#I’ll do a more throughout new years sketch tomorrow I just wanted to do this one first XD | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mypersonmyg · 4 years

Text

Tebori Tapioca | JJK

**beautiful banner made by @monvante <3

pairing: Jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, love at first sight, tattoo au, tea shop au

wc: 15k

warnings: language, slow burn???

summary: a shining beacon in a sea of monotony OR you just might believe in love at first sight

a/n: hi friends, umm so yea this is a fic i’ve been cooking up for a while and as seems to happen with most of my fics there’s definitely room for more but i didn’t wanna go overboard because the last time i did no one read womp womp...

ANYWHO there’s still very much room for this universe to grow whether it be drabbles, smaller oneshots or whatever so if you have requests pls send them !! for this au or any others

honorary tag: @gukssunshine

masterlist

Sunlight filters through an open storefront, natural light shading the room in incandescent glow, the honk of horns just overstating the chirp of the birds perched in overarching trees that line the street. Lights are still lit, strung throughout branches despite the hour slowly inching toward noon.

Your pencil taps a worn pad, the hundredth rotation of the dormant rectangle of sheets providing no more inspiration than ninety-nine and below. You shove the contents along a desk littered in your crumpled defeat, legs kicking to the wooden surface with comforting intent.

It’s not unusual, the stray of your eyes to the shop just a few buildings from the florist decorating the opposing side of the street. A work in progress, a work almost in completion. It’s become a game, the guessing of its contents, the colorful display before it’s displayed intriguing to many passersby. You’re close to pondering a new theory when Jimin interrupts with his entrance from the back, reciting safety to Namjoon’s latest masterpiece.

He whistles an impressive tune following the departure of a satisfied client, rounding his occupied desk and knocking your feet from his cluttered surface. You don’t have time for the countered glare of offense before his words are zeroed in as if he’s been waiting to direct them long before now when your guard is readily disarmed. “You have an office for a reason, why do you always have to sit at my desk.”

“It’s a nice view.”

“I’ll admit that my delicate features leave nothing to the imagination, but I’m tired of cleaning up after you.” His words are emphasized by his hand’s routine swipe, piles of paper tumbling to the can beside him in rapid succession. Your eyes roll, Jimin’s fingers already beginning to type away on his desktop while your pupils track the delicate arch of his digits and your ears listen to the satisfying click of keys. The consideration of locking yourself away in your office trapezes along the wide expanse of your mind, but before it’s made up Jimin is speaking again, this time with an air of factual superiority. “A tea shop.”

“Hmm?”

“The shop down the street, it’s a tea shop.”

“You sound pretty confident,” You hum, eyes darting to the window, turquoise staring back in the fashion of awnings and fresh paint bordering a wooden frame. The sleeves of your sweater bite at your wrist in comforting fuzz, a slight itch along the skin to pull you from quaint interest. “What makes you so sure?”

“Just a feeling, it’s got that certain ambiance, you know?” Jimin’s hands wave with the impression of the ambiance so to speak, his eyes squinted in that way you so adore. The thought crosses your mind on many occasions, to compliment his subtle beauty, but the knowledge of his playfully arrogant counter always draws you from speech.

“Or because we ran into the owner on our way in this morning,” Namjoon chirps in kind, strolling to the lobby, his own pad in hand. He neatly tosses it to the desk, fingers skimming through unkempt hair. “Nice guy, said he might drop in for a consultation sometime.”

“Consultation? Sounds big,” You muse, hand finding your abandoned pencil to drag faint strokes along your page, though even the slight draw brings grimace to your features, dulled in the shadow of your palm pressed to your forehead, easily nudging wisps of loose hair. Namjoon shrugs, a non-committal range of motion, his neck craning over your shoulder to sneak a peek at your lack of a work of art.

He doesn’t speak on it, simply taking in the unfinished strokes, presumably in an attempt to reassure you in the midst of inspiration long lost. You're prepared to assure him that there’s no need for forced encouragement, but he moves on, collapsing onto near plush without a word.

“Says he’s been thinking about it for a while so I told him we could help him out. He also invited us to his opening, said he'd save some tea for us if we’re busy.” Lips pull back, dimples accenting Namjoon’s heavy cheeks.

You’re unsurprised by his amicable tale, recalling your fresh steps into this very shop just a few years prior. Your body was bare of ink and your arms bore only a flimsy book with hopeful sketches. He’d taken in your wide eyed glance and the disappearance of your bottom lip to the gnawing confines of your teeth. His towering height and newly trimmed hair taunting you within the daunting shadow that filled your frame through the doorway.

You chuckle at past memories, wondering how you could ever fear the gentle giant, his lips pulling into ready grin as he showed you to the very desk before you now.

“What’s so funny?” Namjoon calls to you, Jimin halting in his current endeavor to glance the smirk stretching your cheek.

“Nothing, just thinking. Was that your last client for the day?” You grab for the sign-in ledger, finger trailing the thick page, pinky tugging at the pulled edge of a worn corner. Your smirk flips to a frown poorly withheld, the page filled with Namjoon only reminding you that your own supplies need only be sanitized to prevent the collection of dust.

“Yeah, I figured we’d just close shop early today.” Jimin swipes the ledger with a tisk in your direction, not blind to silent thoughts.

“It’s noon, what if someone wants a walk-in?” Your gaze slides to the clock, hands ticking slowly along the round wall piece. It’s not unreasonable to assume someone will come in seeking art of the bodily variety, and your hands itch to prove your worth, even if it lies within an album long binded.

“Then I’m sure they’ll still want it tomorrow.” Namjoon shrugs, his hands folding over his chest forcing the bulge of recently buffed arms. You almost make a joke about the possible tear of the t-shirt hugging his frame, but refrain out of refusal to partake in the pursuance of sure to follow antics. “Besides, it’ll give you more time to work on that.”

You follow the tilt of Namjoon’s hair, long grown out from his routine refusal to take time from his day to get a trim. You often joke that he’ll be gallivanting with a tail soon enough, his thick locks nearly shoulder length as it stands. He often finds himself shaking it from his peripheral with the wrong angling of his head. He motions to your barely done sketch, the page glaring at you with a mocking disgust.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.” You drip sarcasm, pad tossed to your bag and jacket jerked to waiting arms.

~*~

Off-white trim borders the wall of a shop nearly complete, Jeongguk checks and double checks a list stored in the confines of his mental. Aside from constant fear of the opening of doors without the steady flood of patrons he’s eager for business, hard work finally paying its due.

He’s only in for the morning, the steady tick of his wrist a reminder to snap from his obsessive habit, sure that he’ll receive word from Taehyung that he's on his way to drag him from the building. His grin rivals the glare of the sun as his eyes travel a building come together. His hand falls to his arm in dramatic pinch to ensure that his eyes aren’t filled with hopeful deceit.

It fits, he thinks, stepping out onto the walk, key slotting into the door to ensure security. His shop melds perfectly with the heavily lined street, animated tapioca unfinished in the window somehow making sense with the neighboring extravagance of bloom at the near florist and the samples of ink from the tattoo shop across the way. Even the simple thrift shop with it’s objects of interest decorating the window compliments his simple display.

Opportunity hasn’t struck to visit his new neighbors, though he did stumble into a chunk of the owners of one of the shops. He found surprise in the ease with which conversation flowed, his mouth like the babble of a brooke despite the nerves that skipped like pebbles in his stomach and his heart that beat a million miles a minute following their friendly departure.

In his stupor he nearly misses the float of voices a ways down the quietly milling street, but the recognition of a melodic tone draws his gaze.

“I’ll take you for ice cream.” Jeongguk recognizes the voice that seeks to entice as Jimin, though he doesn’t recognize you.

“I’m not a child you know.” Your statement is grumbled, the words echoing that of a childlike pout. Jeongguk can see the movement of your arms as they reach to a playful shove, the rhythmic shift of Jimin’s feet looking routine even from a distance. You choose not to acknowledge Jimin’s coo, his fingers poking at your protruding cheek as if to say Oh but aren’t you?

Jeongguk watches with interest and the initiative to work up the courage to bring acknowledgement to his presence and perhaps introduction to who he expects is the other third of the tattoo shop. You and Jimin are too caught in bickering to notice the figure just feet away, your fingers pinching Jimin’s nose with a countering taunt.

“Can’t I just treat you to a nice frozen treat? I don’t recall that being a crime, but please enlighten me.” You pinch the bridge of your own nose, the scent of freshly packed soil wafting from neatly situated pots.

You spot the poke of pink from one of the tall and timid plants, though you imagine the fragile nature is only by way of visual, Yoongi always diligent with his seedling evolved friends. You make note to beg him to allow the purchase of a precarious plant, an act of teasing to stem from your track record, the memory of shriveled begonias bringing even your shoulders to lift in cringe.

“Are you still talking?” Your gaze shifts back to Jimin, his flow not conscious to your unconscious senses.

“So rude, you should be thanking me for the extra time off.”

“As if I need more time off, but fine, I suppose I can let you treat me as an apology for your ratty transgressions.” You tut. Were your ears peaked and footing less strayed you would’ve noted the distant chuckle of Jeongguk, still standing dormant outside of a dimmed shop.

His thoughts of hurried introduction came to halt with his notice of you. Your voice held a playful jab when you spoke, Jimin’s reactions only animated enough to draw slight attention from your raised tone. Despite your fussing dialogue, your posture was slouched just a tad and your hands fisted into snug jacket sleeves to mimic paws. Jeongguk decides he’d be hard pressed not to be endeared by you in the slightest.

“Wow, I thought I was gonna have to come here and drag you out by the ears.” Hands clap Jeongguk’s shoulders, Taehyung rounding his frame, grin gentle as he regards with relief. “I swear you’d probably live here if I didn’t keep you at bay. What are you--oh she’s pretty.”

The two watch your retreat, your hand easily clasping Jimin's, the swing of connected wrists appearing natural with your stride through the afternoon chill. Jeongguk ignores the flare of his cheeks at the notion of exposure, thankful that Taehyung doesn’t make a show of his ogling.

“Yeah, looks like she’s taken though...you wanna get ice cream?” Taehyung scrunches his nose, wind kissed cheeks held between gloved palms. His scoff is inward, Jeongguk’s suggestion appearing nothing short of ridiculous as the two are swept by a wind that’s particularly biting. While Taehyung shivers, Jeongguk doesn’t appear to mind, hands shoved in his pockets, heels rocking along cracked concrete.

“Do I look like I want to get ice cream? It’s freezing out here and not everyone radiates the warmth of a furnace.”

“Well unlike you, not everyone is so dramatic.”

“Whatever, just get some when we get home.” Taehyung lightly shoves, legs turning in the direction of his car, parked on asphalt, freshly coated by summer’s end.

Jeongguk stares after the winded trail of a billowing pea, your bobbing figure rounding a corner and straying from widened eyes. He sucks through clenched teeth, opportunities knock having been missed at the hands of Taehyung. The clench of fists in pockets goes unnoticed as he rounds on planted heels and makes his way to the car, Taehyung happily staring from the passenger seat waiting with a grin dripping sincerity.

“You definitely owe me for this.”

~*~

You twitch along with the consistent drip of a leaky faucet, the tap of digits on worn ceramic offering a release to limbs without proper use. The biting chill in your toes is only minutely cured by the pilling of four blankets, barely thick enough to rival the wool knit socks Hoseok gifted you last christmas.

You find pause in the sun setting from the window, dim lighting pouring through weak curtains. Your tongue prods at the confines of your mouth, frosted by forced treat and abandoned with the recommendation of a mug of hot cocoa which now rests lukewarm in your clenching palms.

You force your mind to yield, racing in a direction opposite the self destructive course that usually remains dormant until you lay to rest for the evening. Hands numbed by the interference of a numbing chill met with the warmth of a mostly empty mug nearly spilling when your right palm jumps in the direction of your phone, perched on an end table composed of chipping wood and stains too set to resemble anything but a dark pool, a picture puddle fit for galoshes in adolescence.

You wonder if Yoongi’s taken his plants in, the set of cold not nearly the condition for any pending life surely. Though you quickly pull back, recalling a conversation following another mishap, your plant lying limp before the attentive florist, his cheeks rosy from the heat lamps and the temperature set to ensure maximum growth year round. It was with passion that he waxed about the difference between certain plants and the amazing circumstances of their survival.

It was with half amused grin, your head lopsided along the freshly painted door frame that he assured you that if a plant can survive the harsh conditions of the season of cool there was surely one meant to survive you.

You glance to the succulent placed on the sill overlooking your sink. You had been indignant at Yoongi’s insistence that you take it, almost begging that he give you one of the smiling pink numbers reflecting in the window rather than the less impressive green poking from the dirt of a tiny hand painted pot. Yoongi’s reaction was much the same, innocence painting his rose blushed cheeks as he explained the beauty of every plant, sure to continue on until you gently removed the pot from his fingers.

Now the once shy note of green was large enough to cover your palm, a bright spot in the dark of your apartment, falling apart at the hands of purposeful ignorance from an absent landlord.

A sharp tap against your front door draws your gaze, pointed as if to break the barrier of solid wood. You don’t notice the spill of your drink until warmth slips through your sweater, arm jerk sending the mug careening to shatter. The pieces decorate the floor with a colorful tap to pair with the running of dark liquid along the hardwood.

“Shit.” Words muttered in haste, one of many blankets piled in swaddle is heaved to the floor, your legs lifting you from the chair and gently to clothed knees. Cocooning the glass in the thick material you stand to full height when another tap draws you. Your hands tug at your sweater, the seep of the liquid already beginning to set in and your skin grows irritated from the unwanted intrusion. “Coming!”

You glance to the spot where chocolate dances along the edges of your braided rug, the centerpiece itching to soak up what it can manage of the chocolatey drink, already dreading the work of scrubbing to prevent permanent damage. Making your way to the door your feet stride in a half walk half slide along hardwood, tripping up due to the soiled bits of fabric sticking to your feet and resisting a usually easy trek along the hardwood. The pull of the door is a surprise, an unfamiliar face staring back at you with a geometrically flattering smile.

“Hello…” Your words are drawn and rasped, a mixture of the lack of dialogue and settling curiosity.

“Hi, I’m Taehyung.” There’s no deterrence from Taehyung at your lack of reciprocated enthusiasm, just the shake of locks, shaggy and shielding his eyes that appear to glisten in the flicker of the hall lights. His eyes brighten in recognition, though you can’t seem to separate his stare from the reflection of his shocking irises and simply accept his hand as it slowly extends.

“Y/n. Is there something I can help you with?” You attempt a glance around his ever present frame in hope for an explanation, but the notion is non-existent so you wait as he gathers his own. You don’t miss the wandering of his eyes to the open of your apartment but don’t call him on it, an entrance composed of nothing more than a table and a crooked portrait gifted by Jin. You can hear his distant cackles as he positioned it just perfectly before the door.

“Actually I was gonna ask you how to work the heat in this place, but you look about as warm as me so…” He shifts on his heels unsure, taking in your heavily bundled appearance.

You tug once more at your stained sweater, your face heating with recollection of the soiled garment still clinging to you, now with more fervor from the added moisture. Your thick socks are layered over a pair only slightly less so and your legs appear heavily padded under two pairs of dense sweats. “You must be new here.”

Taehyung shrugs, half a step taken in retreat. He tilts his head just so, gesturing to the vacant hall, a door half ajar allowing the flood of light to illuminate the peel of ancient wallpaper. Not for the first time you wish you’d taken Jimin up on his spare room. “Yeah, just officially moved in today. We’re down the hall, heard the apartment’s been vacant for a while and it seemed nice enough.”

“But no one told you that the heat only works correctly on a good day, sounds about right.”

“And our shower--”

“Leaks?” You finish, the distant drip from your kitchen just audible over your speech. Your thumb pushes against the bow of your pursed lips, teeth grabbing hold of roughened skin whilst you watch the turn of cogs tumbling before you.

“Yeah...should I call the landlord?” His brows knit at your nonchalance, thumb jerking to his apartment. You almost chuckle, covering your outburst with a quick tilt of your head. The simplicity of the suggestion seems only to add to the hilarity of the situation.

“Sure, but I’d recommend investing in a space heater and keeping a couple of tools handy. I’m not wearing four layers to make a fashion statement.” Your fingers drum along the frame of your door, the gentle tap carrying between you in soft silence. “Well...welcome to the building and sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Guess someone had to be,” His throat clears in chuckle, hand tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, the strings hanging lopsided where his hood lay half scrunched at the base of his neck. His thumb lifts to trace the corner of his mouth, shifted in that same grin that greeted you minutes prior, though this time your return is swift and without the same haze that accompanied his unfamiliar presence. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Taehyung turns on his heel at the pace of the gears turning in his brain, swift stride carrying him back to his door, yours clicking shut along the shells of his ears. He pushes into his residence, door squeaking on hinges as it closes in his wake. Straight for the living room he makes haste with lengthy stride, spotting Jeongguk who swallows the couch with his body, spread as much as the lengthened cushion will allow. He peeks from his curtain of hair, dangling at the angle of his head, blinking with the poke of a follicle gently prodding his pupil.

“So?” He pushes up to a sit, nearly knocking his phone from the arm where it’s perched without care. His shoulders shake from the mix of cold and anticipation, mistaking the grin that Taehyung sports as a triumphant mission.

“Oh this place is spectacularly shitty, my friend. Looks like we’ll be snuggling like penguins if we wanna get warm tonight.” As if to punctuate his vivid explanation, Taehyung slides dangerously close to where Jeongguk remains sitting, legs brushing as he sinks into the already heated seat.

Jeongguk nudges to the sharp of Taehyung’s shoulder, encouraging him further inward with a defeated groan. He’s sure he catches the scent of something similar to carpet that’s been left to mildew, but he attributes it to imagination. Somehow this very apartment seemed a saving grace just a month ago. “I knew we should’ve splurged on that loft. Why are you smiling?”

“Hm, so that girl that you were staring at earlier, you know her?” Taehyung doesn’t shy from his urge to throw himself over Jeongguk’s lap, ignoring the squint scrutiny from above. He pokes at the underside of Jeongguk’s chin, teasing a reaction from him, grimace evident from the suction of his cheeks.

“Not exactly, I know the guy she was with though. They own the tattoo shop, why?” Taehyung braces his head with one hand, the other grabbing hold of the string dangling from his clothes, rolling the aglet between agile fingers. He ponders the thought of revealing that just beyond moth eaten wallpaper and the cracks of a concrete hall you await just a few doors down.

“Just a question. You didn’t think I would just leave it, did you?” Jeongguk’s nose scrunches because he did in fact find that avenue favorable among the chosen. Taehyung pats his muscled thigh with a patronizing shake of the head, hair already tangling with the push of his heavy skull to Jeongguk’s tough jeans.

“So what, she’s cute, not like I know anything about her. I’m more concerned with making it through the night without contracting pneumonia or risking the complete freeze of my limbs.”

The two seem to scoot closer at the thought, Taehyung now pushed against Jeongguk’s abdomen. They paint quite a picture on their second hand furniture, couch in need of stitching at the seams and the questionable stain that inhabited it upon arrival nipping at the press of Taehyung’s socked feet into the cushion.

Fatigue abandoned the task of unloading boxes that litter the expanse of open flooring and leftover furniture. Their energy fueled endeavor long forgotten along with the memory of comforting warmth. They both ponder the idea of retreating to respective rooms, but find it would be a miracle if they could manage to pull themselves from half comfort, abandoning the hope of body heat against the chill of the shared space.

Audible groan travels the four walls when a gentle fist beats against the door. Taehyung shoves at Jeongguk’s shoulder, a silent appeal to the younger to make sacrifice and leave their cocooned warmth. Jeongguk won’t be swayed, his arms easily finding the weight of Taehyung’s side and nudging enough to send him careening to the floor with a resounding thud.

Grumbles and groans of the incoherent leave Taehyung’s mouth, amused giggles falling from Jeongguk whose legs are now pulled to drink in the heat left behind. Taehyung stops for a moment, thinking that his timely trek was wasted, opposing party’s fist meeting wood no more. He gently opens the door, head ducking around the corner, foot stepping out only to stub into something surely placed for such an occasion as his physical reckoning.

He foregoes subtly, mouth unhinging and curses falling akin to rocks from a cliff side, the echo bouncing against concrete and soaking into the slips and edges of the silent walls. Jeongguk ambles around the corner with concern etched features, the draw of his eyes landing on his roommate, leg at an angle and clutched whilst he leans against the doorframe.

Jeongguk squeezes past, kneeling to pluck the sticky posted from the top of what appears to be a space heater. His eyes scan the crisp note, glancing down the hall with the knowledge that the perpetrator is surely long gone. “Dude, you good?”

“Stubbed my fucking toe,” Taehyung strains. Jeongguk let’s him sulk, hiding a purposeful grin from the dramatist leaning over him. “What is that anyways.”

“Space heater.” He passes the note, Taehyung scans it quickly with a hum. He doesn’t miss the look he’s receiving from Jeongguk, aware of the name scribbled along the tiny parchment. “Was nice of them. What did you say anyways?”

“Nothing really, guess I’m just a natural charmer.”

~*~

“Will you tell her that she should just move in with me like I suggested in the first place?” Jimin snags on the thick of Namjoon’s t-shirt, pulling him from his task, resituating his glasses along his face rather than the slide to the tip of his nose that seemed a regular occurance. You choose to ignore the commotion, back to sweeping dust and scattered leaves from the entrance of the shop.

Your living situation, less than ideal, often leads you to Jimin’s door, his spare room rather drenched in your deposited belongings. It’s his futile mission to persuade you to trade up from your desolate one bedroom with it’s desperate calling for tlc and take permanent residence in his humble abode just uptown.

It’s foolish not to consider, but you always find the scrape of your teeth roughening the budded surface of your tongue when he turns to you with his grin of sweet saccharine nearly once a week. You don’t know what it is about the cracks that seem to shimmy further up the walls with each passing minute or the breaks in the tile that beg an earthquake decades off, but you aren’t quite ready to part with it.

“If you want me to stop coming over just say so,” You huff, fully aware that’s not the case but sure it’ll throw Jimin for a curve with enough distance to keep him at bay.

He sputters, releasing Namjoon with a gentle shove, “That’s not it and you know it! I just don’t see why you stay there, it’s so...broken.”

“I’ll have you know that I-”

“Have lived there since you came here blah blah blah, we know. Oh hey, a customer! Would you look at that,” Jimin’s over enthused response following a set of feet flooding through draws your next words to thin air, replaced with a well meaning grin. His perked posture slumps when he realizes that it is not in fact a patron looking to empty their wallet. “Oh, it’s just Hobi-hyung.”

“Thanks for the sunshine,” Hoseok counters, elbows covered with a patched overcoat resting along the edge of Jimin’s desk. Though his words hold a tinge of sarcasm, he’s all smiles as he regards you. Much like Namjoon he sports his frames today, wide and rectangular perched along the bridge of his nose. From the opening of his coat you smirk at the peak of a bright yellow sweater, an animation practically dancing along the expanse of his chest.

“Guess it’s a good thing that’s your job,” Namjoon pats him on his way to his office, returning with a box overflowing with garments and books. It’s not unusual that the two of them exchange goods, Hoseok’s thrift always looking for ways to fill the shelf.

It surprised you in the beginning, the flow of people who seemed to always leave his shop holding something to their chest like it was the world stuffed into a novelty bag. That was before Hoseok insisted that you visit yourself, sure you’d find something of interest. He wasn’t perturbed by skepticism, it only seemed to fuel the glint of a thousand galaxies that flared in his concentrated stare.

You’d ambled the lot for a good thirty minutes, fingers gliding along shelves so sturdy it came as a shock that he installed them himself, the wiggle of his elongated fingers when you recited the thought still fresh. It was the belief of Hoseok, in his own words, that there was a magic in places like his. A magnetic pull that would lead you to just the thing you need, often times things he himself didn’t even know he possessed.

“The rest is all in good fun,” He’d finished with that smile that rivaled the shine of the largest star glistening from above.

Your magic was nestled in the thick of it all, buried beneath someone else’s waiting fortune. It was the far corner that drew you, something about it just a shade darker than the rest of the large room. You’re unsure what possessed you, ignoring the insistence of magic cycling through the heavy air conditioning as you pillage through a pile of neatly folded quilts and the random placement of a busted stereo.

“Find something?” Hoseok appeared, head resting just over your shoulder. Your crouch betrayed you and were it not for quick reflexes and a helping hand the bust of your ass was sure to find the floor. Hoseok stood with a pool of change shaking in his palm and his neat smile waiting for you to putter around with your find.

“It’s just a necklace, nothing special.”

“Still, take it, you never know.” He was insistent that you leave with the silver chain, an onyx pendant dangling from the end and even more so that, rather than pay him, you admit that there’s something in the air. You agreed, but your reluctance was only truly squashed when you found yourself adorning the necklace more than your usual jewelry reserved for occasion.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the tea shop opening up?” Hoseok plants himself on Jimin’s desk, ignoring the playful glare burning a hole in his side. Namjoon rests the box on the ground next to him with a grunt, clear on Hoseok’s intention to linger as long as time will allow rather than collecting his treasure and hurrying back to his own place of work.

“Jimin and I met the owner yesterday, he seems like a really nice guy.” Namjoon fills before Jimin has the chance to allow his jaw to unhinge, no doubt planning to flaunt his basic knowledge like privileged information.

“That’s nice. Rumor has it he specializes in boba.” You would chuckle were it not for the wild look in Hoseok’s eyes, his hands painting imaginary rainbow before slotting through the pockets of his coat. His feet steadily tap tap against the tile, the gentle nod of his head not at all unusual but nonetheless intriguing. “It’ll be so nice not having to drive a town over just to have a nice tapioca pearl.”

“You know they sell those, you could make your own.” Your words are all but lost on the eccentric businessman, his tactic to avoid information displeasing to his interests taking full effect. His body angles, half hiding a chuckling Jimin from your view. Sliding the broom to the near closet, not unaware of leaves sadly crumpled against the tile from Hoseok’s timely entrance, but not bothered enough to scoop them into the waiting bin, you make haste to your office slipping between the door slightly ajar. “Right. Well I’m gonna go try to get some work done.”

You release a stuttered breath upon the gentle click of your door, mumbled dialogue just barely pushing through the thick wood. Air puffs your cheeks in half contemplation, silence stealing the inspiration that seemed to dance before you, brain now only half awake as time seems to dwindle at the speed of sound. Instead of the reach for a waiting pad and the scatter of ballpoint colors staring from your desk unused and impatient, you grab for a volume that seems to scream from the near bookshelf.

It begs the recollection of time well spent, a pang in your chest follows a rushing to the surface as if air tearing from lungs lacking capacity. Your full weight collapses to your chair, recently upgraded at Namjoon’s insistence that nursing the squeaky four wheeler that threatened to collapse with the wrong release of breath violated his own moral codes before the hushed mumble about legal repercussions. You aren’t complaining, the upgrade makes you feel like a permanent staple, especially when your mind is convinced that layoff is imminent.

Your fingers trace the smooth cover of hardback, reckoning with the ache to feel the crisp of unturned pages and avoid the buildup that follows suit. It’s the not knowing that tugs at the precipice of your flowing mind, wishing for diagnosis from a stagnant flow of a previous gold mine.

Your ears peak at the surge of voices layering the lobby, though your mind squashes the urge for a slip back into the throw of pleasant chatter. You draw a drawer, fishing for half tangled buds, slipping them into your heightened canals to drown with the sounds of your latest fix.

~*~

The lift of Jeongguk’s gaze as heavy feet carry him past the fluorescent sign of Uhgood Tattoo and through the ringing entrance is subtle enough as doe eyes scan the lengthy space for a feminine form. He’s met with null, but the snag of his pupils on a wall of intricacy almost distracts from the loiter of men staring straight for him and Taehyung who is decidedly less preoccupied.

“Jeongguk, nice to see you again!” Namjoon booms over every voice in the room. His arms are half open in eager acceptance and Jeongguk leads Taehyung to the settled group, one last sweep still leaving him wanting for an introduction or a glimpse at best. “We were actually just talking about you.”

“About me?” His tone toes between surprise and unease, lips puckering in the shape of ‘oh’ and steps stuttering against the crunch of leaves slipping along linoleum.

“Yeah, Hoseok here was just saying how excited he is that you moved in. He owns the thrift shop just across from you.”

Hoseok doesn’t need much introduction before he’s centered in front of Jeongguk, smile glinting and hands reaching for the younger man with much fervor. Jeongguk would find the proximity daunting were it not for the friendly face reflecting in his widened irises. His chest rumbles, glad to place a face to bright signs and eccentric displays.

“Nice to meet you, we’re all glad to have a new face on our little strip. I’m especially glad to have an excuse to save myself from Jin’s questionable experiments in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s hand has yet to stop its steady shake of Jeongguk’s, too caught in words, leaving his mind’s body on its own. “Feel free to drop by my shop anytime, I love seeing new faces. Plus-”

“Here we go…” Jimin cuts, feigned exasperation coating his pitched tone before he excuses himself to the back of the shop. His exit isn’t swift enough to hide the exasperation of the puff of air that gaps his lips.

“There’s a special kind of magic in a shop like mine and because you just moved in the first trinket is on the house!”

“Oh magic? Taehyung’s really into that stuff, we’ll stop in sometime.” He gestures to his friend whose hands are shoved to the thick of his sweatshirt, lips pushed inward with the suck of his cheeks. “This is him by the way, Taehyung, he’s my partner of sorts at the cafe and my roommate.”

“Yeah, though the last one is questionable at the moment. Nice to meet you guys, this place is sweet! Do you do piercings by any chance?” As if by pure luck Jimin’s stepping back into the room, his eyes set ablaze with passion by the innocent inquiry.

“Piercings are my specialty actually, I can pierce any and everything!” His hands clasp to Taehyung’s shoulder, glad for excitement out of the realm of files and spreadsheets. Taehyung, surprised by the eager response, can only seem to nod along to the spew that falls from Jimin’s lips that near miles per minute. “Are you interested? I’d be happy to show you our collection.”

“This could take a while,” Jeongguk is startled by the presence of Namjoon somehow closer than before. Jimin is still spouting about his work to his potential client, Jeongguk takes in Taehyung’s features in search of a signal for help, but only finds him painted with interest and intrigue at the bundle of knowledge that is Park Jimin. Namjoon gestures to a hall along the far wall, a couple of paintings half crooked beckoning them forth. “We can talk about those tattoos if you’re interested?”

The buzz that surges in the cavity of his chest is answer enough, companied with the vigorous nod of his head, curls bouncing against the frame of his cheeks. “That would be great!”

Namjoon easily falls into the roll of guide, leading the two down the hall and past a couple of doors tightly sealed. The walls are a dark shade, set aglow by the heat of fixtures hanging overhead. Even in the dim setting, Jeongguk finds his head swiveling in every direction, thirsting to take in every inch of the place. In his haste he nearly trips over a section of flooring slightly raised, likely the result of settled foundation over many years. He decides rather quickly in favor of the building, the character of the interior clashing rather nicely with the updated signage on the outside.

‘We’ve got a few different stations for working,” Namjoon speaks up, drawing Jeongguk’s attention back. “We do them in the section off the side of the lobby if the customer is comfortable and it’s nothing major, but we also have private rooms that we as the artists like to use depending on the project.”

“That’s what these rooms are?” Jeongguk reaches with a pointed finger, tracing the expanse of the wooden frame, chipped and roughened, to a closed door. Rather than plaquing to decipher between the various enclosures there are framed sketches posted outside of each, nothing a newcomer like himself could pick up on, clearly contributed by the owners.

“For the most part, there’s my office and Y/n’s, and a storage closet but this is where the magic happens.” Namjoon allows Jeongguk a path to his office, door shutting in their wake with a dull thud.

It’s less decorated than Jeongguk was expecting, the barely bare walls outside of the office building up the anticipation of the canvas that must be spread within. Instead there’s nothing put bright white, almost blinding compared to what he’s seen so far. There are a few framed photos of Jimin, himself, and you; all smiling in various scenarios of glee. Other than the placement of a decently sized shelf in the corner and the desk perched along the adjacent wall this office gives no indication of Namjoon’ s labyrinthine line of work.

Even so, Namjoon appears highly intimidating as he takes a seat at his desk, gesturing Jeongguk to the comfortable chair across. Jeongguk is well aware that he doesn’t mean to give the impression of a boss, straight backed and fingers laced over mahogany, but that doesn’t make it any less so.

“So!” Namjoon speaks with triumph, his gauntlet the toss of the pen that had previously dangled from the fold of pierced ears. “You have any idea what you’re looking for in the ink department? I figure we can start with graphics and then discuss placement to see who the best fit would be for you.”

“Best fit?” Jeongguk leans forward, boots squeaking obscenely on the tile beneath. His cheeks flush at lack of knowledge, feeling as if the words spewed were foreign when in reality it was a jolt sent to the creases of his spine and straight to the red soaked appendage in his upper chest. While he’s entered this room with the assumption that Namjoon would be his sole artist, there lay a chance that the two of you will come face to face.

“Yeah, Y/n and I are both good at what we do but of course we both have our specialties. So we like to decide our clients that way sometimes.” Namjoon’s explanation leaves him none the wiser to hidden meanings and the hopeful perk of Jeongguk’s shoulders.

“Oh. I haven’t met Y/n yet,” He wonders if you rest behind one of the many doors leading to this one, sketching away on what he’s sure can only be a masterpiece. “Is she around?”

“Yeah...I don’t wanna disturb her though. Maybe she’ll be in the lobby when we’re finished here.” Namjoon’s words are sincere though his eyes seem to drift far off, their target the window over Jeongguk’s shoulder, shadowed by the growth of a large tree, branches dwarfing the ground outside. His trance is but a moment, focusing once more on the man before him. “What did you have in mind for your tattoo?”

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you guys use the tebori method here? I know it’s more widely used in japan, but I don’t really see myself heading over there anytime soon.” This shop isn’t the first that Jeongguk has scoped in hope of an artist with an extra element of technique, the buildup for disappointment resting in a rehearsed expression. He watches the myriad of expressions that Namjoon cycles through, almost as if the answer rests against the tip of his tongue, but he’s unsure if it’s the correct one. “It’s totally fine if—”

“We do.” He speaks without much expression save for the way his spine seems to cave inward as he continues to think. Jeongguk isn’t sure whether he should continue speaking, choosing instead to study the tilt of a pen on the desk, threatening to roll to the floor if it dances any longer at the edge of the surface. His nerves itch to grab for the object for some form of reprieve, afraid that the pending clatter will disturb Namjoon’s steady concentration and perhaps the calm mask that he appears to be sporting.

His head tilts a tad, curls falling over one pupil, the other spying Namjoon as if zeroing in on a target, nearly scrutinizing the pensive thinking with his galaxy gaze. He can see that just past the roof of Namjoon’s head there lies a single divot in the wall, nearly tricking the bump of accidental furniture, but Jeongguk’s own fist clenches in recognition, thumb tracing the jag of his knuckles.

“Y/n is the only person here that can tattoo with that particular technique, she’s amazing at it really, I’m just not sure if she’ll be up for it right now.” Namjoon’s words seem to pain him to utter, a strained longing in his voice that’s indecipherable without context. Jeongguk only nods along, curiosity curbed by his unyielding sense of etiquette in a situation that doesn’t wholly concern him. His feet are already pressing against the flooring, prepared to push to his feet and exchange pleasantries and assurance of no hard feelings, but Namjoon doesn’t seem quite through, leaving Jeongguk’s position to an awkward one hanging from the edge of his seat. “I don’t wanna speak for her though, so maybe you two can talk.”

“Okay, should I set up an appointment?”

“No, I think I heard her leave her office, she’ll probably be in the lobby. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you now.” Namjoon’s mouth is once again split in dimpled grin, leaving Jeongguk’s head to a spinning akin to a child’s top. He’s led from the room, paying extra attention to the hall, ears itching to pick up a tone much higher than those in the lobby he left only a short time ago.

Contrary to Namjoon’s inference, the lobby is emptier than when they left, Jimin and Taehyung the only ones left milling about. Their speech mimics old friends, Jimin poking at Taehyung with the smile of someone who knows something that no one else does, Taehyung simply replying in kind with half grin.

“I thought I heard, Y/n.” Namjoon directs his voice at Jimin, fingers tapping the surface of his desk whilst his eyes take inventory of the shop. Jeongguk wonders if he thinks you’re hiding behind one of the plants situated in the corner, waiting for the perfect moment to catch them off guard.

“Mm, she left. But not before this one got his flirt on,” Jimin’s elbow catches Taehyung’s rib with a sharp jab coloring his words. Taehyung doesn’t allow this to phase him, standing to his feet with a shrug of nonchalance.

“Not flirting, we just happen to know each other. You done here?” He aims at Jeongguk stepping with purpose toward the door. Neither makes eye contact, the subject of interest not particularly left to the category of unmentionable, but leaving them both awkward and stiff.

“Uh, I think so.” Jeongguk slants so that Namjoon is well in his sights, already typing vigorously on his phone screen. “Should I schedule something or…?”

“Don’t worry about it, I have your number so I’ll just have Y/n give you a call to see when you guys meet.”

Jeongguk stands a moment longer, his toes tapping to the leather roof of boots so chunky they seem to swallow him from toe to ankle, the footwear attempting to take from his lengthy form and failing miserably. He turns mid-step when Taehyung slaps lightly at the sleeve of his jacket, urging him to step beyond the threshold. He lifts his arm to half wave, mumbling pleasantries, barely audible of the steps that echo in his ears with each pace onto the desolate sidewalk.

Jeongguk heads toward his own shop, missing the realization of the lack of paired steps with his own. Several paces behind him, a subtle guilt dressing the plains of his cheeks, Taehyung tugs at the wear of half chapped lips, wondering if the broach of a hazy subject is necessary. He catches Jeongguk easily with a jog, nearly stilling him mid-stride but saved from the extra physicality by the passing of a car.

“You know...Jimin was just joking.” Jeongguk’s brows lift, clearly only just catching sight of his constant companion, his own thoughts carrying him along the street without a wayward glance. His eyes widen, unsure of Taehyung’s intentions or the direction of the current topic. “About Y/n, I mean. I don’t really know her and we don’t flirt.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you did.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s just—look I know you saw her the other day and I’m willing to bet the only reason you haven’t mentioned that you’re intrigued is because you thought she was dating Jimin.” Taehyung treads, careful to avoid the gaze of reddened cheeks, Jeongguk’s hand raising to a nudge at his soft lobe, the other clenching and unclenching in denim blue, nails scratching the rough of fabric with each clasp. “Well clearly they’re not dating, so it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did like her is all I’m saying.”

“Like I said, I don’t really know her. I think she’s cute, from a distance anyways, but I don’t think that’s any reason for a declaration.” The gentle tick of the crosswalk draws Jeongguk's attention on the present path to the opposing side of the street, ignoring the gentle tick of his chest.

A shining beacon in a sea of monotony. The words that filtered like a mantra, dressing the walls of his clogged brain, overflowing from files and dancing with the fires in tipped bins. Taehyung’s words extinguish the licking flames, if only momentarily, with meticulous reassurance.

A pocket of vibration, dark and clinging to his chilled skin, is notification for incoming correspondence. His steps skip, tripping along asphalt, saved only by the subtle grasp of a steady hand. His thanks are dropped without hesitation, hand slipping from fabric confines with the heavily encased lifeline pulsing with power.

From: Unknown [ 2:25pm]~is this jeongguk? namjoon gave me your number, said you need a consult?

From: Me[ 2:26pm]~yea...this is y/n im guessing?

His eyes pierce the screen, undressing the words with precision, ensuring he doesn’t make a fool in reply. He wasn’t prepared for the quick interception of the conversation he’s still processing, inner workings too focused on what’s straight ahead, not minutely prepared for Namjoon's speedy deliverance.

From: Unknown [ 2:30pm]~ding ding ding. im pretty much free whenever, so let me know what works with you and we can meet to discuss what you need and whether im the person for the job

From: Me[ 2:33pm]~ how about tomorrow around this time?

From: Unknown [ 2:34pm]~ cool. let’s meet at the park around the corner

And now, he waits.

~*~

The first thing you noticed was his approach, a confidence in his stride yet eyes that tried and failed to hide the glisten of steady orbs and the kiss of wind landing atop the surprising density of his cheeks like the piling of new snow. Your legs were crossed at the ankle, bare skin grazed by the cool of grass half dried by the desert chill, hands gripping the accumulation of sleeve inched to the open of your palm whilst your lips curved in mimic at the pout of his own, unintentional but perfectly protruding with the tracking of your steady tilt.

If one were to ask about the slight tremor in your hand or the subtle inch across inches between, you would fail to mention the metaphorical personality of your pulsing appendage and the ooz of liquid red abandoning the organ overflowed to trace the expanse of veins humming with the melodic string of laughter yet to abandon the space since he first spoke. You were immediately taken with soft speech and stolen glances, the professional tossed aside when you asked him to meet you, altogether forgotten when he said hello.

The pulsing was stunned only momentarily when he withdrew, hand disappearing into deep pockets to pose leather-bound pages and the hesitant stretch of muscles, the quick twitch of his neck the line of a rod, drawing you forward with each gentle reel of innocence. Now you sit, tangled in silent adoration, dripping admiration for the collaged pages, soaked in brilliance.

“These are yours?” You stroke the page with the ease of your pointer, his head tilting, hair framing, whilst he nods in a lopsided grin. You don’t notice the glue to your cheek, his eyes steady studying you while you study the glide of his hand with jet black against the white page.

He wonders if you catch the nerves, the steady vibration of his unsteady palms, gentle leap of muscled thigh and the brush of your leg with each accidental inch closer. The proximity did him in, your face from a distance only a picture on a page, face to face giving him the overwhelming sensation of the walk through a gallery filled with seven wonders, their spectacle meaningless without the promise of you.

He pretended for a moment, between laughter and brushes of innocence that he’s known you a lifetime, the thought only pulling at his metaphorical strings because he wishes he had. Your voices echo is sure to leave him wide eyed and ceiling bound for nights to come, imagining the galaxy as you, white expanse the only thing keeping from the grip he so wishes he could establish on the slip of your time here.

He knows it’s insanity, thoughts that won’t leave him be, the closeness driving him further to the edge. It’s the reason for his transition to the journal, the reason you’re perched in the grass with the whipping wind and dead leaves skirting around you.

“It’s just some ideas I have, I jot them down so I don’t forget. I was hoping we could work on them, flesh them a bit more…” Your gaze leaves the page, magic dwindling a sum, aghast at the audacity in his words. You withdraw, clenching fists to rationalize the wait for rejection on your behalf.

“Why me? I mean, you’ve seen Namjoon’s work, he’s great.”

“He said that you’re skilled in the tebori method. I’d like them to be done in that style and not many people can. Plus, I’ve seen your work too, it’s just as amazing.” Jeongguk notes the deflation, not unaware of Namjoon’s warning. He’s tempted to pry, but reverses hoping to stumble upon neutral territory, already missing the strain of your muscles in smile. “But obviously it’s only if you’re comfortable. I don’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“You’re not, I just...can I think about it? I know that’s so incredibly unprofessional of me but—”

“Take as long as you need.” Jeongguk decides immediately he doesn’t need an explanation, that your rumination is the promise of another rendezvous, high hopes lifting him over the horizon of the midday sun, skin aching for the glow of golden hour.

You already know you’ll say yes, outright rejection never an option, the flicker of expression alight in your left receptacle more than reason to feel him once more. The physical is through the page, but the metaphorical is the connection of souls, the cliché of one person and the hope of renewed ardor.

“I promise I won’t be long…” The words hang, heavy in the air between and with more meaning than your intent. You’re led away by the weight of obligation, required assistance from Jimin to cover the desk, legs like infant limbs after an hour unmoving.

Jeongguk follows suit, still chewing the words before spewing his own right back. The same weight and familiarity in his soft deliverance.

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, you climb.

~*~

“How was your date?” Jimin is already setting up his station, eyes not sparing a glance, concentration wholly reserved. His vibration is palpable, though you don’t immediately notice, the feeling still finding stringed limbs when you reach your seat behind the desk.

“I was meeting a client,” You speak hollow and unconvincing, the magic coursing through your veins begging to differ. Wonder is silent, eyes latching to the single eye muraled to the wall, imagining it to glisten like Sirius reflecting in the night sky, musing how one day could build a coherency of such magnetism yet still be held at arm’s length.

“Oh really? It’s just that, I never meet my clients at the park...” His voice is a hum, settling an array of options for the post pierce browse. “—it’s certainly a bonus that said client is very handsome and already seems pretty interested.”

“You’ve never even seen us in the same room, I just met him today.”

“Whatever. I assume he’ll be coming around a lot more.”

Your fingers grasp the nearest instrument, ballpoint clicking in time with the tap of your toe against the leg of the chair. “I don’t know if I’m gonna agree. I don’t want him to be disappointed in the result.”

“I know you think you’re old news, but the fact that you didn’t say no is reason enough. There’s clearly a part of you that wants to, so why not take the plunge?”

“I can’t say yes just because I feel some strange attraction to him. That would be inappropriate,” Your mind barely registers the entrance of figure three, a client you presume, the sign-in ledger already halfway across the desk when Jimin speaks again.

“So you are attracted to him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did,” Your pen clatters, nimble fingers swooping it in your absence, Taehyung’s smirk a playful gleam to counter your startled posture. He greets Jimin as an old friend, the two waiting for you to catch up, the slouch of your spine and the configuration of the scene pulling you back into the current take.

“You’re the one getting a piercing?” Wheels push the foundation, abandoning the desk in favor of the plush leather Taehyung has already sunken into. You believe he feels at home, the decorative jewelry already hanging from his lobes the badge of a pierced veteran.

“Yeah, I figure it’s time to expand my collection.” His hand brushes the lengthy edges of his dark locks, leaving ample space for Jimin to reach his target, the depth of his gaze landing on your arch over the chair’s arm. “I’m assuming your meeting went well?”

“What do you know about my meeting?”

“Why do you think I was here yesterday? The piercing was just a bonus,” He pokes at the tray beside him, the light smack of Jimin’s hand drawing him back to the confines of his lounge. You try to connect dots lost in the fray of day to day. Taehyung is not entirely new to you though still unfamiliar, but you don’t recall the mention of Jeongguk during his earlier visits.

“So you guys know each other then?” Your disbelief finds Jimin, his hand’s busied with extra sanitation and his lips focusing hard to keep his face straight. “I’m assuming I’m simply the last to know, okay then.”

“It’s just circumstance really, I’m the one who came to your door, you were in your office when we came here yesterday and he was in Namjoon’s office when you came out. I promise he wasn’t avoiding you, quite the opposite actually.” You’re too intrigued for embarrassment, your attention handed tenfold to Taehyung, his head slightly tilted while Jimin readies to pierce him.

As of late the stench of disinfectant would trigger a memory you were fighting hard to shield from the surface, but the idea of not knowing more of Taehyung drives it from your mind, currently on one track and unwavered by anything that’s not Jeongguk. Even so, there’s a haze, or perhaps the attempt of common sense forcing you to look past the filter of brights to truly grasp reality.

“We’d never met before today, how could he possibly be looking for me?”

“We actually saw you a few days ago, before you and I officially met. You and Jimin were leaving the shop and he seemed pretty distracted by you, but he thought you two were dating.” Your laughter emits in breathy sighs, muddled by the fluttering in your abdomen, Jimin’s lips smug, shoulders rounded.

“Easy mistake, we’d make a cute couple.” It would be a fib to deny that it’s the first time it’s been thought that you and Jimin were more than friends. His neighbors foolishly believe your late nights are spent anywhere save for the couch, silver screen glaring back at your glued lids.

You watch Jimin work, ignoring the bore of Taehyung’s eyes, his focal point to ignore the sharp sting of the needle. He barely flinches, your own body lurching in slight when the needle meets puffed skin. His hand clasps your wrist, pulling you closer, examining the bare skin in earnest.

“You don’t have any tattoos...none that I can see at least.” He notices, jumping to your eyes and back to your arm. He leans forward when Jimin steps away, gathering his studded collection of earrings, reflecting with golds and silver. “That’s pretty interesting considering you give them to other people for a living.”

“Astute observation. I do not have any tattoos visible or otherwise.” Taehyung kisses his teeth, easily opting for a pair reminiscent of chains. You look for judgement, but there’s none in his study of the colorful space, just a curiosity he’s not sure he should breach. “I’ve always wanted one, but I was too scared. Ridiculous but true.”

“Scared of needles?”

“At first maybe. Scared of the permanence of it all. It feels like such a big responsibility, to me at least, to decide what to get tattooed and I’ve never gotten to a point where I could just do it.” You think back to pages bound by leather with frightening immediacy, the conviction with which the they screamed at you almost haunting if not for the beauty of it. Chilling in the details of sketches, moments in time grasped so eloquently. A part of you is certainly jealous, but the other part is so irrevocably drawn to depth and desire. “Hey, Taehyung, is Jeongguk still at his shop by chance?”

“Actually I’m supposed to be meeting him for ice cream after this so he might already be there.” He pulls his device from his jacket, squinting at the screen, thumb gliding in swiftness. “You guys should come!”

“Oh we don’t wanna—”

“I’m in, I’ve been craving a good scoop,” Jimin leaves no room for disagreement, his limbs already at full speed to hurry cleaning his station. “We don’t have any clients and Namjoon is out of town for the day, so I think we’re good to close up. Plus, you can tell Jeongguk you’ll take him on.”

“I never said I would,” You slide back into your jacket, tucking your limbs into the sleeves. The sky has darkened significantly since the dusting of rays that splashed your skin as you sprawled the grass barely an hour earlier.

“You never said you wouldn’t.” The two are like stooges, already mastering the collaborative effort to challenge you.

“Have fun with your ice cream, I’m, hopefully, going home to a heated apartment.”

~*~

Jin has been talking to Jeongguk since he entered, the recognition of the new young entrepreneur on the strip catching his attention without pause. He’s a nice guy, his energy something Jeongguk would appreciate on any given day, but he was hoping for a moment of collection before Taehyung arrived.

He’s stuck on a blur, the low heat of his skin and the canals of his ears, yearning for the vibration of laughter and soft words spoken beneath the breeze. It was easy and good, an hour lost, an hour found. He would’ve laid there in the grass for hours after your departure were in not for the chill that crept in so easily without you beside him.

He wonders if it was a mutual feeling or if your reaction was just polite, a business tactic. No. Not you, you’re not the type to pretend, he knows even if he doesn’t know. Your sincerity was like a sickness, spilling from your every crevice, pouring out with your every phrase. He’s sure even you don’t notice the significant way you carry yourself, impossible to turn away from.

“Hey, Jin, talking Jeongguk’s ear off I see.” Jeongguk breaks his stare from where it concentrated on the ink already eating his skin, Jimin standing over the booth with Taehyung chuckling beside him. “Maybe give him a break and take out order?”

“There’s a counter, Park Jimin, and—” Jin squints in the direction of the counter, a small line waiting for their treats of the frozen variety, though not many people are keen for the cold in the midst of winter. “—yup there’s definitely someone up there waiting just for you.”

“Ha ha, leave him alone, Jin, his mind is already occupied plenty.” Jin slides from the booth, Jimin immediately taking his place, Taehyung sliding in after him.

Jin feigns reluctance when Jimin recites his order, all around friendlier when Jeongguk and Taehyung do the same. Jimin turns his attention to the other side of the booth when Jin sidles off, already choosing his next target. “Where’s your head at?”

“Hm?”

“We just talked to Y/n, I hear your meeting went well, prospects are high. She seems interested,” Taehyung’s speech is backed with encouragement, Jeongguk’s lip quivering, but winning the fight against his impending smile, intent on not giving himself away too quickly.

“She said she’d think about it and I’m perfectly okay with that.” He thinks of your promise, the thoughts skirting past the surface for a sign, a signal that the more he feels is exactly the meaning behind your words. His rang true, he would wait and be content. He would be prepared to have you work as his artist and end things there, but the weight in his pocket and the recollection of your eyes doubled in size leaves room for the want of more.

“She seemed impressed with you,” Jimin adds, chin rested in his palm, reading for reaction. “The fact that she’s considering is a really good sign. For her and for you.”

“It all just felt really natural,” The two watch as Jeongguk’s eyes glaze over just thinking about the exchange. “Almost like we…”

He trails, face heating, his thoughts almost betraying him. He’s relieved when a server comes bearing dishes, thanking them aloud with pleasantry and inwardly for saving him from himself. The relief is short lived when two sets of eyes beam at him like he’s an amusement, waiting for him to continue.

“Almost like you…”

“Nothing, it’s really stupid. She’s really great, I’ll be lucky if she decides that I’m worth it.” He covers lamely, shoving his spoon past his lips, letting creamy vanilla coat his tongue and ease his mind.

“Trust me,” Jimin mumbles, swallowing his own hefty scoop. “She decided that the moment you sat down.”

~*~

It’s unclear what brought you to this stool some nights later, half buzzed and wondering if you’ll have to call Jimin to drag you home. Your mind hasn’t completely fogged, liquor light with mercy, heavy consequences no doubt pending for the morning to come. A break, you’d decided, hands and knees stained with product, trying in vain to work the stain from your carpet, the smudge faint but not enough to miss your eye.

The crowd is surprising, though you wouldn’t know as you don’t often go to the place with the metaphorical bad stuff, your own brand of lunacy dancing in boxes lacing your cabinetry. You recall the draw of drinks from mugs and Jimin off-key when you’re sliding more bills than you prefer across the counter. Moving is without appeal, head to the counter the way to go.

“Hey, you okay?” The voice is familiar, worth the work to lift your head. Jeongguk looks down at you, his hand placed to the bar, eyes wide with concern.

His own stumbling through the door of the room with the dim lighting and the absurd amount of sports playing in every corner was boredom. Taehyung had plans and he was left alone to the drone of the television, the shop in need of a break from him. The dishes already glistening from his tenth wash despite the lack of use. A spot of dust enough to send him into a frenzy. From Jimin the name of the dive was briefly mentioned, in relation to what he couldn’t say, the topic never picking his brain from the moment it was first spoken.

Now he’s glad he wasn’t a horrible companion, the sight of you hunched over reason enough for his half listen. He notes your solitude immediately, drawn to the side of the bar rather than the thick of it all, two glasses empty before you.

“Jeongguk!” Your tone is uneven, eyes looking watered under the lights, your smile brightening in his eyes. He can’t help but to return, lowering into the stool so your faces are level. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I just got here actually and I saw you so…”

“You came for me?” If you were less influenced the words would have remained nothing more than a thought, passing in a sea of others you could never muster courage to speak. Though you’re not sure that a post buzz reflection will make you wish they were any less materialized, the way his features soften like a fertilization for the growth of your thudding heart.

“I—yeah, I came for you. Are you ready to head home?”

“You don’t know where I live,” You say the words, knowing you’ll go anywhere with him even if he doesn’t. You let him guide you from your stool, his touch soft, never too much.

“You know, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

~*~

He lingers outside of your door, adoring the small struggle you have with lock and key, about to lend a hand when your triumph catches him, arms lifting over your head, turning to him with a smile. “Come on!”

“You want me to come in?” Taehyung will be home soon and he has no way of explaining that he’s at your place that doesn’t involve some teasing on his best friend’s end of it, though it doesn’t matter when you latch on to the sleeve of his jacket and pull him past the threshold.

The biggest difference between your place and theirs is the lived-in aspect. He would say that it’s cute, but it’s too simple a word. It seems you prefer mood lighting, the flip of a switch igniting fairies strung to the base of the ceiling. It suits you, who’s already stumbling toward the kitchen expecting that Jeongguk is hot on your trail. The décor is simple, a few paintings on the wall, rugs and cozy furniture.

“I’m sorry if it’s cold in here, it’s always kind of cold in here,” You mutter, grabbing two mugs and giving life to your kettle. Jeongguk recalls that you were no longer in possession of your space heater, taken by Taehyung and himself and still unreturned. He debates running over to grab it, but your hand once more on his wrist, drags him to the sofa erasing the thought of walking out of that door. “Thanks for bringing me home, I promise I’m not that wasted. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“No, I’m not nervous! Not because you were drinking anyways…”

“So you are nervous...why?”

“You make me nervous...in a good way!” He’s quick to regroup, noting the fall of your features, hating that it’s because of him. “It’s completely insane, but from the moment I saw you I…”

“Me too.” Jeongguk’s previously averted gaze rushes to meet you, already staring back. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean, confident that what you feel is what he feels. Confident that it doesn’t matter how insane it may sound. “It’s so crazy, but when I saw you yesterday something just clicked and I thought maybe it’s because you’re ridiculously attractive but then we talked and it was so natural.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” He takes a chance, hand sliding to yours, resting against your thigh. Your fingers tangle without stutter, the position meant to be, so full of warmth and understanding. “I saw you with Jimin a few days ago, I couldn't stop staring."

So long is spent staring, enjoying each other and the mutual affection that's like an aura engulfing you.

"Where exactly do we go from here?” Jeongguk tugs at his bottom lip, another quality that fills you with warmth.

“Why are you opening a tea shop?”

“What?”

“We’re practically strangers, I don’t even know your last name actually. So, if there’s some weird predestined love at first sight phenomenon going on here, I’d like to know everything about you before we proceed.” You click, smile a contagious thing, one that Jeongguk would be remiss not to embrace wholeheartedly. “So why a tea shop?”

“Well first, my last name is Jeon—”

“Jeon Jeongguk…” He watches you test the words against your tongue. “Cute. You’re cute.”

“Anyways,” He blushes. “I’ve always loved making tea. I learned it at a young age and then I started experimenting and decided that this is what I wanna do. I figured focusing on boba would draw more people in, but I also wanna expand on what I already know.”

“Well if anything, Hoseok will be there at least twice a day.”

“What about you?”

“I think I can make time, though you are really out of the way I might not be able to swing it.”

“I’ll pick you up, or better yet I can just bring it right to you,” He offers, amused but truthful. “No, but I mean how did you get into tattooing, and how did you learn tebori?”

“Ah…” Your eyes find one of the frames hanging nearest the window, a landscape that Jeongguk can barely make out aside from the distance of neon. “Well, I was studying abroad actually, in Japan. I was an art history major and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do so I thought getting away would help me figure it out.”

You think often about the day when your current occupation seemed so foreign, your adolescence always filled with imaginings of galleries under curation, days filled with frames and packed schedules.

“One of my classmates convinced me to go out with her one night because she wanted a tattoo and I wanted one too, so I didn’t really see why I shouldn’t go. She got hers first, a flower I think, and while I was watching the artist I was just blown away by the technique.”

“Tebori?”

“Mmhm, of course I’d seen the regular ink and needle, but this just seemed to me something on a deeper level and I fell in love with it. It’s probably the most insane thing I’ve done to date, but I finished my degree abroad and stayed in Japan to learn and now I’m here.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“It just felt like it was time...sometimes I wish I hadn’t or that I could go back to visit. Like it’ll remind me what it felt like in the beginning, make me feel like less of a failure. I'd actually get my tattoo.”

“You’re not a failure, we just have patches sometimes. You’ll figure it out, we’ll figure it out.” The steam of the kettle startles from the moment you're quick to exit to the stove, mulling words and recovering from the embarrassment of exposure over the steaming water. “You know, I don’t have tea so I hope hot chocolate is okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Jeongguk accepts his mug and the packet of mix, stirring it in time with his breathing. He’s left to the obvious blushing of his cheeks, musing his circumstance, sharing a drink with the perfect anomaly. He’s ignored the constant stream of vibration from his pocket, no interest in removing himself from the cozy bubble. “So this place is pretty shitty, I would know and I’ve only lived here about a week. Why do you stay here?”

“You live here? Wait...you and Taehyung are roommates, duh sorry. I’m still trying to catch up.”

“Yeah, thanks for the space heater by the way. I’m pretty sure I would’ve given in the first night if I had to sleep in the cold.”

“Ha! No worries, sometimes I do give in and I stay over at Jimin’s place. But I’m just not ready to let this place go yet, I guess. It’s not great, but change is hard and I’ve been here for so long.”

You're close along the counter, space invaded without invitation, gravitation controlling your every step. The rest of the night follows suit, closeness and appeal. You enjoy words and laughter, ignoring the possibility of the responsibility the next day alludes.

Somehow you find yourselves in your bed, faces close and bodies tucked beneath the thick duvet. You're glad the heat isn’t working tonight, Jeongguk wrapped around you like a boa, slowly falling into the depths of unconsciousness, the conversation lulling with each random topic. Your throat is strained from laughter and your brain is filled with more than it thought possible.

Inches are now centimeters and you’re snails inching toward the finish, certain but uncertain if the light of day will change the result of your exchange.

The morning following you wake much the same as you slept, tangled, breaths mingling between. Jeongguk is still snoring, blissfully unaware of the authoritative knock echoing from your front door. Hands pushing at your eyes, feet tingling against the cold flooring, you swing the door with an annoyance you’re prepared to unleash before you’re met with Taehyung.

His eyes are half frantic, neck craning to see around you.

“Taehyung?”

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jeongguk? I’ve been trying to reach him since last night and he’s not answering.”

“O-oh...um he’s here, let me get him,” You mumble, allowing Taehyung, his eyes softening and features squinted, to step inside. You leave him standing in the living room, ignoring the knowing smirk, head bowed as you step into your bedroom.

You regret the gentle shove of his shoulders, and the hushed “wake up” that slowly but surely draws Jeongguk from his sleep. He looked peaceful, full of youth with his eyes stapled and breath steady rising and falling. His eyes are puffy when he raises, confusion laced features recalling that he wasn’t in his own home.

His arm extends, patting your side of the bed, unaware that you were the reason for premature awakening. “Hey sleepy head.”

“What are you doing up?” He finds your hand, grabbing hold in an attempt to pull you back to bed. Though you would be more than willing, Taehyung is sure to have heaps to say already, no reason to add fuel to the fire already blazing in his pupils.

“Taehyung is here,” That catches his attention, eyes darting to the door half open. “He said he’s been trying to reach you. He’s waiting in the living room, I’m sorry if you didn’t want him to know you’re here, I panicked.”

“No it’s fine,” He assures, sliding from the bed, the same chill that ate you catching him with bare feet. You follow him back out to Taehyung, who’s taken it upon himself to peruse the space, currently examining the coffee table with it’s day old mugs. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.”

Looking between the two of you, your hand finding habit at Jeongguk’s shoulder, he shrugs. “No biggie, just thought you might be in a ditch or something. Turns out I was very wrong, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’ll just come with you, I should probably shower and change. I’ve got some stuff to take care of before the opening. I can’t believe it’s only a couple months away.” You drop your hand, leaving him to it, an awkward and unsure feeling settling in your stomach. It’s clear that Jeongguk is a bit embarrassed, not that you’re own emotions haven’t caused the sting of a heat in your cheeks. You wait for him to follow Taehyung, who’s already waved goodbye, hands in his pockets as he stalks away.

Jeongguk isn’t so quick, turning to your ground bound pupils, fingers drifting to the trace of your jaw and nudging you to greet him. You’re taken by the lack of hesitation when his lips meet yours in kiss, short and sweet, altogether unexpected. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” You coo, fingers brushing his cheek gingerly, rewarded with one more peck before Taehyung is groaning in the hallway, effectively tearing Jeongguk from you to catch up.

~*~

You’re warm, for the first time in a long time you’re warm, from your chest to your veins, head and toes, and it’s all because of Jeon Jeongguk. His departure wasn’t the last of him, the next few months full of meetings planned and spontaneous, your phone alight with too many notifications, every one taken in with the same adoring smile and your own obsessed response.

You would stop by Hoseok’s blessing him with a coffee, happily listening to his rambling about the horrendous new flavor Jin had him and Yoongi test the other night. Across the street you could just see Jeongguk through the window, lips pulled in concentration, pen scribbling on the pad in front of him. Though it was cute, you couldn’t help but to attempt to cheer him up, his eyes immediately finding you after he’s read the little note sent to his phone.

You would be sick with yourself if you were the one to witness the affection radiating from your expanse, but you couldn’t care less how many times Jimin fake gags or the small lecture you endure when Yoongi delivers flowers later in the day. You hold on to the feeling and you hope that it feels like this all the time.

“What are you working on?” Namjoon steps into your office, no other reason than his own boredom swallowing him whole, much like the cushions when he collapses into your sofa.

“Just some of Jeongguk’s sketches…” You noticed rather quickly the familiar book resting on your bedside table after your first night together, no doubt placed by Jeongguk before sleep could find him. You spent the morning getting to know his art better, so you could try to make it exactly what he wanted. You only just got around to transferring the sketches to your own notebook, hoping to have something to show him at his opening.

“He’s really good for you. I haven’t seen you this eager about sketching in a while.”

“You think so?”

“What, you don’t?”

“No, I just...I don’t want you to think I’m completely insane for jumping into this so suddenly. I mean, I think it’s insane that I could be so completely sure about someone so quickly and I think the world of you, so I don’t want you to be disappointed…”

He laughs, whole hearted laughter fills your office and you’re not positive how you should respond. Your hands are unsteady on your pen, ready for him to completely crush your soul, back to the same girl standing in his doorway all those years ago.

“Honestly, you give me way too much credit.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night that you showed up, I was wondering how I was even gonna keep this place open. The building wasn’t the most friendly looking, most people walked right past, the outside giving them the impression that the inside was just as decrepit,” He sighs, head supported by the arm of the chair, eyes holding the ceiling in place. “When you showed up I was seconds away from telling you to get lost, then you handed me your sketches and you looked so hopeful. You were my last chance, so really I should be thanking you for being so spontaneous, especially if it means you’re happy.”

“Wow, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I didn’t want to put more pressure than you already put on yourself. Plus, it doesn’t really matter now, does it? We’re doing pretty good, and that’s what’s important.”

The revelation is a motivation, your grip on the pencil tightening, strokes light and even on the page. Namjoon doesn’t say much more, silent inspiration while he falls into slumber, the only reason he ever finds himself meandering into your space.

“Knock knock,” Jeongguk peers around the corner, your finer flying to your lips, the other gesturing toward Namjoon, dozing peacefully. “Sorry, does he do that a lot?”

“Oh yeah, he pretends he wants to know what I’m up to then he’s out like a light before I’ve finished speaking.”

“I’ll have to try it sometime—”

“Watch it,” You warn playfully, sneakily closing your notebook so he can’t see. “What’s up? I figured you would be too busy filling orders for little ole me.”

“Never, and I want you to try this! I was thinking I could add it to the special menu. I know everyone is into the whole lemonade with boba thing which we do offer but I was trying to make a tea that’s more on the fruity side than the tea side because I know some people are put off by the tea taste, ya know?” He watches you uncomfortably closely, your face trained to be as neutral as possible while flavors explode, traveling to opposing ends of your mouth, battling it out, but ultimately left with no winner.

“You know, I appreciate the thought and I’m sure if you work on it some more it’ll be perfect but…”

“It’s disgusting.” He finishes for you sighing in defeat, collapsing in the chair across from you.

“No!” You round the desk, his arms ready to accept your slide into his lap. “It’s not disgusting, it’s just...not quite blended yet.”

He takes the to-go cup, sipping his own concoction. You wonder if he tried it at all before running over here, his habit of trusting your initial judgement extremely endearing, but unnecessary. It stems only from your admittance that you weren’t the biggest tea drinker and that you’re one of those lemonade with the boba people. His mission became clear, he couldn’t stand to see you walk into his shop knowing that you’ll be leaving with sugared lemons squeezed into juice. He has to make you the perfect tea if it’s the last thing he does.

He was set on making it for the opening, but to no avail, the sign flipped, his employees brewing away, his drop here only partially out of the necessity for his favorite taste tester. “It’s disgusting,” He decides immediately, fighting the urge to spit it back into the cup. “You have to stop being so nice to me, it’s cute, but I want you to yell at me like you yell at Jimin.”

“I don’t yell at Jimin!”

“You yell at Jimin all the time, lovingly, but there are voices raised.” Namjoon rubs at his eyes, tugging at the shirt riding at his abdomen. “We goin for tea or what? I swear people are gonna think we’re out of business with how often we close early.”

"Yeah, can you just give us a minute?" You try your best to be discrete, nodding toward the notebook on your desk.

"Yeah...Jimin and I will just meet you there." He leaves you, door clicking in his wake and you turn to Jeongguk with a ready grin, eyes wide with excitement.

"Is this one of those things where I should knock everything off of your desk? If so I'm down, but this is a weird time…"

"No! I have a surprise for you." You pull his journal from it's position beneath the stacks of paper on your desk. "You left this at my place your first night over."

"I've been looking for this! I was embarrassed to tell you I lost it, but it turns out you're a klepto." He teases, taking hold of the pages. "So you decided to hold it hostage?"

"I wasn't holding it hostage, I was working on…" You lift your sketchbook, flipping to the appropriate page. "These."

They aren't complete, but you want his first impression and suddenly you understand the tea thing. It's a radically different medium, your shared art actually pending ink on his body, but you don't want to go too far only to disappoint. He leans against the desk, not speaking, just staring, expressionless.

"If you don't like them we can talk about what you want changed, I just tried to make something I thought would fit what you've already got going."

He finally looks up, eyes glistening, your stomach doing flips. You're too afraid to ask what he's thinking, so you continue to wait, hoping he'll speak up soon and that you didn't insult him with your vision.

"I love them."

"Really? You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings, it's your body you know."

"Really, you're amazing. This is better than I could've hoped and I can't wait until it's permanent." His words are firm with sincerity, notebook laid to the side in favor of pulling you into his arms. "How am I supposed to compete? I can't even make tea for you."

"Relax, your tea is perfectly fine! I just enjoy the occasional lemonade. Come on, we'll go to the shop, you can make me whatever you want and I'll love it."

"Deal, but...I-we have a surprise for you as well."

"For me?"

"Yeah, I was talking with the guys the other day, we were talking about you..."

"You and the guys? This should be good."

"It is, I promise." He produces an envelope from his pocket, no scrawl on the outside, more mystery than you're ready for. “I was thinking about what you said that first night, about wanting to remember what it was like in the beginning.”

“What did you do?” You tear into the envelope, fingers moving so slowly you fear the skin will catch in the thin edges. What you pull is far from what you imagined, a ticket printed blue for a week’s time. Jeongguk stares at you expectantly, waiting for some form of reaction, but you’re not sure what to say. “This is a plane ticket…”

“Yeah, to Japan. We want you to go back and we knew you wouldn’t do it unless we planned it for you.”

“You guys didn’t have to.”

“We wanted to, I wanted to. The way your eyes lit up talking about that time in your life, I would do anything to give that to you again. So we want you to go to Japan, do something for you.” His lips land on your forehead, breathing you in while you process the unexpected gift. It’s more than you could ever imagine, but there’s a single string, dangling with uncertainty. You figure the only way to eliminate it is to pull full force, risk sounding ridiculous.

“What about you?” Jeongguk’s face scrunches in confusion, the inquiry the last thing he expected. His thoughts were far from himself, not naive enough to think his mind would be focused anywhere but you while you’re gone, but never thinking it would be a reason you’re unsure about going. “I don’t mean to sound stupid, but I’d miss you too much.”

“You can call me everyday, any time of day. I’ll be there, you don’t have to worry about me not being here waiting for you.”

“Or...you could come?”

“Oh, you want me to? I figured you’d want to do your own thing, not have me weighing you down.” Your arms find his waist, head resting against his chest, giggling at the prospect of Jeongguk being anything more than a comforting presence.

“Of course I want you to, I wanna show you everything.”

“I’ll have to figure things out with the shop, but—”

“Oh, wow I’m so selfish. Of course you can’t just drop everything to come with me, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” You shake your head, silently scolding your inconsideration. Jeongguk grabs hold of your shoulders, stopping you mid step, hand halfway to smack your forehead.

“I would love to come, I just have to talk to Taehyung about it. I’m sure he wouldn't mind taking on a little more responsibility. Actually he’ll probably pack my bags for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll probably have to catch a later flight, just to get things taken care of.” He thinks aloud.

“I think I can manage a few days on my own.”

“I promise I won’t be long.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, we smile.

#bangtanuniversity #bangtanidx #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #jungkook x reader #jjk x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #jjk fluff #bts au #jungkook au #bts s2l #jungkook s2l

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soramei · 3 years

Text

Intentional - Part 4

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: none right now, eventual smut

Word Count: 3.4k

Masterlist

A/N: DOUBLE UPLOAD! So i decided to split this part in two since i didn't want it to drag on for too long... next part will be uploaded tomorrow!

Taglist (reply to be tagged!): @planetdemon @hvunvely @fluffybitch0325 @fashi0nablee @juststop88

You picked up the lanyard, looking between your burnt jacket in one hand and the vandalized piece of plastic in the other. The burnt polyester felt rough against your fingers. It was littered with black holes, almost to the point where it was unrecognizable as your jacket.

The lanyard, on the other hand, was almost untouched — save for the black marker that was sketched on the plastic. In the picture, on the part where your upper body was showing, there was only the black marker. The black blob stretched across your torso, the shape depicting a hoodie. Your eyes landed on the eyes in your picture. Thick lines drawn in the shape of an X covered both of them.

You quickly entered your apartment, hoping nobody saw you. You then stood completely still, listening to the silence, trying to find if anybody had broken into your home. After a minute, when it seemed as if you were the only person in there, you decided to lay the two vandalized items on your desk to further analyze them.

Your brain immediately tried to play this down by assuming that these were just kids who did this to your stuff, after all, it was something very immature. Children were the only people who had the time to play with fire and draw on other people’s pictures.

However, your gut told you something different. Why was your jacket along with your lanyard placed right in front of your apartment? Why was the marker outline specifically in the shape of a hoodie? Who could have known you were in the parking lot at that time of day?

Your mind drifted to one specific person. Manager Kim. He not only saw that you were in the parking lot that day with that jacket on, but also he knew your face from the lanyard. But why would he do something this childish? And how did he know where you lived?

The parking lot security guard had also been there when you wore that jacket, but he didn’t even look at you. And he would have no motive to do this sort of thing.

You rubbed your chin in thought, still not understanding everything. Was there somebody else that knew you were there?

Still feeling anxious, you began to prepare a cup of tea. You were reminded of Bang Chan. The tea. The smell of his hoodie.

His hoodie. The black hoodie.

Realization hit you like a truck as your eyes widened in disbelief. Was it maybe… Bang Chan?

Your heart was beating out of your chest. Hands shaking, you picked up your phone to call him, silently begging for the mysterious person to not be him.

He picked up.

“Hello? Y/n?”

You stayed silent.

“Is there something wrong?” He asked.

“I… I lost my jacket and it had my lanyard in it,” you tried to be careful with your words, not wanting to rouse suspicion from him, “have you seen it anywhere?”

“No,” you could almost see Bang Chan furrowing his eyebrows, “I’m still in the building though. I could look for it?”

“That’s alright,” you sighed in relief. He genuinely sounded confused, and plus, he was always so nice — there was no way he would ever do this kind of thing to you. You felt guilty for even suspecting him. “Thanks for offering though.”

“Y/n.”

“Hmm?”

“I know I said this before, but,” he paused, “if you need help with anything I’ll be there. I mean it.”

A chill ran down your spine at the seriousness of his voice. “I know. Thanks.”

You hung up, uneasy. The problem was unsolved, and to be honest, you were a little scared. There was somebody that knew who you were and where you lived. It was probably a good idea to change the passcode to your lock.

The kettle started to whistle. You turned off the flame of your stove and poured yourself a cup of tea, hoping that it would calm you down. Although it did a little, you still felt apprehensive about the whole thing. Your mood stayed the same the whole night, even when you tried to scroll through your phone or go to sleep.

The next day, you woke up with your mind cleared. No longer were you still feeling the aftershocks of the creepy jacket burner, and with your mood lifted more, you felt like you could think more objectively.

And that’s exactly what you did.

Throughout your whole week, this incident stuck in the back of your mind. Although your memory was getting fuzzier and fuzzier with the passing days, you still tried to work out who the culprit was in your free time.

Your mind was also filled with something else. Or was it someone else?

It seemed like, during the whole week, you couldn’t stop thinking of Bang Chan. You had to put part of the blame on him, though. Everytime he had a free moment in his busy schedule — granted it was rare that he did — he wanted to see you.

From secretly bringing you snacks from the vending machine to summoning you to his recording room in order to show his newest creation, he always seemed to stay busy even in his free time. You weren’t complaining, though. It was nice to have a friend who was so different from what you were used to.

You also spent a lot of time with Na-eun too. However, the time you spent with her felt different. Not in any good or bad way, just different. With her, it was mainly in the cafeteria, raving over the food after finally finding a free table. It was also trying to talk over everybody in the crowded streets as you two went shopping after work.

You liked it, sure. But with Bang Chan, every moment felt more intimate. Every smile, every laugh or brush of the hand. Was this what becoming friends felt like?

Other than these intrusive thoughts, the rest of your time was taken up by work. Although you were starting to get the hang of your tasks, there were still many mistakes made. Mistakes in which you had to profusely apologize to Manager Chen for, that you had to stay late nights to fix, mistakes which made you almost lose your mind. You hoped that Manager Chen could see your dedication to not only this project, but your job as a whole.

In the duration of this week, you managed to check in with every department involved with the project and partake in the finalization of the Mid-Autumn Festival content idea. It was decided that the group would do three activities: make lanterns, bake mooncakes, and share a fire while watching the moon. All while in the mountains.

You were surprised when Manager Chen asked you to come along to the shooting despite your inexperience. However, it wasn’t a chance you were going to pass up.

The week was hectic. So hectic, that you didn’t even realize it was almost over until Na-eun brought it up.

“Ugh, I wish I could just steal a whole tray of this food home,” you rolled your eyes. The two of you were raving once again at the cafeteria food. You wished you actually knew how to cook.

“Can you not cook?” She asked.

“I can fry an egg,” you said, stuffing more rice in your mouth.

“My six year old niece can do that,” she laughed. Her eyes widened. “What if I come over tonight and teach you? We’ll make fried rice, even you can’t screw that up.”

“Ha,” you said dryly. “I would, but I have literally nothing in my fridge.”

Na-eun gave you a deadpan look.

“How were you able to stay alive for the past couple weeks? At least you got skinner.” She sneered. “We’ll stop by the grocery store after work, I’ll teach you the bare minimum of living alone.”

And that was exactly what the two of you did. Right after you clocked out of work, you met up with Na-eun to go shopping. You decided to take out some cash to pay for your groceries, an action that Na-eun found hilarious. She was almost crying as she explained that a few groceries didn’t cost as much as you thought.

Your trip was successful. The two of you made it all the way back to your apartment and didn’t waste a second to get started. Halfway through setting things up, Na-eun got a text.

“Hey, is it okay if Yoojin comes? I guess she got jealous that I was here with you and she wasn’t.” She chuckled.

“Of course,” you eagerly nodded. “But, wouldn’t it be hard to get here with her injury?”

“What injury?”

“You know,” you continued, “her ankle.”

“She seemed fine to me.” Na-eun said as she started on the rice.

“Maybe she healed fast.” You shrugged.

“Maybe,” she shrugged back and returned to her task.

You texted Yoojin your address, and it wasn’t long before she was knocking at your door. You opened your door, and she immediately leaped at you for a hug.

“Oh, Y/n! I’m still so sorry for that day, I honestly feel horrible.” She pouted, her big eyes staring at you for a response.

“It’s really nothing, Yoojin.” You tried to sound casual. You let her in your apartment. “But, doesn’t your ankle hurt? There’s a lot of stairs coming up.”

“Oh, uhm, the doctor said it was only a minor injury.” She paused. “And I heal fast.”

“That’s good,” you smiled, patting her shoulder.

“But I still feel so bad, Y/n.” She whined. “Lemme make it up to you. I’ll set you up with this really hot guy I know. He’s a law student. You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“Kim Yoojin!” Na-eun yelled.

“How about it? You’re free tomorrow, right?” Yoojin looked at you, ignoring Na-eun.

“I guess so,” you hesitantly agreed, “since it’s the weekend tomorrow.”

“Great!” Yoojin wrapped her arms around you, jumping up and down. “I’ll text you everything tonight.”

Yoojin kept up with her promise. After the three of you stuffed yourselves with good food, your two friends decided to leave before it got too dark. It was just a bit later when Yoojin’s text came through. You were to have dinner with this man called Kang Taehyun at an Italian restaurant tomorrow. Although you weren’t too thrilled with the idea of eating pasta, you figured you could withstand it for one night on the basis of trying something new.

You didn’t know how you felt about going on this date. Although you were excited to meet somebody new, something just felt off. Plus, you’ve never been on a blind date before. Who knows how good Yoojin’s judge of character was, or if this guy was like anything that Yoojin described.

You sighed, putting those thoughts aside. It was just a one time thing anyways, and who knows? Maybe this could lead to something. You looked over at Bang Chan’s hoodie. His warm hoodie that smelled so much like him. You should return it soon.

It was almost like he read your mind. As soon as you looked away, your phone rang with a call from Bang Chan.

“Hello?” You picked up.

“Hey, did you find your jacket?” He asked. You were surprised he still remembered.

“No… not yet.” You drifted off.

“Oh. We’ll keep looking for it, yeah? I’ll just buy you a new one if you can’t find it.”

You giggled. A couple seconds of silence passed.

“My shoot ends at six tomorrow. Wanna go to that barbecue place I was talking about?” He asked.

That’s right. Bang Chan couldn’t stop raving about that barbecue restaurant the whole week. He was really excited as his diet would end when he was done with his photoshoot, and he was apparently craving meat the whole time. All his praise made you very eager to see what the hype was all about.

You were about to eagerly accept, but then you remembered the date you had just planned not even a moment earlier. “Can we go another time? I… kinda have a blind date tomorrow.”

A few more seconds passed before you heard Bang Chan’s voice again.

“Blind date?”

“Yeah, my friend set it up. We’re going to this Italian place. Apparently he’s a really nice and handsome guy. He’s a law student, too.”

“Wha- law student? Y/n, are you sure you should be going on a blind date now? I mean, you just got here. You don’t know the city that well and you don’t even like pasta. What if he’s dangerous?” Bang Chan scoffed, his words got faster with each sentence.

“Chan, it’s okay. You don’t need to worry, I’ll be safe. Plus, I trust my friend.”

“You mean your friend you only just met?”

Silence.

“I only just met you as well.” You spat, slightly insulted that he would speak like that about Yoojin.

There was more silence that lingered.

“Whatever. Have fun on your date.” Bang Chan spat back, his harsh tone matching yours. Right after he said that, he hung up.

You looked angrily at your phone. Frowning, you threw your phone on your bed. Who was he to get angry at you for having a blind date? You recognized the dangers of meeting somebody new, but you trusted Yoojin. You were confident that Yoojin was honest about Taehyun.

A boyfriend would be nice too. Ever since your last relationship early in your university career, you haven’t had the best luck with men. It could have been because of how closed off your old friend group was. Your friends stayed consistent ever since you were young, and it was way too awkward to date a friend. You also found yourself way too closed off to go out and meet any new people.

Yes, tomorrow would be a good experience, you told yourself.

The next day, the hours leading up to your date felt like they had passed way too fast. The call with Bang Chan from last night still lingered on your tongue like sour candy, but you were determined to push past that in order to get ready on your date. After all, you didn’t want any frown lines to show.

You were excited to get ready. The amount of time it took to do both your hair and makeup was embarrassingly long, as you wanted everything to look just right for tonight. You didn’t want a hair to be out of place. You also took your sweet time to pick an outfit. Although the skirt you picked out probably wasn’t fit for the fall weather, you stuck with it anyways, choosing to layer a jacket over your outfit. One of your non-burnt jackets.

Double checking yourself in the mirror one last time, you locked the door and headed out. The streets were busy tonight. They were filled with people of all ages trying to relax from their tiring week.

Finding the restaurant wasn’t a hassle as the place was conveniently located at one of the busiest streets for weekend night-life. Dim yellow lights illuminated the tall glass windows just enough for you to see just the shadows of people enjoying their Saturday night. Green vines wrapped around the building, twirling and twisting their way around every crevice available. You tried not to fiddle with your thumbs as you nervously entered the lavish looking Italian restaurant.

“Hello, table for Kang Taehyun?” You asked the hostess. She showed you to a little table right beside a window. It was illuminated by a single candle, and already had two glasses of wine placed on it. And sitting at the table, hands crossed in front of him, was a hideously gorgeous man.

He looked like something out of a drama, really. With his tall nose and his sharp jaw, you struggled to convince yourself that this was a real man. His hands looked twice the size of yours.

“Hi, Y/n?” He asked. “I’m Kang Taehyun.”

He smiled and gestured for you to sit in the empty chair in front of him. You politely greeted him back and sat down. The two of you made some small talk before ordering. He made some suggestions on what to order, but you didn’t really care. You knew you wouldn’t like any of the pastas anyway. Plus, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t be drinking alcohol in front of strangers again.

“I’m surprised you agreed to this date.” You said, awkwardly laughing. “Isn’t a law student supposed to be really busy, especially around this time?”

“Well, I’m mainly doing this as a favour for Yoojin. She helped me with one of my classes.” He took a swig of his wine. “That girl is crazy smart. Or should I say crazy, but smart?”

“Oh?” You didn't want to admit that you were a bit disappointed he only agreed because of a favour. But he was being honest, so that was fair. What he said about Yoojin, though, took you by surprise.

“I’ve only heard rumors,” he tilted his head, “but some say that once in first year she went crazy over a guy. Started stalking him and everything. Apparently she even burned all his textbooks just because he started talking to another girl. They weren’t even dating.”

Your eyes widened at the allegations. There was no way any of that was true. You couldn’t imagine Yoojin — sweet, sweet Yoojin — to be capable of anything like that. There was no way her big puppy dog eyes and her fluffy hair could hurt a soul.

“Are you sure that’s what happened?” You asked.

“I mean, the guy was put into a mental hospital shortly after everything happened,” he shrugged, “so who knows? Maybe he made everything up in his head.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You nodded your head in agreement. Some of your hair fell on your pasta. You blushed, quickly trying to dab the sauce away using a napkin.

“You know Y/n,” Taehyun chuckled, “you’re cute. You’re not my type. I mean, I’ve only ever dated models before, but maybe it’s time to start settling down since I’ll be working at the firm soon.”

Thanks, I guess? You thought. You honestly didn’t know if that was a compliment or a jab, but either way you felt slightly insulted. You didn’t know how to reply to that, but it didn’t take long before Taehyun started again.

“I mean, look at my ex,” he said as he pulled up a picture of his ex-girlfriend on Instagram. She looked flawless in her bikini. “There’s no way I could actually marry somebody like that, right?”

If he says ‘I mean’ one more time… You thought to yourself. This date was turning south fast. This man was extremely handsome — almost god-like — but every word that left his mouth was poison infused arrogance. You didn’t know which was worse: listening to the man in front of you talk about his ex, or eating the pasta that was ordered by him.

You tried your best to stay polite with him for the rest of the evening. It was hard, though, as his cocky personality kept poking you down the whole time. It wasn’t until you finally separated that you had space to breathe. Great, you were left both hungry and annoyed.

Turning the lights on in your home, you sat at the kitchen table, still annoyed over your bad night. You took out your phone, wanting to scroll through the food delivery apps to find something to eat. Your thumbs began drifting.

No, stop. You silently begged yourself. Please, not tonight.

Your body didn’t seem to listen to your mind, however, as your thumb stayed hovering over Bang Chan’s contact. You pleaded to yourself to not press it, but your fingers seemed to have an agenda of their own. You pressed his contact. The phone call started.

One ring. Two rings.

“Hello, Y/n?”

You were shocked. He wasn’t supposed to pick up. Not after how poorly your last conversation went. You didn’t know what to say.

“Chan, how was the photoshoot?” You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t expect him to even pick up.

“It went great — feels good that it’s over, though.” He chuckled.

You wanted to tell him about your date: how arrogant Taehyun was, how fancy the restaurant was, how nasty the pasta was. You wanted to say all that, but tonight it seemed like your body just wouldn’t cooperate with your mind. And sure enough, you caught your mouth running before your mind. But this time, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Chan,” you took a deep breath, “wanna come over?”

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #stray kids angst #bang chan angst #skz imagines #skz scenarios

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bubblesuga · 4 years

Text

Turning Page - Part 1

Summary: Sometimes you find yourself in the right place at the right time and unknowingly, you fall in love. Min Yoongi certainly didn’t expect that when he met eyes with you one fateful night in late July. Nor did he expect to end up naked in your apartment while you drew his body.

w/c: 7,302 genre: struggling producer!yoongi au, new relationship, fluff, smut warnings: oral (m receiving), dom!yoongi, switch!reader, raw sex, spanking, reader has a praise kink, yoongi has a dirty mouth (but lets be honest, what else is new?), slight exhibitionism, jungkook is too nosy for his own good

It’s not often that you find yourself at a 24 hour diner in the middle of the night with an insane amount of papers splayed out in front of you as eat your waffles while answering emails and trying your hardest to copy the manuscripts sent to you but for some god-awful reason it’s happened to you on more than one occasion this week alone.

The manuscript, which the author unabashedly decided to hand write instead of type in this day and age, was way too long and had way too much detail. Unfortunately for you, your boss only reads typed manuscripts and insisted that you copy every word and type it for her by Monday. You know for a fact that your boss is going to get three chapters into this absolute mess of a story and toss it but you have no choice but to listen to her.

This is definitely not how you expected being an intern to go yet here you are, wondering and waiting for the day that you can move on and start your own company like you’ve wanted to for practically your entire life.

“Can I get you a refill on your coffee?” A voice asks, and you glance up to see the waitress, an older woman with a smile that could light up a thousand suns.

“Yes please,” you smile, holding out your mug to her as she pours directly from the pot, “thank you.”

“No problem, I always see you working so hard so I figured you could use the energy boost.” she grins, patting your shoulder lightly as she begins to walk away and help the other few tables which also happen to be hosting tired college students and early risers or late sleepers.

Without even realizing it, another half hour passes by you quickly. Your eyes burn, but you count the remaining pages and try to push through. Quickly though, your ears spot the sound of dishes clanking together and you can’t help but pull your attention in that direction.

A man with blond hair and dark eyes is cleaning the table in front of you. He adorns an apron around his waist and a white t-shirt with black pants. The busboy wipes down the table, and you admire his side profile as he does so. His features are soft, a rounded nose and down-turned lips held almost in a pout. You have never come across a man so stunningly beautiful, it nearly causes your breath to be caught in your throat.

You’re staring for so long that the man catches on to your watchful eye, glancing over in your direction with a raised eyebrow. You smile sheepishly, “Sorry.”

The man smirks, shaking his head before hauling the bin of empty cups and plates towards the kitchen. Your heart sinks for a moment, but you shake the feeling to the best of your ability and try to finish typing.

A few more moments pass, and you hear someone sitting across from you. You glance up and see the man sat across from you, apron gone and a black jacket now covering his torso.

“Can I help you?” You question softly, clasping your hands together atop the table.

He bites his bottom lip, “I feel like I should be asking you the same thing.”

“Pardon?”

“You were watching me earlier, just curious what was on your mind was all.” He shrugs, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets.

You swallow, the way his eyes scan you causes your face to flush. Carefully, you stack up your papers and clean the table slightly while you try to think a way to dance around the answer to his question. He waits patiently, which only causes you to panic internally.

“I was thinking that you would be nice to draw.” you finally settle on, and it’s true. He looks like a work of art, and you’d love to have had him as a model in your art class when you went to college.

He doesn’t seem to expect that answer, his eyes widening slightly as his head tilts, “So draw me.”

“Ah,” you immediately wave your hand dismissively, “I haven’t drawn in a couple years and I was never any good at it anyway.”

He leans forward, mirroring your position from earlier, “But if that was your first thought then surely you still have an interest in it.” The smooth cadence of his tone intimidates you to no end, yet it entices you and pulls you in even more. How can a stranger hold so much power over you?

“I’ll tell you what,” you say after a moment, suddenly gaining a brush of confidence when you see a twinkle in his eye, “you come to my apartment tomorrow night and I’ll draw you.”

“That sounds like a trap to murder me.” He remarks, a gummy grin stretching across his face and you have to hold back a small ‘awe’, your chest twisting at the sight.

“You want to get drawn or not?” you bite back, just as teasingly.

He shakes his head, a small chuckle leaving his pink lips, “Give me your phone.”

You raise an eyebrow, reaching into your bag and pulling out your phone. You unlock it for him and he takes it immediately, keeping the screen just far enough away from you that you can’t see what he’s doing. Soon enough, he stands abruptly and sets your phone down onto the table.

He smirks, “Text me the address, I’ll be there.”

The stranger wanders down the isle and towards the front door, and you watch in awe at his broad shoulders and shapely figure. Something about the way he carried himself made your mouth water.

Breaking out of your trance, you quickly unlock your phone and and see a newly added contact. At the top of the screen is a simple ‘Yoongi ;)’ titling the contact.

You blush, gnawing your bottom lip gently as he passes by the window and sends a wink your way.

~*~*~

He’s going to be here any moment. He’s going to walk through your door with his stupid fucking smirk and attractive eyes and he’s going to be in your living room, posing for a while so you can draw him.

And you’re freaking out.

After he left you immediately sent him your address, and since then the two of you have been talking non stop. It was mostly about small things, jobs, favorite foods and favorite colors... Although it may have only been a day, you feel like you know him pretty well. He’s funny and charismatic and oh so charming, no wonder you were so drawn in to his beauty because he’s gorgeous from the inside out.

You haphazardly through your jackets and shoes into the closet by the front door, only recently becoming aware of how much clothes you leave strewn throughout your home.

Just as you light a cinnamon scented candle in the center of the room, your doorbell rings.

You rush over to the door and glance in the mirror to fluff your hair and wipe away any runny make up. Exhaling a deep breath, you open the door and greet Yoongi with a smile.

“Hello.” you say simply, opening the door wider and motioning for Yoongi to come in. He’s dressed in a black button up and tight fitting black jeans, a stark contrast to his work attire. He carries with him a back pack and a bottle of whiskey.

He notices the way you eye the bottle, and he flushes slightly, “I figured it could help with your nerves. A- and mine, because I’m a little nervous as well.”

“Nervous?” you trudge into your living room with Yoongi following closely behind, “why are you nervous?”

“Well, I’m not exactly sure if you expected this to be a nude drawing or not so I wore nice clothes but I’m also willing to take them off.” He scratches the bottom of his chin, watching as you set up the easel.

You pause your movements, eyes widening, “N- nude?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, twisting open the bottle of whiskey, “isn’t that what you do in those fancy art classes? Draw nude people?”

“I- I mean, we did,” you stutter, your throat going dry, “but they were always women because I went to an all female college.”

“Ah, so you could use the practice,” he grins confidently, but it drops suddenly, “unless you’re uncomfortable with that. Then, fully clothed is fine with me.”

The thought of being able to see the gorgeous man nude excited you more than you’d like to admit, and seeing as you two were in the safety and comfort of your own home, you had no problem with him doing it so long as he wanted to, and by the way his fingers are itching to undo the first button of his shirt, you figure he is.

“Go ahead. You’re right, I can use the practice.”

Yoongi smiles and with trembling fingers he begins to take his clothes off. As he does so, you focus on setting up the rest of your supplies. The charcoal set sits idly on the table beside you and you finally sit down with a sigh.

As you turn your eyes back to Yoongi, you see that he is splayed across your couch with the bottle in hand.

Holy fuck, his body is just as gorgeous as his face. He’s lean, but you can tell he definitely works out his arms and his legs are long, a pinkish tint holds itself to his skin and you’re unsure if he’s being shy or if the alcohol has already taken affect on him. Eventually you let your eyes land on his hips, his pelvis presenting itself neatly between his legs. It takes everything in you not to drop what you’re doing and let him fuck you into oblivion.

“(Y/N)?” you hear, and you’re brought back to the current situation. Yoongi’s face holds a knowing smirk, and he leans forward to hand you the bottle of whiskey.

You take it gratefully, your heart thudding harshly in your chest as you take a sip.

“Is this position okay?” he questions, one leg bent at the knee and resting on the other one. His right arm rests extended on the back of the couch while his left hand plays dangerously close to his pelvis.

“Y- yes.” you breathe, picking up your pencil and beginning the sketch.

It doesn’t take long for you to get the basic sketch down, your love for drawing coming back in droves as Yoongi sits silently, watching your face as you continue to sketch across the paper. He smiles, your nose crinkling before you erase a line or your tongue poking out as your concentrating on a specific area.

After a little bit of silence, you speak up, “Do you want me to draw, uhm,” you pause your sentence and gesture towards his hips, to which he responds with a little laugh.

“My cock?”

His use of the word shocks you a little bit, but you silently remind yourself that you are a grown woman and are completely capable of listening to a man talk about his anatomy, even when you’re immensely attracted to him and have to continually swallow the drool that threatens to fall from your mouth.

“Yeah, your- your cock.” you nearly whisper, noticing the way his cock twitches slightly at your voice.

Okay, he’s getting just as much enjoyment out of this as I am.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, shifting a few inches, “I want you to draw my cock.”

You nod, turning back to your drawing and beginning the last details.

Yoongi doesn’t take his attention away from your face, gauging your reaction to his body. He likes the way you’re so attentive, and it’s taking everything in him not to harden, though he’s unsure how much longer he can hold off.

His mind reels with the possibility of you riding him right on this couch. After spotting you at the restaurant he knew that he wanted you. It’s been far too long since he’s had sex, and his pickiness has become more and more evident, especially to his roommates. However, the moment he saw you, he could nearly imagine the way you would feel around him and when he saw you staring he knew that he was in the clear to come over and talk to you.

This definitely wasn’t how he expected it to turn out but he has no complaints.

“I’m almost done,” you murmur, your brow furrowed in concentration, “you can move now. All I have to do is shade a little.”

Yoongi lets out a small breath, his fingers dancing across his hip bone as he lays comfortably on his back, “Do you need me to get dressed now?”

You glance up, your face mostly hidden by the sketch pad, “If you would like to.”

Slight disappointment hits Yoongi as he realizes that he’s not going to be able to touch you today. He sits up and reaches for his boxers, but you stop him.

“Or you could give me a minute and I’ll undress too.” you say casually, shrugging as you pick up a black pen and sign the bottom of the drawing.

Yoongi’s jaw drops, and there’s no stopping it now. He instantly feels blood rush to his cock and watches intently while you spin the easel around and show him your work of art.

Across the page, Yoongi sees himself displayed and detail lining every area of the sketch. He notices the way his eyes twinkle even in the drawing and if there were ever a time to think of himself as attractive, it would be now that he’s been drawn by you.

“Do you like it?” you ask nervously.

Yoongi grins, “I love it.”

“Good,” you whisper, and you stand up. You take a careful step over to him, and Yoongi doesn’t take his eyes away from you. As you’re about to slip your shirt over your head, he stops you.

“Let me, please.” he begs gently, and you nod. He stands up quickly and hooks his fingers around the hem of your shirt. You lift your arms and allow him to slip the material over your head. His movements are slow, tantalizing and teasing you but also drawing you into him.

He places his hand against your side, drawing small circles before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

It lasts no more than a few seconds, but you instantly miss the contact. He smiles, his nose crinkling as he does so and your heart can be heard from inside your chest, singing as he looks you in the eyes. He unhooks your bra, tossing it to the side and suddenly his lips are back on yours.

It’s much more feverish than before, the taste of the whiskey and his strawberry flavored lip balm mix together on your tongue. The combination is harmonious, and he tastes exactly like you thought he would.

Suddenly, he grips your shorts and pants, slipping them down your legs and softly commanding you to step out of them. You steady yourself on his shoulders and do as he says, your legs trembling with anticipation.

“Last chance to back out of this if you don’t want it.” Yoongi says, his hands cupping your jaw and using his thumb to swipe gently at your cheek. You smile, “I want this.”

He nods, “On your knees.”

You instantly listen, dropping to your knees in front of him and licking your lips hungrily at now being eye level with Yoongi’s now hard cock. He smirks, “You can touch.”

You nod hesitantly, then reach forward and pump him up and down a few times. Instantly, Yoongi’s head falls backward and a moan falls from his lips, gloriously loud and deep.

The sound sends tingles straight to your heat, and you tentatively stick your tongue out to lick the tip of his member. His hips flex and you open your mouth automatically to accept him into your mouth. He goes a little further than expected and you gag as you feel him hit the back of your throat.

“’M sorry,” he moans, “fuck your throat feels so good.”

He looked heavenly, sweat begins to line his forehead as you use your tongue on the underside of his cock, paying special attention to the pulsating vein.

His hands gather your hair up in his hands, “There we go, wanna see your pretty face as you suck my cock.”

Fuck.

You take him as deep into your mouth as you possibly can and hold him there, moaning at his dirty mouth and feeling yourself grow wetter by the second.

“Good girl,” he feels your hands begin to roam his torso, his muscles flexing beneath his fingertips, “gonna cum.”

With that, you pop off of him and see his eyes fall to you incredulously. “I was gonna-”

“I know,” you grin, “but wouldn’t it feel better inside of me?”

“You are so fucking hot.” he says, pulling you up to his level and slamming his lips to yours. You tug him down as you fall onto the couch, his cock brushing ever-so-lightly between your legs and causing both of you to gasp.

It doesn’t take Yoongi long to line himself up at your entrance, your legs wrapped carefully around his waist and guiding him in slowly. Yoongi watches the way your eyes roll backwards as he bottoms out, a moan falling from his lips as he steadies himself.

He had never felt as much pleasure than in this moment.

The eroticism of the entire situation made everything feel more sensual. Despite barely knowing him, you felt a connection to him stronger than anyone ever before. The way his cock seems to fit perfectly within you, stroking and massaging your velvety walls, immediately has you reeling beneath him.

“I’m not gonna last very long,” Yoongi starts, his arms shaking as he holds himself above you, “what can I do to help you out?”

“That’s okay, just fuck me.” You gasp.

You feel him reach a point inside you that sends waves through your body, your back arching off the couch. Yoongi catches the way your breathing has grown ragged, and reaches his hand between the two of you.

His thumb manages to find your clit, collecting your wetness and rubbing over it gently. His thrusts stay slow and steady, but even so you’re unable to hold back. As your orgasm approaches, you bring Yoongi down to your mouth and feel the way he nibbles at your bottom lip. Suddenly, he speeds his thrusts up and his thumb swipes fast and sloppy circles across your clit.

You feel your breath catch in your throat as your orgasm washes over you, a mewl of content leaving your mouth as Yoongi soon follows after, strings of hot cum coating your walls and adding to the sensitivity of your heat.

He collapses on top of you, his lips peppering kisses across your exposed chest while your hand caresses his hair.

“I would have been able to last longer if you weren’t so fucking good at giving head.” Yoongi nearly whines, his chest heaving while he attempts to catch his breath.

“It’s okay,” you smile, pushing his hair back and exposing his forehead, “we both got there in the end.”

Yoongi shrugs, making no effort to move off of you as he buries himself in your chest, “If you hadn’t, I would have no problem making you cum on my tongue.” His words are slightly muffled by your breasts which only causes you to giggle.

“Hm, I’m open to experiencing that on another day,” his lips turn up against your skin at your words, “but can I give you some pointers?”

Yoongi’s head pops up, his eyes looking at you incredulously, “you just said that we both got there in the end, what more do I need to do?”

“Be louder,” you whisper, his tone teasing, “I like when a man is vocal.”

His eyes glare jokingly, “Okay, you’re on. I’ll be as loud as you want.”

You giggle, pressing a light kiss to his nose and watching the way his face scrunch up at the contact.

His chin rests on you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone, “I like you a lot.”

“Are you basing this solely off of the fact that I made you cum?”

“That plays a part in it,” he chuckles, “but I want to see you again for sure. You seem cool, and I’d really like to take you out to dinner some time.”

“Ah,” you click your tongue, “we did it backwards.”

Yoongi laughs, a melodic sound that instantly makes your heart speed up.

The two of you lay there for a little bit, your hand stroking his hair as you talk about the most mundane tasks. He tells you a little bit about his job, how his friend owns the diner the two of you met at and Yoongi likes to help out every once in a while for some extra cash.

His real passion lies in music, which is why he was so hellbent to see you make art again. He loves encouraging people to create, to take charge and express themselves in the purest forms.

After what seems like hours, Yoongi hears his phone ding. With a groan of disapproval, he climbs off of you and reaches into his jeans for his phone.

You situate yourself on your side, watching the way Yoongi runs a hand through his messy hair and checks his phone.

“Seokjin wants me to come serve tonight,” he says with a sigh, “I’ll text you after I get off, yeah?”

You nod, “I need to finish up some work anyway.”

Silently, Yoongi begins to dress himself for the first time since he entered your apartment. You pout visibly as he slips his boxers back on, standing up and following suit by dressing yourself as well.

As soon as you’re both dressed, you carefully tear Yoongi’s drawing out of the sketch pad and reach out to hand it to him.

“You’re giving it to me?” He questions, taking it with a raised eyebrow.

You nod, “I don’t feel right in keeping it.”

He shakes his head, “You should keep it for a rainy day.”

Your eyes turn to slits while you inspect the drawing. You quietly slip it back into the sketchbook while Yoongi lets out another laugh.

You lead him back to the front door, your arms crossed over your chest. Different from previous hook ups, you didn’t feel dirty after everything that you did. Instead, you felt comforted by the fact that he didn’t just leave as soon as he finished. He seemed like he genuinely wanted to take care of you and that wasn’t something you came across often.

As he shuts the door behind him, you can’t help but touch your lips while you remember the feeling of his.

~*~*~

“Hey Seokjin,” Yoongi greets as he enters the diner through the back door.

Seokjin flips some sauteed vegetables in a pan and glances over at his younger friend, “Hey Yoon-” he pauses, setting down the pan, “you got laid didn’t you?”

Yoongi throws his head back, muttering a small ‘damn it’ knowing that he’s going to get grilled until Seokjin is happy with the amount of details he’s received.

“Yeah I did.” he sighs.

“Hm, well you don’t seem too happy about it. Was she awful or something?”

Yoongi whips his head towards Seokjin, “What? No, god no. She was fantastic.”

“Then why the long face?”

“Because I had to leave her to come help you.” Yoongi shrugs, chuckling when he feels Seokjin shove him lightly.

Shaking his head, Seokjin plates up the food while he talks to Yoongi, “Was it the cute editor you were talking about last night?”

Yoongi feels a twinge of jealousy hit his chest when he hears Seokjin saw you too, but it’s quickly replaced with triumph once he realizes that he got to you first.

“She’s an intern, not an editor quite yet, but yeah that’s her.”

“Good man,” he praises, “does that mean you’re back on your game?”

Yoongi scoffs, “Just because I fuck one girl doesn’t mean I’m immediately going to try and fuck every girl I’m attracted to again.”

Sure, Yoongi admits he went through a phase of... being well known. Especially in college, Yoongi was known to be a man of many special talents. After a while of random hook ups and making girls scream his name, he lost interest. He assumed it was because he got bored of it, but now he’s realizing that he was much more interested in having a relationship. Ever since he realized that, he had been waiting for someone to fall into his lap.

For some reason, the moment he saw you he felt some indescribable feeling that drew him to you. Like all that waiting had finally paid off and he needed to talk to the girl with laser focus and a cute smile.

“Oh, so you like this girl?” Seokjin says, glancing at the screen as another order comes in.

“Yeah, a lot. She’s an artist.” He grins, calling back from the locker room connected to the kitchen.

“Awe, did she draw you a picture?” Seokjin coos, a loud laugh following his teasing words.

Yoongi’s cheeks blush as he suddenly flashes back to the events of today, “Yeah, you could say that.”

Seokjin glances into the locker room, “I’ll question further later, for now you need to go to section A and help out Hwasa because she is drowning in tickets.”

“Yes sir!” Yoongi mocks a salute, walking out to the dining area.

~*~*~

From: Yoongi (received 16:34)

Be ready in 20. Dress comfortably.

Your jaw drops as you stare at your phone, rushing upward from your position on your couch with a bag of chips and blankets surrounding you.

You glance your at your reflection in passing and practically run to the bathroom to comb your hair.

It’s only been two weeks since the two of you met. Your comforted by the fact that your phone always has a good morning text and a good night text from Yoongi. The two of you have yet to have a dry conversation and even if Yoongi is stuck at work or working on one of his secret projects, he makes sure to send a text that he’ll respond as soon as he has the chance.

Previously you had never had someone so attentive, especially even in just the talking stages. At one point he called you, his voice rough and laced with sleep but the entire time he seemed lively and excited to talk to you. Your heart swelled with adoration the entire time and you’re safe in thinking that Yoongi feels the same.

Because you haven’t seen Yoongi since the day you drew him, you find yourself regularly looking at the drawing.

For the first time in what seems like years, you felt proud of something you had created. A constant rut that collapsed in on you like a black hole, drowning you in a state of constant despair, disappeared in half a day. Since then, you’re brain is reeling with creative thought and you couldn’t wait to show Yoongi what you’ve been drawing in your free time. He encourages you in a way that makes you feel like you can be whatever you want to be.

One thing you were most proud of was your self-portrait. Your legs laid spread in front of a mirror for hours while you tried to perfect a drawing for Yoongi, to give back since he allowed you to keep his.

“Why do all my cute bras disappear when I need them most?” you whine outwardly, your phone dinging again.

From Yoongi (received 16:48)

Oops, I’m early.

You smile.

To Yoongi (sent 16:49)

You’re lucky you’re cute Be out soon

Quickly, you slip on a simple blue laced bra and t-shirt with a red skirt. Hoping that you were still cute in your comfortable clothes, you let out a nervous breath and head to the door. You grab your sketch book before you lock your door, Yoongi’s car parked at the end of the breezeway. You spot him before he spots you, a black beanie adorned on his head with his gorgeous blond hair peaking out beneath.

You open his door and Yoongi immediately puts his phone away, “Hey.”

“Hi.” You greet, slipping your sketchbook into the back seat. Yoongi leans over the center console and holds your face in his hand, and he kisses you.

It’s short and sweet, not as feverish as the first one you shared but it made you realize how quickly you had fallen victim to missing his kiss.

“I have wanted to do that for weeks now.” He states as if he read your mind, his eyes closed in bliss.

“Why’d it take you so long then?” You tease, kissing him again.

Yoongi smirks, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Does that mean you’re fonder of me?”

He watches you pull the seat belt over your torso before he responds, “Definitely, I was thinking about you last night before I went to bed.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Oh?”

“Mhm,” he hums, a hand moving over to rest on your knee while he backs out of the parking spot, “you’re very talented with your tongue, even in my dreams.”

You don’t respond, instead you look down at his hand on your knee with a blush.

The drive consists of soft music playing of the speakers of Yoongi’s 2003 Kia. A choice of car you wouldn’t expect him to drive but it oddly fits his personality. It’s quiet and gets him just where he needs to be, a simple thing that Yoongi tells you he takes pride in.

It isn’t a long drive, but you take the time to admire the way Yoongi looks as he drives. The windows are rolled down and soft summer air breezes throughout the car while you drive across the countryside. The evening sun shines across Yoongi’s face, those soft facial features that drew you in still prominent, his nose curling upward while he laughs at a joke you told.

“Alright,” he says after about 15 minutes, “we’re here.”

Yoongi parks near a beach, where you spot a group of people around a fire. You tilt your head, “Are we meeting your friends?”

“Yeah, I hope that’s okay. It’s just a small get together to celebrate a friend’s promotion.” Yoongi scratches the back of his neck and lets out a nervous chuckle.

You survey the crowd, cases of soju surrounding them while they laugh among each other. One of them seems to spot the car, waving at the two of you enthusiastically.

Butterflies swarm in your stomach as you draw your bottom lip between your teeth, “Sure, I’d love to meet your friends.”

Yoongi rushes to the other side of the car to open your door for you, wrapping his arm comfortingly around your shoulder while he leads you to the group.

A log was left empty that had just enough room for the two of you. As you approach, Yoongi calls out, “Shut up everybody! This is (Y/N), be nice to her. I like her a lot,” instantly everyone quiets down, and Yoongi points to the tallest first man, “That’s Namjoon, Seokjin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, and Jimin.”

“Hyung, why’d you say my name last?” Jimin pouts, his voice already slightly slurred. You giggle, following Yoongi to the log.

Namjoon reaches over, sticking his hand out, “It’s nice to meet the girl that Yoongi’s mentioned.”

“Mentioned?” Jungkook scoffs, “He doesn’t shut up about you. You’re all he ever talks about and it takes a lot to get this man to stop talking about music.”

Yoongi leans over and smacks his friend on the arm, his cheeks turning red at his admission.

You giggle, “If it’s any consolation, I talk about Yoongi all the time too.”

“Ah great, they’re both crazy about each other.” Seokjin jokes, a laugh unlike you had ever heard falling from his lips. His laugh causes you to laugh, and you quickly cover your mouth once you realize what you did.

“Yah! She’s already making fun of my laugh!” Seokjin remarks, his bottom lip jutting outward cutely while Jimin shakes his head.

“Take this and shut up.” Jimin reaches a drink out to Seokjin, who laughs and sends a wink your way to ease your mind.

The night continues on gleefully, exchanging stories among each other and getting to know Yoongi’s friends - and Yoongi - more and more.

At one point you could tell that Yoongi’s friends were grilling you in an attempt to see if you were a bad person. They were quite bad at it, though, seeing as Jungkook asked if you had ever killed a man and Taehyung was hellbent on trying to get you to say you liked country music. Though, you did admit that Carrie Underwood had a few good songs. Taehyung took this as a win and threw his hands up in victory while Namjoon told him to settle down.

Now that you were more than a few drinks in, you listened intently to every story that the boys were telling.

"Just wait until you hear about Yoongi’s parenting diary for Holly.” Hoseok spills, laughing so hard that he leans into Jimin who sits beside him. Jimin eyes disappear behind his smile, and everyone begins to chuckle.

“No way!” you gape, turning to look at Yoongi who holds a beer tightly in his left and draws circles in your back with his right, “Min Yoongi, you never told me you were such a softy.”

“I’m not a softy, I’m mean and scary,” Yoongi retaliates loudly, then he leans closer to your ear and whispers, “and I bite.”

A chill runs down your spine and you immediately turn away, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to conceal your chill. Yoongi chuckles low enough for you to hear, his fingertips reaching beneath the base of your shirt and massaging gently. You didn’t realize how rough his fingertips were, callouses from hours of guitar playing evident on his hands.

“Alright, children. I think it’s time for us to head out.” Yoongi says suddenly, interrupting a conversation between Hoseok and Namjoon.

He stands and pulls you up with him. You smile and wave, “It was nice meeting you all.”

“It was nice meeting you too,” Namjoon waves back to you, “excited to have you back around.”

As you say goodbye to the rest and walk away, you hear a patter of footsteps walking behind the two of you. “Hyung! Can I get a ride?”

Jungkook stumbles towards the two of you, and Yoongi glances at you in question. You shrug, “I don’t mind, it’s your car.”

Yoongi waves Jungkook over, the three of you walking towards Yoongi’s small car. Yoongi opens the door for you, bowing gently and humming while he walks over to the drivers side. In the few short seconds that you and Jungkook were alone in the car, Jungkook leans forward and rests his head on the back of Yoongi’s seat.

“I haven’t seen Yoongi this happy in a while,” he pats your shoulder, “thank you.”

You don’t get the opportunity to respond as Yoongi opens the car door and hops in. You swallow, smiling and biting your lip. Your chest swells with the thought that Yoongi is just as affected by you as you are by him.

The drive is quite, but suddenly Jungkook speaks up.

“Is this yours, (Y/N)?”

You turn your head back and instantly your eyes widen, Jungkook glancing through your sketchpad. You spot the edge of your Yoongi drawing sticking out, Yoongi’s face visible but Jungkook had yet to spot it.

“Y- yeah.” you say, praying that he stops flipping through the pages. Yoongi glances over to you, his eyes just as wide as yours. He simply shakes his head as if to say ‘stop him’.

“These are really goo- oh! You drew Yoongi!” Jungkook’s fingers begin to pull at the piece of paper which causes you to unhook your seat belt and take the entire sketchbook out of Jungkook’s hands.

He seems lost for a second, “Can I see the Yoongi drawing?”

“No!” you and Yoongi respond simultaneously, panic lacing both of your voices while Yoongi pulls into an unfamiliar neighborhood.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, “You two doing something freaky?”

Yoongi coughs, “I was just a model for (Y/N) to practice with.”

“A nude model?” Jungkook asks in a sing-song voice, noticing the way you glance at Yoongi.

“Cool it with the questions, Kookie.” Yoongi scolds gently.

“Hey, I don’t judge. I posed nude for a sculpting class once, those girls got to look at my bits for hours and I’m sure they enjoyed it as much as you enjoyed looking at Yoongi’s-”

“Wow would you look at that, we’re home! Get the fuck out of my car.” Yoongi turns around, gesturing for Jungkook to exit. Jungkook holds a smirk on his face, “Be safe.”

As soon as Jungkook gets out of the car, you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Yoongi rests his head on the steering wheel, laughing quietly to himself in both embarrassment and joy.

“Why did you have that drawing in the sketchbook?” He questions as he reverses out of the driveway.

You shrug, “I don’t know... I just wanted to show you what I’ve been working on since that day.”

“Like what?”

“A self portrait.” you shrug, opening the sketchbook and flipping to the most recently filled in page. You hold it up so Yoongi can glance at it while he drives, but you didn’t expect his eyes to bulge out of his head while he slams on the breaks and pulls off to the side of the neighborhood road.

Instantly, he reaches and takes the book from you, his eyes scanning over the drawing repeatedly.

“Gorgeous,” he breathes, “you’re so fucking gorgeous.”

You smile gently, pointing your finger to your chest, “I drew my boobs more even than they actually are so I’m not that gorgeous.”

Yoongi’s eyes turn to slits, “Well this is tainted now. How will I ever be able to hang this up when it’s not accurate to the real thing?”

You giggle, pushing Yoongi’s shoulder gently. His joking tone diminishes once his eyes fall back on the drawing, the smile dropping from his face while his finger traces the curve of your hips. “Gorgeous...” he whispers again, “Fuck, I love this so much. Thank you.”

He leans across the center console and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.

That’s just not enough, though.

You slip the sketchpad out of his hands and close it, “You want to see the real thing?”

Your lack of touch from Yoongi these past couple weeks didn’t seem to bother you but now that you have him alone, you want to jump his bones.

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to nod, unhooking his seat belt and leaning his chair back a little bit. You grin, slipping the t-shirt over your head and pressing a harsh kiss against Yoongi’s lips. He welcomes your lips, drinking you in while his hands begin to roam your now bare skin. He slips his grip down to your thighs, pulling you over the center console and causing you straddle his thighs.

Not breaking the kiss, you begin to grind yourself down onto Yoongi’s quick-hardening cock. He moans into the kiss, his hands kneading your ass roughly. You gasp when you feel his hand lay a hard smack against your ass, the sound resonating throughout the car and causing Yoongi to smirk.

“Oh, you like being spanked?” he peppers kisses across your neck, “have you been a bad girl?”

“Mhm,” you moan, “I’m your bad girl.”

“That’s right,” Yoongi growls, spanking you once again, “my bad girl.”

You toss your head back when you feel Yoongi’s hips begin to twist beneath you, his cock straining against the zipper of his jeans. You reach between the two of you, unzipping his jeans and threading his cock through the hole.

Yoongi sucks in a breath through his teeth while your small hand pumps him up and down carefully.

“No time,” Yoongi groans, “ride me.”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

The feeling of the slick between your legs was enough to show that you were ready, so Yoongi’s fingers push your panties to the side while he holds his cock and lines it up with your entrance. It doesn’t take long for him to slip inside, his hands gripping your hips and lifting you up and down while you moaned above him.

“You like my cock, don’t you baby? You’re gonna cum so good for me, aren’t you?” His voice is gruff, the encouraging tone causing your body to jolt with pleasure. You nod quickly, your mouth opening to respond but the only noise to leave your throat was a whisper of his name.

He feels the way your walls clamp down on him, leaning forward and nibbling across your breasts. “Fuck,” he curses while you speed your hips up, “your pussy feels so good around me.”

Yoongi’s words cause your orgasm to creep up on you, his name falling from your lips like a mantra as you pulsate around him. Yoongi bears his teeth as he cums, growling low and deep while his fingers grip your hips hard, sure to leave bruises but you didn’t mind.

You both sit for a moment while you catch your breath, Yoongi’s tongue licking a long stripe from your collarbones to your jawbone before he kisses your lips.

“Did so good for me,” he rubs soothing circles in your burning thighs, “was I vocal enough for you?”

You laugh, “Yes sir. Please keep it coming.”

You both wince as he lifts you off of him, falling into the passenger seat and sighing happily.

Your feet rest in his lap after the two of you are cleaned up, his hands gently massaging them while he tells you about a new song that he’s working on and how he hopes that someone will be interested.

It’s then that you realize that this is going to extend past the need for sex, because the two of you were both genuinely interested in each other’s lives. He speaks animatedly about his interests and listens intently to yours. It doesn’t take you long to begin imagining waking up beside him every morning with the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen.

As he drops you off at your apartment for the night, Yoongi walks you to your doorstep.You unlock the door and turn to give him a goodbye kiss but he stops you, grabbing your hand and stroking across your knuckles.

“So, do you think you’d be interested in being my girlfriend?” He asks nervously, “I- I wasn’t sure if you were just thinking of this as a friend with benefits situation so I figured I would ask before one of us gets hurt.”

You nearly coo at the man, watching the way his eyes dance across his feet.

You bring your arms around his neck and pull him down to your level, slamming a kiss onto his lips one more time. His hand grips the back of your shirt tightly, his tongue exploring your mouth while you lean against the wall. He pulls away with a grin, resting his forehead against yours.

“Is that a yes?”

You smile, “Of course.”

#min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader fluff #min yoongi x reader smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader fluff #yoongi x reader smut #bts #suga #suga x reader

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rayadraws · 3 years

Text

So october is the traditional month of doing art challenges, though there are also others throughout the years, such as fandom countdowns and such. I have partaken in quite a few, including doing month-long daily ones in october for the last 6 years in a row.

There are many reasons why challenges like these, whether long or short, can be daunting. Why they can be hard or impossible to finish. Life happens! And at the end of the day they should be fun, not a chore. You never HAVE to do them and you probably shouldn’t if they cause you stress. But having said that, if someone wants tips to make them a little more manageable, here are a few things I’ve learnt over the years that work for me:

1. Plan ahead and set defined goals. What are you trying to achieve here? Are you following a prompt list? If it’s a more open challenge, I recommend to choose 1-2 things that will be your main focus. And be realistic about it. ”I will draw 31 full colour detailed backgrounds in a month” is not realistic. But ”I will practice drawing one object I can use in a background/as part of a larger composition 31 days in a row” is something that is much more doable. So instead of drawing a fully furnished room every day, for instance, maybe you’re drawing a chair one day and a potted plant the next. Or you want to focus on learning to use an art tool and the subject isn’t important, you’re just testing out different brushes every day, etc. As another example, my personal goal during october this year is to practice drawing kisses. That’s it. Well, and they will all be digital because that’s faster/easier for me and they will all be of my OTP because that’s The Law (and I could probably draw them in my sleep, which also helps!).

2. Plan ahead part 2: okay, you’re going to draw every day for a month… when, exactly? ”Whenever I feel like it” is setting yourself up for failure. If you can, decide beforehand exactly when during the day you’re going to sit down to work on your challenge. Also, if you’re a perfectionist, consider limiting that daily time to fight burnout. Spending hours a day on a month-long challenge is not reasonable. But spending 20 minutes might be, depending on your schedule. Plan some more. What limits are you putting on yourself here? Are you going to create a drawing from scratch starting new every day? Ow, that’s rough. I usually start at least a few weeks before every challenge to look over the prompts and make at least rough sketches for every day, so I can go straight to inking/colouring the drawing every day without having to think up a new idea/composition every day. For countdowns, I might finish several/all drawings before the countdown actually starts, if possible. I also know I have the most energy in the morning so when possible I draw before heading to work. Sometimes even setting my alarm to give myself extra time if I know I’ll be home late.

3. Plan ahead part 3: Use every shortcut to save time/effort. Use references. Draw familiar things. Play with composition and angles and focus on what’s important and crop out all the rest. Sometimes a highly cropped view is the most striking, anyway. Pressed for time? Hide sections in dark shadows rather than stressing over small details. Do limited colour palettes, skip shading if you want to, etc. For instance, for me drawing chibis is faster/easier so I almost always draw them for multi-day challenges. I do black and white unless I have the time AND feel extra inspired. Last I do is usually to look at tomorrow’s prompt and make sure I have something to work with.

4. Validation is tough. Honestly, this one could be a whole post on its own. But needing outside validation to keep creating is something that is both natural and problematic. My advice would be to remind yourself that you are ideally doing this primarily for own own growth and to, if possible, find a smaller group of likeminded friends to cheer each other on, rather than relying on the nameless void of the internet. Algorithms are a bitch and vary between platforms, too. Additionally, a personal observation on my own art at least has been that I often get more feedback at the beginning of a challenge than the middle/end. Don’t lose hope.

5. Be kind to yourself. Remember, this should be fun and help you develop your skills further. If that’s not happening, you need to change some aspect of it. Imho, it should never go from ”challenging” to ”a chore”. Set yourself up for success, whatever that looks like for you.

Remember, you’re doing this for yourself.

#this is not aimed at any one person btw #these are musings I have every year when I do these challenges #i see so many people hating on them and I don’t… feel that way about them?#and I’ve been trying to figure out where they most often go wrong for everyone

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picassho-18 · 4 years

Text

Art of Fire (II)

Zuko x Reader; Part 2; 2k words

A/N: disclaimer! I have not read the comics set after the finale, but this is set a little after Zuko’s coronation

Summary: The recently crowned Fire Lord Zuko meets a new friend of his Uncle’s, a special fire bender that quickly grabs his interest over a cup of tea and the discussion of the arts.

ALL CURRENTLY POSTED PARTS: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Apprehensive, you began to walk up the steps leading to the Royal Palace doors. While you were confident, maybe borderline cocky, with your skills and artwork, the idea of seeing Zuko again made you nervous. And you most definitely did not want to make a fool of yourself.

Iroh had obviously encouraged you over a cup of tea. He had admitted to intentionally having you meet his nephew. He may also have accidentally let it slip that Zuko wasn’t socializing with anyone since things with him and his past girlfriend Mai had split up.

Iroh seemed to think that the pair of you would be good together. It was nice to hear, especially because of your rapidly developing crush on his nephew. Yet it did not give you enough confidence walking up those steps, a sketchpad and pencil in your arms.

A servant at the door saw the materials in your hands, “Hello, are you the fire-painter to see the Fire Lord?”

You swallowed, no chickening out now, “Yes, that's me!”

“Excellent, he has been hoping you would come. Follow me.” The servant turned, walking you down majestic hallways throughout the Royal Palace. At one point you walked past a courtyard, so extremely lovely with a pond that had turtleducks swimming gently through the clear water.

Not really thinking about your actions, you stopped following the servant, slipping silently into the courtyard while the servant continued to walk away, not aware that you stopped following. Checking to make sure no one was watching, you walked to the pond, the turtleducks quacking softly as you approached.

“Oh how adorable you are!” you exclaimed, sitting down at the edge as they all swam closer to you. “I wish I had something to feed you!” you said sadly, as they watched you intently, their adorable eyes following your movements.

One of the turtleducks got close enough that you were able to reach out, giving it’s head a little scratch. You let out a little awe as it swam closer, nuzzling against your fingers.

Suddenly a voice rang out, causing your hand to jerk away from the turtleduck, “So I see you’ve made a friend.” You looked up to see Zuko leaned against a column to the entrance of the courtyard gesturing to the turtleduck you had been petting, obvious that he had been watching you.

“Ah, I’m sorry Fire Lord” you stood up quickly, giving him a small bow, “I just couldn’t resist them, when I saw how adorable they were.”

He waved you off, a soft smile on his face, “It is of no concern. They are extremely cute creatures.” Zuko walked over to you, standing next to you, both of you still watching the turtleducks.

“So, um, what was that emergency that last time we spoke?” you asked him, your curiosity getting the better of you.

Zuko’s eyes darkened, the little bit of shine that they earlier vanished, “Politics” he stated simply. As if that cleared everything up. When he saw your confusion, he continued, “Ever since my coronation not everyone in the Fire Nation has agreed with my new ideologies. Lets just say the Palace has been attacked every so often by insurgents.”

“Ah” you responded, you didn’t know that there were insurgents, everyone you’ve encountered always seemed so supportive to the end of the 100 year war.

A silence overtook the pair of you, both looking at the sparkling pond in front of you, thinking about the world you lived in. While the end of the war seemed so full of hope, a sense of completion and promise of a better future, yet the struggles have not been lifted. With his eyes on the turtleducks, you took the opportunity to really look at him.

You could see the stress on the frame of Zuko’s body. Dark rings hung under his eyes, possible from the lack of sleep or constant stress. He was a walking image of exhaustion. His shoulders sagged slightly, as if the weight of the world was resting on them. In a way it actually was. The Earth Kingdom, Water Tribes, along with his own Nation were all looking to him in this time of change.

He cleared his throat, pulling you from your thoughts, “So how about we plan out this piece of art?” he asked, sitting on the grass, you following suit, nodding. Zuko suggested, “How about a mural? I was thinking possibly for that wall?” pointing to a wall just outside the courtyard.

Instantly, your brain kicked into art mode, “Oh yes! That wall is big and empty, and it can be seen throughout the whole courtyard. Any ideas of what it would be of?”

He hesitated before answering, taking a deep breath as he stared at a nearby tree next to the pond. “I was thinking it could be a portrait of my mother.”

You looked between Zuko’s face, and the tree he was staring at. You saw the sorrow buried in his face, his eyes seemed distant, like he was not present, but instead inside a memory.

“Underneath that tree, my mother and I would watch the turtleducks. In her arms, she made me feel so safe, so loved. I think a portrait of her would be perfect.”

You nodded, understanding the pain he was feeling, “I think that would be lovely.”

“My only request would be that she's smiling.” His voice trailed off, his mind devoured by more memories, as he laid his head down on the grass, staring up at the sky.

“Of course” you said softly. At your voice his lips quirked upward in a slightly smile

Next to him, you began to sketch. You have seen Ursa’s portraits before, and sketching one with a smile would not be too hard. It remained silent, the pair sitting close together on the edge of the pond as your pencil worked rapidly on the paper, and Zuko’s eyes had begun to shut. His breath had slowed down, as if he was on the edge of sleep.

You had finished the sketch, but when you saw the Fire Lord asleep next to you, you had no clue on what to do. Silently, you place the sketchpad and pencil at your feet, trying not to move much. It looked like he needed all the sleep he could get. The fact that he could fall asleep that fast was an indicator of that. What you would have never guessed was how much Zuko found your own presence soothing.

Suddenly, a gust of wind hit the courtyard, the branches swaying slightly. A young boy appeared, sliding between the pillars; his orange wardrobe and blue tattoos obvious to who he was.

What you should have done was instantly stand up and bow to the Avatar, giving him your respect, yet when he began to open his mouth to speak, probably quite loudly from the stories you have heard about him, you instinctively shushed him, gesturing to the sleeping Zuko.

You froze, finger over your lips, as you realized you just shushed the Avatar. Thankfully, he appeared to not take it the wrong way, and snickered at the sleeping form beside you. He glided softly over the grass to sit down silently beside you.

In a quiet whisper, he spoke, leaning close to you so as not to wake Zuko, “Hello. My name is Aang.”

With a small grimace, you whispered back, “I’m so sorry I shushed you. I probably shouldn’t have because you are the Avatar, but it looked like Zuko needed his sleep”

Aang nodded, “That he does. The past few weeks have been hard on him.” You looked at the young boy, yet he appeared anything but. While he was small, and no taller than the average 12 year old, his face told a different story. That he has seen things. Experienced things that no person should. It was eerily similar to the face that you had been quickly associating with Zuko.

Aang continued, “So how do you know Zuko?” He was slightly confused at how someone appeared so close to a friend of his without knowing.

Still with a soft voice, you whispered, “Um. Well I am actually close friends with his Uncle. But I’ve actually only met Zuko twice. I’m sort of surprised that he has fallen asleep right here.”

With a wistful tone, one coming from experience and knowledge, Aang responded, “He must be very comfortable with you. Zuko is not one to let his guard down with others. He is typically very closed off to others.” While he said this, you looked at Zuko’s face. It was more serene, like the stress had vanished as soon as he fell asleep.

Zuko suddenly stirred, a quiet groan rumbling in his chest as he began to rub his eyes. He sat up, glaring slightly at the sun, before he noticed Aang and you beside him.

His voice deeper than usual, Zuko grumbled, “How long have I been asleep?”

“Um, probably around an hour. You looked like you needed it so I didn’t wake you.” you replied sheepishly.

“And it appears you’ve met Aang,” he replied, his eyebrow cocked up slightly, but a warm smile resting on his face.

Aang laughed, his boyish nature showing a little more,“We have met but not before she put me in my place, stopping me from waking you.” You shyly smiled at Zuko when his eyes widened as he realized what you did, blushing.

He stood up, clearing his throat, “Well um, thank you Y/N, but I uh, must continue my duties for the day.”

“Of course.” you stood as well, along with Aang, “I finished the portrait, but uh, will tomorrow be a good day for me to bring the supplies and start?”

“Yes, of course. Midday will be perfect.” Zuko responded, trying to ignore the looks that Aang was shooting at him. The air had grown awkward, like Zuko and Aang were having their own conversation with simple looks.

Confused at the sudden change in atmosphere, you said, “Alright, then I’ll be off!” Quickly left the pair behind as they said their goodbyes, leaving the courtyard.

Aang turned to Zuko, “Well, do you have something to tell me? Or am I supposed to ignore the way she spoke about you? Or the way you were looking at her?”

***

Read Part 3 HERE

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#zuko x reader #avatar the last airbender #firebender!reader #zuko fic #prince zuko #fire lord zuko

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years

Text

sMuggled Art

Pairing: young muggle!snape x muggle!reader

Word Count: 5, 262

Rating: E for Everyone

Plot: Severus is forced to take work in his father’s coworker’s wife’s store where he meets (Y/n). Severus’ view of the world seems dark, and you don’t really make things any better, but there is yet hope to change his mind!

Warnings: None

A/N: Another request completed for anon! Since Severus doesn’t go to Hogwarts he has (my best attempt) at his North England accent. Hope you like it and the next on the list is the long awaited Crystal Ball part 4! :D

Posted: 8/31/20

Masterlist

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(Y/n) = Your Name

~ * ~ * ~ = time skip

~ * ~ * ~

~ * ~ * ~ = POV switch

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~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

The front door slammed and shook the walls; Severus and his mother both jumped knowing what was soon to follow. His father was home and it didn’t sound like work had gone well again. His father walked into the kitchen where Severus was eating, his mother was wafting the cigarette smoke out the window before hastily dropping it into a water-filled pan in the sink and turned to her husband.

“They cut our pays. Again!” His father pulled on the fridge door so hard the entire thing moved forward several inches, scraping the tile.

That was Severus’ cue to escape to his room. He didn’t like being in the same room as either of his parents, though he could tolerate it when they were sober. All they ever did was order him around or ignore him on good days and yell at him on bad ones. Drunk, however, he knew what awaited him. He gathered his books and left his half-eaten cheese sandwich on his plate and turned to leave.

“You.”

His father’s gruff voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned, staring up at him as he took a long swig of beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“You need to start earnin’ for this ‘ousehold.” He stepped closer and stared down at him over his large, hooked nose. His black eyes looked hazy and dark circles made his face look much older than he was. Anyone could look at his face alone and guess an age ten years older than he was, except his large square shoulders and huge bulging muscles would make anyone second guess themselves. He slid his jacket off himself and let it drop to the floor, flexing his arms and leaned over the doorway, blocking Severus’ exit. “T’morrow. I’m takin’ you ‘round to Malv’s wife’s store. They’re lookin’ for an extra ‘and.”

“Doin’ what?” Severus squeezed his eyes, regretting having spoken.

His father smirked and bent down to Severus’ hunched height. “Doin’ wh’ever they ask s’long as it pays.” He shoved him out of the kitchen and slammed the door.

Severus straightened his shirt and cursed to himself, heading upstairs. He closed his bedroom door and sat on the edge of his bed. He had plans tomorrow to do the homework he’d been putting off for the week. He was already falling behind in school, which wasn’t a good enough excuse to get out of doing work. It wasn’t like his parents cared whether he stayed in his disgusting school. His father had, on more than one occasion, talked to him about quitting and starting work in the mill, but there was no bloody way he was throwing out his only chance of leaving this horrid town.

He kicked his nightstand in frustration and winced as the leg snapped with a crunch and the whole thing came toppling over. Pencils and loose paper fell out, along with his black leather-bound journal. It was the most expensive thing in the house, given to him for his eighth birthday by his grandfather before he died.

His father had wanted to sell it, but it wasn’t even worth the cost of gas it took to get to the pawn shop across town. His grandfather had paid good money for it, and in the end, it stayed in Severus’ possession, used to hold his rubbish drawings throughout the years.

He picked it up and started sketching out the broken furniture and shading it as best he could. He sighed and closed it, throwing it back on the pile of loose doodles.

~ * ~ * ~

The next morning he picked out anything that didn’t have obvious patches or holes to wear. He even combed through his hair, per his mother’s orders, and brushed his teeth, ready for work. He dumped out his school supplies from his bag and packed his journal and a few pencils. He hated having nothing to do and carried it with him everywhere. He liked drawing in public because normally no one talked to him when he did, and if they did, he could ignore them with ease and pretended to be too focused on his art.

“Severus! Get down! Now!” His father’s deep voice roared through the house.

He growled to himself and slammed his bedroom door shut, marching down the stairs to where his father stood waiting with his arms crossed.

“Don’t make me late for work,” his father growled.

He was always late for work.

Severus nodded and slipped on his shoes, tucking the laces inside and pulled the door open. His father pushed him aside and walked out first, heading to his old grey car with the paint coming off the sides. He looked around for his mother but she was in the kitchen, smoking again.

“There food I can take? …For breaks?” he called out.

She didn’t respond and he headed out. He walked around to the passenger side and did his best to unjam the car door, finally needing help from his father to get it open. He sat down, hugged his bag to his chest, and buckled in.

~ * ~ * ~

He stared at the rain droplets racing down the window as they drove a few minutes into town. The shops were just opening as the car pulled up to the curve of a street of small and old looking store fronts. The most immediate store had a metal sign with their store name stamped on and rusting on all the edges. It was still in better condition than the wooden sign from the store next to it with bloated letters from all the years of rain.

His father slammed the door closed and walked around the car, pulling the passenger door open with such ferocity the car wobbled in place.

“I’ll pick you up after work. ‘Round seven. ‘ere’s your papers.” His father handed him three folded pieces of paper and pulled him out of the car, slammed the door closed and walked back around. “Don’t mess this up, Severus. Or you’ll be dealin’ with me.”

Severus nodded, clutching his papers and watched his father’s car pull into the street and head back around towards the large looming factory in the distance. The smoke from the factory mixed with the grey clouds, hiding any hints of the sun outside.

He covered the papers from the rain and walked the few steps to the door and pulled but it wouldn’t budge. He pressed his forehead to the window and peered inside, watching as a silhouette of a short woman approached.

He backed away as the door unlocked and a pale, sunken-faced woman with big bushy brown brows stared up at him through golden glasses. She pulled on her string of waxy pearls around her neck and looked him up and down.

He stared back at her and extended his hand with his papers his father had given him. She unfolded and shuffled through them, humming affirmatively after each one.

“I can use you.” She stepped back and let him in out of the rain into the yellow glare of the ceiling lights. “Was ‘oping you’d be… more like your father.”

She squeezed his arms and he recoiled into a shelf, hitting his head against the sharp wood.

“But I s’ppose jus’ your height will do.” She led him through several tight spaces between shelves of porcelain figures and around the front counter into the back room.

The back room was brighter than the main store, using whiter light, and there were larger stacks of boxes piled in the corner behind a single round table where someone sat reading.

“This is (Y/N). Do what you’re told. I’ll be back ‘round noon to check up on things ‘ere. Or might be back sooner. Don’ know yet.” She eyed him up and down with squinted eyes and exited the back room.

After a few awkward seconds the front door creaked open and closed. Severus stood there doing his best to avoid looking at (Y/n), instead looking down hoping his hair would hide his burning face.

~ * ~ * ~

A tall boy with long inky hair stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking at his shoes, glancing up at you every few seconds, and clutching his beige tattered bag in his arms.

You set your book down and stood. “Sorry about my mum… She can be a bit…” you shrugged, not knowing exactly what word best described the creature that was your mother. “What’s your name?”

His eyes flashed to your face and back down to his shoes, a light blush spreading over his cheeks. “Severus.” He turned his head to look at the wall of advertisements for new porcelain figures and let his hair fall over his face.

“Welcome, Severus. It’s pretty easy what you’ll be doing. Just… restocking and opening boxes while I dust and sit at the counter.” You turn to face the boxes and brought one down on the table with a grunt. You pulled on the tape and opened it up, taking out the little porcelain figure wrapped in tissue and plastic. “You can just set them on that cart over there and wheel it out into the store.”

Severus looked over at the cart and nodded.

You stood there awkwardly, waiting for him to say anything or ask any questions but all he did was hang his bag on one of the hooks on the wall and avoid your eyes.

“The sheet there says what number box to open and how many figurines to take out every morning. Just… let me know if you have any questions or can’t find something… I’ll be in the front.” You closed the box and headed out, closing the door to the back room and went to flip the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open’.

~*~*~

You spent the hour dusting the figures all over the store before finally sitting down on the stool behind the counter – a little high for your liking – and opened up your book once more. Severus had begun restocking the figurines, preferring to wonder around the store like a lanky giant than ask for your help. You tried concentrating on the words beneath you but watching him struggle to find the shelf full of porcelain ducks while carrying a glossy yellow one with a blue umbrella was entertaining enough.

The first customer of the day came through and bought about six of the forest series figures. As they walked out you spotted Severus’ look of disgust and laughed, catching his attention.

“You should see them over the Holidays. The shelves need constant restocking.” You watched a tiny smile grow and felt the air around get significantly lighter.

“But what are they for?” He stepped closer but avoided your gaze.

You shrugged, “They collect them.”

“Waste of money,” he mumbled and continued finding where the last of the figurines went.

~ * ~ * ~

It was around noon now and like she had said, your mother was back. She pushed the door open with her pink faux-leather purse and sneered at Severus in the corner as he replaced some figures a customer had just bought moments ago.

“Got anythin’ nicer to wear? You’re drivin’ down the prices with those pants of yours. They’re too short.”

“Mum,” you cut in before she could embarrass him further. “No one’s even noticed him.”

She turned back to Severus. “Ever think to tuck in that shirt?”

“No,” Severus snapped. He crossed his arms over his chest, somehow looking smaller than before.

Your mother scoffed and headed to the counter, shooing you out. “Go eat your lunches.”

You jerked your head to the back room, inviting Severus to join you. He shuffled in ahead, going straight for his bag.

You unwrapped the brown bag in the corner and took out your sandwich, turning back to Severus. He was bent over the table scribbling in a journal. You pulled the other chair out and sat down, peering over and seeing it was the beginnings of a doodle.

You watched him for a few minutes until he looked up and closed it.

“What were you drawing?” You finished one of your sandwich halves and waited for his reply.

His eyes flickered to you and he licked his lips, getting ready to answer. “Its… Just nothin’.”

“Your tongue was sticking out… You looked pretty concentrated.”

“I wasn’t drawin’ nothin’,” he growled and put his stuff back in his bag. He laid his head down, letting his hair spread out on the table.

You stretched out your finger and snuck a feel, smiling to yourself. You wrapped your last sandwich half and pushed it up to him. “Want my sandwich? I haven’t bitten it.”

He dragged his face up and looked down at the sandwich half next to his elbow. He looked back up at you and raised his brow.

“Take it.” You nudged it closer.

He took the sandwich and began eating. “I don’t take bribes, just to inform you.”

You gave a giggle and enjoyed the slight blush that spread over his cheeks. “You think I’m giving you my sandwich so that u can show me your art?” You leaned forward and grinned. “I’m just being nice.”

“Nice?” He shook his head, “No one’s just nice.”

“What?” You laughed. “People are nice all the time!”

He turned to you, furrowing his thick brows and leaned in. “Everyone wants somethin’. Even if it’s just to feel good ‘bout themselves.”

Your grin shrunk and you looked deep into his eyes, seeing he was speaking his truth, even if you disagreed. You sat back and mulled over what he said, seeing a bit of where he was coming from. What you didn’t understand is how someone could actually think that.

He set down his sandwich and got up from the table, walking over to the bathroom and locked it. You looked at his bag and thought back to the doodle he had been working on. You looked back at the locked door and back at his bag. What sort of stuff did he draw with a mentality like that? He frowned when he restocked, snapped angrily at people, and believed the world to be selfish.

You reach in his bag and pulled out his black leather journal, opening it from the back forward and flipped through pages until you found the first doodle. It was a scribbled mess, but it had begun to take shape into one of the tiny lamb figurines, cowering from a large grey wolf with an open drooling mouth.

You flipped to the next page and saw a broken stand and a few shattered bottles. The next page was a broken mirror and the next a burning house. The page after caught your eye. It was a swing set in the foregrounds and a group of teens talking by the slides of the playground he’d drawn. All of the teens had smiling faces and ice cream cones or popsicles in their hands. Were these his friends? But why did they look so far away? Regardless, his skills were amazing. Everything looked so detailed and precise.

“Couldn’t resist?” A cold low voice spoke from above.

Severus’ hands came down above you and snatched up his book. You turned around and stood to face him, red in the face with embarrassment and shame.

“I-I’m sorry I… I just… It was only a few pages.”

He was fuming, lips turned down with bared teeth. His eyes glistened as he clutched onto the journal. “You can keep the rest of your ruddy sandwich.”

“No, please. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking… I was just curious and I let it get the better of me… I really am sorry. I swear I only looked at a few drawings. I’m sorry. Really.” You were a fool for not realizing how upset he’d be. You’d thought worst case scenario he’d be annoyed, and once the band aid of you looking at his art was torn off, he’d be more open to going through it with you. Best case you’d put the journal back before he came back and your curiosity would be settled.

He stepped forward, towering over you. “No. You’re not. You got what you wanted… So why would you be sorry?”

“Because I didn’t consider your feelings. I thought you wouldn’t care so much about your art. I didn’t think you’d really care.” You hugged your arms closer and watched his expression change.

His furious black eyes took in your figure and he looked down at his book. His frown turned softer. “I don’t care. It’s pointless to care.”

He turned away from you and walked into the bathroom. Within seconds he was back out with empty hands and left the back room to continue stocking the shelves in the store. You made your way to the bathroom and saw he had turned the faucet on the book, soaking it in the sink.

Tears coated your eyes as you blinked, turning the other pages of the journal and seeing nothing but smeared figures and smudged faces. You hadn’t expected such an extreme reaction… but it was still all your fault. You should have realized some people could be very sensitive about their art… even if you hadn’t seen anything that personal in it.

~ * ~ * ~

The next four hours was spent in silence as you helped in the front desk and occasionally restocked some figurines. Severus had refused to even look at you, keeping his eyelids half closed in boredom the rest of the time and responded to only your mother.

The last customer left, and the shop was ready to close. The next hour was spent dusting and counting money until finally your father’s car pulled up on the curb.

“Time to close,” your mother pushed you and Severus out as she locked the shop door and dropped the key in her pocket.

Severus’ bag was noticeably more empty than it had been when he walked into the shop. You clutched your bag closer and felt the journal you had slipped into your bag. You weren’t really sure what you were going to do with it… but you wanted to make things right with him.

You father honked and your mother and you got in his car, leaving Severus standing outside the shop in the rain. You watched him sit against the door and pull his legs in, resting his head on his knees. Your father pulled away from the curb and you sat back, wondering what to do.

~ * ~ * ~

The night air was cold but the rain had stopped shortly after dinner. You gripped onto the handlebars of your bike and squinted at the signs as you rode passed. The torch in your hand kept flickering and the rows and rows of identical houses made biking all the way to Severus’ house in the dead of night seem like the worst idea of the century.

You kept your feet still as the wheels turned on their own down the hill, taking you to the last neighborhood of Spinner’s End. You stopped a few houses away from the house you believed to be Severus’. You took out the note where you’d written his address and shined your torch at the letters written sloppily on his dented mailbox.

You ditched your bike in a bush across the street and headed to his house. You placed your hand on the gate and breathed out, pushing it open and walking down his cobblestone walkway and up the two steps to his front door.

You knocked a few times and heard a door close inside and then quick footsteps. The front door swung open and a tall woman looked down at you. Her eyes made her look cross, but her down turned mouth gave off a sullen air about her. She looked you up and down and crossed her arms.

“S-sorry,” you stammered. “Can I speak to Severus?”

The woman’s sad mouth turned up at the ends. “Severus? And what would you wan’ with him?”

Did she find it funny you wanted to speak to him? “I’d just like to.”

Her smile pulled up higher to show her yellow crooked teeth. “Run ‘long back to where you came from, brasser. Come back when we ‘ave the money to spend.” She slammed the door.

Your mouth fell open and you backed away, shaking with anger. If you could go back several second you’d’ve hit her long pale face square in the nose. She may not have realized who you were and the fact your mother was currently employing her son, but that still didn’t giver her the right to talk to you that way.

You headed out of their property and noticed a shadow on the pavement coming from the house. You turned just in time to see a dash of black hair as Severus pulled his head back inside his window. You looked at the windows at the front of the house and made sure no one was watching you from there before heading around the brick wall to the left side of the house. Severus was hiding under the windowsill, only the top of his head was visible from down where you stood.

You climbed the low wall and shined your torch on the dead dried grass, spotting a ladder. You jumped down and dragged the ladder, pulling it out as long as it’d go, and propped it up on the side of the house. His window wasn’t that high up and the ladder seemed sturdy enough so you climbed, clutching your bag under your arm as best you could.

You reached the top and looked down into Severus’ eyes as he sat under his windowsill still with a red face. You sighed and looked around his room. His door was closed and it looked safe enough, away from the eyes and ears of his horrible mother.

“Are you going to invite me in?”

Severus nodded and moved back awkwardly, still on the floor of his room.

You threw your bag in and ducked inside, doing your best to not fall on your face. You sat in front of him and pulled your bag close. “Severus, I wanted to talk to you and apologize.” You looked around his messy room. “Though I was hoping to do it at your front door but… I suppose this is still the least weird apology I’ve given in my life.” You smiled hoping to lighten the mood.

He shook his head and pulled down on his hair. “I heard… I-I mean…” He pressed his face down into his hands, hiding his red face. “I’m sorry my mam called you a… She… She ‘ates everyone. Please don’t…” He sighed.

You laughed, “Don’t worry. It’s not like you called me that.”

He looked up and watched you behind his hair as you pulled out his black journal.

“I… was a jerk earlier. I got curious and went behind your back… You don’t deserve that… So… Here.” You extended his notebook out to him.

He pushed his hair back and frowned. “It’s ruined. I soaked it.”

You nodded, “Well… The art is no longer in there. It was really smudged. But I cleaned it off as best I could and spent all evening drying it… The pages are dry and hold pencil led well enough again… See?” You flipped to the first page where you’d written:

‘I’m Sorry I’m Awful

Please Don’t Hate Me.’

He took it and flipped through it, feeling the paper with his long fingers and rubbing at the occasional left over smudge. He looked back up at you with still furrowed brows. “But why? We aren’t friends… What d’you expect to get from this?”

You raised your brow and pushed your hair aside. “Still so cynical. But you’re right. I do want something – Two things actually. One, for you to forgive me. And two, to be friends. You seem pretty alright and your art was really good, from what I could tell.”

His face softened and he looked back at his journal, closing it and placing it between you both. “Friends?”

You laughed. “Yeah. What? Have too many to squeeze me in?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s just…” He gripped his knees and bit his lip. “D’you know we go to the same school?”

You blinked, taken completely aback. “We what? Really? I’ve never seen you around.” How had you not noticed him ever at school. It wasn’t that big of a school, and most students knew each other through their parents who most all worked at the mill.

He nodded, bringing his head lower and letting his hair cover his face again. “You’re too popular t’even know I exist.”

You laughed at that word. “Popular? I’m not popular.” You couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“You’re always around all those people…”

You giggled, “They’re just my friends…” It suddenly struck you that he’d been watching you before. As you were cleaning up his journal you had noticed several groups of students he’d drawn. Besides the one at whatever park, some of the settings were school settings. But it hadn’t clicked that it was your school he had drawn. “Severus?”

He looked up, his face was no longer red, but a light pink blush remained on his pale cheeks.

“Did you want to be friends with me before? At school I mean?”

He shook his head.

You frowned, confused about what he was trying to say. If he didn’t want to be friends why was he watching you? Why did it seem he had an interest in you if he wanted nothing to do with you? “Then what? I don’t get it.”

He shook his head again. “Nothin’… I forgive you. You should go before my parents catch you in ‘ere. My mam will lose it… and you wouldn’t want to see that. Things get weird when she does.”

You nodded and stood, zipping up your bag and turned to the window. You wanted to stay longer, figure out what the hell was Severus’ secret. Why was he so secretive!

You swung a leg over and felt for the step, ducking through the window and finding the step again with your other foot. You looked down to make sure everything was okay and took a step down. You turned back and froze. Severus was back to kneeling next to the window and his face just inches from yours.

“S-sorry! I thought I should be close enough to catch you if the ladder started tiltin’…” His cheeks reddened even more and spread to his neck.

You nodded and looked into the deep wells of his eyes, seeing yourself reflected in their dark depths. He got closer, letting you stare at him longer.

Another explanation popped into your head, for why he’d been the one to know you existed despite never having met him. Why he’d observed you with your friends. Why he cared about your social differences….

“Do you have a crush on me, Severus?” you smiled.

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly. The blush that had been spreading down his neck turned red again, and he looked away, giving you a curtain of inky hair. He turned back with more composed features. “Of course I don’t! Why would I? I-I just met you today and… and I was just sayin’ that stuff about school because I-I noticed you once. That’s all!” His voice was deep and harsh.

You rolled your eyes at his weak attempt at intimidation. “Just admit it! Why else would you be acting so weird about being friends and caring about how ‘popular’ I am even though I’m not?” You climbed back up the ladder and pushed him aside to climb back through the window.

He stood and squeezed his hands into fists, no longer cowering. “Just because I’ve seen you ‘round doesn’t mean I ‘ave a crush on you!”

You scoffed. “Do we have any classes together?”

“No.” He crossed his arms.

“Do we have the same lunch together?”

“No.” He started tugging on his sleeve.

You smiled again. “There are over a thousand students in our crummy school and hundreds during lunches and somehow you know I’m not part of those hundreds in your lunch?” You laughed again. “Explain that.”

His face got even redder. “Well.. I-I… I-it…” He shut his mouth and clenched his jaw. “Fine. I DID. ‘appy?”

Your smile dropped. “‘Did’? When… Why did you stop?” Why did you care?

He huffed. “I told you. It’s pointless to care… about you…”

You looked down at his greying socks. You weren’t sure why his words kind of stung.

“Why d’you look like that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know…” You bit your lip. “I think I… Liked? That you had a crush on me?”

He scoffed, “Why? S’you could feel good about yourself?”

You shrugged again, feeling tears grow in the corner of your eyes and wishing you could escape such an awkward turn of the argument.

There was a long pause.

“D-d’you like me?”

Your head shot up and your faced burned hot. His eyebrows were raised and his crossed arms were loosening the longer you took to respond. “I… might have taken an interest in… you.”

“You’re interested in me?” His face pulled up into a grin suddenly. “Is that what you’re sayin’?”

You scoffed, “I didn’t say that exactly!”

He laughed and stepped forward, still towering over you. “I felt you feel my hair! I was right! I knew it!”

Your jaw dropped and if your face wasn’t red before it was now the color of a tomato. You did remember doing that. “I… I don’t know why I did that!”

“That’s why you want me to admit I ‘ave a crush on you,” he shrugged and stepped back, looking as if he’d won.

“Aha!” You quickly put your finger up. “You DO have a crush on me!”

He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I’ve already won. You ‘ave a crush on me – and you didn’t even realize it.”

What had this day turned into. Being suddenly told this morning you’d have to train someone knew at the store and now it was passed midnight and somehow you’d accidently confessed a crush you’d also gotten today? The day was as messy as the clean up for his journal that now lay forgotten on the floor.

You held your hands up in defeat. “Fine… So maybe I do… But you do too!”

He curled his finger and pressed it to his lips. “Alright… I do…”

You smiled down at your shoes and stood there awkwardly for a minute before decided to just go for it. You stepped forward and kissed his cheek, accidently touching the corner of his mouth and pulled away.

Your face burned. “Ok… Bye – !” You turned and headed out the window, quickly climbing down and let the ladder down on the ground gently.

You climbed the brick wall and looked back up at Severus.

He was touching his cheek as he smiled and waved. “S-see you t’morrow!”

You put your hand to your mouth and giggled. “See you.”

He looked smug suddenly and you rolled your eyes playfully.

You quickly jumped down and ran to your bike, hopping on and peddling back up the hill, trying to pull your giant smile back to normal.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Masterlist

Request: “may I request a muggle young sev x muggle reader please idk a story or headcanon really anything you want I just love the way you write young severus okie dokie thank you for reading 🥺❤” – Anon

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Welcome to General Taglist!!:

@bionic-otp

@severuslovebot

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

One Hundred Days - Good Omens Fic

Another fic for @bingokisses - Part 1 fills the prompt “Back of the Head kiss/Knees Brushing under the Table.” For once, just some nice easy fluff, little bit of anxiety, and happy ending (in part 2). Also available on AO3!

Part 1: The First Fifty Days

The first night at the South Downs cottage, Aziraphale cooked dinner while Crowley finished setting things up on the upper floor. It had been ages since he’d cooked anything that wasn’t a pastry, but pasta was simple enough, and salad, and…well, rather more dinner rolls than two beings needed, but he’d had more time than expected.

They ate and talked for hours, neither quite believing that they had done it, that they were in their place. Their home. Sometimes, Aziraphale would hold Crowley’s eyes a little too long and need to look away, waiting for his heart to settle down again.

He kept glancing around, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. That they were exposed, that someone was watching, that something was about to happen, though he couldn’t say what. But no – only the long wooden table, the stone fireplace, the steps leading upstairs, dark carpet on pale wood.

He shivered anyway.

“Alright, Angel?”

Breathe, Aziraphale told himself and took another sip of wine. All night, his feet and his knees had brushed Crowley’s under the table. It was daring, and thrilling, and more than a little terrifying.

“Perfectly fine, Crowley.” The bread rolls had gone cool hours ago, but Aziraphale reached for one anyway, tugging at it with his fingers. “I was wondering what…what you…planned to do? Once we’re all unpacked and such?”

They should have discussed it more. Wasn’t that what humans did? Spend weeks and months talking about what sort of home they want, what sort of life, dreaming of what moving in together will be like. Making sure their dreams matched up, their expectations.

They didn’t buy cottages – in the middle of a forest, no less, half a mile from the nearest village – without considering questions of…of hobbies, and use of space and…and living arrangements. They certainly didn’t take such a step without…defining their relationships.

Three weeks. Six thousand years and then some of dancing around certain emotions, certain thoughts, and somehow Aziraphale had thought three weeks was enough time to plan such a drastic change?

“The garden.” Crowley nodded towards the window, but the sun had gone down and all either of them could see was his reflection. “Plenty needs to be cleared out. Maybe lay a new path. And the planting – not a lot of options for fall blooms, but some of the best spring flowers should be planted now.”

“Where would you start?”

Crowley tapped his fingers on the table. “Have to see what that garden shop in the village has. Tulip bulbs for certain, they need time to settle in before the cold. Daffodils or geraniums. Scilla, crocus, maybe fritillaria. Snowdrops, I think.”

“That all sounds…” Aziraphale glanced at the potted plants in the windows and the corners, the remnants of Crowley’s flat. All were tall, lush, and unvaryingly green. “Sounds very colourful.”

“Thinking of experimenting.” Crowley shrugged. “It’s a challenge. They need different soils, different amounts of sunlight, different watering schedules. And you always have to be thinking about the next season, and the next.”

“Seems like a great deal of work.”

“Only if the flowers try to be disobedient brats.” Crowley shifted his fork around his empty plate. “Might get some more trees, too. S’a good time to plant saplings.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale smiled just a little. “Apple trees?”

“Well…maybe,” Crowley grudgingly admitted, with that particular frown that was also a sort of smile. “Pears, too.”

“It would be nice to have some fresh fruit next fall.”

“Nah. Takes years for the trees to be ready, maybe a decade.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale glanced out the window now himself, trying to remember what the garden looked like. They really should have spent more time preparing, studying, learning the ins and outs of this cottage. A few days of feverishly sketched plans over bottles of wine. Hardly anything at all. “Well. I suppose I’ll be buying my fruit from the market, then. A few trees might be nice, eventually, though. If you’re willing to put in the work.”

“Nmmmh.” Crowley arched his back until it popped. “Speaking of hard manual labor, I think it’s bedtime.”

Aziraphale’s head whipped back around. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Crowley pushed to his feet, “I’ve been moving two-stone boxes of books all day and we’re not even half done. You want to order me around again tomorrow, I need some sleep first.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s stomach turned to ice. His eyes flicked to the stairs, remembering how he’d rushed down them to start on dinner that afternoon. “Oh, I – I – I, you know, I still have to – to clean all the dishes and – and pots and pans – there’s so much to do…”

The tall, dark form rounded the table quicker than he expected, and Aziraphale tensed – but Crowley merely stepped behind his chair and gently kissed the back of his head. “Take your time, Aziraphale.”

“I…” He shredded the bread roll in his hands. “I…think you…you’ll regret saying that.”

“Never. I mean it.” One more kiss, quick pressure on the back of his head. “Take all the time you need.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Good night, Angel.”

The stairs creaked under his feet as he went up without another word.

On the second night, Aziraphale served mushroom risotto. It wasn’t the only thing he’d cooked that day – he’d been secluded in the kitchen since before Crowley rose, trying every challenging recipe he could think of. The bins were filled with burnt croissants and raw beef and a baked Alaska that had gone horribly wrong.

“You planning to cook that much every day?” was all Crowley asked, as they settled back in their seats after dinner. “You could probably feed the whole village with all that.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale glanced guiltily at the kitchen. “I suppose…I mean, it certainly fills the time, doesn’t it?”

Crowley tossed his head, the way he did when he was thinking, and his growing hair swirled around him in a red cloud. “I mean, yes, I suppose it does. But. Is that what you want? To fill time?”

“I’m not sure what else there is to do,” Aziraphale said. “Not much of a theater scene out here, no museums, no restaurants, no customers.”

“Do you miss the city?” He asked it a little too fast, and Aziraphale’s stomach clenched with even more guilt.

“No, dear, of course not. I just…well, I’ve been there so long…I’ve rather forgotten what there is to do out in the country. But I know I must keep myself busy.”

“Only if you like.” Crowley turned his plate. “We should be done with the big items tomorrow. I’ll be able to start the garden and…just, do whatever makes you happy, alright?”

They continued for hours. They seemed to have run out of the excitement of yesterday’s conversation, and now alternated between awkward chatter and pauses so long, Aziraphale feared they’d run out of things to talk about and would remain silent forever.

Finally, Crowley stood. “Better get some sleep,” he said, stretching.

“Oh! Is it – is it really that late?” Aziraphale glanced at the clock in a panic. “Oh, drat, there was, you know, so much more I meant to do today.” Crowley started walking around the table. “I – I – I mean, as you said, I wasted quite a good deal of food, a few miracles ought to put it all back into its original state and – and perhaps I can donate—”

Crowley paused behind his chair, and kissed the back of his head. Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to memorise it, the feel of Crowley’s lips and breath stirring his hair. They hadn’t really decided if their new partnership would involve kissing, or hand holding, or…other things of that nature. They’d done a few anxious experiments, made rather more assumptions and…never really articulated anything.

But this…Aziraphale thought he might like this.

“Good night, Angel.” A quick shoulder squeeze, and Crowley headed up, stairs creaking under every step.

On the fifth night, Aziraphale stopped making excuses. It was starting to feel silly, as Crowley never acknowledged them anyway. When Crowley rose from the table, he simply said, “Pleasant dreams, my dear.”

“Always.” A quick kiss to the back of the head. “Good night, Angel.”

By the tenth night, nearly everything had been unpacked and put into some semblance of order.

They’d spent two hours rearranging Aziraphale’s armchairs, carrying them up and down the stairs as he decided which would go in the study, which in the living room. When Aziraphale was satisfied, Crowley had gone outside, leaving him to rearrange his books in peace.

Aziraphale soon discovered that, with the window open, he could hear the sound of footsteps in the garden, of spade into earth, of a grumbling, threatening lecture delivered to each sapling before it was lowered into its new permanent spot. It was a comfortable sort of background noise, and Aziraphale smiled as he worked.

There was a second door on the upper floor, across the hall from his study. Aziraphale did his best not to glance at it all throughout the day.

After supper, they moved into the sitting room, Crowley sprawling on the sofa, Aziraphale comfortable in his favorite armchair. They talked, glanced at each other, smiled. Crowley played with his mobile phone while Aziraphale flipped idly through a book.

“How was the village?” Aziraphale wondered, since Crowley had finally made it out to the plant shop.

“S’alright. They’ve got a bakery you’d like. And the market.”

“Mmmm.” They’d visited a thousand villages and towns together through the years, yet somehow the thought of walking together through this one in particular made Aziraphale feel cold.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He wasn’t sure when that might be.

They sat in silence for a little while longer. At least Aziraphale no longer worried it would last forever.

When the demon abruptly stood up, Aziraphale’s fingers only twitched a little, curling around the pages of his book. “Well, that’s it for me tonight.”

“Of course.” He stared fixedly at the page. “Have a good rest.”

“I will.” A kiss on top of the head, almost absent in its familiarity. “Good night, Angel.”

On the twenty-third night, Aziraphale waited for the Good night, Angel, then grabbed Crowley’s hand, a little too fast, perhaps. Studied it. Crowley had been in the garden all day, and the dirt was still there in the beds of his nails, his hair probably thick with sweat. Aziraphale rolled Crowley’s hand over, studying the lines, the shapes of his fingers, the length of his palm.

Finally, he gave it a squeeze. “Good night, Crowley.”

Perhaps there was something more he should do. Kiss the knuckles. Brush them against his cheek. Something.

But it all seemed so…much.

Every night, then, he simply gave Crowley’s hand a squeeze, and received a smile in return.

The thirty-second night, they returned to the cottage late. The weather had been just right for a walk through the woods, which had turned into a walk to the village, followed by dinner at the little restaurant, and ultimately Aziraphale trading recipes with the chef over a glass of wine.

Crowley had waited patiently, almost-smiling, and they’d finally started the walk back under the stars.

“Did you have fun?” Crowley asked, walking beside him, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling between them. “The walk? The village?”

“I suppose.” Aziraphale conceded. “I must try this squash au vin recipe soon. And it is…rather pleasant out here.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale was suddenly very aware of the forest, the brilliant stars, and his proximity to Crowley. “Hmmm. But I’d like to get back and finish reading, if you don’t mind. Rather a lot of lost...reading time.”

“Yeah.” Crowley tucked his loose hand into his pocket.

Aziraphale didn’t read, though, when they returned. He held a book on his lap as they sipped wine, talking about places they’d visited through the years. Then Crowley mentioned that time they’d run into each other at a performance by Mozart – one bottle of wine turned into three – and a great deal of reminiscing ensued.

When, more than a little after midnight, Crowley finally stood to head upstairs, he paused to give Aziraphale’s forehead a clumsy kiss. “Night, Angel.”

Aziraphale gave his hand an easy squeeze, and they smiled at each other without restraint. “Good night, dear.”

On the forty-eighth night, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and didn’t let go.

He wasn’t sure why. They had a rhythm now, a pattern, something sustainable.

Almost sustainable.

Aziraphale still never went upstairs after dark, still never looked at the door across from his study.

On some level, he knew what he needed to do.

They both waited, countless seconds, for the other to speak. But Aziraphale had lost his voice, and Crowley’s expression was as masked behind the glasses as it had been for many centuries.

The cottage was utterly silent, except for the ticking of the clock.

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale swallowed. “Good night, dear.”

“Good night, Angel,” Crowley said for the second time, and Aziraphale finally relinquished his hand, heart racing.

But on the fiftieth night, fingers wrapped tightly around Crowley’s, on the fiftieth night, Aziraphale stood up, on the fiftieth night he let Crowley lead him up the stairs. He trailed slightly behind, hand clutching the bannister as they ascended, noticing how much heavier the creaks were under his own feet.

At the top of the stairs, Crowley turned right, away from the study, and pushed open the other door, the one Aziraphale could never quite bring himself to walk through, and—

The bedroom was just as they’d arranged it, fifty days before. Heavy red curtains, cream area rug over dark wood, bed in the center of one wall, an end table on either side.

The tartan pillow still lay at a skewed angle, exactly where Aziraphale had dropped it when the sudden panic took him, the sudden realisation of what they were doing, and it was all too much, too fast, and good lord, here he was again, what was he thinking?

Crowley led him to the left side of the bed, the side nearest the door, with black pillowcases and the down duvet slightly rumpled. Pulled his glasses off, and at the first sight of golden eyes, Aziraphale pulled back, eyes slamming shut, hand clenching, seizing up. Crowley snapped his fingers—

Then, for a long time, nothing happened.

Aziraphale finally, cautiously opened his eyes, to find Crowley in black pyjamas, watching him.

When Aziraphale nearly met his gaze, Crowley half-smiled, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Angel.”

Crowley dropped his hand and climbed under the duvet.

But Aziraphale stood stock still. Now that he was here what was he supposed to do? Fifty days and nights, he should have had a plan but here he was, still just as afraid as the day they’d arrived.

Crowley’s voice, a little rough, with that curious burr in it: “S’alright, Aziraphale. Take your time.”

“But…But it’s already been…” He looked around the room, the one room they’d discussed all night in his bookshop, all the papers they needed to buy their cottage piled on the desk between them. The room they’d breathlessly planned, whispers escaping uncertain lips and bright red faces.

It certainly looked as though it had been planned by two drunken fools with no idea what to do with a cottage, the most atrociously mismatched combination of colours and styles.

But it was all here. The little shelf to hold his favorite books, the electric kettle for if he wanted tea in the night. The overstuffed rocking chairs by the largest window, overlooking the corner of the garden with the little duck pond. The planters lining the rest of the windows, filled with sweet-smelling herbs. The record player, Crowley’s awful music already organised in the stand below it while Aziraphale’s awaited him in a box nearby.

It was a jumble, a mess, it was everything that represented their life together.

And he wanted this life. He truly did. But it had all come too quickly, too suddenly, he wasn’t ready—

“Aziraphale.” Their eyes finally met. “Don’t worry. Take all the time you need.”

He hung his head, burning with shame. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” He could feel Crowley watching him, but didn’t dare look up. “I…I mean, look. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

After several more breaths, Aziraphale gathered his courage, stepped forward, and pulled the duvet up to Crowley’s chin. Bent down, lips hovering just shy of Crowley’s forehead, his breath stirring crimson strands. “Good night, dear.” His courage broke, and he fled the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Good night, Angel,” muffled but still as gentle as ever.

Part 2 to be posted on Wednesday. If you enjoyed, please drop a comment on AO3!

#good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #asexual ineffable husbands #south downs cottage #aziraphale and crowley #anxious aziraphale #crowley not going too fast #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves his angel #my writing #ao3 link

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

Photo

The next Cinderella AU part is here...and I am so thrilled about this part, because not only do we get a new character (who I’m quite sure you can identify from the sketch above -- only my second time drawing him ever, and I’m actually pretty happy with it!), but we’ll also get a nice serving of drama! Goodie!!

Robin Hood as a legendary figure first originated through the oral tradition, so its history is a little hard to plot out, but his first reference in writing is a ballad from the 15th century. Although our modern image of Robin Hood is that of a chaotic good heroic figure, his original incarnation was decidedly less saintly -- he was a bandit, and although he did refrain from stealing from women, he was rather violent, reckless, and hot-tempered, as well as flagrantly against both clerics and all nobility. Robin Hood’s backstory of being a disgraced nobleman who turned outlaw after losing his title and land and who remains loyal to the “good king” Richard while opposing the unlawful regent Prince John was added later, presumably to make him a bit more “approachable” to an Elizabethan audience who was more accustomed to hearing tales about nobility (just look at a lot of Shakespeare’s plays from that period -- many of them center around royalty or the upper class). Plays about or referencing Robin Hood then increased in popularity on the British Isles throughout the 16th and early 17th century, until the rise of Puritanism in the 1640′s put a halt to theatrical productions. (Bloody kill-joys.) For more information on the history of Robin Hood’s development, I strongly recommend this analysis done by Overly Sarcastic Productions (...actually, just watch everything on their channel, it’s all great XD).

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

Carewyn had a lot of trouble returning to her daily routine at the palace the following morning. Getting so close to the border with Orion and hearing about how much scarier it was likely to get on the battlefield made her all the more worried for Jacob’s well-being. Even if the spell Charles Cromwell had paid for nine years ago made it so that Jacob would stay alive as long as he willed it, Carewyn dreaded the thought of what harm, physical and emotional, that Jacob might face. If she only had some idea which battalion he was a part of and where on the front he’d be, then she could always just try to send a letter his way...maybe even ask Orion to drop it off to the camp for her, since his father was an officer. But Carewyn had combed every military roster she could get her hands on, but hadn’t been able to find a single record of Jacob anywhere.

‘He must be under another name,’ Carewyn told herself.

It wouldn’t be too unreasonable that Charles wouldn’t want Jacob to advance in the ranks on the back of their family name. And really, Carewyn knew full well how displeased her grandfather would be if he found out she was trying to reach out to her brother without his approval -- he could’ve even forced Jacob to take on another name, just to try to make it that bit harder for Carewyn to contact him without his approval...

Carewyn’s friends noticed a rather abrupt shift in her mood. She was singing as always, but her choices were a bit less upbeat and her voice sounded oddly distracted and nostalgic. At one point, Andre mentioned offhandedly that he’d been designing themed outfits for his friends to wear to his mother’s New Year Eve’s Masque Ball, but Carewyn had trouble putting much attention on it.

“I’ve already finished some ‘owl wings’ on a cape for KC and a fur-trimmed wolf mask and gown for Erika...I was thinking perhaps a stag for Bill, a dragon for Charlie, and a lioness for Ginny? I considered a horse at first, but I think a pale gold would make her just glow, don’t you think? Yours I’m most excited for, though...I’m hoping to actually make your newest pair of shoes with fabric on the inside for comfort and diamond on the outside for sturdiness, if I can manage it!”

“Mm...that sounds great,” said Carewyn absently.

Her gaze was drawn out the nearest window, as far out as she could.

“...Andre,” she said slowly, “I realize this is very last minute, but...may I have this afternoon off, to go see my family?”

Andre blinked. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh no, no,” Carewyn lied with as pretty and reassuring of a smile as she could. “It’s just...well, it’s nearly Tristan’s birthday. My uncle keeps him very close to home, compared to my other cousins...I merely thought I might stop by and bake him a little something, as a surprise.”

Andre frowned slightly. “You...get along better with your uncle and his son than with Iris, then?”

“No, but Tristan is only a boy. It’s hard to hold any bad behavior against him. And well, maybe if he and the others don’t know I made it, he’ll enjoy it better.”

Carewyn could see Andre still looked confused and a little dismayed, so she quickly added, “I’ll be back by tomorrow morning, in time for my rounds. I won’t allow it to interrupt my duties.”

Andre offered a hesitant smile. “Well, all right...if it really means that much to you.”

Carewyn’s eyes softened. “Thank you, Andre -- I really appreciate it.”

Fortunately for Carewyn, Andre wasn’t the best at picking up on other people’s pretenses. Unfortunately for Carewyn, two of his most regular confidantes were his cousin KC and fencing instructor Erika, and they did pick up on Carewyn’s odd behavior.

“She said she wanted to surprise her cousin with something for his birthday?” asked KC, frowning deeply.

“Well, yeah,” said Andre. “I admit, it seemed a little weird to do something so nice without even wanting credit, but Carewyn is an awfully selfless sort. From the way she made it sound, she just wanted to do something nice for him.”

“And you believed her?” said Erika rather coldly.

She whacked Andre’s practice sword out of his hand with her own, making the Crown Prince hiss in pain.

“I’ve told you before, Prince Henri -- you all may think Carewyn Cromwell’s nothing like her family, but that’s absolute bunk. She might be more pleasant than them, but she’s not stupid and she’s not honest. Or did you not notice that that weird guy she hangs out with keeps calling her ‘his lady,’ as if she weren’t the penniless orphan of a deadbeat merchant?”

Erika picked up Andre’s sword and tossed it back to him with ease.

“Then of course that guy himself is shady as all get out.”

Andre frowned. “You mean Orion? Come on, Erika, he isn’t that bad -- I thought he seemed quite amiable, myself. Don’t you agree, KC?”

“He is,” said KC fairly. “But Erika isn’t completely off-base. There is a lot about Orion that we don’t know -- that even Carewyn herself doesn’t know. She admitted as much to me, after I first met him. That being said,” she raised her own sword and got into position to attack Andre, “I don’t think Orion’s a threat. You would think anyone with the ability to sneak over the palace walls not once but twice would’ve tried to make some move to attack you by now, but he’s only ever come looking for Carewyn. And although I don’t completely understand the reason behind why she’s acting like a lady around him,” she shot Erika a faintly reproachful look as she and Andre traded blows, “I’m pretty sure it has more to do with her own insecurities than because she’s a terrible person -- ow! Damn it!”

Andre had successfully disarmed KC.

“Insecurities?” he said, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “What is there for her to be insecure about? I mean, yes, she has no dowry, and taking Orion’s wardrobe into account, I’d suppose he has to come from a family with modest wealth -- but Orion seemed to enjoy the Weasleys’ company quite well, and their family is poor. I think they’d make a lovely match, really,” he added with a rather smug grin. “They even matched at the Festival, without realizing it.”

KC massaged her wrist, frowning a bit sourly. “Yes...but Carewyn is solely under Lord Cromwell’s charge. He’s the one who sent her here. He’s the only guardian she really has. And I think it’s quite clear how much influence he has over his family -- even his daughters who married into other esteemed families still live at his estate with their husbands and children, rather than moving out onto their own estates. And in Carewyn’s case, she doesn’t even have a parent to help shield her from Lord Cromwell’s will. She doesn’t have a penny to her name. So that means, in effect, she’s chained to him, and in those circumstances...well...”

She hesitated.

"Well what?” Andre prompted her.

KC looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“I didn’t want to say anything before without knowing for sure...but I think someone’s been looking at our military ledgers, documenting troop placements. Everything’s neatly put away the way they should be, but there are more fingerprints on them than before. And usually I’m the only one who has much use to look those up, whenever I’m ready to suggest a new war strategy...”

Erika’s eyes narrowed very sharply and she got right up into KC’s space. “And you’re only just saying this now?! That information could be critical to Royaume’s enemies! What if that guy Orion sneaked in not just to see Cromwell, but to get his hands on those? Or what if it was Cromwell herself, working in collusion with him?”

“Impossible,” Andre said forcefully. “Carewyn would never be a spy for the enemy -- it’s not in her character.”

“And I don’t think Orion would know where those documents would be, even if he did sneak in,” said KC.

Erika, however, looked unconvinced as she made for the door. “You can coddle those two all you want, but I plan to tell the King and Queen -- they’ll want to interrogate Cromwell and this ‘Orion Freeman’...”

“Erika, belay that!” Andre said in a suddenly much sharper and more authoritative voice. “That’s an order.”

Once Erika had stopped walking and turned back around, the Crown Prince exhaled heavily and crossed his arms in a business-like manner.

“I’ll get to the bottom of this,” he said firmly. “If Carewyn is heading to the Cromwell estate, she’ll have to take the road through town, correct? I’ll simply take a horse and follow the road after her.”

Erika and KC looked startled.

“Uh, Andre,” said KC, “you haven’t forgotten that you’re not allowed to leave the palace, have you?”

Andre smirked. “No. I’m just sneaking out.”

Before Erika and KC could articulate an argument, he added in a much sassier voice, “Look, I’m doing it whether you come with me or not. I’d appreciate the company if you want to come along -- all I expect is that you’ll dress appropriately. I hear linens and cottons are fashionable for those who don’t wish to attract attention.”

And so Andre, KC, and Erika made preparations to follow Carewyn...completely unaware that a half-hour earlier, Bill and Charlie Weasley had -- after having a similar, but much more concerned conversation with Badeea Ali about Carewyn clearly lying to Andre’s face -- decided to take their horses and tail their friend themselves. And sure enough, the two eldest Weasleys soon enough found themselves following Carewyn on the road heading northeast, avoiding the Cromwell estate all together.

At the very same time, in Florence, Orion had finalized his plan. Today was the day he was going to request a formal audience with Prince Henri, as Prince Cosimo VII. As Carewyn had said, he’d need to act fast if he was going to stop his father from finding a way to complete his own ruthless strategy -- the battlefield itself would be a difficult place for Orion to make his case, with so many distractions, but he knew a more balanced, peaceful setting wouldn’t be. And so he wrote a long letter to the King, explaining everything that he had learned from Royaume and its people as well as Florence’s own, so as to make a case for peace. He then had the court magician Severus Snape deliver it to the Florentine camp in his stead, while he dressed in his finest and prepared to leave for Royaume.

When he made as if to take his own horse, however, Orion found Skye and McNully waiting for him, a black coach already prepared.

“If you’re planning on going to meet Prince Henri, you really should arrive in style,” said McNully with a wry smile. “A good first impression to the King and Queen would help your case by a good 45%.”

“And you have to know there’s no way in Hell we’re going to let you go out and expose your true identity to the enemy without back-up,” Skye added, her arms crossed over her chest. “

Orion’s black eyes softened. “...Thank you.”

As he climbed into the carriage, both McNully and Skye’s faces nonetheless betrayed some hesitation.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” McNully asked. “There’s a 74% chance they’ll respond badly to it -- I reckon there’s a 39.5% chance they’ll try to arrest you on the spot and hold you as a prisoner of war...”

“I carry no weapons with me, and I come with the explicit purpose of diplomacy,” said Orion levelly. “Therefore I’m not an enemy combatant. As long as I follow their direction while under their roof, then any harm they might do me would be violating the conventions of war...and the Royaumanians, for all of their flaws, do have honor.”

“One could make a case for you having been involved in espionage, though,” McNully pointed out, but Orion ignored him and settled down in the carriage, crossing his legs offhandedly.

“What about Lady Cromwell?” said Skye, her voice a bit lower and more concerned. “She’ll find out you’re a Florentine. And not just any Florentine, the Prince of Florence.”

Something sad flickered through Orion’s confident, unflappable expression.

“She was going to learn the truth sooner or later,” he murmured. “If our time together has come to an end...then at least I may have the memories to hold onto...and the knowledge that by ending this War peacefully, I may have spared her of more heartache.”

He closed his eyes and began to meditate, clearly having said his piece on the matter. Skye and McNully, however, couldn’t help but exchange a look that was both anxious and very sad.

As long as they’d known Orion, he’d always been a little reckless, but he was also passive and avoided direct confrontation. This plan to directly appeal to Royaume’s royal family, however, required a lot of guts -- far more than either of them had thought Orion possessed. And they knew such courage could only have been encouraged by one person...the very same person who Orion loved so much that he would choose to follow her example and protect what she loved, even if it meant destroying their relationship forever.

Orion meditated during most of the journey to the Royaumanian palace. It was merely fortunate that, as they approached, McNully broke him out of his trance by tapping him on the shoulder and pointing out the window. If he hadn’t, then Orion would not have seen a rather familiar trio of riders on horseback, riding through town past them -- a short, stocky lady with dark red hair and freckles; a very tall blonde with a square jaw and sharp eyes; and a very handsome dark-skinned man dressed in a purple tunic, emerald green pants, and gold-buckled black boots.

“Stop the carriage!” said Orion, his soft, level voice nonetheless very firm despite not rising in volume.

He barely waited for the carriage to completely stop before slamming the door open and jumping out.

“Andre! KC!”

Andre, KC, and Erika all stopped their horses in an abrupt halt and turned around as Orion dashed up to them.

“Orion?” said Andre, startled.

KC looked from the rather finely dressed Orion to the expensive-looking black coach behind him and back. Erika’s eyes narrowed critically upon Orion as he came to a stop in front of them, his hands clasping in front of him.

“I...had not expected to see you out and about,” said Orion, trying to put on his most pleasant, calm expression.

Andre glanced over his shoulder up the road, frowning deeply. “Yes, well...some business has come up.”

“Orion, have you seen Carewyn?” KC asked him, her face very serious.

Orion blinked.

“Not since last night,” he said. He could feel his heart starting to beat faster. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Never you mind,” barked Erika, as she turned back to the road. “Come on, we don’t want to lose the trail -- ”

“Erika,” reproached Andre, before he turned back to Orion, his face visibly concerned. “...Carewyn asked for the afternoon off to go see her family, but it was very last minute, which isn’t like her. And according to what we’ve heard in town, there’s been no traffic down the road toward the Cromwell estate in the last four hours...”

“So Carewyn had to have been lying about where she was going,” finished KC, her face much more stoic but her voice no less tense. “We need to find her and figure out why.”

Orion’s eyebrows had furrowed over his widening black eyes. His heartbeat was slamming in his ears as the memory of Carewyn in the woods returned to him -- looking northward, toward the army camps, as if longing to run toward them --

“I know where she’s gone,” he said at once.

He rushed back to the coach, grabbing onto the window frame and standing on the boot of the carriage.

“To the northern border,” he urged Skye, who sat in the driver’s seat. “Quickly!”

“The border?” repeated Skye as a sharp whisper. “But Orion, your meeting with the Prince -- ”

“Can come later,” Orion told her very firmly under his breath. “Both he and I must get to the war front.”

He shot a significant look over his shoulder in Andre’s direction. McNully, putting two-and-two together, nodded and inched himself up to the window of the carriage.

“If you tie one or more of your horses to the carriage, we should decrease our travel time by a good 21% per horse,” he told Erika, KC, and Andre. “If Carewyn left an hour ago, then with one horse, we should be able to overtake her within an half-hour -- two, within twenty minutes, and three, within ten. Though with Orion on the boot, there’s a 12% chance he’ll fall off if we ride at full speed, so we might have to go at 95% instead -- ”

KC fixed the blond-haired man with an incredulous look as she leapt off her horse.

“Are you really calculating all that on the fly,” she asked, looking as if she wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or amused, “or are you just pulling those numbers out of fat air?”

McNully couldn’t help but grin. “Excellent! Now I can officially say that I’ve been asked that question over a hundred times before.”

Still looking faintly bewildered, KC moved to help Andre, who’d quickly started attaching his, Erika’s, and her horse’s to the front of the carriage with the two black ones already pulling it, ignoring Erika’s incredibly sour and distrustful expression. There was no time to lose.

From the boot of the carriage, Orion directed Skye down the same road he’d taken with Carewyn the previous night, Andre, Erika, and KC riding with McNully inside the coach. Once they’d reached the forest, Orion caught sight of a familiar-looking golden eagle with a bandaged wing -- at the sight of the Florentine prince, the eagle gave a loud shriek and flew down into the trees, and Orion urged Skye to pursue him into the woods. The road took them deep into the trees, until at last the eagle landed on a branch over the heads of two familiar-looking ginger-haired men, who were bound with thick rope to a tree.

Bill and Charlie were stunned at the sight of such an elegant coach, but were absolutely beside themselves with relief at the sight of Andre, KC, and Erika. Erika immediately yanked a knife out of her ankle boot and set about sawing off their bindings -- once she’d cut Charlie free, he immediately rushed forward and grabbed Andre’s shoulders.

“We’ve got to hurry!” he said anxiously. “They’ve got Carey!”

“‘They?’” said Andre, very startled. “They who?”

“This band of Florentine bandits,” said Bill, his voice very low and urgent. He kept maneuvering his bindings as Erika cut them to try to sever them faster. “They cornered us so they could try to rob us -- they were willing to let Carey go since she was a lady, but she bartered with the leader, saying that they could take her so long as they left us alone. Claimed that they could probably get more money from holding her hostage than us, given her family...”

Both Skye and McNully glanced at Orion. The Prince’s face had lost most of its color -- he’d turned his face away and closed his eyes, breathing in and out slowly as he tried to stabilize his emotions.

“The bandits in these woods are Florentines, so I doubt they will harm you,” Baroness McGonagall’s words returned to his mind, “but I cannot be sure how they would respond to a Royaumanian, especially one related to one of their wealthiest noblemen.”

“They took all three of our horses and tied us to the tree so that we wouldn’t follow them,” growled Charlie. “They left us a knife so that we’d be able to cut ourselves free, but it’s so dull I reckon it would’ve taken us hours to do it ourselves...”

Bill succeeded in snapping the weakened ropes in half and leapt back to his feet, massaging his wrists.

“They must have taken her to a camp of theirs,” said KC, her dark blue eyes narrowing. “Even bandits need some base of operation.”

McNully nodded, resting his arms on the edge of the coach’s window. “The lady is right. Given where we are, I’d say the odds are fairer that it’s southeast of here.”

“Closer to the Florentine side of the border, you mean,” presumed KC, and McNully nodded again.

“They were heading south through the woods,” said Bill. “But we won’t want to bring the coach. They stopped us because they wanted money -- if they have any reason to think any of you have it, they’ll no doubt want to imprison you too...”

“On the contrary,” said Orion in a very low voice, “this carriage may be just the thing we need, to ensure that they don’t imprison us.”

Everyone looked at Orion, their faces all a mixture of incredulity and revulsion, but he seemed disinterested in explaining himself.

“We must be quick, McNully,” said Orion, and although his voice and face were as level and unreadable as ever, they both betrayed a slight edge. “Time is not on our side.”

With Bill now sitting with the driver’s seat next to Skye and Charlie hanging off the boot with Orion, the black coach set off again. Overhead Orion caught sight of the wounded eagle again, which shrieked at them warningly -- the Prince thought it must mean they were close, but did not respond fast enough to the trap set out in front of them.

The coach rode right through a certain cluster of vines, and within seconds, they had magically sprung to life, lashing themselves around the limbs of the five horses pulling the coach. The steeds reared back, panicked -- Skye immediately yanked out a sword from her belt and began hacking away at them, and Erika and Andre both leapt from the carriage with their own swords to help, but it was no use. The vines only lashed onto them, binding all three of them fast and making it impossible for them to move. And when things seemed like they couldn’t be any worse, without warning, a group of green-dressed men and women had swung down from more vines attached to the nearby trees, surrounding them in a tight noose-like circle and pointing their arrow-decked bows at them.

They were trapped.

“Well, well,” said a voice from the trees above, “we don’t often see coaches that ritzy out here.”

The voice’s owner leapt down to the ground. Unlike his companions, his hooded tunic was yellow instead of green. When he lifted his head enough that they could see his face, it was the host of a mischievous smirk.

“Especially ones crafted in Florence,” the dark-haired and eyed bandit said breezily.

Andre, KC, Erika, and the Weasleys all stiffened.

“Florence?” breathed Bill.

They all as a unit whirled on Orion. His face was remarkably calm and solemn as he stepped off the coach and in front of the others and faced the bandits’ leader, his hands clasped in front of him.

“We do not come seeking trouble,” he said. “We merely come to retrieve a lady who surrendered herself to you. Frame like a robin’s. Hair the color of a red sunset. Eyes the color of the sky.”

The bandit’s leader raised his eyebrows curiously. “The maid called Cromwell?”

“That is her.”

“And what reason would you desire her in your custody?” challenged one of the green-dressed bandits with a cocked eyebrow, a dashing man with tanned skin and dark brown hair.

“Wants to ransom her off himself, no doubt,” sneered another woman with messy brown hair and cold magenta eyes. “He probably works for Lord Malfoy -- we all know he’s the sort to make money off illicit enterprises and keep it all to himself, rather than give it to anyone who actually needs it...”

Two of the other bandits -- a pair of women with long red and short pink hair, respectively -- exchanged a sour look.

“We have nothing to do with Lord Malfoy,” spat Skye, vainly tugging against the vines binding her. “We wouldn’t collaborate with that rat if you paid us -- !”

“Skye,” said Orion in a quelling voice.

The last bandit, a very strong-looking man with dark red hair and emerald green eyes, frowned deeply at the leader, who considered Orion carefully.

“I know your face,” he murmured.

Orion inclined his head, his black eyes boring into the other man’s face. “I’m sure you do.”

The leader’s thin-lidded eyes narrowed critically -- then they widened, realizing.

“Bring out Lady Cromwell at once,” he said abruptly.

The others all whirled on him.

“What?!” cried all three women and the dashing man.

“Jae, are you mad?!” said the woman with the magenta eyes.

“Do it,” said the leader called Jae firmly, without flinching.

The strong bandit -- the only one who hadn’t questioned the leader’s direction -- grabbed a vine, which immediately retracted back up above them.

Jae glanced at the magenta-eyed woman. “Merula, have the vines set them loose.”

Merula looked rather scandalized. “What? Oh come on, you know how much of a pain it is, to have to recast a spell after it’s broken -- ”

“Better that we do it now than wait around for the spell to expire on its own,” Jae said dryly.

Still looking very reluctant, Merula nonetheless did as she was told, holding up her hand, which glowed with light green.

“The terms are now invalid,” she muttered sourly at the plants.

The plants sparkled with a similar green flare before falling limply off of the horses, Andre, Erika, and Skye. KC and Bill moved to detangle the now harmless plants from their companions and around the horses’ legs, and Charlie moved to soothe the frightened steeds.

Within a minute, the strong bandit was back, holding onto the vine easily with one hand and holding Carewyn under his opposite arm. She had her ginger hair tied back in a loose bun and was dressed in the green peasant dress she’d worn to the Festival and her slightly oversized brown shoes -- no doubt because it was the most comfortable dress for travel she had. Orion was also beyond relieved to see that she was perfectly unharmed -- not a single cut or bruise.

“CAREWYN!” cried KC, Andre, Bill and Charlie in relief.

All three of the men immediately dashed right over to her and threw their arms around her in a group hug.

“It’s all right,” Carewyn reassured them with a small smile. “I’m all right.”

“They didn’t hurt you?” Bill interrogated her.

“You must have been terrified -- ” said Andre.

“Where are the horses?” asked Charlie.

“Tied up in a makeshift stable over there,” said the pink-haired bandit with a wry grin and a vague hand gesture.

“A bit tricky to lug them up into treehouses,” added the red-haired one cheekily. “And no, for the record, we did not hurt Carewyn Cromwell. She may be a stick in the mud, but she’s a decent sort.”

“And brave too!” said the muscled man, beaming. “She wasn’t scared at all, not even when Merula stuck a knife in her face!”

“I was only getting fed up with her smart remarks,” huffed the magenta-eyed bandit called Merula. “You’d think she was the Queen of Sheba, with how she acts...”

“She is a proper lady, to be sure,” said the dashing bandit, shooting Carewyn a rather Casanova-like smile.

Carewyn tried to stifle a snort of laughter behind her hand as Jae approached her.

“Seems you’ll have an escort after all, Carewyn,” he said, lowering his bow with a slightly more serious look. “I don’t think I can convince you to reconsider, but under the circumstances...well, just make sure you’re careful. I’d hate to hear of Royaume losing one of its only honorable citizens due to their own stupidity.”

Carewyn inclined her head to him, her blue eyes very solemn. “I’m far from Royaume’s most honorable citizen, Jae, nor from any other country, I daresay. But thank you.”

Jae nodded. He then looked up at Orion.

“By your leave then, your Highness,” he said with an abbreviated bow.

He then nodded to the other bandits, and one by one, they all disappeared back up into the trees.

None of the people on the ground, however, gave them much mind. All of them had turned back around to face Orion -- Carewyn felt like her heart had stopped still as she stared, taking in his neat ponytail and finely tailored black doublet and hose and boots.

“...‘Your Highness?’ ” repeated Charlie, shocked.

Andre’s eyes widened. “Then...then you’re...?”

Orion swallowed, but somehow managed to keep his composure as he nodded. His eyes were locked on Carewyn’s face, never shifting and as turbulent as a black ocean.

“King Cosimo’s new heir,” KC breathed, her face flooding with fresh understanding around her amazement. “Cosimo VII.”

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anokaiwritingblog · 4 years

Text

Oh hey. I forgot I have a writing blog. Here’s a WIP of my short story collection for my creative writing class. It’s a WIP for one of my major ideas I want to do.

Once every century, it is said that the planets of the solar system align perfectly. In a perfect row, they cast upon the ultimate shadow upon one another; opening the gates to other realms far from our own. It was said that the fallen god rose from this gate and set his sights on destroying our system just like his own. But where evil went, goodness was sure to follow. Out from this gate came the Holy Maiden and her summoned knight. Together, they sealed away the fallen god and cast light back into our system. The two understood that the battle was far from over. “Catch a fish for a man, he would eat for a day. Teach the man how to fish, and he eats for a lifetime.” Despite their love for each other, the Holy Maiden and her summoned knight agreed to go on separate pilgrimages to spread their teachings. The Holy Maiden remained in our system and founded us, the Holy Order, to pass on her teachings and traditions to future Holy Maidens. Her summoned knight, on the other hand, returned into the gate and spread his words to the numerous realms behind the gate. With their sacrifice, we have prevented the fallen god’s awakening over a thousand times…

“Ay yo… so, like… cool lore but like… pretty cringy not gonna lie. You lost me at the “aligning of the planets” bit. It went from horoscope bullshit to cliched pre-teen novels with a bit of a JRPG elements in there,” a voice spoke out, breaking the breathtaking spell that weighed heavy in this beautifully painted dream.

The wind blew soft through the empty courtyard as no one said anything. In a walled-off garden stood seven bodies, each facing each other in a circle with a pond that separated each figure. Each stood on their own path that was surrounded by the water on each side but behind. A mini pier if you wish to imagine. The water was clear, yet the light was too blinding to see past the surface. All seven figures were outlined well enough to show that they were all women, yet a shadow covered their faces to remain a mystery to one another. Sitting above all this was a pink-haired woman. Her hair was braided back and looked far too youthful to be talking like an elder. Her prink eyes scanned each woman to search for the back talker, a glare like a dagger and on edge. Despite that, she kept an icy façade.

“Who cut me off? Head Nun of the Holy Order?” the pink-haired woman spoke up, looking down at the crowd of women below her.

“Uh, me.”

Slicing through the air, the Head Nun’s eyes locked on to the woman who spoke up; her hand raised slightly while maintaining the image of being smaller than what she was. Her limbs were tightly held together like a defensive turtle yet flashing a Chester cat grin in reception of the attention. “No offense lady but I felt like I heard this exact same plot with some gacha game I played last month. Can we just skip all this tutorial nonsense to get to the fuckin’ point already?” the woman continued, her blunt and straightforward words not matching the lowkey appearance she was trying to give off.

“Oh! You played Fate/Grand Order too? I’ve been trying to pull Gilgamesh for my team for months,” the woman on the right of the back talker chimed in. Though she was covered in shadow, the third party was animatedly clapping her hands together in excitement that she found a companion who played the same game.

“Eh, I stopped after two months. The drop rates are insane for that game and you don’t get enough of the in-game currency. I prefer Epic Seven since you actually win the gamble in summoning a strong hero-“

“Silence!”

Slamming her hand against the armrest of her chair, the Head Nun demanded all attention back onto her. The sound of flesh against marble echoing throughout this supernatural courtyard. Zeroing in out the outlier, the Head Nun sized her up before letting out a scoff. Receiving this judgmental look was a young woman of 21 years. If she never stood by herself, she might have blended in with a crowd with her rather ordinary looks. Brown hair, matching brown eyes, and a pair of glasses. Tell that description to any sketch artist and they would draw any other woman. One in five women look exactly like her. Was that statistically correct? Of course not, but most would believe it these days.

The nun craned her neck over these seven girls, peering down with arrogance. Who would have thought that the bold one in this group wasn’t the goth but this… loser. Despite not being affected by the spell, the rebel was overseen like the shadow of her chair or the tree’s. “Are you done speaking over me?”

“No, actually. You aren’t hurrying the fuck up and you rudely cut me off from having a pleasant and stimulating conversation from my neighbor here,” the woman said, “If you aren’t going to tell me what my horoscope is, I don’t want to hear another hour of lore.” From her sides, the woman could hear the reactions from the other girls who listen in to this back and forth. Some ‘tsk’ from her disrespectful actions while others acted a bit shocked. Of course, there were those who snickered from the show while one seemed to be rather disinterested. Tough crowd… To be fair, she wasn’t normally as blunt as she was today. She knew when to keep things to herself but quite frankly, this lady was going on for the last hour about prophecies and cosmic evils. This nun sounds like those writers who only focus on worldbuilding and not writing their story.

“Hurry up? We’re talking about the end of the world- YOUR world. This “lore” is vital. People’s lives are at stake with this information, Two,” the Head Nun said.

“Shit, really? Then why don’t you act it? Literally… no agency. This is the part where a creative writing teacher tells you “show don’t tell”,” Two answered right back; sarcasm dripping from every syllable. She wanted to correct the hag. Her name was Mia, but she understood there was anonymity for a reason. She was tactless, not stupid. Well, Mia would argue she had some tact, but her patience ran thin do this grossly, mishandled magic society. She thought those campy young adult books with groups run by idiots were meant to be… you know, fiction?

It all started right when Mia got to bed. She just got home from a long shift at work and all she wanted was nothing more than lay in bed. And that she did once she took an evening shower before bed. It was normal, everyday stuff for the third-year college student. She had school tomorrow and Mia just wanted to rest her aching body. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she opened her eyes to a completely new world. Looking around, she found herself not alone. There was one other person with her face covered and the pink-haired woman as well. Mia was greeted as “Two” and was told to wait for the other five to show.

That was an hour wasted in waiting and add in the additional hour for the hefty speech, we got our recipe for an irritated Mia. She didn’t go to bed just to stand up for two hours for some fantasy bullshit. Any other time? Sure. It’s cool. But now??? WHEN SHE HAS A TEST TOMORROW?! INCONVENIENT! It killed Mia since this was pretty fucking cool and different from the norm. Everyone dreams of being picked the chosen one but, come on… this was too predictable. If you read a fantasy book or consumed any fantasy media before, then you know what’s going on.

“Rude child. This information isn’t something as trivial as a novel,” the Head Nun spoke, looking down at Mia like a haughty teacher.

“I’m gonna assume that we’re all candidates in being chosen as the new Holy Maiden. We chose our knights or whatever. Compete and whoever wins must reseal the fallen god then tada! Happy ending! Yay!” Mia said. She even raised her hand at the ‘yay’ portion of her phrase. “Listen dude, I play too many games and read a shit ton of books for this. Can we please not do this while I’m in my pajamas?” Mia said, practically begging to be released from this mild inconvenience.

“… You guys weren’t exactly chosen. The universe brought you to us…” the Head Nun spoke, not really arguing with what Mia said. There was a cocky grin on Mia’s face as she just couldn’t help but find it funny how she got some otherworldly person tongue-tied.

“A lottery system huh… sounds about right. An NPC like me wouldn’t be chosen normally… I’m way too smart to be a main character,” Mia thought. She glances to the side for a moment before back on the show.

“Well… I’ll work with Two on this point and speed things up. Time is of the essence,” the head nun spoke, acting as if she was graciously fulfilling Mia’s wish. At this point, Mia didn’t care. Whatever helped the nun feel powerful or whatever… “As Two pointed out, all seven of you are candidates for becoming the new Holy Maiden. You will come into this realm three times a week for your lessons to strengthen your magic and during your regular days of the week, you seven will compete with one another. Your knights are the extension of your magic. When one knight trumps the other, they prove you are the strongest magic user and your defeated candidate is knocked out of the running. This continues until the last one is standing,” the nun explained, “We have hidden your faces and names from each other to keep you guys from cheating and attacking each other when you aren’t ready for combat. If you wish to fight, it’s up to you guys to discuss how to go about it.”

“A battle royal? I thought dystopian novels where kids kill each other in a game was out of fashion? I mean- they already got the Mirai Nikki vibe with the covered faces in the central hub…” Mia thought. She laughed under her breath with mild amusement at the situation. She decided to keep her thoughts hidden now as she surveys the competition. She wasn’t sure if she was going to take this seriously, but she thought she should start hiding her thoughts on the matter now. “The Head Nun never said we couldn’t figure out each other’s identity and jump them… nor any etiquettes of battle… how curious,” she continued her train of thought as she waited for the nun to finish.

“We’ll now do the summoning ritual. One, please kneel down and place your hand into the water to help your knight rise,” the Head Nun spoke. One looked around confused by the order, but she soon nervously did as she was told. She knelt and placed her hand inside. There was a good pause before One jolted. Slowly, One stood up to her feet as a tall figure rose from the water. Just like the girls, his face was hidden from everyone else but his master, no doubt. But his figure was very much noticeable.

“YO! Did you just summon a furry?!” Mia exclaimed before bursting out laughing. She pointed a finger at the girl next to her in a mocking fashion. While she couldn’t see the competition, Mia could at least see a pair of fuzzy dog ears on the knight’s head. But despite her words, Mia knew that, realistically, this knight was most likely a beast man or even a werewolf. She simply didn’t want to lose this chance to taunt her competition.

“Two! Please restrain yourself and respect your fellow maidens and their knights,” the Head Nun spoke. The pink-haired woman coughing into her hand to break up the interaction. “Now, for the love of God. Please shut up, kneel, and summon your knight.”

“Damn, at least ask for my consent before forcing me on my knees,” Mia muttered before kneeling as instructed. She felt rather stupid but seeing how the first maiden got a knight, Mia decided to just trust the action. She submerged her hand in the opaque lake. It was wet alright. Yet despite being in spitting distance to the surface, Mia couldn’t see past her reflection. “Come on RNG don’t fail me now. A hot guy would do wonders for my mental health,” Mia joked, “I hope re-rolls are free.”

On the edge of non-existence and existence, a subconscious mind rose to consciousness once more. He drowns in nothingness and breaths in hopelessness.

There was no sky nor ground to define his abysmal prison. Not even a memory to keep him company.

A hand reached out from above. A hand surrounded by light and a promise of warmth. He attempted to reach for it, yet he was restricted from moving and was forced to watch another steal the opportunity from the shadow. He watched the pair of hands meet and just like that, the light was gone.

He sank deeper into the depths of this unholy waiting room.

Yet again, a hand was extended from the dark with the temptation of freedom. Cautious to reach for it after the first time, he looked around for others who wished to take it. Many came and all walked away. No one wanted to take this hand.

He made an attempt to take it, if only to escape, but found that he was unable to pry himself free. Defeated, he decided to give up on the opportunity. It was pointless anyways.

Left unheld, the hand does not reel empty handed. No. Instead, it curled its fingers until one finger remained up.

One big ‘fuck you’.

What the fuck? So much for an inviting presence. Who did this person think they are? It wasn’t like he didn’t try to take their hand. But seeing this middle finger dangling in front of him like a fishhook with bait, he reached for it once more to drag the hand down into the depths with him. He was tied in place but after some furious tugs, he was freed with a pop.

Taking the hand, it became evident that the one getting snatched wasn’t them but him. Curled fingers shifted forms into a vice grip around his wrist upon skin contact. The dark veil that covered him were ripped off in that instance. Lights, sounds, textures, tastes, and smells flooded his senses as he became a person once again.

Planting both feet on the ground, Mia used both hands to reel up her prey. This summoning was nothing graceful like the girl next to her. It was primal and chaotic as Mia’s partner was floundering under the water. So much for a knight in shining armor. This guy isn’t fighting any dragons anytime soon if he’s having difficulty wrestling against an inanimate substance.

Letting out a battle cry, Mia used all her strength to bring her knight to the surface and onto the pier with her. It wasn’t his entire body but enough of it was on land that it was easier to drag the rest of him out with less trouble. Mia fell backwards on her butt and was slightly out of breath after that intensive ritual. Shiiiit. Carrying a body is a lot harder than it looks kids! Don’t trust what you see on TV. The more you knowミ★

Mia was the image of ‘tired’ with her slightly flushed cheeks and skewed. Fanning herself, she patiently waited for the man she pulled out to make the first move, yet he was belly-down, still as a door nail. For someone who had a lot of energy to fight against help, he suddenly became as complacent as a kitten.

Oh fuck... he isn’t dead, is he? Cause that’ll be pretty awkward ngl ┐(´-｀)┌

Mia leaned forward to inspect what she pulled out. She lifted his pale arm to search for a pulse. It was cold to the touch and she couldn’t tell if the steady thud she felt was his or an echo of her own. Upon letting it go, it limply fell to the ground with no flinch from him. Crap. Don’t tell her that she accidentally pulled out a dead body?! Well, Mia knew that pulling trash can happen during fishing mini games but she thought that this more of a “guarantee knight summoning” deal. Mia refused to believe that she waited five humiliating minutes waiting just to pull out a corpse. She wants a refund, god damn it!

Moving his head, Mia planned to check his pulse from his neck to double check if he was dead. There was no resistance in the action, yet she found herself meeting a pair of responsive red eyes peaking from between snowy white hair. The two of them stared at each other for a moment as they both seemed like caught criminals in the middle of a crime. The man’s chest raised up and down as he breaths; a piece of evidence that doesn’t escape Mia’s attention. He’s…

“HE’S HOT!!!”

Scrambling to her feet, Mia put both her hands in the air and let out her victory screech to the worried silhouettes surrounding her. No wait- she should be yelling how he was alive, not his appearance. Yet here she was, doing a victory dance on top of her knight in a pair of polka dotted pajamas. Give her a pitchfork and a tail then you got the image of an imp dancing on a grave. “Bro! He’s so hot... Edward Cullen lookin’ ass- I mean, not like the musty looking Robert Patterson version but how you imagine he look like based on the description,” Mia explained to anyone listening with a wildly inaccurate and vague description of the man. She waved her arms animatedly as she gossiped with her peers with the person in question crawling to his feet.

“Dude, that should be the last of your concerns,” Five said.

“I think you should make sure he’s okay…” Seven said, joining Five in expressing concern.

“Whoa there! You can’t really blame my maiden here for getting hung up on my dashing good looks. Dead or alive, you’ll notice my face first before anything else.”

Laying a heavy hand on Mia’s right shoulder, the man wrapped his arm around the woman to stand in solidarity it her. Surprised by the action, Mia tilt her head to the side to look at her knight to judge which side he was playing on. She locked eyes with him once more but not on accident this time. His touch was uncomfortable, yet she doesn’t push him away. They were a pair of souls with two different goals yet had a silent agreement to meet in the middle for the moment.

“Good to see you again, Catherine. You hardly look over two thousand years old,” Mia’s knight said, being the first to break their line of sight to look at the Head Nun. The nun sneered as the source of her stress doubled over the course of ten minutes.

“Ashley…” the Head Nun said, nearly hissing out the name. Her knuckles were turning white due to how tightly she held onto her armrest.

“Ash,” he corrected her, with equal amount of distaste in return. Ash was smiling but he on edge just like the Head Nun. But this rivalry was interrupted when Mia pinched Ash’s hand to catch his attention. He looked back down to receive Mia’s disapproving expression at his brief quip with the Head Nun. It seemed hypocritical that Mia was suddenly policing his attitude considering she was flaunting on the competition, but Ash clocked on what’s making her step in. “It’s okay,” Ash said, leaning down to whisper into Mia’s left ear, “This was just between me and her. No one heard me use my name. Not like it matters.”

“I’m just disappointed that you don’t have a chainsaw arm,” Mia whispered back, pretending she never had that concern by throwing out a seemingly random thought. Ash stared at her as if she was insane and as if to say ‘what are you talking about’ with expressions alone. “What? You never seen the Evil Dead franchise?” Mia whispered, “Not a fan of zombies movies?”

“You watched me rise from the depths, fight other knights, and you’re asking me if I’ve seen a movie?” Ash said, in disbelief at her question yet finding himself amused by it at the same time.

“I take it that you don’t have Netflix in the void then.”

Watching the duo snicker and conspire with each other like a pair of high school delinquents, the Head Nun rubbed her forehead as a migraine began to surface. She was losing control once again thanks to double trouble. Even the other girls who were patiently waiting began talking among each other. “Oh my god… like I thought, this was the worst combination I’ve ever seen in my lifetime…,” the Head Nun muttered to herself. She covered her face as she shook her head slowly as if she was contemplating something. “I didn’t realize it would be this bad… Out of all the times for that guy to make an appearance, he had to end up with her,” she continued muttering before ultimately lifting her head to look down at Mia and her summoned knight. The Head Nun needed to separate them. “Ah, Two? I don’t mean to disturb your… fun. But you summoned one of the more… troublesome knights considering his background. I’ll allow you to “re-roll”. How does that sound?” the Head Nun spoke, her voice sickening sweet and obviously fake.

Mia and Ash quickly turned to look at each other for how their partner would react. They wordlessly conversed with Mia gesturing the two of them then to the Head Nun. Ash’s only reply was an uncaring shrug but ended up nervously shaking off the water that stuck to his hair to appear distracted. “Yeah… no deal, Howie Mandel,” Mia said, trailing off for a moment to gauge last minute expressions from Ash before turning her full attention on the Head Nun. “You doing that makes me want to stick with Mr. Abominable Albino even more,” she said.

“Abominable Albino?” Ash said. He had a hand over his chest and appeared almost offending by the alliteration. He was hardly offended by being called such a thing but the fact that Mia wasted a braincell to make an awful pun in the middle of a fantastical end-of-the-world scenario.

“Whenever some untrustworthy figure makes some inflammatory comment about one of the leads, they’re obviously doing that to cause aa divide between the leads for their own benefit,” Mia continued as she ignored Ash’s offense to her words. She waved her hand in the air as if to disperse the fog of misinformation. “You even had a mini aside moment where you muttered to the readers that there’s something more about Ash!”

“Pardon?”

The Head Nun looked completely lost as Mia’s rambling turned to the meta and spoke about invisible audience members. But just like Ash, Mia ignored her words to continue her spiel. “And even if he’s a piece of shit. Worthless. Good for nothing. Pathetic. Dead weight. Only a pretty vase-“

“Okay. I think she gets it already,” Ash said, cutting in as the terms began to pile in his heart. He squeezed Mia’s shoulder to have her move on to the point.

“I will never give him up,” Mia said.

“And... why is that?” the Head Nun asked, wringing her dress in fear that Mia figured something out that she wasn’t supposed to.

“Because he is hot. I made that pretty clear since the beginning,” Mia said. She held her head high and mighty with not even a hint of shame. For a moment, Ash was about to feel touched by Mia coming to his defense. Touched enough that it would make him loyal to her and act as a spark to a turbulent but heartfelt young adult love story which would turn into a mildly popular trilogy with an eventual movie deal before fading into obscurity. But the curtains closed on that sparkling yet oddly specific future as Ash realized that he was stuck with the weird kid. “I mean- I guess I value him as a person too… or something. Power of belief or whatever inspirational term author’s like to use to tug on heartstrings.”

#my writing #this is isekai believe it or not #writer on tumblr #pov you're my classmate who sees me uploading this to our blackboard discussion board

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dal3ks · 4 years

Text

secrets

pairing: peter parker x female reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: attempted rape, attempted sexual assault, cursing, crying, fluff

you let out a sigh, putting in an earbud. it was a dark, rainy night in queens. the sky was a solid blanket of black, the lights of the city reflecting in puddles as you walked down the block. you were heading home from a friend's house, as you had to work on a presentation for your spanish class. it was well past nine o'clock, but you still had enough time to make it home before curfew.

luckily, no one was out since it was a tuesday night. it made your walk home extremely peaceful, as the city usually bustled with people daily.

a hand grabbing your elbow shook you out of your trance. wildly, you turned to notice it was a tall, hooded man.

"give me your wallet now!" he barked.

shakily, you fumbled for your keychain in your pocket, terrified. you had a can of mace on you, dangling from your keychain, but you weren't sure if this man was carrying a gun or not.

with a slight dread, you remembered you left your wallet at home. what were you supposed to say? anxiety racked your brain, sending waves of adrenaline over you. what the fuck where you supposed to do?

"i-i, don't have my wallet, sir," your voice trembled with fear.

"looks like you're going to have to pay me another way then sweetheart," he crooned, yanking you towards him.

"hey!" a new voice came into your field of hearing, "leave her alone!"

you glanced up, relieved to see spider-man standing on the rooftop of a nearby building. he swung down, shooting a web at your attacker. he was thrown into the wall, confined by a large mass of sticky web. you felt the tears overflow from your face. this man was about to take advantage of you and you somehow were saved by spider-man. what were the chances of that happening?

"are you okay?" his voice was gentle. remarkably soft for such a strong individual. you immediately inferred spider-man was a lot younger than you thought.

you nodded, your hands still shaking, "yeah, i'm okay."

"i'll keep you safe until the police arrive, okay?" you felt a gloved hand place itself on your shoulder, "you're safe as long as i'm here."

spider-man didn't leave your side until the police came. he even stayed as you conferred with the police, remaining quiet throughout the entirety of the procedure. once they drove away, with your attacker, he turned back to you.

"would you like for me to walk you home?"

you nodded, "i-i'm about to miss curfew. i'll save you the trouble."

spider-man offered you his hand, "i have a quicker route. do you trust me?"

you nodded, taking his hand. god if your parents found out about what happened tonight, they would never let you out at night ever again. as long as you made curfew you would be all right.

he wrapped an arm around you, slinging a web onto a building. you became frozen with fear, as you were scared of heights. spider-man must have sensed your fear, because he wrapped his arm tightly around your waist.

"don't worry, i got you. you're safe with me."

with your directions, you got home in time for curfew. you said your goodbyes to the masked hero, and he slung off into the night, disappearing into the glittering lights of the city.

as you slept that night, the only thought on your mind was how familiar that voice was. who was spider-man? was his identity easier to crack than you thought?

******

you slid your lunch tray onto the table, already exhausted with the school day. your best friends, peter, ned, and m.j., were already chowing down on their lunch. peter and ned were in a heavy discussion about their LEGO Death Star model, while m.j. was silently sketching in her notebook.

"so i was almost raped last night," you stated, your tone solemn.

"WHAT?" ned choked on his sandwich, "what happened? are you okay?"

you nodded, picking at your salad, "yeah, I'm fine. spider-man swooped in and saved me. he even stayed with me until the police arrived, and then took me home."

peter immediately perked up at the mention of spider-man, "i'm glad you're okay. maybe you should start walking home with somebody, just to be on the safe side."

you scoffed, "peter i have been roaming the streets of queens since i was eleven. my parents raised me well. i know how to protect myself. that's why i carry mace with me. but thank you, for the suggestion. last night was just some weird encounter with some weirdo. the good thing is that i am safe and without harm."

"yeah," m.j. agreed, "we've all been running the streets since we were in middle school, peter. we all know how to protect ourselves. i think last night was just weird for (y/n)."

peter frowned, "i just care about my friend, that's all."

"hey," ned began, "i was thinking that maybe we could all hang out friday night? my mom and pops are going to be out of town for the weekend so all of you guys could stay the night."

you felt yourself smile, "that sounds fun! can i bring some snacks?"

"you know i wouldn't turn down snacks," ned laughed, "but yeah, i think i'll order some pizza for us, and we can watch trashy romantic comedies all night."

"i won't be over till later," peter mumbled.

"how late is later?" you felt yourself frown again.

"like ten," peter replied, not looking at you or any of your friends.

"weird but okay," m.j. shrugged, "just means there's more pizza for me. you're going to be missing out parker but it's cool. do whatever you gotta do for that internship or whatever."

"see you guys tomorrow night," ned flashed us a wide smile, "it should be a lot of fun."

******

"hey, shouldn't peter be here by now," m.j. glanced at the clock. it was 10:08 p.m., and still no sign of peter.

so far you, ned, and m.j. were all having tons of fun. you guys had ordered pizza, watched a movie or two, talked about your future plans, and also made another time to hang out. the only person that would complete the group was peter, and he was nowhere to be found. he wasn't answering any of his texts or calls.

ned and m.j. didn't seem too concerned, as they were just chatting happily about what to name the kitten ned was about to adopt from a shelter next week. you sighed, "i'm going to go call my parents really quick, i'll be right back."

"okay," ned nodded, "take your time."

since they were in ned's room, you slipped out of the apartment, heading towards the roof. you just wanted some peace and quiet for a second. you also wanted to call peter and make sure he was still coming. ned was dying to eat the last few pizza slices, but you guys were saving those for peter.

once you were on the roof, you noticed a figure sitting on the edge. you felt your throat tighten, and you instinctively clutched your can of mace on your keychain. you didn't want wednesday night to happen all over again. the memory frightened you too much.

"hey," your voice was firm, "who are you?"

as you approached the figure, you felt yourself soften. it was spider-man, donned in his red and blue suit. he must not have heard you, as he kept his head focused on the city skyline.

"hey!" you called again, and this time he turned.

you felt yourself stiffen. there sat peter, a cut on his lip, along with a slight black eye. suddenly, everything clicked into place. you remembered why spider-man's voice was familiar. spider-man was peter parker, one of your best friends.

"oh my god," you choked out, "peter?"

he sprang up, "listen, (y/n), i can explain everything, i promise."

"how?" you suddenly felt guarded, "how are you going to explain to me this huge fucking secret that you've been hiding from everyone?"

peter's voice was quiet, "ned and m.j., they know. they both know."

you felt tears spring up in your eyes, how could they all be hiding this big secret from you? you guys had all been friends since middle school. the four of you had been through a lot: the first year of high school, the death of peter's uncle, a couple of divorces between parents. how could they be hiding something like this from you?

"great," that was the only word that came out of your mouth, "so how was i supposed to find out? because i assume you guys were going to just keep sneaking this behind my back. you guys are some pretty crappy friends you know that? it really shows what kind of friend you are, peter."

peter flinched, as if your words were pure venom, "(y/n), i didn't just tell them. ned was at my apartment, in my room, when he found out. m.j., she was smart enough to fit all of the pieces together. i didn't tell them just because i wanted to hide it from you. i wanted to keep this part of me hid away from everyone. it's a lot safer that way. no one is targeted or harmed."

"does your aunt know?" your lip trembled, and you wiped your nose with your sleeve.

the tears were spilling over onto your cheeks. a flash of embarrassment passed through you. this was the first time in a while peter had seen you cry. you felt like you looked like a wreck.

"she found out the hard way," he stated, "she walked in on me in my suit. i had to explain everything to her. besides, she's the only family i have. of course i'm close with the avengers, and tony stark, but she's my family. she had a right to know sooner, and i felt guilty for never telling her in the beginning. hell, i felt guilt everyday because you guys didn't know. you, ned, and m.j., you guys are my best friends. you guys deserved to know, too. but i felt safer hiding the truth because if other people find out, really evil people, you all could be the first to get hurt. and i don't want that. i don't want my family hurt. i don't want my friends hurt. i don't want the girl i love, hurt."

“and who’s that,” you sniffled, “m.j.?”

"no," peter shook his head, approaching you, "the girl i love is you, (y/n). i love you."

pink spread into your cheeks at his words, and you bit your lip. you had the biggest crush on peter, and you had feelings for him almost the entirety of your friendship. that's why you always cared about him so much and his disappearances. it worried you sometimes when he wasn't at school, or when he never showed up to hangout with the friend group. but now, you had an explanation to everything. and you weren't sure how to feel.

a part of you was extremely hurt that your friends hid this big secret from you. you guys told each other everything. you even talked about your previous boyfriends, sex life, etc. to them. the least they all could have done was sit you down and explain everything.

yet, a large part of you wasn't hurt. you were relieved that peter felt the same way about you. you wanted to start a relationship with him, but you were never sure how. now, was your opportunity, especially since he feels the same way.

"peter," you drew in a breath, cupping his cheek with your hand, "i love you too."

he smiled slightly, "that makes me really happy to hear."

"i'm still kind of upset about this," you admitted, your eyes locking with his.

"i understand why," he assured you, "it was wrong of me to exclude you from this part of my life. it's just all because i want to keep you safe. more than anything i want you to be safe. if something ever happened to you, god, i don't know what i would do. i would be so lost."

"you don't have to worry about losing me or anything like that," you reassured him, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"something almost happened the other night," peter mumbled, "i was so relieved that i was able to stop that guy from hurting you."

"me too," you murmured, "thank you for saving me."

"you don't have to thank me for protecting you," peter chuckled, "i want to protect you regardless."

"peter!" a voice made you freeze. you both looked over to see m.j. and ned had found their way onto the roof.

"hey guys," peter waved, "how's the sleepover?"

"it's okay," m.j. shrugged, "i could tell (y/n) was going through a crisis waiting for you. she looked like a lost puppy."

"hey," your voice was indignant, "it's not my fault. i care about him a lot."

"so it comes out," ned teased you, "well how about you clean up, peter, and then we can start a movie. maybe i'll be nice and let you two share the love seat."

you four walked back to ned's apartment, peter's arm wrapped around your shoulders. once you guys were back in the apartment, he changed out of his suit. once peter was all changed and fed, you guys settled in the living room. peter let you curl up against him on the couch, and you guys cuddled all night long.

you felt safe in peter's arms, and you knew he would keep ensuring you felt safe for a very long time.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spider-man #spider-man x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #mcu imagine

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Small Town Girl, Chapter One (Crygi) - Sweett-Hhappiness

One Direction blasting on the in her AirPods. Trees blurring by her window. Head rested on her knees which where tightly tucked into her chest. Even someone who had never seen her before could probably tell how genuinely unexcited she was to be 10 minutes out from her new phone is bright and shiny Los Angeles.

“Cryssie” Her mom shakes her lightly, causing the girl with curly red hair to pull her headphones out “were nearly there, please pack up your things and get ready.”

Obeying her moms wishes, she grabs her paint splattered bag and shoves her sketch book, pencils, and phone charger into it, zipping up carefully. Not even 5 minutes later, they pull into the driveway of a grey house and her mom shuts off the car, smiling over at her miserable looking daughter.

Crystal throws the door of the car open and slips out, throwing her bag over her shoulder. All of their boxes had previously been placed into the house, so she quickly makes her way into her new home. Practically sprinting up the stairs to her new room. She nods in approval at the pale yellow color it was painted.

She looks through the boxes in her room, pulling out her easel and setting it up in the corner opposite to her bed, followed by all her paints. She places her sketch book and assortment of pencils and markers onto the old white wooden desk placed in the final corner of her room.

“Crystal! Honey! Come introduce yourself to our new neighbors.” Crystal hears her mom call out. Padding down the stairs, she sees her mother standing with another older women, and her daughter, who seems to be around Crystal’s age.

“Hey, I’m Crystal” She says and offers her hand to the girl standing in front of her. She was tall, much taller then Crystal, and she had on a beautiful bubblegum colored dress with little wedges. Very different from Crystal’s baggy blue jeans streaked with different colored paints, and her tie dyed shirt. Her messy red hair pulled loosely into a bun, not doing much to tame her wild hair.

“GiGi” The girl offers with a warm, yet shy, smile, shaking her hand. Gigi. that name fit her perfectly in Crystal’s opinion.

“Genevieve, why don’t you help Crystal unpack some things in her new room. I’m sure it would be a huge help” The girls mother says with a smile, yet the smile seemed cold and uninviting, even though it was towards her own daughter. Gigi nodded shyly and Crystal leads her up to the room, which is still just set up with her art supplies.

“Your mom seems... intense” Crystal says as she closes the door behind them, chuckling softly.

“Yeah, you could say that” Gigi chuckles softly “are you going to be at North Winfield High?” she asks and tilts her head to the side. This causes the girls hair to fall to the other side, making a beauty mark visible on Gigi’s left cheek. Everything about this girl made Crystal ache with the desire to draw her.

“Uh, yeah I think so. I’m a senior” Crystal says with a weak smile “not that it really matters since i’m coming to a new school in the middle of my senior year” she shrugs and turns on her heel, pulling out a bag full of paint brushes, before turning back to Gigi as she speaks.

“I’m a senior as well, I can show you around tomorrow” she starts “i-if you want of course” the girl stutters out with a cute little blush.

“That would be awesome” Crystal sighs in relief, knowing she won’t have to stumble around awkwardly, trying to find her classes and having no one to talk to. Gigi couldn’t help a giggle that escapes her lips at Crystal’s adorable expression of relief.

That giggle, wow Gigi must be perfect. Everything seemed to be perfectly in place. She was so well put together, while Crystal was a collage of colors and textures, a mess.

“Gi! Come on we should be heading out” The girls mother shouts from down the stairs. Gigi gives Crystal a soft smile before speaking sweetly.

“See you tomorrow, Crys” She says, before turning on her heels and leaving Crystal star struck, standing there like an idiot.

It’s safe to say Crystal didn’t sleep well that night. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t get the picture of Gigi out of her head. Deciding to give up on a good nights sleep, she put in her AirPods, blasted music, and started to sketch a rough outline of Gigi’s face, which then turns into a detailed drawing with different shades of charcoal. By the time she was finished, her hands and face had lots of black residue. She cleans it off before finally crashing in bed, falling asleep easily.

———

What seemed like 30 seconds was actually 3 full hours of sleep, before Crystal’s alarm was blaring.

Groaning, the girl got up and trudged to the bathroom, looking at herself and seeing the worst case of bed head. She decides she mine as well shower since she had an hour before she had to be at school.

Getting out, she cleaned the steam covered mirror off and brushed out her wild hair. Even after being washed and brushed, it was still drying curly and untamed. Crystal didn’t mind though.

She threw in a loose pair of paint stained overalls with a baggy purple hoodie, stuffing her bag with her sketch book, pencils, charger, and laptop before dragging herself downstairs to eat the breakfast her mom had made.

After a drawn out conversation about starting school, a knock interrupted them. To Crystals surprise, Gigi had been standing on the other side. “Hey?” Crystal asked a bit confused.

“Hey, um, do you want a ride to school?” Gigi asked, visibly nervous. It was endearing to see this beautiful girl so shy.

“Oh- definitely! Thank!” Crystal says and smiles, throwing on her Doc Martens and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Bye mom! i’ll see you after school!” she calls out and follows Gigi out the door, allowing herself to slide into the passengers seat of Gigi’s pale blue Volkswagen. “Your car is so nice” Crystal says in shock. Her parents could never afford her a car like this.

“Oh! Thank you! I got it for my sixteenth birthday.” Gigi explains with a smile, before carefully pulling out of the driveway and off towards the school. “Are you ready to come to North? It’s quite the experience for a small town girl like yourself”

“No way in hell am I ready” Crystal chuckles and smiles as Gigi turns on the radio. What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction playing and Crystal can’t help the smile that forms on her lips. Singing along shamelessly to every word that plays.

“You of all people like One Direction?” Gigi asked with a giggle and a nose scrunch. Gigi found its adorable that artsy Crystal liked a boy band.

“Are you making fun of my taste in music Miss Goode?” Crystal asked and raised on of her eyebrows at the taller girl. Gigi suppressed another giggle from slipping through her lips as they pull into the school parking lot and both exit the car.

“So i’ll take you to the office to check your schedule, then i’ll walk you to class and give you my phone number so i can find you throughout the day” Gigi explains as she leads her through the building.

Crystal was immediately overwhelmed. Her old school had been rather small, but this school? It was the opposite. Having 6 floors, one of which was a pool. A pool! What kind of school had a pool!

“Y-yeah, okay” Crystal nods as they walk into the office. Greeted by Principal Michelle.

“Hello Miss Goode, how can I help you” She asks with a kind hearted smile.

“Hey” Gigi starts with a smile “My friend, Crystal Methyd, yeah, shes new. Can we get her schedule please?” she asked politely. She was much more polite then Crystal. The principal handed it over with a smile and they thanked her, leaving the room before scanning over the paper. “Okay so, first, second, and sixth period we have together, the rest i’ll show you too throughout the day” Gigi explains with a nod.

Crystal looked overwhelmed, even though she was trying her best to hide it “sure, um, yeah sounds good” she stutters out.

“Hey, Crys, it’s all gonna be fine” Gigi says and puts her hands on Crystal’s shoulders, smiling sweetly. Crystal can’t help but relax under the girls touch. Nodding, the girls walk off together towards their first class, art.

The first half of the day seemed to fly by, as she was walking next to Gigi towards an outdoor table for lunch with her friends. Crystal said it wasn’t necessary, not wanting to impose on her time with her friends, but Gigi had insisted they would love Crystal.

“Gigi!” A bubbly blonde shouts and giggles, hugging the girl who Crystal had been with the last two days.

“Hi Jan, this is my friend, Crystal” Gigi introduces. Crystal gives a nervous wave to Jan and the group of girls in front of her. They all have kind smiles and wave back happily. “Crystal, this is Jan, Jackie, Rock, and Heidi” Gigi says and points to each girl.

Crystal smiles and falls into easy conversation with Gigi’s friends, talking about art, and music, and movies. Even being invited to Gigi’s sleepover that night, seeing as it was a Friday. She reluctantly agreed, after Jan and Gigi had practically begged her to join.

———

Crystal packed up her overnight back and padded across the lawn, knocking on Gigi’s door. She was pulled inside as soon as it has swung open by an excited Gigi.

“Okay so my mom isn’t home for the weekend, so Heidi brought drinks” Gigi bounces excitedly, already visibly tipsy as she hangs on Crystal giddily.

Crystal chuckles and puts her arm around the girls waist as Gigi leads her to her room, where all the girls are already settled on the floor, drinking from red cups and giggling aimlessly at whatever story Jan was telling.

After some drinking, and story telling, and movies later, Jan, Jackie, Rock, and Heidi decided they were tired and were going to head to bed. Gigi leaned over to Crystal and tucked some hair out of her face.

“Psst, Crys, do you want to go outside on my porch?” Gigi whispered. Crystal nods softly and they walk out quietly, not wanting to wake the other girls who were peacefully sleeping on Gigi’s bedroom floor.

“Um, Geege, do you smoke pot?” Crystal asked nervously as she pulls out a joint and a lighter. Gigi smirks devilishly and nods, taking them from her hand and giggling as she lights it, taking a long drag.

Crystal smiles at Gigi’s excitement over the little joint she had brought over, taking it from Gigi’s fingers and taking a hit of her own, blowing the smoke in Gigi’s face, causing her to giggle.

“You’re really pretty, you know” Gigi explains to Crystal with a dorky grin on her face, pushing some of Crystal’s wild hair out of her face.

Crystal blushes and thanks her as they continue to pass the joint back and forth.

“Last hit, want to share?” Crystal asked with a smirk. Gigi nods and with that, Crystal takes the last bit of the joint, putting it out, before taking Gigi’s face in her hands and moving them only inches apart, exhaling the smoke into Gigi’s mouth as she inhales, they separate after a few lingering moments and Gigi’s exhales the smoke out, blushing like crazy.

After a few moments of silence, they decided to make their way back up to Gigi’s room. The taller girl insisting that Crystal sleep in her bed, even with Crystal’s warnings that she is a huge cuddle bug, Gigi didn’t seem to mind at all.

Snuggled up into each other, they fell asleep peacefully, happy in each others embrace as the warm buzz goes through their heads and chests from the mix of pot and alcohol they had consumed through the night.

Crystal could definitely get used to this.

#rpdr fanfiction #crygi #crystal methyd #gigi goode #high school au #small town girl #leda #s12

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soranihimawari · 4 years

Text

Shatter

A story in several parts:

tw: reader chan’s sibling is a toxic force to be reckoned with; officers mentioned in later parts (civil servants for young adults); mentions of accidents and scarring [both emotional and physical]; young adult 18+ for strong and suggestive language

word count: 6.8 K

tagging @oikawa-obvs @m0nstergeneration20xx @smolbludandelions

the characters and other tie in works:

seijoh 4: oikawa, iwazumi, hanamaki, mattsun

spin off of the Running at 6a.m. feat. hanamaki and his s/o [plus s/o family]

Throughout this story, mattsun & q learn how important the actions of others does not define a set path.

Next >>

“If I get one you like, you can have it,” you say with a wide smile. You still remember the third day of the last month of the year. You were nearly on the cusp of being eighteen within a few short weeks. You had heard a few weeks prior that one of your friends from middle school had moved to across town once her relatives agreed to taking her in during the summer leading into your respectful third years. Recently your were surprised your friend was so openly affectionate toward a certain strawberry blonde. You would tease her saying that she was insane for having him wake her up at six in the morning during one of your late night voice calls.

“Well, Makki-kun is part of our school’s volleyball team,” she says. You sigh because your friend is right. “Besides aren’t you still interested in getting your hands a little dirty? I’m in serious need of my right hand mechanic to give me a hand running a few diagnostics…”

“I’ll clear it with Naka-one,” you say. “You know how much my sister worries.”

“Says the woman with the muscle memory of a saint,” your friend’s voice is singing sweetly into the receiver. “Besides, I think I can’t keep hiding my best friend away from those giants.”

“I suppose you’re right. Meet me at the station on Saturday, ok?”

“You got it. I can finally prove to Makki-kun’s friends that I do have other friends.”

II:

[Saturday//Ice Cream & Journals\\]

Winter was no joke as she briskly shared her wind across the neighborhood you found yourself visiting. You had arrived not too early in the mid-afternoon; you had an overnight Hershel bag with your various journalistic tools stacked in according to importance. You were a designer by instinctual honing skills whereas your friend was a hands on mechanical genius in her spare time. The two of you used to race up and down the hills of your childhood streets. Your drive to inspire others was something your sister had maintained with a skilled hand, but you were defiant against the dainty life she was grooming you to try to emulate. The argument reaches its pinnacle the night before you were supposed to be leaving to visit your friend:

“Your hobby is just that! A hobby! You can’t keep losing more hours of sleep over a career our parents didn’t think suitable for a teenager like you!”

Your markers container was the closest thing to your sister’s hands and instead of strangling you, she knocks over the matte boxes you so ideally spent hours recataloging. You say nothing, that is until those hands of hers reach for the journals you kept your portfolios of car designs is in her hands.

“Don’t!” was the last word you were able to yell before the sounds of tearing roars into your eardrums. You are left alone collecting the shreds of your dreams on to the kitchen table. Your sister was as mad as a hatter, but you were too. If her madness only saw the way you clung to the last bit of your individuality like it was a godsend.

So in the morning, you send a message to your friend who meets you at the train terminal. She dons sunglasses and extends a pastel jacket to you; the jacket has your nickname stitched on it with the sigil of a craftsman:

“I got your message. Man, you sister is really fucked up,” she says.

“I know,” you retort.

“You even cut your hair into a more asymmetrical cut. It looks good on you Q.”

Q is for Quantum. Your parent who birthed you chose that perhaps having born two daughters roughly seven years apart was not the best idea, but alas, here you were still wandering the corner of the outskirts of a city close to the palisades your host lives in.

The mod scarf you brought with you is wrapped around your neck in a double knot. The rest of your winter attire is kept simple in the various hues of indigo and splashes of cerulean pearls. Your best friend, you notice, is a bit more tan than before, but her ever present pizazz shines through like it always does. Women can be anything they set their minds to so long as they have the right know-how.

“I have the guys meeting us up at the ice cream parlour not too far from here,” she says stifling an amused laugh when you scrunch your nose in a slight snarl. “What? You did want to meet the person I’m dating after all. And not to worry, this is only a small gathering.”

Your snarl subsides only to remain as neutral as possible. You nod as your friend rounds the corner of a children’s park across from the ice cream parlour bells chime when the door is pulled open by other patrons.

“Thank you,” you and your friend say walking through the open door which automatically closes behind you both. Your eyes are averted for a moment toward the glowing holographic menu cards above the cashier. The ice cream parlor is paired with an adjoining coffee bar as you take a look around. Your friend has a nickname too and the moment you hear a subtly calm voice call out to her, you realize you recognize the voice (from the photos she sends you, you know their names only as ichigo no kori, cinefile, pretty boy, and…)

“Oh look, they’re all on time for once,” your friend says as she takes the lead with you close behind. When you reach the table, you unwrap your scarf from your neck.

“Makki, your girlfriend brought a friend,” the cinefile says. His winter attire is typically laid back as far as you could see; he donned a hoodie under his jean jacket and matching slacks. The person to his left, is the pretty boy. Apparently he was the aforementioned princely type who was more popular and it clicks in your brain why: Seijoh has a reputation for being a powerhouse. Then your eyes shift to the strawberry ice haired neighbor you were told so much about from several text conversations you had had.

“The chisana josei has a right to bring whomever she likes, Iwazumi,” the baritone voice is curious as he eyes you quietly.

“Of course she does,” your friend winks at you. You hear her whisper a play nice to you as she takes her place at the table next to her beau. You roll your eyes after your friend sits down, you shake your head like an etch and sketch. New slate for the weekend. I’m just here for a few days to give my sister a few days of quiet. Your consciousness rumbles.

“She’s awfully quiet,” the prince chuckles when you make a face. “Is it because she thinks I'm handsome?”

“Oh my god, the world doesn't revolve around you Oikawa,” the one named Iwazumi says through gritted teeth.

“Boys, boys, you’re both pretty, but remember Makki is dating me,” your friend reminds them and her boyfriend smirks. “Have a seat Q, before you actually start growing roots. Mattsun, be a dear and make some room for my best friend will ya?”

“I prefer to stand,” you said with a shrug. “If you want to flip for it, go right ahead.”

“You sure? I mean, Mattsun does make a pretty decent chair...” your friend’s voice trails off when she sees your gloved hand open and close.

“That’s easy for you to say to an old friend,” you say when you take off your backpack when you hand it to her. “You’re not the one who was kicked out of the house again, so please excuse me if I decline the invitation for now.”

The conversation moves on after Makki challenges Iwazumi to another arm wrestling match while Oikawa heads to the counter to order a round of hot cocoa because it had already been sanctioned it was his turn to pay. Your friend converses at the end of the table with you and Mattsun together trying to act as a buffer between the most withdrawn people in the group.

“Mattsun, did you know that Q is an excellent designer? She helped me forge the gas tank for the bike I use,” your friend sings your praises. How does she know what to say to push your buttons like that? Mattsun is apathetic, yet upon closer inspection of his softened features, he reminds you of an older cat. One who has both a playful and mischievous personality and your imagination wonders how fast you’d fall for him not knowing he was wondering the same thing. The middle blocker keeps a neutral expression as he stands up to help Oikawa with the drink carriers with the mugs. After a rocky start, you realize that the group is not so bad. You were now a group of six third years and you liked the odds of having a small unit composed of your best friend and her reverse harem. They walk with you two all the way back to their respective blocks and when Iwazumi along with Oikawa branch off, you are left with your best friend, Makki, and Mattsun in your company

“Six in the morning again?” your friend sighs. Her breath is caught in the chill air when he kisses her temple. You see how smitten they are for each other and while you had just survived an hour into the prolonged sabbatical, you wonder if you would eventually get a shot.

“We may have lost the game chisana josei, but at this point, I think it’s just Oikawa wanting to make sure we’re still sharp.”

“If you say so, but I’m not going to be joining you. It’s too cold,” she teases. “Q’s here to hang with me.”

“I’m sure I can find something to do for the meantime tomorrow,” you answer. “I don’t want to inconvenie--”

“She can run with me,” Mattsun speaks up, scratching his cheek. He had this quiet charm about him. The offer throws you off course for a little bit in the afternoon sun.

“What do you think, Q? You up for a little excursion tomorrow?”

“Sure. It couldn’t hurt. You trust these two.Techinically dating one, but that’s besides the point.” The two of you laugh before realizing you set up a first date right under your nose.

“Careful with this one Mattsun,” your friend teases, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Your bag is now carried on one of your shoulders after you leave the cafe. “Q is really one of a kind. A gem if you will. See you guys tomorrow morning. If it’s snowing, we’re both staying indoors and you two can run together…”

It didn’t snow the following morning.

--House Hours--

You heard movie nights were a tradition, so you had tagged along with your host for the weekend away from home. The first day you had arrived, you had hot cocoa with her ‘reverse harem’ as she would like to call it followed by having dinner with her aunt and uncle; the following morning and true to their words, both Makki and Mattsun picked you two up for the daily morning run which ended with your friend getting another piggyback ride from her boyfriend (and you wonder why she fakes it from time to time, but it’s worth the way Makki’s ears burn a scarlet hue), yet you keep a steady pace much to the other party’s delight; the rest of the second day was filled with you trying to piece back together the shredded blueprints your sister ripped in front of your face. You look at the scraps tossed on the floor of the spare bedroom you were staying in and when the aunt of your best friend walks in to ask you a question, she doesn’t proceed with it since your sniffling kicked in her maternal mode: you explain to her you allow yourself to feel horribly for about five to ten minutes daily and you move on about your day, however after this particularly rudeness your sister had showcased, you needed more time before you were able to head back to your suburb. Her niece had explained the situation already a few days prior to your train arriving, but to see the damaging effects it had on you, her aunt calmed you down with some sage advice:

“Your faith is shaken, but you still believe. Give ‘em hell kiddo. I got you,” she says pulling you into a side hug. “Now, shall we make some tea? I think you deserve a break.”

Your friend came back from running an errand to the store because she wanted to buy a few more strips of tape as well as another set of trail mix with the granola clusters you like. See, you were invited at the request of the benevolent prince to his home to indulge in a movie night. “Makki said we’re going to start off the movie night at Oiks’ place with whatever you want to watch. It was Mattsun’s idea too apparently,” your friend says, handing you a hair elastic.

“Can you ask them if Oikawa is ok with playing ‘His Girl Friday’?”

“Sure thing.”

You two had dressed in similar fashions lately due to the steady drop in temperature.A lot of muted royal colors were your in your wheelhouse of clothes you had brought with you, so tonight it was forest green tweed pants layered with a peasant belted sweater dress. Your host had snapped a photo of you getting ready and she nearly choked back a laugh when you scold her for sending it to her boyfriend.

“You look stellar,” she says when she brushes her hair back into a loose ponytail.

“Do I though? When was the last time you saw the scars the fiberglass left on my shoulder, chise?”

“Seventh grade,” she answers. “Scars or not, you’re still my best friend. Even if you just made a portmanteau of the harem’s nickname for me.”

You bop your head and laugh. “I suppose you’re right… we should get going, yeah?”

Oikawa house, 19:32

You walk side by side with your friend after she mentions it was her turn to bring the snacks. You divide the work explaining that you know what they need more than you do. Although all dreams must end, your life was not some hallmark film. Sometimes the hardest thing and the right ones are the same, your subconscious reminds you to be more freeing of your worries.

“Let go have some fun,” you mumble. You reach the counter with your friend ahead of you. She had the usual assortment of candy to mix into the popcorn, she noticed you have new pens and a crossword puzzle.

“Crossword puzzles in ink was always something I wanted to try,” your voice is confident. “Besides, didn’t you say the boys were providing the food?”

When the final tally was tabulated, you leave the store together and head north at the next intersection, you two walk reminiscing your play days together.

“Oh! Your mother was so angry,” you friend says laughing about the time you stole one of her baking sheets to go sledding. “Wasn’t she going to use that pan for the crescents at the holiday party?”

“Yeah, she was. Haha,” your laugh is a foreign sound. However it is a sound you don’t often make anymore.

“You miss her too,” you friend says as she stops in front of a modern home.

“What child doesn’t?” You ask looking up at the sky.

The constellations twinkle a tarnished image of a family who prided themselves in raising functional perfected youths and while your sister doted on your parents every whim, you rebelled. The rebellion sparked many fears for your family; a tomboy with a high marks should not get into scuffles on the school yard. Such a fiery spirit could only be doused for so long. You were allowed to keep your hobby of drawing because it’s what calms you the doctors mentioned. Ever since the first cold snap when you lost your mother (you were a child in the seat behind her solving a crossword in pencil) in a hit and run, the last embers of creativity sparked a carnal desire to be free. Yet here you were seven years later with a sister so emotionally damaged who in her toxic mindset didn’t understand that for you, art and designing (like the paint job you oversaw before your childhood neighbor moved across town) for automotive purposes was your way to find balance. The girl who moved across town to be close to family had a stronger support system, but after hearing what her aunt had to say it suddenly makes sense, so when she calls you out from your trance, you remember you are always evolving: keep moving. One step at a time.

“Oikawa’s place is this one? Wow he really is a prince with a castle,” you joke in the front walkway.

“I know right? I know he’s one of the top setters in the prefecture, but with all those interviews he does, it helps, haha. Mind holding this real quick?”

The small convenience store bag is passed to you to hold for a moment while your friend knocks thrice times.

On the inside the boys were talking amongst themselves. It had been three days since you arrived for your holiday, and each morning after your first night, you woke up at six to run with half of the team (Makki, Mattsun, you, and your host).

“Q is really good at keeping up with us,” Mattsun says. There is a moment where he notices his friends stop talking. They figure it out and tease the tallest middle blocker like he was discovering a crush for the very first time.

“Oh~ is our little Mattsukawa finally growing up?” Oikawa cooed. Luckily Iwazumi’s shuts him up saying to get the door.

Makki sends Mattsun a text and judging by his best friend’s face, Makki confirms his disposition. Iwazumi mentions he’d be heading to the couch in the living room to create more space for the girls and Oikawa.

“Chisana mentioned you wanted to watch ‘His Girl Friday,’ so it’s already queued up.”

“Yeah, it’s really well written. Thank you,” you carry on the conversation as naturally as Oikawa points out the half bathroom in case you need it out of anything you can have your friend show you where things are since this wasn’t the first time everyone’s been over since the school year has started.

“No problem. Ah! Here we are,” Oikawa’s arm extends outward to showcase the kitchen area where the rest of group was. Makki greeted your friend first and you wave politely. You say a quick hello to Iwazumi and you know if you could hear a stare, you would when you greet Mattsun last.

“Greeted him last, huh?” you friend muses.

“You greeted your strawberry first,” you argue back.

“I don’t mind,” Mattsun says, his voice is hauntingly rich like the darkened wood finish on the tables outside. He leans in a little toward you before he stands he whispers in your ear, “you look pretty.” Your mood changed slightly as you hear his compliment. Then you remember the company you are in front of.

“We’ll go on ahead,” Makki suggests as he grabs the bowl of popcorn he separated for your friend to dump all the candies in. You nod when your friend silently slides you both kit-kat minis for luck.

“I heard you,” you say softly before you tap the back of the middle blocker’s hand. “C’mon, let’s not keep our friends waiting.”

Mattsun doesn’t give you the opportunity to remove you hand because he turns his palm up and you run your fingers barely ghosting over his future line from palm reading; you both hold a conversation behind curious eyes.

“Leave them alone, they’ll be alright,” your friend says in a lower tone.

Makki backs up the sentiment his girlfriend states with a stern glare at both Oikawa and Iwazumi, as one of them clicks the console control and the opening credits start to play.

And just once, you remember what your scars mean: it’s kind of fun to do the impossible. You eat the KitKat your friend left behind as you walk away from the kitchen and sit next to Iwazumi. Mattsun observes this and decides to take matters into his own hands literally. He walks toward Oikawa’s den area, he chooses to sit on the floor in front of you like a guard dog throughout the rest of the film. The film wraps up while the next film was being chosen. When the conversation goes on much longer than expected, you can excuse yourself for a moment back to the kitchen to pick up your crossword puzzle; you cross back to the other side of the den’s layout to sit down where you were earlier. Your pen is in your hand (youyou had tucked into the bag) as you begin to solve the first puzzle.

“I’m just saying horror movies are great,” Oikawa said. “Sci fi too.”

“Then it shouldn’t be that hard to choose,” you quip without looking up from your booklet. Your pen moves diligently as you flip over to the next page. To be quite honest, you aren’t really paying that much attention to notice Iwazumi and Mattsun switched places.

“Twilight Zome collection it is!” Oikawa exclaimed. He pressed play.

The evening draws to a close once you see that almost everyone had taken short catnaps around each other. You questioned whether or not the boys slept, but at least one or two of your company stayed awake.You close the crossword puzzles when Mattsun turns his head to look at you; you quirk an eyebrow at him You two were the only ones awake during this round of animated featurettes, so when Mattsun reaches for one of your hands he forces you forward a little too much, but you stop yourself from toppling over. You whisper something to him, causing him to make room for you on the floor; when you are sitting next to him, you lean into the side of his arm comfortably.

“My my, someone is affectionate today,” you tease.

“You don’t make it any easier,” he whispers in low tones to you.

“I suppose that is true. Is this ok? I mean, your face is more impressionable now than before,” you call him out on the subtle changes of his features.

“Is it? I haven’t noticed. My running partner is improving,” he tells this to you when you hold his hand in yours again. Neither of you want to let go.

“I think this is the beginning of something new,” you say calmly. “I’m still healing,you know.”

Instead of an answer, he shows you his understanding through squeezing your hand in a gentle manner: ‘you don’t need to run; you’re fine as you are.’

A couple minutes go by before you nod off. Mattsukawa was about to ask you a question, but chuckles lightly to himself that his question would be saved for another time. To him you are much more than a casual acquaintance of his best friend’s girlfriend. You’re shaping up to be someone he likes to know more of; you gravitate towards each other and now perhaps he realizes the appeal of having someone be a constant in life. There are many people who take the time to learn everything about the person they are crushing on, yet you and him are laid back enough to balance out your friends’ personality. You on the other hand are learning to forgive yourself one day at a time, but it’s the first time someone else is willing to wait for you. How long, you don’t know, and yet here was this casual acquaintance from your best friends new neighborhood willing to wait for you to feel better about yourself. Mattsukawa tells you how he wants to hang out with you tomorrow; just the two of you. You were lucid enough to agree.

Next >>

#mattsukawa issei x reader mini series #this is part 1 and 2 #⌚️queued #tw: toxic sibling behavior #tw: strong language and violence #tw:mental health and learning to deal with trauma #angst to fluff mattsun x reader #🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #🌻sora scribbles #🌻.txt

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theflowergirl · 5 years

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🤍 Wangji Week 2020 🤍 #1, Gentians

“Lan Zhan.”

Experience taught him not every call demanded a response, so all Lan Zhan does is raise his eyes from the table. Wei Ying isn’t even looking at him, he just continues talking, fingers dedicated to their task.

“Do you think it’s selfish to ask something from your parents?”

The question causes him to pause. Wei Ying folds the paper with meticulous precision, and while Lan Zhan searches for words, he allows himself to be impressed that someone like Wei Ying, capable of running from one side of the school to the other in minutes while chattering about anything and everything, is not only capable of doing handcraft work, but is also good at it. Following a mapped guide in his mind, the paper flower slowly takes form. A lotus, for Jiang Yanli. Based on the extensive knowledge of the young woman that Lan Zhan has accumulated over the course of his acquaintance with Wei Ying, he knows it’s a considerate choice. He can picture her loving it.

He licks his dry lips before replying with a question of his own. “It depends on what you’re asking.”

Wei Ying’s tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth as he ties all the separate parts of the origami flower together, and every petal opens under his fingertips, the flower slowly blossoming under his attentive care.

“What if it’s something big?”

Lan Zhan looks down at his own work. Several gentian flowers lie in wait for him to put them in a bouquet, a message carried under their soft folds. A gift that could never wither; a memory of something good, something beautiful, something old; the blue of home.

“Is it something important to you?”

The lotus flower stands on his kitchen table, vivid in pink and green, perfect like the videos that they watched, almost as if Wei Ying didn’t spend a whole package of origami paper in failed attempts. The boy touches it with a fingertip, slowly twirling it around, like it’s swayed by a passing wind.

“Yes.”

Lan Zhan nods in mute agreement, gently folding another gentian. The clock on the kitchen wall marks the seconds of his thinking, and Wei Ying waits, watching with transfixed admiration as Lan Zhan adds one more delicate flower to his batch. Wei Ying is rarely ever this quiet, though he’s always been attentive. Lan Zhan remembers their fights when they were but small kindergartners, and how he wouldn’t let anyone but himself tease Lan Zhan’s weaknesses. They got separated, became slightly different boys after puberty, but upon reuniting at the beginning of high school, some details seemed to never change; like the curves on a flower petal, mirrored on paper.

“And if you never asked?”

Wei Ying’s finger taps on the table, his fingernail echoing the clock. It’s almost time. The sun has already set. He wonders if Wei Ying would like to stay over, and there’s more than one feeling affecting Lan Zhan in either his acceptance or denial. His stomach hurts, not for the first time, over something that is not hunger.

“I... don’t really know.”

Lan Zhan finishes his last flower and starts putting them away in a box. Noticing that he’s finished, Wei Ying remembers his own gift box, decorated in swirling shades of pink and lavender, and places the lotus flower away. Lan Zhan moves to help him tie a pretty bow on top, and Wei Ying smiles, even if it’s dimmer than usual. And even though they’re comfortable in each other’s presence, his question lingers like a scent between them.

“I think they’d want to hear what you have to say,” Lan Zhan says, his finger keeping the silk thread in place as Wei Ying works on the bow. He looks over, beyond the box and their hands, locking his gaze with his friend’s. “If it’s something important to you.”

Their teachers often assume Wei Ying never thinks of things of consequence, always fooling around when he should be serious. But in the wrinkles around his eyes, soft sketch lines in his youth, Lan Zhan sees his worries and contemplations.

When Wei Ying smiles again, he sees the setting sun.

“Lan Zhan, you always know what to say! Thank you.”

He doesn’t. He really doesn’t. He barely ever speaks because he can’t think of anything to say, which Wei Ying knows, but still, still he says it and means it.

“I’m home!”

She’s right on time. Lan Zhan closes his box and hides it under a textbook as Wei Ying jumps on his feet, calls out “Mrs. Lan!” with a beaming smile, and bows respectfully once she crosses the threshold into the kitchen.

“A-Ying! Oh, you’ve grown taller since I last saw you. It’s late, you’re staying over, right? We can order from that favorite restaurant of yours.”

“Oh no, I’ve got important business at home tonight.”

Lan Zhan’s mother sighs, and Lan Zhan actually believes she’s disappointed.

“Okay, I’ll take you back, come on.”

“It’s okay! Really! My bike’s still here, I think?”

He looks at Lan Zhan for confirmation and his friend nods.

“It’ll take no time at all, Mrs. Lan. But thank you for the offer! Have a good night. See you tomorrow, Lan Zhan!”

He throws Lan Zhan a wink before he sees himself off, missing the way the woman chuckles in his wake.

“Guess it’s just the two of us again, A-Zhan,” she says, patting his head, and he nods, picking his things from the table with one hand and opening the app on his phone with the other, pretending he doesn’t hear his mother sigh again, the sound loud in the kitchen.

***

He finishes his bouquet not long after dinner. When he knocks on his mother’s door, even if the lights are already out, he knows she’ll answer and let him in. It’s not yet 9pm, and though she fights it, some habits are hard to break.

His stomach churns as he watches her smile under the yellow light of her bedside lamp. She holds the small jar of paper flowers like it’s something precious, and he feels like a cheater, like somebody conniving and manipulative. He doesn’t think the gift would lessen the blow at all, and when he swallows, he can feel a painful lump lodged in his throat, like a disease. Maybe it is.

“I think they’d want to hear what you have to say, if it’s something important to you.”

“Mother,” he hears himself say, sees her turn with bright eyes to him. He licks his lips before he continues. “Can I go see brother on New Year’s?”

The light in her eyes fades with her smile, her lips parting in surprise. He’s panicking under his skin but outside, he barely blinks. He waits, clutching at her sheets until his knuckles turn white. He misses brother so much, Gusu is so far. And he hopes she knows that it’s really just brother, that other than brother’s absence, he doesn’t want his life to change much at all. He doesn’t miss the fights before the divorce, doesn’t miss her crying, and even if she’s a faded image of the mother he remembers from when he was small, from when Wei Ying first pranked him in sandboxes, he’s fine, they’ll be fine, he knows. It’s okay, it’s...

He’s already opened his mouth to say what has been running around his thoughts when she reaches out and cups his face with her hand.

“Oh, A-Zhan.” She looks sad though she smiles, her eyes shining with tears. “Of course you can.”

Maybe she pulls him, or maybe he moved out of his own volition, but whatever the force that acted upon him at that moment, he ends up on her lap like he’s still seven years old and afraid of the dark. Though he’s tall now, taller than most in his class, he thinks he still fits perfectly in her embrace, her chest welcoming and warm against his face.

“I’m so sorry, A-Zhan. I know the past year has been hard,” she says, but even as she says it, he’s shaking his head, tightening his arms around her. A whole year without brother’s presence, only his voice in phone calls, but a whole year relearning that a home can be silent and serene and with sound sleep.

“It’s okay, mother,” he says, and he means it. It’s simple but it’s true and right then, it feels like just enough to say.

It’ll be okay, in the end.

***

Wei Ying is skipping his steps the next day. He’s like a soda bottle ready to burst all through their classes, throughout lunch time, and when the bell rings, he’s back to skipping, to smiling so wide that his eyes are but crescent moons. He speaks once it’s just the two of them walking home, Lan Zhan on foot and Wei Ying wheeling his bike beside him.

“Mom says I can stay here when they have to move for work,” Wei Ying says, and Lan Zhan must look surprised because Wei Ying laughs. “I know, isn’t it great?”

“Are you staying alone?” Lan Zhan asks, more than a little concerned. He’s been to Wei Ying’s room multiple times and he does not want to imagine what that would look like in a bigger scale.

“She said I could do that, but father prefers I stay with uncle Jiang.”

Lan Zhan nods his approval at that idea.

“You can stay over whenever you’d like.”

Wei Ying’s shoulders move with his contentment and Lan Zhan can’t help smiling, can’t ignore the fact that all of the big changes in his life lose some of their impact when faced with Wei Ying. His own shoulders feel lighter under Wei Ying’s attention, under the affection with which he says the syllables of his name. Happiness is like the wings of a butterfly, dancing in and out of view, around his stomach.

“We can have a sleepover on New Year’s!”

Lan Zhan looks down, feels the tips of his ears warming.

“I’ll be going to Gusu on New Year’s, to visit brother.”

Wei Ying deflates and perks back up so quickly that Lan Zhan almost laughs.

“We should buy a present for brother Lan Huan! Let’s go downtown, Lan Zhan, quick!”

Lan Zhan nods, moves to climb on the back of Wei Ying’s bike.

“Mn.”

“Hold on tight!”

He does, arms secure around Wei Ying. His back is warm like mother’s chest, and when he speaks or laughs, Lan Zhan can feel the vibrations of every action against his skin. Although it’s still winter, although he and mother are still patching each other up in the aftermath of the fallout of their family, he feels the sun on his back, the wind against his skin, and he holds on tightly to those he loves.

Mother keeps the paper gentians on her bedside table, like the vase she used to keep at their home in Gusu.

#wangjiweek2020 #The Untamed #Mo Dao Zu Shi #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #fanfiction #mine #Alternate Universe: Modern Setting #it is not yet the 20th here #but I am IMPATIENT dkbhsjgfjd

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raywritesthings · 4 years

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Bird in a Storm 13/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, John Diggle, Tommy Merlyn, Athena, Carly Diggle, Moira Queen, Thea Queen, Malcolm Merlyn Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

If there was one thing Carly hated the most about closing, it was taking the trash out back. And not just for the smell.

The back of the building let out into a darkened alley with no street lamps. It reeked of garbage thanks to all the times the truck just simply hadn’t shown up, and was usually populated by all her smoking coworkers during a rush.

This late, the alley was empty. Or so she’d thought.

Just as she heaved the bags up and over to throw in the dumpster, she felt the barrel of a gun press into her side. Carly froze.

“Who’s inside the restaurant?”

“My- my manager. Couple customers.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Please, I have a son.”

“Give me your tips,” the mugger growled.

“He’s not even ten years old, father shot on the job. I’m all he has, I swear to you,” Carly continued as she slowly reached into her apron for the money. Her mace was in her purse hanging from a peg in the back of the restaurant.

“Give me the money!”

Her hand closed around the bills, shaking in fear and anger. Didn’t anyone in this town have compassion? Pity at the least? “I’m begging you. It’s for his lunches in the cafeteria. They don’t give him food if he’s in debt.”

“You think I give a shit? Give me the money!” The gun pressed hard enough into her back that she thought it might bruise.

Carly took her hand out of her apron.

Whack!

Suddenly the gun left her back and she heard a thud of someone hitting the ground behind her. She whirled around, backing up several steps.

Her attacker was on the ground with a woman all in black standing over him. She carried a long stick which she’d clearly used to knock him out and wore a mask over her face.

“How- how did you?”

The masked woman looked up at her and gave a nod but no answer before running down the alley and out to the street. Carly stood there gaping a few moments after.

Had that really just happened? And to her? Sure she’d been grabbed earlier last winter by that military whacko who knew John, but this was something else.

The man on the ground gave a groan of pain, and Carly hurried back inside. She quickly explained to her manager, and the other woman agreed to phone the police.

John had stopped by in the time she’d been outside, it seemed. She was glad he wasn’t staying too far away even if their sort of date hadn’t worked out. A.J. needed a good role model.

Her brother-in-law stood from the booth he was waiting at and came over. “Everything alright, Carly?”

“For the most part. The police are gonna be here in a little while. This guy out back tried to jump me.”

John’s fists clenched at his sides. “Where is he?”

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to get in trouble over this. Anyway he’s already hurting pretty bad. There was this woman.”

“A woman?”

“Yeah. She was all in black except her hair. A blonde. And she wore this mask. I guess she must be some other vigilante?” Carly shrugged. “Least the guy’s still breathing.”

“Yeah. Guess so.” John frowned. “She say anything to you?”

“No. I don’t even know how she knew to be there. I mean I’ve been hearing things about a woman — wasn’t sure if they were true. But I’m so glad it is.”

Getting mugged tonight wouldn’t have been the end of her world. But it would have been a setback she would have struggled to come back from for a long time, even if she’d borrowed from John for a time. Now she didn’t have to. She had her own money and her pride along with it.

If that’s what these vigilantes wanted to be about, she couldn’t say she’d complain about it.

---

John didn’t get home until after the police had left with Carly’s statement and her would-be attacker. They’d asked her to come in the next morning to describe the woman who’d saved her to a sketch artist as well, so he’d be taking her there. Just as well, since he hadn’t gotten the chance to tell her about his success in finally taking down Deadshot with Oliver’s help. Lyla had been mad as all hell at him for showing up until the Hood had kept what had ended up being a setup by Lawton from turning too ugly. Then she’d just pretended to be mad, though John was pretty sure he could still tell the difference.

In the present, he placed a call to Oliver to update him on the situation. “I’ll be late getting to the house tomorrow. Have to help Carly with something. Police matter.”

“Is she okay?” His friend asked.

“Fine. But she wouldn’t have been if that Woman hadn’t shown up tonight. She’s definitely real, Oliver. Carly’s giving them a description tomorrow.”

Oliver didn’t speak for a moment. “See if you can sit in on it. I don’t know if this Woman’s done enough to get her sketch on the news.”

They both knew busting up the odd small crime here or there didn’t drive up ratings. Then again, perhaps the novelty of a woman being the one doing so might be enough to pique media interest.

“You think it’s time to step in?”

“I’m not sure,” Oliver admitted, and he sounded discomfited to do so. “She’s not the Savior, she doesn’t look to be doing this for her own gain… I’m not sure what to make of her or how to find her except to get lucky and spot her out some night.”

“Well, luck be a lady,” John remarked. “And ladies tend to be mysterious.”

Oliver snorted, then said, “Keep me updated about the police sketch.”

“Alright.” He hung up and eased himself back up out of his chair. If he was going to the precinct tomorrow, he wanted to have some research already done to see if he could pick up on anything else they might be talking about regarding this Woman.

He went looking through some recent reports out of the Glades. Just as Raisa, Detective Lance and Carly now said, there were rumors growing about a woman in black. Taking on gang bangers, putting a stop to a rash of bus hijackings...the more he read, the more it sounded familiar.

John went through each of his suits, digging deep into the pockets until he came across a folded piece of paper. The list Laurel had written up for Oliver weeks ago.

It was almost identical.

He sat back on his bed, hand running down his face. It wasn’t definitive proof, but it was a damning coincidence at the very least. And what was he going to do if it was more than a coincidence?

He’d warned Oliver that the problems in this city were many and varied, that people wanted to see more than some billionaires getting knocked down a few pegs. Laurel had warned him, too. Now it seemed she — or someone — had taken matters into her own hands. And he couldn’t quite bring himself to disagree.

That was the trouble that came in signing up for this kind of crusade; it was a slippery slope. How did he support Oliver while condemning Laurel? The key, he supposed, was in learning what her motivations were. If she was even the one doing this.

One thing was certain: there was no way he could suggest the Woman and Laurel were the same person to Oliver unless he had real evidence or a confirmation. It would only start another argument otherwise, judging by how fiercely protective he’d become of his mother. So he was going to have to confront her on his own.

He kept his suspicions to himself while he sat in a chair at the precinct with Carly. The sketch artist drew up a picture of a beautiful blonde in a black mask. It didn’t look just like Laurel, but it didn’t not look like her at the same time. Still, no reason for him to voice his concerns just yet. Especially when doing so would paint a big target right back over Oliver, and himself by extension.

He kept his eyes on the road as he drove Carly back to her apartment, still unsure how to address the news he’d intended to give her last night. Eventually, he said, “There was an Op the other night. The Feds. And, uh… they got him.”

“Him?”

“Andy’s killer.”

He heard Carly turn her head and chanced meeting her eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s in custody now.” Lyla had held him back from doing something he knew he’d probably regret, as much as his anger was telling him Deadshot should be dead in the ground for good just like his brother. “He was wanted for a lot of stuff by the government. Sensitive stuff. So there’s not really gonna be a trial or anything, but I wanted you to know.”

He pulled the car to a stop outside her building. Carly didn’t get out right away.

“Were you there?”

John nodded.

“Thank you.” She leaned across the seats and hugged him. “I don’t know what I’ll tell A.J., or when, but… I’ll sleep better, knowing he’s getting what he deserves.”

John swallowed down the little of his disappointment that remained. If Carly was satisfied, then that would have to be enough.

She got out, and he continued through the neighborhood to his next stop. He’d have to hope she was in.

John knocked on the door of Laurel’s place but received no answer. Soft music from around the back drew his attention, so he circled around to the small yard.

Laurel was crouched beside a very rough-looking bike, looking to be struggling with a tuneup. She sat back with an exhale.

“Roy, great, I could really use some help—” Laurel stopped when she caught sight of him.

“Sorry, not Roy,” he said unnecessarily. “But I might still be able to lend a hand.”

Laurel stood rather than keep working, wiping her hands off on a towel that had seen better days. In the tank top she wore, John could definitely tell she had truly dedicated herself to the training Oliver had mentioned she’d picked up.

“Is Oliver okay?”

“He’s fine. Was glad to get your tip on Rasmus.”

Laurel nodded.

“Surprised you didn’t just take care of him yourself,” he added casually, watching her freeze for a crucial instant. John nodded to the bike. “Is the Woman gonna be spotted on this any time soon?”

Laurel hung her head for a moment, then leaned over to switch off the music playing from her phone sitting on the ground.

“Okay, great. Everyone knows I’m a vigilante. I guess Oliver has a better handle on the whole ‘secret’ thing,” she muttered as she straightened up.

“There’s a reason he acts the way he does in public,” John pointed out. “But you wear your heart on your sleeve, Laurel. Of course you’d be doing this.” He took a step closer, looking out to make sure they truly were alone. “What I have to ask is, why didn’t you say anything?” Did she really not want them to know? And was it because she wasn’t interested in working with them or some other kind of reason?

“How do you think Oliver would react if he knew?”

John grimaced. “Not well.”

Laurel nodded. “Exactly.”

“But, him finding out you decided to take on the problems you pointed out might make him decide to take them on himself. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Not anymore.” She heaved a sigh. “Since doing this, I’ve realized just how much it is, and expecting one person to tackle it all would be impossible. Oliver has his mission, and I get why. If that’s what he needs to do to absolve himself of survivor’s guilt over his father, he needs to do it. And it does help the city.”

John frowned, unable to deny her point. He was privy to just how overwhelmed Oliver got at times. Expecting him to do it all was an unfair burden.

“It’s the only way left I have to help, too,” Laurel added. “Isn’t that why you work with him?”

“Yeah, but I work with him. However he would react, he’s going to find out eventually, Laurel.”

“I know,” she admitted, looking down. “But I’m not going to stop.”

“No, I didn’t think you were. You got the same look in your eyes when you talk about going out there that he does.” He wasn’t sure he understood it fully, how two otherwise civilians could decide to throw all caution to the winds night after night in an effort to clean up the streets. Maybe it really wasn’t about the training; maybe it was just about the person. “If he asks, I have to tell him.”

“I understand.” She at least didn’t look angry with him, merely resigned. So there they were.

John bent down towards her toolbox. “This wrench will work better for what you’re doing.”

The corner of her mouth lifted as she took it from him. “Thanks.”

“So who all knows? This Roy?”

“Yeah. My old trainer, Ted. And you. That’s really it, but you know, not great for that number to keep going up.”

“From what I can tell, it only keeps going up. Secrets always get out.”

“Maybe. That’s a risk I knew going in, I guess.”

“Have you thought about what happens when your father might be forced to arrest you some day?”

“He’ll have to catch me first. And it can’t hurt worse than a rubber bullet, so.” She shrugged. “Believe me, John, I’ve thought of all the reasons not to do this. You don’t need to walk me back through it.”

“Guess I can’t help trying.” He turned and began walking back to the street. “Be careful out there.”

“You too.”

John still hadn’t decided if he was going to wait for Oliver to bring up the topic or if he was going to just get to the point on his own by the time he reached the base. But then it didn’t really seem to matter when his partner of sorts was already gearing up for a serious brawl.

“Felicity thinks she has a hit on Walter,” Oliver said the minute John cleared the steps, hope in his eyes for the first time in a while when it came to talking about his stepfather. “There’s a large sum in Dominic Alonzo’s account that’s dated the same night of the abduction. If we can get to him, we might have a lead on what happened.”

Faced with Oliver’s rare optimism, John just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Telling him about Laurel would only throw him off of what they were working on now, and the information on Walter wasn’t getting any more recent. They needed to act as fast as possible if they had even a prayer of finding him alive.

So John held his tongue and told himself what Laurel was no doubt telling herself: Oliver would just have to understand.

---

Tommy stood by his father’s bed, fingering the vial in his pocket. According to the woman who’d called herself Athena the other night, the contents of this vial were all that could save his father from death or from life as a vegetable. But could he risk it?

He didn’t have a way of verifying her word or her identity. But she had at least shown him her face. That was more than the Hood had done. If she wanted to poison his father, she likely could have snuck into the hospital and done it herself, considering how she had slipped past the mansion’s security team with ease.

Visiting hours were almost over, which meant that he needed to choose. What did he have to lose? He knew, active as his dad had always been, he would hate spending the rest of his days on life support, stuck decaying in a hospital bed. And Tommy did not want to pull the plug until he had tried everything.

So, with a look to the door to ensure he wasn’t about to get walked in on by a nurse, he took out the vial and added the liquid inside to the IV feeding down into his father’s arm. Tommy watched the liquid slowly descend and disappear beneath the paper tape covering the needle. He held his breath for as long as physically possible. Watching, waiting.

No change.

He deflated, even as he reminded himself that Athena had said it would take time. He needed to let the vial’s contents work through his dad’s system before he decided if this had been a waste of time and hope.

For now, he returned to his new office inside Merlyn Global. He both loathed and craved being in this place at the same time; this was where he had nearly lost his father. Yet that same night had shown him just how much his father loved him, that he had fought and even killed to keep Tommy safe.

If this mysterious cure worked and he had the chance to speak with his dad again, Tommy knew he would apologize for ever assuming his father hadn’t cared. They had grown a lot closer in the time before his father’s injury, and he wanted that to continue. He wanted to understand him. Perhaps this Athena, if she was sticking around, could help him.

With one call on the special phone he had been given, it was not long until the very woman he had been thinking of entered his office. “Very elegant,” she remarked.

“That’s down to my father’s good taste,” Tommy said. “I gave him what you told me to about an hour ago. How long?”

“It is not an exact science. I am confident he will show signs of improvement before the night is over. Now,” Athena said, walking further into the room. “What is truly on your mind?”

Tommy smirked to himself. Was he really that obvious?

“This wall,” he answered, walking up to it. He revealed the panel of buttons hidden under a piece of artwork. “It’s false. My father was keeping something behind here, but I didn’t see what. I also didn’t see what code he put in.”

“I have been trained in code breaking,” Athena said. “But I do not think it will be necessary in this case. You are your father’s son, Thomas. You know him better than those who think they have seen his true face. What drives him?”

That was an easy question after the speech his dad had given shortly before the attack that had landed him in a hospital bed in Starling General. Which could leave only two dates, though Tommy quickly dismissed the birthday. Neither of them had felt much reason to celebrate that milestone, not without her there with them. It was the death date that he entered in on the panel instead.

1-0-0-3-9-3

The light turned green for a moment, and the wall slid aside.

What waited behind the wall caused him to back up with a startled cry. It couldn’t be real.

But the evidence remained before him. A black suit with a head covering, a quiver of black arrows and a bow. The copycat archer’s armaments and more were in his father’s possession.

“His uniform,” Athena said with warmth and reverence. “I knew he would keep it close.”

“His? He’s — he can’t be,” Tommy insisted, even as his mind went to the two Triad men his father had fought and killed without a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t understand.”

“I told you your father belonged to an ancient order,” Athena repeated. “It is one based on the oldest form of justice known to man: evil must be replaced by death.”

“But the- that’s — he took hostages!” None of those people to his knowledge had been criminals, not even of the embezzlement kind.

“And were any of those hostages harmed?”

His mouth snapped shut.

“Your father waited to engage the Hood until after the hostages had been sent back to the authorities, according to the reports I have read. Their only purpose was to draw this vigilante out.”

“But… why? Why do any of it?” He just couldn’t seem to grasp that his father had taken on that crazy vigilante at Christmas.

“Your father has been attempting to retrieve Starling City from the brink of decay. Crime, corruption and apathy rule its citizens. Even the attempts of the local relief efforts have failed to improve its citizenry. Your mother learned this the hard way.”

Tommy swallowed. Yes, he could agree that Starling City was a festering pile of shit most days, and the Glades most of all. Something should have been done about it a long time ago. But the idea of taking that knowledge and acting upon it with violence in return, was that really the way?

The Hood seemed to think so, he supposed. And Laurel believed that particular killer was a hero. There were rumors of others beating the snot out of these gangbangers and robbers. Was his father’s old form of justice really so far removed from their society when they were letting Robin Hood and his ilk roam free?

“You said you had knowledge of his plans,” Tommy began slowly. “What were they?”

“There is a phenomenon referred to by your National Park Service as ‘natural fire’, she explained, walking away from the secret room and instead turning to the windows overlooking the city. Tommy followed. “In order to revitalize nature and the lives of those creatures who dwell in such places, humanity allows these fires to burn away the parts of the forest filled with debris and detritus. They then flourish anew. So too will the Glades in your father’s vision.” Her eyes were fixed on that part of the city, which always stood out as an ugly mar beyond the tall, pristine buildings and clean streets of downtown.

“He wants to… burn them?”

Athena’s lips quirked. “Not quite. But a similar act of nature will do the job.”

If the copycat archer’s suit — his father’s suit — wasn’t standing in a case behind him, he would think she was making this up. But there was evidence to back up her claim. His father had closed his mother’s clinic after how many years of increasing crime in the Glades — why now unless he knew something was coming?

“These aren’t trees or animals, though. There are people down there. Families, children.” Laurel, he thought to himself.

“People who have chosen lives of crime and substance abuse. You have multiple stories in your culture’s religious tract of various peoples being punished for the actions of the collective evil. Is this not so different?”

“Nobody’s even sure those things really happened. They’re stories or warnings. I don’t know.” He hadn’t really done the whole Sunday School thing after his mother died. “Look, the Glades are beyond saving. The Hood and anyone else who thinks so are just delaying the inevitable. But this isn’t the answer.” He backed away, leaving the office and placing his head in his hands as he rode down in the elevator.

Was this really what his father wanted? Tommy wouldn’t know, not until his dad healed enough to ask. All he had was Athena’s word, and the matter-of-face way she spoke of this unnerved him.

He needed to get out of here, needed to think, needed — a friend.

He didn’t have very many of those. And after their last conversation, would Oliver even want to see him? But he didn’t know who else to turn to.

Tommy jumped in his car and traveled the familiar route to the club. Inside, he asked around for his friend, avoiding Thea’s busboy friend, and learned Oliver had been around but had gone down to his private office as per usual.

Tommy had never been to that part of the building himself. Oliver had been a much more private person upon returning from the island, and he had always gotten the impression that he was not exactly welcome. But after the attack on the club by that deranged firefighter where Oliver had gotten lost in the building, Tommy had had a copy of each of the door keys made for himself to make sure that he could get to his friend in an emergency if need be.

So he went around to the outside of the club and the back door he had never used. It took a few moments for him to find the right key, but he turned it in the lock and entered.

“Ollie?”

The room was dark, which likely meant no one was in. Tommy searched around for the light switch on the wall.

“I could really use some— advice,” he finished, the last word dropping almost soundlessly from his lips as the lights came on, suddenly illuminating the space.

The room was sectioned off into smaller areas, one with what looked like a mat like the kind the gym teachers put down when they were practicing tumbling in grade school. Other workout gear was around there as well. Then another section was made up of a table with computer monitors and other technology.

Tommy’s eyes, however, were fixed on the last section. A table upon which stood a row of arrows not unlike what was waiting back in his father’s office, but tipped in green. The Hood’s arrows.

Oliver was the Hood.

He wanted to reject the evidence before him, and yet it was all too obvious now that it was staring him in the face. Why would the Hood have been around in the middle of the day to rescue them from those thugs? Oliver had killed them himself, then made up the story. Why was Oliver always making excuses to be somewhere else, leaving his mother and sister behind to worry? Because he was out there in the streets hunting his chosen prey. Why would Laurel have fallen for him so completely? Because it was the man she loved.

And he had left her to fall, Tommy realized, his shock disappearing in a flash of anger. Oliver had been the one to lure her onto that roof, get her shot at, taken her away while Tommy had searched and worried — probably to this very place.

She knew. Laurel had known Oliver’s secret from at least then on, and kept it from Tommy. They both had. It was the two of them as always, shutting him out. How could he have ever dared to think Laurel even cared about him, when she would throw her own career and life away for Oliver’s sake, even after all he had done and become? They deserved each other, and it was a vicious thought. He almost wished his shot hadn’t missed the green-clad archer that night in his father’s office — that night Oliver, his own friend, didn’t save his father. He’d been lying this whole time to Tommy, pretending to be a sympathetic ear all the while never telling him the role he had played.

He needed to leave. If Oliver discovered him here, what would he do? Was Tommy allowed to know, or would he be silenced? He couldn’t say. He didn’t know his own best friend anymore. The man he’d thought of as a brother had truly died out at sea, and a monster had taken his face.

Tommy sat in his car, having no idea where he could go. His friends had all betrayed him, and he still didn’t know how to feel about what Athena had told him. He needed guidance, yet there was no one in his life who could provide it.

His phone range. And Tommy answered it with a weary, “What?”

“Thomas Merlyn? This is Dr. Adams from Starling General.”

He sat up straight in the driver’s seat. “Is my father okay?”

“He is. He’s doing better than we truthfully expected. He seems to be responding to some stimuli. We think it would be helpful for you to come in and sit with him, at least for a little while. Coma patients respond best to family and loved ones.”

“I’ll be right there.”

It had worked. The miracle liquid Athena had given him had worked. Or was working. He raced to the hospital and up to his father’s room, heart in his throat.

“Dad?”

His father’s eyes were just barely open. Tommy was ushered into the chair at his bedside, and he took hold of his father’s hand. “It’s me, dad. It’s Tommy. You’re gonna be okay. You need to be, cause we have stuff to talk about, alright? Stuff to do. I know- I know everything now. And it’s okay. It’ll be okay when we can talk.”

Very slightly at first, and then more rapidly, his dad’s eyelids fluttered. The hand Tommy held squeezed his fingers.

Grateful tears sprang to his eyes. “He’s really there. Oh, thank God.”

He stayed another hour, keeping up a constant stream of chatter about the company and the house, old forgotten childhood memories. His father never quite managed to fully open his eyes. Eventually, the doctors decided it would be best to leave him to rest some more and asked Tommy to come back in the morning.

“I’ll be here first thing, dad. We can talk then, okay?”

Getting back into his car where he’d crookedly parked it in the garage, Tommy wiped at his eyes and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. No matter what shocking things he had learned today, he had meant what he had said to his father; it would be okay now that he was getting better. Tommy could talk to him, reason with him about just what this whole plan was and if it was truly necessary. They could work it out together as father and son.

If nothing else, he had his family.

---

Moira wished she had her family here at home with her, but life seemed to find its ways to make that impossible.

Oliver kept incredibly late hours thanks to the club he was running out in the Glades. She worried about him and knew that hiring Mr. Diggle to protect him especially as he traveled in and out of that neighborhood had been the right call.

Then there was Walter. At times, she didn’t know how she kept breathing let alone kept up her day-to-day obligations and appearances all the whole fretting over where he was, what he might be thinking. Horrid as it was, sometimes she had to force herself to stop thinking about his situation in order to just make it through the next board meeting or the next meal.

Thea was home tonight at least, though she’d been staying out rather late as often as not. It had begun shortly after she had started the community service at CNRI. Moira suspected a boy might be involved, but considering how little she had done to curb Oliver’s dalliances with the opposite sex, she couldn’t reasonably do so to Thea.

Were things different, she might have been worried about all the time her children were spending in the Glades and how to make sure they were not there once Unidac completed its work. But that had been one less worry on her mind for the last month now, even if the attack at Merlyn Global had not ended precisely with the result she had wanted.

Best not to think about that, either, Moira reminded herself. She and Thea were both relaxing in the sitting room after dinner, the television on low for something to look at more than anything.

The front door opened, and two sets of footsteps indicated her son and his bodyguard had finally arrived home. Moira looked up as they entered the sitting room, but whatever wry remark had come to mind died on her lips at the sight of both their expressions. She stood. “Oliver?”

“Mom. Thea.” His voice, normally quite steady and strong these days, barely carried. “There’s um, something we need to talk about. About Walter.”

Beside her on the couch, Thea perked up, but Moira felt frozen.

Mr. Diggle spoke next. “I reached out to some contacts I have in the FBI on Oliver’s behalf a while ago to see what they might be able to turn up for the case. The thing is, they’ve gotten word back.”

“No.” It took her a moment to realize she had been the one to speak. “No, it can’t be.”

“Did- did they find a body?” Thea asked, her voice breaking on the last word.

“He’s gone, Thea. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Moira repeated. Oliver stepped towards her but she got up and moved back. She couldn’t allow him to comfort her. That comfort would make it real when it obviously wasn’t. There was a mistake or a misunderstanding of some kind. She knew Walter was alive, had to be, because of her deal with Malcolm. And yet, could she really trust Malcolm to begin with?

Her first impulse was to leave, to seek out someone, something to set the record straight on what had to be an error. But who could? Malcolm could not answer to anything, and she had no way of her own to contact his associate. No one at Merlyn Global would either. Malcolm had always kept everything separate from the company, and Tommy of all people was running it. Tommy had no idea of the things his father had done.

No, as far as she or anyone else knew, this was the truth.

Standing as she was, Moira instead retreated up to her room to get away from her children and their stricken looks. She knew they thought she was crumbling. Well, she wasn’t. Or couldn’t. Not until she had had a moment to think. How could this be happening?

Had Malcolm’s people killed Walter once he had fallen into the coma and been unavailable to command them? Or had her husband been dead all this time? Either way, she was a widow once again, and the blame lay at the same man’s feet.

The blood pounded in her ears as one thought echoed through Moira’s head: no more. She was done being the victim, standing by as her family was picked off one by one. Malcolm slept in a hospital bed, utterly helpless. Why hadn’t they followed through? Why shouldn’t they?

Part of her had been afraid, but what did she have to fear now? Another part of her had thought leaving him to his fate in the hospital was enough. After all, without Malcolm in charge, she could put the Undertaking off indefinitely under the presumption that they should wait for his recovery. The rest of Tempest would have fallen in line. But it was not enough to scupper his plans now. Oh no; Moira had promised Malcolm what would come were he to harm her family, and Moira, at least, was a woman of her word.

She got out the phone she used for these sorts of discrete communications and dialed the number Frank had given her to arrange for the contract hit at the award ceremony. She waited three rings before it was picked up.

“Jade Dragon, how can we be of service?” A woman’s lightly accented voice spoke.

“Yes, I placed an order about a month ago that was never completed. I’m asking for it to be done now.”

She had waited too long to save her family from Malcolm’s madness, but Moira would protect what she had left and avert his horrific vision for the city in one fell swoop, the way she should have done years ago. For Robert, and now for Walter.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing #bird in a storm

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