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waatermelon-sugaar · 4 years ago

Text

Take Care of Me

Pairing = Santiago x reader

Words = 5.5k

Summary = A discussion about sex toys turns into something more … concrete

Warnings = Swearing, talk/description of mild anxiety. SMUT (18+ only), use of handcuffs in a sexy way, oral, piv sex

A/N = Prompt no.8 requested by @itspdameronthings as part of my 300 follower celebration, thanks so much, hope you like it! Prompt was “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself” w/santi and bolded in text. Also 3 things; 1 = Tom doesn’t exist in this AU, 2 = this is basically pure smut im so sorry, and 3 = I did do head hopping in this, which I know you’re not like supposed to do but also fuck the rules y’know?

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

***

It’s always easy to be loose after one of Benny’s fights.

It’s a heady mix of adrenaline, beer and testosterone, swirling together into a mix that makes you forget your normal boundaries. You’re normally quite brazen about your sex life anyway, but there is a line. You respect your partners, and there’s no need for your teammates to know too much.

You’re all packed into a half-moon booth, Benny straddling a chair that he pulled up to the table after he spent too long chatting up the bartender.

It’s a small comment from Benny (because of course it’s Benny), saying that you haven’t got laid in a while, and you’re honestly surprised he noticed. But then, that’s the only predictable thing about Benny, that he is unpredictable.

Your surprise means you take a little too long actually thinking about it, which confirms Benny’s statement. You lean back a little in your seat, desperately ignoring Santi, who’s sat to your left. It also means you bite back a little harder in defence.

“Well maybe if you guys didn’t look like you’re about to murder anyone who even dares ask for my number maybe I’d have better luck.” That’s a lie, but there’s no way you’re going to tell them the truth. No way you’re going to tell Santi-

Your thoughts are interrupted by Will, sat to your right. “So you’re asking for our help?”

You scoff, hitting him up the head. “No, thank you.” Will knows why. Because of course he does. One of your oldest friends, he’d been the one who convinced you to join the team in the first place. “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself.”

You send a wink down to the table to Benny, who’s the first to catch on, hollering, and you try not to react to Santi leaning forward, suddenly interested, as though you’re not already hyper-aware of every body movement of his.

You continue, deciding you’re quite enjoying the effect you’ve had. “What do I need some stranger for when I can give myself a better orgasm than he could ever dream of?” You take a sip of your drink to hide your grin, as both Benny and Will holler, gaining a few glares from the pub’s other patrons.

That sip means you’re unprepared for Santi to lean in closer to you, his lips so close to your ear that you can feel his breath. “Maybe ‘stranger’ is where you’re going wrong.”

You swallow, unprepared for the sudden flare of attraction shooting through you and turning your head, just as he says, “I could take care of you.”

You catch a glimpse of Santi’s fuck me eyes when Benny (the dickhead) interrupts. Crossing his arms on the sticky table in front of him, he asks, “Does that mean you have toys?”

Frankie’s hat somehow tips lower on his head, if that’s possible.

Will twitches towards his brother, like he wants to strangle Benny for being so uncouth, but you put your hand on his upper arm. “Of course.” The best course of action is to just act like this is normal, so add a bit of air to your voice. This was normal. “Who doesn’t?”

There’s a blush rising on Benny’s cheeks and you can’t help but stoke it, grinning at him, and attempting your best bedroom eyes. He’s still not too ashamed to ask though. “What kinds?”

Will decides he’s had enough, glancing at Santi behind you with a frown and hitting Benny over the head in an imitation of the way you’d hit him. You laugh, unexpectedly pleased at the reaction you’ve gotten. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Benny nods, eager, even as Will stands, grabbing a hold of him, and steering him towards the bar. “Yes! Yes I would!” He manages to throw back at you and you laugh again, twisting your body to face Santi and Frankie, bringing your left leg onto the bench.

***

Meanwhile Santiago is in hell. He’s been in multiple hellish situations before, most similar to this one, in that it was always the 5 of you, bullets flying around your heads, rifles in your arms, weighed down by heat and sweat and tac vests.

And yet somehow, he thinks this might be the worst. Your foot next to his thigh, your knee bent, pulling your jeans up your leg and exposing your ankle to him. Watching you flirt with Benny, talking about sex, and toys, and masturbation. When that's all he wants to do with you. He just has to get the courage to tell you.

With you, there was a before in Santi’s life, and an after.

Before he knew you; and after he knew you.

Before he loved you; and after he loved you.

Except Santi’s not quite sure when he fell in love with you.

It started when Will introduced you as the newest member of the team, one of his childhood friends. He didn’t mean for it to happen, he treated you like he treated anyone else, quickly discovering that you weren’t like anyone else.

He welcomed you into his life with open arms, starting off innocently - he wanted to spend time with you. You were Will’s friend, which meant that there must be something good about you. You made him laugh, made him feel safe (even when he wasn’t). He’d wanted to do the same for you and thought he did a pretty good job.

He became your friend, until one day the two of you were watching a film. He can’t remember what it was, just that you were at his house, drinking and laughing and talking, huddled in one of his blankets, and looking like you belonged there, forever.

Falling in love with you was so easy, Santi didn’t even realise he was doing it.

Santi’s still impressed with himself that he didn’t just blurt out the words then and there. I love you.

How long had he been in love with you for? He couldn’t pinpoint down a specific moment. He remembered the night when you’d become friends - the last two around the bonfire, toasting marshmallows, making that awkward small-talk that occurs between acquaintances.

You’d made him laugh, playing chubby-bunny and teasing him until he’d had a go. You’d talked and talked, and Santi can’t even remember what about. Nothing, probably. The basics. Boring stuff, but filled with details that he’d used to keep the conversation going the next day.

He knows when he became your friend. Recognised when you trusted him more than the others, with the exception of maybe Will.

But he didn’t know when he fell in love with you. Just the day that the love became so overwhelming in his chest that he realised it.

The real nail in his metaphorical coffin was the night afterwards. The 5 of you had gone to a bar, and a girl had started talking to him as he was buying drinks. She was pretty, but she wasn’t you. And like a flashbulb, all of Santi’s previous partners flew through his mind and he realised that nothing had ever come out of them because they weren’t you.

They didn’t know how he liked his coffee, or why he had joined the military. They didn’t know the story behind his callsign, or what his favourite song was.

You did. What you weren’t there for, you asked about. You remembered. You made him feel important, like he mattered. In ways that he didn’t even really know existed.

You were the one that started him on decaf without telling him. That had been a conversation and a half. Before morning briefings, you’d started bringing him coffees. He hadn’t noticed much of a taste difference, and shamefully, had come to expect them.

Until, a month later, you weren’t there. A small trip home to visit your family, everyone knew you’d be back in a couple of days. Regardless, Santi had ordered what he’d thought was his usual coffee.

And found his anxiety rearing up again. It was subtle, making him more jumpy, less able to sleep, but it was there. He wasn’t sure what the cause was, definitely hadn’t linked it to the coffee, instead assuming that maybe he just missed you. Maybe because his anxiety hadn’t disappeared all the way, even with decaf. Maybe it was because it was your presence that helped him too.

He hadn’t even really noticed when the caffeine was gone, hadn’t noticed the absence of something wrong, only seeing the contrast when it returned. Maybe because it was gradual, the weaning off the caffeinated coffee, whereas the return, with his request of additional shot, had been too sharp for him.

You hadn’t noticed at first, assuming that Santi’s bear hug when he’d first seen you had just been because he missed you. But after lunch you pulled him to one side.

“Are you alright?” Your eyes are slightly wider with worry, and you’re chewing slightly on your bottom lip.

He hates that he’s the one to do that to you, and he tries to brush it off. “I’m fine.” That was his first mistake. His second was trying to push past you.

“Santiago!” He’s pulled up short, and there’s that tension, pulling at his shoulders, his eyebrows. “Tell me what’s wrong.” Your tone of voice hasn’t changed, but this time it’s a command.

Exhausted, hating himself, Santi drags his hands across his face. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I don’t...I don’t know.” He takes a breath, and it shudders through him. “I don’t know.” He sounds defeated, and he hopes you can’t hear it. “I just...I feel…” How does he feel? “Jittery.” Is what he finally settles on, but the word still feels wrong somehow.

You frown, looking him up and down like you’ve never seen him before. In fact, you’re silent for so long, Santi starts to be worried that you’re going to tell him to stop being so fucking ridiculous.

You don’t, but you ask questions.

Has he been sleeping? “Not really.”

Does he have something big coming up? “Just the usual.”

Has his daily routine changed at all? “No, I don’t think so. I get myself a coffee in the morning and the-”

You interrupt him with a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.” And now it’s wrong, because now you’re looking at him like it’s your fault, when it definitely isn’t. “Santi I’m sorry. It’s your coffee.”

Santi frowns. His coffee? And you sound so apologetic, and he doesn’t understand why. “I switched you to decaf.” You can’t meet his eyes any more, gaze skittering to his shoulder with nerves. And you’re not shutting up. “I’m sorry, I should have told you, or asked if I could, I just... I knew you were getting nightmares, and decaf helped me so I thought it might help y-”

Santi cuts you off with a hug.

And now, the three of you sat in the booth, he hates himself for agreeing with Benny. He would like to know. He has a sneaking suspicion, odd little comments you’ve made throughout the years that when pieced together, paint a picture. A very vivid picture that he sometimes uses to torture himself, late at night in bed, imagining what you’d look like with your hands between your legs and wrapping a hand around his-

Santi shakes his head. Now is not the time. There’s never really a good time to fantasise about one of your best friends, but in public when they’re sitting next to you, is definitely one of the worst.

And why did he have to offer to take care of you? Did he think he was in some kind of cheesy porno? What if you hated him-

In the end, it’s you who breaks him out of his thoughts. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed Pope.” You push out with your foot, lightly kicking his thigh, unable to read his stony face.

Throughout all of this, Frankie has kept quiet, and now the conversation seems like it’ll be returning to safer ground, he rubs a hand over his face, lifting his hat slightly. “No.” Santi protests, although he says it too fast for it to be sincere. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“Good,” you reply, and Santi can see the moment a thought pops into your head that you can’t resist, he can see it in the way your eyes light up with mischief. “Out of all the boys, I figured you’d be the most likely to use toys.”

Frankie quickly slides out from his seat, muttering something about going to the toilet, his cheeks aflame, as Santi chokes a little on his beer. “Or maybe Will,” you muse, and Santi coughs again. “Shit, are you alright?” You ask, rocking forward to lean on your knee so you can rub Santi’s back for a second.

He concentrates on getting himself back under control, on not focusing how warm your hand is against his back. He takes deep breaths in an attempt to calm his heart down, praying that the room is dark enough that you won’t see him blush.

Santi nods, his eyes watering a little, and you laugh, but it’s not unkind, not even when one of your thumbs wipes at his lower lash line, brushing away his tears with the pad. It’s so unexpectedly soft, another sharp contrast to this sticky, seedy bar they’re all in, where the booth seats are cracked and the most complicated drink they make is a rum and coke.

“Good,” you say, voice quiet, scooting back on the bench, your foot closer to his thigh this time, and Santi hates himself for wanting to follow you.

Instead, he pretends everyone else is still here, even as he watches Will whisper something into Benny’s ear as they stand, drinking next to the bar, with no clear intention of returning. Suddenly Benny punches Will’s upper arm, and Santi’s eyebrows twitch slightly in confusion. Benny looks ecstatic, and for what?

“I’ve used handcuffs,” he says casually, half of his mind taken up with Benny and Will acting like lunatics at the bar behind you. He’s wrenched back to you when you raise an eyebrow, and he’s reminded what it feels like to be the centre of your world.

Fuck, you’re sexy though.

***

Your heart beat speeds up, suddenly sounding loud in your chest. Your mind is screaming Danger! at you - but how can it be? This is Santiago. You would trust him with your life. You have.

I could take care of you, flashes through your mind again. Maybe-

“Yeah?” You ask, trying to act calm when there’s a steady thrumming under your skin. “And are you the tied up person, or do you do the tying?”

Santi scoffs, like he thinks the answer is obvious. Maybe it is.

“I do the tying.”

You smirk, dragging an exaggerated eye up and down his body. “Sure about that?”

He looks relaxed, like he can take up more space now Frankie has gone. One of his hands is on your calf, gently trailing up and down, slowly setting you on fire, and you don’t even think he realises he’s doing it. There’s something in his eyes that you don’t recognise, darker, although it seems familiar. That’s been happening more and more lately, especially when it’s just the two of you. You like it.

“You want to test me babygirl?”

You feel breathless. “Maybe I’d like to try.”

You’ve never spoken with Santi like this before. You flirt with him more than the other boys, but this is new. This feels...real, somehow. More dangerous. And he’s closer now, shifting, so your foot is over his lap, his hand wrapped around your ankle, on your bare skin and you’ve forgotten how to breathe. You watch his hand move on your leg and you feel like you could evaporate.

“That’s not what good girls do.” Fuck, his voice.

“Good girls don’t do a lot of things I do.”

And you’re not sure what gives you the sudden confidence, but you lean forwards, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. It’s a horrible angle, your legs in the way, but you don’t care.

And then you’re retreating, opening your eyes again, suddenly unsure of what you’ve just done. Your mouth feels tingly, where you can still feel Santi against you. His grip has tightened on your leg, no longer moving.

And then his hand is tugging at you a little, and there’s a smile threatening to take over his face.

Come here.

You scoot up, so your left leg is fully over him, your right leg tangling with his under the table and you can smell him now, beer and - as weird as it sounds - like a man. It’s familiar. Nice. Breathless, you shoot him a little grin, suddenly unsure.

And then he’s kissing you again and it’s everything you ever dreamed of. His lips are soft, but firm, moving against your mouth, contrasting with the slight stubble growing on his face. His free hand moves to your waist and you let out a small sound.

You break apart after a second, both of you breathless. You’ve slung your arms around his neck, fingers idly playing with his chain, and you’re the first to speak.

“So do you use those handcuffs on anyone?”

Santi kisses you again, short and sweet, before he answers, his lips mumbling against yours. “Hmm, just on girls I really like.”

You kiss again, neither of you really wanting to stop. “Can I use them on you?” Santi asks, moving to kiss along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe. You feel surrounded by him, he’s all you care about, all you can feel.

Your eyes snap open, desire pooling in your belly. Is this really happening? “Yes.”

“Good.” Santi’s voice is still low in your ear, before he moves down your neck, soft lips a stark contrast to his stubble catching on your skin. “How do you feel about a date, too?”

“Yeah?” You lean back slightly so you can see his face. He’s beautiful in this light, face half hidden in the shadows, eyes dark.

His lips are brushing yours again.

“Yeah. I’ll pick you up, take you somewhere nice, do it properly.”

“Good,” you mumble against him, “that sounds really good.” Your fingers are still playing with his chain, lightly brushing against the scar on his neck. “Shall we go?”

Before you know it, the two of you are sitting in a cab, having said a quick goodbye to the others, Will asking if it was safe for them to sit back in the booth. You’d responded with the finger, not bothering with a proper reply.

Santi leans over to you, whispering into your ear. “Can I really tie you up?”

You clench your thighs together, closing your eyes in an effort not to physically respond. The pause is enough for Santi to hesitate, hand shyly holding yours. “It’s ok, if you don’t want to, that’s fine, it was just a-”

You stop him with a kiss, moving your hand so you can squeeze him in reassurance. When you answer, it’s a mumble against his mouth so the driver doesn’t hear. “Break out the handcuffs, and we’ll see if you’re as tough as you act, big boy.”

Santi groans when you lean away from him.

Getting inside Santi’s flat is a feat in itself, and you’re honestly a little proud of the restraint both of you showed by not fucking in the stairwell, stopping every couple of meters to kiss each other senseless, hips clumsily knocking together as you rile each other up.

You’ve been inside his flat before, so when Santi kicks the door closed, walking you backwards into his bedroom, kissing you all the while, you don’t protest. It’s so nice to finally kiss Santi like you’ve wanted to for a while now, so nice to feel his hands on your waist, pushing you backwards while his hips press into yours, steady now, purposeful.

His fingers are playing with the waist of your trousers, and you help him, shimmying your jeans off, pushing them down your thighs and letting them fall to the floor. Then he surprises you, dropping to his knees in front of you, pulling your knickers down your legs.

Looking down, you feel dizzy from the rush of power this brings you. Santi looks like he’s about to worship you, his face close to your pussy. His hands are on your waist and he pushes at you, encouraging you to step back.

When you don’t he tips his head back, exposing his neck to you. “Step back.” His voice is dangerous and you can feel more wetness gathering between your legs. You grin down at him, still not moving.

In response Santi nips at your thigh, grinning when you gasp, hands flying to his hair. He pushes at you again, and this time you let him, stepping back until you hit his bed, sitting down.

Santi presses his hand against your stomach, and you allow yourself to be pushed back, falling back onto your elbows so you can watch him. He presses his nose to your mound and you squirm, impatient, as Santi spreads your knees so he can fit between your legs.

You watch him press his nose to your pussy, burying his nose in you, feeling yourself grow wetter. “You taste so good,” he groans, “Sweetest pussy I’ve tasted.” As he begins to explore you with his tongue, your hips lift off the bed with a groan and it takes you a second to recognise your own voice, broken with need. Santi’s arm reaches out, pressing you down as he explores your folds. Stubble is scratching your thighs, a pleasantly rough feeling compared to the soft wetness, the pliability of Santi’s tongue. Your clit is the first thing he concentrates on, his tongue practically lapping at you, and it all feels so good.

One hand is desperately fisting the sheets to the side of you as you try to hold on to reality, the other knotted in Santi’s short curls, nails scraping ever so slightly along his scalp even as he lifts you higher and higher. Broken pleas of his name fall from your lips when he inserts two fingers into you, gently pumping in and out, with a strangely satisfying squelch under your cries.

Your orgasm creeps up on you, slow and unsuspecting. One second your chest is heaving, breaths short and shallow, the next you’ve tensed up as you fall apart under Santi.

He keeps kissing you, gently pressing his lips over your thighs, hips, stomach as you stare at his ceiling, willing rational thought to return to you. He’s murmuring praises into your skin, telling you how good you are for him, what a good job you’ve done, how pretty you look when you come, how he wants to make you do it again, and all the while you float somewhere above your body, hardly daring to believe this is real. Santi keeps kissing you, any skin he can get his mouth on, desperate to keep tasting you. Gradually he moves up your body, even as you lie there, panting, letting him push your top up, bunching under your arms and around your neck.

Your hands fly to his hair when he bites the soft skin of your breast peeking out from your bra, and you arch your back towards him slightly, letting out a small whine. You can feel his smirk against you, so you wrap your legs around his waist, canting your hips up, grinding against where you can feel him, hard and aching in his jeans.

Now it’s your turn to smirk, slow and lazy when Santi lets out a low growl in response. He tips his head up so he can look at you, his eyes soft as he smiles at you. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

And then his body weight is gone and he’s standing next to the bed, taking his top off and it’s not the first time you’ve seen him shirtless, of course it isn’t, but it’s the first time you’ve seen him and been allowed to look, and Santi’s all shadows and soft muscle, pale scars highlighted on his skin.

You sit up, and it takes you a second to fight your way out of your top, quickly sliding the straps of your bra off, and dropping your clothes to the side of the bed as you watch Santi cross his room, and fish out a pair of handcuffs from a box with a couple of other objects inside, as well as what you’re pretty sure looks like a strap-on. And maybe it’s because his ass is currently in your eye-line, maybe it’s the surprise, but the image of you wearing it, teasing Santi with your dick while he waits on all fours on his bed, begging for you to touch him, suddenly pops into your head, and you have to work to hold back a moan at the mental image. Oh my god.

When Santi turns back to you, he’s opened the cuffs. “Are you familiar with the traffic light system?”

You suddenly feel nervous, your mouth dry, and you don’t know why, this is Santi. He’s made it clear that you don’t have to do this, and anyway you want to. “Green is good, orange is slow down, red is stop,” you recite easily, and Santi nods in satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he says and his words hit deep in your stomach, unfurling something you hadn’t known existed. “You say something and I’ll untie you.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back on your hands, eyeing up the way Santi’s jeans are still on, now hanging low on his hips, exposing a small trail of hair down from his bellybutton. “What if I don’t want you to untie me?” You ask.

You can see how his eyes darken, but he doesn’t move. “Tell me you understand,” he says, voice stern and you shiver.

“I understand,” you parrot. Santi nods, pleased at you doing as he says, and steps out of his jeans, pulling his boxers off at the same time, releasing his cock. He’s hard, curving up towards his stomach and leaking pre-cum.

Almost on instinct, you lean forwards to lick it off, and Santi lets out a groan of satisfaction at the sensation of your mouth just wrapping around his head, your hands on his thighs. Before you can take him any further, he’s stepping back, shaking his head.

“Lie back,” he instructs, and you obey. Santi kneels next to you, tugging your wrists up, above your head, looping the handcuffs through his headboard and clicking them on around you. You give them an experimental tug, biting back a moan when they hold fast. “Colour?” Santi asks, and you grin up at him.

“Green.” Your voice already sounds broken. “Santi, please.”

Santi just kneels back, looking at you with those hungry eyes. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes out, hands running up and down your body, ignoring how you squirm as best you can under him.

“Oh yeah?” You ask. “Why don’t you come down here then, instead of just watching me?” Santi’s hands reach your breasts, squeezing and gently massaging and you arch your back towards him.

“You’re unhappy with my hands?” Santi returns, and stops touching you. You can’t help it, letting out a whine and straining to move your arms towards him, before remembering you can’t, your attempted movement jangling the chain a little.

“No, Santi,” you’re desperate for him to touch you again, especially now you can’t touch him,“Santi please, touch me again, touch me more.” Begging has never come so easily to you. And then Santi’s moving between your legs, gripping your hips and thrusting up, but not into you, just along your folds. You moan, shifting as best as you can while Santi coats himself with your slick, the head of his cock just pushing your clit, teasing you and riling you up further.

You suddenly really want to touch him, to rake your hands through his hair, to scratch your nails down his back, to be able to suck a purple hickey into his skin. You let your head fall back to the bed, pushing your hips towards him, desperate for more, desperate for him.

It’s only when you open your mouth in a desperate plea, a whine of his name, “Santi, Santi please,” that he begins to push into you.

Your mouth falls open in silent pleasure, just as Santi begins to talk. “Fuck, baby.” The stretch of him is delicious. “I wanted this for so long.” Now fully seated in you, he rests on his forearms, kissing you softly, first on the forehead, then on your lips. “Colour?” he asks softly.

You nearly cry from how sweet it is, how sweet he is, before responding, a mumble against his lips. “Green.” You feel full, like this is how you’re supposed to feel all the time, this is your base state, and you’re going to spend the rest of your life trying to achieve this specific feeling.

“Good girl,” Santi murmurs and you keen at the praise, feeling insatiable, wanting more, clenching around him. He grins, registering your response. “You liked that? You like being told what a good job you’re doing, how good you feel around me..” he breaks off with a gasp, and your eyes close as Santi begins to move in time with his words, long, slow thrusts as he begins to put you together again, building you up, further and further, his thrusts speeding up gradually, the sound of his dick sliding into your wetness, and the slap of skin-on-skin loud in his room, mixing with your moans.

You lift your legs up, wrapping them around his waist, hooking one of your feet around Santi’s butt. They don’t stay there for long, one of Santi’s arms pushing one leg up your body, hand under your knee as he splits you open. The new angle hits something deeper in you, and you gasp, unable to move and at the mercy of Santiago.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, coming out of nowhere, your lower body suddenly clenching around Santi, arms straining against the handcuffs, as you try in vain to touch him. You tumble through it, muscles spasming as you fall under him. He keeps moving into you as you shudder below him, pulling you through with murmured praise and encouragement as another broken cry leaves your throat.

His thrusts start to get sloppier as he goes faster, losing his rhythm slightly and you can tell he’s near his end. As best you can, you start moving your own hips, grinding up to meet him, words of encouragement slipping past your lips. “Santi, you feel so good, are you gonna fill me up?” You coo, pouting a little, tugging your wrists a little for emphasis. “Please Santi, I want to feel you, come in me, please-”

You stop when Santi snaps his hips once more, with a groan of finality and you can feel his cum inside of you as he holds himself there, his cock pulsing within you. He presses a couple more gentle kisses to your neck before sliding out, and you hiss slightly at the pull on your sensitive folds of your pussy.

He leaves for a second, returning with a key and gently releasing your wrists. “Good girl,” he murmurs, massaging your skin. “You did so good for me.”

He helps you sit up, kissing your cheek before leaving again. This time when he returns, he has a wet rag, and a glass of water, which you take a sip from, not having realised how thirsty you were. He gently dabs the rag on the inside of your thighs first, and the two of you watch in slightly morbid fascination as Santi’s cum leaks out of you onto the rag.

“That’s kinda hot,” you comment idly, wondering if Santi fucked all sense of you.

He only laughs, wiping the mess away and cuddling up next to you. “Do you want me to do it again?” he asks as you lean into his arms, his hands wrapping around your wrists to rub circles into your skin.

“Yes,” you answer, probably too quickly but beyond caring.

“Good.”

There’s a pause, and you can tell Santi wants to ask you something, so you twist in his arms, kissing along his shoulder. The act feels small, and innocent somehow, despite your states of undress, as you try to reassure him.

“You were right,” you murmur near his ear, “Stranger was where I was going wrong.”

It takes him a second to piece your reference together, but then he grins, and it’s like he hung the sun in the sky. “Yeah? I took care of you?”

You kiss him again, this time on the lips, biting back your own identical grin. “Yeah.”

***

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Tags: @fantasticcopeaglepasta

#Santiago x reader #Santiago Garcia x reader #Santiago pope x reader #Santiago pope Garcia x reader #pope x reader #Santiago Garcia #Santiago pope #Santiago pope Garcia #triple frontier #fanfic

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lalainajanes · 4 years ago

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For “neighborhood block party” on my bingo card! This one takes place in the same universe as Sweet As (quirky supernatural small town fic in which Caroline’s a dryad who owns a bakery and Klaus is the leader of the local werewolf pack and mates are a thing ;) ) though it’s more of a prequel.

The Fall Festival

Before he’d met Caroline, Klaus’ mornings had fallen into a predictable pattern.

He would wake up at the same time, wander into his kitchen to find a full pot of coffee and a pack member or two. Occasionally, there was an emergency. Sometimes there was an issue where his opinion was wanted. Most often, his visitors would come with a problem that could have been solved without Klaus’ input, though he’d never complained.

Klaus had been an outsider once, had become pack leader when the father he’d never known had died, and Marcel had shown up at his door in Chicago. At the time, Klaus had resented the disruption to his life.

Now, he doesn’t understand how he’d survived so long, locking himself in a cage every month.

His mother had explained his parentage when he’d turned twelve, and it had been revelatory, explained why he’d always struggled to wield even a hint of the power that came naturally to his siblings. Esther had told him what to expect, that he’d be dangerous, but she’d refused to tell Klaus anything about the man who’d passed him the werewolf genes, hadn’t even supplied a name.

The rift in their relationship had begun there, had only widened since. When Klaus had chosen to accept his birthright, he’d ensured he’d never be welcome in the home he’d grown up in. He’d never regretted it.

Most of his siblings happily defy their parents to visit, and the pack had become another sort of family.

Three months after Caroline had opened her shop, Klaus had trekked out into the forest to deal with one of the rare emergencies. A scent had been picked up on a security run two days prior, of a young, unfamiliar wolf.

A wolf who proved to have a gift for hiding.

Klaus and his inner circle had been trying to track the interloper, had to find them before the next full moon. His pack had long-standing agreements with the humans and the various local supernatural sects. A young wolf could have jeopardized the easy peace the town enjoyed without meaning to. Klaus and his pack would have had to pay the price.

Young wolves could not always assert human will over animal instincts, which could be deadly if any prey crossed their paths.

And to a werewolf, just about anyone can be prey.

That morning Klaus had decided to head west to an area of that woods that was dense with trees and wildlife. His pack usually leaves it be, understanding that there would be objections if they were to start messing with the local ecosystems. Besides, it offers little opportunity to run, something a werewolf is always eager to do when given a chance.

He’d been moving slowly and silently, examining the ground for prints that looked similar to the ones they believe belong to the young wolf. He’d frequently paused to see if he could pick up a scent, but he’d grown distracted.

Klaus had come across a grove of trees emanating a strange warmth. Curious, he’d rested his hand on the trunk of one.

Only to have the rough bark shiver under his touch and melt away, growing soft and smooth and scented of cherries and spice rather than earth.

He’d snatched his hand back and turned away as soon as he’d realized what was happening, had awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, and wondered if it would be cowardly to flee. He’d heard rustling, soft footsteps, the glide of fabric over skin. Then a woman’s voice, dripping with amusement, “You can turn around now. I’m dressed.”

Klaus had turned slowly. “My apologies. I was unaware I was trespassing.” He’d averted his eyes, realizing that “dressed” wasn’t entirely accurate. The woman had only slipped on a robe, a pale green confection of a garment made from silk and lace, loosely belted and short. He’d looked closely enough to realize she was gorgeous, with a riotous mess of blonde curls framing a flushed face and friendly, curious blue eyes.

His body had reacted, and Klaus had forced himself to begin breathing through his mouth. Her scent had clouded his thoughts, tempted him to step closer.

He hadn’t understood what was happening, why he was reacting so strongly to a stranger.

Klaus might have grown particular about who he invited into his bed, but he was hardly inexperienced or prone to awkwardness in the presence of beautiful women.

He’d gone a little wild when he’d become pack leader five years ago, had freely partaken in pleasure just about any time it was offered. Offers were still coming, but Klaus had largely lost interest, leery of complications that could occur with attachments. At the time, he’d only occasionally indulged when an alluring visitor caught his eyes.

Which hadn’t happened in months.

Why was this woman, not even a wolf, so very compelling?

When he’d clasped his hands behind his back and carefully fixed his attention to just above her forehead, she’d made a noise, an aborted laugh. “Wow, never met a shy werewolf before. You guys are usually super quick to get naked.”

Klaus’ eyes had swung to hers, shocked and a touch suspicious, “How do you know I’m a werewolf?”

Her head had tilted towards the trees, “It’s hard to explain. When I’m in that form, connected to the ground, there’s a heightened amount of intuition. Most supernatural beings pull power from some variety of natural elements, and I can usually tell which one, feel the energy.”

“You’re a dryad,” he’d said slowly. He’d remembered reading about them as a child, in one of his mother’s books. An old, thick tome, with tiny print, that detailed the origin stories of all the known species that walked the earth. He hadn’t recalled much more than the basics, had made a mental note to check if the library in his home had a similar volume.

“Guilty,” she’d chirped. She’d held out her hand, “Caroline Forbes. I bought the bakery in town a couple of months ago. You should stop by sometime.”

He’d shaken her hand, that contact enough to ensure Caroline would never stray from Klaus’ thoughts for long.

That brief brush of her skin on his had spurred a change in Klaus’ morning pattern.

He’d visited Caroline’s bakery the next day. Had rolled out of bed, earlier than he had since he’d been obligated to attend morning meetings, and driven to town. Caroline’s business had been easy to spot, featuring a cheerful striped awning in the same shade of green of the robe Klaus had spent far too many minutes contemplating.

He’d slid into a booth shortly after Caroline had opened up. She’d noticed him, appeared pleased to see him and wiggled her fingers in greeting.

And thus began a new routine.

* * * * *

Caroline smiles at Klaus as soon as he arrives. His face immediately grows suspicious.

Oops. She might have overdone it. Klaus is weirdly adept at spotting ulterior motives, and Caroline needs a teeny, tiny favor.

Which is not to say that she doesn’t look forward to his morning visits. More often than not, they’re the highlight of her day. She happens to have gotten a delivery late yesterday afternoon, one that’s essential to pulling off something she’s been working on for ages, so she’s particularly excited about it. She needs to borrow Klaus’ artistic skills to realize her vision.

That she’ll get to spend a little extra time with him is just a bonus.

He walks up to the counter and leans against it. “You look like you’re plotting something.”

She tilts her head to the side, uses her sweetest tone, “Don’t you think it’s a little early to be accusing me of such a thing?”

She spots the twitch at the corner of his mouth though he maintains an impressively deadpan expression. “Honestly, I suspect you’re usually plotting something.”

Caroline had to give him that one, “Okay, true. I might need a hand from someone who’s more artistically inclined than I am. AKA you.”

“What can I do for you?”

She smiles again, kind of glad that there’s a counter between them because Klaus’ lack of hesitation has her feeling all sorts of fuzzy things, and she very well might have thrown herself at him.

Which is not a thing that they do, though she’s hoping that changes at some point.

“I bought some lights and paint for the window. I splurged on it because it’s supposed to be really pretty, kind of sheer, and shimmery. I was hoping to paint some leaves and vines around the borders of the window, but my test runs were… subpar.”

“Still a bit upset about the Summer Solstice party then?”

Caroline glares without any real ire, “Shh. You know that’s a sore subject!”

She’d been woefully unprepared for just how serious the town took its celebrations. The Summer Solstice had been her first one. She’d nailed the food, had baked up tiny, fluffy meringues, served them with a vanilla peach compote, topped with fresh whipped cream and toasted almonds. Everyone had raved about them. But a few people – mostly the members of the town council who are generally unpleasant and excessively gossipy, in Caroline’s not at all biased opinion – had made snide remarks about her lack of decorations.

She’d been mortified even though it totally hadn’t been her fault. She’d miscalculated, not yet grasping just freaking slow the mail was. She’d had a ton of fresh flowers, but the paper lanterns and candy-colored trays and linens she’d ordered had arrived two days too late.

Caroline’s determined to do better this time and prove that party planning is her super-power, damn it.

Klaus is shrugging out of his jacket, “Show me to the supplies, love.”

“You’re the best!” she exclaims, reaching over to flip up the top of the counter. “Come on, it’s all in my office. Along with my very bad diagrams but feel free only to use them as a guideline. Far be it for little ‘ol me to tell a professional artiste what to paint.”

“Willing to cede control?” he teases. “Shocking.”

Caroline shrugs, “Guess I must trust you.”

Whoops. Caroline means it, but it’s a weighty thing to say.

Klaus has stepped passed the counter, bent to stash his jacket underneath. He freezes, head bowing before he up back at her. “I’m pleased to hear that,” he replies.

Caroline’s teeth sink into her lower lip, and she glances around. A few people are watching her curiously and, though she hates it, she knows now is not the time to dig into anything serious.

Though she’s not sure how much longer she’ll be able to resist.

Caroline clears her throat, heading to her office. She unlocks the door, stepping back to gesture Klaus go in first. She turns around to check that April’s come out from the kitchen, motions that she’ll be back out in ten, and then she joins Klaus.

He’s eyeing the sofa, “How often do you sleep here, sweetheart?”

“How do you… oh, right. Werewolf.”

Caroline’s pretty careful not to think about Klaus’ senses. Intellectually she knows he can probably sniff out all sorts of secrets, that the way she reacts to him is entirely unsubtle. She lives in purposeful denial to avoid melting into a puddle of mortification.

“Rarely. I did it a lot when I was scrambling to get this place opened. Now it’s pretty much just the night of the full moon, or the odd day when there’s a big complicated order.”

“Why the full moon?”

Caroline snorts, “Has it escaped your notice that you guys pack away a ton of food after the full moon? It’s my most profitable day of the month.”

She leans down and hefts the box of paint. Klaus steps forward, “Here, let me.”

Caroline lets him take it off her hands, “You know I’m probably at least as strong as you are, right?”

“I had read that, yes.” His eyes flit over her speculatively, and not for the first time in his presence, she thinks about how nice it would be if telepathy were in her bag of tricks. She knows what she hopes he’s thinking. Caroline’s been spinning fantasies that run the gamut from sweet and sensual to hot and frantic since Klaus first wandered into her grove. She’s pretty confident her interest is reciprocated, but he gives her mixed signals.

Caroline’s naturally tactile. She tends to crank that up when she’s in flirt mode. Klaus is careful to stay at a polite distance. He doesn’t cringe when she touches him, but he doesn’t touch her back either.

It’s confusing.

Caroline had gotten tipsy and whiny about the situation last weekend at the bar. Bonnie had been sympathetic and knowing, refused to spill what she clearly knew. Bonnie had only said, in that infuriatingly cryptic way witches have, that Caroline would figure it out when the time was right.

She and Bonnie haven’t known each other long, but Caroline had sensed she wouldn’t budge. She’d pouted until Enzo had arrived with shots.

Things had gotten a little hazy after that.

“Ah, so you’re just gentlemanly?” Caroline teases, watching as Klaus sets the box on her desk. He’s focused on it, so she takes the opportunity to ogle a little. His grey t-shirt is thin and snug. She’s going to be thinking about the way his muscles shift underneath it when she’s alone.

“Something like that.”

“Well, never let it be said that Caroline Forbes doesn’t pay her debts. I’ll save you a bunch of the desserts I’m making for the festival. I’ve perfected them over the last few days – pumpkin with pecan crumble, a delicious marriage of the best fall pies.”

He shakes his head, a laugh rumbling from low in his throat. “Sounds delicious. Perhaps you’ll save me a dance? There’s always a bonfire once the shops close down.”

Huh. That seems like an unmistakable signal. One Caroline hadn’t expected.

She swallows her initial instinct, the urge to joke about how Klaus must have decided she doesn’t have cooties after all. Caroline licks her lips, wonders if he can hear that her heartbeat has quickened. “I’ll make sure my dance card has a spot for you.”

* * * * *

Klaus finds Marcel in the living room when he comes downstairs on the night of the fall festival. He stops short, dread growing in his stomach. He’d spoken to Marcel earlier, and he hadn’t mentioned stopping by. “What happened?”

Marcel’s eyes narrow, “Is that a new sweater?”

Klaus doesn’t understand how that’s relevant to Marcel’s presence in his home.

He lifts his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for an answer to his question. Marcel grins, “Alright, not in a talkative mood. Heard. No disaster, don’t worry. I added an extra few cases of wine to the regular order last month, remember? Just here to grab them for the festival.”

Right. The pack operates several businesses but nothing with a storefront in town. On festival nights, the shops on Main Street decorate and offer free food or small gifts to anyone who wanders in. The town council covers the food available in the square, and Klaus’ pack supplies a significant portion of the booze (only fair since Klaus is quite sure they partake more than most). For this one, if he remembers correctly, they’re providing mulled wine and spiked hot chocolate while Enzo’s bar will set up kegs.

Klaus nods, relaxing. He glances at the clock on the wall. “I trust you can handle the delivery yourself?”

“Why, got a hot date? I don’t remember you ever doing much more than making an appearance at one of these things. This eagerness to arrive early is interesting.”

Marcel sounds far too knowing. To an extent, as the pack’s second in command, it’s his job to know Klaus’ business. He suspects what Caroline means to Klaus, that his wolf has chosen her, but Klaus has never confirmed it.

He’s been resisting the pull, exerting iron control over his instincts, maintaining a careful amount of distance even when he ached to return her affectionate overtures. And it’s not because he doesn’t want her, but because the bond is permanent. Unbreakable, once it’s solidified.

Klaus’ path is set. Caroline’s not bound by the same magic, not unless she wants to be.

“Obviously, you have this under control,” Klaus says, spinning on his heel. “Lock the door when you leave.”

Marcel’s laughter follows him out of the house.

* * * * *

Caroline’s nervous. More nervous than she’s ever been before a date, and it’s not even a date. She’d selected her outfit carefully. Her cream sweater dress has a wide neckline that’s prone to slipping off her shoulders. She’d selected dark tights for underneath and thigh-high boots, which are saved from being too risqué for a family-friendly event by their minimal heel.

She’s been getting compliments all evening, had smiled politely. She’d picked the outfit with one person in mind.

At nine, Caroline locks up, rushing into her office to let her hair down and touch up her makeup. A tap on the window comes at 9:06. She tucks a curl behind her ear, takes a deep breath, “You are not fifteen. Get it together,” she mutters to herself before she flicks off the lights.

She waves at Klaus through the window, grabs the small box where she’d packed up the portion of tartlets she’d saved for him and her keys.

Main Street is brighter than usual, street lamps lit and wrapped with strands of tiny white lights. Caroline steps outside, her eyes running over Klaus. He’s changed since this morning into darker jeans and a navy sweater. Is it a date outfit? She kinda thinks so.

“Hi,” Caroline says, impressed it’s not a squeak. She doesn’t trust herself to open with a compliment about how he looks – her brain-to-mouth filter is unreliable even when she’s calm, cool, and collected. Instead, she gestures to the windows, “Your paintings were a hit.”

Klaus doesn’t seem to hear her. He swallows heavily. “You look…” he trails off, but Caroline’s not an idiot. She knows exactly what the tiny ring of gold around his irises means.

Caroline’s grateful for the confirmation that her attraction isn’t at all one-sided. Her cheeks heat, “What, this old thing?”

He reaches for her, and Caroline’s heart stutters, mouth going dry. It’s the first time Klaus has made any sort of move, and it feels like the start of something she’ll want to remember.

Though she’s not capable of explaining that certainty at the moment. Caroline can’t claim to have a quiet mind, she’s capable of laser focus, but there’s usually a whole list of thoughts and questions in the background, each clamoring for attention.

Right now, there’s only Klaus and the shrinking distance between their bodies.

His palm lands on her upper arm, warm even through her sweater. His fingers tighten, skimming down, lingering when they meet the bare skin of her wrist before his palm meets hers.

She exhales shakily, returning the pressure. Caroline sways forward until her knees brush Klaus’, and his free hand clasps hers. He leans forward, and the hint of stubble on his face rasps against her cheek. “You are overwhelmingly lovely,” he murmurs, mouth brushing her temple.

Caroline’s lips part, and she’s seconds away from turning her head and rising to her toes when Klaus takes a half step away. He pivots until they stand shoulder to shoulder. He keeps one of her hands, and Caroline follows his lead when he begins to walk towards the town’s center.

She barely registers her surroundings, couldn’t name any of the people they pass or describe the decorations. She only feels Klaus’ hand, the solid strength of him next to her, is only aware of the addictive mix of comfort and anticipation fizzing through her veins.

He pulls her into his arms when they reach the makeshift dancefloor next to the bonfire.

It doesn’t feel like a first dance.

There’s no awkward shuffling or hesitant hand placement. Klaus’ grip on her changes, fingers threading between hers, and he wraps his arm around her waist. Caroline’s body melts into Klaus’, her hand rising to rest against his chest. She shivers when his head dips, his breath skimming across her bare shoulder.

There’s music, but it’s not important. She and Klaus move together seamlessly, closer than they probably should be in public, lost in their own world.

No one dares to disturb them.

#klaroline #klarosummerbingo #klaroline fanfiction

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perfeggso · 4 years ago

Text

Noir (yutae)

Week IV pt. 1

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 7k

“Okay,” said Yuta, “this is the last time I’ll ask – I promise. You’re sure I didn’t scare you last night?”

Taeyong sat in the passenger side of Yuta’s car, waiting in the pick-up area at Narita International Airport the morning after their first night together, listening to "4:00AM" by Taeko Onuki. He rolled his eyes.

“Yuta,” he began, “if I was going to be scared of you – which I am not, by the way – it wouldn’t be because you startled me when you yelled in the middle of the night, I can tell you that much.”

The night before, Taeyong had fallen asleep in Yuta’s arms; tired, sated, and oh so happy. His little bundle of positivity only unwound when he was shaken rudely awake in the early hours of the morning by Yuta screaming. It didn’t last for long, partially because Taeyong had used all the wits he could gather to coo over Yuta, calming him down and easing his tension, but it had been disturbing, nonetheless. When Taeyong felt like he’d waited a sufficiently long time for Yuta to regain his bearings, he’d ventured to ask what was the matter. All Yuta could put into words was that he’d had a bad dream, and that for as long as he could remember, his bad dreams could sometimes get horrifying or tangible enough to make him react quite violently in the real world, and he was sorry. Taeyong didn’t press him on what that particular dream was about, but it must have been quite upsetting. Who knew what kinds of things Yuta had seen in his life for his unconscious brain to draw upon? Anyway, the next morning Yuta couldn’t stop the incident from preoccupying him, apparently very worried that it would somehow make him less desirable or something. Taeyong was having none of it.

Yuta sighed as he sank farther into the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Taeyong felt a little pang of guilt that he might have insinuated that maybe he should fear Yuta for other, non-nightmare-related reasons. But like he said, he didn’t. He didn’t fear Yuta even though he’d watched him kill another man with his own eyes. Yuta was too sweet and odd, too predictably human, and made him feel too good to scare him.

“Okay, good. It just happens sometimes. Haven’t figured out how to control it yet,” Yuta said. He switched the topic. “How’s your ass, by the way?” Taeyong smiled to himself.

“It’s fine, but you did bruise me a tiny bit.”

Now it was Yuta smiling. “Sorry.” He didn’t seem very sorry, though. “Don’t Change” by INXS started to play over the radio.

“I don’t care,” Taeyong admitted. “I like a little reminder of who made me feel like this.”

“Good,” said Yuta. “Next time I’ll mark you up deliberately.”

Taeyong’s breath caught in his throat. Should they even be talking about this on the job? Wasn’t Yuta worried about being distracted? Still, he filed Yuta’s promise away in his mind so he could hold him to his word.

“You wanted tattoos, anyway,” Yuta teased. “I can give you the low commitment version.”

“You’re kinda corny sometimes, you know?” Taeyong said, causing Yuta to splutter laughter.

“Yeah,” he confessed, “I know.” He turned to regard Taeyong with a smile.

Taeyong hadn’t brought anything with him last night to change into for the next day, so (with permission!) he’d raided Yuta’s closet. Taeyong wouldn’t have minded wearing his clothes from the night before – they weren’t particularly slutty and no one he’d be seeing today had seen him in them the previous night – but they still smelled pretty bad from all the sweat and spilled alcohol lodged in their threads. Instead, Taeyong got to smell like Yuta.

He wore a Bauhaus t-shirt, black jeans, and a gray blazer with a little gold pin with the Inagawa-kai logo on it attached to the lapel. Yuta wore the same one on his black, patent-leather peacoat. He had paired that with black aviator sunglasses for a truly eye-catching combination. Taeyong thought it was funny that Yuta seemed incapable of not dressing like a mobster.

Before Yuta could say whatever he was about to, a blue BMW pulled up right next to them and rolled down the window, revealing Taeil in the driver’s seat and Mark by his side. Taeil was yelling something Taeyong couldn’t hear over the sound of departing airplanes, and apparently Yuta couldn’t understand it either because he yelled back for Taeil to repeat himself.

“What?” Taeil asked instead.

“He’s wondering if you’ve gotten any updates!” Mark repeated.

“No!” Yuta responded. “And why are you double-parking me? Just pull up a little!”

Taeil obliged and parked in front of Yuta and Taeyong, getting out once he’d cut the engine and walking to Yuta’s window. Yuta turned off the radio.

“Why do you need an update?” he asked.

Taeil rested his hands on the car door. “Because,” he explained, “Mark was hanging around headquarters and really wanted to come even though I kept telling him that if they brought more than one extra person with them I would not hesitate to leave him at the airport.”

“Why didn’t you just say no?” Yuta inquired.

“Because I thought he’d tell you I said no and then you’d be annoyed.”

Taeyong sat there as this whole interaction played out, watching Mark watch them from Taeil’s car. It seemed like Mark got a lot of preferential treatment. Not that Taeyong could talk.

“Alright,” said Yuta. “It’s not a problem. I don’t have any reason to believe there will be more people with Kun than he said.”

Taeil clapped his hands over the car door a couple of times. “Okay, just checking. Shategashira ?”

“Yeah?”

“ Would you have been annoyed with me?”

Yuta pondered the question for a minute, eyes dancing around the cabin of his car. “Probably,” he eventually admitted, smiling and looking at Taeil out of the corner of his eye.

“Knew it!”

Part of Taeyong wanted to know what Yuta’s deal was with Mark, scared the curiosity might be coming from a place of burgeoning jealousy. Taeyong was over the moon about his relationship with Yuta, but sometimes he cursed his own decision making. His infatuations always stressed him out terribly, and his situation was already stressful enough.

He watched as a group of well-dressed men exited the door Kun and his people were supposed to be emerging from. Yuta and Taeil were still talking – something to do with their meeting preparations, no doubt – and hadn’t seemed to notice the new arrivals in the pickup area.

“Is that them?” Taeyong asked.

Yuta and Taeil both snapped their heads in the direction Taeyong was pointing. Yuta blinked.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “It is.”

“How many were there supposed to be?” Taeyong asked as a follow-up.

“Seven,” Taeil answered this time. “They brought two extras with them. Fuck.”

“Looks like someone’s going in the trunk,” Yuta joked.

Taeyong and Yuta got out of the car, walking over to the Triads with Taeil and Mark, who’d finally stepped out onto the curb. Taeyong thought he caught Mark giving him a once-over, perhaps registering the presence of Yuta’s clothing on his body.

“I thought I told you to stay at your post,” Yuta scolded.

Mark shrugged. “I thought this was a special occasion.”

The Triads were more inconspicuous than the Inagawa-kai usually were, their tall builds and dark clothing lending them all an appearance more akin to a celebrity and his bodyguards (although who the celebrity was could be up to interpretation) than to a group of criminals.

Kun, or at least the man Taeyong assumed was Kun, stood at the front of a near perfect triangle of his men, a relaxed confidence defining his features.

Kun and Yuta acknowledged each other with a bow.

“ Shategashira , good to see you,” Kun greeted.

“ Fu Shan Chu , the honor’s all mine.”

Taeyong didn’t know what Kun’s title meant, but he had a feeling Yuta wasn’t pronouncing it very well. Not that he could have done any better. As Taeil and Mark quickly extended their own greetings, Taeyong prayed a silent ‘thank you’ that the Triads all spoke Japanese; he didn’t need to be any more confused than he already was basically nonstop. Although after a moment of thought, he realized this made perfect sense considering these men had been hand-picked to attend an important business meeting (if you could call it a “business meeting”) in Japan.

“Taeyong,” Yuta began, the indulgent tone Taeyong had grown more and more used to him using when they were together overtaking his voice, “I want you to meet some dear friends.”

Kun introduced himself first as a Deputy, second in command of his syndicate and in charge of international business; then came Sicheng, a skilled tracker and fighter despite his lithe build; followed by Ten, the Hong Kong liaison for the group’s Thai offshoot who explained by way of introduction that, since no one could ever pronounce his real name, he went by ‘Ten’ for the number of people he’d personally “interrogated” by the time he decided he needed a nickname (“but now I’ve lost count”). The three of them were followed by Yukhei, a tall Hong Kong native and self-described yes-man for Ten; Dejun, who kept his introduction succinct but fixed an almost manic positive energy on Taeyong the whole time he spoke; Kunhang, the “Macanese Snoop,” whatever that meant; and Yangyang who once worked for the Taiwanese Triads and was in charge of smuggling since he used to do it between West and East Germany for some reason Taeyong didn’t quite catch. The seven men were able to pack so much information into their introductions because they kept jumping in on each other’s sentences, adding information they deemed pertinent about their friends seemingly as a way of hyping one another up.

Once the seven men in front finished, Yuta peaked exaggeratedly to the back of the group to address the stragglers.

“And you two, it seems to me, are none other than Zhong Chenle and Huang Renjun, all grown up now, hm?” The pair smiled mischievously at each other. They wore almost schoolboy-like suits that looked a little too expensive to be trusted in the hands of a late teen or early twenty-something, as they appeared to be.

“Hello Yuta-san,” they each chimed, a bit out of synch.

“I can tell that you’ve aged too, Shategashira,” quipped the shorter of the two. The taller joined in.

“Yeah, please make sure you’re getting enough sleep, sir.” Chenle and Renjun tittered as the Triads rolled their eyes and Kun shot them an absolutely lethal glare.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” Mark jested from over Taeyong’s left shoulder. “You’re on Yuta’s turf now and I can promise from experience you don’t want to see him pissed. Can’t run to your daddies here.”

Now it was Chenle rolling his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Mark,” he said, and Mark cackled in amusement.

“Thank you, Mark,” Taeil interjected, a cautious impatience practically dripping from his voice. “I think our Shategashira can defend himself.”

“Great!” said Yuta, trying to regain control of the interaction. Taeyong was starting to get nervous because they were all still standing out in the open outside one of Narita’s many exits, and it wouldn’t have taken that much imagination on the part of an onlooker to identify them as a group of gangsters. Yuta didn’t seem nervous though, so Taeyong pushed his anxiety as far down as he could until it was nearly imperceptible. Yuta leaned closer to him a bit as he aimed to guide Taeyong through their ongoing introductions.

“Those two meiwaku are the sons of Triad commanders. They’re completely spoiled, as you can see.” Taeyong almost giggled, amused by the amount of time Yuta seemed to spend getting bullied by people who were barely out of high school. Yuta continued. “So that’s everyone,” he concluded, pulling away from Taeyong.

“I’m humbled to meet you all,” Taeyong said, brain overloaded for the hundredth time in a month by all the new faces and by Yuta’s proximity.

Yuta brushed his finger over Taeyong’s sleeve. It was a small movement and he doubted anyone else saw, but Taeyong had to suppress the heat threatening to overtake his face. Yuta never got into the personal space of his subordinates while conducting business, but then again, Taeyong was an exception in more ways than one. He couldn’t decide if he was more irritated by Yuta messing with him or by his own oversensitivity.

“You don’t have to use kenjougo with them,” Yuta joked. “Polite language will do. They’re all younger than you, anyway.”

Taeyong balked. He knew that Chenle and Renjun were young, but his tone hadn’t been meant for them. And he thought Yuta was a prodigy...

“You want to introduce yourself, Taeyong?” Yuta suggested.

“Oh, right! Hello, my name is Lee Taeyong and I’m sort of a member-in-training, I suppose. I’m helping Yuta prepare for your upcoming meeting.” Taeyong bowed, having rushed through his introduction, and he was glad no one could see his downcast eyes go wide when he felt Yuta’s palm just above the small of his back, guiding him upright. Could he not?

“Taeyong’s been a great asset to us lately,” said Yuta, and Taeyong thought he detected the tiniest hint of teasing in his words. “I trust you’ll all come to appreciate him as we have.”

Taeyong heard Taeil sigh from behind him. “We should be going,” he stated, “but I regret to inform you that one of the pipsqueaks is going to need to improvise in terms of seating on the way into the city. We were expecting fewer people.”

Kun smiled wryly. “Maybe I should have hired a professional driver,” he joked and Taeil stiffened in irritation. “But no,” he continued, “I understand. These two insisted last minute on a vacation to Tokyo and their fathers didn’t listen to my concerns about bringing them, so here we are. We’ll figure it out.”

“Shall we?” asked Yuta, turning on his heel towards the parked cars, and Kun made a hand motion that signaled for all the Triads to follow.

“You know,” said Taeil, as he watched Mark drop back in formation to share more personal greetings with some of his Triad buddies, “we could just put Mark in the trunk, and this wouldn’t be an issue. He did insist on joining after all.”

Mark turned his attention from Yukhei to Taeil and scowled. “If you do that, I’ll yell so loud you get pulled over and then I’ll say I’m being kidnapped by the yakuza,” he warned.

Ten sidled up to Mark and regarded him casually, a smirk forming on his face. “Uh-huh,” he said, “and what do you think the cops will make of that Irezumi on your wrist?”

“Shut up,” said Mark, seeming to resign himself to an uncomfortable ride back.

Taeyong and Yuta returned to their car, trailed by Ten, Kun, and a skittish Renjun who held a finger to his lips as he slipped into the middle seat in back. Taeyong paused in front of the vehicle for a moment, next to the passenger side door. He was fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to sit shotgun, considering he had the lowest rank of the five of them save Renjun. He looked at Yuta questioningly, expecting a word or gesture directing him to the back seats. Instead, Yuta nodded for Taeyong to enter where he was, so Taeyong opened the door and sat in front, trying to be small and invisible by moving as little as possible. Kun and Ten didn’t seem to question it.

“Thank you for choosing Inagawa chauffeur service,” Yuta said jokingly once everyone was inside. It took a moment to get going because Mark was trying to force Chenle into the trunk of Taeil’s car and Chenle responded by flailing and emitting a screech so high in pitch that Taeyong worried it might shatter all the windows of both cars.

“You’re a smart boy, Renjun,” Kun stated, “choosing to come in this car.”

“Yeah,” Ten chimed, “what would you have done if we tried to force you into the trunk?”

Renjun smirked. “I have a pocket knife on me and I’m not afraid to use it…” he explained in response, making everyone laugh. In front of them, Mark pouted as the trunk door finally closed over him. Taeyong caught a smile on Yuta’s face out of his peripheral vision as both car engines started.

***

Taeyong had only been to the “training room” at headquarters a couple of times before. The first time had been when Doyoung decided to nab him and teach him knife throwing, and the second was when Jaehyun asked him to hold arm pads for him to punch. The space was painted yellow from floor to ceiling and had harsh lighting and mold growing like shadows in the corners. One section had weights, mats, and boxing equipment set up next to a mirror; one, some knives and targets; and one, a table and small sitting area.

The Triads had only been in town a few hours and already, they seemed to be getting quite comfortable. When Taeyong had a moment of free time, Ten and a few others grabbed him without explanation and dragged him off to go “have some fun and get to know each other.” Apparently, that meant subjecting him to public mortification.

Sicheng had his arms wrapped around Taeyong’s midsection, bending him over and essentially demobilizing him. Taeyong breathed heavily, unable to do anything but struggle and watch the speckled floor under him shift along with his jerky movements.

“Sicheng, maybe go easy on him?” he heard Kunhang suggest from the table area, where some of the Triads were sat watching.

“I thought Inagawa was tougher than this,” Yangyang heckled, and Taeyong felt hot shame pile on top of his bodily discomfort.

Dejun piped up next. “He’s new, Yangyang, give him a break.”

Taeyong wanted to respond, but he was too busy trying to defend himself physically to do it verbally. Sicheng brought his knee up into Taeyong’s stomach, just hard enough to startle him without hurting him too badly. He used Taeyong’s disorientation to trip him, and next thing he knew, Taeyong was sore and heaving with his ass on the padded floor.

“Or don’t go easy on him,” Kunhang remarked. “Either way.”

Taeyong looked to his audience. Dejun, Kunhang, and Yangyang were all sitting around the table in the corner, a neglected game of poker which had started as a way of blowing off some competitive steam after “training” laid out between them. Ten stood a bit off to the side, arms crossed and gaze sharp with scrutiny. He took a couple of strides towards Taeyong and Sicheng, a smirk overtaking his mouth as he looked down at Taeyong like he was prey. Taeyong had met plenty of scary people in his life, and the frequency of such encounters had only increased since he started hanging around the yakuza, but Ten, with his wicked expressiveness and black leather suit in this moment gave Taeyong a chill of pure terror.

He noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see it was Sicheng reaching his hand out to help Taeyong up. He smiled, face inviting and a welcome contrast to Ten’s entire aura. Taeyong took his hand and let Sicheng pull him to his feet.

“I thought you were supposed to be Yuta’s bodyguard,” Ten said plainly.

“Well, not exactly,” Taeyong tried to explain. “I just follow him around and keep a lookout for trouble; anything suspicious.”

Ten narrowed his eyes in a way Taeyong felt had to be partly for show. “That’s all, huh? Doesn’t sound like much.” Ten looked Taeyong head to toe and hummed thoughtfully. “Could there be another reason Yuta keeps you around?”

Jesus Christ, did everyone know? The room felt suddenly cold as Taeyong’s body came down from his previous exertion. He tried to suppress a shiver as his brain rushed to come up with a response. Thankfully, Sicheng stepped in.

“He knows how to fight, Ten, he’s just used to fighting brainless brutes.”

Taeyong nodded, hurrying to redeem himself. “Sicheng’s right,” he confirmed. “M’sorry.”

Ten let out a laugh through his nose. “No need to grovel,” he said, smile growing slightly less intimidating. He pushed a finger playfully into Taeyong’s shoulder, sending Taeyong’s mind reeling. “Anyway, I heard you saved Yuta from an assassin, so I’m in your corner. I’m just taking it upon myself to help you improve and make yourself even more useful.”

Taeyong laughed in confusion, spitting out a sarcastic, “gee, thanks.”

Dejun expelled a sound of wounded disappointment from behind Ten, certainly brought about by the poker game. Kunhang and Yangyang snickered. Ten ignored them all, keeping his attention trained on Taeyong. He raised an eyebrow and smiled, catlike.

“Wanna see something cool?”

“Sure?” Taeyong ventured, not sure if this was another way of saying “let’s have some fun and get to know each other.” He steadied his core in case Ten decided to tackle him or something.

Instead, Ten opened his leather jacket, giving his torso the effect of having bat wings. Taeyong was surprised, but not as surprised as he would have been a month ago, to see the glint of what had to be at least two dozen small metal weapons emanating from the lining.

“Shit…”

“Nice, huh?” Ten prompted, and Taeyong felt compelled to nod in agreement. Ten used his head to indicate the right side of his jacket, where he had stored a slew of small knives, brass knuckles, and throwing stars, among other things Taeyong didn’t recognize.

“This side is for hand to hand combat,” he explained, smiling like a snake about to bite. He indicated to his left next, where he had some longer and thicker knives, plyers, metal clamps, and a bouquet of slim needles, each about nine inches in length. “And this side is for extracting information.” Ten seemed to register Taeyong’s cautious surprise. “I only show you this so you know what you’re up against,” he cooed.

“Al-alright,” Taeyong almost swallowed his words. “I appreciate it.”

Before Ten could terrorize him any further, the door swung open and everyone was looking to see who had arrived. It was Yukhei, trailed by Yuta.

“Yup, they’re in here,” Yukhei was saying, holding the door open for Yuta to enter.

Yuta stalked towards Taeyong, Ten, and Sicheng and the boys at the corner table all stood in greeting.

“Ten,” Yuta said in mock disapproval, “are you traumatizing my poor partner?”

“I’d call it ‘educating,’” Ten responded. “If he gets traumatized that’s simply a byproduct of necessary learning.”

“Okay, Ten, just don’t scare him off,” Yuta replied.

“It’s not like I could leave if I wanted to,” Taeyong grumbled, and Yuta shot him a cutting look, but it softened quickly into an expression of vague sadness.

“Taeyong, you’re wanted in room 2A.”

Taeyong schooled his face. “Right away, Shategashira .”

Yuta turned on his heel and exited the room. Yukhei stayed by the door, Taeyong figured, because Ten needed him. Taeyong followed hesitantly after, but Yukhei stopped him on the way out, looming over him but smiling so genuinely that Taeyong felt more comforted than scared.

“If it’s any consolation,” Yukhei began, a thick accent coating his deep voice, “Sicheng kicks my ass all the time too.”

Taeyong had a hard time believing that considering Yukhei, though he was roughly the same height as Sicheng, was noticeably larger in every other way. He was probably either too nice or too reliant on blunt force. Taeyong let out a breathy laugh.

“Thanks. That does make me feel a bit better.”

“No problem.”

Taeyong left, hearing Ten’s call of “bye-bye, Taeyong! I’ll see you again soon!” echo down the hall after him. His stomach sank when he thought of the coldness he’d accidentally caused in Yuta, but the other man was nowhere to be found so he figured he’d just report where he was needed and find Yuta later.

Room 2A was one floor down. Taeyong tried to open it himself but it was locked, so he opted to bang on the metal to announce his presence. It opened, a grinning pair of faces belonging to Johnny and Mina greeting him on the other side.

“Yonggie!” Mina exclaimed, moving herself away from the entrance so Taeyong could pass her, which he did. “Welcome!”

The room was little more than a cinder block box with a metal chair in the center. If Taeyong didn’t trust Mina and Johnny at this point, he would be expecting something horrible to occur in such a room.

“What’s going on, you guys?” Taeyong asked.

Johnny closed the door and came to lean on the wall across from Taeyong.

“Why don’t you take a seat,” he suggested, and Taeyong did. “We’re here to impart on you some very valuable lessons.”

Taeyong grimaced. He was exhausted from what Sicheng had put him through and just wanted to find Yuta. He’d had enough “education” and “lessons” for one day. Nevertheless, he figured he had no choice but to indulge his captors.

“What lessons are those?” Taeyong asked, rocking himself slightly against his chair. Mina joined Johnny on the wall.

She answered, “Tactics for resisting interrogation.”

Taeyong started. “Whoa. Okay…”

“I know it sounds bad,” said Johnny, “but it’s really important for you to know. Yuta asked us to do this.”

Taeyong felt his skin prickling as he grew more nervous. Why didn’t Yuta just teach him himself, then? he wondered, posing the question out loud.

Johnny smirked. “Because, he has important shit to get done. He can’t tend to his Yonggie constantly. He has to delegate some of that.”

Taeyong gritted his teeth. “Alright, alright. But why do I need to know this? I’m practically useless so why would anyone bother kidnapping me?”

Johnny slid down the wall until he was crouching against it, his face softening in mild concern.

“First of all,” he said, “you should know you’re not useless, Taeyong.”

“Yeah!” Mina added. “He might give you a hard time, but Johnny keeps telling me how much he likes having you around.” Johnny smiled at this.

“You hang around with a Lieutenant all day!” he said, and Mina finished his sentiment with, “you are TOTALLY kidnappable, Taeyong!”

Taeyong laughed at the preposterousness of this compliment. “Thanks, guys. I’m sorry, I’m just in a bit of a mood today,” he explained. “And I guess you’re right.”

“Of course we are,” Johnny said, pushing back off the wall to standing. “Anyway, now that we’re all on the same page, this is where things might get a bit unpleasant again. We give this training to every member of the syndicate and all of our serious romantic partners, so contrary to your instincts, you are doubly in need of this.”

Taeyong squirmed, uncomfortable in a bad way over the fact that he wasn’t technically a syndicate member yet and uncomfortable in a good way at the knowledge that Yuta considered him serious .

Mina smiled. “Don’t worry, this has come in handy for me, for sure.”

“That just makes me worry more, you realize?” Taeyong replied with a grimace.

“Okay, fair enough. Sorry. But it’s better you know than end up dead or betraying your friends and boyfriend!”

“Taeyong,” Johnny began. “Let’s start with what you know. When you picture a yakuza kidnapping, what’s happening?”

Taeyong’s mind flew to the image of Ten’s sparkling and deadly bat wings. “I try not to picture that, but I saw what Ten carries around with him, so I think I have an idea.”

Johnny laughed hollowly as Mina watched him. “Yeah, Ten’s a special guy. I think he’s the only person I’ve met who genuinely enjoys that part of the job. Anyway, so you know it could get bad.”

Johnny lifted his shirt to reveal his lower abdomen. There was a long, thin scar across his obliques, slicing an inked koi fish in half.

“Knives are common,” he explained vaguely. “I got this one from a Sumiyoshi thug nicknamed ‘The Butcher.’ But we’ll get to that later.”

Taeyong swallowed thickly as he tried to steady his buzzing eyes. Johnny continued.

“Obviously, you know that we expect you not to divulge any sensitive information. There are three things you are allowed to confirm for your captors though, just to get them thinking you won’t be a complete pain in their asses. Those three things are name, rank, and clan. Got it?”

Taeyong remembered how Yuta had lost patience quickly with the Yamaguchi assassin who refused to give any personal details. He didn’t want to end up like that guy. He nodded.

“Lee Taeyong, Kumi-in, Inagawa-kai,” he recited, as if anyone in the room didn’t already know.

“But no more than that,” Johnny confirmed.

“Another important thing to keep in mind,” Mina continued, “is that there are ways to avoid the worst tactics. If they’ve gone to the trouble of capturing you, that’s because they think you have crucial information that they need. It’s in their interest to keep you alive.”

Taeyong nodded along, determined to be a good student as he realized more and more clearly the very real possibility he might need to use some of what he was learning.

“Although it can be tempting to act defiant as if you’re not bothered by the pain, and many experienced gangsters will do this to avoid hurting their fragile little egos,” Mina looked pointedly at Johnny, who just shrugged, guilty, “it can do you some good to play to the opposite. You should exaggerate your injuries and pain. Even if they try to use that against you and humiliate you, ultimately if they think you’re closer to death than you are they’ll let up much faster. Make sense?”

Taeyong nodded quickly. Exaggerated pain, he could do that. “Makes sense,” he confirmed.

“Okay,” Johnny went on, “another thing. Obviously if you ever did get kidnapped, we’d send some people out to find you, and hopefully they’d be successful.”

Taeyong shifted in his seat, watching Johnny start to pace. Hopefully .

“When you do get rescued, for that to end well you need to stay calm and not try to join in the fight. If they see you moving around a lot or if you look like you’re about to break out of whatever restraints they have you in and fight back, then they’re way more likely to treat you like an enemy combatant and not like a prisoner. You could get killed. It’s kind of counterintuitive, but it’s important.”

Taeyong rolled his ankles, gaining some comfort out of the way the stretch and crack of the movement soothed his muscles. He took a deep breath.

“Hey guys, why are we doing this right now? Am I in danger?”

Mina and Johnny exchanged a glance, sending Taeyong’s heart racing even faster than it already was as he tried to decipher their silent communication. Mina spoke first.

“Not necessarily,” she said.

“We just want to prepare you,” Johnny added. “Well, Yuta wanted us to prepare you because he’s been really worried since that assassin came after you two. We can’t be sure that anything too serious will go down but if, say, a gang war does start over this Mitsubishi thing, we want you to be prepared. Got it?”

“Oh…yeah, got it.” Taeyong sighed. “I supposed it’s too late to just…let me go, huh?”

Johnny’s face screwed up and Mina’s twitched. Taeyong thought of their conversation at Johnny’s pachinko bar, assuming she too was pouring over the memory of her own warnings.

“I – look,” Johnny began, and Taeyong already knew the answer he was about to receive. “It’s been discussed, and the higher ups are adamant; you’ll be given the choice as soon as the Mitsubishi deal is secured, but no earlier. They felt they needed to bring you on in the beginning, and I’m in no position to question if that was overkill, but at this point you’re certainly stuck, considering all the information you have.” Taeyong nodded, eyes fluttering to the floor as Johnny leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. He huffed a breath. “Do you – do you want to leave, Taeyong?”

Taeyong blinked. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know what leaving would mean or where he could ever go. His new life was exciting in a way he’d always dreamed about and he liked the people around him more than he’d liked anyone in a long time; Johnny and Mina going out of their way to help him stay safe, the other Tora regiment members all welcoming him so easily, and Yuta…god, Yuta… At the same time though, Taeyong’s new life hadn’t managed to shake the feeling he so often had that he was floating through existence, incapable of being grounded even by the most intense experiences. He wasn’t used to things working out for him. Besides, the last time he made a major decision for himself, he’d been called xenophobic names and battered within an inch of his life.

“I…don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t think so, anyway, but I don’t want to be a liability.”

Johnny smiled slightly. “That’s not worth worrying about because you aren’t.”

Taeyong wasn’t convinced, but he nodded anyway. “Alright,” he said. “What else have you got to teach me?”

Johnny and Mina let him go after another half hour or so of discussion, teaching him how to school his demeanor to fit somewhere between deference and defiance, how to relax himself in a way that would prevent excessive bleeding and make blows easier to endure, and how to give answers that kept the line of questioning going but revealed nothing to the interrogators. By the time he left room 2A, Taeyong was wondering if he should feel empowered or petrified, his mind careening from one emotion to the other with every new thought. Once he was done processing, he decided to find Yuta.

He’d barely had the chance to talk to him all day and it was weird for him. The night before had been ridiculously intimate, Yuta fucking him so well, opening up to him about his past, and holding him as they fell asleep; so the weird shifts Taeyong had observed all day in Yuta between teasing and aloof were giving him whiplash since he couldn’t ask what was causing them. He hoped Yuta wasn’t busy.

“ Douzo .”

Taeyong’s heart sank when he opened Yuta’s office door and saw Kun there, though he tried not to show it.

“Taeyong, what is it?” Yuta asked, an air of impatience radiating from him and from Kun as he turned around to see who was there.

“ Shategashira ,” Taeyong saluted. He felt like it was his first day all over again. “Sorry to interrupt. I was just hoping to speak with you whenever you’re free.”

Yuta’s expression softened. “Of course. Why don’t you sit by the window while we finish up?”

“Thank you,” Taeyong said, bowing sheepishly and settling into one of the indicated chairs. “Excuse me.”

Kun looked sideways at Taeyong, silent.

“You can speak freely in front of him,” assured Yuta. Kun nodded and pulled his attention back to the matter at hand.

“I just don’t understand how they would have gotten ahold of that information. Could it have been through Donghyuck’s crew?” By “they” Taeyong assumed Kun meant the Yamaguchi-gumi.

Yuta shook his head, placing his fingers in a check mark shape at his chin. “I doubt it. Donghyuck is extremely careful.”

Kun was growing exasperated. Taeyong felt like maybe this was an interaction he shouldn’t be witnessing. He didn’t quite know why he felt that way, though.

“Well, Yuta, there has to be a weak link somewhere, and I trust that you’ll eliminate it. We’re already in a less stable position than I was expecting upon arrival.”

Yuta smiled accommodatingly. “Thank you for your confidence. The leak could have also come from a different regiment, but I’m doing all I can to weed out whoever is responsible.”

“Good,” said Kun. “Our success and our partnership could depend on this.”

“I understand.”

Right then, Chenle and Renjun showed up at the door, having finished a shopping trip down the street, to tell Kun that Ten was looking for him. Taeyong thought he saw Kun direct a sliver of a smile his way as he left.

Yuta sat up and joined Taeyong by the window in the chair to his left. He sat and sighed, a big, open smile overtaking his face. There was the whiplash again.

“Hi baby,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Did Johnny and Mina give you the talk?”

Taeyong snorted a laugh, looking at Yuta from under his fringy bangs. “Yeah, they did.”

“You okay?” Yuta asked. Taeyong shrugged.

“Could’ve been worse,” he guessed. “Good stuff to know.”

Yuta leaned in. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“I guess a little. But there was other stuff too.”

Taeyong looked around Yuta’s office. He’d been stuck almost all day in rooms with concrete walls and fluorescent lighting, and it was making him want to jump out of his skin. He told Yuta to wait a moment for him to get up and turn off the lights. On second thought, while he was up and about, he opened the window to flush the room of the stench of stale cigarette smoke. Yuta watched him with caution as he underwent his little chores. Taeyong turned from the window and made his way back to his chair, eyes finally able to relax in the dimness.

“Johnny and Mina said you’re worried I might be in danger.”

Yuta sighed again. “I don’t necessarily think you’re in imminent danger, but I want to be safe. It’s always a possibility. Sorry if I scared you.”

“Like I told you this morning,” Taeyong repeated. “You don’t scare me. I just want you to be up front with me.”

“Up front, huh?” Yuta paused, his eyes flitting over the floor in thought. “Truth is I’ve been worried about you since the Yamaguchi assassin. It’s always risky to take on a new recruit, or a lover for that matter,” Taeyong blushed at the word, “but up until that point I don’t think the danger felt as real. I would never forgive myself if I let something bad happen to you, Taeyong.”

One of the things Taeyong had been wondering about clicked into place for him. “Your dream last night…is that what – ”

“Yes. That’s part of why I was worried about frightening you. Thought I might have said something while unconscious about you, I don’t know, getting abducted or something.”

“You didn’t,” said Taeyong, breathing a laugh.

“Good.” Yuta smiled, gaze trained at the open window and fingers fiddling with the bottom of his blazer. Taeyong wondered if he was nervous to make eye contact. “And then later when you mentioned how you’re basically stuck with me, then I felt like shit all over again because it’s true: you’re essentially my hostage.” With that, Yuta finally looked Taeyong in the face. “I just don’t know what to do when you say things like that. I know this seems silly, I mean I’ve never shied away from doing arguably unethical things before, but I couldn’t help but ask myself if you even like me -- ”

The pressure that had been threatening to send Taeyong shooting out of his own body finally became too much, and in lieu of doing the impossible, he found himself damming up Yuta’s stream of consciousness with a kiss.

“There we go,” he teased, pulling away and reveling in the awestruck look on Yuta’s face. “I had to shut you up somehow.”

Yuta’s face hadn’t moved since the kiss ended and a smile was spreading over it like melting butter. “That’s no way to speak to your commander,” he teased back, sounding a little drunk on relief. Taeyong spoke.

“ Shategashira , I hope you can forgive me. But you are being ridiculous. I like you, okay? And it’s not because I’m scared or brainwashed. I like you because I like you . I like the way you make me feel. I’m sorry for making you think I wanted to leave.”

Yuta took Taeyong’s hand and kissed it. “ I’m sorry for being such a basket case. Aish, it’s embarrassing, huh?”

Taeyong snorted. “Oh please. If you weren’t insecure sometimes, I might actually be afraid of you.”

He smiled to himself, wondering for a moment if maybe he needed to stop thinking so much and just bask in the strange twist of fate that had brought him and Yuta together. They were still getting to know each other, but Taeyong had never been with someone so charismatic yet so open. If he was going to risk being kidnapped and tortured it might just end up being worth it. Taeyong allowed himself to be lost enough in thought that a few seconds felt like minutes and he barely heard it when the door flung open without warning. Yuta heard it though, wrenching his fingers from where they were laced between Taeyong’s.

“Yuta-san!” said Renjun as he entered the room trailed by Chenle. “What’s going on in here?”

Yuta glared. “Didn’t anyone teach you to knock? That’s very disrespectful.”

“Sorry, didn’t know you had anything to hide,” Chenle quipped. “Anyway, Kun is looking for you again.”

Yuta stood, reluctantly it seemed to Taeyong. “Why couldn’t he send someone else to fetch me?”

Chenle rolled his eyes as they left the room and on the way out Taeyong heard Renjun explain, “because, he told us if all we were gonna do was loiter he might as well put us to use.”

Taeyong giggled, catching himself when Yuta peered back through the door. “Hey, you can go home. Or stick around and make some friends, yeah?”

Taeyong nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, and Yuta rapped his knuckles against the door with a grin before he was gone. Taeyong stood, determined to have some Triad friends by the end of the day.

#my fanfic #my work #nct #nct 127 #yuta #nct fanfic #nakamoto yuta #taeyong #yutae #nct dream #noir #1980s! au #neothestars #yakuza #gang!au #nct 2020 #nctnetwrite #nct lee taeyong #nct nakamoto yuta

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baekchelor · 5 years ago

Text

𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

pairings: George Mackay x reader genre: romantic comedy rating: pg13 synopsis: on the set of his new film, golden boy George Mackay learns a basic human truth: that the heart is deceitful above all things.

❝ have you ever been in love? horrible isn’t it? it makes you so vulnerable. it opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.❞ ―neil gaiman

ONE | SCRIPTS & BONDS ◄ ᴘʀᴇᴠ

The first read-through for Dharma happens three weeks later at a film studio in London. Although George allowed Daisy to sleep at his place last night, he didn't even say goodbye when he walked out on the girl deeply asleep on the wrong side of the bed. He wanted to be early as usual, and leaving coffee ready on the kitchen counter didn't fall bellow a No-Strings-Attached relationship, so he didn't bother. There are only Greta Gerwig and some staffers to greet when he's ushered into the venue.

"Y/N isn't here yet," George observes, tired blue orbs scanning the room.

"Don't worry," Alma smiles. She's already slipped a coffee cup into his hand, the way she always does in work mornings when she's well aware George is still half-asleep. The boy snickers to himself, his manager is so predictable. "She'll be here."

"She's probably still with Henry," George surmises. Y/N isn't known as The Witcher’s princess for nothing.

Alma shrugs, encouraging to slurp his Americano and mind his own business. George is well aware this chat makes him look foolish and inexplicably jealous. Thankfully, Alma gossips along, "I don't doubt for a second she may have slept with him last night. But she won't be sleeping in, I can guarantee you that." George tilts his head, asking for more in tell. Alma's red-stained lips stretch open in a yawn. "She always comes on the dot, apparently. Never early, never late."

More interested than he should, and with an amused grin, he consults the time on his phone. Nine o'clock. "Thirty more minutes, then." He places the iPhone on the table in front of him, next to his script. "Let's time her." Alma chuckles, shaking her head. George plays dumb, opting to dramatically smell his coffee before proceed and take another sip from his cup. He picks up the thick white booklet, lines already colour-coded per actor, and starts to read through it.

Dharma is set in 1857 India. Aakesh, a penniless Hindi boy —portrayed by Dev Patel, the main lead— has always known his social standing is a consequence of wrongdoing in his past life. Y/N plays Marina, a wealthy Spanish girl Aakesh believes to be his past life love and the trigger of his attempts to clean his karma. George's character becomes involved when Colonel Edmund Thorn (Michael Fassbender), concerned about the safety of his fianceé, Marina, assigns James as her personal guard. They fall in love.

Thumbing through the middle section of his script, where the plot starts to thicken, it suddenly dawns on George how much acting this movie is going to require of him. His character demands him to declare his devotion to Marina with mere gazes, words few. Still, each movement of his body vociferates a heartfelt love, deepest that any he's ever impersonated.

George closes his eyes, trying to get in character. He imagines himself having this conversation with someone he desperately loves. He pictures Daisy in his head. Her thick, ash blonde hair and smiling eyes, the pink warm of her cheeks and the heat of her mouth when he kisses her.

It feels like cheating, though, because his character is supposed to be in love with Marina, and although Daisy is a girl he enjoys spending time with, he is not in love with her.

George's sigh exits in a long, laboured stream of breath.

"Everything all right?"

The voice is sweet, with an upward lilt to it. It sounds hesitant too, but like it's trying not to be.

The boy looks up. Y/N is studying him, dark-haired and flushed, the expression on her face shy.

"Oh, hello there," George smiles, clearing his head of its haze. He rises from his seat and extends a hand. "I'm George."

"I know," she giggles, holding it. Her palm is cold, whereas George's is warm. "I'm Y/N. I really admire your work. I’m a big fan… Probably had seen all your movies."

George can't help feeling a little sheepish at that. "Thank you," he says. Their arms fall back to their sides. "Same here. Without the 'I'm Y/N' part," he jokes, and he wants to slap himself for being that lame.

"Geo’s friend is a big fan of your boyfriend," Alma quips from behind her. She's too practical to ever get star struck. "I'm Alma, by the way. Geo's manager."

Y/N smiles charmingly as she shakes Alma's hand. And George finds himself in a daze, he loves the way she behaves, how her voice sounds like and the welcoming aura she irradiates.

<< The fuck is wrong with you?>>

"Nice to meet you, Alma." She turns back to George and smiles wider. She has small, pink lips; like petals. "I can arrange a meet and greet if you'd like."

"Thank you," George says, smiling back in spite of himself.

Y/N's eyes twinkle as she coyly shrugs her shoulders. She's wearing a tight little skirt George is sure Daisy owns too. It just doesn't look as good on her as it does on the girl who's currently in front of him.

"Whoa! Look at us getting along," she cheers, eyes transformed into two crescent moons, "Must confess I came prepared to try to break the ice." She seems to check herself then, pursing her mouth and laughing all of a sudden. "Sorry, that made it sound like we're going on a blind date or something."

George laughs along because her giggles are contagious and it is kind of funny. "We kind of are? We're playing star-crossed lovers and didn't even do a chemistry test. I'm pretty much going into this thing blind."

"Aren't we?" Y/N looks like she's glad to find someone in the same boat. "I was just telling--"

"Henry" George quips. His mouth stills awkwardly over the last syllable. He's not sure why he's letting himself be so familiar with this girl when they've only just met.

Y/N doesn't seem to mind, though. "Oh, no, no," she rolls back on her heels, "Henry and I are kinda...well..."

It puts George at ease for some reason. "Oh I see," he says affably with absolutely no bite to it, and Y/N's soft smile flashes again. "You were saying?"

"I was saying," she continues, "I was telling Dev about the no chemistry test thing, and he goes:" her voice fakes a man's voice, heavy British accent and everything, "you guys don't need it. Look at you both! Would look so good together.'" Y/N shakes her head a little, chuckling as she exhales. "I wasn't sure how to react."

"My friend Dean said the same thing," a smile creeps without George's consent as he confesses Dean's mischief. Y/N lets out a soft Oh. "I guess we just, I dunno-"

"You just have natural chemistry," Greta pipes up out of nowhere. She softly squeezes Y/N's cheek fondly. "Still on time, uh? You never change."

"It's all on Vanessa," she giggles with equal fondness. Vanessa is her manager slash personal assistant. George thinks the actress relationship with Greta is reasonable since they've worked together before in a movie he can't remember the name, but she stared alongside Timotheé Chalamet.

The director strikes up a bit of small talk about Y/N's last movie, The Selection, where she and Tom Holland bring the book to life in Netflix's screens. If George remembers it correctly, Holland plays a prince and Y/N portrays a commoner who is selected to compete for the prince's heart. The movie seems a cringe, but for some weird reason, George has decided to watch it once he gets home. Hopefully, Daisy will be gone by then, and the boy would stop at the convenience store to buy beer and popcorn.

George picks up his phone. Stealthily, he checks the time. Nine thirty-five. He and Y/N have been talking for approximately five minutes.

<<On the dot>>, he thinks to himself, recalling Alma's words. Then he hears his name. "Pardon?"

Y/N is saying, "I'll go sit with Dev. Catch up with you later?"

"Yeah, of course," due to his actor demeanour George can hide the disappointment trapped between his words. He understands she has to sit with Dev, their characters interact throughout the entirety of the film. "Do what you have to do."

"Talk to you later then," she shoots him a bright smile, her pink gums gleaming inside of it.

Greta is calling for the rest of the cast to take their seats around the square actors' table. Call it luck, but Dev and Y/N's sits are right across the chair labelled Mackay. The brit places his phone back on the table and slides into his chair.

"By the way," she says, turning around again. "Do I call you, George? Or..."

"Or?" flipping back to the first page of the script, he folds the cover back neatly as he questions the girl with his eyes.

"Your manager called you Geo." Y/N returns her inquisitive gaze. "That's your nickname?"

"Sort of," George laughs. "Very few people call me that way."

"May I?"

He shrugs, "Sure." As he rubs his palm over the script, he decides, on a whim, to try something new. How James, his character, calls her: "Ms Marina."

The crinkles in the corners of Y/N's eyes make the risk worth it.

"Okay," she says, walking backwards with her hands entwined. "Let's have fun today, Geo."

"Flirty Thirty” A gleam of the eye, a quirk of the lip, and it isn't Marina talking anymore, is Y/N tittering.

The room erupts in laughter. George's laughing the hardest of all.

"Y/N," Greta scolds half-heartedly. "Don't break character."

"Sorry, G," Y/N apologizes sweetly. "I thought I would break the ice."

Somehow, George finds himself smiling.

Today marks the fourth official Dharma read-through, and the tenth time they've gone over the entire script. George gets why Y/N is antsy; he is too. He can't wait to start filming in Mumbai, to smell the air of the streets, hear the whir of traffic and fast-paced Hindi. He can't wait to feel James in his bones in every take, the character encasing him, flesh and blood.

Fact is read-throughs are boring. So d*mn repetitive. George is just glad he's got perfect girl Y/N Y/L/N around to make things bearable.

Gerwig sighs in resignation. "Let's break for lunch," she says, addressing the entire group, "Reconvene in an hour."

George catches Y/N's eye and mouths, Padella? Y/N nods vigorously, flashing two thumbs up and a bright smile. The one the boy has grown fond of.

"I'm dying," George tells her a few minutes later as they walk to the restaurant. Luckily for both, it is near the film studio.

"Same here," she agrees. "One last read-through then India, here we come!"

"But we go through the script three times each meeting," George is half-whining, half-sniggering at the way Y/N's eyes roll to the back of her head. "We'll probably take even longer than usual today because of your little adlib."

"Sorry..."

"It was fun, though." Quickly, George reaches out to ruffle the hair on the top of Y/N's head. He wants to touch her. He just doesn't know why nor how and he doesn't want to make her feel uncomfortable. He cares too much for her. "Not a lot of laughs in this love story of ours."

Y/N doesn't bother smoothing down the mess. "Can you imagine loving someone as much, Geo?"

"Uhm..." George brushes a fingertip against his own fringe. He needs to get it trimmed before they start the live shoots. "I don’t know. Their love is something out of this world.”

"Yeah," Y/N watches the movement casually. "It is."

They get to the restaurant and the waiter, who is clearly a fan of hers, greets them enthusiastically.

"You two are so good looking," she gushes, but George knows the compliment is directed at Y/N. The waiter, who's tag reads Flo, merely is trying to be polite by her use of pronouns. "You get more and more dashing every time I see you." Y/N gives her the prettiest smile, and Flo enthusiastically looks at George, beyond happy for the reaction she got out of Y/N. George would be thrilled as well if the prettiest girl at Padella smiled at him in such a way...

<<What?>>

Padella has become a familiar haunt. They'd gone after the first read-through —when George discovered Y/Ns favourite food was any type of pasta— and every read-through after that, always ordering a dish they haven't tasted before and two glasses of wine. Not exactly in keeping with the diets, but George reckons these cheat days won't hurt. He and Y/N have taken to exercising together too, fitting in the gym sessions between their Dharma meetings and other schedules.

"I gained weight when I was a teenager," Y/N admitted during one of their workouts. "I had to work out to keep the weight off. Not like you." She'd smiled her sweet, bright smile, and George could imagine her being just as likeable with double the meat on her bones.

"I grow a beer gut like that," he'd told Y/N, snapping his fingers. "So I have to work it off, too."

In record time, Flo brings their dishes, leaving a courtesy starter on the table. George grabs his fork and swirls it through the fettuccini. It makes a pleasing, gooey sound as he incorporates the Pomodoro sauce.

"Oh, right, if I may Ms Marina," George says, giggling. The actress hums in return, mixing the contents of her own plate. "Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow? My sister is cooking carbonara, your favourite."

"Oh my god," Y/N looks up from her dish, mouth-watering at the mere thought of her favourite food. "She won't mind me crashing your dinner?"

"No," George replies, slouching over his bowl. "She asked me to invite you."

"Really?" her orbs go a little round. "Why?"

A mouthful of bolognese disappears into George's mouth with a slurp, "I might have mentioned your love for Italian food."

Y/N takes a sip of her rosé, "Won't you mind me crashing your sibling dinner?"

"Nah," he smiles. “We're friends." He swallows the food he's chewed into the side of his cheek and tries not to meet Y/N's eyes. "I kind of like hanging out with you."

"Oh," she answers instantly, so blasé, pink across her cheeks. George adores it. "I kind of like hanging out with you, too."

George glances up then, and they share a knowing smile before going back to their food. It's oily and red, a little salty. George knows he's going to have to wash his teeth and throw a box of mints into his mouth before they go back to the read-through, but he doesn't care. It's delicious.

Their comfortable silence is broken when Y/N's phone rings inside her Rebecca Minkoff’s bag. She pulls it out, glances at the screen, and gestures to George that she's going to take it outside.

"I'll be right back," she says; tongue running over her teeth. The boy nods, just as Y/N answers the call and turns.

"Hey, H," George hears her say as she pushes through the door. "What's up?"

Cavill, he thinks to himself, sucking up to another curtain of fettuccini.

Fleetingly, he wonders if he should tell Y/N to bring a date—as in Henry. But the idea is pushed to the back of his mind when Flo comes by their table to ask if they would want more wine, and it doesn't resurface, not even when Y/N strolls back in from her private call.

In her pale silk blouse and tight little skirt, the one Y/N owns too, Daisy looks every bit as gorgeous as she does in her Basic House ads. George gotta admit. Yet he feels a little itch when he looks at her, it bothers him, so he focuses his attention on the other Daisy in the room. His sister.

She's setting down a plate of sour bread on his dinner table, her hair tied back in a ponytail. Luhan watches her lazily, admiring the classy decoration of the table. It looks out of a restaurant. Much better than Padella's.

"Since when my sister's become a chef?" he says playfully. His sister giggles in response, her attention too immersed in the preparations. She wants it all to be perfect. Scratch that, more than perfect.

Only then George returns his gaze towards the other Daisy, and he notices she's staring at him, a pout on her pretty red lips.

"Why not?" she asks. George wants to roll his eyes, but he's too polite to do so. He lets her continue the tantrum, "You know I used to have a poster of Henry Cavill in my old dorm, right? The whole time I was in University?" George barely nods. "So please, please, please, please, please... Please, George. Let me meet his girlfriend, hmm?"

"No," he answers. The hurt in Daisy's green eyes confirms he's been too harsh. He reaches up to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. She lets him do it, wearing a small and sweet smile. "I'll get jealous, baby," he lies in an attempt to soften his previous words.

She laughs, hiding her face as it turns a flattering shade of crimson. She's always been flattered by stuff like this and George doesn't understand why. They're not a couple, to begin with.

"Okay," she circles the table, fingers lacing into George's as she sits on his lap. She plants a kiss against his lips, "I'll get going then. Call me later?"

"Yeah," he pecks her on the tip of her nose and her eyelashes quiver.

The moment Daisy leaves, her namesake, George's sister Daisy, pops his head from the kitchen.

"You know, Henry is my celebrity crush too," her feet express her enthusiasm in small jumps. "I'm so excited!"

"You what?" George's nostrils flare, "Why every girl I know is infatuated with him?"

The doorbell rings before George can retort any further. His eyes flick over to the wall clock on impulse. 8PM. Of course.

"She's here," Daisy smiles, hands flapping at her sides. She combs back her hair, pauses, and repeats the action two more times.

It reminds George of the time he'd run into Brad Pitt backstage at an award show in Los Angeles. He was already famous by then, but he'd still tugged at the sleeves of his tux obsessively, hoping the jacket was sitting squarely on his shoulders, right before he'd said hello.

He walks to answer the door as Daisy places the pasta on the table. Y/N's standing in the corridor with a bottle of red in one hand.

"Ms Marina," George drawls, "Is that you, in my humble home?"

Laughing, Y/N kisses both his cheeks in greeting. George chuckles, taking the wine, and suddenly, he feels his face burning hot. "On the dot, as always."

The girl blushes. At least he's not the only one.

"Come on in," George waves her through the door. "My sister is dying to meet you." He can hear the hissed Geo! like a whip slicing through the air.

Y/N snaps her knuckles, a smile pulling up evenly on both sides, "Hello, Daisy."

A demure, cotton-soft voice replies, "Hello, gorgeous. It's so nice to meet you.”

"Likewise,” the actress beams.

Save for a few bites of pancetta, the serving plates look as though they’ve been licked clean.

"That was so, so good Daisy. The best carbonara I've ever had" Y/N compliments the cook. "Thanks for letting me try it."

"Any time" she replies, looking like a kid who's just been handed a present. George smiles at her, pouring both girls another glass of wine.

The night has gone well. Being the outgoing type, Daisy wasted no time in making Y/N feel comfortable in her brother's home. She'd seated her next to George at the table, fussing over them both as she peppered Y/N with questions about her last two projects. She'd let slip that she'd watched every season of The Tudor's and Y/N's smile had been bashful.

"I loved Henry's work," Daisy had admitted, and George couldn't help but giggle at how quickly his sister's face coloured in bright pink.

George offers Y/N the last bit of burgundy in the bottle. When the latter declines, licking at the wine-stained seam of her mouth, he pours it for himself.

"You don't have to be so formal with me," Y/N tells Daisy, her tone already fond. George can tell she likes that. "I'm a big fan of Henry too. I had the biggest crush on him before I even met him." Her face is still a little rosy. She blushes really easily, and George likes it.

“It still feels weird. Henry is your boyfriend!”

"It's totally fine. Trust me," Y/N reassures her. "We can fangirl over him as Geralt every time you want. I don't mind."

Daisy squeals.

"Okay, enough girl talk." It isn't jealousy what makes George scoff. At least that's what he tells himself. He reaches into his pocket for cigarettes. "I'm just gonna go for a smoke, okay?"

Daisy’s pretty face pinches, "I wish you'd quit. Those things are horrible for you."

"I'll just have one," he bargains, sweet as honey. He pats his belly, crafting a compact sound. "I need it. You fed me too well, sister."

Y/N sniggers and Daisy rolls her eyes. Pointedly, she asks, "Do you smoke?"

"Sometimes," Y/N answers. “But I agree, it’s nasty.”

George watches as Y/N —the traitor—agrees with his sister, "Anyways, you should come with me so I can show you around."

"You shall," Daisy encourages.

“I don’t know,” the actress murmurs but George has already hooked his fingers behind her elbow and is half-hauling her out of her seat. "C’mon, let's go."

"Fine. Lead the way, Geo."

They take the elevator down to the pool area on the fifth floor, where smoking is permitted. George puts a cigarette in his mouth, holding his lighter in front of it, so the flame ignites it.

Y/N takes a long sigh. "Daisy is great," she says quickly. "She's so much like you."

"Thanks. I guess?" George exhales, the smoke curling in a ribbon of diaphanous white. "You’re still seeing Henry, uh?"

The other smirks. "You say that like you know it for sure."

"Alma likes gossip” George licks his lips. They taste of wine and olives.

The girl shrugs. "It’s kinda..." she answers. "It's on and off."

"Oh?" George blows a few smoke rings, rounding out his mouth and flicking his tongue to create the hole in the centre. "Mind if I ask why?"

"No particular reason," Y/N rushes the answer. "I’d rather not talk about it. Sometimes it... it just doesn’t work, ya know?”

Without thinking, George makes an offer he didn't realize was on the table. "Whenever it doesn't work," he says, "you should just hang out with me," he quickly continues, a little freaked, words rushing out, "and Daisy. Me and Daisy."

Y/N laughs, just once: its all gums and perfect pearly teeth. "Do you feel sorry for me?"

"Hardly, Mrs Prettiest Face On TV," George retorts mildly. Y/N laughs again, and George can't tell if she's sarcastic or earnest. Not that it matters. "It's just you and my sister got along really well, and I–"

"Thanks," Y/N cuts in. Her eyes are particularly feline in this light, and her voice is a degree more gentle than it was before. "I'll take you up on that."

She watches him smoke in silence for a few more minutes, the night air clouding with the filmy exhaust of his cigarette. When Y/N yawns, George stubs it out. Then he loops his arm around her waist.

Unconsciously, she leans into the touch. "It's weird," she observes, "that we didn't know each other two months ago."

"Really weird," George concedes, slightly buzzed from the wine and only half-aware that something has lifted between them. "I’m glad it's two months later."

In the days leading up to India, dinner at George's become a regular thing. Every two nights, Y/N will show up with something to add to the table: wine, desserts and beer, a floury baguette wrapped in paper or a basket of fresh fruit.

Sometimes Daisy joins them, and the conversation flows like blood through veins. At around midnight, Y/N will excuse herself to give the siblings their space but not before George extracts a promise from her to work out or watch a movie the following day. (She happens to love cinema as much as him.)

Other times, when Daisy is out with her boyfriend and the other Daisy isn't smouldering George with text messages asking him to dine with her, go to the movies with her, come to the theatre to see her, bla bla bla; George will chat idly with Y/N until the wee hours of the morning. The ice in their drinks will crackle and melt, diluting their colour, as they discuss their childhood dreams and the trajectory of their careers. They recount their upward climb in show business, the slow decline of some of their peers, and the fear that they might someday be in the same boat. They joke about their management and how both companies have long given up on damage control when it comes to their love lives.

George tells her more about caring, candid Alma, and Dean, his co-star and now best friend.

"Blake and Schofield are real-life BFF's?" George’s companion asks incredulously, "I stan so hard."

In turn, Y/N confesses him Sam Mendes is her absolute favourite director, and George promises to introduce them. She also voices about Henry, their ups and downs and the fact half of their circle of friends categorize their relationship as toxic.

"Keep that to yourself," Y/N adds after a brief lull. "I've never told anyone about it."

"They won't hear it from me," George swears, taking a gulp of watered-down Pilsen. He doesn't even tell his sister.

Dharma begins its live shoots three months after the first read-through.

Y/N and George are scheduled to film in Mumbai for four weeks. Alma informs George it's likely they will extend to six due to Greta Gerwig's infamous obsessive compulsiveness. His actors often end up filming simple scenes over and over again for days, because the director doesn't think the natural light or the colour of a couch or the feeling is quite right.

"Already cleared it with the boss," Alma shares brightly. She means the head of his management, who happens to love George, as all CEOs love their biggest star.

"Fine with me," the actor says. "I don't mind staying in Mumbai a little longer." He's worked with less pleasant directors than Greta before, and a little OCD won't take the fun out of filming with Y/N.

He's pleased to discover that the other feels the same way.

"Let's press for six weeks," Y/N says as they climb into the luxury car waiting for them at the airport. She speaks in a natural tone of voice, as though there isn't a swarm of fans screaming outside the vehicle. "I had only been here once, years ago, I lived in a small city near Mumbai called Pune for almost two months.”

"How come?"

"School stuff... I can't wait to rediscover India. Have you ever been?"

"Nope," George says, sliding off his sunglasses and running a hand through his hair. "Count me in on the exploration."

The way Y/N looks at him like he's her closest person in the world right now makes George's insides warm.

ɴᴇxᴛ►

@loulouloueh

#George mackay #George mackay x reader #1917 #Henry cavill #william schofield #schofield #thomas blake #blake #dean charles chapman

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lhs3020b · 4 years ago

Text

“Nightfall”, by Asimov and Silverberg

I haven’t picked a book apart in a while, so have some mildly-disjointed thoughts on Asimov & Silverberg’s 1989 novel, mostly focused on the somewhat-ropey astronomy, but looking at a few other things as well...

"Nightfall" is a late-1980s novel-length expansion of the 1950s story of the same name. The basic premise is, "what about a world with no night?"

The planet Kalgash (Lagash in the short story - no relation to Ur or Sumer insofar as I know!) orbits the G-type star Onos, which is in turn one part of a complex multiple system containing six stars in total. With that many stars, there is always one in the sky somewhere. The other five suns are Trey and Patru (a co-orbiting pair of A-type stars), Tanu and Sitha (another co-orbiting pair, this time B stars) and lastly Dovim, a red dwarf. You can see several oddities immediately - note that the stars have neatly sorted themselves by spectral type! And there's only the one red dwarf (Dovim, implied to be an early-M-type object), when you'd expect loads as a) star formation is an efficient machine for making red dwarfs and b) ~75-80% of all stars are red dwarfs.

As for the system architecture, I've struggled to come up with anything sensible. The below scribbling would make (some) sense, but fails the "always a sun in the sky from anywhere on Kalgash" test, as Dovim will often "fall behind" Onos on its orbit around the barycentre:

Presumably Onos has to pass quite regularly between the Patru/Trey and Sitha/Tano pairs - what this implies for Kalgash's climate and thermal balance I'll leave as an exercise for the reader! Also, the formation history of this system must be weird. Kalgash's complex biosphere implies an age of several billion years, but A and B stars have far shorter life expectancies. Is Onos actually a star that formed elsewhere, which was captured into the system later on?

Anyway. Kalgash orbits Onos, supposedly alone, and there is no night - even if it's only reddish inadequate Dovim, there's always a sun in the sky. Always. Forever. And this sentence is 100% certified to contain no lies, evasions or elided truths of any kind. *Ahem.*

The native Kalganians - supposedly some sort of non-terrestrial non-humanoid life, though the book flip-flops this many times - apparently cope very poorly with darkness. Even as little as 15 minutes in complete dark is apparently enough to induce permanent psychosis. This makes it just as well that Kalgash is a loner object, with no moons or nearby planets or other local bodies that could cause eclipses ... ooops.

Basically, the plot of the novel concerns some scientists who discover evidence of Mass Effect-style periodicities in the collapses of historical civilisations on Kalgash. About every 2000 years, *something* happens that seems to cause people to go collectively go mad and burn down any settlement they might be living in at the time. It seems to be sudden - it stops as soon as it starts - but the destruction is near-complete. And guess what? It's almost 2000 years since the last time civilisation toasted itself.

Meanwhile, Kalganian astronomers have recently developed a theory of universal gravitation, based on studying the motions of the suns (plausible; you'd have a lot of data to work with there). Only there's a problem. Kalgash itself is stubbornly not-quite-conforming to the predictions of the models, and in fact the deviations seem to be getting larger. The theory seems to be wrong - what horror! what sadness! gravity fails!

Or does it? In fact some Kalganian theorists notice something odd - you can explain the planet's motion perfectly if you assume the presence of a second planetary-mass object. Once you plug this in, you can figure out where this body would have to be. The results are ... worrying. You see, this hypothetical Kalgash Two is apparently closing in on Kalgash-Prime. It won’t collide with Kalgash Prime, but it will get close enough to block out sunlight.

Now, the book isn't 100% clear whether Kalgash-Two is a moon or another planet. I think it has to be a planet - its orbit apparently takes 2000 years, which would certainly take a moon entirely outside Kalgash's Hill sphere; Onos would have "snatched it away" onto a stellar orbit. Another oddity is that no-one can see Kalgash-Two - even here on Earth you can see the Moon clearly by day, and given what we know of the dynamics of this system, Two would present a large disk when it enters opposition with Kalgash-Proper. In the book it's speculated that Two's surface rock might be bluish in colour, which might "camouflage" it against the sky. I'm dubious about this - yes, Turquoise-The-Mineral Is A Thing, but an entire planet made of it? To me, this feels a bit "off", geologically.

Anyway, the astronomers realise that if it exists, Kalgash-Two is only a matter of weeks away from by-passing Kalgash itself. And when it does, it will arrive when half the planet has a rare "one-sun" day. That sun is, of course, the red runt Dovim itself, and Two will pass between Kalgash and Dovim. Depending on how big Two is, it could entirely block the sun out. Things are about to get dark! The other five suns will all be on the other side of the planet, but Kalgash rotates, so the other hemisphere will apparently get a taste of darkness too.

Now, note how odd the dynamics of this eclipse are. Apparently the umbra - the region of full shadow - is bigger than Kalgash itself, and the eclipse takes an entire Kalganian rotational period to pass. The book never - IIRC - tells us how fast Kalgash spins. It's certainly possible that a Kalganian "day" is far shorter than a terrestrial one, but it's implied to be at least a dozen or so hours. (The suns don't "move" fast enough against the sky for anything less.) So just how big is Kalgash-Two? To create an eclipse lasting multiple hours, it must be large. Honestly I think it would be hard to do this at a size smaller than that of a gas giant. Is something bigger than Jupiter swinging by, just outside the Roche limit? (No-one on Kalgash notes any seismic events - there's no upsurge in tremors, no disruption to tides or odd behaviour from gravimeters, like you would expect if a super-Jovian body was closing in on you, which is an inconsistency.) Anyway, sure enough, Kalgash Two shows up on queue. Suddenly the reddish gloom of a one-sun day starts to darken, and the horrified masses look up to see a massive bite eating into the side of Dovim! Rapidly and with maximum fuss, the sun goes out! Basically what happens next is like "Pitch Black", except with mad people instead of cannibalistic alien monsters. You'll note I haven't said a lot about the characters yet. There's not a lot to say - they're all very much "straight from central casting". They aren't objectionable, but they're not particularly memorable either. The plot itself has two threads - the astronomers' growing concerns about the impending disaster, which in turn puts them into conflict with a politically-influential cult, who claim to be preparing for the imminent return of "the stars". While the book is formulaic and the characters are fairly-average, it is a fun read; the pages turn without too much difficulty!

In case anyone's wondering about where exactly the authorities are in all of this, well, on eclipse night they prove completely useless. If I remember correctly, the government fails to take any warnings seriously and officials dismiss the astronomers as cranks. Basically they’re running on “January to March 2020″ rules - sadly I can no longer dismiss this pattern of behaviour as unrealistic, depressing as that is! When the night itself arrives, IIRC, the staff at the local power company manage to go mad ahead of almost everyone else (apparently there were no bulbs inside the turbine hall, or something) and their rampage plunges Saro City into the worst-timed power outage ever. Also, making matters worse, Saro probably didn't have any municipal lighting (because why would it?) and apparently most people don't have much in the way of torches or candles at home. So the darkness-maddened people react by torching everything that will burn (fire = light = MASS PYROMANIA!). How they're all able to find matches while a) utterly-demented and b) fumbling around in the dark ... yeah, that never gets explained.

Now we arrive at another oddity: on the night itself, people actually are able to see. They can see the stars without any trouble - which makes no sense. Why would their eyes be evolved to function in low-light conditions? But see the stars they do. There are several pages of the astronomers (those who survive the first few hours of the eclipse-chaos) boggling at the sheer scale of the universe they find themselves in. (In fairness, this is quite a cinematic moment ... basically the ~400 years of the Copernican revolution, which wasn't really "complete" here until Hubble demonstrated that the Great Nebula of Andromeda was a physically-separate galaxy in the 1920s? Kalgash's scientists get the entire thing, mainlined into their stunned brains in about 1 hour.

Their disorientation is certainly understandable.

Incidentally, there's another astronomical oddity here. Kalgash Two should be visible - a dark disc blocking out the sky in the direction where Dovim "should" be - but no-one remarks on it. Also, Two seems to have no atmosphere at all, because Kalgash-Proper doesn't experience any total-lunar-eclipse style blood-Moon. (What exactly is Two? It has to be at least as large as a gas giant, but it's also airless? What is this thing? Is it a planet at all?) Anyway, the eclipse does eventually end, after a few hours. While there are survivors, society has essentially collapsed. The damage is roughly the same as a median-scenario Great Powers nuclear exchange would be here on Earth (except minus the craters and radioactivity).

Just think - if the utilities provider for Saro City hadn't pulled an ERCOT, it's quite possible they could have got through the night without a mass casualty event. While people would have been frightened, if they'd had working lights to huddle around while Two passes by overhead, they might have been able to ride it out. But that didn't happen, of course. (If I was a cynic, I might say the real story of "Nightfall" is the cost of inept/crony-coddling infrastructure policies when the once-in-a-century event pays you its rare-but-inevitable visit.) Anyway, the ending of the book, unfortunately, is pure Silverberg. That is to say, it's rushed, lazy and addresses none of the themes, character-development or even some of the earlier plot-events of the book. On the last two pages of the book, the surviving scientists decide to join forces with the menacing theocratic star-cult, because apparently religious totalitarianism is somehow the only way to save the world, post-nightfall. Yeaaaaaaaaaaaah. Incidentally, here we see some of the typical narrative ticks of a certain sort of mid-century SF writer. Note how any sort of change (nightfall! social chaos!) just *has* to be BAD and SCARY, and they instantly seek refuge in anti-democratic authoritarianism. You see this tick a lot in so-called "Golden Age" writers - it's almost a trope of their behaviour. (It's also interesting given the cross-links between people like Heinlein and the military/industrial complex, or Pournelle and the GOP.) So the TL;DR summary ... "Nightfall" is a novel that follows the spirit of hard SF (if not the letter, as seen above) and has some iffy ideological/mimetic moments ... but, it works as a potboiler and (disappointing ending aside) is definitely a fun read. Just don't expect the celestial mechanics to be in any way workable.

Oh, and here comes Kalgash Two...

#LHS reads #books 2021 #Nightfall #Isaac Asmiov #Robert Silverberg #another post where I nitpick all the astronomy

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bonesaldente · 5 years ago

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Caliginous I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 5: The Mission

read this on ao3

read the last chapter here

words: 2700+

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The descent to Nar Shaddaa is quite difficult, as per usual. The smuggler’s moon is a busy place and it’s a challenge to find a place to land the ship once one has made it through the dense air traffic.

Maul manages, but once when someone cut straight in front of him you could hear him mumble angry words in a language you didn’t understand.

The two of you exit the ship and Maul leads the way through sketchy streets, back alleys and huge crowds. The moon is just as big a dump as you remember it being, from unpleasant smells coming from all directions over people bumping into you with no respect for personal space whatsoever, to you being offered spice at every corner.

Finally, the zabrak comes to a halt in the middle of a less busy street, looking straight ahead.

“The grey building over there is where we meet them. Don’t let the guards see you.”

You follow his eyes and indeed: Two Gamorrean guards are posted on each side of the large wooden door, which seems out of place on the grey facade of the building.

Your eyes scan the surroundings of the place to find a way of getting in without having to walk through the front door in case of an emergency, unable to shake off the feeling that your help will be needed.

A narrow passage between the grey building and the one next to it catches your attention, and you decide to examine it more closely as soon as Maul is heading inside.

You look at him and nod, showing him you’re ready for the mission to begin.

The Sith lord walks up to the guards, hood still covering his face, and they exchange a few words, not loud enough for you to hear. You use their shifted attention to slip into the almost claustrophobically small gap between the buildings. It’s so narrow, you have to move your shoulders a little sideways to fit.

The only window you can find is about twenty feet in the air, but scaling this building is much easier than normally due to its proximity to the next one. One foot on each wall, you basically walk up the house, until the viewport is within reach.

You pull out your thermal goggles with one hand while steadying yourself on the wall with the other one and trying to get a look inside with your bare eyes.

You’re surprised to see the viewport you’re looking through does not belong to the second floor: There is only one level, and a high ceiling, reminding you of some kind of temple. Maybe that’s what it was before the Hutt crime lords took over Nar Shaddaa: a sad, grey temple.

Putting on the thermal goggles, you are finally able to make out the people inside, and your breath hitches in your throat.

“I hate being right all the time,” you whisper to yourself, assessing the situation.

Suspended from the ceiling with some kind of wire rope around his hands is your crimson-skinned travel companion. The thermal vision doesn’t allow for you to see his face, but you’re sure he must be fuming with anger right now.

The trap they set up for him must have been very well thought out, otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to get the force user into this kind of situation. You wonder if they used motion sensors when he walked in, or if they managed to shock him in order to tie him up so quickly.

Obviously, they are in the wrong for doing this, but you have to give credit where credit is due—this is an excellent trap.

Except of course, now you’re going to ruin it all for them.

The thermal vision shows you that at this moment, one creature—it’s hard to tell what species—is circling the Sith slowly, seemingly enjoying having the upper hand for once. Maybe if you strike him down while jumping in, that will confuse everyone else long enough for you to either cut some of them down or free Maul.

Or should you just try to shoot at them from your elevated position?

Maybe that’s a good idea. The viewport is excellent for taking cover, and until now, nobody has noticed you. Now all you have to do is remove the transparisteel from the frame without grabbing their attention.

You get to work by pulling out a small vial filled with an acidic mixture, which you’d learned dissolves the glue that’s commonly used in construction. You carefully apply it to the frame and wait.

Foam appears, which you think is a good sign. Cautiously, you try to slip your fingers through the space between frame and transparisteel, and— yes.

Gently tugging on the material, you pull out the thin screen that’s been separating you from the inside. Now, their voices finally reach you.

“... no longer work under you. We’ve received more profitable offers…”

You tune out the conversation and very, very carefully attempt to place the transparisteel between the two walls so that it jams and doesn’t fall to the ground, causing much-undesired noise.

You succeed and shift your attention back to the interior, where a man—you’re surprised to see it’s not a Hutt—is standing before the tied-up Sith, his hands clasped behind his back in an arrogant manner. He must be the boss.

Maul is facing away from you, so you can’t see his face, but you can only imagine how much his wrist must hurt already, holding his entire body weight just on a thin wire.

It’s obvious that you have to act quickly.

You take out a throwing knife—a blaster would draw too much attention to your position. Not giving yourself too much time to aim or reconsider your decision, you just throw it.

There is no time to wait and watch for the knife to meet its target. As soon as the handle leaves your hand, you leap into the room, immediately slicing through two of the guards in a swift motion, your feet barely even having met the ground. The people who have been watching until now are too stunned by the fast turn of events to move for a moment and you use that to your advantage, not losing any time and immediately charging at the next person. They outnumber you, by a lot, so it’s critical that you free Maul now .

To the feet of the boss, from whose throat protrudes the familiar handle of your knife, lies Maul’s lightsaber, discarded in the chaos you caused. You sprint towards it, dodging attackers left and right, sliding through the open legs of a particularly big guard.

The silver handle is much larger than any lightsaber you’ve ever seen, but the button to ignite it seems to be the same.

Red light illuminates the dim room as you spin around and decapitate the man charging after you, then you decide to take the risk and throw the deadly weapon, doing your best to aim for the wire rope that’s still holding Maul up by his wrists.

Screams ensue as the lethal blade approaches the ground again, after successfully having cut the Sith loose. Its descent slows and mid-air it stops, changing its direction and flying straight into Maul’s hand.

This is where the odds change for the better.

Starting from here, it’s pure carnage. The infuriated Sith Lord slaughters every living being crossing his path, and you do the same, with a little more effort than him.

At some point, three massive guards have you circled, closing in on you slowly. You attack the one closest to you—he blocks, but your second charge comes too fast for him to react, and he drops to the ground. The next guard tries to surprise you by clasping your body from behind, using his larger form to his advantage by constricting your arm movement by pressing you to his filthy body, attempting to choke you from behind. You manage to headbutt him backward, using his brief drowsiness to free yourself from his grip, as the third guard charges at you. You react fast and take him out, but now the guard behind you has come back to his senses and raises his weapon—

The hum of a lightsaber fills your ears as his body is cut in half in one swift motion.

Crunching up your nose at the smell of burned flesh, you look at the zabrak who appears behind the now dead man.

“I had it under control.”

“Certainly.”

You look around to see that you are done. There must be over thirty corpses piled up on the floor.

“Well, this should convey the message.”

Stepping over the dead bodies, you both make your way to the door.

You can’t say you’re totally unfazed by this massacre. As a hitwoman, you are used to taking your victims by surprise and disappearing before a fight can follow, rarely being forced to take out this many people at once. But, that’s life. Somebody has to do the dirty work.

Besides, they started it by double-crossing the Sith.

“So,” you start as you exit the building, “it was a trap.”

“Your prediction was correct, if that’s what you want to hear.”

Grimly, the zabrak puts on his hood again. You don’t bother hiding your identity anymore. If someone sees you on this moon, it doesn’t matter. You doubt you’ll stay here any longer than you have to.

This time, fewer people bump into you, which you can credit to the blood splattered all over you. Maul looks less gory: Lightsaber wounds bleed less, the heat of the laser blade is effective in cauterizing them, though you haven’t really gotten around to examining one of the wounds more closely.

It feels like an eternity to reach the ship, but when you do, Maul wastes no time in starting the engine and taking off. You get the feeling he dislikes the place almost as much as you do.

You head straight to the refresher to change out of your clothes and wash at least some of the blood off, and you can feel the spaceship speeding up, informing you that you have left the smuggler’s moon’s dense traffic.

Feeling somewhat refreshed, you go back upstairs.

Just as you enter, a hologram before Maul disappears. All you could see before it disconnected was a hooded figure, its back turned to you.

“Where are we going next?” you ask, wondering if that’s how your life is going to be. Traveling from planet to planet, slaughtering strangers.

“Lannik.”

You frown.

“Lannik? Do you have business there?” The forest planet doesn’t seem like a likely location for a Sith to conduct his business.

He flicks three switches before turning around in his chair to face you.

“No. Our next goal is to get Nute Gunray elected to Viceroy of the Trade Federation. But we are still waiting for intel on who is going to run against him, so as long as we don’t have that, we are laying low on Lannik.”

You nod slowly. So they are involved in the Trade Federation too. This is getting more and more interesting.

“How long until we land?”

“Nine hours.”

“Preparing to jump into hyperspace,” the automated computer voice announces, causing you to sit and lean back in your seat, putting on the seatbelt. Not that that’s usually necessary, but the transition to hyperspace makes you feel anxious and the seatbelt gives you a sense of security. The last time you jumped to hyperspace, you almost fainted—and you were the pilot, then.

It’s been a while.

You feel your body being pressed into the seat, the stars in front of you looking elongated—

You force your eyes shut, scrunching up your face at the feeling of being accelerated to a speed faster than light.

After two, three excruciating seconds, it’s over. You sigh shakily and open your eyes again, wiping your sweaty hands on your pants.

You grab another ration bar from the box that’s still sitting next to you. The thought of eating right now makes you even more nauseous, but you figure that maybe after a bit of rest you’ll be hungry.

You get up from your seat and pipe up. “I’ll be downstairs.” Your voice sounds weaker than anticipated, and the Sith lord turns around, face momentarily pulled into something that, if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost call worry. Of course, his usual, neutral expression washes over his face before you get to interpret it any further, taking in your face that, if the way you’re feeling is any indication of how you look, must be drained of blood.

Shakily, you enter the lift, your stomach twisting as it descends.

You grab some water, then turn to bury your face in the pillow on your bed, just hoping your stomach will settle down soon.

You must have fallen asleep. When your eyes open once again, you are crouched up on the bed in an awkward angle, one arm dangling over the edge and grazing the floor. You groggily sit up on the bed and push your open hair back. The time projection tells you you’ve been asleep for almost two hours. At least now your stomach feels a lot better and you feel much more energized than before.

Looking around the room, which is tinted in a constant red tone, you look for something useful to do for the remaining seven hours.

The lightsaber.

You almost forgot about that; It’s still buried deep in your bag. For a second, you wonder if you should get it out, ignite it, but decide against it when you consider the small space you’re in.

Once you get outside, though, you’ll definitely try it out. And if you’re lucky, the Sith lord you’re with might even show you a thing or two—you wielding a stronger weapon would be beneficial for him too, wouldn’t it?

You’ll bring it up with him later. For now, you decide to go back upstairs and maybe find out something about who exactly you’re now working for.

“My master’s identity must remain hidden at the moment,” is his curt response.

“But…” you tilt your head curiously ”You are Sith lords, right? You use the force, fight with lightsabers…”

His movements freeze for a second before he looks at you with furrowed eyebrows. Eye ridges. You’re not sure what exactly to call it, seeing as zabraks don’t have any facial hair, but if he were human, he would be furrowing his eyebrows.

“What do you know of the Sith?”

“Not much more than what I just told you. I know you fight the Jedi, too.”

You must have gained his interest with that statement because his eyes seem to start glowing from the inside as he stares into yours again.

“The Jedi,” he begins in a questioning tone, “you don’t like them. When you speak of them, I can sense hatred in you.” He does not go on but instead pushes you to explain with just the intensity of his gaze.

“It’s a personal story.” You try to avoid delving into your past any more than you already did. He knows of your slave tattoo and your deepest, darkest memory, he’s even seen you get sick while jumping into hyperspace. One must draw the line somewhere, or he’ll lose all respect for you, won’t he?

“Most people adore the Jedi,” he goes on. “They say they bring peace and justice. That they have an infallible sense of morality. That they’re heroes.”

You’ve heard it too often. You’ve heard little slave kids whisper it on the streets, you have seen girls way too young to be mothers say it with hope in their eyes. They said two Jedi knights had come, and that they would end the enslaving of thousands of people on Kessel, and all those other outer rim planets. You remember, vaguely, believing the same thing as a young child, barely even old enough to talk, but old enough to know that the Jedi were the heroes that were going to free the slaves.

Well, they came. And they took two children, who they said showed potential. Potential in the force, you assume today. And they left everyone else there, ignored the misery around them, only taking, no, abducting those two children.

“Their infallible moral compass didn’t move them to change anything,” you start out, your voice shaking with anger at the memory. “The Jedi don’t care about justice. They are self-righteous and only care about people who will benefit their own order while labeling themselves knights.” Your hands are balled into fists.

“We,” he looks at you with an expression of sincerity you have never seen on him before, “will end their order. The Sith have waited centuries to reveal themselves to them, and soon it will be time. We will have revenge.”

Your shared hatred gives you a weird sense of serenity.

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next chapter

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@princessayveke

#darth maul #maul #darth maul x reader #maul x reader #star wars x you #star wars fanfiction #sith

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and-then-there-were-n0ne · 5 years ago

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In a way, the trail for bio-fabricated animal fabrics is already at least somewhat blazed for Modern Meadow. Unlike with clean meat, some people are already beginning to buy lab-grown animal-based garments, many of which utilize comparable technologies to those employed by some of the companies discussed in this book. For example, California-based Bolt Threads is growing in vitro spider silk (what their webs are made of), starting with yeast cells that have been engineered to spit out the proteins naturally found in the extremely durable arachnid product. Unlike the more common silk from worms-who’ve been domesticated and bred for silk production over the course of many centuries-spider silk is far stronger, some types being even sturdier than Kevlar, all the while being as soft as, well, silk. The problem with trying to produce it commercially is that spiders don’t do so well when we try to farm them, typically eating one another in the crowded conditions needed for insect farming to work. Cannibalism just doesn’t lend itself to profitability. (A team in Madagascar did succeed in producing a farmed spider silk garment in 2009, but only after four years offering a lot of spiders.)

With $90 million in venture capital raised, in 2017 Bolt Threads announced its first commercial product-a necktie that retails for $314, and were only made available to fifty lucky individuals who won a lottery to buy them. The company also inked a deal with Patagonia for its arachnid-free spider silk garments. A Japanese competitor named Spiber (as in "spider fiber") is doing the same thing and in 2015 partnered with North Face to produce the so-called Moon Parka, a durable winter coat containing their lab-grown silk that is, at the time of this writing, available for sale in Japan and retails for $1,000. And shoemaker Adidas is already starting to use lab-produced spider silk, called Biosteel, manufactured by a German competitor of Spiber named AMSilk. The company boasts that “a spiderweb made of pencil-thick spider silk fibers can catch a fully loaded Jumbo Jet Boeing 747, with a weight of 380 tons.” […]

Second, as GFI’s Bruce Friedrich points out in a blog on the topic, clean meat at scale won’t happen In a laboratory-all processed food started in a food lab, even Corn Flakes and peanut butter, for example. But no one asks, "Would you eat lab-produced Corn Flakes?” Rather than being produced in a lab, clean meat would be produced in a factory (or call It a brewery if you prefer), where the majority of food sold In supermarkets Is produced. Food companies, of course, have R-and-D teams laboring away in labs, but once they get their recipe down, the actual food production moves to a factory. Similarly, clean meat factories will be a far cry from a laboratory; they’ll have massive tanks in which the meat will be cultured on a huge scale. [...]

Not everyone will convert, needless to say, but enough will likely do so to make a difference, and, presumably, a profit. As well, even if only twenty percent of meat-eaters were willing to switch, that would still make clean meat a multibillion-dollar industry. […]

Hansen is right that predictions have been made for years about cultured meat coming to fruition, and yet the meat industry largely hasn’t felt that threatened. But things do seem to be changing in the wake of high-profile product unveilings by the likes of Post and Valeti, and certainly the investment from Cargill. Gone are the days of clean meat being purely a theoretical daydream of environmentalists who want a more sustainable way to produce meat. With commercialization looking increasingly likely, we won’t need to rely on pollsters to tell us how consumers may react when clean meat is available to them. People like Hansen and Nestle may not want to eat meat if it didn’t come from a slaughtered animal, but how many others will share their repugnance at such a thought?

Kristopher Gasteratos, founder of the Cellular Agriculture Society (created in 2016), is more optimistic. He believes animal agriculture is so inefficient that humanity will be forced to abandon it, at least for the bulk of our protein production, or we’ll pay the price. His analysis of the situation doesn’t pull any punches: “Factory farming of animals will end one way or the other. The real question is this: if we don’t find an alternative to factory farming soon, will we as a civilization end with it?”

Gasteratos is convinced that the public will come to accept clean meat because there’s such an existential necessity for it. But his view is also informed by a study he conducted over the course of 2016 with the assistance of both New Harvest and the Good Food Institute. In the study, Gasteratos led a team of researchers who asked thousands of survey respondents their views on the topic. Based at Florida Atlantic University, the project ultimately surveyed more than thirty-two hundred undergraduate students and about fifteen hundred adults both in the United States and Australia (the two nations with the highest rates of meat consumption on a per capita basis). Unlike the aforementioned surveys, which largely asked if people would eat "meat grown in a lab:’ Gasteratos took a deeper dive, wording his key question in a way that provided respondents with more context: “Scientists are working towards producing meat by using animal cells instead of living animals. This new method of harvesting meat is called “cultured meat” and will likely be available to the public within the next decade. It is important to note that cultured meat is real animal meat, so it should not be confused with current meat substitutes which are made from plants. If cultured meat is proven safe by long-term research, tastes the same as current/conventional meat and is priced affordably, would you eat cultured meat?”

Upon simply being asked this question, without any discussion of clean meat’s benefits, 61 percent of the university students claimed they’d either “probably” or “definitely” eat it. After being told some of the benefits, either ethical, health, or ecological, that number spiked to 77 percent. Among the fifteen hundred adults, the numbers were similar: 62 percent were willing to eat it without knowing its benefits, while 72 percent were willing once they knew of those benefits.

Other interesting findings from Gasteratos’s work include some pretty fascinating results about just who is most interested in eating this meat. “People still seem to be generally unaware of this topic, but what really shocked me was our finding about how higher self reported meat consumption correlated with higher cultured meat acceptance. Basically, the people who say they eat the most conventional meat tend to be the most receptive toward a cultured alternative, while people who say they eat little meat, and especially vegetarians and vegans, are the least interested.

In other words, clean meat probably isn’t for the people shopping at the farmers’ market or their local co-op, It holds far less appeal with the natural-foods crowd than the crowd going to KFC. But that's okay. In fact, it may even be for the best considering that the number of people who eat conventional meat is far, far larger than those who frequent their local farmers’ markets.

Comments left by respondents offered some good qualitative insights into the general perception. "I don’t care where the meat came from so long as it’s safe and tastes right;’ explained one respondent, echoing a widely held sentiment among participants. Others expressed some qualms about meat-eating but thought cultured meat could be the answer to their concerns: "I heard meat is really bad for global warming;’ one respondent wrote. "this would sort of absolve me of that guilt.”

- Clean Meat: How Growing Meat Without Animals Will Revolutionize Dinner and the World, Paul Shapiro

#clean meat #vegan #veganism #fashion #leather

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stiles-o-dylan24 · 5 years ago

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Was it difficult to write IABY? Is there anything you found hard or you struggled with?

I’m loving all these questions! Thank you to everyone for sending them in💛 Shocker I rambled so there’s the answer and SPOILERS to those that are currently reading it below the cut!

hmmm I don’t think it was hard per se, I mean it was definitely challenging only because of the schedule I wanted to keep with updating frequently-- which with my work schedule at the time made for the struggle to get things done as often as I wanted.

I updated twice a week for a good majority of the series minus January because it was so crazy in my personal life, and that was actually pretty insane looking back on the first few seasons where there weren’t a lot of scenes that Addy wasn’t in so I was basically rewriting the entire episode.

Once I was in a creative writing flow though it was a breeze. There were definitely certain scenes or episodes that I remember really took longer for me to figure out the best way to rework them to fit in Addy and the story I wanted to tell.

Keeping organized with main points of what I already wrote and ones I needed to pave the way for in future episodes really helped me in keeping that not a struggle for me. I also researched a lot of things I added in with wounds and injuries so I added my own stress with wanting everything to be as accurate as I could make it even then I’m sure I dropped the ball somewhere

Party Guessed was the first episode I really remember face palming at how to have Addy react to the wolfsbane and what to create for her hallucination. I ended up going for more of a shock factor and I’m not sure how I feel about it now.

The Alpha Pact episode and the panic attack kiss was another nail biting induce stressor because of how controversial the kiss is for people who suffer from panic attacks. I chose to ultimately keep the kiss in there because as someone who personally does suffer from panic attacks, something similar to this method has worked for me before. Panic attacks happen to people in a variety of different ways and the type of relationship Staddy has, I wholeheartedly believe that Addy kissing Stiles would have been exactly what he needed to calm down.

I struggled with the Insatiable episode a lot and figuring out how to make that work with two banshee’s, Void taking one and predicting Allison’s death. I still to this day wonder if I chose the right path because I really wanted Void to take Addy, however how I had Addy in the final draft of that chapter I really loved those scenes she had with Stiles. Also how Meredith helped Addy hear what she needed to hear. I’m still indecisive about it and that was an entire day of my just staring at my computer screen with both ways written out. My sister helped me brainstorm it and we’re both still torn on which one we like the best/which one should have been the final draft.

Dark Moon was one I struggled with for a few days as well. It was the first episode with them as an actual couple so there was that new aspect. It’s also told in an interesting timeline so I had to really think about the best way to rework the episode to flow better since I didn’t have the option of a visual memory like the episode provides with Scott.

Having Theo invade Lydia’s memories over Addy’s was one I didn’t want however Natalie checking Lydia into Eichen was more likely to happen than Melissa checking in Addy-- which is why I did the switcharoo in Eichen with Addy being taken because the Eichen House rescue night HAD to be Addy which how much it was crucial to Stiles and Lydia’s relationship in the show. There’s so much stuff like that that I wasn’t even aware I needed to think about until I was rewatching the episode and even the next few episodes and remembered how crucial certain Stiles/Lydia scenes were and how I had to completely rework those so they weren’t there anymore.

Season 6 was a trying time for sure. There wasn’t a lot of Stiles which meant there wasn’t a lot of interaction from everyone. It really felt like ‘okay I just need to get through these last however many episodes to really end this thing with a bang’. Also why I created the epilogues and I’m so happy that I did because it really felt like the perfect way to say thank you to everyone who stuck with me through it all.

This series was my first ever try at really writing and through all the stress and anxiety to complete it-- I’m so fucking proud of myself for doing it and accomplishing something to this level, no matter how silly that may seem to someone not in our fandom💛

#its always been you #IABY #questions #behind the process #sweet nonnie words #come fangirl with me #anon #answered

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anubislover · 6 years ago

Text

“A Heart to be Used as Needed” Chapter 2

Of all the things Law hated about being Doflamingo’s right-hand man, dressing the part was near the top of the list. The black feathered jacket was a painful reminder of the man who had tried and failed to save him from his psychotic brother’s clutches. It didn’t matter whether he wore an expensive suit or stark naked underneath, the mantle weighed on his shoulders like Seastone shackles.

Once Joker was dead, he’d take great pleasure in burning the damn thing.

Rolling up the sleeves of his mustard yellow dress shirt, he took a deep, fortifying breath, mentally reminding himself that it would all be over once he crushed the Heavenly Demon’s twisted heart beneath the heel of his boot. Lazy, arrogant smirk firmly in place, he firmly knocked on the throne room door, respectfully waiting for his boss’ leave before sauntering in.

“Doffy,” Law greeted, hand raised in a casual wave, “I hear you had to crush Baby-ya’s dreams of wedded bliss again.”

“Aw, come on, kid,” Doflamingo chuckled, pouring them both a generous glass of brandy. The red glow of the setting sun glinted off his sunglasses, his wide grin full of maniacal humor. “I was doing her a favor! You should have seen her latest ‘groom’; the guy had more wrinkles than Lao G!”

The Dark Doctor laughed, accepting the crystal snifter. As much as he loathed sharing a friendly drink with the man, he could at least appreciate that Joker never compromised on the alcohol’s quality. He made a mental note to pour some into the bastard’s open wounds before he killed him. “I believe you! She really does have horrible taste, doesn’t she?”

“Fuffuffuffuffu, you got that right! It was kind of cute, at first, but’s starting to lose its charm.”

“And here I’d assumed you considered androcide a hobby.”

Flopping backwards into a large, plush chair, Doflamingo crossed his long legs with a shrug, taking a sip of his own drink. The chair would have been a loveseat for an average human, but the former World Noble’s massive frame basically turned it into an armchair. “Eh, killing those guys is too easy to be any real fun, and it just about breaks my heart seeing her cry over it.”

“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t see her earlier; poor thing was an absolute wreck when she came sobbing into my lab. Completely ruined my shirt. Maybe I should remove her tear ducts.”

That earned him a sharp cackle. “While you’re at it, see if you could surgically insert some goddamn standards. I swear, each new ‘boyfriend’ is worse than the last. This time, I actually had to use my powers she was so bent out of shape! She needs to realize that I’m looking out for her best interests. None of those peons deserved her.”

Swirling the amber liquid thoughtfully, Law lounged in the Heart Seat. For all its red velvet cushions, the gaudy throne felt no more comfortable than it had when he’d first been shackled to it at fourteen, but after ten years, it was easier to pretend. “Honestly, I couldn’t agree more. The problem is, she’d got this idea in her head that marriage will make her happy, and with her compulsion to be needed, she jumps at every perceived proposal she hears. After all, what could a man possibly need more than wife?” he asked sarcastically.

“Well, that’s a spot-on diagnosis, doc; you got any suggestions for a cure?”

Taking a swig of brandy, he savored the silken burn as it slid down his throat. It was well-aged and smooth, with a few notes of smoke and sweetness; the perfect drink to accompany his plan. “I do,” Law replied with a grin, setting aside his snifter to lace his fingers together. “Let her get married to a man of your choosing.”

Doflamingo sat up straighter in his seat, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. “Are you fucking kidding me, Law?”

Despite the sharp edge of anger in his boss’ tone, the young Corazon simply smiled. “Not at all. As much as she wants to get married, she desperately craves your approval. If you chose her next beau, she’d be absolutely over the moon and we can put all this nonsense to rest.”

“Well, unfortunately, there’s no one worthy of our little Baby 5,” he said stubbornly, crossing his arms and hunching over in an exaggerated pout like a spoiled child who’d been told to share his toys.

“No, but you could at least pair her with someone you trust,” he coaxed. Though psychotic and selfish, after over a decade working for the man, Law knew how to gently lure him to the conclusion he desired. “Someone who wouldn’t take advantage of her. Someone who could reign her in and ensure her loyalty never strays from the Family. Specifically, someone to keep her in the Family.”

Intrigued, the giant man relaxed in his throne. “Ah, now I get it. Fuffuffuffuffu, you had me worried for a sec! I should have known you’d never try to drive Baby away from us. A sweet, precious little thing like her needs our protection.”

Yes, the woman who can turn into a literal arsenal needs protecting, Law thought sarcastically, though his smile never faltered. “I’d never even consider such a thing. You know I’ve got a soft spot for her, Doffy; we’ve been friends since childhood.”

“A soft spot is right! I’ve seen you rip out Giolla’s heart just for commenting on how tired you look, but when Baby slaps you, at worse she gets dismembered for a few hours. I’ve never even had to order you to put her back together.”

“That’s because unlike Giolla, Baby 5’s disrespectful outbursts come from a place of love, like a mother scolding an uppity child.” Allowing his expression to soften, Law absently gazed out the window as he continued, “On top of that, her compassionate displays bank up enough good karma that I can’t stay mad for long. After all, no one else brings me onigiri or bullies me to get some sleep when I’ve been cooped up in my lab for days. So yeah, if it keeps someone else from getting their filthy hands on her, I’d gladly give her the wedding of her dreams.”

Stretching his long arms before linking the fingers behind his head, Doflamingo sniggered. “How sweet. Ok, I’ll bite; who would you suggest as the groom? Pica? Buffalo?”

Though he kept his expression strategically banal, inside Law was crowing. Joker was reacting exactly as he’d predicted, and he’d already prepared a response for every man he might suggest. “Pica’s too volatile and Buffalo’s almost as impulsive as she is. She needs someone who can handle her violent mood swings and bring her to heel. Besides, I’d hate to waste such a beauty on them.”

“Harsh, but fair. Hate to say it, but that really limits our options. Vergo fits the bill, but he’s a bit preoccupied with the Navy, and I can’t trust that she wouldn’t run off to be with him and blow his cover.” Rubbing his chin, Doflamingo mentally ran down his list of subordinates. “How about Senor Pink? Baby 5 and the guy who dresses like a baby!” he laughed, tongue lolling out.

Internally scowling at the bad joke, Law shook his head. “The man’s dressed like that to honor his late wife for years; remarrying won’t do his mental state any favors, nor hers.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right. Gladius?”

“I don’t trust that he wouldn’t blow her up if they got into an argument. Baby-ya’s feisty, and I doubt he’d show the same restraint I do if she ever slapped him.”

The shichibukai raised an eyebrow at the nickname. It had been an intentional slip, something to lead Joker to the conclusion he needed. “Kid, quit beating around the bush. Fun as it is acting like a pair of matchmaking old biddies, you never would have suggested this if you didn’t already have someone in mind. Out with it.”

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Law finally stated, “Me.”

This time, there was no laughter from Doflamingo. No snide comment. Just a tense pause as the two pirates stared each other down.

“You’re serious.”

“I am. I’ll even say it plainly; I want Baby 5.”

Uncrossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees, he scoffed at his Corazon. “Law, you’ve always been a realist; you know you’ve only got so many years left to live, and you’ve acted accordingly.” Recalling the first time he’d taken his young protégée to a gentleman’s club, he chuckled. He’d felt like a proud papa watching the teen saunter off to one of the private rooms with a beautiful woman on each arm and a damn attractive man in tow. By the time they left the next morning, none of Law’s partners had been in any state to move. “When you’re not down in your lab, you’re fucking whoever you please. Hell, even I’m impressed with the number of notches on your belt at your age! So, considering how marriage tends to clash with your lifestyle, what’s got you suddenly looking to settle down?” he asked, blonde eyebrow raised in suspicion.

This was where Law would have to tread carefully. He knew how out-of-character his proposal seemed; on top of regularly inviting scantily dressed partners to his chambers, everyone knew that if Trafalgar Law vanished suddenly, he’d reappear in no more than a week, hungover and reeking of sex, drugs, and blood. In reality, though the sex was a great stress-reliever, those wild benders also gave him the perfect cover whenever he had to disappear for a few days to carry out one of the more clandestine aspects of his plan. A committed relationship, much less marriage, would put a damper on that.

Yet if it led to the Heavenly Demon’s painful and humiliating downfall, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Staring at his glass in contemplation, Law replied, “I’ve been thinking about the future. The Perennial Youth surgery has been difficult to research, and even harder to practice, but I’m confident that I’ll figure it out in due time. After everything you’ve done for me, I owe you that much. But that’s got me wondering; eternal youth isn’t the same as immortality. You could, theoretically, still be killed. Possibly even get sick or poisoned. Unfortunately, I won’t be there to help you, and genius like mine is hard to come by. So, why not pass down my genetics and ensure you’ll still have a medical prodigy even after I’m gone? Maybe even your next Corazon?”

“And you want to have that with Baby 5?”

“She’s gorgeous, biddable, and feisty enough to not bore me. More than that, with her unfortunate childhood, I can guarantee she’ll be a doting and protective mother yet won’t stand in your way when you choose to take the kid under your wing. Really, I couldn’t ask for a better option.”

Law could see the wheels in Doflamingo’s head turning. He’s chosen his words very carefully—fatherhood might potentially give the doomed doctor something to live for, but it just as easily created an exploitable weakness. A baby would give Joker extra leverage, something to hold hostage or threaten should the Surgeon of Death appear to have second thoughts about performing the surgery.

Of course, Law had no intention of producing such an asset. He’d sterilize himself and Baby 5 if need be. No child of his would be twisted in Joker’s sick image.

The Heavenly Demon studied him thoughtfully, his gaze intense even through his sunglasses, chin resting on his entwined fingers. “That’s all true, but I’m surprised; with how long you’ve known each other, I’d assumed you thought of her like a sister or something.”

The Dark Doctor’s grin was lecherous, gold eyes hooded as he replied, “I can assure you, I’d never think of my sister the way I’ve thought about Baby-ya.”

“It’s the maid outfit, isn’t it?” he chortled, tongue lolling out to sweep lewdly across his lips. “And here I’d thought you had a thing for nurses.”

Smug, lecherous grin in place, Law winked. “Oh, those are nice, but my real kink is short uniforms and obedience.”

“And Baby 5 has an abundance of both. That doesn’t mean I’m on board with this. No offense, but you’re not the type of guy I trust to respect the bonds or marriage.” Though he remained smiling, there was little pleasure in the expression—more like a threatening baring of teeth. “If you cheated on her, I’d have to start removing some pretty specific body parts, and don’t think I’d let you reattach them.”

It was a vivid, yet not unexpected threat, so Law didn’t even flinch. Instead, he donned a playful grin. “Oh, come on, Doffy; haven’t I been a good boy? You’ve been dressing her up like a pinup since we hit puberty, parading her around like the most delicious forbidden fruit I could imagine, and I never so much as took a bite because I respected your authority. I mean, with how obsessed you’ve been with keeping her pure as virgin snow, part of me assumed you were saving her for yourself.”

It was a dangerous idea to put in the shichibukai’s head, but one Law didn’t trust Vergo or Trebol not to suggest just to spite their fellow executive. It was no secret that the Club Seat and former Corazon held no shortage of jealousy towards him, and if they had any idea that he coveted Baby 5, whether they knew his ultimate plan or not, they’d do their best to interfere. This way, he could at least nudge Doflamingo away from such thoughts.

As he considered it, his threatening expression relaxed. With a single gulp he finished off his glass of brandy, grabbing the bottle to pour himself a generous refill. “Yeah, I’ve thought about doing her.” Lounging against the couch, his lips stretched into a lecherous grin, long tongue swiping over his gleaming teeth. “Hot little thing like that, all bright eyes and tasty curves…but Baby gets attached too easily. Fucking her means your bachelor lifestyle is dead, since she’d probably kill any other woman you even looked at.”

Pleased that his plan was still on track, Law felt the tension in his spine melt away. “Exactly; I’m not blind to what I’m getting into. Hell, I thought you’d be thrilled—since I won’t be wasting time chasing tail, I’ll be able to devote more of it to my research. No need for week-long benders when I’ve got wifey waiting for me at home.”

Leaning back, Doflamingo threaded his fingers together in thought. “Alright, Law, say I am considering your proposal; I’ve got a few stipulations.”

“Name them.”

“One, if you’re insisting on marrying her, you’re gonna be the best damn husband she could ask for. No cheating, fucking about, or even flirting with men, women, or anyone else. And definitely no more drug-fueled benders—gotta set a good example for the kids, right?”

“Of course.” Much as he did enjoy his bursts of rebellious freedom, he’d easily made peace with giving it up. The drugs had long lost their thrill, barely even having an effect on him anymore. Violence he could still enjoy in the lab or even on missions for Joker. As for the sex…

With how eager to please Baby 5 was, he doubted it would even take long to train her up to be the perfect lover, submissive and pliant, ready for him whenever he desired. On top of having her warm his bed every night, it’d be so easy to call her down to the lab and put that hot little mouth to use, or corner her in a dark hallway for a quickie.

“Two, I’m gonna need your timeline for getting me Law 2.0.”

The request pulled Law from his lustful thoughts, reminding him to focus on the task at hand. “Though I’m sure she’s plenty fertile on her own, I have plans to develop a drug to increase the chance of twins; that way, the odds will be in our favor of getting another medical genius. On top of that, I need to study mine and Baby-ya’s genetic material and physiologies to ensure our Devil Fruit powers won’t cause any unexpected complications. Should her transformations affect her uterus, I’ll have to demand she not be given any assassination missions for the duration of her pregnancies.”

“So how long are you saying you need to knock her up?”

This time the smug, lecherous grin on his face was completely genuine. “I mean, I’m not going to wait to start fucking her—if I’m expected to be faithful, she’s going to do her wifely duties. But I won’t start the fertility treatments until at least a year in, when I’m confident we’ll have the results we want.”

“If you’re in no rush to put a baby in Baby, why do you want to marry her now?”

He rolled his eyes, but his lips softened with the barest hint of affection. “Because it’s Baby 5; we take our eyes off her for a moment, and she might actually wise up and elope. I mean, I’m completely willing to murder whatever shit-stain tricked her into running off, but then she’ll be all pissed and that tends to put a damper on a relationship.”

“Ok, fair point.” He rubbed his chin, looking heavenwards in consideration. “I’m guessing you’ll probably want a few years with the kid before you perform my surgery, right?”

“Just for the sake of being sure I am leaving you with a genius,” he assured, hands up in surrender. “I showed signs of being a medical prodigy by the age of three, and I’m happy to impregnate Baby-ya as many times as necessary to hedge our bets.”

“Fuffuffuffuffu! The way you’re talkin’ I might end up with a whole herd of Trafalgar rug rats running around!”

“Hey, the Family did a good job raising us and Dellinger. I trust you’ll turn my children into fine, upstanding members of society once I’m gone.”

The two glanced at each other, then shared a hearty laugh.

“Ok, ok, fine; I can wait a few years for Corazon Jr.,” Doflamingo chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. “And I appreciate you stacking the odds in my favor. You’re good at planning shit, Law, so I trust you to do whatever it takes to get me at least one genius.”

“Happy to hear it,” he responded, linking his hands behind his head and relaxing in his chair. The Heart Seat was still mockingly uncomfortable, but bit by bit he was getting closer to his chance to reduce the damn thing to ash.

Three long fingers were held up as Doflamingo’s grin became more mischievous. “Which brings me to my third stipulation: trust. If you want me to trust that you’re serious about this whole marriage deal, I’m going to need you to prove it.”

“How?” Law asked, curious but unconcerned.

“You propose to Baby 5, and I’ll throw you the wedding of the century. Flowers, music, not a crumb of bread at the reception—you name it and I’ll pay for it. But the engagement will last at least a month. In that entire time, you’re as celibate as a monk—no fucking girls, guys, or even jerking off. And before you get any funny ideas, that also means Baby’s off limits until your wedding night.”

Insulted, Law narrowed his eyes. Sure, he was a degenerate and had deliberately cultivated the image of being a careless fuckboy, but he was also a highly trained surgeon, a ruthless torturer, and his right-hand man; did Doflamingo really think a month without sex would break him? That after all his careful planning, such a stupid stipulation would scare him off? Did he honestly have such a low opinion of him after everything Law’d done for the former noble?

Oh, as if he didn’t already have a thousand reasons to slowly crush his boss’ heart between his fingers.

“Deal,” he ground out through his teeth.

His white-knuckled grip on the chair only tightened when Joker laughed. “You don’t sound very convincing, kid! If you don’t think you can do it, just back out now! I’ll marry her off to Trebol or something and you can knock up a random hooker.”

“I don’t want some prostitute—I want Baby 5!” he snapped, gold eyes glinting dangerously in the fading rays of the sun. Silly as it was to get angry over such a little thing, Law was nearing the edge of his patience, and he hated seeing a carefully crafted plan threatening to fall apart when he was so close to getting what he wanted.

“Hey, don’t give me that scary look!” Doflamingo chortled, his leisurely sip of brandy unable to hide the self-satisfied smirk. “I’m just looking out for everyone’s well-being.”

No, you’re playing with us like puppets, he thought sourly, forcing himself to calm down. This was all just part of the man’s sadistic game, and he’d walked right into it. But Law refused to let himself get jerked around like a marionette. “As am I. We both know my plan works out best for everyone. I get an obedient, healthy wife whom I can trust to carry my legacy. Baby-ya gets her dream of being married, and when I’m dead she’ll still be blissfully needed by our child. And you get both your next Corazon and insurance that your favorite assassin won’t run off with some scumbag looking to use her against you. But if you really feel I need to prove myself, fine—I’ll stay completely celibate until the wedding night.”

“You sure?”

“Doffy, I’m going to make this clear; if you try to marry Baby-ya off to a freak like Trebol, she’s going to become a widow and you’re going to need a new Club Seat.”

“Ok, ok! You’ve made your point.” Sitting back, he gave a mock toast with his snifter. “If you think you can reign her in, I’ll bless your joyous union. I’ve got better things to do than kill idiots trying to separate our family and dodge her angry murder attempts. But marriage had better not turn you soft.”

Pleased that he finally got his way, Law let himself fully relax. “It won’t. Ultimately, it’s just a means to an end, but one that will satisfy all parties.”

“You sure Baby will be able to ‘satisfy’ you?” he asked with a leer. “Pretty sure she’s been waiting for a husband to pop her cherry; virgins can be hot, but that kind of inexperience can be frustrating, too.”

Remembering the way she’d sucked his thumb in the lab, Law wasn’t worried. “She’s biddable and eager to please, so I’m sure she’ll do everything possible to keep me satiated. Hell, a woman like that is practically tailor-made for me, since I can train her up to do what I like instead of having to break any bad habits.”

“Good, because I’m serious about not letting you cheat on her, Law. I want us all to be a big, happy family, and as the patriarch, it’s my job to keep everyone in line.”

Is that why you murdered your own brother? Law sneered quietly. Because he stepped out of line? Because if that’s your biggest concern, then you’ll never see me coming. Careful not to let his thoughts bleed onto his face, he nodded. “Understood.”

Grin shifting into something more easygoing and friendly, he asked, “So, when are you gonna ask her?”

The Corazon finished his warm brandy, taking the opportunity to think it over. “Next week. There’s a full moon, I’ll have time to pick out a ring, and I’m sure I can set up some nice, romantic music or something.”

“Shit, you’re taking this seriously.”

“Of course. I refuse to let anyone mock me and compare my proposal to those other worthless peons’.” Mostly, though, a week would give him time to take care of some loose ends. He expected Joker would be watching him closely during the engagement to ensure he really did hold up his promise to be faithful, and combined with actually putting a wedding together, there’d be little chance to work on his ultimate plan until after the honeymoon.

Though, perhaps he could use his honeymoon as a chance to visit Ceaser’s lab on Punk Hazard, and maybe swing by Sabaody to recruit more men to serve his cause. Considering the number of slaves Doflamingo shipped to those auction houses, surely more than a few would be happy to get some revenge against their captor.

Well, marriage is looking easier already, he thought with a grin.

Mistaking his expression for something else, Joker laughed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were smitten, kid!”

Tattooed hand pressed to his chest, Law sighed dramatically. “Is that really so hard to believe? Just because I’m a heart stealer doesn’t mean I can’t fall in love. Why, maybe all the wanton sex has been my way of coping with the cruel possibility that I’d never get to be with the one woman I truly care for!”

The two men shared a laugh at the absurdity of the idea. Baby 5 may believe in such crap, but her betrothed and boss knew better—the world was cruel, love was more painful than death, and no matter how you dressed them up, people were at their core nothing more than vicious animals looking to rip each other’s throats out.

“Regardless, I trust you’ll be discreet until after I pop the question?” Law asked. “I’d hate for someone to ruin the surprise.”

“You mean sabotage your perfect moment. Monet’ll be heartbroken when she hears.”

“She’ll get over it,” Law scoffed. He’d had a few fun evenings with the harpy, but she was of no importance to his plans. Though it did bring up the concern that she might try to turn Baby 5 against him before he could put her completely under his thrall. He’d have to ask Violet to keep an eye on her. “Maybe she’ll catch the bouquet.”

“And if she’s lucky, Trebol won’t be around for the garter toss!”

XXX

A week later, Baby 5 received orders from a grinning Doflamingo to clean up a mess in the palace garden. Broom and dustpan in hand, she marched out into the moonlight, mood sour despite the beautiful evening. Law had avoided her since he’d promised to talk to Joker; every time she so much as caught a glimpse of him, he’d disappear, using his powers to easily escape. Even when he had no choice but to be in the same room as her, such as dinner or meetings, he refused to meet her gaze, intently preoccupying himself with some other task or simply looking through her as if she were invisible.

Maybe Doffy told him to stay away from me, she thought with a sniffle. Maybe he didn’t approve the match and he now wants Law to stay as far away from me as possible. Or maybe Law decided he didn’t need me as his wife.

There was another painful possibility—that she’d dreamt hers and Law’s entire conversation. There was no hint that he’d spoken to the young master. No hint he even remembered flirting with her in the lab. Had he really held her close, asked if she’d ever been kissed, shared that cigarette with her? Or had she been so distraught by yet another dead fiancé that she’d begun to hallucinate?

Maybe I’m just completely crazy and my useless brain is making shit up because it knows I’ll never get married! God, I’m such an idiot! I never should have gotten my hopes up, she thought as she wiped a stray tear from her eye.

There was no time for feeling sorry for herself now, though; she had a job to do. She was needed in the garden. Once she was done, she could sneak off to her room and indulge in a good cry over her pathetic state.

As she entered the garden she was greeted by the soft sound of smooth jazz, and as she curiously made her way towards it, she wondered if this was the “mess” she was supposed to clean up. Right arm transforming into a pistol, she whirled around a large hedge, ready to blow the musician’s heads off, only to find the barrel of the gun inches from Law’s chest.

“Whoa, easy, Baby-ya!”

Immediately she froze, horrified that she’d nearly shot her superior. “I’m so sorry, Law!” she exclaimed with a deep bow. “Doffy told me there was a mess to clean up, and I assumed—”

“It’s alright; this is Joker’s fault,” he insisted, cupping her chin to make her look at him. His mouth was twisted in annoyance, and she wondered if he’d settle for just scolding her or if she had an evening of dismemberment to look forward to. “He should have just told you I wanted you to meet me out here.”

Law’s greater height forced her to straighten up, otherwise she’d be able to look no further than his chest. She blinked as she realized he was dressed rather nicely; smart black blazer and trousers, yellow dress shirt with the top three buttons undone, freshly polished shoes, and glittering gold earrings and cufflinks. The spicy scent of cologne tickled her nose, and she recognized it as the deep, musky fragrance he wore whenever he went out, and one of the myriad of smells his sexual partners reeked of when they left his room.

Amethyst eyes swept across the little clearing, taking in the small table with its crisp white tablecloth, which she identified as the one she’d ironed not an hour ago but had mysteriously gone missing. A vase of scarlet roses, a bottle of red wine, and two crystal glasses were carefully arranged on top of it, and with the small jazz quartet off to the side and the soft glow of the moon and surrounding lanterns, she finally understood.

The Corazon was out here meeting someone. Someone he was looking to impress. To her knowledge, he never put in this kind of effort for someone he simply intended to fuck, so whoever it was had to be really special.

No wonder he’d been avoiding her all week.

“Was there something you needed?” she asked softly, trying not to let her disappointment show.

In leu of an answer, he strolled over to the table and pulled out a chair, pointing at the seat meaningfully. Frowning, she studied the seat, not seeing any dirt but wiping it down anyway with her apron. An irritated little vein ticked on his forehead at her response, so she quickly tried to figure out what else he could possibly need. Should she fetch a cushion? Was the chair itself unsatisfactory and he wanted her to get a new one?

“I want you to sit in it, Baby-ya,” he finally said with an exasperated little eyeroll.

Red stained her cheeks in embarrassment. Asking her to take a seat was the last thing she expected, but maybe he wanted her to test the strength of the chair? She’d cleaned Law’s room several times after a one-night stand, and broken furniture was not an uncommon sight.

Gingerly sliding into the chair, she was surprised when he pushed it in, taking the seat across from her.

Feminine fingers fiddled nervously with the ruffled hem of her apron. What was she doing here? What did Law need? Shouldn’t she get out of the way before his real date showed up and got the wrong idea?

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” he asked, resting his sharp chin on the bridge of his linked fingers, smirking slightly as he took her in. It was the first time he’d really looked at her all week, and she wondered if she was dreaming again.

When she nodded mutely, he continued, “Sorry for the calling you out on such short notice; I wasn’t sure everything would come together in time, and there was a threat of a storm rolling in. Plus, with all the planning I’ve been doing this week, I’ve been so tired I barely knew what day it was. The invitation almost completely slipped my mind.”

The full moon illuminated his face, and she could see the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than usual. Insomnia had always been a problem for him, but she knew it got worse when he was stressed. And when it got especially bad, his temper was a lot shorter, and he was more likely to take it out on her when she got in his way. Why didn’t he ask her to take care of things? When it came to stuff like this, she was incredibly useful! She could set a table and deliver messages. If it helped, she was even willing to let him cut her into pieces so he could let off steam! Did he think she’d mess it up? Was he so sure he didn’t need her? “You did a good job,” she assured weakly.

His large, tattooed hand plucked one of her own from her lap, his rough thumb rubbing teasing little circles across her knuckles. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll be happy to leave the wedding planning to you and Joker, though; picking out tablecloths and flowers was absolutely mind-numbing.”

“Wedding planning?”

“Of course.” Baby 5’s heart quivered as he linked their fingers. It all felt like a scene from one of those romance novels she sometimes snuck from Giolla’s room. The moment where a pair of lovers confessed their feelings, none but the moon to bear witness.

As he poured a generous amount of wine into her glass, Law placed a butterfly kiss to the tip of her ring finger, followed by a light nip. “I like to think it’ll be a classy affair, but with Doflamingo in charge I’m not holding out hope. Still, so long as I get to see my obedient bride in a beautiful white dress, I can’t complain.”

“That sounds nice,” she managed to say, even though it felt like he was slowly strangling her. Even if his promise in the lab hadn’t been real, could he really be so cruel as to mock her with plans for his wedding when her dream was slowly being bashed to bits?

He raised an eyebrow. “You seem far less excited than I’d imagined.”

��Oh, no, of course I’m excited! I’m sure your wedding will be lovely, and I’m happy to help if you need me!” she said with a pained smile, desperately holding back her tears.

Smile dropping, his gold eyes narrowed. “Ok, this is ridiculous—you take the most innocuous comment from a complete stranger as a proposal, but you honestly can’t tell when I’m trying to ask for your hand in marriage?”

“What?”

Pulling out a small, velvet box, he presented her with a gold ring, a heart-shaped diamond gleaming in the center. He smirked at the way her eyes widened in shock. “Joker gave his approval, and I said when I proposed it’d be far better than what those scumbags had done. Now, are you going to stare at me forever, or are you going to say you’re mine?”

“…am I hallucinating?”

Reaching across the table, he gave a harsh pinch to the soft skin of her wrist.

“Ouch!”

“Proof enough that this is real? It’s been an exhausting week, Baby-ya, and I’d like to spend the rest of the evening drinking a nice glass of wine with my future wife before the hell of wedding planning starts. Though, I suppose if you don’t want me…” he trailed off as he slowly began to close the box.

A stampede of thoughts galloped through her head, barely comprehensive but all arriving at the same conclusion.

Law had asked her to marry him, and she needed to give an answer.

“Y-yes!” she exclaimed, ready to leap over the table, but his upraised hand between them stopped her.

“As much as I’d love to have you in my arms,” he said with a tired but triumphant grin, “I promised Joker I’d be a gentleman until the wedding. That means we’re going to have to keep touching to a minimum.”

“But why?” she asked curiously as he slipped the ring onto her finger. The diamond gleamed in the dim light, and it all finally felt so real.

She was finally going to become a wife!

Overwhelmed with emotion but unable to embrace her betrothed, she settled for grabbing his hand, kissing his fingertips like he had hers, her lips momentarily wrapping around his finger. Surely that counted as keeping touching to a minimum while still letting him see her gratitude, right? And he’d seemed to like it when she sucked his thumb that time…

She gasped as his long fingers wrapped around her wrist, tugging her forward so hard she knocked over her glass of wine, the burgundy liquid seeping into the clean white tablecloth.

Hot lips pressed to her ear as he rasped, “Because you’re too fucking irresistible for your own good, and if I’m going to make it to our wedding night, I need you to be a good girl and not tempt me.”

Liquid fire pooled between her thighs at the way his baritone voice called her a “good girl,” and she couldn’t help but let out a little whimper in response. He seemed to catch her reaction, as his voice became even rougher as he said, “Do you like that, Baby-ya? Does being called a ‘good girl’ turn you on?”

Swallowing hard, she tried to pull away, but his hand was like a shackle, unrelenting in its task of keeping her captive. “Yes,” she practically whispered, a little ashamed. Good girls didn’t get so hot and bothered over a few simple words. A good girl wouldn’t have tempted him. A good girl wouldn’t secretly want their superior—their future husband—to pin her to the table and show her what those romance novels meant when they talked about a man bringing his lover to the peak of pleasure.

She heard him take a deep, steadying breath before finally releasing her wrist, sitting back down and refilling her glass as if nothing had happened. Gold eyes flickered up to meet her breathless and confused gaze, and his wicked smile made her chest tighten and tingles dance through her nervous system.

“Then I’m looking forward to you showing me just how good you can be on our wedding night.”

32 notes · View notes

secndlife · 6 years ago

Text

sun&moon | 6.

pairing: jackson x reader x jinyoung

genre: soulmate!au, college!au, fluff, angst, eventual smut? everything basically

summary: she has always trusted fate. she was destined to someone and she was determined to find it. she found herself wrapped in hands that feel warm like the sun, but that belonged to someone else. she keeps on looking, only to find out that her fate had been watching over her, just like the moon.

word count: 4.5k

playlist

masterlist

A month had passed since your first actual date with Jackson and many more came along. You were loving getting to know him, you were loving how he gave you butterflies in the pit of your stomach and you were loving how considerate he was being with everything. It made you wonder why you were so scared of opening up again. Graduation was right around the corner and you were busy between writing your dissertation, working, hanging out with Jackson and feeling bad over Jinyoung’s disappearance.

Just like you had predicted, he kept on distancing himself, throwing lame excuses your way. He was never around when you showed up at the boys’ dorm, he could never pick up your calls or answer your texts. You were growing more impatient and sad with every rejection, even if you tried to pretend you weren’t. He had no right to do that to you, you were his best friend and he couldn’t just shut you out like this and figure you’d take it without a fight. He was the one that knew you inside out, the one you trusted no matter what. There was no way you’d give up on that. This had happened before - him shutting you out and being distant, especially since he wasn’t much of a talker to begin with - but it didn’t last this long. Jinyoung would always go back to normality after talking it out. Especially since it would almost always be caused by a misunderstanding of some sort. But this… him being like this for weeks? This was new and you didn’t like it at all.

Jinyoung was tired of avoiding you. To be honest, he was tired of this whole situation altogether. He was done with being away from his best friend and with not figuring out what the fuck was happening with his feelings. It was hard enough to not understand your own heart and the way your body is reacting, but not being able to talk to the one person you’re so used to sharing everything with just makes everything ten times harder. On top of that, he kept on thinking about what Jaebum had said at Jackson’s party weeks ago, that if Jaebum didn’t know him any better, he’d say this whole situation had to do with you. It didn’t. It couldn’t.

It was Saturday morning and Jinyoung was at the library, revising a chapter of his final dissertation and hiding from pretty much everyone, but you especially. He was annoyed over how unproductive he had been over the past few weeks and he felt like every word he wrote about his thesis was as messy as his life. He couldn’t concentrate, not when his heart was pounding so heavily inside his chest and that was all he could think about. Jinyoung sighed and suddenly he heard his name being called by a familiar voice from behind him.

“Hi, Jinyoung.”

He closed his eyes when he realized who it was, “Hi, Nayeon.”

It’s not that he didn’t like her. He did. Nayeon was kind and really nice. He just wasn’t in the mood for her presence right now, especially since she had feelings for him since God knows when. He wasn’t really in the mood for anyone’s presence, to be quite honest, but hers, in this moment in time when he’s struggling this much with his own feelings… He really didn’t want to talk to her.

The beautiful girl sat next to him, placing her materials in the desk in front of them, “Working on your final thesis?” She was also majoring in literature, but she was a year behind him. They met when he tutored her for Renaissance literature and she’s been into him ever since. He knew it from the way she looked at him with doe eyes and inserted herself into every situation possible to be closer to him. It was kind of obvious.

Jinyoung let out a sigh, “Yeah.” Just the thought of the deadline for his dissertation and the number of words he had already written gave him the chills. He hadn’t been this unproductive in a really long time.

“Not going well, I suppose?”

The man shook his head, “No, not really.” He almost laughed.

Nayeon scratched the back of her head, “M-maybe we could go for a coffee? To help you clear out your mind. Or maybe lunch since-”

“Sure.” Jinyoung didn’t even think about it. He was done thinking - it was doing no good in his life. He knew shutting down his feelings, sucking them up and trying to convince himself otherwise would come to bite him later, but he just couldn’t care less at this point. He was stuck in his own brain for the past weeks, reliving moments and trying to understand what the fuck was going on with him and it was driving him nuts. If Nayeon was what it took to get him to turn off his brain and just live than be it.

The girl’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, “Really?”

Jinyoung smiled softly at her, thinking to himself ‘how cute’, started to gather up his belongings and got up, “Yeah, c’mon.”

You were really done with Jinyoung’s attitude, or lack thereof to be more specific, but since he was paying you no mind, you decided to talk to one person who knew him as much as you did. Maybe they could piece this bulshit together and make you understand why in the hell your best friend would be avoiding you to this extent.

You rang the doorbell of their dorm and you were greeted by the man you went there to see.

“Y/N,” Jaebum greeted you warmly. “Nice to see you, but Jackson’s not here.”

You nodded, “I know, he’s at fencing practice. I’m here to talk to you, actually.”

The man raised an eyebrow, slightly shocked, and made room for you to come in, “Sure.”

You stepped inside and followed Jaebum towards the living room. “Is anyone here?”

“Just Youngjae, but he’s gaming so don’t worry.” He sat comfortably on the couch, “How can I be useful?” You were that transparent when it came to situations like this. You wouldn’t knock on Jaebum’s door like you did if it wasn’t important.

You settled yourself on the chair in front of him, “Guess.” You sighed.

“Jinyoung.” He stated, blandly.

“Yeah,” you sighed once more. You ran your fingers through your hair, ready to rip them off. “I don’t know what else to do, Jaebum. He’s been giving me a cold shoulder for ages now. He has never done this to me.”

“I know,” he stated simply.

You looked at him in confusion, “Well, I know you know. That’s not the point. I want you to tell me what’s going on and how to fix this. I hate pressuring him on opening up, but this is killing me.”

Jaebum shrugged, “He’s just stressed, Y/N. Graduation’s right there. We all have a lot going on.”

“Oh, please. Don’t give me the stress bullshit. Not you too. We both know him well enough to know he’s fucking lying.” You were frustrated beyond words now. You came to Jaebum in the hopes of getting something other than the blatant lies that you’ve been getting from Jinyoung, but this doesn’t seem the case now.

“I can’t tell for sure he’s lying.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “I can’t. I’m telling you what he told me, okay? I haven’t seen much of him lately too.” That made you close your eyes and sigh deeply. If Jinyoung wasn’t talking to you nor Jaebum, than he was bottling up everything and you knew damn well that wasn’t going to end up okay.

You rubbed your temples, “Help me out here, Jaebum. You know as much as I do that he is lying. There’s something else going on that he’s not telling me and I wanna know why.”

Jaebum let out a sigh, “Look, we’re on the same page here. He’s not opening up to me either. But try not to overthink this. He loves you a lot, you know that.”

“I know! I love him a lot too. I just-” you closed your eyes and swallowed dry. “This is really hurting me, Jaebum. I don’t want to lose him.”

“You won’t, okay? You won’t.” How could he be so sure? What did he know that you didn’t?

The two of you sat in silence for a while. You knew this was a busted try. There was no getting the truth out of any of them. “Yeah, it doesn’t feel like it,” you said, voice low.

“Give him some space, Y/N. And time. He’ll get better,” Jaebum smiled gently at you.

You got up and nodded sadly, giving up. “Yeah. Thanks anyway.”

“Sorry I couldn’t help much.” He sounded genuine. “But don’t worry, ok? Things will get better.”

“Okay.” You were by the door when Jaebum heard his name being called and hummed in acknowledgment. “Please, don’t tell anyone about this. Jinyoung or Jackson.”

“I won’t,” he half-shouted from the living room while you closed the door behind you.

When Jaebum heard the click of the door, he pulled up his phone and texted the person he was just told not to, of course.

[3:45pm] Jaebum: she was just here

[3:45pm] Jaebum: stop being an asshole

[3:45pm] Jaebum: she’s really sad

[3:45pm] Jaebum: talk to her, man

[3:45pm] Jaebum: or at least be more convincing

You left the dorm with your mind racing. Jinyoung was lying and now Jaebum was lying too. Jinyoung always opened up to either one of you eventually - he had probably talked to Jaebum by now. He needed to. He wasn’t good at holding things in for that long. Why wasn’t he talking to you specifically? Why was he ignoring you? What on earth had happened? You were tired, frustrated and sad.

You decided to get a coffee on your way home, maybe it’d make you feel less awful about this whole situation. When you reached your favorite cafeteria inside the campus, you stopped on your tracks. You saw Jinyoung. Not just Jinyoung - Jinyoung and Nayeon. What was he even doing with her? He didn’t like her, at least not the way she had always liked him. You stared at them through the glass. Jinyoung seemed happy - he was smiling, eye wrinkles and all. You felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest. It felt like Jinyoung was building a new life all of a sudden and it didn’t include you. How long had this been going on? The same long he had stopped talking to you? You blinked slowly when you saw Nayeon taking his hand in hers in a comforting manner. This was your role. Yours and yours only. Not hers, not anyone else’s.

As if he could feel your presence, his eyes were on yours. There were no emotions across them. No remorse, no sadness. Nothing. Just a blank, cold stare. You swallowed dry and decided to leave as soon as you felt the tears start to form at the corner of your eye. Fuck. You shook your head and picked up the pace. You just wanted to get home as fast as you could. A part of you hoped he’d follow you and apologize for being distant and for shutting off, but he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t. Because he wasn’t sorry and now you understood. You wanted to go home and take a bath. You wanted not to think about Jinyoung, at least for a few minutes if only. You wanted someone to comfort you, not the way he would, but at least in some form. You wanted Jackson. He was now a constant presence in your life and you felt safe around him. Maybe he could be the one to help you get out of your head this time. You quickly wiped the stubborn tear that insisted on falling and pulled up your phone to text him.

[4:10pm] you: come over tonight?

[4:10pm] you: i could use a comforting lap

After getting home and taking a long, wrinkly, hot bath, you were finally at the comfort of your bed with Winnie by your feet. Jisoo was on a small getaway weekend with Mark before finals, so you had the place all to yourself. In another time, you’d be glad about that. Right now, it just felt lonely. Jackson had texted back, making a joke about which type of lap did you want and informing you he’d stop by after practice, around 8. You didn’t answer back. You sighed looking at the clock and realizing he’d still take some time for him to get there.

You picked up your laptop and decided to get some of your final thesis done. After not much trying really, you noticed you wouldn’t be productive, settling for just moping around the internet until Jackson was there. You couldn’t get Jinyoung’s blank stare off your mind, no matter how hard you tried to concentrate on other things.

After what felt like forever, you finally heard the intercom buzz and ran over to get it. You sighed deeply, knowing this was it, you were finally going to be able to relax. You were greeted by Jackson’s handsome features and soft smile along with takeout as soon as you opened the door. “Hi, beautiful.”

You hushed to his arms and he welcomed your body against him, “Hi.” You hummed in content. He was warm and soft, smelling of soap and perfume.

Jackson giggled, “Missed me much?” His hand was firm, yet comforting against your back while the two of you stumbled inside and he kicked the door shut with his feet. You simply nodded at the crook of his neck, not wanting to ever get out of his embrace. “Rough day?” You nodded again. “Thought so.” He gently pushed you away to place the food on the kitchen counter.

“What did you get?” You looked at the plastic bags, running your fingers around his waist, hugging him sideways.

“Chinese. I wanted lo mein and sesame chicken,” he said, coming close to you once again and giving you a peck on the lips. “I hope you like them.”

“Smells good.”

Jackson nodded, “Yeah, let’s eat before it gets cold, okay? Go settle on the couch and put something on Netflix and I’ll be right there.”

You smiled. Jackson was sweet and he was for sure conquering his way into your heart. You nodded and did as you were told. You settled for Brooklyn 99, something the two of you have been watching together. Who would have thought that you and Jackson would be able to marathon shows together?

A few moments later he approached you with the food and soda and sat beside you. He handed you your box and opened his while started talking, “Wanna tell me what happened?”

You got your food and took a piece of chicken, “Saw Jinyoung today.”

Jackson furrowed his eyebrows, “Why don’t you sound happy about it?” He had chicken on his mouth so you could barely understand the sentence.

“I didn’t saw saw him. I went to get some coffee and then I saw him. Guess who was there with him?” Jackson hummed, so you continued, “Nayeon.”

The man looked even more confused now, “What?” He looked at you with wide eyes and shook his head, trying to piece together the couple you just described.

“Yeah,” you let out a sigh. “They were all giggly and friendly.”

“So, you’re sad because Jinyoung was with Nayeon?”

You shook your head, “No? I’m sad because he saw me and he didn’t seem to care. And because he doesn’t even like her?” At least that’s what you thought you were sad about. Right?

Jackson rubbed your thigh, “He’s still all weird?”

“Yes and he seems to be building a life without me all of a sudden,” you were nervous eating now. “He has never paid any attention to her. He always said she wasn’t his type and whenever she asked him out he made up excuses.”

“Are you jealous?” the man said, giggling. As much as Jackson was supportive and caring, he could never be the comfort Jinyoung was for you.

You whined, “What? No. I’m just sad he’s pushing me further and further away. She looked like she was comforting him or something. That’s my job.” You wanted to be able to piece together better words to describe the feeling inside your chest, it wasn’t just hurt, you almost felt cheated. But nothing seemed quite right.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. I haven’t seen him at all lately so I’m not sure what’s going on either.” He bit more of his chicken, cheek filled with rice as he spoke.

“No one seems to be seeing him,” you said while taking a bite of your lo mein.

“Yeah,” Jackson agreed. “Jinyoung’s either locked in his room, working or with Jaebum.”

“What?” Like you had just imagined.

“What what?” Jackson seemed completely lost at this point.

You furred your brows, “Jaebum? He told me he hasn’t been seeing Jinyoung either.”

Jackson scratched the back of his neck, “Well… I don’t know. I just know that he’s the only one that’s been catching a glimpse of Jinyoung lately.”

You hummed and got back on eating. You knew Jaebum was lying too. This just made you feel worse. Why the fuck were they treating you like this? What had you done?

You and Jackson finished your meal without much talking. By now he knew you didn’t talk much when you were sad, so when you were done eating, he picked up the boxes, placed them on the kitchen and snuggled you on the couch.

“Don’t worry,” Jackson said, one of his hands kindly against your shoulder, while the other massaged your thighs that were placed on top of his. Your head was comfortably placed against his chest and you could hear his heart beating softly. “The two of you won’t ever stop being best friends.”

“Won’t we? Why does he keep on pushing me away then?”

“You know how Jinyoungie is. He closes off sometimes.” His hand caressed your shoulder, “It’s not you, Y/N. If it was me and the rest of the boys would still be seeing him.” Jackson was trying his best to reassure you, too bad your mind was racing and your heart was clenching beyond reason.

“I’m not you and the boys, Jacks…” Your voice was low now, “I’m his best friend. I’m the person he always goes to whenever he has trouble and he is troubled, I know it.”

Jackson pulled you closer, “C’mon, baby… Don’t stress this. Wait it off until he submits his final dissertation. I’m sure it’ll get better by then.”

You closed your eyes and sighed, “And how am I supposed to live without my best friend for, I don’t know, maybe two months?”

“Baby…”

“Besides, after he submits his dissertation he’ll be preparing for the masters interview. So he’ll probably be like this until graduation.” Graduation was in August, not long after your birthday. “I can’t have this going on for this long, Jacks. I can’t.”

Jackson’s heart clenched at how sad and desperate you sounded. He didn’t know what to do. He hated seeing you like this, he hated now knowing how to fix everything. “How can I help?”

You looked up at him, feeling a little less heartbroken, “Cuddle me to sleep.”

He let out your favorite giggle and hugged you tight against him, “Consider it done.”

You hummed against him, inhaling his oh so wonderful sent, “Thanks.”

“For what?”

You placed a soft kiss against his jaw, “Everything.”

It was dark when Jinyoung finally got home. He left for the library around 8am and Nayeon showed up close to lunch time. They stayed at the cafe all afternoon and Jinyoung had almost stopped thinking too much about everything. That was until he saw you. He shook his head, trying to erase the memory of you looking so broken in front of that cafe, while he opened the front door of the dorm.

As soon as he entered, he saw Jaebum in the living room with Youngjae, watching some random thing on TV. He said hello and hushed to his room, scared to meet Jackson or, even worse, you. Jinyoung was even being extra careful on his own house in the little time he spent there. He kept doing extra hours at work, studying in the library and staying in his room as much as he could. He wasn’t ready to see everyone’s favorite couple - at least not yet. And even though he thought you wouldn’t spend that much time over at their place, he just didn’t want to risk it.

Jinyoung dropped his bag by his study desk and fell back on his bed. He hated lying down without a shower, but he needed a bit of rest immediately or he’d collapse. He closed his eyes and before he could start thinking about everything, he heard his door being opened and closed in a swift motion. He didn’t even need to open his eyes to see who it was. “What do you want, Jaebum?”

Jaebum sat by Jinyoung’s study chair, sighing deeply at the look of his friend so worn out like that. “I want you to fix this.”

The younger let out a sigh, “Fix what, Jaebum?”

“Really, Jinyoung? Really?” Jaebum didn’t want to go hard on him, but this whole situation was starting to get on his nerves.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jaebum.” Jinyoung started rubbing his temples. He could feel a massive headache coming. Great, that was just what he needed.

Jaebum scoffed, “Can you fucking stop playing dumb? You can play dumb to anyone but me.”

“How can I fix it when I don’t even know what’s wrong in the first place?” Jinyoung sat up, back stiff against his headboard. “I love her, she’s my best friend. I love him, he’s one of my best friends. I’m happy for them. Or at least I think I am. There’s just something off. And I can’t fix it if I don’t know what that is!”

“You really think she’s happy at this moment? She showed up here, Jinyoung. She came to talk to me about you. She’s hurt.”

“And I’m not?” Jinyoung sounded desperate and he unconsciously raised his voice. “You think I like knowing she’s upset with me? You think I like knowing that I’m the one hurting her? Well, I fucking don’t. I don’t but I can’t wrap my head around what the fuck is going on with me or what the fuck I’m feeling. I can’t stand being around them, I can’t stand the fact that Jackson has her fucking initial on his wrist and I can’t stand this fucking mess anymore. So I’m sorry if I’m hurting my best friend and I’m sorry that she came here and bothered you about it, I just need to figure this whole shit out first.” Jinyoung’s chest was heavy as he struggled to catch his breath after his outburst.

Jaebum raised an eyebrow, “You really don’t know what you’re feeling?”

Jinyoung closed his eyes once again, head falling forward and on his hands, “I don’t. You know I was never good with feelings. That was her department. She always figured them out for me.”

“Then let her do it again.” Jaebum sounded softer again as if trying to help Jinyoung make decisions on his own instead of making them for him.

He shook his head in disagreement, “I can’t. Not this time. I’m a mess, Jaebum. I’m such a mess right now that you know who I spent the day with? Im Naeyeon.” Jaebum’s eyes widen at his friend’s revelation. “Im Naeyon, the girl that has been into me for ages and that I know is not my type and that sometimes annoys me with her enthusiasm and dove eyes. Yet, I spent the whole fucking day with her. The whole day. And guess what? It wasn’t bad.”

“Really?” Jaebum let out a chuckle, “This is new.”

“Well, yeah. I don’t know what happened. I needed the distraction, I guess.” Jinyoung shrugged.

Jaebum sighed and got up, “Look, you’ll figure it out. I already did, and I think pretty much anyone with eyes has, but I don’t wanna call you out on your bullshit. Not on this one anyway. You need to do this on your own terms and your own time.” He offered his friend a thin smile and a pat on the shoulder. “It’s a lot easier to figure it out than you think. You probably know it already, you just don’t want to admit it. My guess is that what this is was actually your first thought when it all started.”

Jinyoung looked up at him, “Is it? It can’t be. You know it can’t.”

“It probably is. You either admit it or fake it better because this isn’t fair on her.”

“I know,” Jinyoung sighed once again, “I just-”

“I know,” Jaebum said while walking off. When he was about to close the door behind him, he spoke again, “You’ll figure it out, ok?”

Jinyoung nodded at his friend, who left him and his thoughts alone. Jinyoung knew well enough what was the first thing he thought when he saw Jackson’s tattoo, when you and Jackson talked to him about it, when he saw the two of you walking around campus like high schoolers in love. He knew it all too well because the thought was engraved on this mind and keeping him awake since then. He knew it, but he was pretending he didn’t so he didn’t have to face the consequences of his thoughts. He couldn’t admit it. Not now. Not when you were finally opening up to someone after so long, even if he knew, deep in his gut, that Jackson wasn’t your soulmate. How could he know? He just did. So deeply that the thought of Jackson actually being your soulmate seemed ridiculous. He wanted you to be happy and if being with Jackson was that for you, even if for that moment, then he’d just step up his acting game, even if it killed him inside.

He decided he would text you before falling asleep. He would say he missed you. He would say he’s sorry. He would play the stress card again, even if he knew you didn’t buy it the first time around and probably never would. He would invite you for coffee. He would tell you about Nayeon and how he was going out with her again. He would fake a smile, saying it had been exactly what he needed. He would fake his happiness for you. He would fake it until it wasn’t a lie anymore until he could finally feel happiness again. But how long would that take?

a/n: well so! there you go! once again, thank you @yoongitalks for being the best beta. thank you @yves-saintlaurwang for the writing tips that were highly used in this chapter. thank you all for being patient and loving and kind. thank you all for enjoying my writing and for supporting me. as always, my askbox is always open. let me know if you’re team jackson or team jinyoung. let me know what you think. you guys are the best.

#got7creators #thekpopnetwork #kwritersworldnet #got7 scenarios #got7 scenario #jinyoung scenario #jinyoung scenarios #jackson scenarios #sun&moon #jackson scenario #got7 imagine #got7 imagines #jinyoung imagine #jinyoung imagines #jackson imagine #jackson imagines #jinyoung fic #jackson fic #sfw

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winterbuttmunch · 7 years ago

Text

Masked Pt. IX

WHOOO I’M BACK MOTHERFUCKERS

It took forever, I know and I’m so so sorry, depression and ADHD are a goddamn bitch.

Also shoutout to @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen for reading and helping me figure out my messy af story. thank you elle <3

Come scream at me later, I have some more tidbits that didn’t make it to the story! and some backstory on Mariah I can post if yall want me to!

So without further ado, here we go!

You were walking towards your favorite hunting ground, having stopped at all your other regular haunts for drinks. It was a club currently called Exposure, though it had changed names several times in the time since you had found. To you and the people who frequented it though, it would always be called the Church. The original owner had spent a small fortune renovating the buildings interior into something hauntingly beautiful, with al grand descending staircase, pillars, and high domed ceiling. You adored it. It’s the only place you worshipped.

It usually had no cover charge for women, so men lined up hoping to get in and get lucky. Just thinking about it made your toes curl in anticipation. You relished the opportunity to drink and dance until you were slick with sweat and then end the night lost in some strangers bed. You had made your way to the front of the line, pushing through the line and smiling at the bouncer. He winked and mouthed a hello while opening the big carved wooden for you and ushering you inside like a VIP. You stood on the balcony of the grand staircase staring down at the crowds below you, grinning and letting the lights flash on your skin, feeling the bass reverberate in your bones, and breathing in the sent of sweat, booze and sex.

You fully relaxed for the first time since your session with Daniel. You were ready to shine. You stood tall, with your shoulders back, chin held high and descended the staircase with a regality that caught several people’s eyes. You got to the bottom and looked around fully in your element. You strutted to the bar, swinging your hips, enjoying the eyes you felt on you. You grinned at Lucy, your favorite bartender, and held up Tony’s card between your index and middle fingers. She waved back in reply and got your usual drink. You grabbed your mojito, and sipped while leaning against the bar, looking at the crowd trying to find your prey for the night. When you didn’t find someone suitable, you turned again holding up a hand at Lucy and downed the four shots she brought you in quick succession, before grabbing your last drink and heading off immediately to the dance floor. You wiggled your way to the center and grinned at the security guards guarding the entrance to your favorite part of the dance floor. They smirked at you while they moved to the side to let you pass. You blew them a kiss as quickly climbed the stairs until you got the elevated part of the dance floor directly under the high domed glass ceiling. The full moon glinting brightly and it shed light on the dancers. The people around you were cast an ethereal glow that seemed all the more magical with the pulsing club lights. You gulped your drink down, the heavy alcohol leaving a warm sensation in your stomach and threw yourself into a frenzy on the dance floor. You forgot all about everything and just let the music envelop you, dancing without a care in the world.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Sabrina! Hurry. The Fuck. UP! We’re already late!”, Iris yelled while rummaging through the fridge and triumphantly pulling out a half filled bottle of tequila.

“I’m going! I’m going!”, Sabrina stuck her head out the bathroom head and flashed a grin at Bucky who amusedly watched Iris sitting next to him on the couch, take deep swigs out of the tequila bottle. She pointed a ringed finger at Bucky and told her girlfriend, “You gotta make sure that Barnes’ drinks too.” Bucky snorted, “You know I can’t get drunk, Rina. ‘Sides tequila is disgusting. Gimme a good strong whiskey.”

“Christ, you’re so fucking predictable. Babe, grab that flask in my purse and hand it to him. Bottoms up, my man. I had Nat ask around for some super-soldier worthy booze and she delivered. That should be enough to fuck you up, so I recommend diluting it with some of that ‘disgusting’ tequila.”

Bucky watched suspicious, as Iris mixed his drink with a heavy hand and held it out to him. “Bucky, take the fucking drink, like Iris said we’re already late”, Sabrina snapped, “Besides, my neck is starting to hurt from standing like this.” Bucky just looked pointedly at Sabrina, until she rolled her eyes and marched over snatching the drink from her girlfriend and shoving it into Bucky’s hand. She waited, arms crossed while Bucky just glared at her. She raised a brow and cocked her head, waiting. Finally Bucky cracked and muttering a quiet curse, gulped the drink down. “Fuck, that was gross guys.” Bucky gagged, “So what does the drink that Natalia gave you do?” “Basically it inhibits your cells from processing the alcohol as quickly as they normally would due to the serum. For something like, 30 hours? Though it’ll still take a shit ton more alcohol than the average person. It basically breaks down your cells and turns them normal-ish. Something like that. I got a bit lost during the explanation, I just remembered the important parts.” She grinned excitedly at him, to which Bucky grinned and tilted his head back on the cushion. She had been so very determined to have him enjoy himself and relax after the day he had had. “Oh!” She snapped her fingers, “Nat also mentioned that it’ll take like 40 minutes to begin affecting you, so you got some time to kill…” Bucky glanced up as she trailed off, watching her smile turn wolfish as she watched her girlfriend bent over trying to fish out a half empty bottle of vodka from a cabinet. He saw Iris smile seductively back at Sabrina over he shoulder and knew what was gonna happen.

“Go. Get out. Go have fun somewhere else”, Sabrina mumbled distractedly, waving him off with her hand.

He stood up hastily, grabbing his jacket and somewhat awkwardly made his way out of the room to the front door, glancing quickly back as he heard someone hit the coffee table All he saw, were the women kissing passionately, making their way into the bathroom. He flushed, and hustled out the door, huffing heavily in the hallway.

They were not getting out of here anytime soon.

Letting out another slightly louder sigh he put on his leather jacket and walked out into the cool New York night heading towards a liquor store in search of some decent whiskey. If he only had a night to enjoy alcohol and its effects then he was going to drink some good shit.

While he walked he started thinking back to earlier. About Y/N. His Y/N. God, seeing you again was a kick to the gut. He had missed you so much that there were times, usually when the sky had barely started lightening after another sleepless night, when he felt there was an actual part of him missing. He thought that you were a mirage when you had appeared in the park, that he had wished to see you again so badly that his mind had finally snapped. He had felt his heart start beating faster as he laid eyes on you. You were breathtakingly beautiful, you always had been, and all he wanted was to hold you tight. To murmur your name like a prayer. To press gentle kisses on your skin and just hold you forever. But then he got a good look at you. And his blood ran cold.

You were still so beautiful but there was a weariness in you he had never seen before. Hard lines of rage on the planes of your face, a sort of coldness in how you held yourself, a sorrow in your eyes. The woman in front of him, she was someone he knew yet didn’t. And so he had reacted on instinct when he had grabbed you. He had wanted to make everything ok. To carry your burdens and help. To explain what had happened with Mariah and go to your old apartment. He just wanted to go home with you. Because home was with you, wherever you were. But he had ruined it; it was over so quickly. And now, all these hours later, pieces of the encounter kept replaying in his mind. How skin soft as silk under his fingers, the icy cold fury on your face, the small tightening of your lips when he called you beloved, the unending turmoil in your eyes, how you felt on top of him… All Bucky wanted was to to fix your problems and be there for you. But, Sabrina was right, he had no right to do that. He had lost that right years ago. From the moment that he started to pull away from you. From the moment that he hadn’t noticed that you were drowning, he had lost that right.

He heard your giggle grow louder as you walked down the hallway. He put down the magazine he had absently been turning, grabbed your coat and turned to meet you, looking curiously at the very good looking woman towering over you that you were laughing with. He cocked his head, smiling softly as he noticed that you looked a lot more at ease, more at peace. “Hi honey, this is Mariah, the therapist I was telling you about,” you said, mirth coating your voice, “I’ll let you two get acquainted while I go over there to make another appointment and sort out some insurance stuff.” You walked away as Mariah got closer to him, her predatorily bright amber eyes scanning him up and down. He shifted on his feet nervously, glancing over at Y/N in hopes that she would come over and save him from this uncomfortable situation. He was looking down at his shoes when he sensed the woman, Mariah, about to move, looking up quickly, startling her with her hand outstretched as if to touch him. He angled himself away from her, and looked at her, confused and a little peeved.

No one was allowed to just casually touch him, just Y/N. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was trying to get your attention but you seemed lost in your own head”, she let out a shy smile and tucked a stray blonde hair behind her ear, “I asked how you are doing? I know Y/N was gone for a while and I know from experience with other couples, that that reintegration back into civilian life isn’t always smooth for either person.” She cocked her head to the side, looking warmly and deeply into his eyes and Bucky felt himself start to relax. He had been having a hard time since Y/N had come back. It felt like she was there but distant and despite how warm and affectionate he was, he felt incredibly alone. He opened his mouth to respond when he saw that Y/N was on her way back so instead he just smiled and held out his hand to Y/N. “Ok, done. Let’s go honey. We can get something to eat and then go back home. Bye Mariah, I’ll see you next week!”, Y/N tugged on Bucky’s hand as she waved over her shoulder at her therapist. “Bucky, wait.” He turned to face the blonde woman who was holding out a thin card, “Here’s my number. If you ever need to talk, at any time of day, just call.” Bucky reached out and grabbed it, letting out a brief smile and following his girl out into the street.

*********

Bucky had fiddled a lot with that card in the weeks since Mariah had handed it to him. By now, it was dog eared and worn, and though he had dialed the number but always hung up before it had rung.

But he had finally hit his breaking point. He was fighting with Y/N again, for the third time in the past 7 days and he couldn’t take it any longer. He didn’t want to stay out on the cold roof another night, alone. He had to talk to someone.

Anyone. He dialed the number and held his breath as it rung. “Hello?”, a sleepy voice murmured. “Uhm, hi. Is this Mariah?”, he heard a slight shuffling on the other end and only then realized that it was 2:41 a.m. and most people were asleep at that time, “I’m so sorry. I just realized that it’s really late. I’ll call at another time. Sorry.” “No, nononono, it’s ok.” Her voice got more alert as she fully woke up, “Truly. I’m used to receiving calls at odd hours of the day. How can I help you? Would you like to come in for a session?” Bucky paused, unsure, before breathing out, “Yes. Please.” “Ok,” Mariah said gently, “the door will be open, let yourself in. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Bucky made it to her office in record time, feeling desperate to not feel lonely if only for a little while. He silently opened the door, peering around it and making eye contact with the blonde who was looking at him curiously.

“Uhm, hello, you gave me your card a couple weeks ago and I just… I just finally needed to talk,” Bucky quietly trailed off as he stood in the doorway, fiddling with the card still in his pocket, “I just didn’t know who else to turn to. Or who else to try.”

There was a pause, as Bucky wondered if he should bolt when Mariah stood up and walked toward him, hand extended.

“I thought I would never hear from you,” she smiled as he tentatively shook her hand, “come in, sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

***************

They had talked for hours that initial session. All the feelings and doubts he had just bubbled out of him and for the first time in months, he felt like he was being seen.

Like he mattered.

Like he existed.

They didn’t start sleeping together till later, after another particularly nasty fight with Y/N. She had been cruel and he had just snapped. He loved her with everything in him but he was so tired of being shut out. He loved her but he wanted someone who was willing to let him in.

To open her heart fully to him and let him love every part of them. He had ended up at Mariah’s office that night, after hours of wandering around the city and without any prompting he had kissed her. Instantly, he felt guilt surge through him, he thought he would vomit at her feet, stain her ridiculously expensive red bottomed shoes, but instead he pushed it aside and kissed her deeper, closing his eyes tighter. He had imagined that he was kissing Y/N, even though Mariah’s lips felt different, he imagined that he was holding Y/N’s soft waist, even though Mariah’s was ensconced inside a tight binder, he imagined that it was Y/N letting out the soft moans underneath him, even though Mariah’s were louder and less breathy.

At the end of it right before he opened his eyes, he begged whatever Gods were out there, that Y/N would be under him gazing at him with a loving intensity in her eyes, but instead he opened his eyes and there lay Mariah, her blonde hair fanned out, amber eyes shining in an unknown emotion. She had reached up and kissed him, pulling him to her and rolling him onto his side, twining her legs between his. She had laid her head in the crook of his arm and kissed his chest softly, giving him the affection and attention he had craved for months. In that moment, his guilt subsided and he let himself enjoy the moment. He closed his eyes again, and let her soft kisses and gentle fingers lull him into a soft sleep.

Bucky was so lost in memories that it took him a moment to recognize where he was. He checked his watch and realized he had been walking around for like 40 minutes. He checked his phone and saw a missed call from Iris. He clicked on the notification while walking to a store, and grabbing two bottles of whiskey. He paid and made his way outside while he heard Sabrina tell him to hurry his ass up, they were getting pretty tipsy and wanted to dance. The voicemail had just ended when Sabrina’s special ringtone had started sounding. Mildly annoyed, he had glared at her contact picture for a moment before answering. “What the fuck? I had just gotten rid of your last annoying ringtone, Sabrina.” Buck grumbled while trying to unscrew the whiskey cap. “Oh shut up Barnes, BTS is a goddamn gift.” Rina scoffed in his ear, “Besides, I know your password, it’s Y/N’S birthday, so nothing can keep me out. Anyway, where are you? We want to dance!”

Bucky gave her the address, as he took a couple of swigs out of the bottle and recapping it. “Ok, wait for us on the corner we aren’t that far away. Thankfully you aren’t that far from the club we wanted to go to. See you in a bit.” He had just hummed in agreement before ending the call and going to sit on the stoop of building. He drank a little more, letting more memories run through his mind as he waited. He remembered the time there was a spider in the bathtub and he had let out a small scream. You had burst in with his knife, on high alert. He smiled as he remembered how you had collapsed on the floor laughing so hard you were crying, while he grinned sheepishly in a towel.

He took another swig, feeling the alcohol in the edges of his mind. He remembered the first time you had cooked Sunday dinner for your little family. You hadn’t cooked a day in your life before then, both of you living off of what Buck could cook and take out. You had been researching for days and had started cooking at 6 in the morning. The kitchen a complete mess and you were covered in ingredients with a smear of tomato sauce on cheek. You had been so proud, even though the food a little dry and a little burnt, but Bucky felt his heart swell as he remembered the smile that had stayed on your face the entire night. He remembered how it felt to feel you straddle him at night, your lips pressing open mouthed wet kisses on his neck. How it felt to nip your throat and feel you shudder as your skin became sensitive. How it felt to hold you tight as you moaned his name and cried out in pleasure, clawing his back. He remembered everything and Bucky wished, not for the first time, that he could turn back time. Instead he shook his head to clear it, and looked up to see Iris leaning out of a cab waving at him. He stood and dusted his pants, getting into the cab and finishing his first bottle of whiskey. “I never figured you for a maudlin drunk, Buck,” Iris’s small feminine voice stated. “Chin up Barnes. No sad drunks here. We haven’t let loose in ages and it’s the first time you can do it properly. Besides, the goal is to find someone for you to take home. No one wants to sleep with a sad drunk,” Sabrina said loudly leaning in closer and putting her hand on Bucky’s knee, “In all seriousness dude, Im not letting you drink anymore if I see you start to going your head. As much as I’d love to see you let loose, we both know drinking in that state of mind is dangerous. So I need you to be honest with me, tell me where your mind is at.” “I’m ok. Thank you,” Bucky let out a small smile, “I’m just thinking about Y/N and everything that’s happened. I’m not gonna disappear into my head. I’m sick of being in it. I’m gonna let loose, and I give you my permission to call Steve or Nat if I’m not.” Sabrina smiles back and grabbed her clutch, “That’s my boy. Now drink up, we’re almost at the bar and that entire bottle isn’t gonna fit in the flask I brought you. ” She grinned and watched as Bucky started chugging half the bottle before stopping and letting out a small burp. She handed him the flask and laughed as he tipsily poured it in sloshing it on his dark jeans. “We’re here! Ready to go to Church guys?,” Iris clapped her hands excitedly. Sabrina gave the cabbie some money, grabbed her girlfriends hand and pulled her out of the cab, motioning excitedly at Bucky. “Church?”, Bucky asked curiously. “Yeah. Church,” Iris pointed at the throng of people outside club at the end of the street as they started walking towards it, “It’s an old unfinished church that was abandoned in the late 80’s. It has the original pillars, domed ceiling and stained glass windows. Some trendy hipster gutted the inside and made it into a club. A close friend of ours is the bouncer and told us about it. It’s been our favorite ever since.”

“Hey Tommy!” Sabrina called out to the man in black in front of the doors, embracing him, “Long time no see! How you been man?” “Hey Rina, Iris. I’ve been good thanks. Me and the Mrs. went to the Bahamas for vow renewal ceremony a couple weeks ago. “Oh my God! Congratulations! Give Wren our love, we need to do dinner soon. I’ll call you to set something up tomorrow. Sounds good?”, she moved back as Iris hugged Tommy. Tommy smiled and nodded moving to the side and opening the doors to the little group. The girls grabbed Bucky’s hands and pulled him with them, turning and waving at Tommy as they entered the darkened club. Once inside, they all paused at the top of the staircase, Bucky’s mouth opening in awe as descended the stairs he took in the room. The room was regal and haunting. He trailed, lightly dazed, behind the couple as they made their way to the bar, chattering between themselves. They squealed as they saw a ginger woman waving at them from behind the bar. They had a round a shots on the bar top by the time Bucky got there. He got handed two and downed them without thinking, gagging as he realized it was tequila. He frowned lightly realizing that he was definitely starting to feel the alcohol. His mind was getting a little fuzzy and he was feeling free. Sabrina and Iris were right.

He really was enjoying himself. Bucky leaned against the bar, and wait and see who approached him. It didn’t take long for a blonde bombshell walk up to him and wink coyly, motioning him to dance. He shook his head softly, all the while letting his eyes roam over her, checking her out. She smiled over her shoulder, and walked onto the dance floor, her hips swung invitingly. Bucky just smiled wolfishly, and went over the bar and signaled the bartender, downing the drink she handed him as he walked over to a giant stone pillar by the edge of the room.

Another woman came up to him, a complete vision in a vibrant yellow dress with her skin glinting in the lights, and he let himself be led onto the dance floor. She twined her fingers in the hair covering his name and pressing herself against him as she started to dance. Bucky brought her closer, putting his hands right above her full ass as the music swelled around them. The woman pressed her full lips to his neck and he groaned, breathlessly. She nipped and licked his exposed skin as let his hands roam her body. She moaned and smirked, as she grabbed Bucky’s hand, turning and leading him quickly across the dance floor to bathrooms. They were nearly there when Bucky abruptly stopped. His muscles locked down and the woman in the yellow dress was pulled backwards onto the floor. She looked up at him, her confusion morphing to fury as she realized he wasn’t going to help, and stalked off. Bucky didn’t even notice.

He didn’t even notice because there in the middle of the room, dancing under the full moon without a care in the world, was Y/N.

And without realizing it, he started moving towards you. He was going to… he wasn’t sure what he going to do when he reached you. He just knew that that’s what he wanted. He was almost to the edge of the stairs that led to the elevated dance floor when he veered to the side suddenly keenly aware that he needed a little liquid courage. He pulled out the little flask Sabrina had given him earlier, and took a couple of heavy swigs.

Feeling fortified, he took a step towards the stairs and felt the room spin in a way he hadn’t since he was teenager, drunk at the small bar near the docks he worked. He steadied himself on a nearby pillar and closed his eyes for a moment.

Bucky realized he was extremely drunk, and he knew that he should go home. He knew that he shouldn’t go to you. That he should absolutely not get any closer to you than he already had. He knew the rational thing to do was to go find Sabrina and Iris and tell them he wanted, no, that he needed to leave. He knew that nothing good could come from this drunken encounter. But still, he found himself climbing those stairs, his blood pounding and his body hot.

It was instinctual at this point, his need to get to you, like a moth to flame. It didn’t make sense, none whatsoever but that’s what he was going to do. And fuck, he was tired of thinking, he was tired of hiding, he wanted you so bad and he should’ve been better, he should’ve been there for you. He should’ve done more. He shouldn’t have been such a goddamn selfish coward. And suddenly you were right there.

And you took his breath away.

He stared, dazed, starting forward abruptly when he realized that you were dancing in someones arms. The man was leering at you while you danced on him and the entire sight made Bucky’s stomach ache.

He had to stop it.

Bucky knew he had to but had no right but he just couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t handle the sight of the man touching you, his intent so very clear on his leering face. He grabbed the other mans arms and lifted him up and away from you, effectively placing himself between the two of you. The brunette man, that Bucky thought looked vaguely familiar, glared back at him, yelling something at him that he couldn’t quite make out. Bucky just gave him the best Winter Soldier glare he could, which much to his surprise worked, despite the fact he was sure he was getting more drunk by the second. Bucky turned, clumsily, to face you only to find you looking curiously at him. He took a small step forward, standing just a few inches away and raised his hand, wordlessly asking for permission. You stared at him for a moment longer before stepping forward ending up pressed against him, and tenderly placing his hand on your cheek and covering it with one of yours and reaching up with the other to stroke his cheek. Bucky stilled, everyone around them vanishing as he looked at you with an intensity that would’ve set the world aflame. He watched as you stretched upwards toward him, entwining your arms around his neck, gently closing your eyes and pressing your lips to his parted ones.

Tag List:

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#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #james buchanan barnes #masked #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

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parkminijiminie · 7 years ago

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I actually want Jungkook to see how shitty the fandom is. To see what the TKers say. I know Jimin sees it, but I honestly want JK to see what happens. I know JK doesn't give af what ppl think of him but I wonder what he'll do when he sees what they say about Jimin in regards to him. lol I'm sorry but I actually hate how they love the fandom so much when it treats them and their friendship like shit.

Hey, Anon.

I know your ask was in regards to the “Jimin not being GCF main model” situation and the storm it brought with it, so I’m sorry for being late.

I think you got your wish a few days later when Jimin forgot to write Tae’s name and all hell broke loose. Hate tweets, hate hashtags, death threats.. you name it, Jimin got it all. Mostly from solo Tae stans but sadly from OT6 “ARMY’s” too, many of who t/k shippers. A quick disclaimer here: I know many many many Tae and t/k stans are respectful and love Jimin and would never harm Jimin but let’s be honest - all ships have some nasty bad apples and in this particular case we really got to see exactly how nasty some of the t/k and Tae biased ones can get.

I politely disagree with you, Anon. I never ever want Jungkook or anyone from BTS to see hateful messages, especially because of something as dumb as ships (don’t attack me, I’m a shipper/supporter too). With Kookie and Jimin I’m even more sensitive considering the amount of insults that these two had gotten through the years from “ARMYs”. When I said that JK might have had a little too much faith in the fandom saying that “not main model” thing, I didn’t mean that he is naive or oblivious but that maybe he thought he had already made it perfectly clear how special JM is to him and believed people woudn’t actually turn this into another “I don’t like Jimin” charade. Unfortunately he was wrong.

Nevertheless, Jungkook is (hasn’t been for a time now) blind to the way twitter can be. In fact, I would say he is the one who has suffered the most from it (well, with the recent hate for Jimin they might be tied now). Maybe some of you don’t know but it is not without a reason that JK left twitter and now posts only once in a blue moon if it’s a major event and even then it’s not a given. For those of you who don’t know, we may say Jungkook was basically scared off Twitter with the way how ARMYs acted towards him. Let me give you some infro on one (of at least two) particularly gruesome instance: the hell that happened after BTS “Rainism” special stage. Bangtan bomb behind the scenes here. Jimin’s tweet about it here.

Kookie was very excited that he got the chance to be center the entire perfomance and he did a tremendous job, yet lets just say what he received from the fandom was far from nice. People started calling him “selfish”, “arrogant”, they tweeted how he should leave the band, OT6 tweets were everywhere. There were mean hashtags trending how BTS will be better without JK.. a complete mess. And all because he was happy to be at the spotlight the entire time once.Just once. How would this people support him in his solo projects if this was their reaction to one performance. It’s no suprise he left twitter after that and was radio silent for half an year. He rightfully decided he didn’t need that type of negativity in his life and I can’t say I don’t understand him. Everyone should be thankful to Jimin for feeding us pictures and videos of him otherwise we would have died from starvation.

So you see, Anon, he is far from oblivious to the hate.

When it comes to ships and ship wars it’s a little different:

Do the members know about ships? Absolutely. Most likely from the get go. This is common in kpop and it’s something that is used and promoted to gain popularity so of course they know. Also, they see comments saying “Jikook” or “T*ekook” everywhere - in the youtube comments, under their tweets, in the vlive comments, so they know. In fact how could they not know when people keep bringing ships up to them at fansigns for example?

Do they know about the ship wars? Yes for all, maybe to a different extent. At the very least when they scroll through the comments under vlives they see people saying “Where’s ta*kook”, “I don’t like Jikook”, “Bring t**kook” and etc. Such comments Jimin and Jungkook for sure saw in their last vlive together when they were scrolling though them at the beginning of the video. We can safely conclude that they know there’s separation in the fandom between the the main Min and Kook ships (you know which ones).

To what extent do they know? Debatable. We know Jimin monitors twitter and fan cafe a lot, he has said so himself. He must have seen the many many comments there about the ships even if a lot of them are in English. Jimin has also notoriously shut people up a few times when it comes to ships with his tweets so he must know.

Does JK monitor twitter? Probably yes to a lot smaller extent. Even if not, we can guess he knows from Jimin with which he is very close and apparently has no secrets from. Also, I assume he read at least people’s reactions to GCFo which sparked some shipping controversery on it’s own.

Do they care about ship wars? I would guess they care more about the state of the fandom than the hype every little thing gets but I believe from time to time they care if people are being particularly mean (as with the recent Jimin hate).

Do they act in certain ways because of ships? Well, they as well as the company know we like certain pairing more than others which influences photoshoots arrangements and such. Also fan service is still a thing even though BTS fan service is largely very genuine. If needs be (like at musters) they amp up the skinship but they care a lot about each othe rand are very close so nothing is “fake” just amplified.

What I mean with this long ass answer is that the boys know probably about everything - the ships, the reactions to them, the hate. They know. Even if they didn’t know about the “problematic side”, after the recent Jimin and Jin hate incident they must know for sure now. So there’s no need to wish for JK to see the hate as he is probably well aware of it currently. Once upon a time, when he was younger, he genuinely didn’t know people thought he hated Jimin, hence why he was so offended when asked if he really liked him. After that I believe he made sure to inform himself what that “hate JM” issue is and haven’t been that oblivious ever since.

There’s also no wondering how Jungkook will react to the hate towards Jimin. JK can’t stand seeing any of his hyungs getting hurt, let alone Jimin, let alone because of himself. He is always silent when people are teasing his “Jimin-ssi”, he’s the first to defend him even from his own bandmates, he made a whole ass video about him to the song “There for you”. It’s no news: Kookie would be pretty distraught to see Jimin’s name through the mud especially because of something he did. He would probably feel very bad and guilty.

I really don’t want that. In fact I don’t get why anyone would want that. Is it because you’re wondering about JK’s reaction? Becase there’s no need, we can safely guess he would be very unhappy. If you kind of want him to see the hate as a sort of “punishment” for his wrongdoing (I doubt that’s the case) then I think that’s going overboard as there’s no need for a “punishment” to begin with. JK didn’t do anything wrong. Even if he seriously meant it that Jimin’s not the main model, it’s his right and it’s not that big of a deal. No-one even claimed that Jimin should be the main one in the first place, I for one would understand and find it completely normal if Jungkook’s work doesn’t include Jimin every time. So, basically JK did nothing to be punished for. Sure, if he was teasing maybe he could have worded himself better and Jimin didn’t seem very happy but it’s not like Jungkook can monitor every single little thing he says or does all the time.

It’s not his fault that the fandom can take even the littlest things and turn them into a sh*t storm nor is it his responsibiltiy to always predict and prevent everything.

Even if we assume JK did or potentially one day does something downright unjistice or hurtful to Jimin, it is still not our place to meddle or want him punished. By now they for sure know how to settle conflicts so even if JK hurts Jimin’s feeling (or vice versa) it is between them to deal with it in whatever way they find fitting. We are merely observers, we don’t have the right to dictate their behaviour.

Which leads me to my last point: if perhaps you wished JK to see the hate in order for him to change his behaviour, I find that a little problematic. Firstly, because as I said he didn’t do anything wrong and basically never does anything to hurt Jimin in pulic let alone intentionally. Secondly, because it is not our place to wish how they should be towards each other. We get what we can, we don’t make demands. Third and most important: I don’t want Jungkook to think he can’t be himself because of what people might say. Sure, he should be respectful but that he already is. Once upon a time he was confused people thought he hated Jimin and since then he made sure to change how he acted in front of the cameras: he no longer pushes Jimin away or puts him in last place in looks. Jungkook did his homework and corrected himself, even though even back than anyone with eyes could see he cared a lot for his hyung. Now he is so gentle and thoughtful. One can say he even tries to prevent problems by always choosing Jimin for everything when he has the chance, always staying near his side, sitting next to him. He is careful both in words and actions and I believe he is that away not just in front of the cameras but privately as well.

He doesn’t need “corrections” because the problem is not with him. It’s with the fandom.

I’d hate for him to think he can’t tease Jimin (or his other hyungs), be honest about something with us or have interactions/take pictures/hug/laugh with Tae (or another member) because of what people might say. Having to monitor every single little thing JK (or any of the other members) does or says takes away from the relationship the group has with the fans. It also puts extra stress on them to be careful, further disconnects them from ARMY and contributes to them feeling like wearing a mask.

I don’t want Jungkook or Jimin or any of Bangtan to have to feel the neccesity to change how they act and how they present themselves in front of us, especially because of hateful comments and toxic shipping. They are already concerned with their image enough as it is, they don’t need to worry about it any more. It’s us that should change. The fandom should stop overreacting over every little thing, shippers should stop hating on a member because he “comes between their ship”, people should stop being hateful and mean to the members in general.

It’s the people who write rude and hurtful comments that should feel bad and not Jungkook reading them because he is plenty considerate, nice and genuine as it is.

#jikook #kookmin #jimin #jungkook

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