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kpopisthereasonihavenolife · 5 years

Text

Jeon Jungkook/Reader [F]

Genre: Sports AU, Highschool, Fluff, Poor Description of Tennis (I’m sorry lol), Pinning, Idiots to Lovers

Warning(s): None

Words: 9.4k

Summary: You’ve grown up with the boy across the street your whole life. Even in high school, you were the first person to be called to rope in his tactless or rambunctious actions. It gets worse when you get an appointed as Student Council President and now you’re forced to babysit and handhold the Tennis Team’s Ace Server: Jeon Jungkook. There’s a reason he’s always causing you to show up; even further why he only seems to listen to you.

a/n: this is my contribution for btsboulangeries Aug. 2019 au prompt lol. Sports!

“Y/n, can you come to the gym?” You sat at your desk, reading whatever book you had picked up from the library when a member of the student council came and called you out of your room. Murmurs echoed through the classroom like a loud rumble of thunder. You didn’t even need an explanation as to why you were being called to the gymnasium out of seemingly nowhere. It was always the same story with you and with him.

You got up with a tick in your brow as you marched to the door and silently told the student that you were on your way. You felt like you were bunching up your uniform with each annoyingly-charged stomp of your foot. You walked down halls, and downstairs to the gym where the squeaking of shoes and shouts along with dribbling balls echoed from inside.

You stopped in the open, metal doorway as you way a small group of boys, shed of their school blazers- in all there obnoxious yellow glory- as they scampered around the gym courts. Scattering back and forth dribbling a basketball, it wasn’t your average game of passing time basketball. Instead of two teams competing, it was more of a revolution charging against one body who was smugly hoarding the ball and the stealing court.

“Jungkook!” You screamed, cupping around your mouth so it could be heard over the sound of the intense sports balls game. The game almost instantly halted. From the crowd of overly sweaty and heavy breathing teenage boys popped out Jeon Jungkook. A prodigy of anything and everything ever and a boy seemingly gifted by whatever God decided to play favorites. His face that was once slack and sweaty broke into a grin that remained just as sweaty.

Jungkook was the little boy that you were forced into meeting with when you moved into the city of Busan when you were 4. Your parents were firm believers of getting to know your neighbors and when they learned that the lovely couple across the street had a son your age, they just had to make you two meet.

You wouldn’t call yourselves childhood friends, it was more like when you were 4 years old that’s when your indefinite job of babysitting the only Jeon began. You were always trailing behind him, scolding him for being reckless or trying to be his voice of reason because he clearly always decided to ignore his conscience. You’d run after him- considerably slower- in your sundress your mother dressed you in and your bright pink crocs. He’d be dressed in his small jersey and shorts with shoes as he zoomed ahead of you to the park.

He’d climb trees that in comparison were like 6 story buildings while you stood on the ground at the base of the truck, pleading for him to come down before he loses his fight with gravity. He did a few times, breaking his arm once and ankle another time- yet he still kept climbing bigger and bigger trees because the lesson was just never learned. That wasn’t all that Jungkook had going for him though.

He was completely different when he was around other girls. He would get shy in his kindergarten class that you two shared. He would stick to your side or shift behind you when he was approached by a girl who wanted to play with him. He would keep his words short and actions shorts as his little body shifted in shyness. It was the only times you were able to act as a shield to him.

He would also seem to put on a ‘big kid’ act when you were picked on. You were often teased for reasons you still didn’t know. You weren’t really all that different from all the other little girls in your class, but you were just a hot target on someone’s radar. It was timed at recess that they were teasing you or kick rocks at you while you sat picking small flowers. They even made you get stuck on the seesaw once, keeping your seat high into the air as they stayed on the opposite seat, keeping it down as you nearly cried. It was way higher than you thought when you were 5.

Jungkook would start petty, childhood fights with insults as high as ‘poo head’ and ‘infected brat’ and defended you when he saw it. He’d tell the other boys off and would take you to the grass when you cried and pick flowers with you until you would feel better. There was one day when Jungkook walked you from your bus stop, holding your small hand in his own and told your parents that you needed at least 3 cookies to smile again.

The next day, Jungkook had come and given you a flower whistle to wear. He told you to blow it when you were being teased again and he’d come and chase the meanies away. You still had that whistle hanging in your bedroom beside your bed on a nail shared with the dreamcatcher Jungkook got you when he heard from your parents you had been having nightmares.

Jungkook and you from then grew up and somehow developed a love-hate relationship. You would get on each other’s nerves constantly, but you would still lend him your notes when he got behind or when he needed a ride to and from practice, you’d be the first to offer it. In return, he’d always do favors for you like buying your lunch for a day or hooking you up with free tickets to whatever team he’s playing for the season. Not that you cared that much for sports.

When he saw you standing cross-armed in the gym doorway, he immediately abandoned the ball, bouncing it off to his side before he ran over to you. The immediate relief the other boys had was almost tangible as they immediately divided up into proper teams for a friendly match. When he stood in front of you, he stood close enough you could feel the heat pushing off his body in waves.

He was a sweaty, smiley mess as his dark, dampened bangs stuck to his forehead and his sideburns were matted down to his cheeks. Hair messy in a tussled, brown birds nest. His collared white-uniformed shirt was wrinkled, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms as his blazer lay among the rest in the bleachers. Tie probably with his blazer, as he was now lacking one. He definitely should have changed into his gym clothes instead of sweating up his uniform.

“Good morning, Butterfly,” he greeted. The nickname is a long-standing one since you two were 7. He and you went out butterfly catching in the summer when the two pairs of your parents met up for some random BBQ. You being the only one of the pair to not catch a single one as Jungkook had easily captured at least a dozen in his mesh trap before releasing them that same afternoon.

“It’s past noon,” you quipped as he just shrugged. “Can’t you just sit down and read a book or something? Do you always have to stir something up? You know I’m trying to study and focus.” You tapped your fingers on your bicep of your still folded arms. Jungkook swung his left leg over his right ankle and tucked his hands behind his head.

“Oh yeah, you’re running for something in Stu. Co., yeah?” He ticked his brow with a questioning waver in his voice, unsure as to what position you were actually aiming for. You were already part of the student council and if all went well, you hoped to be the next president with elections right around the corner. It wasn’t just the student body vote that decided your fate, but your GPA and scores in classes. You’ve been in class, the library or home with your nose in a textbook for weeks trying your damnedest for that seat.

“You know I’m running for president and your constant annoyances around the school aren’t helping.” You seemed genuinely upset that you were once again pulled away from your tasks as time dwindled. You sighed as you rubbed your forehead, feeling that nagging of a nasty headache coming on. You had a text in Trig. that afternoon not to mention the first half of a Science Lab that was literally half your grade for the semester. Time away from your books and sheets were tally marks equivalent of failure in your pessimistic mind.

“Hey,” Jungkook’s voice shifted as he stood back properly and dropped his arms from his head. Voice lowered as his face shifted from cocky and grin-split to one of what one might see as apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it kept you that busy.”

You just held your hand out towards him to stop any further apologies or excuses. Shaking your head, you took a breath and tried your best to wave it off.

“Nonetheless,” you began again, looking back up at him, “I’m in the middle of studying, so please don’t make me chase you down again. At least for the next hour.” The conversation concluded with Jungkook agreeing to your terms- probably because of the short term agreement of an hour- and you turned to get back to your classroom to make up for your precious wasted time.

When school ended that day, you groaned as you walked to the library to see it packed with student after student. No empty tables, chairs or private coves left that would bring you any sort of comfortable study time. You completed the public library, but it was so far and you road the public bus to school today because your parent’s needed the car.

You felt a tap on your shoulder as you left the library and saw none other than the Jeon Jungkook himself. After school in the library hall and not in the locker rooms for tennis practice where he should be.

“If you need a place to study, you can sit on the bleachers at practice,” he offered. His voice heightening at the end of his statement to morph it into a semi-questions.

“Study at your tennis practice. On the bleachers.” He nodded. “How am I suppose to work with you-”

“I won’t cause problems or distract you, I swear!” He promised. “I’ll literally just walk you and then practice like you aren’t even there. Plus, some good ole vitamin C couldn’t hurt, yeah? And if it gets too hot, there’s a bench not too far from the bleachers under some trees for some shade.”

You ended up giving in as he was soon dragging you towards the track and field area that had the tennis courts directly next to it, separated only with a tall wire fence. The same fence you know Jungkook had climbed and jumped in the dead hours of the night for some sneaky tennis training in his rookie freshman days.

Slamming your back chock-full of books and notes down onto the cold, metal bleachers, you cracked open a book and got to work as Jungkook ran to the small lockerroom house to change.

Tennis was a lot more intense than you originally thought. It was probably 40 minutes into practice before they actually started grabbing racquets and practicing serves and returns. The upperclassmen would purposely falt the court and wait to see if one would call it out. They’d slacken the net line or watch for wrong stances in the players.

When the team finally split into teams of doubles, Jungkook was the server of his team. He had always been the first pick as a server for his powerful slams. And since servers were servers through the entire game, it was an Ace for the team competing. His stances shifted from open to closed and between flawlessly like a dance routine. Skidding and jumping around the back of the court while his teammate stayed in no-man’s land by the net.

Returning the ball with powerful underhand swing and the occasional overhead slam, he did a fairly good practice match. He kept track of every ball he hit out or each time he skimmed the net and when he was switched out with another team, he would run that number in his head as exercises. If he got 4 out, it was 4 sets of squats or 4 sets of swings of his racquet.

You found yourself watching practice more than focusing on your studies. It was interesting and more attention-grabbing than you thought. You only focused solely on your work when Jungkook caught you watching with interest as he took a break to take small sips of his water. Sending a shit-eating grin your way along with making his hand open and close like a butterfly, you stuck your nose back in your book. Even turning your back on him and the courts for good measure.

He lied when he said he wouldn’t be a distraction.

“So, who was the girl?” Jungkook, out of breath from practice had just peeled off his sweater tennis jersey when a teammate of his marched up to him. He turned to the inquisitive member to see his Captain, a certain almost smug look on his face. Jung Hoseok was the top player of the tennis team like he had tennis embedded into the routes of his DNA. Jungkook took his towel, rubbing the sweat off his neck as he stood shirtless in the locker room like half of his team did as they waited for turns for the shower.

“You mean Y/n?” He questioned as she turned to sit on the stone bench, leaning against his shut- but unlocked- locker. Taking a quick swig of his water bottle. Hoseok plonked himself beside his golden teammate and friend with excited curiosity. Jungkook just sighed. “She’s a friend of mine, we’ve known each other since forever.” He took another drink before he remembered something. “She’s running for student council president,” he tacted on as Hoseok seemed to recall seeing some posters or something with her name on it for the upcoming election ballot.

“Oh yeah, I think I knew that.”

“Would you vote for her?” Jungkook asked tentatively. He wasn’t interested in student council anything, to be honest, but you did. So maybe he could dock you a few votes or just spread your name around.

“I dunno man, I don’t do votes through friends. I don’t usually get involved in student council issues. Not my scene,” he shrugged. Jungkook cupped his chin in thought, thinking of the best possible course of action to try and persuade his captain into putting a single tiny checkmark next to your name when voting comes around.

Hoseok watched the younger student sit in the privacy of his head and his thought. He bit back a smile, rolling his lips over his teeth as he sucked in a breath. Jungkook was a popular kid, attracting all sorts of attention and was his star player. He could always throw him a bone to help his friend. You looked studious enough as he watched you occasionally as you were always scribbling away on whatever topics you were jumping between. It was rare for Hoseok to see Jungkook tunnel vision focus on one person and their student council vote, something Hoseok knew the younger really didn’t care for.

Hoseok heard a shower shut off before someone was calling him. “This one is all yours, Captain!”

“Rock on!” He called back as he stood from the bench and stretched, his stomach flattening before he lowered his arms and stretched them over his sweat glistened chest. “I’ll vote for her,” Hoseok said as Jungkook looked up to him. Hoseok looked down at his sitting figure and slapped a smile on his face. “She was cute enough to earn a vote from me anyway,” he added with his thumb and forefinger under his chin.

Jungkook ended up chasing his Captain into the showers and throwing his bar of soap at him, earning a high squeal in return. Jungkook almost may or may not have dumped his half-full bottle of ice-cold water over the shower divide right onto Hoseok head. Making the boy scream in at least three increasingly different- almost feminine octaves- Jungkook booked it out of the locker room.

“Jeon!”

You had just finished packing up your bag with tucked away papers and folders with the books you couldn’t afford to fit into the prison that is your bag held to your chest. Stepping carefully down and off the metal bleachers, you crossed the courts to leave, the team now all vacated. You were hardly off-campus when cars from the team members started zooming past you- car way too flashy to be high schooler’s cars.

After three had passed you, it wasn’t long before number four rolled up. Instead of going past like the reason, this one pulled close to the curb of the sidewalk and stopped. You in turn also stopping as the passenger side window rolled down revealing the driver.

“I’ll give you a ride!” Jungkook who sat inside, leaned over his middle console shouted over the humming of his car. Contrast to his teammates, his car wasn’t looking as shiny and new but it wasn’t a lame car by any man’s standards. It ran, got him from place to place and he acted like it was his unborn kin. He even named the freaking hunk of aluminum.

You just rose your brow towards him in the shelter of his car. He reached over and unlocked the passenger door, unlatching it and pushing the door a few inches open. “Come on,” he sung. “We live across the street from each other.” You sighed, giving in to his persistence as you slid in.

The ride you were expecting to be quiet since it was only a ten-minute drive max was shockingly filled with conversation as Jungkook wasted no time in chatting as soon as you shut the door. Opening with topics of school activities to random weekend plans that all somehow lead to him bringing up the election. You looked skeptically at him, knowing he couldn’t care less about school affairs like student council.

“Who are you even running against anyway?” He didn’t even know that?

“You don’t follow school functions at all besides sports at all, do you?”

“Nah.”

You sighed. “Kim Namjoon is my competition.” Jungkook whistled. “It’s not like I’m expecting to win. Honestly, I’d be happy with the vice-chair if all else.” In reality, you halfway expected yourself to lose. Namjoon was a legend in both academics and his popularity that only seemed to keep skyrocketing. He was handsome and clever, even if his physical activities abilities were closer to zero.

He can recite the alphabet backward but make that boy run a 100-meter dash and it was all over. He’d tap out at meter 50 on a good day. His coordination left much to be desired. At least being student council president didn’t include the task of being active in sports. He’d be doomed.

“Don’t settle for less when you don’t have to,” Jungkoo told you. “So what- Namjoon is competing- big whoop. You’re smart too.”

“Are you cheering me on?” You jested as he returned a shrug.

“Uh, duh. I feel obligated as your longest-standing friend to be objectively on your side.

You placed a hand on your chest. “I’m flattered,” you spoke with equal amounts of flattery and sarcasm. He returned with a halfhearted ‘harharhar’. “Really though, I’m willing to rack in some votes with my election posters.”

“You’ve made them?”

“Absolutely not.” Jungkook just shook his head. He pulled up at your house, sat by the curb as you unbuckle your seatbelt. Picking up your bag off the floor by your feet, you opened the car door. Jungkook rolled down the window as you stepped out and shut the door behind you. He leaned over the middle console again.

“Hey, Butterfly~,” you looked back at him over your shoulder. “I’m pretty damn artistic, just so the general public knows.”

“What, so I’m the general public now?”

“Well, considering your uber large communication circle-”

“Just say you want to help me with my posters and go.” All he did was shoot you a shit-eating grin as he sat back up and moved to pull his car into his own driveway across the road. Getting out and grabbing his bag from the backseat he heard you calling him. You were standing at your front door. “You coming or not you brain-dead jock?!” You shouted, cupping around your mouth.

Jungkook sprinted across his yard, the street, your yard and up to your door to stand at your side in record time. Rolling your eyes at his gleaming smile at being allowed to help, he followed your back inside the house. You called out into your home to whatever parent was home at the moment that Jungkook was with you.

You avoid any distracting conversations that would pull Jungkook away, you scaled the staircase that was almost immediate to the front door, Jungkook following behind you. In the safety of your room, you put your bag on the floor of your closet and ran back and forth between your closet, desk, and bookshelf for random things you just threw on your bed. As you did so, Jungkook stood around, looking at your room.

He’s known you a long, long time but he can’t say he’s ever really had the time to look around and get a feel for your room. Your room was an extension of you, coated in your favorite colors, hobbies, interests and was a perfect summary of your life until this point. Posters of bands and of your favorite movies were cluttered on the wall (some even tacked to the ceiling). Framed photos of your family members sat on your desk by your shut laptop and 3 different hex-boxes. One filled with pens, another with markers and the third with pencils. Your bed was tall enough to hit Jungkook’s thigh with the boxspring supported mattress and a dark wooden bed frame. He curled his lips over his teeth to keep from smiling at the bubblegum pink bedspread lay across it.

He walked to your bed when he noticed that one dreamcatcher he bought you. It was a gift because he knew you were having bad dreams and knowing you were being scared by yourself sucked, he wanted to help. He smiled when he saw that small, metal whistle he gave you as a kid to help with bullying.

“I can’t believe you kept these,” he turned, gesturing to the dreamcatcher-whistle pair on the wall. You looked at him before you looked at the two items then returned to taking a package of 15 poster boards and slamming them onto the floor in a giant ‘schwoop’.

“Of course I did, you gave them to me,” you said so nonchalantly, yet that one sentence made his heart lurch.

“Oh, I see.” He cleared his throat. “So, gifts from me are special, eh? I’m flattered,” he sang as he joined your floor-seated body down on the carpet. Half an hour later, you were sat in awe at the almost caricature sketch of you that Jungkook had drawn.

“Holy shit!” You yelled, a smile breaking on your face. “That’s awesome, I didn’t know you could draw!” He tutted as he sat straighter, obviously delighted from the praise.

“It’s a gift, what can I say.” he smiled as he simmered down. “Honestly, it’s a skill I don’t flaunt around because I don’t draw often. It’s more of a stress relief ability, you know? Like how people doodle on notes or homework to help them remember or concentration on stuff.” His sincerity was instantly replaced with the same ego he put on on the daily. “I get enough attention from my flawless performance in sports already. It’d be just so suffocating to also be idolized as an artist.” You swore his nose grew four feet in boastfulness.

“I can see it now,” you started, deciding to feed into his parade. “Jeon Jungkook: prodigy of the Arts and Sports Balls. Does the talent ever end?” You spoke in a faux-Shakespearian baritone.

“Now, you’re getting it!” Jungkook and you worked on your posters for hours before your mother offered you both a seat at the dinner table before you both starve. It was nice having Jungkook over again, and you never realized how much of a friend he actually is. He and you have always been in a sort of frenemies relationship. Now, though, he was just a friend. He felt like your best friend; the best friend you’ve been fortunate enough to have since you were 5.

No way in hell you’d tell him that though. His ego would inflate so much he’d explode like a damn party balloon.

It was 8 pm when you decided enough work was done and you could relieve Jungkook of his artist duties for the evening. Honestly, he’s done enough art on most of the posters that you could probably finish them up yourself. You should really pay him for his efforts and time. Maybe slip a $20 in his wallet when he’s not looking because you know he’d outright refuse money from you.

He picked up his bag and hoisted it on his shoulder as you walked him out of your room, careful not to step on the posters and down the stairs to the door. The two of you stood on the front porch talking a moment in the sliver of remaining dusk.

“If you want, I can take you out for Chinese or something to say thank you for your help today,” you offered. You really did want to pay him back, and if he wouldn’t accept money then he’s got to say yes to a free meal. And Chinese? He’s weak against the offer of it; saying no was almost taboo.

He leaned into you, a grin painted on his flawless, dumb face. “Are you asking me out on a date, Butterfly?” He teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows that almost made you laugh. You just smiled and played along, throwing your hands up.

“Well, if you don’t want to-”

“I never said no!” He quickly saved. He just trotted back to your door as he left your porch to his own house. When you marched back up to your room, you started cleaning up your poster mess when your phone went off, the piece of technology sitting on your bed.

It was Jungkook texting you, only his contact name was Dreamcatcher.

Dreamcatcher: So, when’s our date?

You wanted to ask back if he really thought it could be a date before you stopped yourself. Why on earth would you even care if he thought it was a date or not? You floundered before you sent him back saying it could be tomorrow- if he wanted. Your face felt hot when you got the okay from him back.

You had a date with Jeon Jungkook.

It was Saturday and as much as he didn’t want to, Jungkook had to go to weekend tennis practice. They had a game coming up, so Hoseok wanted to squeeze in as much practice as he could. If Jungkook had it his way, he’d skip altogether and get to the part where it’s just him, you and Chinese food steaming in front of him.

Instead, here he was. Lugging himself out of bed as Hoseok honked outside. He offered to pick him up since his house was right on the way and Jungkook wasn’t going to pass up the chance to save on gas money. So, with a mess of hair on his head and a wrinkled jersey and his duffle with his tennis uniform and shoes and racquet, he was out of his house and in the car with his captain.

“Good morning there, Kook.” Jungkook just groaned at him, tossing his duffle in the back as he slouched in the seat. “Someone’s grumpy in the morning,” he laughed as he ruffled Jungkook’s already unsaveable mess of hair. As hoseok pulled out, Jungkook looked up and could see you from your window. Moving to see better, you had pulled back your curtains (probably to see what dickwad was honking so early in the morning). You looked tired, and as you saw Jungkook in the car looking up at you, you waved.

He smiled and waved back before Hoseok was on the road.

“That’s Y/n’s house, ain’t it?’ Hoseok voiced as he pulled to the end of the road to turn. Since school grounds are closed on the weekends, the team meets as the public courts. “You told me she leaves across the street from you, but I didn’t think it was literal.”

“Yeah, it’s her house.” Jungkook sat in his chair, pulling down the sun visor and flipping open the mirror to try and pat down his hair. “How long do you think practice is going to run today?” Hoseok tapped on his wheel a few time, thinking about the answer.

“Hmm, dunno. I would like to be done no later than noon.” Jungkook looked at the radio, the clock showing it to be just past 8 am. Jungkook nodded.

“Yeah, okay. Noon is good,” he said more to himself than to Hoseok. Pulling out his phone, he sent you a text. Telling you that a lunch date would be perfect if you were up for it since he wanted to be done around noon- and also bidding you a good morning because he's a gentleman. He smiled- giggled even- when you texted him back.

Butterfly: It’s way too early to be this excited over Chinese food. Yes, a lunch date is fine with my incredibly jam-packed schedule. Sweat out all that testosterone hitting those sports balls, Jock.

“It’s 8 am,” hoseok started, pulling Jungkook from his micro-conversation with you, “what are you all giddy about?” Jungkook sat back, smiled as he bit his lip and bounced in his seat.

“I have a date today.”

“All right, wrap it up!” Hoseok shouted after he blew his whistle slung around his neck as his team members fell to the court exhausted. Contrary to his squirrel-like innocent face, Hoseok was absolutely ruthless when it came to pushing his team to get the results he wanted. Drilling them on basics until their arm flew off or testing their reflexes by lining them up and bombarding them with back to back intense tennis serves. Some freshmen swore they’d see Hoseok’s face behind a flaming tennis ball in their nightmares.

A rightful description to be fair.

Even Jungkook who had been training on the team with him since he became captain last year still got winded from Hoseok’s drills. No one could say they were fruitless though, they always brought results one way or another. That was his whole goal after all.

Jungkook lay on the tennis court, eyes closed as he had his mouth open like a fish as he took deep, shaking breaths. Exhausted and coated in a gross layer of sweat, he wanted nothing more than to shower in the public locker room. Some members had already lugged their wobbly, jelly bodies to do just that- aiming for a cold shower just to get their body moving again. The sun was high as Hoseok sighed in content.

“Finished by noon, just like I wanted.” He put his hands on his hips when he saw someone standing behind the mesh wire that surrounded the court. He smiled as he waved to the person in question. He cupped around his mouth as he shouted to them. “Hiya, Y/n! You’re looking cute today!” Jungkook’s eyes shot open when Hoseok mentioned you. He shot up from his lying position on the blue court as he whipped to see you.

Jungkook looked at you with his mouth hanging open, Hoseok laughing as he slapped his thigh at his friend’s reaction. He wasn’t expecting you to show up at the tennis courts, so his open mouth reaction wasn’t uncalled for per se. Yet, there you stood in a Jungkook’s favorite pair of jeans and a tee-shirt with a bowl of ramen on it. Your small purse with your wallet, phone and probably a bottle of ibuprofen hanging low at your waist.

Meanwhile, Jungkook sat a sweaty, stinky tennis-abused wreck. It didn’t stop him from smiling and hopping up to go greet you. Standing in front of you on the other side of the fence. “What’re you doing here?” He smiled as he asked.

“Why else? A Chinese food date is calling our name, and I don’t know about you why I would kill for some crab rangoon right about now.”

“Oh, worry not, we’ll get them crabs.” You laughed as you were soon ushering him off to shower and change. Hoseok caught him in the locker room and took his chances to tease him again.

“She’s looking pretty cute,” he told Jungkook. Jungkook already knowing this obviously. “I didn’t know she was your date, I’m almost jealous.” Hoseok continued as he stripped off his jersey shirt, Jungkook doing the same as he stepped into one of the showers. Jungkook didn’t reciprocate most of Hoseok’s chides, however right before he left, he grabbed his friend’s shoulder. Now fully dressed in jeans, a white shirt and his duffle with his hair slightly dripping from his shower, he smiled almost menacingly to his captain.

“She’s cute, but she’s off-limits, Captain.”

“Right,” Hoseok replied with a shiver and risen hands. “Message received.”

Jungkook made his way outside and ran from the courts, pushing the fence gate open as he met with you who was sitting against the fence in the small patch of grass before the court. Jungkook, helping you up, he was soon asking where you two were going to eat as Hoseok watched from the locker room’s door. Smiling because there was nothing more natural than you two and Chinese food.

You ended up taking Jungkook to a rather new Chinese buffet that opened just over a month ago. He was shocked and almost refused you foot the bill for it yourself since- let’s be real- buffet prices per person are steep. You wouldn’t yield and proceeded to hush him as you both stood at the counter, ready to be seated for two.

Slid into a booth by a window that showed the street, you were both served your beverage of choice before the two of you were jumping up and loading up your first plates. You lost track of time between eating and talking with Jungkook. Cracking stupid jokes, making everyday conversation and bringing up who was whose favorite teacher in school- as well as bonding over the one teacher everyone loathed for their cut-throat teaching practices.

Jungkook flinched and the guilt crept up his neck when the bill was slipped to you with the recycled line of ‘no rush, take your time’. You swiped the black book with your receipt inside and slide your card in with it, closing it back up and setting it back on the table edge for your server to return to take it and efficiently drain your bank account of money.

“How bad was the damage?” He asked, arms crossed on the table with a stack of plates at his side; his Coke half drained of its second refill.

You just shook your head. “It wasn’t awful,” you waved and dismissed, but you had to be lying. The food was good, the service and catering weren’t something to sneeze at and the place was brand-spanking-new for Christ’s sake. It surely wasn’t as cheap as you were trying to make him believe. “Don’t worry about it,” you told him, leaning against the table with a smile. “I told you I’d treat you for your work on my posters. Now, we’re even.” Jungkook just sat in a huffy pout as you just laughed at his whining.

The bill was taken, returned and you signed off on the buffet’s copy of your bill before you were taking back your card, your copy of the bill, shoving them in your purse and standing up. Jungkook following as you both left the restaurant with good reviews of the new place to eat.

You both stood on the street corner, people buzzing around going to and fro. You stood at a traffic light, waiting for the light to change and allow you passage across the road. Jungkook knew that the plan was to actually walk home since nothing else was planned. He had a different idea, however. Before you could start walking when the red hand switched to a blue walking person, Jungkook grabbed your hand and dragged you off backward away from the crosswalk.

“What are you doing? Home is that way?” You pointed behind you as you got dragged through people. Jungkook stopped only when there was an opening between suits. He smiled down at you, still holding your hand.

“I know. I’m just being selfish now,” he chuckled.

You rose your brow. “Selfish?”

He nodded in confirmation, hand squeezing around yours and shaking it in confirmation. “Yup. Selfish. Let’s not go home yet. Let’s walk around some. Shop, get some tea or something.” You had no particular plans for the day, so you had no reason to object. You solely convinced yourself that the reason you nodded your head and why you allowed Jungkook to tow you around after eating was that you had no other plans. It definitely wasn’t because you may accidentally have a crush on him. No way.

The two of you spent all afternoon shopping around from store to store, not really purchasing anything, but just eye shopping was a joy with the two of you in each other’s presence. Jungkook was glad that you were enjoying yourself as much as him (he made sure to always ask about every hour to see if you were still having fun). He didn’t tug you around so that you wouldn’t have fun. You didn’t get out much and had a small circle of friends, even if he teases you about how many people you know.

Knowing people and having friends are complete differences, and Jungkook felt like he was the culprit behind it. He was always the one to disregard rules or stir up trouble since primary school. You were the only one able to control him and before he knew it, he acted out solely for that purpose. He knew that someone would soon fetch you and he would be muzzled by his tamer. Because of that, and Jungkook’s popularity, you made more enemies than friends. He was selfish though, he wanted your attention and the best way he got it was by acting like a blundering fool.

Now, with the past two days you’ve spent with each other, maybe that could change. He was certain that now, he could call you without causing a ruckus. He could walk beside you and laugh with you as a just himself, not as someone who was just taking another lecture about being responsible in stride. He wanted nothing more than to walk beside you.

“Jungkook!” You called to him as you both stood in some women’s clothing store you were practically drooling over every time you both passed the window. He decided to make it the last stop of the day since it was getting late and you both needed your rest. Jungkook has another early morning practice he dreaded. “Look, isn’t this ring neat? It’s supposed to be anti-negativity.” You chuckled as you showed him a simple, dark grey ring. It looked like it was somewhere between metal and stone, and was simple to a fault.

“Do you believe in that anti-negativity, anti-stress stuff?” He raised an eyebrow. You cupped your chin.

“Well, I don’t not believe in it. It’s not like I’d wear it and expect to be positive just because it’s on. It’s a dual effort, or maybe I see it as more of a type of mental cushion. A mind over matter type of deal.” Jungkook nodded as he picked it up from your palm.

“How much is it?”

“Just a few dollars. I think I’ll get one, just for chuckles.” You told him as he nodded again and trapped the ring in his hand. You gasped as you tried to snatch his hand to get the ring back, but he just held it above his head, a grin on his dumb face as it was far out of your reach. He even pushed on your head to keep you that much further away from it. He was soon walking to the desk where he placed it down. You peeked around his back, seeing what he was doing. “Jungkook?” You asked as he just quietly hushed you.

The ring rang up as $3 something and you nearly slapped the $5 Jungkook handed the clerk. He just pushed your hand away as she broke the change to hand back to him. When it was all said and done, Jungkook took the ring from the counter and called for you two to be going home. You chased after him in a fit of wanting answers.

When you both got outside, he slipped the ring on your finger and pat your hand.

“You didn’t have to buy it,” you mumbled as he just chuckled. He lifted your hand and kissed where the ring sat.

“I don’t have to do a lot of things, but that won’t stop me. You know that” he sent a wink at you as you stood speechless. He laughed at your red face as he began to tug you home at his side. His hand holding yours that held your new ring.

“Are you going to my tennis match this weekend?” Jungkook who was once against loafing over at your home asked as you sat at your desk, scribbling down your math equations. You turned in your chair to look at him lying on his stomach on your bed, comic open in front of him.

“I was planning on it. Why?” He smiled. Abandoning the comic and placing his cheeks in his hands, elbows pushing into your mattress. You recoiled slightly at the look on his face. “What’s with the face?”

“You’re going to support and cheer me on, right?” You rolled your eyes as you just turned back to your work. He flopped onto his back as he stared up at your ceiling. “I really hope we win, I have a whole celebration planned out if we do.”

“Oh, and what celebration plan is that?” You asked, not stopping writing the next step of your equation.

“It’s a secret,” he sung.

“That’s not fair, why’d you bring it up then!” You stopped, turning around again- feeling cheated. He craned his neck to look at you, his face upside down and his bangs falling to expose his forehead onto your mattress.

“It’s a secret because it directly involves you!” He cheerily told you with a giddy smile.

“I don’t have to buy you Chinese food again, do I?” He shook his head, rolling back onto his stomach and planting his chin in the bed.

“No. You don’t, it's free of charge celebration for you.” That was all he was going to tell you as you just returned to work and he was soon nuzzling his face into the bedspread. It smelt of your perfume. The scent calming, the repetitive scratching of your pencil in your book and the silence and comfort of your room and your presence eventually made the tennis player fall asleep.

You were shocked at the surprising lack of conversation from the boy behind you. When you turned to investigate, you smiled warmly at his sleeping figure surrounded by the pink of your bedspread. The color complimented him somehow. Quietly lifting yourself from your desk chair, you padded over to sit gently beside his body on the bed. You pet at his hair as he moved to push his cheek further into the mattress.

“You’re spoilt,” you chuckled in a whisper. You leaned to kiss the cheek that faced upwards towards the ceiling when your mother called for you. Not yelling back to her in fear of waking the overworked tennis player, you silently came to your mother’s call downstairs.

Down the stairs, your mother stood in wait. Drying her hands on the front of her apron.

“Oh my, where’s Jungkook?” She asked.

“He conked out on my bed. I’m gonna let him sleep for a while. What did you need?” She seemed to remember why she called you in the first place. She had experimented on a new pie she hadn’t made before and you were volunteered as the taste tester. You didn’t mind really- her baking was usually pretty tasty.

Half an hour, two pie slices and a kitchen clean up later, you trotted back up the stairs to your room. Walking in and seeing Jungkook laying on his side, but awake now. He groaned at you to show he actually perceived your presence; to which you just shook your head at.

“Have a pleasant nap?” He groggily nodded along your bed as you moved to sit beside him again. He crawled to plant his cheek on your thigh, sighing contently. He’s been a clingy sleeper ever since you two were children. If you two were to take your afternoon naps in the same vicinity, he’d always end up clinging to you then too.

“You smell nice,” he slurred.

“Probably like the pie mom made.” Jungkook just hummed and you both stayed in comfortable silence. The sun kept teasing the horizon, signaling the nighttime and you tried convincing the sleepy boy on your leg to get up and go swagger himself back to his own home. He kept denying you of this, however. “Jungkook, you need to go home.” He just shook his head for the umpteenth time. Soon, someone knocked on your door and your mom peeked her head inside. Smiling seeing Jungkook half asleep on your lap.

“Darling, dad won’t be home until late tonight. The poor man got roped into another double.” You nodded as you gestured to Jungkook’s head.

“Alright, but can you tell him he needs to go home and sleep? He won’t listen to me, but you’re an authoritative adult.” You mother just giggled.

“Jungkook, dear. You’re more than welcome to stay the night.” He lifted his head as he nodded pathetically. “I’ll call your mother and let her know then, sweetie.” Then she back out of the room.

“No- wait. Mom!” You looked down at the boy smiling winningly up at you. You just lightly smacked his forehead with your fingertips. “Spoilt jock. You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” He just rolled his eyes, wanting to get comfortable again.

As Jungkook pretty much remained rooted to your bed, you showered and changed into a loose PJ crop off and sweats (foregoing the shirts matching pair of shorts as a whole). Your mother brought some shorts and a tee for Jungkook to wear as he lay under our bubblegum blankets.

You stood at your desk, straightening up as Jungkook watched you. You flicked off your desk light as he spoke up.

“You’re sleeping in here, right?” He questioned as you looked over your shoulder.

“Duh. It’s my room. I’ll just make some palette on the floor with some pillows or something.” You shrugged as Jungkook shot up, shaking his head in protest.

“No! You can lay in your bed with me. I’m not kicking you out of your bed.” You just crossed your arm. “Come on, Y/n. Please?” You flinched as he clearly wasn’t against pouting to get his way. In the end, you caved.

Shutting off the light and moved to lay in bed next to him. Your back facing him, you felt him shift in the bed before he slung an arm around you- true to his koala sleeping habits.

“Is this okay?” He wanted to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, Jungkook. Go to sleep.”

“Okay. goodnight.” when he was sure you were asleep before he was, he turned you around- knowing not even Armageddon could wake you up. He lifted and pushed your hair behind your neck and shoulder as he looked at you. He was sleeping not long after.

It was the afternoon of the tennis match. Jungkook was more fired up than usual, prompting Hoseok to ask if someone sparked him or something recently. Nothing specifically came to mind. He’s practically been freeloading at your house all week long- something about being good luck for his game? You didn’t even try to start to understand him and his logic truth be told.

When before game practice started, it was obvious to anyone that he was pacing himself. Not wanting to wear himself thing before the game actually started. He was instructing his members and strictly speaking with the teammate he’d be placed in doubles with.

When the rival team showed up on the court, they were already well disliked. Their held high attitude irked the home team, making Hoseok more compelled to have his team crush them under their bigoted egos.

Throughout the series of games to be played, 2 sets in total (one for the senior players and another for the newbies), Jungkook would be in a double as well as a single. The doubles would start out the matches as they would end in one on one sets- no doubt wreaking of testosterone.

When the court spectators began arriving, Jungkook was drilling his serves when you slid into a vacant bench spot at the front. Dropping your purse at your feet and pull your phone out. If someone thought you weren’t going to take pictures of Jungkook playing- they were so wrong. You were hoping to score a perfect serve photo at least on time to hand up on your wall next to your dreamcatcher.

When he saw you, he smiled delightedly that you even showed up at all. You had told him so, but a part of him was still worried. He ran to you as he was a tad breathless from the practice beforehand on top of his jog over.

“Ready to play your best?” you asked him.

“Hell yeah. Don’t fall for me too hard,” he said with a twirl of his racquet. Hand on his hip and an air of confidence that wasn’t very egotistical per se, but very much adding to his tennis boy charm. You rolled your eyes as you whisked his away back to the court.

You were probably too invested in the games once they started. Getting especially riled up when Jungkook played. When his double match began, his first serve had you- and a few other school go-ers- up and pumping at the sheer force he slammed the ball with. Always serving perfectly without losing a serve or getting called for a foot fault. His first serve was always met with perfection and flawless follow-through.

His gameplay was a conversation of power that was released the moment he returned the ball by slamming it into the face of his racquet. He even pounded out a few kill shots, the rival team unable to even whisk the ball with their racquet and scoring a point because not once did his ball bounce out of court lines. Of course, his teammate did well also. Placed by the net at the forecourt, he poached the ball to Jungkook any chance he got for some great offensive power.

Jungkook and his teammate won his game with a 40-15 score.

Through the other games in the first set, there were back to back deuces and a few love games as well. The rival school may be arrogant, but they had game in them. Jungkook just barely finished his water when his single match was announced. It was the final game in the second set, so this would finish off the sport entirely for the day before an overall winning team was announced.

His approach to his game was different than his double. As he stood at backcourt, he seemed to look at every corner and draw out where his opponent may return or backhand the ball at or away from him. The umpire was more than accustomed to calling faults and outs by now. Taking into account that the field of playing for singles is far narrower than doubles- the sidelines make his width movement and return planning a bit tricky to get a feel for.

Honestly, by the time it was all over, and he served his final overhand- his main goal to was land a putaway in the sweet spot of his racquet. How he actually managed to pull that off, he wasn’t sure. It all happened in a fit of adrenaline and when the game was called, all he did was cheer in a sheen coat of sweat and gasped breathes.

A 30 to nothing game: 30-Love.

After all was said and done, the home team was just barely able to claim the victory for themselves, Jungkook was whisked away in a flood of sweaty tennis men back into the locker room to shower. You were ready to head home and expect him to barge into your home (again) when your phone buzzed.

Dreamcatcher: Don’t go home yet. I have to celebrate with you!

Sat on the hood of his car, you wait. Waving or saying hello to leaving tennis members who saw and passed you. You congratulating each one you could for their victory. It was only dark when Jungkook came jogging up to the car, putting his duffle on the hood beside you.

“Congrats on your win, jock.” He smiled triumphantly.

“You doubted me and my skill? No one is better than me with a racquet.”

“Hoseok is,” you countered.

“He is invalid to this argument specifically,” he chuckled as he climbed onto the car hood with you, the team pretty much dissolved now except for a few freshman stragglers who were waiting on rides back home to pass out most likely. “Honestly, having you watch was a big motivational push. I can’t look lame when you’re watching me.”

“You’re a high schooler who chased a yellow ball around a court, smacking it back and forth and drowning in sweat. You always look lame,” that was a lie and you both knew it. Even though that was exactly the case, Jungkook was probably cooler back there than he’s ever been in your eyes. He knew that just as well as you did.

“Jealous?” He teased. You rolled your eyes at him. “Oh, you ready to hear how we’re going to celebrate?”

“Isn’t that why I waited for you on your car, dummy?”

He snickered as he snapped in front of your eyes, making you go cross-eyed for a moment. “Close your eyes.” You looked at him skeptically. “What? You think I’m going to draw on your wit a marker or something?”

“You would, wouldn’t you,” you sneered.

“Just close them.” You caved as you did as you were told. Your eyes were closed for a maximum of a few seconds before they flew open when you felt Jungkook kissing you. Holding behind your neck, it was like he was turning even kissing into a sport. And you were sorely losing. When he pulled back, he laughed- literally- into your face. “You look like a glow stick,” he chided. You burned and just flounder back at him.

“You’re blushing just as much as me! Loser!” You whacked at his arm, but with hardly any force at all. He laughed again, gripping his stomach. When he settled you were holding your cheeks, trying to mentally will them to cool downJungkook grabbed your chin and turned your face with his index finger to face him again.

“Our celebration is another date, but this one is on me. As a serious gesture of how much I legitimately want you to recognize me as someone who feels a hell of a lot towards you.”

“I think I can recognize that just fine,” you muttered as he chuckled at you. “How about a date, but maybe if you consider maybe considering me as someone who likes you too?” He placed his forehead on yours, puckering at your nose and making it tingle before you pulled away from him and sneezed into your arm. Him laughing at your sensitive sneezing before you unleashed a tirade of wimpy socks to his arm.

He caught them easily enough before he was gearing up to kiss you again. “I think that’d count as a direct kill shot, Butterfly.” With all this good luck recently, who knows. Maybe you actually can win that student council election.

-END-

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blankdblank · 5 years

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Tiny Treasure Pt 2

Pt 1

Prompt Wk 8 - “Why...”

...

“Why…” A shake of the head of the Healer broke the question of the Prince wondering as his Father had of the reasoning for your being here. Coiling in the corner of the room Smaug narrowed his eyes watching the Healer prepping a selection of herbs while Legolas followed their order to fill the kettle and set it over the fire for the medicine. Teas, creams and even another helping of soup later your eyes cracked open and in the bright purple shade parting the Prince’s lips realizing you were from a seldom visited land East of Iron Hills inhabited by both Hobbits and the few families of Vanyar that had left Valinor. Even in your tiny stature at just barely over five feet by his guess in your hunched state you were clearly fully grown by the possession of a pendant marking you of age and supposedly well set into an arranged union.

Carefully the Healer helped to pull your silver curls free from your face back into a long braid laying over your night gown across your chest when you were settled down again. Under the thick covers you were tucked and left to let the medicine take effect through Legolas and the Healer settling into the guest bedrooms attached realizing they would not be released until you were fully healed. Through their doors however they heard Smaug nearing you to lay his head on the bed with an impatient huff in settling down coiling up around the bed. Breakfast came for you with what should have been the sunrise hidden behind the lingering storm with Smaug perked up peering over the pair in issuing another helping of medicine and stew. Their meal came with hushed conversations to prevent your waking from your much needed rest through Smaug eating at the foot of your bed keeping his eyes fixed on you the entire time for any sign of your health returning.

Two days you were in and out of sleep passing over only a few giggling comments to both Smaug and the Prince with the Healer stirring a clear obedient streak from you with a name of a woman they all assumed to have been your caretaker as a child. A waking hum came from you and you grinned up at Smaug when his head cocked up over the bed from his place coiled around it once again. Wide eyed with an eager swish of the tip of his tail came with Legolas entering with more medicinal tea, “You should spend more time with your friends.”

Smaug and Legolas both said, “Excuse me?”

His snout neared you brushing the covers higher up when you shifted under them, “I am just peachy. Don’t you fret over me. Just need another nap, go have fun with your friends.”

Smaug looked at the Prince who held out your next mug of tea you wiggled up again to sit against your pillows the Healer adjusted behind you hearing the Dragon hum back, “I am not leaving until you are well.”

A sign came from you in your glance up at Legolas in adjusting the mug in your hand, “Is he always this obstinate?”

Legolas sat on the bed beside you, “Always.”

Smaug’s head turned towards the gate at a horn making him huff and turn to leave saying, “Enjoy your breakfast I will be return shortly.”

You took a long swig of the tea and lowered it, swallowing then falling into a weak attempt from your body for a cough in struggling against the medicine in a dying breath of your sickness. Raising the mug again you looked to the Prince asking, “Is it always this quiet in the mountain?”

Legolas shifted in his place saying, “Smaug lives alone here, he came to our forest requesting aid for your health.”

“Oh,” your mug lowered to your lap, “Forgive me for assuming you lived here then.”

Legolas shook his head giving you a weak grin, “Not at all.” His hand gently patting on your covered knee just barely enough to shift the mountain of covers over you, “We are gladdened that you are making such a recovery.”

Nipping at your lip your head tilted and you said, “I must be so rude for saying this, but I have no idea what your name is. I must have forgotten it.”

Legolas chuckled lowly, “We have not been introduced, I am Prince Legolas.”

“A Prince,” wetting your lips you asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know a Lord Lenua, would you?”

Legolas’ lips pursed for a moment in thought before his head turned to see his father being nudged through the door after the verbal battle between the pair outside the gates. Dressed in thick armored traveling robes in a deep green shade the King approached you in your next sip at Smaug’s glance into your mug. Thranduil strode over to his son’s side who asked, “Ada, Lord Lenua, how is that name familiar?”

Thranduil blinked then looked to you for a moment before answering, “The Lord lives in Gondor. In search of a fifth wife from what I understand.”

Your mug lowered in your cough at having swallowed too fast, “Fifth?!”

The King nodded his head and asked, “I presume he was whom you were visiting?” His eyes dropping to your pendant around your neck then back to your eyes again.

“My Ada sent me. We are meant to be getting married on the 27th.”

Thranduil’s chin tilted up a moment then dropped again, “You have missed the 27th.”

“Oh.” Your eyes lowered to the mug, “I suppose he might understand I got turned over in the storm?”

Legolas reached over giving your shoulder a gentle pat, “I am certain it was of no fault of yours. None could fault you for your being detained.”

Thranduil, “I might write to your Ada, if you wish. Clarify you are well, as well to the Lord.”

Smaug’s eyes narrowed and he asked, “How is it you were unaware of the Lord’s wives?”

Your eyes rose to meet his, “We have not met. I was meant to arrive the 26th for the rehearsal dinner and we would meet then. My Naneth said he is a very handsome and patient man-,” Sharply a snort came from the Prince who clapped his hands over his face making the King furrow his brows at him then look to you with a weak grin making you say, “Then again Naneth rarely travels and I doubt she had met him either.” After a pause you asked the King, “Is he truly that deserving of a snort?”

Thranduil couldn’t help but have the corner of his mouth twitch up at your wording then answered, “The Lord is well into his 97th year, Dunedin, so far from his prime. The last wife of his conceived and he promptly ordered her to sail when signs were taken as she was carrying a daughter.”

Your lips parted and Smaug growled out, “You are not leaving. If your parents would sell you off to that swine they do not deserve you.”

Barely above a whisper you asked, “Why would they send me to him? Why…”

In the crack in your voice a quiver of your lip came with a sniffle making Smaug reach out to tilt your head back to lock your eyes on his, “You are staying here. None will dare take you from me for that pitiful excuse of a man of good station.”

You nodded when his finger withdrew and Thranduil settled on the bed behind his son patting your ankle gently, “Drink your medicine at get well. I will write to your family and the Lord of my objection.” At Smaug’s exhale blowing his hair over his shoulder into his face he added with a hint of a growl, “The objection of a King will be followed by one of a Dragon if he refuses to accept it.” To which Smaug rolled his eyes and inched his finger out to hint at you to continue drinking your tea as the Healer found a pen and parchment for the King to draft up the letter at the King’s former desk across the room while Legolas asked you more about your home. Contently the Prince and King both stole glances at the Dragon nuzzling his head against your side while you, on the tray he brought you built more gold castles from the bag of gold he brought you from his hoard.

Once completed the letter was read aloud to both you and Smaug before being sent off with a trusted messenger bird brave enough to trouble the storm. The King, upon confirming that his son was safe and you were mending returned to his forest assured that in a few days time their Prince would be returning home again and a proper visit, upon your interest in the Elven Kingdom could be arranged. The next few days were filled with more helpings of medicine and stew, nights with Smaug slipping down to the farming peaks to fill up the baskets with the best of his own mini crop to prep you more meals. By the end of the week Legolas and the Healer were let out the front gates to the waiting horses to carry them home and Smaug returned up to your apartment.

Once in the door his body shivered and back in a maroon collared robe accented with golden embroidery and hems, his hands rose to ruffle through his dark wavy hair on his stroll back into the apartment closing the door behind him on the way to the kitchen. Intently he smirked through humming to himself while prepping a ratatouille dish he hoped would be a nice change for you from the constant stews. In its cooling he moved to the table setting up two table settings with candles lit then grinned when he heard you stirring.

A few moments of being stunned at the stranger passed when you recognized his bright golden eyes and comforting honey dripped low voice at his hand extended to help you to your feet with a lavish robe in his free hand he draped around you and pulled your braid out from under while you secured it. Your hand in his again he escorted you to the table where he helped you into your seat then claimed his spending the rest of the day getting to know you better through the meal and path escorting you to the library in search of a book to read. Hours flooded into days and the piles of books grew in your shared apartment in the adoring back and forth on each novel you delved into learning more about one another.

For weeks you had learned more about the man under the living embodiment of death who had gladly helped you in throwing your pendant into the forges he lit for you. It was just past sunrise and a horn sounded with a full army arriving on the edge of the forest. A grip of your hand on his forearm turned his eyes to you and he leapt off the overlook shifting as he did to soar off to the forest. His dark shadow fell over the army with most fleeing in his loud roar and shout to march away again. Arrows ricocheting off his scales from the Lord who demanded your return brought him down off his horse in a swing of his hand saving his horse from a burst of flames ending his shout of returning his ‘property.’

Underneath the fleeing army the earth shook at Smaug’s roar that left all else unheard for just under a minute only to cut off abruptly at your soft gasp. Looking back to you he saw your hand rise to your lips when the scent of burning flesh wafted your way. Rapidly he dug a hole with a single swipe then rolled him into the hole he filled in again then hurried back over to Erebor in your turn to head inside again. Mid air he shifted again landing on the overlook and hurried after you with his fingers lacing through yours at finally reaching you.

“Queenie? I did not mean to frighten you.”

Turning to face him your lips parted at his unintentional stop with his chest against yours with your head tilted back and nose nearly touching his. Softly you replied, “I’m not frightened.”

“You aren’t?” His golden eyes searching yours and over your face intently.

“Just, the smell.”

He nodded, “Ah, that, yes. I buried him in a pit the smell should dissipate soon.” In another pause he continued, “Come, I will start lunch. Squash will help.”

With a smirk in your shared turn to the apartment you replied playfully, “You are aware this is the seventh meal containing squash?”

His lips pursed for a moment then he stated, “There might have been a late night fumble with my supply of seeds.”

Giggling to yourself you asked, “About how many more squash centered meals should I be expecting?”

In a smirk he playfully hummed back, “47.” Making you giggle again in his deep chuckle, “Perhaps we could convince Thranduil for a trade.”

Your hand patted his bicep, “I think that would be best.”

#Tale Teller’s 52 Week Writing Challenge #Smaug x Reader #Hobbit #lotr

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tristancreed · 4 years

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My Relationship With Tattoos

Art as we know it comes in any medium. It could be a portrait, a scuplture, a dish, a film or even a fighting style. The canvas and the medium may change, but one thing remains constant. It represents something. One's feelings, identity, code, maybe even culture. Tattoos are not far from this. They are pieces of art etched on a living canvas. Just like any piece of art can be viewed differently by the artist, the wearer as well as the mere spectator. The same perception could also be rooted from a personal interpretation/bias, cultural influence, and etc.

The Philippines, while still attempting to develop have yet to change its view on tattooing. To some, it is in fact seen at an artistic light whereas most view them with negative connotations. Some even view tattooed individuals as nothing but bottom dwellers, drug addicts, criminals, anything synonymous with the word undesirable. We even have a senator that says exactly these words about tattooed individuals, as do most conservative folks. Which is ironic considering that tattoos once played a significant role in the pre-colonial history. It often dsiplayed one's role, accomplishments, clan, and even social status. One of our most well-reputed national artists happen to be Whang-Od. To the uninitiated, she is currently the last living traditional tattoo artist around these parts. She is well sought out by visitors both domestic and foreign. In all sincerity, I'd like to see that senator try and publicly call her a drug addict to her face. Like I said, The Philippines has yet to be anywhere near ready to adapt to a modern society. And with it, more progressive views.

(Image is courtesy of La Blouse Roumaine ©)

I for one had a neutral stance on them. I should know, I have four of them and have gone through five sessions all in all. But before that, I remember wanting to get one as far as when I was in college and even intending to get two particular pieces. One being WWE Superstar Edge's Rise Above wrist piece and Toryn Green's sinner and saint ambigram. This what happens when you grow up being a fan of hard rock music, professional wrestling and mixed martial arts. Although what kept me from getting tattooed was the fear of being an ineligible blood donor, as well as the fear of being unemployable in the future.

That however changed after I graduated. Turns out, most corporate environments won't even bat an eye at an upper management figure sporting full sleeves and stretched earlobes. Others may not be as lenient. But it hardly impacted how they're received in the company. I even had a chance to get a session done in 2013 but it kept falling apart.

It didn't cross my mind until 2017 and that's that I finally decided to go for it. I remembered seeing a simple but perfectly symmetrical geometric arrow design. The design was perfect. I also happen to love archery. So I literally had no other issue with it. I later ended up getting referred by my cousin to her artist who did her wrist piece months prior. The three weeks leading up to that session, I let my folks know in advance that I am getting a tattoo. I didn't wait for their approval or anything. I made it clear that I’m getting inked. Furthermore, I’d like to point out that I am a regular subscriber to Aaron Marino’s YouTube Channel (you may know him as Alpha M). I then took some crucial tips regarding tattoos. I had the certainty down as long as I follow one crucial tip. You have a whole sea of skin all over you. So out of all that, just avoid having one on your hands, neck, and face. If you can hide it with a dress shirt, it’s completely fine.

On the day of my appointment, I literally just slapped on a sleeveless Avenged Sevenfold cut-off top, some shorts, with only my phone and wallet in hand before heading out for my session. It happened in a small studio just next to a small school in Pacita. Fortunately, I got there in time and I happened to be his only scheduled client for the day. What happened next was pivotal. I literally watched as the needle first touched my skin and slowly covered my birthmark. The session itself took over five hours. And what turned out to be the final product was an entirely different design. One which was inspired by the concept I sent, but also deviated from it. My parents despite having already been warned in advance were still initially shocked by it. They didn’t think I was actually going ahead with it. So this is the part where I retroactively followed what Jaiden Dittfach (of Jaiden Animations) said when she got her bird Ari. If you want really want something and your parents said no, get it anyway and trick them into loving it. Now that it’s on my skin, there really wasn’t much they could do about it. But at least they know its meaning and that it isn’t anything negative. I did have some issues with the product though and it took three more years before I finally got it fixed. For good this time. At least before the pandemic happened and it was done by a trusted friend. In her defense, she made the best of what she could work with then and even remarked how deep the first needle went. Fortunately, she managed to even out some places that needed to be polished.

The intended design (Image is courtesy of The Style Up ©)

The (first) finished product.

Finally fixed.

In between all of this, I also managed to get three more pieces. It was November 12, 2018, a news shocked Marvel fans the world over. Stan Lee tragically passed away just six weeks shy of what would have been his 96th birthday. It was such a devastating loss of a figure who helped mold the childhoods of many. I wrote about it and posted it here shortly after. During those events, I remembered having come across the Wakandan alphabet before it hit me. But first, I had to consult a few friends in order to make sure that I wouldn’t be committing any act of cultural appropriation. After finally clearing that up, I sent my own design to a friend of mine (Who went on to do all of my ink from that point on) and booked the session. Thanksgiving day later came and I realized that we had no work that day. So I later called her up to see if she was free. Fortunately, she was and I finally had it etched on my right forearm. It was the Latin word “Excelsior” that literally translates to ever upward. It was also Stan’s catchphrase. The feeling of getting that piece was a lot more different than the previous one. This came with a wave of emotion. Because the significance could even be traced from my childhood and I grew up around this fandom and it meant more to me than just entertainment. It helped shape part of my identity. It’s literally the one piece I wish I could have flashed on a camera next to Stan himself. One thing’s for sure both Stan Lee and Chadwick Boseman would have thought it was a wise choice for a piece of ink on one’s skin.

“Excelsior”

- Stan Lee

Upon having gone through a tattoo session, you can only describe the feel of a needle as a sting. But you wouldn’t exactly call it pain. That isn’t an opinion, that is a fact. Another thing one must know upon getting a tattoo is that you will later want additional pieces. Your skin will want the feel of that needle again. And while my parents said that would be my last piece, I simply couldn’t promise that. This time around, I’ve been looking to get a Cthulhu tattoo since December 2018. Of course, being busy as always, I couldn’t find a time to arrange it. I would only do so once I’m sure I’m completely free for that day. I live two lives. Both as a corporate guy and a public figure. Spare time and sleep are luxuries I can’t always afford. And after all the planning, I finally booked it. I literally went to my friend’s place right away to have it done. The session was of reasonable length and it felt different. Both of my previous tattoos were done on my right forearm. Both of which had uplifting personal meanings. A darker piece like that would be completely out of place in that part of my body. So I opted for my left bicep. It was surreal. I’m a man invested into multiple fandoms and H.P. Lovecraft’s universe is definitely in that list. There’s just something about the occult and the unknown horrors of the cosmos that piqued my interest since my formative years. This was me finally marking that on my skin. If there’s one of Lovecraft’s most iconic creations that deserved that spot, it was the famed Dreamer of R’lyeh himself. If the excelsior tattoo gave a rush of innocence that I hadn’t felt in ages, this was different. It had that enigmatic aura around it which made it all the more perfect. The piece came together so well and it was on an arm that a needle had yet to kiss. After the session, you could say I probably found out how the Sam Raimi Peter Parker felt when he first put on the black symbiote suit. Minus the dance when he exited that tailor shop. I also ended up getting a freehand bonus on my right wrist again. Just something Roxy threw in. It was the Latin phrase “Sic Parvis Magna.” which literally translates to “Thus great things come from small things.” or better yet, greatness from small beginnings. Which is another phrase I hold dear considering my humble origins.

“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn”

“In his house at R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.”

“Thus great things come from small things.”

That certainly wouldn’t be the end of it. Again, while my folks insisted that I got my last pieces, I still can’t promise that. One thing’s for sure, I wouldn’t get any piece that either stands for something that abridges the rights of another human being, nor would any of my upcoming pieces ever wrongly appropriate a culture. Ultimately, I would always advise everyone to at least take Aaron Marino’s advise to heart. Don’t get one that you wouldn’t want to show your folks. You also have a whole sea of skin around you, so avoid having one on your hands, neck and face. I’m definitely not done stepping next to a needle. I still have plans on some pieces. But I always see to their significance. It’s always wise to do exactly that. Getting a tattoo isn’t a joke. It’s a commitment. One that can even outlive a marriage. So it pays to take every choice into consideration. Some of us choose to wear our hearts on our sleeve and some do so literally.

#tattoos #tattoostories #excelsior #cthulhu #lovecraft #inkedlife

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lukeccrain · 6 years

Text

»running to stand still

chapter: 1/? word count: 2.9 k pairing: stanlon side pairings: reddie (probably more to come) rating: T, language, mention of violence, self harm, suicide ao3 version: here summary: who knew they made you go to therapy after you try to kill yourself?

tag list: @slaytherin @eddie-kaspbraked @billbenbev

Stan Uris did not want to get out of bed.

Of course, he had woken up in this same predicament every morning for the last year. But today, he didn’t want to get out of bed more than usual. In the light that filtered through his half-closed blinds, Stan could make out the calendar that hung above his desk. The month of October was marked by a green-headed tanager perched delicately on a branch, head cocked slightly as if to ask, “what’s the problem, Stan?”

The problem, Stan thought miserably, is that I have to get out of bed and see the concern on my roommates’ face as I head to therapy.

He could already envision Eddie’s mouth twisting before finally settling into a toothless smile, eyebrows knitted in concern. He would splutter before offering Stan a yogurt cup, or toast, or some other breakfast food he wouldn’t accept. He would try to maintain eye contact, but his gaze would slowly descend until it rested on his forearms. Stan always wore long sleeves, but they both knew what marred the skin beneath.

Richie, on the other hand, would greet him too loudly, gesticulate too wildly, and look him in the eye too rarely. To an acquaintance, their interactions would appear to be nothing out of the ordinary. Richie’s jokes were always airy and casual, but the tightness that clipped each word betrayed his true feelings. Stan was one of Richie’s best friends, but he was also a stranger that Richie wasn’t quite comfortable being himself in front of.

Overall, the prospect of facing Eddie and Richie this morning was perhaps just as debilitating as therapy.

The green-headed tanager stared back at Stan with blank, black eyes. “Well, Stan. What did you expect after a stunt like that?”

Fuck you, bird.

Stan pushed the duvet aside and brushed a quick hand through his curls. His fingers caught on the knots that had formed no doubt due to all the tossing and turning he had done during the night. He grimaced slightly before forcing himself to roll out of bed and stumble into his on-suite bathroom. As he brushed his teeth, Stan listened to the dull thumping of footsteps and the clattering of pans above him. Every now and again, an easy laugh would disrupt the sound of kitchen puttering. While the sound of his roommates’ domesticity had at one point elicited feelings of comfort in Stan, it was now a source of anxiety. The low hum of conversation caused the ever-present knots that lived in Stan’s stomach to tighten.

Once he had showered, combed his hair, and dressed (a long-sleeved eggshell button-up and slacks), Stan grabbed his keys and began the ascent up the basement stairs.

He had moved into the basement of Eddie and Richie’s cramped, 1970s townhouse after Patty had left him. They had insisted that he wasn’t intruding, and Stan had insisted it was only going to be for a month or two, tops. “Don’t worry Stannie,” Richie had smirked, “we knew it was only a matter of time before Pat came to her senses. Stay as long as you need.”

That had been nearly two years ago. Eddie and Richie had never griped or even asked when Stan had intended on moving out, not even passively. In fact, they actually enjoyed having Stan as their live-in third wheel. He was tidy and quiet, and was willing to clean the bathroom; a task that had been a source of constant bickering for Eddie and Richie before Stan had moved in. He had been a model roommate up until the oday when Eddie had found him in the tub of the upstairs bathroom. After that, Stan’s friends had been a little bit warier of his lodging. He couldn’t blame them.

“Morning,” Stan greeted as he emerged into the narrow kitchen. Eddie swiveled his head to greet him over his shoulder from his position in front of the stove. His lips curved upwards, but his eyebrows furrowed. “Hey, Stan,” he hesitated for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled for words. Finally, he settled on: “How’re you feeling about today?”

Before Stan could offer any sort of response, Richie had slapped his hand against the kitchen table, making the plate of waffles perched in front of him shudder. “He’s probably feeling great, Eds! He’s about to re-enact a real-life porno.” Richie spun his fork between his fingers, wriggling his eyebrows as he looked over the top of his glasses in mock seduction. “And how does this make you feel, Mr. Uris?” Stan rolled his eyes, swatting the side of Richie’s head lightly as he squeezed between the two boys, and towards the front door. “Beep, beep, Rich.”

As he pulled on his jacket, Stan pretended not to notice the look that was exchanged between the two. “You’re not gonna have breakfast? I made waffles,” Eddie questioned in a voice that was probably supposed to come off as breezy and casual. “Yeah, they’re kosher…whatever the fuck that means,” Richie added, but he stared down at his own plate as he spoke. For a fleeting moment, Stan wanted to scream at him to just fucking look him in the eye, but the urge dissipated just as quickly as it had arisen.

“I’m not really hungry. Probably the meds.” Eddie bit his lip, quiet for a moment. Stan had a hand rested on the doorknob, but knew that the conversation wasn’t quite over. He was almost certain that Eddie had spent nights researching SSRIs and tricyclics, and the difference between the two. He would know every single side-effect, and how to tell when the dosage needed to be upped. All of Eddie’s research was poised on the tip of his tongue- Stan could see it struggling to escape. But Eddie swallowed it, put on the same timid smile, and gestured towards the fridge with his spatula.

“Fair enough. Do you wanna take a yogurt cup for later? Richie picked up Oikos, and I think there’s some key lime left.”

And so, Stan had left that morning with a cup of Greek yogurt that he knew he wouldn’t eat in his jacket pocket, and Richie and Eddie’s worried eyes burning into the back of his scalp.

Stan’s appointment was downtown, a fifteen-minute drive that came and went much too quickly for his liking. He had always enjoyed driving, as it had given him some menial task to focus on instead of the spin-cycle of thoughts that tumbled fervently through his head. He had needed that reprieve this morning, and for a moment he thought wistfully of Patty’s luxury apartment that sat at the edge of the city in a neighbourhood that was too new to have garnered any sort of name for itself. From there, it would’ve taken Stan an extra forty-five minutes of driving. He fantasized about those forty-five minutes as he parked the car in the near-empty lot, and trudged into 1435 Cotswold Avenue.

The lobby was what was to be expected from any walk-in clinic; plastic chairs in an assortment of unappealing tans and burgundies lined up against the walls, a variety of out-of-date People and Good Housekeeping magazines fanned out across a glass coffee table, and a handful of eclectic clients with eyes desperate to look anywhere but at another person. It was exactly what Stan had expected.

He approached the counter, and was greeted by a plump middle-aged woman. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose once he neared. She offered a polite smile, and Stan noticed that she had bright pink lipstick on her right incisor. “May I help you?” “Uh, yeah. I have an appointment with Dr. Morgan for ten.”

Stan focused on the pamphlets for seasonal depression and borderline personality disorder as the receptionist typed something into her computer. The models stared back at him with blank eyes and big, cheesy grins. “Stanley Uris?” He gave up on his staring contest with the pamphlets and met her expectant gaze. He nodded once, which prompted her to type furiously once more.

“Right, well you’re right on time! Dr. Morgan’s nine o’clock cancelled, so you should be able to walk right in.” Stan mustered a grateful smile, though something in his stomach churned as he followed the woman across the waiting room and towards a long, carpeted hallway. Stan counted three doors before they stopped in front of one that had DR. K. MORGAN engraved into a silver plaque. The receptionist knocked twice before opening the door enough to poke her head in.

“Dr. Morgan, your ten o’clock is here.”

There was a mumbled response that Stan couldn’t quite make out before the receptionist pushed the door open and stepped aside. She smiled happily as he passed, and he offered her a soft, breathless thank you.

The woman sitting behind the desk was young, perhaps mid-thirties. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she surveyed Stan with warm blue eyes as he tentatively made his way into her office. Dr. Morgan stood to greet him, and held out her right hand.

“You must be Stanley. I’m Dr. Morgan.” Her voice was soft with cordial; a feature that no doubt came with dealing with suicidal individuals for a living. It wasn’t unpleasant. Stan reached across her desk and pumped her hand up and down twice. “Nice to meet you. Stan’s fine.”

She nodded with a smile, and gestured him towards two overstuffed armchairs by the window. “Okay, Stan. Did you wanna take a seat?”

No, I want to leave, Stan thought despondently as he obliged. It wasn’t that he had anything against therapy; he wanted nothing more than to walk out cured of any negative thought or compulsion that had ever possessed him. However, the issue was that he believed himself to be entirely beyond the sort of help that Dr. Morgan could offer. Stan prided himself as a logician; someone who held rationality above all. What his rational mind was telling him was that there was no possible way things were going to get better. He had crunched the numbers, done the research and played with the algorithms, and the unfortunate result was that there was no way to crawl out of this pessimistic hole he seemed to find himself in. Really, the only reason he even made the appointment in the first place was to ease Eddie’s anxiety, not his own.

Dr. Morgan lowered herself down into the armchair opposing him, crossed one leg over the other, and balanced a clipboard on top of her thigh. There was a black pen poised in her left hand, ready to write down the Tragic Story of Stanley Uris. Stan quickly swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

“Okay, Stan, I’d like to begin by just asking you a couple of questions about yourself. How old are you?”

These were the types of questions that Stan had no problem answering: age, occupation, where he lived and who he lived with, had he ever seen a therapist before (twenty-three, university student, 2174 Osler Avenue in a basement suite, two roommates, Eddie and Richie, a counselor once or twice in high school…). They were easy and semantic, and he rattled them off like he was reciting numerals from his calculator in a maths class. He felt at ease for the first time since he walked in the door.

“Okay, good. And why are you here today?”

The confidence that Stan had garnered suddenly dissipated from underneath him.

“P-pardon me?”

Dr. Morgan, who had been scribbling furiously before this, lifted her ballpoint pen from the paper and peered up at him with a lopsided smile.

“Well, most people don’t just wake up in the morning and suddenly decide they’re going to try therapy. Usually there’s something that spurs them, you know? What was that spurring moment for you?”

Stan felt the words bubble and catch in his throat. He had never said it out loud; he’d never had to. Everyone knew what had happened, and everyone worried about him, but nobody wanted to say why. This was especially true for Stan. He stared back at Dr. Morgan for a moment, frozen, before clearing his throat, forcing the words to detach themselves from the back of his mouth.

“I tried to kill myself.”

Dr. Morgan began writing once more, her eyes focused on her notes as she asked, “how?”

“I, uh…I slit my wrists in the bathtub.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with the weight of all that had that transpired after that one day. Stan felt an icy feeling well in his chest, and he watched his therapist continue to write without a moment’s hesitation. Once she had finished, she leaned back in her chair to survey him. She wasn’t smiling anymore, but her eyes conveyed something akin to compassion.

“Right, okay…and what compelled you to do that?”

The answered seemed pretty obvious to Stan.

“I didn’t want to live anymore.”

“Well, sometimes people will attempt suicide for other reasons, sometimes as a cry for help. Did you tell someone, or leave a note?”

Stan shook his head, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“No…my roommate found me.”

Dr. Morgan’s eyebrows furrowed, and she tapped her pen twice against her lips.

“You said earlier that you lived in the basement. Did you do it in that bathroom?”

“No, the upstairs one.”

Stan didn’t understand why it mattered which bathroom he tried to kill himself in, but apparently it was important because Dr. Morgan was scribbling again. He was tempted to lean forward and catch a glimpse of her scrawlings. Before he could do so, however, Dr. Morgan had set down her pen and crossed her arms on top of her clipboard.

“Well, Stan, here’s what I’m thinking. The upstairs bathroom is your roommates’, right? If you really didn’t want anyone to find you, I think you would’ve slit your wrists in the bathroom in the basement; that’s your own personal space, and no one would have any reason to go in there until he realized you were missing, and that wouldn’t be for at least a day. Do you think it’s possible that you did it upstairs because you wanted to be found?”

Stan thought about the question, mulling it over in his head. Did he want Eddie to find him, arms opened from the top of his wrists to the crook of his elbows? Eddie hated blood, and apparently there had been quite a lot that day. Stan felt bad that he had probably scarred him for life. He had only wanted to hurt himself, not Eddie and Richie.

“No, I wanted to die in the sunlight. There’s no windows in the downstairs bathroom, but there’s one above the tub upstairs.”

His answer was steely, but a knowing smile played at Dr. Morgan’s lips. It trigged a spasm of annoyance in Stan. Who was she to question the motives behind his suicide attempt? There was no crying for help about it- Stan Uris had really and truly wanted to die that day. Sometimes, he still did.

“That’s fair. But can you do me a favour, and just consider that idea between now and our next session?”

He nodded, but was trying to cram the notion into the depths of his subconscious at that same moment.

The remainder of the session was spent talking about his depression, family history and how he was feeling on his medication. Dr. Morgan had stopped probing, and didn’t mention his suicide attempt again. Since she was a professional, Stan assumed that she could tell when she had crossed a line with a patient. Still, he knew that the topic was probably going to come up again next week, and so the anxiousness that had emerged did not wane.

At eleven, Dr. Morgan stood and tucked her notes underneath her arm.

“Okay, Stan. I think that this was a very promising first session. Should I expect you the same time next week?”

Stan nodded meekly as he raised himself from the armchair. He quickly shrugged into his jacket in an attempt to ward off the complete feeling of vulnerability. Dr. Morgan held her hand out once more, and smiled as he grasped it.

“And, Stan…will you please think about what we talked about today? Even if you don’t think it’s true at all?”

Stan mumbled some sort of affirmation, before fumbling with the doorknob and retreating out of her office. He felt like his ears had been stuffed with cotton, and his throat was raw as if he had been swallowing sandpaper all morning. He knew what Dr. Morgan had said wasn’t true, but it still bothered him.

“Hey, man. You okay?”

Stan’s eyes flicked upward and he pursed his lips. A black boy, about the same age as he was, looked up at him from behind the receptionist’s desk. He looked concerned, but not in the same way that Eddie or Richie did; not like he was a piece of fine china that was about to splinter at any moment, but like he was a genuine person who appeared to be upset. The boy’s lips curved into a smile, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah…f-fine,” Stan finally spluttered, his hands retreating into his jacket pockets. The fingers on his right wrapped around the yogurt cup and squeezed instinctively. The man’s grin grew.

“Alright, just making sure. See you next week, then!”

Stan managed to reciprocate a gentle smile of his own as he shouldered the door to the building open.

Yeah, I guess you will.

#fsjdhdfdkjsdf #IM REALLY NERVOUS #i havent written a proper fic in fucking years #hopefully you guys like it??#stanlon #stan uris #mike hanlon #stanley uris #it (movie)#it (2017)#stephen king's it #my writing #fic: rtss #tw: self harm #tw: sucide mention

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wannawrite · 7 years

Text

I Latte You Very Much

Wanna One’s Hwang Minhyun X Reader

Word count: 1761

• talented af barista! Minhyun like srsly he can do anything • your friend [ created character, Sujin ] suggested this new cafe • you now spend most of your time there…wonder why ;)

awwwww this one was adoraBLe I LOVED IT I HOPE YOU DO TOO ANON THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING. I’m sorry I only got it out like 3 weeks later :( i hate disappointing you guys still, thanks for showering us with love. We love you guys 💓

- admin L

PS: to be edited [ 8/8/2017 ]

edited 11/8/2017 __________

The pen that was once in your hands landed with a soft thud on your workbook, uncapped. You had tossed it down with an irritated growl, upset about a certain mathematics equation that seemed simple enough to solve yet it had twisted you in circles for the past 10 minutes. It was driving you mad.

Just as you were about to give up studying as a whole, your best friend, Sujin seemed to sense your mood was off and called you.

“Hey!” She greeted enthusiastically before you had even said a word. “Remember that new… well two month old cafe everyone at school was talking about? The one with the insanely good coffee and really good looking baristas? I’m having trouble with homework too, want to meet there? Its like a 2 minute walk from your house anyways.”

“Uh, sure. Okay. Dress cute.” You mumbled, almost too tired for words but the prospect of good coffee AND cute boys made your feet move a little faster.

“Okay! See you then.”

Beep.

Your homework glared at you, the mountains of papers seemed to grow by the second. You had to finish them, this was a good chance. You were killing three… or four birds with one stone.

…

It was rather late when you arrived at the coffee shop but lucky for you, it was those kinds that stayed open until 2am. The lighting was rather dim and ambient around the seating area but you were almost blinded by the spotlights at the front of the shop.

However, if it weren’t for those lights, you wouldn’t have noticed the incredibly handsome barista who was currently taking an order.

His smile seemed to illuminate the room, his hair looked fluffy and softer than swan feathers. The man’s eyes twinkled as he beamed brightly.

You were stunned by his beauty to say the least.

So as to not seem like a freak, you forced your legs to move, to unroot from your spot in the middle of the entire shop to where Sujin sat, her table nearly hidden by books. The cafe was pretty crowded, she was lucky to be able to clinch a booth. You had a feeling the both of you were going to be here until closing time. College was hard work.

Sujin smirked as you approached, settling your things down beside her. She reached over and grabbed your forearm as you moved to take your wallet. “So, you think he’s cute?”

You furrowed your brow, faking confusion but she had been your friend for the longest time and saw right through your facade.

“Well, I don’t know much about him but his name is Minhyun. He’s in the music course with Sungwoon, he works here almost every day and yes, he is single.” She winked, taking a sip of her iced vanilla latte. It seemed to satisfy her tastebuds, that made you look forward to getting one too.

You blinked once, staring blankly at her. “I didn’t need that information though…What are you-”

“I saw the way you looked at him. Your heart jumped. Did it not?” Sujin smiled smugly. “Did it not? Hmm?”

A blush filled your cheeks as you bonked your wallet gently on her head, chuckling while trying to remain a calm composure. Now that you pondered about it, you had seem his handsome face sometimes in between classes. He must know Ha Sungwoon and Ong Seongwoo, two of your other friends in the music course.

Perhaps I could ask Sungwoon about him….

Shaking your head, you banished all the odd thoughts from your mind and walked forward into the queue. Sujin tapped away on her phone and you hoped she wasn’t texting Sungwoon or Seongwoo about Minhyun. If she did…you weren’t sure what would happen to her after you were done with her.

Sujin owes me a coffee. Ugh…should I get a strawberry cappuccino or a regular latte with requested foam art?

The customer in front of you ordered a iced matcha latte so you figured those must be pretty good.

“And… your name is?”

Oh my god, it was a place where they asked for your name. Sometimes I really hate this concept.

“Oh come on hyung, we live next door to each other,” the youth in front of you whined.

Minhyun laughed, scribbling down the boy’s name. “Okay, one iced green tea latte for Lee Daewhi. Hi, what can I get for you today?” He smiled at you.

You felt your steps falter as you approached the counter, it was suffocating to be in the presence of Minhyun’s beauty. On top of that, he seemed to have a nice and friendly personality.

“Uh…uh, um. What do you recommend?” You blurted out after a series of incoherent stuttering, your cheeks flushed red right after realisation hit you like a truck. “Sorry, that was so dumb of me.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Minhyun reassured, he put his pen to his lips, deep in thought. “If you like tea I really recommend The Sunset which is pomegranate, mango and peach tea combined. Hmm…what Daewhi ordered is a personal favourite, especially with azuki beans and chocolate sauce. Uhh, my friends seem to like the macchiatos but Bae Jinyoung is in charge of making those today and I would advise against trusting him.” ( rmb when everyone felt played bc Baejin tricked all of them hehe ) Minhyun drummed his hands on the counter, lips pursing as he thought hard. “What about a secret menu drink?”

That caught your attention, you looked at him with wide eyes. “Really? You’d do that?”

Minhyun nodded. “Yeah, of course. I can hone my barista skills. Give me a minute or two. Jisung hyung!” Another man came running from the kitchen, drying his hands on his apron and taking over Minhyun’s job at the cashier. He winked at Minhyun suggestively causing the him to roll his eyes and shake his head.

“Thank you!” You called cheerfully as you watched Minhyun gather several ingredients, he smiled but didn’t take his focus off his task. The sweet gesture made you blush and your heart fluttered madly in your chest. It was such a random yet genuine offer. Your face didn’t cool down even after you returned to your seat despite how dim the lighting around there was. Sujin resorted to fanning your face lightly with a stack of worksheets as she giggled.

“Oh my god…oh my god……Y/N finally has a crush!”

…

You pressed your lips together, the sweet taste of the secret drink Minhyun had created still lingered on your tongue. You remembered how he had came up to your booth and asked for your name, bashfully, ears tinging pink before retreating back to the safety of his bar and hastily scribbling your name on a plastic cup. Sujin had found it adorable, she teased you all night long and it was hard to tolerate but at least you got through majority of your papers. Last night felt like a good dream but the washed plastic cup that sat on your nightstand with your name on it kept you in check.

It was around closing time when Sujin decided enough was enough and packed up despite your protests, she dragged you out of there insisting you had worked hard enough. Minhyun was nowhere to be seen and you sighed in disappointment but acknowledged the fact that he too needed his rest.

Buzz. Buzz.

9.23 am

Sujin: guess what ;) You: what Sujin: sungwoon says minhyun’s single but looking ard ;) You: k so? Sujin: damnit girl take ur chance Sujin: i think you two wld make a good couple You: thanks but no thanks

10 am Sujin: want to go out today? movies? You: wish i cld :((( but i need to finish my work Sujin: aww okie :( gd luck bby

Truthfully, you were going to spend the day at the coffee shop your cute barista worked at, studying of course.

…

“Hey! Uh, uh… Y/N! Secret drink girl, hello,” Minhyun greeted cheerfully when he spotted you entering the shop. “So? Are you up for another off menu surprise?”

You giggled, blushing as you hung your tote bag on your chair. There weren’t many people today, good.

“Surprise me,” you said, winking and surprising yourself at your boldness.

Minhyun seemed… shocked yet undaunted, he appeared to like you posing challenges. “Okay, no problem. Miss Y/N.” He smirked, turning away to form a new creation.

You too, spun away to face your books. The constant whirring and mixing of different machines kept you from concentrating, the sounds only added to the excitement and anticipation. You heard the telltale steps on Minhyun and pretended to be deep in thought when he placed the mug on your table with great precision. Your gaze met his.

“Hey, I hope you like it. By the way….we have never met formally, so, hello. I’m Hwang Minhyun. I think I’ve seen you hanging out with Ha Sungwoon?” He bowed slightly out of respect which you returned.

“Yes! Sungwoon and Seongwoo are my friends so I suppose you have seen me before. Thank you, my name is Y/N,” you replied albeit it was a lame one, you were glad you hadn’t tripped over your words. Your eyes widened when Minhyun slid into the seat across from you.

“It’s off peak right now and I think I should give Baejin a bit of experience. Let’s talk, you seem like a nice person,” he suggested, looking hopeful. “Wait, try the drink first.”

You took a sip, leaving a minor lipstick mark on the side of the mason jar mug. It was very satisfying to your tastebuds, the drink fulfilled every craving you had ever had for sugar. “Mhmm. It’s so good! I love it! Did you come up with it yourself?”

Minhyun shrugged modestly. “I mean, I was just experimenting with some of my roommates and they insisted it was delicious but I only offer it to special people.”

“You have to teach me something! This is like a need now!”

“Maybe,” he told you, batting an eye. “We’ll have to see. How about you give me a call one of these days.” Minhyun slid a small folded up piece of paper across the table, grinned and left without another word.

Your jaw dropped, speechless. Everything he did only deepened your crush on him. The butterflies in your stomach and happiness coursing through your veins weren’t from the boost of caffeine.

Perhaps it was more than that.

#wanna one #wanna one scenarios #produce 101 scenarios #produce 101 #hwang minhyun #kang daniel #ha sungwoon #ong seongwoo #bae jinyoung #lee daewhi #kim jaewhan #park jihoon #lai guanlin #yoon jisung #park woojin

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misawa · 7 years

Note

hello! since you're accepting prompts could you write some MiSawa soulmate AU? >w

omg i’m so down for this!!!! soulmate au’s are my cup of tea so here i go! honestly, i kept on pondering whether i should write something cute or angsty (in the end i gave up so whatever turn the story took i just went with it tbh) but either way, i hope you enjoy this!! ♥

*note: this got really long, and personally i want to continue it, especially since i have A LOT MORE i’d like to write. this drabble almost reached 2k words, so i’m really thinking of turning it into a fic!! that if people like it of course ghdfjbgjd if i does get to that, then i might as well publish it on ao3 :)c

rating: generalcouple: misawaword count: 1,751 wordsdescription: “who needs a soul mate anyway!?” were the words a 12-year-old miyuki kazuya had screamed, whatever pebbles his small hands could grab thrown at the night sky along with all his anger and grief. back then, the 12-year-old boy had no way of knowing that at 15 he’ll be meeting his fated one, at 17 he’d have already fallen in love, shared a kiss, his heart starting its healing. through the many years that had to come though, he’d also learn what sadness truly felt like.

“hello! my name is miyuki kazuya! what’s your name?” that was the first thing a 9-year-old kazuya scribbled across his arms the moment he’d learnt about the existence of soul mates. a long time ago (last week) a certain child had asked his mother “how did you meet father?” and the answer he got was truly out of the ordinary: “mama wrote down a number on her arm and the number showed up on papa’s arm too! so papa wrote back ‘is that your phone number?’ on his arm, and it showed up on mama’s arm too. that’s the first time we talked.”

with that in mind, he’d attempted writing to his soul mate. the first time he wrote to his soul mate there was no reply, no smudge across his skin. nothing. kazuya sulked about it for a good while until he decided to try again, only for this time to get a reply!: “hello!!! i’m sawamura eijun! : D” through the drawings and scribbles of two innocent children, kazuya had learnt that eijun hadn’t replied at first due to him twisting his wrist. he’d also learnt that the two lived quite far away from one another (”hey dad, where’s nagano?”) and that, coincidentally, they both happened to LOVE baseball, each playing a position that completed their partner.

who would’ve thought having a soul mate could be so much fun?

days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. the more he aged, the more kazuya’d close within himself. he was no longer the bubbly child his mother raised - she was out of the picture either way. he continued smiling, playing baseball a dream he’d never give up on, yet making friends seemed almost impossible, communication would only happen on the baseball field. at the age of 12, miyuki kazuya had realised it had been half an year since he last talked to eijun, more exactly since eijun attempted to write to him. his body was an empty canvas that lacked the random splatters on ink that the younger would draw upon his skin. that night he cried, he yelled, like a child he threw a tantrum, blaming the universe for his misfortune, throwing rocks at the sky with all his strength. “who needs a soul mate anyway?!” he’d been abandoned.

skip a few years, miyuki kazuya was finally in high scool, his first year coming to an end. he no longer wrote to sawamura, and neither did sawamura write to him. a haunting silence, anything but comforting. his fingers would itch each time he’d sit in class and he’d hold a pen; he wanted to write, to talk to the other. his heart begged for it, cried for it - though they have yet to meet, he knew that not talking to the youth left a hole in his chest, a hole that ached and yearned for his soul mate’s love. after all, though he did not want to admit it, soul mates complete each other. it was a reality he couldn’t ignore; his body wouldn’t let him ignore it. not one day would pass without him thinking of eijun at least once, wondering how he’s doing, what’s he up to, and yet the feeling of being unworthy of such a blessing that came in the form of the pitcher was a constant nag in the back of his mind.

—- that fatidic day had come though. never would he have expected takashima rei to be his … cupid of some sorts. that day would remain embedded in his heart and mind for as long as he’d have to live. the day in which he had finally met sawamura eijun.

for some reason, that whole morning he felt antsy, his chest throbbing, heart pulsing; he felt alive, just like the days when he was a clueless child who’d spend a good half of the day writing to his other half. he’d woken up without wishing to go back to sleep, he’d gotten dressed faster than usual, he’d even offered to catch for the upperclassmen rather than have them ask him. how unusual.

that day seemed normal, unlike his actions, everything went smoothly. everyone was training, the insults azuma threw at kawakami resounding on the field until he roared. each of seido’s member had their eyes fixed on the youth who had the courage of a lion, yet the brains of a bird. he’d stood up to azuma, his words leaving a mark upon miyuki: “you can’t play baseball by yourself!!”. a smile painted upon his features, his chest puffing a soft laugh. what an interesting kid! interesting enough for miyuki to want to catch for him when rei-chan announced that the stranger would pitch against azuma.

“wait a minute, i never asked to have a match with some jerk like him!” was the stranger’s protest.

“sawamura, this is a baseball field.” rei retorted, and her words had miyuki doubletake. sawamura?

his eyes widened, and before he could form a sentence he was gawking at sawamura. it clicked. everything made sense. that was sawamura, pitcher and former captain of his team back in nagano, his SOUL MATE.

laughter bubbled in his chest, and he would’ve almost cried if it weren’t for the location. just imagine; seido’s promising catcher starts randomly crying in the middle of the baseball field, unknown to the rest that he had finally met his other half. ah, he was happy. what is this? how can someone be so overwhelmed with joy upon simply meeting their soul mate. ridiculous! yet there he was, all smiles and chuckles as he offered to catch for the pitcher.

“can i catch his pitch?” a question directed at the assistant coach, an offer he knew she wouldn’t turn down.

“who’s he?” came sawamura’s inquire, and little did he know that the pitcher was about to live the shock of his life.

“miyuki kazuya, a catcher.” her reply direct, yet miyuki could only watch in pure bliss the way sawamura’s face turned from confusion to shock, from shock to delight, from delight to anger.

sawamura eijun was angry at miyuki kazuya.

so this is how we meet, huh? miyuki had ran up to the three, his smile not once wavering, yet his heart thudding so loud in his ears. he was so close to sawamura that his hands tingled, his fingers twitching, itching to touch him. tonight, again.

their game had ended faster than he’d wanted, sawamura leaving without sparing him another word, a second glance. for what reason the youth was angry at him, he had a hunch, but now that they’ve met miyuki was certain and could no longer brush aside his heart’s urges; sawamura eijun was completing him, both on and off the field.

that night he grabbed the closest sharpie, and without wasting another second he wrote: “i know you’re angry at me, but i’m really—-” really what? happy? miyuki kazuya is happy? though the damage was done, the wording would need to change. “—glad i met you.” there! sounds better.

the answer he received was almost instant, as if sawamura was expecting a message from the latter. “OF COURSE I’M ANGRY!!!!!!! DO YOU REALISE HOW LONG IT’S BEEN?? I’VE BEEN WAITING ALL THIS TIME, BAKA MIYUKI!!!!” all caps, huh? kazuya laughed like he hadn’t done in a long while, his eyes softening as he ran a digit over the other’s writing. he couldn’t enjoy the moment though, as eijun had quickly erased his words, leaving miyuki wishing the moment would’ve lasted longer. but he couldn’t mourn, not even for a second, as sawamura’s writing showed up on his arm again. “don’t you DARE stop writing you hear?! or i’ll get angry again!!!” “yes, yes ♥” miyuki had quickly added underneath sawamura’s words, and after meeting him in person today he could’ve guessed that eijun was spluttering back in nagano.

“so are you coming to seido?” miyuki couldn’t help his curiosity; he wanted to know: would he get to spend the remaining of his high school days with his soul mate or would he have to try his best to maintain this long distance relationship? he needed to know, and sawamura was taking his sweet time coming up with a reply. once he wrote back though, miyuki couldn’t help but feel irked. “i don’t know” sawamura had scribbled on his forearm, quickly followed by a “i need some more time to think…”.

“whatever you’ll decide, i’ll be here to catch for you if you come to seido.” miyuki’s answer was instant, the smile that played upon his visage not once disappearing. he missed this. he missed talking to the youth, spending his time writing and drawing on his body, having his soul mate’s writing tattooed on his, even if only for a few moments. happiness washed over him like it hadn’t in a long while, and finally, after so many years, he felt at ease.

that night he slept like a child, worries forgotten, grief dug in the depth of his heart. the days that came seemed brighter, warmer even (though he’d blame the season for it, somewhere in the back of his mind he knew there was more to that), he’d smile more often. there’d be days when he’d wake up with a mustache drawn above his upper lip. his team-mates would laugh at him, some even tried erasing it for him, but it slowly dawned upon them all: that was miyuki’s soul mate. out of all, kuramochi was the most taken aback as he realised it first; miyuki kazuya is actually having fun with the one who was his soul mate.

miyuki used to live in a world enveloped in silence until sawamura eijun had appeared in front of him, until he re-entered miyuki’s life. now his life was filled with laughter and splatters of colour upon the empty canvas that his skin was, and the distance that separated them no longer mattered. even if sawamura decided to stay in nagano, they’d work a way to meet again.

sawamura, however, was 10 steps ahead of miyuki. he had the upper hand as he got to decide his future. his decision was a surprise to miyuki, a pleasant one at least. the moment they’d met again on the field when they were both running late to practice was the day miyuki kazuya knew; he knew he’d get to spend the rest of his days alongside his other half.

#answered #anonymous #miyusawa #misawa #diamond no ace #god this got so long but ??? i hope u like it fjdgbdfjhg #i rlly want to continue this tbh aaaaa lies down . . . .

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vicious-sunshine · 7 years

Text

Watch out for doors!

So it took longer than planned buuuut here’s a little diddy about Feyre making The Tool run into some doors and using her daemati powers like a bossss. Sorry for the angst and naked Tool imagery!

@propshophannah @destinedtosurvive73 @pottagepotatoes

Two weeks. Two weeks she’d been here and already Feyre was at the end of her patience. Lucien had become a thorn in her side, a shadow in all she did and everywhere she went. Although, Tamlin had also assigned her guards who were a constant source of irritation. And with Lucien as her constant shadow, her Demaeti powers went unused on the guards.

Today was already off to the same start. The guards posted at her doors followed her as she made her way to the dining room for breakfast. Feyre wore trousers and a tunic today, determined to go for a ride.

“Feyre! I’m so glad I caught you, I was hoping you and I would get to go through the library today and look for some books…” but then the priestess trailed off, a sympathetic look on her face. Feyre looked at her with feigned confusion. “I’m so sorry, dear. I forgot about your… impediment.”

“What impediment?” she wanted Ianthe to say it out loud. Feyre had been smiling stupidly at each slight from the priestess. She’d decided it was fun to watch her squirm. Feyre cocked her head the way she’d seen Rhys do and the midnight laughter slunk along her mental shields.

“Well, uh, dear. I thought you couldn’t read.” There was a roar from down the hallway and Tamlin stormed out, phantom claws flexing.

“Of course Feyre can read, Ianthe. That bastard did one thing useful when he took her.” The midnight laughter curled a smirk and Feyre fought her smirk. This had also become a new routine. Instead of giving her a look of pity, Tamlin came snarling to defend her from Ianthe’s seemingly innocent insults. Feyre had yet to come up with a suitable punishment for her, but she’d find something soon enough. As soon as she shook her guards.

“Ianthe, how dare you-”

Feyre put her hand on his arm. "It’s alright, Tamlin. Ianthe simply forgets herself. Things have changed so much.“ She smiled brightly up at him. She could feel Ianthe’s anger.

"I’m sorry, High Lord, Lady,” she bowed deeply. "If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just head to the library.“ Feyre turned away, dismissing her.

"Tam, what are we having for breakfast?” Feyre placed her hand gently on his arm, leading him away. The guards followed them to the dining room. Tamlin waved them away as he pulled out Feyre’s chair. When they didn’t move fast enough he snarled.

Food appeared on the table, pastries of some kind and tea sat steaming, with fresh fruit in piles on plates. Feyre dug in as Tamlin sat, scooping as much as she could fit on her plate. Her appetite had thankfully not diminished.

Lucien eyed her, his golden eye whirring and settling on her right forearm. "Good morning, Feyre.“ His voice was casual but there was a tone to it.

"Hello, Lucien,” she smiled brightly. "How did you sleep?“ His eyes widened a fraction. She’d heard his screaming as he woke. Feyre hadn’t asked him about the source of his nightmares, she was still trying to decide how far to trust him. Darkness brushed against her mind again.

He looked away after a moment. "Just fine,” he mumbled around the food he shoved into his mouth. "What’s on the agenda for today?“ The question was directed at Tamlin, but it gave Feyre an idea. She brushed against his shield gently, I am spring and greens and all that grows. She pictured herself as sunlight and baby birds and the babbling brooks she missed in the court. Let’s spar, Lucien, let Feyre watch.

Tamlin’s utensil’s scraped against the plate for a moment. "Why don’t we spar?” He cut a rogue smile at his startled emissary. That golden eye settled on Feyre, who was openmouthed with shock.

“Can I watch?” The question was more eager than she would have liked, but Feyre was tired of gaining nothing new to tell her court.

Lucien’s hesitation was an openmouthed frown that had his brow drawn low. "Tam, I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.“

Tamlin’s eyes were practically sparkling, the green shone in the morning light. "I can’t see why not. If Feyre comes with us then no guards have to watch her, and they can go with Ianthe instead.”

“I doubt my father would like that very much.”

“Oh, Tam, if you’re supposed to be going to the Autumn Court then don’t worry about it.” Her hand slid across to rest on his, “I’m sure I can occupy myself for the day. I was thinking of going for a ride anyway.” She squeezed his hand gently, “If you have things to do don’t let me stop you.”

Tamlin grasped her hand. “Nonsense. We’ll go spar and you’ll come watch.” He looked to Lucien. "Your father will keep, and if he doesn’t, then we’ll remind him who it was who freed us all from under the mountain, and whom she resides with.“ His gaze grew sharp for a moment before Lucien looked away and pushed his plate back.

"Fine, then. I’ll go get changed.” His footsteps barely made any noise as he left and Feyre could just barely hear him walk down the hallway.

Feyre gave Tamlin a shy smile. "So what do you wear to spar?“

"Fighting leathers, of course,” stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He snapped his fingers and Feyre gasped. She’d known about the baldric, but he had his own Illyrian leathers. Rhys was a gentle caress on her mind, but she could feel his irritation tinged by amusement. She’d have to ask him about that later.

She smiled and laughed lightly, “How silly of me.”

He stood and held out a hand for her. "Come on, I want to get a head start on Lucien.“ Feyre committed the route they took through the mansion to memory, marking every new doorway and window on the mental map she’d created for this place so long ago. The place they arrived at was more a terrace than a room. It had a stone awning that stretched up and away for a few hundred yards and was held up at the edges by thick columns. On the walls there were swords and knives, axes and maces, as well as a few other things Feyre recognized but did not know a name for.

She was drawn to the rack of knives, startlingly similar to the ones Rhys strapped to her thighs before going to the Weaver. His midnight darkness chuckled and Feyre blushed when phantom hands caressed the backs of those thighs. "Where did you get these from?” Upon closer inspection she realized they were hers. And there was the Illyrian blade she’d had strapped to her spine at Hybern. Feyre turned to Tamlin. "Why are these not in my rooms?“

His lips thinned but before he could say anything Lucien was stalking towards them, feet slapping on the stone. "What will it be today?” But his russet and gold eyes slid to the Illyrian blades. "I think these will do quite nicely,“ his smile was vicious, meant to carve at her.

Feyre shrugged. "I’m not particularly deft with them anyway,” midnight chuckled along her shields, “if you like them consider it a gift.” Lucien’s eyes narrowed and she gave him a wary innocent smile. "Peace, Lucien. I miss you, my friend,“ she let her voice crack and Feyre wrapped her arms around herself. "I want to bring my sisters home too.” It wasn’t a lie and the ache she’d felt, her worry for them, crashed through her and spilled out. Tamlin growled, green eyes wild, and she flinched. Lucien’s eyes darted between the two.

“We’ll find them, Feyre,” he softened just a moment before grabbing the knives and sword and began strapping them to himself. Tamlin was between them suddenly, winnowing close enough that his body shoved Lucien’s back from her. Lucien halted his movements.

“Lucien, I changed my mind. Leave us.” It was a command to be obeyed. Lucien frowned at his High Lord and undid the buckles, placing the blades gently on the small table before winnowing out. "Feyre,“ he strained, his façade crumbling and he crashed into her. His kiss was an invasion, a conquering and Feyre could do nothing but let him, embrace him back and yield to him. She’d been able to rebuff him just enough, but his desperate need grew each time they were alone. "I’m so sorry I let him take you,” he mumbled into her ear, her throat, the skin above her breasts.

She held him too tightly, trying to stuff her panic down. Until Rhys was there, the soft night wind soothing her. I have an idea, he whispered and showed her the lacy underthings store and Feyre’s stumble into the wall. She looked up at Tamlin, his green eyes wild and desperate. "Let me in, Tam, I want to help you feel better,“ Feyre pressed gentle kisses to his face while her hands delicately danced along him. Feather light touches along his chest, chin, ears, brow, to stop and tangle in his hair. Tamlin’s mind quested to hers and she lowered her shield a fraction, into a small room she’d been creating for him these two weeks. His shields dropped for her, and she spoke again. "I don’t want to do this here,” she let herself sound weak. Tamlin winnowed them to her rooms.

His shields were still down and they held each other, kissing desperately. Her tunic was torn by his claws and she shuddered from them. Tamlin’s face was pained as he touched her skin with shadowless fingers. "I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Feyre.“ She placed her hands on his bare chest, his leathers were gone and he was naked. A corner of her mind compared him to Rhys.

"I need gentle, Tamlin.” He dove for her again, reining himself in and asking permission for each touch and kiss. She guided him, a slow descent into the room in her mind she’d been building for him, creating it by instinct. He strived to possess and protect her, so she showed him the woman she’d been, who needed protection. They kissed slowly, building to more as his hands skimmed her body. Feyre broke away, pulling her tunic over her head and sliding her trousers down, so they stood naked before each other.

He was more demanding as he devoured her again, and once he was fully open to her, she stroked a mental hand along his shields, making him think it was his body she touched. His body jerked in response and she did it again, showing his mind what he wanted. He still held her physically, they still stood naked against one another, but as she lightly laid them both into her bed, only her mental hands touched him.

She showed him her yielding, slowly, cautiously, and he was so tender with her she wanted to cry. So she showed him the tears she was shedding, something real among the lie, until she was smiling and urging him on, showing him how she wanted to be touched. Feyre in turn touched Tamlin the way she’d wished she’d been able to before everything, been bold and not timid. The midnight hand flecked with starlight tapped her shoulder gently, as if in question. She shrugged down their bond. It is what might have been, but you are my salvation, Rhysand. The midnight caress along her mind purred, satisfied with her use of his words. Tamlin was sprawled across her bed now, his arms and body twitching as he loved her in his mind.

“I love you,” the fae male breathed out, a broken strangled whisper of the words that made Feyre pity him. Until the snarling possession he’d claimed at Hybern flashed before her.

“Me too,” she whispered into his ear, showing him her completion and his, his body rolling over to sprawl as he was now. He slipped his shields up slowly and Feyre did the same. Rhysand sent her images of them covered in paint, her hands on his wings as she rode him and she flushed pink, her body missing her mate. If you’re not glowing he’ll wonder why, and then he grumbled with a touch of pride at how clever his High Lady was. She smiled like she was tired after Tamlin’s eyes cracked open and he looked at her. His hand gently cupped her cheek.

“I’d like to stay, but I have a meeting this afternoon with the guards.” His mouth pressed on itself, like he wanted to ask her something, but he withdrew and became cold again. Feyre pulled her sheets up to cover herself. "I’ll come back soon. Wait here for me,“ it wasn’t quite a question and it made Feyre want to lash out at him. She was not some pretty doll to wait for him to dote on her. She would do no such thing, but she’d been inside of his shields, and now she had Lucien right where she needed him.

The lie was easy, "Of course. I’ll see you later.” He smiled at her and some of the ice melted, his shield lowered a fraction and she left a finger just barely pressed upon it. He opened the door, still gazing at her, and then his whole body slammed into the other door. Amusement howled and cackled from her mate down their bond and she covered her mouth and gasped. "Are you alright?!“ she rushed to his side, her sheet tightly wound about her still.

"I’m fine,” he pushed her away and scowled. Feyre flinched in perfect time and his face became soothing. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just have to be more careful with this door.“ He scowled at the door as if it would jump in front of him again. But Tamlin’s face was warmer as he kissed Feyre on the forehead. "I’ll see you later,” and then he was gone. She shut the door gently behind him and kept that mental finger touching his shield. Another thud echoed as he walked into another door. Feyre slapped a hand over her mouth again. Rhysand was smirking inside her mind. As she effectively ran Tamlin into every door or column he encountered, Feyre sunk into her bed in a fit of giggles while she listened to her mate tell the rest of their friends what she’d done.

#feyre archeron #feyre and rhysand #feyre #tamlin the tampon #tamlin the tool #tamlin the toolbox #running into walls #running into doors #gigglefest #acowar #acowar angst #acomaf angst

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