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forever-rogue · 4 years

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A Good Man - Part 2

A/N: Part 2!! I hope you're all excited! Thank you guys for your support on the first part. And don't worry, the ugh....smut is coming soon! Thank you to @rosetophighlander for helping me brainstorm this part! As always, comments and feedback is welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged let me know! xx

Pairing: Professor! Javi x Reader

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: mild language...yearning....

A GOOD MAN ‘VERSE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

JAVIER MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Fuck,” murmuring under your breath, you scratched your well loved pen roughly over the paper, willing for more ink to come out. But it was fully used; it had been growing fainter and fainter for some time, and now, mid-lecture, it had decided to be done.

Glancing up from your notes, you chanced a peek at the professor, catching his eye as you did so. Of course. There seemed to be a mildly amused expression on his face as you chucked the pen inside your bag with a huff and searched for another, managing to dig one up after a few minutes of silent struggle.

The professor seemed to realize what was happening and appeared to slow down his lecture as you tried to catch up, almost as if he was attempting to ensure that you wouldn’t miss anything. No one else around you even seemed to be alive, starting down at their books with glazed expressions; one of the students across the room was even shamelessly sleeping. Groaning internally at them, you felt bad for him. It dense enough material to teach, and having people be this disinterested probably only made it more difficult. That just made your resolve to work even stronger.

Uncapping the new pen, you set it back on the page and offered your full attention back to the man at the front, keeping your eyes trained mainly on the chalkboard. It was hard not to allow your eyes to flit over his body, the tight white button up, the fitted navy trousers, and those damned glasses were enough to drive you slowly insane. When he turned his back to the class, you couldn’t help but to admire the view...but luckily you always managed to catch yourself and keep up with his lecture. But you didn’t catch on how Javier always seemed to notice all the little things, including how your eyes lingered on him. You also didn’t seem to catch on how his own honeyed gaze was usually focused on you, the sole person he seemed to be teaching.

But this class was different - just before Javier excused the lot of you, he decided to assign your midterm papers. This time you didn’t groan internally, but let out a little sigh as he explained his requirements, all of which you scribbled quickly down in your notes. It was such a simple task but you just knew it would be difficult, and would end up phasing you someway or another. Just as he finished and dismissed everyone, the students around you seemed to practically sprint for the door and you were left behind in the dust.

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you grabbed your things and tucked them inside your bag, the realization that you were the only one left in the room hitting like you a ton of bricks. The temperature seemed to increase insurmountably as you left your desk and headed for the door. Javier’s gaze followed your frame for a moment and just before you ducked into the buzzing hallway filled with students heading off to their next class, you turned to him. His expression was unreadable, filled with a mixture of emotions that you couldn’t quite place. Instead of saying anything, you felt your cheeks heat up and stepped out of the classroom, allowing yourself to get lost in the sea of people.

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Professor Peña?"

"If you're looking for stories or secrets or whatever bullshit for your little newspaper, I'm not interested," Javi didn't even bother to look up from his desk, eyes dark and focused on the mountains of papers in front of him. When he didn't hear the sound of retreating footsteps or the squeak of the ancient door, he groaned lightly, "I said I wasn't interested in indulging your little inquiries."

"I-I'm not here for that," your voice sounded small, quiet and almost pathetic in the darkened office. The sun had almost completely set and Javier had yet to turn on the lights, depending only on his small desk lamp. He almost gave himself whiplash as he turned to look in your direction, eyes widening when he realized it was you, "I'm sorry to bother you, professor. I-I can go."

He let out a long sigh, took off his glasses, and ran a hand over his face in exhaustion as he shook his head and pointed at the chair in front of his desk. Swallowing the nervous lump in your throat, you padded over, almost completely silent, before slipping into the aging leather chair, "It’s... I shouldn't have yelled like that."

"I can go...if this is a bad time,” you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes as you trained your gaze on the worn, wooden grain of his desk, “I know it’s almost the end of your office hours and I don’t want to impose.”

When you were met with silence, and unable to keep your knee from bouncing up and down, you almost jumped up and headed for the door, wishing a hole would swallow you up and this moment would never have happened.

“It’s fine,” he insisted firmly, holding his hand up to keep you from darting out, finally looking up and meeting your nervous eyes. Nodding, you swallowed the thick lump in your throat and planted yourself firmly in your seat, “it’s been...a long day. It doesn’t excuse it...so just stay.”

“Really...I can come back another time,” you captured your bottom lip between your teeth and chewed on it for a moment, unsure of where to concentrate your gaze. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, knowing you’d be too far gone if you started at his handsome visage too much. It was hard enough in class to focus on what he was teaching when he came in looking handsome as hell everyday. You had tried, desperately so to avoid your attraction to him, but it was undeniable. Little did you know that you had slowly turned into the highlight of his day; the three hours a week you spent in classroom had him almost...excited to show up and teach.

“Nah,” he insisted in such a blasé tone that you almost couldn’t believe it. You’d never heard him be anything but completely serious before, “I was just being an asshole...”

“I didn’t mean to imply-”

“No, no, no,” he said quickly, giving you a surprised expression, “it’s not you. Trust me, it’s just... people don’t...normally come to my office hours. Maybe like one student a semester. And it’s usually for...”

“Your time in Colombia,” you concluded as he paused for a moment, still as could be as he nodded lightly. Clearly you’d struck a nerve; you could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, the veins in his neck protruding slightly as his hand curled into a fist and rested on the edge of the desk. In class he’d never even come close to bringing it up; hell, you’d never have known if Sarah hadn’t shown you that little article, “that’s not why I’m here. I swear.”

“Then what can I do for you?” his voice adopted a different tone, more docile and less on edge as his eyes seemed to rake over you and he could see you were being honest. You wrung your hands anxiously in your lap before pulling your notebook, and looking through your copious, detailed notes from his last lecture. Javi couldn’t help but try and skim over him as you dragged a finger down a page and stopped with a small triumphant little sound when you found what you had been searching for. He was impressed that you, or anyone, actually took the time and energy to listen to him.

“Your assignment,” you glanced over the notes and frowned at them, “you asked us to submit a proposal for a midterm paper topic, and you left it pretty open ended, but we’ve only covered up until about 1750. Does that mean we can do any major topic up to then or can we do anything? Do you have a preferred area of discussion? Or do you prefer we focus on a figure and analyze their viewpoints towards specific topics? I guess...I’m just looking for some guidance. I don’t want to do something and have it be off the mark and waste your time...or mine.”

“You...took the time to think about this and then come and ask me?” he sounded astounded as you slowly nodded, offering him a slight shrug of your shoulders. You hadn’t thought it was that weird...you just wanted to be sure about things, “huh. Do you actually like this class?”

“Professor...” you didn’t want to lie, not directly to his face as you sat in front of him, “it’s...”

“Just be straight forward,” he leaned back in his chair, playing with the pen in his hand as you let out a low breath, “I don’t care either way.”

“How honest do you want?” a small smile tugged on your features despite your best efforts to keep it at bay.

“Brutal.”

“I hate it,” you felt like you were confessing your sins in church, unsure of what to expect his reaction to be. What if this had all been some sort of weird test...what if he suddenly hated you? But he remained silent, waiting for you to expand on your answer, “it’s a subject I do not care for, and I only took it because it satisfied one of the last subject areas I needed and everything else was already filled up.”

But then, in a total change of pace, shocking you almost as much as it surprised him, he burst into a fit of laughter, throwing his head back as his warm, rich voice filled the small, dark space of his office. Your eyes widened as you tried not to focus on his smile and his glorious neck as you wondered if he was was going to commend or condemn you.

“That was the most honest I think I’ve ever had someone be with me,” he answered once he calmed down, his shoulders still bouncing lightly with silent laughter, “the honesty...it’s quite refreshing.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” fumbling for the right words, your hands trembled slightly as you reached for your notebook, attempting to hastily stuff it into your bag and fun out of the room. But Javi reached over and grabbed one of your wrists with a touch that was both firm, but delicate enough to cause you to almost break your neck as you looked at him, “professor?”

“I’m not offended,” he promised, letting his hold on you linger a few moments before slowly releasing your wrist. He gestured for the notebook and you handed it over to him, nervous as to what he would say about your notes. Would you be in trouble? Would he be impressed? He was silent as he flicked through everything, his fingers touching over all the areas your pen had scribbled on, “these are extremely detailed and thorough for someone that apparently hates the subject.”

“I didn’t want to fall behind. There’s a lot to remember and take in,” you felt nervous as he scoured over your writing and read some rushed words under his breath, “I-I figured if I was going to take this class, regardless if I enjoy it or not, I should put in the time and effort. It’s not fair to you to just completely waste your time either.”

“Tell that to rest of the hundred and something students I have. They couldn’t give a shit less,” he suddenly snapped your notebook closed, the sharp sound reverberating loudly in the otherwise quiet room. Shoving the worn notebook across the desk, he let out a sigh before tousling his dark hair as you shoved it away. Something had struck a nerve with him and you were nervous, unsure of how he was going to respond to whatever you had to see. So the inattention and lack of care from the rest of the class was not lost on him, “it’s like teaching to an empty room.”

“And you?” a rush of courage and rushed through your bones and you were almost surprised that the words came out of your own mouth. Your hand flew to your face in shock and you were sure that must have gotten on his bad side now. Surely he wouldn’t tolerate that much insolence, if you could even call it that. Something in you snapped and you decided that if you were already on his list in red and underlined, you had nothing left to lose, “do you care?”

His lips turned into a thin, hard line, and he tapped his fingers against his stubble covered chin as he watched you closely. It was a weird thing, and you could feel him trying to analyze you. You refused to meet his eyes, not wanting to give in and let him see deep into you; maybe he wouldn’t like what he found.

After a view moments of tense silence, he leaned back in his old chair, and it creaked loudly, the only disturbance in the still air. He dropped his fist back down and tapped it against the desk for a moment before quietly saying, “not as much as I should.”

“Oh,” you nodded, unable to blame him for teaching a class he didn’t really care about, “then why...never mind. I don’t mean to pry.”

You stole a glance at your watch and noticed that it was now past his office hours; that was good enough of a reason for you to leave, right? You cleared your throat and quickly stood up before he could make any move to stop you, “your hours are over...I’ll just...go.”

“Wait-” he stood up but made no move to follow you, but keep his gaze on you. You paused with your hand on the door knob, not quite twisting it open yet as waited for him to speak. The tension in the air was palpable and you answered with a small nod, “I...we...how about you come back tomorrow? Or whatever day works and I can help you pick a subject for your midterm?”

“Y-you want me to come back?” there was a light shake to your voice as you realized what this meant. However he felt towards you, he didn’t completely dispose you anyways. Turning on your heel, you languidly raked your eyes up to meet his, finding him with his hands on his hips and an unreadable expression etched on his face, “you don’t have to, Professor. I’m sure I can find a topic to write on.”

“Javi,” his name rolled off his lips in an unsure tone and the corners of your mouth twitched into a small smile. He’d never offered is first name to a student before - he’d never even spoken this much to a student before. This was all uncharted territory for the both of you; normally you were steadfast and sure in your way, but this had you questioning a lot. Including where you truly stood with your enigma of a professor, “you can call me Javi.”

“Javi,” you repeated, sounding it out slowly and deciding that you liked how it sounded, how felt when you said it. Javi Peña. It was a good name. Despite it being his decision to tell you to call him that, he still seemed...confused. But as soon as he had told you his name, soft and gentle, you had made up your mind, “I’ll...be back tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated quietly as you turned back to the door and turned the knob and slowly opened the heavy wooden door. You stepped out of his office and into the softly illuminated hallway. There was a few seconds were you contemplated turning around and offering him a wave, a proper goodbye, something, but instead, you clutched your book bag tighter and quickly took off down the hall, your heart racing as though you had just run a marathon. In sync with each footstep all you could think was Javi, Javi, Javi.

Every last logical part of your brain told you not to return tomorrow, to just pick a topic and write a paper on it, but the other part of you, your more heart governed side, insisted that you should go back tomorrow. It told that there was something...more that you needed than help on your paper. You weren’t sure what it was, but you decided not to repress the feeling.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Why do you look so...happy?” Sarah looked up from the show she was watching and studied you for about five seconds before coming to the conclusion that something was definitely off. Not...in a bad way, but definitely different from what you would normally come home like after a day of back to back classes. Making it a point to put a frown on your face you shook your head as you dropped your book bag down and flopped onto the couch, pointedly avoiding her gaze, “babeeeeee. What happened? Did you get laid?”

“Sarah!” you burrowed further down on the couch and hid your face, “nothing happened and no, I did not get laid.”

“Then what is it?” she wasn’t about to drop the subject and you found yourself cursing her inquisitive nature, “did something happen in class? With hot professor!?”

“Absolutely nothing happened with him in class,” you insisted, your voice cracking lightly on the last word as she inhaled sharply. Peeking at her, you saw that she was almost bouncing out of her seat with excitement, “just because he’s hot-”

“You said nothing happened in class,” she came over and sat right next to you, patting your thigh in excitement, “then tell me, what happened after class?!”

“I went to his office during his office hours because I was stuck on the assignment,” you admitted, “at first he was annoyed...but then he wasn’t. He thought I just want to poke around about when he was in DEA, but I told him I just needed help. He was fine after that...mostly. I’m going back for help to tomorrow.”

“Shit,” her brilliant sapphire eyes were wide with excitement as her mind jumped to all sorts of conclusions, “office hours with hot Professor Peña!?”

“Javi,” you mumbled, barely audible to your own ears. Sarah sucked in a breath before letting out a squeal of excitement; she was even more invested in your little back and forth with him than you were. But every time you’d told her about your classes over the last six weeks, she was insistent, almost to a fault, that he felt something for you, that no teacher was like that with their students. You were sure it was just because you appeared to be the only living being in his class.

“Javi,” she repeated in a dreamy voice, “that even sounds sexy.”

“He told me to call him that,” your face was hot and suddenly the thing sweater you were wearing seemed too much, and you quickly pulled it off in a vain attempt to still the warmth that was coursing through your veins, “it got late and I left...he asked me to come back tomorrow.”

“He asked?” you nodded as you bit your lip, realizing how it appeared to sound when you recanted the tale back to her. But if she had been there, she surely would have realized that it was all straight forward and there were no double entendres or anything. it was just professional; a professor helping his student, “hot professor asked you to come back tomorrow?”

“For help with my paper!” you groaned and hid your face in your hands, “that’s all and nothing more, I swear.”

“Oh no,” she shook her head fervently, sienna curls bouncing wildly, “there’s something more to this than meets the eye. I swear it, I can feel it. A professor doesn’t just tell you to call them by their nickname and insist you come back without an underlying motive.”

“It’s not...like that,” a heavy sigh escaped your lips, “he’s...different. I mean, sure he seems to hate life when he’s teaching, but I think he just wants to help. I think he felt bad for snapping at me at first...and maybe he wants to help because I’m the only one who gives a damn about his class.”

“That maybe so,” she agreed, giving your shoulder a light squeeze, “but there’s more to it. I’m sure of it, mark my words!”

“Sure Sarah,” tossing your head back on the couch, you stared at the ceiling and studied the patterns of the aging paint, “I’m sure something will happen between me and Javi.”

“Ahh! See you’re already calling him Javi!”

“PROFESSOR PEÑA!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

When you woke up the next morning, you slowly got ready for your classes, your heart beating wildly, quicker than the wings of a fluttering humming bird, as you realized what was to come this afternoon. You were sure that your nerves were for naught, but it still didn’t calm the wild fluttering going in your belly. Just before leaving, you checked yourself over in your mirror, deciding you were satisfied with your appearance. There was bright glow on your cheeks, prompting you to chide yourself for acting like a school girl with a crush instead of a groan woman.

But the day seemed to drag on, and on, and on, and by the time you headed out of your last class, you were tempted to go just go home and take a nap. Maybe that would have been better instead of going to Javi’s office and letting whatever would happen happen.

You were almost on autopilot as you entered the history department’s building, not thinking much of anything, besides not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of the mysterious professor. Before you knew it, you knocked softly on his door, but when you were met with silence, you rested your hand on the knob, wondering what was going what you should do. Maybe you hadn’t been loud enough? Knocking with more force this time, you waited with baited breath to see if he would let you in....but nothing.

Sighing lightly to yourself, especially at the fact that you had gotten yourself so worked up over nothing, you hung your head and got ready to leave. You might as well disappear quickly before anyone could see the pathetic look on your face. You’d meandered about halfway down the hall, when you heard a pair of rushed footsteps behind you, and a rich voice called out your name. Spinning around, probably much too eagerly, you find Javier right standing out of his door, breathless as he waved you over.

“I-I’m sorry I’m late,” he said as you slowly made your back down the hall, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath, “I was running behind and had to stop home to check on Stevie.”

“Stevie?”

“My dog,” he answered and your mouth curved upwards into a smile. He had a dog named Stevie; it wasn’t at all what you had expected, “I usually go earlier, but had a meeting that ran late and couldn’t get to him. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“No,” you answered in earnest, “I-I just...didn’t know if you’d forgotten or were busy or....”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he insisted as he opened the door to his office and ushered you inside, following closely behind, close enough that you could feel his body heat radiating onto yours. You remained silent as you slipped into the chair opposite his desk and pulled out a fresh pen and notepad, ready to take notes and figure out what on earth to do for your midterm, “all business, huh?”

He seemed mildly amused as he slinked into his own chair, more relaxed and calm than he had been the afternoon before. You lifted your eyes slowly and met his gaze as you nodded and shrugged; you wondered if he could hear how fast your heart was beating. Something in the air was different today...much more palpable than before. You wondered how long much longer you would walk on this thin line before it snapped and something happened.

“Yeah,” you managed to say after a few moments of silence, his dark eyes never leaving your frame. Even with the silence, only the sound of the aging clock on the wall filling the room, you could sense that he was mulling over things in his mind. You could practically hear the gears turning, “I-I manged to come up with a few figures and events I might focus on, should any of them pique your interest.”

“I do like having my curiosity piqued,” there was a different tone to his voice and you could sense that there was bit of a double meaning to his words. But you didn’t want to get too lost in that, to let your mind wander, “tell me what you’ve come up with.”

“My main ideas are either Patrick Henry,” you looked up briefly to see if he was even interested and he nodded lightly, “or the Boston Tea Party. I know we technically haven’t covered that in class yet, but I figured I could give it a go.”

“Common topics,” he stated and you hung your head in annoyance; you thought that one of the two would be worthy of your time. He seemed to sense your dissatisfaction at his answers and shifted in his seat so he was leaning closer across his desk, and almost directly in front of you, “but I think you could make one them of them work. Give me liberty or give me death, or dumping tons of tea. Which do you prefer?”

“An overly dramatic statement or a waste of good tea,” you mused thoughtfully, tapping your pen against your chin, “I’m more disappointed in the loss of the tea. I’m thinking if I do enough digging I can focus on a few figures behind it all, lesser known figures or...something like that.”

“Well there you go,” without thinking, he reached over and grabbed your pen, earning a small sound of surprise from you. Pulling the notebook in front of him, he quickly scrawled your proposed topic down and next to that a big approved along with his signature. You couldn’t help the snort of laughter that came out of your mouth at his sudden burst of playfulness; you weren’t sure he had that kind of joking in him, “I look forward to reading to your paper. I’m sure it’ll be the best one in the class.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“You’re the only one in class with a fucking pulse,” he leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, the picture of cool, calm, and collected. You tried not to let your eyes linger on how deliciously his crisp white button stretched across his chest, “I’ll probably get another forty papers on George Washington.”

“I do not envy you in the slightest then...Javi,” unsure if you were okay to his name you let it linger in the air slightly as he gave you a small smile, “I’ll try and make sure it’s not a complete mess then.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” he insisted, and suddenly you were unsure if you should just leave or stay. There really wasn’t any more reason to stay, now that you had figured out your topic...not that you apparently needed any help at all. Maybe you both just...wanted to be there. Drumming your fingers along the arm of the chair, you came to the conclusion that it was probably best to go. But before you could do or say anything else, he quickly asked, “do you like tea?”

“I do,” you grinned at his random question, “maybe even more than coffee.There’s nothing better than a good cup of tea at the end of the evening, especially now that’s turning to winter. Although I’m guessing you prefer coffee?”

“Lucky guess,” he clicked his tongue against his teeth, but the amusement on his face was still there.

“No,” you giggled lightly, “I’m just not blind - I’ve never seen you without a cup of coffee near you. Except today.”

“I suppose there’s a first time for everything,” he liked this; how easily you were able to tease him, how naturally you eased into conversation, despite the initial nerves, “what’s your favorite kind?”

“I dunno...I guess anything really,” you wondered why he was so curious, if he was just trying to be polite or he actually wanted you to stay there and speak to him, “I’ve really been liking matcha a lot.”

“Hmm,” he dragged his hand over his mustache and you couldn’t help but notice, as you had several times in the past, that there was no wedding ring, no suggestion that he’d ever worn one. Somehow it eased you ever so slightly, “sounds...interesting.”

“It’s really good,” you promised, “you should try it sometime. Well...thanks for all your help professor, I really appreciate it. Knowing I won’t be totally off the mark with this paper has made me feel better already.”

“Maybe I will,” he nodded as you slowly gathered your things and stood up, “anytime you need help, just let me know...”

“Thank you,” you heard him hastily grab a pen and then jot something down. The sound captured your attention and you turned around to see that he had piece of paper in his hand and was holding it out to you. Hesitating ever so slightly, you took it, your mouth gaping when you realized what it was, “professor...I don’t...”

“Javi,” he corrected firmly and you could barely keep yourself from combusting, “if you need any more help, at all, call me.”

“Y-yes,” your voice was a small, faltering little thing as you pocketed his phone number. Had your hot professor actually given you his phone number? The piece of paper burning a hole in your pocket firmly screamed yes, “thank you.”

Turning to leave again, he said your name softly, before you could step out of his office. Biting your lip, you turned around and found him with his hands on his hips, some sort of debate clearly raging inside from the look on his face, “are you...what are you...are you busy this weekend?”

“Umm,” clearly you needed to get your hearing check because there was no way in hell that Javier Peña, your professor, had just inquired about your weekend plans. Surely he just wanted to make sure you were dedicating your time to his assignment...right? There would be no good reason, no logical explanation for anything else, “I suppose I am. I’ve that paper to write, and some other assignments I’m trying to get a jump on.”

“R-right,” he ran his hand through his dark locks and let out a long breath, “good luck. See you in class.”

“Have a good weekend, Javi,” you offered him a small smile before stepping out and closing the door behind you. Your heart was hammering away and you could barely think straight before practically sprinting down the hallway. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, and while a part of you was nervous, the majority was flushed with sheer excitement.

Once he no longer heard the sound of your feet retreating on the linoleum tile, Javi looked the door and leaned against, letting out a long groan as he realized what he had just done, “fuck. Fuck!”

He couldn’t believe that he had just willed up the audacity to all but throw himself at you. He felt like a fool, like an old fool, with remnants of his former self slowly bubbling up. But no - he wasn’t that man anymore. He was no longer taking his emotions out by aimlessly fucking women. He was older, albeit slightly, but more collected, more...of the version of him that he liked. But this? Giving his number to a student and basically asking her out? That hadn’t been part of the plan at all.

What if you didn’t feel the same way in the slightest? What if you were just actually being nice and wanted to succeed in his class? What if he’d made you uncomfortable? Surely he’d crossed just about every professional boundary he could think of...something not foreign to him by any means, but he just hadn’t planned on it happening anymore. Not like this.

But - you hadn’t spurned his advances, hadn’t turned him away, and you’d accepted his offer of coming back. Maybe he wasn’t reading the room wrong at all...maybe he wasn’t off the mark. But at the end of the day you were the student and he was the professor...it was wrong...but not really. Not if you were both consenting adults after all.

Shaking his head to himself, he slammed his fist against the frosted glass and willed himself to pull himself together. He couldn’t be going around like this, feeling like a teenager with a crush on a pretty girl. No - he had to be Professor Peña...a good man who only made the right decisions.

But then...why was this so hard?

»»————-　♡　————-««

Javier felt lost...almost awkwardly out of place as he browsed the small aisles of the tea shop. He was not a large man any means, but he felt like a bull in a china shop as he looked at the all small colorful boxes, teas, and goods. Squinting and furrowing his brow as he pulled out his glasses, he sighed when he could finally read the small lettering clearly.

“Do you need any help finding anything?” the shrill voice was enough to have him startled and almost drop the tin in his hands. Recovering quickly, he was about to shake his head and tell her no, but he knew he was lost as could be. Instead he slowly set the tin back down and nodded, “what are you looking for?”

“I’m not sure, honestly,” he admitted, having no clue as what to you liked besides this so called matcha. He should have investigated further somehow...but that felt like it would be too obvious, instead he opted to go in blind, just like he had with so many things in the past, “I know I’m looking for some matcha and then if you have any suggestions or recommendations...”

“Shopping for yourself?” she asked and he cringed internally - he wasn’t about to spill everything to this sales woman. Oh yeah, some for myself and then some for student I seem to really like.

“More or less,” that was as much as he was willing to offer, “just giving this tea thing a try.”

“Well, I can assure you, we have some of the finest teas around,” she grabbed his arm and started leading him to a different section of the store. Javi could hardly keep up at the sudden jerk and let himself be dragged like a rag doll, “there are several types of match here, ceremonial and culinary grades. There’s also a ton of different blends, so you can try out whatever kind of flavors you like. Do you like peach?”

“I love peach,” he narrowed his eyes as he read between the lines of her statement. She was either oblivious or brash, but she offered him a flirtatious smile anyway, “I like berries most of all...”

“Well, we’ve got all the finest fruit and herbal teas in all of Texas,” she insisted, “to suit whatever your needs are.

“It’s...ugh, the matcha is for me, the rest is a gift,” he finally admitted hoping that would throw her off the scent. She was attractive, in the most conventional sense, a bottle blonde with a dazzling smile and ruby red lips that most men would adore. In another life, at another time, he might have even pursued her, spent the evening with her to quiet the demons in his mind. But now? Surprisingly...he couldn’t care less, and honestly hoped she would take the hint and leave him, “so I’m looking for...maybe a random assortment? Less common teas?”

“Wife? Girlfriend? Coworker?” Javi fought hard not to roll his eyes at her inquisition, but instead offered up a saccharine smile of his own as he shook his head. She perked up slightly at the revelation, “so...just a gift?”

“Yes, she’s...special,” he didn’t know how else to describe but it bottle blond finally understood what he meant and nodded, “so I just...want to get her something she’ll like. She’s the one that told me about the matcha.”

“Sounds like she has good taste,” her response was a little more curt this time, as she came to the conclusion that Javier was decidedly not interested in her and was unlikely to make a move. Pointedly to the back of the store, she didn’t even bother to feign enthusiasm, “that area has all the more specialty teas and less common finds. You should be able to find something there. Let me know if you have other questions.”

Turning on her heel she left him again, and Javi couldn’t help but smirk lightly to himself at her annoyance. He thumbed through the various boxes, tins, and packages of matcha, wondering what you would pick out. Reading the descriptions was no help, but eventually he settled on something basic to try. He figured that was a good place to start.

But before he left the tea shop, one he’d meandered into Austin to find, after hearing from several people that it was the best, he made his way to the back of the shop and spent probably more time than necessary browsing their selection. He hoped you would like it...that it would be worth it. Something in his gut told him to do it, and he worked to drown out that inner little demon that told him what he was doing was wrong.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Butterflies were fluttering wildly in your stomach as you walked into class on Monday afternoon, unsure of what to expect. Would Javi be the same as always? Almost bored and tired? Or would he have some sort of renewed sense of vigor?

You’d thought about calling him all weekend, pretending that you needed some sort of help, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you’d kept his number pinned to the cork-board in your room. Your eyes had wandered over to it on numerous occasions, but something held you back. You knew it wasn’t wrong...not inherently anyway, but you just couldn’t do it. Maybe you could see how today went and go from there....yes, today would be telling.

But when you arrived at your seat, your eyebrows rose so high they almost disappeared into your hairline. Sitting on the desk you always occupied was a neatly wrapped bundle of tea boxes, topped with a large bow. You could see that it was several different varieties, all unusual, but somehow picked out with care. A face splitting grin appeared on your face as you picked it up and clutched to your chest, the faint smell of the teas hitting your nose.

You turned around and let your eyes wander to the front of the room where you spied Javi setting out his notes for the day on his lecture. Almost as if he could feel your eyes on him, he looked up and offered you the best smile you ever seen. He had dimples...you never would have know before. You already loved them.

You pointed at the bundle in your arms and mouthed a silent you? to which you were sure a flush of color rose up in his golden cheeks. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before giving you a singular nod before turning his efforts back to his notes. You slipped into your seat and put the present into your bag, making sure not to crush any of the boxes. A weird sense of warmth settled within you as you listened to him begin.

You always knew that he kept his gaze trained in your direction when he taught, but something was different today. It was almost as if he was teaching, but only to you, his dark eyes almost never wavering from yours. You wanted to take diligent notes, truly you did, but there was something magnetic about him, and just couldn’t look away. Instead it was almost two hours if you making eyes at your Professor. Shameless, you thought to yourself, but so is he.

Maybe you hadn’t been reading the signs wrong after all.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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yeocult · 4 years

Text

ATEEZ as students studying

HONGJOONG:

king of self-care! but studies for 15 minutes then take a 2 hour break and calls it self-care (omg he thinks he’s me or smth)

has power naps every single day at least 30 mins because he’s Stressed

always thinking of ways to drop out during the middle of lectures

that one kid that talks to nobody & sits at the back of the class with his hood on to hide his airpods

doesn’t do it anymore bc one time it disconnected and “there’s some whores in this house” blasted out loud & now he’s paranoid

shows up to group studies but lets the group carry him,,, but he puts out One Really good idea to get his name on the paper

only cares about topics he’s interested in, other than that he’s just astral projecting

“yo can you send me your answers so i can compare mine?” but he copies it and says “we got the same answers” (all men do is lie</3)

calculates his marks; “ok so i need at least a 80 on this...oh wait no, a 95...damn okay...”

the type to arrives late with ice coffee

SEONGHWA:

wakes up at 5 am to study instead of staying up

scented candles and lofi music for the ~studying mood~

a linguistic learner

learns best by teaching others so he’ll do group studies often to help other people

teaches people without making them feel dumb

uses grammarly for his emails with 3 paragraphs asking 1 question with a proper greeting and a ‘sincerely, park seonghwa’

professor: ok - sent from iphone

you’ll never see him during exams week, he’s Gone

a loyal user of the outline method

his desk must be cleared at all times! a clean workspace makes it easier to focus

brings extra pencil just in case anyone needs them bc he’s the sweetest person ever (he’s fully aware that he’ll never get them back but it’s okay bc sharing is caring)

does his readings on time (you’ll never catch him slacking)

actually has his shit together for the most part 1/2

YUNHO:

writes “i love you” or “sorry” at the end of his tests (that he bombed)

the type to ask you to print “just one thing real quick” and it’s 15 page and at 2 am

uses emojis like :D & \(^o^)/ when sending emails to his professors

has a bad habit of copying word for word on the slide and he doesn’t actually understand/learn anything

goes to the library bc he thinks that’ll help him be in the ~studying vibe~

it doesn’t. ends up texting or watching youtube gameplay

has never heard of the colour-coding system in his entire life and ends up with a page filled with neon highlight

snacks breaks are the only thing keeping him Normal

leaves himself an encouraging note at the end of the reading page so when he’s finished he feels good !!

friends with all of the professors and uses all office hours

strongest points are his guessing skills in multiple-choice questions (process of elimination ftw!)

he tries his best, doesn’t care about marks that much because he knows it doesn’t determine him (and he’s right!)

YEOSANG:

probably runs a studyblr/gram

has the cutest note ever, his handwriting is so pretty!!

he thinks that buying an ipad pro & apple pencil will make him smarter

likes it bc he can doodle on it then erase them easily :”)

has to wear blue ray glasses because of how he looks at a screen so much

mildliners, muji 0.38 gel pen, 6 ring binder, minimal planner, washi tapes, you name it! he visits muji and daiso every other week

buys wayyy too many planners and notebooks which he never ends up using

only uses pastel mildliners because they’re easy on the eyes. cringes every time he sees yunho’s highlighters v_v

his flaw is that he spends 10 mins writing his header with brush tip pens

mutes the group project gc but gets his part done like the good classmate he is

sweats every time he gets an assignment back, takes a whole ten minute to mentally prepare himself

a visual learner; makes mind maps, flow charts, etc

actually has a working printer that he uses pretty often to prints lessons before class just to be Extra prepare

tells everyone he slept well but his bullet journal habit tracker for sleep says otherwise (plz rest!!)

exclusively uses college ruled paper like the sane person he is

SAN:

uses wide-ruled paper (unfortunately not everyone is perfect</3)

starts off very positive, motivated, and organized

then everything goes downhill by the second week

will definitely set byeol on top of his keyboard, take a picture, and send it to his professor as an ‘excuse’ as why he needs an extension (it works)

can’t sit still for any longer than 30 mins, his legs are always bouncing or fidgeting with pen

flashcard king! spends a lot of time on them but it’s worth it

a utensil chewer (always willing to share his pencil but when ppl saw the bite marks they’re like No Thanks >_>)

can’t study well with groups or himself bc he’ll be distracted,,, so he needs one person that can ground him bc when they’re in the zone, he will too be on his x game mode

sends his assignment at 11:58 pm hoping his professor will take the Hint (plz don’t be afraid to ask for help u_u)

prefers listening to ghibli studio soundtracks but then he either gets emotional or sleepy

sometimes forget to mute his mic and we just hear him groaning in frustration

“haha sorry i just stubbed my toe...”

then mutes his mic and goes back to his mental breakdown

MINGI:

the only person that studies every single day just to get his brain used to the information and running

probably listens to anime op or edm music for that Energy Boost

everyone either hates or love him because...

1. loves him bc he always comes clutched with study guides (and willing to share if he likes you enough)

2. he’s good at everything even if he’s not paying attention/doing it last minute

just naturally good at retaining information and applying them

asks Big Brain question that even the professors are shook

sometimes he gets super into the topic and wants to know Everything

“i’ve never failed an exam in my life” and he’s right! big brain mingi

fetal flaw is that he forgets easily (hence why the last minute) and has to write on his palm as a reminder

clicks his pens All the time so he switched to pens with caps just to keep others from jumping him

takes naps 10 mins before classes

actually has his shit together for the post part 2/2

“if no one got me, i know khan academy and quizlet got me. can i get an amen”

WOOYOUNG:

y’all know that one mf that doesn’t have a pencil?

yea he’s been using the same one someone lend to him before a test and never returned it

it’s been two months and it’s still working well and they’re never going to get it back

a minimalist,,,, but in a bad way</3 bc he carries his stolen pencil and paper that he spilled his energy drink over and that’s about it

just throw loose papers in his bag and forgets about their existence

doesn’t do binders or notebooks, just crumbled up paper

sometimes carries a textbook just to show everyone that he’s got his life together

really noisy for No reason, always wants to know other’s marks

a kinesthetic learner

hides his screen with he gets the kahoot questions wrong (you’ll never catch him slippin)

plays coolmathgames.com during class

doesn’t really know what to study/prioritize so he overwhelms himself with every single topic ever

thinks he’s god by pulling an all-nighter to look at the 60+ slides last minute

Swears he’ll change and do better next semester,,,</3

goes to the cafe, takes pictures of his notes & laptop, post it on his story, then leaves

JONGHO:

thrives off of red bull and ice americanos

gets notes and study guides from his upperclassmen because everyone loves jongho

an audio learner so he’ll probably work out or go on a jog while listening to lessons/audiobook

never pulls all-nighters bc it messes up his sleep schedule and says he’ll do it in the morning but he never does

doesn’t even own a highlighter, he’ll circle or underline stuff with a red or black pen

has never touched a textbook in his life

only the study guides and slides, his textbook is collecting dust rn

his notes are literally Only for him because his handwriting only makes sense to him

has questionable handwriting,,, it’s like decoding

multitasks a lot but it ends up taking a lot longer than he wanted to (bc it’s a myth)

very spontaneous; he’ll grind for 5 hours straight but sometimes he won’t even touch a pencil

works best when he talks about the work in groups and share information with each other, like having a convo about the topic

unmutes his mic Once after the lesson to say “bye”

does his work right after the lessons but then takes a short break & doesn’t even Look back for the rest of the night

a/n: tag yourself ! i’m a bit of hohong (i projected myself on all of them in some way lmaooo)

146 notes · View notes

melmac78 · 3 years

Text

Of leather tooling and love

(Tag mini bang 2021)

Here’s my story for @tagminibang. I want to thank @tracybirds for their amazing art and working with me. Also, I thank them being extremely patient with learning about leather tooling and for adapting to the time zone difference to get this put together.

(I added my own art piece - “John’s” astronomy cuff… mark I, and will link directly to tracybirds’s art when I can fully figure this out).

•••••••

John Tracy was mad... so mad he was making an indelible mark that would take forever for someone to wipe away or cover up.

Fortunately it was leather, and he was tooling a design so no one would really want to cover it up, but he still was at points surprised he wasn't punching holes in the design… or the table.

A chirp however made him question the latter.

“John, please do not hit the table so hard. You are making my processors overload,” gently scolded EOS as the man was swinging the rawhide mallet.

While fortunately her interruption didn’t make him miss, allowing him to add to the octopus design, John set the leather tools down and sighed. “I’m sorry EOS,” he said gently.

“I accept your apology, but I do not understand why stamping cowhide will help your anger,” said the AI.

“As I said, it’s leather tooling, and it’s better to use my anger for something creative,” John said quietly.

“Even this … item?”

He looked at the cuff he was working on again and gave a half smile. “Even this wallet,” the astronaut chuckled.

After giving EOS a task to do, reminding her not to adjust the gravity back to zero to avoid any spills from his work, John looked at the project again.

He sighed, understanding his curious “data child’s” curiosity. Leather tooling, while a bit outdated in some people's eyes, was one of the few learned talents and gifts he still had from his Grandfather as well as his Dad.

And - it reminded him of Gordon, in good and bad times.

Gordon… his brother with the wacky sense of dress.

The aquanaut preferred to wear on average two leather bands and then a woven smaller band with the first two oyster pearls he found.

That's why he stopped - at the moment, it felt as though if he took out more anger on the mallet and metal stamping tool, he was hurting Gordon. Triple if he managed to hit it so hard it tore through the damp leather.

Who knew Gordon’s penchant for being the only one to wear leather wrist bands would save his life?

A week and a half prior... he chose to wear two broader bands on one arm and his usual one on his other.

They were nearly the width of a cuff, with designs that took forever to explain to EOS. It was an unusual decision, but one that the brothers were thankful Gordon made.

They had been called out to a rescue - a skyscraper fire in Houston, and all land based brothers had been called as it required high rise rescue.

Gordon had been on level 70 of the building, rescuing an unconscious woman. He had secured the victim in with his harness and started to use the pulley to get them to the top of the building for Thunderbird to lift them to safety.

An explosion had knocked them for a loop, smashing Gordon into the building.

Gordon took the brunt of the hit, slamming into the frame.

In spite of the helmet, he too was knocked out. Worse, the grapple slipped, and glass shards, still stuck in their mounts, sliced down his forearms.

It cut the neoprene... and through part of his thick leather cuffs.

When they recovered both victims, Virgil and John immediately triaged the two. She had a minor concussion and smoke inhalation.

Gordon however not only too had the bump on the head - thanks to the helmet taking the brunt, he also a dislocated shoulder, and a few cracked and broken ribs.

But what was the immediate concern at the time of the rescue was his arms, particularly the wrists. They took the brunt of the damage.

The leather bands however, saved his life. They made what would've been life threatening - if not fatal, slashes on his wrist to mostly superficial cuts.

The bands though were completely destroyed as far as wearability. Virgil would have to apologize for cutting them completely off - but not why - later.

Gordon was taken to a hospital in Houston's esteemed Medical Center, where he went through multiple surgeries, a few pints of blood, and lots of rest.

That was a week ago, as Gordon had a healing rib rebreak, nicking his lung. It was repaired, the bleeder stopped, but Gordon had to be put under sedation for a couple of days to ensure the site healed.

Though they had lifted the sedation the day prior and were waiting for Gordon to come out of it, the family would have to wait couple of days before he could return to Tracy Island.

That lead to where he was today.

John sighed, and looked around Thunderbird Five.

He had been practicing some leather tooling at University of Houston's art department.

That was before a space rescue needed both him and Alan, and afterword, he stayed on Five to keep apprised of a possible hurricane.

Well that and have an excuse to decline another lecture invite from NASA.

John was thankful that U of H understood his need for privacy, and that having a PhD in Aeronautics and Space allowed him some special favors.

The positive it included the use of one of the art studios to leather tool...

The negative? The trade off was as long as he also donated one of his famous astronomy tooled leather cuffs for a fundraiser.

He had already finished the band for the auction two days prior, complete with the antique leather dye, golden paint accents in the star constellations, and steampunk like swing hinge cuff. Not the easiest to make, especially setting the rivets for the cuff.

Worth it to John - small price to pay, but would reap rewards for U of H’s generosity. He’d bring it to them when he visited Gordon again.

The astronaut then looked at the octopus carved and stamped on the wallet. "It was too damn close," he said out loud, but at the same time, he was thankful. This was for Gordon later on.

John then smiled at the thought. It was indeed for his aquanaut brother, one they could’ve lost in that fire.

He was about to stamp the leather again... when a beep startled him.

The astronaut asked EOS to answer it, and the image of Virgil came out of the monitor.

"Gordon's come to," said Virgil.

"Fully?"

The older brother shrugged. "Mostly, but he should be fully alert by the time you get to the hospital," he said, then frowned. "He's asking about the leather bands... especially the one that was 'Mom's belt'."

John furrowed his brow.

Yes, that belt bracelet.

Fortunately the one bracelet Gordon hadn't worn that day.

Unfortunately, the one Gordon duplicated - with varying degrees of success, he did wear nearly daily.

John could imagine Gordon’s initial reaction… he’d feel the same way.

"Virgil, Gordon didn't wear that cuff that day," he said. "He intentionally put a small Thunderbird stamp on his so he didn't confuse the two."

Virgil nodded. "I know, but you know him and anesthetics... gives him the wrong memory if he's not goofy from it," he said, then chuckled. “Last time he was trying to feed Parker poster pancakes on the USS Lexington.”

John scoffed at the memory. "That one still has Parker perplexed," he said, then stood, stretching. "Try to talk him down from his confusion. I'll be there in a few minutes. I need to get something."

Virgil noticed John’s labors on the table and quirked an eyebrow. "What about the wallet you're working on?"

"It'll be fine. The leather can be dampened again to finish it up. I expected it to be a longer project over the bracelets I made at U of H,” he said, putting the stamping tool and mallet down.

The artist noticed John’s attempt to deflect, and his eyes twinkled in mischief. "So… how many projects did the University ‘con’ you out of for the auction this time?" said the artist with a teasing smirk.

He wasn't going to give his younger brother too much grief - he still owed the University at least one hand blown glass vase.

"Just the one - the astronomy cuff."

Virgil gave a soft whistle. "That one? You won't even make that one for me."

"Then bid on the one they're selling," snarked John as he cleaned up the rest of the leather tooling supplies.

Virgil merely laughed - yeah, he was going to bid if anything to help a department who helped his brother cope through this.

John then picked up a box wrapped in sea turtle wrapping paper. "I'll be there shortly,” he said walking to the space elevator.

“FAB.”

********

Gordon Tracy looked out the windows of his hospital room from his hovering hospital bed and signed.

He was thankful he wasn't stuck with a view of the generators. The hospital still hadn't gotten over teasing him - gently - about calling them "Donald Duck" in a post-anesthesia comment the other time he was there for an injury.

Here, it was a view of one of the garden parks the area had.

What he wasn't thankful for was the fact he lost the leather band that was made from his mother's belt.

He looked at the long bandages wrapped on his wrists and lower arms and sighed.

Sure, Virgil kept insisting it was not the band, but he knew his bracelets.

Yes, he had to admit they had to be fully cut off too keep him from bleeding out through his wrists - he knew one cut was still too close.

Still though... he had to concede if it was gone, it was his mother protecting him.

Even Scott had told him point blank it was the only time he was thankful Gordon had forgotten to take the bands off.

Rumor had it Scott was even considering consulting with Brains to create leather arm bracers.

His theory was if it worked for the cowboys in the 1800s and 1900s, why not the technological cowboys of today?

Gordon looked at the sky and smiled. "Thanks Mom for watching over both that woman and me," he said, then looked at the bands.

There were blood stains on them, which were not going to come out.

Sure, they could be dyed dark before being stored, most likely black, and he could have John help him there. That said, it was not going to matter when they had been made unwearable when Virgil cut them off.

There were the button and hole fixtures sure... but the aquanaut understood Virgil was going to slice first, apologize for saving Gordon's life later.

Blood loss didn’t wait for bracelets.

A knock at the door shook him out of his thoughts. "Come in," he said, adjusting the bed to where it floated back to connect with the main vitals scanner.

John entered and smiled at seeing his alert brother, the first time he'd been fully awake since before the accident.

"Hi Gordon, how are you feeling," he said, wincing slightly at the cliche.

His fish loving brother just smiled, but the astronaut didn't miss the sadness in the cinnamon colored eyes. "I'm having a whale of a time... too bad the lake below probably only has ducks," he said, chuckling slightly.

“Must be going ‘quackers’ then,” joked John, only to watch as Gordon fiddled with the remains of the bracelets. John coughed. "Gordon..."

"I know. They had to be cut off in order to save my life," the aquanaut said, sighing. "It's just... this was mom's - look at the paisley here..."

John put his hand over both his younger brother's and smiled. "It isn't the one made with Mom's belt, trust me,” he said, smiling, then pointing to a detail. "See? Here's the thunderbird stamp you used for yours."

Gordon took a closer look, and his eyes widened slightly.

John was right... it was indeed there, just had been cut in half by the cutting tools. Well he hoped so and not the glass, but that was a story left unsaid at the time.

"It's not mom's," the aquanaut whispered instead, tears of happiness flooding his eyes.

The astronaut smiled and gave his brother a gentle hug. "No it isn't. I made sure the one with Mom's was in the fire safe - just in case, on the Island before Alan brought me to the hospital," he said gently.

The two hugged gently for a while, the mix of hospital bluster and soothing sounds from the Muzak in the hallways mingling between the brother's hushed tones.

After a few minutes, Gordon sat up, and noticed the sea turtle box his brother was holding. "Funny looking NASA paper," the aquanaut teased, chuckling softly when John rolled his eyes.

He knew John tried to avoid the facility if possible.

Not because he didn't enjoy it, but because the last time he visited the center, Mission Control crowded him the point he fainted from the social claustrophobia.

Alan found it amusing.

EOS found it amusing to force Alan to eat freeze dried brussel sprouts and liver with onions meals every day his last rotation on Thunderbird Five for his "rude behavior."

Both men chuckled in the memory, and John handed his brother the box. "Nope, this is for you, a get well soon present," said he said.

Gordon carefully opened up the box, which John had purposely wrapped the two parts separately due to the shoulder being strapped, and gasped.

Inside were two bracelets.

One was similar to his mother's belt, but the paisley and flower design that was in his mom's band was adjusted slightly to include southwestern printed sea turtles and a squid stamp John had custom made. Like his mother's, it was dyed a medium brown.

The other... took Gordon's breath away.

The edges were done in a simple border - scalloped with the occasional octopus and sea turtle stamp in between the scallops. It was dyed mahogany.

It was mostly just border stamped... because the concho fastened in the center was the showstopper.

It was a golden sea turtle, swimming in the middle of a pewter center. “How?…”

Seeing Gordon's eyes water, John chuckled. "Yes, I remembered that concho. Had trouble finding it, but fortunately the store on the Sam Houston Tollway found one and put it aside for me," he said as he put a hand on his brother's uninjured shoulder.

Gordon put the box down and wiped away the tears with his good hand. "Got a bit of hand sanitizer in my eyes. Strong stuff," he said, and John scoffed.

"Yeah, sure... you want me to help put it on your … good wrist?" John said, and coughed when Gordon shot the arm out. "Whew... you weren't kidding on the hand sanitizer,” he laughed, waving the fumes away.

"Yeah... apparently it's 'essense of moonshine' I think. It probably kills germs 10 years before they’re born," Gordon smirked.

The bands fit perfectly, and had a simple button and hole fastener so the doctors or even Gordon could take it off with a push if needed.

John watched his brother admire the bracelet, even taking a few photos of the laughs and chuckles his brother made as he showed it off.

Gordon then paused and looked at John. "You made these right?" he inquired, looking at the antiqued looking band.

The astronaut nodded, and Gordon continued, grinning slightly in memory. "How many bands did the University get you to make in exchange for the use of the studio this time?"

"One - and before you ask, the astronomy one,” John said, touching a button on his baldric to ensure EOS didn’t talk about the wallet. She still had a proclivity to ruin surprises - especially if it was one of John’s younger siblings.

Gordon, knowing how much money usually got raised to but one of these bands, looked at the bands and then John. "Worth every cent," he said, smiling warmly as the nurse came in to check Gordon's vitals and bring dinner.

John took this as a note to head out, but before he left, he looked at his brother, who was bragging about the bracelet his older brother made.

And making it very clear how to take it on and off so this one was not cut off.

The astronaut gave a gentle wave to his brother. "I'll be back later," he said, and headed out.

Hearing the chuckles Gordon made again, John's smile broadened. "Yes, it was worth every single minute and cent to hear that laughter," John murmured, but it was priceless to have his brother saved by those other bands.

Now... how he was going to steal the remnants of the old bands to repurpose into a hippie cuff for Gordon was another story

#tag mini bang 2021 #tracybirds #john tracy #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #tag fanfic #tag fanfiction

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baby-grayson · 4 years

Text

Dirty Little Secret| Part 2

Summary: Learning is hard when you have the hots for teacher.

Tags: @wheezeatmedolans @evergreendolan @graysonsdollface @imfeelindol @dolansficsandpics @prettyboydolan @voidmalfoy @blindedbythelightt Words: 3.5 words (Part 1)

Ethan had been looking forward to replacing Professor Barnes. He thought teaching an advanced class for a few months would give him the professional edge he needed to apply for a full-time teaching position next semester. Inwardly, he questioned if he was ready to instruct a class: self doubt clouding his brain. He wrote his name in big letters on the board, as if their size projected his excitement to be there.

When he turned around, all the busy thoughts left his head. “Oh God,” it came out as a mumble, as the ghost of words. He smacked his lips together after it escaped, eyes darting away from Felicity. He actively searched the faces of other students, trying to assess if any of them could evaluate his inner tension.

When he decided that everyone else in the room was acting normally, he cleared his throat and started, “Good Morning Everyone!” he flashed a bright smile across the room. From her seat against the wall, Felicity swallowed hard and looked down; her eyes burned invisible circles into her desk. “I expect you’ve all seen the email by now, but if you haven’t then I’m sorry if you were expecting Professor Barnes,” he stepped forward and leaned on the corner of his desk. His long legs stretched out in front of him, pointing down to his black and white checkered shoes. “My name is Ethan, I’ll be teach the class while she is home with her newborn.” He crossed his arms from where he leaned, his muscles pulled at the fabric of his long sleeved shirt.

Felicity’s eyes wanted to tremor their way out of her sockets. She zoned out as Ethan continued his introduction to the class, suddenly very aware of every person sitting in the room. She nearly jumped with the guy in front of her turned around to pass her a copy of the syllabus. She mumbled a word of thanks and went to pass the rest of the pile to the person sitting behind her. Beside her, Jasmine eyed her: Felicity was never charismatic, but this was odd even for her. “You feeling okay?” Jasmine whispered while Ethan started writing the reading list on the board.

Felicity brought her eyes up for the first time since the start of class. She noted Ethan’s back: his broad shoulders and lean figure. She swallowed from a dry mouth. When her eyes found his hips, her mind brought her back to the night before. She was hit with flashes of Ethan’s lips buried within her skin, her hands dangling out of his pockets as she made sweet sounds for him, and the feeling of virility blossoming out of her womanhood and washing over her body.

“Yeah-y-yeah,” she gave a curt nod and slouched back in her chair. Her eyes found the floor. She opened her laptop, not paying attention to the notes Ethan was giving on the board. She opened her school’s website, trying to find another class to switch into it. She bit her lip, seeing a few options but noting that they had a waiting list.

It was then that Jasmine scooted over in her chair to surreptitiously eye Felicity’s screen. “What are you doing?” her whisper was harsh. On instinct, Felicity minimized her browser window and shot up in her seat. With her posture erect, she found the side of Ethan’s face. Her stomach rocked. She raced to look at Jasmine, who was waiting with expectant eyes and a veil of attitude in her face.

“Nothing--just--” she licked her lips, “looking for uh-something-something more....intellectual?”

Jasmine raised an eyebrow, “Intellectual?” her voice was flat, “You want something more intellectual out of your 8AM Monday class?”

Felicity gave a quick nod with a fake enthusiastic smile, bearing her teeth.

Jasmine rolled her eyes and turned back to face the board with a sigh, passively accepting the exchange, “Fine..but don’t you need this to graduate?”

Felicity’s mouth gaped for a moment as Jasmine returned to taking notes on the board. She took in a breath, trying to dim the fires in her nerves. She looked at the corner of her desk and found the coffee she bought before class. She reached it to her lips to take a sip, deciding to power through her nerves and work in Ethan’s presence.

She touched the hot coffee to her lips to listen what he was saying.

“Sex-”

She coughed loudly, nearly spewing the liquid on her desk.

Ethan continued amid her outburst, “Sex is an integral part of understanding Shakespeare,” he eyed Felicity’s side of the room, “and I expect you’re all mature enough to talk about it.”

Felicity immediately pulled her laptop forward. Her fingers hit keys that were scattered with coffee drips. She poured over the academic advising pages, disappointed to find that she did indeed need the class to graduate.

Ethan nearly lost his train of thought when she choked on her coffee. It was hard enough not looking at her, not having the internet dread of the situation take over his entire body. It bothered Ethan that she wasn’t paying attention to him: he felt inadequate and punished. He tried to push his thoughts away but they kept coming. On the first day of what he thought was going to be his largest professional highlight yet, he ends up teaching to the girl that he ran his hands all over the night before and to top it all off— she can’t give him the basic respect of looking at him.

A part of Ethan almost felt grateful. If she pointed her brown eyes at him, he might just lose all sense of the professionalism that he was fighting to hold together.

Ethan bit the skin on the inside of his cheek. He hated to admit that although this felt so wrong, a clandestine part of his soul roared at just how naughty this whole situation was. But that part of him was silenced by the internal screams of how inappropriate the whole thing was.

The hour couldn’t come fast enough. Ethan finished class at the 52 minute mark: claiming it was a gift for the first day when it was really an excuse for him to pack up his things and sit down to process what was happening inside of him.

Finishing early seemed like a good idea, until she was the only one left in the classroom. Her eyes still stuck her computer screen, acting as if nothing was wrong. Felicity could have stood up and left the room with her classmates, but even standing in front of Ethan colored her as an anxious picture.

Ethan cleaned the whiteboard, listening for the sound of her foot steps that never came. He took great care to wipe the rag over every last spot of ink: even going so far as to spray the entire board down at the end. He turned and let out an indiscernible groan when he saw her still sitting there, looking at her computer—not even typing. He pushed papers around the podium, collecting them in a messy order and sticking them in his bag. She remained seated.

Ethan huffed, seeing that the situation required an intervention he was too emotionally flummoxed to conduct properly.

He took a step in her direction.

She closed the laptop. Her eyes met the edge of her desk as she chewed at her lip.

He took another step in her direction.

She slid the laptop into her backpack. She reached from her coffee, trying to take a sip but feeling dismayed when it was empty. Her eyes surveyed the window sill.

He took a last step in her direction, standing in front of her desk.

“Did you have a question?” His voice was low. She hadn’t fully remembered his voice from last night but the sound of it triggered her thighs to smash together under the table. She looked up at him, her pupils trembling inside of her eyes.

“No,” her voice was timid. She felt small with him standing over her like that, looking down at him like that.

Ethan gave a small nod in return, making a fierce point to look her in the eye. He decided that showing anything other than professionalism in this scene would only confirm his premonitions that their relationship was anything other than professional: she was, after all, his student.

Felicity swallowed hard again, feeling lumps form in the back of her throat. With shaky hands, she slipped her computer over the edge of the desk and into her backpack. Ethan took a small step backward as she stood up, meeting her gaze at every point. She shuffled nervously next to him and took in a large breath, rolling her shoulders back before breathing out, “Goodbye.”

Ethan turned to watch her leave: the professional in him couldn’t help but notice curves as his voice boomed out, “See you tomorrow.” His confidence only amplified the growing nervousness between her legs.

Usually after class, Felicity would find an open table or a bench in the campus commons to scroll through her email and sip coffee with her friends. But that day, she walked down the stairs and out of the building and kept walking. She tried to focus on the rhythmic beat of her feet hitting the pavement, but when her mind tried to find a center: her center only wanted Ethan’s eyes.

How could anyone expect her to pay attention in her next lecture? How could anyone expect her to do anything less than doodle in the margins and stare out the window? Wondering if what she felt was so right, because Ethan was certainly handsome enough to leave an impression, or so wrong, because, well, he was her teacher? Ethan’s impression lingered in her mind that night. His voice seemingly singing through the hiss of her shower head. His eyes still fixated on her as she crawled into bed. With thoughts like that, it’s no wonder the type of dreams she had.

Normally a chaste girl, Felicity would tell you that her dreams usually consisted of the replay of childhood memories and the nostalgia of familiarity. But the sensations she felt that night were anything but familiar.

She writhed and squirmed in her sheets. Her mind flooding with the image of Ethan’s eyes, the dark eyes that stared her down in the classroom, looking up at her from the edge of her sex. She was visited by unholy flashes of what Ethan could do to her, what he could make her feel, what he wanted from her.

She woke up in a rush from her alarm clock. She had knocked both of her pillow, a throw blanket, and her comforter off of her bed in the process of the night. She looked at the mess surrounding her bed and swallowed, noting a soreness in her throat. She brought a hesitant hand up to her mouth and gently bit at her thumb: not remembering her exact dreams but knowing very well she shouldn’t have been thinking about her teacher that way.

She thrusted herself back down on her mattress, hearing the springs bounce beneath her. She closed her eyes, silently wishing for another chance at sleep. In her restlessness, she dozed off for a few minutes before snapping her head and waking up. She dragged herself to the edge of the bed, “This is going to be a long day.”

Despite her mumblings to herself, the morning moved quickly. She lost precious moments of sleep in her short doze, which made her late to take a shower. Getting out of the shower late, she ended up in the back of the coffee line when she arrived at campus. She quickly snagged her cup from the group of orders and made a beeline to class: even Ethan’s eyes couldn’t hinder her perfect record of punctuality.

Ethan was at his desk, shuffling through his overly prepared lecture notes, over-zealous for his first real day in front of a classroom. He let his eyes wander to the corner of the classroom more than a few times as the hour approached: silently wondering if his transgression a few days beforehand had scared off his...special student.

Felicity bolted through the door, having only seconds to get situated: leaving Ethan to bargain on whether his felt relief, that she showed up, or apathetic to teaching in her presence. He took a large breath in and counted while he exhaled before grabbing a battered copy of Romeo and Juliet off of the podium. He held it up for the class to see, “I expect you’ve all read it. Or know enough about it. You have to accept my apologies because this is the one time I’ll be discussing something you haven’t read first, but we had to start somewhere on the first day.”

Ethan went to start writing on the board, his right hand being coated in a thin film of marker residue. He spoke with his back to the class, “Now, I wanted to start here because I wanted to pick something familiar to you, where I would model the kind of analysis you will be expected to do throughout the semester.” He capped his marker and went over to the right half of the board, “Now, like all other of Shakespeare’s great works, there are very many themes present: but on the surface level and those with quite a bit of depth and nuance to them. This is not an exhaustive list, but it should help get you started when you write your first paper,” he wrote each work in thick black ink as he said them, “Appearance. Reality. Sex. Death. Law and Order. Free Will. Jealousy. Justice. Blindness. Forgiveness. And Revenge.” He stood back from the board and capped the marker with a distinct “snap” sound. Felicity, along with her peers, furiously copied down the list from the board. Unlike her peers, Felicity thanked a higher being for having something to focus on other than Ethan’s face: which was pulling her attention like a magnet.

When enough pens had left student hands and laid on desks, Ethan started again. “Now I will use one of these themes to point out all of the cues in here,” he held up the battered copy of Romeo and Juliet once more. “I won’t be writing an essay like you will be in the next few weeks, but I’ll show you what kind of textual evidence I’m looking for and what level of analysis is appropriate.” Ethan stood up straighter as he spoke, feeling like the authority in the room. As a little boy, he had practiced this moment hundreds of times in front of rows of excited teddy bears, action figures, and dolls.

“Anyone have a favorite they would like to discuss?” He gestured at his previous list with a marker in his hand. When no one spoke up, he felt a bit of wind leave his sails: maybe teaching wasn’t all public speaking and knowing the material. “Are there any that look particularly intimidating? Something that looks rather...not easy to try?” His eyes scanned the room, jumping from blank face to blank face. Inevitably, he landed on Felicity, “Or rather one what you want to try?”

She swallowed with a dry mouth and shot her head down immediately.

Ethan picked up his gaze and kept surveying the room when a member of the football team called out, “SEX” and his friend in the desk beside him co-authored the suggestion with a wolf whistle.

When Felicity picked her head up, she could have sworn she noticed the faintest blush of pink hit Ethan’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and uncapped his marker, “Alright then, that certainly works. Maybe you could give us our first example Mr. Harries?”

Craig Harries a stocky, beefy blonde young man with the whitest of blonde hairs was unabashed to announce, “Yeah how about that they both wanted to get married just do it?”

Felicity sighed, making a sound that was audible to only her and Jasmine beside her. Even in a senior level literature class, there was no escaping the crassness of the athletic male condition.

Ethan nodded, trying his best not to lose his cool. He remembered strict instruction from a teaching seminar that the class is only thrown off beat when he is thrown off beat, “Good instincts Mr. Harries.”

Ethan ran his thumb along the upper edge of the book, that was decorated in ear marks and different colored post it notes. He found a yellow one, marked with red pen and read out to the class:

“ Come, gentle night, come, loving black-browed night, Give me my Romeo, and when I shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars”

He lowered the book from in front of his face and finished with “Act Three, Scene Two.”

Most of her classmates quickly jotted down the line and citation, while Felicity sat back in her chair, impressed with the masculine, low call of Ethan’s voice: nearly hypnotic.

“Mr. Harries,” he shot a smile in the direction of the bulky athletic figure in the back of the room, “Would you mind sharing with me something insightful about that?”

Craig stretched back, teetering his chair on the edge of the rails. He smacked a large piece of gum between his teeth. His eyes were flat and his tone didn’t miss a beat, “They say come a lot.”

A fit of giggled erupted from half of the class, while the other half squirmed, blushed, and turned away accordingly. Ethan faced the board, not wanting to show the depth of his eye roll to the class. He uncapped his marker and spoke with his back toward them, “Yes, you’re not wrong.” He found something to scribble on the board to make sense of Craig’s comment. “The use of..that word..is a direct call to the sexual tension of their relationship. Good catch.”

He turned around, not ready to trust another student with an example on the topic he quickly started with, “The word ‘die’ is actually Elizabethan slang for the sexual release, the first reference to that, with the second being the ‘cut out stars’.” He scribbled in more loopy black writing on the board, “First important lesson on Shakespeare, everything has a second meaning.”

“Like the stars,” Felicity wondered how her voice came out of her body. She locked her jaw and tightly wound her ankles together under her desk.

Ethan turned at the sound of her voice, not stopping himself from raising an eyebrow, “That’s right. I thought I just included that,” he turned back to face the board, “didn’t I Felicity?”

Every cell in her body went up in flames at the sound of her name happening in his voice. Her mind felt like it was swimming, in some foreign world of sexual innuendos and teachers with striking jawlines and deep brown eyes. “You did,” she nearly stuttered, “But the way he writes it.” She took in a shaky breath, next to her Jasmine knitted her brow together, “The stars-- it’s childish.”

Ethan sat on the edge of his desk, stretching out his legs in front of him and crossing his arms, “You’re suggesting a connection between her childlike innocence and her sexual desire?” Felicity bowed her head in something that was meant to be a nod, “Isn’t there?” She rubber her lips together in a way that made Ethan look at the book in his hands. She continued, “It reminds us that she’s young, very young--even by Shakespeare’s standards. Her desires, well they’re not really desires are they? She’s more...she’s hopeful for the thought of something without ever having experienced the...real thing?”

Ethan’s dark eyes looked up from the cover of his book, his voice was dripping in a haughty confidence, “You’re telling the class the formation for her want of Romeo, the reason she is pursuing him, is more about her own, barely formed ideas, and less about the man himself?”

Felicity nodded, looking more like an actual nod this time, “Exactly.” She sat up slightly straighter, “What she wants, is what she thinks he’ll bring her, not him..himself..as a person. I mean, she knew him for barely three days.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, throwing his hands back to rest on his desk, “Are you telling me you think Juliet never really loved Romeo?”

Felicity shook her head, “I think...she thinks she did. With the rest of the world telling her it was forbidden, it probably only drove her rebellion further, to love him and to have him give her all of the ...womanly things she never had before.”

A moment lingered between their eyes, dripping in the start of something. Jasmine looked from Felicity, to Ethan, and back to Felicity.

Before the moment went on too long, Ethan snapped his marker off of the desk and swung it in the air, “Exactly right! That’s the kind of deep thinking I want you all to be doing in this class. Except,” he gave a mischievous glance to Felicity, a gleam in his eye and a bright smile, “with more textual evidence of course.”

Felicity’s lips folded into a tight, smug smile before biting the edge of her lip and sitting back in her seat. For the first time since the prior morning, she felt an inner tension start to release. She could have sworn she saw something glimmer in Ethan’s eyes for the rest of class. She would be lying if she denied turning faint shades of pink every time he got excited and starting enthusiastically grinning while he taught.

#ethan dolan #fanfic #ethan #grayson #grayson dolan #dolan twins #youtuber #influencer #student teacher romance #smut #fluff #angst #story #blurb #concept

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rmnamjoons · 5 years

Text

Love Language [KNJ]

summary: Exactly one year before one meets their soulmate, their love’s first words spoken to them appear as a tattoo on their wrist. When Namjoon’s tattoo appears, however, it’s not of words, but of the most beautiful set of eyes he’s ever seen.

pairing: Namjoon x reader

genre: smut, fluff, soulmate au

word count: 14k

tags: soft dom namjoon, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, just a little bit rough, overstimulation, first time, spanking (only a little), loving possessiveness (i.e. lots of “you’re mine” during sex), like 10k of this is just smut

[read on ao3]

Namjoon was sitting in class when it happened. He suddenly hissed in pain, grabbing his wrist, catching the attention of a few people around him. They all realized what was happening and watched with wide eyes, the professor continuing the lecture without noticing.

Namjoon’s heart was racing. He breathed hard, afraid to take his hand off his wrist. Before checking, he looked up at the clock on the wall — it was almost 10:30 in the morning. He needed to remember to write that down, along with the date. He wanted to know exactly when he was going to find his love.

Namjoon slowly took his hand off his wrist, holding his breath.

He tilted his head in confusion.

It was supposed to be words. That’s what everybody always said. Your soulmate’s first words to you appear on your wrist. That’s all he’d ever heard of. That’s what’s in all the movies and songs about it.

Namjoon’s wrist had a tattoo of eyes. A beautiful, black and white set of eyes, sideways on his wrist, eyelashes long, the expression soft and curious. They looked about life size, one over his pulse on his wrist and the other further down his arm. Namjoon couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

After class, Namjoon decided to skip the rest of the day, figuring it was a special occasion. He went back to his dorm and spent hours researching on his computer for other cases like his. He found ones where their soulmate’s words were in a different language, which had been his first guess — just that they didn’t speak the same language. But that proved to be a bust.

Not everybody in the world had a soulmate. It only happened to maybe twenty percent of the population, but Namjoon had always suspected he was one of them. He usually kept that to himself and chalked it up to him just thinking he was special, as everybody did, but now he had the proof, he had the timing, all he had to do was wait.

Namjoon made an appointment with a specialist. There were people who studied the concept of soulmates, the science behind it, what caused the marks to appear and how free will was connected to it. He figured somebody out there had to know why his wasn’t words.

And yet, even after seeing two specialists, then three — none of them had ever heard of a case where it was eyes instead of words.

It was now only one month away. Namjoon had graduated and was almost halfway through his two year masters program, majoring in philosophy, his goal to get a doctorate and end up a professor. He thought about you constantly, wondering how you’d fit into his life. He bought you things sometimes, though he didn’t know anything about you yet. He’d gotten you a necklace he saw one day, books, trinkets, jewelry, and more, and he wrote you poems. He’d always loved writing, and he loved you so much already, he wanted to write you a whole collection of books full of poems, all for you. He swore he could write a thousand poems dedicated just to the eyes tattooed on his wrist.

Sometimes he would stare at the tattoo and try to imagine what the rest of your perfect face looked like. At first he was scared by his tattoo not being of words, thinking something was wrong, but now he was thankful. It meant he already knew a little of what you looked like. Nothing else mattered — he’d find out why he just had your eyes later. All that mattered was you.

The week before the meeting, Namjoon was so nervous he couldn’t sleep. He hung out with his friends a lot, who all teased him, saying that they were about to not see him for a while because he’d take his soulmate into his bedroom and never come back out. Namjoon rolled his eyes, but he knew they were right. He was so overwhelmingly in love with you, and he hadn’t even met you yet. Sometimes he imagined the first meeting and saw himself hugging you so tight and never letting go, carrying you off into the sunset bridal style.

The day before the meeting, Namjoon couldn’t even get himself to eat anything. He skipped his classes tomorrow and planned to do the same the next, and was thankful that it was almost Friday and he’d have his whole weekend dedicated to you.

He laid in his bed that night, his heart and mind both racing. He was so excited, every ten minutes or so he’d just flap his hands or thrash around and grin, his veins overflowing with the pure excitement and joy and nerves of knowing tomorrow was finally the day. He should be sleeping, knowing he should be his best when meeting you, but he didn’t care. He thought about how this time tomorrow, he’d be able to hold you, hear your perfect voice, touch your perfect skin, see those perfect eyes in person, in color. He was planning on kissing every inch of your body, letting you know right away that he was going to dedicate his life to loving and pleasing you.

His alarm went off at eight. He hadn’t slept, but he felt refreshed, excited, ready for you.

Namjoon took a shower, looking down at his wrist every few seconds. He was extra thorough getting ready today, wanting to be perfect for you. He tried to do his hair nicer than usual, but it didn’t look right no matter what he did, so he went back into the shower and rinsed off all the product he’d put in and started over.

He tried to dress nice for you, but didn’t want to overdo it. He ended up choosing his favorite red flannel shirt, rolling the sleeves up for the warm May weather, and his dark unripped jeans he wore most days. Keep it simple, he told himself.

By the time he was finished, it was almost nine thirty. He had an hour to go somewhere, anywhere, and he had no idea where.

Namjoon left his apartment, slowly walking down the street with nowhere in mind. He walked toward campus, wondering if you were a student too. On his way into town, he passed the flower shop he always walked past on his way to class. He took about ten steps past it, not paying it much mind, before he suddenly turned around, entered the little shop, bought a dozen roses, and then continued on his way. Always best to be prepared.

When ten o’clock came around, he was hit with an overwhelming urge to go to the campus library. He’d spent a lot of time there in his undergrad years, but hadn’t been there much since getting his own apartment and getting out of the dorms. He became worried for a moment, wondering if his soulmate was an undergrad — he didn’t want to be with someone significantly younger than him, like an eighteen year old. He tried to hold on to the fact that it was almost finals, so more people than the usual stressed freshmen were here, studying and cramming.

Namjoon stood in the lobby for a moment, turning around slowly, looking at the different doors leading outside, the large window in front of him, the first floor of the library behind him.

He stopped spinning, facing the expanding first floor. There were mostly just computer stations here, and Namjoon felt himself drawn to the grand staircase at the back of the room. He needed to go up. He had no idea what section, but he felt himself being pulled.

His hand on the stems of the flowers was squeezing too hard, his knuckles white, and he had to focus on relaxing his grip. He could barely hear anything besides his own heartbeat. He made it to the third floor before walking out of the stairway, out into a much less crowded part of the library. Namjoon glanced at a clock on the wall, his heart stopping when he saw it was 10:20.

He knew it had been almost but not quite 10:30 when his tattoo had appeared — he didn’t get the exact time, that day one year ago. But he knew it was so close; his hands were shaking, his breathing rugged. God, you’d probably think he was pathetic.

Namjoon walked slowly down one of the aisles of books, trying to distract himself and calm himself down. He was on the fiction floor, the aisle he was walking down full of older books not special enough for the rare books room. That was probably why nobody was here — English majors were pretty much the only ones who read fiction books, and his friend, an English major, said that their finals were just writing papers, so not much time spent in the library with books.

Namjoon stopped at a section dedicated to Jane Austin, the Brontë sisters, and other similar books. He’d read Pride and Prejudice a few years ago for a class, but none of the others. He wondered if his soulmate liked books like these. If you did, he’d read every single one of them, starting with your favorites.

Namjoon decided to leave that section, turning around the corner of the aisle and immediately running straight into a person.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, jumping back. “God, I’m so sorry—” Namjoon had been holding his flowers up, so they’d become crushed between him and this person, a few petals falling to the floor.

The person turned around, and Namjoon swore his heart stopped. He’d know those eyes anywhere. Namjoon’s breath caught in his throat, his expression softening, his lips parting as he looked at you in awe.

Your beautiful eyes he’d spent so long staring at were behind big, almost-round glasses, the rims thin and gold. You wore a little red sweater with a white collar sticking out. You were staring at him with wide eyes, the same look of recognition and love on your face that he knew he had to have too. You were perfect.

“God,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides, forgetting about the abused flowers he held. “You’re her… I found you.” Namjoon knew he must look dazed, looking at your eyes, your lips, your perfect face.

“My name is Namjoon,” he said, and as he waited for your response, he sighed dreamily, a dumb smile on his face, never wanting to take his eyes off of you ever again. He had no idea now why he’d been so nervous. He knew he’d love you immediately, that he’d loved you already, even before meeting you. Now you were here and everything was all right.

Your expression turned shy, then embarrassed. You bit your lip and looked down, wanting to hide your face. Namjoon felt a surge of emotion; protectiveness, love, adoration.

He watched as you pulled out a folded piece of paper from your little purse. You held it out to him, your eyes full of emotion, almost as if you were scared. Namjoon raised an eyebrow, taking the paper from you, ready to do whatever you asked but not wanting to stop looking at you.

Namjoon unfolded the letter in his hands, awkwardly trying to hold it and the flowers.

“Oh, here,” he said quickly, holding the flowers out to you. “I got these for you.” You took them, smiling shyly, your eyelashes fluttering and Namjoon’s chest feeling tight with emotion just at your cuteness.

Namjoon opened your letter, seeing your beautiful, careful handwriting.

To my soulmate,

I know that we’ll be meeting soon, and I’m so excited to meet you, my heart can barely stand it. I know you’ll be perfect. I feel joy when I think of you, but I also feel fear.

I want to give you this letter as soon as possible, but you’ll probably have already noticed me not speaking. My love, my soulmate, I wish for nothing more than to be perfect for you. Not to get too into disability activism now, but there is nothing inherently wrong or broken about the way that I am. Despite this, I’m still scared of your reaction to finding out your soulmate is mute. I can hear, but you will never be able to hear my voice. I can explain this more to you later.

I want to be able to give you everything, and I know that speaking and conversations are a huge part of a relationship, obviously. We can find other ways to communicate! I can teach you sign language, we can write, we can text, and more. I know that I have done nothing wrong, but I still want to apologize to you.

You’ll probably have questions about me, so I’ll answer some of them now so that it’ll be easier. My name is Y/N. I’m a grad student, I work in the library, and I want to work in the library forever. I am mute due to a condition that affects the way my brain communicates with my vocal cords. I can make some noises occasionally (not on purpose), and I can hear perfectly fine. I like plants and flowers and nature and being outside. I like art, cooking, and reading and writing. I wonder sometimes if you’re a bad boy (in a good way!) because your first words to me are “oh fuck.” Are you a bad boy, cursing at your soulmate?

I can’t wait to meet you. I think about you so much, wondering what you look like, how you’ll react to me, what we’ll be like together. I think I love you already. Is that weird?

Love, your soulmate

PS: You owe me, for making me have to walk around for a year with “fuck” on my wrist, you naughty boy. I work in a school setting!

Namjoon was a fast reader, so he went back through and read it again as soon as he finished it. His eyes welled up when he read your apologies and fears. How could you ever think he’d do anything but love you? He needed to dedicate every moment to showing his love to you from now on. And to learning sign language as fast as possible.

“Princess,” he said, looking up at you. He stepped forward slowly, motioning for a hug but stopping for a moment to gauge your reaction. When you looked up at him, not backing away or showing any sign of not wanting it, Namjoon took the final step forward and hugged you, bringing a hand up to stroke your hair.

“Never ever apologize to me,” he said softly, holding you so close. “Never, especially not for that. You’re so perfect, Y/N,” he said, tasting your name on his tongue for the first time, knowing that name would be said by him so many times in the future in just as many ways.

He felt you shudder a little at that and wondered if you’d started crying, knowing that seeing you upset would definitely make him cry too. But you looked up at him, your big eyes wide and hopeful.

“God, you’re perfect,” he said, bringing a hand up to your cheek. He didn’t realize what he was doing until he was doing it, but he moved in and kissed your forehead, then over your hairline, then your temple, anywhere he could reach, covering you in soft little kisses, holding you close. You giggled soundlessly, closing your eyes, and Namjoon touched the tip of his nose to yours playfully.

At that, you got shy and buried your face in his chest, giggling more as you covered your face with the hand not holding the flowers. Namjoon kept his arms around you loosely, his heart singing as he felt his soulmate against his chest. You were maybe six inches shorter than him, the perfect height, he thought, for easy-access kisses but also for you being able to hide in his chest like this.

Namjoon kissed the top of your head, stroking your hair again. He’d felt so protective of you before meeting you, but now, he felt like he’d kill or die for you already. He’d go through anything for you, dedicate his life to keeping you safe, physically and emotionally. He knew that it was old-fashioned and not necessarily in a good way, but you were his, and he now considered himself your protector. He’d read about soulmates being overwhelmed with feelings like this when meeting, but he’d never thought he’d feel like such a caveman, possessive and ready to fight anything or anyone who’d threaten you. You hiding against his chest made him feel like he mattered, like the entire purpose of his existence was to protect and worship you. The person he was before today didn’t matter; he was your soulmate, first and foremost.

You looked up at him, blinking a few times as you searched his eyes. You parted your lips slightly, and Namjoon had never seen anything so breathtaking in his life.

Mine, he thought, looking from your eyes to your lips and back up.

Namjoon brought one of his hands down and held your free hand.

“Sweetheart, squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no, okay?” he said softly, leaning in again to touch the tip of his nose to yours again.

You squeezed his hand once, nodding.

“Can I kiss you, baby?” he asked, watching carefully for your exact initial reaction.

You smiled, looking down shyly as you nodded and squeezed his hand once. You looked back up at him through your eyelashes, and Namjoon thought he might die. How could something so perfect be his?

Namjoon slowly closed the distance between your mouths, pressing his lips to yours so gently, he almost couldn’t feel you at all. He heard your soft gasp, and could almost hear your voice in it. That noise made him see stars, and he pressed his lips to you more firmly, parting your lips with his own, taking you.

He felt you drop the flowers and grab onto him, and he smiled into the kiss. How could you be this adorable and precious? Namjoon felt and heard your little noises, your sighs, your almost-whimpers, and he moved his lips, parting yours even further, asking permission as he slowly ran his tongue along your lower lip.

You opened your mouth for him, and he felt you squeeze your fists where you held onto his collar, pulling just slightly. Namjoon slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you touched yours to it. He swore he could pick you up right now and carry you off to a church and marry you, or off to a bedroom to worship and ravage you for days. You’re so sweet, your mouth so soft, your little noises too good.

Namjoon moved one of his hands up to the back of your head, holding you in place as he tilted his head, his tongue diving deeper, swirling around your mouth. He took a step forward, and then another, and then your back was against a bookcase and Namjoon’s body was pressing into you.

“Fuck, baby,” he said against your mouth, and you sighed, looking dazed.

Namjoon was already harder than he’d ever been in his life, but he didn’t want your first time together to be like this. He wanted to make it so special for you and to take his time, worshipping every inch of you. He moved his hands along your back and then up to your arms, feeling your skin, pressing his body against yours more.

“Do you wanna go home?” he asked, trying to make his voice gentle, but it’s deep and gravely and rough. He watched as your eyes widened at that, your lips parting again, and you nodded eagerly.

“Your house or mine?” he asked, taking both of your little hands with his, swinging them gently.

You pulled your hands away for a moment, and Namjoon already missed you, but he watched as you reached into your bag and pulled out a small notepad and pen. You flipped it open and showed him the first page, where you’d already written something.

I brought this in case you don’t know sign language, since you most likely don’t.

Namjoon knew he had no way of knowing before today, but he wished that he’d magically known so that he could’ve had the whole year to learn sign language and practice.

You flipped to the second page and wrote something down, and then showed it to him.

We can go to whoever’s house is closer. I live near the Bowman dorms.

“Your place is closer, then, I think,” Namjoon said. “I live up past 5th Street.”

You nodded. You bent down quickly, picking up the dropped flowers, and then smiled at him, holding out your free hand to him. He took it immediately, not taking his eyes off yours, feeling his love and adoration for you radiating off of him and hoping you felt it too.

Before leaving the library, you stopped at the front desk and signed something to one of the other library employees.

“Oh, you found him?” the girl said excitedly, standing up and looking at Namjoon.

You nodded, turning to Namjoon and burying your face in his chest, hiding yourself in shyness. Namjoon beamed, immediately wrapping his arm around you. He loved being shown off like this, he loved you being excited and proud of having him as your soulmate and lover, and he still adored how you turned to him and hid in his chest when you felt shy. He could get so used to this, to loving you.

The other library employee yelled for another coworker, who ran out of the back room. The two of them gushed over Namjoon, and you signed some things to them, looking up at Namjoon and smiling, your eyes sparkling. Namjoon wished so badly to know what you were signing, but promised himself that he would learn as fast as he could.

You finished communicating with them, and led Namjoon outside and down the street. He kept watching you turn and smile at him, your eyes so bright. How could anything be so perfect? Namjoon wondered again, feeling your small hand playing with his fingers.

Your apartment was close to the library. You let yourself and Namjoon inside, stepping in and taking off your shoes and motioning for him to do the same as you set the flowers down on a table by the door. As soon as his shoes were off, you stepped forward, grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him again.

Namjoon laughed against your lips, complying with your wants, willing to do anything for you already. He wrapped his arms around you and took the lead in the kiss, slowing you down and setting a teasing pace. You pulled his hair, whimpering, and Namjoon wondered what other noises you were capable of.

He slipped his tongue into your mouth again, this time going for depth, and you opened for him and melted in his arms. Namjoon tilted his head, trying to go even deeper, and brought one hand up to hold the back of your head and knot in your hair. You seemed to really like that, pulling on his hair again and sucking on his tongue, and Namjoon growled into your mouth in response.

Reaching down to your legs, he picked you up and you jumped, wrapping your legs around him instinctively. He put both hands on your ass, feeling you and securing you, and letting you take over the kiss. You stopped for a moment, gasping for air, before turning and covering his cheek and jaw in light kisses over and over.

“Baby…” Namjoon moaned, his eyes closing, focusing on breathing and staying in control of himself.

He heard your soft giggle, and he opened his eyes and tried to look at you, but you hid your face in against his neck.

“I’m gonna get you to stop being so shy around me,” he said gently, teasingly, smiling at your little expression when you pulled back to look at him. “I do love it, though. You’re so cute.”

You crinkled your nose at him, and he did the same back to you, teasing you.

Just to surprise you, he let go of your ass for just a moment with one hand, bringing it back with a soft smack and then squeezing. You gasped, your hold on him tightening, and he watched as your eyes lit up and you looked up at him with wide, almost scandalized eyes.

Namjoon smiled, biting his lip as he looked from your surprised eyes to your parted lips.

“Baby, I want to have a talk before we go any further,” he said, walking carefully over to your couch and sitting down, still holding you and keeping your legs wrapped around him.

You looked at him carefully, tilting your head, questioning.

“You still have your notepad in your purse?” he asked, motioning where the little crossbody thing still hung across you. You pulled it out, along with the pen attached to the spiral, and looked at him, waiting.

“I want you to tell me what you like, baby,” Namjoon said, bringing a hand up to brush your hair back from your face. “I want to know what things you like, and what you don’t like, so I don’t cross any lines. I want to make communication as easy as possible for you. Okay, princess?”

You looked at him carefully, a small smile coming over your face as you processed what he was saying. Namjoon knew that once you two started, he was going to have to pay extra close attention to your facial expressions and reactions, because it would be that much harder for you to tell him to stop if he did something you didn’t like. He wanted to spoil you and treat you like his little princess, but he wanted to know now if there was anything he should never do.

You thought for a moment, and then started writing on your notepad. He tried to read what you were writing, but you pulled it back, hiding it from him and smirking. In response, Namjoon tickled your sides a little, making you gasp and giggle and squirm.

After a moment, you turned the notepad around and held it up for him.

Joon,

Can I call you that? I guess you can’t stop me. Ha!

I already love you so much. Gosh.

Okay, so I guess I don’t really know what I like. I haven’t really done this stuff before. I think I like when you call me pet names, like princess, sweetheart, baby. I like you being sweet to me. I also liked when you spanked me earlier. Is that bad? ;)

Namjoon smiled as he read, his heart swelling at your sweetness.

“I’ll be your first, huh, sweetheart?” he said, fake cocky, and you actually blushed, hiding your face behind your notepad. When you looked at him again, he winked at you, and you hid your face again, your body moving as you laughed.

You quickly wrote something else down, and showed it to him again.

I like you teasing me.

“Yeah?” Namjoon said, smirking. “I like teasing you, baby.” He followed that with a small but sharp pinch on your ass, and you gasped and jumped before realizing what he’d done.

You smacked his chest playfully as he laughed, and he leaned in and gave you a kiss, slowly, which you immediately melted into, dropping your pen and notepad and putting both hands on his chest.

Namjoon surprised you again, this time by biting down on your lower lip, and you whimpered for him, a quiet noise Namjoon already knew he was going to become addicted to getting out of you.

You leaned back and signed something to him, holding out one hand and tapping the fingers of your other hand on that palm. Namjoon’s heart sank, again wishing he could automatically understand you fully.

You repeated the motion, making him carefully watch what you were doing.

You picked up your notepad, and wrote a single word.

Again.

Namjoon swallowed hard, nodding. He brought his hands up and did the motion, and you smiled and leaned in, giving him a quick, sweet kiss. He grinned, knowing he’d learned his first word.

Namjoon listened to you — he leaned in and kissed you again, slowly, and bit your bottom lip, a little harder this time, giving you what you asked and pulling on it, smiling and watching your reaction. Your eyes lit up in delight as he still held your lip, and you let out a small whimper when he ran his tongue along it between his teeth.

He let go of your lip, and you sighed, your breath catching in your throat.

Namjoon stroked your hair again, looking at your eyes and wondering how he’d gotten so lucky. You were so expressive, so curious, so honest in your needs. He felt like you told him more with just your eyes in a moment than most people could communicate in an entire novel. He knew it would take time to adjust to never being able to hear your voice or talk to you in a literal sense, but he knew the two of you would make it work easily. There were so many other ways to communicate, and he was sure you knew of even more ways that he wasn’t even thinking of. Plus, he figured, it would be so much easier for you once he knew sign language.

“Teach me another one, baby,” he said, taking both of your hands and kissing each palm.

Namjoon watched as you took one of your hands and touched your throat, slowly moving the tip of your fingers down to the base of your neck. You repeated it, not breaking eye contact with him, and Namjoon swallowed hard.

You reached for your notepad, and Namjoon picked it up for you, handing it to you carefully and watching as you wrote.

I want you.

You did another sign, spreading out your fingers, your hand up and palm facing your mouth, moving your hand slowly in a small circle in front of your face. Namjoon’s hands rested on your thighs, your legs still wrapped around him, and he wondered if you could feel how hard he was.

You wrote down this new sign quickly, holding it up for him to see.

Make out with me.

Namjoon smiled, not needing to be told twice.

He kissed you slow, tasting your honey lips, waiting until you were holding onto his shirt collar with both hands and whimpering and trying to move in his lap before he dove in deeper. You tasted so good, your lips so soft, now a little red and swollen from his kisses. Namjoon was lost in you, felt your little sighs in his mouth, moved however you wanted him to.

You parted for air, gasping against each other’s lips, and Namjoon thought of something then.

Fingers wrapping around your small hand, he brought your wrist up to look at your soulmate mark. It should fade in the next few days, so he wanted to see it before it left. He knew you were watching him, and he gently moved you to look at your wrist at a better angle. Just as you’d written to him, your wrist said ‘Oh, fuck.’

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, smiling at you sheepishly. “I should watch my mouth, huh?”

You smiled, waving your free hand in a “no, it’s okay” gesture. As if to illustrate that you were okay with cursing, you flipped him off, and Namjoon fake-gasped in mock offense.

Reaching for him, you took his wrist, wanting to see what his mark was. He showed you, holding it up for you to look back at your own eyes.

“I had never heard of it not being words before,” Namjoon said, watching as you studied the mark, running your fingertips over it. You looked at him, shrugging and making a face. “I thought you might speak another language, but I read that the tattoo just appears in whatever language your soulmate speaks. I was so confused. I was kind of worried you were going to be dead or something,” Namjoon confessed, half-joking, and you looked at him, your expression unreadable.

You picked up your little notepad again, writing something down slowly. Namjoon sensed the shift in mood, and waited patiently for you to write. Fuck, why had he said that?

I was scared you were going to curse at me. That you’d say ‘oh fuck’ because you were angry or upset that I can’t speak. I didn’t know what tone you were saying it with.

Namjoon blinked as he read and reread what you wrote, trying to process it.

“No, baby, never,” he said, bringing both his hands up to yours. “Never, never, never,” he said, taking the notepad from you and setting it beside him, now holding both your hands. “You’re so perfect, baby. How could you not be perfect? You’re my soulmate.”

Namjoon watched as your eyes started to well up, and you dropped his hands and picked up your notepad again. Namjoon noted that from now on he would leave you completely in charge of when to put the notepad down, because right now that was your main form of communication.

You wrote again, this time even longer. Namjoon’s heart ached, looking at your pained expression, watching you sniffle once as you wrote. How had he messed everything up already? He knew you were sensitive about his reaction to you not being able to speak — why the hell did he make a joke about it? Especially about you being dead. Jesus Christ, Namjoon was certain he was the stupidest person alive.

You held up the notepad for him to read, and he swallowed hard.

I know my worth and I know that nothing is wrong with me as a person. I am a different kind of person than what is considered “normal,” and the world is not made for me. I am still afraid, though, because of how I have been treated in the past. My biggest fear was that you would be the same, like them, even though we’re soulmates. It was all I could think about at first when I found out I had a soulmate. I need to learn how to trust that you love me and won’t treat me like that.

Namjoon looked at you, his lips parting when he saw a tear escape your eye. He brought both of his hands up gently, moving around where you still clutched your notepad, and cupped your face with both hands. He wiped your tear away with his thumb, and watched how you pressed your cheek into his palm, closing your eyes as you felt the warmth of him caressing you. He moved his thumb on your cheek gently again, stroking your skin, and he hummed to you, making a small noise in his sad attempt to comfort you, wanting to rip out his heart and give it to you.

“Angel,” he said gently, and you didn’t open your eyes, still feeling his hand hold your face. You let go of your notepad with one hand, bringing your hand up to rest over his on your cheek. Another tear escaped from your closed eyes, and Namjoon caught it, stroking his thumb across your cheek still. His heart ached when he felt you hold in a small sob, your expression looking pained, your eyes squeezed closed tight now as your lips quivered.

“Y/N,” Namjoon said softly. He prayed his voice wouldn’t crack, because seeing you like this made his throat tight, his eyes welling up, his muscles tense. “I could never be mad at you for anything. Let alone something like that. You say you know your worth, and I do too. You’re perfect, and I’m going to spend every day of the rest of my life reminding you of how perfect you are.”

You opened your eyes, looking at him carefully. You were hesitant, and Namjoon understood why, though he knew he couldn’t comprehend what it must’ve felt like to experience whatever made you feel this awful in the past. He felt a surge of protectiveness, possessiveness, something overwhelm him, and he was about to tell you something stupid — like that he would die for you or lead an army for you or kill who ever made you feel like this in your past — when you turned your head and kissed his palm gently, effectively melting every thought in his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, watching you. You gave him a questioning look, and he continued. “I shouldn’t’ve made that joke about you. It was stupid and insensitive and not funny. I was wrong and I hurt you, and I reminded you of bad feelings. I’m sorry, baby.”

Your eyes welled up again, and Namjoon wondered if he could be any more stupid. All he was doing was hurting your feelings and making you cry, even with his stupid attempt at an apology.

You looked up and must’ve seen the emotions on his face, because you quickly turned the page in your notepad and started writing, glancing up at him with a small reassuring smile, even as you sniffled and wiped away a tear threatening to escape.

You held the notepad out to him, and he read.

I’m crying (now) because I love you and you’re so sweet, you doofus.

He looked up at you, and you made the “I love you” sign with your hand, the one singular piece of sign language he and everybody else definitely knew.

“I love you, too, princess,” he said softly, mirroring your sign back to you as well.

You put the notepad down and brought your hands up to his face, and he watched as you just looked at him, your eyes curious and learning, ignoring the tear still on your cheek. You touched his lips with your fingers, running your fingertips over him, and Namjoon relaxed under your touch. He focused on breathing and calming down, not wanting to cry right now with you watching him so closely.

He leaned back against the couch with a small smile, watching you explore his face. You ran two fingertips down his nose, over the lines of his face, around his jaw, over the swells of his cheeks, again and again over the curve of his lips. He closed his eyes for you as you oh-so-gently touched his eyelids, so light he could barely feel you, touching his eyelashes, the puffiness of his eyes, his monolids, his eyebrows.

Your fingers moved to his dimples. Namjoon felt you giggle a little, which made him smile, and he knew you could play with his dimples even more now that he was grinning. You poked your finger in his left dimple, the one he knew was much deeper and more prominent, and then ran your fingers over his lips again. You touched his lips again for just a moment, and then took your hands off of him, giving him a thumbs up and smiling, signaling to him that you were all done, making Namjoon laugh.

“You’re so cute, baby,” he said, and he almost didn’t recognize himself, his voice so much deeper than usual, like how he sounded in early mornings. Your eyes lit up, and you arched your back slightly, as if you were presenting your chest to him and grinding down on him through your clothes. Namjoon groaned, feeling your warmth and pressure against his erection, and he dug his fingers into your thighs where he held you.

You signed to him again, this time raising your hand and moving it near your chest, palm facing your body, moving your hand in a circular motion in front of your breasts.

“Touch you here?” Namjoon guessed, his lips parting as he glanced down to you, a dazed look on his face at just the idea of getting to touch you.

You giggled, grabbing your notepad again.

That’s the sign for “please.” But you can touch me there all you want, handsome.

Namjoon snorted when he read your words. He copied your motion, practicing so he could commit it to memory. That was definitely a word he wanted you to sign to him often.

“Can I take your sweater off, princess?” he asked, watching your face. You nodded, smiling, your perfect eyes lighting up again, and Namjoon took that for an enthusiastic yes.

Starting at your hips, Namjoon slowly ran his hands up, feeling the curves of your body on each side as he spread his hands wide, trying to touch as much skin as possible. He dragged your sweater higher, exposing stomach, then abdomen, then your little lacy bra. You lifted your arms for him and he threw your sweater off to the side.

“Jesus, Y/N. Did you wear this for me?” Namjoon said, his hands coming back to your breasts and feeling you with both hands over the thin fabric.

You sighed, your head tilting back as you closed your eyes and felt him massaging slowly. Namjoon watched you nod, and he set his jaw and groaned, imagining you picking out your bra and panties this morning, thinking about meeting your soulmate.

The lacy little bra you wore left nothing to the imagination, your hardening nipples poking through already, and Namjoon could see their color and shape through the thin, sheer lace. Without another thought, almost out of instinct, Namjoon leaned in, pressing a sloppy open-mouthed kiss in the valley between your breasts, wrapping his arms around you tight to hold you in place. Your hands came to the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair, and he licked a wide line up your sternum, his eyes closed, tasting your skin, before stopping at your collarbone and sucking, kissing, claiming your skin as his.

You whimpered and signed “please” for him again.

“Yes, baby,” he moaned, his dazed eyes barely even seeing anymore, and he pressed another kiss to you in the same place, this time leaving a trail of kisses up the center of your chest and then down to one of your breasts. He opened his mouth, taking your nipple between his lips through the lacy little bra, sucking on it as he brought a hand up to palm your other breast. Your hands knotted in his hair as you gasped, pulling his hair harder whenever he sucked or used teeth. He pinched your nipple between his fingers and you made a small noise almost like a moan, and he glanced up at you, seeing your lips parted and eyes closed.

“Do you like it, baby?” he asked, squeezing your breast firmly, feeling your nipple press into his palm. “Do you like it when I touch you like this?”

You nodded eagerly, opening your eyes and looking at Namjoon with so much need. You quickly signed “please” and “I want you” to him again, so fast he almost didn’t recognize them, and then you added a third sign. You held out one hand, palm down, and touched the middle finger of your other hand to it. You then pointed at yourself. You repeated the motion, your face desperate, wanting him to understand so badly, and this time followed it with pointing at your chest, then your stomach, then lower.

“What’s this one, angel?” he asked, repeating the sign, practicing the motion.

You sighed, picking up the notepad yet again where it sat beside you on the couch.

Touch me.

You put the notepad down the second he read it, and repeated the sign again, quickly, and then pointed at your chest, then between your legs where you pressed against his erection between both your clothes. You did the sign one more time, this time pouting and letting out a small whiney noise that Namjoon hadn’t known you were capable of.

“My needy little girl,” he said, smirking as he watched you.

You rolled your eyes at him, still smiling.

Namjoon surprised you then, suddenly standing up, holding onto you tightly with both hands. He felt you squeeze him with your legs, holding onto him too.

“Which way’s your bedroom?” he asked, and he watched as you pointed down the small hallway. He walked carefully, holding your body to his, and you tucked your head in against his neck, holding onto his shoulders and peppering his neck with little kisses and squeezing him tighter with your legs wrapped around him. You giggled when he almost tripped over a pile of books, and despite his heart skipping a beat and his hurt toe, he laughed too, holding onto you even tighter now.

Your bedroom was like you. Soft colors, beautiful, peaceful. The walls were light pink, covered in art and shelves. The room had a few plants, a few candles, a few lamps. Your bed was made, your room neat. He wondered if you’d cleaned for him, expecting him to come home with you. He’d definitely done the same to his place.

Namjoon laid you down on your bed, carefully placing your head on your pillow. The sheets were soft and he watched your body sink down into the comforter, and he climbed on top of you, careful to keep his weight mostly off of you.

“Baby, this is important,” he said to you then, catching your attention. “If you want me to stop at any time…” He thought for a moment, trying to come up with something you could do that you wouldn’t ever do normally during sex.

You reached up and very lightly tapped the side of his head three times, smiling up at him.

“Hit the side of my head three times?” he said, smiling when you nodded and did it again.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling you to him, and he greeted you with a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth again, remembering what he’d done last time that made you pull his hair and whimper. He stroked your hair with the hand that he wasn’t propping himself up with, the gesture apparently too tame and loving for what you had in mind.

You pulled his hair, making him look up at you, and repeated the “please” and “touch me” signs to him.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed.

Namjoon moved down your body, taking his time with you. You may want him right now, but he was going to try to get you to teach him the signs for begging. He kissed down your stomach, all over your hipbones, across your ribcage. His kisses were open-mouthed, his tongue tracing your skin.

“You taste so good, baby,” he moaned into the skin just below your bellybutton. “I bet your pussy tastes even better.”

He felt you gasp when he said that, and he smirked, looking up at you. He knew you’d said you were inexperienced, but the look on your face right now killed him, looking equally scared, excited, and turned on.

The two of you made a brief eye contact, and Namjoon, feeling bold, winked at you. You whimpered and let your head fall back on the pillow, letting out a long sigh and spreading your legs for him further.

Namjoon sat back on his legs, pulling your pants slowly down your legs, revealing more of your skin to him. You helped him, lifting your hips and then moving your legs with his hands.

You now laid almost bare before him, your legs spread, showing him your matching little lace panties, your perfect thighs, and your center, which Namjoon’s eyes zeroed in on. He swore he could see your slick wetness soaking through your panties, and wondered just how worked up you were.

You reached out for him, whimpering, and he came back to you without a word. He kissed you deeply, your tongues swirling together, his hand moving up to your hair, his legs spreading to part your thighs further. He was still fully dressed while you were down to just your bra and panties, and you seemed to realize this at the same time he did, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

He moved back from you enough to get his shirt off, sloppily unbuttoning it and tossing it to the side, and when you tried to pull him back, he instead moved back down your body, kissing your skin again, this time moving slowly down, further and further until he reached the edge of your panties.

You parted your legs, sighing, and Namjoon pressed a kiss where he could see your wetness soaking through. He opened his mouth, sucking on and licking at that spot until your legs parted even further and your fingers came down to knot in his hair.

Namjoon felt cocky. He slipped his tongue around the side of your panties, pulling it out enough to bite it. He brought his hands to your ass, lifting your hips just enough to start sliding your panties down using just where his mouth was latched on, though he used his hands some to help them off of your ass.

You looked down at him with wide eyes, watching him as he moved down your thighs, dragging your panties down too, and he looked up at you and made unbroken eye contact. The wet part of your panties was still in his mouth, and he could taste your sweet wetness and knew he could drown in you if you’d let him.

He sat back on his legs just long enough to drop your panties from his mouth and tuck them in his back pocket. You were watching him closely, your eyes widening when you saw him do that move.

Namjoon moved back between your legs, kissing up your perfect thighs, squeezing them with his hands, feeling them, massaging them, pressing his face into them. He’d always loved big thighs, and yours were exactly what he’d always fantasized about. He wondered if he liked big thighs all along just because that’s what you had.

“Fuck, baby, you’re perfect,” he moaned, rubbing his cheek against your inner thigh, nearly animalistic, just barely holding himself back in his desire to just bury his face between your legs. He turned his head and bit down on your thigh, making you honest to god squeak.

Namjoon turned his attention to your core, where you were spread open and dripping for him. His mouth watered as he looked at you, your clit shining from your wetness coating it. He looked up at you and saw you watching him. Your hands were gripping the sheets on either side of you, your lips parted as you watched him with hooded eyes. Leaning in, Namjoon blew cool air on your center lightly, watching your reaction closely and smiling as you whimpered and writhed and threw your head back. He moved his hands up to hold your thighs apart, pressing your legs down into the mattress.

“Look at me,” he said, sounding more commanding than he’d meant, but you looked up at him immediately, your eyes needy and wanting. “You want me to eat your pussy, princess?” he asked you. He didn’t let you even react before continuing. “I wanna fuck you with my tongue, pretty girl. I bet you taste so good, like honey and candy. Can I taste you, baby?”

You nodded eagerly, and let out a loud gasp when Namjoon just immediately buried his face in your pussy, nuzzling in hard, his mouth open, his tongue diving into you and flicking in and out of your entrance as he sucked up as much wetness as he could.

You were everything Namjoon had ever wanted, and so much more. Your pussy was like warm, wet silk, and he moaned that to you, his mouth still against you so his words were muffled. He moved his lips around, licking and sucking your folds, your entrance, your clitoris. He took your clit into his mouth and sucked as hard as he could, his cheeks hollowing, while flicking it with his tongue. You grabbed his hair with both hands, arching your back dramatically and letting out the loudest noise he’d heard out of you so far, an honest to god moan that made Namjoon want to flip you over and take you as hard as he could.

Namjoon ate you ferociously. He’d never felt so overwhelmed by lust, and he poured his desire into the work he did with his tongue and lips, even moving his head around just to give you that extra stimuli, rubbing the tip of his nose against your clitoris whenever his tongue was fucking your entrance. He drank you like a starving animal, sucking up every last drop, moving his tongue in and out of you as he glanced up to watch your head falling back. You pulled his hair hard, which felt incredible, reminding him of how painful his erection was in his jeans.

Your first orgasm hit you suddenly. You arched your back and stopped breathing, your whole body freezing as you climaxed on his tongue. Namjoon kept his same pace, bringing a hand over from your thigh to rest on your lower stomach, his thumb coming down to rub your clit hard and fast.

He hadn’t known it before, but apparently you were capable of screaming. Your leg that wasn’t being held down moved, your whole body twitching in overstimulation, and Namjoon growled against you and brought his hand that wasn’t on your stomach to the side of your thigh, spanking you once, feeling your skin jiggle and feeling the vibration in his mouth.

“Another. One more for me. Come on, baby, I know you can,” he said against your clit, and he looked up at you and saw tears streaming down your face.

He pulled back then, worried he was pushing you too far, too fast.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” he asked, his grip on you loosening as he watched your face carefully.

You looked up at him, your eyes dazed, and he’d never seen anything more perfect. You were breathing hard, which made your breasts rise and fall rapidly, and Namjoon cursed himself for not having taken off your bra earlier.

You signed to him the first word you taught him, your hands shaking. Again.

Namjoon smirked. He pressed his face back into your slick heat, this time bringing a hand up to slide two fingers into you. You let out a breathy sigh, and Namjoon moaned, your clit between his lips, as he felt your pussy clench around his fingers.

“Fuck, baby, how are you this tight?” he asked, moving his fingers slowly, curling into you. “Keep squeezing my fingers like this and I might lose it.”

He hadn’t meant it as a threat or challenge, but you looked down at him, your eyes lighting up. He felt you squeeze his fingers as hard as you could, purposefully, and Namjoon’s eyes rolled back in his head as he moaned, his cock now throbbing painfully in his jeans as he involuntarily moved his hips forward against your bed, desperate for friction.

“You want me to lose it, huh?” he said, and he watched you smile down at him, a fake-innocent look on your perfect little face. “You’re gonna kill me, princess.”

Namjoon refocused, moving his fingers inside you and bringing your clit back to his mouth. He held you down by your stomach with his free hand, his arm laying across you like a safety bar, and you held onto his arm with one hand, the other back in his hair.

When Namjoon added a third finger, he felt you clench around him again, this time your pussy fluttering as you neared the edge of your second orgasm.

“Don’t cum until I say you can,” he said suddenly, surprising even himself.

You looked down at him, your eyes wide. He could tell you were surprised by that, and Namjoon winked at you again, not taking his mouth off of your folds.

“Tap my arm when you’re close,” he growled around your clit before sucking it back into his mouth.

You started tapping his arm immediately, which made him smirk against your pussy. He pushed you a little further, curling three fingers into you as deep as he could while flicking his tongue around your perfect swollen clit, before he finally let you have your way, knowing too much more of this would be cruel, especially since this was your first time with someone doing this to you.

“Cum for me, baby,” he said, his voice muffled, not taking his lips off your clit, and you immediately fell apart. Namjoon moved his mouth to catch your wetness, drinking up every last bit of you, trying to get his tongue inside you along with his fingers.

Namjoon drank as if your pussy was the last thing he’d have before trekking through the desert, moaning into you in raw pleasure. Removing his hand, he focused on you with his mouth again, pressing his face in hard and licking and sucking until your legs twitched and you pulled on his hair.

With an obscene wet noise, almost the same sound as someone innocently blowing a kiss, he gave one last parting kiss to your clit before climbing back up to you. He was almost sad to leave it, but he knew he was going to love whatever you wanted him to do next. Namjoon’s mouth and chin were covered in your wetness, nearly dripping from it, and when he came back up to face you, he watched your expression as you looked at how soaked his face was. He saw shame play out in your eyes, which quickly changed to arousal and amusement.

You held his face with both hands and pulled him in for what he thought was a kiss, instead licking at his lips and around his mouth. Namjoon had never in his life imagined a woman licking her own wetness off of his face, but here you were, his soulmate, making his eyes flutter closed as he almost moaned just from you doing this.

“See how good you taste?” he said, his voice deep. He opened his eyes and saw you looking up at him through your eyelashes, looking like you felt shy. “What?” he teased, moving in and touching the tip of his nose to yours.

You giggled and tried to hide your face behind your hands, but Namjoon caught you by your wrists and held them both above your head.

“You’re so cute, baby,” he said, his lips just barely skimming yours. “I could eat you up.”

You smiled at that, clearly interested in his offer. You wiggled a little under his grasp, grinding up against his body, reminding him of his erection that he’d been neglecting.

“Do you want my cock, baby?” he asked, again surprising himself with how direct and dirty he was being with you.

You nodded eagerly, though, and Namjoon swore he could marry you right then.

“Where do you want it?” he asked you, letting go of just one of your hands. “Your mouth, your pussy, your hands? Where, angel?”

You used your now freed hand and took his hand, moving it down your body. You stopped when his hand was resting on your lower stomach.

“You want me inside you, princess?” he asked, and you nodded, biting your lip. He leaned in and gave you a sweet, chaste kiss. Parting from you, he said against your lips, “I wanna be inside you too, baby.”

Namjoon stood then, finally taking off his jeans. His hands fumbled with his belt and zipper, his excitement almost making his hands shake. You watched him closely, propping yourself up on your elbows, and Namjoon reminded himself that he absolutely needed to get that pretty little bra off of you immediately.

He brought his jeans and briefs down together, his hard cock bouncing free and hitting his stomach. He looked at you, your wide eyes glued to his erection. He almost want to blush and hide away under your intense stare, but the way your eyes looked up and down his length, how you licked your lips, the way you spread your legs further, just slightly, made him feel incredible. He’d started working out in the past year, wanting to be perfect for his soulmate whenever he found you, and it was all worth it, seeing you looking at his body now.

You pointed at his chest, then your own.

“You want me on top of you?” he asked, starting to move toward you.

You waved your hand, indicating he’d guessed wrong at what you were trying to say. You smiled and reached out for him with both hands, and he stepped forward, crawling back onto you and holding himself up.

You took both of your hands and touched his chest, feeling him. He knew he’d worked out a lot with chest exercises, but he’d never anticipated this reaction from you. You tapped his chest a few times, looking at his face expectantly.

“You like my chest?” he guessed.

You nodded eagerly, and then did a muscleman pose with your arms, then pointing at him again, grinning and giggling.

Namjoon snorted. “You think I’m strong and muscular?” he teased, and you rolled your eyes, smiling still. “You think I’m sexy?” he asked you, tracing the tip of his nose along your jaw. Your breath caught in your throat in a small gasp with that, and you ran your hands up his upper arms, feeling his taut skin, squeezing his muscles at his biceps.

“What do you want, princess?” he asked you, letting you feel his arms, chest, whatever you wanted. Your small hands were slightly cold compared to the heat radiating off of him, and he shivered as you ran your hands over him.

You looked up at him, blinking your innocent doe eyes, tilting your head a little as you thought. You then did a gesture with your forefinger of one hand and fist with the other that made Namjoon snort. He hadn’t known that one was officially sign language — maybe it wasn’t — but you were signaling to him very clearly and graphically that you wanted his cock inside you.

Namjoon listened to you, ready to give you anything and everything. He stopped only to reach behind you and unhook your bra, carefully helping you out of the thin material and watching as your perfect breasts came into his view. Your skin had lace patterns pressed into it, and he just couldn’t help himself. Namjoon ducked his head, tracing his tongue along the patterns, feeling the grooves and ridges and swirling his tongue around your nipple where a lace pattern was indented into your skin.

You pulled on his hair, bringing him back up to you. Your beautiful expressive eyes conveyed your need to him, how badly you wanted him, and he could never keep you waiting.

“I’m your first, right, angel?” he asked you, double-checking what you’d said earlier, and you looked away from him, frowning and pouting in embarrassment. “No, no, it’s okay, baby,” he quickly added, bringing a hand to your cheek to bring you back to him. “I was just checking, so that I know to be extra careful at first. I don’t want to hurt you, yeah?”

You looked back up at him, your expression unreadable before it shifted and you smiled and nodded. You pointed at him and then held up one finger, telling him yes, he’s your first.

Namjoon nodded, quickly pushing aside all of his caveman ‘taking her virginity’ instincts and instead leaning in to give you a gentle kiss, which you reciprocated eagerly.

“We’ll go slow at first, okay, baby? And if you wanna stop, remember, tap my head three times,” he said against your lips, and you nodded. He didn’t know why he was so into these pet names, calling you his baby and princess, but he wasn’t questioning it. It felt right.

Namjoon reached down, stroking himself a few times before rubbing the head of his cock from your entrance, up to your clit, circling until you whimpered, and back down. He spread his precum around your slit, where you were still soaked for him, a small act of possessiveness, claiming you as his.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he said, and you listened, doing exactly as you were told, making Namjoon’s stupid caveman instincts swell again for just a split second. God, he wanted to just take you. He’d always liked being just a little rough in bed, but he really needed to be gentle at first, before he figured out what you liked. He would match whatever you wanted him to be for the rest of his life.

Namjoon lined himself up with your entrance, and he already knew it was going to be tight. Looking down between your bodies, Namjoon sighed, biting back a long moan at just the sight of his cock teasing your slit, your legs spread for him, your body laid bare for him and him alone.

You reached up and took his face with both hands. You made a small noise, one that Namjoon responded to with a low hum, and then he moved his hips, gently moving into you, only a little at first. You gasped, one of your hands falling to his shoulder, gripping tightly and holding on for your life.

“Fuck, baby…” Namjoon moaned, already feeling you squeeze him and pull him further into you.

Your lips parted, whiney gasps falling out of you, and Namjoon watched you in awe. He cupped your face with his hand, holding you gently, wondering how he ever could’ve been nervous for meeting you when he should’ve known you’d be this perfect. He rocked his hips further, being so gentle with your despite all the foreplay. You hummed softly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and Namjoon leaned in, covering your neck in kisses, sucking on your skin with his lips, marking you as his, his, his.

You were his everything. He’d known you for maybe two hours now, but the connection he felt with his soulmate overshadowed every other aspect of his life and mind. Looking at your perfect face, the way your eyes searched his, how your hair splayed out around the pillow like a halo, the way he felt inside you, he knew you would be the only thing in this world he’d ever love this much. He suddenly fully understood the scale and weight of all those songs and movies about soulmates, and thought they were not at all doing justice to the way he felt right now.

Your pussy clenched down on him again and he groaned, instinctively bucking his hips forward in one fluid motion, bottoming out and smacking his pubic bone to your hips and then freezing in place. You gasped, your mouth hanging open, and Namjoon cursed himself — he’d wanted to take it slow. He held your body close to him, feeling your pussy fluttering and adjusting to his size, your breasts pressed against his chest, your legs wrapped around him, the entirety of your small form under him and his body pressing down into you. This feeling was what he was made for, why he had a soulmate.

“You feel incredible, baby, so fucking good,” he moaned, biting his lip, wanting so badly to move his hips but knowing you needed him to wait. He could feel you throbbing, your wet pussy stretching to take him, and he thought he might die from how perfect you felt. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders as he buried his face in against your neck, but you tapped his shoulder twice, wanting him to look at you.

You signed something to him, what he thought looked like letters.

“I’m so sorry, princess, I don’t even know the alphabet,” he said, breathless, stroking your hair back from your face. He was vaguely aware that he was sweating and breathing hard, eyes glazed over, and he wondered what you thought of him like this, already so lost in his pleasure.

You rolled your eyes, flashing him a smile to make sure he knew you weren’t actually mad. Reaching up, you pressed your fingertip to his chest, and started slowly spelling the short word you’d tried to sign to him.

“Big?” Namjoon asked, paying close attention to what you drew on his skin with your finger.

You nodded, smiling like the cat who ate the canary, and Namjoon laughed.

“You think I’m big?” he asked, and before you could answer, he bucked his hips once, quickly sliding almost completely out before slamming back in fully, making your whole body move with the force of it.

You gasped, Namjoon’s favorite noise, and then you gave him a look — your eyes almost watered, your lip pouting, your expression innocent and fake-hurt. He rolled his hips slowly, smiling as the pout on your lips melted into an explicit o-shape before you bit your lip.

“You take me so well, baby,” he said, watching your face closely as he rolled his hips again, this time even slower, trying to make you feel every inch of him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say we were made for each other.”

You rolled your eyes at him, laughing silently, and Namjoon leaned in and bit your jaw, suddenly picking up his pace and smacking his hips against yours, pulling your thigh up higher to take him. You gasped and held onto him as his thrusts became rough and fast.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your jaw, pressing his face against your cheek hard and bringing the hand he wasn’t supporting himself with up to cup your cheek on the other side, his thumb moving down to rest over your throat. “You hear me, Y/N? You’re all mine, forever. Your tight little pussy belongs to me now. Your pussy was made to take this cock.”

What the hell was coming over him? Namjoon wanted it to be slow and gentle and loving, but he couldn’t stop the words falling out of his mouth as he moved inside you faster and harder.

You moaned, and he felt you nodding, agreeing with his words, which only made his hips move faster. He kept his face pressed against your neck, feeling your racing pulse and every harsh breath you drew in. He could hear the whole bed moving with his thrusts, the headboard smacking against the wall in unison with his hips slamming into yours. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and breathed raggedly from his efforts, but he’d always liked working hard to please his partners, and you made him want to give every last drop of his blood, sweat, and tears.

He felt your little fingers knotting in his hair, your other hand on his shoulder, your arm wrapped around him tight. You kept gasping and making small noises in pleasure, and Namjoon pulled his head back just enough to watch your face as he kept up his brutal pace. Your eyes were lost in ecstasy, your kiss-swollen lips parted as you gasped and whimpered, all for him. Your whole body moved with his thrusts, and he glanced down between you and watched your breasts bouncing with the force of his movements, which only made his mouth water.

“Y/N, baby, you feel so good,” he moaned, looking back up at your eyes. He watched you try to focus on him, and he brought his hand up to cup your cheek, much sweeter a gesture than the rest of what he was currently doing to you.

“You’re doing so well for me, baby. You take me so well.” He groaned when he felt your pussy clench down on him. “I think you like being praised,” he said, smirking, but you looked like you weren’t hearing a word he was saying, your eyes closing, your mouth falling open. “Are you close, princess?” he asked, and you nodded quickly. He brought his hand down from your cheek to your hip, his thumb moving to your clitoris and stroking hard and fast.

Your reaction was instantaneous — your entire lower body thrashed, your walls clenched so hard Namjoon almost came, your fingernails digging into his shoulders so hard he swore you broke skin, your back arched up into him as your head tilted back and you let out a long, loud moan that Namjoon felt in his core. He kept his pace with his thumb and hips and watched you fall apart underneath him, your third orgasm making your eyes roll back in your head as you stopped breathing, your whole body shaking.

“Christ, baby,” Namjoon moaned, watching the show you were putting on for him. He made his thrusts harder but slower now, slamming into you purposefully, stopping with his cock fully inside of you at the height of your pleasure, making your feel his full length and letting himself feel you throbbing and squeezing him.

You let out a noise that almost sounded like a sob, and Namjoon nearly came just from that.

“Fuck, I didn’t know you could sound like that,” he said, and your eyes focused again as you looked up at him innocently through your lashes.

Namjoon set his jaw, looking down at his soulmate. You were breathing slowly, steadily, your skin flushed red, your body absolutely glowing. If it wouldn’t be cruel at this point, he swore he could go down on you again right now. He wanted to so badly, but he knew you were way too sensitive at this point for that. Besides, he wasn’t sure he could last much longer. He was trying so hard to hold out and make everything so perfect and all about you, but he was nearing the end of his resolve.

He felt you squeeze him and watched as you smirked so that he knew you did it on purpose. Namjoon brought a hand down to where your legs were wrapped around him, palming the outside of your thigh, before giving your one fast, hard spank.

You moaned, your head lulling to the side as you closed your eyes in pleasure, but Namjoon brought his hand up to your face and turned your head back to look at him.

“Turn over, baby,” Namjoon growled, smiling down at you and watching your eyes light up in delight at his command.

You quickly turned over in his arms, his cock slipping out of you before you laid down on your stomach beneath him. He sat back on his legs between your spread thighs, and he reached out and grabbed your ass with both hands, squeezing hard.

Glancing up at you, Namjoon saw your head was turned as it rested on the pillow. You couldn’t look at him, but you tried to, tilting your head as far as you could. You moaned when he squeezed your ass harder, and then gasped as you felt him kiss your lower spine, then the back of your hip, and finally your ass, between his right thumb and forefinger where he kneaded your flesh. He moved his hand away, kissing your ass again before surprising you with a sharp smack on the other cheek with his left hand. The hit made you moan, and Namjoon’s cock twitched at the sweet sound.

“Do you like it when I spank you?” he asked, his voice low. “Hold one finger up for yes, two for no.”

He looked up at you and watched you weakly hold up one finger, moving it around to make sure he saw it.

He spanked you again, this time massaging your ass gently after the strike. Not even thinking, he leaned in to the spot he’d just kissed and sunk in his teeth, biting your ass as he squeezed again with both hands. He felt you melting under his palms, your back arching so that your ass stuck up for him more, presenting yourself to him.

Sitting up again, Namjoon moved to where he was on his knees behind you and pulled you upward by your hips. You complied, moving exactly as he wanted, and you moaned when you felt his hand move down your spine slowly. He squeezed your hips, grinding his cock against your ass, making you feel how hard he still was for you. You moved back against him, pressing your ass into him, grinding and whimpering and trying so hard to get him to move more.

“You want me to fuck you like this, baby?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

You held up one finger again, burying your face in the pillow and letting out a sob.

“Yes, baby,” he said, taking the noise you’d made as a command for him to pleasure you.

Namjoon reached down and lined himself up with your entrance once again, sinking back into you slowly, back where he belonged. You moaned and squeezed him as hard as you could, only partially on purpose, and he moaned and spanked you again.

“Naughty girl,” he growled, bringing the hand that had just spanked you down to prop himself up as he bent over you, his body perfectly curved to yours. He held himself up with that arm, his hand resting on the bed beside yours, and he kissed your shoulder as he bottomed out, feeling himself fully inside you once again, your pussy throbbing and him feeling every heartbeat. It was so much better like this, so much deeper, and Namjoon could hardly see straight at this point, he was so desperate for release.

“Hit my hand three times if you need me to stop, princess,” he said against your shoulder, turning his head and nuzzling his nose behind your ear. He smiled when he felt you reach out and grab his hand, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing tight.

Namjoon started off slow, letting you get used to the new position and how much deeper he could go. His hand you weren’t holding was wrapped around you, holding your body against his, your ass up and pressed to his pelvis and your head against the bed. He moved gently, each deep stroke with purpose, feeling your shudders and whimpers and gasps. You were so wet, so warm, so soft — the only thing Namjoon could think or feel was how overwhelmingly good his cock felt buried so deep inside you.

“Baby, you feel like heaven,” he moaned against your shoulder between kisses, his lips moving against your skin as he spoke. “All mine, all for me, forever. I could fuck you for days and not need anything else.”

You squeezed his hand, trying so hard to turn your head back to look at him as you let out a small noise, whining to him, and he responded by leaning in and claiming your lips, kissing you as well as he could with the angle. He picked up his pace, his hips smacking against your ass, a wet slapping noise hitting your ears with each hard thrust that shook you to your core and moved the whole bed forward. You were a mess under him now, gasping, breathing hard, nearly in tears. You couldn’t think, you could barely breathe, you just closed your eyes tight and felt your soulmate pumping pleasure into you, your lips parted as you whimpered for him.

You brought your hand not holding his down to your stomach. You didn’t know what you needed, but you whined, pouting, and Namjoon seemed to realize what you wanted before you did, reaching down with the hand that had been holding your body to him and rubbing your clit vigorously.

Your whole body writhed, fucking back against him instinctively, meeting his thrusts as you cried out in ecstasy for him. You were so close again, and Namjoon knew he wasn’t going to last much longer either.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head, his heart pounding in his chest. His fingers kept up their pace on your clit, rubbing it with two fingers so hard he was pretty sure you were going to be bruised there. You sounded like you were sobbing and god, you were loud, your body writhing as he felt you drawing so close again.

“F-fuck,” Namjoon moaned, his thrusts becoming sloppy. His hips snapped into you once, twice, three more times before he cried out, and you felt him spilling into you, filling you up, his whole body shuddering as he pressed his sweaty forehead against your shoulder. The sensation of his hot cum deep inside you, dripping down between your bodies as he thrust into you a few more times and continued his fingers on your clit, pushed you over the edge one last time, this orgasm much gentler as you gasped and shuddered.

Namjoon was breathing hard and steady, his breath warm on your skin. He gently let you lay down before rolling off of you, collapsing beside you and staring at the ceiling, his mouth open as he just tried to breathe and calm down.

“Oh my god,” Namjoon said, turning his head to look back over at you. You were still laying on your stomach, but you moved so that your head was turned toward him. You had a lazy smile on your face, your expression telling him you were just as thoroughly fucked-out as he was.

You reached out and put your hand on his shoulder, smiling weakly, not having the energy for anything else.

“You were incredible, baby,” he murmured, watching you breathe slowly. He pushed himself up as best he could, moving onto his side so he could face you. Reaching up, he stroked your hair back out of your face slowly, smiling to himself when he could see your eyes properly.

You brought your hand up and cupped his cheek, your thumb stroking his skin as the two of you watched each other for a moment like this.

When you felt you had the energy, you moved onto your side as well, the two of you laying almost nose to nose, touching each other’s faces and looking at each other, smiling.

“I love you,” he said, his deep voice a gentle rumble in his chest. You made the sign for ‘I love you’ with your hand, and Namjoon brought his hand up and touched you softly, feeling the way your fingers were positioned with his large hand.

“I love you, forever,” he said, quieter now, and he reached out and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to him.

You settled in against his chest, feeling like you were right where you belonged. You closed your eyes as you pressed your forehead against his shoulder, listening to the lulling sound of his slow breathing as he kissed the top of your head gently, over and over, humming quiet promises of forever to you.

#bts smut #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon #kim namjoon #rm smut #bts namjoon smut #mine #my writing #bts scenario #bts fanfic

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pacoc-a · 3 years

Text

Half In Love

Rating: T

Characters: Five/Vanya

Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Five never leaves, Vanya doesn’t have powers, Fluff and Angst, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Pining, Other Additional Tags to be Added

Five is not Vanya's soulmate.

[Read on Ao3]

One day a fever comes over Five’s arm . He thinks it's a rash. He picks and scratches the itch on his wrist until his skin is raw. By the end of the week, his skin has peeled off in scabs.

It was then that he realised this might be his soulmate mark.

The mark settles itself permanently over the umbrella academy tattoo. It coils over it like a dark, ugly ‘s’ snaking a trail from his wrist down the middle of his forearm. It’s red and bumpy and stings like a brand.

It’s hideous, he thinks.

‘Looks like a snake.’ Klaus says, peering over his shoulder.

Five scowls and chases him off.

——

When Vanya learns she is happy for him.

Even when her arm is nothing but bare she is happy for him.

‘Someone out there is going to love you with their whole heart.’ She places her fingers on his wrist. ‘Someone with this mark. And you better let me meet them when you do.’

Her fingertips are rough from the violin, but her touch is soft. He wants to kiss them. Feel the calluses on his lips. Five swallows.

‘I don’t think that would be necessary.’ He pulls his wrist away.

The truth is, he could care less about soulmates. The very idea of a ‘predestined’ other half was bogus, designed to put a make-believe ‘constant’ in an ever-evolving state. It was like throwing a screwdriver at a network of cogs that are constantly changing shape.

But Five cares about Vanya and she cares about this, so he says nothing. Instead, he watches her look at the empty space of skin on her wrist. He already knows exactly what she’s thinking about.

‘It’ll appear.’ He says, ‘Klaus doesn’t have his yet either. Probably comes in faster for others.’

She nods, ‘I hope so. I can’t wait to see it.’

There is so much hope in her eyes. A part of him hurts because it’s not for him.

He wonders if she’s hurting too, that a piece of him has been marked by someone thats not her.

She smiles to herself and he hopes in the cruelest, darkest part of his mind that she is.

——

‘Did you know Luther got Allison.’ Ben tells them one day between pushups. ‘Diego got his too.’

Klaus is on the floor with Ben, while Five works a sweat on the treadmill. They are the only three in one of Reginald’s endurance training sessions, Five, Six and Four. With the Monocle himself preoccupied with overseeing a mission led by the other three, Pogo is tasked with keeping them on course with the session. It means a blissful couple of hours without Reginald’s iron-clad glare scanning over the rest of the mansion like a hawk.

‘Don’t you mean Allison got Luther. Don’t be sexist Ben.' Klaus says. He is laying on the floor on his belly, his legs and arms sprawled out around him like a starfish. He spots Pogo passing by and he quickly lifts himself up and counts his pushups to two hundred and seven.

‘You know, this training session will pass by much more quickly without your inane rambling.’ Five says. They’ve been at it for the better part of the session. It's irritating. He knows the sooner he can finish this session, the sooner he can spend his free time however he wants. But he can't concentrate without these two morons distracting him every two seconds.

‘Oh lighten up Dad , we’re just talking.’

He glares at him.

‘I got mine too.’ Ben adds. He looks over his shoulder, decides the coast is clear and quickly raises his shirt to reveal a tiny scar near his belly button. It’s still raw, but the mark is clearly formed to the shape of a tiny squid.

‘Nice.’

‘What do you think it means?’

Klaus shrugs.

‘It means you two need to shut the hell up or Pogo’s gonna come and give us all double the work again.’

They shut up.

There’s a couple of minutes of blissful silence where the only sound is Five’s sneakers stomping on the treadmill.

‘I hope she’s hot.’ Ben says finally.

He thinks about Vanya in her room and wonders how in the hell he got stuck with the two biggest idiots in the Academy.

‘What if she’s a hag. Would you still kiss her?’ Klaus looks over to him.

Ben shrugs, ‘Probably. If she’s got a nice personality.’ He pauses, then adds, ‘Or a nice butt.’

‘That’s enlightening . Really.’

Klaus flips over his belly and looks over at Five, ‘Well what about you. You’ve got yours too. What do you think yours will look like?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Why not? Aren’t you curious.’

Five stops and turns to face him. They are both lounging across their training mats, flopped over to their bellies. He scoffs, ‘Because this whole thing is bullshit. It’s just a mark. Most people don’t even meet their soulmates till they’re 50, if they even meet them.’

‘So?’

‘ So .’ He sneers, ‘It means it doesn’t matter. We’re not destined for shit. People choose to drink a cup of coffee one day when they could’ve had tea. Life is just one big, impossible equation because the numbers keep changing. It’s chaos. It’s stupid. It’s just— life. This mark’s not gonna change anything about it. ‘

They stare at him.

‘Vanya still hasn’t gotten hers.’ Ben says.

This time, the silence is from him.

Klaus lets out a small sound. ‘That’s too bad huh. Poor Vanya.’

Ben nods, then turns to Five knowingly. ‘At least she’s got you. Stupid life, huh?’

——

Five hates the noise of the Academy. They're loud and arrogant, and they make a point to grate on his nerves on a daily basis.

But they're the only family he's got so he tolerates them.

Vanya is different.

He likes their quiet. The kind that keeps you warm without saying. He likes the way her hair would fall across her eyes when she reads. He likes her even without the Academy and he'd like her still even if their father never brought them together.

But most of all, he likes that Vanya is kind.

When he limps over, and she grabs the bandages, she winces every time she sees the pain on his arm and tries her best to apply the medicine as gently as she can.

'Are you okay?' She asks him. It's a question that leaves him reeling.

He's never sure what to do with her kindness, with that honest, open way of hers that leaves him bare.

In a house like this she's the only one who ever felt real.

‘It's nothing.’ He tells her.

'It looks really bad…' She frowns, 'If you need anything else…. I can make you coffee or...?'

'I'm fine. Thanks.'

He watches while she works. When they were 10, Vanya caught a fever that kept her bed-ridden for a week.

It was the longest week of his life.

Most of it was a blur. He can recall her pale skin and the sweat that's stuck on her bed sheets like grime. He can remember the dreadful, swirling pit in his stomach as he holds her hands inside his fists and thinks that if they’d ever let her die then he will never forgive them.

Now, he watches the way the sunlight streaks through her hair like quiet gold. There’s a warmth in his belly when they’re sitting like this, sharing in each other’s quiet.

Vanya is different. Even in the Academy. Even with the mark burning on his skin like a brand.

——

Vanya waits a long time for her soulmate mark to appear.

It never does.

By the time she turns 18 she stops waiting.

It was unusual for one to never have a mark, but not impossible. For Vanya Hargreeves it's just another sign of the universe’s divine plan to constantly screw her over.

‘Figures the only thing special about me is that I’ll never be special to someone else.’ She laughs bitterly.

——

Adulthood brings in change the way a tide sweeps over a dusty shore. After Ben’s death, the halls of the Academy become hollow, the umbrella academy stripped down to what it truly was, an old man’s paranoia and a lifetime of servitude to a ‘father’ that never really cared about them past what he could use.

The organisation, restless and jaded after so many years, pulls away one by one, guided by their own compass and a healthy dose of misdirection.

Five and Vanya separate. His work is his life now. He's built a sort of prestige when he was in the Academy and he figures it's time to cash in, now that he's out and Reginald's constant disapproval matters as much as the gum on his boot when he steps out on the way to MIT.

He’s a sort of teacher, occasionally organising lectures for those brain-dead kids at university, but his real work is his research and it's thrilling to be recognised like this, to have colleagues who could keep up with him intellectually. His research grant makes life easy and Five drowns himself in work and in his papers. He doesn't think about his past life in the Academy. He doesn't talk to any of his siblings.

The only exception is Vanya.

He sets aside time in his busy schedule for her weekly calls. He'll lose his mind if he doesn't. He tells her as much over the phone while he's nursing a large mug of dark coffee. His paperwork is piled up to his head, it’s almost comically grim the amount of work he needs to do. Vanya would’ve teased him about it if she was here.

'That moron, Bill is hanging around again.' He twirls his pen, agitated. 'He keeps hanging around outside the door, asking me if I want to have lunch with the others.’

‘Maybe he just wants to be friends?’

Five scoffs, ‘Well, I’m about five minutes away from stabbing a pencil through his skull.

She chuckles to herself. The sound is a raspy, jumpy static behind the line and it calms him a little though he can’t understand what she finds so utterly hilarious with the situation.

‘Well, I can’t talk long. I’ve got to take care of this… thing, I’m doing.’

There’s a large pop and Vanya’s resounding shit! that echoes behind the line.

He frowns, 'Are you cooking?'.

‘Uh, yeah, sorry about that, I was just um— shit… I’m trying out the cookbook you sent me.’

‘Well, how’s that working out for you.’ He says. He lays back on his seat, feeling the soft leather pressing on his back.

‘Horribly.’ She sighs, ‘God. I think I’m just gonna stick to um, noodles or something. Not sure if this is going to work out.’

‘You know, you have to make sure you don’t turn it up too high or it’s gonna go everywhere. I can help you, just keep me on the phone.’

‘No you don’t have to, honestly, you’re probably really busy, and I don’t want to impose or anything.’

He’s irritated, ‘You’re not imposing if I’m offering.’

‘It’s fine, Five. Really.’ She says, though he can hear the smile behind her voice, ‘I’ll figure this out. Thanks, though. I’ll just whip something up for when you get here.’

He sighs. It’s frustrating that he can’t be there for her in times like these. Now, they’re no longer kids, and the distance that separates them is an hour plane ride away, instead of just a couple of metres walk down a hallway.

But what could he do? He wanted to pursue his career and she wanted to stay in the same city.

‘I’ll see you tonight then?’

‘Course.’ He says. ‘See you.’

He waits before she hangs up and the dial closes and leaves behind its familiar tone.

That’s when Bill comes in and promptly gets kicked out along with his tray of christmas cupcakes.

——

Five makes up for the distance by spending his holidays with her. Thats why, tonight, he is flying over for Christmas so they can enjoy hot cocoa and cheap whiskey in her shitty apartment, and then talk about the past month and everything else in between. She hates Jonathan, that cellist in her orchestra. And Mr. Kowalski’s cat that leaves cat poop near the sill. The stink always wafts inside during a windy day and makes the apartment smell like cat poop.

He tells her about Bill from the office and his incessant need to ask about his day, like it’s the most interesting topic he’s ever heard.

Vanya is the only one who he celebrates these holidays with. She’s never flown to his and that’s fine, he prefers her apartment anyway. It’s bright and sunny in the afternoon in a way that doesn’t make his head ache. The couch isn’t hard on his back, and her scent lingers on the blankets and it feels at home here, more than he’s ever felt anywhere else.

Tonight though, they leave the empty wine glasses on the table, and then they drag her mattress on the living room together. She takes a couple of spare blankets and her pillows, and he pitches up the blankets with some pegs on a coat rack and a couple of lamps until the living room is transformed into their own pillow fortress.

Vanya lays flat on the mattress, ‘I think this is the best pillow fortress ever made.’ She says, matter-of-fact.

Her cheeks and nose are flushed from the wine, and her eyes glassy. Vanya could never handle her alcohol very well. The sight of it makes his stomach twist tight though, and he doesn’t want to think about that now when she’s only a couple of inches away from him and the alcohol is making everything swim like a dream.

Vanya rolls over and he looks at him with a silly grin that makes it hard to repress his own, so he doesn’t.

‘Not that you’re wrong, but care to explain how you came to that conclusion?’

‘Cause we made it.’ She grins, smug.

He grins too.

‘And cause you’re here.’ Her eyes don't leave his, ‘I’m glad you came over. You always do.’

‘Why would I want to miss this?’ The wine is making his head spin, but her hair is splayed out around her head, and the dim light makes her eyes shine like two pairs of chocolate stars. She’s beautiful, even when she’s drunk and she’s trying her best to get under his skin.

‘Go to sleep.’ He says.

She giggles.

Five sighs, and pulls the blankets over her, ‘Go to sleep, Vanya.’

‘I don’t want to.’ But he watches as she buries herself under the covers anyway.

‘Goodnight.’ He says.

‘Yeah, yeah.’

He laughs.

‘I hope you meet your soulmate and they take good care of you.’ Vanya yawns, and turns over, ‘You deserve to be happy, Five.’

Her voice is barely comprehensible under the sheets. But it’s like time has stopped for him. He looks at her, and his heart is beating loud behind his eardrums. He thinks about what he feels about her, and how much he wants to say.

And he thinks about her laugh, her red, drunken nose and the slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing and falls just a little bit more in love with her than before.

‘I’m happy now.’ Five mumbles against the kiss he plants on her forehead. He knows this, even when the feeling in his chest is twisting, and the words are sinking down his throat like a stone.

And maybe if he said it long enough he can start to believe it.

#fiveya #five x vanya #its actually more hopeful than what it seems rn lol #I promise this would all make sense in the end!#happy valentines day!

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tomhiddleston-is-mischief · 4 years

Text

“Skirt”

Professor!Hiddleston x f!student!reader

Summary: After making her professor a bit jealous, reader lets him know that she’s his

Warning(s): smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving), age gap. This isn’t very hard core

Word count: 1,084

A/N: Finally finished this one! Hope it’s good!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was definitely not something I had intended to happen. My new professor was just so damn good looking. It started out as a small crush on him; only giggling to my friends about his cute face. Then I started thinking about him more and more. He would distract me from schoolwork, and he would, of course, call me out in front of everyone. That only fuelled my fire. The way he would say ‘Miss. Y/L/N, pay attention.’ in that mysterious, British accent of his made me weak in the knees. I definitely did not think he had caught on to my lustful stares. Apparently, he caught on to several things. As he put it the first time we were alone: ‘It is hard to focus when you are constantly pressing your thighs together. You would know, wouldn’t you, Miss. Y/L/N?’

Every time I think of that moment, my sex heats up. And I, of course, go running to him for help.

I sit in his class, wearing a new, black skirt. Yes, it was a bit higher than my usual attire, but I liked it. A finger taps my shoulder, making me look up from the board. “Hey.”, a classmate of mine smiled. I smiled back at him politely. “Can I help you?”, I ask. Before he could answer, Professor Hiddleston cleared his throat. “I suggest you stop trying to speak during my lecture, Mr. Gubler.”, he raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, Professor.”, my classmate sighs. Professor Hiddleston looked at me for a second too long and went back to teaching. Oh, yeah, I am in for it.

Once class was over, I made sure I was acting like I was packing up a bit slowly. When everyone was gone, I stopped and bit my lip. “Professor?”, I started to look at his desk. He hummed to let me know he was listening as he looked at some papers, marking the incorrect answers. I cleared my throat,” I didn’t upset you, did I?” I bent down to pick up my, now, packed bag. Looking back at him, I see he was observing my figure. His attention went back to his papers quickly. “I don’t know. Do you think you did?”, he turned the paper over and started marking that side. “I’m not sure if I did or not.”, I walk over to his desk, acting as if I do not know what is about to happen. “Maybe you should show me whether I did or didn’t.”, I leaned on his desk, showing I had unbuttoned my shirt a little bit. He raised an eyebrow at me and leaned back in his chair, letting all of his attention to be put on me. I went to his side and ran my hands from his chest to his curly hair. I had a hold on his shoulders as I sat on his thigh. “I bought this skirt, thinking about what you could do to me in it.”, I whisper in his ear and continued: “All the nasty things I could whisper in your ear as your fingers work inside me. You tossing this skirt to the side as if it is nothing."

He started rubbing my thigh with his left hand. It trailed up, making goosebumps on my skin. He pushed up the skirt and dipped his finger into my underwear. "Mm, very wet, I see.", he hums as he teases my entrance with his finger. "Only for you, Professor.", I leaned to kiss his neck. "You know I like it when you call me Tom.", he growls pulling my panties down. I help him take them off and place them on the floor. "Why?", I batted my eyelashes. "Because you shouldn't be calling me by my first name. You shouldn't be doing any of this.", he curled his finger into my entrance, expanding my walls. "Mm, Tom...", I gasp and lean my head back. "Good girl.", he praises my sinful actions. His finger pumps in and out very slowly, making me whimper. "More, please...", I moan. "Patience, darling.", his voice held a teasing tone. He added a second finger and rubbed my clit with his thumb. The bundle of nerves send a shiver down my spine. He gets fast with his movements. Faster and faster to where the sounds I am making get louder and louder.

I can feel my climax right there-

Tom’s fingers are removed from my slick entrance, making me whine at the loss. “Be quiet, darling.”, he ordered making me get even hornier than before. He moved the papers that were on the desk and put them in some drawer. “Get on there.”, Tom nodded toward the desk. I get off of him and sit on it. He moved his chair, then got on his knees. Tom put a sloppy kisses up my thighs, eventually sucking marks near the part I needed him most. “Tom.”, I whine, getting irritated by his teasing. His hand that was resting on the thigh he was not kissing squeezed my skin. “Patience.”, he reminded. He kept sucking and biting up my thighs until he had gotten to my sex. he licked at stripe up my entrance, making me let out a mewling cry of pleasure. His tongue entered my needy pussy as his beard scratched my skin. My head tilted back in pleasure and my mouth hung open. “Ohhh”, the moan left my throat as he started sucking on my erected clit harshly. His tongue licked a stripe down my hot and soaking area. “Tom!”, I gasp as he bobs his head, making sure to please me the best he could. I roll my hips, practically riding his face. Every move we both made grew harder, rougher, and needier. His thumb found its way to my bundle of nerves, sending a wave of satisfaction to wash over me. I stop moving and curl my toes to this amazing feeling. A whine leaves my lips as Tom slips his tongue out of my sensitive area. "Good girl, lovie.", Tom pressed a kiss onto my forehead while I cooled off. "What do you say we head back to your place, huh?", a cocky smirk came onto my face as I panted. He grew closer to me and kissed my lips softly. After pulling away and resting his forehead on mine, he answered: "Better get cleaned up, love. Wouldn’t want anyone knowing what we just did.”

And here comes that pool of desire again.

...

perm. tags: @marshyrebelcloud @blackeyedangel9805 @lovesmesomehiddles @an-adventureland

#tom hiddleston #loki #loki (marvel)#tomhiddleston #thomas william hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston oneshot #tom hiddleston smut

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 32: Martin

They’re right. Jon Prime can’t see the colors of fear like Tim can. It’s something between a shock and a relief to all of them, but especially to Jon. Less pleasing is the news that, apparently, the one in the Institute who can see marks is Jonah, although Jon Prime admits he doesn’t know how he sees them, or even if he actually sees them or just Knows they’re there.

Tim gets very dramatic about this, but Martin suspects it really does bother him more than a little.

They won’t let Tim push himself to experiment, but he does a couple of carefully controlled and supervised peeks at objects and statements. Martin and Martin Prime are both extremely vocal and vehement in their opposition to him going up to Artifact Storage to have a look around, and even Sasha agrees it would be a really terrible idea. Jon makes it unanimous by declaring that Tim has met his quota of bad decisions for the year and begun borrowing against the next. Tim gives in gracefully enough.

He cheers up some when the first Sunday in Advent passes—not that any of them are churchgoers, but it’s a convenient way to mark the start of the season—and they’re able to decorate their house for Christmas. Martin hasn’t celebrated, really, since his grandfather died, and Jon even longer ago than that, but it’s hard not to join in with Tim’s enthusiasm. Jon finds a sprig of mistletoe and hangs it over the door; Sasha teases him about it, then evidently regrets it when it touches off a mini-lecture about its history as a protective plant to ward off witches and demons.

Martin finds himself staring at it every time they pass through the front door. It’s just a silly superstition, of course, but if he thought it would work, he’d deck out every door and window in the place. From the fact that he comes back from lunch one day and sees Tim with a search page called up for protective plants and charms, he suspects he’s not alone in that.

As the calendar goes over into December, they’re all beginning to relax somewhat. Jon is less neurotic; Sasha is less secretive and a bit more open about what she’s doing (emphasis on a bit). Martin is able to keep himself from overcompensating for his shortcomings (or, as Jon insists on referring to them, perceived shortcomings), and Tim hasn’t done anything catastrophically stupid in three weeks. Even the Primes seem more relaxed. Jon Prime is getting progressively stronger; he still says he has trouble thinking down in the tunnels, but he’s able to move around without needing to sleep for two days afterward. Martin Prime seems less worried about him, seems being the operative term. Martin knows it can’t last, but he hopes they’ll at least get through the new year before they have to start really worrying about fears and monsters and cops and bosses.

He should really know better by now.

Martin assumes the footsteps on the stairs belong to Tim or Sasha. He cut his lunch a bit short because he was expecting a callback regarding a statement follow-up, which he’s just ended, and he assumes it took longer than he anticipated. He looks up, ready to pass on the information, but the words dry up in his throat at the sight of the person striding towards him. Solid, with well-defined muscles and a blonde crew cut, the woman looks a good deal like the description of the assassin in the Jeffrey Archer book he did his last school report on, but despite being in plainclothes, she screams cop. This, then, must be Detective Alice “Daisy” Tonner, and Martin has no idea why she’s here.

Her eyes narrow when she spots Martin, and he shrinks back instinctively from the intensity in her eyes before he gets a hold on himself. He hasn’t, he reminds himself, done anything wrong. “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks, his voice only squeaking a little.

“You’re Martin Blackwood?” she demands.

“Y-yes?”

“The Martin Blackwood?”

If this were any other situation, Martin might respond with a paraphrase of that line from one of the Hitchhiker’s Guide books, he can’t remember if it’s the second or third off the top of his head: No, just a Martin Blackwood, don’t you know I come in six packs? That, however, would be tantamount to suicide. Then he remembers that the Primes got pulled over. “I’m the Martin Blackwood that works in the Institute, yes. Can I help you?”

Daisy—it’s impossible to think of her as anything else—eyeballs him, then grunts. “Detective Daisy Tonner. I need to talk to the Head Archivist.”

“Yep. Of course. Right this way.” Martin jumps to his feet, nearly toppling his chair over backwards, and starts towards Jon’s office. “Uh, can I get you a…cup of tea or…?”

“I’m fine,” Daisy growls.

The small, furry mammal of Martin’s inner being flattens its ears and crouches in the grass, desperately hoping to avoid being seen, and Martin swallows hard. “R-right. Um. This way.”

He leads Daisy over to Jon’s office door and opens it cautiously. He’s pretty sure Jon isn’t recording, at least not on the tape recorder, but he’s usually careful anyway, especially since none of them knock anymore; Jon’s asked them to stop and they’ve decided, collectively, not to ask questions. Yet.

Jon looks up from the spread of papers on his desk and smiles, but it fades quickly. Martin can only imagine what his face must look like. “Martin. Is everything all right?”

“There’s a Detective Tonner here to see you,” Martin answers.

He is in complete agreement with whatever emotion Jon’s face is attempting to convey as he shuts the folder and shoves the papers aside. “Ah…send her in.”

“Okay. I’m, um, there’s something I need to run down,” Martin says. “U-unless you need me to stick around.”

Jon seems to understand. Of course he does. “No, I should be all right.” He doesn’t sound completely sure. “Make certain your phone is on you, though.”

Martin doesn’t bother pointing out that the tunnels don’t get service. “Right.” He steps out and nods to Daisy. “You can go in.”

Daisy doesn’t thank him, just pushes past him and shuts the door. Martin stands still for a moment, trying to shake the creeping feeling of dread, then turns and heads for the trapdoor leading to the tunnels.

Something I need to run down. Jon told Martin, after Melanie’s visit, that he liked that as a code phrase for ducking into the tunnels, so they’ve all been using it lately. Usually it’s to ask the Primes a question or clarify something, sometimes just to check up on them and see if they need anything. Jon and Sasha are taking it in turns to map out the tunnels, too—they’ve almost finished the first level. Maybe. Tim and Martin, on the other hand, occasionally go down just to get some relief from the constant pressure of the Eye.

It’s interesting, Martin thinks as he clicks on his torch and descends the steps, how differently they react to the tunnels, or more specifically to the effect of the tunnels on them. Tim embraces it, and Martin suspects he would spend all his time down there if he thought he could get away with it, but he usually goes down at least once a day, if only for a few minutes. Sasha finds it kind of exciting, not being able to just ferret out the tunnel’s secrets easily, but the problem is that she’s addicted to the mystery of it. Jon is in a weird place; on the one hand, he also wants to know everything about the tunnels that he can, but on the other, he’s already starting to get to a point where if he stays down for too long, he winds up drained and shaky. Both he and Sasha are under strict injunctions not to spend more than an hour a day in the tunnels, and privately, Martin thinks that might be too long for both of them.

And Martin? He’s in a weird place, too. He does like the comfort of not being constantly watched, and of knowing that he can ask people how they’re feeling and know he won’t accidentally compel them to answer, and if he’s being honest, it’s one of the two places in the world he feels completely safe and relaxed (his mind skips away from actually acknowledging what the other place is). At the same time, though, he feels…guilty. Like he’s abandoning someone who’s depending on him.

With a sigh, he leans against the wall of the tunnel for just a moment, then straightens up and heads down to the Primes’ “room”. The door is open, and Martin can just faintly hear Jon Prime’s voice. It’s too low to make out the words, but when he cautiously pokes his head around the doorframe, he sees the Primes sitting up against the wall of the room, their battery-operated camping lantern lit and casting a soft golden glow over the pair of them. Martin Prime’s head rests on Jon Prime’s lap, and Jon Prime absently tangles the fingers of one hand through his curls. In his other hand he holds a book, and he’s reading aloud in a low, soothing voice. Martin almost wants to duck back out again, sit on the floor outside the room, and just listen for a little while.

But Jon Prime glances up as he turns a page, sees him, and makes a small noise of surprise. “Martin. I didn’t see you there. Is everything all right?”

“M-maybe?” Martin feels his cheeks go hot. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I—”

“It’s fine,” Jon Prime assures him. He keeps his voice low, and Martin wonders if Martin Prime is asleep. “Come on in. What time is it?”

Martin points his torch at his wristwatch, just to be sure. “Almost one in the afternoon. I just—it’s maybe not an emergency. I can come back—”

“Sit.” Jon Prime sets the book aside and glances down at Martin Prime. “How are you, love?”

“I’m fine. It’s fading fast,” Martin Prime replies. He starts to sit up, but Jon Prime stops him with a hand to the chest. “Jon…”

“Relax. Rest. You don’t need to—you’re fine.” Jon Prime looks up at Martin. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, ‘course not.” Martin comes into the room and automatically makes sure he doesn’t shine the torch in Martin Prime’s eyes. “I just…I just wanted to let you know, I guess. Daisy just turned up.”

Jon Prime sucks in a deep breath. “Oh, God.”

“She’s just here to deliver the next tape, though, right?” Martin asks. Anxiety suddenly grips him. He shouldn’t have left the Archives, no matter what Jon said. “She won’t hurt him, will she?”

“N-no.” Jon Prime doesn’t sound too sure. “She didn’t hurt me this time around…not physically. But…in theory, yes, she’s just dropping off the next tape. I accidentally compelled a statement out of her—I hadn’t yet learned I could do that—and made her rather angry, but…well, let’s hope it won’t come to that.” He takes a deep breath. “Then again, she did encounter us. Who knows what she’s thinking.”

“Christ, I should’ve stayed up there. I-if Jon’s going to—God, he’s going to be exhausted after, and none of us are there to cut the statement.” Martin sucks in a breath. “And he’s alone, if she does anything—I’ve got to get back up there.”

“Go easy,” Martin Prime cautions him. “And don’t break the door to his office down. She might…you won’t be the one she takes it out on.”

Martin takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Um, d-do you two need anything?”

“Some paracetamol, maybe?” Jon Prime asks. “We’re getting low.”

Martin winces and glances at Martin Prime. “Migraines?”

“Mm-hmm. Hadn’t had one in a while. I kind of thought I outgrew them, but…” Martin Prime gestures vaguely at his head. “Been bad for the last week or so.”

“I’ll be back later with some aspirin,” Martin promises. “Works better for migraines. M-maybe some of that ginger tea, too? We’ve got a ton of it.”

“Thank you,” Martin Prime says with a soft smile. “Be careful.”

Martin hums in agreement, then heads back to the stairs.

By his watch, it’s been no more than five, ten minutes since he came down into the tunnels—not nearly enough time for Jon to take Daisy’s statement, and Tim and Sasha probably won’t even be back yet. He climbs the stairs, head bowed in thought, pushes the trapdoor open, and steps out into the Archives.

And flinches.

Elias—Jonah—stands next to Martin’s desk, hands clasped in front of him, patiently waiting. His piercing grey eyes are fixed on Martin as he stands, half-in and half-out of the tunnel.

“Martin,” he says calmly. “I wondered where everyone was. Surely you don’t all go to lunch at the same time—have you been exploring the tunnels on Institute time?”

Martin panics slightly. He swallows hard, and he knows his knees are shaking as he climbs out and lets the trapdoor close behind him. “I-I came back from lunch a bit early to take a phone call. Jon told me t-to go ahead and take the rest of it once the call was done.”

“In the tunnels?”

Martin swallows hard. He’s usually fairly good at coming up with a plausible lie to cover something he shouldn’t do, or at least of distracting people from the fact that he needs to lie. But somehow, he doesn’t think he’ll manage it. Not completely.

“I’ve—I’ve been putting some things together,” he says. He manages to take a step closer, then another, until he’s by his desk and not far from Elias. Definitely closer than he wants to be, but it seems important that he do it like this. “Making connections.”

“Have you now,” Elias says blandly.

Martin takes a deep breath. He’s got to give Elias just enough of the truth to make it plausible, but not let on how much he knows, and most importantly, he can’t let Elias know the others know, too. “I’ve been thinking about the statements. One in particular. That woman who ran into Gerard Keay and the—the burn victim. There’s something he said to her, something I can’t stop thinking about—‘For you, better beholding than the lightless flame.’ I wondered what that meant, and—and then I started thinking. You know, I-I feel like—we all feel like—we’re being watched a lot down here, a-and I know it’s not CCTV or anything because there aren’t any cameras down here, but that’s what it feels like—like someone’s peering over our shoulders all the time. And that statement had a lot of eyes in it, you know? There was even an eye pressed up against the camera for just a minute on the footage we looked at.” He swallows hard. “When I go down in the tunnels—I don’t feel that. I can think down there, because I don’t feel like someone’s looking at my thoughts a-and judging them. It’s not just the woman’s imagination, o-or a crazy delusion. There is something that watches us. It might even be called the Beholding. A-at least, that’s what I’ve been calling it. And it’s here. I think it’s watching the Institute. All the time.”

There’s a brief silence, during which Martin swears he can almost hear the Eye blinking. It’s fond of you, Martin Prime said, way back in the beginning of all this, and Martin desperately hopes that’s true. Or at least that it’s fond enough of him to keep Elias from knowing how much he’s withholding. Then, suddenly, he realizes that’s going about it the wrong way and starts instead hoping that the Eye is curious enough about how this interaction will play out to keep Elias from knowing how aware the Archives team is.

“That’s very clever of you, Martin,” Elias says after what’s probably no more than a second, but feels like an eternity. “How long have you known all this?”

Not thought you’ve known, Martin notes. Known. Interesting. And frightening. “A while. At least since the Jane Prentiss attack. I-I was alone a lot, I had time to think, so…I did.”

Elias hums slightly. “I see. And what are you going to do about it, exactly?”

“Wh-what? I mean…” Martin flounders slightly and casts an involuntary glance in the direction of Jon’s firmly shut office door. “I-it’s not like I can—what do you mean?”

“I mean, Martin, do you intend to keep this knowledge to yourself?” Elias lifts an eyebrow. “Or do you plan to tell Jon?”

Sadly, there’s no right answer to this question. Martin tries to summon up his train of thought from back when Martin Prime first started telling him about all this. What would he have done if the Primes hadn’t been there to tell Jon? “I—I have to. He gets upset when we keep things from him, a-and he’s paranoid enough as it is, so if he thinks I’m keeping secrets…I promised I wouldn’t anymore. W-we all did.”

“Of course.” Elias’ voice drips with soothing insincerity and makes Martin’s skin crawl. “Will he believe you, though?”

“I’ve got—I can show him the connections I made,” Martin says. “He can be a bit skeptical sometimes, but he’s not stupid. A-and we’ve all seen enough, done enough, between Jane Prentiss and the couple of things we’ve been able to verify and—I at least have to try.” He swallows. “I don’t think he’ll be skeptical about this.”

“No,” Elias agrees, which surprises Martin. “I don’t suppose he will. And I’m sure your evidence is very convincing. But what will you do if he doesn’t believe you?”

Martin licks his lips and tries to shrug. “Protect him, I guess. As best as I can. If I’m right, he’ll find out the truth eventually on his own.”

“Oh, you are.” Elias’ frank admission makes the breath catch in Martin’s throat. He expected Elias to prevaricate, or attempt to convince him he was imagining things, but…no, no, this is definitely more frightening. “You’re absolutely right, Martin. And I’m sure, as smart as you are, that you’ve gone over a number of other statements beyond Ms.—Saraki’s, was it?—and found even more connections to support your theory, so you know this goes well beyond the Institute.”

“I-I…yes?” The more Elias agrees with him, or seems to praise him, the more frightened Martin gets. Which is probably the point.

“Mm. I wonder, though, if you really understand the implications of what you’ve discovered. There is so much more to this than you realize, Martin, and I wonder if you realize how harmful telling Jon would be.”

“Why? Because he’ll ask the wrong questions?” Martin asks before he thinks about it. “If Jon—he won’t quit or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. Not now. He’ll, he’ll look into things, start investigating. If I don’t have answers for him, he’ll try to find them on his own—that’s not a bad thing. What do you think will happen if I do?”

Elias jerks his head back slightly a split second before Martin tastes the static on his tongue and realizes what just happened. He tries not to let it show on his face. He’s fairly certain he isn’t supposed to know about that, and there’s no reason anyone would suspect that the Beholding gave them spooky knowing powers. Certainly he’s not supposed to have them. Hopefully his reaction doesn’t show on his face.

It doesn’t seem to. Elias gathers himself quickly. “You’re getting emotional, Martin. Just calm down.”

Martin isn’t sure if he’s relieved or alarmed that Elias seems able to resist his compelling. Then again, he’s not all that powerful. “I’m not emotional! I-I’m just—I was asking.”

“Of course Jon will try to find answers. But please understand that some of those answers…may not be in his best interest. Or yours, for that matter.” Elias leans slightly forward and meets Martin’s eyes. “Allow me to give you an example.”

Martin can’t stop the frightened gasp that rips itself from his throat as Jonah’s—there’s no denying in this instant that they belong to Jonah Magnus—eyes bore into Martin’s. The world seems to go black and white with a green wash and fill with static, and the thoughts fill his mind, thoughts and sights and memories not his own—

Her name on his lips is almost like a curse, and she lets one of her own fall as she sets aside the can and looks into those eyes, and she needs no prompting from the Eye to know what he has come to do. Even as they talk, as they both try to taunt each other and figure out who has the upper hand, she reaches into her pocket and fishes out the lighter, Gerard’s lighter—she never should have left the boy behind, but maybe it’s better this way—flicks it on. One little spark, and it will all end for him. But he reaches into his own pocket, pulls out a dark and ominous object, primes it, aims it at her. It comes to this, to which of them can ignite faster. She dares him to do it. He fires. She feels the impact, gasps and collapses, and for a moment, she wishes she had made other choices, she wishes—but no. She is dying, but in all she has done, she has kept safe that which she swore to keep safe. Still. She thought it would hurt more.

—and the color rushes back to the Archives, all the grey sucking into Jonah’s eyes as he blinks and straightens back up, adjusting his suit jacket with an imperious tug. Martin is pressed back against his desk, clutching it behind him with both hands and barely keeping from crumpling to the floor. His face is wet and his breath coming in short pants and gasps, and he realizes he’s sobbing, not sure if it’s with sorrow or fear. Maybe it’s both.

“Knowledge can be dangerous, Martin,” Elias says, as calmly as if he hasn’t just made Martin experience the death of a fiery old woman from inside her own head, at the hands of the man in front of him. “Do keep that in mind.” He turns to walk away, then pauses and glances over his shoulder. “Oh—and I would be cautious who I shared that knowledge with, if I were you. Jon isn’t the only one who would require proof, and I rather think Detective Tonner might have cause to suspect you had…ulterior motives in making such a wild and bold claim without evidence to back it up.” With that, he strides out of the Archives.

He passes Sasha coming in on his way out, or at least Martin’s pretty sure it’s Sasha; all he can see right now is a blur as he tries without success to get his sobbing under control. It’s definitely Sasha’s voice that speaks next, sounding worried. “Martin?”

“I—I’ll be right back,” Martin manages to choke out. He turns and bolts blindly from the Archives in the direction of the washroom. Once there, he locks himself in and slides down to the floor, buries his face in his arms, and cries.

It’s one thing to know Elias Bouchard murdered Gertrude Robinson. It’s another thing to experience it, to feel her dying moments imprint on him—what she felt in the moments leading up to it. And now he knows what it feels like to be shot, wonders if it felt like that for Martin Prime. God, he hopes he never has to deal with that again.

He takes a deep, shaking breath as the sobbing finally subsides and wipes at his face, then gets up to wash the tears and snot off. Once he’s done, he studies himself in the bathroom mirror. His eyes are reddened, his skin bears the too-shiny look of being freshly scrubbed, but it’s the best he can do. Hopefully it’ll be enough. He takes a deep breath and heads back into the Archives.

He gets there just as the door to the main corridor slams, making him jump. From the fact that Jon is frozen halfway across the Archives and Tim is over by their desks with Sasha, Martin guesses it’s Daisy leaving. Jon sighs and runs a hand through his hair, then turns and freezes. “Martin! Are you all right?”

Tim turns, his face creased in concern, and takes a step towards him with his arms already stretching out, but Martin shakes his head quickly. “Don’t—not right now. Please.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want a hug. He does, desperately. After what he’s been through, he can admit what he shied away from when he first went down to the tunnels—that the safest place in the world is in Tim and Jon’s arms. But he also knows that if he gives in and lets either of them touch him right now, he’ll fall apart. He’s just managed to get himself back together, and they still have half a day to get through, somehow.

Sasha holds out a mug—his mug, or at least the one he usually uses, the cobalt blue one with the raised pattern that looks like a cable-knit sweater, which happens to match the one he’s wearing today—brimming with tea. Martin accepts it with quiet thanks, then manages to sit down before he falls over. Tim pulls out his chair, turns it around, and straddles it, resting his chin on the back; Sasha sits down at her own desk, but doesn’t fire up her laptop yet. Jon hovers nearby, his face creased with anxiety and exhaustion in equal parts. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Martin lies. He’s never felt less fine in his life, but he’s also not sure Elias isn’t listening; even if he’s not lurking right outside the Archives, he could be watching Martin, waiting to see how he’s going to bring up his “theories”. “I was—exploring the tunnels. While you were talking to Detective Tonner. Sorry for sneaking around on you.”

Jon looks confused for a split second, then suddenly seems to understand. “Well, it’s not like I haven’t been down there myself. We all have. In fact, I think we’d best just leave the trapdoor unlocked in the future. I’d like to have a complete map of it anyway. But please, all three of you—don’t go down alone. Certainly not without telling anyone. Take a companion if you feel the need to explore.” He slides off Martin’s desk. “Tell you what. Why don’t we all go down there right now? There’s nothing going on at the moment. We’ll take an hour and look around a bit. Together.”

Sasha grabs a piece of paper, writes BACK IN 60 MINUTES on it, folds it into a tent, and leaves it up on their desks, then gives Jon a charming smile. “Just in case Elias comes down to visit.”

“Right. Bring your tea, Martin, come on.” Jon strides briskly over to the trapdoor, which Martin didn’t lock when he came out.

Tea. Martin opens his desk drawer and pulls out the bottle of aspirin he keeps there, slips it into his pocket, and grabs the box of ginger tea off their station before following the others down into the tunnels. Tim waits for him at the foot of the stairs, makes like he’s going to put his hand on Martin’s back, then evidently remembers his earlier request and instead takes the box of tea out of his hands. Martin nods gratefully.

The door to the Primes’ room is still open. Jon pokes his head in the door. “Sorry to bother you, but I didn’t want to wait until after hours.”

“Two visits in a single day. I’m honored,” Jon Prime says dryly. He’s smirking a little, but his expression falls when he sees Martin come in the room. “I am now concerned.”

Tim hands over the box of ginger tea. “That makes…four of us. Five if Martin Prime there wants to join in the concern.”

“Sure. I love worrying,” Martin Prime says, his head still resting in Jon Prime’s lap. “I’m guessing it’s not your Jon we’re worrying about? Unless he’s more upset by Daisy’s statement than you were.”

“No, it’s Martin,” Sasha replies. “I came back from lunch just as Elias was leaving and Martin was—” She catches herself.

“Having a bit of a breakdown,” Martin replies softly.

“Oh, God. Already?” Martin Prime sits up abruptly, then winces, evidently regretting it.

“Have a seat. All of you,” Jon Prime instructs. He studies Martin in obvious concern. “What did he say to you?”

Martin pulls the aspirin out of his pocket and shakes it once before handing it to Jon Prime. “It’s…I don’t know where to start. He was waiting for me when I got out of the tunnels.”

Haltingly, clutching his tea in both hands and staring into its depths, he tells the others the whole story—Elias’ questions, his own half-truths. Sasha’s eyes brighten when he mentions accidentally attempting to compel Elias, and she turns to Jon Prime, whose lips are set in a thin line. He shakes his head. “I know what you’re thinking, Sasha, but it won’t work. He’s strong enough to resist you. I tried, once, with all the force I have…he answered me, but only because he wanted to.”

“So it’s like Zone of Truth? He can choose to fail the saving throw automatically?” Tim frowns. “That’s unfair.”

“Well, he’s had two hundred years to practice, Tim.” Jon Prime turns back to Martin, and his expression is grim. “I don’t imagine he was pleased with that. What did he say about that?”

“He didn’t mention it,” Martin replies. “I—I think I managed to not let on that I realized I’d done it? He just told me to calm down. Th-then he said…he said there were some answers that may not be in our best interest, and…” He takes a deep breath. “He showed me Gertrude’s death.”

“He what?” both Jons shout in unison.

Tim lets out a string of Italian hot enough to blister paint and starts to stand. Sasha grabs his pant leg and tugs him back down, but even she looks pale in the lantern light. “Showed you. How? Put the pictures in your head?”

“Not pictures. More than video, too. It was like…like VR, o-or—I don’t know how to explain it.” Martin’s voice shakes, and he has to set the tea mug down before he breaks it. “I-it was like I was Gertrude Robinson. I-I could, I could feel what she was feeling, I had her thoughts, a-and I was listening to her talking with Elias—with Jonah—a-and then he…she had a lighter, I think she was going to burn the Archives down, and he had a gun, and she was telling him to shoot her or leave her alone, so he did.”

Jon Prime closes his eyes tightly. “‘Thought it would hurt more,’” he murmurs.

Martin Prime rubs his chest absently. “She must have a higher pain tolerance than I do.”

“It wasn’t physical pain she was talking about,” Martin says. Something clicks into place and he knows it with a certainty he’s felt about precious little else in his life. “It was the emotional pain, the knowledge that she was dying, that her plan failed. That the Fears were still out there and Jonah’s plan could still succeed.” A stabbing headache, not quite a migraine but similar in intensity, hits him directly between the eyes, and he closes his eyes, rubbing at the spot.

“Christ, Martin,” Tim breathes. “Will you take that damn hug now?”

“Y-yeah.”Martin manages a smile as he opens his eyes again and Tim’s arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him close. Jon reaches over and grips his hand hard; Sasha rests a hand on his other arm.

“God.” Jon Prime looks shaken. He clutches Martin Prime’s hand like a lifeline. “I-I always just assumed…”

Martin shakes his head slightly. “From what I could feel, she was—there were some regrets, but I don’t think actually dying upset her all that much, and I think that kind of surprised her.” He sighs. “Not that I was doing all that great. A-and then it all stopped, and I just…I’m pretty sure I was crying before all that, but I hadn’t noticed. Elias told me that ‘knowledge can be dangerous’, and then said I should be careful about who I shared the knowledge he’d just given me with.”

Tim tenses, but Martin Prime just sighs. “In other words, he thought your first instinct would be to tell Daisy he killed Gertrude. Only there’s no proof for that, so she would have assumed you were covering up for Jon.”

“She said they know I didn’t do it,” Jon murmurs. “They got the CCTV footage cleaned up…”

“Then she’d have blamed me,” Martin says softly. “Not that I would have told her anyway. I’m not stupid. But—”

“But he knew that,” Sasha completes. “I bet he was trying to convince you to tell her. Put the idea in your head. Maybe he thought you’d do it to prove him wrong…”

“And then either you or Jon would get arrested,” Tim says harshly. “Or worse.”

“Probably worse,” Martin Prime agrees. “He—” He suddenly freezes, his spine stiffening. “Oh.”

“Oh? What ‘oh’? I don’t like that ‘oh.’” Tension creeps into Tim’s voice.

“Tim, have you—looked at anyone on the team?”

“L—wh—no,” Tim sputters. “You mean with my—? No! I promised I wouldn’t—a-and that’s, that’s invasive, I don’t—why would I do that?”

“Because I’m wondering how many marks you all have. Separately and individually.” Martin Prime takes a deep breath. “If Jonah knows your Martin is developing powers…”

“No,” Jon Prime breathes. “No, he—he wouldn’t, it won’t—it wouldn’t work that way.” He pauses. “Would it?”

“If they’re all reading statements? Why wouldn’t it?”

Martin feels the other three draw closer to him, all of them managing to huddle in a group together. It’s Jon who finally asks, his voice full of trepidation, “Why wouldn’t what work?”

Dread runs down Martin’s spine as Martin Prime seems to meet each of their eyes, despite his blindness. “If you all have roughly the same number of marks, and you’re all developing powers from the Eye…Jonah might be considering whether or not he has to actually use your Jon for his ritual. Or if he could use one of you instead.”

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #emotional cruelty cw #mind manipulation cw #canon-typical Elias Bouchard asshattery

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radiorenjun · 4 years

Text

Hug. iv

Pairing: Liu Yangyang x Reader

Genre: Angst, Comedy, Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, Bullying, Attempt Suicide and mentions of self degrading, insecurities, anxiety, negative thoughts, physical injuries.

Looking from the perspective of Liu Yangyang, the boy who bullied a girl to the point she had a scar to burden both of their lives. He lived on with a heavy heart until he finally enters college and bumps into a girl with a familiar scar and the same tattoo on her wrist as his.

Chapters: iii, iv, v

Tags: @wonho-ssi @chuu4you @fullsun-haechanie @you-cant-spell-slay-without-lay @carefreebubble @uglyratlmao @harleyblaze

Yangyang walked down the halls of his school after he was finally dismissed from his class of the day. It had been a while since he came across his supposed soulmate, even then, his life didn't change much. The college life everyone was looking forward to didn't seem as interesting as Yangyang thought.

It was just like his life in high school. He saw a few of his old classmates around the halls and majoring in music didn't seem so exciting than his brother made it out to be. Speaking of his brother , he and Ten agreed that they both should start opening up more to each other just to spend more quality time.

"What?!" Ten exclaimed in the loudest voice possible. Yangyang flinched at the loud tone after confessing what's been on his mind lately. "You got into contact with Y/N L/N again?! That's great! What happened?! Did you two made up?" Ten slammed his palms on the table in excitement.

The bright smile stretched across his brothers face made the memory of his sad smile with bruised lip from back when he was still young flashed his mind. Yangyang winced at the memory before avoiding his brother's eyes.

Yangyang gulped down a chunk of egg yolk before continuing his story. "Nothing much happened, we just came across each other in the same building. And well..." Yangyang paused briefly, biting his lip anxiously as he tried not to eye the mark on his wrist.

"Well?" Ten waited for Yangyang to continue. Yangyang silently tugged on the sleeves of his baggy black hoodie down to reveal his soulmate tattoo, laying his wrist in the table. Ten's eyes darted from Yangyang's to his wrist in confusion before it all clicked.

"Holy. Fuck." Ten gasped, realizing what it meant. Yangyang shushed his brother loudly, putting a finger to his lips, making the sleeves of his hoodie fall down to hide the mark once again. "Ten, you idiot! Chenle's right down the hall!" Yangyang scolded.

"You two are soulmates?!" Ten squealed. Yangyang put his head in his palms in embarrassment, "dont remind me." he mumbled. "Thats-wow. I literally have no words, right now. So what was her reaction?" Ten asked eagerly.

"Well I- I didn't exactly tell her that. I don't think she knows. I don't want her to." Yangyang shook his head profusely, putting his hands in his hoodie pockets to clench his fists. "What? Why?" Ten whined. "Why? Why?! Oh I don't know, Ten, how would you feel if your soulmate is suddenly the kid who bullied you mercilessly back when you were 12?!" Yangyang snapped.

"Okay I get that part but this is your soulmate we're talking bout. They're supposed to love you no matter what!" Ten reasoned. "You dont understand!" Yangyang barked. "She's better off having no soulmate than having her old bully as a soulmate." Yangyang calmed down slightly.

"You don't understand, Ten. This isnt like your relationship with your soulmate. You didn't bully her when you were kids." Yangyang hissed harshly. Ten winced at the mention of his soulmate who had previously passed away.

"Dont bring her into this, Liu Yangyang." Ten snapped, glaring daggers into Yangyangs eyes. "She's your soulmate whether you both want it or not. Your her soulmate whether you feel guilty or not. When the time comes you two will eventually be together, that's how the world works. Okay, kid?" he lectured.

Yangyang felt the pain in his chest tighten. Sighing in defeat, he knew he couldn't battle with fate itself so he did nothing but nodded. "Okay." Yangyang sighed, unclenching his fists. Ten huffed grabbing his plate and walking towards the sink.

"Im sorry for bringing her into this." Yangyang muttered, he hated the thought of his family getting hurt.

"I was just-"

"It's fine. Just promise me you'll talk when something's bothering you." Ten said without giving his brother a single glance. "Okay, baby Yangyang?" Ten grinned, turning his head to his brother who gave him a frown. "Baby- Im not your baby. I'm going to college next month." Yangyang deadpanned.

"Still."

Yangyang walked passed the crowded halls filled with students. His eyes focused on the ground to avoid eye contact, it seemed as if his ears had blurred out all the sounds around him. He felt numb. Yangyang decided that he would walk by the park to get some fresh air before picking up Chenle from his tuitions.

Yangyang walked down the park to see the oh-so-familiar siamese cat that he and Ten rescued months ago, which ran away the moment it saw that Ten was carrying a bucket full of water to bathe the dirty thing despite Yangyang's protests.

"Hey, I remember you." Yangyang spoke softly, kneeling down to brush his fingers against the cat's thin yet fluffy fur. The small creature purred in response as Yangyang gently caressed it's head with his thumb, scratching the underside of its chin.

"How are you, buddy?" Yangyang smiled as the cat stared up at him. "What are you doing here you little rascal?" he giggled to himself. He was too indulged in the cat's hypnotising blue eyes to realise that someone had been coming towards him.

The person kneeled down infront of him, the moment their eyes met with Yangyang. The boy jumped back in surprise, "oh, Y/n!" his body tense at the sight of the girl carrying a small package of cat food. Y/n blushed at the sight of Yangyang, waving shyly before kneeling down to squeeze out some food infront of the cat.

Yangyang avoided her gaze when she patted the small cat's head before pulling out a notebook from her saddlebag, quickly writing down on it before showing it to Yangyang. His eyes widened slightly at the gesture, slowly taking the book in his hands to read what's written.

'Is Yumyum yours?' it read.

"Yumyum?" Yangyang asked, furrowing his brows before looking at the cat, not noticing the flushed look that spread all over the girl's face. "Is that what you name him?" he chuckled, caressing his fingers over the small creature's messy fur as he handed over the girl's notebook back to her.

"No, he's not." he replied, a small smile stretching across his face. "My brother and I found him a couple months ago all wounded. When he got better, he just ran away before we could give him a proper bath." Yangyang chuckled at the memory.

Y/n started writing down quickly on her notebook, the sound of lead scratching on the surface of paper filling their ears as they ignored the people around them. Yangyang looked up, getting a moment to look at his soulmate's appearance as she writes.

The sunlight reflecting on her eyes made it seem as if he was seeing stars in the night sky. Her lips formed into a small pout as she wrote, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Her hair framing her face, exposing her features.

He was brought back to his senses when he realised that y/n was staring back at him in concern, her fingers snapping infront of his face. "Sorry, I was daydreaming." he mumbled, attempting to avoid her gaze by looking down at the cat which was finishing it's meal. He could feel heat taking over his face as Y/n brought her notebook to his line of vision, gesturing for him to read it.

'Not to be rude but, what are you doing here?'

Yangyang let out a soft sigh, sitting down on the concrete with his legs crossed after he put down his violin case carefully on the floor along with his bag. "I just wanted to take a walk before I pick up my cousin from school, then this little guy caught my eye" he replied with a smile. Y/n nodded slowly, her mouth forming a silent 'oh'.

"What are you doing here?" Yangyang asked after a pregnant pause, intertwining his fingers together and laying them on his lap as he stared up at her curiously. Y/n bit her lip before writing down in her notebook once again.

'I started coming here every Friday to feed Yumyum. I like to have sometime after a long week of school.'

"Is being an art major that hard?" he asked, feeling his body relax as he continued to have a conversation with her. Everything felt as if it was meant to be. Y/n was surprisingly nice to talk to, even though she was slightly shy to talk to the person she hasn't seen in years.

Yangyang forgot all bout the tension between them. Her hand pushing against his shoulder when he let out a corny joke, his smile widens as she let's out a silent giggle against her palm. It felt so natural talking to her. As if they had been good friends their whole lives. As if he had never hurted her. As if it didn't feel like a punishment nor a curse to be bounded together by a mark.

Yangyang's eyes widened at the thought, his body tensed up immediately. "I-uh" he stuttered, grabbing his violin case and his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. His hand going over to his left sleeve, tugging it over his fingers behind his back as he stood up abruptly.

"I j-just remembered I gotta pick up my cousin." Yangyang stammered nervously, his heart felt heavy again as he avoided y/n's eyes laced with concern. "I-Im sorry. I h-have to go. I-I'll see you around c-campus," he bit his lip, avoiding her gaze before walking away as fast as he could.

He felt his heart ache as memories flooded his head. 'Shit,' he thought. Flashbacks of him pushing and kicking the young girl, his brother's bruised lip and the bullying he endured fluttered through his mind. He grabbed the waterbottle from his backpack, chugging down some water to calm down.

Yangyang sat alone at the table of the cafeteria like always, mindlessly eating his food. His eyes wandered around the room, gaze falling at the innocent girl with the scar on her lips smiling happily in a table surrounded by her friends.

He sighed at the sight of her, leaning his face against his palm. The sunlight shining on her form making her aura brighter as she let out silent laughs and scribble quickly on her notebook. It felt nice to see the young girl get along with so many people.

Yangyang looked down at his food, playing with food once again. He pondered if this is what life would've been for y/n if he hadn't come into the picture. He wondered if he would be sitting in the same table as her if he hadn't kicked that ball towards her.

Yangyang's thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone pull the two chairs infront of him, two boys filling in the empty spaces. "Liu Yangyang right? The German violin kid who's also in Professor Zhou's class?" the boy who looks as if he came from the sports department.

Yangyang raised his brow, nodding hesitantly. "Great, I'm Guanheng. You can call me Hendery, if you like. This is Xuxi." the other boy introduced, his forearm laying on the table as his other hand pointed towards his friend who waved with a toothy smile in response.

"In case you didn't know. We, too, are also in the same class as you." Hendery smiled. Yangyang nodded in confusion, not seeing why they're sitting infront of him, eyes wandering from theirs to his soulmate's form. "Look, we know that the music project could be done solo and all. But-"

"We need your help!" Xuxi slammed his hands on the table, making Yangyang flinch in shock. Yangyang's eyes widened in surprise before sparing a glance at y/n who was still calmly communicating with her friends.

"What do you need my help for?" Yangyang spoke, raising his brow as he meet their nervous eyes and awkward smiles. "We wanted to do a duet for the project. Then our dumb asses realised we can't play instruments for shit." Xuxi explained.

"So you need my help to be your instrumentals?" Yangyang questioned, raising his brow. "Yes," the two boys said in unison, letting out similar cheeky grins. "Why should I help you guys exactly? I don't even know you guys that well." Yangyang went on.

"He's got a point." Xuxi mumbled to Hendery, only to get shoved by the shoulder. "Come on, we could be your friends! No offense, the table seems empty." Hendery smiled innocently. "I'm good," Yangyang mumbled, going back to his food with his eyes occasionally glancing back at the girl a couple tables away from them.

"Come on, we'll do anything!" Lucas nagged. "Yeah, what you want, Liu? Money? Cheat answers to the exams?" Hendery went on. Yangyang couldn't be bothered to even consider a word they were offering, for he was too busy gazing into the radiant beauty that is his soulmate.

"Yangyang? You listening?" Hendery asked once he realised Yangyang wasn't listening to a word he said. Both boys turned their backs, following Yangyang's eyes to the girl in sight. "Ooh," Xuxi grinned, giving Hendery a knowing smirk.

"Wow man. Didn't know you'd be the type to like someone other than your soulmate but I'll do the job for you-" Xuxi stood up from his chair, causing Yangyang's eyes to widen in panic. He stood up abruptly and reached out to grip his shoulder to stop Xuxi from taking a step further.

He watched as the girls began to stand up and leave the cafeteria. Yangyang let out a sigh of relief before glaring at the two boys, "dont you dare talk to her. I'll join your group, just-" he paused with a click of his tongue. "Just don't talk to her." Yangyang growled, pushing Xuxi's shoulder away before picking up his bag and gripped the case of his violin, leaving without another word.

He jogged out of the cafeteria, ignoring the two boy's loud voices of questioning when to meet up to practice for the project. Yangyang slowed down once he felt like he had gone far enough from the cafeteria, taking small breaths as he walked down the hall.

He stopped when he saw a familiar girl sitting all alone in a table with a pencil hanging on the top of her ears, a ruler in her hand and a piece of paper in their other. Brows furrowed in concentration, tongue slightly stuck out.

Yangyang smiled to himself at the sight of how cute she looked, leaning to get a better look of her expression. But he was soon interuppted by a male stepping into his line of vision, he looked around his age. "Who are you?" the male spoke in a rude tone.

Yangyang took a step back in surprise before stuttering out, "I-I just came here t-to talk to y/n." The male raised a brow in suspicion, frowning as he crossed his arms. "What? Are you like, her friend or something?" he asked.

Yangyang didn't know how to respond. Was he her friend? Or was he still that same bully in her eyes? "I-" he was cut off with a click of the male's tongue. "Thought so," the male then rudely shut the door to his face, leaving a baffled and flustered Yangyang standing in the hallway in confusion.

Yangyang ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He couldn't get this note right for tomorrow's solo presentation, he took a long sip of his Americano, clearing his throat before starting to play once again.

The sound of his violin echoing through the small room, once again. Yangyang's tired eyes never wandering away from the music sheet displayed before him. His mind concentrated on the notes to realise that a girl had walked into the music room.

The sound of a chair grinding against the tile caused Yangyang to jump back in shock, looking back in relief to see y/n placing the chair back to its original place. "Y/n?" Yangyang raised his brow in confusion. "What are you doing here? Curfew's in half an hour." Yangyang asked.

The girl smiled, quickly writing in her notebook and shoving it to the distressed boy's face.

'I was done with my assignment for today, I was heading back to the dorms to hear the beautiful melody of a violin. What are you still doing here?'

Yangyang bit his lip slightly, smiling up at her shyly. "Same here, I just kept getting these notes wrong. I need to get them done before tomorrow," Yangyang explained, scratching the back of his neck with one hand and pointing at the music sheet displayed with his bow in the other.

Y/n nodded, looking around the music room to observe the instruments around them. Yangyang put his violin back in its case, trying to ease his heart rate as he felt his heartstrings being tugged with every movement the girl made.

His left wrist ached to touch hers, but occupied it with tidying up his things and putting them into his case and bag. "Um, I'm closing up soon. You wanna walk back to the dorms together?" Yangyang asked hesitantly, swinging his bag over his shoulder as his eyes wandered to his feet to avoid eye contact.

Y/n nodded, walking out of the room, clutching her notebook in her hands as she waited for Yangyang to lock up the room and walk down the halls together. There was an awkward tension in the atmosphere around them as they didn't know what to talk bout.

Yangyang gulped internally, putting down his violin case as he closed the door, turning the key twice and ensuring the door is locked. Yangyang didn't notice y/n's eyes wandering curiously down his tall form, how his hair was tussled and messy from his fingers running through it I'm frustration.

How his lips were plump and sucked in between his teeth nervously. His freshly dyed brown hair. The baggy sweater making him look casually aesthetic. Y/n knew it's wrong to be looking at her friend like this, especially if Yangyang had a soulmate.

Speaking of soul mates, y/n's eyes wandered down to Yangyang's wrist. The long sleeves of his sweater barely covering the black ink mark staining the skin of his left wrist. Her eyes widened as she spotted two balloons, similar to the ones on hers.

When Yangyang moved away, y/n look up at his eyes which were filled with nervousness. He coughed lightly to release the awkward tension, "let's go." he mumbled shyly, turning to walk to the direction of the dorms before he was held back by a small hand wrapped around his forearm.

Yangyang's eyes widened as he looked back, looking down at the fingers gripping his white sweater tightly as to not make him leave. His eyes hesitantly looked at her own. Yangyang felt like he was going to melt at the sight of her eyebrows furrowed cutely. "Y/n?"

The hand that was on his forearm went down the his wrist, right below his tattoo. She lifted it up, tugging down the sleeves which made Yangyang's eyes widen. "Wait, no-" he stuttered out, trying to tug his wrist out of her grip before she could see the mark.

Unfortunately, he didn't realise how hard he was pulling. With the sheer amount of force he applied to pulling back his wrist, he made the girl fall forwards to the floor, eliciting a small broken hoarse squeak from the girl. "Oh my God, Y/n," Yangyang gasped out, realising his mistake.

His heart clenched. Once again,that excruciating feeling in his chest appeared. He couldn't make himself move to help you get up and once you do, you were looking at him with such concerned eyes, his guilt increased tenfold.

"I-Im sorry, I have to go" were the last words Yangyang stuttered out before sprinting out of there. Trying to go somewhere to clear his clouded mind, leaving his soulmate standing there in confusion. Yangyang took a deep breath as he barged into his dorm room, not caring the questions his roommates bombarded him as he quickly went to his room.

'Life couldn't get any shittier'

A/n: hey! This took me so long forgive me for the delay. I'll probably release the next chapter sooner than later so keep an eye out for that. Sorry for those who waited for so long for this lol. I realised its 12:40 AM and I'm on 10% and there's a chance that I have a quiz tomorrow that I have not studied for. Wml

Btw

#hug.#yangyang angst #wayv yangyang #nct yangyang #yangyang x reader #yangyang #nct angst #nct wayv #nct x reader #nctzen #wayv angst #wayv #wayv x reader #wayv scenarios #wayv au

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renjiluvermain · 4 years

Text

talk 2 u — yugyeom (f) (full version)

↯ summary: in which yugyeom finally works up the courage to talk to you

↯ genre: fluff

↯ tags: shy yugyeom x black reader, non idol yugyeom, university student yugyeom

↯ inspiration: this drabble was inspired by brent faiyaz’s song talk 2 u.

you were beautiful, scratch that you were stunning, and he wanted you. everything little thing about you attracted him, he had never been so attracted to a woman ever. you had been on his mind ever since the day he first saw you stumbling into one of his math lectures, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

now here you sat in the quaint little campus coffee shop, nose buried in the latest book you’ve been reading occasionally taking breaks here and there to sip on your hot chocolate, as you set far off from everyone in peace with being in your own little bubble.

he stared at you in admiration taking in your appearance, the way your freshly done box braids flowed down your back, how your smooth brown skin glowed in the dim lighting, your chocolate brown eyes that fondly skimmed over the pages of your book and, your pretty smile how could he forget your smile. you were perfect in his eyes.

“hello earth to yugyeom!” jackson belts out, waving his hand in front of yugyeom’s face in attempt to finally get his attention.

“sorry guys, i kinda zoned out a little bit what we’re we going over again?” yugyeom says, as he quickly flipped through the page’s of his textbook trying to find out what they were going over now. stealing glances at you every chance he could get.

“for this to be a study group, why does it feel like i’m the only one who’s actually studying” jinyoung sighs, as he finally looks up from his text book.

briefly taking a synopsis of the table to confirm what he already knew was true. jaebeom and youngjae were two busy sharing pictures of their pets with each other, mark was too busy scrolling down instagram to even pay attention. jackson and bam were busy taking turns flinging tiny paper balls at yugyeom, who was currently making googly eyes at you to even focus.

“yugyeom why don’t you just go talk to her?, instead of staring at her like some creep.” bam laughs, as he continues to fling pieces of paper at yugyeom.

“could you shut up she might hear you!” yugyeom whisper yells in hopes you hadn’t heard him.

“i don’t think our noise level is a problem, i’m pretty sure she can feel your stare from across the room.” mark says as he continues to scroll away on his phone.

“is it really that obvious?” yugyeom questioned now feeling a little self conscious

“just go and talk to her yug.” youngjae says, as he encouragingly you pats yugyeom on the back.

“It’s not that easy, i don’t even know the first thing to say to her” yugyeom sighs in frustration.

“i don’t know maybe start by introducing yourself, you know the basics of starting a conversation with anyone.” jinyoung says in duh tone.

“all else fails just woo her with your charm.” jackson says trying to boost yugyeom’s confidence a little bit.

“what charm?.” jaebeom jokes

“ignore jaebeom, yugyeom you got this.” youngjae says encouragingly. with that the guys gave him one last pep talk. his eyes were solely fixed on you, as he began walking briefly stopping halfway pondering if he wanted to turn around and wuss out or actually do this. he turns around only to be met with the guys all staring back at him, he sighs as he turns back around and started walking again. he guessed he had no choice it was truly do or die.

“hi...” yugyeom says finally reaching your table. you finally look away from your book confused, as to why the cute foreign exchange student from your math class was talking to you of all people. you watched as he nervously looked away and fiddle with his fingers before speaking again.

“hi...., my- names yugyeom we take math class together” his nervousness evident in his voice

god we’re you even more beautiful up close you had stumbling over his words like a love struck child.

“hi yugyeom. nice to meet you.” you speak reassuring him with a small smile hoping ease his nerves. he chuckled, as he scratched the back of his neck.

“i’ve...... uh been meaning to talk to you for awhile now i- well... i just wanted to tell you that i think you’re absolutely beautiful.”

he confessed, as a bright blush spread across his cheeks. you couldn’t help but to find him absolutely adorable, it was kinda cute that you actually made him that nervous.

“ I-... was wondering if i could maybe take you out sometime and get to know you.” he looks away as he continues fidget with his fingers awaiting your answer.

“yes.” he snaps his head up to actually look at you with a shocked expression surprised that you actually said yes to him.

“really?” he says in shock

“yes really, i actually would really like that.”

a/n: sorry it took me so long to finish this. i hope you guys like it sorry for any grammatical errors I made 🙂

#kpop ambw #got7 fluff #got7 imagines #got7 #poc kpop #yugyeom #kim yugyeom #got7 reactions #ambw #got7 smut

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itsyourchoice-hp · 3 years

Text

Year 2: Intruder in the Castle

The sound of a door being closed very suddenly caused Cath to wake up with a start. For a moment she was very confused as she realized she was wearing her school robes.

“Cath!” Ginny said urgently stood over her bed, panting.

As she rolled over, she saw a textbook lying open beside her and the crumpling of parchment under her. Cath sat up, remembering that she had stayed up until around 2:30 trying to finish a Charms essay that was due the next morning. Then panic hit her like a jolt of electricity.

“What time is it?” she asked, her voice hoarse from lack of sleep.

“You’re late!” Ginny replied.

“Bollocks!” Cath cursed, leaping out of bed. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Well, I thought you were just going to sleep past breakfast! When you didn’t come to class, I realized you probably hadn’t set an alarm or heard the bell… I told Professor Flitwick that I left my wand in the dorm so I could come to wake you up,” she explained as Cath threw on a spare school blouse and her shoes.

“I can’t believe I slept in!” Cath moaned, gathering her bag and collecting the crumpled papers on her bed. “Ugh, my essay is probably ruined.”

“As long as you’ve got all the papers, let’s go! You can sort it out once we’re in the classroom,” Ginny said.

Cath tried to comb through her hair as they hurried down the staircase. She groaned in misery, and her stomach groaned right back. All the work she had put into her essay last night was certainly not paying off.

Luckily, the Charms class was the closest to the Gryffindor Common Room, and just before they arrived at the closed door of the classroom Ginny stopped her.

“Go in a minute after me, or else we’ll look suspicious,” Ginny instructed in a whisper. Cath nodded, and watched from around the corner as Ginny opened the door and entered the classroom.

“Welcome back Ms. Granger,” Professor Flitwick said in his squeaky voice. “Did you manage to find your wand?”

“Ah — well, I think it actually might be in my bag after all,” Ginny replied. A few classmates snickered. “Silly me.”

“Well, anyhow, please take your seat so that I may continue the lesson,” he told her.

Cath heard the scraping of a chair on the ground and then Professor Flitwick continued the lecture. She waited for a few beats, dreading walking into the classroom and interrupting him. She hadn’t even gotten a chance to look in the mirror before she left, or even brush her teeth.

Drawing in a deep breath and trying to muster as much confidence as she could, Cath opened the door. All heads turned to her. She quickly took the nearest empty seat, beside a Hufflepuff boy named Winston McCarthy.

“Ms. Malfoy,” Professor Flitwick addressed her from atop his stack of books, looking slightly put off that he had to pause his lesson once again. “I see you’ve decided to join us this morning.”

“I’m so sorry, Professor,” Cath began. “I was up so late finishing my essay, and I—”

“I don’t need an excuse, Ms. Malfoy, but I do need your essay,” he interrupted, gesturing to the stack of completed essays on his desk.

Cath, feeling quite embarrassed, opened her school bag and pulled out her wrinkled essay, trying to quickly put them in order. Her face went very red as she felt the student’s eyes on her.

“We’ll sort this out after class,” Professor Flitwick said. “Now, where were we?”

Cath sighed, pulling her textbook and wand out of her bag as he resumed the lecture. She made eyes with Ginny, who gave her a sympathetic smile.

“At least it’s not Potions class,” Winston whispered to her with a wry smile.

She nodded in reply. Winston had a point; if she had shown up late to Professor Snape’s class with a crumpled-up essay she would have been embarrassed in front of the class and most likely given detention.

After the class was over, Cath stayed behind, smoothing out her essay and putting it in order. There were a few splats of smudged ink on the last page and an unfinished concluding paragraph, presumably where she had fallen asleep.

“Here’s my essay,” she said to Professor Flitwick, handing him the parchment. She could see him flip through it and pause at the last page where the ink smudges were. “Again, I’m… really sorry.”

“Did you complete it?” he asked her.

“No, Professor,” she replied, picking nervously at a loose thread on the sleeve of her white blouse. She noticed as she looked down that she had a run in her stockings. Could this day get any worse? she thought, groaning inwardly.

“Well, if you spent so much time on it, I’m sure it will be an excellent essay,” he said, placing it on the stack on his desk. “Now I suggest you don’t be late for your next class.”

“Thank you, Professor,” she said gratefully before collecting her things and leaving the classroom. Ginny was waiting for her outside.

“Cheer up,” she said to Cath. “At least we’ve got Defence next. And you won’t believe what happened at breakfast.”

“What?” Cath asked, perking up as she remembered that they were about to see Professor Lupin.

“Harry got a Firebolt in the mail!” she replied.

Cath’s eyes widened. The Firebolt was the newest and fastest racing broom in the world. Draco had been begging their father all summer for one who had in return told him that his only chance of getting one was if Draco could get top marks in their year.

“Who sent it to him?” she asked Ginny eagerly. “Has he tried it yet?”

“That’s the thing — there was no letter, or tag, or anything! We’ve got no idea who could have sent it to him,” Ginny said.

“That’s odd,” Cath frowned.

“Hermione insisted he turn it in to get it tested for curses or hexes,” Ginny continued. “But he obviously wasn’t too keen on that.”

“But who would want to curse Harry?” Cath asked.

“Besides You-Know-Who?” Ginny pointed out in a low voice.

“You don’t think he’s back, do you? I mean I thought after what happened last year…” Cath trailed off, noticing that Ginny was beginning to look a bit uncomfortable.

Both entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, expecting to see Professor Lupin smiling at them. Instead, they were faced with the sour glare of Professor Snape who loomed over them as they took the remaining seats, conveniently at the very front of the classroom.

“What are you doing here?” Ginny blurted out.

Cath elbowed her in the side.

“Take your seat, Weasley,” Snape replied sharply.

Ginny obliged, not bothering to hide her unhappy expression. Cath sat down beside her, feeling thoroughly disappointed that their lesson wouldn’t be taught by Professor Lupin.

“Where’s Professor Lupin?” asked Colin Creevey from the back of the classroom.

“Professor Lupin is… ill for the time being,” Professor Snape replied. Cath thought she saw his lips curl in what looked like a sneer. “Take out your textbooks.”

The sound of students shuffling around in their schoolbags filled the classroom, which was thick with disappointment and dismay.

“Wonder what’s wrong with him,” Cath heard Penelope Dawson whisper to Dan Hadfield from behind her.

“I sure hope he gets better soon,” Dan muttered in reply.

The whack of Snape’s measuring stick against the blackboard caused everyone to jump. “Silence,” he snapped. “I don’t know what kind of a classroom Professor Lupin keeps, but I do not tolerate students talking out of turn when I’m about to begin a lesson.”

Nobody made a sound.

“I see that your content for the year is very… simple,” he continued. “The curses you are to learn about this year are ones that I would teach first year students. Were it up to me, you would be studying more advanced things, such as dark creatures. Vampires, werewolves… the like. But since Professor Lupin seems to have such low expectations of you, we will pick up today on chapter 4.”

As the words Chapter 4: Basic Curses and Countercurses appeared on the blackboard, Cath and Ginny exchanged grim looks.

For the remainder of the class, Cath was distracted both by the thought that the lesson would be far more interesting if Professor Lupin were teaching it, and by Ginny drawing rather rude doodles of Professor Snape on the corners of her parchment paper when he had his back turned to them and then quickly scribbling over them before he noticed.

***

Cath and Ginny were studying in the Great Hall, trying to get a head start on the essay that Professor Snape had assigned to them. Ginny, who had become bored quite quickly, had made a paper airplane out of a spare piece of parchment and had levitated it into the air, making it fly in circles around Cath’s head.

Cath heard the sound of running coming towards them and saw Hermione approaching them, her wild hair bouncing at her shoulders.

“Cath,” she said, looking concerned. “Draco is in the hospital wing.”

Cath frowned. “Is he alright? What happened?”

“He’s fine… he was injured in Care of Magical Creatures. Class was dismissed early. I just thought you’d want to know,” she explained.

“Thanks,” Cath replied. “I suppose I’ll go check on him. We weren’t getting that much done anyway.”

“It’s just so boring,” Ginny complained. “I know Snape’s been after the Defence position for years, but he’d be horrible at it.”

“Our lesson was strange too,” Hermione replied. “He skipped past what Professor Lupin was teaching us and went way ahead to our second term curriculum. He taught us about werewolves today…”

“He must have an obsession with them,” Ginny snickered. “because he mentioned them in our class, too.”

“I hope Professor Lupin gets well soon,” Cath said, standing up from the table.

“So do I,” Hermione replied, though she was frowning slightly as if in thought. “Anyways, I’ve got to get started on my essay. See you both later.”

Cath saw her pull an astronomy textbook out of her bag and flip to a diagram of the moon cycle as she walked away. “Well,” she said to Ginny. “I suppose I should visit my brother and see what happened to him. I’m sure he’s making quite a fuss about whatever it is.”

“I’ll be here,” Ginny sighed, sending the paper airplane zooming around the Great Hall.

Cath walked over to the Hospital Wing. It was empty, save for the bed where Draco lay. His arm was bandaged up and in a sling. “Draco,” she called, hurrying over.

He looked over and gave a wave with his other hand. “I guess you heard then news,” he said weakly, as though he were quite sick.

Cath raised an eyebrow. “They’re amputating your arm?” she asked sarcastically. Draco was known to be overdramatic about nearly everything, especially injuries. Cath suspected it was how he got attention from their parents.

“Hope not,” Draco replied, looking mournfully out the window.

“Well? What happened, then?” she prompted.

“That stupid oaf Hagrid,” Draco said. “He thought it would be a good idea to bring Hippogriffs to our first class.”

“Hippogriffs?” Cath said in surprise.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Harry made a big show of how easy it was for him to gain its respect. I thought I could do it too. But when I approached it, it just attacked me!”

Cath suspected that Draco wasn’t telling her the full truth, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that it would be extremely painful to be attacked by the razor-sharp claws of a Hippogriff. “Well, it could have been a lot worse.”

“It nearly killed me!” Draco snapped.

“I’m glad your alive,” Cath said, feeling frustration and annoyance toward her brother. She didn’t understand how they could be so different.

“I’ve already written a letter to Father and Mother,” he said. “He’ll be furious when he finds out that Dumbledore let that giant teach at Hogwarts.”

Cath felt slightly defensive. Although she didn’t know Hagrid very well, she could tell from their one visit that he had a heart of gold and extensive knowledge about magical creatures.

“I’m sure it wasn’t Hagrid’s fault that the Hippogriff scratched you,” she said reasonably. “It’s not like he set it on you or anything.”

“Who’s side are you on?” he snapped.

“Well, if you weren’t constantly trying to one-up Harry maybe you wouldn’t have been scratched at all. You know it could have been a lot worse,” she replied angrily.

“I see,” he said coldly. “You’re taking his side. You just want the Chosen One to notice you, don’t you?”

“Draco,” she said. Part of her felt embarrassed, but most of all she was angry at Draco for being so selfish. It seemed that every year he found some reason to let his jealousy of Harry get in the way.

“Pathetic,” he shook his head.

“Why are you so jealous of him?” Cath asked. “You’re his friend.”

“Did you come here to visit me or to rub it in your face that you like Harry more than me?” he asked.

“For Merlin’s sake, Draco! That’s not what any of this is about,” Cath was almost at a loss for words.

“Get out,” he said.

“Come on—”

“Leave!” Draco nearly yelled.

Cath sighed in frustration. Draco turned his head away and refused to look at him. She knew he’d come around, as always, but she wished that he didn’t have to be so jealous all the time. Knowing that there was no chance of Draco speaking to her, she turned around to leave without a single feeling of sympathy towards him.

Merlin’s beard, he can be stubborn, Cath thought angrily. Draco could sulk all he wanted, but Cath knew that if she didn’t give him the reaction he wanted, he would come around and act as if nothing had happened. Draco loved being the center of attention, and he loved to be able to influence people who listened to him. If he wasn’t, he acted out like he’d just done to Cath.

As she walked through the doors of the Great Hall, she scanned the table for where she’d left Ginny. She had moved a little further down the table and seemed to be talking to Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. Ginny saw Cath approaching them and waved.

“Well?” she asked as Cath sat down next to her. “How is he?”

Seamus and Dean, sitting on the other side of the table, exchanged looks as Cath heaved a frustrated sigh. “He’s fine,” she replied. “It’s not as bad as he made it look.”

“Gave everyone a right scare, that’s for sure,” Seamus commented. “Hagrid tried to warn everyone to be careful around Hippogriffs.”

“He just went right for it,” Dean said.

“I guess he underestimated how dangerous they are,” Cath said, firmer than she intended. As soon as she said it, she wondered why she was defending her brother when she was so upset with him.

Seamus and Dean became very quiet, and Ginny awkwardly cleared her throat. “Well… at least he’ll be okay, I suppose,” she said, clearly trying to help diffuse the tension.

“Yeah,” Cath replied. “I think I’m going to go back to the dorm. I need my Transfiguration textbook.” Before anyone could reply, she stood up and collected the homework that she had left a few seats down.

Cath had always assumed from what Draco had said in his first year that he was well-liked and popular. She’d never considered the fact that some people might think poorly of him, or dislike him. She’d certainly never had to come to his defence, or feel that she needed to prove him to other people. For what felt like the hundredth time, Cath wondered why her and Draco were so different, and why she was the only Gryffindor in her family when the rest were Slytherins in every sense of the word.

***

The Great Hall was lined with thick, plush sleeping bags, and without the long tables and chairs, it suddenly looked so cavernous and empty. Cath and Ginny huddled close together, as the murmuring students made their way to where their House usually sat at meals. There seemed to be a collective sense of fear and worry, for what had happened earlier that day had nearly sent the school into a panic.

From what Cath had pieced together from different students, the portrait of the Fat Lady had been slashed to bits earlier that evening. When she was found, she had claimed that Sirius Black had attacked her when she had refused him entry into the Gryffindor Common Room.

“You don’t think he’s really here, do you?” Ginny whispered uncomfortably.

“I don’t know… but I think we have a good reason to think so, if we’re all sleeping in here,” Cath replied. She felt nervous, despite the fact that teachers were keeping watch over them. “What I want to know is why he tried to get into our Common Room.”

“It’s strange, you know,” Ginny said slowly as if putting pieces together. “Dumbledore ordered Dementors, of all creatures, to protect Hogwarts. The same creatures that guard Azkaban. And then Sirius Black breaks into the castle… How did Dumbledore know that he would come here?”

“Maybe there’s something inside the castle that he wants,” Cath suggested.

Both fell silent. Thinking about it would only frighten Cath more, so she turned her focus to the ceiling of the Great Hall, reflecting the dark, swirling skies outside. Now that it was mid-October, the sun set much earlier and although it was only eight o’clock, it was pitch dark out. Cath stared up at the stars, and the nearly-full moon as she drifted off to sleep.

She slept rather restlessly, partly because she wasn’t used to sleeping on the hard ground of the Great Hall with the entire student body around her, and partly because she didn’t want to be caught unaware by a mass murderer.

Cath felt as though she had only just closed her eyes when she awoke to the chatter of students and the rustling of sleeping bags. She had to blink for a moment as she looked up at the sunlight streaming through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. Students were beginning to wake up and gather with their houses.

“Gryffindor students, please gather around me!” Percy Weasley called loud and clear, waving his hand in the air.

“Shut up Perce,” Ginny muttered from beside Cath, sitting up and yawning widely. She looked at Cath. “How’d you sleep?”

“Not great,” Cath replied. “I feel like I hardly got a wink.”

“Me too,” Ginny said.

They both got out of their sleeping bags and made their way over to the group of Gryffindor students. Chelsea Bingsley, the Gryffindor Prefect, waved them over.

“Morning girls,” she said with a bright smile. The blue smudges under her eyes betrayed her bright attitude; it looked as though she had hardly slept either. “Breakfast is in the Common Room today. Classes have been canceled.”

“Brilliant!” Ginny said.

Cath heard Ron a little ways off. “I’m starving.”

“How is it that you’re always hungry?” Hermione rolled her eyes.

Cath and Ginny both made their way over to the three of them as the Gryffindor students began to exit the Great Hall.

“Have you heard anything?” Cath asked them.

Harry shook his head no. “Nothing.”

“I suspect the teachers are trying to keep things under wraps,” Hermione said in a low voice. “Just imagine how poorly it would affect their image if the whole school was in chaos. I don’t think we’ll be hearing any details.”

“I imagine Dumbledore’s under a lot of pressure to keep everything under control,” Ron speculated. “I don’t envy him, that’s for sure.”

“Do you think he was actually in the castle?” Ginny asked. “How could he have gotten past all the security measures and the Dementors?"

Cath realized the gravity of what Ginny had just said. If it was true that Sirius Black had entered the castle, gotten through the enchantments on the perimeter of the castle, and survived the Dementors, he had to be one of the most powerful wizards alive.

“You should have seen the Fat Lady,” Ron said. “We were there right after it happened. She was hysterical. I’ve never seen anyone so frightened.”

“That’s enough,” Percy interjected, appearing beside them. “I won’t have you spreading fear among the students.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Lay off, Percy. I’m only telling them what happened yesterday.”

“What happened is none of your concern,” said Percy sternly.

Ron muttered something very rude under his breath as Percy pushed past them to get to the front of the group. They had arrived at the entrance to the Common Room. Cath and the others were too far back to see the portrait, but they could hear what was going on.

“Greetings, brave comrades!” came a voice from the portrait.

“Good morning, Sir Cadogan,” Percy said. “Everyone, we have decided to appoint Sir Cadogan to… guard the Fat Lady’s post while she is taking a much-needed rest.”

“It is my duty to serve and protect Gryffindor House until death,” the voice said again.

Cath craned her neck to see what was going on. She caught a glimpse of the new portrait and saw a knight in full armor, brandishing a sword and sitting on a very fat and tired-looking pony.

“If you wish entrance, you must present the password,” he said as though it were some sort of dangerous quest.

“Yes, we know,” Percy said shortly. “Oddsbodkins.”

“Bless you!” Fred said, handing Percy a handkerchief.

“The password is oddsbodkins,” Percy repeated.

“I grant you entrance, brave soldiers,” Sir Cadogan said, bowing and swinging open.

“They must have gotten him from the loony bin,” Ron muttered.

One by one, the students crawled through the portrait hole and into the warm Common Room. It was nice to be back in such a familiar place. The fire was roaring, and against one wall was a table full of food.

“Please form an orderly queue!” Percy instructed. He was unsuccessful in his attempts to form a line, as hungry students nearly knocked him over trying to get to the table.

Hermione shook her head in disappointment, giving disapproving looks to students who were trying to budge past each other.

“Cath, would you do me a favour?” Ginny asked. “I’m so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open. Do you think you could save me some food while I go take a nap?”

Cath nodded and Ginny thanked her before heading up the staircase towards the girl's dormitory.

Ron pushed through the crowd, holding his plate piled with food above his head so it didn’t get knocked over. When he saw Cath he walked over to her.

“I’m so glad classes are canceled,” he remarked. “I’ve got this stupid Divination assignment due today that I haven’t started on yet.”

“I was really dreading Potions today,” Cath agreed.

“Gryffindor is having a practice for the match tomorrow. Fancy coming to watch with Hermione and I?” he asked before taking a huge bite of toast and marmalade.

Cath nodded. “I’d love to.”

Despite last night’s events, the students seemed to be in good spirits. Having the day off of classes put nearly everyone in a pleasant mood, and much of the day was spent in the Common Room playing games, studying, and talking excitedly about the Quidditch match a few days away.

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

Text

Bah Hiddleston | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon) | Chapter 3 | Not What I Expected

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon)

Summary: Tamra Harmon has no mind to mess with Christmas. All that talk about Christmas magic and the joy of the holidays is just a bunch of mumbo jumbo. But will a chance encounter with perennial Christmas lover Tom Hiddleston change all that?

This chapter: Luke is not pleased with Tom’s scheme but Tom is relentless in his pursuit to find Tamra’s Christmas spirit. Perhaps a bit of Christmas shopping will do the trick.

Warnings for story: smut, oral sex, implied smut, vaginal sex, light angst

“What on earth do you need to tell me at 10 at night two weeks before Christmas?” Luke’s voice boomed through the phone as Tom walked up the stairs to his home.

“Listen Luke, I thought I should be the first to tell you… for once,” Tom muttered those last words.

“Tell me what, Tom.” Luke spat back.

“Over the next few days you might see pictures of me with a mystery blonde woman. Nothing is going on between us. We are just friends.” Tom blurted out before he realized what he had said.

Silence. “Luke?” Tom asked.

“Sorry, mate. I’m marking down the date as the STUPIDEST FUCKING THING EVER!!”

Tom held the phone away from his ear. “Did you really need to shout, Luke?!” Tom replied, anger growing. “For once, I call you ahead of time to tell you about some upcoming potential problem and I am rewarded with you bellowing in my ear. Now I appreciate why they say it’s better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.”

“I might have overreacted.”

“Might?!”

“I overreacted. Apologies. Now pray tell why you are hanging around with a mystery blonde woman?”

“None of your business.” Tom snapped as he flicked the light on in his bedroom, Bobby nipping at his heels.

“In your fucking dreams, Thomas!” Tom overheard a loud thud in the background.

“How’s your hand?”

“Hurts.”

“Next time don’t bang it against the counter. Now if you can keep calm, I will explain that it is none of your business because there is not nothing to manage. She is a friend in town for the next two weeks and she is keeping me company through the holidays.”

“When do I get to meet her?”

“If everything goes to plan, never. Luke, trust me. I got this under control.”

Luke sighed heavy into the phone. “The last time I trusted you, I didn’t sleep for three days.”

“I’m not living that down, am I?”

“Not in the foreseeable future.” Luke grunted. “Okay, Tom, I won’t push you for information for now. But if things get crazy, you will force my hand.”

“Fair enough. You are a good friend and a great publicist.”

“I won’t argue with you on that point. Goodnight Tom.”

“Night Luke.”

Tom hung up the phone and changed into pajamas before sliding underneath the blankets of his inviting bed. But sleep did not come. His mind raced at the possibilities for tomorrow. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and pulled up the web browser. Before long, he found himself engrossed in the website for the British Museum.

“I really need to get out more.” he muttered to himself as he scrolled the site.

“Oh, this is perfect!” he exclaimed as something came across the screen. He tapped the screen a few times to purchase tickets before setting the phone back down. He drifted off to sleep with a smug smile on his face.

Tamra awoke the next morning to a loud pounding. At first, she thought she was dreaming, but the pounding became more insistent and more frantic. She popped open one eye to view light streaming through the window next to the bed.

“Go away!” Tamara yelled at the unknown knocker as she rose to answer the door, wrapping a robe around her frame.

“What do you—” Tamra groaned as she opened the door. Tom bursted through running hard into her shoulder.

“I have been ringing you for an hour! I almost called the police! Did you not hear your phone?”

Tamra rubbed her shoulder, still sore from the first encounter with Tom.

“Are you made from marble? That hurts.” Tom gave a withering glance towards her. Tamra rolled her eyes. “Sorry! Heard of jet lag?”

“You worried me. Now get dressed so we can get breakfast.”

“Now?”

“No, tomorrow. Yes now! We are burning daylight as we speak.”

“Oh god.” Tamra groaned as she turned away from Tom still standing in her kitchen.

“Oh god what? What have I done now to earn a Tamra Harmon groan?”

“It’s… you’re a morning person aren’t you?” she rifled through the drawers to find clothes for the day.

“You say that like being a morning person a bad thing.”

“It is. I’m going to take a shower.”

Tom moved as if to follow her before stopping in his tracks when she shot daggers at him.

“I’m joking. I am the consummate gentleman. Lighten up.”

“I’ll lighten up once I get coffee.” Tamra yelled as she disappeared into the bathroom.

“That can be arranged.” Tom whispered to himself as he surveyed the small flat.

The whole place was small but well appointed. A small kitchen and living area with the bed tucked into one corner. Tom settled onto the small couch as he waited for Tamra to finish getting ready. He spied a well worn folded piece of paper on a nearby table. He glanced to check if Tamra was ready yet and then rose to pick it up.

“What are you doing?” Tamra’s voice rang out as Tom unfolded the sheet of paper.

“Looking at your…” Tom turned his head to the side to read the paper as he righted it. “… itinerary. My, you have planned things out haven’t you?”

“Give that back!” Tamra snapped as she moved to rip the paper from Tom’s hand but he moved too quick, holding the paper high above his head. Tamra took two jumps before retrieving the paper. She folded the paper back up before tucking the whole thing into her wallet.

“Now what is the plan today?” Tamra asked as she grabbed her coat, impatient to get Tom out of her flat.

“We can discuss that over breakfast because I promised you coffee. I found a place down the road that serves the best French pastries.”

“Color me intrigued. Lead the way, tour guide.” Tamra opened the door and Tom stepped through.

They took the short walk to La Gauloise and Tom held the door for Tamra. The small cafe smelled of warm bread and coffee. Tamra took a deep breath. Tom looked over and smiled at the sight of her taking in the smells, eyes closed.

“Shall we?” Tamra nodded. Tom ordered two coffees and two pain au chocolats. The cashier turned to fixed the coffee.

“Pain chocolate?” Tamra wrinkled her nose.

“Pain au chocolat.” Tom repeated with a French flair. “It’s a croissant with chocolate in the middle.”

Tamra grabbed the bag of pastries while Tom sat a nearby table. “Do you eat any meals without chocolate in them?”

“Usually yes, but it is the holidays. I like to indulge.” he raised his hands.

“Fair enough.” Tamra took a bite with the pastry shattering against her face. “So we should go to Victoria and Albert—”

“I already made the plans for the day.” Tom fished an envelope from his jacket. “Here.”

Tamra opened the envelope to find a printout for tickets to a lecture at the British Museum. “You bought tickets to a lecture?”

“I did.”

“But the lecture isn’t until 5:30.”

Tom leaned over to glance and what he already knew. “So it is. I guess we will need to do something else to fill the day.” Tom’s pulled into a smug expression.

“That’s not part of our deal.” Tom held up a finger to shush her.

“Our deal is that you get to go to one museum a day and I get to show you the wonders of Christmas.”

“But…”

“No buts, I have fulfilled by part of the bargain. Now…” Tom leaned in close to Tamra. “How do you feel about Christmas shopping?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“When you said Christmas shopping, I did not expect this.” Tamra yelled after Tom down the aisle.

Tom popped his head around as he jogged back. “Did you expect Harrod’s? Personal shoppers? Glitz and glamour?”

“Kind of.”

Tom moved in close to whisper in her ear. “I’m not that kind of celebrity.” And he took off down another aisle.

“But a bookstore?”

“Foyle’s is perfect. Books are the perfect present.”

“For a nerd.”

“Are you insulting my people?” Tom said in mock hurt.

“Not at all. I am your people.” She said with a smile.

“Excellent. Now help me find a book suitable for my younger sister?”

Tamra laughed before taking off towards the fiction section. The two of them spent the better part of the morning roaming the store, picking out books as both presents and a few for themselves. Tom insisted on paying for everything and even arranged for the store hold the purchases until tomorrow when someone would pick them up. While they shopped, a light dusting of snow collected on the ground and a brisk wind blew as they stepped outside. Tamra pulled her jacket tight around her but it did little to keep the wind from chilling her bones.

“We must do something about your jacket.” Tom commented as he buttoned his own wool coat up.

“I’m fine.”

“Your teeth are chattering. You’re not fine. Just let me help you.”

Tom grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her inside a clothing store. He didn’t let go until they stood in front of a confused sales associate.

“She needs a warm coat for the inclement weather. Preferably wool.”

The sales associate looked Tamra up and down. She raised an eyebrow at Tamra’s thin jacket.

“I’m from Florida.” Tamra offered.

“I see.” the sale associate replied, a smile growing across her face. “We have the thing.” She led Tamra off to a far wall by the arm, while Tom chuckled from behind.

By the time Tom reached the two women, Tamra wore a grey wool pea coat, very similar to Tom’s.

“And you can match your boyfriend.” the sales associate said, out of earshot from Tom.

“Not my boyfriend.” Tamra hissed.

“Could have fooled me.”

“How are the two of you getting along?” Tom popped in. Tamra jumped. “You look smashing.”

“Thanks. I will wear it out of the store.”

The associate snipped the tag and Tom again insisted on paying.

“I can pay my own way, Tom.”

“I respect your wishes, but I want to pay. Consider it my gentlemanly duty.”

Tamra rolled her eyes.

“Let him pay, darling.”

“Fine.”

Tom finished the transaction, and they headed out of the store. The snow fell more steady as they stepped back out.

“Warmer?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tom’s stomach growled. “We skipped lunch.”

Tamra’s stomach growled in response. “We did.”

“Let’s walk until we find a place to eat.”

Tamra nodded in agreement. As they walked, they passed by the Donmar Warehouse. Tom tugged on Tamra’s sleeve.

“That’s the Donmar Warehouse. I played Coriolanus there.”

Tamra noticed how Tom’s eyes twinkled as he talked about his time performing. Tamra looked at him in wonder.

“You really love Shakespeare.”

“I feel the most alive when I perform the Bard’s work.” Tom responded. He grabbed her hand for a moment and squeezed. “But right now, I may not go on living if we don’t get sustenance soon.”

“Agreed.”

They found a restaurant and sat down for a bite to eat. They continued to talk about work as they ate. Tom asked about Tamra’s job at the museum.

“I love being a curator!” she exclaimed. “Putting the exhibits together and imparting all the knowledge to our visitors. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

Tom leaned onto his elbows. Not once since he met her, Tamra never spoke with such passion as she did about her job. Tom found himself hanging on her words.

“I can tell you care about your work. It is rare to come across that sort dedication and passion these days.”

Tamra blushed. “Thank you, you’re making me blush. You seemed to be passionate as well. While I don’t share your enthusiasm for Christmas, I appreciate your passion for your work and life. More people could do with a healthy dose of passion.”

“Now it’s my turn to blush.”

They finished their meal and headed off to the British Museum. The lecture was titled “A Tudor Christmas”. Not a particularly interesting topic for Tom but he figured Tamra would appreciate the history aspect. He was not wrong.

Tamra hung on every word of the lecturer. She didn’t notice Tom sneaking glances at her throughout the lecture, smiling the entire time. When the lecture ended, Tamra jumped up to move to the front. Tom waited for the room to empty before heading to meet Tamra. Tom saw here towering over the diminutive lecturer, gesturing wildly.

“Lovely talk.” Tom shook the hand of the lecture. “My friend here really enjoyed it.”

Tamra nodded. They continued to talk for a few more minutes before leaving the now empty lecture room.

“Did you enjoy the talk about Christmas?” Tom asked outside of Tamra’s flat.

“I enjoyed the talk about history. Christmas happened to be the topic of that lecture.”

“I bet you are a hit at cocktail parties with that winning conversational style.”

Tamra did a little curtsy and twirl. “You should see me in a dress.”

“Another time. I will pick you up tomorrow.”

“Goodnight Tom.”

“Wake up in the morning this time.”

“I make no promises.”

Tamra smiled as she extended her hand to Tom. He took it and then pulled her into an embrace.

“Just so you know, I’m not above breaking and entering.” Tom whispered into her ear.

Tamra pulled away laughing. “Goodnight, psycho.” She closed the door behind her.

Tom pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Ben. Yes I’m aware of the time. I’m sorry if I woke the kids. Yes, get Sophie on the line.”

Tom tapped his foot.

“I need a favor.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston smut #bah hiddleston

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just-another-author-i-guess · 5 years

Text

The unholy

Warnings: she/ her pronounced reader, blood, biting, this is vampire au after all, slight nudity, Taehyung still can’t keep it in his pants, the reader is kinda aroused all the time, surprise surprise I didn’t bother to edit it through but what did you really expect at this point

Pairing: bts ot7 x reader, nun! reader, princess! reader, vampire! Jin x reader, hybrid! Namjoon x reader, hybrid! Yoongi x reader, vampire! Hoseok x reader, vampire! Jimin x reader, hybrid! Taehyung x reader, hybrid! Jungkook x reader

Parts: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 -

Author’s note: so I’m back with another chapter of the unholy! Sorry this is kinda short and really poorly written but I hope you can forgive me. Also, I just want to thank y’all for all the positivity I’ve been receiving lately like??? I don’t deserve y’all ??? Thanks?? Anyways, I hope you enjoy, things are about to get steamy. (; (you wont understand it now so it’s not as funny, just wait till it makes sense)

(Updates; every Sunday)

Summary:

The king and queen, your mother and father, rules the southern kingdom. The eastern and the western are ruled by kings and queens alike, but the northern are ruled by the most unholy of creatures. Or so you've been told.

Every citizen in the three kingdoms, have been warned about the creatures of the north, and it is with good reason they're all terrified. All your life, your parents have tried to keep the knowledge of the northern creatures from you, but that just made you more curious. Everyday, you would sneak down to the castle library, and read everything you could about the north, wanting to know the secret behind the unholy land.

That of course didn't go well with your parents, and when they found out they decided to send you to the most holy of places, to forget about everything you've read. One of the biggest church organizations in the south agreed to take you in, to rehabilitate you and learn you that you should never question such things as the northern creatures.

By day, you follow the strict prioress around as she lectures you about the holy and the unholy, and by night, you have to go on patrol alone through the church as a punishment for reading about the unholy. But one night, everything changes, when you find the prioress dead, with bite marks all over her body. Of course, you have read about this, and you know exactly what killed her.

But what happens when that exact creature you've read about, shows up right in front of you?

Taglist:

(to be tagged please dm me or comment on this post)

(i’m so sorry if i forgot someone)

@sweetcrvture @boononx @i-am-supermerwholoked221b @karissassirak @bvblackarmy @queenbianca-7 @someslightobsessions @hazeljrz @thefandomelifeishard

The walk up to Jin’s room was strange, to say at least. A heavy silence loomed over you, and not a single living creature showed up on your way, not even Hoseok or Taehyung who had surely only been a few meters in front of you.

You must admit you were a tad bit disappointed, secretly looking forward to see the faces of the other four, still unknown residents of the house.

The walk was shorter than you remembered, Seokjin racing down hallways with you right behind him, your wrist permanently locked in his tight grip, as he dragged you along. It seemed like the house were getting smaller and smaller with every hallways and corridor you passed, making you quite unsure of what you had seen just a couple minutes ago when you had ventured out by yourself.

But before long, Seokjin promptly stopped infront of what you assumed to be the door to his room, making you stumble a bit, faceplanting into his chest, and quickly, embarrassed stepping back.

Without a word, he unlocked the door, with a little, faded grey key, a satisfying ‘click’ sound echoing through the empty hallway.

Gently, Seokjin pushed you forward into his room, forgetting his own strength for a moment and making you fall forward harder than intended.

Quickly, a delicious smell filled your nostrils, and the sole reason why you walked down into the kitchens to begin with filled your brain; hunger.

In the exact same moment, your tummy grumbled, loudly and proudly, making Seokjin huff in amusement, the ice disappearing from his eyes as he remembered how human you were.

“As I said earlier, there’s a meal waiting for you,”

He mused, making you look up at him with a rather offended look, as he stood there grinning.

So he thought it was funny how hungry you were, after he left you alone for what felt like hours without food?

Angrily, you marched in the direction of the delicious smelling meal prepared by his desk, and slumped down on the chair, as he followed you and sat down besides you without making the slightest sound.

Seokjins room were tightly organized, in fact it was organized so much there almost weren’t any space left. To others, including you, it might have looked like a mess of books, papers and clothes scattered everywhere, but every piece of clothes and every ripped out page had a certain place, that’s how Seokjin liked to organize his hoarders.

In between the many things he had scattered around, you recognized more than a few items, from the castles and and dormitories you had previously lived. Things you were certain, that a vampire would never need, and it puzzled you.

Your eyebrows furrowed, as your eye caught a cooking book laying on his floor. The kitchen looked like it hadn’t been occupied for centuries, but still he had a cooking boom laying on his floor. And it wasn’t just one, you noticed, there were many, ranking from pastries to exquisite meals that would surely be a king worthy.

Seokjin noticed you confusion, and huffed once again in amusement, a quiet, breathy sound that somehow still managed to radiate joy into to the world.

You shrugged, deciding to let it go, when the scent from the delicious looking food found its way back to your nose, and instantly your hunger won the battle, and it wasn’t long before you were stuffing your face with all the goods laid out to you on the table.

Seokjin watched, with a sly smile on his face, as you ate the contents on your plate. Truth be told, his brothers had also been very confused to why he had even bothered to get cooking books, when the condition he was in didn’t allow him to drink anything besides human blood.

But it wasn’t the food itself that fascinated him, it was the human behind the making of the many foods that truly perked his interest. Of course, he wouldn’t admit it to anyone but himself, but he did find humans more than interesting, always trying to gather the information he could find around them, and gathering the thing they used daily as well.

Those were his lucky days, the days were he would find a random doll, a child had dropped, or even better would he find things created by humans, things such as cooking books. He wanted to learn how to cook, he wanted to learn the human way of doing it, not just ordering around a servant to do it for him. He longed to learn the human ways of life, he longed to feel human again.

As a small child, he hadn’t known how lucky he had been, to eat actual food, to need actual sleep, but the more he grew the less he needed the human needs and the more he craved what ran through a humans veins instead.

He sighed, watching you finish off your last bite, a content look on your face as you did so, and turned to look at him with a rather embarrassed expression, blood flooding your cheeks.

“Sorry,,I lost my manners for a moment,”

You gently dapped your moutharea with the cloth laying next to you, as you brushed your hands off in your ruined skirt.

“I..”

He started, but soon trailing off, mouth growing dry as hunger flared up in him again, but he had already taken so much from you, and his brothers had too, he needed to let you rest.

“You need to get your bloodlevels up, take a bath, there’s been a new dress prepared for you outside the bathroom,”

He started, standing up to leave once more, but still keeping eye contact with you, as his Adam’s apple bubled, and the only thing he truly wanted was to sink his fangs deep into your soft skin, draining the color you had just recently gained in your face.

“Someone will come get you later.”

Rather stiffly, he turned around, and disappeared quicker than you could even blink, the only evidence that he had been there being the door shutting soundly a few seconds later.

You picked the black dress up with careful fingers, noticing how much it resembled the one you already wore. Only this one was more detailed, clearly meant for someone with a higher standing than your current one.

You sighed, slinging the black fabric over your arm, entering the bathroom. You noticed how much of a difference it was to Seokjin’s dark room, here, light actually shone through the curtains, enlightening you that it must have been mid afternoon.

The room was fairly big, white marble tiles running up the walls and covering the walls, one big mirror standing a little off to the side, and the big, perhaps the biggest bathtub you had ever seen, standing proudly in the middle.

Carefully, you placed the new dress on the floor, and noticed a little, white underdress being curled up in the otherwise black fabric. With light touches, you let your fingers slide over the bathtub, feeling the smooth stone material beneath them, finally reaching the tap and gently twisting it.

To your luck, warm water came tumbling out almost immediately, the room getting gradually more humid, as you started to discard of your old, ruined dress.

Silently, you stepped into the now high water, small ridges forming as your foot hit the surface, and you shuddered. The water was warm, almost burning, but you couldn’t help but enjoy it, when the warm sensations surrounded you as you sank down.

The wager covered you all the way up to you shoulders, and you quickly leaned back, the water now going to your chin, with a content sigh. You let all the stressful events from the last few days wash away and flood out in the water, dried blood and dirt slowly flooding off of you.

As the warm water hit the bite marks on your neck, a shiver went up your spine, suddenly remembering the encounter with Hoseok and Taehyung in the kitchen. You had been starting to question yourself if it was even real, but when your fingertips lightly glided over the other sets of bitemarks on your wrist, and you remembered Taehyung’s intense hunger, you knew it was real.

Slowly, you let your eyes close, the scene in the kitchen playing on repeat, and your bitemarks were starting to feel hotter than the water itself. The way they had sank their fangs into you, and slowly out again, had you lightly whimpering. But it wasn’t soon, before the events of the last few hours came crashing down on you, forcing you to forget your lust and drift up into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

“Bunny..bunny.. I know you can hear me,”

The sudden voice of Taehyung instantly had your eyes open, and you looked around, wondering how he got in here in the first place. But you couldn’t the anything, the whole bathroom was covered in white, hot steam from your bath, and the only thing you could feel was his presence. He was here, and you wanted oh so desperately to get to him, a full ache starting to make itself present between your legs.

“Bunny,”

Taehyung spoke again, voice as soft and smooth as honey, but at the same time deadly and poisonous.

“Be a good girl for me, get out of the tub,”

You did as you were told, shaky legs hitting the cold tile floor, as you stood completely bare and dripping wet in the middle of the steam cloud.

“Taehyung?”

You called out for him, all too desperate to feel his hands on you, as only were met with your own voice echoing back to you.

“Shh, come here bunny, gotta be quiet,”

Taehyung shushed you, voice now right besides your ear, and you instantly turned around, being met with a rather cocky looking Taehyung, hair wet and curly from the steam.

“T-Taehyung,”

You shuddered, face flushed and red, as his hands began to caress your sides, curling themselves into your warm skin, as he continued to smile at you, a rare, sweet smile

“Here Jin-hyung can’t find us,”

He purred, hands running up and down your back, until they reached the small of your back, curling around your hips were they stopped their journey, and he pulled you flush against him.

He didn’t seem to care that your body was wet, therefore making his shirt damp, as he continued to press closer to you, slowly backing you up against the wall, you back hitting the cold tiles, making chills shoot up your spine.

“Are you gonna be good for me? Letting me take you right against this wall?”

His voice dropped lower, fangs coming out to poke his bottom lip, and you could do nothing but get lost in his brilliant crimson eyes and nod helplessly.

With one finally push, he had you pressed completely against the wall, sandwiching you between him and the cold marble tiles. You couldn’t wait for what was about to come, you couldn’t wait for Taehyung’s tongue in your mouth, you couldn’t wait for his fangs sinking into your skin.

But just as his lips touched yours, a sharp knock on the door made you shoot up, and realize you were still sitting in the bathtub, the warm water had now turned rather cold, and a shiver went through you.

The knock echoed again, before a gruff voice spoke.

“Seokjin sent me to get you. Are you clothed?”

The voice sounded tired and strained, and quickly you stepped out of the tub, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel, still a little hazy from the all the vivid dream you had just had.

You could have sworn Taehyung was here.

“I-I’m almost done!”

You managed to call out, through hot stuttering, and you heard a tired sigh on the other side.

As quick as you could, you picked up the dress, combing your hair with your fingers, after you had put it on. The white underdress apparently had sleeves as well, making the long black dress look more like a maid dress, than what you had originally thought. it did look an awful lot, like the one the prioress used to wear.

Quickly, you stuck your feet in your shoes as well, and carefully opened the door, letting out steam, careful not to hit whoever was stood on the other side.

In the hallway, a boy smaller than the others, but still way taller than you, stood with an annoyed look on his face.

“Took you long enough,”

He grumbled, and placed a hand on the small of your back, the exact same spot where you could have sworn Taehyung had touched you just a few moments before.

Suddenly, the hand gripped your dress tightly, the boy freezing, looking at you with an expression that wavered between hunger and disgust.

“Why do you smell like Taehyung? Is he hiding somewhere here?”

He accusingly asked, pushing you forward in a more rough manner, closing the doors behind him. You stayed silent, contemplating wether or not you should tell him about your dream.

“You never answered me,”

He pressed, after a long pause of silence, him pushing you forward as you hurried down the many confusing hallways of the house.

“I-“

You started, your brain suddenly feeling just as fuzzy as your body, and all you wanted was for him to stop pushing you so hard. It was as if the memories of the dream quickly fled your brain, making you almost forget where you where for a moment, the world started to almost spin around you.

“I-i can’t remember,”

You muttered, placing your hands around your head, to get the spinning sensations out.

“He’s probably messing with your memory, that little shit,”

The boy grumbled lowly, and for a moment or two you weren’t quite sure who he was talking about. It was almost as if the whole encounter in the bathroom never happened, you could only remember the steam, the steam and someone, most likely Taehyung had been calling out to you.

Instead of pushing you, he now opted for wrapping his arm around your middle, making it easier to follow his quick strides, as he began to almost drag you along like you were nothing more than an old rag doll.

Silently, and more careful that the boy had been with you, did he open a big, dark wooden door, this time gently shoving you inside, instead of harshly pushing you.

Nevertheless, you stumbled inside, still feeling confused and fuzzy, your mind doing it’s best to figure out what exactly had happened in the bathroom, and why exactly you couldn’t remember it.

“Taehyung is in her head, hyung, I think he did something to her while she was bathing,”

The boy, went straight up to Seokjin, leaving you to stand alone in the strange looking room. You eyes wondering the many shelves with strange liquids, the big, messy desk Seokjin was standing over, and the big, comfortable looking bed in the corner, where a very tired looking boy was laying.

He looked like Taehyung and Hoseok had before they fed off of you, he looked hollow and paler than the rest, and a sudden urge to let him feed on you filled your head.

You got the sudden urge to bend over him, letting him sink his teeth into your neck, and drink until his cheeks went chubby and color returned to his face, but before you could even take a step forward, Seokjin shot you a sharp look, and you slightly stepped back, and tried to focus on anything but the boy in the bed.

“Thank you Yoongi, will you help Jeongguk sit up?”

Seokjin spoke, voice tired and strained, as he motioned you to come over, and the boy, Yoongi walked over the boy in the bed, Jeongguk, and with careful, caring hands helped him sit up in the bed.

Slowly, you made your way over to stand besides Seokjin, as he began to write notes down in a old looking journal.

“Do you know why you’re here, bunny?”

Seokjin asked, and you noticed how his voice was softer when he addressed you, instead of the tired, slightly annoyed voice he spoke with, had it been to Taehyung. Pausing a little at his question, you lightly shook your head, looking up to look straight up into his crimson eyes.

“Why can’t I remember anything?”

You shot back, wanting oh so badly to figure out what had went on in the bathroom, and why everyone was worried about Taehyung messing with your brain.

Seokjin paused, letting the pencil he was writing with go, making it land on the wooden table with a little thump.

“What is the last thing you remember?”

He asked, tone slightly worrying but not too much, as he instead grabbed onto to counter, tightening his hand around it.

“I..”

You started, eyebrows furrowing as you thought deeply.

“I remember falling asleep, and there was this steam filling up the bathroom..”

You wondered outloud, definitely noticing the way Seokjin grimaced, angrily letting out a huff of air as he cursed out the younger boy’s name.

“The fuzzy feelings will go away soon, relax, in the meantime I have a favor to ask of you,”

He started, and you skeptically nodded along, happy to know that the weird feeling would soon go away, but very unsatisfied with the answer you got.

“As you can see, Jeongguk is very sick, I- we don’t know what is wrong with him yet, but he has refused to drink any form of animal blood, and even the human blood we had stored away did he refuse to drink-“

“So you’re asking me to let him feed on me?”

You finished Seokjin’s sentence for him, and had it been anyone but you had he surely been annoyed, but he was actually rather impressed with your guessing skills.

“..yes.”

He sank again, Adam’s apple bubbling like it had done in his room, and nervously glancing at the weak Jeongguk who was now sitting up, with the help of Yoongi. You watched in amazement, as Seokjin reached behind him, grabbing one of the strange liquids, and pouring another weirdly colorful liquid into it, before shaking and looking skeptically at it.

“Drink this,”

He handed you the strange, now dark green liquid, and you stired it a little, noticing how it smelled almost metallic.

“Why?”

You questioned, eyeing whatever it was, and questioning to yourself if it was really worth drinking. Seokjin sighed, a long pause went through the room before he spoke.

“It will help with the side effects of Jeongguks venom,”

He sighed, and looked like it was the most normal thing to say after giving someone a strange green liquid, demanding they drink it. Upon noticing your scared expression, he lightly huffed, the same amusement from before briefly returning to his eyes.

“Some vampires have venom stored in their teeth, Jeongguk’s venom can and will cause a fair amount of damage, if you don’t drink the antidote I made you,”

Wearily, you took your first sip of the antidote, reasoning with yourself that surely Seokjin wouldn’t put you in a situation that could actually kill you. And when the venom didn’t taste as bad as expected, you quickly gulped the rest down.

“That’s a good girl,”

Seokjin praised you, making your cheeks turn slightly red, as you handed him the now empty cup back, turning your head, and carefully stealing a glance at Jeongguk. Seokjins hand landed on your back, indicating you should walk over to Jeongguk, and so you did, the strange urge to see him well fed making its presence known again.

“Jeongguk,”

Seokjin said sternly, making you slightly jump, but keeping your focus on the sick Jeongguk.

“Don’t take too much from her, take what you need, I trust you,”

“I know hyung, I won’t,”

The younger boy rasped, and that was the first time you had heard his voice. It was so much more alive than he looked, only sounding a tad bit tired, as his big, brown eyes met yours, and without even realizing it, you stepped forward, already beginning to bow down to him.

“She’s just waiting to be fed on,”

Jeongguk mumbled, voice just above a whisper, as he let his shaking hands lock around your shoulders as he situated you as he wanted you on his bed. You did not complain once, bowing to his will, feeling strangely submissive to the boy, as you let him slump you against him and expose your neck to him.

Both his hyungs were watching with cautious eyes, ready to interfere if anything bad was to happen, and with Jeongguk bad things was always to happen.

Slowly, he began nosing up your neck, a shiver ran up his spine, as he could practically already smell your blood through your skin. Suddenly, his tongue began to lap at the two marks, Hoesok had made earlier.

“Hoseok hyung got to her already?”

Jeongguk questioned, sounding more like a child that had to share his favorite toy.

“It was a mistake, Jeongguk, hurry up,”

Seokjin began tapping his foot, annoyed with the way the younger boy was taking his sweet time to smell you, when he couldn’t help but feel possessive. You were his feeder, he should be drinking from you.

That was all the encouragement Jeongguk needed, before he found his spot right below Hoseok’s, slowly beginning to lick it like a man starved, and you felt his supposedly poisonous fangs poke at your skin.

Suddenly he pierced, without warning, one hand resting on your belly, keeping you as close to him as possible and the other locked around your throat, keeping it in place.

Another shiver went up his spine upon tasting your blood, and instantly he dived deeper, only being spurred on by the way you held the many moans inside you, when you felt his fangs slide into you.

He drank like he was possessed, he drank like he hadn’t fed in days, and he hadn’t, he drank till his cheeks were round and chubby and he had no intentions of stopping.

He grunted and groaned into your neck, the heavenly feelings his feeding sent straight to your core made it hard for you to keep the whines and moans from spilling out, but you did your best, considering the fact that Yoongi and Seokjin were standing right besides you.

Only when the color started to drain from your face, did Seokjin interfere.

“Jeongguk, Jeongguk! You’ve had more than enough,”

He yelled, when the boy still didn’t listen, sucking even more viciously, making purple and blue hickeys appear along with the two bite marks. Only when Yoongi began to pull at him, did he stop, his fangs sliding out of you with a deep satisfied grunt, making you shudder against him.

You felt lightheaded, helplessly falling against Jeongguks chest, as you heard them loudly argue, Seokjin yelling profanities at Jeongguk for taking too much of you blood, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at this point.

The lightheadedness was making you tired, so tired that the voices turned to mere background noise and you closed you eyes, noticing how comfortable Jeongguks chest felt against your back, how warm he was, how much you needed to sleep. And slowly but surely, your eyes closed, and you drifted off to a deep, almost coma like sleep.

#i hope this is okay #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #min yoongi x reader #bts fantasy au #bts x reader #bts prince au #bts ot7 x reader #bts ot7 #the unholy #kim namjoon x reader #kim seokjin x reader #kim taehyung x reader #jung hoseok x reader #park jimin x reader #bts vampire au #bangtan #bts

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