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boytickler35 · 1 year

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13 Reasons to Tickle part 4

When Clay answers the door after school there were a lot of things that wouldn’t have surprised him to see, someone delivering paperwork for his mom, a package, even Tony or Jeff dropping by for a visit. Of all of the possibilities, a very high Justin was not one he considered and the other boy pushes past him into the house and flops down on his couch.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I need you to tickle the shit out of me.” He sounds tired, exhausted even.

That doesn’t make him any more sympathetic, “What!”

“You heard me. I need to laugh till I like, pass out.”

Tempting but fuck this guy for coming in and thinking he can just demand whatever he wants. “Why the hell should I?”

Justin toes of his sneakers right there and his socks are almost more hole than material. “Listen Jensen, I know you hate me and you know how ticklish I am, you totally like wrecked me last time, so think of it as revenge or whatever you need to just make me laugh.”

He does hate Justin and that had been a lot of fun...plus those socks were doing a fantastic job of reminding him that Justin has pretty nice feet, the rosy color to them, surprisingly soft, and very, very ticklish.

Right now they also stink...or maybe Justin in general stinks.

“I’m not doing anything until you take a bath or something, you reek.”

He can’t deny that he's a little pleased by Justin turning a little red, serves him right.

It isn’t hard to corral him into the bathroom and hand him a towel. He leaves and sits for a minute lost in thought until he hears the water turn on and that spurs him to action. If Justin is literally asking for it, he needs to deliver! It doesn’t take him too long to get some things together, usually the only tool he needs are his hands...maybe his tongue too. Today though he’s pulling all the stops, Justin is going to get exactly what he wants.

By the time the bathroom door opens a few minutes later, Clay has everything he needs all safely tucked under his bed and out of sight, surprise is the name of the game.

He calls out to Justin to come in and when he does Clay takes stock of him. He’s changed, the socks he’s wearing now don’t have holes in them, or maybe just not as many, while he’s still wearing pants and a long-sleeved shirt but definitely new ones. He’s happy to find he can’t smell him either.

He directs Justin to lay on the bed and sets about strapping him in. Tony helped him get enough velcro and rope for straps which he’s excited to try out and sets Justin up in a Y with his arms to the corners and feet together to the center of the footboard. He’s never understood why people tie in an X, he wants the feet right next to each other so he can demolish both at the same time!

He plans to do the same today but he has a few other tricks first and one of them is letting Justin stew in the bondage for a while. He’s surprised the other boy agreed to it so readily but he doesn’t stop to wonder about it and instead waits until the other boy speak.

“Are you like, going to do anything? Or just keep looking at me like a piece of meat or something?”

With that Clay chuckles and moves on to his first surprise by sitting across his waist and looking him in the eye. “How ticklish are you Justin?”

He watches cheeks redden a bit as he gets his reply, “You already know.”

Clay reaches back and pats a socked foot. He does it tenderly but he can’t tell if it’s to tease Justin or because he doesn’t want to damage the goods but either way he feels it flinch under his hand. “I know how ticklish these are, I want to know how ticklish the rest of you is.”

Justin opens his mouth, then closes it, and then smirks, offering, “Why don’t you find out.”

“Are you challenging me, little boy?”

The smirk remains and Justin doesn’t reply other than that. He’ll take it as a yes then, good he likes a challenge.

He reaches down and touches Justin’s belly with a lone finger, lightly and traces circles on it. The smirk starts quivering slightly at the corners of Justin’s mouth. Pleased, he steps it up, adding his other hand’s index finger two make for two. He watches as Justin’s resolve slips and wonders if it can even be called ‘resolve’ since Justin asked for this. He slowly adds another finger and then another until all ten are lazily moving around on the skin.

“Does it tickle?”

Justin shakes his head but obviously it does and they both know it.

“So you won’t mind if I step it up a bit?”

“NohOpe.”

Clay smirks and stops for a moment, just long enough for Justin to be confused and when he opens his mouth to comment, Clay returns all ten tickling much harder and faster across the belly and moving onto the sides and farther up the chest. Justin bursts out laughing, not the deep, intense ones from when he got gang tickled in Jeff’s basement but laughter all the same. Clay keeps it up, enjoying the flat, muscular surface beneath his fingers and feeling the muscles contract all the way in as Justin sucks his belly in away from the tickling. He lets it work long enough to focus on the sides, counting Justin’s ribs out loud and then returns to the stomach, and then to the chest, and back to the sides.

He keeps it up for three minutes but he doesn’t want to exhaust the moron too quickly so he gives him a break after that. They don’t speak, Justin because he’s too busy sucking air in and Clay because there isn’t much to say.

Once he’s sufficiently recovered, Clay attacks his armpits without any warning, teasing the rarely touched skin and despite the shirt as protection, Justin goes wild beneath him, bucking and laughing like a mad man.

“Koochi-koo Justin. Does that tickle?”

“FUhAHAHkYOhoU!”

He can’t help but add in a bit of teasing, and from the response he feels justified in doing so.

“That’s mean, you asked me to do this!”

“AhAhAhASS!”

“Well if that’s how you feel.”

He steps it up, or rather down, moving from the hollows to the taut skin between the armpit’s hollow and Justin’s sides which somehow seems to drive him even more wild.

Clay pushes it a little farther before letting Justin take a few mouthfuls of water. The other boy manages to catch his breath and after the water seems totally refreshed but Clay gives him a little longer if only to tease him a little more.

“So how am I doing? I mean your so ticklish I could blow and you’d giggle.”

Justin rolls his eyes. “Yea, yea whatever Clay. Obviously you aren’t as great as you think cause I’m still conscience.”

Clay raises an eyebrow and says, “Is that a challenge?”

A smirk comes across Justin’s face as he says, “Well if I’m really that ticklish it isn’t.”

“I’m going to make you eat those words.”

“Yeah sure, do your worHEhAsT!”

Clay cuts him off by going after his sides this time, squeezing them light and fast from the top of his waist to the bottom of his ribs. It apparently proves devastating because it isn't long before Justin is squirming and giggling but it seems his old stubborn streak is back cause he refuses to laugh. No matter how hard Clay tries, and he tries pretty damn hard, he can't get a laugh out of Justin which sort of annoys him given that the other boy came to him.

Still, the challenge is sort of exciting so he amps it up again working on his belly again. By now the shirt has ridden up and exposed his smooth belly and belly button. That gives Clay an idea and he takes a deep breath and leans down, blowing a loud, wet raspberry. That gets closer to a laugh and Clay repeats again and then a third time.

Unfortunately each gets less and less effective each time and when he pauses he's greeted by a smirking Justin again.

"You're breathing heavier than I am."

"Shut up." He can't help but feel a little frustrated at the other boy for being so smug about this and at himself for not being able to get a laugh out of him despite him coming here and asking to be tickled silly.

"You know you can just tickle my feet already."

Justin's abrupt comment jerks him from his thoughts and he looks the other boy in the face.

"You're serious?"

"Duh, it's what you want to do right?"

"Are you high?" He can't fathom why else Justin would literally ask for this.

"Also duh. I said I want to laugh till I pass out or like, get close. You obviously can't manage just using my upper body so you might as well move on to the main event or whatever."

Clay bites back that he could totally manage to crack Justin without resorting to picking an easier target, or targets in this case but...well he does admit it'll be more fun to get his hands on Justin's feet. The internal debate doesn't last too long as he gets off Justin's waist and pulls his computer chair up to the foot of the bed.

"So you're really asking me to tickle your feet?"

Justin gives a little shrug and wiggles his toes instead of giving a verbal reply and Clay rolls his eyes. Well if the invitation is there, he might as well take it. Reaching out he runs his fingers along the tops of the socked feet, and then down the soles. They twitch a bit but Clay isn't really trying to tickle and the socks are sort of thick and shelter the feet from most of his touch. In fact, Clay's surprised that he can feel it at all through them but it only makes him more sure he can do what both of them want. The thought excites him as he reviews the pair of toys he managed to snag in preparation for this.

"Umm I don't like that look in your eyes."

"Too bad, you shouldn't have teased me!"

He doesn't let Justin prepare himself and instead digs into the soles in front of him with fingernails, raking up and down and drinking in the laughter bubbling out of the other teen. It's gratifying he thinks but he can't help but add insult to injury and comments, "Guess you should have been a little smarter about taunting huh? And not dangled these ticklish thing in front of me when you obviously can't handle it."

"AhAHAhASS!"

"Has anyone ever told you you get mouthy when you're being tickled?" He smirks as he switches from random scratching to more concentrated pokes at the center of Justin's arches which he knows are pretty sensitive. "You're lucky I don't mind, someone less kind than me might take offense to being called an ass."

"FuHAhACKyohOhU!"

"You just keep getting ruder and ruder. Someone ought to teach you some manner." He continues, getting between the toes a little but mostly saving them for the surprise he has in his bag. He also more generally rubs them and lets Justin relax a little before tickling madly for a few seconds, then rubbing, then more tickling.

Naturally Justin doesn't appreciate it and the cursing gets louder.

“You’re getting ruder. Maybe I should do something to help you be a little nicer.”

He strips the socks off and is about to make another comment when his nose is assaulted by the smell of citrus and coconut oil, thick and heavy. He glances at Justin’s feet and finds them glossy, then looks over the feet at the teen whose cheeks are pinker than usual and he won’t meet Clay’s eyes.

“Did you use my mom’s lotion?”

“Umm no?”

“Dude how much did you use?”

Justin doesn’t even bother to reply and Clay takes an experimental poke at them. Justin tries to tug his foot away on reflex but can’t and a look of vague horror comes over his face as his situation fully dawns on him.

Clay can’t help but smirk at the mild panic. “Guess you should have thought this one out a little more huh?”

“Go easy on me?”

“Nope!” He practically sings the word. “You made a dumb decision and now you’re going to pay for it.” He doesn’t wait for a reply and lets his fingers roam the soft expanses. Justin’s feet are every bit as nice as he remembers them and now, fully clean. The lotion keeps them slick so his dull nails glide across them. “Guess you really wanted this though, and to think I had a bottle of baby oil I don’t even need now!”

Justin howls with laughter and alternates between begging him to stop and threatening him if he continues. Clay of course keeps it up until he decides Justin needs a break and gets the first of his toys while he waits. While he lets Justin breath he teasingly tweaks his big toes and asks, “Seriously how do you walk on these things much less play a sport on them?”

“Shut the fuck up Jensen, I can’t help it.”

He laughs and then reaches under the bed and feels around until he finds what he wants. Pulling himself back up he smirks and Justin who’s watching him with big eyes.

“What did you grab?”

Clay holds up a bag of pipe cleaners. He read somewhere that they were a fun tickle toy and he planned to use them of Jeff originally but that was before he got such a willing volunteer.

Color drains from his face as he asks, “What’re you planning to do with those?”

Clay thinks the grin that comes to his face is probably pretty manic but he can’t help it as he slips the first pipe cleaner between Justin’s big toe and it’s neighbor. The reaction is immediate, his toes clench together and laughter bubbles out. He manages to floss between them despite the clenching and says, “If you want to keep it there that bad you can just ask.”

“FuAAHAhaCK!”

“Guess I should continue right? Since you’re enjoying it so much I mean.”

“NoHOhAhohAH!”

“Well if you insist.” He grabs another and uses it on the other foot. “Must be murder, I can’t imagine feeling a couple hundred fuzzy fibers between my toes!”

“CUhAHhAiTOuHoHHAt!”

“OOhhh here’s an idea, I think from now on your basketball games should be played barefoot, with the floor covered in feathers! Imagine all you big tough jock boys playing that game. I’d even pay for a ticket!”

“AhAHAsS!”

He weaves the pipe cleans between the toes and then pulls them out, flosses between them, and generally makes Justin howl with laughter but eventually he pulls them out and offers Justi more water. After the boy swallows nearly half the bottle Clay pulls out the other toy, a sharpie and shows it to Justin. He curls his toes in reply.

“Come on Clay don’t do that.”

He upcaps it and brings it to rest against the ball of one of his feet. “Don’t worry I’ll scrub it off later, for a fee.”

With that he starts doodling, first drawing a feather and then moving to the other foot to writes ticklish jock boy feet

Justin howls the whole time and Clay can’t help but enjoy it. He continues, drawing a basketball...sort of and a net to go with it, then scribbles tenderfoot for Justin to read later, knowing that he’ll blush furiously when he does.

He’s so engrossed in his work though he becomes aware that Justin isn’t even laughing anymore. He glances up and panics for a moment, wondering if he somehow killed the other boy but realizes Justin just out, a soft snore confirms that. With a snort he unties him and tosses a blanket over him haphazardly.

Two hours later he’s elbow deep in honors algebra when Justin finally wakes up. Well actually the moron might have been awake already because he’s alerted to Justin’s wakefulness by a sudden question startling him out of his focus.

“What’s a tease?”

With an annoyed sigh he spins his chair around to see Justin sitting up in bed, blanket pooled around his waist. He looks pretty alert too which is why Clay thinks he’s been up for at least a few minutes but he wasn’t aware Justin could stay quiet for so long.

“Someone who teases.” It’s a stupid question so it deserves a stupid answer.

“How was I teasing you?”

“Huh?”

“Before you went after my feet you told me I shouldn’t have teased you.”

Clay blushes but tries to act like he isn’t. Justin’s voice is surprisingly totally innocent and curious, no hint of malice or mocking.

“It’s what you were doing before.”

Big puppy eyes meet his and he heaves a sigh.

“You were doing stuff to draw attention to your feet, teasing me with them.”

“And I deserved to be tickled for it?”

“Yea, if you’re going to tease you deserve to be tickled.”

“Why?”

He opens his mouth and then closes it again and then opens it again and then says finally, “Because it means you want it to happen.”

“So if I do this,” He slides his feet out from under the covers and hangs them off the foot of the bed, wiggling them tauntingly in front of him, “I deserve to be tickled for it?”

“Yes.” He half expects the idiot to keep teasing him and earn himself another tickling but he adopts a thoughtful expression and pulls them back under the blanket.

Justin stays a while longer sort of spacing out and Clay returns to his homework. Eventually he kicks the other boy out because his parents should be home soon but he can’t say he totally dislikes the other boy as much as he wants to. Justin...might be okay and that’s a sobering thought.

#ticklestory #ticklishfeet #ticklefic #ticklishboys #ticklishjock #malefootstories #malefeetstory #sfw tickling community #sfw tk community #ticklecommunity #tickle content #tickle thoughts #13 reasons why #justin foley #clay jensen

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luimagines · 3 years

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Hi! I have a request, but first i wanna say your writing is absolutely amazing! The length + amount of time you put into these prompts is insanely good. Now! Onto the request, how would the boys react to a reader from a more modern era? Maybe a more modernized hyrule or our current point in time?

Masterlist

Thank you so much for the compliment! I'm happy to see the response even if this blog is still relatively new.

I hope I do your prompt justice.

I probably could have done a headcanon list but I was hit with inspiration.

I also might have given Reader some backstory.

Scenario below the cut! It’s long, take caution.

It was a cool night, but you didn't mind. Your bed was warm, the WiFi was fast and even if it was three AM on a school night, you managed to keep yourself giggling with cat videos and blursed memes until the words and colors merged.

A night well spent.

But it led to questionable decisions.

Even if the shredded cheese in the fridge was beginning to seem a more and more enticing snack, your body was tempted to succumb to slumber.

Until a large purple light encompassed the entirety of your window.

Something was in your backyard.

Aliens. Your tired brain supplies and you sprint to the glass and push away the curtains. Is this it? Is this where I'm kidnapped and never seen or heard from again?

You pull out your phone and open up the camera.

"Pics or it didn't happen." You remind yourself and snap a few before showing your face.

What you see isn't what you're expecting. Instead of a flying saucer in the sky beaming down a laser or a weird pear shaped space craft on top of the grass, there's a single panel of glowing light, swirling with black accents that creeps in a circular motion.

"Cheese and crackers...." You gasp and begin to blatantly stare at it with no regard to whether something may be coming out of it.

You wait and nothing happens.

You wait some more and nothing happens.

You spend an hour watching this portal that has appeared out of nowhere, waiting for something to happen, willing for something to happen. But you get nothing.

The unknown stares right back at you, unblinking and unchanged.

Go through it. A voice tells you. What if there's something on the other side?

"I'm going to die." You gulp and take a deep breath.

Who else gets a chance like this? The voice talks again. This could be a grand step towards a more modern society. A whole new world could be on the other side, waiting, reaching out, calling to humanity!

You think you a see a shadow move behind the portal and out of sight but it’s gone before you can even process it.

"Should I call the police?" You step away from the window, ignoring the thoughts, the voice- you're too tired to know if it's your own any more. What's the plan? How does one go about something like this?

Where’s your sense of adventure? Pack a bag and go! What if it goes away?

That last thought seems to get through to your tired brain and for a reason beyond your understanding, it latches onto it.

Now you’re excited.

You run to the closet and take out your old backpack. It used to be for school but it was fancier since it was the only one you could get. The bag had a replaceable water bag with a plastic straw connected through the back of it and the straps have just worn down enough to where they’re actually comfortable. It doubled as a hiking backpack and came with its own insulated lunch box that clasped on the back of it.

It’ll finally serve its purpose.

You quickly roll up your favorite blanket and strap it in tightly beneath the lunch box. You’re quick to take out two extra outfits and pack them as well as change out of your pajamas.

Ok. What would you need? You don’t know where you’d be going so this has to a catch all kind of deal.

You pack away your swiss army knife first for good measure. A solar powered charger for your phone and an extra pair of socks follow suit even after you’ve picked out the extra clothes.

You take out the water bag and run to fill it all the way to max capacity as you think of any other necessities.

You’d need food. You have a small jar of peanut butter and granola bars that can fit in the lunch box. You can bring your extra water bottle and put in the side pockets of the backpack, and maybe bring some of those powered flavor packets your brother loves so much. You think he has lemonade and some green tea ones.

Those would be great. He won’t mind, hopefully.

You let the bag overfill momentarily before running back to shove it in your bag. with the lid screwed tight.

Next you run to the kitchen, grabbing the first things that you thought of already and begin to look around for more.

You grab an unopened pack of beef jerky, a bag of veggie sticks and a half eaten bag of dried mangos.

During your search you grab the water bottle and fill that too.

You return to your room with your bounty and begin to carefully put everything in the box. With some more deliberation, you run back to the kitchen and make yourself a quick sandwich, eat it, make another one and pack that as well.

You look out side the window and the portal is still there.

The sun is beginning to rise now so you’re trying to go as fast as you can, unless you want to neighbors to think something is going on.

Even if it is.

You’re about to leave but in a stroke of brilliance, you run to pack sunscreen and bug spray as well. You see a small first aid pack that was bought recently for when you would take your family vacation but you reason that it might one of the most important things you’d have if you got hurt.

Into the bag it goes.

You grab your hoodie before you leave the door, wrap it around your waist and pocket your phone, your headphones and your wallet.

You feel immediately under packed when you step outside and see the portal up close.

It’s weirdly triangle shaped, you think and step closer.

You reach your hand out and try to touch it. It feels as if you put your hand through a humidifier but it’s not wet. It’s misty and cold but not necessarily unpleasant.

An idea hits you right before you take your first step through.

You pull up one of the earlier photo’s you took and send it to your friend’s group chat. It showed up in my backyard. I decided to make a bad late night decision and I’m going through. If you never hear from me again, I want you all to fight over my electronics. Winner takes all. Godspeed.

And you step through.

You had first assumed that it would merely take you tot he other side but very quickly realize that you have to walk through it.

The first part still had a little light but with time, it got darker. So dark that you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face.

You kept walking.

As fast as the light disappeared, it came back and you stepped into the light of an open field, right in front of one, two, three, four, nine males that had appeared to be traveling towards you or rather, towards the portal.

The portal disappears in the process.

“Oh so we didn’t have to go through it! We had to gain another member!” One of them yells. “Would have been nice to know before we packed everything up!”

“Ho boy, where am I?” You ask and tighten your grip on your backpack. Why didn’t I bring a weapon?

They all had long tunics and swords on their backs. Old fashioned leather boots and hand bracers were the norm in this group and you realized very quickly that your jeans and t-shirt had wildly missed the memo.

“Dang, I didn’t think I’d walk into a LARP group. Sorry about that.” You sheepishly smile. “I had no idea where the portal was going to take me. But if you would be so kind-”

“Wait, what’s LARP?” One of them speaks up. He was a dirty blond and somewhere in the middle of the group height wise. He wore a white cape like thing with blue designs on the back but you didn’t recognize the symbol.

“Live Action Role Play?” You tilt your head. “It’s why you’re all dressed like that? Right?”

“This is just our clothes.” What appears to be the youngest bounces up to you. “What are you wearing?”

“First I could grab in my closet.” You admit and look down on it. It’s one of your comfiest shirts and best looking pants. You’re a little proud of yourself for finding those in the dark.

“Weird.”

“We’re heroes. We’re all named Link.” Cape guy speaks up again. “Is it safe to assume that you’re in the same boat?”

“Heroes?” Your eyebrows furrow together. “I’m not a hero and my name’s not Link.”

You’re quick to tell them your name and you watch as the confusion covers their faces. “My brother’s name is Link though if that helps anything.”

“Oh we needed him!” The youngest groans and it instantly irks you.

“What would you need with a five year old?” You deadpan and cross your arms.

The information stuns the group.

“The portal showed up in the middle of the night and I’m the one that went through it. I’m pretty sure I was the only awake to even see it. Are you telling me that it was for my little brother?” You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t a little pissed. “My baby brother was supposed to go through it? He was asleep! He’s five. What kind of logic is that?!”

“Well...” The biggest and oldest of them runs a hand over his face. You think he has some cool tattoos and sick scar going across his eye but he looks about as angry as you feel, so you don’t say anything. “It appears the gods truly do not care for the hero’s maturity, only his existence.”

“Ok...What’s with all this hero talk?” You bite back. “What did... Where am I?”

“Hyrule.” The second with cool face tattoos speaks up. He’s got a large fur pelt around his shoulders and you have to tighten your grip against your backpack again to keep from reaching out to touch it.

Even so you feel yourself deadpan even more. “Hyrule? Like the ancient empire? The one that collapsed more than two thousand years ago? That Hyrule?”

You’re inclined to not believe them and write all of them off as crazy... but you also walked through a portal. And your grandma did say that magic existed in the strangest forms.

They all share looks of concern and some begin to murmur quietly amongst themselves but you’re too far gone to even notice.

“Did I time travel?” The idea hits you like a bus and you feel your eyes widen as you stare beyond the group. You quickly take our your phone and unlock it.

No signal.

“Is that a type of Sheikah slate?” Someone asks you.

“I don’t know what that is.” You reply automatically. “Wait, hold on, what year is it?”

“Why don’t you tell us what year you’re from and we can start from there?” The darkest brunette of the group speaks up.

“202x PC” You say robotically, not really processing the world around you anymore.

“That’s...” The blond with a long blue scarf speaks up with a slight hiss. “...Beyond any of our timelines. You see, we all come from different worlds and eras of Hyrule’s history.”

“I don’t think you’re the farthest down anymore, Wild.”

“This would then make them my successor, right?”

“It would make their brother your successor.” Someone amends. “I think they just jumped in his place.”

“Leave my brother alone.” You snap back into the present, pocketing your [hone again. “Ok, you know what, screw it. I don’t know what you’d want my brother for but I’m here now. I’d gladly take his place if it means he gets to stay home!”

“Hey.” A boy with pink hair stalks up to you looking a little more serious than you’d like.

“Nice hair dude, way to defy the gender norms.” You smirk a little before genuinely grinning, hoping to quell the tension. “What product do you use? It looks like Artic Fox but not every place sells their brand.”

“...I have no idea what you’re talking about but what happened to Ganon in your world? How have you been handling it?” He snaps and places his hands on his hips.

“Ganon? Like my old principle? That’s a name I haven’t heard in forever.” You’re confused again. “Last I heard he joined the police force only to be reassigned out of state. I don’t know what’s happening with him. Kinda hope he gets fired though. He’s not a bad guy but he’s not someone you’d want in that kind of position of power, you know.”

“Police force?”

You blinked and look them all over. They look very medieval. “Oh... You don’t have that...”

You begin to think about your history lessons and what they might be familiar with if they’re telling the truth about being from Hyrule.

“Ya’ll got knights?”

Many, almost all of them nod, a few with face of despair already on them before you finish speaking.

“It’s kind of like that. Mixed with a towns guard position... kinda. They enforce laws... at least they’re supposed to but the whole system is flawed and racist and really needs to be dismantled for the abuse of power that they have-”

“Abuse? Of power?” You have their attention again.

“It’s stupid and it won’t really make any sense if I try to explain because I doubt you have anything similar but it’s basically a group of people given the right to treat the public in anyway they like for their own benefit because they have no one telling them that they can’t.” You groan and slowly begin to feel your lack of sleep catch up to you.

You slowly reach to behind you and sit down on the dirt, looking at all of them. “Mr. Dragmire wasn’t like...Demise or anything but he was a huge jerk. No one liked him. He liked me though. I remember that. I was the envy of the whole school because I somehow got on his good side while everyone else wants to strangle him. I think he was transferred for some misdemeanor or something like that... like he might have been throwing hands with someone he wasn’t supposed to. I never heard all the details. I didn’t really care for it when it happened either. I’m pretty sure he lost that fight though. The dude looked like a blast of wind could have knocked him over let alone someone’s knuckle sandwich.”

“I would love to hear more about this.” The youngest sits next to you with a large grin on his face. His eyes are bright and his body language reminds you of your cousin Zelda. You instantly think they’d get along like a house on fire. “What are your monsters like?”

“Monsters?” You tilt your head. “Be a little more specific bud, it depends on where you’re from.”

“You have that many?!”

“It depends on if you believe they’re real or not.”

“Speaking of monsters, can you fight?” The shortest walks up to you. You like that his tunic is stitched up with multiple colors and designs. It gives it personality, you think. “Do you have a weapon you’re more comfortable with?”

The question throws you off your rhythm and you don’t fight your wince. “What would happen if I say that I do not, in fact, have any sort of weapon on me?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.” Pink guy speaks up again. “That pack is huge, there has to be something in there.”

“It’s food, water and extra clothes my guy.” You lean back against said backpack since it won’t let you lay down with it still on. “Not a lot of space for anything else. I’m pretty good at hand to hand combat though. Karate’s a good way to fight out stress.”

“Your bag’s not magic?”

“Why the hell would it be magic? ...Are you trying to tell me magic actually exists?” You raise an eyebrow as your eyes begin to close against your will. “I know my grandma said it does but I thought she meant like fairies and shadow demons.. and bigfoot. Can’t forget him, he’s the real MVP... You know...Children’s bedtime stories and stuff like that, it’s not real. But like magic magic? Magic items and the like? Find me Tinkerbell and I’ll show you Neverland, that’s what I say.”

“Are you serious?”

“Second star to the right, straight on till morning.” You respond.

There’s a moment of silence as the group in front of you processes your words. It’s hard to tell their reaction since you’re not looking at them but you no longer have the energy to do anything else.

“Are you falling asleep right now?” It’s the one they called Wild.

“I...” You try to open your eyes. They don’t budge. “I haven’t slept in nearly 20 hours... I think. I might have past 24 hours a while ago actually. Portal showed up at like four in the morning... I had to get up at six and I didn’t sleep at all before then.”

More silence.

“Great another one.” Someone scoffs.

You snort.

“Why did we pack up camp again?”

“No one kill me.” You say right before you lose consciousness. “Please and thank you.”

“They’re doomed.”

“Have some faith Vet. They stepped in for their little brother. That has to mean something?”

“They’re in for a rude awakening, and that’s all I have to say about it.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #is this readers origin story #maybe?#i got a little carried away with this one #had to stop myself before i went even further beyond #i don't know if I want to continue with this as a story or just throw out some headcanons with modern reader #i like to think that everything i write takes place in a separate universe #especially the ones where they catch feelings #might throw out what they think of reader #might not #depends on you guys!#let me know what you think!

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evafrechette · 3 years

Text

I hope you're a plumber because you’ve got my pipe leaking

↠ seokjin x jungkook | smut | golddigger!jk, plumber!seokjin | 18+ | 3.8k

↠ Summary: Gold digger Jungkook is frustrated his decrepit husband can't give him good dick. Enter plumber Seokjin who is slightly oblivious to Jungkook's invitation for sex and just thinks the whole house has bad indoor plumbing if the constant calls to their office about a leaking pipe is to go by.

↠ Warnings: rimming, anal sex, creampie, cheating, butt plugs, size queen jk, bottom jk, top seokjin, loads of plumbing jokes, mario reference, spanking, anal play

↠ Written for the BTS Porn Cliche Fest ↠

Jungkook sighs as he plonks down onto the lush gold velvet Chesterfield sofa. His long blond hair falls into his eyes and he puffs it away dramatically. This wasn't how he pictured his life when he married one of the most powerful and rich men in the city. Jungkook thought it would be lavish cocktail parties, expensive cars, jet setting around the globe and attractive half naked pool boys. What he got was a grumpy elderly workaholic husband who forbids him from staying out late, a pool cleaner who looks like John Wayne Gacy and a husband who can't get his dick hard. At least he gets free reign of the black card!

He picks up the remote and points it towards the TV. The screen flicks on to loud moaning. It's a bondage scene - some skinny twink is tied up and a big burly leather clad man is thrusting into him at incredible speed. Jungkook yawns and changes the channel. He watched that one earlier in the day. He flicks unimpressively through various channels before deciding to turn the TV off. He's bored, SO bored. He hasn't had sex all week, he hasn't had GOOD sex in years. His husband needs help via a little blue pill to even get it up and since he has been too busy with a big case load at work recently Jungkook's been left to his own devices and he's starting to get antsy. Just then a brilliant idea pops into his head. A few weeks ago they had trouble with a clogged drain and the most beautiful man alive was sent to work on it. Jungkook remembers the way his broad shoulders strained under his work uniform, his big plush lips pouting as he concentrated, and those big feet. They were huge. Big feet, big cock as they say. And Jungkook was longing to find out if that was the case with the statuesque plumber. He rushes up the stairs, taking two steps at a time and flings himself into his husbands office. He skips over to the desk and throws open every drawer to find the address book containing the mystery plumbers number. "Ugh, where the hell has that old bastard put it..." Jungkook whines throwing important documents in the air. He continues searching drawers until he finds the book he was looking for. "Tada!! Okay, now to find his number." a giggle escapes his lips, Jungkook is euphoric. He knows his husband wouldn't be happy with his sinful plans, but that's what is making it all that much more tempting to him. Jungkook is being a little brat. He misses feeling like this. Married life has well and truly stifled his exuberance for life. He reaches over to the telephone on the desk and dials the number, but no one answers. He tries again and still no answer. He slams the receiver down and pouts, with his arms crossed in front of him. This is his punishment for thinking of fucking another man. Of course it would never happen, what was he even thinking? *ring ring* Jungkook eyes the phone suspiciously, has his husband somehow found out he's in his office and is ringing to yell at him? He quickly scans the room to spot any security cameras before picking up. "Hello yeah sorry I missed your calls, who is this?" "Who is this?" Jungkook enquired sceptically. "Uhh you rang me? Is this about a plumbing job?" Jungkook's eyes go wide, he's talking to handsome plumber, oh shit this is his chance. "Oh yes, sorry, Hi, yes we have a problem with the . . . pipe, yeah the pipe under the sink. . um in the kitchen. There is water everywhere I don't know what to do.” "Okay, I'm actually not working tonight. . . " "OH NO PLEASE I need you . . uh I mean I need your help!" His eyes roll into the back of his head, he sounds like such an idiot right now. "Text me your address and I'll be there in about 40 minutes. This will be an after hours service so I have to charge more." "That's fine! That's okay, thank you so much." Jungkook hangs up and fist pumps the air then quickly sends his address to the man. His plan is in motion, now all he has to do is cause some damage.

He runs down the stairs and straight into the kitchen, his knee high socks helping him slide to the sink. He drops down onto his knees and throws the doors to the sink cupboard open. Jungkook knows absolutely nothing about plumbing, so he starts to unscrew whatever he can find. He stands back up and turns the faucet on then crouches back down to see if his wicked plan has worked. He can see a trickle of water escaping the pipe, but it's not enough so he unscrews it more. All of a sudden water is gushing everywhere. He thinks it's still not enough to have needed to call a plumber out (and he does have a flair for dramatics), so he grabs a bowl, fills it to the brim then splashes it all over the floor, he does it again this time splashing inside the cupboard. He stands back and takes a look at his handiwork. Not bad he thinks to himself. Jungkook runs to the laundry and grabs a few towels, placing them around the floor, to look as though he had attempted to clean the mess then scrampers his way to his bedroom to get ready. He removes his sweats and puts on a cute pair of pink panties, followed by an oversized hoody. He goes to head out the door when he stops and spins back around. He walks to his side of the wardrobe and brings out a purple box. Inside are a range of toys, but there is one in particular Jungkook is looking for. A black butt plug with a beautiful glistening pink gem. Before he puts the box away he grabs a bottle of lube and then makes his way to the bed to undress. He lubes up his fingers, reaches down and slowly inserts one inside himself, he pumps in and out a few times before adding another. He scissors his fingers, stretching himself out perfectly for the plug. He grabs the butt plug and slathers it with lube before pushing it into his pink hole. Jungkook let's out a small moan when it's in and pulls his panties back up. Just then he hears the door bell ring. Shit, has it been 40 minutes already?! He pops the lube into his hoody pocket, wipes his hands in the duvet cover then takes a quick look in the mirror, brushing down his long blond locks with his fingers before making his way down the stairs and towards the front door. Jungkook can feel his heart racing, he's starting to second guess himself now. What if Mr Plumber isn't even into guys? The doorbell rings again, so he takes a deep breath and opens the heavy front door. Jungkook looks around curiously, the man in front of him has a terrible fake moustache and is wearing some kind of costume. He's seen this costume before, but where exactly . . . oh that's right! "Uhhh, why are you dressed as Mario?" The taller man let's out a loud laugh before gesturing to be let in. Jungkook's cock is as confused as he is, but he steps aside allowing the man entrance. "I was at a fancy dress party when you rang. I didn't have time to get changed, is that okay? I mean, I am technically in a plumbers work uniform . . just not my own." Jungkook studies him. He's wearing a red shirt underneath blue overalls, white gloves, an oversized red hat and that hilarious fake moustache. He's such a beautiful man, that he even makes the costume look good. Jungkook never thought he'd ever get hard over someone wearing work overalls, but here he is, swelling up already. He coughs nervously, "No that's fine, sorry for calling on your day off but I just had no idea what to do, there is so much water everywhere." The plumber smiles "Which way to the leak?" Jungkook let's out a squeak and leads the man into the kitchen, he takes small deliberate steps, swishing his hips, looking back with an innocent smile. As they enter the plumber pops his toolbox down on the bench and crouches down to see the damage. "You know us plumbers always take our work very seriously. We plunge straight into it.” the laugh that follows is the cutest laugh Jungkook has ever heard, it reminds him of windshield wipers. He can't help but laugh at the cheesy joke. "I know a good plumbing joke." Jungkook exclaims. "Oh yeah? I'd love to hear it.” his attention now solely on Jungkook. "I once gave a

carpenter, plumber and a bricklayer a hand job at the same time. I guess you could call me a Jack off all trades." The plumbers ears go red immediately and he turns his attention back to the sink. Jungkook groans quietly, that didn't go down well. He thought it was a fantastic joke too, one of his best. He leans over the bench and absentmindedly twirls his hair in between his fingers. The man is truly irresistible, his shoulders are so incredibly wide, arms toned, and he has a fantastic ass in those overalls. "So what's your name anyway?" Jungkook murmurs. "I'm Seokjin, you can just call me Jin though. And you are?" "Jungkook..." "Is your dad home? I've been here a few times before." "My dad? Ooohh you mean my husband, umm no he's at work. . . late . . again." Jungkook huffs and throws his arms down on the bench, his head follows until his torso is leaning completely on the bench top. In this position his hoody rides up showing off the pale pink of his underwear. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Jin peek before looking away. A smirk appears on Jungkook's face. "So tell me another joke! That was a good one before." Jin clears his throat "I knew a plumber that was working on the side to become an artist. Unfortunately, he couldn't find a faucet for his creativity." Jungkook let's out an over the top laugh which causes his ass to jiggle. That joke was incredibly lame, but clearly Jin is into this shit so he's gonna play it up. He slowly leans up from the bench and walks over to the fridge. "Would you like a drink?" "Water will be fine thanks, if you have it.” Jungkook reaches as far back into the fridge as he can, bent over in a way that isn't necessary, drinks are on the top shelf after all, but he wants to give the attractive man a little show. He walks over and holds out the bottle of water for Jin. When he grabs it their fingers touch gently causing one another to lock eyes. "Ya know, I've been doing this plumbing thing for years, I'm used to seeing all sorts of leaks. This one though is unusual.." "Hmm really? How?" Jin stands and places the bottle in the sink, he walks over to Jungkook and stands uncomfortably close to the blond. His breath warm against Jungkook's ear as he whispers. "Well I can tell someone got under that sink and loosened the locknut and coupling nuts and I'm thinking it may have been a certain someone parading around in hardly any clothes, showing off his pretty little ass at every chance." Jungkook's breath hitches in his throat, the man smells like beer and woody fig leaves and even with that ridiculous moustache on his face his entire aura right now is intimidating as fuck, and it's got Jungkook getting harder by the second. "Does your old man not treat his little boy toy right huh? I've seen you around whenever I've been called here for a job. Always checking me out, is that why you called tonight? To think I thought you just had really terrible plumbing here..." Jungkook can't even get any words out, so he just nods his head like some stupid dog toy you'd pop on the dash of your car. This causes Jin to laugh, his fingers tracing along Jungkook's jaw. He tilts the younger man's face up and smashes their lips together. The kiss is rushed and frenzied. Their teeth knock against each others and they are left panting, but it's perfect and Jungkook hasn't felt this alive in years. Jin's soft velvety lips brush against Jungkook's earlobe as he purrs "What do you want me to do?" "Whatever you want, please, anything." Jungkook tried to keep his voice steady, but it was no use, he was desperate to feel the attractive man inside him. "Anything?" Jin cocked his head to the side, a wicked smile planted on his face. "I want you up on the dining room table, on all fours," he clapped his hands together twice "Chop chop, let's do this. And take the panties off too.” Jungkook was too aroused to even question the strange request as he walked a little too eagerly through to the dining room. He quickly removed his panties then pulled back the dining room chair and used it to step up

onto the table. He got into position, his knees already aching a little as they dug into the wooden table top. He could feel the calloused hands of the plumber running over his soft ass, before a hard smack was heard echoing through the room. Jungkook yelped, not expecting to be spanked but it felt so fucking good, so he wiggled his ass in the air hoping Jin would get the hint and do it again. Jin got it alright, and gave Jungkook 5 hard smacks right across his left ass check. He could feel pre cum leaking from his hard cock pooling onto the table below and his face flushed red from embarrassment. He could feel Jin's hand on him again and braced himself for the next set of smacks, but instead his fingers lightly traced over the marks admiring his reddened handprint, slowly his fingers made their way to Jungkook's hole, where the plug was fully on display. He pushed on the gem causing Jungkook to let out a choked whimper. "Did you put this in just for me?" Jin queries as he slowly pulls out the plug before pushing back in, amazed at the way Jungkook's hole seemed perfectly made for the toy, stretching easily to fit around the the widest part and then sucking the rest in. "Y . . yes, for you." Jungkook gasped as Jin removed the toy completely leaving him feeling empty and open. He didn't have much time to get used to that feeling as Jin begin to kiss the back of his thighs, nipping and sucking sure to leave marks. His kisses trailed up to Jungkook's ass, lightly nibbling on each cheek. Jungkook was a mess already, panting and leaking pre cum, he so desperately wanted to reach between his legs and jerk himself off, but he wanted Jin to be the one to make him cum. Not his boring old, overly used hand. Jin spread Jungkook's ass cheeks apart and ran his tongue over his open hole. Jungkook's needy whining spurred him on, so he fucked his tongue deep into his ass. Jungkook was in ecstasy he'd never had anyone eat him out before. It was a feeling like nothing he had ever experienced, lost in the feeling he pushed his ass back onto Jin's mouth and begged the man go faster. Jin enthusiastically grabbed onto his ass and spread his cheeks even further apart as he added a finger beside his tongue, fucking Jungkook's ass in tandem. Jin removed his mouth from Jungkook's alluring hole, and continued to fuck him with his finger. "My mother always said you should eat every meal at the dining room table. And that was one of the best meals I've ever had." he casually removed his finger and watched as Jungkook's hole puckered open from the loss. He gave his ass a quick pat before standing back and getting undressed. Jungkook's knees were red and irritated from the pressure of being on the table, so he finally moved off his hands and knees and sat back on the table with his legs dangling over the side. His already big eyes went even wider when he saw the naked man in front of him. He was right, so fucking right. Jin was huge, massive, enormous, mammoth, super sized. It was the biggest fucking cock he had ever seen. "Why are you in plumbing? You should be in porn. Look at that thing!" Jungkook pointed directly at Jin's cock. A look of utter amazement on his face. "Why do you think plumbers and therapists make so much money?” "I have no idea?" He shook his head, blond hair flailing around his face. "Because no one else wants to deal with other peoples shit. Now lay back on the table for me will ya.” Jungkook didn't have to be asked twice, he pushed himself back and lay flat on the table, Jin sauntered over and pulled Jungkook down so they were flush with one another. Jungkook's entrance was shiny and wet from Jin's earlier tongue escapades, but he knew it might still not be enough, so he reached into his hoody and pulled out the lube. "Umm just in case." he shyly looked towards Jin who smiled affectionately and took the bottle from him. He squirted a generous amount over his hard cock and positioned himself against Jungkook's entrance. Jin pushed in slowly, allowing Jungkook time to adjust around his large size. He pulled out and

pushed back in again even slower this time, inch by inch stretching him out, making Jungkook feel so full he felt as though the room was spinning. Jungkook was speechless, he looked up at the exquisite man above him and decided he must have slipped on the wet kitchen floor, died and gone to heaven. He was being fucked by an angel with the biggest cock humanly possible. Trembling, shaky sobs left his chapped lips as the man thrust into him long and slow. Jungkook pushed down onto Jin to meet his thrusts hoping that the man would speed up a little, but Jin just grabbed onto his hips and held him down into place. He was truly at Jin's mercy. The two men were a sweaty, panting mess. The sound of their skin slapping against each other ricocheted around the dining room. Jin lifted Jungkook's right leg and hooked his foot over his shoulder. A bolt of heat shocked Jungkook's insides as Jin's cock hit his prostate over and over again with every thrust. "Oohh fuck, I'm gonna come." he cried out. Jin picked up the pace as his large hand curled around Jungkook's swollen cock, pumping him in time with his own thrusts. Jungkook's sensations were heightened the minute that tough-skinned fingers were being drawn up and down his length. He felt his balls tightening and knew that just a few more thrusts would be all it would take to reach his release. He closed his eyes tightly and let out a drawn-out needy moan as his cock pulsated in Jin's hand, spurts of his hot cum landing on his stomach and all over Jin's tight grip. Jin stopped his movement and allowed the younger man to come down from his high before he started to thrust even harder inside Jungkook's tight ass. Jungkook was oversensitive, his ass tightening with every twitch of Jin's cock inside of him. Jin didn't hold back though, thrusting hard and deep inside of him. "Ahhh fuck, you feel so fucking good, so tight on my cock." Jin grunts between thrusts. Jungkook's whines were stirring him on towards his own release. Jin grits his teeth and sweat drips down his forehead as he finally comes inside Jungkook's tight hole. He is absolutely spent and leans down to kiss the blond. Their kiss is weak and slow, but incredibly sensual. Their sweaty forheads bump which causes a giggle from both men. "Eww you're sweating on me.” Jungkook pouts. "Wow, you're worried about that? I just came in your ass! Speaking of . . " Jin reaches over Jungkook's head and grabs the butt plug, he slowly removes his sizable cock from the blonds ass and teases the plug around Jungkook's hole, watching as it flutters open and his cum start to freely drip out. He pushes the plug in easily, trapping his cum inside. "Since you clearly wanted me inside you for a while now, you can enjoy my cum in your ass when I'm gone." he playfully winks at Jungkook.

The two men get dressed, casting each other looks of utter fondness. They walk back into the kitchen and grab their long abandoned bottles of water. Jungkook gulps his down, not realising just how thirsty he was. He forgot that good sex can wear your ass out. What a workout, why would anyone go to a gym when you could just fuck instead? A noise from the foyer startles them both, it's the sound of the front door being opened and closed. Jin grabs his toolbox and looks at Jungkook nervously, the blond smiles sweetly at the plumber and whispers "Just follow my lead"

An older man with a full head of grey hair, deep wrinkles, glasses sitting atop of his wide nose and wearing an over sized suit ploddingly makes his way into the room. "Oh honey, it's so nice to see you I thought you'd be at work all night?" Jungkook says as he kisses his husband on the cheek. "Mm yes well, I got as much done as I could tonight. Did we have trouble with the plumbing again? Why is Mr Kim here . . dressed like that?" "Yes sir, sorry I was at a dress up party and didn't have time to change. Your kitchen sink had a leak. It was an easy fix though, took only 10 minutes or so. I'll email through an invoice first thing on Monday morning.... Okay, I better go now." he tensely glances in Jungkook's direction. "Let me walk you out." he smiles back sweetly. When they reach the door Jungkook looks back to make sure he's not being watched by his doddering husband before he leans in and kisses Jin chastely on the cheek. "We should do this again next weekend, maybe the pipes in the pool house will unexpectedly play up hmm?" Jin flashes him a ravishing smile and winks at him as he exits the mansion. Jungkook watches Jin's enticing firm ass walk back to his car and feels the stirring of butterflies in his belly. He's starting to get feelings for a plumber with a terrible sense of humor but with a cock so large it should be illegal. He chuckles to himself as he closes the door, his entire night could be the storyline of some cheesy C grade porno film. But he can't wait to experience it all over again next weekend.

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cosmiclatte28 · 4 years

Text

Waist (Yuta x you)

in one sentence the whole story revolves around studying is a WAIST of time haha see my pun? slap the author right now anyways ...

here is a flirty but super caring Yuta boyfriend scenarios!

@yutahoes and all the yuta lovers out there, who agrees that Yuta has a very pretty waist?? or is it just me?

a/n : kissess and waists, and yes there are some mentions of body shape insecurity, don’t read if you’re uncomfortable read other work instead :D

here we go, all scenes are for fanfic purposes, nothing is harmed during the making of this story (except my brain cells)

“Come here and lie down, you've been studying for too long.” Your boyfriend's sweet honey voice lures you to join him on the comfortable bed.

You toss your head to look at him, glancing away from your textbook and sigh “Yuta, you know I have this midterm coming up next week, right?”

He nods “And I have been waiting here for four hours.”

You open and close your mouth “Four hours?”

He nods “And like 17-ish minutes.”

You sigh “Great I spent that much time and still have two more chapters to go.”

Yuta sighs “You've read enough sweetie.” He taps the empty space next to his “Come here,”

You shake your head “No. You're tempting me to stop learning. I need to pass the class.”

Yuta frowns “I am so comfortable here that I don’t want to get up and pick you up… come. Before. I have to get you by myself.”

You taunt “Come and get me then.”

That earns you a long whine from your manly man, he whines and still lays down on the bed “Nah, too lazy to move. I'll just keep on calling you.”

You manage to read one more chapter before almost giving up from Yuta's constant distraction and name calling.

“(Y/n)~~~” you remain unfazed

“Love?” you had to hide your smile

“(y/n)channnn" he sing song In his japanese accent, you have to hold yourself from blushing coz you love when he speaks Japanese. “Baka.” He mutters to himself.

You didn’t stir until he mentions “Yak yeobbo…. Stop ignoring me.”

You give up finally, marking down your page and stretch your body as you stand up from your chair. Yuta's smile enlightens when he sees you finally closing that book.

“Who are you calling yeobbo?” You smirk to Yuta who already looks so excited to crush your bone with his hug. Instead, you walk away from your chair and walk to get yourself a drink and use the restroom.

“Where are you going?” Yuta already push himself half seated. You giggle “Toilet. Just wait, I'm not going anywhere.”

“;Be quick! The bed is cold without you.”

“So demanding and annoying.” You yell in a sing song tone as you enter the toilet.

“Your demanding and annoying handsome prince.” He still has the audacity to reply you and you can only shake his head.

After you finish your night routine and turning off the lights, you finally descend to the bed where Yuta has been sleeping on.

He gently opens the blanket so you can go inside, and he shuffles to the side. You let out a satisfied moan when your body touch the warm side of the bed.

“Warm right?” Yuta smugly asks you as he winces to the cold part of the bed. You nod your head and turn to face him. Yuta’s body warmth is still on the bed when you go in, and now he is laying down next to you on the cold part.

Your bed is not big, in this small apartment you rent near your college, you sometimes wonder how Yuta likes sleeping over. Well yeah you cannot come into his dormitory and barge in to sleep on his bed, his roommate won’t be happy with it. So, Yuta has to be the one coming into your apartment.

“Thanks for being my bed warmer,” you giggle and press a kiss to Yuta's cheek.

He smiles and engulfs you into a hug. Your nose pressed tight into his sturdy chest. His cotton pajamas smell fresh laundry to you, and you breathe in the scent of musk and mint you missed from your man.

Yuta buries his nose into your hair, inhaling the scent of sweet strawberries of your shampoo. You fit your body into his, no matter what the occasion is … cuddling with Yuta always makes you feel safe and loved. It’s as if he is a mold made for you to snuggle perfectly. His height and your height, your fit and his big shoulder everything just matches.

You smile when you feel his large hand automatically snake into your waist. Pulling you even closer than before and you find your hands already loosely holding his small waist.

“Yak I'm jealous of this small waist,” you pout, and that pout is only centimeters away from Yuta's lips.

He lovingly caresses your waistline, sneaking his fingers under your clothes. You gasp when his calloused cold fingers touch your skin, but soon your body warmth blends with his and Yuta traces random lines on your skin.

It's a habit Yuta suddenly developed after two years of walking with you. You did not realize when it actually started, you just know Yuta loves skin ship and he's been slipping fingers into your clothes which you don’t mind because he asked your concern beforehand. Slowly you got used to it, sometimes at lonely nights when he is away, you find your finger mindlessly sticking into your side waist as if pretending Yuta is doing that.

You stare into the galaxy planted in his eyes and cannot help yourself from feeling a burst of happy emotion. You lean in and press a kiss on his lips. Yuta doesn’t ask for more, not for now.

His focus is on your glowing face, the same pair of eyes that always look with adoration to Yuta. The tired eye bags that show how hard working she is in achieving her dream and Yuta has to acknowledge he loves that part of her.

Yuta sighs and with his other hand, takes a strand of hair away from your face. “Jealous of my waist? Why? Yours is perfect already. I love your curves.” He whispers as his fingers still graze and ghost over your skin.

You feel shiver run through your spine and shudder “Is it? You like it?” you ask a reassurance from him.

Yuta puts a hand over your neck and nods his head “Like? I love it so much! You fit wonderfully in my hug it's perfect! Don’t think of torturing yourself with the silly ideas here.” He playfully presses a finger on your forehead.

You giggle and tighten your hug on his waist “Still everyone will be jealous of this waist!”

He kisses you quick to shut you up and pulls back after a while “Hey we shouldn’t be jealous of what others have. If you want to play it that way… I'm jealous of your lips. Coz they're always so luscious and tempting! You don’t know how hard I have to hold myself back from kissing you when you lick and bite your lips while studying.”

You laugh “Did I? Did I do that while studying?”

Yuta smirks and brushes his thumb over your lips “I wonder how they still remain soft and plush even after you bite them! I was worried you'd hurt yourself. Look, when you're focused and stressed you always bite your lips!”

You unknowingly lick your lips again and bite them, a habit too when you're excited of something, and Yuta catches that

“Teasing me princess?” his hands already found their way back to your hips and when you nod your head shyly, Yuta doesn’t need a second command to kiss your lips.

“You're perfect as you are! Don’t be worried about unnecessary things, I love you and that won’t ever change.” Yuta says after breaking the kiss. Both of you staring into each other, finding trust and comfort while gasping for air.

“Stop biting that lips or they'll bleed honey,” Yuta presses his forehead to yours. You chuckle and nod

“I love you, Nakamoto Yuta,” you carelessly bite your lips again and Yuta's eyes flicker with fire %

“Guess we need to make a rule for that, for every bite you'll get my kiss.” He winks and proceeds to take your lips into his one more time.

The cold night no longer feels cold. Despite both of you having to wear thick socks and hide under thick blanket because the electric cost of a heater is too much, you can sleep comfortably tonight. Thanks to Yuta's body heater and his intense passionate kisses you share in this beautiful night.

end

#yuta imagines #yuta soft hours #yuta x reader #yuta x you #yuta x y/n #yuta scenarios #yuta fluff #yuta flirt #yuta oneshot #yuta boyfriend #yuta drabbles #nct fluff #nct masterlist #nct imagines #nakamoto yuta #yuta fanfic #flirty yuta #yuta soft packs #nakamoto yuta has a beautiful waist

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kaylans-imagines · 4 years

Text

trois: al dente

synopsis: Realising him, his daughter, and his housemates couldn’t live off fast food forever, Tom Holland joins a cooking class.

pairing: single dad! Tom Holland x single mum! reader

warnings: fluff, angst, no-no words, and absolute cuteness from one Miss Autumn Diana Holland and one Mister Lucas Peter Y/L/N.

an: I just want to thank you guys again for the love you have shown this series. it means the world to me.

series masterlist

al dente: cooked so it's still tough when bitten, often referring to pasta

meal: lasagne

Tom had the best luck. He just had to run into Y/N when he looked ‘horrendous’ as Harry so kindly put it. He had been tasked with getting the groceries while his best mates did the cleaning, which was very much long overdue. Not wanting his young and impressionable daughter, with a knack for repeating words she overhead, Tom brought her along. She had asked him questions on the car ride to Tesco’s. He had given her the warning he always gave her to behave, not that he needed to, she was his perfect princess, and unstrapped her from her seat.

He was given a list of things they needed for the house, most of it was nonsense, and he wouldn’t get them at all, but he figured he would humour them and get kid-friendly alternates. Setting Autumn into the trolley, he started his walk around the supermarket. Autumn hummed a tune from a show she was obsessed with and would often point out things that caught her attention. He was having a great time, listening to Autumn babble on about what happened at nursery and what Gretchen and Holly did to get in trouble, until he, quite literally, bumped into a familiar woman. Apologies spilt from his mouth before he saw who he bumped into. A familiar giggle stopped his rambling and caused him to look up, making eye contact with gorgeous glowing eyes.

“Oh, God. Y/N, what are you doing here? That was a stupid question, you’re clearly shopping, I am so sorry,” he apologised before he smiled at her. She brushed him off and smiled, her eyes moving from his face towards the small little girl who sported a cheeky smile, her honey eyes wide and laced with amusement. She thrust her tiny hand towards her and motioned for the older woman to take it.

“‘M Autumn, but daddy calls me Burrito. Who are you?” her bluntness caused a giggle to slip from Y/N’s lips and Tom to snap his head up to look at her in embarrassment. First, he bumps into her in the cereal aisle and now his three-year-old quite sassily asked her who she was. Sometimes he wished she didn’t know how to speak as well as she did.

“It’s nice to meet you, Autumn, I’m Y/N. Is this your daddy?” She asked, pointing at Tom with her thumb. Tom was never going to be ashamed of Autumn; she was his pride and joy. The apple of his eyes, the reason he lives, etc., but he silently wished his daughter said no to her question. He hadn’t gathered up the courage to ask Y/N on a date, and he didn’t want to ruin any chances because she found out he had a daughter before he could tell her. He wanted at least one date with her before dropping the bomb that he was a single father and having her ghost him.

Autumn nodded with a proud smile, her toothy smile wide as she smiled at her father. Tom’s heart swelled at the thought of his daughter being proud of him. Y/N chuckled and opened her mouth to respond before a small body barreled into her leg, holding a box of Jaffa cakes. Y/N nodded her head towards the little boy and laughed as she watched him run towards their trolley and place them in it ever so gently before he wandered the length of the aisle in search of the cereal he wanted. Y/N motioned for him to come back and grabbed ahold of his small hand.

“Luca, this is Tom and his daughter Autumn, they’re mummy’s friends, can you say hi?” she said slowly while signing it out with her hands. The small boy, who couldn’t be older than six, nodded his head before turning to his mother’s friends. Using his fingers and talking lowly, he introduced himself to the older man and his wife.

“Hi, my name is Lucas,” he signed with a smile. At that moment, Tom was thankful for briefly considering teaching his daughter sign language when she was a baby. Of course, he couldn’t do so, since he had a fish’s attention span, but he had googled phrases when he was researching it. He was able to catch the phrase and introduced himself with ease. The little boy’s eyes lit up; he wasn’t used to someone making an effort to communicate with him, except for his mother, family, and one school friend. Y/N’s heart swelled as she watched her cute student use his fingers to reply to her son. Every guy she had ever dated or considered dating had all but left when they found out she had son, and the ones who stayed, left when they found out he was deaf.

“Daddy, why is he using his fingers?” Autumn whispered. Once again mortified at his daughter’s bluntness, her father sent Y/N an apologetic smile before he turned to his daughter. He explained it to her in terms she would understand, she nodded along and turned to her newfound friend with a smile. She threw up her fingers and waved them around, much to Lucas’ confusion and the amusement of his mother. Y/N explained to her son that she was merely trying to say hello but that she didn’t know his language. Autumn, getting frustrated at not interacting with her new friend, motioned for her father to take her out of the trolley and place her on the ground. Tom set her down and watched with pride as his daughter hugged the boy.

“Uh, we should get going. It was nice to see you outside of class, Tom,” Y/N said shyly. She didn’t want to leave, but she figured that if she stayed any longer and watched Tom interact with her son, and make an effort to communicate with him with Lucas in his comfort zone, she would surely fall in love with him. And his daughter, she was so much like Tom. She was kind and welcoming; she would surely want to claim her as her own but figured that a handsome, made man like Tom, definitely had a wife he kept from the public. She knew he had a daughter, but his relationship status was never discussed on the internet. And she never spent too long on the internet unless it was to research ways to make Lucas’ life as comfortable as possible and the pros and cons of a cochlear implant as of recently.

Tom was distraught knowing she had a son, not because it was a turn off, but because it likely meant she was in a relationship. And an established one too seeing as her son was no older than six. With a sigh, he agreed and bid his goodbye, quickly getting a box of cereal and leaving the aisle with his three year old happily babbling behind him. She cleared her throat and sent him a weary smile after he stopped and looked at her.

“Sorry, it’s just, you took my trolley,” as if he couldn’t be more embarrassed. First, he shows up to the supermarket looking less than ideal with two different socks, and an old t-shirt with spit up on it from when Autumn was a baby, then he asks her what she’s doing at a grocery store like a knob, and now, he just has to take her groceries. He just couldn’t catch a break. Sheepishly, he apologised and handed her back her trolley, once again dashing away. Y/N chuckled from her spot before turning towards her son who stared at her with wide hazel eyes under his red glasses.

“Mummy, was that the cute man you told Auntie about?” Lucas signed prompting Y/N to blush, but nodded nonetheless. What kind of mother would be if she lied to her son about a small crush. She asked him what cereal he wanted, effectively changing the topic. He ran off towards the aisle and followed after the small boy, stopping when he held up a box of Frosties. She allowed him to put it in the trolley before they continued on with their shopping.

Tom had to bribe his daughter pack of Smarties for her to stop laughing at his misfortune, and a box of chocolate biscuits in order for her not to tell her Uncles. He needed to reduce the time she spent with Tuwaine and Harry, they were corrupting his daughter. Autumn sat in her car seat happily munching on her smarties while Tom drove, still reeling at the way he behaved around her, and about how he was smitten with a woman who probably had a family. Autumn still giggled from her carseat from time to time when she remembered how her acted in front of the pretty chef. He would resort to sending her playful glares and threatening to cut her tea time with her nana.

Calling for the boys to help them unload the groceries, he shuffled inside with Autumn hot on his heels. Helping out by carrying her bag of snacks, she ran towards her bedroom while calling for her uncles to help her dad. Tom rolled his eyes but chuckled. Harrison was the first one out followed by Tuwaine and Harry who all complained about helping, but did it nonetheless. Between the three man, they got the bags inside quickly and left Tom to unpack everything while they searched for Autumn, to undoubtedly wreak havoc in their home.

Harry came into the kitchen when Tom restocked their fridge and looked at his older brother with giddiness. Tom sent him a questioning glance before turning back towards the fridge causing his younger brother to throw one of Autumn’s toys at him. Tom turned around with offence laced in his eyes and flicked his brother off simultaneously rubbing the sore spot on his head.

“That was payback for hitting me on the head,” he deadpanned before walking towards him, phone open and ready, “and it was also to get your attention. She followed me back, I figured you might want to you know, do your research on her.” Tom stared at his brother incredoulsly and reached out for the phone only to stop himself. Did he really want to stalk someone, a woman at that, that he had no chance with anymore? Did he want to be as shameless as his younger brother?

Shaking his head, he softly pushed his phone away from his face before turning back to his groceries; not wanting to be tempted with the offer. Harry snorted before sitting back down and started scrolling on his phone. Tom figured that was the end of his brother’s tampering until he cleared his throat dramatically and started describing his posts to him.

“And in this one, she’s in France with a cute baby on her hip and they’re in front of the Eiffel Tower. Her caption says,” he proceeded to raise his voice a few octaves and mimicked her voice, even though they had never spoken before, “decided to spend my boy’s first birthday in the city of Love!” Tom rolled his eyes at his brothers exaggerated voice and failed to catch the way his eyes widened the more he scrolled on her page as he now placed groceries in the cupboard.

“I didn’t know she had a kid,” Harry said, Tom only ignored him, “but I think she’s single, she posted a picture of them together on his recent birthday and said that he was the only love of her life.”

Tom couldn’t help but feel better at this revelation but he couldn’t know for sure until he found someway to interject it in conversation, or until Harrison does it for him. He really needed to get his act together and talk to her without making himself look like a fool. Harry continued to scroll aimlessly before he cursed and mumbled on about how he liked a picture from two years ago. Tom laughed and left the kitchen, leaving his brother alone in his debacle. Maybe that would teach him to stop stalking people.

The next class came quickly and once again, he dragged Harrison with him. The blond had no complaints this time around, seeing as his date with the raven haired girl went well and he was going to see her once again. He pulled into the car park and noticed the familiar red car pulling into a spot close to his. Tom watched as she struggled with the supplies in her hand and with her bags and quickly jumped out after turning off the engine. Forgetting about his friend, he locked the door and rushed to offer her his help. With a grateful smile, she allowed for him to carry some of her belongings into the class. They shared pleasantries and talked, both of them ignoring what happened at Tesco’s. They would remain friends even if they couldn’t be together.

Tom settled down in his seat and pulled out his phone, his eyes widening when he saw Harrison’s very angry messages. He snorted before excusing himself and walking back towards his car, making eye contact with Harrison who flipped him off. He unlocked the door and braced himself for the inevitable hurt the blue eyed man was about to inflict on him. After a rather harsh punch and even harsher words, the two walked back into the classroom and took their spots, flushing under the weight of everyone’s eyes.

Y/N started her class after the entered the room and walked around after she passed around the recipe papers to them. Harrison and Tom looked at the sheet in confusion, she had never taught this way, she always demonstrated. The two looked around the room and watched as everyone else had started following the recipe, moving about their areas and puting things together. Their eyes widened as they read over the instructions once again. Re-reading a recipe at home after having made the food was one thing, but making food without doing it once was another. They swallowed and pushed down the feeling of doom they were both feeling.

After nearly smacking Harrison with one of the lasagne noodles and then almost getting sauce on his shoes, they worked on making the food together. Y/N had stopped by occasionally to help them out, and to put out a small grease fire, but left them to their own devices as she continued to walk around. Swallowing his pride, Harrison called for her and asked for her help which she happily gave. She demonstrated how to cut vegetables, how to grate the cheese, and even taught them a new phrase.

“Al dente; it’s how we refer to pasta when it’s hard but still cooked, which is what we want to do with the lasagne noodles,” she explained softly. Harrison paid attention to her demonstration while Tom focused on her and the way her eyes danced in delight as she explained and her tone was light when she answered any questions they had. With her help, they placed the lasagne in the oven and high fived as they finished without starting a fire or getting into a fight. They thanked her to which she nodded and left them to their devices while they waited. She had instructed the class to get ahead of the cleaning process and do so while they waited so they could leave early.

Part of Tom didn’t want to leave early, but he knew he would have to. So together, they cleaned up their area and waited for their food to finish cooking. They finished quickly and Harrison ditched him for Violet, the raven haired girl he went on a date with, leaving Tom to pass the time on his phone. A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his scrolling. He looked up and met soft eyes and a warm smile. Y/N.

“I saw Harrison leave you for Violet, figured I would keep you company,” she paused, a panicked look in her eyes, “only if that’s okay with you of course.” Tom nodded and placed his phone down, gesturing for her to take a seat beside him. She thanked him and settled down.

“Your daughter is adorable,” she commented as she watched his screen light up with a message from his mum, his phone screen on display. It was a picture of the three year old at one of his premiers, smiling her toothy smile at the photographers. Tom thanked her and agreed with a fond smile. Autumn was adorable.

“Your son is cute,” he said, causing her to smile, “you and your boyfriend must be happy.”

“Oh, no boyfriend, just me and Luca,” she informed him, “what about you? You and your partner must be ecstatic to have such a charming little girl running around.”

“If you’re referring to Harrison, I can assure you we are more than okay with seeing other people, preferably of the opposite gender,” he joked. She laughed and looked at him intently.

“So, there’s no Missus?” she inquired, Tom shook his head. She smiled at his response and opened her mouth to reply before the sound of alarms going off interrupted her. She stood up and instructed everyone to take their dishes out of the oven and check their food, making sure the noodles were soft and easy to cut into. She went around offering everyone the lid to the containers the lasagne was in and helped those who needed, close them.

Tom handed their container and the keys to the car to Harrison rather roughly and pushed him out the door before walking towards Y/N and clearing his throat, fiddling with his fingers. She sent him a questioning look and rose an eyebrow, waiting for him to talk.

“Uh, I just wanted to invite you and Lucas to Autumn’s birthday,” no he didn’t, he was fully intending on asking her on a date, “it’s on Saturday. It’s okay if you can’t or simply don’t want to but I think-”

“We would love to come. Here, you can text me the address, and Luca and I will be there. How old is she turning?” She asked and handed him her phone. He typed in his phone number and smiled at the picture she had set her wallpaper as. It was of her and Lucas, smiling at the camera. Lucas had cake frosting smeared on his face and on his hands which he was placing on her cheek.

“Four,” she didn’t turn four for another month. Now he had to throw together a quick birthday party and lie to his daughter. All because he couldn’t ask the pretty chef out on a date.

“We’ll be there,” she said, Tom nodded and walked out of the room slowly, until she called his name, “text me. It doesn’t have to be about the party.” She winked and Tom blushed.

He walked towards the car with a spring in his step and his head in the clouds. He didn’t ask her on a date, but he got her number and she told him to text her. That was better than nothing. Now all he needed to do was throw an impromptu birthday party for his daughter.

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jiminrings · 4 years

Note

Can I request a drabble, hobi is kinda like a band singer and Y/N is like his old time friend and they like had a falling out bc he got super successful but years after they're like together again? IS IT TOO SPECIFIC UHM :")

parallel

pairing: hoseok x y/n

wordcount: 4k

glimpse: hobi’s kind of an asshole and is vERY much emotionally repressed, y/n’s serotonin is dependent on wearing bridesmaid gowns, the dwindling one-sided pining anD the everlasting question of where the fuck was hoseok when you needed him :D // gif is from pinterest!

notes: this drabble really hits close to home and tysm for the request babe!! even if i’m a month late yeesh :O

you can’t believe yourself either when you say it

but holy shit — weddings are definitely your thing!

there’s something about the union of marriage that gets your head into overdrive but in a gOOD way

there’s just something so pulling about last-minute changes and family drama and awkward trips to the restroom that make your mind mHMMMM THIS IS IT CHIEF

yea granted that not every wedding you go and participate in isn’t exactly straight out of a rom-com

lmao sometimes it’s so obvious that the bride doesn’T love the groom but hey!!! who’s keeping tabs :D

you love wedding environments so much that here you are, two years out of uni and a couple of gigs later — couples are LITERALLY fighting over you

heh not to brag but uh

you weren’t recognized as best wedding planner for two years in a row and have your face in multiple covers of bridal magazines and such

time magazine recognized you as one of the most influential people in the scene last year but hey !!!!! no big deal lads

“i am asking you for just one minute, y/n!! stop being a wedding planner and start being my maid of honor!!”

nayeon exasperates and tugs you by your sleeve, having already noticed your second nature of taking charge the moment you entered the hall

after all, this is just cake tasting! that’s why she’s brought her maid of honor to help her out, nOT immediately go fishing for a clipboard

“well if the planner you hired wasn’t so sloppy-...” it’s a fact! he relies too much on his tablet and doesn’t even have any paper with him, and even if he’s already using a tablet, he doesn’t even use different colors to mark out!

apparently nayeon can’t handle the truth because she’s stamping her hand to your mouth that’s already a frown, about to suffocate you if only you didn’t bite it

>:|

y/n - 1 | jisoo’s hand - 0

you’re just a lil bit cranky alright

the last wedding you’ve catered to was just three days ago, and well you’re thankful for your job!!! really!!! bc not everyone is as booked as you nor sought-for

but there’s something about her wedding that puts you off :((

she’s very kindly yet firmly told you that no, you would absolutely not be her wedding planner and coordinator

“b-but i-“

“i want you to relax! and it’s-...”

“we said-“

“we said when we were kids that we’d plan each other’s wedding, but we didn’t swear on it! and i want you to-...”

“y-you told-“

“i told you that we didn’t have a wedding planner yet so you’d intentionally clear your schedule for me! and here we are-...”

“i’ll cry-“

“aww you big baby, save it for the wedding! i told you, just relax, m’kay? let yoongi handle the planning, and you do the unwinding.”

goddamn yoongi

yoongi who’s a wedding planner in his sPARE time could fuck right off

you don’t care if he’s very persuasive and firm and happened to book nayeon’s wedding even it was peak season :((

you don’t wanna admit it, but being a wedding planner has basically been your personality trait for the past years and it’s hard to cope when your job is to not.... plan and worry

anyways besides that

you’re a little iffy because nayeon’s wedding is your wake-up call

you’ve been planning weddings.... but uh when the FUCK is yours

u are so tempted to put a sock over your head and just yell gIVE ME A RING!!! PUT IT IN THE BAG

unfortunately, you don’t even have someone in your life to readily propose to you

you would have had someone, actually —

if only hoseok didn’t wake up one day and decide to remove you from his life

if only your childhood friend didn’t suddenly decide that you’re not worthy of his attention and time!!!

god he thinks he’s a bigshot

and well yea ok he IS a bigshot

who doesn’t know jung hoseok at this point :((

you’ve always figured that he’d be successful at whatever path he chooses and for a moment, you feel sorry for him that he’s stuck in such a state of mundaneness

he’s stuck between home and school and since he has no choice — you

your each other’s day one!!! the moment your mom went home from the hospital, her first instinct was to knock on hoseok’s mom’s door and then iMMEDIATELY present you to her

the two of them are absolute best friends and why not make our babies the same way ya know????

the two of you were apparently so close as babies that when one was crying, the other would comfort

and you weren’t even a year old then????

you’ve shared cribs and milk bottles and clothes and everything in between with hobi

so why is it that when you’re just almost at the peak of your life with graduation, he just suddenly decides to drop you?

he’s suddenly too cool for you as if he hasn’t spent countless nights crying on your shoulder for any inconveniece that gets brought up

he can’t even meet your eyes :(((

that’s why graduation is the blandest and emptiest day you could recall

hoseok is over there with his bandmates looking the absolute hAPPIEST and you’re there by the corner.,.,. alone by yourself feeling like your cap has the words dropped by jung hoseok :D all over it

he’s at his peak and at the top of his life performing and touring, whenever and wherever

he’s happy

but without you in it :(

the irrational (and probably rational) part in your head is beyond infuriated at him because atleast offer an explanation!!! if you did wrong at one point, then he should tell you!!!

not suddenly pretend that you were nEVER in his life

even his mom feels guilty and ashamed over his son’s actions so she orders flowers from the shop signed underneath your company, then send it back to you

for awhile she tried to pretend that it was hoseok but no :((( that man will physically convulse if he doesn’t add (atleast) three hearts after his name

you hate him so much that you still religiously visit his instagram and wonder if he could see your likes despite a couple other million liking the same posts

you hate him so much that he’s number one on every single thing in your spotify wrapped

you hate him sO much that you wonder who’s behind the songs his band plays and how you’d wish that you’d be the one he’s writing about

“is the cake that... perfect?”

nayeon gently places a hand on your shoulder to which you flinch and she backs off because christ i’m nOT taking the cake away from you!!!

oh my god why are you tearing up

“yeah, yeah! it’s so good. you should try it nayeon!” you’re scrambling to scrape up your plate, almost shoving the fork into her mouth as she squeals with the sudden attack

yoongi has ???? hovering around his head but this is nOT about you my man

he sneaks a look to the bride’s plate and uh-huh... yup..... she has the same moist chocolate fudge cake with coffee ganache on her alright

the topic of hoseok that you bring up to yourself, one that no one knows (not even nayeon!!!), is just something that never seems to vacate your mind fully

it’s been two years and you’re still so touchy and you dON’T KNOW WHY

he probably doesn’t even think about you when he’s drunk and bored

“this champagne must be so... nice?”

nayeon thinks out loud as you’re once again crying into doing your maid of honor duties

she’s a lil worried if she’s being honest but you always whisk her away when she’s about to ask

like right now :D

“are you-...”

“i just can’t believe you’re getting married!! wow, you’re so cool. with the love of your life. then the two of you could be cool together after the wedding. you aren’t gonna forget me once you’re married, are you? nayeon do you think that i would ever be married-...”

you should just accept it now :((

you’re a little bit of a mess and a half underneath your pantsuits and walkie-talkies and the special pride you’d carry whenever the couple mentions you in their wedding speeches

absolutely WHY in the hell do you think about hoseok when it comes to weddings???

it’s almost a pavlovian response when you instruct the people to open the doors and the bride to start walking and your mind would iNSTANTLY think about him

it’s sometimes awkward when the couple would ask ah !!!! ms. y/n u are such a world-renowned wedding planner !!!! your own wedding must’ve been magnificent :D

aha actually about dat.,.,

you get tons of gifts of gratitude from just a single client alone and you don’t have hoseok and his stupidly powerful arms to help carry boxes back to your car

you don’t have him to give untouched and left-over flowers to

you don’t have him to remind you when you’re getting a little ahead of yourself over just talking to sponsors and trying to squeeze in as much as you could for an initial budge

you don’t have hoseok, in all his glory, to put his hand on the small of your back when you’re talking to how you need the fireworks to start the moment the band starts playing ice ice baby and the vendor does nOT need to know why it’s the song chosen by the couple

it’s what he’d do when you’re trying to fit two semesters’ worth of notes into a pricey A3 notebook that you’ve bought

and just how many weddings do you plan and coordinate, even within just a span of two week?

a lot.

often.

you think about hoseok a lot. often. oftenly a lot.

but aha nOT TODAY!!!

today’s nayeon’s wedding and you’re not gonna ruin it for her by projecting your yearning into your best friend’s wedding that clearly isn’t yours

10/10 she’d probably stop reciting her vows to ask you why you’re sniffling

your only source of distraction is your gown!!!

your maid of honor is the absolute pRETTIEST and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel gorgeous in it

it’s floor-length silk!!! fLOOR-LENGTH !! SILK !! GOWN

it’s in a deep mauve with an off-shoulder situation and a little risqué bit of cleavage!!! cinches right at the top of your waist and poofs a little and oh my god mayhaps you aRE pretty

god hoseok may have not written you a song, but sean kingston dEFINITELY did

nayeon knew you’d be catching everyone’s attention as much as her wedding dress would and she’s absolutely happy and fine with it!!

in fact she’s strategically practiced her throws for her bouquet so you’d catch it and your gown would nOt go to waste

having a wedding happen right where you are, but being in it as a guest instead of a planner, is just so much... calmer

you’re not fixing the chaos but you’re just watching it!!! if you feel a little more bubbly then you’re gonna partake in it hee-hee

yoongi’s actually not so bad

he could just be a little too lax which ends up with him being lost and distraught

you could see so much of you in him when you were just starting out and it’s endearing actually

(( nayeon’s told you in passing that she once told yoongi that you were her best friend and he looked both intimidated and awed at the same time ))

the only thing you help yoongi with is sending him a thumbs-up every now and then and he perks uP because that’s the signal that he’s doing a good job and not fucking up

nayeon looks so beautiful and you’re already tearing up fixing her veil :((

you know how wedding photographers and videographers LOVE people crying???? they r probably eating your shit up so quick that you won’t be surprised if you take up atleast half of the same-day edit of their wedding film

there’s something so serene about the hecticness everyone’s indulged themselves in

you’re grinning when you walk down the aisle because you realize that omg you haven’t doNE this in a long time!!!

the last time you did was testing out the aisle for a client that wanted it ala crazy rich asians and you had to walk back and forth cOLD-ASS water with damp rolled-up pant cuffs before they got the temperature and the levels right

nah you should definitely know how it’d be because after all :D you aRE the consultant for that scene in crazy rich asians :D no biggie :D

it’s such a serene blast to see everyone happy and in their element

you’re sitting the reception out bc yoongi very kindly pleaded to please give him notes and promising that he’d never tell it to anyone else

the whole planning process for nayeon and not oNCE did he bring a notebook..,., but he just hAPPENS to have one when you’re telling him how to say no to your client

“listen, you have to tell them in the sincerest way possible, that you tried everything. it gets them going when you tell them that you even pleaded with the vendors, but don’t go too low on your knees, alright? and then after that, you say a strict no. no, because their choice of flowers is absolutely sHIT for their tie-dye theme they’re so adamant about!”

yoongi has never listened so intently

not even when his roommate lists out their grocery checklist

“mhmm. and if they still push, should i give them an ultimatum? or tell them about a wedding that totally happened that did exactly what they were planning, and how much the guests hated it?”

okay nOW he’s talking

“what you do is...”

the buzz of the reception never really dies down because it’s barely even starting!! the couple’s still finishing up on their pictorial which gives everyone time to get to the venue and freshen up or get last-minute gifts lmao

you know that it’s starting when the band or the dj starts doing polished mic checks

mic check! one, two, three! sKRRRRRRRRRRRRRRA

no, no

there’s something definitely wrong

the rolling and the lull of routine words just seem so familiar

mic check! J-A-Y! H-O-P-E! J-HOPE! jung-...

fucking

gOD

that’s hoseok.

that is most dEFINITELY hoseok

you turn your back to see the stage set-up and god...... fuck

it’s someone you haven’t seen in the flesh for two years yet spent the years of your life with before that

he looks sickening in his black mandarin-collared suit with thick white lining on it wITH his hair styled up and parted to the site

it’s even more sickening for you because you don’t actually know if you can mANAGE to be here

you’re standing up abruptly and yoongi squawks at that because he is the furthesT thing from being finished about asking how to make the guests arrive on time without holding a field trip assembly-like type of line with the megaphone

the fastest way out was dashing through the front part and you must have forgotten that hoseok has a knack for catching things with his perfectly good eyesight

“y/n?”

ok what now

he mumbles your name to the mic, his eyebrows furrowing as his eyes trail the speed-walking speck of mauve from in front of him

his little question to himself must have gotten people more than curious

they’re already mORE than curious because it’s his goddamn band that’s playing!!!! and the fees are not cheap and it’s practically impossible to book them!!!

but jungkook, their drummer, was a close friend of the groom’s and alright.,.,. okay maybe we CAN play at weddings now

ok hoseok’s mind is probably just playing tricks on him and he should finish setting up before the lights dim again for what they insist is the 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓬𝓴 𝓯𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓸𝓻

but then he can’t help but look oNE last time

then he sees the watch he’s gifted you on his wrist — one that he was supposed to give you at graduation but later made his mom give it to you instead and not say that it was from him

...

....

whew he might need his inhaler for this one and he doesn’t even hAVE asthma

oh my god what the hELL is hoseok doing here????

you haven’t seen him for two years, and the moment you do, it’s in your best friend’s wedding with no date present??

you’re clearly panicking and the only form of caffeine you’ve gotten is the pre-game of getting a few bites from the coffee ganache in nayeon’s wedding cake that she was munching on while getting her makeup done

you know what!! it’s fine

it’s totally fine :D

hoseok is just hoseok and you’re not gonna be intimated by the man you’ve been loving in the sidelines from practically your whole life :D

it’s not a big deal!

besides, people are looking for you bc you’re supposed to give the opening toast to welcome nayeon and her groom in

you’re walking, you’re talking, aaaaaaaand-

yeah this is not nOT a big deal

you’re crumbling from the inside out because seeing hoseok is just too painful after two years of wondering where you could’ve went wrong and what could’ve happened if the two of you didn’t fall out

you feel especially bitter when hoseok starts singing their famous song about love and everything in between

everyone’s sWOONING and on their feet and you’re literally just there vibrating with how furious you are

you keep downing the good champagne as iF it’s gonna get you drunk

yoongi has a clue that the server must be a little dizzy having to go and back forth to your table so he just offers his portion to you

you’re so goddamn busy and absorbed with loathing him that you don’t even turn your back to notice that his eyes keep flickering to you

even at the cheesiest lyric, hobi expects that you’d atleast LOOK at him for that one but nOOOO your champagne flute and the blondie beside you is just much more interesting

you’re buzzing with anger that you aren’t enjoying this reception At All

you fail to even recognize that nayeon’s intentionally had your favorite food to be served!!! and you have an extra portion delivered to your table!!!

you just want your suffering to eND wow absolutely how much longer could this go

you’re so busy with cussing the whole ordeal in your head that you didn’t even notice how the band isn’t playing anymore and instead everyone’s swooning over the cake

it’s lost in you that hoseok’s shooed yoongi from his chair, sitting right beside you and even scooting closer until his knees bump to your own

and that’s when it sinks in

hobi doesn’t even have time to tell you how beautiful you look because you’ve gone straight to seething him

“for the record, i want you to know that i hate you.”

...

okay hoseok didn’t expect that

for all he knows, the two of you even vOWED to never say the h word even if it’s meant jokingly!!

it’s a lethal word and the two of you collectively agreed to never play with it in regards to saying to one another

but well here you are

you’re saying it as if you’ve never been more sure of anything in your whole life

you feel actually relieved to say it to him right to his face, a miniscule weight lifted from your shoulders while your arms are crossed just by looking at him

hoseok does you one better with a timid chuckle, looking down on his rings that he’s fiddling with nervously

“yeah. i hate me too.”

.... oh

you’re perplexed at his reply so much so that you’re speechless

you’ve been keeping to yourself what you should say to him the moment you see him for two years and now that he agrees to what you’ve just said.,.,.,

oh fuck that

“i hate you so much, hoseok! i don’t even know what i did wrong and i asked even your own mother what’s wrong with me! did you know that you are, without a doubt, so fucking selfish???”

you exclaim as quietly as you could but that doesn’t stop people from glancing because the two most-known people in the room, besides the bride and groom, are having what seems to be an... intimate conversation with how close the two of you are??

“did you even try once to consider how painful it was for me to wonder why i just am the way that i am? or is that even too big of an inconveniece for you to think about because you’re so busy?”

“did you suddenly get too big for me, huh?” you ask straightly without malice, not even thinking about the double meaning because clearly, you’re too PRESSED lightly jabbing your finger to his chest

right he deserves that

hoseok’s fucked up big-time, that much he knows

his eyes are actually stinging right now and he would ask you for your handkerchief that you used to always carry for him but uH he thinks he doesn’t deserve any of that

“why couldn’t you just tell me what was in your mind? you know that nothing would change whatever it was that-”

“i love you, okay?”

hoseok interrupts you with his mumble before he sets his eyes down once again on your watch

you’re speechless for long this time

“..... w-what?”

okay maybe he fucked up even more

“listen i-...”

“if you love me, a single text wouldn’t have hurt, hobi!!”

your chest doesn’t hurt anymore but it iS constricting with the amount of emotions and scenarios you’re trying to process

he’s kinda lost because oh my god you aren’t mAD anymore!!

and you don’t look fazed that he just declared his love for you

“i dropped you because i-i — i don’t want the people i love seeing me fuck up, y’know? i finished uni for the sake of it, and i didn’t even know if the band thing would work out!!”

“but baby it dID work out!!!!”

jesus christ hoseok may be a fucking iDIOT

you’re shaking him by the shoulders and he actually has to stand up so he wouldn’t fall by your ministrations

you feel so happy because your processing was just about to be finished, equal parts relieved and happy and maybe a tiny bit confused still

“it did work out because look at you now!! hobi, you could’ve just called me and i would’ve accepted the call before it even rings!!” you’re happily frustrated with him that you push him until the two of you are in the dance floor, his mouth curving up both in disbelief and giddiness

“i didn’t because i thought-...”

he’s interrupted by a swift and tight hug to his middle, his arms moving on their own to envelope you in his warmth

the top of your head still smells the same :D

his purpose is lost before he gathers his bearings once again, freezing in his stance before weakly attempting to push you off

“... you were married.”

the harsh sQUINT of your eyes you’re giving him prompt him to explain

why is he so nervous

“i-i go to your instagram? and well you uh, you posted this pic of you in the middle of the aisle???? you had your back turned and your silhouette’s seen then you were holding a bouquet!!! then after that, i-i never opened your account. jesus christ, is your husband here with you, y/n? what am i supposed to-...”

the realization’s starting to sink into hoseok because it’s something he’s shoved to the back of his head and now he’s seeing it straight-on

you’re throwing your head back laughing at him :D

great

now he’s both heartbroken AND a fool

there’s a gentle kiss on his cheek, one he didn’t expect and one he doesn’t hate

“i’m a wedding planner.”

god now this is just so fucking funny

the two of you fell out and remained distanced because of just a series of unprecedented miscommunications!!!

the whole thing is so ridiculous that it actually feels light and relieving to talk about

“you’re.... a wedding planner,” he mumbles once again for confirmation, his loose arms around your waist now tightening

oh my god

hoseok starts chuckling to himself out of delight, turning to full-on cackles with you at how much the two of you have just been beside each other like parallel lines

“i need to make up the past two years to you.”

he declares seriously as a promise, pressing a tender wet kiss to your cheek that gets you giggling

“only if you write me a song,” you do him one better, kissing him on the corner of his mouth

“don’t you know that most of them are about you? anyways, you should plan our wedding once it happens,” he’s forward with his words, having waited long enough that he nuzzles his nose to yours

you’re gonna do him one even better

you’re gonna go right for the kill, the truth spilling out of you before you kiss him longingly, for the first time that it feels that it’s been something you’ve always yearned for

“don’t you know that you’re in my mind for every single one?”

#feedback pls and thank you :D YEEEEET LAST PIECE FOR 2020!!!!#hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok imagine #hoseok imagines #hoseok drabble #hoseok drabbles #hoseok au #hoseok oneshot #hoseok oneshots #hoseok x reader #hoseok x y/n #hoseok angst #hoseok angst imagine #hoseok fluff #hoseok fluff imagine #hoseok fluff imagines #hoseok fic rec #hoseok fic recs

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snoffyy · 3 years

Text

@zhaozaipalooza

Heyyyyy wow why am I not surprised my first post on tumblr already contains problematic content ANYWAY I’ve tried to write something beautiful and eloquent and flowy but this is all my brain has spat out oof -

Filling the modern au prompt with TA!Zhao in an introductory maths course. Started out as Zuko/Zhao, turned into Yue/Zhao (I believe the ship has been coined fried fish??) and then for some reason settled on Hakoda/Zhao (at least, the setup for it). It’s a little hastily put together (could it be??? My word counts somewhat under control???) and I have no idea what I’m doing so I’m keeping it on tumblr. I’m so sorry for being horrendously late, but a huge thank you to the mods for all their time and effort!!

Despite the many grievances that came with being a TA, Zhao did find the job rather fulfilling in some respects. Tearing through assignments, breathing down people’s necks while invigilating exams, getting paid to answer algebraic questions he could do in his sleep…

And then, out of the blue, he would be reminded that there were a few but significant downsides.

Such as now.

Sometimes, students thought they could waltz into his office and expect him to bend rules to their whim.

“Sokka…” Zhao said carefully, sliding his pen down the enrolment list. “I thought this would be the first time I received everyone’s assignments on time, but it looks like I’m still waiting for that day to come. So, what’s your excuse?”

“It’s done!” Sokka yelped, waving his hands about in a flurry of panic. “I swear it is, I’ve got it in my bag right now. Just, uh, could you possibly, pretty please with cherries on top, let the late penalty slide? Please?”

Zhao arched an eyebrow. “And pray tell, why should I do that? The guidelines clearly state that a penalty will be applied for late submission, increased in increments of five percent for each day that it is late until it reaches a total deduction of forty percent, in which case you will receive a zero instead. You’re six hours past the deadline. If it were six minutes, I may have been more inclined to let it slide.”

“Please,” Sokka begged, clasping his hands together. “I’ve been doing so well in this course! But today was super busy and I tried, I really tried to get it in on time.”

“Look,” Zhao sighed, scrubbing at his face. “If I let this one go, there’ll inevitably be a next time. Not for you maybe, but someone else. That’s just how these things work and –”

“I swear I won’t let anyone know,” Sokka promised. “And… and…” his eyes sidled to the empty coffee cup on his desk. “I’ll get you a coffee! As a token of my appreciation.”

“That sounds more like bribery than appreciation.” Zhao scoffed, flinging the paper cup into the bin. “Just give me your assignment so we can call it a day.”

“And a cookie.” Sokka tacked on, evidently refusing to go down without a fight.

“… A cookie.” Zhao repeated flatly. “You’re trying to bribe me with a coffee and a cookie.”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“But…” Sokka said, a crafty look in his eye. Zhao would be more impressed if he hadn’t seen that exact expression for most of his upbringing. “I know for a fact that you’re a crazy fast marker. You always get our results back to us within a week. No one can do that without binging coffee and sugar… aren’t you in need of a fix?”

He was a fast marker because there were only two teaching assistants in this course, and Jee was woefully slow-paced, so obviously someone needed to pick up the slack. What usually happened was that Zhao would tackle the stack of assignments nearly solo and leave grading input and moderation to Jee, before happily returning to other pressing matters.

“Actually,” Zhao said, picking up a second, smaller stack of papers on the other side of the desk, holding it up for Sokka to see. “I’ve already graded these, and I’m doing just fine.”

The horror on Sokka’s face nearly made Zhao smile. Nearly.

“But…” Sokka protested feebly. “How… how are you nearly halfway done?”

“Trade secret. Now, assignment. Gimme.” Zhao held out a waiting hand.

“Large coffee.” Sokka pleaded once more with newfound desperation. “Anything you want. And a cookie. One of those massive ones.”

“Not that interested.” Zhao said. “Come on, come on. I’m planning on getting these done by tomorrow.”

“And,” Sokka pitched forward. “In the next tutorial, I’ll answer all your questions if no one else puts their hand up.”

Oh. Now they were talking.

“Next three tutorials.” Zhao leaned forward, a sharklike smile spreading across his face. “And I want that coffee and cookie.”

“Done.”

“Very good,” Zhao grinned, “you can give me your assignment now. No penalty will be applied. I’ll mark it now while you get the goods, and once you’ve come back, I’ll input your grade into the system.”

The relief was palpable in Sokka’s face. “Yeah, yes. I’ll do that. What kind of coffee and cookie do you want?”

Zhao hummed, taking the assignment out of Sokka’s hands. He got started on marking immediately, red pen working furiously as he tore through the questions. The answers have practically been imprinted behind his eyelids at this point and thankfully, Sokka almost always got full marks, which meant he didn’t need to spend time picking through the working. “The coffee? Surprise me. I want an oatmeal raisin cookie, though.”

Zhao decidedly ignored the muttered incredulity under Sokka’s breath about his taste in cookies, and pointedly flipped the next page to spur him into fetching his bribe.

By the time Sokka scurried back into his office, Zhao had already made another dent in the pile of marking. He lifted his head at the sound of the door opening, and the sight of Sokka’s triumphant face tempted him into changing his mind about accepting the bribe, if only to pour cold water over his excitement.

But, as Jee had pointed out earlier this morning, he’d already reached his maximum quota for assholery today.

“Here,” Sokka presented the cup and a small, brown bag that smelled heavily of baked goods.

“What did you end up ordering?” Zhao asked, taking both items from his hands.

“I asked my dad to make something for my grumpy TA,” Sokka grinned cheekily.

“Need I remind you that your grade’s fate is currently held in the hands of said grumpy TA?”

“Right, yes. Sorry, sir.”

Something else about the statement had caught his attention, though. Zhao examined the logo on the cup, tilting his head as he asked, “Your dad made this?”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Sokka scratched his head sheepishly. “My dad co-owns a café with his best friend. Anyway, uh, he says he’d like to apologize on my behalf for annoying you and that he hopes you’ll enjoy the coffee and cookie. He said it’ll knock your socks off.” Sokka puffed his chest up with pride.

“I’m hard to impress.” Zhao drawled, a bit derisively, but he reckoned he was entitled to a little haughtiness.

“That’s what I said, but Dad’s confident you’ll like it.” Sokka shrugged. “Said you’re welcome to stop by the café anytime. He’ll hook you up with a treat.”

Zhao rolled his eyes and shifted his attention back to his end of the deal. He turned his desktop around so the screen was facing Sokka and pointed out his name. “There. Ninety-seven percent. Congrats.”

And before the fool could do something intolerably annoying like celebrate in his office, Zhao growled out a dismissal, pointedly picking up his cup as Sokka waltzed out the doors.

Alone again, Zhao popped off the lid, peering down with slight confusion when he caught sight of latte art. A classic heart, which he barely managed to rein in another scoff at. At least it tasted… decent. Surprisingly strong notes of espresso, none of that flavoured syrup shit he couldn’t stand.

The cookie wasn’t bad, either.

Well. Colour him slightly impressed. Slightly.

Making a note to stop by the café sometime, Zhao turned back to his marking, mood lighter for some strange, inconceivable reason.

#zhaozai palooza 2021 #hakoda/zhao #what is their ship name #my writing #zhao only has 2 moods #caffeinated and uncaffeinated

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jefferoni-quotes · 4 years

Text

hotter than this heatwave

Jamilton, 13,045 words

I am begging y'all, don't let this flop it took an ungodly amount of time and I am so proud of it. Full fic under the cut.

Also, leave feedback! I love reading what you guys thought of my writing!

Hamilton is hot.

There’s no other way to say it. He’s hot, miserably so. Even with the air conditioner full blast, and a fan directed straight into his face, he’s simply sweltering in the heat. His childish refusal to remove his shirt (even in the privacy of his own home) isn’t helping the sweat cease in their races down his back, and the base of his ponytail sticks to his neck. He grimaces every time he even tries to move, and thus he’s resided himself to the expanse of couch, positioned himself under an open window. But there’s no breeze, none reaching him anyway. If he lifts himself on his shaking arms, and peers out the window, he can see the trees aren’t swaying. The leaves bustle occasionally, but it’s far from the usual dance they perform. He can hear all too clearly conversations, chatter from those subjecting themselves to the summer heat. Perhaps Alexander is more a winter person, ever since he had moved to America he had been, after all, he saw snow, something he thought only existed in movies, and immediately fell in love with the season. Being able to choose if he was to be pleasantly warm, or surprisingly cold during winter was an experience. To have the option of curling up like a cat by the fire, or lying in snow, making snowmen and such. And Christmas dinners- Alexander could go on and on for hours about the wonders of the coldest time of year, alas Hercules would disagree, argue Summer was so much better. But Hercules is Irish, he has enough of the cold to last him a lifetime. Now Hamilton would bet the man wishes he had just held his tongue, because he must be suffering in the heat too.

Fuck heatwaves, and fuck New York.

He thinks to himself as he throws a cushion across the room in frustration. It hits his air conditioning unit, and before he knows it the apartment is plunged into a volcano. The unit malfunctions, turns off and doesn’t turn back on, even when Alexander shoots up from his languid position and desperately tries to fix it. He beats his fist off the top with pent up frustration, sincerely hoping that magically it would be fixed. Alas, it was not, it gave one last spluttering attempt to turn on before dying with a not so graceful clank. What sin has he committed to be tortured in such a way? It feels as though Satan himself is clawing his way up from the circles of Hell, and has declared Alexander’s apartment his spawn point, where the Heaven vs Hell war will begin. Whatever war is about to commence, Alex is on Satan’s team, as God must have something against him to send this wave of heat his way.

“Fuck!” He yelled, kicking the machine and cursing even louder at the shock of pain coursing through his toes. He clutches his foot, hopping around his apartment like some hurt rabbit and hisses through clenched teeth. He finally jumps his way ungracefully back to his couch, collapsing onto it in one foul swoop. His legs involuntarily give out under him, and he’s almost thankful for it as he half considers stripping out of his shirt, aching for some kind of relief. He starts tugging on the hem of his shirt, mulling over the idea before pushing his own hands away in disgust. A respectable man always remains fully dressed for any occasion. What if a visitor were to come by? He would likely demand their exit from his home, but he would at least like to do so in style.

The rooms are quick to grow stuffy, uncomfortable and as though the walls are too close and getting closer. Suddenly removing any clothing is a thought long forgotten, quickly replaced by the innate desperation to escape the closed doors of his apartment. He scrambles for purchase on the arm of his couch before forcing his muscles to revive and motor him towards the exit. He passes by his kitchen, opens the fridge for a moment just to feel the coolness on his body. He closes the door before all his food defrosts, albeit reluctantly. He would stand there all day if he could. Leaving the kitchen, he examines how his kettle has evaporated of all remaining water inside. There goes Plan B of making iced coffee, or worse, iced tea. Who could subject themselves to the bath water like clutches of cold tea? Disgusting.

He doesn’t stop to grab sunscreen, doesn’t consider sunburn a thing as he grabs his keys and shoves them in the pocket of his ratty cargo shorts. He pushes his feet into sandals, Birkenstocks, brown ones. He half contemplated putting socks on with his sandals, and automatically laughs at how much that would irritate Jefferson if he just so happened to run into him. The man is obsessed with his looks, conceited and vain in every way. Alexander wouldn’t be surprised if the man carries a pocket mirror on him, just to examine his appearance and remind himself of how goddamn gorgeous he is. Because he is gorgeous. Alexander is stubborn, not blind, and even he can admit the things he would give up for a fling with the man. His pride would never allow him to plead Jefferson for a one night stand however, and he knew Jefferson would never come to him, so that fantasy may as well remain just that. A fantasy.

So he leaves the socks behind, but not because he cares what others think. Of course he doesn’t… simply because socks would just be extra layers. He doesn’t care if people think his hair is a mess, which it is, so he drags his hand through it. The hand comes back damp, and he grimaces, wiping it on the tan material of his shorts. And he certainly doesn’t care that one of the buckles on his sandals is about to break. He glares at it, willing it to sew itself back together. It does not. Hamilton sighs and folds, giving up on attempting to appear presentable. It’s not like anyone else outside looks much better, save for the few teenagers posing on the streets in incredibly short shorts with a Starbucks they probably waited an hour for.

Alexander practically throws his door open and is met with a pleasurable breeze as it swings, which quickly dissipates into a blast of scorching air, as though opening an oven too quickly. You would think after being born in such a humid climate he would’ve grown used to the hot weather. Apparently, this was a false assumption. He fishes his keys back out of his shorts and locks the door, standing out in the lobby of his apartment complex.

Now that he’s escaped the confinement of his home, Hamilton doesn’t know what to do. He could run down to Starbucks, take his mind off the heat with an ice cold Frappuccino. However, that would only distract him for a moment, perhaps an hour, until every drop of coffee has been drunk, and he’s left with an empty cup and a smoldering heat once more. And besides, if he's so desperate for an iced coffee then he could just make his own. That idea drains down the gutter, because he doesn't have any ice and there's no way water would freeze very fast in this temperament. He can briskly walk to work if he so pleases, despite being ordered to stay off, but that would require changing into a suit and now that he thinks about it… does his office even have air conditioning?

A long, broken sigh escapes his lips and he drags a hand through his hair, which has grown ever so slightly damp with sweat. Maybe a walk to clear his head, and if he strolls in the right direction, the wind will hit him perfectly and he should cool down.

He accepts this as the perfect idea and walks his way out onto the street, practically able to feel the burning tarmac through the soles of his sandals. He hopes there are no poor dogs or felines roaming the streets, or on daily walks on this day. The pavement would be far too much for their paws. Alexander feels which way the warm breeze is flowing and begins to trek directly into it, finding a sense of overwhelming relief at the sensation. (Even if it is relatively brief.)

Alexander’s feet carry him wherever they please, walking him down long streets, past empty stores. He stops to glance into a bustling Starbucks, hears through the glass a man screeching at a barista who is refusing to take his order because, “no shirt, no service.” He continues past, rather glad he had decided not to go inside, as it looks far too crowded, even for a small man such as himself.

His strides are short but swift, floating him along the streets with an air of confidence that he is known to possess. It is undeniably cooler outside, a welcome surprise as a gust of wind blows his hair from his face. He hears the simultaneous sighs of alleviation from the few on the streets, clearly walking around for the same reason as Hamilton.

Time ticks by and Alexander allows his mind to wander, as it all too often does when he gives it the chance. His thoughts speed past a mile a minute, tempting his brain to consider them longer, grabbing them like falling petals before letting them drift to the ground and blow away once more.

He passes through Time Square, finding it bustling, more so than he had imagined. However, it’s not ‘Christmas Crowded’, the eloquent name given to Time Square by Lafayette for when the area becomes full at the most amazing time of year. He makes his way past people, brushing shoulders and probably contracting some undiscovered disease off of some of them. It’s New York, he wouldn’t be surprised. He jumps out of his skin when some man behind him traces their fingers up his spine, but when he turns around the person is gone, laughing to their friends. He scowls, half considers shaking his fist and exclaiming about “kids these days!” But he doesn’t, he just shivers despite being roasted alive and continues on his way.

He spaces out again, wondering about work and then he doesn't know what he starts thinking about. But in his head he can picture a man. A man with a jawline that could cut glass, eyes blacker than the depths of the sea, yet shining as though filled with fire. He can see springy curls, imagines himself running his fingers through the mystery man's hair and cooing as he mumbles his disagreements. He sees a dark complexion, sharp cheekbones, with soft edges. The colour purple is prominent in his clothing, and it takes a moment further for Alexander to identify the male in his mind.

He zones back in as soon as he realises he's thinking about Jefferson. Again. He's thinking about Jefferson in a good way, thinking about doing couple things, about dates. And he grimaces. He convinces himself it's just a fluke, only because he sees Jefferson every day at work.

He starts checking the watch on his wrist, which is starting to heat up in the sunlight. It’s been almost an hour and forty five minutes since he began walking, and he checks the number on the street. It’s all okay. He can always catch a cab. He looks around and finds himself no longer in the bustling parts of New York, but instead part of a classy suburban area. Rows of white picket fencing and neat little gardens, full of wilting flowers meet his eyes. In the lawns of a few are men and women of all ages tending to the plants, feeding them with water to try and keep them going through the unbearable summer heat.

All the homes are different colours, some a perfectly average, cream white, others slightly more lavish baby blues. There’s one where the exterior walls are a glowing lemon colour, and it fills Alexander with an unexplained wave of joy. Then again, the colour yellow always has. It feels warm, welcoming, like a friendship long awaited. Something that has awakened the craving in him that demands the enveloping arms of a smothering hug.

A child - probably around eight - runs down the street, being chased by who looks like his friend. The girl racing after him knocks him to the side and he goes down on a patch of grass, flat on his back while his friend stands over him with a look of pure pride. Her curls bob as she jumps up and down beside him with glee, and Alexander observes as the boy stands. They lean against the tree beside them for a moment, before he mutters something and this time the girl takes off sprinting, the boy following five seconds later. He chuckles at the purity of the situation and takes it upon himself to continue his walk. It’s warmer than ever, but he doesn’t care as much anymore.

The kids race ahead, the girl much further ahead until she stops. Alexander observes from the sidelines as he walks, and the boy taps her on the shoulder. They stand there, childlike joy radiating from their area.

Alexander breezes past them, halfway down the stretch of street. The houses grow larger than the previous as he continues to walk, yet still feel as homely. An amazing feat really. He can hear the soft patting of his Birkenstocks as they tap off the pavement each time his feet hit the floor. A car trundles past, down the street, at what must be 10 miles an hour, giving kids on the road time to move out the way. He doesn't catch a glimpse of the driver, but he has respect for them nonetheless.

As he passes a large, pastel green house, a tall woman exits her garden. She’s old, that much is obvious, but she doesn’t live up to the ‘little old lady’ aesthetic. She’s tall, she’s not hunched and the only part that gives away her age is the wrinkles lining her face. She brushes a grey curl from her face, tying back her hair afterwards. She’s mumbling under her breath, something that sounds like, “it starts soon! The concert!” And for a moment he feels awfully bad for her, thinking she has Alzheimer’s or something similar.

She has a thick Southern accent, and reminds him of Jefferson in a way. Her curls are similar, perhaps not as bouncy or as soft looking (in fact the only similar thing is that they’re curls,) but it has the same obvious care put into maintaining their pristine appearance. Her skin tone isn’t at all similar to his however, she’s pale while Jefferson’s complexion is almost tawny in a way. He can’t see her eyes from where he stands, but if they’re anything like Jefferson’s, then they must be dark, and perhaps they sparkle like his does when he gets passionate about what he’s speaking of… And when did he start thinking about Jefferson so much? Why does he know Jefferson’s eyes glimmer in certain lighting, or burn with a fire when they argue? Why is he paying so much attention to the man's pupils, and how they fail to hide the emotions his stone-cold face manages to maintain? When did he begin to study his rival so closely that he noticed all these oddities? Little details; like the way his lips twitch into a soft smile when talking to Madison, or recalling fondly his time in Monticello. Or now his eyebrows quirk upwards whenever Alexander opens his mouth to speak during meetings, conveying his irritation, yet innate fascination with the words flooding the room. How does he know that Jefferson’s curls would be soft to touch, without ever being close enough to feel them between his fingertips. Why does he feel that the man could go pliant with a scratch to the right place of his scalp? Where did all this knowledge come from? The depths of his bustling mind-palace? Or is it some fountain of information that Alexander and few others have access to? Is there some key to access the quirks about Jefferson, a key that he has? Or does he simply have the mould, a fragmented ideology of a key? Has Jefferson personally handed him this key, trusted him with it? Or has Hamilton snatched it from his clutches like a criminal from an off-guard prison warden? To think of it, why does Jefferson - the ever flowing river of confidence - stash his emotions away, hiding them like a gold hoarding dragon in a cave. He sits on them as though a mother bird would protect her eggs. He keeps them unseen to the passing onlooker. Is he scared? The idea is ridiculous. Thomas Jefferson? Scared? Hell would freeze over before the moment Jefferson is frightened. Or is anxious a better word? Why does he covet to know what it’s like to wake up secured in those arms? (God those arms.) Why does his head claw for the intelligence to feel Jefferson? (Whether that be a warm hug or a simple swing of their hands, linked together?) Why is Alexander asking himself all these questions? Why is his brain grasping and reaching for the answers, as though the forbidden apple that he craves a bite of.

Why does he care?

It’s a recurring thought, one that his mind cannot seem to formulate a complete answer to. Perhaps because it’s the nice thing to do? But no, fantasizing about someone’s eyes like some schoolgirl is not a “nice thing to do.” It’s a crush, is what it is. Wanting to know more about Jefferson, seeking the answers to his many personal questions is not simply because it’s a nice thing to do. It’s because he needs the answers. His mind demands he become closer with the man, the vain, uncaring man. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Out of all the people his heart could sing a yearning song for, it chose Thomas fucking Jefferson.

Why has his attention been undeniably captured, held hostage, by the Southern fuck?

This one, he can justify. It’s a simple answer really, one that is half the solution to his hundreds of other questions, the ones that buzz in his ears like insistent flies. And it’s two words, one word if you so wish to keep it incredibly succinct.

His wit.

His brain, his intelligence only matched and rivalled by Hamilton’s own. The way his fingers tap out word after word on keyboards, or scratch out essays upon essays onto paper with pens, pencils, whatever he can get his hands on. His intense expanse of knowledge that spans from American finance, to Shakespearean literature. His ability to argue and debate and speak for hours and hours with Alexander without losing his pace. The way his mind formulates sentence after sentence where he debates and there’s a fiery, yet somehow icy cold, passion in his tone. The fact that Hamilton finally has an equal. Where it’s unlike arguing against Burr, a stone wall of indifference. Jefferson is a stone wall that Alexander knows exactly how to make crumble. And he does. Over and over, yet Jefferson keeps rebuilding, stronger than before. He makes Alexander fight for his right to get his ideas across and as much as if pisses him off… he can’t deny that he loves it. He adores having to work his way up, enjoys knocking away obstacles that continue to respawn. What’s life without a little competition after all? Alexander enjoys hiking, and Jefferson is the ultimate mountain to climb.

But he wants more. He needs to know more about this mysterious man. He wants to know what it’s like to share sweet moments with him, wishes to be granted passage to his heart. He wants the key to be given to him, not stolen away. He wants Jefferson to trust him. He wants to know his talents, his skills, his hopes, his dreams. He wants to know about his past, his present and his future. Wants to know his real personality, the one he has secured in a vault. Because Alexander is stubborn, this much as already been said, but he’s not stupid. He can see the twitch in his fingers, the brief panic that flashes through the man's dark eyes whenever he has to present in Congress. He can hear the way he stumbles and stammers his way through speeches, as though he’s ready off a particularly shitty script. It’s only when they debate, when they argue with that familiar intensity, that the inferno is let loose. And Alexander is happy to be consumed in its flames.

The thoughts are almost enough to frighten him. The way they consume his constantly changing mind until he can think of nothing else. The burning heat in the air has been forgotten, replaced with a searing, white-hot pain through his chest. A heart attack maybe? More likely a soul attack. Hamilton uses his clairvoyance, he isn’t stupid. He knows this crush has been around since the day they had met. Since the first inklings of their argumentative ways. The kindling that sparked a fiery rivalry. One sure to last a lifetime. Well, maybe on Jefferson’s end. Alexander has felt this way, this white hot pain for a while, but now his body registers it and it hits all at once. Like a slap to the face, a punch to the stomach and a kick in the balls. It’s never hurt this much. Not with Aaron, not with John, not even with Eliza. The three most important relationships of his life had never been this intense, and he and Jefferson aren’t even together. Perhaps that’s what caused the pain to harm him so much. The craving of a thing he can’t have.

He gets the same feeling, the same way he felt around his other relationships. With Aaron, it was calm, predictable. It was boring. He needed more, he needed a spark, something he could bounce off of and then melt together. Aaron was grey. Monotone, and straight lined. He was a man who needed something still. He required security and promises to stay the way they were. But Alexander was a storm, unpredictable and wild and fully intent on ravaging the waters, while what Burr really needed was a lighthouse. Someone who was a beacon of light to shine him to the right place. Hamilton could never provide that.

John had been close. He had been orange. Intense, swirling like a fire, like a burning heat. But not enough. He was too quick to back down, to agree and leave arguments unsettled. He didn’t put up enough of a fight, backed down from debates and left Alexander with many more points to push across. They had the same opinions, there was no need for a friendly debate. It just wasn’t enough for him. There was passion, but not in the way Alexander’s heart craved. John needed something grounding, someone to match his intensity with a cute yellow or a fellow orange. And he found that, he found that in Peggy and Alexander was happy to watch him go. He wanted his orange to be happy.

The third person had been blue. Eliza was the sea and the sky. She was beautiful and calm and swaying. She was helpful and loving, quick to input her opinion only to retract it later on. Alexander had thought she was perfect. She was, Eliza was perfect. But Alexander was not. Blue didn’t mix right with whatever colour Alexander was. Blue turned dark and foreboding, into something he didn’t want to experience. Their fire had been wrong, and if Eliza was the ocean, then Hamilton was the smoke on the water clouding her. She needed a similar colour, a green like the Earth whom she could surround and heal. Or another blue to swim with. It appeared Alexander was neither of those.

But Jefferson. Jefferson was different. He was intense and angry and punched out. He was red. A dark crimson that demanded attention at all times. A matching light to Alex’s own. They bounced off each other, before they crashed together in a mess of colours, an abstract painting of similarities. Jefferson was passionate, he had an intensity that matched Alexander’s previously unrivalled one, and he loved it. He loved red. Red was the colour he needed, the colour that felt best in his heart of hearts. And that’s when he knew that he was red too, that he was a candy red. He was bright and flashing and Jefferson was dark and mysterious and together they were perfect. Together they formed a shade of undiscovered colour.

That’s what Alexander needed. He needed his red. Everyone else had theirs! It was his turn! It was finally his shot to find love, and he had no intentions of throwing it away.

In his time thinking, he’s almost completely forgotten the putrid heat, and the fact that the woman from before is walking down the street just a foot or two away from him. She’s brisk, in a hurry clearly, occasionally checking the time on her surprisingly high class smart-phone. In fact, another person joins him on his venture down the street, the little girl from before, but without her friend. And if he thought the woman reminded him of Jefferson, then this girl is the spitting image of him. Same hair, but longer and tied into puffy pigtails, the same wide and toothy smile as she taps Alexander on the side.

“Hey there, Mr!” She waves, and the first thing he can think is Stranger Danger. Did this girl's parents never teach her the importance of not talking to random people on the streets? “I’ve never seen you round here before, are you lost?” He supposes that he sort of is. He doesn’t know his way home, but somehow he’s not concerned. He can call a cab, or an Uber or Lyft. There are plenty of ways for him to arrive back home. But the fact that she asks him this is evident that this is one of those neighbourhoods. One where “everyone knows everyone.” Which is sweet, but annoying, because now he stands out. He wants to blend in with the crowd for once, but as he looks around, that’s been impossible for a while. He notices everyone out in their gardens or on the streets are white, which is expected at this point. It’s a flaw in the American housing system, one that he should bring up in Congress. Perhaps he could get Jefferson to support him for once, team up even. That’s the dream.

He hasn’t said much for a few seconds, and the kid looks up at him with large, expectant eyes. “Oh, I’m not lost, no. Just going for a walk,” he nods gently and she seems to understand. He thinks she’s just going to run off after receiving an answer, but she seems insistent to interrogate Alexander a little more.

She hums to herself, “what’s your name?” She asks ever so superficially, like an employer ready to write someone up for bad behaviour or poor customer service. Alexander knows those write ups all too well, it’s the reason he’s been forced off work today, something he was happy to let happen as soon as the heatwave hit. Work doesn’t have good air conditioning, if it has air conditioning at all.

“Alexander,” he answers with a flick of his head, casting his glance to the sky. They’re still walking, nearing the end of the street. The old lady has stopped, and the little girl has too, which subsequently has Hamilton stopping. He looks down at her, chin tilted down as she glares up. She seems livid at his name, and he wonders what he’s done wrong until he realises she’s staring directly into the sun as she tries to suss him out. Her gaze is warm and welcoming however, childlike and pure and it’s a nice break from the cool stares he’s used to.

She nods happily, “my name's Patsy, I’m eight,” she grins and turns on her heel, casting one final look over her shoulder. “I’m going to play, if my Pops leaves the house tell him that’s what I’m doing!” She runs off, leaving Alexander wondering who her father is. The old lady is leaning on the fence of the house in front of him, glancing up to an open window. She looks like an NPC in a video game, purposefully placed in a specific spot just for unimportant exposition. Alexander is an expert in certain video games, and if her position isn’t just begging for him to go interact with her. She seems as though she may have some enchanted knowledge to pass down onto him, maybe even a cherry pie recipe if he’s lucky.

He walks over to her side, resting his forearms on the flat tops of the white fence. The house in front of him is painted a soft violet, it’s pretty. There’s neat rows of tulips and petunias in the lawn, which is freshly trimmed so it seems. There are bushes in the middle of the grass, cut into a point. Everything is seamless, blending together. It’s homely and calm, and Alexander smiles. The woman is smiling too. He glances at other things in the garden. Tucked away into the left corner by the porch is a barbecue, and not too far from that a wooden bench. There are thin cushions resting on it, but no one sits there. The lights in the house are off, the windows open along with the curtains. But when he looks in, he sees no one. Then again, he can only see directly into the window and up, so anything at the other end of the room is out of sight. Perhaps he should’ve worn his glasses today, unable to see very far in front of his face. In the driveway is a family car, a blue Chevrolet still spongy with a few soap studs. Newly washed, he notes.

“It starts soon,” the elder comments, gesturing vaguely to the home before them. So she’s not an NPC. Alexander can’t put his finger on if that’s annoying or perfect, because he doesn’t have to start the conversation.

Yet his interest has been piqued, he was always a curious soul. It gets him into fits of trouble occasionally, but for now it seems as though the only thing he can get out of it is an intriguing talk. “What’s starting?” He asks quietly, tone low. His lips are dry, and he smacks them together to coat them with saliva to hopefully stop them cracking.

“The concert,” she answers, as though it’s the most typical thing in the world. Alexander is about to open his mouth to argue against that fact, to insinuate that a concert happening in someone’s home is ridiculous - (Even if all the Disney Channel movies taught him otherwise.) - but the woman is talking again. “Tommy always plays at three in the afternoon on a Sunday.” She seems transfixed, and every time Alexander tries to speak she hushes him. She holds up her hand to silence him, and it gives him the same feeling George Washington gives him, authority radiates from her and Alex finds himself actually shutting up. It’s two fifty-nine now, and he’s waiting for the music to start from this mysterious “Tommy.”

He’s impatient, and authority only hushes him for so long. He fidgets, picks paint off the fence and then speaks. “When does it start?” He hisses, bored. Come on, it’s three! Almost at least.

“I told you, he plays at three.”

“It is three!” Alexander whines pathetically, crossing his arms over. He’s stood still in wait for long enough, and if music doesn’t start in the next thirty seconds he’s going to walk away and never look back. He’s all set to move when the lady grabs him by the shoulder.

She hisses, “it’s starting!”

And indeed it is. Through the open windows, pouring out the house are the sweet chords of an expert violinist. It’s a harmony, seems sad, longing almost. The melody starts slow, and carefully picks up pace as it goes. He can only imagine who the player is, male or female it doesn’t matter. His mind whirs with ideas, forming the musician in his mind.

Their hands would grip the bow with precision, glide across the strings with a focussed expression. He can see their- no, his, eyes turned down to the instrument, pupils darkening as they get lost in the notes. The violin is balanced on his shoulder, tucked under his chin and his hair falls into his view but he keeps playing. The straight, actually, it’s curly. The ringlets of curls are brushed away quickly, in one movement as he continues to play.

Alexander spaces out, losing himself to the music. It appears the lady beside him does the same, but he can’t be sure. He tries to put a colour on the tone of it, tries to decipher the meaning behind the song. The violin fades into an instrumental where it’s clear the player should be singing, but they don’t. He tries to picture a face, going as far as to close his eyes and block out everything but his own imagination and the melody flowing to him. It’s like a siren call, coaxing him towards sudden death. And Alexander is all too happy to submit to the urges.

He finds a face, dark eyes, curls, complexion. Once again he’s picturing Jefferson. Over and over the man comes to mind. He tries to push him away, attempts to imagine someone else standing in the home and playing just for him. But it’s futile. And the song does feel like it’s for him. It feels like it matches the music his heart sings, the yearning harmony that lathers his soul is rivalled by this player. By Jefferson. It’s not like he’s ever going to meet the violinist, so he’s free to picture whoever he pleases.

He’s sweating, it’s the heat, it must be. His palms that are clenched into fists by his sides are coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his forehead growing damp again. He makes no effort to wipe it away, he lets the heat sweep over him. He allows the flames to engulf him, the chords of the song floating to him still.

But as soon as it’s begun, it ends. The violin fades out, leaving the music buzzing pleasantly in his veins. The lady smiles, nods and starts to walk off, back to her house. The concert comes to a close, curtains shut and shun all backstage visitors away. But when has Alexander ever abided by the rules?

His feet march him into the garden, down the lawn and up to the porch. He steps up the stairs, both of them at once. He’s having trouble summoning courage, something that’s rare for him. Typically he isn’t walking up to a strangers home just to congratulate them on their musical talent… that he probably isn’t even supposed to hear.

It takes Alexander a long minute of just standing there before he swallows his pride and taps his knuckles off the door. There are footsteps, coming closer and as they do he rids himself of the urge to run away.

He’s almost expecting Jefferson, he’s built him up in his mind and placed him on a pedestal. Or maybe it’s better to say that he’s trying to force the man into a treasure box, as he does with all the things he loves. His mother’s memory goes in there, his pens and his laptop and the pendant necklace from his mother. He’s trying to push Jefferson into the box too, to keep him by his side but he won’t stay. Perhaps it’s impossible to keep a person preserved in a treasure chest, or maybe it’s just Jefferson. He needs room, he needs space to evolve and change and grow and Alexander’s treasure chest can’t provide that. Alexander can though. He just has to let Jefferson stay out of the box.

Like he said, he’s almost expecting Jefferson to be at the door. But he still gets shocked when it actually is. It actually is Thomas fucking Jefferson standing in the doorway and Jesus he’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt so tight it should be illegal. It’s difficult enough for Alexander to handle when he can practically see Jefferson’s chest through his sheen white dress shirt at work, but this is too much. This man is an Adonis. He’s the sun, Alexander is an icarus and he feels as though he simply has to fly closer.

“Hamilton!”

Shit, has he been speaking this whole time? Alexander flicks his gaze to Jefferson’s face, and fuck him he’s wearing glasses. Chunky black hipster frames that balance on the bridge of his nose. Christ, he’s in deep isn’t he?

Jefferson waves his hand in front of Alexander’s face, grabbing his attention. “Hu-uh?” Alexander stumbles out his words pathetically, lighting up red soon after. He goes the same crimson as Jefferson’s shirt, the colour he identifies the man with. He looks like he’s about to slap Alexander across the face if he doesn’t start properly talking soon.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jefferson hisses, venom laced in his tone. He’s like a snake, coiled up into a spring, ready to attack and bite at the next to approach. In his hands (lord, those hands!) he holds a clear water bottle, knuckles white with the ferocious way he grips it. He brings it up to his lips and takes a careful sip, eyes trained like a sniper on Alexander.

Hamilton collects himself, gathering his thoughts, which shouldn’t be as difficult to do as it is. He coughs into his fist, realising how dry his throat is. The aspect of water is welcoming, and he wants to reach out just to snatch the plastic (reusable, how environmental) bottle off of Jefferson to guzzle down the remaining liquid. Alas, he does not. Because that would be weird.

He still hasn’t answered, thus Jefferson continues with a hiss. “What are you doing here?!” He’s not angry, Alexander knows this. He has seen the man angry.

One time, he had seen the man in his furious element. The cabinet meeting had just ended, and Jefferson had stormed out after Washington had taken Alexander’s side once again. It wasn’t Hamilton’s fault he was better! Jefferson had stalked towards his office, and Hamilton had followed after him, the cheap fake leather of his shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum. Alexander had continued his argument, much to the dismay of the taller man. Jefferson had tried his very best to slam the door on Hamilton’s face, using all his force (which was a lot) to close it behind him, but Alex managed to stick his foot in the gap and wretch it open, still blabbering away. Jefferson had collapsed into his office chair, held his head in his hands and muttered to himself as Alexander got closer. His voice had stayed a constant, boisterous and accompanied with gesticulating gestures until he lost his cool and whipped Jefferson’s seat around himself.

“Answer me already! You spit and stumble your way through speeches, I bring out the real you! I bring out the fires! Show me him and argue back!” The animosity had been high in Alexander’s tone, he liked the unabashed Jefferson who fought with him. The man who poured wisdom from his tongue like his mother language. Why he held it back when talking to anyone else baffled him beyond belief. But this meeting he had barely spoken, just shared his points with a quiet voice and sat back down, not bothering to debate Alexander. He was furious, made sure to target Jefferson in some of his words just to try and get a rise, a reaction, anything! But it had not worked, so he resorted to his last lifeline, and followed the man to his office.

Jefferson snapped his gaze up, and there it was, the fire he so dearly wanted. The red-hot passion that licked at his pupils, threatened to burn Alexander. “You bring out the real me?! No, Hamilton,” he had spat his name like it was some dirt on the bottom of his polished shoes, “you bring out the worst in me! You bring out the angry, tired part of me that doesn’t want to deal with your bullshit!”

“My bullshit?” Alexander had smirked as though he had won, and in his sense he had. For a moment at least. Because he had gotten a reaction, the thing he craved as much as air. He had gotten his red to reply and that’s all he really needed. He was happy from here on out. But, he could always push it further. So he had. “Care to explain to me what my bullshit is? Is it my financial plan? Is that what it is, Jefferson?” He had remained sickeningly-sweet, words sugary like honey, dripping in the same way.

Jefferson had laughed, hysterical really. A break from his usual smug laughter. A break Alexander didn’t enjoy very much. He was never one to like breaks, preferred to continue in a way he always had. And he and Jefferson had a dance, a specific way they did things that they had yet to break. A routine that Jefferson was so arbitrarily destroying just with a fit of chuckles. “Your financial plan is a piece of insulting garbage, but that is not what I mean-“ he had scoffed, and rose from his seat, towering over Alexander with a menacing glint. “-You are a parasite to me, you trail around like some sad puppy, desperate for attention! But why me? I stammer through speeches, but alas it’s better than talking a million miles a minute where no one can understand you! You bring out the fire, the hellfire! You make me want to snap you into pieces and scatter you on my lawn like fertiliser. Do us all a favour and get out!”

A little shocked by the imaginative insult, Alexander resisted. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Jefferson had him by the collar next, shoving him up against a wall, face so close he could feel the hot breath of his rival on his face. “You talk a big game, Hamilton, yet you forget to follow through. The fire you bring out in me is the worst part about myself and I’d prefer to hide it away,” he had growled, low and rumbling in his chest, “you’re not good enough to lick the dirt off my shoes. You must think you’re so special, yet all you do is hump the President’s leg until you get what you desire. God knows why he takes your side on every political matter.” He had dropped Alexander after that, left him scrambling to his feet. “Get out of my office.”

Scared, but stubborn, Alexander had supplied a retort. “Or what, old man? Gonna make me?”

Jefferson had grit his teeth together, grinding them so hard Hamilton was surprised they hadn’t faded away. “Or else.”

“All bark and no bite.” Alexander scoffed in return, making his way slowly to the door. He cast a look over his shoulder in time to see Jefferson physically slump back into his chair, looking tense and stressed and he couldn’t help but feel bad. He had felt Jefferson’s eyes on his back the whole time he had left, felt them searing holes through his jacket and burning into his skin. Not that he was complaining though.

And once again, Alexander peers up at him with wide eyes. “Oh, well um-“ he directs his gaze over Jefferson’s shoulder, “it’s kind of a long story.” He’s hinting quite obviously at his pleas to come inside, and Jefferson must catch on because a hint of realisation casts over his dark eyes, the eyes Alexander spends so much of his time thinking about.

“I have time,” came Jefferson’s grimy reply. One long finger came up to push his glasses up by the rim, unlike anyone else who would push them up by the bridge. Alexander inadvertently stashed this information away in his treasure chest. He taps his foot in a way that almost feels surreptitious. Or perhaps that’s the incorrect word. Jefferson keeps looking over Alexander’s head, then glancing behind him, eyes darting in all directions.

Alexander has the sun beating down on his back, and he can see Jefferson squinting in the light. It’s hot again, too hot in all the wrong ways, and Alexander only feels hotter with Jefferson’s eyes on him. “Well- uh- it started because my AC unit broke and-“

“Hamilton, I didn’t ask for a life story,” Jefferson fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt, looking almost nervous. Which was ludicrous! Jefferson? Nervous? That… made a lot of sense actually. His stammering through meetings, his constantly tensed shoulders, the time he had overheard Madison and Adams talking about him a few years back, saying “He was born stressed out about something.” It makes the shuffling around start to add up, how he loses his cool around Alexander and loosens up because he stops thinking. He stops worrying and starts concentrating solely on deconstructing Hamilton’s argument. He feels a little rush of pride at that, that he can get Jefferson to let go. Yet at the same time, it feels like it’s perverse knowledge he isn’t supposed to have access too, which brings him right back around to the key metaphor. A metaphor he’s using so often it’s beginning to lose meaning, and he’s beginning to imagine an actual key, which confuses his head even more than it already is.

He’s broken from his thoughts by Jefferson speaking once more, “would you like to come inside?” He asks quietly, shifting foot to foot. Alexander steals his gaze downwards, unable to look Jefferson in the face as he processes that question. His rival (whom he’s established as the man he wants to date, and god it feels so much more real when he thinks of it like that), has just invited him into his home. His home that Alexander always imagined to be bigger, more spectacular and less… welcoming. “You could inform me of why you’re standing on my doorstep in broken sandals over a glass of Chardonnay?”

“How am I supposed to say no to that?” Alexander responds almost mockingly, stepping into the home as Jefferson moves aside. He shuffles and a hand goes up to card through his curls, and Alexander wonders if they’re as soft as they appear. He resists the urge to stride over and find out for himself as he steps inside. “I would take my shoes off, but I feel as though barefoot is even more disrespectful.” He hums absent-mindedly.

Jefferson seems to tune back in at that as he flicks his gaze to follow Alexander. “And since when have you cared about being respectful towards me?” His words are sharp, upset almost. It’s strange, but Alexander kind of likes the vulnerability, it feels special. As though Jefferson is trusting him with the real real him. “Just leave your shoes on,” he adds carefully onto the end with a flippant wave and a frown.

Alexander does just that, but wipes his feet on the welcoming mat Jefferson has placed in his hallway. “What’s your liquor of choice?” Jefferson asks, sauntering off towards his kitchen, voice growing quieter as he walks off. Alexander finds his eyes following his back, watching the way his red shirt clings to the muscles of his back, and he swallows slowly, with intent.

“I believe I was promised Chardonnay, Mr Jefferson!” Alexander calls after him, taking it upon himself to look around the hallway. It’s cooler inside, thank god, but it’s not chilly. Jefferson knows how to set his AC without breaking it, Hamilton could never relate. The walls are painted a warm brown, framed family photos lining the hall. There is one, where Alexander counts twelve people in the image. The camera quality isn’t great, but all the people in the photo are similar in appearance, the only two who stand out are the ones who look like parents, as their hair is turning grey and there are wrinkles along their foreheads. He spots Jefferson - well, Thomas because he’s managed to figure out everyone in the photo is a Jefferson - rather quickly, he’s the second tallest in the picture, just after the one who looks like his father, but he looks younger, smiling wide at the camera and holding a baby boy on his hip. He looks much too young to have a son, so he must be Jefferson’s brother.

There's another photo of him cradling a small child in his arms, a newborn, little girl based on the pink wool hat on her head. He looks older than the previous photo, so Alexander deciphers that this is his child. He looks around. There are no children about. He’s smiling wider than he’s ever seen before, down at the baby whose eyes are tightly shut. Alexander grins to himself and ghosts a finger over Jefferson’s face, or at least over the glass. There’s a corner of a woman’s face in the top left, she looks tired. Jefferson does too, bags under his eyes and smile creases by his lips. But he still looks… god, what word can he use?

The next photo makes his fond smile fall faster than a rock from the top of a cliff. A wedding photo, Jefferson in his mid-twenties, dressed in a suit (that hugs him in all the right places, damn) and kissing a short woman in a flowing white wedding dress. He looks so happy, beaming as his hands rest on her hips. A wave of jealousy crashes over him as he studies the image closer. It’s outdoors, must be in Virginia, and the two newlyweds are standing under an arch laced with pink roses and light pink tulips. He frowns, there goes his chance. But it won’t hit him yet, it only will at around midnight, when he’s emailing Washington where he will pause and scream for a minute as it sets in.

He’s so focused on the wedding pictures that he doesn’t even notice Jefferson coming up behind him. “That’s Martha,” the low voice by his ear makes Alexander jump out of his skin, clasping a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out. “Sorry, did I scare you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and continues to talk, “I thought you would’ve been in the living room, but I suppose I never told you to make yourself at home.” Alexander turns around and chokes on a breath. Because fuck, Jefferson is right there, glasses slipping down his nose, cheeks dusted red and lips inches away from his own. He swallows again, takes a step backwards and hits the wall with his back.

Jefferson hands him a champagne flute with a bubbling glass of white wine, and Alexander nods in return. "Thank you," he studies Jefferson carefully as he flicks his chin up quickly and takes a step away, giving Alexander room to finally breathe. He quickly glances back at the few photos on the wall, catching a glimpse from his peripheral vision as Jefferson sips from his glass. "Martha was…?" He waits for the other to finish his sentence impatiently.

"My wife," Jefferson answers with ease, gulping back a small drink. "A million years ago at least." He chuckles. And Alexander doesn't quite understand. Typically, divorcees don't keep photos of their marriage hanging in the entrance way to their home. Apparently the confusion is evident in his expression, because his host keeps talking. "She passed away eight years ago, just after giving birth."

Alexander bites down on his bottom lip, regretful. He was just thinking about how jealous he was, thinking about going home, calling Laurens or Lafayette and talking shit about Jefferson and his supposed wife. Well he certainly wouldn’t be doing that anymore. “Oh,” he says, rather ineloquently, “I’m sorry.”

Jefferson shrugs, takes another long drink from his glass, like the conversation pains him. It probably does, Alexander realises. “It’s alright, it was a long time ago,” he drawls, making sure to not finish his glass. It’s half full now, and Alexander sips the sparkling liquid. Jefferson clears his throat, looking much like he does during meetings. Uncomfortable, small almost. “Well, can I tempt you to sit in the parlour with me?” He raises an eyebrow, leads them through to a room with windows that are almost floor to ceiling, spar for the comfy looking window seat (covered in a knitted quilt and tartan pillows) that Alexander plops himself down on. The other man seats himself by a small round table, mahogany for the looks of it.

Alexander wants to speak, as always. His tongue flicks in his mouth, forming words but Jefferson cuts him off. “So, Alexander, tell me, what brought you to my doorstep on this… boiling afternoon?” It doesn’t slip past him that Jefferson uses his first name. The way it rolls with his accent, drawling slow as always until Alexander is hanging onto every syllable.

His brain catches up with the question after being so hung up on the way his given name sounds on Jefferson’s lips, and the fact that he would love to hear it in other contexts- God, he needs to stop. But the man is right there and- No. “I broke my air conditioning unit, and needed to get out.” He shrugs and takes a slurping drink of Chardonnay, perhaps if he irritates Jefferson enough, he’ll see the fire he wants.

“That doesn’t explain why you knocked on my door,” Jefferson flicks his wrist and places his glass down. Alexander can practically hear the cogs in his brain (that wonderful mind) whirring as he thinks. He can see the intelligent man putting the puzzles pieces together, in order to view the whole picture. He stops to admire his fellow Secretary’s brilliance far too often, and he always has. It’s a constant, a comma in his life where he pauses and admits to himself that Jefferson is smart. And sometimes he hates it. He hates that Jefferson is so so bright, but is full of only stupid things to say. Like he doesn’t learn both sides of the argument before presenting. Or perhaps that’s just how humans work, they’re always going to be biased.

Alexander coughs into his fist again, seeing Jefferson grit his teeth that he had the audacity to slurp his expensive (probably French, pretentious bastard) wine. “I decided to go for a walk,” he began to explain, as confident as always. “And then I ended up here,” he chewed on the inside of his cheek, “because I heard you playing violin and wanted to come speak to whoever the player was. Didn’t know it was going to be you.”

Jefferson appears uncomfortable. He finishes his glass in one large gulp and places his now empty glass on the table. He pushes his glasses up his nose by the rim once more, sighing softly. “You say that like it was bad playing.” He said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at his empty glass, refilling it with only his eyes and exhaling as it refuses to fill. How disappointing.

“No, no!” Alexander waves his hands in a flurry, almost spilling his Chardonnay on the laminate flooring. Jefferson’s eyes catch the droplet that flies from the glass and lands on one of his quilted cushions. Hamilton is too busy explaining himself to realise. Why is he being so considerate of Jefferson’s feelings? (He has a crush on him, he knows this. He knows it’s because the man looks so much more vulnerable in his own home, in shorts and t-shirt and glasses. And oh fuck he’s staring again.) “I wanted to come tell the violinist how incredible their playing was!” He watches the man who is supposed to be his rival smile, genuine and pure, and his heart soars. Butterflies swarm in his stomach, flapping their wings at a hundred miles an hour. It’s like he can take flight, all because of Jefferson’s shy little grin, watching the way his lips twitch upwards. It’s so different from his other sly, wicked smirks, all teeth and hatred. Is it hatred really though? Alexander doesn’t have the time to ask himself all of these questions again, he’s never going to find an answer.

"I've played ever since I was a child," Jefferson replies, tapping his fingers off his thighs. As Alexander has established, everything about this man seems to be carved by the gods out of stone and his legs are no exception.

"Impressive." He isn't lying. Alexander finds it wildly impressive, violin is a difficult instrument to master. He believes Jefferson mutters something along the lines of 'thank you', but he isn't particularly paying attention. He needs more to drink. He doesn't want to have to think anymore, so he doesn't. Instead, he downs his glass.

“Want a refill?” Jefferson drawls, rising to his feet and taking both empty glasses. All Alexander can do is nod and watch as the man walks off, eyes concentrated on his back and definitely not other places because that would be crude.

Alexander crosses his legs (sits criss-cross applesauce) on the windowsill seat, fluffing a pillow behind his back and cautiously leaning back to rest against the window panes. He’s almost scared of breaking them, or of the glass popping out. So instead he turns and tucks his knees in slightly, sitting along it sideways to lean on the wall that slightly juts out. He must appear comfortable, because when Jefferson comes back in he laughs carefully. “Made yourself at home I see?” He hands Alexander the glass of Chardonnay, and he notes that in his other hand is the bottle.

“Yeah, got a problem with that?” Alexander responds sarcastically. Jefferson plops himself down - surprisingly - beside Alexander, in the small space between his feet and the other wall. He hadn’t expected the sudden closeness, and all cognitive thought grinds to a stop when he realises he can smell Jefferson’s overpriced cologne. It’s probably perfume, when he thinks about it. Flowery and reeking of money. But Alexander thinks (after smelling it before, and now smelling it here) that he’ll kill Jefferson if he ever wears anything else.

Jefferson sips from his glass. “Not at all.” Alexander wants to stretch his legs out, but felt as though he couldn’t do that. Jefferson was right there! What can he do? Put his feet on the man’s lap? … he could do that. He could actually do that. “Whatcha thinkin’ about, Hammy?” He purrs teasingly, raising a curious eyebrow and chuckling to himself. Alexander can’t help but notice the slight flush of his cheeks, the dusty pink across his skin. He eyes him suspiciously, before he finally realises that the man must be a lightweight. Now there’s something he didn’t expect.

“Hammy?” Alexander quirks an eyebrow, suspect. It’s amusing how Jefferson seems to relax that slight bit as he sips his Chardonnay. The slightly older man just nods in return, bringing his glass to his lips and taking another drink. Alexander does the same, swirling the wine in his champagne flute with a chuckle. “Just that I wanna stretch out.” He shrugs and continues to drink, observing as Jefferson’s face scrunches up unattractively. Somehow, Hamilton still finds it adorable. Who would’ve thought he would find Jefferson cute? How strange.

“Then just do it,” Jefferson suggests with a smile, shrugs his shoulders and sips his drink. Alexander is surprised, never would’ve thought Jefferson would allow him to kick his feet up. It feels intimate, like a cute-couple thing to do. He hesitantly stretches his legs out, untucking his knees and placing his feet up on Jefferson’s lap, who hums his approval.

Alexander sips his Chardonnay, starting to speak. And Jefferson? Jefferson starts to listen.

Half an hour, and the rest of the bottle of Chardonnay later, the two are on the right side of tipsy. They’re just drunk enough to feel comfortable enough to sit shoulder to shoulder, resting against each other without looking like they’re being forced into the close proximity. Except they are no longer shoulder to shoulder, in fact, they’re closer than that. Alexander has his head on Jefferson’s lap, his glass long forgotten on the table, along with Jefferson’s champagne flute too and the empty wine bottle. Alexander is continuously muttering about the current political climate, ranting quietly while Jefferson listens, occasionally inputting his opinion.

“Are you not gonna argue with me?” Alexander raises an eyebrow. He’s trying to irritate Jefferson, and pokes his cheek to try and agitate him more. But Jefferson doesn’t react, other than blushing an even darker crimson. The colour he is. He’s crimson, but now he’s dull and Alexander misses his booming red.

Jefferson hums to himself, eyes fluttering shut. Alexander reaches up and pushes the other man’s glasses up his nose by the bridge. Jefferson flicks his eyes open suddenly and stares down at him, catching his wrist in his hand. Alexander feels paralysed, feeling his large palms around his own bony wrist and holding it in a loose grip. He doesn’t answer the question, “it’s so nice outside. Why are we still sitting here?”

“Why indeed?” There’s a ever so slight slur to his words, drawn out a little more than usual. Alexander kicks his feet to the ground, standing so casually it’s like he stays and hangs with Jefferson all the time and not never at all. He turns to face Jefferson, overlooking his features. He’s never had a chance to look at him so relaxed, and he notices how tense Jefferson typically is compared to now. At work, his shoulders are straight, hunched up to his ears and his posture is a horizontal line. Whereas now, he’s a little more slumped, tension gone from his body. It’s a breath of fresh air, one he never thought he would experience and accept so easily.

Jefferson rises to his feet, and typically he would be towering over Hamilton yet now, he doesn’t feel as dominating. Instead, he’s softer, edges aren’t as sharp or predatory. The mirthful glint in his pupils has faded, but the fire still licks at his eyes. It’s a welcoming heat, like the fireplace on a freezing day. And despite the current heatwave, Alexander finds himself wishing to curl up by the fire like a purring cat. “Come on, let’s go sit in my backyard.”

Alexander expects to trail after him, certainly not for the man to offer his hand to Hamilton. But he takes it, ignoring the way his heart pounds in his chest and the way his head is screaming at him. “You’re holding his hand! You’re holding Thomas Jefferson’s hand! He offered it to you! You didn’t even have to ask!” His pulse races in his ears, as he leads the two of them into his back garden. It’s beautiful, a large monkey puzzle tree in the far right corner, casting a lovely shadow over a section of the yard. Jefferson guides Alexander over to the tree and sits down under it, gesturing next to him. “C’mon, Hammy, I don’t have all day.” Alexander feels his heart flutter again, starting to race at the ridiculous nickname. If anyone else used it, he would be quickly driven mad. It’s all because of this damn Secretary.

Alexander takes a seat by him, leaning against the bark of the tree and exhaling. It’s warm, but at least vaguely cooler under the tree. Jefferson certainly seems to appreciate it, as the slightly intoxicated man removes his glasses and places them on the trimmed glass next to him, tips his head back until it hits the tree truck and breathes out happily. Alexander eyes the expanse of skin by his neck, and starts to feel like a particularly famished vampire, gazing at the muscles of someone’s neck of all places. But there’s a familiar itch in his fingertips, the urge to have his face tucked into the crook of his neck and just breathe. The thought would be scarier if it wasn’t for the alcohol in his blood. He feels confident, confident enough to lean against Jefferson and carefully hide his face in his shoulder. Not his neck, sure, but it’s close.

Alexander can feel his counterparts breathing stutter and he gently nuzzles against him, appreciating the muscle under him. “Hamilton, are you alright?” He’s sobered up, the shock of Alexander curling around him like ivy clings to a house seemingly having knocked the wine out of his system. He allows Alexander to wind himself tighter around his body, like it's cold out and he’s the only viable source of heat. It’s not. It’s still absolutely sweltering, evident in the way sweat beads at Jefferson’s brow and Alexander longs to reach over and smooth out the developing stress lines.

“Mhm…” Alexander hums his answer and buries his head into Jefferson’s neck, finally finally being close enough to him. Yet… somehow he’s dying to be closer. “I’m great, perfect! Even,” he giggles, the alcohol definitely making him a fun drunk. He’s a lightweight, that’s for sure, but when it hits him, it hits all at once. He’s got a rush of flirtatious courage surging through his veins, hot in his blood.

Jefferson moves his hand across and gently caresses Alexander’s pink cheeks, observing how he keens into it like a cat. That’s exactly what Alexander reminds him of, a cat. Hissing and violent in his worst moments, yet clingy and desperate for attention in his best. It’s a good thing Jefferson likes cats then. He drags an arm around Alexander’s shoulder, taking in his appearance. Small and (gross, his back is damp) hunched over, tucking into him and smiling, pink lips twitching into a happy grin. He’s so soft like this, vulnerable in a way Jefferson’s never seen him before. He’s intensity is being channeled into a new emotion, and Jefferson knows he’s still red. Still a fiery red, but it’s dragged in a different direction. It’s pulling him into love, and it makes his stomach do flips. Because if he has to be honest to himself, he’s had a crush on this ridiculous gremlin (excuse of a man) politician since the day of their first Cabinet meeting. Alexander could keep up with his thunderous talking pace, and he loves it. He loves it so much. “You’re sure?”

“Well,” Alexander decides it’s now or never, “I suppose there’s a way it could get…” he darts his tongue out and licks his lips, “even better.” He moves an inch away from Jefferson, eyes flickering between his eyes (no longer covered by lenses) and his lips, which look all too kissable. Jefferson doesn’t seem to catch on, just catches Alexander’s gaze with his own intense one.

“How so?” He raises an eyebrow, arched brow almost judging him.

“Kiss me,” Alexander breathes, tilting his chin upwards and leaning forward, hoping Jefferson will close the gap. And he does. God he does. He leans down and in, dipping his head and pressing his lips softly to Alexander’s own. They’re soft and insistent and gentle against his own chapped ones. And Alexander finds himself sober, before getting drunk on the feeling of Jefferson kissing him and ha! He’ll be able to rub this in Lafayette’s face later! Suck it, Frenchie!

Alexander cards his hand into Jefferson’s curls, because he’s scared he’ll never get the chance to feel them again. They’re as soft as they look, springy between his fingers and wonderful to the touch. It’s such a wonderful kiss, their first kiss, and Alexander wants to keep on kissing him forever. Jefferson makes a quiet whimpering noise and Alexander forces himself to pull away before he melts and never does. “Jefferson,” he breathes across his lips.

“Thomas,” the other corrects delicately, a meer whisper before he’s tangling his hand in Alexander’s hair and tugging Alexander back to meet his lips. It’s feverish this time, desperate and needy. The roasting heat must be getting to them, because they’re rivals, are they not? Well, not anymore. Because he’s pretty sure enemies don’t kiss in summer heatwaves, under monkey puzzle trees in their rivals back garden. But they do now, because Alexander isn’t giving this up for the world. Not now. He has his red.

“Thomas,” Alexander repeats Jeffer- Thomas’s words as they break away again. The name feels heavy on his tongue with the taste of its owner on his lips. Like it should be a sin, a sin to have enjoyed that so much. But he will gladly go to hell if it means getting to experience that intimacy again. The base of his ponytail has started to be tugged out, knotting where his fingers have tangled in the locks. He lays his head on the man’s shoulder, starting to slide half in and half out of his lap. It’s insane, the burning feeling in his chest as he locks this memory away in his treasure box, saving it for a rainy day, just in case this was a one time thing.

Thomas cradles Alexander’s chin in one hand, thumb hooking under his jaw and tilting his head up so that he can look into his eyes. Hamilton could get lost in those eyes, as he has many times. So many times during cabinet meetings he has stared at Jefferson, at those dark eyes and simply dove in, gleeful at the aspect of drowning in them. Only for the man to spout some ridiculous shit and drag Alexander out of the waters, slap him around and take him to his senses. “Yes, dear?”

That voice was going to be the death of him.

“I-“ He lost all forms of cognitive thought, the train must’ve derailed when Thomas pressed their lips together. Because fuck, he can even feel the violin chords buzzing in his veins again and it’s all so much and he loves it. Alexander flicks his gaze around Thomas's face, (he really has to get used to calling him that) kiss-swollen lips, the deep blush across his cheeks. He must look like an awestruck child from Thomas's perspective, because the man chuckles and takes his free hand through Alex's hair, taking it out of the pony tail in one movement. "Red." Alex mutters finally.

"Red?" Thomas repeats with a cocked eyebrow, hands Alexander his hair tie and brings both hands back to his lap. He really isn't sure what Hamilton means. What does red have to do with anything? If he had to put a colour to this moment, he would call it tickled pink. Intense and warm, but full to the brim of love and devotion. Pink.

Alexander nods, presses a finger to Thomas's chest, and another to his own. "Red," he nods, taking his fingers away, instead splaying his palm across Jefferson's chest absent-mindedly. "That's our colours. We're red."

Thomas never imagined he would be agreeing with Alexander so easily. With Martha, their relationship had been a soft pink. The fire was there, buried beneath the surface of dedication and loyalty. It was comfortable, it was perfect. He never needed anything else, because everything he needed was in Martha. But was he pink? Certainly not. She was his high-school sweetheart, the only real relationship he had ever had. He didn't count the many women (and men) in France, they never lasted longer than a night of sub-par activities and a morning of awkward goodbyes.

"We are, aren't we?" Thomas hummed, eventually pulling himself from his thoughts before he sunk too far. Thinking was a dangerous activity, one he didn't take time to do in fear of never emerging again.

"But," Alexander continues, and Jefferson's heart sinks. There's always a catch, isn't there? "We're the opposite reds. You're the darker red, most definitely. You're secrets and feelings are locked away, while I display mine like the lights on Broadway."

Thomas gulps. Never before has he been called out so boldly, or in such a forward manner. Yet Alexander has hit the nail on the head, first try and won the prize so it seems. He softens a little further, slumping against the tree. A low hanging stick swats at his head, and he bats it away with one hand.

"You keep everything behind lock and key… no one else has the key, I don't think," Alexander draws little swirls and patterns with his fingertip on Thomas's chest, the art fading as fast as it appears. He feels the man quiver, trying to hold himself together, and he knows that stone wall he hides behind is breaking.

He shakes his head in a curt motion. "Ja- Madison has a key," he corrects, inadvertently agreeing with Alexander, "Martha… Martha had a key." He finishes there, hands folding into each other, fingers fidgeting with discomfort. His face contorts as he screws it up, not allowing his mind to drift, forcing himself to stay in the moment. Stay in the tickled pink time. But how do you make pink from two reds?

"I'd like a key," Alexander adds, "if you'd be willing to lend me a spare." He glances up at Jefferson through his eyelashes, shall he offer something in return? The key to his treasure chest perhaps? The place he stores his most prized memories?

Jefferson chews on his lip. "I think you already have one. Whether we realised it or not… you've always had one." The metaphor is starting to confuse him, muddling with his mind. So many keys, and so many possible doors they could unlock and it's all a bit much. What door should he go through first? None of them have labels, none of them have a clear cut future secured behind them. How does he choose? Maybe he should let Alexander choose for him, go along for the ride.

Alexander smiles. He drapes himself further across Jefferson, kicking one of his legs over both of the man's and leaning into his shoulder, tucking himself there. The hot air, accompanied by the events that just occurred have sobered him almost entirely, but it feels so much better to experience this without the alcohol tainting his memory. "Thank you."

"For what?" Thomas raises an eyebrow, because as far as he's certain, he should be thanking Hamilton. Or cursing him. Cursing him and whatever magical force drew them together. This may just make him believe in fate, in destiny. He wasn’t a Christian, not anymore anyway, but this had him thanking god. Thanking every god for bringing them together. This was good, he could sit under this monkey puzzle tree, feeling the way he is now for the rest of eternity. Not good, no, that didn’t do this justice. Amazing? Fabulous? Stupendous?

"It's a preemptive thank you, since you'll be paying for tonight's date. Say seven o'clock." Alexander smirks up at Thomas, watches as the man chuckles. That laugh, there's a sound he could get used to. And to know he caused it? Fills him with joy. The laugh is like yellow. He doesn't know why, it just is. Colours fit everything, his mother was a deep navy blue, his father a cold icy white. Lafayette is purple, a mix of strength and flowing like the sea, but passionate like red. Hercules is green like juniper, he’s a grounding presence, one that Alexander can rely on to stay strong for them all. Angelica is pink, full of passion, but for some reason she just doesn’t hit that red mark. Washington stands bold in yellow, along with Peggy, but much like Thomas and Alexander, opposite ends of the spectrum. He can’t say why these colours fit, where he got them from or why they are this way, but it just does. It all slots together, everyone in his life has an assigned colour. And he thinks they always will.

Thomas raises an eyebrow. "Alright, I'm sure the neighbour will be fine taking care of Patsy for a bit," he hums. It's nerve wracking, because Jefferson doesn't have a clue if Alexander is alright with kids or not. His brain is screaming at him that Alexander is going to see sense and run, hear the talk of kids and sprint. After all, they're both in their mid thirties, so it's normal for someone their age to have a child. What if Alexander doesn't like kids? God, was this a mistake?

“Patsy? The little girl playing out in the street?” Alexander asks, laying himself across Thomas. He feels comfortable, like himself already, and he feels like this could go places. Because reds match, and opposites attract. They’re just lucky they’re opposite reds.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s playing with John,” Thomas sighs out his nose, grabbing his glasses and pushing them up his nose. He smiles at Alexander and giggles, actually giggles, a sound that makes Alexander’s heart fly like doves around his chest. “Dress comfy, I hope you like picnics.”

“Picnics?” Alexander raises an eyebrow. “I love picnics.” It’s true. Hell, if they picnic in the back of Thomas’s garden, criss-cross on a blanket under this tree, that could be one of the best dates of his life.

“I’m glad, it’s my dream date,” Thomas admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “look at us, getting to know each other already!” He chuckles again, noticing the flush it causes to Alex’s cheeks. Gorgeous. He cups his jaw, watches as the smaller man leans into the touch with a soft purr.

“You know what’ll make it even better?”

“What, if I bring more Chardonnay?”

“No!” Alexander bats at his arm playfully.

“Then what?” Thomas asks through laughs.

“If you kiss me again.”

And he does. God, he does.

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please this is 13,045 words I spent to much time on this I'm begging yall, if you liked it please reblog it, I dont want this to go unnoticed.

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hannibard · 4 years

Text

I recently got second hole earrings and it inspired me to write this!

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Read on ao3

“Do I really have to do this?” Geralt asked as he got inside his ex-girlfriends car.

“Yes.” Yennefer answered without looking at him before turning the engine on and exiting the parking.

“Hm. Can’t I just buy you a meal instead?”

“No.”

“What about one of those unicorn dildos you wanted?”

“Tempting but still no.”

Geralt sighed and raised his hand to run it through his hair before remembering that it’s up in a bun and doing so would ruin it, so he placed it back on his lap instead.

Yennefer rolled her eyes.

“Can you maybe chill a bit? You’re the one who bet that you could eat 80 hotdogs in a row without puking and you agreed that if you lost you’d get your ears pierced.” She said, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. “A deal’s a deal, you can’t just back out now.”

Geralt let out a frustrated grunt. “In my defense I was wasted at the time, but I know.”

“Then stop being a little bitch. What are you even worried about anyways? Don’t tell me you’re scared. It doesn’t hurt much, you’re barely gonna feel it.”

“Fuck no Yenn. I don’t mind a bit of pain, you know that.”

Yennefer turned to wink at him. “That I do.”

They were both silent for a moment as they reminisce some of the better parts of their previous romantic entanglement.

Yennefer cleared her throat and asked again. “Then what’s the fucking problem?”

“I just… I’m not sure how earrings would look on me.”

Yennefer hummed and Geralt chuckled softly. “That’s my line.”

Yennefer laughed but then turned serious. “…I personally think they’d look very sexy on you and fit with your general rocker/bordering on too much leather vibe but if you really don’t want to do this then I can find another equally torturous way for you to settle this bet but without any permanent changes to your appearance.”

Geralt was somewhat shocked to see her yield this easily but he probably shouldn’t have been. He knew how good of a person she was underneath her cold exterior and he also knew that even though things didn’t work out between them she still cared a great deal about him, the same way he still cared about her. It’s the reason they became such good friends after their inevitable separation, and she would never push him to do something outside of his boundaries.

He smiled softly even though she can’t see it with her eyes on the road.

“It’s fine. I made a promise and I intend to keep it.”

…

They arrived at the piercing/tattoo parlor soon after, Yennefer telling Geralt about a new sushi restaurant she and her girlfriend, Renfri, went to last weekend as they enter the building. They walked up to the counter where a clerk with shoulder-length curly chestnut hair was waiting to assist them. “Hello and welcome to ‘Yellow Lotus Body Art’, my name’s Triss. Do you have an appointment?”

Yennefer nodded.

Triss smiled politely. “Great, could you please give me a name?”

“Geralt Rivia.”

“Oh, for the ear piercings right? Please wait a moment while I go check if Jaskier’s ready.” She said before disappearing behind a door.

Geralt side-eyed his friend. “You made the appointment in my name?”

“You’re the one requesting their services so isn’t it natural?”

Geralt was about to reply with something snarky when suddenly the backdoor opened and the most attractive guy Geralt had ever laid eyes on walked out.

He was a little bit younger than him, maybe in his mid-twenties and he had short brown hair in a teen Justin Bieber type hairstyle, that while long out of fashion looked really good on him and gorgeous cornflower blue eyes that seemed to look right into his soul.

He was wearing an oversized dress shirt with wide pink and white stripes which was messily tucked into his skinny ripped jeans that were folded at the bottom. Several of the buttons at the top of the shirt were left unbuttoned, revealing pale skin covered with a thick patch of chest hair that made Geralt’s mouth go dry.

For shoes he was sporting a pair of brown leather oxford boots that were short enough to show his ridiculous SpongeBob patterned socks. He had various jewelry on, such as a black choker and a simple silver necklace around his neck, rings on his fingers and also several piercings on his ears as well as his nose, eyebrows and one single silver stud on his chin and his arms and collarbone were covered in tattoos depicting yellow flowers (buttercups maybe? Geralt wasn’t sure), music notes and many other random designs. Last but not least, wrapped around his wrist was a bracelet with the bisexual flag on which Geralt was especially happy to see and it made his heart soar with hope.

The man looked at both Yennefer and Geralt up and down with a glint in his eye and grinned widely. “Hello there! I’m Julian but everyone calls me Jaskier. I do both piercings and tattoos here and I’m very happy to make your acquaintance.” He clapped his hands together. “So! Which one of you is Geralt?”

The pair gave him a dry look, or at least Yennefer did because Geralt’s was closer to smitten more than anything else.

“What? I didn’t want to make any assumptions.” Jaskier said sheepishly and bit his lower lip. Geralt’s eyes were immediately drawn to the gesture.

Yennefer leaned on the counter and nodded towards her ex with a roll of her eyes. “It’s him.”

“Perfect! Please follow me.” Jaskier said and led them down a hallway and inside a room. There was a tattoo chair in the middle and the younger man motioned for Geralt to sit on it.

“Triss mentioned that it’s your first time getting a piercing correct?” Jaskier asked while putting on some plastic gloves.

“Yeah.” Geralt answered and avoided eye contact trying to not stare at the guy too much, something which was proving to be quite hard.

Jaskier sighed and looked up dreamily.

“I remember when I first had my ears pierced.” He said and started taking various small packages out from a drawer and arranging them neatly in a surgical stand next to Geralt’s chair.

“I was in middle school and the guy I liked at the time had earrings so I asked him where he got them just to start a conversation and he told me and then offered to come with me if I ever wanted to try it out so of course I said yes and after I did it I became obsessed with piercings so here I am today.”

Yennefer snorted from the doorway where she was standing with her arms crossed. “Wait, so you basically just did it for some guy?” she asked in a judgmental tone which Geralt was confused about since she literally brought him here for an even stupider reason.

Jaskier just chuckled unoffended. “Not just some guy! I lost my virginity to him not long after.” He said and started opening the packages and taking various metal tools out of them. “And I’d blame it on the fact that I was a teenager at the time but even now when I fall in love it’s always fast.” He turned and winked at Geralt. “And hard.”

Geralt’s eyes widened and he blushed. He cleared his throat trying to feign nonchalance “Hm. That doesn’t really sound fun honestly.”

Jaskier made a thoughtful sound. “Sometimes it is and other times it isn’t I guess. Depends on how the other party will respond.”

He seemed to want to say more on the subject, but he was done with the preparations and he had no reason to stall. “Before we start, I must inform you that all the tools I’m gonna use have been sterilized and sealed in those packages you saw earlier to avoid infection so you don’t have to worry about that.”

He picked up a marker and came close to Geralt to mark the place where the holes on his ears would be made. Once he was done he held a mirror in front of his client. “Is this ok?”

The older man just nodded and Jaskier put the mirror back.

“Have you thought about what sort of earrings you’d like?”

Geralt had in fact not thought about this at all. “Not really.” He answered honestly.

“Whoa seriously? How do you even come to a place like this without deciding that first?”

“…I lost a bet.” Geralt grumbled while Yennefer laughed.

“Well I’ll have your friend here tell me all about it while you go back to the counter and choose something with Triss. Come on now, off you go!” Jaskier said and kicked him out of the room.

Geralt was worried that his newfound crush was more interested in his ex-girlfriend than him so he wasn’t really paying attention to what Triss was saying, basically letting her pick the first thing she suggested before hurriedly making his way back to the room.

As he got closer, he could hear Jaskier’s beautiful laugh and he quickened his pacing. He was about to open the door when the question the tattoo artist asked Yennefer stopped him dead in his tracks.

“So are you guys together or…?”

“No no, we’re just friends currently. Tried the whole relationship thing out long ago and it didn’t work out. Though I must inform you that I’m dating someone else at the moment but Geralt’s single if you wanna shoot your shot.”

“I just might.” Jaskier was saying as Geralt re-entered the room.

Two pair of eyes looked back at him and the piercer shot him a charming smile. “Welcome back big guy! Come here and show me what you’ve chosen.”

Geralt handed him the earrings and sat back down.

“Black studs huh? Not a bad choice for your first time.” He said and picked up something that looked like scissors, leaning over Geralt.

“You ready?” he asked and Geralt took a deep breath which was the wrong thing to do because his lungs filled with Jaskier’s scent and it was intoxicating. If he had to use words to describe it he’d say it was a pleasant mix of lavender and something citrusy with a hint of sweat coming through as well.

His heart started beating faster and he looked at Yennefer all panicked. She just raised an eyebrow in return. “What? Need me to hold your hand or something?”

Geralt growled and looked back at Jaskier. “Just get it over with.”

Jaskier shrugged and got to work. It stung a bit, but it didn’t bother Geralt in the slightest. He actually barely noticed it with Jaskier’s close proximity and the sound of his gentle humming as he worked being all he could thing about.

After he was done, Jaskier picked up a few cotton swabs and poured some sort of clear liquid over them before using them to wipe at Geralt’s ears.

“All done!” He said after stepping back to admire his work. He gave Geralt the mirror from previously to look at the earrings himself as Yennefer came over as well.

Geralt was pleasantly surprised to note that he really liked what he saw. They were very noticeable with his hair being white and all but they didn’t make him look any less masculine as he secretly feared. Plus, they fit quite nicely with his all-black outfit that consisted of black jeans, black combat boots, a black t-shirt and a black leather jacket.

Yennefer whistled appreciatively. “I don’t know about you but I love them.”

Geralt shook his head. “No no, I feel the same way. Thanks for convincing me to do this.” He turned to Jaskier who was smiling back at him. “And thank you for everything.”

“Just doing my job.” He said in a sing song voice and turned around, bending down to rummage through one of the lower drawers and giving Geralt a very nice view of his ass. His shirt rode up as well, making the tramp stamp of a dragonfly he had tattooed on his lower back visible and Geralt felt himself getting hotter by the second.

Yennefer noticed him looking and smirked but didn’t comment.

Jaskier stood back up and handed him a piece of paper and a small card. He pointed at the paper. “This one has instructions on what to do after you go home, though the gist of it is clean the holes with a cotton swab drenched in saline solution two to three times every day for 2 months and then you’d be able to take those earrings off and try on others.”

He then pointed at the card. “And this is the warranty for the black studs.” He said and took the gloves off, throwing them in a trash can.

“If you somehow happen to lose them, come by and we’ll just redo the process ok?”

“Yes.” Geralt answered and cursed himself for his bad social skills. How does he keep the conversation going?

“Oh, and I also think I should give you my personal number, y’know, just in case something happens.” Jaskier added and looked up at him expectantly.

Geralt was quick to take the chance that was given to him. “I’d like that.”

Jaskier beamed at him relieved. He took back the paper and quickly scribbled his number down before handing it to him. “Have a nice day Geralt. And Yennefer too.”

“I’m honored you remembered me. Come on Geralt, let’s go pay.” Geralt smiled and gave Jaskier a small wave as he was dragged outside by his ex.

“Goodbye Jaskier.”

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #geraskier #the witcher #fanfiction #text #mine #julian alfred pankratz #gerlion #dandelion #geralt x jaskier #my writing

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hannagoldworthy · 4 years

Text

AWOL 8

(A fight which hopefully drives forward the plot.)

“I’ve been informed that you can tell me where this man is.”

Hondo Ohnaka pretended to be more nearsighted than he was and inched a little too close to the bounty puck. “Savage…Opress, huh? He didn’t tell me he had a last name.”

Asajj pulled the puck away from the Weequay’s prying fingers. “He probably realized that desertion meant he forfeited the right to use it. We earn our surnames in my culture.”

“I suppose that’s better than naming every child after the model of freighter in which they were conceived. My mother had a terrible time singling out which Hondo to yell at.”

Latts gagged, and Asajj allowed herself one cathartic eye-twitch. “Just tell us where he is, and I’ll give you the salvage rights for his vehicle.”

“There’s nothing left to salvage in that vehicle. It barely suits as a monkey-lizard outhouse, doesn’t it my sweet baby? Those nasty mean men were so rude to you…”

“Just give us the coordinates!”

The monkey lizard leaped to safety on a perch hung near the ceiling, but Ohnaka didn’t even glance at the lightsaber blade near his neck. His pirates seemed to materialize from the walls, armed to the teeth, every blaster muzzle pointed at one member of the bounty hunter duo.

“You, young lady, are very lucky that your elegant legs and bald head remind me of my ex-girlfriend. I’ll take two percent of the bounty to order my men not to kill you, and three percent for the coordinates.”

“Done,” Asajj growled. “Now where is the Zabrak?”

“I think you mean where are the Zabrak…there are two!”

***

Just a little after sundown, Maul awoke to find that every tube had been removed from his arms, the wounds they left covered with tiny bandages. The ever-present ache he had felt for the past dozen years was gone, replaced with a slight chill when a breeze flowed against the sheet that covered his unclothed legs.

His legs…just the word filled him with vigor. All this time he’d only felt phantom pains where his legs should be, mocking him for the failure with which he’d had to live since…Kenobi.

He jerked his body upright at the mere thought of the man’s name, and was rewarded with a stabbing pain in his midsection. Right, what had the Doctor said? His new-grown muscles would not immediately cooperate? Well, they would listen if he made them listen.

There was a set of clean clothes set on the chair where Savage had sat during the procedure. Slowly, Maul swung his legs to hang over the gurney, only to be tugged in an uncomfortable spot. Of course there was still one tube remaining, one last vestige of his fragility. Maul gritted his teeth and yanked the catheter out; the resulting pain was nothing like what he’d been able to live through, but it fueled his anger enough to enable him to put on the soft, elastic-waist pants, one painstaking leg at a time. The shirt, socks, and shoes he left on the chair – it was a warm night, and he intended to work up a sweat.

He was greatly tempted to push the gurney in front of him as a make-shift walker, but he knew from experience how dicey hover-tech could be when used in such a way. Instead, he forced himself to stand as upright as possible, pushing against the ground with the Force when it seemed he would fall. He made it to the entrance of the tent this way before he almost fell backwards to the ground when another person nearly collided with him. Maul snarled, bracing himself to face the challenger.

Six centimeters from his face, Doctor Offee sighed. “I don’t suppose I’m going to persuade you to take it easy, am I?”

“I did not survive for this long by ‘taking it easy’, Doctor.”

“Can I at least offer my help? If you tear a muscle, it means more work on my part.”

“…Very well.”

Without waiting for him to change his mind, she swiveled underneath his left arm, settling it across her shoulders. Her right hand firmly clasped his waist, and she slowly lifted him with her legs, letting his feet continue to touch the ground and his right hand dangle for balance.

“You’re stronger than you look,” he said as they walked in this way toward the fire.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she replied. “Are you hungry?”

“For vengeance.” A loud gurgle echoed from his perfidious stomach, punctuating his statement in a way he had not intended.

She smiled. “I can tell, but there’s some broth ready for you instead. Vengeance might be just a little too much to digest at the moment.”

“Do you have a smart little retort for everything I say?”

“Would you rather I have a stupid retort?”

“Minx.”

“Brat.” She bent her knees to support his weight as he sat beside the fire, then pulled over a cup of soup which had apparently already been prepared.

“You were expecting me to be awake at this time.”

“Were the clothes not evidence enough of that?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Where is Savage?”

“He’s hunting for skalder; a little unprocessed meat ought to do you some good.”

“So you were preparing to dress me, yourself.”

Like a good little Jedi, she took a deep breath to dampen the spike of irritation Maul could sense from his vantage point. “I have helped many patients dress after such injuries.”

“You have helped the same patient many different times. I am no clone.”

“Technically, you are half a clone of yourself.”

Oho, this woman thought she had all the answers, didn’t she? “Isn’t that veil supposed to guard your modesty?” he asked, stepping around her logic. “I’d think you’d be more reluctant to disturb my privacy, with your religious traditions.”

“That’s actually a common misconception,” Barriss replied, ladling some soup into her own cup. “Mirialans have chlorophyll in our cells in place of melanin; it allows us to photosynthesize in order to supplement our nutrition when there is little food to eat. For those of us from polar cultures, the veil is symbolic of a devotion to temperance, especially when we travel away from our homeworld. There are feast days and certain mitigating circumstances when we’re encouraged to bare our heads.”

“What sort of mitigating circumstances?”

“Advanced age, age younger than puberty, illness, injury, or pregnancy,” she rattled off, counting on her fingers.

This was…interesting. He’d never had the opportunity to really learn about Mirialans; all his studies growing up simply said their vital organs were in the same place as common humans. “But are there not severe strictures on sexual activity before marriage?”

“Before marriage, and during certain periods of fasting, sexual activity is strictly forbidden. However, providing medical aid is a basic form of sapient charity, which is encouraged at all times, even when it involves certain organs.” She sipped from her cup, slyly avoiding his warming face. “You needn’t be so concerned with defending my virtue.”

“I’m not,” he rolled his eyes. “I’m defending mine. Women from my culture tend not to ask permission.”

She deflated a little. “Oh, that’s right. I apologize. I should have thought of that.”

He tilted his head to stare pityingly at her. “That’s it? I’d have thought you would at least defend yourself.”

She shrugged. “I was wrong.”

“So? Even if you were, you could at least continue to fight instead of just giving up.”

“There’s no shame in admitting I’m wrong,” she demurred. “And I have a feeling that there are many more important battles I’ll have to fight with you. I might as well save my energy for those.”

He scoffed. “Jedi.”

“Former Jedi. And…” Barriss broke off, gazing vacantly into her cup as she sensed their immediate surroundings. “Do you feel that?”

Maul closed his eyes and stilled his breathing. There were two presences approaching their campsite on foot; one was non-Force sensitive, but the other was dark, in a way that felt encouragingly like home.

He sensed Barriss flick her wrist in his direction; when he held up his hand, what remained of his lightsaber landed in his open palm. Barriss stood in a ready stance, holding her lightsaber close to the folds of her dress in a way that made her appear unarmed.

“Who goes theaAAAAH…?” She was hit mid-sentence by a sort of whip made of interlocking sea-green scales – a traditional Theelin battle-boa, if Maul’s training with rare weapons was not mistaken. Barriss was knocked off her feet with her arms bound tightly to her sides, landing hard on her back.

“Oh, dear,” murmured the dark presence. “I hope we haven’t disturbed anything.”

Maul wanted to rest one foot on the log where he sat and casually hug the knee against his chest; the Witch who sashayed into the firelight seemed like she could be as theatrical as he. Alas, his abdominal muscles were, as yet, too sore to allow such an affectation. Instead, he spread his legs, letting his right arm with its lightsaber hang between them, and rested his chin nonchalantly against his left fist, bracing his left elbow on his knee. “Only an educational conversation. I’m sure you will not be so impolite as to irreparably harm my companion; we can always continue at a later date.”

“Such manners,” the Witch crooned as her Theelin companion reeled herself closer to Barriss. “I’m sure you will be gracious enough to tell me what I want to know.”

“It depends on what you’re asking.”

The curved contraptions in each hand turned out to be lightsaber hilts; Maul raised an eyebrow when a red blade appeared at the right side of his throat. “Savage Opress,” the Witch hissed. “Where is he?”

The rage he felt when she dared pronounce his brother’s name could not be hidden, so Maul did not try to hide it. “What business is it of yours?”

“Answer the question, slave.”

He snorted. “I’m no slave, Witch. You’ll find my chains have been broken.”

Her icy eyes narrowed. “A Sith…”

“OOF!”

Maul looked over to see that Barriss had dealt a solid two-foot kick to the Theelin’s midsection, sending her flying backwards. In a flurry of pearlescent scales and dark skirts, Barriss flipped to her feet, a blue blade igniting to cut through her bonds.

He took the opportunity to Force-grab the hand holding the lightsaber to his throat, twisting it in order to disarm the Witch, then dragging her nose into his waiting elbow. She screamed, and lit the other lightsaber to strike him; his blade connected with hers, and they glared at each other over the intersecting red beams.

“Get…off of him!” A foot connected with the Witch’s right temple, pushing her onto her behind in the yellow Florrum dirt. Barriss moved to stand over him in a modified Form III opening stance, her lightsaber in the challenging left hand and one half of the battle-boa in her rear, dominant hand.

The Witch tried to scrabble into a standing position, but Barriss ensnared her feet with the boa and pulled. The Witch’s head hit hard against the ground; she was still conscious, but only for long enough for Barriss to flip the distance between them and smack her head into the ground again with one knee.

Simaltaneously, Maul’s and Barriss’s heads snapped toward their one remaining opponent. The Theelin stood aghast for one moment, before dropping the other half of her weapon and raising her hands above her head.

“It’s okay, I won’t resist. I wasn’t expecting more than one shiny sword on this job.”

***

“You’re certain you’re all right?”

“Barriss, you are the one who got hurt, not I. Leave it be.”

“I can afford a few bruises. We just got you on your feet.”

From where they hung on the freighter’s wing, lashed together with the battle-boa and hung until their feet dangled, Latts somehow managed a smile. “They’re already fighting like an old married couple! Isn’t that cute?”

For once, Asajj wasn’t the only one who wanted to strangle Latts Razzi. The scowl the little Mirialan girl sent her way from her place by the fire could have turned sand into glass. “Do not even joke about such a thing.”

The Nightbrother whose name Asajj did not know shot his companion a perplexed face. “I thought you weren’t a Jedi anymore? What’s stopping you from getting married?”

“Ethical imperative. You are my patient, not my romantic partner.”

“True, but I won’t be your patient forever.”

“Maul, stop. You are not as funny as you think you are.”

For the first time since she had woken to the outraged Mirialan healing her concussion, Asajj decided it was safe to speak. “Maul, huh? As in Darth Maul? The idiot Kenobi cut in half a dozen years ago?”

The Nightbrother smiled toothily, murder in his Sith-yellow eyes. “Why is this woman still alive?”

“Her name is Asajj Ventress, of your tribe of Nightsisters,” Barriss Offee replied, fiddling angrily with the tracking fob and bounty puck Latts had so generously given her. “And she is going to tell us what she intends to do with Savage.”

“I’d think that would be obvious. She’s resorted to bounty hunting after she and her sisters tried and failed to repel an army of droids.”

“No, Maul, you don’t understand,” the former Jedi youngling said, kneeling next to him to get on eye-level. “Asajj Ventress chose your brother as a mate, not long ago. She used her Claim over him to sell him to Dooku, so that the both of them could kill him. Only, Savage somehow escaped from her.”

Asajj snarled – what did this little Jedi drop-out know? “He betrayed me!”

“You used him, and he ran.”

The Nightbrother glared up at her. “And now you’ve come to destroy his life again.”

“Completely, this time,” Asajj acknowledged. “I intend to stop the monster I created.”

The Sith laughed crazily. “Imagine that, Barriss. She thinks Savage is the monster here.”

“It’s true. I witnessed him kill his own brother without a single ounce of regret.”

The atmosphere went deadly cold in the space of an instant. “He…killed Feral?” the girl asked, eyes wide.

Her companion frowned at her. “That was his name?”

She clenched her fists and marched up to where Asajj and Latts hung. “Savage loved Feral more than his own life. Why would he kill him?”

Asajj smiled down – she had the girl where she wanted her, where her convalescent friend could not help or hinder her. “Because he was weak,” she said, over-pronouncing the ‘k’ sound to twist the knife. “He said so himself.”

The girl searched her eyes, finding no lie; then, her deep blue eyes hardened. “Who ordered him to kill Feral?”

How did she know about that? “What do you mean?” Asajj asked out loud to hide her confusion.

The ex-Jedi ground her teeth loud enough that her companion heard her and tried pathetically to stand. “One who has Claimed a Nightbrother has ways of ordering him to do her will. Is that not true?”

“How do you know about that?”

One green fist slammed into her jaw, and the world spun as the boa twisted.

“Hey, yo, STOP!” Latts yelled. “Can you please not spin me around again? I’ll grant that that sort of thing is really karked up, but I had nothing to do with it, so please, don’t hit her again! Please?”

“Barriss, stop.” The Nightbrother glowered from his place by the fire. “This is not your revenge.”

The Mirialan took a deep breath, tears of anger running down her face. “You’re right,” she said, retreating from the prisoners. “Savage should be back soon.”

“That’s right. Now, I believe I should take first watch.”

After a moment, she nodded in response. “Two hours, no more. I don’t need to recover as much as you do.”

“Two hours,” he agreed.

She lay down by the fire with a blanket covering her, while the Nightbrother sat placidly back to watch the prisoners. Asajj tolerated his gaze with a shudder; she had a feeling it was going to be a very long night.

***

The skalder was massively heavy, but Savage was stubborn. He butchered the carcass and dragged his spoils back in the skin of the creature, one step at a time. He would be crunching on marrow-filled bones today; it had been a while.

When he arrived back, however, he found the camp in disarray. Maul was awake, no surprise, and nodded congenially to Savage, which was a surprise. Poor Barriss was furious; she stoked the fire with a violence he had not thought her inclined toward.

And hanging from the wing of the ship were two women, one pink-skinned Theelin with purple spots and orange hair, and one…whom he knew quite well indeed.

Savage set down his quarry and folded his arms. “What’d I miss?”

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amymel86 · 4 years

Note

Please, please, please, PLEASE post anothe snippet

A little sneak peek please

Everything you write is amazing

asdkjshfhddfdfd!! Thank you so much, anon! Sending this message was so incredibly sweet and I really appreciate it!

I wasn’t sure what to share that I hadn’t already but as I’m currently working on the epilogue to Redamancy and I am just so weirded out that *I* am about to finish a long fic, I thought I’d share a bit of that on this fine sunday :) ...

Seven Years Later...

The morning filters through their curtains in dappling light. Jon blinks his eyes open to be met with his nose buried within a mass of copper silk. Sighing happily, He tightens his arm around his wife and begins to grow hard against the curve of her backside.

“You’re needed at the treehouse today,” she mumbles into her pillow. “So don’t get any funny ideas.”

Sansa had sold the apartment that Jon had fatefully rented from her when they’d first met. With that money, they saved Robb from having to carve out the ancient Stark lands to finance his Tree House Event Rooms. They bought the old Gamekeeper’s Cottage and both returned to living in the North, complete with little Melody of course.

“My idea isn’t particularly funny,” he tells her, voice a tad raspy as he grinds his erection into her ass. “But it is very fun though.”

Sansa giggles and arches back into him. “As tempting as that is, Mr Snow, my brother is the one who needs your energy today.”

Jon groans and rolls to his back, his hand slipping under the waistband of his boxers to grip himself and will his lust away. Impossible - what with her right beside him. He’ll never not want her.

She’s right though. He’s wanted early to help Robb set up for a wedding they’re hosting at the tree house. Their business is doing well and both Jon and Sansa can be found pitching in for the many bookings at Winterfell Events.

Rising, Jon manages to calm his libido while taking his morning shower. When he’s done, the thought of breakfast pulls at him as he descends the staircase. He expects to find his wife at the stove, but the sight that greets him is of her on her hands and knees on the kitchen floor, carefully picking broken shards of glass from spilt milk.

“I’ve told them not to move,” she says, gesturing to the three children stood, barefoot in the kitchen.

“We were helping mummy make your favourite pancakes!” Melly says proudly.

“But Olly dropped the glass jug,” her sister, Rosie Lyanna -hastily (and accidentally, although happily) conceived not long after her big sister’s birth- pipes up.

Olly has retreated to the corner, his face turned down and scarlet red.

“It was just an accident, Olly,” Sansa says as she mops up the milk with a tea towel. The boy says nothing, continuing to study his toes. Sansa exchanges a look with Jon.

Olly is their first foster child. He is eight and has been in the care system since he was four years old. His file says he is suspected to have learning difficulties that sets off his frustration which in turn leads to shows of anger. As far as Jon and Sansa can see, he’s very bright when he’s engaged, but so far not much has been done to help him.

Even though the boy has a head of dirty blonde hair and big, brown eyes, to say that Jon can see himself in Olly is a bit of an understatement.

His heart lurches just looking at the expression on his tucked down face – he remembers it well; expecting to hear the disappointment, the punishment.

“Be careful!” Sansa warns as Jon tip-toes over with socked feet. First, he picks up Rosie (named because of the authentic blue winter roses both he and Sansa had been determined to find and take to Old Nan and his mother’s grave. They had still been in her King’s Landing apartment at the time and the whole place had nearly been turned into a fragrant rose greenhouse with the amount of failed fake white ones they had dotted around the place. One of them had bloomed winter blue for the second time on the day they’d brought their second daughter back from the hospital.) Jon kisses her nose as he puts her down safely in the lounge area. She giggles, making her little ginger curls bounce. Jon goes back for Melody, swiping her up in his arms and making her shriek and laugh as he throws her down on the sofa.

Tiptoeing back into the kitchen, Jon approaches Olly. “Want me to lift you too, buddy?”

The boy shakes his head. “I’ll wait until she’s done,” he says, nodding his head toward Sansa.

“Ok,” Jon tells him. “We’ll wait together. You wanna sit on the kitchen counter?” he offers, holding his hands out ready to lift him up. Olly looks behind him at the counter and then tentatively back at Jon. He nods and allows himself to be lifted.

“He was really keen to help,” Sansa tells Jon after all had been tidied up and the children were occupied. Olly had retreated to the safety of his room. “But then he accidently dropped the measuring jug and it’s like he just shut down.”

Jon smiles softly at the worry in his wife’s eyes. He’s reminded of a hazy, whiskey-soaked night where she was picking up shards of shattered glass then too. He’d been so consumed with the thought that no one would ever give him a chance at love.

“Do you think we should give him his space or go and talk to him? I just wanted to hug him so much but I don’t think he’s ready for that,” Sansa says, worrying her lip.

And there she is. Jon’s heart swells in his chest.

Wrapping his arms around her, Jon gently kisses her cheek. “Let’s get the pancake ingredients out again and ask him if he wants to come and mix the batter.”

*Olly might get changed to an OC since I’m not 100% sure about invoking the memory of the show character lol He might become ‘Olyvar’ instead.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #fic snippet #redamancy #modern au #donor au

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kpopfanfictrash · 5 years

Text

Erebus

Member: Jimin (BTS)

Prompt: Song!drabble, inspired by Jackie and Wilson, Hozier

Rating: PG-13

Idea: Criminal!AU

WC: 2,503

↳ part of my 30K milestone drabble game

Park Jimin had never been described as a patient man.

When he was younger, this was attributed to him as a bad thing; said with all the weariness only first-time parents could muster. As he grew, Jimin learned to wear his weakness as a weapon. No, he was not patient.

Jimin did not wait for things to happen; instead, he made them happen.

One leg crossed over the other, Park Jimin tapped his foot to the floor. The shoes he wore were immaculate, nary a scuff on their leather – purposeful, on his end. People tended not to ask questions when a person’s shoes were well-kept. At least, those were the rules in this particular establishment.

At the back of the room, a single door opened and through it, stepped a nicely groomed man in a suit. All bank employees at Rothman’s were nicely groomed in order to ensure nicely groomed men became customers. Before the door could swing shut behind him, Jimin caught a glimpse of the room just beyond.

Aside from a blink, his expression was entirely neutral.

“Everything seems to be in order here,” said the man, not bothering to sit at the desk in between them. Thumbs brushing the paperwork, he pretending to read every document. In reality, Jimin knew his actions were as much a bluff as his own.

“Excellent.” Jimin stood from his chair. “Shall we return to the bank floor?”

Ten minutes ago, the pair had left the bank to enter this room. Jimin had requested a private audience with a specialist to inquire after a unique line of credit. The man in the room was the only credit specialist in the bank.

Nodding once, the man agreeably turned and – still quite agreeably – Jimin pressed his gun against the small of his back.

The man tensed.

“Now,” Jimin said, lips brushing his ear. “Have you ever seen the aftermath of a bullet embedded in a man’s spine?”

“N-no.”

“I see.” Jimin spoke plainly. “Would you like to?”

“No!”

“Even better.” His smile widened. “Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be, then.”

Wisely, the banker chose not to respond.

Paused, Jimin listened for the distant tolling of bells. St. Tanir’s Cathedral rang precisely every hour, on the hour. The hour in question was 11:00 AM, which was the agreed-upon time for the occasion. 11:10 AM was when the guards switched for lunch and someone might be able to sneak into their rooms unawares.

“We’re going to turn around,” Jimin said quietly. “And you’re going to let me into the next room with that key around your neck.”

The man’s gaze shifted sideways. “It won’t matter,” he said resolutely. “I don’t have the key to the safe.”

Jimin chuckled. “Obviously not. That would be too tempting for you.”

The banker seemed mildly affronted by this, but Jimin did not care. The banker was a man, after all and all men could be tempted. Together, the two walked across the room – one of them respectable, one decidedly not.

At the door to the next room, the banker paused.

Jimin leaned in. “If you’re imagining yelling for help, I wouldn’t.”

Swallowing hard, a lump ticked his throat. At last, the banker located the key hidden within the depths of his clothing and slid this into the lock. It opened with a click, just as it had when the man entered. Jimin pushed them both forward.

In any other circumstances, Jimin might have picked the lock himself. It would have taken him only a few moments, but time was of the essence today. Besides, the banker could prove to be useful leverage in a pinch.

As they entered the next room, Jimin saw it was bare – conspicuously so. He smiled.

It had taken Jimin a long time to track the crimson diamond. So called, because its pathway through history had been soaked with its blood. The last known sighting was with Edgar Von Welsh, aged 87. He was charged with transporting the priceless commodity from Wixin to Rakkir some forty years back. Obviously, Edgar was interrupted. Since then, sightings of the diamond have been based on rumors and hearsay.

Not that this dissuaded Jimin in any way from seeking it out. He, himself was a creature of rumor and hearsay – like calls to like, as they say.

It was clever of the government though, to stage their disappearing act. Before the diamond was taken, it was easily located by the best thieves and criminals. Criminals are a notoriously chatty bunch. In a society where currency holds little value against knives in the alley, reputation is everything. The crimson diamond became known for how many times it changed hands.

Until it disappeared.

Teeth gritted, Jimin searched the room.

Even amongst criminals, Jimin was considered an oddity. People knew him but could never be certain of the objects he stole. This was because Jimin rarely kept his treasures. Take the crimson diamond, for instance. Its bloody trail began when it was stolen from the famed mines of Antifa, herself. Ripped from its native land and placed in the crown of a foreign King.

As soon as Antifa was freed from this King’s rule, high-ranking members of their council sought an audience with Jimin. He accepted the mission on principle – although the finder’s fee they agreed to pay him did help.

Casually, Jimin prodded the man forward. “I’m going to release you,” he said, still utterly calm. “You will not make a sound. If you try to run, I will shoot you. If you make a single sound, I will shoot you. If you so much as breathe loudly, I will knock you out – and then shoot you. Do you understand?”

Chin wobbling a bit, the man nodded.

Jimin surveyed him a moment, then turned to the wall. “You’re weighing your options right now, aren’t you?” Cocking his head, he stepped forward. “Attempting to figure out how fast I am. Thinking to yourself, ‘what if I ran while he’s distracted with the lock?’” Jimin made a tsk-ing sound beneath his breath. “These are all the wrong things to think.”

In the corner of his eye, Jimin saw the man blink. “That’s not what I was thinking,” the man said, entirely unconvincingly.

“It was,” Jimin said, his boredom clear. With a flick of his wrist, twin silver picks fell into his palm. “It was a stupid thought, though and let me tell you why. I’m a much faster shot than you can move.” Feeling along the wall, Jimin paused. “By the time a single syllable passed your lips, my bullets would have erased the rest of the word. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.” Jimin smiled, locating the near-undetectable seam. “Erebus.”

The man paled.

Jimin nearly laughed. “Ah, so you have heard of me. Good. Perhaps you know this already, then,” he drawled, inserting one of his picks into the lock. “But do you know where my name comes from?”

Barely audible, the man said, “The god of shadows.”

“Very good.” Inserting the other pick, Jimin waited for the humble click of success. “More of a primordial deity than a god, but who am I to quibble? Do you know why I am named as such?”

The man shook his head.

Jimin sighed. How tedious, to spread his own legacy. “There are many types of darkness. The inside of a safe, for example,” he said, cracking open the door. “Or the eternal darkness to which we all shall return.” Grabbing the diamond, Jimin turned towards the banker. “And then, there are shadows. Both existing and not, both living and dead. That is what I am.”

With one hand, Jimin tucked the flawless diamond into the waistband of his coat. The banker’s gaze flickered once to its pocket.

Although his throat remained dry, the banker managed to swallow. “You’re both… living and not?”

“Correct, Mr. Johnson.” Jimin shut the safe, ignoring how the banker jumped. Clearly, he did not expect Jimin to know him, but Jimin knew many things he should not. “I exist in your world, obviously – the land of the living. And then – the door, please,” he said, gesturing with his gun.

Mutely, the banker pulled down on the handle.

“And then,” Jimin said, stepping behind him. The barrel of his gun re-found the man’s back. “I also exist underground. Dealing in lies, deception, trickery. The sort of work despised by the living.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” the man asked, gaze fixed on the door.

“Maybe I’m bored.” Jimin glanced up at the clock. “Or, maybe I’m stalling for time.”

It was at this precise moment alarm bells rang out.

Lowering his gun, Jimin intended to tell the man to return to the front. Had he obeyed, Jimin would have let him leave – but instead, the man experienced a moment of extreme stupidity. Or bravery. It was often difficult to tell the two apart.

Whirling, the man dove for Jimin’s waistcoat. Having been expecting this, Jimin stepped aside – and was promptly socked in the jaw, which Jimin had not been expecting. Exhaling through clenched teeth, Jimin straightened.

The man swung again at his face.

“I take it you’re not Mr. Johnson?” Jimin asked, grabbing his punch.

Smart, to pose a trained operative as the teller. Jimin should have been expecting this – it niggled the back of his brain he had not. It was unusual for Jimin to miscalculate variables.

Shoving his hand in Jimin’s coat, the man looked up in alarm. “Where is it?” breathed not-Mr. Johnson. “What did you do with the diamond!”

Releasing a sigh of disappointment, Jimin allowed himself to be fondled. Once the man had thoroughly exhausted the inside of his waistcoat, Jimin retracted and backhanded his face. Releasing his coat with a cry, the man staggered backwards.

Slowly, Jimin walked forward. “As though it would be so easy.” With a twist of his fingers, the diamond appeared in his grasp. Before the man could take it, Jimin vanished it easily. “My original plan was to leave you intact.”

The man did pale then. Jimin cursed himself for not having noticed the difference.

Gaze flat, the light fled from Jimin’s eyes – along with his mercy. “But now,” he said smoothly. “You’ve cost me valuable time.”

The man whimpered, the sound breaking past his now-trembling lips. Drawing a hand backwards, Jimin pointed his gun – only to bring its handle down on his head. The man instantly slumped, rendered unconscious. With any luck, he would not remember these proceedings.

Stepping over his body, Jimin dusted off his hands. “As though I would bloody them for him,” he muttered – to himself, since there was no one else present.

Entering the first room, Jimin peered down the hall. The Bank was in predictable chaos. Alarm bells rang out overhead – the insistent tone which signaled someone having breached the Royal vault. Flipping down his collar, Jimin melted into the crowd. Merely another customer, afraid for his life.

Three security men ran past him, each talking excitedly into their earpieces. “Close off all civilian entrances,” they declared. “Alarm was tripped in section A7.”

Jimin’s lips quirked. A rather brilliant idea, on his end – few knew this Bank housed two separate vaults, one of them directly across town from here. It was a failsafe on the Bank’s end, a way to ensure their money was never held entirely in one place. On the other hand, this meant their forces were often divided.

At precisely 11:00 AM, while Jimin was stealing the diamond, someone else snuck into the security center and tripped an alarm for the vault across town. At that minute, security was assembling to leave their bank and assist the other – or, they would be until vault A7 was reached and they discovered nothing was missing.

Jimin needed to be gone before then.

Hurrying his stride, Jimin kept his head down and walked behind security. They provided an excellent cover for him, moving through the back hallways – until he reached Conference Room B and ducked sideways. Just past its door, a blue lump of clothing was bundled onto the floor. Jimin changed as fast as possible before he re-entered the hall.

Gaze on the ground, he blended into security. When one shoved open the back door, Jimin stepped out of the way and bent to tie his shoe. “I’ll catch the next one,” he mumbled, waving them on.

As they piled into the armored van and pulled from the bank, Jimin straightened. His pulse beat, thump-thump against his chest. Squinting down the back alley, he wondered where in the hell you were – and then an armored car – license plate A7J893 – came into view.

Gripping the handle, Jimin yanked open the door and climbed swiftly inside.

You wasted no time, slamming your foot on the gas and heading towards the gate. The disgruntled security you left behind could not be helped – soon, they would have bigger problems to worry about. Namely, the fact that their prized crimson diamond was missing.

As you exited the Bank, Jimin slouched low in his seat. You were the one who did the talking, who waved to the officer on duty as you pulled onto the street. Following the other security vans through the city, you abruptly turned as you got on the highway.

Jimin exhaled beside you, a low hiss of breath. “Fuck,” he muttered, eyes wide. “We did it.”

Snorting, you reached up to remove your blonde wig. Shaking your head, your natural tresses spilled out – Jimin could not help it, he leaned over to kiss you.

If you were not the most competent driver in the business, he wouldn’t have risked it – but you were, so he did. Lips parting yours, Jimin’s mouth moved with yours breathlessly until you shoved at his chest.

“Jimin!” you said, collapsing back on your seat. The car had not moved an inch. “Wait until we ditch this car, at least.”

“Did you disable the tracker?”

You cast him a dry look. “Is this my first getaway?”

Jimin grinned. “Apologies. I just find it unbelievably sexy when you fool a bank full of men.”

The corner of your lip quirked. That was your specialty.

While Jimin was the locksmith, the trickster and planner, you were his hacker, driver and master of deception. While Jimin was stealing the diamond, you snuck into the security office to trip the alarm – not to mention, snag him a uniform and van for escape.

Shifting in his seat, Jimin tried to hide his arousal.

Despite this, you shot him a knowing glance. “Wait until the warehouse,” you said once again. “Then you can have me as much as you like.”

Jimin’s gaze softened, taking in your expression. He still found it baffling each time he realized you were his. Like all shadows, he had a singular tether to the world of the living. You were his – you always had been.

“Promise?” he murmured, reaching out for your hand.

“Promise,” you said, fingers curling in his.

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin au #bts au #jimin drabble #bts drabble

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rhetoricalrogue · 4 years

Note

“Undress” for Roz and Vincent pls and thanks ❤️

And another one that’s been sitting in my inbox for three whole years! I went with the Witch of the Wilds AU where Vincent is an Amell and Roz is Morrigan’s adopted sister. This is a direct sequel to this piece and this piece I wrote some time ago.

Rated M for some bathtub friskiness.

“Tell me another story, Papa, please?” Vincent sat at the edge of his daughter’s bed, his hand stroking her hair.

“That’s four extra bedtime stories already,” he laughed, leaning over her to kiss her forehead. “I think that’s more than enough for you to go to sleep with, my little Sprout.”

Bryony’s forehead crinkled as she frowned at him. “But…”

“Yes?”

“Will you be here tomorrow when I wake up?” she asked, looking far more worried than a little girl should ever be. “Or are you going away again?”

Vincent’s heart broke. “Oh, my love,” he told her, gathering her up in his arms and gently rocking back and forth like he used to when she was a baby. “I am not going anywhere, not without you or your mother, for a very long time.”

“You found what you were looking for?”

He tapped her nose with his finger. “I did. And now that I found it, I can stay at home with you forever.”

Bryony snuggled into his chest, her head resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “Do you miss it, the singing? Grandmother took the songs and the voices away and it’s been ever so lonely since.”

Vincent was thoughtful. “Sometimes,” he confessed. “Though now I’m looking forward to all the adventures we’ll have as a family.”

She looked up at him. “Aunt Morrigan too?”

He smiled. “Yes, even Aunt Morrigan. Now,” he scooted her back into bed and tucked her in under the blankets. “I think it’s time for you to go to sleep. You’ll need to be fully rested so you can show me all the wonderful things you’ve been up to while I’ve been away, yes?”

“Okay. And we can have pancakes for breakfast? Like we did before?”

Vincent chuckled and kissed the crown of her head. “I’ll see what I can do.” With that, he stood from her bedside and went to the door, a flick of his wrist extinguishing the candles in the room.

“She worries,” Morrigan told him from where she was leaning against the wall nearby. “A bit too excessively for a little girl, but I guess it’s not every day her father comes back into her life after a two year absence.”

“An absence I hope she never has to bear again,” Vincent replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So, it’s truly gone? You are a Warden no longer?”

He nodded. “In name only. It feels...strange.”

“How so?”

“I’ve lived with the presence of darkspawn and the nights of nightmares for so long as Warden Amell, going back to being Enchanter Amell who can sleep through the night will take some getting used to.”

She snorted. “More like Apostate Amell, seeing as the Circles are no more.” She pushed herself off the wall and began to walk down the short corridor towards another set of rooms nearby. “And what of your former comrades in arms? What will you do, if they try to summon you to Weisshaupt to explain exactly how you rid yourself of the Taint?”

He frowned. “I would like to see them try. I’ve avoided them for a decade, I believe I can do the same for several more.”

She arched an elegant eyebrow. “For the sake of your family, I hope that is the case.” They stopped before a door. “Rosalind...she has missed you.”

“And I have missed her.” He fiddled with the rosewood ring he wore. “I’ve missed her more than words can express.”

“She worries as well. Life in Orlais wasn’t always as...kind to her as it was to me. She fears that you won’t find her as desirable as you once did.”

His eyes went wide. “That’s ridiculous! I love her, no matter what she looks like.”

“Try telling that to her. Some women need to hear the words.” She nudged his shoulder with hers. “I am glad you’re back.”

He smiled. “I knew you’d miss me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I never said that. Though I am glad that Bryony has her father and Rosalind her lover again.” She turned on her heel and headed back in the direction they came. “Don’t worry about tomorrow, I’ll take care of my niece so that you and Roz can have a late morning...reuniting.”

Vincent turned his face so she wouldn’t see the blush that bloomed across his cheeks, but she laughed nonetheless, raising her hand in a parting wave as she walked away. Alone in the hall, he stared at the door in front of him and felt a bolt of anxiety streak through him. Roz may have fears that he wouldn’t find her desirable any longer, but Vincent had the same fears as well. The two years he had spent apart from his family hadn’t been peaceful ones. Scars littered his body, most noticeably across his face. Would she find them ugly, as many others had? He’d grown accustomed to using a hood or his hair to hide that side of his face from passersby, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do the same for the woman who held his heart in her hands. Taking a bolstering breath, he raised his knuckles to the wood and knocked.

Inside her bedroom, Roz had lit only a few candles at the bedside, opting to illuminate the room with floating wisps, globules of light glowing amber above a copper tub on the far side of the room.

“You haven’t had a chance to bathe since arriving,” she explained, standing next to the tub, the steam coming off it making her look hazy, as if she were a figment of a long-remembered dream. “I thought a soak would be nice.”

Vincent noticed the way she held her hands tightly in front of her, fingers worrying the matching rosewood ring she wore. “That would be nice. Thank you for thinking of me.” He’d taken off his traveling cloak, gear, and armor earlier, and he noted that it hung neatly by the fireplace. “This is a nice room.”

Roz nodded. “The Inquisitor spared no luxury for their arcane advisors.” She reached down and fussed with the cakes of soaps and towels sitting on a stool she’d put by the tub. “I’m grateful they put Bryony in her own room nearby.” Moving away from the tub, she held out her hands and guided him to sit at a chair so he could remove his boots.

“We’ve never had any problem filling the silences,” he told her, wiggling his toes against the plush rug as his socks followed his boots.

Roz bit her lip. “Then why does it feel like we’re back at the start?”

Vincent rose from his seat and came up to her, hands cupping her shoulders. “You know me, my love. Just as I know you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Things have changed since we last saw the other.” There was a slight tremble to her lip and she took a sharp breath through her nose to try to still it.

“Yes, I’ve noticed.” His fingers trailed over the silk robe she wore. “Silks instead of wool.” He swayed forward until his face was buried in her hair. “Roses instead of herbs. Though you know what hasn’t changed?”

“What?”

Vincent’s palms slid upwards, past her shoulders, over the column of her throat, until he cradled her cheeks in his hands. “The fact that you look absolutely beautiful to me, no matter what you wear.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “Although I will say that I prefer you wearing nothing at all.”

She let out a watery sounding laugh, her hands trembling as she smoothed them over his chest. “I feel the same way.” Her fingers moved to the laces of his shirt. “May I?”

Vincent tensed when she helped him lift his tunic over his head, muscles still sore from a skirmish the day before. Before she could get a good look at the slashing scars across his ribs, he took her face in his hands again and kissed her, making sure to pour the years of longing and loneliness into it, silently telling her how much he had missed her.

“What about the bath?” she asked, laughing against his mouth.

“Sod the bath,” he mumbled, hands moving to remove her robe.

“Ah ah ah,” Roz reluctantly broke away. “Those sheets are clean and you, while I very much like the look of you as is, are definitely not.”

“I can’t even tempt you?” His hands went to the ties of his pants and for once, the way she looked at him broke through his self-consciousness and he gave her a toothy grin as he made a show of unlacing them.

“You know I find you irresistible,” she countered, eyes roving across his naked body. “But in.”

“As my lady commands.” After shedding the last of his clothes, Vincent sank into the water, groaning at the way the heat seemed to sink all the way down into his bones. “I will say,” he told her, resting his arms on the rim and tilting his head back, “I haven’t had this sort of luxury in a while.”

“Oh? No fine inns or other places on your travels?”

He snorted, dunking his head and coming back up, hands sluicing water from his face. “I’m afraid not. At worst, I’ve had a frozen stream to scrub my arms and face in and at best, a pitcher and a rag with a cake of soap that was gone far before I was finished using it to scrub off the grime.”

“Well then,” Roz bent and swished her hands in the water to lather up a bar of soap that smelled of spices and myrrh. “Let’s see if I can do one better.”

Vincent groaned as her fingers slid through his hair and massaged his scalp. “I’ve definitely not had this sort of treatment while away.”

“I should hope not,” she laughed, playfully tugging at his hair as she finished scrubbing it, taking a cup and running water over his head to rinse his hair. “Sit up, I’ll wash your back for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Vincent mumbled, taking another towel and lathering it up so he could scrub at his arms and chest.

“I know, but I want to.” She watched as the suds covered his shoulders, obscuring various freckles and scars, both old and unfamiliar to her. “Where did this one come from?” she asked, finger tracing what looked like a partially healed over bite mark.

“Wolf attack after dealing with a group of genlocks. I ran out of lyrium potions and magic to heal it completely or else it most likely wouldn’t have scarred.”

“And this one?”

Vincent looked down to where her hands had rounded his shoulder to trace over his collarbone. “Thief who thought he could mug me and take whatever I had off my body in Orlais. Suffice to say, he’s not around to do the same to others.” He grunted as he reached down to scrub at his legs and feet, his knee rising up over the surface of the water, the wounds still fresh looking and healing.

“This is why you were limping, isn’t it?” Roz moved so she could put her hand over the injury and Vincent inhaled sharply, goosebumps breaking out over his arms at the familiar and long-missed feel of her magic settling over him like a warm, comforting blanket. Almost immediately, the low, throbbing ache that had kept him company was silenced.

“I ran into a small pocket of those Red Templars you’d spoken about earlier. One of them was quick with a knife, but not quick enough to dodge a bolt of lighting.”

Roz kept a hand on his knee, feeling the skin knit under her palm, and raised the other towards his face. “And -”

He stiffened. On reflex, he tilted his head down, trying to hide behind hair that was unfortunately slicked back from his face. “The Deep Roads,” he said, reaching out and holding onto her hand. It happened about six months ago, right while I was at the end of looking for answers.”

“Vincent.” Her hand tightened on his knee. “Please, don’t hide from me.”

“It’s ugly.”

She wiggled her hand out of his grasp and moved to lean her hip on the rim of the tub. “The injury may be, but the man beneath them isn’t.” She reached out again and although he tensed under her fingers, he allowed her to gently turn his face towards the light the wisps gave off. “How did it happen?”

He closed his eyes tightly as the pads of her fingers traced the long tracks that went from his temple all the way down to his chin. “Shriek ambush. I was with a few fellow Wardens I’d met on my travels and one of the creatures got too close to me.” He leaned against her hand as she moved over the deep, jagged marks across his eyebrow. “I was lucky that I didn’t lose the eye.”

“And the others?”

He shook his head. “As I said, I was lucky. After burying the others as best as I could, I spent that last leg of the journey alone.” It had been painful: out of healing potions, out of lyrum, out of magic energy, Vincent had bandaged himself as much as he could to try and stop the bleeding, the pain of sweat and blood and various darkspawn ichor seeping into open wounds nearly unbearable.

“I wish that it hadn’t happened to you,” she murmured, her fingers tracing along his jaw and chin before catching on the corner of his mouth that had also been split by shriek talons. “But I’m so grateful that you were able to return to me.”

“Honestly, when I was at the point where I felt most alone, my thoughts would always go to you.” He circled her wrist with his hand and leaned his face against her palm. “Thank you for being there with me when I needed you the most.”

Roz let out a cry as she threw herself into his arms, not caring if she managed to get most of her robe wet in the process. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

He held her tightly. “I’ve missed you too. You have no idea how many nights I spent imagining you next to me, the way the light of the campfires would catch on your hair or how just your very presence would throw a sense of calm over me when nightmares would wake me from a few hours’ rest.”

“Probably the same amount of nights I spent wishing you were here beside me,” she answered, standing and moving close to his shoulders so she could bend over him and kiss him passionately. She grinned at his crestfallen expression when she moved away, nipping his bottom lip as she moved towards the opposite end of the tub. “I don’t think we finished your bath, my dear,” she teased, kneeling to fish the abandoned cake of soap out of the water near his feet. She winked at him before moving back up his body, sudsy hands submerging in the cooling bathwater to stroke at his hips, then lower, her motions making Vincent grasp at the sides of the tub with white knuckles while he bucked under her touch.

“Enough,” he rasped, standing from the tub, water sloshing onto the floor and dripping off his body. “Please, my love. My wife. I need you.”

Roz didn’t know who moved first, but her robe was off her shoulders and flung somewhere behind her, leaving her as bare as he was. “Hand me a towel,” he requested, hands already roving over her body to press her as close to him as she could get. “I don’t want to get your nice sheets wet.”

“Sod the sheets,” Rosalind all but growled against his mouth, hands moving across his back as she walked backwards towards the bed.

She let out a muffled shriek as Vincent gathered her in his arms and lifted her off her feet, carrying her the remainder of the way until he could lay her in the bed. “As you wish.” His hair dripped water onto her body, rolling coolly down the valley of her breasts, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

They were together again.

#witch of the wilds au #otp: sometimes home has a heartbeat #alittlestarling

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