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sombreboy · 4 years

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Mused obsession (4)

Written by @sombreboy as Jungkook & @chimoona as Jimin Banner by @carly-bean-blog

[ masterlist ]

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: Jungkook & Jimin ⇢Genre: yandere, smut, mxm ⇢Word count: 9k ⇢Ch.warnings: profanity, jealous jk, tattooing, light descriptions of blood/pain, exhibitionist jk oh boy, graphic desc. of piercing jk's cock (I'm no piercer so don't take this literally it's fiction, infections don't exist in this world pls be sanitary.), more intense sexual tension because why not, jk is a total sadomasochist and this you need to remember forever for every damn chapter. xo

Industry famous Jeon Jungkook of GJK photography takes an interest in a model and up-and-coming fashion designer, Park Jimin. After an opportunity to study the man behind his trusty lens, he thinks he may have just found his new muse.

The next morning Jungkook’s alarm went off early, and he groaned out curses. For once, he didn’t want to wake up. The quality of sleep he’d gotten was a rarity in his life, all thanks to the man laying next to him. Jungkook turns the alarm off before clinging to Jimin, pressing soft kisses on the crook of his neck, wishing he could stay in bed forever.

It isn’t the alarm that rouses Jimin but the motion of Jungkook behind him. Gentle kisses tickle his neck and strong arms hold him close—a kind comforting touch he hasn’t felt since his ex. He turns to face the man, pressing his parted mouth to his, still groggy with sleep. “Good morning,” he coos, brushing his plump lips down Jungkook’s flushed neck before resting in the indent of his collar. He slept well enough, but the unfamiliar setting caused him to wake a couple times throughout the night. Even then, Jungkook’s warmth and protective hold coaxed him back to sleep. “What day is it?” He wonders out loud, not ready to sit up and check for himself. The mixture of liquor from the night before doesn’t help his focus in the slightest, feeling slightly hungover and lethargic. “Have you seen my phone?” He dreads the many messages he probably has from his manager, or even Tae.

Jungkook hums, ignoring every single question being thrown at him. He just wants to hold Jimin forever. But eventually, he reaches over to the nightstand where he’s placed the elder’s phone and hands it over, then cuddles up close to get a look at the screen as well. He’s extremely curious after all—does anybody miss Jimin? How easy would it possibly be to just...keep him?

No, that’s too early. Things take time.

“I don’t know, but there’s breakfast ready whenever you’re hungry...” Jungkook murmurs with a raspy morning voice.

“Mm, sounds good…” Just as Jimin suspected, ten messages and four phone calls. Most are from his manager, a couple from Taehyung apologizing, and one from… interesting. Jimin flicks off the covers from his side of the bed and wriggles out of Jungkook’s arms, regrettably. “Breakfast sounds great,” he picks his robe from the floor and wraps it around himself in a hurry, “I just need to make a few phone calls.” He leans onto the bed and gives the younger a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll make it quick, promise.”

Before Jungkook has a chance to reply, Jimin steps out onto the attached balcony and closes the door behind him. First thing’s first, he definitely needs to let his manager know he’s not dead in a ditch. However, more importantly, he’s dying to know why his ex messaged him out of the blue after so many months of silence. He’s a vague man. The only thing his text said was “Proud.”

Jungkook’s lip twitches as he watches the blonde close the balcony door in a hurry. What is so important? He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a bit curious...and frustrated. He doesn’t like secrets, even if Jimin doesn’t owe him anything... technically . Jungkook wants to know, and he will, eventually. The photographer lays low, gets out of bed to puts on a pair of sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. He grabs his own phone and sits back down, scrolling through social media... Jimin’s show was a hit, trending, both photos and praise, on the news. Of course, there were the photos of Jungkook, smiling as he was enjoying the show—which also drew a whole lot more attention towards the blonde, as if making Jeon Jungkook smile was an achievement. Jungkook scoffs, but nonetheless happy about the many pictures available of Jimin, saving several to his phone as he continuously glances over at the balcony.

Who is he calling… Kook cranes his neck to try and decipher Jimin’s facial expressions, but can’t quite make it out...

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. No, Jeon didn’t kidnap me and hide me in his basement. No—GOD, what kind of man do you think I am? Yeah…yeah…okay, thanks for covering. It went really well? Trending? Goood…okay, yeah, thanks for calling. Sorry to worry you…bye.” Jimin checks in with his manager. They’re annoying as hell but they mean well. He shoots Tae a quick text, telling him to sleep it off. Then Jimin flicks through his contact list until his thumb hovers over the one name he didn’t think he’d ever call again—Seung-Ho. The man started as a lifestyle influencer, wearing Lululemon shorts at Machu Picchu or casually eating the latest novelty hipster food with a bright smile on his face. Now he’s the brand ambassador and face of Jimin’s biggest competitor.

“Jimin, baby…,” he coos over the receiver. “I’m so proud…”

Inside, Jungkook grows restless, bouncing his leg with clasped hands as he stares at Jimin through the glass door. Who is he talking to? Why is it taking so damn long? Why did he hover over the screen for several seconds before pressing the call button? He didn’t want to wait any longer—who is more important than Jungkook? Normally, the younger is extremely patient in every other aspect of his life, but when it comes to Jimin giving somebody else his attention, it runs out quick. He gets up to saunter over to the balcony door, carefully sliding it open to eavesdrop.

“Seung-ie—“ Jimin catches himself, “Seung-Ho.” He rolls his face in his palm. It’s too early in the morning to have this conversation with the ghost of his past. Regardless, he’s very curious to know why he reached out after all this time. “Why did you text me? To say you’re proud?” He can’t help but smile a little when the man on the other line praises his clothing collection. Apparently Seung was in the audience the whole time, absolutely loved Jimin’s little speech, and even took note of how well the model looked on stage under all the glowing lights. He laughs, recalling the last time he took Jimin out on a date—how he spilled slushie all over his pure white button up and they had to make an emergency stop at Neiman Marcus for a spare.

“I miss you, Mochi,” he says lowly from the other side, deep and seductive. “When can I see you again?”

Seung-ie?… Seung-Ho. Why does the name sound familiar? Jungkook rolls his tongue against the fleshy inside of his cheek, listening for merely a minute before he decides it’s enough. He announces his presence by snaking his arms around Jimin’s waist, placing his chin in the crook of the elders neck, placing soft kisses against it.

Mine…

Kook leans in to whisper into Jimin’s ear, “I’m hungry…”

It distracts Jimin’s train of thought to have Jungkook kissing his sensitive neck. One ounce of attention from the man and he is absolute putty.

“Who was that?” Jimin hears Seung-Ho chime from the other end.

“I’ve got to go, but thank you for coming to the show,” Jimin replies, wrapping up the call. He presses the end button and turns in Jungkook’s arms to face him. He looks annoyed to say the least, but he doesn’t blame him, he would be too. “Just a stupid ex,” Jimin whispers before melding his lips to the other man’s. “Let’s eat…”

Jungkook grasps and guides Jimin’s chin between his long, tattooed fingers to face him. “Why’d they call you?” He’s no longer subtle with his concern, the mere mention of an ex causes his eyebrows to furrow. “They bothering you?” He continues, his fingers tightening ever slightly around the blondes chin, his face so close that their lips graze together with every word spoken. His other hand remains wrapped around Jimin’s waist, keeping their bodies tightly pressed together, as if the elder would disappear if he didn’t hold him.

Jimin rolls his eyes and tries to shake off the goosebumps still prickling from Seung-Ho’s compliments. “He’s probably bored,” he covers, still not entirely sure why the man reached out. He said he was proud, but why should Jimin care what he thinks? As Jungkook’s hold tightens, Jimin feels the need to be honest, as if the truth is being squeezed from him. “He liked the show. Wants to see me again, but...,” he squeezes Jungkook back, “I’m far too busy.”

“Too bad for him.” Jungkook mutters, a small smile tugging at his lips as he feels Jimin’s reassuring squeeze. He feels his stomach rumble, looping his fingers between Jimin’s as he pulls the elder with him inside towards the dining hall. If the blonde isn’t already constantly reminded by the wealth the young photographer possesses, this would be one of many reminders. A large table filled with all kinds of breakfast delicacies greet them, way too much for one, two or even three people. This might as well be a buffet for a party. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so...I got everything.” Kook shrugs, as if this isn’t his everyday life anyway, zeroing his eyes in on the fridge filled with his favorite beverage.

Jimin never has to leave. Every little thing that could possibly accommodate his needs is right here in the photographer’s house. “There’s so much to choose from...” Jimin’s hunger increases the longer he looks. He doesn’t even feed himself most of what’s available, but he almost feels like he’s on vacation, so he grabs a pastry and quickly devours it before the guilt sinks in. The flakey, sugary taste is sweeter than sweet as it hits his lips. “Here…” he lifts the danish to Jungkook’s mouth and coaxes him to take a bite without a second thought. The instinctual domestic nature is less and less jarring the longer he stays.

Jungkook’s eyes widen a tad bit in surprise at the sudden gesture, but quickly grasps Jimin’s wrist to guide the pastry to his mouth, chomping off a large piece. His eyes flutter shut with a quiet hum in content—his adoration for sweets so strong that one would wonder how the hell he has the physique he does. “You’re a man of taste,” he chuckles, bringing the straw of his drink to his lips to wash the pastry down. He could definitely get used to having Jimin here, seeing the elders' reactions to his everyday life, so adorable. Having somebody here is a nice change. Sharing this with him is all Jungkook starts to crave. “Try the fruit. Get me some grapes.”

The grapes grabbed Jimin’s attention right away—so ripe and juicy. He lifts a vine from the table and plucks off a single grape, popping it into his mouth and biting down with a satisfying crunch. A light moan tickles his throat, unable to contain how much he enjoys every bit of this. “Want one?” He plucks another grape and grasps it between his teeth, bringing it up to Jungkook’s lips to feed him directly.

With a smile, Jungkook leans in to bite the exposed half of the grape and within the same movement, grasps Jimin’s waist to push their hips together. “Want you ,” he shamelessly admits, digging his long fingers into the blonde’s sides, tipping his head forward to press a soft kiss on his plush lips. Jimin is already acting more and more in the manners that Jungkook wants; so sweet and almost domestic, like they’re actually together. He really likes it...and in his own mind, they might as well be. He has no eyes for anybody else since he saw the blonde step into his photo session.

Jimin’s hold tightens, digging to be grounded in reality while his mind floats somewhere else. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, feeling so clingy and lustful since the second Jungkook called him “baby.” “N-need you,” he says quietly. His eyes fall away from the other man as his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He isn’t sure what exactly he needs, but every little facet of his time with the photographer is so overwhelmingly euphoric he can’t imagine being apart.

One of Jungkook’s hands moves up the elders body until he reaches his neck, carefully sliding down the robe on one side to expose his small shoulder. “Yeah?” He nuzzles his nose into Jimin’s neck. Fuck, he smells so nice... A deep inhale follows, unable to resist the urge to brush his lips against Jimin’s soft skin. This man is the human embodiment of a drug.

“Yeah,” Jimin replies, weak in the knees. He pushes his robe down further for Jungkook to feel and breathe in any part he desires. He does the same to the other man, tugging the robe loose until it hangs slack around his back. He kisses his way up his built arm, paying close attention to the tattoos that decorate his skin. “Didn’t expect you to have so many,” Jimin notes with lips pressed lightly to a dark tattoo engraved in his shoulder. “I’ve always wanted more. Love the way they look.”

“Want a tattoo?” Jungkook muses. The mere thought clashes in his mind. Jimin’s skin is precious , not just any tattoo would be good enough. He sighs at the sensation of the elders lips and knows exactly who he’d choose to fulfill his wishes, if he wanted. There’s nobody he’d ever trust more than his personal tattoo artist, Kim Namjoon. He’d lie if he said he wasn’t anticipating the sounds the blonde would make as soon as the needles graze his tender skin... “What would you get?”

Jimin lifts the hem of his robe, exposing his naked thigh. “It would need to be special. Maybe something small. I’m thinking here...” he motions to the taut muscle, pure and unmarked. Jimin surveys Jungkook’s expression as he rubs a thumb over the flesh, “Wouldn’t it look pretty here, Jeon?” Clearly the younger appreciates body markings. It’s only fair his input is taken into consideration. He is, after all, the one who unknowingly influenced Jimin to finally do it.

Jungkook crouches down in front of him, allowing his slender, inked fingers to smooth down Jimin’s thigh until he reaches the part that’s meant for the tattoo. He takes a short moment to just admire the firm, untouched skin before gazing up at the blonde. “It would look gorgeous...I have the perfect person for the job. Maybe after today’s fitting?” He tilts his head in question, wondering if the model would truly be up for it. If Jimin mentions he wants something, Jungkook can’t get it out of his mind until he has it. Was it a small comment in the heat of the moment?

For Jimin, it’s so easy to just say yes when Jungkook asks a question. His wide bambi eyes sparkle with intrigue, and who is Jimin to strip that joy from him?

“Yes,” he answers, a little hesitant. He was just playing around to get a rise out of the younger man, but the idea of getting permanently marked while Jungkook watches is even more exhilarating. “But after the fitting. I need to be in top shape if I’m going to get down on my knees and measure you properly.”

Jungkook’s expression lights up—a yes is definitely what he wanted to hear. He knows he’ll have to set the plan in motion, because Jimin wants it.

“That I agree with,” Jungkook coyly replies with a crooked eyebrow. The playful spark in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed as he leans in to kiss the blonde’s thigh. He plants a soft peck before standing up to cup Jimin’s cheeks. “Have you eaten enough? We should get ready.”

Jimin quickly devours another danish before his body tells him not to, living just a little longer in the fantasy world Jungkook created. It really is too good here, and with the other man adoring every facet of his being, it’s very hard to leave. Leaving Jungkook to finish his breakfast, Jimin finds his way to the nearest shower and instantly gravitates to the shampoo Jungkook lathered him with the night before. It’s a comforting smell that is now regrettably faint on his skin from a deep sleep. He hurries to coat himself in it, head to toe, blissing in the cloud of humidified scent blooming under the warm cascade of heat. After a short while, he steps out, feeling like a new man, ready to give Jungkook the suit of his dreams and repay him for everything.

Jungkook doesn’t bother with a shower, but simply gets dressed and waits. He runs his hand through his messy locks. The ruffled look adds to his childish yet not so innocent charm, juxtaposed against his black dress shirt that fits his firm physique, paired with black jeans. It’s a casual look, yet his adorning jewelry showcases that he is anything but ordinary, with many shiny rings and an expensive necklace that rests at the base of his neck. While waiting for Jimin, Jungkook lays down on his couch and contacts Namjoon to make sure he’s available and ready after the fitting. He’s giddy to surprise Jimin with the news... later .

All the while, Jimin wrapped back into his robe and padded down to Jungkook’s studio in hopes of retrieving his clothes, however, he found them neatly folded on a decorative console table just outside. The studio door was shut and locked tight, which he found slightly odd for a mere photography studio. Regardless, he was sure Jungkook had his reasons. He changed into his clothes from the night before and finessed his hair into a presentable style with a bit of product he found laying around. It’s not best practice in the world of fashion to be seen in public wearing the same thing twice, but he made an exception for the day.

Eventually, Jungkook grew bored and decided to go find the blonde roaming around his house, only to find all ready in yesterday's outfit. Cute.

“Ready to go? Car’s waiting outside for us.” He reaches out with grabby hands for Jimin, waiting for him to get the hint; to run to him. The younger wishes for the domestic feeling to never go away, and he was curious how the blonde would act among other people.

Luckily for Jungkook, Jimin got the hint right away and walked towards him quickly, still taking the time to admire his fit as he approached. Today is going to be difficult— how can he build upon perfection? It’s hard not to implode by how cute Jungkook is, looking the way he does, so effortless and cool; truly a muse fit for the occasion. “Ready,” Jimin nods, smiling widely and snuggling into Jungkook’s arms to enjoy a few last moments in this fantasyland before transitioning back to Park Jimin, the supermodel and fashion aficionado.

Jungkook cups the blonde’s cheek and guides his face to look up at him—a last close up look before their one-on-one dynamic would be broken, momentarily. His butterfly truly has a duality to him that is admirable, however the way the elder can easily crumble for him is incredible.

“Okay, let’s go.” He flashes his signature toothy smile and turns to guide them to the waiting car. His arm tightly grips Jimin’s waist until he has to let go to hold the door open for him.

Preparations were made on Jimin’s part during the ride. It seems his assistant is used to last-minute bookings since he started his Be Your Light collection. Last-minute tailorings for industry events and spontaneous all-nighters when inspiration struck. For this occasion, he requested that all the materials be ready for him to use alone—No assistants. The attention would be purely put on Jungkook. Just like the photographer’s preferred work style, Jimin wanted no distractions.

It was go-time the second they arrived—Jimin’s assistant guided the two men into a secluded wing of his studio where a myriad of patterns, leathers and fabrics were laid out.

“This is perfect, thank you,” Jimin nods his approval and flashes a sparkling smile, then begins to pull together his measuring tools. “Jeon, please, take a look around and tell me if anything catches your eye.”

Jungkook begins to stroll around the different materials to work with, fingers smoothing over the fabrics tentatively. His eyes keep looking back and forth between the black silk and leather. He always tended to like darker, edgier themes, but the soft and shiny material is so comfortable to touch. Jungkook grasps it in his hand and holds it up for Jimin to see with a lopsided and challenging smirk on his lips.

“Could you make me something with this?”

“There’s a lot I can do with that.”

Jimin strolls up to feel the smooth silk beneath his fingertips. Leather would have been a fine choice for its stability and durability, but he likes a challenge. “Black silk,” he notes, plucking the swatch from Jungkook’s hands to inspect it further, “it can be very complimentary to your skin tone.” He rubs his thumb over the rise and fall of the fabric’s exterior—a faint textured brocade, so unique and fitting for the man—dark, yet subdued. “If I tailor it just right, it can hold your shape or flow loose, if you choose.” His designer mind flicks on and he plots the form internally. “What kind of event do you plan to attend in a silk suit, Jeon?”

“I don’t know yet,” Jungkook shrugs, a smile mixed between sheepish and coy replacing his challenging smirk. His eyes follow Jimin’s delicate fingers as they smoothe over the fabrics, already wishing they were on him instead. Growing impatient, he jumps a bit in his position. “I want the silk, make it fitted…” He muses for a moment. “And a low front?”

“A low front, huh?” Jimin glides a hand down the front of Jungkook’s shirt and tugs a little to reveal his defined collarbones. “A very wise choice,” he smirks, releasing the shirt with a snap, “take this off, I’ll need to get close to your body for the tightest fit.” He takes a couple steps back to give Jungkook space, itching to rid the shirt and everything else. However, this is a big opportunity to make something neoteric and special. The process will be the greatest test of his patience.

“Everything?” Jungkook coyly replies as he pulls his shirt over his head, shamelessly exposing his upper body to Jimin. He kind of likes this side of Jimin. No, scrap that–he really likes it. The photographer is rarely ever told what to do, and the elders' confidence and passion for his work is just adding to the younger's growing infatuation.

Jimin bites his lip at the question. “Eager, aren’t we?” His fingers fall to Jungkook’s waist, gliding across his exposed hips and down to his belt buckle. “No, Jeon, just the shirt for now.” He gives the buckle a light tap and then steps behind the photographer, releasing a soft sigh at the smooth expanse of flesh he’s blessed to dress any way he likes. “We’ll start with the top and work our way down. Now stay nice and relaxed, I want to make sure the measurements are precise.”

Jungkook’s coy pout matches the mischief in his eyes as he glances over his shoulder at the blonde. “Yes, Mr. Park.” He turns his head back to look straight forward, letting his arms dangle loosely on his sides. “Take your time with me.” Jungkook really dragged out the way he said the elders last name, as if they weren’t already past the point of formalities.

Jimin takes his time to touch and measure Jungkook’s torso until he has every inch of muscle definition saved to memory. The younger’s enthusiasm encourages him to work with full concentration as he daydreams about the low neckline and how he’ll form it. However, he’s easily snapped from his thoughts whenever he is referred to as “Mr. Park,” like he’s never been called the name before. When it rolls off of Jungkook’s tongue, it’s no longer a name given at birth but a name given to tease. He drapes the measuring tape around the back of his neck and pauses, taking one last second to admire all of Jungkook’s tattoos, fully exposed just for him. What a predicament he’s gotten himself into. He doesn’t want to rush the process, but once the pants come off, he may need to pick up the pace.

“Now the pants, Jeon,” Jimin instructs with the firmest tone he can muster, “take them off for me.”

Jungkook cocks a playful eyebrow at the elder male, letting his hands work his belt to slowly unbuckle it. “You’re so cute when you’re bossy.” He unzips and peels his pants down, letting them fall and pool by his feet before stepping out of them, standing in nothing but his boxers. It’s new, being the one to follow orders. But, the way Jimin tries so hard to remain professional is the best part. So the photographer plays along, curious as to how long the blonde can hold his mask before it crumbles.

Jimin continues to act like he doesn’t want to take advantage of Jungkook’s vulnerable state, which is even harder than it looks.

“I’m always cute,” he responds just a little too late and winks at the younger man. He doesn’t know what he’s saying at this point. His brain switches to autopilot once Jungkook’s thick thighs become visible. All he can think to do is take a deep breath, bend to his knees and measure. Measure, measure. He jots down his findings on a small notepad to keep his hands busy. The process is almost complete—just one more measurement and Jungkook can get dressed. Jimin places his palms on Jungkook’s inner thigh to hold the measuring tape in place for the inseam. “Hold still,” he asks quietly, feeling small and meek under the younger man’s gaze, “I’m almost done.” His hand soothes over the expanse of his exposed flesh, lingering a little longer than professionally advised.

Jungkook firmly places his hands on his hips as he gazes down at the blonde from above. His potent stare along with the confidence practically oozing off of him is sure to make just about anybody nervous. However, it is Jimin that he wants to bring to his knees, and conveniently enough, he already is. Before Jimin could properly measure his inner thigh, Jungkook playfully reaches his hand down to brush the blonde locks away from Jimin’s face, then runs his long fingers through it, giving a light tug before withdrawing.

“Done?”

Jimin shudders from the tug at his roots, causing his muscles to tense from the pleasure and proximity of the man above. He can’t resist the effect Jungkook’s beautiful hands have on him, especially when they’re carded through his soft hair, caressing him any way they please. “Almost done,” he says in a low tone, aching to deflect attention from the growing tent in his pants. “But if you keep distracting me, we’ll be here all day.” He glides his hand higher up the younger man’s inner thigh until it touches the hemline of his briefs. “Would you like that, Jeon?”

“Is that a question or a proposition?” Jungkook’s light smirk doesn’t go unnoticed. His hand doesn’t leave the blonde’s curls as he twirls the light ends between his fingers. God, did he love to tease the model, who’s eyes seem to dilate with lust as they gaze up at him with innocence. But Jungkook knows by now that he is far from the angel he initially presented himself as.

Jimin replies with a smirk of his own, dragging his small fingertips down the younger’s inner thigh to take the last measurement. He purposefully brushes the back of his hand against the bulge in Jungkook’s briefs and teases him through the fabric for just a second, then withdraws completely as if nothing happened. “I’ll pass my notes to my assistant so she can begin the preliminary steps—shouldn’t take long.” He stands to his feet and steps so close to Jungkook that their bodies nearly touch. “You did great, Jeon. You can get dressed now.”

Jungkook scrunches his nose in a small, toothy smile. The blonde really tried to play him at his own game. Well, if that’s what he wants... He nods lightly before turning around to bend over and pick his clothes up, slowly putting the fabrics on one by one without a word. Maybe Jimin expected a different reaction, but Jungkook wanted the blonde pining rather than simply giving him what he wanted. As he is fully dressed, he turns back to face Jimin and reaches out to caress his cheek with the back of his hand. “I'm thrilled to see what you come up with… Now, are we done for today?”

“That’s a wrap,” Jimin nods, internally cursing himself for encouraging Jungkook to dress so quickly. Regardless, it wouldn’t hurt to show some affection now that the measurements are recorded. He melts into Jungkook’s caress and curls his arm around the small of his waist to guide him to the door. He peeks up at the taller man beneath his blonde fringe, feeling more relaxed now that he doesn’t have to focus on drafting the suit.

“So, about this tattoo...”

Jungkook’s face lights up at the mention. “Yes! Do you wanna go now?” He is a tad bit over excited about the fact, as he’s made sure that Namjoon was ready to clear his schedule the very second he made the call. Kook wraps his arm around Jimin’s shoulder to pull him close as they head towards the waiting car. He may have asked, but his mind is already made up—Jimin is getting that tattoo.

“I’m a little nervous,” Jimin confesses, grasping the car door handle and hesitantly tugging it open, “It’s been a while.” He slides into his seat and gets comfortable next to Jungkook. He’s a little out of his element, but he trusts the man, surprisingly enough. He can’t pinpoint why, but he finds solace in his touch—a sense of calm that makes him feel like he could tackle anything. “I don’t even know what I’m going to get,” he laughs, “Shit, Jeon, what did you talk me into?”

“Do you trust me?” Jungkook’s eyes fall on Jimin as he says so, repeating the same words he once said back at their first photoshoot. Without a response, he gives a vague wave of his hand and the chauffeur begins to drive. He places his hand on Jimin’s thigh and let’s it rest there, giving it a light, reassuring squeeze.

It’s not just Jungkook’s words or his touch that pulls Jimin closer—it’s the undivided attention, and his tranquil gaze. Every now and then, Jimin swears he can see the man’s soul in his dark irises. They’re so receptive and kind, but piercing and cool, all at once.

“I trust you,” he speaks above a whisper. Just as he did at their first photo shoot, Jimin places his full and complete trust in Jungkook’s hands. He’s a proven visionary—not only a renowned artist but a man with true vision. If he wants this permanent marking to have the greatest meaning, he’ll leave the final decision up to Jeon Jungkook. That moment in the glass room changed Jimin—seeing his faults fall between the cracks of those mirrored shards, scattered across the floor. He owes this to him. Everything that’s come from that moment has only made Jimin stronger—a better version of himself. “I want you to choose what I get.”

‘‘Really?’‘ Jungkook’s doe eyes widen before they squint in a smile. Small wrinkles appear in the corners of his eyes, adorning his skin. He feels butterflies erupting in his chest at the way Jimin willfully gives his trust. He seems entirely head over heels, and that’s exactly what he wants. Jungkook cranes his neck to close the last bit of distance between their lips in a sweet kiss. He pulls back just enough to stare at how Jimin gazes back in awe, only to lean forward and place another kiss on his plush lips...and another, and another. It’s like a drug. Lips, intoxicating, the way they envelope his with loving care.

Jimin presses back firmly to Jungkook and unbuckles his seatbelt to get closer. There’s far too much pent-up energy and nerves in his body to resist. He moves his hand to the back of the younger man’s neck and guides the kiss. He pulls him deeper, gliding his velvety tongue along Jungkooks, crawling into his lap and straddling him face-to-face. “Really,” he breathes against his hot lips, “Want you to mark me, sir.”

Jungkook can tell that Jimin’s words have double meaning, which causes him to smile. The plush of his bottom lip grazes the blonde’s. “It’s a promise, butterfly,” he whispers smoothly as his hands settle in a firm grip on Jimin’s hip bones, squeezing lightly to feel the soft flesh push out between his fingers. Jimin always seemed so fragile when he was like this, yet the innocence in his eyes is nowhere to be seen when he’s slowly becoming corrupted by Jungkook’s various temptations.

Jimin soaks in the feeling of Jungkook’s hands on his hips and allows them to hold him close for the duration of the ride. He wants them to hold him everywhere at once, but unfortunately, Jeon Jungkook isn’t Vishnu with four arms. However, at least in Jimin’s mind, he is god-like. Is it odd for him to think so highly of a man he’s known for less than a week? Life moves quickly in the world of fashion—working partnerships are just another part of it. In the words of Heidi Klum, “one day you’re in, and the next, you’re out.” At this point, he’ll do anything to stay in.

The model cards his fingers through Jungkook’s soft hair as he slides off his lap, giving him a small peck on the lips before settling back into his seat. The car pulls up to the curb of the shop; Jimin instantly feels his tingly heartbeat in the tips of fingers as they wrap around the door handle. A moment of pause, then... “Lets get it,” he breathes out in a wisp of a laugh.

Jungkook smiles as he leans over Jimin to place his long fingers on top of the blonde’s, unlocking the door with him to push it open. As they head inside, the bell to the shop chimes.

“Jungkookie!” They’re met with a dimpled smile greeting them across the room, pen in-hand, working on a sketch. The man stands up to approach the two and gives Jungkook a hug before doing the same to Jimin.

He surely isn’t shy.

“Is this Jimin? I’m Namjoon.” He takes a step back to observe the blonde, shooting a quick glance at Jungkook that basically says ‘nice.’

Jimin straightens his posture to give the best impression as it seems this man is not only the one about to stick needles in his flesh, but also a good friend of Jungkook’s. As he’s quickly gathered, it’s a rare occasion to meet anyone Jungkook would call a friend. Jimin can only imagine what he makes of his relationship with the photographer. Namjoon’s dark-lined eyes hold firm on Jimin’s, almost softening to put him at ease. “Park Jimin,” the model smiles, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Namjoon smiles back, his prominent dimples on display. He heads towards his desk to pick up the sketch he was working on, beckoning for the others to come closer, “Check this out.”

Jungkook steps beside Namjoon to take a look. “Perfect,” He coos, doe eyes observing the beautiful flower that Joon had sketched on the paper.

“Great,” Namjoon smiles wider, showing Jimin the sketch. It's a delicate drawing of red petals from the sage flower—the meaning behind it being ‘Forever mine,’ which is sketched in a short note at the foot of the page for reference. Joon already knew this is what Jungkook wanted for this one—always something floral, and always different meanings behind them. This one is the most meaningful one he’s ever done...and not just one more flower to be added to Jungkook’s collection on his arms.

Even on the paper, the red petals seem to burn off the page. It’s as if they’re begging to escape the confines of 2D and become immortalised forever, sunk permanently into Jimin’s flesh. He’s lost for words as he scans every detail even though he’s already set on having it on him for life.

“It really is perfect,” he smiles at the cheery dimpled man. He turns to Jungkook and is pleased to see he’s equally enthralled with the finished product. “You’ve chosen well, Jeon.” He drops his hand down onto his own hip until it lands high on his thigh. “Are we still thinking here, or…somewhere else?”

Jungkook’s eyes rake down Jimin’s body in thought for a long moment until they land on his upper thigh. It seems like the perfect spot, and watching the process will be the most enticing part of it all.

“Right here is perfect,” He agrees, placing his hand on top of Jimin’s to apply light pressure onto the firm muscle.

“Splendid,” Namjoon nods before gesturing towards the large, comfortable chair in the room. “Please remove your pants and have a seat.”

Joon heads over to his chair and rolls it over to his desk to gather necessities while waiting for the blonde to get ready.

Mind over matter—Jimin slides his pants down quickly like he would at any runway show. In a situation like this, modesty flies right out the window. In a matter of minutes he’ll be poked raw while Jungkook watches, and the thought alone makes him hastily take his seat in front of the artist, eager to begin.

“Jungkook?” Jimin asks, looking up at the tall man while he towers over him protectively, “You’ll stay here, right? You won’t leave?” His hand itches to hold his as he hears Namjoon whir the machine a couple times to prep the needles.

“I’ll be here every second,” Jungkook promises with a small nod, reaching to brush away Jimin’s fringe from his forehead before grabbing a chair to take a seat next to him, “I chose the piece after all.”

Namjoon smiles to himself at the sweet exchange, noting just how well Jungkook has Jimin wrapped around his finger. It almost reminds him of how he himself used to feel the same way, once upon a time. “Alright, take deep breaths and don’t move. Let me know if you need to take a break,” Namjoon says as he scoots closer in his chair to place the stencil on Jimin’s upper thigh. He observes the placement before giving Jungkook a questioning look, rather than giving the decision to Jimin. Once Kook confirms with an approving nod, Joon gets to work, whirring the machine as he draws the first line. Both men glance at Jimin between strokes, attentive to see his reaction.

The stinging sensation of pulsing needles on Jimin’s soft flesh is not foreign, yet they feel sharper this time around. Deeper. Joon does not have a light-handed approach, likely as a stylistic choice for bold line work, but it makes the fine hairs at the back of Jimin’s neck stand on end. The artist’s attention to detail reminds him of the perfectionist in himself. He acted similarly when he sketched his clothing designs for the BYL collection, so he respects the process. He grits his teeth and bares through the pain. He can feel Jungkook’s gaze land heavy on his thigh as the needles stitch into his skin and embed vibrant ink. The younger man’s investment in this spontaneous decision is enchanting. The design he chose is brilliant and thoughtful. Jimin wonders if he’s devoted this much of his undivided attention to anyone else besides himself. Surely a man of his prestige has better things to do than this with him .

Nonetheless, Jimin pushes his insecurity aside and places his hand on Jungkook’s thigh for assurance.

Jungkook observes every stroke of Namjoon’s wrist with deep focus to make sure there is not a single mistake done to Jimin’s precious skin. He’s more invested in this moment than he has been with anybody else. Luckily, he knows he can trust Namjoon to do a job that is nothing but absolutely perfect. Watching Jimin’s skin slowly gain lines and colors with a design he chose...it’s a feeling unmatched by any other. ... Well , possibly matched by the way Jimin is obviously struggling to keep a straight face. The light twitches in his plush lips are so endearing. Jungkook grabs Jimin’s small hand and gently strokes his knuckles with his thumb, holding it like that the entire time.

Then, after what feels like forever, the buzzing of the machine finally comes to an end. Namjoon places the needle gun back on the desk before cleaning Jimin’s thigh off, inching forward to inspect the finished result. “Alright, we’re all done. Take a look by the mirror over there if you want a proper view.” Joon directs his words towards Jimin, but his eyes flicker to Jungkook’s.

Standing on his feet is a raw task, but Jimin does it with a brave face, placing weight on the leg until it feels comfortable enough to walk on. The mirror doesn’t do the piece justice—up-close it is perfectly placed on his toned thigh and brilliantly shaded. He ghosts his fingers over the fresh ink, hovering just above, slightly bewildered that it’s a part of him forever. He turns to Namjoon and nods his approval, then looks to Jungkook, trying to assess his reaction. From what he could tell, then man is just as pleased, maybe even more. It is his design concept, after all, and he should be proud. Jimin rests his hand at his side but can still feel Jungkook’s hand—thumb working in soothing circles. It makes him wonder if perhaps he’s relaxed enough to take the pain as well.

“While we’re here,” Jimin says confidently, feeling the dopamine pulse in his rosy numb flesh, “are you getting one too?”

“I am, actually.” Jungkook's small smirk tugs at his lips as he remains still, eyes still admiring the work on Jimin's thigh. Forever would he be marked with the piece that he had chosen. And now he’s about to get one of his own. Kook guides Jimin to have the seat next to him as he gets himself ready, extending his arm to expose the ink-free piece of his skin on his lower arm. Meanwhile, Joon prepared another set of needles. He rolls up to the youngest to place his stencil, raising his eyebrows in a silent question of 'Good?' With an approving nod from Jungkook, the familiar buzzing sound of the machine echoes once more. Joon marks Jungkook with a similar design as the one on Jimin's thigh; however, slightly different. While Jimin's is a work of red petals, Jungkook's is the flower itself, with petals falling off of it. As with every other piece Namjoon had done on the photographer in the past, he marks Jungkook's flower tattoo with a barely visible number. It’s a sly way of tracking each time the man has brought someone in to tattoo themselves for him. Why? Who knows. It is a mystery only known to the man himself.

Jimin notes the small number as Namjoon etches it onto Jungkook, not even sure if it is a number he’s seeing or just another part of the blooming bud. The photographer’s silken skin beads with fresh droplets of blood, obstructing his view of the design. He doesn’t even wince when the hairpin needles pierce his skin over and over, like he’s done it so many times it’s as casual as a monthly haircut. Jungkook is a seasoned professional in Jimin’s eyes. He admires the painless way he endures Namjoon’s heavy-handed pricking in what he assumes to be a sensitive part of the body to mark. He can’t pretend he isn’t shocked the photographer had the foresight to plan matching tattoos, and was too bold to assume Jimin would want it. But Jeon Jungkook's bold decisions are what attracted Jimin to him in the first place.

“You’re doing well,” Jimin assures, soothing his hand over the wide expanse of Jungkook’s back. “You’re doing really well...”

Just as the tattoo begins to form into a coherent piece of art, Jimin’s pocket vibrates. He pulls his phone free and stares down at the notifications, quickly hiding it at his side once he realizes who messaged him.

Jungkook smiles at the sweet words coming from the elder, but it fades just as quickly when he notices the slight tilt of Jimin's phone screen to keep it just out of his vision. Kook can't help the curiosity that gradually morphs to swirling annoyance in his gut. He just can't help it—he hates secrets when they’re kept from him. Could it be the same person Jimin was on the phone with earlier? The younger isn't oblivious, and he really wishes this wouldn't cause any trouble. But before he can comment on the split second, the phone is shoved back into Jimin's pocket, and Namjoon chimes that he's finished.

“Alright, we're done here,” Namjoon clicks his tongue and wipes Jungkook's arm clean, observing the masterpiece with his squinted eyes. He rolls his chair out and stretches his back until his spine pops. “Good, Jungkookie?”

“Perfect.” Jungkook approves as he gets up off his chair, looking down at the new piece of art on his skin. A mark just for Jimin. He displays it for the blonde, a crooked eyebrow following with his toothy grin, “Now we match.”

Jimin tries to muffle the sound of incoming text messages as they continue to vibrate in his pocket. If it isn’t Seung-Ho, it’s surely his manager on behalf of Seung-Ho. The man is persistent when he wants Jimin’s attention—but why does it have to be now? Jimin doesn’t have the nerve to check his phone, especially not when Jungkook proudly displays his fresh ink.

“It’s—” Jimin leans closer, grasping the man’s bicep to steady his body. He squints to take in every little detail, down to the faint number etched at the center of the design—but is it a number? It very well could be, but what does it mean? Jungkook doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest, so Jimin pushes his curiosity aside and examines the rest of the tattoo. “Not to be biased, but I think It’s the most beautiful flower.” The delicate way the red petals seem to fall down from Jungkook’s arm and onto Jimin’s thigh is wholly picturesque. Jimin would be lying if he said it didn’t excite him, knowing the two of them will share this for the rest of their lives. If anything, let it serve as a reminder of their working partnership and the bond they shared shooting Jimin’s first solo collection. Give it time and perhaps the tattoos will increase in value. It’s not even a day old and it’s already Jimin’s new favorite piece of art. He lightly taps his tender thigh and savors the sting, flicking his eyes between both tattoos until they are melded in his mind as one. “It’s been a long day, Jeon,” he winces, tapping his tender flesh a little too roughly. “Ready to head out?”

Jungkook shakes his head with a mischievous, toothy grin growing on his face. “Not yet, I have one more thing.” He speaks as he stares at Namjoon, who suddenly seems to shrink where he stands despite being the tallest of them all.

“Are you sure? It'll hurt.” Joon asked with his eyebrows raised high, feeling the itch in his fingers. He really wants to do it, but he also wants to make sure this was truly what the younger desires. He does hope for a ‘yes’ though. There is nothing else he wants right now than to feel and see Jungkook, even if it's in a professional setting.

“Yes, I've planned this for a while now.” Jungkook's hands travel to the hem of his pants, tugging at the waistline as his grin grows wolfish, “And I want it right now.”

“O-okay...” Namjoon's voice strains, his heart practically bursting within his rib cage with excitement. He loves tattooing, but if there is anything he loves more, it’s body piercing. There is just something about the adrenaline he feels rushing down his spine when he feels the needles easily penetrate through flesh, to be adorned by a piece of jewelry. Joon would be lying if he said it didn't make his face heat up a bit.

“Alright, take a seat,” Namjoon clears his throat, sitting back down on his rolling chair and patting the client seat.

Jungkook doesn't hesitate to pull his pants down along with his underwear, shameless and confident in his body as he sits down, half laying in the seat, eyes fixed on Jimin's. He notes how the blonde's eyes immediately find exactly what Kook expects.

“Don't stare so intensely, I'll get excited,” Kook teases Jimin, then flickers his gaze down to meet Namjoon's, who is also seemingly swallowing tightly to keep his professional mask on.

This is too much fun.

“A-are you—” Jimin’s voice weakens as Namjoon grasps Jungkook’s flaccid length and lines up a small barbell at the tip, measuring for size. He very clearly is, no doubt about it. If he was confident going into the tattoo, Jungkook is beyond confident going into this. Jimin wants to ask permission to watch, but can tell right away that it’s Jungkook’s full intention that he do so. He really does like to put on a good show, and, well, Jimin is captivated.

Namjoon finds the perfect piece of jewellery and sets it aside to ready the needle. It’s much larger than Jimin would have imagined—it looks hallowed throughout and incredibly sharp. It’s difficult to understand why in this moment, but Jimin feels his skin heat with arousal at the mere thought of seeing Jungkook’s tip gleam with a pretty stud through it. He takes a seat beside him, aching to be as close as possible. He crosses his legs, already feeling his cock stiffen at the sight. Jungkook seems to be affected as well, gradually growing thicker, unabashedly, right in front of his audience of two.

Jimin nips his plushy bottom lip and focuses his curious eyes on Namjoon’s hand as he grasps the hardening cock, ready to pierce. “Be still,” Jimin warns, nearly salivating at the sight. “I want it to be perfect.”

“Namjoon knows what he's doing, it'll be nothing but perfect,” Jungkook sighs out his words when Joon's warm fingers wrap around his length, already half hard from having two sets of eyes immersed in him, and him only. “Right, Joonie?”

“Right…”' Namjoon whispers through his teeth, his eyebrows tightly knit together in focus. It’s not easy to keep himself collected when Jungkook's cock is literally within his grasp. It’s heavy, and the all too familiar feeling of it makes his gut stir. “Just take a deep breath and don't move,” he warns as he brings the needle closer. His other hand keeps a firm grip around Kook's length, twitching once Joon's fingers tighten around it.

“Just do it before I get too hard…” Jungkook groans quietly. In all honesty, the photographer doesn’t care if he’s rock solid while getting pierced, he’s too much of a glutton for pain to mind it. Maybe he'd even prefer it that way. To say this is arousing would be an understatement.

Namjoon doesn't need to say anything else, and finally presses the needle through the flesh. For other professionals, this might've been too slow, but for the two of them, this was just the perfect torture. The needle is so sharp it practically melts through Jungkook's cock, and it has Namjoon foaming at the mouth when he hears Jungkook's audible moan echo in the studio.

“Fuck, hyung!” Jungkook curses through gritted teeth. His hand instinctively reaches out to grab Namjoon by his hair, tugging harshly. “All the way through, keep going.”

Namjoon's lower lip is tightly clamped between his teeth as he holds back the vibrating groan in his chest, finishing what he started as he finally pushes the needle through entirely; the bloody sharp tip of the needle sticking out on the other side. It’s gorgeous.

Jimin’s body feels hot and electric as the pain of his tattoo dissipates and is replaced with pure exhilaration. He watches every movement with wide blown-out pupils. His mouth is impossibly parched, he can’t will himself to swallow out of fear he might blink and miss a millisecond.

Namjoon loops the barbell through the hallowed tip of the needle and threads it through as the needle glides free of Jungkook’s stiffening length. It’s set aside, freeing a small bead of blood to trail down his shaft.

Jimin tears a fresh sheet of paper towel from a neighboring roll and dabs the wound gently. The younger man’s reddened tip swells under his touch and only spurs Jimin on to dab with excess—more than what’s needed, but selfish and satisfying for his own pleasure. He nips his bottom lip roughly until he’s sure he might draw blood of his own, then looks up at Jungkook with nothing but urgent need, silently begging to leave straight away. Jimins needy look doesn't go unnoticed by the younger, giving the blonde a reassuring wink.

“You did well hyung.” Jungkook leans in to press a light kiss on Namjoons forehead before he stands up, observing the little addition on his length. The pain is delicious, stinging and amplifying the throbbing pulse rushing from his heart to his cock.

Yeah, he needs to put it to use...there was no way around it.

Jungkook pulls his underwear and pants on, nonchalantly clasping the button on his jeans before he beckons Jimin to follow him like a puppy. “We will be back when I want some additions to my butterfly.” Jungkook grins at Joon, knowing the man knows exactly what he means, and that he'd have to be prepared. Soon.

The bell chimes loudly as Jungkook holds the door open for Jimin, giving Namjoon one last silent look before he walks out.

#fic: mused obsession #yandere jungkook #jungkook x jimin #jikook #yandere bts #bts mxm #jikook fic #sombreboy #chimoona

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satoruvt · 5 years

Text

the color of you - gold (2)

i lost the template for the banner i used in part one so i had to make a new one and it looks different and im sad but at least this chapter is fuckin AWESOME

pairing → keigo takami x bakery owner!reader

word count → 1736

summary → you’re not really dating, so you can’t really be in love with him… right?

song inspo → portland by armors

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

“Does everything look correct?”

The packet in front of you is intimidating, thick and detailing every aspect of the relationship you and Hawks are supposed to have. You flip through the pages, looking over the big points - no one but you, Hawks, his publicist and your lawyer are to know about the terms of your “relationship,” you need to be okay with having your picture taken, and the whole thing will only last a few months to cover a few press conferences and an awards ceremony. The line for your signature on the last page is blank - you expected Hawks to have signed it already, but the line above his name is blank as well. The ball’s in your court, it’s saying.

“Yes,” you say, nodding up at his publicist. “Everything looks fine, thank you.”

“Any boundaries?” Hawks speaks up, and you meet his eyes from across the table. You shake your head no, offering a curt, gentle smile. Your lawyer hands you a pen to sign the contract, and after a deep breath, you drag the pen across the paper in your name. Hawks does the same after you.

“There we go,” he says when he’s done, clicking the pen. His smile is laid-back, easy. “We’re officially in an unofficial relationship.”

You can’t help the smile that dances on your lips, because it really is ironic, but it’s quickly forgotten as the publicist goes over the general idea. There are big events scheduled for the two of you to be seen together - the press conferences, a few dates, the awards ceremony. You’re welcome to do anything else that you might want, the publicist says, and you don’t miss the wink Hawks sends you.

The rest of the meeting is settled with a copy of the contract handed to your lawyer, and the four of you disperse. You’re gathering up your things when you see Hawks waiting in the doorway. “Let me walk you to the front,” he says, and you do.

His agency building is smaller than you thought it would be, given he’s the number two hero. You get strange looks from a few people as the two of you walk towards the front - you’re not surprised, if you were anybody else but yourself you’d be curious too - and it’s not until the two of you are in the elevator, taking it down to the first floor, that Hawks speaks again.

“So,” he begins, and you turn towards him. “Fancy going on a date with me tonight?”

His gaze is playful, so you join in, and it’s not as awkward as you thought it would be. “You read my mind. Must be a lovers’ connection.”

He likes the humor, you decide, when his teasing smirk grows into a grin. “Well, I figure since we’re gonna be dating for the next few months, I should know about my new girlfriend. Doesn’t do well for the press if they ask me questions about you that I don’t know how to answer.”

You laugh, nodding along to his words. The elevator doors open and the two of you continue to the front of the building in comfortable silence.

“I’m very much looking forward to our date tonight,” you tell him when the two of you reach the front doors. They slide open as another person walks into the building, and the warm air from outside brushes against your legs. Hawks grins, pulls you closer to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. It takes you by surprise and you feel your face grow hot, but before you can say anything Hawks is already walking back to his office.

“See you tonight, babe!” He calls, and you roll your eyes, but the soft smile on your face would fool anyone.

And although it’s embarrassing to blush over something as simple as a cheek kiss, you suppose the pink on your face is a good thing. You notice paparazzi outside of the agency, and they definitely saw what just happened.

By this point, you’re not really nervous to be going on a date - “date” - with Hawks, but Jesus, it’s stressful to pick out what the hell you’re gonna wear. Do you actually try? Do you put on some jeans and a nice blouse and call it good? What does going on a fake date with the Number Two hero call for?

In the end you settle for a sundress, something in the middle. It doesn’t take much longer for you to finish up getting ready before you’re heading out the door to the restaurant Hawks had told you to meet him at. You’re lucky it’s not that far away - a fifteen minute walk at most. The sun glows in the evening light, drenching the world in melted gold.

The restaurant is small, but filled with a decent amount of people. When you step inside the gentle hum of overlapping conversation fills your bones, and you see Hawks in a booth down a walkway. You point him out to the hostess and she lets you find your way to him.

“It’s awfully rude to keep your date waiting,” he says when you get close enough, standing up to greet you.

“What can I say? I dress to impress.”

Hawks kisses your cheek and you scrunch your nose at the feel of his stubble on your face. He lets you into one side of the booth, and you’re expecting him to sit on the opposite side, but instead he sits next to you. The low light of the lamp overhead makes his eyes brighter.

“You do look great.”

“Why, thank you.”

Both of you are teasing, playful, and the conversation is fluid to follow. You’re not speaking across a table so your voices are hushed, gentle, and you think you’re starting to understand why Hawks chose to sit next to you rather than across from you - it’s intimate, couple-y.

“You know,” you say, finger tracing the rim of your wine glass, “since we’ve been dating for a total of, like, five hours, there’s a lot that I don’t know about you.”

“Ugh, were you even a fan?” Hawks teases, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. His tone softens when you make eye contact with him. “Ask away.”

“For starters, I don’t even know your real name.” You lean your head on your palm as you look at him. “And I feel like, as your girlfriend, I am entitled to that.”

Hawks chuckles, and there’s a certain look in his eyes that you can’t put your finger on. “It’s Keigo Takami.”

Keigo.

“Keigo, huh?” You repeat. It floats around in your mind, lingers on your tongue like the taste of honey. It reminds you of amber, gold, of coins and riches. Keigo.

“Well, I’m Y/N L/N.”

“I know, I looked you up.”

“At least one of us is smart.”

By the time your food comes, you’re barely eating, and it catches up to you how much the two of you have been talking. You’d been worried that the whole thing would be awkward and weird and not at all convincing, but you’re certain if anyone saw the two of you right now, they’d assume you were dating. The conversation rarely stops, and if it does -

Oh. He’s close.

There’s a moment of silence, a break from talking as you shift from one topic to another. On top of the two of you already being close from sitting on the same side of the table, with how much you’ve been talking, you’ve just gravitated towards each other. His arm is draped over the back of the bench, casual, but you can’t really focus when you fixate on his lips.

“And so we, um…” you trail off, then blink yourself out of your trance. “Wow, I completely forgot what I was gonna say.”

Hawks - Keigo - notices, and his face is smug. The smirk on his lips is nothing short of pride.

“Catching feelings for me already, Y/N?”

“In your dreams,” you bounce back.

For the first time tonight, you check your phone. It’s getting late, and although you don’t live very far away, you don’t want to be caught alone after dark. “Ah, I should probably get going.”

Keigo nods, reaching into his pocket to pull out a few thousand yen banknotes and set them on the table. You want to tell him that you have your own money to pay, but he cuts you off by getting out of the booth and speaking himself. “I’ll walk you home,” he says, and you furrow your brows as you get out, too.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna trouble you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Keigo says, offering his arm to you with a sly grin. “It’s my duty as a hero. And your boyfriend.”

He puts emphasis on the word and you can’t hide the amused smile from your lips, looping your arm through his.

The walk to your apartment is as comfortable as being in the restaurant with him, but somehow it feels nicer. You suppose it’s the open air, the golden sun having gone down past the distant mountains, leaving remnants of its light in freckles and rosy skin. The walk home seems faster, and you find yourself a little disappointed that the night is ending so soon.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to come inside,” you say, voice sultry as the two of you stop in front of your door. “Make the paparazzi think we had a little more fun in the privacy of my home?”

Keigo shrugs, and you can see him thinking about it. “I mean, if you’re okay with it…”

“Now who’s catching feelings?”

He scrunches his face up and you giggle. When you speak again, your voice is softer. Crickets chirp somewhere nearby.

“I had a good time, dating or not,” you tell him, find your key and unlocking the door. “Thanks for taking me out.”

Keigo takes your hand in his and brings your fingers up to his lips in a formal kiss (though the wink he sends you says otherwise). “Anytime, princess. See you later.”

He takes off out of your apartment building and you go inside, immediately laying down on your sofa in the living room. You feel over the spot on your hand where he kissed you, humming quietly to yourself.

Maybe this won’t be as hard as you thought.

#ADSKFKDJFL THIS SERIES IS MY BABY #I WILL NURTURE IT TO ADULTHOOD #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagine #my hero academia imagine #hawks x reader #hawks bnha x reader #bnha hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami imagine #hawks imagine #x reader #reader insert #imagine #tcoy

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friendlylocalwhumper · 4 years

Text

interviews

Interview 1: Remy

“What’s your name?”

Long black curls frame an elegant face. Kind eyes are shadowed by thick eyebrows and circles underneath from exhaustion. Bruising spans across the cheekbone catching the light from offscreen, blue and green and yellow. He cradles his left elbow like a single wrong twitch will get him writhing in pain.

“Remy,” He whispers to the person behind the camera.

“Remy. What happened to you?”

His eyes flick to something the camera isn’t pointed at. His fingers flex slightly with nerves. “I… got caught sneaking in someplace.”

“Why were you sneaking?”

The shirt that he’s wearing, heather grey and wrinkled, has blood on it. There’s a smear of brown by his nose: dried blood. Remy lifts his good arm, leaving the injured one alone, to tuck his nose into the crook of his elbow and inhale. It appears to calm him down.

“Is there something special about that shirt, Remy?”

He glances up and nods, talking into his sleeve, speaking above a whisper now but it makes no difference, his voice is muffled. “Yeah. It’s… I borrowed it. I was sneaking in, to see… his parents wouldn’t approve. They were never going to. A warlock, a boy… I just wanted to see him. Not even do anything. We’ve only kissed.”

“I’m not judging you, Remy.”

Nervous tapping fingers still. He offers a jerking nod. “I know. It’s just… this is all I have, his shirt. My shirt. He gave it to me, said it’s mine now. It still smells like him. It won’t forever. And I won’t see him again. I promised I’d keep coming back, even if it wasn’t safe for me. As long as it was safe for him.” Remy falls silent, haunted. “...He said it was safe.”

The interviewer allows him a moment to collect himself. Then, they ask, “Was he wrong?”

Tanned fingers scratch idly at a scabbed-over cut on his cheek. “...He was really wrong. I got… we got caught. I never used magic in that house, I swear. Never even talked about it. I just wanted to be with him. His brother came in. Tried to kill me.”

“What exactly happened? What made you think he was trying to kill you, not just scare you off?”

Remy snorts. “Grabbed me by the neck, tried to shove me out the window I climbed in. I almost fell. M-... my… the guy I was with, he defended me. Got into it with his brother so I could run. I tried to grab my shirt off the floor, but I got his instead. He might be dead. He might hate me.” Remy is staring at the floor, shoulder scrunched up to his cheek like the pressure can replace a warm hand cupped there in support.

“What happened to your arm?”

A twinge of pain rolls through the limb as Remy’s reminded of it. “Oh. The brother, he pulled on it. Messed something up, inside, I think. I don’t know any healers.”

“And what’s it mean for a magic user, if you can’t find a healer?”

Dark lips angled into a frown, Remy looks into the camera for the first time. “You find a place to hole up and you hope it heals on its own.”

“No hospitals means you’ve gotta make do with what you can find. Can you always find supplies when you need them?”

He snorts, eyes back on the interviewer. “Barely ever. Mostly you can find the basic stuff, or trade for it. Wrappings, uh, rubbing alcohol, bandaids. But the painkillers, the suture kits, the, uh, splints and slings, that stuff is impossible to get. I’ve seen…” Curls ranging from pitch black to a deep warm mahogany, depending on how much light they catch, get thrown dense and wild as he shakes his head. “That’s dark stuff, though.”

“Go on. Just the truth, that’s all I’m looking for. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Remy scrunches up his nose, itching at the blood clinging to the skin there. “Um. Yeah, okay. I was saying… I’ve seen people die from not being able to get bandages, using hoodies and stuff instead. Infection. Seen kids… there’s just, a lot of bad stuff happening, that doesn’t have to happen, just ‘cause we can’t get what we need.”

“So your arm? What are you going to do about it?”

With his good shoulder, he shrugs. “I don’t know. Get drunk and find someone to shove at it until it pops back into place, I guess. Or just try not to move it, for a couple weeks, and hope it’ll fix itself. Even if I do find a healer, I don’t have anything to trade. So, um… I guess I’m kind of screwed.”

The interviewer doesn’t answer. Remy’s eyes find the camera again, brown twinkling with the same light that illuminates the colors of pain at his cheek. The image freezes, the video finished playing, lingering on the face of the warlock who was resigned to pain and little hope of finding any help, even from his own kind.

Interview 2: Nona

The video starts with a blur of movement. Brown carpet that’s been crushed into a grimy, stale, solid mass. Stained walls, a torn beanbag chair, limp hands with split knuckles.

“Tell me about the safehouse.”

The witch tips her head, eyes narrowed. The camera is aimed at her, and she looks like she wants to fight it. “Why.”

“Because it matters. You matter. Someone, someday, is gonna ask how we survived. You’re part of the answer.”

The interviewer’s explanation doesn’t flatter her. Lilac hair goes flying as the witch tosses her head back, clearing the straight strands from her face.

“I’m Nona,” She starts, mouth hanging open on the last vowel. She tests the camera’s patience for a handful of seconds before continuing. “I’m a witch. I run this safehouse. It’s a grimy shithole but ask anyone who comes through, they know I’m in charge.”

“So I’ve heard. Does it matter, that they know?”

“That I’m in charge? Fuck yeah. You’ve gotta make it clear. No one’s in charge, anyone can throw their jacked-up muscle around, then people are getting the shit beat out of them all over power struggles. One guy wants the living room to himself, the other’s decided he rules the kitchen and if you want food, you gotta pay an entry fee. Stresses everyone out. Gets people more hurt than they already are. That’s why I kick people out, lay down a couple rules, show my face every now and then.”

“You’ve got to remind everyone that there’s someone keeping the place running.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. It doesn’t work, otherwise. And they could take over anytime. I think about it all the time. But they know I keep the fridge stocked. They know I forgive shitty mistakes and let the worst ones come back when they’ve been fucked up by cops, or something. I found this place and I built it up myself. Boarded up the windows, got the electricity going, sewed up the shitty cushions so you can sit down without fluff shooting out of the seams. And you know how long it took me?”

“No. How long?”

“One motherfucking day. I did it in one day. You know why I busted my ass for sixteen hours?”

“Why?”

“Because if I didn’t finish, if I didn’t get a lock on that front door to keep the dumbest non-magic criminal fucks out, I wouldn’t have a place to sleep that night. I put the lock in last, because if I couldn’t manage the rest in time, I didn’t deserve to fucking sleep. I wanted to make this a place that people could sleep, at least. And I did it. People know that. Ask me why they don’t do it themselves, make a new place, get to be in charge.”

“Why?”

“Because they hurt. They’ve been sleeping on floors, and getting beat up, and they’ve been walking in shoes that don’t fit them. Because they’re angry, and paranoid, and tired all the time, and they can’t pick a lock without their hands shaking, so they sure as shit can’t fix up a whole house. And they’re so focused on fighting each other, watching their own back, making sure their stuff isn’t stolen, that they can’t stop to pick up a project and see it through.”

“Are all magic users like that?”

“Mmh…” Nona taps her chin. “Most of them. It’s the easier way to be. You get stuck in a loop of getting hurt, running, hiding, going out again to get something you need, and getting hurt again. It’s hard to get out of that. The only ones who can really try to do more are, like, witches who get tired of the loop. The guys, they don’t get out of it as much. But we don’t live long, anyway, so it’s not like anybody gets much of a chance to change through the years. There’s no plans, just trying to live through the day to get to sleep again.”

Nona cracks her knuckles and stretches, lounging in the beanbag chair a moment before sitting upright again and scuffing the heel of her boot against the floor.

“Does anyone ever challenge you? Try to take over?”

The witch nods, hair falling forward over her shoulders to brush her cheeks. “Sometimes. I knock ‘em on their ass with magic, though, so they never get far.”

“Get far?”

“They never do much. I don’t let ‘em.”

“Never do much? What is it they try to do?”

Eyes dark with makeup glint with anger. “They try shit. You’re not stupid. This talk’s over.”

“What do they-”

“You get that camera out of my face,” Nona growls, knocking it off whatever held it, sending the picture flying with blurry smeared colors, “Or I’ll-”

The audio cuts off, and the video stops on a blur of brown and grey, the chaos of escalating fury falling into silence.

Interview 3: Lux

“Okay.” The camera shifts, settles, shifts again. Someone breathes heavily from beyond its line of sight. “Okay. It’s safe here. Can you talk? We got away. Can you talk now?”

The camera turns, finally set up securely against some steady surface, to focus on a shaking warlock with a hand pressed to his stomach. Blood seeps between his fingers.

“Ye-eah, I can - th-this is important, you said?”

The interviewer gasps a few more harsh breaths. It sounds like they’ve been running hard, and can only now catch their breath. “Yes. Yes, it’s important. Tell me - tell the story of what, just happened.”

Blue eyes flick up to the camera, then the off-screen interviewer, then back to the camera. “Um. O-okay. I can… I can, talk about it, just, hnn - I-I, what’re you gonna use this for? What can I… is it safe, to t-talk about…? Anything?”

“Lux.”

“Mnh?”

“We already talked about this.”

A shudder runs through him, a wince twisting his features. “Oh. S-sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just that I explained all that, like, twenty minutes ago. Do you have trouble with your memory?”

Tense shoulders tilt inward. “I th-thought, thought you wanted to hear ‘bout, what happened.”

“I do. I also want to hear about you. Why can’t you remember things?”

His breaths, jagged and quick from running, too, don’t even out. “...What happens if I don’t want to talk?”

It’s silent for a moment. He looks like he’s prepared to get hit.

“That would be disappointing. But I’d leave you alone. I don’t interrogate people, I just try to collect their stories. You don’t have to do anything, Lux.”

An uncertain hum slips out of him and he lifts his head from where it fell, his body uncurling from the defensive position it settled into. “Really?”

“Really. Can I ask you something?”

A shoulder scrunches up toward a dirt-streaked cheek in a half-shrug.

“Did you really think I would hurt you, if you didn’t want to talk?”

There’s no audible guilt in the interviewer’s voice, but sadness flickers across the warlock’s face. “Oh, it’s - it’s okay. You didn’t do anything, to, to scare me. I don’t think. It’s just… I’m just like that.”

“Why are you like that?”

The fingers of his free hand twist a loose thread of his ripped sleeve. Lux stares at the floor.

“Lux?”

“Hmm? So-orry. Um. What did you ask?”

“Why are you like that? Why do you get scared? I’ve done a lot of these interviews, and most people are angry, or tired, or sarcastic. Most don’t let it show that they’re scared. You seem very open about it.”

It’s hard to tell, in the poor lighting of the video recorded at the first snatched moment after some escape from danger, but Lux is paling from his wound. He glances down at it, curls hanging. When he looks back up, he blinks, searching for words to answer with. “Um, I… got made that way. I was, I was… do you know who the Hunter is?”

“The Hunter? He made you open? I thought he killed everyone he took. Did he kill someone you knew?”

“Mnh - uh - ye-eah, but - that was just part of it. He-e, he used to kill, everyone. Mostly. Then he… he took me. I was there, he had me, for… for a year.”

“A year? How did you survive a year with the Hunter?”

“He… I don’t know. He just liked me. It was a l-lot, a lot of pain. And… mind magic.”

Lux glances up, as he mentions the taboo magic, and cringes. He must’ve seen a reaction in the interviewer.

“So your time with him wore you down, took way your defenses. He… did that, to you, and now… what is your mind like now?”

Sweat beads across the warlock’s brow. He doesn’t ask for the interview to stop. “It’s, it’s a mess. It’s just all mixed up, and I forget things, and… everything is hard. M-my… my magic, ‘specially, it, it doesn’t like to work anymore.”

“Do you think that was part of his tactics? He kills a lot of magic users, it seems like he’s trying to cripple the community. Did he mix you up so that your magic wouldn’t work, so you wouldn’t be a threat?”

His frown draws lines into his face. “No. He just, he just liked it. Scaring me. Changing me. It’s not about… he doesn’t do it for, like, society. Going after magic users, it’s just because they’re already hurting, no one cares about us. We’re just easy to target. He’s not like the feds.”

“You sound like you know him pretty well.”

Lux takes a breath, holds it, then nods. His head is heavy on his shoulders. “Better tha-an anyone, I guess.”

“Better than Quinn Mae?”

He blinks. “Quinn - you mean, Quinn, who, who let the Hunter take them, to try and… make a difference?”

“Yes. They sacrificed themself to learn about the Hunter. And it seems that they were successful. But do you know more about him than they do, even after that mission?”

Emotion gets Lux fidgeting. “Th-they - they did a good job. I think they probably learned really important stuff. It wasn’t… I don’t think it was a good idea, but I, I’m proud of them, for trying. I just - I was there for so long. I know more than the facts, I know how he feels about stuff. The Hunter loves, loved me, I… was close to him, for a long time. And I, I haven’t been much help, even though I know all that. Just knowing about him doesn’t make him that much easier to take on. It, um - it actually makes him angrier.”

“Angry enough to start torturing his way through every witch and warlock alive?”

“That’s - you’re out of line.” The assertion is quick and anxious. “It’s not Quinn’s fault. It’s no one’s fault. The Hunter likes to hurt people, he likes to punish people for being brave. Quinn did the, the bravest thing in the world, and that - it just, I guess it set him off. But it’s not their fault.”

“Sounds like cause and effect, Lux.”

“No. I - if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine, he - he wanted me back, he wanted to hurt me, and I said no. I said no to him. He’s punishing me.”

“How did you say no? Did he ask? Why didn’t he just take you anyway?”

The trembling has gotten worse in Lux again, and it jars his hand against his wound, adding tension to the way he sits. “He-e, he called me. On my phone. I said no. I said - he could take me, but I wouldn’t make it easy. I wa-as trying to be b-brave. I was - healing. But… but I guess, he’s been frustrated, and, and I… set him off. I don’t know. He’s hurting so many people, and I’m trying to, to find them all, to make sure they don’t die, to help them process it all. I know what it feels like.”

“So you’re trying to help with the spree, on this end, after they get hurt.”

“Ye-eah. Trying.”

“There’s no way you can save them before they get hurt? You can’t stop him?”

The warlock’s brows twitch. “I-I… no. I’ve thought about it. I’ve… I tried to offer myself up, instead. He loves me, I thought maybe he just wanted me to, to break, to take their place… but he doesn’t want me. He said, said maybe some other time. He just wants to… he’s having fun.”

“I see. Alright, Lux. I’m sorry for bringing up a painful topic. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. It’s not your fault. I try not to step in with how I feel, but I wanted to say that. It’s not your fault.”

Lux’s head is dipped down, leaden with guilt. “Yeah, well… you don’t know him like I do.”

#whump #drabble #angst #mine #the spree #lux #remy #nona #riku rose #this is how we lived #recorded #past trauma #afraid #angry #bruised #blood

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soerdinan · 5 years

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Pattern - Hunter Slime

I tried to make the pattern easy to read but do let me know if there is confusing/unclear stuff.

Please don’t post this pattern to other places without my permission.

If you aren’t handy with crocheting (and don’t have anybody near you who can do it for you) and would like to buy a crocheted slime, feel free to ask if I’m able to do commissions at the time (I try to update my commission status to my commissions page: https://soerdinan.tumblr.com/commissions). =)

And I’d love to see pictures of the slimes you have made. ^_^

Sorry that I don’t have photos of making these for the patterns, I’m not very good at taking photos.

Some specs:

I used 3mm hook and wool yarn in black and brown on the slime.

The eyes are felt with black fiber marker markings. Of course do experiment with embroidering the eyes, or use buttons or safety eyes or whatever. ^_^

Abbreviations: sc = single crochet dc=double crochet inc = increase dec = decrease sl st=slip stitch ch=chain (sequence to repeat) x how.many.times

[Total of stitches at the round in the end]

Hunter slime body

I’m not a professional, so the pattern might not be too good, but this is how I make my slimes. ^_^

Made in a circle starting with brown yarn 1. 6sc in an adjustable loop [6] 2. inc x6 [12] 3. inc x12 [24] 4. (3sc, inc) x6 [30] 5. {2sc, inc, (3sc, inc) x3} x2 [38] 6. 38sc [38] 7. (5sc, inc, 6sc, inc, 5sc, inc) x2 [44] Now 5 rows (8-12) of 44sc 8. 44sc [44] 9. 44sc [44] 10. 44sc [44] Switch to black yarn 11. 44sc [44] 12. 44sc [44] 13. (5sc, dec, 6sc, dec, 5sc, dec) x2 [38] 14. 38sc [38] Switch to brown yarn 15. dec, (4sc, dec) x6 [31] 16. 31sc [31] 17. dec, (3sc, dec) x6 [24] Now I think is easiest to do the mouth and the eyes if want to tie them cleanly inside the plush.

18. (2sc, dec) x6 [18] 19. (1sc, dec) x6 [12] Fill the slime up. 20. dec x6 Leave some yarn and sew the end opening shut if it’s left open too much. I pull the yarn through 2nd, 4th and 6th stitch and pull tight, then secure the end and hide it inside the slime.

Hunter Ear

Made in a circle with brown yarn. 1. 6sc in an adjustable loop [6] 2. (1sc, inc) x3 [9] 3. (1sc, inc) x4, 1sc [13] 4. (2sc, inc) x4, 1sc [17] 5. 17sc, slip stitch [17 ] Leave a long yarn to sew the ear with.

Black edge for the ear

Fold the ear, pull loops of black yarn from inside to the edge of the ear, from every row. There should be 10 black stitches on the ear. Using these stitches do the following:

Right ear: 1. ch 3, sl st to the second stitch on the ear 2. ch 2, sl st to the 3rd and 4th stitch 3. sc to 5th stitch, ch 2, dc on the 6th stitch 4. sl st from 7th to 10th stitch Left ear: 1. sl st from 1st to 4th stitch 2.sc to 5th stitch, ch 2, dc on the 6th stitch 3. sl st from 7th to 8th stitch 4. ch 2, sl st to the 9th stitch

5. ch 3, sl st to the 10th stitch

Hunter tail: Made in a circle starting with black yarn 1. 6sc in an adjustable loop [6] 2. Using only the front loops (sl st, ch 3, sl st to next) x3

3. Using the back loops of row 1 (1sc, inc) x3 [9]

4. Using only the front loops (4 sl st, ch 3, dc) x3

5. Using the back loops of row 3 (2sc, inc) x3, skip behind the last tuft to the first stitch of row, 1sc [12]

Switch to brown yarn

6. 12sc [12] 7. 12 sc [12] 8. (2sc, dec) x3 [9] 9. (2sc, dec) x2 [7] Fill the tail a little 10. (2sc, dec) x2 [5] Leave a long yarn to sew with.

Look from the Tabby pattern some tips on how to position the ears and tail. ^_^

#hunter slime #Slime Rancher #amigurumi #pattern #crochet pattern #crocheting #my pattern #crafts

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chaoticspacefam · 4 years

Text

OC Playlist Meme - Saarai (of course)

I was tagged by @thehighground (thank you! :D) this one was super fun!! I was caught between the twins of who I should do for this one, Saarai won because she is my favourite and her 70-song playlist was basically made for memes like this (yes, you heard me, 70. No it’s not a typo. Yes I have a slight, maybe, problem with her being my favourite LOL) 👍

I’ve shared all their playlists at various points, if you search up the “swtor oc theme songs” and “oc playlist” tag on the blog you should be able to find them! Or if you want links to the full playlists drop me a line and I can link you to them no problem! :D

Just the one this time cause this one’s pretty long, if I get tagged again tho I’ll do Ni’kasi next! :D

I shall tag (if you feel like it, no pressure as always!) @abyssal-space @stratosara @anchanted-one @pauletta-00 @hypnowinnermugpeach and anybody else who wants to have a go, this one’s super fun! Long post so under a cut! <3 gonna pop the content warning up here to: TW for mention of past abuse/manipulation and parental abuse in one of the songs in case ya wanna avoid it. there’s a warning above the specific section as well if you wanna read the rest and just skip that song, up to you!

♦️ Their intro theme: Up The Wolves - The Mountain Goats

“I’m gonna get myself in fighting trim, scope out every angle of unfair advantage. I’m gonna bribe the officials, I’m gonna kill all the judges! It’s gonna take you people years to recover from all of the damage!! Our mother has been absent, ever since we founded Rome. But there’s gonna be a party when the wolf comes home.”

♦️ Their own favorite song: DARKSIDE - Shinedown

(She has to set a good example with being one of the leaders of the Alliance (especially because her saying “don’t do that” is the only reason her sister and Aria don’t go for their new Jedi allies - at least to start with, before the Alliance y’know, bonds and becomes a proper coalition!). But learning to trust Jedi was still hard for her after what they did to her people, and I feel like if it existed in the verse she’d find it relatable and listen to it a lot.)

“Can you hear me, am I speaking clearly? Are you star-struck or just made of stone? Block out the actors, and all these bastards. That took all the fun out of rage and revenge.”

♦️ Their boss battle theme: Castle - Halsey

(it was difficult to pick one for this one, she has quite a few in her playlist that I consider her “boss battle” songs for various points in her life/the two different verses. But I think this one is the most universal! :D)

“I’m heading straight for the castle. They wanna make me their Queen. And there’s an old man sitting on the throne there sayin’ that I ‘probably shouldn’t be so mean.’ I’m heading straight for the castle...they got the kingdom locked up. And there’s an old man sitting on the throne there sayin’ ‘I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut!’.”

♦️ Their love song: (one for each of her main ships, but again, they have whole playlists because I use playlists to “set the mood” of the character/ship while I write. Pro writing tip, do it. It helps [nod nod] <3)

For Zephyrverse/Sash: Heaven’s Gate - Fall Out Boy

“And in the end if I don’t make it on the list, would you sneak me a wristband? Or would you give me, give me, give me a boost? Give me a boost over heaven’s gate. I’m gonna need a boost, cause everything else is a subtitute for your love. Give me a boost over heaven’s gate.”

For Subterfugeverse/Lana & Koth: The Last Of The Real Ones - Fall Out Boy

“I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you, but not as much as I do. As much as I do...Cause you’re the last of a dying breed, write our names on the wet concrete. I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me. I’m here in search of your glory, there’s been a million before me, that ultra-kind of love you never walk away from. ”

♦️ Their sad times song: Bruno Is Orange - Hop Along (tw: mention of abuse/manipulation, parental abuse)

“ ‘Bruno, what happened to your good sense?!’ I broke down ‘That man was good!!’ ‘I bet he works for the government!’ Did you hear about that mother, broke her daughter’s legs in two and said: ‘It’s too dangerous out there to walk so I have to save you!’ ”

♦️ A song that fits their aesthetic: Woman King - Iron & Wine

“Black hoof mare. Broken leg. Eye on the shotgun shell. Age old dog. Hornet’s nest. Built in the big church bell. Hundred years, hundred more. Someday we may see a woman king, sword in hand, swing at some evil and bleed.”

♦️ A song that reminds them of a better time: Downhill - Lincoln

(though most of this song has sad undertones to it, this part in particular would remind her of the short time she had with her father when he was alive, when he would take the twins outside and sit them on his lap to look at the stars <3)

“Cause you were the first one to show me the stars. And they don’t mean much to me, but I still wonder where you are. Some nights I still try to find you, relative to constellations. And all your relatives are still on vacation, or so I heard from a friend...”

♦️ A song that calms them down: 10,000 Enemies - Emeli Sandé

(headcanon that this is a song their mother D’leah used to sing to her and her twin, Ni’kasi, when they were children hiding out on Rishi and it stuck with her.)

“I hear the sweetest sound, blowing from the North. It says ‘don’t panic now, what’s mine is yours...’ I hope 10,000 times you tell me the truth. Cause now there’s much to do. I trust in you. I shall be free...I shall be free. We shall be free.”

♦️ A song that gets them hyped up: Young And Menace - Fall Out Boy

“We’ve gone way too fast for way too long. And we were never supposed to make it half this far. And I’ve lived so much life, lived so much life. I think that God is gonna have to kill me twice.”

I’m assuming this section is meant to mean a song the character would associate with each season? So I hope I’ve interpreted that correctly, I wasn’t really sure what else it was referring to. So that’s what I’m doing LOL

♦️ Spring: Thunder - Imagine Dragons

“Just a young gun with a quick fuse. I was uptight, wanna let loose. I was dreaming of bigger things and wanna leave my own life behind. Not a yes sir, not a follower, fit the box, fit the mold, have a seat in the foyer. Take a number, I was lightning, before the thunder.”

♦️ Summer: The Times They Are A’Changin’ - Fort Nowhere

(a.k.a the time of year where everything went to hell for her, though she uses it to remind her of how far she’s come once she’s older and more at peace with everything that happened so it’s positive in the end!)

“Come gather round people, wherever you roam. And admit that the waters around you have grown, and accept it that soon you’ll be drenched to the bone. If your time to you is worth saving, well you better start swimming or you’ll sink like a stone. For the times, they are a’changin’.”

♦️ Autumn: Dragon - Built By Titan feat. Skyborne

“When I was younger, I had a dragon. We would fly away to places you can’t imagine. And this is a story, of a lonely island. And a boy who found a way to become a lion.”

♦️ Winter: Youth - Glass Animals

(Winter is when Ty was born so it’s a mixed bag of trauma-induced depression (See “sad-times” song above), missing her twin and being sad about what happened but also wanting to make sure Ty never has to experience what she did and just wanting him to have a safe & happy life, so. This song kinda fits that.)

“Boy, when I left you you were young. I was gone but not my love, you were clearly meant for more than a life lost in the war. Oh, I want you to be happy, free to run get dizzy on caffeine, funny friends that make you laugh and maybe you’re just a little bit dappy.”

♦️ The song that plays while they’re lying on the ground bleeding out in a Walmart: Everything You Ever - Neil Patrick Harris (from Dr Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog)

“So your world’s benign. So you think justice has a voice? And we all have a choice? Well now, your world is mine.”

♦️ The song that would play each morning if they’re stuck in a time loop: Ends Of The Earth - Lord Huron

“ Oh, there's an island where all things are silent, I'm gonna whistle a tune. Oh, there's a desert that size can't be measured; I'm gonna count all the dunes.”

♦️ The song they’d listen to while robbing a Wendy’s: Pork Soda - Glass Animals

“Somebody said I’m a fucking slum, don’t know where I belong. Maybe you’re fucking dumb, maybe I’m just a bum. Maybe you’re fucking scum, don’t you go psycho chum.”

♦️ The song they’d accidentally introduce to people in medieval times if they were a time traveller: The Time Warp - Rocky Horror Picture Show.

(Also not accidentally, she has a silly side and she’d probably play this one for the LOL’s to see who got it or who got mad. She’d totally learn the dance moves and do those too XD)

“ The blackness would hit me And the void would be calling Let's do the Time Warp again Let's do the Time Warp again.”

♦️ The song they’d play in the middle of the night when their neighbors are being too loud: Blood // Water - grandson

("Do you think if I play a really loud, aggressively threatening song they’d shut the fuck up? I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna try it.” XD).

“You’ll never get free, lamb to the slaughter, what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water?!”

♦️ The song that plays at their funeral: Sax Rohmer #1 - The Mountain Goats

“Ships loosed from their moorings capsize and then they're gone. Sailors with no captains watch a while and then move on. And an agent crests the shadows and I head in her direction. All roads lead toward the same blocked intersection. And I am coming home to you. With my own blood in my mouth...yes I am coming home, to you. If it’s the last thing that I do.”

♦️ The song that plays when it’s revealed that they faked their death: Joan of Arc - Arcade Fire

“You’re the one that they used to hate but they like you now. And everything that goes away will return somehow....first they love you, then they kill you, then they love you again...and then they love you, then they kill you, then they love you again.”

#swtor #star wars: the old republic #OC meme #tagged meme #swtor OC playlists #swtor oc theme songs #swtor oc: saarai ahaszaai #sith warrior #sith pureblood #[me cackling gleefully as i have yet another excuse to put my excessively-in-depth character playlists to good use]#except for the time warp obvs that's not in her playlist but c'mon what other song would you play to troll people when you time travel XD #let's face it saarai's basically taken over this blog #i should change my icon to one of my many screenshots of her really #tw: past trauma #tw: past abuse #tw: parental abuse #tw: manipulation

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ill-skillsgard · 5 years

Text

The Wedding Ring - Henry Deaver x Mistress

Forgive me, for I have sinned heavily and will continue to do so until the day I am dragged down to hell. Y’all might hate me for this or not but we’ll see!

Warning: 18+ only. Contains mature themes/cheating/spousal conflict etc. Read at your own discretion.

Masterpost

You had grown used to Henry. His condo had familiar walls and you could walk freely throughout the place if you liked. The kitchen was open to you, his bathroom was yours to take advantage of. The jetted tub was one of your favourite features of the entire place. After a long Friday shift, Henry picked you up from the hotel and brought you to the condo and the first thing you did was fly up to his room, strip naked and jump into the tub to take a relaxing hot bath while hard streams of bubbles blasted away the tension from your muscles.

The counter in Henry's bathroom was home to a designer ceramic toothbrush holder, a half-empty bottle of cologne, tea tree facial scrub and a black folded facecloth that cradled a broad gold ring — his wedding ring. You wondered how long it had been sitting there and if Henry had put it there for a reason. You hadn't seen him with it around his finger in a long time. But it couldn't have been far from his mind if he kept it right next to the sink he used every day.

A gentle knock aroused you from the balmy waters of the bath and you answered to it just as placidly.

"Can I come in, babe?" He asked.

"Yes, but I'm naked!"

Henry opened the door, eyes seeking you out like a pair of missiles. A playful smile had already stretched across his face and you ran your palms over your breasts, giving him a little bit of a show when he stepped into the bathroom to see you. He ogled the water dripping down the supple mounds and shook his head in disbelief.

"Fuck."

"What's the matter?"

"Can't even walk into my own bathroom without getting instantly turned on."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"It's the best. Your tits look amazing."

You reached a hand up for him to grasp and when you had a firm hold of his fingers; you pulled him down. He snickered and lowered himself onto one knee, kneeling beside the tub so he could be at a closer level with you. Without prompting, he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, reached one hand into the water and squeezed your thigh.

"Are you forever horny? I feel like you might be the horniest person alive."

"It's hard not to be when your man is so fucking sexy."

The words that left your mouth had a peculiar taste to them. Your man. Was it appropriate to refer to him as yours now? It was hard to tell. His wedding ring was just over on the counter and for all you knew, Henry still hadn't gotten around to admitting to his wife that he had been actively seeing somebody else during their separation. You tried not to feel sore about it, but it was difficult not to poke at the wounds.

Henry reached up between your legs, going quiet as he worked the pad of his thumb over your slit a few times, pausing at your clit to give you a look. "I wanna play with your pussy."

Your knees fell apart as though he'd spoken a secret password. But you stopped him before he could touch you again.

"Put on the ring," you said.

"What?" He pulled back like you had spit on him. "Why?"

"Put on your ring and tell me all the things you'd do to me that you would never do to her."

"Babe," he snorted. "Come on."

You gave him a weighty stare and his eyebrows rose. Withdrawing his hand from the waters, he stood up with a sigh and turned around to retrieve the wedding band camping out next to the bathroom sink. He held the circle between his index and thumb, presenting it like a half-assed project he certainly took no pride in completing.

"You want me to wear it?"

"Mm-hmm. Put it on."

He slid the ring onto his finger and wiggled them after, showing you what he was willing to do for your pleasure and then took his position on his knees next to the tub once more. He let his palm slide up your side, over your breast and up to your neck, making sure that you felt the metal gliding with him.

"This what you want? You want me to tell you how much I want to fuck you even though I'm married? You get off on this?"

You nodded eagerly and rose your knees up to encourage him to travel down between your thighs again.

"God, baby you look so good. I've never wanted her as much as I want you all the fucking time."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," the word was a drawn-out breath as he circled your clit with the tip of his ring finger. "Always wanted a little freak like you. Somebody that actually likes it when I tease her pretty little clit. Someone that will let me eat her pussy whenever I damn well please."

"Oh, I love it when you do that."

Henry shifted closer and prodded at your entrance only a little bit under the water.

"You know what else I love about you?"

"What?"

"I love how eager you are for my cock. She never liked having sex with me. But you... God, I can't get you off my dick. Not that I'd ever want you to."

"I can't help myself, sir. I know it's wrong but I can't stop thinking about how bad I want your cum."

Henry closed his eyes and purred at the sound of your dirtied words. "That's another thing... You're such a little slut for my cum. I love it when you let me bust inside you... Or when you swallow it all down and kiss me right after. She would never do that."

"Never?"

"Never."

"But your cum is so delicious, sir. I want it all."

"You can have it all, baby."

Henry was growing tired of fondling you in the bath. He hooked his hands under your armpits and hauled you out of the tub, dripping water all over the tiles as he sat you up on the counter and pried your legs apart. He stooped down again and shuddered after running his tongue up your slit, parting your lips to dip inside for a taste. The air, although vaporous from the hot bath, kissed your skin and made you shiver as he looked up at you from below.

"I want you to cum all over my face. I want every last drop of that sweet pussy on my tongue, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Henry penetrated you with his ring finger and watched with his mouth agape at the way it looked. You couldn't help but gush over the visual, as well. The flashing gold ring moved back and forth with his motions and filled you with a sick satisfaction you could get from nothing else.

"God, yes... Make me fucking cum you filthy boy."

Before Henry could make good on his promise to have you orgasming around his appendages, there was an alarmingly loud beeping noise that stole both of your attention at once.

"What's that?" You asked.

"Shit," Henry pulled his finger from you and absently popped it into his mouth.

"Henry?" You called after he left the bathroom as abruptly as the beeping had sounded. "What's going on?"

"Quiet for a minute," his answer had to travel through the bedroom as he was already nearly in the hallway.

Henry went to a flashing intercom, heart beating so hard in his chest that it left him light-headed and out of breath. He pressed the button and spoke into the receiver after taking in a gulp of air. "Yes?"

"Evenin', Mr. Deaver. It's Johnny from downstairs. Mrs. Deaver is at the front desk..."

"This is ridiculous, John. You know who I am. Why do I need to be paged in like a goddamn pizza delivery?"

Henry lost every trace of colour in his skin as the heavy onset of realization crushed him.

"Mrs. Deaver, I don't make the rules. I can't let anybody up that's not verified on the account."

"It's me, Johnny. His wife!"

"You took yourself off the registry, Mrs. Deaver. I'm sorry."

Henry listened to the exchange and panicked.

"You there, Henry?" Johnny asked.

"Tell him to let me up, now."

"Shit," Henry whispered before pressing the button to speak. "Uh... All right then. Let her up, I guess."

"Right away."

Henry dashed back into the bathroom with a look on his face so white and perplexing that you felt your own blood drain into your feet. "What's wrong?"

"She's coming up... My wife!"

"What! Why!? Why, why, why? Why would you let her up!?" You exclaimed.

"It would have been too weird if I said no. Fuck. Quick, quick... You have to hide," Henry flailed and nearly slipped on the water-slick floor.

You scrambled for your clothes even though your hair was still sopping wet and the counter was pooled with bathwater. Henry pulled a large fluffy towel out from a drawer and tossed it at you.

"Henry!" You hissed. "What do I do!?"

"Stay in here. She never goes into my bathroom. Just... Fuck. Just be quiet. I'll get her out as soon as I can but good god, don't make a single noise! She's got ears like a goddamn jackrabbit."

When Henry left and shut the door behind him, all kinds of retorts came to mind. If he'd have just sacked up and told her about you already it would be a non-issue. You suddenly cursed Henry for being a piss-poor pansy liar. Anger fell heavily over your face as you wrapped yourself in the towel and hid behind the shower wall next to a table where Henry presumably kept hand-towels and all manner of toiletries hidden away inside neat little drawers. The top of the table had an elegant glass vase festooned with fake blue flowers on it, a small brass globe and a framed picture of Henry and his wife on their wedding day. She had her arm looped through his and they were both looking down with smiles, mid-pace as her veil billowed out around her. In the background, you could see the blurred smiling faces of guests.

You gritted your teeth harder the longer you stared at the picture. The frame was dusty and you longed to chalk it up to laziness but something didn't settle well in your stomach after seeing the photo of their wedding day still very much on display. Anyone using the toilet could have looked over and seen the picture so it wasn't like Henry was unaware of its placement.

You could hear nothing beyond the closed bathroom door so you slipped out from your hiding place, carefully sidestepped the puddles of water and locked the handle. Before you stepped back, the sounds of talking could be heard and you concentrated on listening to what was being said without making a move. A plainly irritated voice grew louder and you could tell that they were approaching Henry's bedroom. You clapped a hand over your mouth when the voice burst into the room just beyond the bathroom door.

"Don't you ever try to keep me from my own property! I still have my grandmother's china here! You can't bar me from taking what belongs to me!"

"But you can't just come waltzing in here whenever you damn well please! You didn't even call!"

You heard a shrill feminine laugh. "Maybe if you weren't so busy watching pay per view porn you would have noticed that I called you five times!"

"Oh, fuck off. I don't do that," Henry's tone was riddled with irritation.

"Yes, you do. I know you do, Henry, and it's disgusting!"

Then a gasp ripped through the air and you flattened your back against the tiled wall, feeling every nerve in your body spark at once, causing an electric rush of nausea to hit you like the clap of a wave.

"Henryyy! My designer candles! What did you do!?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Footsteps pounded across the room, drawing closer to the bathroom door. Your eyes fell to the door handle, hoping beyond hope that it wouldn't start to jiggle.

"What the fuck did you do!? You lit my designer candles!?"

Henry scoffed. "Isn't that what candles are for?"

That same patronizing laugh ploughed over his question. "Not ones that cost seventy dollars each! What on earth were you thinking?"

"I don't know, they're just candles!" He reasoned hotly.

"You just don't think, do you? So not only did I have to stand in the lobby like a stranger and get refused access to my own home, but you're now ignoring my calls, destroying my things and acting like a total asshole?"

"It's not your home, it's my condo. My name's on it. This is my goddamn bedroom. Can't I have one fucking thing in this world that doesn't reek of you!? You actually need to get the hell out of here right now!"

A tense quiet proceeded Henry's outburst punctuated by an appalled scoffing sound.

"Oh, okay. Sure, Henry. Wasn't it just two weeks ago you were begging me to stay?"

"Things change."

"Why? What changed?"

"We're separated. We're in the proceedings of a divorce. A divorce that you instigated!"

"Well, you're certainly going full speed ahead now, aren't you?"

"What else do you want from me? You want the keys to my car? Do you want the condo too so you can fill it full of worthless shit? Seventy fucking dollar candles that you can't burn? What else can I do to ease your situation? What else can I do to cater to you?"

"What the hell has gotten into you, Henry? I don't even know you anymore. Since when do you speak to me so disrespectfully?"

"Since you don't respect my privacy or give a fuck about how I feel."

"How you feel? You're on top of the world, Henry! You got the nice cozy job where nobody questions your authority and us little people have to work our asses off just for the bare minimum!"

Henry started to laugh. "Oh, you're so helpless. So hard done by. You got a four-bedroom house. You got the Lexus. You got the fucking job that I set you up to get. I've given you everything and more and you still couldn't even fuck me once in a while. But when we're in the office, you can't pry yourself away. You need everybody to know that you're married to me. But you don't care about me. You care about your status. And I'm done with that shit."

"You're seeing somebody already, aren't you?"

Her question stretched out between them in the longest silence you could ever remember experiencing.

"Please leave," Henry muttered.

"You're wearing your ring again."

"Please go. Please take your plates and just leave me alone. It's late and I want to go to sleep."

"You're fucking somebody. That's what it is. That's why the candles were used. You had somebody in here."

"Good Lord, woman... You need to get out."

"You're not denying it!"

"What do you want from me!?" Henry bellowed loud enough to startle you. You didn't think him capable of raising his voice. Hearing his anger rise in his throat made your heart stammer in place. "You won't fuck me! Won't touch me. You want a divorce. You don't want a divorce. You move out. You hate me. You call me. You don't want me to be fucking happy. The thought of me having needs sickens you to the core but if I want to finally get my dick wet for the first time in, oh, I don't know, an entire fucking year and a half, you have a problem with it. Do you want to put a fucking chastity belt and leash on me? What the hell do you want? What do you want!?"

"I want things to go back to the way they were."

"Well, I don't. So please go. I want to be left alone."

She must have agreed to leave quietly. You didn't dare budge until you were certain that they had vacated the bedroom. What you thought were water droplets from the bath turned out to be sweat that had accumulated over your forehead. Swiping at the moisture, you decided to dry off quietly and change back into your stale-smelling work clothes.

By the time Henry came back up to find you, you were standing in the bathroom doorway with your arms crossed.

"Babe... I'm so sorry. You okay?"

You shook your head. "You didn't tell her about me."

"Baby, come on—"

"No. You said nothing! You told me you would tell her!"

Henry's bones went rubbery for a moment as he groaned in frustration. "Please. I don't need to get reamed out by you, too!"

"Why didn't you tell her?"

He snorted with heavy sarcasm. "Why didn't I? Um, did you hear the woman? Hi, no, come in and start screaming at me. Oh, and, by the way, I have a girlfriend now and I was just fucking her in the bathroom, care to meet her!? Yeah, like that would go over well!"

"But you still haven't told her is my point, Henry. You've had all the opportunity in the world to tell her the truth and you still haven't."

"What do you want me to say? I don't want to talk to her. Every moment I get away from work I've been with you! Spending time with you, taking you out, making sure that you're happy."

"I'd be happy if you just cut the bullshit and told your fucking wife about me!"

"Baby," Henry approached you but you stepped back. "Please... I have to go about this delicately. If I tell her, I'll lose everything. She gets everything in the divorce if she can prove infidelity. Everything. I'll be ruined."

"Maybe that's what you should get for being a cheating liar."

"Weren't you the one begging me to tell you how much better you are than her? Were you not just getting off on my fucking ring finger? Why are you suddenly against me?"

You dropped your crossed arms to your sides and sighed. "I think I should go."

Henry's scowl softened immediately, and he reached out for you again. "No. Please, no. Don't go. Please, baby. Just stay here with me."

"No... I should. I just... I don't want to stay after all that."

Some frail string inside of him had finally pulled taut enough to break, and you watched his bottom lip wobble first and his nostrils flare to hold in a whimper. Then the shine that came over his eyes made your chest ache and he took one more step closer so he could reach you. He hooked his arms underneath yours and bent forward to rest his head on your shoulder. The embrace was desperate, and he clung tightly.

"No... No, no, no, no, no," he murmured. "Don't go. Please. I need you. I love you. Please. I don't want to sleep without you."

#henry x mistress #henry deaver fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #fanfiction

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pllandcompany · 5 years

Text

(now if we’re) talking body

Summary: Roman should have caught this. But he didn’t and now Logan’s falling.

Warnings: food mention, anxiety mention, brief description of a panic attack, eating disorder/disordered behavior (big one for this fic), self-destructive behavior, injury mention, brief blood mention, fainting, hospital mention, needle/IV mention, crying

Tagged: @shxtxpp @apologieslogan @crofters-jam @asylia5911 @ab-artist @band-be-boss-blog @unbefuckinglieveable@flyingfreeyt @thecatchat @thefallendog @backatthebein

Notes: Hey, remember that ice skating AU I came up with months ago? And I said I would definitely write in it? And then proceeded to crawl into a hole of my own shame never to be heard from again? Yeah, me neither, no idea where this came from. On a serious note: please heed the warnings on this one, y'all. The entire subject centers around someone struggling with an eating disorder. If that is triggering or upsetting to you, please don’t read it. Parts of it were honestly hard for me to write. If you do read it, I hope you find some sort of catharsis with it. Know that if you battle these issues or issues like it that you are not alone. There is always help so talk to someone. Reach out. Tell ANYONE who will listen. All right, loves, stay safe.

If Roman is honest with himself, he has to admit that it took him just a bit too long to notice what was happening with Logan, for his taste at least. Logan is his competition, sure, but he’s also his friend in an ‘I hate you, please love me’ sort of way. He should have noticed sooner. Well, that’s not totally fair. He did notice some things. But for some reason, he just didn’t say anything. Maybe he was afraid. Maybe he wanted to be absolutely certain, maybe he just didn’t want to deal with it; he doesn’t know. What he does know is by the time he finally finds the bravery to connect the figurative dots, it’s almost too late.

It starts when Logan comes back from the off-season looking, well, different. He’s leaner, especially in his waist and legs, and while his body is certainly more…defined, it’s also definitely smaller than Roman remembers. It’s not a bad look by any means, it’s just very different, enough to make Roman pause and take stock of the svelte man in front of him.

“You’ve been training hard this off-season, Specs.” Roman means it to be an offhand comment but something in the way Logan’s shoulders stiffen makes him wonder if he should have said anything at all. Logan looks up slowly and blinks at the redhead, an impassive expression on his face.

“I always train in the off-season. It’s important to maintain strength and endurance so the transition into training at full capacity is less of a strain on the body.” He sounds like a textbook, the Skater’s Guide to Success or something and Roman stifles a chuckle, not wanting to offend his friend any further than he apparently has.

“I know that, Wikipedia. I mean that you must have been doing something different. But you look good! Just different than last year. You’re…smaller and more…muscle-y.” He rubs the back of his neck in an uncharacteristic display of insecurity, nervous that the tension radiating off the dark-haired skater is partly his fault.

“That is not a word but…thank you, I presume.” Logan looks so uncomfortable that Roman has to get up and leave, heading out to the rink before he even fully has his skates on.

“You’re welcome. I’ll, uh, see you out there.”

After that awkward encounter, Roman vows to not say anything else about Logan’s appearance.

****

The next thing Roman notices is Logan’s eating habits have changed.

It’s not like the boy had a huge appetite to begin with, typically electing to eat smaller, more frequent meals throughout the day. But lately, Logan has been skipping his snacks in favor of more practice time. Roman figures he just started making up for it at the normal scheduled mealtimes but when Logan comes in one day with just a small salad with no protein or dairy in it and then another day with a cup of grapes and some sliced apples, he realizes that he’s cut back there too. Regardless, he’s still eating and he still drinking water (he thinks) so it can’t be that bad, right? Shaking the worries from his head, Roman just barely brings himself back to reality in time to notice Logan’s stiffened up again, only this time the cause of it seems to be whatever Patton is saying to him.

“Logan, are you sure you’re not hungry? I have another piece of string cheese and a tangerine if you want it.”

Logan is sitting on the bench they’re sharing with his body slightly hunched over, arms folded across his stomach. To anyone else, he just looks a little cold but Roman can just barely make out the slight wince at the corners of his eyes. He’s definitely in pain and he’s definitely trying to hide it.

“I’m fine, Patton. I don’t need anything right now.” And Roman is certain that is a lie but he knows his teammate well enough not to directly call him on it. Patton, on the other hand, keeps pushing.

“Well, how about some water? Or a sports drink? You look like you might be cramping. You have been out there for a while without a break.”

“No, for God’s sake, I am fine, Patton! Will you please stop it with your incessant worrying?!” Logan snaps and immediately regrets it, doubling over as the effort of his anger causes another stitch to go shooting up his side, one he can’t cover up. Yet another thing that seems to be different; the usual picture of composure that Logan wears on the surface has slowly begun to dissipate, revealing a pulsing layer of frustrated magma underneath and more and more people have found themselves getting burned if they get too close. Patton, however, maintains a gentle look on his face even with the unexpected outburst but Roman can see the hurt and worry lurking in the bubbly skater’s brown eyes. He glances over at Roman briefly before standing up and preparing to walk away, leaning over for a moment. Roman cranes his neck to see Patton place a water bottle and the aforementioned fruit and cheese on the bench next to Logan. He seems to have recovered from his loss of temper and the subsequent cramp but now he is decidedly refusing to meet the older man’s eyes. Patton lays a gentle hand on Logan’s shoulder anyway and Roman braces for it to get knocked off but the moment never comes.

“Okay, honey. I’m sorry; I didn’t realize I was prying. But you need to take care of yourself, Logan. Food’s there if you want it.” Patton simply walks away after that, eyeing Roman sadly as he passes by. A moment passes before he steals another glance down the length of the bench at the now despondent Logan. He’s turning the small orange over in his hand, eyebrows furrowed in heavy deliberation over something that should be so simple. Roman knows better than that; he knows how complicated food can get for some people, especially athletes that compete at such a high level as they do. Admittedly, he never expected his overly logical teammate to ever struggle with something like this. Reason should surely step in and make this easy for the stoic skater, right?

When Logan eventually puts the fruit down and settles on taking a small sip from the water instead, it becomes clear that for him, this is very complicated.

****

Roman’s closing up the rink one night as a favor to his father when he gathers the courage to confront Logan about his recent change in behavior.

Trash is clear, showers are cleaned, doors are locked- you finished in record time, Roman Prince. He’s about to turn off the lights when he realizes that someone’s still on the ice. Roman is stunned, it’s well after eleven and it’s already been a full day of training. Who could possibly want to be practicing at this hour-

Logan. Of course.

Roman stands and watches for a minute as Logan glides across the ice, prepping for what looks to be his signature triple axel into a triple toe loop, a complicated sequence, sure, but nothing Logan hasn’t accomplished before. He figures he'll let Logan finish this element before he lets him it's time to go home-

Something's off.

Logan is far too tense. His shoulders are way too high. His legs seem wobbly and unsteady. And worst of all, he's not wearing any gloves, which would be concerning for anybody but is damn near insane for the typically pedantic skater who is more than happy to lecture everyone else about skate safety. It dawns on Roman just how long it's been since that man has walked into this arena.

And the man in front of him now? Couldn't be farther away from his normal picture of Logan if he tried.

Roman is just about to say something when Logan suddenly leaps into the air, attempting the jump. Right away, Roman can see plain as day that his approach is off and it throws his body out of alignment, causing Logan to over-rotate and come crashing down to the ice with a sickening smack.

Oh, God.

Thankfully, two things happen: one, Logan is smart enough to tuck and roll and land on his backside instead of his arm, thus avoiding a more serious injury, and two, he's not too far from the wall and slides into the flexible plastic, not too far from where Roman stands, momentarily frozen in shock. It takes a beat too long for his body to catch up to his brain screaming at him to move, run, go to him and finally-

"Logan! Logan, are you all right?" Roman leans over to see Logan seated on the ice, propped up against the wall and panting heavily. There are going to be bruises all over him, no doubt, it was a hard fall but nothing appears to be broken. Roman reaches out a hand to him, his concern for every aspect of his teammate's health growing by the second.

"Here, Lo, come on. Take my hand, let's get you off the ice. You can stand, right?"

Logan hesitates ever so slightly before he nods and Roman doesn't miss it. He suppresses the urge to wince at the weak, ice cold grip Logan has and instead focuses his energy on pulling the taller man to his feet.

"Turn towards me, grab both my hands. That's it, Lo. And I'll walk around and you sidestep; we'll meet at the entrance and then we'll sit and take a breather." It takes a moment for them to finally reach other. Logan is shaking badly and Roman keeps having to grab him to keep him upright. Finally, they reach the opening and the trembling skater practically collapses into his rescuer's chest, still breathing erratically as Roman holds him steady to check him over. He grabs both of his freezing hands and holds them in his warm ones, calmly whispering at Logan to take a deep breath, something he finally does himself. Eventually, they both calm down and a few moments pass before someone speaks.

"I'm sorry," Logan whispers. It's small and ashamed and it breaks Roman's heart just that much more.

"Please don't apologize. Just tell me what is going on." Logan's head snaps up and he almost looks like he's about to deny everything all over again and then he takes inventory of the situation and slumps over, defeated.

"I...I don't know what's happening to me."

"I think you do," Roman says, afraid yet brave for just a moment. Logan's eyes widen, fear turning over and over again in his stomach. "I think you know exactly what this is."

Logan nods, glossy tears threatening to spill out onto his cheeks. Roman is right; there is no fooling anyone anymore. He nods again and clears his throat twice, suddenly unable to unstick the walls to get anything out.

"Logan," Roman presses on, "you must know how this ends. You know this can't continue." Logan nods a third time, looking up at the concerned redhead through wet eyelashes as his voice makes a quiet comeback.

"I know...but I can't stop."

****

Roman regrets every choice he's ever made with Logan when it comes to their next competition.

He's waiting on the sidelines for his turn at bat, so to speak, when he sees Logan blow past them, ignoring them all and taking his place on deck.

"Well, what the hell was that about?" Virgil grumbles. "He didn't even wish us luck or anything!" Patton places a hand on his shoulder and offers up a weak smile.

"He's been...off lately, Virge. I think he just needs some space right now." Something in Roman's gut twists at that, the sheets wrongness of leaving Logan to his own devices eating at him. He glances over at Patton who gives him the same half-hearted smile and then glances down at a very stressed out Virgil with his face buried in his hands. Roman gets it and the ache in his chest subsides. Virgil's anxiety is playing against him and he doesn't need yet another thing to worry about. None of them do, really but that unfortunately doesn't stop anything from happening to anyone.

The three look up as they hear Logan's name called out over the loudspeaker and the cheers as he glides onto the ice, giving a the crowd a tight grin and a small wave. He's never been overly expressive with his entrance but yet again, Roman can see the extra stress around his eyes, the dark circles even more prominent against the pallor of his face, the way his legs tremble as he takes his starting pose.

The guilty churning comes back tenfold. Roman should have said something. He shouldn't be out there.

The music starts and like a light switch, Logan comes alive for a brief moment. It enough to make his teammates almost relax until he attempts his first jump sequence and it goes sideways, Logan wobbling as he lands.

"Did...did he just wobble on a triple flip?" Virgil asked, incredulous.

"He just wobbled...on a double flip...that was supposed to be a triple," Roman says, quiet and halting.

"Something's wrong." Patton echoes the thought radiating off the others. "Something's really wrong."

Logan barely makes it through the rest of his routine, tipping and wobbling on almost all of his jumps, modifying other elements down, an obvious display of a lack of confidence. His turns are sluggish and his moves lack more and more luster and enthusiasm as time goes on. No one would dare say this out loud but it's possibly the worst Logan has ever skated in a long while. Finally, it ends and Logan looks wrecked. Not only does he appear to be exhausted, his expression is utterly defeated as the crowd cheers out of sheer sympathy, still loving him despite the struggles he's had tonight. It doesn't seem to register to the tall brunette as he skates around to each side of the rink to acknowledge the audience, his chest heaving with the effort of fighting back tears and screams of frustration. His teammates look on, trying and mostly failing not to let their pity and shock show. The most steady and consistent person on their team just crumbled and none of them could speak. They could only watch as the person they knew faded in front of them, the sense that something had irrevocably changed haunting them all. Logan shakily starts to make his way off the ice, pinching the bridge of his nose when the unthinkable happens and his blades slide out from underneath him, pulling his body down to the ice, limp and unconscious and not moving.

Chaos erupts as medics and coaches flood the ice and the crowd shrieks in horror. Roman almost leaps onto the ice himself but he's pulled back by someone he briefly struggles against. He finally registers Patton's blonde curls and suddenly he can hear again.

"Roman, stop it, do you hear me? You can't help him right now, the medics, they've got him, okay? He'll be okay, just let them do their job! Roman, look at me, look at me! He will be okay!" Patton's voice is shaking with uncertain sobs but still Roman nods, knowing that it's truly too late, the time for action on his part has long since passed.

"Come on now, come with me, come help Virgil, he needs us right now." Roman looks over to see the small skater curled up on the bench in the throes of a panic attack. Roman grabs his hand and places it to his chest absently, taking one last glance back at the rink. The sound of Patton's counting Virgil’s breaths fades into the background as he zeroes in on Logan's unmoving frame between someone's legs. There's a small pool of blood on the ice around his head.

The sight of it makes Roman want to vomit.

****

It’s hours later when Logan wakes up to a slow, steady beeping machine. Hospital, it registers, and he wants to groan out loud but there’s barely enough energy left in his body to open his eyes. His head hurts, his body hurts, and his throat feels like sandpaper. He tries to shift and something pulls at his arm, what is that? Oh. The IV, pumping me full of sugar and fluids that are just going to-

Keep you alive.

Is this really where he is? Is he really so far gone that he fears something as innocuous as an IV drip? Is he really at such a low point that he needs to be on a IV drip?

What the hell has he done to himself?

A small gasp startles him and he turns his head too fast to the left, a wave of dizziness crashes into him briefly. Roman seems to notice and pulls over a small cup of water with a straw. Logan hates himself for it but he pauses for just a second. Roman stays patient, his face unreadable as he waits for Logan take a sip, pushing the cup away gently when he’s done.

“Thank God you’re awake,” Roman mutters.

“I take it that I didn’t place,” Logan responds dryly. Roman raises an eyebrow.

“Really? That’s what you’re concerned about?” No response. “No, you didn’t,” he sighs out, “gold went to another team. I took silver and Patton was just shy of bronze.Virgil..Virgil struggled too.”

“I probably terrified him.”

“You terrified all of us.” Roman’s tone was soft but abrupt. “You weren’t moving, I thought you were- I thought...” He cleared his closing throat, swallowing the lump that had formed there. “Anyway...if you’re worried, we’re handling the press. My father is releasing a statement that your...collapse was due to a recent bout of severe flu that turned into pneumonia. You’ll be taking some time off to recover in the hospital and then at home privately until you’re strong enough to compete again.”

“Your father would do that for me? That’s...that’s wonderful. That’s just- it’s- that’s just perfect!” Logan breaks down sobbing before Roman can even blink and to his surprise, it chokes him up too.

“Logan?”

“They don’t see me, Roman. Your father would lie for someone he hardly knows. But my parents..I’m never good enough for them. I’m not good enough for anyone. And I try to make myself perfect but they still...they don’t see me.”

“So your answer is to disappear?” Silence again. “Logan...this has to stop here. You need help or you’re gonna...please tell me you’ll end this.”

Logan swallows thickly. “You know I can’t promise you that.”

Roman drops his head, the urge to cry only growing stronger. “I should have done something. I should have said something sooner.”

“Roman, this isn’t your fault.”

“No, I knew! I watched this happen! I watched you deteriorate and I said nothing! And now you’re...” A hand reaches across his face, wiping the tears that had collected on his cheeks.

“Alive, Roman. I’m still alive.” Roman nods, the guilt slowly easing its way out of his chest. He grabs Logan’s hand and squeezes, both of them clinging to the fragile strands of hope that connected them.

As long as he was alive, he still had hope, right?

#sanders sides #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides au #my writing #tw:/eating disorder #tw:/anxiety #tw:/fainting #panic attack #fainting #logan angst #ice skating au #tw;/blood mention #tw:/needle mention

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justmewoo · 5 years

Text

Legacy [ Avengers x Male Reader] Ch.4

Happy Fourth Of July! Hope you enjoy this chapter! I gotten help from someone to make this story even better!

The rest of the afternoon I spend it by staying inside my room. I stood near the big window of the room and watched the rain fall. I gathered all of my thoughts and memories of everything that's occurred from today and from my last days in 1975. 'I never got to say goodbye to my mother.' I took out my new wallet and took the folded picture of Tony when he was one and stared blankly at the little boy I got to know. 'The Tony from this era is a lot different than the one I came to know. Maybe having too much money changed him. When he was still young he never took any wealth for granted. At times it seemed as if he had no idea he was rich. He thought of himself as any other boy would.

"Tony hurry up I'm going to be late if we don't leave now." I was downstairs in their house waiting to take him to school before work like every morning but he didn't seem to hurry up.

"I'm going big brother, just gotta to remember how to tie my shoe laces." Tony was coming down the stairs with his shoes untied.

I sigh. "Your mother told me you were ready, why are your shoe laces untied. Come on, I'll tie them for you, so hurry we need to leave." I walked over the stairs carried him down.

"I had to untie them! I want to learn how to do it on my own. So I won't leave this house till I can do it myself." He sat down on the last step focusing intently on his shoes, determined to figure it out.

I looked at the clock on the wall and saw it was already close to seven thirty. I was supposed to arrive at S.H.I.E.L.D thirty minutes ago. Not to mention Tony is supposed to be in school already. I tap my foot impatiently, trying to keep my cool down. Tony was saying a bunch of funny things in a clear attempt to distract me. I was not having it that morning. I quickly grabbed his school bag and scooped him up onto my shoulders. "What are you doing?" Tony asked me through his giggling. I juggled him on to my neck and held both of his hands with mine, imitating an airplane with the arms and moving here and there. I managed shut the door behind us and we made our way out to the streets.

"Big brother, not cool! I wanted to tie my shoe laces by myself." He complained.

"I know buddy but we're running late and if I don't get to work your dad is going to ki- be mad at me," I corrected myself to make my words much more child friendly. "I promise to teach you to tie them today. And I don't want you to be late for school. I always want you to arrive early to any place, always remember that. Arriving late looks bad on someone especially when they're this adorable." I said speed walking down the street. Tony grabbed his small chubby hands on each cheek and bent down to kiss my nose.

That afternoon I kept my word and had headed back to their house to teach him.

"Okay buddy this is how you tie a shoe. Take one lace in each hand and make an X. Draw the top lace through the bottom of the X and pull the two laces tight. Then make a loop out of each lace." I showed the example to Tony while he did the same with his shoes.

"Like this big brother." Tony asked. I nodded my head.

"Then cross the bunny ears over each other, cross one ear over the other in the opposite order of your overhand knot. Run the bunny ears over each other the bunny runs around the tree by bending one loop over the other. See the bunny jump in a hole now the bunny sees a dog and jumps in the hole because he's scared. Now pass the tip of the bent ear through the hole. Now pull both loops tight with all your strength for extra security you can double the knot by making another overhand knot with the loops and you get a perfect shoe lace tight." I showed him my tie shoe and help him after with his.

I took a fond look at him while attempting to tie his shoes. He followed the steps slowly before he was able to perform the directions on his own. "I did it big brother." He yelled in happiness. I ruffled his hair. He always got whatever he was taught down so quick. He was a genius, just like his father.

"I didn't think you would do it buddy, this was a complicated version of tying your shoe lace. I learned it when I was away at war when someone I knew taught it to us just for fun. Things could get boring out there," I mused, saying the last bit to myself more than anybody

"It was super easy brother. I'm going to show it to Jarvis and to mom. Thank you so much big brother." He hugged my side and I bent down as always, allowing him to plant a kiss on my cheek. It was a ritual at this point.

"You're welcome buddy."

_________________________

A knock on the door snapped me back to reality. I quickly placed the photo back inside the wallet, putting it away in my pocket. I walked away from the window. A quick glance at the mirror showed the offending evidence of my crying. I wiped the tears away with my hands before walking to the door and opened it to see my father standing.

"Hey, [Fake Name] the rest of the team is here and I thought it would be a great idea to introduce you to them now that you're all settled in."

At this moment all I wanted was to spend time alone with him and learn more about him. To hear the stories I had been told first hand. To experience that son and father bonding that I always wanted to experience. I thought about the question for a few seconds before coming up with an answer.

"I'm sorry Cap but, I just want to spent some time alone. There's a lot of things going inside my head that I need to clear up. If you can apologize to them for me I would appreciate it." I answered sincerely, guilt clouding my expression. I truly did feel bad about blowing everybody off.

Steve's face expression changed to concern but tried to hide it. "Yeah, I'll uh- let them know. We're going to eat so if you'd like I can save you food for later in case you get hungry."

I thought about it for a moment, gauging my hunger. I could go a night without food easily. After all if I could go 40 years, another few hours wouldn't be too hard. "No it's fine go ahead and eat with the Avengers. I'm not exactly hungry but thanks for the offer Cap." I said reassuring him, a half smile on my face in an attempt to make my self seem more okay than I really was.

He turned around and left with a sad smile on his face. I watched as he stood in front of the elevator before closing my new bedroom door and returned to the window to watch the rain fall for the first time since I had been frozen. You would think I had gotten enough of the weather after Vietnam.

It's not that I didn't want to eat and come face to face with everybody. It's just hard to look at him without wanting to tell him the truth. I have no other choice but to be distant with him. Thinking about my situation, I didn't realize that I was drifting off. My head hit the pillow and I was out.

___________________________

Steve's Point Of View.

After leaving [Fake Name]'s room I went downstairs with the team to eat. Not having [Fake Name] come down to eat with us made something inside me made me feel strange, but I tried to ignore the feeling and went down with everyone to enjoy a meal.

"Cap, what took you so long? Where's the new guy." Rhodey asked, sounding unintentionally harsh as I took a seat in the other side of the table on the left of Sam.

"He didn't want to eat. Said he wasn't hungry and wanted to be alone," I said, voicing my frustration as I serve myself food.

"And that's how we're supposed to get along with him. Even when he doesn't want to come down and meet us?" Asked Sam, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know Sam. This is all new to him it takes some time to adjust. You know how I was when I first woke up. It was like being in an entirely new world."

"Yeah, but he's from this time, not from the past. If he's what Fury says he is then he wouldn't have a problem dealing with new people," said Rhodey. I was about to respond back when Wanda and Vision joined us for dinner.

"What's this about a new guy joining our team." Wanda asked taking a seat next to me, Vision taking his place across the table next to Rhodey.

"It seems like we have a new guy but seems like he didn't want to come down here. All we know is his name." Natasha answered Wanda's question.

"I completely understand him. It's not easy adjusting to a new life and to be surrounded by heroes. Does anyone know if he has a family or a reason why he's joining us out of the blue?" She asked but everyone stood quiet.

"No clue. I haven't even seen the guy." Rhodey spoke in between bites. "We should have asked Fury before he dropped the new kid here, like a scared puppy."

"Whatever the reason, we're going to need all the help we can get. Bruce is gone and we have no clue where he went, and Thor is back in Asgard. It wouldn't hurt to have one more person helping us." I said defending him, eyeing Natasha and everyone else.

"Steve's right who knows how long this peace will last until a villain decides to show up and attack the city again." Vision spoke, "Statistically, with the pattern shown, it won't be long."

___________________________

I had woken up in the middle of the night to see that I had fallen asleep with my clothes on. The lights where still on so it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the blinding rays of LED lighting. I took my phone out of my pocket and looked at the time. 1:30 A.M. I stood up and took my shoes off. It was nice to get up and stretch my arms. I felt my joints crack, a noise that would sicken most but simply caused me to groan, the feeling reminding me of being released from the years long sleep.

As I glanced around the room and caught sight of the door that I assumed was the bathroom. I mentally reminded myself to take a nice hot bath the next day. Every joint was stiff and while the stretching helped I couldn't deny that a nice bath would do my body some genuine good. Maybe a nice nap too? I thought of all the luxuries and new experiences I could have and it excited me.

My daydreaming didn't last long. My train of thoughts were broken off as my stomach had groaned. I hadn't since I haven't eaten anything in over forty years. Maybe I couldn't last a night without a meal. 'I want a cheese burger' my thoughts betrayed my earlier statement to Steve. I remember dad- Steve saying there would be food in the fridge. Maybe I can take a look around since by this time everyone should be asleep.

I went over to the door and opened it slowly before taking a peak outside. Slowly, I walked out closing the door behind me quietly. The lights of the hallways were still on. I walked past my father's- I mean Steve's room and walked to the elevator. The doors soon opened I quickly stepped inside and pressed the buttons on the right side to the first floor where the kitchen is located. I ran my fingers over the shiny buttons, letting myself finally take in the beauty and expanse of how technology had evolved.

The doors ding and open, revealing a quite fancy kitchen with the lights still on. The tile of the floor and walls was smooth against my hands and feet, not to mention how clean this place is. The cabinets in the walls were a dark brown shade, still showing the grain of the wood it was made of. The counter seems to be made of rock there was all sorts of fruit laying there. On the left side was a big grey oven which I assume they never use because it looks new. They also had a big sink in between the counter. What really shocked me was the gigantic fridge they had on the right side corner. The kitchen was connected with the living room in a way that made them seem to be one whole room. They had a big table in the middle with what I assumed to be modern chairs on all sides.

"You've never seen a big kitchen before huh kid?" I turned around to see Tony walking in with a few brown bags, a swagger in his step. He placed them on the table. He motioned for me to take a seat so I sat in front of him at the counter, watching him place down the bags and eye them hungrily.

I shook my head. "No my Ma- I mean in Japan they.... had.... small kitchens... small places." I said praying that's how Japan looked like.

"Right... Anyways what are you doing up so late." He asked while digging inside the brown bags. Once he opened the bag, a strong smell of sorts hit my nose and made my mouth water, and my stomach growl. Tony must had noticed because he tossed me something wrapped in a yellow paper that I immediately recognized as McDonald's wrapping. The first of the chain restaurant had opened in 55' and quickly spread. The things lasted forever and whenever someone's family sent some we all swore they were better than any rations in Vietnam. "You can have it." I looked down, suspicious it would be some cruel trick. I unwrapped the paper to find a big delicious looking cheese burger. Just like back then. I took a first bite and tasted really good. It tasted like home. Tony got up from the chair and walked over to the kitchen and brought back two small transparent glasses filled with a bit of ice and a strange color of liquid inside them. "Cheers for being the new edition of the team." Tony handed me the glass and took his seat again a strange new smell filled my nose. Whiskey.

"Can I have something else I'm not a big fan of whiskey." I said handing him back the small glass and trying not wrinkle my nose at the strong scent. Tony got up again from the chair and walked over to the kitchen. He returned back with a beer in his hand and placed it in front of me in the table.

"I hope you like beer because there's only that and water." He said as he began to eat his burger.

I took a small sip of the beer taking in the taste of it. I was surprises because it didn't contain a painful amount of alcohol. "This beer is pretty good." I commented, trying to act casual around the man I had known as a surrogate little brother.

Tony placed his glass down. "It's everyone's favorite beer around here. It doesn't contain much alcohol because we never know when we might be needed."

I nodded my head with a hum. "It's really good I almost forgot how a hamburger and beer tasted like. I used to eat these burgers a lot with my little brother." 'Oh crap I wasn't suppose to talk about.' I thought. I froze like a deer in the headlights.

"You seriously need to eat fast food from now on because that's what everyone around here eats. And a little brother huh, it must be nice to have siblings. Growing up an only child can be a bit boring. You can have the other burger that's in here if you want." He said as we continue to eat and drink. I snatch it from the bag, afraid he would change his mind and place it in my lap. He seemed to ignore my slip up as if it were nothing.

He snorts out a laugh and takes a swig of his whisky. "It's like you haven't eaten in years huh? Well its good to be protective of your food here. It's first come first serve at meals"

"Yeah, I have well.... had a little brother. We used to be super close, I was always helping him with things, I used to take him to school and go out to eat at our favorite burger place. But then something happened and I never saw him again." I closed my eyes and took what felt like a painful breath before looking back up and shooting him a weak smile. "So, tell me about you. How was it growing up as an only child where you close with anyone growing up?" I asked in curiously as I finished eating the burger and unwrapped the other, taking a big bite.

Tony shook his head. "Actually no the only person I was ever close growing up was.... my butler. He's name was Jarvis he was a very nice person always saw him as my father." He took a sip of his drink.

I stopped eating placing the burger down I tried to hide the sad expression from him but I wanted to ask about what was the relationship between him and Howard like. But I didn't want to ask too much. What threw me off more was he didn't mention me. Was it possible that he had forgotten about me?

"Earth to [Fake Name]." He asked sitting again on the chair and snapping his fingers in my face. With my sudden spiral stopped I finally started looking at him. He now had a white box filled with food. "Great Cap left some food left over's for me, bless his heart." He took a bite at what seem to be some sort of spaghetti with vegetables. Oh crap I think that was the food he left for me. I decided to let it slide though, Tony somehow seemed hungrier than me.

We continued to talk with one another after we finished eating we decided to call it a night and when to our separate rooms. I almost wish he would kiss my cheek or forehead. I missed the old Tony. Wistfully I returned to my room though and shed my clothes till I was just in my boxers and a soft cotton grey shirt. I flicked off the lights and squirrled myself under the covers as best I could without ruining how well made they were. Curling under the covers that seemed softer than anything I had ever felt, I found myself at peace in the dark, the pitter patter of the rain and the lights of skyscrapers keeping me company until I drifted off again.

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inspired-by-the-music · 5 years

Text

Any Other Name Part 54.5

Jungkook x Reader

Note: Okay, guys. After this, I have only one more planned part for Any Other Name. So prepare yourself for the end!

A smile settled upon MC’s face as she placed her phone on the only exposed inch of hardwood flooring among the meticulously organized stacks of paperwork, drafts, and photographs given to her by Taehyung and Namjoon.

Since Jungkook would be visiting for the first time in far too long, perhaps her instinct should have been to race to the bathroom to assess her appearance. After all, she was wearing an exceptionally childish Winnie-the-Pooh onesie, and her makeup was nearly a day old since she had put it on that morning for her meeting with Jin, Taehyung, and Namjoon to discuss their upcoming project. Or at least she should have started to move her work out of the living room so Jungkook could actually walk from the front door to the sofa.

But she didn’t think to do any of those things. After grabbing her phone, MC delicately tiptoed over her laptop and the piles of paper to the window seat, where she would be able to see when Hobi dropped Jungkook off. Once again, her heart fluttered when she studied the familiar image on her screen— the very first picture she had ever taken of the boy who stole her heart at first sight, accompanied by the link to a song he recorded just for her. And she was so moved by the gesture, so captivated by the sight of that sentimental photograph, that she didn’t think to browse the comments.

Now, all that mattered was that warmth, that falling associated with every thought of him. All that mattered was how her heart stopped when Hobi pulled into her driveway. All that mattered was the sheepish smile on Jungkook’s face as he raced to the front door. All that mattered was how, as a greeting, she and Jungkook melted into an embrace. And as they laughed, flustered by Hobi’s enthusiastic cheers, MC realized these beautiful moments were all that mattered all along.

As MC took Jungkook by the hand to lead him to the window seat, he laughed, “Nice pajamas.”

Giggling herself, MC replied, “Thanks,” as she collapsed into the seat and pulled Jungkook into the spot next to her. They sat at opposite ends of the seat, as if afraid to be to close to one another despite the hug they shared just moments before .

Jungkook’s eyes dashed all over the room, perhaps wondering if anything had changed since his last visit. He asked, “What’s with the mountains of paper by the couch?”

Slightly embarrassed that she hadn’t tidied up, MC teased, “I thought you were here to win my heart back, not to criticize my living condition.”

With his own teasing grin, Jungkook leaned back against the wall. “Ahhh, but I thought I already had your heart. At least, that’s what your songs said.”

To flustered to respond, MC rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Those mountains of paper are for my new job. Your brother hired me to adapt one of Taehyung’s ideas into a screenplay. That boy has one active imagination.”

“Really? Hyung didn’t mention anything about a new project.”

“He was worried you and I weren’t gonna get back together,” MC explained gently, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze. “He said it was a strictly business decision, so I guess that’s why you were out of the loop.”

In a small voice, Jungkook begged, “Are we?”

And the unashamed desperation in his voice demanded MC’s attention. She saw that he was biting at his nails, a small frown tugging at his lips. She forced, “Are we what?”

“Are we gonna get back together?”

The outcome of the conversation was so obvious to MC, she couldn’t help but laugh lightly. “I dunno. Things are looking pretty good for you right now, but who knows what you say about me in your song? Maybe you’ll confess to hating me or something—”

“I don’t hate you,” said Jungkook flatly, evidently unamused by the joke. “Besides, do you really think Hoseok and Yoongi would produce a negative song about you?”

“Yoongi— no, he’s cool—”

“He’s completely wrapped around your finger,” said Jungkook, eyebrows raised. “Honestly, he likes you better than he likes me. He told me that himself!” Fighting a smile, MC continued, “But Hobi apparently has a problem with me, since he wanted to spit in my coffee or whatever.”

“He only had a problem with your Anysia persona because you stole all of Yoongi’s attention.” Then, more gently, he asked, “By the way, why did you release your album under that name?”

Somewhat stiffly, MC straightened as she wracked her brain for an answer. “At first, I didn’t really get why Yoongi insisted on a stage name, but now I get it.” She swallowed tightly, suppressing her emotions enough to speak, “I needed a safe place where I could express my feelings for you without everyone analyzing me, and doubting me, and misunderstanding me. It’s just— if we weren’t us, Jeon Jungkook, the fallen model-turned-actor, and MC, the daughter of the most famous American actress and deceased film executive, the weird younger sister who hides behind the camera and behind her best friend, the one who runs every time—”

As her voice faltered, Jungkook reached out to pull her against his chest. He simply muttered, “It’s okay,” and allowed her to continue with her explanation, this time with the support of his affection.

“I just thought that if we had any other names, people wouldn’t assume to know everything about us. We could be in love without people like Mandi and my sister trying to break it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“And by being Anysia, I was free from that. I was just exposing my feelings, and you were just listening. And that was exactly how I felt when I wrote Any Other Name with that pen name A.M. Salinger, before my identity was leaked. Nobody wants to take pictures of Anysia or A.M. Salinger. People only see the real me through my art.”

Following a deep sigh, Jungkook tightened his grip around her. “Yeah, I understand. I feel like people saw me, the real me, for the first time in Any Other Name even though I was just playing a character. That was the first time anybody looked at me without thinking of anyone else.”

“But I—” MC struggled to find the words before deciding to reach for Jungkook’s hand. And lacing her fingers through his, she said, “Being away from social media helped me realize that I don’t really care who else sees me, as long as you do.”

“I do,” Jungkook said immediately, his eyes sparkling with the positive turn in the conversation. “I always have, and I always will.”

Then, hiding her face behind her sleeve, she mumbled, “Ah, you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“But I mean it,” Jungkook said as he pulled her hand away from her face. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he said, “And I know you see me too, so I don’t need to wear masks anymore. As long as you understand how much I love you, I don’t care how many people misunderstand.”

Smiling contentedly, MC hummed, “I can’t believe anyone ever convinced me to let you go.”

“Bet we won’t do that again,” Jungkook winked and pulled headphones out of his pocket. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed MC shaking her head. “No? What’s the matter?”

“Can you sing the song yourself please?” Jungkook’s eyes widened at the request, but he sighed, relieved that she wasn’t shaking her head about the prospect of starting their relationship anew. “What? The recording will sound better—”

Bashfully, MC admitted, “I’d just rather hear a version nobody else gets to hear.” She giggled ecstatically when Jungkook’s hesitance crumbled, and he straightened himself against the wall.

“Fine, fine, just don’t tell Yoongi we didn’t listen to the recording. He might actually kill me if he he hears he stayed up past midnight working on a recording you didn’t even hear.”

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sugar-petals · 6 years

Text

bleeding hearts and happy days [m.]

❖ pairing. | dom!reader x sub!taehyung x sub!baekhyun

❖ summary. | you meet up with two escorts in an abandoned hotel room.

❖ a/n. | tumblr doesn’t like my sad horny shakespearean fic right here, this is a reupload. random parts of the story disappeared without a trace, so here we go again.

❖ word count. | 7.1k

❖ genre. | smut, angst, prostitution au, drama — starcrossed lovers

❖ warnings. | major character death implied, polyamory, threesome, bdsm, bondage, femdom, noona kink, cigarettes on skin, smoking kink, harnesses, ball gags, riding, pregnancy kink, crying, slapping, bruises, lace & mesh, tattoos, bj with teeth, lactation kink, aftercare, tae doms baekhyun briefly, hair-pulling, neck pain, spanking, unhealthy relationships, infertility, medication, alcohol, mentioned abuse, jealousy/rivalry, motorcycle accident

❖ masterlist

It’s so late that the reception is long closed. Nobody in this hotel bothers with anything, really. But he has Room 31′s rusty key and a little note with your name on it.

Determined to find the right corridor fast since his watch says he’s running late. Fifteen minutes past the usual time.

The client earlier had simply been a pain, but that’s just life. He moves on, takes the money. One bruise more or less won’t make him any more shattered at this point.

Finding the floor isn’t so difficult. As he suspected, the Incheon Royal is a small hotel indeed despite its big name.

Everyone knows the Royal's heyday has already passed.

It’s harder to tell from the outside because of the neighboring houses that blend into the building complex. All of them are ugly as shit. So Baekhyun would not spend too much time looking at them. He would rather rummage in his red bag to see if he didn’t forget anything.

He’d rather look at you, no matter how bitter-sweet the feeling in his chest is.

That’s why he agreed to do all of this in the first place.

31 is halfway posh judging by the door, but still quite a tiny spot in the very last corner of the house, first floor. Most of the lighting here is defunct, so he uses the brightness of his phone screen boasting a holiday picture from Osaka. He’s glad he got the keys. Knocking would feel so weird, you’ve never done this before.

Fucking each other in a hotel, that is.

You usually meet Baekhyun at his place, or the place as he always says. Which is cozy because he knows how to decorate it with lights and fabric. Who knows who taught him all that. His little space there is great. Unlike the shabby wall that welcomes him here in Room 31′s little hell. The door’s appearance has been deceptive enough. There’s no stench coming from somewhere dodgy in this apartment, gladly. But that’s a very low standard, isn’t it?

And who had the idea to rent this — Kim Taehyung, that handsome motherfucker.

Baekhyun promises himself to smoke five cigarettes later.

He turns to find you in the bathroom trying to detangle your hair after a busy day. The sixth album of The Doors is on repeat in the living room. It makes him hum to the beat, he’s heard it so often. You’re rolling down your stockings when he enters, laughing.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry, this is—”

“Quite perfect, pretty messed up.”

And you’re certain about this. No other spot in the outskirts of Incheon City would be better. Taehyung is not as naïve as literally anyone at the place thinks.

“He booked it with good reason.”

“You sure?”

Baekhyun puts down the key, his bag, and joins you at the sink. He apologizes with three, four, five kisses that it took so long. His lips are chapped.

Every minute stolen hurts each time.

You tousle your hair a bit more.

He strips down and steps into the shower with only his lacy top on — because he knows you like it. It hides some scars, too, ones that he still feels shameful of. There are little roses and thorns embellishing the areas, it’s a lace pattern you haven’t seen on him yet. It’s new.

You’re glad that your money does find its way even if his debt eats it all up. He got himself a new motorcycle as well. Not the fanciest one, but it does the job. It’s parked behind the hotel, he says.

The shower is quick and shallow as not to smudge his makeup. There's already a silent arrangement, it’s your job to do that. He does sing, proud that he gets the more difficult notes right, and says that you don't have to bother with the brushes and combs. You know he'd have your head between your legs by now, but today's different.

Baekhyun continues to belt out more, whatever comes to his mind, and you can almost forget that it's Room 31 you're in.

You want to show him the towels when there’s a hastened knock on the door. He's huffing.

“The sucker's here!”

Baekhyun hurries outside the bathroom, leaving wet blotches all over the carpet on his way. Not that anybody in this hotel would care. Who knows when this carpet has been inspected for the last time.

You hear Taehyung’s agitated, happy voice alternate with Baekhyun’s scolding in the entrance room after the door creaks open. You think your hair won’t get any better no matter what you try anyways, and peek out of the bathroom door grinning.

“I like it here. It’s got antiques, they’re just really dusty.”

“See!” says Taehyung who currently leans an umbrella against the wall. “Knew she likes places like these.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. But he won’t say anything now. Taehyung pulls off his trenchcoat smiling. You point at his umbrella.

“It really rained?”

“Was just a quick shower, the weather isn’t bad. Did he have it worse?”

Taehyung cocks a brow up at still-wet Baekhyun.

“Washed up, you just interrupted. The question is, are you clean?”

“Cleaner than a senior getting naked for a client faster than it’s normal.”

Baekhyun bites down hard on his bottom lip. You pull both of them into the living room where the TV is on, showing Cher’s greatest hits or something. It’s just the music channel. Taehyung instantly starts swaying to the beat while Baekhyun remains stiff.

In any other case, he’d probably swallow it up and act like it’s nothing. Clients pay more for a threeway than when he just shows up solo.

But it’s you.

He has learned that he can be himself. Good and bad sides. The latter he has many of. Maybe more of. Taehyung would agree.

To be fair, Baekhyun bears the brunt of questionable clients at his place so you don’t resent him for it. You don’t know about Taehyung. He’s probably not seen the dark side of the business yet. It’s his second time with you and Baekhyun is joining.

In fact, Baekhyun first recommended him to you for an individual session.

Cher keeps on singing, almost taunting while Taehyung flings his mesh jacket to the side and gets into position. You’ve thought a long time about how you’d do all of this, but you got the details down. And everyone agreed. Baekhyun never hesitated.

“Baek, can you pass me the bag?” Taehyung wriggles on the tacky sofa.

“Hey, uppity. It’s not yours. I’ll do that.”

And Baekhyun goes to get the bag and a towel to dry up a bit. The lace top sticks to his chest like a second skin. You can see how he moves his torso differently because he wants to show it off to you.

He returns with two ropes, two polished red ball gags.

Taehyung actually does stay perfectly still when Baekhyun starts making his usual chest harness. Loop here, strap there. It’s astounding how much more serious he is when Taehyung is with him.

You’d pay the world for them, even if Baekhyun once said he’d do it for free because he loves you. He had one bottle too much back then.

Cher switches to Barbra Streisand.

Taehyung grins weirdly once the gag is in place, provoking your smile. He knows he fucked you so good last time that you figured two times the bliss was a good idea. He still has a bruise that's rather colorful.

You proceed to fixate Baekhyun in a similar bondage style. It only takes a bit longer. His hair has dried up a fair bit; the spikes of his bangs almost get into his eyes.

He whispers once you have to bend down closely next to his head.

“Missed it too much. Y/N. They fucked me up.”

You suppress an urge to cry by pulling the rope tighter than usual where you would keep it deliberately loose. All the frustration in the world goes into this one rope. Maybe if you knot him up extra hard, he’ll forget about the days when it’s not you screwing him at the place but another oily, bearded scumbag peeing on him or some priss with gnawed off nails.

“No condoms, as usual?”

He always asks without failure, no matter how often he’s said it. It must have been a hundred times. Your answer is always the same, too.

“Wish something could actually grow in there.”

It’s never easy to say. But the look that follows in Baekhyun’s eyes has never ceased to gleam.

“Don’t you ever worry about it, Noona.”

You can’t reply for long.

“And him?” is all that comes out.

“Taehyung’s tested as well, doc came in on Friday. Seokjin can be strict on us if he really wants it. He can’t risk losing another regular.”

Seokjin, head of the place. You do like him, much more than the majority of other boys that Baekhyun sometimes has to recruit. Taehyung being one of them was a stroke of luck. You still prefer to ride Baekhyun for the night, and have the rope do its job.

But Taehyung does look beautiful tonight with his glossy lips and shiny red pants. When he peels them off, even failing to get it right once or twice, the feeling in your chest is less numb.

Baekhyun's tense, but hard enough for you to slip down on. It’s less than graceful, but you do manage somehow, fingers intertwined with the harness. The pace is raw. You're not wet enough, and he can't get it upright completely. Today’s different.

It's too much effort. Taehyung mires with big eyes and groans away when you bring Baekhyun alive with a couple thrusts. Harder than usual. Little goosebumps loom under the cover of his lace top. Taehyung’s still moaning and grinding, trying to get some friction from the rope that would lend the pleasure he is longing for. But it only hurts. That’ll do, too.

Whatever body spritz Baekhyun is always using, now that it’s gone you can smell the real him. Any shower in the world could not clean him from the way people have treated him for a few dimes, but he’s happy knowing you like his scent as it is.

It’s very sweet naturally, not rich and balmy like any perfume in his collection, nor dusty and rosy and all sandalwood, whatever they use to make it smell really thick. He’s just Baekhyun how you adore him. Vulnerable. Bound underneath you, breath so heavy, inside of you at the mercy of your hips.

A slap to the cheek only makes him harder. Taehyung struggles next to you trying to touch himself.

“Selfish boys get two.”

And you slap Taehyung twice. Three times for good measure. So strong, your own palm hurts. Even if he shakes from the impact, he still scrambles for more and tries to reach his cock. You spit on his face and turn to focus on Baekhyun again, leaving Taehyung red and sulking, even more eager.

You know exactly who taught him how to be so insatiable.

It’s easy to peel off the lacey hem at Baekhyun’s abdomen. You didn’t use too much rope to cover the area. It’s deliberate. Between your fingers blooms the tattoo that he got for your anniversary. The day has been kept secret, although people knew Baekhyun went to the parlor in a more lofty part of town.

It's a fragile stem with a row of bleeding hearts. Some opened, some still buds.

The ink’s crimson color is more vibrant than ever. How he smells like could very well be the scent of flowers, or at least you imagine it to be like that.

The tattoo marks the spot where Baekhyun is the most sensitive. It’s not enough to bounce hard on his cock until he thinks you’ll rip his foreskin right off, it’s not enough to tighten around him, making feel he suffocates just by that.

No, only the bleeding hearts make a difference.

“Who are you to me?” you say, and face the truth looking into his eyes.

“I’m your, your bitch.”

“And what does a bitch do?”

“Give you the best seed I have.”

“Then breed me good, bitch!”

Your thumbs circle in to stroke the tattoo. Not much is needed until he chews on his lip again. Baekhyun's skin is so soft in that spot, you think he went out of the way not shaving it to keep a few of his thin little hairs there.

The blood pressure pops a vein or two in his eyes when you shove your fingers into his mouth and half down his throat. He’s coughing. You keep your hips still for Baekhyun to shoot you up with his dripping release, and continue to bounce taking all the hot cum deeper.

Whenever he stopped counting the positions you tried, you gave up wanting to make it all stay inside.

Taehyung’s gonna sneer over how everyone knows it anyways.

That you’re creaming Baekhyun’s dick without protection every time, and probably have fifteen of his samples in your gyno’s basement freezer. Or your own. He once joked that you’re probably mixing it with a milkshake every morning just to be sure. He knows it tastes good.

When Baekhyun’s semen comes dripping out, you free Taehyung from his ball gag hoping something good and uplifting would come out of his mouth.

“Ever tried using his tears instead, Y/N?”

You were wrong.

The ball gag goes back. You cover the tattoo while Baekhyun’s chest finds its normal rhythm again. As an only solace, the moldy air in the hotel room is now tinted with Baekhyun’s sweat through and through. You say the words as you always do without exception.

“You’ll be my baby father so soon. We’ll be lucky this time.”

“Am all yours.”

Taehyung just sighs, wriggling more again.

"Cheesy fucks can't help it."

Click. Click, click. The lighter has been used so often, you need to give it a go three times until the flame remains standing.

They don’t bother. The hotel. Who knows if they have ever seen the day that the smoking ban was announced back in, well. Many, many years ago. Baekhyun’s jacket had left you with a vast variety to pick from.

And so, he smokes. No hands, you’re the one to tap off the ashes on Taehyung’s chest. In the hopes that it will leave some painful traces. Taehyung hates being a rookie. If there’s something that brings in cash, it’s that he’s experienced and it shows.

Even if he winces every time, or a tear comes from the corner of his eye, he doesn’t make a single noise. His cock stays down, what else would it do, he’s getting burned alive. Baekhyun smiles with the cigarette between his teeth, inhaling a bit deeper each time. The smoke mingles at the ceiling where a broken chandelier dangles back and forth.

He knows how much it hurts, you’ve done it to him twice. Or maybe three times because you’ve asked to do it again. Of course, Taehyung has seen what refused to heal on Baekhyun’s arms and shoulders for weeks. Maybe in the showers. He got jealous, that’s all you know.

“Thighs? Looks empty on there.”

You flick the cigarette from Baekhyun’s mouth again. Taehyung nods, but regrets the decision when you stub the glowing end right in the middle of the curved leg. It’s the spot where he takes care to wax the most. He’s crying, and Baekhyun laughs again.

“Now you’ve got what you wanted. That’ll stay,” he says.

Taehyung opens his mouth for the first time to speak through the tears. The gag leaves its place. The glossy lips part, more demure than ever.

“Thank you, N— noona!”

You reply pinching at Taehyung's loins. The cigarette is back between Baekhyun’s teeth.

“That's what got your dick up, didn’t it.”

Taehyung can only mouth a little Yes. He exhales, averts his gaze. No more eye contact. Just a whimper. You know it's Baekhyun who taught him that.

The cigarette smoke is denser now that you dedicate all of your attention to Taehyung. The grip on his shaft is harder than the first time he came to you. When you thought he'd be so fragile, being new to the game. But you found out he can take a whole lot. Much more than Baekhyun if you’re being honest about it.

Your clit is where the tip of his cock belongs, and where it is abused. Rubbing it, poking it, sliding it back and forth reckless abandon. Smearing Baekhyun’s cum all over the place until it feels all grimy and cold, making its way down your inner thighs. They both observe it drip, and things get hazy in the smoke.

Your fingers give Taehyung tough love in another tight seize so no pre-cum dares to peak out. It’s only until you shake him back and forth that it gets to a level where you feel at least some stimulation. Pressing him against your clit feeling how he trembles from the friction. His little noises amuse you each time.

More whimpers. You continue with a firm hold on his shaft, hoping to find out how far he can please you. He’s getting a taste of what it’s like when you grow your nails out. And shake him more. The feeling becomes stronger. Maybe he can satisfy you today. Work’s been tough, it's deeply needed.

You take a deep breath to inhale the cloud of nicotine that’s been building all around, and ride the wave it brings. Baekhyun will get you hooked on these, fuck him. But you’re breathing it with Taehyung’s dick grazing between your legs.

It's providing at least a bit of heat now that you've gone cold. Making you feel something Baekhyun increasingly won’t manage to fulfill. Well, unless he keeps whispering “I’ll knock you up, mommy” with his cock balls deep up your ass. Because by now, you both believe it’s likelier that you get pregnant this way. Taehyung on the other hand just has to mumble anything to turn you on. His voice is so raspy and deep. Everything about his body feels vital, and voluptuous, so pretty, so fertile.

Baekhyun knows that.

And if that’s what will get you going, he’ll watch like this.

With you cumming all over Taehyung’s cock. It’s such a beautiful icing. The relief is not only physical, but mental. You still chafe him across your labia with no end in sight, because those are the seconds you pay for that Baekhyun can’t give you. Taehyung is glad to be so hard, otherwise he’d break like a straw. You love how thick his girth grows, it likes your hands and their pressure, and you coating him with a fresh creamy glaze.

If Baekhyun is your bitch, Taehyung is your personal joystick to drip on.

You don’t pay him as well as you would like to, but he’s ridiculously cheap. Seokjin won’t let him take tips unless he fucked his way up, it’s how it is. He’s not made a name for himself yet, but the orgasms he gives you leave a special feeling for countless minutes after. It’s probably how much cash Baekhyun makes that causes Taehyung to work so much harder. You can see it in his eyes. But if all goes well, he won’t get money to clear a dozen figures debt like Baekhyun does. That’s what keeps him going. Or maybe he just has a magic dick.

Baekhyun knows the answer. He’d pay Taehyung to get you off himself if only Seokjin allowed it. But, as far as you know, the place has plenty of rules.

Baekhyun can’t stop grinning, but you don’t. Your high faded when he ogled the pack of cigarettes again. There are only few of them left inside, all in shambles.

“Your lungs are tar black already. Before your heart is...”

A few last puffs swirl to the ceiling when you take the cigarette to the center glass table where it fades out. The smell still lingers. You return to flip him around on the spot. A series of firm slaps find their way to Baekhyun’s ass. Every strike buries him deeper in the pillows face down.

“That’s for laughing. If someone laughs, it’s me. Did you get that, babe?”

“I apologize!”

“Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t!”

“His pain is mine to enjoy. Not yours.”

Another smack.

“I promise, I won’t do it again, Noona, please! I won't!”

“Taehyung even said thank you. When will you ever say that, bitch?”

“You know I’ll never be ungrateful, you know it.”

"Mean it, baby?"

"Really do."

Baekhyun is crying. With a bright red ass and makeup completely smudged into the pillow. These are possibly the only two things he has not given up being vain about, and you love ruining them. At the end of the day, it’s what he finds enjoyable about his profession. You’re the only one who is allowed to do it, after all.

“Been a while since I could see you blush. Not just in the face,” you poke his left buttcheek, eliciting a little sniff. “Pity that you cake it on, you always have to cry for me to get that shit off.”

You get to loosen up Taehyung’s rope now. It left deep traces, but it looks good on him.

“The day he wears no makeup is the day he dies,” Taehyung twirls at Baekhyun’s hair, and they both have to smile through the tears.

“At least he’s self-aware,” you drag up the lithe body from the pillow to cry at your chest. You’ve got a white shirt on, but who cares. “Why not cry a bit more for me, baby?”

And maybe Taehyung was right with tears.

Baekhyun has a hard time swallowing up Taehyung’s cock the way you want it. Every tug and shove at the back of his head makes him want to throw up more. All over the place like a decoration for Taehyung’s abdomen, but there’s nothing in his stomach that could possibly come up beside some bitter pulp and a pill. But he keeps on shoving himself down to the rhythm dictated by your hand in his hair, and hopes for the best.

Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t puke today.

Who knows how often he’s done that. Maybe it’s the only thing his throat is ever useful for. If he's fucked up, he's vivid. Talk's worthless, there is no sense in it. Throwing up on someone's balls at least makes him feel that there's still a bit of life somewhere in his gut. But he'd rather keep it down for the sake of the other.

Food he’s given up on. But if he’s fed cock by you, maybe he feels better about himself. With a little practice, Taehyung is good breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He’ll consider blowing him some other time, maybe with a camera and client involved for some extra cash. Nothing’s for free. Gagging and taking it on the face gets him a bonus, too. Deepthroat is where the money is.

The pain at the back of his neck won’t be getting any better, but his tongue can’t complain. Taehyung did clean himself up just like he said. He could make it far, further than Baekhyun himself, with a huge waiting list at the place. But one thing he can’t do is choke so violently like this. One day, Taehyung might learn even that. A fast learner, isn't he? Yet as long as he gets a cock big enough rammed into his skull on the daily, Baekhyun's the best out there, and the worst in its best sense. If his brain comes out one day, he won't complain either. One less thing to worry about.

Bitches are dumb, that's what they are. Dumb as fuck. They give their mistress good semen instead. And get over neck pain.

The pace is vile. He knows that your arm won’t give up thrusting him down anytime soon. Baekhyun imagines how it must be like having your eyes. How it would be like to see it. Him trying to handle Taehyung’s dick with just a small mouth, good cheeks, no teeth, and a little courage. Gagging and drooling spit all over the place and half unconscious because it’s so good. You love his glossy eyes. They’re always so gorgeous. Baekhyun must be the most beautiful boy in the whole world when he does that. But he's too fast stuffing himself.

Of course, he throws up. Who wouldn’t, you have both of your index fingers hooked inside the corners of his mouth to keep him open wide, and Taehyung just keeps on thrusting his hips upward. The bitter taste alone makes Baekhyun vomit again, this time on the carpet. He’s so dizzy. He needs more cock to feel full and healthy again. You want to give him a minute, but he’s faster than that. Though less swift than Taehyung who knows that once Baekhyun’s stomach is already empty, he can pound away and fully destroy him. But both of them have to obey your pacing.

And this time, your tugging at Baekhyun’s hair is slow and gentle. So Taehyung follows that, too. Baekhyun’s lips look blurry, so crimson all around, and you make sure to hold his head down entirely to swallow Taehyung’s balls. Fucking his neck up entirely so his next client will be desperate in trying to use it, and failing. It's the only way he'll ever be yours. Taehyung's balls inside of him or not.

As far as he can judge with the bitterness in his mouth, they do taste good. Hallelujah, what a day. It’s just that his throat can only handle so many, and cracked lips are hell on earth. Gladly Taehyung has brittle stamina, especially because it’s Mister tightest throat alive sucking him off. At least that’s how the other boys call Baekhyun at the place. He keeps on sucking with that in mind, but the tug at his hair leaves no room for contemplation, nor does Taehyung's growling.

You've heard it before. It's so needy, but deeply hurt. Baekhyun bites down on him at the tap of your finger on his little wrist. The signal.

Taehyung blows up all messy and sticky until it drops out of Baekhyun’s nose. It's less bitter. How long did he have blue balls? It must have been more than an hour. You do the signal again for Baekhyun to unclench his jaw and bob his head again, to get at least a bit of Taehyung’s semen down. Because ultimately, the more you make him move, the more he has to cough and swallow. Breathing is hard now, but he’ll manage for the remaining seconds until you let go of his hair. He gags down the rest, even with vomit. His eyes are empty, but his cheeks glow.

“My baby did amazing.”

You wipe your sleeve at his nose. It wets almost immediately. Baekhyun sniffs and declines the sleeve, which you retreat. He's exhausted.

At least he doesn't do coke. He does cum.

Baekhyun pops off scrambling at your t-shirt almost immediately, and you curse yourself for not getting rid of it earlier. Even if Taehyung and literally anybody else at the place thinks it’s a little bit silly despite it being so standard, Baekhyun loves to suck your tits to calm himself down. For half an hour, well if he can, attaching to one breast at a time with both hands and his rosebud mouth. If they’d give him even one drop of milk, he would swim the entirety of the Pacific and back to drink it.

Taehyung giggles along while you pull off your shirt and have a clumsy go at it — Baekhyun’s too dizzy still, so he misses the mark as it usually happens. Although Taehyung is easily shushed, it still feels awkward. So you ask him to join. They alternate between sucking and kissing each other, having Taehyung taste his own cum and lubricating Baekhyun’s lips with it. What’s all over the carpet doesn’t really matter. It’s just the smell that makes you want to switch rooms. It’s all over Taehyung, too. So you decide to have the boys finish quite early into today's new fourty minute goal, suavely parting from your breast. The side where Baekhyun had led feels like it was about to tinge, but then again, just leaves a tense aureola for once. Next time, you ponder, would be a good time to admonish him. It's not like sucking dick where you get more for the heavier sucks. It's like love where there is a fine line between trying too hard and doing it just right.

The cubicle of the shower is calcified and rustier than the key to the apartment itself, nor do three people really fit inside the entire construction to begin with. But the showerhead works, so you use that one to get at least a bit of water rain down, and manage to get the grime off the boys and your breasts. Taehyung looks happy when you use too much soap on him, and tries to mess with Baekhyun’s hair so it’ll stand up vertically. With limited success, but Baekhyun is at least trying to retaliate getting Taehyung’s bubbly hair in a mess.

He’s not as sleepy as he usually is, which turns out to be a good sign as you think of it. Baekhyun has probably been rejecting one or two late-night clients recently. He never used to do that. For the sake of his rep, his wallet, his peace of mind because his perfectionism wouldn’t let him off the hook to have a good night’s sleep instead. But he’s not been busy so often in the last three weeks, you can tell by his social media updates and his texts. It’s rare that he gets a break or has the financial backing for it. Then again, it’s only been two clients or so. The ones who’d rather make him unable to go on working, so it would be counterproductive to spread his legs for them. Or maybe it was just Seokjin who made him take a day off out of necessity.

“You stole three of my clients!” Baekhyun goes on shoving water into Taehyung’s direction. “This is what you get for it!”

And there it is. You were wrong again.

“Can’t help being popular,” Taehyung replies ever so nonchalantly by taking the showerhead from you and spritzing Baehyun down head to toe until all the soapy mess is gone. “Clients aren’t deaf to house gossip, they pick new favorites each week.”

You snatch the showerhead back from the braggart and turn it in his direction at full blast. He ends up squealing and dancing in circles to avoid the water where it goes, but soon falls into Baekhyun’s arms because the shower floor is too slippery. Baekhyun flinches a bit when Taehyung rubs against him by accident.

"The tattoo?" Taehyung asks. You rummage with the soap again.

"Never had a day where it didn't feel sensitive," Baekhyun says.

"I want something like that, too, Noona!"

"Tae, you don't have a weak spot as far as I know."

"Really?"

"At least to this degree."

"What was getting it done like?"

"He fainted outside the parlor."

"No way!"

"He didn't drink and eat enough that day and it was boiling hot. The pain was only pulling the trigger on him."

You turn off the showerhead and towel down Baekhyun — save his face of course. He clings to the rest of what’s on there come fire or high water.

Before you can dry up Taehyung, the power is down in the hotel. Only the street lights illuminate the bathroom where you go by their silhouettes to finish up. You can’t tell whether it’s Taehyung, Baekhyun, or both kissing you quick in the dark. It's wet, it's cold, everything spins. A bad feeling in your gut lingers past their sloppy mouths that the night is over, and you're nowhere near the same as before. None of you is.

By the time Taehyung gets his phone to lighten up the hallway, power is back.

“I put some beetroot in the fridge. Go get yourself a slice or two, baby.”

Baekhyun shuffles into the corner, takes a tablecloth to open the fridge because the handle is crusty and yellow. The inside it halfway clean, especially since you put some plates in there earlier. And beetroot. It’s one of the few things he actually likes. It tastes disgusting, leaves red and violet blotches everywhere, and won’t ever make him full. That’s precisely why he likes it. You buy it because of whatever vitamins it has. Taehyung just thinks its weird and sometimes leaves cookies in the hallway for Baekhyun to chew on after he took two clients or so.

“There’s noodles, too. From Mr. Kim’s delivery. If you eat half of it, maybe mommy gives you a kiss on the forehead.”

You’re half joking. Or maybe not. Baekhyun considers the plate at least, removes the wrap, and smells at it. He picks up a fork wordlessly and stirs the meal. Since he doesn’t like being watched while eating, you and Taehyung sit down in the other room to have some chicken. The door in between is shut not to distract him with the smell. You do hear the fridge open and close two times while eating with Taehyung.

He says you did a good job. His chest still hurts. And Baekhyun really bit down hard blowing him so he can still feel it. His Friday clients will appreciate how it'll look like. He’s gonna have his asshole ravaged so hard, some unnerved doc has to stitch it back in. But now’s not the time to think about it. The chicken is delicious and you look so beautiful. He could get used to this. One day he might even have enough money to buy you some elaborate seafood dish from the luxury restaurant opposite to Mr. Kim. Be a good boy to you, get a big tip and a nice fuck. Life could be a dream and chicken is a splendid glimpse of it.

After more rummaging noises in the kitchen, Baekhyun returns with a little soy sauce showing around his mouth. He looks so downcast. You ask how he feels.

"You already know," he mumbles.

"Baby, sometimes even I can't read your mind."

"Hm."

"If you don't want to say it, that's okay."

"Noona..."

"Yes?"

He slumps down next to you, having the corners of his mouth wiped by Taehyung, who also wants to poke his cheeks but retreats his hands when Baekhyun doesn't react.

“Am just an A-class whore," he rubs his neck. "With nowhere to belong. Not worth a dick or dime.”

His voice is hoarse. You kiss his shoulders where the rope wasn't too tense.

“No, you’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

“I—”

“You belong here,” you lay your palm flat on your lap. Then below your chest where the heart is, “here. And here.” You finally place Baekhyun’s little hand at your forehead. “You already know you’re in there all the time, fucker. I'm thinking of you.”

“Some days I...”

“Hush, no more. Off with you to get some sleep.”

"Are you satisfied, Noona?"

"More than words can say. Now, come."

Taehyung guides Baekhyun into the corridor by the hand, checking his own rope marks before covering up. They have half faded, but the ones at his hip remain prominent and still burn a bit too much. Taehyung mumbles something about "cream later" and stuffs his top into the hem of his trousers. Baekhyun says that there's some stuff in his bag to mend it, but Taehyung declines.

“Well look at your makeup,” he coos and wipes down Baekhyun’s cheeks as if he didn’t see him cry.

It’s mostly sweat, isn’t it.

“Hotel Room service got a job tomorrow,” Baekhyun fastens his belt.

“It would be a surprise if that’s even a thing here. I thought you looked around?” you twinkle at him.

“I only see you.”

Taehyung huffs at that with an eye roll, phone out to text Seokjin. He gets a fast reply. He does watch out for his darlings every way, doesn’t he. You’ve met him countless times, he always does your bookings, too. You're sure he'll take care of Baekhyun tonight so he can sleep well.

“You don’t go home?” Taehyung blinks at you.

“I’m staying overnight, it’s convenient. Namjoon arranged a meeting with the team in the city centre tomorrow, just a five-minute walk so I don’t have to commute.”

“At least don’t sleep close to one of these dusty moldy things, Noona,” Baekhyun mumbles.

He nods his head in the direction of the almost decomposing stereo where The Doors are still playing.

“Says my baby hypocrite who’s gonna chain-smoke two packs when he’s out the door.”

You kiss him on the nose. It’s tender.

“Three if I can,” he smiles.

“Ugh, just go and pull a Shakespeare,” Taehyung snorts. He takes his umbrella and shakes it dry. “He’d spew some better jizz without the cigs anyway. That's why your eggs are done for, too. Fucking passive smokers complaining.”

But Baekhyun already picks up the red bag. He’s got the little note with your name on it tucked in at the side. It’s still from the first time you came to him. He did his best to keep any crease out of it. Taehyung looks down realizing that neither of you will talk about it, closing his trench coat. You kiss his forehead and make a silent promise to yourself to invite him again sometime, in a better hotel than this one.

A less pretty messed up place.

Wet drops from the umbrella are the last thing lingering on the carpet when you hear their voices blur in the distance of the corridor. Baekhyun pops a pill before turning the key in at the reception by placing it on its little bronze hook between Room 30 and 32.

Taehyung says he’ll take the car to pick up some groceries at the other end of the main street, and going to Mr. Kim’s to stock up. In the dim light of the backyard, they say goodbye and Baekhyun fastens his leather jacket. He gets out his gloves climbing the motorcycle parked in the corner with a deep exhale. Everything hurts. His ass feels like it could fall apart any second just sitting. All the dirty makeup has come off entirely by now judging by the tired reflection of the side mirror. His lace top is sticky against his chest underneath the jacket already. It’s cold sweat dripping down to his abdomen. The hearts are truly bleeding now.

Epilogue: Osaka

All of the streets are empty like his mind. He’ll get fucked up with another bottle later while Taehyung appeases some late-night clients. Probably by charming the bouncer a bit more than usual and telling him that Baekhyun took a lot of pills. Which won't be a lie. Your next time is already scheduled. Until then, Baekhyun hopes nobody finds drugs in the wrong spot or they let minors in by chance and the press picks up on it. The place is just too corrupt to prevail for a long time either way. Maybe he can move in with you next year if he isn’t done for by then. Enjoy a July afternoon in Seoul downtown, an iced coffee, an evening on the terrace opposite Mr. Kim's where there's live music. Pay the bills because it’s romantic. Pay the taxes because it's what a good citizen does. Quit smoking, retire from the place and earn money elsewhere. Eat healthy and get a proper sample for the fridge. Prepare to be a good father if you’re lucky that time. Be less deadbeat and more alive. Forget about everything. Maybe one day you’ll have fucked him so much, you pretty much bought him whole and he’s free. No debt left, no memories. That's why he hates to eat, it puts him as far away from that state of mind as possible: An everlasting blank slate. The final solace that never really came.

Recently, he has been wondering if that time ever comes. He coughs up blood, he can’t sleep, his lungs are so tense when breathing. Only more smoking can ease the pain, right? He’s so stupid. A bright red Friday circle brightens up his calendar in three weeks, that’s good news. Around the hours when you plan coming home from work. You’ll be meeting in your flat for the first time. There will be coffee, not iced, but not any more bottles and power down every two hours. Seokjin agreed he can go there as long as he does what he’s supposed to do, and brings back the money he’s supposed to get. But three weeks are a long time. Those are many clients out the door with his dignity on the line, and how many missed meals just to have a waist more lithe, how many hours of being wide awake? He doesn’t care. Been there, done that.

It’s almost spring, which means you’ll travel back to Osaka together. Watch the cherry blossoms, visit the temples. Send Taehyung cute postcards the old-fashioned way even if the stamps are expensive. Kiss and pose for selfies because it’s a better life together. And never touch nicotine again before his insides fade to black. Blot and blur. Much like the road, the street lights. They're on the brink of day, but melting past his eyes like a spiraling void. Baekhyun's so cold, it's not just the lace top. Nothing feels meaningful anymore when he imagines the future, and he's content. There's nothing of importance in this moment except that. The road of life carries on whether he follows it or not. The street lights warp into a pulsating vortex, it's a heartbeat. Everything he likes about you passes before his eye. The way you carry yourself. How you put a little heart at the bottom of the note, and told him he's handsome. The habit you have, getting up at 5:30 am to send him a text if the shift was okay. How you smile and make everything a little better. Everything feels liberated when he thinks about it. It's a feeling taking over each and every limb, the sweetest anesthesia. Maybe you can be his blank slate. Close the vortex once and for all. He doesn't hit the breaks for the turn the alley ahead, he just falls. It doesn't matter. Baekhyun is sure about it, and that's the only bit of peace he can ever have. You would have been happy one day. So, so happy.

#taehyung smut #bts fanfic #baekhyun smut #exo fanfic #exo smut #sub!taehyung #sub!baekhyun #bts smut #baekhyun x reader #taehyung x reader

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returnsandreturns · 6 years

Text

Someday, I’ll figure out how to write the evil twin storyline in the Netflix ‘verse but this isn’t it, so have a draft.

Foggy tries to rationalize the video for a few hours, watching it on a loop like it will suddenly start to make sense that it’s Matt who’s fighting like that, that Matt’s got blood on his knuckles and running down his temple, that Matt—is the Devil. He hasn’t found his way to the end of a thought that he can run with yet, but the video’s clear enough that Foggy can see that it’s Matt whose mask got torn off and that he’s making a face that Foggy’s never seen before.

The only word he can think of is vicious. It’s unsettling. It doesn’t look—wrong, though.

He was working late at the office, coming from the kitchenette with a strong cup of coffee that means he won’t sleep much tonight, when he found the flash drive lying on the floor. The flash drive with one video, no explanation, now playing for the one-millionth time on Foggy’s laptop—the one that has him wondering if Matt would pick up if he called right now.

Matt doesn’t pick up. And he doesn’t answer his door.

“I need to ask you a question,” Foggy says, his heart beating fast, standing in the doorway of Matt’s office. Matt feels his stomach drop, even though—surely it can’t be about what he does at night. It never is.

“Go ahead,” he says, smiling.

Sometimes, that makes Foggy’s heart beat faster, too, but right now all Matt can hear is his feet shuffling lightly, a faint crack in his knees when he shifts his weight.

“Where were you last night?” Foggy asks.

“. . .home,” Matt says, after a half-second.

“You didn’t answer your door,” Foggy says, sighing shakily before he moves to sit on the chair in front of Matt’s desk. “Matt.”

“I was asleep. I’ve been—tired.”

“Matt.” Foggy’s voice is surprising, scared and angry and fed-up. He’s never really sounded like that when he’s been talking to Matt before; they’ve never really had a real fight. “I know, okay? Someone sent us a video of you—freaking backflipping and beating the shit out of people and—I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

Matt’s whole world feels like it stops for a few moments, trying to keep a straight face like he learned how to do a long time ago, even though he feels like all the progress he’s made in the neighborhood has suddenly come crashing to a halt and the wreckage of at least one part of his life is about to collapse at his feet.

“I—I know it looks bad,” he says, swallowing hard, trying to get real words out.

It’s easy for people to believe that he’s clumsy, that he walks into lamps and stumbles on curbs and falls, and it’s easy for them to see cuts and bruises and scrapes as the result of him not being able to see. That’s because they’ve never seen what he can do—occasionally, he thinks sometimes they only think about the things they think he can’t, but he knows that doesn’t apply to—what he does. Fighting. Fighting really fucking well, even if he feels like he’s losing a lot.

And Foggy—Foggy’s smart and he knows Matt better than anyone and there’s no way he didn’t put the whole picture since the first time he saw Matt with bruised knuckles together after he saw what he saw.

“It looks like you’re the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” Foggy says, with a laugh that hurts to hear. “Am I wrong? Tell—tell me that I’m wrong, Matt.”

Matt’s not prepared for this. He knew it might happen eventually, that he’d slip up or Foggy would connect dots that he didn’t hide well enough, but he never got to the point where he knew what he would do.

“You’re wrong,” he says, before he can think of something better. “It’s not me.”

“I saw your face,” Foggy says.

“You didn’t,” Matt says, and he thinks of telenovelas that he hears from one of his neighbors, the ones he listens to over breakfast sometimes, and does something that could never possibly work. “It wasn’t me, it was—my brother.”

“. . .your what?”

“Mike,” Foggy says, feeling kind of numb. “Mike Murdock.”

“Yeah,” Matt says, sighing.

“The Devil is your identical twin brother who nobody has ever met or even heard of,” Foggy says, slowly, squinting at the face that Matt is making and failing to read it, “and his name is Mike Murdock.”

“I know it’s insane,” Matt says. “You’ve got to get why I don’t talk about him, though. There’s—a reason why he does what he does.”

“And what’s that?” Foggy asks, clearly not believing him, which is—valid.

“He’s violent,” Matt says, firmly, thinking too hard about it. “He’s—got anger issues and he doesn’t care who he hurts and he’s—he’s a fighter. He’s what I couldn’t be.”

It hurts to lie like this. More than Matt thought it could hurt.

“. . .this is really hard to believe,” Foggy says, like maybe he could believe it. Or like he really wants to.

Matt tries not to sound bitter when he lets out a long breath and raises his eyebrows at Foggy, “How could I possibly do what the Devil does, Fog?”

Foggy’s quiet for a long time.

“If you weren’t actually blind,” he says, like he knows it’s the wrong thing to say, and Matt’s chest feels tight. “Shit, that’s—I know you wouldn’t lie about that. But I also know that we grew up in the same neighborhood. Between you and your dad, we all knew some shit about the Murdocks—and we somehow didn’t notice you had a twin?”

“Mike got in trouble all the time and—young,” Matt says. He’s getting worryingly good about lying on command, but it’s an act of survival, of not losing Foggy or the life they’ve built. It’s got to be worth it. “He ran away a lot, even as a kid, and he—he ended up in juvie instead of with me, after Dad died.”

“. . .I just can’t believe it,” Foggy says, frustrated. “Matt, I know your face. That was you.”

“It wasn’t,” Matt says. “I promise.”

“. . .then let me meet him.”

Matt thinks about it for a moment. It’s dumb and risky and probably won’t work, but—he can do that.

“Okay. I’ll see if I can get in touch with him,” he says, smiling weakly.

“Jesus, Matt,” Foggy says, genuinely angry, the tiniest bit amused looking at Matt dressed in dark Ray-Bans, old, too-tight jeans, a black shirt open enough to show—scars. Well, Foggy’s never seen those, but Matt hasn’t undressed in front of him since they lived together. “You can’t seriously expect me to believe this.”

“How can I prove it to you?” Matt asks, smile not faltering at all.

“Produce the original Murdock,” Foggy says, dryly.

“He won’t even be in the same room as me,” Matt says, immediately. “Last time we saw each other, we didn’t exactly part on the best terms.”

He didn’t think Matt could be so good at lying, but apparently, he’s good enough to start doing dangerous, illegal—improbable shit without anybody else knowing about it. Maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising.

“Just stop it, Matt,” he says. “We can deal with the rest of it, but this is just stupid.”

Matt’s silent for a long moment before he smiles—slow and dark. Foggy’s never seen that face, either—at least not directed at him.

“How about I do something that good ol’ Matthew would never do?” he asks, stepping forward one step. Foggy has two impulses, both backing away and stepping towards him.

“Like what exactly?” he asks, stepping towards him.

Matt licks his lips and then Foggy’s being kissed, really kissed, and he’s too shocked to pull away—and by the time he gets his bearings, he doesn’t want to. He wraps his arms around Matt and Matt’s got his fingers tucked into the back of Foggy’s slacks and Foggy’s kind of forgotten why this is happening because it feels so good.

When he finally steps back, he says, breathlessly, “Whoa.”

Everything settles down in Foggy’s head, because—he’s right. Matt would never do that.

“Yeah,” Mike says.

“. . .so you’re Matt’s secret, possibly evil gay twin?” Foggy asks, weakly. Mike grins at him.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and Foggy can’t resist the pull as Mike steps back into his space and slides rough fingers up his cheek and into his hair, even though this is insane. They’ve known each other for ten minutes and he could actually be Matt, only Matt—wouldn’t do this.

He wouldn’t.

Matt leaves their office with his dick painfully hard in his jeans and a sick feeling in his stomach, feeling like a piece of shit for using the fact that Foggy’s attracted to him against him and that he’s got to let go of Mike before this goes too far. It was a terrible plan, and when it falls apart, Foggy’s going to know everything.

Matt wants to walk back in and keep kissing him.

After he gets home, Foggy calls him and says, “Met your brother. He’s kind of a dick.”

“Yeah,” Matt says, laughing softly. “He is.”

“. . .that wasn’t you, was it? Matt?” Foggy asks, shakily, and Matt feels like the worst person in the entire world.

“No,” he says. “No, of course not.”

Foggy says that he believes him, and Matt knows that he should stop everything and apologize now and just let Foggy hate him since it’s going to happen anyway. But he doesn’t.

That night, he prays and regrets and jerks off to the thought of his dick in Foggy’s mouth.

Foggy doesn’t say anything about it the next day, because he’s worried how much he’ll give away—or that the don’t tell Matt he mumbled against Mike’s mouth wasn’t taken to heart. It felt like a betrayal, kissing someone who Matt hates who also looks like him, but it’s not going to happen again.

They eat lunch together in the conference room and Matt says, like he’s been thinking about it all day, “Sorry if he—if Mike was a jerk to you. I never wanted you to meet him.”

“He wasn’t that bad,” Foggy says, smiling. “Kind of like you, but worse.”

“Gee, thanks,” Matt says, laughing.

They eat silently for a few minutes before Foggy says, hoping it sounds like a joke, “I still kind of think that you might be screwing with me.”

Matt’s mouth drops open and then he seems to collect himself, saying, kind of sadly, “I don’t blame you. I should’ve told you about him sooner, especially considering—the last few months.”

Foggy kicks him gently under the table.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Knowing that you’ve hidden your clone from me all these years does make me wonder what other secrets are lurking in that handsome head of yours, but I’m only kind of mad.”

Matt smiles and nods and they fall into silence until Matt says, “Uhm, what—what did he say to you, exactly?”

Foggy’s mind runs through possibilities, none of them true, until he finally says, “Barely anything. Just verified your story.”

#mattfoggy #my fic #daredevil #you run into issues with consent in lots of ways

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askantisepticeyeandthegang · 6 years

Text

I'm in your home hahahahah

(Y/N)= your name, (Y/P/ns)= your pets names, (Y/F/M/L/N) = your first, middle, last name, (Y/H/C) = your hair colour, (Y/E/C)= your eye colour, (Y/F/N)= your first name, (Y/L/N)= your last name

I was sitting in my room, in the dark watching Jacksepticeye's video Watson Scotts test part 1 it just recently came out yesterday, man this stuff is giving me the creeps I swear I keep hearing noises...but then again maybe its just my cat and pet dog..ya ya that's it its just (y/p/ns) that's all...ok ok calm down (Y/N) it really is nothing.. I left one headphone out just to make sure I wasn't hearing anything.. Somethings not right *crash* ok somethings really not right that sounded like a vase and something glass wise just broke...I slowly walked over to my bedroom door..why did my room have to be right next to the kitchen...but the noise sounded like it came from the living room..I slowly walked into the dark room.

"Mum? Dad? Was that you? I thought you guys were gone for the night hello? Anybody?" I asked and slowly felt around for the light switch...ah I found you little bugger. I flipped on the light switch and was just about to scream when I felt a hand go over my mouth...

"Ah I wouldn't do that if i were you (Y/N) see we can't have your neighbors hearing your screams now can we....oh wait they can't help you any way I killed them thirty minutes ago before I killed your parents hahaha!!" I heard a voice glitch out laughing... I looked at the living room one more time to see my parents horrified looks as they were killed...how they died? Was by this psychopath holding me slit their throats no wonder I didn't hear the screams...

"P..please don't hurt me! I will do anything please!" I begged crying as I felt a cold blade rest up against my neck..

"Oh no no...you see I'm not going to kill you...well not yet anyways you're my new victim. You see I'm going to take you home...and have some fun...if you escape my maze...you have to then escape the forest... You see but the forest has other monsters like me hiding in there...demons, cannibals you name it...its probably in there and you will die..so I wish you the best of luck but first rest for the games begin tomorrow" the unknown voice whispered to me before I watched a cloud of black smoke start to blur out my vision. And the last thing I saw was a man with dark green hair and a red line across his neck before I saw the world go black...

~next morning~

Oh, my head hurts...what happened? This isn't my room? What happened last night? T..that was real...no no no no this can't be happening you have to be kidding me...oh my god my parents are really dead then...no...no I felt tears start to run down my face as I began to cry...I looked over to see a tv and quickly turned it on..maybe it was just a bad dream and I fell asleep in my parent's room ya ya that's it.. I turned the tv on to the news and saw a dark-haired reporter talking into a microphone

"This is the fifth kidnapping in five days...all of the people reported missing happen to be around the ages of sixteen to twenty-five... The fifth victim today is none other than (Y/F/M/L/N). A-Student at Longmire Highschool, they were known and loved by many... Who could do such a thing? They have (Y/H/C), and (Y/E/C) last seen in their home last night if you have seen them or anything suspicious please call your local police department...they are on the list with the four other victims... Private McLain Dark brown hair, blue eyes and is Six-five and is a corporal in the military on leave with his fellow mates McCloud and Kane they were last seen leaving a pup at around two in the morning this recent Friday, Amelia Livermore blond hair and green eye and is five-four student at Barnsley was last seen jogging earlier Saturday morning, Finnegan McCloud lieutenant in the military red hair, brown eyes and is six- one, Sargent Killian Kane black hair, blue eyes and is Six feet if you..seen any of these people let the local police department know..that's all for London news stay tuned for more information regarding these five recent kidnappings." the news reported finished talking and the news went back to the studio and started talking about the weather I shook my head and quickly ran out of the room..you have to be kidding me this isn't happening this cannot be happening I have to get out of here.. And find help. I started to run down the hallway and make random turns. My god does this ever end I swear it's like a never-ending loop what's going on. After about three hours of running I stopped in the same bloody hall I passed about what six? No seven times I'm tired of seeing that same damn painting when will it end! Ahhhh I placed my hands on the top of my head shaking it.

"Ok ok think...it's like the never-ending hallway in P.T or those really badly done remakes I see everywhere..if that's the case there must be a way to stop it"I answered and begin to look around the room thinking to myself ok ok if I was hiding something where would I put it? I opened up the drawers on the end table in the hallway nothing...maybe..hmm, I was just about to grab the picture when I started to hear moaning. I looked to my left and saw something black and oozing with slime start to climb out of the hallway...oh god it's like a more disturbing version of bendy from bendy and the ink machine mixed with the girl from the ring shit...I quickly threw the painting to the ground as the creature was getting up onto its feet. A code panel nooo I suck at these...um um look around there has to be clues somewhere..wait the tv..there was something that kept flashing under the news lady in the tv..what was it um...nine, three... I pressed the two buttons then five and two right when I pressed the last button I heard a click and looked to the opposite end of the hallway. Seeing a door slowly open, I quickly looked to my left and screamed seeing the creature was about two feet from me making horrible noises. It sounds like someone was choking on their own blood, I threw several books at it before sprinting down the hall and into the room slamming the door shut, I looked around the room and saw a fireplace, bookshelf and a table. this looks like a meeting room of some kind... I squeaked when I saw a door open to a red-haired man running in and slamming it shut behind him, he quickly pushed an end table in front of the door. He looks like one of the guys that were said to be missing..

"God that was close...wait you aren't Sargent Kane, corporal McLain... Or Major Fuchs.. You didn't happen to see them did you??!?!" he asked and I shook my head no.

"No, I haven't. I just got here last night.. I was kidnapped just like the rest of the missing people..." I answered shaking my head.

"So was i..with the people I mentioned..but I haven't seen any of them.." he answered and i shrugged

"Wait the news did say anything about a Fuchs going missing?" i asked

"More then likely you wouldn't no one really likes Major Fuchs..I'm Finnegan McCloud" he said

"(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N)" i answered and he nodded.

"Well (Y/L/N) might as well help one another find a way out of here and find the others to" right as he said that I watched A Dark brown haired man and a blonde green eyed girl run into the room and slam the door shut.

"What the Fuck is going on!!! First, I was just out drinking and the next minute I'm in a room with an unknown girl being chased by a black slimy monster!!" I heard the man Yell before turning to us and immediately hugging Finnegan

"Oh thank god you are alive! I thought I never see you again mate!" the dark haired man said.

"Same to you two Private you didn't see Major or Sargent did you?" he asked and Private shook his head no.

"No just this civilian that's all... I hope they are okay? And not trying to rip one another throats out?" he said and We heard another door open and Black haired man walking annoyed as a Bright nearly white blond haired woman walked in yelling at him.

" none of this wouldn't have had happened if you listened to me and didn't go out drinking like an idiot!! Maybe you would have fought of the kidnappers better Kane!" the woman yelled while Finnegan and Private looked to one another.

" well good to see you to Major Fuchs but yelling won't solve anything?" Private tried to say but the Sargent and major just ignored him and continued to yell... The girl that walked in with Private was hiding in a corner and covering her ears..maybe because of all the yelling...

"Enough! Stop fighting! We need to work together if we want to live!!!!" I yelled causing the two to stop fighting, right when they stopped fighting a tv came out of the ceiling to show a green haired man sitting in a chair next to a dark haired person I know who those people are.. It's Markiplier and Jacksepticeye evil version Anti and Dark...no..

~end of part one to be continued~

#darkiplier #antisepticeye #hallowen #fanfic #fantasy #fandom #jacksepticeye #markiplier #horror #part 1

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harryimaginedstories · 7 years

Text

okay with less

Hey friends! As you know I’m absolutely shitty with keeping up with requests and writing them quickly, but I do give my best. This story is based on requests: H’s girlfriend who’s in college is a bit insecure about not having the same wealth he enjoys and when his friend jokes about her being too young as well, things get a little messy. Also, it’s a bit christmasy. :)

Picture isn’t mine. x

The list of things I still needed to get in time for christmas was endless while the weight of my wallet got lighter with every store I entered. A heavy sigh fell from my lips and I watched with envy how people rushed past me, determination written over their faces and bags filled with goods in their grasps. No worries in their minds, except perhaps whether or not there were enough table decorations left to buy or if their relatives would arrive on time this once or whether or not the candles would burn bright and long enough. All troubles I didn’t have. My little flat I could only pay rent for by working every day after school in a small cafe, which admittedly didn’t pay too well, and through the generous support provided by my family, was decorated with fairy lights, but no christmas tree, no ornaments and no presents. Those were luxuries I couldn’t afford, which was okay. Harry had kindly invited me to spend christmas with him and his family in their home, meaning my flat didn’t have to be pretty and perfect for anyone, me included. Complaining would be pointless and I counted myself lucky that I could live in my favorite city, study and get a good education and that my boyfriend was understanding and respectful when I couldn’t keep up with his lifestyle all of the time. I supposed that was the only aspect of being a student in an expensive place like London, I didn’t like: Having to tell Harry no when he asked me to accompany him to an expensive business dinner, saying no when he asked me to join him and his friends on a holiday and either declining his invitations to events or attending only to then the next day read about how I’d been the ‘worst dressed’ and the ‘cheapest looking’ there.

“You know I could help you out,” Harry had offered more than once, be it about more decorations and presents for christmas like he had only yesterday, dresses he knew I liked but couldn’t afford, or books I needed for school as well as the rent of my flat. Of course I couldn’t and most definitely wouldn’t let him do that for me. I was his partner, not someone who’d take advantage of his hard worked for and well deserved money, which I knew he appreciated but the faint sparkle of disappointment when I sent him off somewhere fun without me, didn’t go unnoticed. It was the same sadness I felt, too.

I glanced at the bag in my hand, filled to the brim with everything Harry and I would need for the christmas biscuit baking marathon we’d decided to do tonight and my heart jumped with excitement. There were tiny silvern eatable stars and I’d thrown in a few food colourings as well, happy to finally try the funny looking biscuits I’d seen on tumblr. Upon stepping out into the cold air of a cloudy day, I stepped aside and against the building to keep out of the way of the people rushing to get past me, and pulled out my phone to check for any messages, especially from Harry. There were a couple.

From H, 16:07 Got us some cookie cutters! Even a reindeer!! I’m excited. Love you. x

From H, 16:45 I fucked up. John and Jake just called saying that we’d agreed to hang out tonight ages ago and I totally forgot. I know what you’re going to say and no I couldn’t just bail on them. Not bailing on you either. Promised you this and won’t let you make me go and postpone us. Not gonna happen. You think it’ll be okay for them to come over tonight as well? We can still bake, it’d just be them there, too. Compromise? Again, I’m sorry. x

From H, 16:47 Don’t be disappointed please. I love you. Think of the reindeer cutter I got us! x Well great, I thought and bit my bottom lip harshly. I quite liked Jake, and John was okay as well, but I wasn’t thrilled to have them crash what was meant to be a quiet night in with my boyfriend. We hadn’t had one of those in a while and truth to be told, I missed him. Just when I was about to text something back, his picture flashed over the screen of my phone.

“Hey,” I answered his call, “I just got your texts.”

“M’really sorry,” Harry muttered and I could hear the disappointment I felt mirrored in his voice, “A shit boyfriend as well as a shit pal is what I am. Got every right to be mad at me, love.”

“I’m not mad,” I assured with a shrug he couldn’t see and turned to slowly walk down the street towards the busstop I wanted to take, “It’s not ideal and I could do without them being there, but as long as you promise to bake at least one tray of biscuits with me before leaving to go out with them, I think I’ll be okay.”

“M’not going out with them at all,” Harry protested, though I heard a faint smile in his voice at the reassurance that I wasn’t angry, “M’gonna bake with you and we’ll have our nice little night in like we wanted to.”

“Except with your friends there, too.”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“Romantic,” I giggled, but told him once more that it really was okay and that I loved him still, earning me a soft laugh and sigh of relief.

.....

Harry’s flat was much larger than mine and had a grand kitchen and huge oven, one I preheated when Harry finished our dough he insisted on making alone, since he never failed to remind me of his experience in the baking field.

“Done,” he called, a confident and proud grin on his face, “S’gonna be delicious, love. Old recipe that sold itself very well where I used to work.”

“You should know, cashier,” I laughed and he was just about to flip me off when the door to his home opened and two sets of heavy footsteps barged in.

“Oi! Harry!”

He shot me a glance before walking out of the kitchen and towards his two mates. I heard him welcome them and the patting noise of men clapping each other on the back. I rolled my eyes and smiled.

“S’the lady here, too?” Jake asked before turning around the corner and stepping into the kitchen to greet me.

“Hey,” I replied and stepped into his arms for a brief hug.

“Lady, you say?” John laughed from the door and entered as well, Harry right behind him, “She’s a little girl, if that.”

“Hello to you, too, John,” I greeted him, all warmth gone from my voice.

He nodded into my direction, then he smirked. “Nice little flat, isn’t it? No wonder you like it here. Tell me, where exactly is that box you live in?”

I sighed. “My flat is just fine, thank you very much.”

John shrugged. “M’not saying it isn’t. Just surprised you’re not taking more advantage of the boyfriend you’ve got. I would if I had as little as you do.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry shrugged the comment off, giving me a warm smile.

He stepped around his friends and came to stand by the counter again, where he pulled out the cutters from a plastic bag and placed them on the top next to our dough and suddenly the atmosphere in the room changed completely, his charm and warmth calming me instantly. I grinned, happy that he wasn’t all of a sudden ‘too cool’ to help me and not in full ‘lad’ mode.

“Oh, biscuits!” Jake fake cheered, voice high pitched and a wide grin on his face, before turning to me, “Are we required to help or can we just stick around and eat them once they’re done.”

“The latter,” I replied, before picking out the cutters I wanted to use first while Harry rolled out the dough until it was about two millimeters thin.

He flashed me a smile when he saw me pick out the reindeer cutter and I blew him a kiss.

“Perfect!” Jake laughed, pulled out one of the bar stools to opposite of us so he could chat with Harry and John while we continued to bake.

It was nice. Harry joked around with his friends while occasionally bumping his hip to mine where I stood by his side and slowly the metal tray filled with little reindeer, moon, star, heart, bunny and owl shaped biscuits. Harry helped me paint them with different food colourings and enjoyed creating little faces on the dough animals. The kitchen filled with the christmas songs the radio had been playing on a loop for weeks now and I enjoyed how, although our change in plans, so far the afternoon was great regardless. Jake joked about how rubbish my owl looked and I batted his hand away when he tried to steal one of the smaller biscuits to nibble on the sweet, uncooked dough.

“Harry! Your friend’s being a child!” I whined with a laugh and Jake stuck out his tongue at me to emphasize my words.

Harry chuckled and was about to reply when John interrupted him.

“If anything you’re the child,” John shrugged, sending me a mean grin, “Even have to ask Daddy to help you? Aw, how cute.”

“Sod off,” I joked, hiding the small sting his words inflicted in my chest.

That was exactly why I didn’t like John too much and hadn’t made an effort to get to know him well. He never failed to mention that I was younger than him, Harry and anybody of their friendship group. Not by far, only a couple of years, but for whatever reason he found it amusing enough to pick on me constantly.

“Oi!” John continued to taunt me, leaning further over the counter so his face got closer to mine, “What foul words coming form your mouth, kid. Don’t they teach you how to speak to adults in school?”

“We’re too busy studying and preparing for our finals to be belittled like that,” I countered, a faint quiver in my voice only Harry noticed.

“She’s a smart one,” Harry said in and I smiled when his lips pressed to the crown of my head. I let myself lean into his side momentarily and a flour covered hand squeezed my side so his friends couldn’t see. I’d confessed to Harry how the comments of his friend annoyed me when last time he’d been around he’d claimed I was too young to drink and had spent the entire evening ripping alcoholic drinks from my hand and taking the piss when I’d asked him to stop doing so.

“M’not saying she isn’t clever,” John agreed, shooting Harry a wink, “And s’great you’re proud of her. S’just that lots of kids are smart in kindergarden. Doesn’t make her Einstein, H. Just you wait what she’s like once she’s hit puberty.”

A harsh wave of tears crashed through me and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep them at bay and not let the embarrassment I felt show. I was proud of my education, proud of how hard I worked and my heart fell even lower at the thought of John learning about my part time job, certain he’d call the cafe and ask them if they thought employing a child was legal. I lowered my gaze to the colourful goods in front of us and suddenly, even though I knew he wasn’t, it felt like John was right. I’d made my boyfriend stay in with me, in a flat that was his because mine was too simple and not good enough, made him feel like he needed to help me out with money, made him bake colourful foods with me that looked like a toddler had made them and I couldn’t even find the words to stand up for myself against his stupid friend. I felt small, as if John’s words had managed to shrink me to the size of the baby he saw me as.

Harry noticed the sudden tension in my body, heard my breathing hitch and recognized the flush on my cheeks as the one I got whenever I was close to crying.

“He makes me feel small,” he remembered me telling him that night when I’d recalled all of John’s mean comments about me, “Like he’s superior to me and I know that’s silly but it really got to me tonight, Harry.”

Seemed like it was getting to me today as well and he didn’t blame me. Harry could practically see the excuse to leave the room and escape the situation forming on my tongue. The hand he’d used to cut his reindeer biscuits with settled on my arm and he pulled me further into his body until I was pressed against his waist.

“If you’re just here to make fun of my girlfriend I’m asking you to leave right now.”

John chuckled and made a point at rolling his eyes. “Oh, c’mon! A little humor, Harry, please.”

“No,” he shook his head and when I looked up he wore a serious expression and I noticed the sparkle of anger in his orbs. His grip around me tightened reassuringly. ”H,” Jake began in attempt to soothe him, but Harry continued. “She’s ten times as smart as you are, she’s mature, she’s not as young as you constantly make her out to be and she isn’t somebody you can walk over like that. Specially not in front of me, m’not having that. So I suggest before you make another shitty comment like the arse you are, you go use the door over there and fuck off.”

The faint melody of sia’s song ‘puppies are forever’ filled the room, a strange contrast to the tense atmosphere created by John’s red face and Harry’s steaming head. I jumped when John smashed his beer on the counter harshly and for a moment I feared he’d broken the glass. My body shifted behind Harry’s and with shaking fingers I took hold of Harry’s shirt.

“Fine!” John barked, pushed back his stool and got to his feet, “M’sick of her innocent act and your absolute nonexistent sense of humor. You can go fuck yourselves, all of you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Jake muttered and his eyes searched my face for a small smile he hoped his words would bring.

When he noticed my mouth quirk up he grinned at me and rolled his eyes and John. “Just ignore him, honey,” he murmured to me while Harry stepped around the counter to see John out, who looked angry enough I feared he’d demolish Harry’s living room. I shuddered with fear and Jake reached out to rub my arm soothingly. There was more yelling to be heard, then the heavy wooden door fell into its lock.

“The prick’s gone,” Harry came back to say and my heart fluttered with relief.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” I apologized, “I know he’s your friend and-”

“He’s a dick,” Jake interrupted, “To you, at least. He’s alright with us. But that’s enough for him to have no place here, Y/N.”

“Absolutely,” Harry agreed, coming back to stand beside me and I sighed when his mouth pressed to my cheek, “Won’t have somebody disrespect you, love.”

His arms wrapped around me in an embrace and I breathed in the scent of his neck. Finally my heart slowed down and my stomach unknotted, the tension slowly fading from my shoulders when my arms wrapped around his broader ones. Hands rubbed my back soothingly and my eyes fell shut when his nose rubbed against my jaw.

“I’ve got your back,” he whispered into my ear so only I could hear and I nodded with a sigh, melting in his hold.

“M’still welcome, aren’t I?” Jake asked from beside us and we pulled apart. Harry laughed. “Sure. S’long as you’re nice.”

“Always,” Jake chuckled and I snickered, too, “At least until those biscuits are done.”

“You’re only getting the ugly ones, then,” I threatened and Harry’s heart warmed when he noticed how steady my voice was and how there was no trace of my tears anymore.

The rest of the afternoon was much calmer and Jake stayed around until it was pitch black outside. We chatted about this and that, for example my job and how school was going, (I involved myself much more into their conversations now that John was gone), ate our delicious biscuits, and when it was time for him to head home as well, he hugged me tightly and reassured me once more that John wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

I followed Harry back into his kitchen and tried to help him clean up, but he quickly shook his head and ordered me to sit down and let him do it.

“I don’t mind, love,” he smiled, set down a cup of steaming tea in front of me and began to tidy up the mess we’d made over the past few hours.

I watched him for a while in silence, finding amusement in how domestic the superstar and phenomenon Harry Styles looked, before sighing and clearing my throat.

“Today shouldn’t have been like it was,” I told him quietly, observing his expression closely, “And I’m really sorry, Harry.”

“No reason to be, sweetheart,” Harry said, absent minded as he made room in his cupboard for the box of biscuits we’d filled.

I took a sip of the tea he’d made me and shook my head.

“Every reason to be,” I disagreed quietly, “John is your friend and I messes everything up now.”

“If anything, I messed everything up. M’the one who kicked him out, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but because of me.”

Harry shrugged and finally turned to look at me, a kind smile on his lovely face. He, too, grabbed himself a cup of tea and pulled out a chair to sit opposite of me. For a moment he stayed silent, eyes on my hands, then on the few colourful biscuits I’d laid out on a small plate to nibble on before finding my face.

“Y/N, you’re my priority.”

I winced with emotion and reached out to hold his warm hand.

“And I saw how upset his words made you,” he continued gently, while his thumb brushed against the back of my hand, “Saw you were about to cry.”

A frown knotted his brows together and I squeezed his palm to calm him. “That’s... not okay, love. Not ever and it hurts me as well.”

I nodded, throat closing around a lump. The raw emotion in his eyes, the clear trace of rage at the thought of his friend’s comments towards me, made my heartbeat increase. Harry coughed and interlaced our fingers together.

“If someone’s a dick to you then they have no place here, don’t care if I considered them a friend before. I love you and someone who dares to make you upset is not somebody I want in either of our lives. Definitely not. And you got nothing to feel bad about, that I can promise you, Y/N. M’not gonna miss him or anything.”

I raised his hand and pulled it closer to me, leaned in and his eyes closed when my mouth pressed to his wrist in a soft kiss. “Thank you, Harry. For being there for me. And for being okay with me having less, money as well as years on my back.”

“Of course” he assured, then grinned and sent me a cheeky wink, “You know what was funny though? John implying you calling me Daddy.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course you think that’s funny.”

“We could give that a try.”

“Dream on, Harry,” I giggled, only half as opposed to it as I pretended to be, “Dream on.”

Hope you enjoyed this story! I quite like it. :) Let me know what you thought. x

Also: Masterlist

And: Christmas Harry

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