”

They’ve stopped at the house Lincoln intends to buy with Octavia on their way to food and beer at Dockside, having fallen into the habit of visiting the girls during their longest shift of the week. With the mention of Clarke and the newest development in their relationship, Lexa feels a sudden wave of impatience to continue their walk to the bar where she knows Clarke and Octavia will be waiting to greet them.

Lincoln releases a long, contented sigh. “Should we head down to see the girls?”

Lexa exhales in turn and attempts to answer in a measured and completely unhurried manner: “Sure.”

:::

It’s just shy of six when Lincoln pulls open the front door of Dockside, allowing Lexa to walk through into the familiar establishment. Her eyes perform a practiced scan of the room, but Clarke isn’t immediately visible as she and Lincoln head straight for the half-empty bar counter.

Octavia is chatting with other customers as Lexa and Lincoln approach, but she winks at Lincoln, her mouth curving just so, mid-conversation, which has him beaming as he slides into a bar stool.

“That’s my future wife,” he stage whispers, and Lexa can’t help but smile at how ridiculous being in love with Octavia has made him.

They’d been more than halfway to the bar when Lexa had received an S.O.S from Clarke about caffeine and sudden fatigue and exaggerated pronouncements of loyalty, commitment, and sexual favors if Lexa would bring her coffee. Of course, it strictly goes against her better judgement to enable Clarke’s reliance on caffeine in unhealthy measurements.

Then again, Lexa has lost almost all ability to ever actually tell her no because being in love with Clarke has made her better judgements ridiculously feeble.

As such, she stands beside Lincoln with a small half-caf drip in a paper cup from Clarke’s favorite roaster, a generous concession without fully giving in to her girlfriend’s unredeemable habit.

“Clarke’s in the back if you want to bring that to her,” Octavia says as she approaches.

“Oh. Okay.” Lexa starts for the black swinging door of storage before Octavia calls out again.

“Sorry—not the stockroom. The other back.” She’s jutting her thumb over her shoulder when Lexa turns around, indicating the narrow corridor behind the bar counter that leads to Clarke’s office and the back entrance.

“Oh. Right. Thanks,” Lexa smiles. “I’ll be right back,” she says to Lincoln.

“I’m starting a timer on my phone,” he calls after her. “Just because I’m curious to see how long it takes you to deliver a cup of coffee.”

She just manages to stop herself from flipping him off before pushing through the door, leaving him with a meaningless scowl.

:::

Clarke looks up from whatever she’s been working on as Lexa steps into the open doorway with a smile she intends to curb by biting her lower lip.

“Hey.”

“Oh my god, I can't believe you actually brought me coffee. I love you.” Clarke says it offhand, a bit theatrically even, but Lexa’s stomach flip-flops all the same.

She enters the office with a slow stride and gently places the paper cup onto Clarke’s desk. “That’s half decaf, by the way.”

Clarke’s face falls as she eyes the beverage with sudden disdain. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we have to break up.”

“Ouch. It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Get over here.” Clarke has already snared her wrist with a widening smile, pulling at Lexa’s arm so that she is forced to lean across the desk and meet Clarke’s waiting grin. “Hi,” she almost whispers after their lips part.

“Is this how you typically break up with people? Because it’s actually pretty enjoyable,” Lexa murmurs into the space between their lips.

“Shut up,” Clarke laughs before they are kissing again, Lexa’s palms flat against the desktop while Clarke’s fingers thread into her hair.

It’s still a soft greeting and nothing obscene—two people happy to be in the same space again after a short time apart—but Lexa feels the quickening of her pulse all the same.

“Thank you for my fake coffee.”

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.”

Never before has she felt so unapologetically mocked by a single person yet utterly enamored in spite of it. Lexa pinches her lips together and looks away from Clarke’s teasing smile.

“I have to get back out there,” she announces, finally pulling back to stand at her full height. “Lincoln thinks he’s being clever by setting a timer for my return.”

Clarke stands with a laugh. “I’ll come with you. I need a break from these orders anyway.” She holds her fake coffee with one hand and finds Lexa’s fingers with the other. She kisses Lexa’s shoulder cap and regards her fondly. “I’m never getting this shirt back, am I?”

“Especially not now that we’ve broken up.”

The genuine hurt that immediately darkens Clarke’s eyes coupled with her protruding lower lip stops Lexa from moving towards the office doorway.

She stills her movements entirely as Clarke says, “I don’t want to joke about breaking up anymore.”

“It was your joke to begin with,” Lexa softly reminds her, nevertheless smoothing the pad of her thumb over Clarke’s lower lip.

“I know,” Clarke says, frowning still. “It was a stupid joke, and I don’t like to think about it.”

A soft press of her lips to Clarke’s forehead has her leaning into the touch, releasing Lexa’s fingers to curl an arm around Lexa’s waist.

“If you think you would be able to get rid of me that easily, Clarke, we might need to revisit some previous conversations about my intentions in being with you.”

“I seem to recall some very persuasive measures that we engaged in alongside those conversations,” Clarke says, her smile pressing into Lexa’s neck where she has tucked her head beneath Lexa’s chin.

Lexa hums through a smile of her own. If she didn’t know Clarke so well, it would be easy to mistake her perpetual, single-minded focus on sex as a complete lack of sentimentality.

But, Lexa isn’t fooled.

Clarke thrives on crass innuendo and well-meaning objectification (both of herself and Lexa), but she can also be openly sensitive and affectionate. Vulnerable in her need to be near Lexa—to feel safe and connected—as often as possible.

Lexa can’t say for sure if they will always be so desperate for each other’s company, if small fractions of time spent apart will continue to breed an urgency for reuniting. She has been in enough relationships to know that attachments usually fade and the needs of each person most often change over time.

Still, something tells her that when it comes to this relationship, Clarke will break the mold of every truth Lexa has previously known.

“The point is: I’m not going anywhere,” Lexa tells her, and Clarke looks up at her with a renewed smile. “Although, you’re still not getting this shirt back.”

Clarke kisses the underside of her jaw and tightens the hold she has around her waist. “You can keep all of my shirts as long as I get to keep you.”

“Deal,” Lexa answers, finally leading them out of the office.

Lincoln will roast her for having taken an exorbitant amount of time to deliver Clarke’s coffee, but having Clarke hugged against her side, Lexa finds she doesn’t exactly care.

:::

In an hour’s time Lexa has been fed no less than six times—small plates of food from the kitchen’s rotating menu like an assembly line in front of her and Lincoln—and an empty beer glass is no sooner bussed than another full one appears. As it turns out, dating a bar manager and sustaining a lifelong friendship with her business partner’s fiancé is a pretty good gig for libations and keeping well fed. By 8:00, she’s not necessarily sober, but the continuous parade of appetizers that Octavia and Clarke slide in front of Lexa and Lincoln keep her from tipping over the edge into properly drunk.

“This one is my favorite.”

“You’ve said that about the last three.”

Lincoln crunches into his charred nopales and street corn tostada as if to be sure. “Nope. This is the one.”

Lexa smiles around a second bite of her Korean short ribs and savors the balanced marinade—a perfect blend of smoky sweetness and tangy spice.

She is washing it down with a saison from Rhode Island as Octavia swings out of the kitchen and approaches their end of the bar.

“How good is that corn?”

“The whole thing is amazing,” Lincoln tells her.

Octavia swipes an avocado off his plate without hesitation. “What about the Kalbi?”

It sounds conversational, the way that Octavia, as a friend, is asking Lexa about her meal. But, in spending the past year of her life in proximal relation to her, Lexa has determined that, in some capacity, Octavia is actually always working.

“These are easily some of the best short ribs I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah,” Octavia grins. “I’m obsessed with them. Jane has been on staff for less than two months, and she’s already killing it back there.”

“Be sure to extend my compliments to the chef. Beer is incredible, too,” Lexa adds.

“What did Clarke bring you this time? The Foolproof?”

“Their farmhouse, yeah.” Lexa’s attention is drawn to the kitchen doorway again as Clarke exits carrying plates of food. She doesn’t glance in their direction as she drops the plates farther down the bar, but her smile is warm and bright, and Lexa can’t look away.

There’s a generous crowd strung along the bar counter, plus a few of the nearby tables that keep rotating with guests who stay for a drink or two before heading off into the night. Clarke is engaging with the three men who have just received their plates of food, and Lexa’s ears attune to the friendly pitch of her voice while Octavia and Lincoln momentarily hold their own conversation.

Lexa sips her saison and enjoys the way Clarke handles herself in conversation—confident, approachable, friendly, but with a distant professionalism. It’s not until she registers the distinct tone of patriarchal arrogance coming from a few of Clarke’s guests that Lexa realizes Octavia and Lincoln have also clued into the nearby exchange.

From what Lexa can gather, over the din of other surrounding patrons, the men are attempting to challenge the accuracy of Clarke’s knowledge on one of Dockside’s pours. Clearly first-time patrons, to these men, Clarke is easily mistaken as the beautiful bartender in a nice dress with a friendly demeanor who pours their pints and delivers their food. They would never suspect that she is also the unassuming curator of every beer offered within the establishment and a well-read expert in the field of craft brewing.

If she didn’t find misogynistic biases against women in male-dominated fields to be nauseatingly unforgivable, Lexa would almost feel bad for what these guys have coming to them.

“This should be good,” Lincoln mutters with a deviant smile, and Lexa flicks her gaze to find Octavia looking half-amused, half-poised for lethal intervention.

In short, Clarke absolutely eviscerates the men’s inflated egos by seamlessly rattling off a short history on the brewery in question, explaining their evolution of kettle sours and dry-hopped IPAs with thrilling precision, all while maintaining her hospitable smile. The cohort of sexist men are left silenced and stunned as Clarke moves on to tend to the rest of the bar, leaving their gaping jaws in her wake.

“What a bunch of fucking morons,” Octavia grumbles with an eye roll just before another table of guests catches her attention and she is pulled away.

“I love it when she does that,” Lexa says, smiling in Lincoln’s direction.

“It is really gratifying to watch someone’s fragile masculinity skillfully shattered,” he agrees with a satisfied smile. “I’ll never understand it, that intrinsic need to be an expert on everything, but it’s entertaining as hell to see O and Clarke flex on these random assholes who waltz in here and mistakenly try to out-beer them.”

Lexa's smile widens as she and Lincoln clink their beer glasses together. “It really is.”

:::

“One strand of lights.”

“No.”

“A single banner. A classy one.”

“No.”

“Candles. Come on, O, no one can say no to candles.”

“Watch me.” Octavia, who up until this point had been withholding eye contact, gives Clarke a pointed glare. “No.”

Lexa smiles at Clarke’s frustrated groan while sipping her glass of water. Three-and-a-half pints of beer and countless plates of food have left her feeling fully satisfied if not also ready for bed. Clarke won’t close the bar for another few hours, and though Lexa acknowledges this is the reality of their chosen professions, she also wishes to steal Clarke away and take her home for a cuddle.

“Think about Lincoln,” Clarke continues, beating her dead wedding horse, much to Octavia’s dismay. “You’re depriving him of this fanfare, this pizazz, this well-deserved—”

“Don’t drag him into this,” Octavia interjects.

Clarke’s jaw drops. “He’s literally one half of the reason we’re celebrating! And honestly, with how difficult you’re being about this whole thing, it might be more like 70/30.”

Octavia rolls her eyes and starts to walk away, busying herself with clearing empty glasses from a table whose guests have just vacated. “When you two leave, will you take her with you?”

Her voice carries across the now mostly empty bar, and Clarke scowls at Octavia from where Lexa and Lincoln sit at the far end of the counter. They often lay claim to this section of the bar during their Wednesday night visits, and it always feels like a sacred, little huddle.

“That’s a tempting offer,” Lexa answers as Octavia breezes past them to deposit the empty glasses into her bus tub behind the bar.

Her comment successfully erases the look on Clarke’s face as their eyes meet, and she watches Clarke’s frown melt into a dopey smile.

“I’m not leaving you to close by yourself. Stop being so dramatic,” Clarke admonishes, though she is still smiling as her eyes leave Lexa to look over her shoulder at Octavia.

“I’m not by myself,” Octavia grunts, hoisting her black bin of glassware and dirty plates off a low shelf. “Jane and Murph are in the back. Take the orders home and finish them there. You know the last two hours of the night are the slowest midweek. I’ll be fine.”

“Stop trying to get rid of me just because you’re throwing a fit about candles,” Clarke shouts after her even though Octavia has already pushed through into the kitchen.

Their small end of the bar counter temporarily swells with music blaring from the line cooks and back-of-house staff, a stark contrast to the lo-fi hip hop Clarke has playing on a lower volume in the main room.

“I should get home either way,” Lexa admits with a short stretch of her arms, pulling taut the muscles of her back. “You fed me too well, and now I’m sleepy.”

“You’re a grandma every night of the week—in bed before ten or cranky as hell the next day.”

Lexa furrows her brow at Clarke’s unnecessarily accurate depiction of her sleep routines, but Lincoln laughs openly while nudging her shoulder.

“This one’s never been able to burn the midnight oil. Needs that beauty rest to maintain her cheerful disposition.”

“I’m officially breaking up with both of you.”

“Hey.”

Clarke’s pout is back, the color of her eyes saturated in renewed hurt at Lexa’s bad joke. Three-and-a-half beers have also made her forgetful, apparently.

“Sorry, sorry.” She reaches for Clarke’s wrists across the glossed wood of the bar and is gently rubbing her thumbs across Clarke’s pulse points when Octavia reemerges. “Just Lincoln then.”

Lincoln offers a good-natured shrug. “That’s fair.”

“See?” Octavia eyes the affectionate gesture between Clarke and Lexa with a practiced look of exasperation. “You could be doing this loved up shit in the privacy of your own home.”

“Says the one who is about to profess her undying love and commitment publicly in front of all our closest friends,” Clarke argues.

“I feel like if you keep reminding her, she’s more likely to back out,” Lincoln muses, and Lexa wonders if he is only half kidding.

Octavia pins him with a look. “Never.”

It’s a charged moment just for them, despite the fact that Clarke and Lexa are caught in its crosshairs, Lincoln grinning as he catches Octavia’s crooked smirk.

“I really should go,” Lexa reiterates quietly, not wanting to interrupt. Her day will start early the following morning with a delivery just south of Boston, and traffic will be nauseating through Sumner Tunnel. “Are you sure you don’t—”

“Seriously, get her out of here,” Octavia interjects. “She overworks and stays late out of guilt and loyalty, and it’s entirely unnecessary.”

“Keep insisting, and I’m gonna say yes,” Clarke shoots back, almost threatening if not for her smile.

“Good. Then you can stop badgering me about fucking tea lights.” Octavia flicks the side of Clarke’s head and smacks her ass as she passes by to clear more tables, and somehow Clarke is charmed by the violent affection.

“I’ll stay and keep her company,” Lincoln offers. “You guys should take off. Enjoy the early night.” He then leans in closely to them both, his head bent in conspiracy. “And, I really do like those paper lanterns that you guys string up on the deck sometimes.”

The way Clarke’s entire countenance glows, eyes sparkling in victorious mischief, has Lexa’s smile growing in kind.

“I. Love you. You wonderful, wonderful human.” Clarke places her hands affectionately on either side of Lincoln’s face and looks as if she might actually plant a kiss between his eyebrows. “I will not let you down or betray your confidence.” Her tone is gravely solemn as if they are alluding to something far more serious than wedding decor.

“Give me a second to gather my things from the office?” she then says to Lexa, her voice shifting to that delicate timbre that turns Lexa’s beating heart to a useless puddle.

She tells her, “Take all the time you need.”

“I’ll be quick.” Clarke reaches for her fingers, giving them a quick squeeze, and disappears into the back hallway.

“Did I mention we did very well, ending up with these two?”

Lexa looks over to catch Lincoln’s giant grin and feels her own lips stretching into a smile. “I’m proud of us.”

Lincoln very nearly giggles. “Me too.”

A beat or two of amicable silence passes between them, in which time Octavia has returned behind the bar to tend to her few, straggling guests.

“What are the chances Clarke already has a shitload of decorations she’s been stockpiling for this party?” Lincoln contemplates aloud.

Lexa’s response comes without hesitation.

“Oh yeah, without question.”

:::

#a beer bud series #apu #a pleasant undoing #brewkru!

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