#i’m making a sister piece to it though where they’re both inkling’s most of show vibe tho dw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gguksgalaxy · 5 years

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Inkling | JJK

Jungkook is your brother’s boyfriend’s co-worker, they own a tattoo and piercing parlour. In other words, he’s tall, gorgeous, has his passion literally etched into his skin, looks incredibly good in a man-bun, and is semi-unattainable for you. Why? Well…you’re not entirely sure but him ditching right after a very heated make-out session sure isn’t a good sign. His extremely poor mood the next week sure isn’t either, but the only way to fix it is to face the beast head-on. Right?

›› AU: Tattoo Artist ›› Genre: Smut / Angst ›› Rating: 18+ explicit sex ›› Pairing: JJK x Reader ›› Word Count: 17.7k Warnings Include: Lots of swearing, conflict, a false accusation of cheating on a third party (it’s nothing serious please trust me), Jungkook being a dick, the death of a coat hanger, mentions of internalised homophobia, fear of coming out, and unaccepting parents. Sexual content: rough (protected) sex, piercings, heavy petting, teasing (with and without other people around), lots of tongue action, cunnilingus, fingering, dirty talk, marking, nipple play, mentions of riding, blowjobs, and mxm sex. A/N: This one is for my beloved friend @xiubaek-13 who’s stood by me and my tumblr journey for over 3 years now. Our friend anniversary was last week, the 16th of January, so it’s a little late. But I hope you still love it. Remember, you gave me this idea, so you shall face the consequences. Enjoy <3

“Like, it’s so unfair,” you groan, arm slung over your face. “He kisses so well. I’m talking toe-curling, spine-arching, breathtakingly good. He really didn’t need to decorate his tongue with a gold medal to celebrate it.” You've replayed the events of Saturday night many times since it happened. The way Jungkook’s hands had slid under your shirt. Your thighs spread over his. Kissing, grabbing, moaning. It really wasn’t fair, the way his tongue pressed into your mouth and made you cave at the very first swipe. The first subtle brush of his golden tongue piercing against your lips. How he—

“Okay, please stop detailing me on what he can do with his tongue and get to the point. If this was just about his amazing tongue skills you wouldn’t be here right now. You’d be in his bed.” Hoseok grumbles. “So?” His back is turned to you as he motions for you to continue, busy cleaning his tattoo gun after he touched up your latest piece. A colourful design on the side of your breast and ribs.

It’s one of the reasons you find yourself here. Half your chest out at 8am in Hoseok’s tattoo shop, Inkling. The other reason is being able to vent about his best friend and colleague — Jungkook — without him actually being here.

Jungkook, who had kissed you like he meant it. Fingers sinking deep into the flesh of your thighs. Whose bun had come undone from the way your fingers had slid into his hair. The ink that covers his slightly tanned skin shifting to show defined muscles. The smirk he had every time he’d looked at you — quirking up the left corner of his mouth. His stupidly skilled tongue. The golden tongue piercing that adorns it.

He’d kissed you so hungrily — devoured you — and then he’d gotten up and ran out on you. Leaving you with no proper explanation or goodbye.

“I hate to break it to you, but you’ve got twenty minutes left to tell me what happened before I go pick him up. Get on with it.” Hoseok finally turns to face you again, grabbing the cream and film to finish up your tattoo. The deep-coloured mandala designs on his elbow shift as he does so. Like all of Hoseok’s tattoos, these are traditionally styled, more simple. Yet, there’s something about every one of his pieces that is uniquely him. Like the small red flower at the hollow of his throat that shifts as he speaks. “What’d he do to you?”

You groan again, lifting your arm a little to give him better access to your side. “I’m not entirely sure really. Like...One second we’re making out and the next he gets up and pushes me off.”

Smoothing the film over your side, he speaks without losing focus. “How drunk was he?” Hoseok isn’t normally this flat in his speech. His mood, much like yours, seems off today.

“Not all that drunk, seen him way worse.” You and Jungkook had both been tipsy, at most. Neither of you made it past more than three drinks before you were all over each other. Hands on bodies. Lips on necks.

It had been a long time coming. The two of you agonisingly ogling each other from a distance for months. That is, if you can call you nearly sitting in his lap every change you get ‘distance’. Even your brother Yoongi had firmly called you out to do something about the sexual tension. Last Saturday you had. It just didn’t go as planned.

Your friend chuckles suddenly.

“What?”

“Nothing, just a thought. Keep talking.”

“No, Jung. Spit it out.” Now that he’s done, you sit up to narrow your eyes at him.

He shrugs. “Maybe you’re just a bad kisser, I don’t know.”

You gasp. “I am no such thing.”

“I mean, I can’t attest to that. Facts only.” He again motions for you to continue as he gets up to clean some things. “He pushes you off and then what?”

Something about the way that Jungkook had looked at you when he pushed you off had stuck with you. Pain, confusion. No lust, no want, not even embarrassment. “He just left.”

“What do you mean he left?” Your friend’s eyebrows contort as he pulls off his gloves. They’re black just like the walls in the small shop. “Are you sure he wasn’t just — I don’t know — not that into it?”

You scowl. “I am not that bad of a kisser Hoseok! If the tent in his jeans had been anything to go by, I’d say it’s the opposite.”

Hoseok merely rolls his eyes, dusting off his ripped jeans and sitting down at the end of the chair that you're still lounging on. He runs a hand through his vibrant red hair.

Part of you just feels sick to your stomach. Both out of embarrassment, confusion and anxiety. Jungkook, Jimin, Taehyung and you had all gone to a club together, a normal Saturday night. It’s not uncommon for you and Jungkook to get a little handsy after a few drinks. Usually though, you’d be delightfully cockblocked by your brother, Yoongi.

You get it. Jungkook doesn’t want to make out with his friend’s little sister when he’s right there. Now that he finally got free reign, this happens.

Whatever ‘this’ even means. All you’ve been able to think about is that Jungkook knew what he was doing. His mouth, his hands, his body. Everything. He played you like a damn fiddle. The moan he’d let out at the first contact of your mouth to his still echoes in your ears. Deep, guttural relief.

Hoseok interrupts your train of thoughts, “and you haven’t seen him since he walked out on your apparently amazing make-out session?”

“It’s not like I ever see him on Sundays. Shop’s closed and Yoongi and I usually have a stay-in day.”

“Has he called?” Hoseok asks, quirking one dark eyebrow.

“No?”

“Texted?”

“Nope.”

He sighs, ruffling his own hair, foot tapping on the grey tiles of the floor. “Have you tried texting him? Calling him?” The accusatory tone in his voice twists your gut as you give him a sheepish grimace. “Y/N!”

“What?!” You look away, eyes focusing on anything but him. The off-white desks, Jungkook’s detailed artwork displayed on the opposite wall. The red of the door that leads into the back, or maybe the piercing display.

The chair creaks when Hoseok gets up. “I just thought that, since you’re a girl, you’d have a bit more sense when it comes to shit like this. But you and Yoongi really are one and the same.”

“Excuse me?” you spit, turning back to face him as you grab for your shirt to cover yourself up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Both of you are dense as fuck. You can’t always wait for the other person to act first.” The sharp tinge in Hoseok‘s voice hints at something else. Something unrelated to you and Jungkook. It must be related to your brother. After all, they’d been in a relationship for a little over half a year now. A rocky one. Something must’ve happened between them over the weekend. “Just,” he stops, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. “Jungkook will be here today, just ask hi—“

The bell that sounds as the door open drown out the sound of Hoseok’s playlist. It brings with it the sound of pouring rain. The tattoo artist immediately gets up to check. The shop isn’t open yet.

“Kook?!” Hoseok exclaims. “I told you I was coming to pick you up. You’re going to get sick like this. What were you thinking?” Concern laces his voice as he rushes over to his friend who’s still hidden from your view behind the velvet grey curtain. Hoseok lets out a few curses, caring personality getting the better of him. Always a listening ear, always ready to help. Sometimes, maybe a little too concerned. Jungkook seems to agree.

“I can take care of myself,” the younger grumbles. He trudges inside, entering the area where you’re currently sitting. Water is dripping down his leather jacket and black baseball cap onto the tile floor. He’s effectively soaked to the bone. Black jeans plastered to his thighs more than usual.

A sense of dread fills your veins when his eyes land on your still half-naked chest. Yes, Jungkook has seen you topless before. To pierce your nipple. Not randomly in the middle of his shop.

His dark gaze flickers between you and Hoseok. Jaw clenched tight, tongue pushing his cheek. “I have a change of clothes in the back.” His voice is nothing short of a sneer, as he drops his backpack by his station and walks off without another word.

“Yikes,” Hoseok whispers. “Are you sure you told me the entire story?”

You shoot him a glare. “Shut up before he fucking hears you. And call my brother,” you mumble, pulling your shirt over your head, “He’s not going to call you first. We both know that.”

With your shirt back on you feel a little more comfortable. But not comfortable enough to immediately go confront Jungkook.

“What did you two fight about anyway?” you question the redhead who’s currently bent over the laptop by the front desk.

Hoseok doesn’t look up, brown eyes lit by the screen. “Nothing you should be concerned about. You just worry about mister tongue medal. I can fix my own relationship problems.” The comment stings. Neither Hoseok nor Yoongi have ever been particularly open about their relationship. Even though you’re close with both.

“That was unnecessary.”

“I’m sorry.” He leans his head down. “Having all three of you in bad moods is just not doing any good for my own.” The tension in his body is evident as he straightens up. He slides a black folder your way. “How about you go make inventory from today’s shipment. I’ll try and talk to him during morning appointments.”

Inventory, great. Not the kind of work you thought you’d be doing when you offered to help them around the place. You want to protest, but he cuts you off.

“Listen, I know that you hate doing inventory. I know you don’t want to be here at all right now, but you promised to cover Tae’s position until we found someone else.” He’s right, you had offered to do that. In return for a tattoo, you would work their front desk whenever you have time between school and your actual, paying job. The desk was previously manned by Jungkook’s best friend Taehyung. He now works at an art gallery. A job he’s always dreamed of. “It’s not my fault you decided to make out with him,” Hoseok states. “Okay? Now go.”

“I know, I’m going.”

There’s no way for you to miss Jungkook as you round the corner. Tanned skin and tattoos shift as he shakes his wet hair. The crow and moon tattoo on his upper back stand out starkly. Dark, like most of his tattoos. You’ve seen it before, it’s always peeking up from the collar of his shirt. The floral pattern that peeks up from the waistband of his jeans is new to you though. It curves over his lower back and hips. You wonder how deep it goes.

The fabric of his clean shirt drapes down and hides everything from your view. It snaps you out of your thoughts quickly enough for you to slip into the storage room quickly enough before he spots you.

Your gut wrenches with nerves. Avoidance, great. Probably not the best way to solve this. Certainly not the fastest. But then again, talking this out while Hoseok is right there is inconsiderate. It’ll have to wait.

You’ll just spend the rest of your morning thinking about nothing else but Jungkook. The anger in his eyes a few minutes ago, the feeling of his tongue, and shipments. Fun.

Your butt hits the floor as you open the folder. The room is dusty, even with the lights on you struggle to read Hoseok’s jagged handwriting. For someone who draws so well you’d expect something at least semi-legible. Regardless, you can’t focus to begin with.

You and Jungkook have been running in circles ever since that one time when he pierced your nipple. Cliché, but it is what it is. You remember the risky touches and how turned on you’d been. Until he actually pierced you. That had been the most painful thing you ever experienced.

It’s been over a year since Jimin, Yoongi’s coworker, introduced the two of you to Hoseok and Jungkook. Now, everyone in your close circle of friends knows that there’s a lot of unresolved sexual tension between you and the youngest. Sadly, neither of you have acted on it. That’s as much your own fault as it is Jungkook’s. Not to speak of the fact that you’ve been interested in him ever since you first laid eyes on him. An entire year, and you did nothing about it.

In that time, Jimin started dating Taehyung. The guy who worked Inkling’s front desk. And your brother has started dating Hoseok. Something Yoongi had only recently told Jungkook about.

That had been a bit of an unfortunate situation. As much as you had assured Yoongi that Jungkook would not bat an eye if he came out to him, he just kept pushing it off. The way your parents had treated him when he told them he was gay made a deep impact on him. It’s a wound you don’t think will ever truly heal. Your parents’ harsh reaction was the reason he moved out at the young age of sixteen. That same reason caused you to show up at his doorstep a few years later. To live with him. Support him.

You and Yoongi have always been close. It’s why he knows about your crush on Jungkook. It’s why you’ve kept Yoongi’s secret from everyone for so long. He’d been especially on guard when he thought Jungkook had already found out a few weeks ago. Apparently Jungkook had suspected something, asked Taehyung about it, who told Jimin, who came to Yoongi. Your brother had then turned into a hysterical mess.

That situation is over now. And somehow you’ve magically created another one out of thin air. You think about this as you count the packages of dyes, gloves, masks, and other various things you’ve no clue what they’re used for. It’s just a little tricky to match the official descriptions to Jungkook’s incoherent labels and abbreviations. Boxes labeled guns, pricklers, and clamps most certainly weren’t what you were looking for. Those are all related to Jungkook’s piercing practice.

When Hoseok and Jungkook set up the shop three years ago it had taken the younger an entirety of a year to convince his friend to let him start piercing. Hoseok’s slightly irrational fear of piercings made a poor argument. Especially since tattooing involves a needle. Something about the puncturing of skin or whatever. Jungkook had eventually won.

Your phone rings, pulling you out of your thoughts. “What the...” you mutter as you see Taehyung’s name pop up on the screen. Taehyung never calls you. The two of you don’t even talk outside of the group.

Picking up, you lean against one of the shelves. “Hey Tae, everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” There’s a loud yawn on the other end followed by the unmistakable sound of a car door closing. He must be about to get into work. “I’m calling about Jungkook.”

Heart rate picking up, you await his following words.

“I’m not sure what exactly happened, but you probably know more about it than I do.” His voice trails off, faintly lined with anger.

“Is this about Saturday?” you ask, hoping for a no.

Taehyung is silent for a few beats, “I mean, I thought the two of you finally fucked after we couldn’t find you two. Jimin and I scouted the entire place, you were nowhere to be found. He’s called you three times since, and you haven’t gotten back to him. What happened?”

You mentally curse yourself for not calling Jimin back. He’d be way easier to talk to than an aggravated Taehyung.

“I'll rephrase my question,” he says upon your lack of answer. “Yesterday Jungkook came to ours at eight in the morning. He was really fucking distraught and I want to know if you have anything to do with it?”

“Tae...” you hesitate, unsure of what to tell him. The tone of his voice isn’t making it easy for you to choose your words. You know he has a temper. He won’t just forgive you if you hurt Jungkook, he’d do anything to protect him.

“Don’t ‘Tae’ me, you’re not Jimin. It doesn’t work when you do it. You can’t blame me for looking out for Jungkook when he was so upset.”

You really do understand where he’s coming from. Before he and Jimin had gotten steady enough to move in together, Taehyung had been crashing on Jungkook and Hoseok’s couch for months after a series of complicated events. The details had been kept from you, but it involved Taehyung severing ties with a gang he’d been involved in. It hadn’t gone as planned, and Jungkook had to make sure he would get back up on both feet. He made sure he had a roof over his head and food to eat. The entire ordeal had completely passed you by until Jungkook mentioned it to you when he was drunk on your couch one night a few weeks ago.

“Y/N?” he pushes

“I know, I know. Just give me the space to fix this, okay? I have as much of an idea as to what’s going on as you do.” You rub your eyes, trying to stave off the nerves. “I’ll talk to him today, I promise.”

The other’s car engine revs in the background. “Did you know he was upset?”

You bite your lip. “Sort of.”

“And you didn’t think to call him?”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“I’m not the one you should be apologising to.” The way the words fall from his lips make tears appear in the corners of your eyes. What if Taehyung was right? What if you had read all the signs wrong? What if Jungkook didn’t like you? Had you messed up? Pushed him too far? “I’ve known Jungkook since we were kids. He puts up a strong front and you know it. He manages to scare off enough people by merely looking at them. But we’re all aware that he doesn’t look at you the same way. He’s more sensitive than he lets on.” Taehyung’s voice remains neutral, but his words still sting.

You find yourself sliding down the shelves and onto the floor. Fighting the tears increasingly getting harder as Taehyung’s words cause your mind to reach for places that it shouldn’t. Jungkook is more than just a hot guy who wears a manbun and has too many piercings for you to count. He’s more than a guy you want to fuck. You like him, as a person.

“Just let me talk to him, okay? I haven’t had a chance yet.” There’s not much else to tell him. You know that he’s not going to take your side. If you really hurt Jungkook you wouldn’t forgive yourself either. “I never intended to upset him.” The thought that you might’ve pushed Jungkook too far feels wholly irrational, but you can’t get it out of your head anymore.

Taehyung’s silence threatens to make your thoughts spiral again. When he speaks you’re almost relieved. “To be honest, I don’t want to turn this into a huge thing before my ten hour shift.” Your heart sinks. “I’ve got to go, let me know how it goes.”

He hangs up without another word, leaving you with guilt settling heavily in your stomach. This entire situation is messed up. You vividly remember Jungkook pulling you in, capturing your mouth with his. He’s the one who shifted you into his lap, who made you his. It can’t just have been your imagination. Maybe this wasn’t even related to you.

You just hope that whatever it is that caused him to react this way, is something you can fix. An apology should be the start. Taehyung was right.

A knock on the door startles you. “Are you alive?” Hoseok calls, opening the door. He frowns upon seeing your slouched form on the floor. Phone lying between your legs. “You know that if you want to take a break, you can just come up to the front, right?”

You shake your head. “Taehyung called.”

Hoseok helps you up, brushing some dust off the back of your shirt. “Everything okay?”

“Ha, no.” You let out a dry chuckle that’s merely there to cover up your obvious nerves. “Taehyung seemed pretty angry.”

“Eh, he always does. He’s just overprotective of Jungkook, Jimin’s not gonna let him actually rip you a new one. Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.” Hoseok speaks gently as he grabs the binder off the floor. “Did you finish?”

You nod. “Just unsure of where everything goes.” There’s still a few open boxes in the back.

“That’s okay. I’ll put them into place later.”

“Hobi?” you ask as he opens the door.

He hums an affirmative.

“What if Jungkook didn’t want to kiss me?”

There’s a brief silence, Hoseok turning around with the most confused look on his face as he observes you. “I’m sorry but what did Taehyung say to you? I swear that I have no idea what’s going on but I can assure you that Jungkook not wanting you is the least of your problems.” He lets out a laugh.

“Okay,” you mumble, a little hurt that he’s laughing at it. But he’s probably right. Jungkook’s lingering touches, his purposeful stares, that little thing he does with his tongue piercing that drives you insane. “Did you call my brother yet?”

Hoseok nods, moving to his messy station. “He’s supposed to bring over lunch. All’s good, I promise.” He ruffles your hair and you swat at his arm. Maybe he’s getting a little too comfortable around you. He might be dating your brother, but that doesn’t give him the right to do that. Only Yoongi is allowed to ruffle your hair. Sometimes.

Back in the front area, Jungkook is finishing up a tattoo on someone’s leg. The man’s lying on his stomach, seemingly quiet. Just how you know Jungkook prefers his sessions. He doesn’t talk much when he’s working, finds it easier to concentrate this way. For a moment you let yourself stare. Eyes gliding over the dip in his back and his messy hair. The way it’s pushed back shows off his eyebrow piercing.

Many have claimed him to be intimidating. If it isn’t for the multitude of piercings in his face and ears, then it’d be the way his arms and shoulders are covered in ink. Or his facial expressions. There’s something about the way his brows furrow and his jaw sets just right, that tends to make the sixteen year old girls who come to get their belly buttons pierced regret their decisions. You on the other hand, can’t get enough of him like this.

Where Jungkook is all black — tattoos, clothes and hair — Hoseok is brighter. The other’s red hair and deep-coloured tattoos speak for his personality. He’s more outgoing, more open. And unfortunately, more obnoxious at times. Right now you get a good look at the fox tattoo that covers his left thigh. It peaks out through one of the arguably too big holes in his jeans. He definitely picked them out on purpose.

When you turn back to look at Jungkook, your eyes meet his and you’re not prepared. A lump forms in your throat as his eyes seem stone cold. There’s no smirk, no flirtatious glint. Nothing but what could only be described as anger. “What?” he asks, voice nearly a sneer.

You startle at the harshness, mumbling a quiet ‘nothing’ before deciding to just go to the front desk.

The man leaves before your lunch arrives, and at this point you really are starting to get hungry. Jungkook yet again disappears without a word, probably to the lightbox to draw something. Or he’s smoking a cigarette out back. A nasty, nervous habit of his.

Hoseok’s busy doing work on his laptop, when finally, your lunch arrives. It’s just not Yoongi, but Jimin who’s carrying it inside.

“Hey, a little help would be welcome,” Jimin groans as he pushes open the door with his shoulder. Both you and Hoseok scramble up to help before he spills the coffee all over the floor. “Thanks. Yoongi got stuck doing God knows what, so I’m bringing food in his name.” He smiles, lifting your mood as easily as ever. No matter what’s going on, Jimin’s presence is always soothing and bright.

Yoongi had first met the blonde when he started dishwashing at a local restaurant. Now both him and Jimin are leading staff and close friends.

Jimin looks around the shop. “Where’s Kook?”

You suck in your cheek, meeting Jimin’s suspicious gaze. “He’s holed up in the back.”

Jimin’s eyes shift from you to Hoseok, contemplating speaking up.

“You can say it,” you say blandly, “Hoseok knows.”

“Did you talk to him yet?” he whisper-yells. “You’re so lucky I didn’t tell on your ass to Tae. But the next time you ditch me and ignore my calls I will not hesitate to kick your ass myself.”

“What?”

Jimin’s face changes into a glance you know all too well. That specific one which says; are you fucking kidding me? “Do you really think that I didn’t see you and Mr. I don’t wanna fuck Yoongi’s sister, sucking face in the corner?” Your cheeks heat up. “I mean, we all knew he was lying. But that’s not the point.” Jimin presses a finger in your chest. “My point is that the next time the two of you leave to exchange something more than saliva, at least send me a text.” Jimin’s tone is highly accusatory, but he doesn’t seem upset. That’s probably just because he doesn’t know what’s going on. His hand goes into one of the bags, fishing out a pale muffin for himself to eat.

Hoseok coughs, setting his decaf latte back on the desk. “I hate to break it to you Jimin, but that’s not the actual story.”

You want to slap him for exposing you like that. Reaching behind the counter you turn the music up so you can tell Jimin who’s waiting with wide eyes. “Jungkook and I didn’t go home together,” you confess.

“Please don’t tell me you fucked in the ba—“

“JIMIN!” You shove him lightly. “Just — no, okay? We made out and he bolted on me,” you whisper.

Jimin cocks an eyebrow. “That would...explain a lot but also nothing at the same time. Jungkook was pretty out of it yesterday. I mean, he gets like that from time to time, but still. My bet was on the sex being bad. Or like — I don’t know — you saying his dick was small.”

“Okay, okay! We get it!” you hush.

“Get what?” Jungkook’s voice suddenly sounds from behind you.

You still, stopping yourself from immediately turning around and meeting his probably cold eyes. Part of you want to say something, anything. But you can’t find the words. Especially when he comes close enough for you to feel the heat of his body radiate to your back. His chest grazes your shoulders as he grabs his drink and food from the desk.

“She and Yoongi had a falling out this morning,” Hoseok says calmly, the saviour of your day. “Nothing big.”

Jimin smiles at Jungkook, but it’s not returned. “Hot chocolate, no whip, one shot of espresso.”

Nothing more than a barely-audible thanks follows. He runs his fingers through his fringe, hair now pulled up in a bun again, before he leaves to continue whatever he was doing.

“Are you really that bad at kissing?” Jimin whispers, making you shove him again.

“Shut up, not you too. This is serious, keep your nosy ass out of it.”

Jimin gasps in offense. “You better remember who brings you lunch.” You roll your eyes. “Also, can I talk to you guys about Tae’s birthday present?”

You hoist yourself onto the desk, nodding as you finally bite into your own muffin.

“Of course, it’s not like any of us know what to get him,” Hoseok adds.

Jimin sighs a little. “He keeps saying that he doesn’t want anything. But I know that isn’t true. It’s just that the one thing he really wants is expensive and I can’t afford it on my own.” The slight tremble to his voice gives him away. He loves Taehyung, would do anything for him. You know that Hoseok would be here to help, so are you. “He has a tattoo, he wants to get it covered up. But Jungkook’s told him that he has to get it laser-treated first because it's pretty big and dark. I looked it up and it’s not cheap. I just don’t want you guys to think that I’m taking advantage of you or something. I just...”

Hoseok pipes up before Jimin can even properly finish. “I’m sure that if we all chip in it’ll be good. Plus, Jungkook and I would totally do the cover-up for free. It’s gonna hurt, but it’ll be worth it. You agree, Y/N?”

You nod. You've never seen Taehyung's tattoo, and you know Jimin's not going to go into details, but you understand him wanting to get rid of it. It's his last tie to his past. “Yeah, I’ll chip in. Just send us how much it is and we’ll figure it out Jimin.”

Jimin just about bursts at the seams from happiness. He hugs both of you so tight, whispering a dozen thank you’s as he does. “It’ll mean so much to him!” His eyes flicker to the clock. “By the way, before I go. Hoseok, have you and Yoongi finally told Jungkook about the two of you fucking and all?”

Hoseok grimaces. “We’re dating, Jimin. Stop putting it like that.”

“Potato, potato.”

“We didn’t tell him,” Hoseok confesses.

“What?” You and Jimin say at the same time.

Hoseok sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Yoongi got cold feet. Again.”

Jimin is silent, brows furrowing before his lips part in realisation. “Oh...OH!” He almost starts laughing. “I know what’s going on here. I see, I see.”

You frown at him, looking at Hoseok for an answer but he seems equally confused.

“Girl, you gotta talk to Jungkook. This? It’s all a huge misunderstanding. Just talk to him, you’ll be fine. Trust me.” The giggle in his voice makes you a little angry. He could just tell you, but he’s halfway out the door before you even get the chance to ask. “Also, you,” he says pointing at Hoseok, “make sure you tell Jungkook about you and Yoongi before he finds out like me and Tae. Meaning with you three knuckles deep in Yoongi’s ass.”

“Okay!” Hoseok calls, somewhat flustered as he gets up. “You’ve said enough for today, don’t you have customers to yell at?”

Jimin laughs, giving you one more glance. “If you and you-know-who end up having some r-rated sessions, please use protection.”

“OUT!” you and Hoseok yell in unison, causing Jimin to quickly slip away before you can properly shove him out the door yourself.

Jimin really seemed to be one step ahead of you, and you hate it. Though his gut was usually right so maybe you should trust him that it’ll all be okay. Hoseok said the same thing after all.

The rest of your day goes by fairly smoothly. A few walk-ins but nothing special. Jungkook quietly works with his back to you, and Hoseok does his best to start some sort of conversation. It dead-ends each time.

When Hoseok is getting ready to leave, your nerves feel like they’re going to burst from your body. Literally. You don’t know if you can do this. Talk to Jungkook. He’s been stone cold the entire day, not a single word where it wasn’t absolutely necessary. You’ve never seen him like this, even Hoseok started to become a victim of his wrath. Jungkook started snapping at him too, causing the elder to just leave him be after a while.

“Listen,” Hoseok says, “I’m going to go, here’s my key in case you need it. Talk to him. Tell me how it goes.”

You whine. “Hobi...”

“No, you’re doing this. I refuse to work with him like this for another fucking second. Just talk. It’s probably nothing.” His voice is stern, and he opens the door to leave. “If it really goes south you can yell at me later. But you have to try.” he goes, leaving you behind in the empty shop unknowingly of what to do.

It can’t be that bad, right? Your hands tremble as you try to take a deep breath. What are you so afraid of? Jungkook rejecting you? Maybe...It would hurt. Everyone would be surprised, that’s for sure. There’s been something oddly specific about how he treats you, looks at you. Jimin’s often referred to it as ‘looking at each other as if you were going to fuck right then and there’.

You take another deep breath. The only way to face the beast is head-on right? Jungkook isn’t gonna hurt you. Worst he could do is yell at you. You can handle that. Right?

With shaking legs you walk into the back, thoughts still running rampant. He’s not at his station. The black chair empty, grey desk neatly cleaned with the dyes organised by colour. Hoseok could take from that.

“Why are you still here?” Jungkook’s voice startles you.

A shiver runs down your spine, the deep drawl echoing in your mind. “I want to talk.” Your voice wavers slightly.

He gives you no chance to face him, scoffing as he walks past you. Not even a glance in your direction. He gathers his pencils that have rolled onto the floor, placing them neatly back on the desk. The black koi fish tattoo on his right shifts as he does. It matches the white one on the left. Yin and Yang, separated. His movements are rough, and he’s rushing through it. Trying to get away.

“Well?” he questions. “Are you going to talk or not?”

The harshness in his voice has you stunned for a moment. “I-I...Jungkook I’m really sorry if I did anything to upset you. I’m not sure what’s going through your mind but, if this is because you didn’t want to kiss me the—“

Jungkook’s hand make a harsh sound as they connect with the surface of the desk. “Is this a game to you?” He looks at you — glares. Angers rolls off his shoulders that are coiled tight

“What?”

“You heard me,” he all but growls. “Do you think this is a joke?” Jungkook looks away, eyes closing with a deep, barely-controlled breath. It shudders through him.

Your hands are clenched tightly, they ache to touch him. To smooth down over the expanse of his back in an attempt to comfort him. “If I thought this was funny I wouldn’t be here trying to talk to you.”

“Fuck.” The words fall from his lips right before his teeth sink into them. His fingers squeak over the desk’s surface. When he looks up at you, you expect to see the anger. The disgust. However, you don’t expect it to be in the shape of tears glistening in his eyes as he struggles to even look at you for more than a few seconds. “Stop being like this, okay? We both know that what we did was wrong. It’s eating me alive and you know what — I can’t deal with it any longer.” Jungkook reaches for his bag, slinging it over his shoulder with so much force it collides with his back. Yet, you don’t miss the tremble in his other hand. “I’m giving you one day to tell him. Otherwise I’ll do it myself.”

You frown, quickly following him towards the front. “Is this about Yoongi?”

Jungkook stops in his tracks, causing you to almost bump into him. “Yoongi?” He’s seething with anger. It’s hot, burning your skin and making your throat constrict. “I’m talking about us nearly fucking while you’re obviously in a relationship with Hoseok.”

Silence. Minutes seem to tick by as you take in his words. “What?”

A last time, he turns. The look he gives you is nothing short of pure, unfiltered disgust. “You know what? I’m so done with you.” He shakes his head. “You know I like you, everyone knows it. And we were both wrong here. But I can’t cope with the fact that I had my best friend’s girlfriend moaning in my lap two nights ago.” Jungkook’s words are painfully sharp, but they don’t seem to only affect you. He’s hurting himself unnecessarily. “If he hates me after this that’s fine, but someone has to tell him.”

“Kook,” you try, tears brimming your own eyes. But he doesn’t hear you.

“It’s bad enough that everyone seemed to know about you two except for me. And if you were trying to protect me then I can try to understand, but I can see the signs you know? I’m not fucking blind. Hoseok’s always going home with you. He spends three nights a week at your apartment at the very least. And even around here the two of you have gotten disgustingly close. Hell, Y/N, you were half naked in here with him before business hours as if it’s the most normal thing. I don’t even want to entertain the idea of the two of you fucking in here. This isn’t r—“

“STOP!” you yell, hands coming up to cover your ears. “Just, stop!”

Jungkook’s mouth snaps shut as he stares at you. Your mind is going a hundred miles an hour. He thinks you and Hoseok are together. Jungkook thinks that you and Hoseok are dating, because Yoongi never told him that he's the one dating Hoseok. That it’s his bed Hoseok is sleeping it. Yoongi never even told him that he’s into guys. Jungkook has no reason to entertain the idea of you not being the reason that Hoseok was over at your apartment. He went with the logical option. That you and Hoseok are an item.

“It’s...”

You want to tell him. It’d be an easy way out to tell him Yoongi is dating Hoseok. That Hoseok wasn't sleeping in your bed. But you can’t do that to your brother. You can’t out him, it’s wrong. The only chance you can take is hoping Jungkook will believe your word.

“I’m not dating Hoseok,” you say as calmly as you can.

He scoffs, loud. Nostrils flaring as he reaches for the door handle.

Fingers circling around his other arm, you stop him. Causing him to quickly shrug you off as if you’d burnt him.

“Don’t fucking touch me. It’s bad enough we did this. I don’t need you lying to me about it.”

You shake your head, almost reaching out for him again in your panic. “Just...hear me out. If you really like me as much as you say. If you believe that I like you too. Hear me out.” There’s one other way out of this. One other person he would believe. “Please Jungkook?”

Jungkook’s eyes meet yours. He wavers. Caves. “Fine.”

Relief floods your veins, and you sink back against the counter. “Okay, I’m going to call Hoseok.” You grab your phone from your pocket, fingers sliding over the screen shakily. “Just—“

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“HEY!” you call, causing him to startle. “You’re sitting your fucking ass down. It’s not my fault that you’re not willing to believe me and decided to get worked up over some imaginary scenario.” Your voice is barely a growl but it pushes him enough to finally get his hand off the doorknob. “Sit. The fuck. Down.”

He swallows thickly, and your chest heaves with anger. To your surprise, he actually slumps down onto the couch without another word.

“I’m gonna call Hobi, and you’re gonna keep your mouth shut until I’m finished.” No words come from him, but the scowl on his face says enough. Hoseok’s picture pops up with you dial him, and you take the time to steady yourself. This has to work.

“Did you two finally figure out your bullshit?” Hoseok asks the second he picks up.

The nerve. “You gotta help me out here.” You hold the phone steady, putting him on speaker as you look straight at the man across from you while speaking. “Do you remember when I explicitly told you this morning — in all glorious details — about Jungkook and I making out?”

There’s a clear shift in Jungkook’s expression. Eyebrows raising ever so slightly. His red bitten lips parting.

“Yes — Wait,” Hoseok stumbles. “Am I on speaker? Why am I on speaker? I want no part in this!”

“Hobi!” He needs to listen to you and help. “Please just tell your friend that you and I are not fucking.”

The first sound that comes from the other end of the line is a loud snort. Followed by hysterical laughter. “Oh. My. God.” This situation isn't funny to you nor Jungkook, but you suppose that Hoseok comes across very authentic like this. One day you’ll probably laugh about this too. “Jungkook, sweetheart,” he laughs. “You really gone and cockblocked yourself because you thought I was dating her?”

Jungkook's eyes are now wide with confusion, body sunk deeply into the leather couch as his gaze is unfocused. “You’re...not?”

“No offense to Y/N,” Hoseok says with laughter still ringing his voice, “but absolutely not.”

“None taken,” you state dryly, “thank you.”

Your eyes follow Jungkook as he stands up slowly, leaving his bag on the couch. His tongue presses into his cheek, running under his top lip where you know he hides one of his many piercings. The change in his body language is evident, and you shiver as he looks at you.

Hoseok sighs dramatically. “No problem. I’m getting used to saving your guys’ day. Now can you two please fuck out your frustrations so that I can work and live in peace. Use protection. Cheers!”

The line ends before you can say another word to him. When you finally glance up at Jungkook again, he’s closer than you thought.

He stands barely a foot away, eyes curiously meeting yours. Scanning your face for any type of reaction, waiting. His hands hang limp by his side, shoulder no longer bunched but...Something about him is still taut. “You’re not dating Hoseok?” he asks, voice unexpectedly deep.

“No,” you breathe softly, unable to look away from him. From this angle you can see his eyebrow piercing where it hides under his fringe. You can see his eyes darken too.

“You’re single?” His tongue darts out to wet his lips, a quick flash of gold.

You swallow thickly. “Yes.”

Jungkook steps that much closer, toes bumping yours as he lowers his face. His breathing is heavy, chest almost brushing yours as he corners you against the desk. “And I can have you?”

“All yours.”

Everything is forgotten from there. Jungkook’s hands fly up to cup your face, tilting you up so he can capture your mouth with his. You groan, deeply relieved at the contact. Jungkook has no reservations. No, within seconds you find yourself with one of his thighs snugly between yours and his tongue pushing past your lips.

Fuck. The feeling of his piercing pressing against your tongue still takes you by surprise. You shiver with excitement. Your fingers grapple for purchase at his shoulders.

Jungkook moans, a sound that’s silenced by you kissing him back. It’s messy, you can feel his heart hammer in his chest and yours is no different. As he explores your mouth with his tongue, your fingers tug his shirt from his jeans. You graze the warm skin of his waist and back.

As his hands grab your hips possessively, your toes curl. There’s no time to breathe. All you can manage is a pathetic whimper when Jungkook bites down on your lip and runs his tongue across it. Kissing him is oddly foreign, in the most delicious way.

Diving in again, Jungkook grants you more leverage to kiss him back. One of your hands slide into his hair, reaching on your tiptoes to do so. There’s a brief smile from him. Followed by him hoisting you up on the counter without breaking the kiss. No, you’re too busy tracing the piece of jewellery in his mouth as it clacks against your teeth.

It’s wet. Sloppy. And you’re certain that it’s noisy. But all you can hear right now is the rushing of your heart and the rough sounds that come from him. He parts your thighs, pressing himself right up against your centre and — fuck. It’s just right, the way he presses the seam of your jeans into you.

Your mouth falls from him, unable to stave off your air for any longer. Jungkook seems unfazed, tongue tracing your bottom lip to break the string of saliva that connected you. “Kook,” you breathe heavily.

He smirks, nosing along your cheekbone as your nails digging into his back. Tantalised, you hold your breath. Expecting the harsh graze of his teeth just below your jaw. You know it’ll mark, especially when he presses his lips over the same sport and suckles at it until you're shaking in his hold.

By now his hands have slipped under your shirt, fingers digging into your bare waist. His fingertips are rough, like everything about him but his lips. They’re soft and you hate it. He shouldn’t be allowed to kiss you like this.

Still, you let him kiss back up to your lips. You moan into him. The way he passes any of the kisses and hesitation. He licks into your mouth like you’ve been doing this for ages. Tongue gliding along yours, making you want more. You will need it, when he parts. Ache for his mouth again as you pull him unimaginably closer.

A moan falls from both of you as you grind down, and somehow it pulls you back to reality. The reality where you’re sitting on the front desk of the shop. Right by the windows. Where everyone can see.

The reality where Jungkook yelled at you mere minutes ago.

“Jungkook,” you whisper against his mouth. A shiver rakes through your body when he moves to kiss your neck. “Jungkook, stop.”

Those words stop him immediately. He looks up. “Everything okay?” His chest rises and falls against yours.

You nod, placing your hands firmly on his chest. The accidental brush of your palm against one of his piercing causes his breath to hitch. “Just,” you eyes flicker between where he stands between your legs and the large, open windows, “maybe we shouldn’t...you know?”

Jungkook’s hands smooth down your arms, sending goosebumps in his wake. “This is not the part where I tell you we can go to the back. Is it?”

“No,” you whisper.

When his hands fall from your body, you feel cold, empty. You reach for him, grabbing him by the wrist. “Hey, I want this. But maybe we need to let everything cool down a little.”

He looks at you over his shoulder, lips swollen, hair a mess. “Yeah.” His voice is firm, paired with a deep sigh. “Yeah, I’m sorry. For getting so mad at you, I should’ve asked before making assumptions.”

A smile tugs at your lips. You hop off the counter, leaning up to press your lips against his. “It’s alright. No hard feelings.” saying that, you feel relieved from all the tension. Knowing that Jungkook wants you — likes you — makes your stomach flutter.

“Can I get a ride?” Jungkook grimaces at the pouring rain. “I don’t want to get soaked again.”

“Yeah of course, silly.”

To be honest, it was a futile attempt. Both of you don’t make it to the car with a single dry inch on your body. You just hope it’s not going to ruin your seats, that’d be an expensive joke.

Jungkook coughs when you start the engine, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. You turn to give him a look, but there’s no way for you to miss the obvious erection he's sporting.

“Are you really hard right now?”

“I’m still hard, for your information.” He groans, letting his head fall back. “It’ll go away.” The smile that stretches over his lips it too telling. “Or you can help me.” It’s barely a mumble but you can catch it.

“Jungkook!” you spit.

“I know, I know.”

There’s a calm mood in your apartment, Yoongi’s music softly emanating from his room next to yours. Not a single fibre in your body wants to have this conversation with him. Not again. But you have to. Even if it’s for the fact that you need to let him know he doesn’t have to lie to you about these things. That you’re not disappointed in him.

“Hey, you’re home late. I was starting to get worried about you.” Yoongi appears from his room, already dressed in black sweats and an oversized grey sweater. “Everything okay?”

You want to nod, but choose not to. “Can we talk?”

He freezes up, fingers clenching into fists. “Why?”

Because you lied to me. Because you didn’t tell Jungkook and it almost ruined my chances with him as a result. “Just please sit, so we can talk. I promise I’m not mad at you, Yoon.” The nickname seems to be enough incentive for him to nod and take a hesitant seat at your small dining table.

You sit across from him, chest heavy and uncertain of whether this is the right moment to do this. He nervously traces the pattern of the worn down, brown table, his sleeve tattoo peeking out as he does.

“Yoongi, why did you lie to me about coming out to Jungkook?”

Abruptly, he stills. “Did Hobi tell you?”

“How I found out doesn’t matter right now okay. I just want to know why you weren’t honest about it with me.” You watch your older brother as he avoids your gaze. He sinks back into his chair and purses his lips.

Part of you feels like hugging him, telling him it’s okay. But it’s not. Not really. Your brother has been through so much, and you understand this is hard for him. That your parents basically casting him out is why he is so afraid that everybody will reject him. But logically he should know that Jungkook won’t care that he’s gay. Taehyung is, and they’ve been friends for almost their entire lives. Hoseok and Jimin as bi. Jungkook might be the straightest guy you know, but that doesn’t say much.

“Yoongi, I’m not mad at you. You can be honest with me, I want to help.”

“I’m scared,” he says, very matter-of-factly. “I’m scared. That’s it. I don’t have any other real excuse.”

“That’s not an excuse, Yoongi. It’s a legitimate reason for not telling him, regardless of how often Hoseok and I have told you there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Yoongi shakes his head, black hair falling into his eyes. Still, he avoids your gaze. “I was scared that you’d be disappointed. That’s why I haven’t told you.”

“Yoongi...” Your heart aches for him. Even through this, your brother has always been the bravest person you know. He’s built what he has from nothing. He was merely sixteen when he moved out, barely had a degree. You were just eighteen when you showed up on his doorstep unannounced with a suitcase and a request to move in with him. He’d fought so hard to make ends meet for both of you until you’d found a job. Yoongi’s always fought for you. You just wish he’d fight for himself too. “I would never be disappointed with you. Ever.”

He finally looks at you, tears showing at the corners of his eyes. They shine regardless, as he look at you as if you’re his only lifeline. “Don’t you want me to tell him?”

You take Yoongi’s hand from where it lies limply on the table. The small sun tattoo stands out against the bare skin of his wrist. It matches the moon on yours.

Rubbing you finger over his tattoo, you speak to him softly: “I do want you to tell him, but not for me. Or for Hoseok. I want you to tell him for yourself. Once you’ve told him I think you will feel much better. You and Hobi won’t have to hide anymore, and you’ll all be able to be comfortable around each other.” You squeeze his hand. “It’ll give you strength, Yoongi. Telling people instead of letting them find out.”

A tear slips from his eyes, and you hold your breath awaiting his answer. This is why you’ve always looked up to Yoongi. He’s not afraid to show his emotions to those he trusts, even if he trusts a very small number of people. Yoongi is the one who showed you that it’s okay to not be okay, hence the moon tattoo on your own wrist. He has the sun, to signify that you’re the brightness in his days. Or well, that’s how he said it.

“Will you go with me?” he asks. “To tell him?”

It might not be the greatest idea, especially since you and Jungkook are in whatever situation you are in now. But also because this is technically not something that concerns you. If he wants you to go, you’ll go, but there’s a better choice. “I think you should ask Hoseok. That way you can kill two birds with one stone.”

“You really think so?”

You nod.

He takes a deep breath, grabbing your hand and squeezing it in return. “Thank you. For always being here to remind me of how stupid I am.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t put it like that,” you chuckle.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “You were thinking it.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Am not!”

“Are too, Yoongi. It’s a bad habit.”

“It’s a bad habit,” he mocks with a scrunched up face. “Whatever, I’ll call Hoseok tonight.”

You smile. “Promise?”

“On one condition.”

With both eyebrows raised you await his condition that will most likely make you want to strangle him. You know your brother. His requests are never to make you comfortable. If anything he’s relentlessly able to tease you just enough to make you want to murder him, but not enough to actually justify it. A skill to behold.

“Please tell me whether you coming home an hour late and that disgustingly obvious hickey on your neck are in any way related.”

Your stomach jumps at his comment, hand immediately covering the spot under your ear where Jungkook had laid his claim. “I...”

He gives you a knowing look. If one thing was true about Yoongi it’s that he knows you, through and through. You and him are like peas in a pod and sadly there’s not much wiggle room in said pod. Said pod left no space for you to hide your obvious attraction to his friend.

“Oh God, Y/N,” Yoongi gives you a disgusted look. “No. Not at the shop. I know that Hoseok and Jungkook clean that place religiously, but still. I sit on those stools too! You heathens.”

Your face is red hot as you try to find the words before he can get any more ideas. “We — no, we didn’t fuck, okay. Please just calm down.”

Yoongi sighs, a breath of relief. “Good, because like — I’ve eaten at those tables. I don’t need to accidentally touch Jungkook’s lefto—“

“OKAY! I get it, I get it! We didn’t fuck. I swear.”

“Wait. Not at all?”

“Nope.”

He groans, throwing his head back. “Does that mean I need to sit through another week of gruelling sexual tension. Do I really need to be subjected to this another week? Like I have an actual fear that the two of you will at one point climb over the table and devour each other while I’m right there!”

You get up. “Okay, this conversation is over.” Honestly, you would tell him what actually happened this afternoon. About Jungkook thinking you cheated on Hoseok. But telling your brother that will just make him fear that Jungkook’s already figured out that him and Hoseok are together. “It’s your day to cook today, by the way.”

Then, he pouts. “Hey, no! I was sad today, can’t you cook? I deserve comfort food!” As a grown man, your brother’s ability to whine about little things is slightly concerning. But he will only do so at his advantage. No, whenever a time comes that Min Yoongi must adult on you, he will be an adult. And when he wants things from you, he will whine.

“Not after you called me a heathen,” you sing-song. A kiss to the top of his head and a ruffle to his already messy hair is enough to send him into a fit.

“I’m older than you! Only older siblings get to ruffle heads!”

“I’m in the mood for beef stir-fry. Oh,” you say, turning around to look at his offended form in the kitchen, “don’t forget to call Hoseok while you’re at it. If you don’t,” you smile, “I will let Jungkook fuck me,” pause, narrowing your eyes, “on our kitchen counter.”

Utter scandalisation, Yoongi’s mouth falls open. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“I don’t know, Jungkook seems like a guy who’s up for anything. I wouldn’t risk it if I were you.”

Next Wednesday, you and Yoongi are arguably late to Taehyung’s birthday dinner at Hoseok and Jungkook’s apartment. Not that it’s a problem though. Jimin’s still fussing around in the kitchen with Hoseok’s help and Jungkook is nowhere to be found.

Jungkook, who’d been hitting up your phone the entirety of the two days you hadn’t seen each other. Including various attempts of sexting that you had to shut down because you were either in class or with your brother.

“Finally, Yoongi, I need your help.” Hoseok turns, hands covered in what appears to be some red marinade. “Come here.”

You smile as Hoseok kisses Yoongi before anything else. It’s good to know that they can now be themselves. The two hadn’t wasted another day to tell Jungkook about their relationship. He took it well. Aside from sending you a very exasperated text about the whole ordeal, calling himself a dumbfuck. Something you wholeheartedly agreed to.

Jimin’s busy chopping something, and you can just see the glint of silver ring that sits snugly around his bottom lip. He can’t wear it to work, the same way your brother has to take out his nose ring every time.

Yoongi’s commitment to Hoseok had been clear when he’d taken out both his lip piercings for his boyfriend. The other’s terrible fear of the things made kissing a bit of an issue. It was how you knew that even through their fighting, they’d be in for the long run. Especially because Hoseok decided to learn to live with Yoongi’s nose ring.

Taehyung’s reading a book in the living room, he hasn’t acknowledged your presence yet. Jimin apparently gave him all hell for being so rude to you, so you hope he’s not mad with you anymore.

“Oh,Y/N,” Hoseok says suddenly. “Kook’s probably in the bathroom.”

You frown. “Okay?”

The redhead gives you a flat expression. “You’ve been standing in the middle of the room for the past five minutes. Just go and talk to him or something.” He realises his words. “No, not or something. Only talking!” he calls after you. “No fucking in my bathroom!”

You wave him off. “Yeah, yeah.”

True to Hoseok’s words, Jungkook is in the bathroom that hides in the back of their apartment. The open door lets you quietly peek around the corner. What you find is a little more than you bargained for.

Jungkook stands in front of the mirror. Clad in ripped, black skinny jeans and a deep maroon and black flannel with what seems to be Urban Outfitters version of tribal designs on the sleeves. Said shirt hangs open, and the way he has his hands in his hair to pull it up leaves no inch of his toned chest covered.

Your own stomach flutters as his abdominal muscles shift. His nipple piercings glimmer in the harsh lighting. The way they had felt against your own chest Monday — you remember. You remember how he’d kissed you, held you, ground against you. How h—

“Hello to you too,” he chuckles with a bobby pin between his teeth. His eyes hold nothing similar to the softness of that chuckle.

Once you gaze up from his lips you find his eyes heavy — dark — as he takes you in. This is familiar, this gaze. It sends shivers down your spine, ones that you struggle to repress.

“Hey,” you breathe, voice low. There’s nothing to be ashamed about, he’s openly letting you watch him. The way he smiles, exposing the piercing under his top lip, says that he’s enjoying it. Loves it. You’re certainly not going to complain.

Not with the way you can see every muscle in his torso as he moves, struggling to get the small pin into his mess of black hair. His skin is almost golden in this light. Warm, enticing. You yearn to touch him. Trail your fingers down his pectorals and feel the ridges of his abs. Hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans. Pull him against you. Kiss him.

Jungkook’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, faint dimples appearing in his cheeks. He’s no longer watching you watching him. But he can feel your lingering stares. It’s evident in the way he takes his time. How he shrugs the shirt off his shoulders to expose the large, intricate dragon tattoo that curls around his bicep. Every scale is detailed as it’s wing spread over his shoulder for the head to rest on his collarbone.

The longer you watch, the further your mind drifts. Thinking of kissing that exact spot where his collarbone dips, tracing your tongue up to sink your teeth into the skin of his earlobe. What sound would he make? Jungkook has proven to be a moaner, but there might be more than meets the eye.

You know he’s rough. The feeling of his fingers digging into your hips had lasted for long after you’d parted. You know that the sounds he makes go straight to your core. How he growls, groans, grits his teeth. His —

His tongue piercing.

The glint of it in the light catches your eye. You’re drawn to it. How such a small thing could have this effect on you. He knows how to use it and you haven't even felt the worst. The quirk of his eyebrow as he exposes it purposely tells you that much. He’s taunting you.

Your entire mouth goes dry when he scrapes his teeth over his lip again, holding your gaze steady through the mirror. Chest rising with a shaky breath on your part, he ever so slightly tilts his head. A smirk paired with a dangerous look in his eyes.

“What?” Your stomach flutters.

He shakes his head with a lopsided smile. When he turns you come face to face with his chest. It’s not as easy to openly stare this directly. Without the barrier of the mirror your words are lost to you.

You swallow, following his hands as they start to button his shirt. A sight that’s equally enticing and saddening. Watching the stretch of his chest disappear behind the fabric, narrow waist no longer apparent. You can’t help but notice the roughness of his fingers. You’ve felt it. They’re calloused, never used sparingly for anything. A small tattoo hides there, one not easily spotted with how the koi fish draw all attention to them.

Euphoria is etched into the side of his middle finger. A tattoo you’ve seen time and time again, but you don’t know it’s meaning. The dragon symbolises strength, power, will, and the koi fish represent balance. He’s even spoken to you about the tarot cards on the inside of his upper arm, that one drunken night in your living room. The reverse magician for untapped potential, the upright eight of pentacles for mastery and honing skills. Yet, the small word on his finger raises a question for you.

Jungkook suddenly grabs you. You would’ve screamed if his mouth didn’t silence you.

He shuts the door behind you, pressing you against it with enough force to knock the breath from your chest. Tongue licking into your mouth you mewl, grappling for something to hold onto. Your fingers automatically loop into his belt.

With a hand behind your head he angles you up, grants himself access to your warm mouth. You arch into him, every nerve on edge. Every sound distorted by the way he kisses you so deeply you can barely fight for control. No, he’s got you in the palm of his hand, literally. One hand sliding to your ass, digits slipping into your pockets to hold you tight.

Jungkook lets out a deep sound, one that rumbled in his chest and pulls an equally ruined moan from you. His lips are pressing, demanding, speaking ‘you are mine’ into yours. ‘I want you. Now’.

Still stunned, you tighten your fingers into his belt, trying to kiss him back but getting lost in his ministrations. The leather material is tough, but you manage to get him closer. A thigh between yours, you shift your hips up to find friction for both of you.

The kiss is beyond messy. Both needy for oxygen but needier for each other. Breaths mingle and the way he runs his tongue over your top teeth causes a lewd yet startling sound.

“Fuck,” you grumble, breaking from him suddenly.

His eyes remain closed as he licks his lips. “I’ll second that statement,” he whispers hotly, “sitting on the sink or bent over it?”

You choke on your own spit, causing him to finally open his eyes and come back from wherever his mind had wandered. “Jungkook!”

“What? That was a very serious statement.”

“Not with everybody on the other side of the door!”

He grins, tonguing his smiley piercing in a habit that has driven you crazy so often. “Fine.” Straightening up, he swiftly tucks his shirt back into his jeans where it’d come undone under your hands. “Just so you know,” he says, leaning into your ear and opening the door, “all you gotta do is say the word and my room’s right there. I’ll find a way to silence those pretty little moans of yours.”

All the hair on the back of your neck springs up at his words. The way his breath fans out over your ear, lips just shy of grazing you. Tongue darting out, brushing the shell of your ear. You have no reply but a shaky intake of breath.

He leaves, and you’re left to stare at your disheveled form in the large mirror. Hair tangled, you curse under your breath. Jungkook probably won’t mind if you borrow his brush if he has no problems basically swallowing you whole, right?

With the hair at the back of your head finally in place again, you shake your feelings. You can't let Jungkook just play you like that with no repercussions. Two can play this game.

This is how you find yourself walking back into the room, briefly receiving a knowing look from Jimin. You pay him no mind. All you do is glance at the obvious space beside your brother and Hoseok, who now sit at ease in each other’s embrace. Yet, there’s one spot that’s more inviting.

Jungkook knows what you’re up to as soon as you look at him. He narrows his eyes, but you unsuspiciously smile as you take place in his lap as if it’s the most normal thing to do.

Everybody is thinking something, briefly glancing at how you comfortably shift on his thighs. Jungkook himself is less displeased than you’d thought, one hand coming to rest on your leg. Beneath you, you can feel the hard muscles of his thighs and you wonder what it’d be like to ride them.

“Now that everybody is here,” Jimin says, “we can finally do what we came here to do.”

All eyes turn to Taehyung, who gives a deep annoyed sigh. You all know there’s no way around Jimin’s plans. What Jimin wants, Jimin gets. That includes Taehyung, Gucci slippers, and the present that will make his boyfriend very happy even though he’d never admit it. It doesn’t come wrapped in anything big. And as to Taehyung’s wishes, there’s also no singing happy birthday. But the light blue envelope which Jimin retrieves from his bag are enough to make the other’s eyes grow wide like saucers.

Taehyung’s name is written on the front, and he looks at it as if it’s foreign. “I said I didn’t want anything.”

Jungkook fingers suddenly start moving — possibly absentmindedly — trailing the outer edge of your jeans. It tickles. His other hand is placed beside him, keeping him steady as he supports you. There’s enough room for you to squirm but you don’t want to draw attention to yourself. Or the fact that Jungkook is nosing the back of your neck and shoulders. His breath fanning down your shirt and over your back.

“You did say that,” Jimin says, pecking Taehyung’s lips. “But you also said there is something you do want. You just didn’t mention it in regards to your birthday.”

The younger man frowns, sitting up a little straighter and running a nervous hand through his black hair. “Jimin.”

“It’s a present from all of us, Tae,” Jungkook speaks up, fingers falling from your leg.

The second everyone looks away again from the man who’s currently trailing his lips dangerously close to your skin, you shift. Immediately Jungkook’s hands reach for your hips that now sit flush with his. There’s no space left and he can’t do much more than rest his chin on your shoulder with a trembling breath.

You try to concentrate on Taehyung opening the envelope. Somebody speaks, but you don’t catch it over Jungkook’s quiet swear.

“I...” Taehyung’s uncertainty shows, frowning at the piece of paper. Reading every word carefully at least twice. “What is this?” He looks up, giving everyone the same confused expression. Jimin’s sitting on the armrest beside him, trying his hardest to hold back the tears.

Luckily, Hoseok hasn’t lost his ability to speak. Unlike Jungkook who’s gripping your hips like a vice. “Jimin told us that you’ve been wanting to get a tattoo removed and covered. So we all chipped in to get you a laser-removal appointment.”

Taehyung’s still looking at the paper as if it might catch on fire, but he nods quietly. “You all did this? For me?”

Jimin makes an excited noise. “He means to say thank you.” He grabs his boyfriend, kissing him firmly on the cheek, mumbling a congratulations amidst the embrace. “We all want you to be happy, Tae.”

The man nods again. “Thank you, really.”

After a moment of awkward silence, Hoseok gets up first. Preventing the disaster of things getting uncomfortable and preventing Taehyung from shedding the obvious tears that brim his eyes. “Okay, let's all eat. Come on.”

Getting up, Jungkook’s hands stop you immediately. He keeps you tight, grumbling for you to stay put. You chuckle. Talking big game, sure. But his amusement has faded now that you have returned the favour. He doesn’t let go until everyone’s turned to the table.

You stand, swing in your step. Only turning around to catch Jungkook untucking his shirt to shield his very obvious erection from view.

“Really, Jeon?” you whisper with a giggle.

He clicks his tongue. “You want to tell me you’re not wet right now?”

You look straight at him as you lie: “I am not.”

Jungkook merely smirks, starting towards the table but stopping to whisper: “Good girls don’t tell lies.”

You shiver, breath hitching as you watch him sit down as if he hadn’t just said that. Getting on the upper hand on this guy is impossible, he’s just prepared to go one step further every time. But you’re not ready to give up just yet.

As much as you lied. As much as your need for him is rapidly increasing. You’re not going to let those words sink in. If anything you can prove him wrong. Good girl. What a joke. Maybe.

Everybody sits, chatting comfortably as the table-top grills warm up. An array of food sits on the large table. Chicken, beef, squid, side-dishes, Taehyung’s favourite red bean paste, and Jimin’s home-made secret-recipe dipping sauce. There’s way too much food, but nobody will complain about that.

“Hey Jungkook,” Jimin starts, “how is that whole situation with the guy from Australia going?”

Jungkook sighs. “Not too great to be fair, it’s nearly impossible to find a proper date that suits us both.” For the past two months Jungkook’s been trying to get an internship with an artist he admires. They’ve gotten in touch through instagram, and he’s been beyond excited. Talks of him going to Australia for a month keep getting more serious.

“You’re not going,” Hoseok says with a mouth full of food, “unless you’re trading with someone. I can’t man the shop alone and you know it. It’ll be bad for business.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook shrugs it off. “Anyway, he said it’ll most likely happen next summer if anything. We will see.”

Yoongi coughs, sipping water to rinse down the extensive spices. “Jimin, that sauce of yours. It gets me every time.”

“It’s good!” you and Jungkook interject in unison, causing everybody to shoot you a weird look.

“What?” you question. “Actually, give me some more.” You lean over, firmly planting your hand on Jungkook’s thigh without thinking about it. Leaning over, It lands closely enough to the top that you can feel that he’s still hard — if not harder than before.

He chokes on his food, taking a deep breath through his nose.

You sit back down, but your hand remains in position. His thigh tenses under your touch, warm, trembling as you drag your nails up like he’d done to you earlier. Whatever conversation currently plays goes straight in one ear and out the other for you. One hand busy dipping slightly charred chicken into the small bowl of red sauce, the other squeezing Jungkook’s leg.

He can’t do anything. Not without making it obvious what you’re doing. So he shifts, legs falling open and giving you access you weren’t expecting. Possibly on accident. Or in the hopes that you will actually touch him. Your heart races, but your body gets the better of you. As does your curiosity.

The second your fingers touch the head of his dick through his jeans, he jerks. Sitting up straight and snapping his legs closed.

“Jungkook?” Taehyung questions.

You shoot him an equally confused look, playing your part. “Everything okay?”

From the other end of the table Jimin looks at you with raised eyebrows. A gesture which you return with glee.

“Yeah, sorry,” Jungkook mumbles, “just bit my tongue.”

Smooth. Either everyone believes him, or they all know but unanimously decide to not speak and continue the dinner as normal. Even Jungkook seems to have decided to not reciprocate your touch this time. Both hands above the table, sitting with his legs spread as before.

You cross yours, realising that you are still turned on as you do. “So, now that everybody knows about how Hoseok is dating my brother. Can I like ask for asylum so that I won’t have to get my ears assaulted anymore?”

Jimin snorts. “You poor thing.” He raises his chopsticks, pointing at Jungkook. “I’m certain you can arrange something with him. You know. You sleep with him, Hoseok sleeps with Yoongi.” No filter. Jimin’s absolute inability to not say certain things strikes again. Your cheeks run red.

To your surprise, Jungkook doesn't react.

“Okay,” Yoongi interjects. “Can we please not talk about my little sister having sex.”

“Hey!” You point your utensils at him. “I’ve had to listen to Hoseok literally pound you into the mattress more times than I’m comfortable to admit. You guys have no decency, why should I—“

Jungkook’s fingers snaking into your waistband shuts you up. “How about we just don’t talk about people fucking at the dinner table. I mean we—“

“You’re one to speak Jeon!” Hoseok cuts in. “I’ve heard you often enough. I’m not sure what kinda shit you’re into but she should consider this her official warning if you haven’t given her one yet.”

His words don’t quite impact you. Not with the way that Jungkook starts gently rubbing circles over your exposed hipbone. His fingers still hooked tightly into your jeans, holding you from moving. The touch to your skin is barely there, but it’s enough to put him on your mind the entire time. To make sure you don’t forget the wetness between your legs that he’s causing.

Jungkook is idly engaged in the banter, and all you can think off is his fingers on your skin. What’d be like to feel them elsewhere. Deeper. Rougher.

You uncross your legs, try to relax. To get your mind off the way he tugs you just a little bit closer. Close enough to be able to hook his foot around your ankle and spread your legs wider. Why would he — His hand comes down just above your knee.

Every breath you take is a feat, you’re hyper aware of how you sit, how he touches you. This is payback. He doesn’t move his palm, it just rests there like a threat. Or a claim that you’re his.

“Y/N?” Yoongi asks

You shake awake. “Yeah?”

“I was saying,” he trails, “that once you’re done with school, we could all try to go on a holiday together.”

“Oh yeah, that sounds good. Like, far?”

Everybody starts protesting, complaining about money and fears to fly. Jimin and Taehyung both counter Hoseok’s offer to take a longer flight to a further destination. But Yoongi feels that staying inside the country defeats the purpose of a holiday.

You? You just want Jungkook to take his hand off your leg. Not slowly start trailing it up, but there’s no stopping him. Not without swatting at him, or likely trapping his hand between your thighs. The latter situation seems too dangerous.

So you let Jungkook move his hand agonisingly slow until it reaches the juncture of your thighs. Here, he stops.

Luckily you’re not the only one who still feels like they’re bursting at the seams. Jungkook’s still hard, bouncing one of his legs and shifting in his seat twice before suddenly getting up.

He excuses himself to go to the bathroom, but not before trailing a finger along the back of your collar. Little shit. Is he really going to rub one out in the bathroom right now?

Your mind immediately wanders to the visual. Jungkook standing over the bathroom sink, gripping it hard as the other hand slides up and down his length in fast, practiced motions.

Jimin distracts you from this though, asking you about your current study. You do your best to give him coherent answers, but your mind keeps floating back to Jungkook. Dampness between your legs growing fast.

Should you go after him? Maybe that’s what he wants. His earlier offer ringing through your mind, “I’ll find a way to silence those pretty little moans of yours.” Crossing your legs again gives you some friction. Core throbbing even though he’s barely touched you over the course of an hour.

You’re so worked up that when he finally returns you can feel the heft of his eyes on you. He doesn’t touch you, but his presence alone is enough to make you tense. The feeling of anticipation sits heavy in your stomach. It makes you jittery, in a good way. but you’re oh so impatient, fingers itching to touch him, feel him, taste him. It’s a thirst.

It distracts you fully from the dessert. When you look over to Jungkook he’s tonguing at his smiley piercing. Quickly, you avert your eyes back to your plate as if it’s gonna burst into pieces if you don’t.

True to character, you end up getting sticky caramel sauce all over the side of your hand. You lick it off, not thinking much of it but aware of how Jungkook’s watching you. No, you can’t eye-fuck him while everybody is there.

Never have you been so relieved for a dinner to end. Everyone’s getting up and helping to get the dishes in the sink. They’ll be washed later, or tomorrow. Now, you‘re going to go out to a local bar. Maybe there you and Jungkook can get some privacy — or get laid. Whichever way you want to put it. At this point you don’t care about where it happens anymore.

Jungkook lingers by the door, purposely waiting for everybody to leave the apartment under the pretence of having to lock the door. Yet the second the door just falls closed, the first thing he does is grab and entire handful of your ass and squeezes. Hard.

“Shit.” The words slip from your mouth and everyone turns back to look at you. You stare blankly ahead for a few seconds, Jungkook walking past you. He’s easily stopped by you inconspicuously grabbing the back of his shirt. “Is today the twenty-ninth?”

Yoongi looks at his phone. “Yeah, why?”

The lie is easily constructed. “I have a paper to hand in tomorrow at 10am. Fuck. I forgot to send it in early.” You cast your eyes up towards Jungkook, hoping he catches on. “Can I borrow your laptop? I promise I’ll be fast.”

“Yeah,” he answer quickly, “sure.” Jungkook gives his friends a look. “We’ll be right out, don’t wait up for us.”

The other four men are silent, and you know how fucking stupid you look. How obvious it is. But if anybody dares open their mouth about it, you’ll just admit the truth at this point.

“Okay,” Hoseok shrugs, his answer enough to make the others follow him.

Jungkook’s quick to turn towards the apartment, hands fumbling with the key. Only Jimin turns around to look at you. The blonde wiggles his eyebrows, pushing his tongue in his cheek twice coupled with a swift motion of his hand.

You flip him off, holding up your middle finger and turning back to Jungkook.

The door swings open, your stomach tightening with excitement. Hands slightly trembling from the nerves but you get no time to waste a thought on it. To even think about what’s going to happen.

He’s all over you the second the door falls closed. Barely inside. Kissing open-mouthed, hands fumbling for clothes. He untucks your shirt from your jeans, pushing your cardigan off. You struggle with the buttons on his flannel.

The kiss is filled with impatience. You want this. Now. The sounds that fall from both of you are swallowed by the lewd noises of your tongues. You give him no slack this time. Determined, you press into him, promptly tearing the last two buttons off as you slip your tongue into his mouth.

He moans as you trace his tongue piercing — louder when you bite and suck at his bottom lip. You let yourself revel in the sounds just a little, fingers finally tracing the ridges of his abs. Tweaking a nipple piercing, Jungkook lets out the most strangled whine you’ve yet heard from him and you smile into the kiss.

Suddenly you feel your jeans slack against your waist. “Off?” he asks, thumbs already hooked into your waistband. Your own fingers sliding his belt out of the loop.

“Now,” you growl into the kiss.

Your jeans and panties are at your ankles in seconds, and you kick them to some corner of the hallway. Jungkook doesn’t linger. Doesn’t gaze up at your now fully exposed cunt from his brief position on his knees. He just grabs you by the back of your thighs and hoists you up around his waist when he stands again.

Like this, the rough material of his jeans rubs against you, making you hiss. It’s good, rough, but good. He knows, smirking into another wet, sloppy kiss. You have no mind for the way your teeth clash. Too busy trying to undo his buttons and zipper between your bodies. Like this you can feel your own wetness slip against your wrist.

“I still can’t believe,” Jungkook mumbles, suddenly hoisting you up even further, “that you,” he bites at a nipple through your shirt, “chickened out on the other nipple piercing.”

You let out a dry chuckle that dies off into a string of moans as he pushes up your shirt and starts mouthing at your chest. He pays special attention to the one nipple that’s pierced. Pressing his tongue into it, followed by a breath of cold air. You shiver, toes curling as he holds you tightly against the wall.

“Not every—everybody,” you pant as he teases your nipple with his tongue, flicking it with his piercing, “is into pain like you, Jeon.”

He lets out a short laugh, mumbling something into your breast that sounds like a version of ‘not now,’ as he sucks a bruise into your skin. You must look like a mess, you think as you slide your fingers through his hair. Marks blooming. Bare centre pressed against his abdomen as he's using all his strength to keep you up in this position.

“Jungkook,” you whine, voice pitching a little too high. “Put it in, or I’ll chop it off and show you pain.” Like this, you can’t feel his dick. But you know he’s hard. He still was when you undid his jeans. It must be painful at this point. Especially with how you’re rubbing your wetness all over his stomach.

He groans, bracing a hand against the wall. “Hold on to something.”

You grapple for his shoulder as you tighten your hand around his waist. The other hand finds one of the coat hangers on the wall beside you. “Fuck,” you realise how hard this is. How’s he keeping you up?

Within seconds, Jungkook manages to pull a condom from his back pocket. Uncanny. Prepared and ready to go. You internally praise him for it. He holds you pressed against the wall as he tears it open and slides it on. A pained moan falls as he touches himself after being hard for so long. The sound is delicious, his head falling against your shoulder.

A thin sheen of sweat already coats your bodies. Shirt plastered to your skin, Jungkook’s fringe starting to stick to his forehead. But he shows no mercy.

His hands now come down to your ass, and your arms start shaking from holding yourself up.

The first initial brush of the head of his cock against your centre has you clench up. Excitement rushing through your body. Finally, after hours, days, months, you feel him. You moan. “Jungkook please.” The position doesn’t allow you to shift. To sink down onto him on your own accord.

He knows this. Letting out controlled breaths as he finally starts letting you down. There’s no resistance because of how wet you are. Your nails dig into his shoulder, his sink deeper into the flesh of your ass. Every single twitch of your core has him shuddering, but you can’t help it. The relief that floods your body at finally feelings him is insane.

You feel like a teenager, on edge this easily. At this point, your arms really start burning, and you try to shift. “Jung—FUCK!” The coat hanger snaps, breaking off the wall and causing you to lose your hold and sink down on him, fast.

In shock, Jungkook catches you and slams you against the wall. Your head knocks back, and Jungkook lets out a harsh breath through his nose as he bottoms out. “You good?”

Laughing, you nod, causing him to smile sheepishly despite the fact that you almost literally fell on his dick. “Please just,” you shift your hips a little to search out any friction, “move. Please move.”

Jungkook obliges, pressing his entire body up against yours. Pulling out, he slides back in to the hilt with one smooth thrust and you can‘t even form a noise. Your moan dies off in your throat, eyes closing at the feeling. The angle makes you feel every single inch of him, so deep. Pressed right up against your g-spot from the get-go. You shiver, clench, making him shudder.

“Fuck,” he growls, “so wet.”

Nails digging into his shoulders, you edge him on. Clenching and shifting to get him to finally just move. And move he does. Though the position doesn’t allow for more than him rutting straight into your most sensitive spot and sending you into a frenzy.

High pitched moans and deep grunts fill the hallway, your shirt protecting you from the harsh rub of the wall. All you can feel is his cock moving snug inside of you. Minimal friction, but maximum contact, you feel him twitch every time.

It’s hot. Suffocating. Having him this close. It’s delirious, toe-curling. You’re a mess, head thrown back as he just keeps moving. His pelvic bone rubbing right into your clit when he changes angle and— oh. “Shit,” you breathe.

“Yeah,” he answers, smiling into your neck. “I—“ he pauses to curse loudly, not stopping his movements. “I’m not gonna last.”

You barely hear him, whining in the back of your throat.

“I’m serious,” he repeats, licking up the side of your neck. “I’m close.”

Can you care? You feel like you’re on the edge, but also nowhere near your end. But in the haze of pleasure you nod, finding his lips as you try to not lose the feeling. “Don’t stop.” Holding him tight, you push his flannel of his shoulder for better purchase. “Don’t,” you lick over his bottom lip, “stop.”

Jungkook moans — a loud sound — as you find purchase to meet his movements. He moans, your cunt suddenly tighter, sucking him in. It takes only two, three more thrusts before he stills and comes so hard he nearly drops you. His entire body shudders as he twitches inside your walls. Your legs slip down, supporting your own weight before you actually tumble.

“Fuck.” He hides his face in the crook of your neck, panting heavy and wet against your chest. With his dick softening inside you, your core aches for more. Dripping still, you need friction. Release. “I’m — shit — wait.” Jungkook lets you down properly, slipping out of you. “Jesus, I’m so—“

You hush him, carding your fingers through his hair as he’s too embarrassed to meet your gaze. The empty feeling between your legs ignored for now. He’s hot, and his back and shoulders are covered in scratch marks. When he finally leans back you see his half-undone hair, his flushed skin. Eyes dark, lips red and swollen. A sight to behold.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, touching his chin to make him look up at you. Thumb running over his bottom lip, you press inside to feel the tip of his tongue. Deeper, to find his piercing. He responds lazily, sucking on your digit. “Why don’t you go down on your knees.” Your voice is a drawl, laced with the arousal that’s still burning through your veins like wildfire. “Show me that tongue piercing is more than a pretty accessory. Hmm?”

His eyes darken immediately. He gives you a taste of what you might expect, swirling his tongue around your thumb. Your stomach swoops, legs still shaky. Pulling off with a pop, he chuckles at your expression. “Let's get to the bedroom. I’m not gonna be able to hold you up while I eat you out.”

So casual. “I’m not afraid of you and your golden tongue medal Jungkook. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Jungkook makes a face, tongue swiping over this inside of his cheek in a habitual motion. A cocky one. “Okay, have it your way.”

Sinking to his knees, trailing down your thighs, he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. That alone is enough to unbalance you with the way he licks and nips up your inner thigh. Goosebumps, everywhere. You can’t give in. Not when he hasn’t even—“Shit.” Jungkook goes straight for the jugular, teeth not-so-gently sinking into one of your folds as his thumb slides between them to find your soaked clit. His tongue follows immediately. The pressure of his piercing sudden, and your hand flies to his hair that’s still contained by the elastic.

“Jungk—Fuck.” You sink your teeth into your bottom lip as he wraps his lips around your bud. Your body isn’t prepared.

There’s sudden, hard suction — no warning, no build-up. Jungkook sucks at you in bursts, at just the right angle where the ball in his tongue presses slightly left and — “Ah, shit, shi—fuck!” Your entire body starts vibrating, your high approaching so fast you lose control of your one leg that supports you. He expected it, because his assault stops just in time to catch you from toppling over on him.

He gazes up, lips and chin shiny, eyes glazed over and heavy-lidded. “Bed?”

All you can do is nod. Your mouth dry, breath trembling, legs jelly.

The two of you kiss when he stands and you taste yourself on his tongue ever so slightly. His bedroom isn’t far, but neither of you can let go. His hands sliding under your shirt, finally lifting it off your body. Immediately, his hand find your chest, touching, squeezing, tweaking. You moan, your own hands busy with pulling him along and tugging the last bobby pin from his hair.

Jungkook’s jeans are finally discarded when you enter his bedroom. Now less rushed, you see the floral pattern on his hip. You touch it, roses curling over his skin and disappearing under his boxers only to resurface on his thigh.

You’d take your time to trace him, remember him. but right now you’re too hungry for release. You can’t remember the last time you were this needy. This turned on. High-strung. Just thinking of his mouth has you shivering and rubbing your thighs together.

“On the bed,” Jungkook mumbles against your mouth as you kiss him. “Unless all you wanna do is make out for the rest of the night.”

You chuckle, smiling as he pushes you onto the bed and presses you against the dark covers. He seems gentle now, though your aware that what’s to come is anything but. He’s proven as much.

Back arching while he kisses down your chest, you let your own fingers roam the planes of his back. His skin is soft, ink dancing at the edges of your vision as he trails down your body. Teething at a nipple, scratching over your hip bones — Jungkook has you trembling by the time he reaches the apex of your thighs again.

You whine for mercy.

He smirks knowingly, as he breathes out over your folds. Not another second wasted, yet a teasing edge to his actions, as he lickes up your sex.

Shivering, your hands tighten in the sheets. His tongue is warm, pressing against your core while he uses a firm hand to spread your thighs further apart for him. Like that, he holds you open, pausing, breathing against you. The lack of contact lasts too long, and you shift. Canting your hips up for anything.

Eyes closed, you don’t see him move. You feel the nudge of his nose first and then... Cold. “Ah.” The press of his piercing right against your clit is ice cold and firm. Your entire body tenses up, legs nearly clamping down around his head. It’s downhill from there.

Jungkook holds you open with one hand, fingers painfully firm. He's in a controlled frenzy. Hard, swift, slurping, not a part left unattended as he pulls sounds from you, you weren’t aware you could make. The way he flicks the metal against your clit sends you keening. Back arches, painfully so with curled toes and tug at his hair — he groans. The vibrations going straight into your cunt, his tongue flattening.

He almost lets you rut up into his face. Your hands tightening into his locks, hips shifting up over his mouth. Jungkook moans into you, shoulder tensing and eyes closing. Like this, you get the fast friction you want, the build-up you need, the—

“Fuck.” His hand grabs your wrist, pulling you from his hair. “If you wanted to sit on my face, you could’ve just asked.”

Your core clenches at the thought. Him under you, gripping your thighs as you use his mouth for your own pleasure. Those dark, wide eyes looking up at you. All fucked-out. “Can I?”

He chuckles. “Absolutely not. You can use me next time. Tonight you’re mine.”

His. It falls off his tongue so easily, so deeply. You are his.

He dives back in, no longer stopped by the feeling of your hands pulling at his hair. No, he knows what to do now. Swiftly he slips a finger into your sopping core. The way he curls that one finger into you is as if he’s done it before. You’re still sensitive from when he fucked you but he doesn’t care.

He knows he’s got you when your entire body starts shaking. You can’t stop it. The combination of his finger curling in and out of you, and his tongue rapidly circling your clit — it’s too much.

You whine loudly. Entire body on fire, tingles going down to your toes. There’s no way you’re not soiling his sheets. Him using the back of your hand to swipe over your core so he can gain purchase says enough.

His lips wrap around your clit again and he does that thing. That sucking, the flicking of his piercing. Warm, wet, rapid — this beats any toy you’ve ever used.

You can feel your high approaching like a freight train. A heavy weight in your lower abdomen. It hits you before you can even warn him. White flashes beneath your eyelids as you arch off the bed, hands pulling at the sheets.

He doesn’t stop. Gentle sucking and licking until you fall limp onto his sheets.

Eyes still closed, you’re vaguely aware of what’s happening. It’s like you’re floating, a strange, fuzzy feeling. He closes your legs, and you whimper his name with furrowed brows.

“I warned you,” he chuckles, lips pressing into your shoulder. “You didn’t listen to me.”

When you open your eyes he’s beside you, leaning on one arm. His fingers trail the shape of your chest, brushing over a very sensitive nipple. A leg slung over your limp ones. The line of his body — he’s gorgeous. Yours.

“Fine,” you sigh, “I’ll admit it.” His lips twitch up into a smile before you even finish your sentence. “You’ve ruined me. Now you’re stuck with me. I’ll never want anything but you and your devilish tongue for the rest of my life.”

Jungkook’s smile widens further, holding in a laugh as he reaches over to kiss your lips. “You don’t know what you’re asking for sweetheart,” he whispers, tongue darting out to touch yours. “I’m not done with you yet.”

When he pulls you in, you can feel him. He’s rock hard against the juncture of your hip. Feeling him again...the thought makes you shudder. But you can also feel the sensitivity linger in your core. “No,” you squeal playfully when he rocks his hips into yours. Skin still separated by his boxers. “I need time to recuperate from all that!”

“You get ten minutes.” He nips at your chin, noses the line of your jaw. “I’ll show you what it really feels like to be ruined. We can discuss the rest of your life later.”

You grim, turning to capture his lips, legs intertwining further. “Yeah, Jeon? Gonna prove to me you’re not just a one pump guy?” The little giggle in your sentence conveys your teasing.

Jungkook’s hand grips your ass hard, pulling you flush against him. “Ten minutes are over, brat.”

An unpleasant tingling in your arm is what wakes you in the still-early morning. You sigh, shifting to feel the weight that rests over your shoulder. Jungkook.

Everything comes tumbling back. Him fucking you against the hallway wall, eating you out and making you see stars, and then fucking you again — twice. You screamed his name until you cried both of those times. The dull ache between your legs is the proof of it, as is the dryness in your throat.

Right now he lies asleep with his head on your shoulder, hair splayed messily over your skin. Your legs are twisted, and when you turn you can feel that he’s sporting a very serious hard on. “Jungkook,” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair.

He groans, lips brushing your skin as he wakes. His arm tightens around your waist, fingers sending warmth up your spine. When he finally opens his eyes he blinks hard, once, twice, to look up at you with a wide, almost innocent gaze. Your heart skips as he looks up at you so softly. There’s a gleam in those big brown eyes as the sunlight catches them, almost making you forget all the sinful things he did to you.

“Morning,” he croaks.

“My arm.”

“Oh, shit,” he laughs, moving from his position. To your surprise, he ignores his obvious arousal even when it’s unceremoniously pressed against your leg. “Com’ere.” As much as yours, Jungkook’s voice is rough, tainted by your previous activities that went well into the depth of the night.

You let him pull you against him so that your cheek rests on his chest, his fingers carding through your hair. He kisses the top of your head, a warm gesture. Neither of you speak for a good while, almost drifting back to sleep as you bask in the gentle morning. There’s no more tension or heaviness between you. As much as the ‘what now’ question lingers on your tongue, you swallow it. Because you know.

Through the night both of your desires had become clear. Far beyond the point of lust. Jungkook growling that you’re his as his hips drive you into the mattress, and again when he kisses you tenderly after. You asking him if he’s yours, and receiving an affirmative nod as your mouth sank down on him.

No. You don’t need to have that conversation right now.

You reach out for his hand, brushing the euphoria tattoo on his middle finger. “Now I know why you got this tattooed here.”

Jungkook lets out a breath sound, humming into your hair. “I’ll make sure you don’t forget.” This less-sweet answer is paired with his other hand slipping down between your bare legs to brush your sensitive folds. “How ab—“

“Jungkook?!” Hoseok’s voice startles you both. Eyes widening with fear, hand clasping over your mouth.

“What?!” Jungkook calls back, hand coming back to your hip.

“Me and Yoongi are going out to get breakfast, do you want anything?” Your brother is here? Did they hear you?

Jungkook groans. “Where are you going?”

Your hand remains clasped over your mouth, but Jungkook doesn’t seem anything other than annoyed with his friend.

“The bakery,” Hoseok answers. “The one down south.”

“Just the usual then, and an americano.”

There’s a brief silence on the other side of the door, until... “Y/N? You want anything?”

Your face turns red, too shocked to really answer.

“She’ll have what I’m having,” Jungkook calls back with a smile.

“Hey!” You playfully shove at his chest. “I want a latte!” you call towards Hoseok.

“Sure,” Hoseok laughs. “Oh, by the way. One of you is paying for that coat hanger. And Y/N, your panties are cute but I’m not picking them off my floor.”

If you weren’t embarrassed to begin with, you sure are now. Neither of you went back to clean the mess you made in the hallway. Meaning that now only Hoseok saw, but your brother did too and—

There’s a scream “JEON JUNGKOOK! YOU DISGUSTING PIECE OF SHIT!!” your brother wails, Jungkook’s entire body tightens up in response. He sucks in a breath through his teeth.

There’s a long silence, the sound of Hoseok muttering in the distance. You look up at the man beside you, confused. Jungkook’s face is drained of all colour. He known.

You’re about to open your mouth when Hoseok returns.

The door opens, and his voice carries in louder than before. “Jeon, if that nasty ass condom isn‘t gone by the time we get back, you owe me both halves of the rent. Capiche?”

Jungkook gulps. “Yeah.”

Hoseok slams the door shut, getting the message across. The both of you hold your breath until you hear the front door fall closed. Then you erupt into laughter, hands caressing bodies as tears appear in the corners of your eyes.

Jungkook shakes his head. “We have about half an hour,” he whispers, turning you so that you’re lying on top of him.

“I think we can clean up a hallway in less than that Jungkook.”

“Good,” he smirks, sliding your thighs apart so that his hard cock presses between your folds. Bare, no barriers. “Because I want you to ride me.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you thought, but don't send me any graphic or vulgar asks please.

Special thanks to: @ayxxha @dee-ehn @spicykoreantatertots @taekooksfxck @sevenwho @sunshineangelhobi @hobisbeautifulass @thinksshesawolf @franklytae @softlyjiminie @out-of-jams @mygsii @joonsrack @namjooniebjonesuniverse (i'm sorry if I forgot someone)

@minjoonalist @ironicarmy @kookiesspacebuns @dammit-jjk @jesuislalune @setton00 @hplsmoon @lexi-the-fandom-master-love @thefiresfromheaven @nctssidehoe @tenshikoo @miladavidson @catsandstrawberries @cvbachacbitch @x-guccipeaches-x @yeontanie21 @feel-the-sunset @jimilogy @si1verrose @bishuthot @shane-knight @carolsummerlove @doki-do-ki @topanga27 @vanitypoko @kookoo-kachoo

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anywhozits · 5 years

Text

The Best Game of Charades Literally Ever

Rating: T-ish

Pairing: Kristanna

Words: 4306

Summary: Kristoff and Anna are way too nervecited for their family game night after finding out they’re going to have a baby. Because, truly, there’s no better way to tell Elsa and Olaf than by playing a little charades...

Notes: because @justlookatthosesausages posted about charades pregnancy announcements today I thought I should post this fanfic I wrote in december but didn’t have the courage to post hehe thx to my friends who read it back then on my email blast lol

not exactly the same as the brilliant ideas @justlookatthosesausages had BUT I hope you all still enjoy!

Anna felt like she was about to jump out of her skin. Jittery. Nervous. Excited. Nervexcited. Nervecited. Something like that. That combo word was truly the only one she could make up that could properly describe exactly how she felt.

She’d had a bit of an inkling for a few weeks now, but nothing certain. She still felt vastly unprepared, lacking knowledge of anything remotely scientific about how this was supposed to work, but regardless … now she felt certain. She knew. This was really happening – so soon after she and Kristoff had gotten married. Honestly exactly the way she wanted it. Another check mark on not being alone anymore.

The second she had allowed herself to finally admit it she knew she wanted to tell Elsa. Even though they didn’t live within the same walls anymore, their bond was still one of such great tenacity that Anna couldn’t imagine waiting the recommended three more months to tell her. Even if things went south … Elsa would be there.

But no. Anna wouldn’t consider that. She was too happy and nothing could ruin this moment of epic nervecited-ness.

All Anna had to do was send a little letter over Gale mail requesting the presence of only Elsa and Olaf at Friday game night that week. She loved both Honeymaren and Ryder but felt that maybe she actually should wait a bit longer to tell them, per doctor’s orders. This probably had set off some alarm bells in Elsa’s mind, but Anna didn’t know of another way to do it and honestly this beautiful charades idea was just too juicy to not use. Nervecited. Oh so nervecited.

Anna’s eyes flicked to the clock quickly and she bit her lip, foot tap tap tapping in a frenzy. Elsa was three minutes late.

Anna wanted to scream it out loud for everybody to hear. She couldn’t wait any longer. Instead of screaming, though, she let out a frustrated groan. “Elsa, where are you?!” She dramatically flopped onto the sofa, sighing again and staring with laser focus at the clock, counting the seconds and tapping her feet together to the beat.

Just in time for Kristoff to saunter into the parlor, knowing exactly what a state he was about to find his wife in. “Anna, baby—"

Anna shot up on the couch and sat with her legs zipped together, absent mindedly rubbing her stomach. “Anna baby?! Anna and baby you mean or just Anna, baby like pet name baby? Or both? Sorry … I didn’t mean to cut you off …” She got up from the couch and grabbed Kristoff’s hands. “I’m just so excited and then you said baby and wow we’re having a baby, Kristoff!”

He pulled her into his arms in a tight embrace, Anna virtually disappearing in Kristoff’s large, burly frame. He kissed her forehead tenderly. “I’m really excited, too, Anna.”

“Nervecited?” Anna felt better about her word creation. Smirking.

Kristoff chuckled. “Nervecited for tonight. Excited for the future.” That made Anna’s smirk turn to a beam.

“So did you mean Anna baby or Anna and baby or something more like—”

“Anna, baby. Pet name baby. But Anna and baby is definitely much cuter. So I probably should’ve claimed it.”

Anna laughed a bit and snuggled her head into Kristoff’s strong chest. “I love you.”

He hugged her tighter. If that were even possible. “I love you too, Anna and baby.”

Anna stood up on her tip toes and brought her lips up to Kristoff’s. He responded passionately, parting her lips with his tongue and deepening the kiss. Anna’s arms floated up to Kristoff’s head and she pulled their lips in closer, harder, encircling his tongue with her own. Kristoff’s hands habitually drifted lower and lower until they rested on her rump and he gave both cheeks a playful squeeze. She giggled into his kiss, pushing her pelvis closer up to his pelvis, feeling his excitement growing. Feeling her very own excitement pulsating down below.

A cough. From somewhere in the distance. And then: “Uhhh...”

Kristoff and Anna jumped to attention, taking several paces away from each other, both wiping their lips, Anna smoothing her dress down. They were both nervously laughing. Anna tried to get some words out. “Oh, Elsa we—you’re—wow here you are.”

Kristoff thought he needed to try speaking as well. “We were just—uh—”

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Elsa said, completely deadpan.

“No, no. That’s perfectly all right. We were still … um—” Kristoff cleared his throat. Elsa had caught them probably dozens of times but without fail the most recent always felt like it was the most awkward. Gulp. “Getting organized.”

Anna took a deep breath, brushing off all of the discomfort. She was married now, after all. Much less embarrassing by default. Plus, now that Elsa was here… showtime. “Elsa! So happy to see you!” Anna pranced up to her sister and gave her an enthusiastic embrace. “I’m gonna go wrangle up a snowman and a reindeer… well, not wrangle, but uh—you know what I mean! Be back soon.” She gave a small wave to her husband and sister before dashing off, skipping eagerly in anticipation.

Kristoff let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Sorry about—”

Elsa spoke at the same time. “How are—" They both laughed, wishing in that moment they had Anna’s ability to bounce back from any slightly uncomfortable situation. “You don’t need to apologize, Kristoff.”

“Agh, well…” Now he was starting to feel this same nervecited sentiment creeping into himself. He worried about saying anything for fear of spoiling it right then and there. And he knew how much Anna wanted to be the one to tell Elsa.

“How are you enjoying being the Prince Consort?” More than two months with this title and Kristoff still hadn’t gotten used to it. His coronation had been August, a couple weeks after his and Anna’s royal wedding, but Kristoff found he generally avoided the subject of this title that he felt he didn’t deserve.

“Uh—it’s good. I haven’t done much so far, but I did start attending some meetings over the last week...not that anybody takes me seriously—but I think—maybe—they’re starting to?” Whisper around Europe was that the Queen of Arendelle had settled for a commoner. And not just any commoner—an ice harvester at that. Someone who would know nothing of diplomacy despite his yearlong stint in international ice affairs. “Anna is doing great, though. She does all the work. Perfectly, too.”

“I know how Anna’s doing,” Elsa said matter-of-factly. “I was curious about you. I’m glad they’re starting to take you seriously, Kristoff. You deserve that kind of respect.”

Kristoff blushed. “Thanks.”

“Do you think you want to take more of an active role in the future?”

“No, no. Definitely not. I’m happy to watch Anna shine.”

“Might come in handy if you’re still hoping for that big family?”

Before he knew what was happening, Kristoff let out a huge surprised, “Ha!” as he bit his lip, suddenly concerned with how much he could give away out of sheer shock. Somehow, he reigned it in. “Uh—yeah. That’s sort of what I was thinking actually… I mean—we definitely do still want…you know—lots of babies. At some point. I don’t know. Doesn’t need to be soon. It’ll happen when it happens. Which could be… next month or next year or even—”

Truly just in time to rescue Kristoff from utter secret-keeping doom, Anna, Olaf, and Sven came bounding into the parlor. His nervous habit of rambling was getting out of hand, but at least he and Anna had that in common.

“Here we all are! We’re all here! It’s charades time— can you believe it? Another Friday night with the family!” Anna was squealing this in an octave much higher than her normally high voice.

“Hi, Elsa! I missed you!” Olaf snuggled up close to Elsa.

“It’s only been a week…”

“But a BIG week. Right, Kristoff?” Anna just about winked.

“Right,” Kristoff said. Oh dear were they making this obvious. Paired with the fact Ryder and Honeymaren weren’t invited… Elsa probably already knew. Sven winked at both Kristoff and Anna before taking his place by the timer. Kristoff had shared the news with him the second the doctor confirmed their suspicions, reacting with pure elation.

Exactly how she hoped Elsa and Olaf would react tonight… still so nervecited!

Anna couldn’t wait any longer. “Okay everyone, sit sit sit sit sit.” She ushered the three of them to do just that and they followed her orders, after all – she was the Queen.

Right as Anna slumped down on the couch she jumped back up again. “I’ll go first!”

Anna and Kristoff had originally discussed that Anna would not go first but instead go last, since her announcement would almost certainly stop the game. But when Anna set her mind to something … and tonight that something was telling her sister the announcement she was so incredibly beyond excited to share, she was not going to wait even a second longer.

“We’re gonna do this round together, all right? No teams. Winner takes all.” She made a show of picking out the piece of paper, reading what it said. Book. Throwing it to the ground. “Okay… everyone ready?”

Elsa and Kristoff both nodded while Olaf raised his twig arm in the air in a sing-songy, “Yes!”

“Sven, flip the timer!” Anna exclaimed enthusiastically. Here we go. HERE WE GO!

Anna smiled widely. Beamed, really, and giggled. She took both her hands and pointed at her belly with her index fingers.

Olaf went first. “Buttons?”

Anna shook her head.

“Belly button?” No. “Dress?”

Anna shook her head more forcefully and kept pointing to her belly. Kristoff had a matching smile on his face but said nothing.

Elsa, next. “Oh! Corset?” No.

Olaf started rattling off answers. “You… ate too much? Your stomach hurts? Oh—just stomach maybe? Indigestion? You’re hungry? You’re in a food coma!” Anna kept shaking her head vigorously. No, no, no.

“You’re going to throw up?” Elsa added.

Anna smirked, and half nodded half shook her head. Kind of? Or was it more confusing to go down this path?

Nobody was getting it. Anna didn’t know what else to do.

Clearly, they should’ve practiced more. Kristoff always got it on the third try. Hungry? Stomach? Ohmygodyouandyouramazinghusbandkristoffarehavingababy.

“Kristoff you’re not guessing!” Olaf added, confused.

“Oh—uh—right. Guessing. Charades. Right,” Kristoff gulped, knowing he could very well spoil everything. They hadn’t practiced this either. “Uh—stomach?”

“I already guessed that, Kristoff. Keep up,” Olaf said, scowling.

“S… sick?”

Anna couldn’t help but laugh and concurrently shook her head. Kristoff was an awful actor. Truly horrid.

Olaf grimaced. “Okay, Kristoff. Never mind. You can stop guessing now.” Kristoff’s cheeks turned slightly rosy but then he caught a glimpse at Sven grunting and somehow subtly bouncing in panic as he eyed the timer.

“Anna! You’re running out of time!”

Panic set in. She knew she couldn’t try to give this same clue for another round. That would be more confusing than it already was.

So she switched gears. Leaving rehearsed territory. Taking a different charades direction.

Anna pantomimed rocking a baby, pressing her forearms together and moving them side to side.

Elsa raised an eyebrow. “Uh… swing? Holding something … holding a basket?”

Anna shook her head again.

“Holding Olaf!” Olaf exclaimed, very excited about the prospect of this being the answer. “Like that one time I flurried!”

“Carrying something?”

Anna’s eyes lit up. She brought her right arm out and started gesturing for them to keep guessing. They were on the right track. Ish. The closest track they had been on during this game at least.

“Carrying … ice? Carrying … chocolate? Carrying …”

“Olaf!” He was still too excited about this.

Now she sighed. They were not as close as she had hoped. So, she switched gears again, pivoting in her boots to show them her profile, taking her right arm and tracing a big belly on top of her own. A hint of what was to come. And then she pointed to herself. Back to the belly tracing. Then back to herself.

“You… ate too much? Did I already guess that?” Olaf was lost.

But Elsa wasn’t. The penny dropped suddenly, and she had to clap her left hand over her mouth in ecstatic shock. “Anna… are you… ?”

Anna’s squeal was almost deafening. “Yes!” She brought her arms in close, pumping them up and down and up and down before doing the same thing with her whole body. “Yes, yes, yes!” Anna’s eyes were welling up with joyful tears, but she didn’t care enough to wipe them away.

Elsa sprang from the couch and ran over to her sister, grabbing her hands and pulling her in for a hug. “Anna, I’m so happy for you.” Elsa pulled away from the hug and walked over to Kristoff, giving him a tender embrace as well. “And you, too, Kristoff. Congratulations.” She turned back to Anna. “How have you been feeling? How long have you known?”

Anna opened her mouth to answer but Olaf jumped on top of the couch to make himself known.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. What was the answer?”

Anna smiled at him, softly. Clueless in a cute way. “The answer is… I’m going to have a baby... Kristoff and I are having a baby, Olaf.”

“WHAT?! A BABY?! You and Kristoff… I’m an UNCLE?!”

Tears welled in Anna’s eyes again. She could only nod, unable to speak without crying out.

“Where’s the baby?!” Olaf started toddling around the parlor, looking everywhere he thought maybe a baby could be hiding. Under the couch. “Is the baby here?” Behind the door. “Are you here, baby?” He dramatically pulled the curtains. “Ah-hah! I know you’re hiding back here!” His face fell when he only saw windows on the other side.

Anna, Kristoff, and Elsa were all in stitches. “Olaf…the baby’s in here.” Anna put her hands on her stomach.

“Hiding under your dress?”

Anna tried to gather herself enough in between giggles to answer him properly. “The baby’s inside of me right now. It’s really tiny. Just started growing … but for the next few months my stomach is gonna get bigger and bigger because the baby will get bigger, and then it’ll be born once it’s big enough and then maybe it’ll be hiding behind the curtains.”

“You don’t have a big belly at all, Anna.”

“No, not yet. The baby is really, really small right now. The doctor told me not to tell anybody until I can feel it moving, which won’t be for a few more months, but I just couldn’t wait to tell you!”

Understanding lit up on Elsa’s face. “That’s why Honeymaren and Ryder weren’t invited.”

“You caught us,” Kristoff said. Anna grabbed Kristoff’s arm and leaned in closer to him, resting her head on his chest. Kristoff readjusted to put his arm around her, pulling her in to kiss her forehead.

Olaf still felt he had some unresolved question. “But… how did it get in there? Did you eat something special?”

Kristoff dropped his arm and quickly became utterly stiff. Anna’s cheeks flushed red and Elsa laughed. She definitely knew this was coming.

“Agh—that’s… that’s a question. Yup. That’s a … question.” Kristoff was floundering.

“Uh-huh! That’s why I asked it!”

Kristoff realized his mistake in speaking right away. He tried to deflect. “Elsa? Anna? Anything to add?”

“Nope. All you, husband.”

“El…Elsa?”

“Sorry, Kristoff.”

Olaf stared at the three of them wide eyed in anticipation. He knew this answer had to be a good one if it took them this long to figure out who was going to explain it.

“Well… when Anna and I got married… and not before that. No, no, no. Definitely not before that,” Kristoff kept making some cringy nervous laughter sound that made everything that much more uncomfortable. But he knew Olaf had a big mouth and wanted to make sure he didn’t go blabbing to everyone around town about this. "Definitely not in sleds and closets and Elsa’s old study and—"

Elsa grimaced. “My former study?! When I used it?!”

“and forests and pantries—" Why did he always rattle off way too much information when he got nervous?

“Slow down there, honey,” Anna said, cheeks red as roses.

“Yes…right—uh—well, once we got married, we took… we really loved. Uh—what I mean to say is—when we are alone…sometimes—agh,” Kristoff kept looking at Anna and Elsa, hoping that they would rescue him, but they both shook their heads at his futile attempt. He groaned. Loudly. “Yes. Anna ate this special… pie? That… the trolls baked. For us. To have a baby. Uh-huh. You’re right, Olaf. She ate something special.”

Anna and Elsa were both hiding behind their hands, trying their best to suppress the laughter that threatened to escape. Sven brought his foot to his eyes in disgrace.

“Oh! Neat! Wow. I can’t wait to one day eat this pie and have little baby Olafs running around.” Olaf jumped in the air, happy to finally have some answers to help him with his carefully cultivated newfound wisdom. “Elsa, you can ask your questions now.”

Finally. Elsa had been waiting for this for far too long. “When did you find out?”

“I haven’t been uh – unwell since … September?” Anna never loved having to refer to her monthly gift as being unwell but sometimes she felt the need to come off as prim and proper in front of her sister. Some kind of residual need to impress Elsa, even though Elsa was impressed with her sister almost 100% of the time.

“August,” Kristoff said. Remembering an unfortunately messy tryst in the kitchen in the middle of the night that they spent far too long cleaning up, giggling like delirious school children the whole time.

Anna remembered this too and blushed. “August,” she repeated in a much cheerier tone, a bit of a wink directed at her husband. Elsa let out a surprised laugh. “I only let myself think it for real this week though. A few days ago, really,” Anna smiled at her husband. They had had a great last couple of days. “The doctor said the baby will probably come in May.”

“Whoooaaaaa. That’s so long from now,” Olaf said.

“How have you been feeling?”

“Mostly okay… I guess a little bit tired. Kristoff has been handling my morning meetings,” Anna said before adding in a whisper, “He didn’t wake me up until noon today.”

“Keeping up with your queenly duties while with child must be pretty difficult,” Elsa said, thankful to not have to deal with leading a kingdom anymore.

“Not if I get to sleep until noon every day!”

“It helps me, too, since uh—she’s been pretty—uh—moody... even more so if she has an early morning,” Kristoff explained.

Anna’s voice got lower, louder, angrier. “Oh, come on, who asked you?!” The second those words came out of her mouth she clapped her hand over her mouth started laughing. The others all joined in, always appreciating Anna’s ability to laugh at herself at any time. “He’s right!”

“And … have you been able to eat? I didn’t really want to bring this up earlier, but you look quite thin.” Elsa had noticed for the last couple weeks that Anna’s collarbones were protruding a bit more than they usually did.

Anna sighed. “Not really. Well, I can eat I guess but it won’t really … stay in there? If you know what I mean. I’d say I haven’t been able to eat much for … two weeks now?”

Kristoff nodded. He had started keeping a journal to get all of these things straight ahead of fatherhood.

“Actually, the only thing I’ve been able to keep down is … chocolate.” Anna’s eyes lit up as she sang that word. Chocolate. The most perfect of all the foods. “And on that note… honey?” Anna held out her right hand to her husband.

“Got you, baby.” He pulled out some carefully wrapped truffles from his vest pocket. Elsa and Olaf looked at each other and then back at Kristoff. Not something they expected. He shrugged. “I keep these truffles in my pockets at all times.”

“My hero,” Anna said, swooning, popping truffle after truffle into her mouth.

“Do you have any extra for me there, Kristoff?” Elsa smiled. “They smell delicious.”

Kristoff chuckled as he somehow produced even more truffles and dropped them into Elsa’s hands. “I swear you two should enter a chocolate eating contest or something.”

“Well you know we’d win.” Kristoff could only guess that was what his wife said as her mouth was overflowing and spilling of chocolate.

“Did you make these yourself?” Elsa’s words were also barely comprehensible.

Kristoff nodded. “Gotta make sure Anna has her chocolate fix at least eight times a day.”

She giggled. “He really knows how to please me,” Anna said before realizing the slightly different implications her words could take on. “Ah—uh—not in that way. I mean, obviously in that way… because you know, the baby and all. I mean not—not actually obviously because I ate that cake thingie from the trolls. And that’s why…”

“Slow down there, honey,” Kristoff said, smirking and snaking his arm around her waist. “And it was a pie, remember?”

“Yes—yes. Of course! The pie thingie. From the trolls!”

Despite Anna trying way too hard to remedy this situation for the sake of Olaf’s preserved innocence, Olaf paid no mind. Honestly, he probably paid very little attention to that last bit of conversation generally. His questions were more interesting than Elsa’s anyway. As a result, he dramatically collapsed onto the couch. “I can’t believe we have to wait until May. That’s…” Olaf started counting on his twig fingers. “Seven months away?”

“But it’ll fly by, I’m sure… uh, and—” Anna had no idea why she felt nervous asking this of her sister, but she did, and she couldn’t ignore it. “Elsa, I’d love you to be there… when the baby’s born. If you want to, I mean. I don’t want to pressure you into anything since it’ll probably be, well—graphic. And everything.”

“I’d love to,” Elsa said, smiling. Feeling her heart swell. Anna let out a sigh of relief. No reason to be worried.

“Can I come?!” Olaf jumped in the air, but Anna shook her head and simply ignored him. Way too graphic for a snowman.

“Kristoff thought maybe he would send you something through Gale mail and then you could ride Nokk. You know, in case it happens quickly.”

“Wow you’ve really thought things through.”

“Kristoff has been working on an entire birth plan. And it’s very detailed. You should see his journals.” He was tracking her symptoms and her cycle and the weeks. He read countless books on pregnancy, transcribing pages upon pages of what happens on a week to week basis. And all of this in just a few days… his childbirth repertoire would only grow over the coming months.

But still he only shrugged. Oh-so-humble. “I want to know what she’s going through. So I can be there for her, fully, every single step of the way.” Elsa beamed. She was so happy that Kristoff was the man Anna had decided was her happily ever after.

“Awww,” Anna said, holding her hands close to her heart.

“When are you going to tell Honeymaren and Ryder? It’s going to be so hard to not give it away!”

“Whichever Friday comes after I feel the baby start moving. Oh, oh! We can do some more charades! You can even guess your horrible answers again to throw them off track!” Anna said, “Oh, oh, OH! And maybe I’ll be showing by then and I don’t even have to mime it I can just, like, show it. Uh—wordplay totally intended.”

Before Elsa knew it, she had tears pooling in her eyes. She didn’t think she was one for tears but seeing her little sister beaming talking about her future family overwhelmed Elsa with emotions. “I’m so happy for you, Anna.”

“Aww!” Anna bounded up to her sister and brought Elsa into her arms. When she pulled away, she noticed how Elsa’s tears glistened in the moonlight, instantly feeling hot tears stinging her own eyes the second she did. She could barely get out: “Elsa… are you crying?”

Elsa started laughing but the tears spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks. Noticing Anna’s tears, Elsa started wiping them away with her thumbs. “And you’re crying, too.”

“You know I’m an empathetic crier,” Anna said, hugging her sister again.

“I’m just … so thrilled for you two. And I’m really excited to be an aunt.” Elsa squeezed Anna tighter and then beckoned for Kristoff to join. Olaf ran up to them and hugged Anna’s legs, shedding some wholesome and loving snowman tears in the process. Sven wedged his way in to lay his head on Anna’s shoulders. A group hug. The original family. All they needed was Sven to complete their family portrait.

They basked in each other’s warmth for a while, enjoying the tender moment. Thinking about how much was going to change, but at the same time knowing how much would stay the same. Them, holding each other. This. Hugs, love. Family. Although the family was getting bigger and would likely keep getting bigger… as long as they had each other, they knew that the only changes would be for the better. Because love is the one thing in life that’s permanent.

#kristanna #frozen #fanfic #fanfiction

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rohad93 · 5 years

Text

A knight Affair: Fire and Blood

You can read it here on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21064748/chapters/50110898

The morning sun spilling over Fort Luna did not improve it’s appeal to the two royals as they walked around the parapets followed closely by a silent Yellow. The sunlight better illuminated the many injured and dying laid out across the dirt on the forts ground level.

Many groaned in pain, clutching their wounds, or to weak to move. Some had stopped moving at all over the course of the night. There were always several men assigned to digging graves at any time.

If the view inside the walls had been appalling, the eastern view outside the walls was horrid.

For nearly as far as they could see the ground outside the fort, moving into the former kingdom of Aarde was blackened by the weaponized use of fire to clear any possible cover for those approaching the fort. Deep trenches marred the earth, lined by spiked wooden barricades, many of which, much to the two royals nausea, had bodies skewered upon them in various states of decay. Crows were perched on nearly every surface fighting over the scraps and inspecting the many shiny silver armor pieces skewered across the field, some marked with the diamond symbol of Drysor and others with the cross in a circle of Aarde.

Blue frowned heavily at the sight before them. She had of course heard all about war, heard stories straight from Yellow and other soldiers but seeing it with her own eyes was a horror all its own.

“This is awful…” Pink found her voice as she leaned over the stone wall, looking at the devastation both sides had been inflicting on each other. Blue laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“This is what war looks like.” Yellow finally spoke for the first time that morning since they began touring the fort and talking to the many soldiers milling about.

“It needs to stop…” Pink turned around and leveled the knight with a serious look. Yellow glanced at Blue before turning her gaze back to Pink.

“It won’t stop until we’ve won. The queen has been very clear about that.” Yellow frowned, looking out over the field herself. It hadn’t changed much since she’d left five days prior, there were perhaps a few more laying among the dead, as there always were.

“How long will that take?” She rounded on the knight. “We’ve barely been able to hold this fort, much less take back control of the whole territory!” She stomped a foot.

“Rosaline! Keep your voice down.” Blue scolded her. Glad that the three of them were alone on the parapets. “We know that… but it’s more complicated than that, we have already invested so much into fighting this rebellion. To pull back now would be as though were were throwing away the lives of those who have already died. It may also incite other territories to rebel, or worse yet, attack the empire.”

“Pulling back would save the lives of those who haven’t yet died.” Pink argued before turning to Yellow. “You’re the experienced soldier, what do you think Yellow?”

Yellow looked at them both and sighed heavily out her nose.

“You are both right, which is what makes this situation all the more difficult. If we pull back and let Aarde go it will show weakness, inviting more rebellion in other parts of the empire, perhaps even direct attacks on the capital, but if we keep fighting over this one border the cost will only grow.” She crossed her arms over an armored chest. “That being said, if we had the full might of the empire’s forces it would have been over months ago.”

“Than why aren’t we doing that?” Pink flung out her arms, aggravated by the new information.

Yellow scowled, the wrinkles in her brow deepening into trenches between her eyes but her voice come out nearly a whisper.

“Because the queen has sent them all to the southern border in a paranoid fear that they’re going to attack us.” She bit out and Pink deflated, picking up on Yellow’s subtle way of saying that the worsening state of the empire was because of her mother’s worsening mental state.

She glanced back at the dead and burnt expanse of what once must have been a beautiful field and was inclined to agree.

“Is it safe here, Yellow?” Blue turned to the knight who was now staring out at the horizon line.

“The commander said there hasn’t been an attack since I left and the scouts didn’t see anything when they were out yesterday. I think we came at the perfect time, or as good a time as ever...” That being said the knight held up a spyglass, pointed out at the horizon, looking for what neither princess knew.

“Can I look?” Pink asked when Yellow lowered the glass, seeming satisfied with whatever she had or hadn’t seen. She glanced at the girl out of the corner of her eye before silently handing it over.

Pink looked through the glass at the charred earth far beyond her normal sight. There were a few abandoned camps and few destroyed catapults, but not a soul in sight.

“I think we could make the most of this trip by visiting with the wounded.” Blue suggested, looking at Yellow who nodded.

“I think they would like that, some of them aren’t long for this world.” She stated grimly.

“Pink, shall we?” She turned to her sister as she lowered the spyglass.

“Yes” She nodded, handing the tool back to Yellow as they walked back to the stairs that lead down to the forts ground level.

Soldiers scraped and bowed as they passed, calling out reverent greetings to the sisters. Blue smiled and waved, trying to do as the queen had asked and instill some morale in the tired and weary soldiers. They seemed to be seemed to be in sore need of it.

If anything, the queen did seem to be right about that. Men jumped to their feet, and swooned when the heir apparent graced them with a soft smile and others still admired the bouncy cheerful attitude the younger princess exuded as she laughed or smiled at something the men would say.

It was all Yellow could do to keep from rolling her eyes at the men whose tongues practically lolled out of their heads when Blue tuned her gaze on them and smiled.

They found themselves standing alone for a moment after a knight had walked off, smiling ear to ear after Blue had graced him with a few kind words.

Yellow rolled her eyes.

“If you roll your eyes any harder their going to fall out of your head, captain.” Blue smirked, glancing sidelong at her. Yellow huffed.

“Good, then I won’t have to watch them trip all over themselves every time you glance in their direction.” She retorted. Her attention was immediately drawn back to Blue when she giggled quietly, hand covering her mouth.

“You’re not becoming the envious type, are you, captain?” She smiled at the knight, looking at her out of the corner of her eye.

“Don’t be ridiculous…” Yellow sniffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“Don’t be cross, love.” Her voice was barely even a whisper.

“I’m not. Nor do I have any reason to be envious.” She turned her head, refusing to look at the other woman.

Blue smiled to herself at her ridiculous knight.

“Of course you don’t.” She nodded in agreement. “You know very well that it’s you who holds my heart.” She said under her breath so only the knight would hear and she knew she had when her shoulders seemed to untense just a bit.

Pink watched Yellow and Blue converse quietly to themselves from several yards away. To anyone else it looked as though they were having a perfectly a perfectly formal discussion, perhaps about the state of the fort or the ongoing rebellion but Pink knew better now.

She knew that when Blue’s eyes lit up like that, it was because she was thinking less than formal things about the knight. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at them and wonder how she had ever missed all the signs before.

They two royals spent the day visiting with the wounded, those most grievously wounded first and no less than two times after they had moved on to other men did the ones the had been with earlier cease all movement.

Pink was moved to tears by some of the soldiers conditions and those who were able to still move and speak waved away her tears, claiming how proud they were to fight for the empire, the queen and her.

A sentiment that only made the tears fall harder, knowing that she hadn’t had the slightest inkling as to the kinds of suffering going on at the front line and that her mother, their glorious queen saw all their lives as expendable, so long as the rebellion was put down.

Once night had fallen, Yellow escorted both of them back to the room that had been set up for the two of them, all while the commander apologized for its lack of finery as they hadn’t been notified that they would be coming.

Blue easily calmed him, telling him all was fine.

It was of course a little rough, but it had two beds and their things had been carefully set to the side.

“Where are you going to sleep?” Pink asked Yellow as she sat on the bed.

“I stay in the barracks with the other soldiers.”

“You could stay here, I don’t mind… so long as you’re only sleeping of course.” She grinned cheekily watching Yellow and Blue both turn bright red.

“You…” She started, scowling.

“Pink’s jest aside, I would feel better if you stayed here with us tonight…” Blue looked up at the knight from her bed.

“If that’s what you want.” She easily agreed, pulling off her helmet and plopping next to Blue on the bed.

Truthfully she also didn’t want to leave the two unguarded.

“Are you alright?” Blue asked, running a hand through her hair.

“Fine as I have been all day.” She sighed, letting Blue coddle her.

“So, not fine?” Pink crossed her legs and sat in the middle of the bed looking at them quizzically.

“I’ve been worse.” The knight grumbled, rubbing a hand across her face. Blue smiled sympathetically and leaned on her shoulder.

“You worry too much.” Blue took one of Yellows hands in hers. “You promised me that you would to relax.”

“I said I would try…” She squeezed Blue’s hand back regardless. “I just feel uneasy…” She mumbled.

“Everything about this place makes feel uneasy.” Pink agreed, frowning.

“It has seen much bloodshed.” Blue agreed.

“You should both rest.” Yellow suggested glancing at them.

“What about you?” Pink looked at her. Yellow’s eyes sagged heavily with exhaustion.

“I am resting.” Yellow said, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest and by the look of it Blue knew she’d never be able to get the blonde out of her armor so long as they were here.

“You don’t look like you’re resting…” She frowned.

“Leave her be, Pink.” Blue waved before changing into her own night attire.

“Don’t look.” Pink said turning to Yellow who turned bright red with anger.

“You can not be serious!?” She hissed. Pink just giggled.

“Of course she isn’t, love. Relax.” She soothed before turning her gaze to Pink. “Enough” The tone brooked no argument and Pink just ducked her head before quickly changing and climbing beneath the blankets.

Blue slid into bed, next to the knight sitting up above the blankets.

Blue reached out and took hold of one of her gloved hands. Yellow pulled her hand to her mouth and laid a kiss on her knuckles as they drifted off to sleep.

At the morning meal the two royals were introduced to the flavorless slop that was served to all the soldiers for every meal.

Blue did her best to keep a straight face as she spooned the mushy flavorless grains into her mouth.

“How can it taste like nothing and still be so bad?” Pink asked, looking down into her bowl with a sad and confused look. Blue nudged her, glancing around at all the soldiers sitting around them, eating the same slop.

“Rosaline…” She scolded, but was making a face as she looked back into her own bowl. They glanced up at Yellow on the other side of the long table, who was spooning the food into her mouth with nary a twitch.

Feeling their eyes on her she looked up, spoon halfway to her mouth.

“What?” She glanced between the two of them.

“How can you eat this?” Pink hissed.

Yellow glanced back down at the gray mush and shrugged before spooning another bite into her mouth.

“It’s food” she said after swallowing.

Pink suddenly remembered that Yellow had grown up very poor and hungry. She’d never really seen the knight turn down food now that she thought about it.

With that in mind and looking around at all the soldiers around her eating the same thing, the youngest Princess was again reminded of her privilege and squared her shoulders before digging into the bowl with a gusto that tried to wither and die as soon as the food hit her tongue but she continued to eat till the bowl sat empty.

Blue ate hers, though with less forced zest than Pink.

When they had finished the two made the rounds again through the injured and dying soldiers, offering what comfort they could. Yellow watched from a distance.

When the sun was directly overhead Blue made the three of them leave the fort for some fresh air.

Yellow followed behind dutifully as they roamed the field on the fort’s western side, the side that was securely part of the empire, for the moment.

Pink sat on the ground. fingering the petals of the wild flowers that filled the field.

Yellow leaned her back against a tree, arms folded over her chest, letting the large leaves shield her from the sun. Blue stood at her side, the tree blocking them from view of the fort.

“You seem a little less tense today.” The eldest princess observed as she watched Yellow’s face.

“I suppose…” She shrugged. Blue wrapped her arm through Yellows and leaned up to press a kiss to the knights cheek. Her lips twitched into a smile.

Pink observed the interaction from several feet away among the flowers. It was still such a str aange thing to witness. It was nice to see the two of them so outwardly happy though.

They stayed there for a while longer before Yellow decided they should return to the safety of the fort.

The evening meal was more the same as the morning, grayed, flavorless gruel fit only to give them energy, not enjoyment.

The forts commander sat across from the three of them, chatting happily to Yellow about the plans for a push into rebel held territory and ensuring both Princess’ that the queen could rest easy knowing that they had the fort under full control. Blue smiled politely and nodded in the right places.

A young man came running up to the table and leaned down to whisper something into the commander’s ear. He frowned heavily and waved the boy off with a nod.

“What is it?” Yellow asked, seeing the look on the man’s face.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. The scout I sent out this morning hasn’t returned yet, but that happens sometimes. They hide out in the woods so they don’t have to return to their duties.” He grunted.

Yellow’s eyes narrowed.

Blue could see the wheels spinning rapidly in the knights head. Subtly she reached beneath the table and laid a hand on her knee, making her jolt but to her credit she didn’t look at her. She only nodded to what the commander had said but Blue could tell she was now on edge.

“Commander…” Blue started drawing his and Yellow’s attention to her as she stood. “I hope you’ll excuse us but my sister and I must begin preparing for the trip back tomorrow.”

The commander jumped up, bowing.

“Of course, your Highness.”

Yellow took the hint and rose to follow the two as they left the mess hall.

It was only once they were back in the privacy of their temporary room that Blue turned on Yellow.

“Relax…” She said sternly.

“I am relaxed.” Yellow hissed, brows furrowed deeply between her eyes in a way that did not say ‘relaxed’.

“No, the moment the commander said that a scout hadn’t returned you turned into a piece of stone.”

“It IS troubling.” Yellow defended herself.

“He said it happens sometimes. So until something bad actually happens, just relax, darling.” She reached up and rubbed her thumb along a sharp cheekbone.

“I’m trying, Blue.” She breathed.

“I know you are… we have an early start ahead of us in the morning, why don’t we just get some sleep.” She suggested. “I already had the carriage prepared and waiting for us.”

“Yes, alright.” The knight nodded tiredly, plopping on the bed, again staying in her armor. Blue rolled her eyes but took her victory’s where she could get them.

They quickly changed into their night wear.

Pink was half asleep by the time her head hit the pillow.

Blue curled as close to Yellow as the relatively light metal armor would allow.

Yellow wrapped an arm around her nonetheless.

“Try to sleep…” Blue breathed against her.

“I will…” Yellow promised. Closing her eyes and trying to will her body into a state of rest.

Eventually it came.

Blue woke with a jolt.

Yellow was climbing off the bed and moving quickly toward the door, pulling on her helmet. All the noise produced by her armor had Pink raising her head off the pillows.

“Huh..wha..?” She slurred, eyes half closed.

“Yellow, what is it?” Blue's sleep thick voice managed as she sat up.

“Something’s going on. Stay here.” She ordered and disappeared out the door. Blue and Pink only looked at each other before jumping out of bed and changing out of their sleepwear.

There were faint sounds coming through the stone but not enough to give the sisters any indication of what was going on above them. The stone was simply to thick.

“I need to see.” Pink said, shooting past Blue and out the door.

“Rosaline!” Blue followed quickly, hoping to catch her before she reached the top of the stairs.

Pink managed to get to the door just before Blue caught up to her. It swung open to reveal a world of fire.

The fort was ablaze and the sounds of metal clashing against metal was deafening.

It quickly became apparent that the rebel forces were attacking the base as armor plated soldiers bearing the circle and cross symbol of Aarde poured through the flaming gates on the forts eastern side.

Men were falling dead in the dirt as they were skewered on the ends of swords and pikes and the fire was only rising higher as it swept through the fort, setting provisions and equipment ablaze.

Soldiers caught in the flames screamed as the two royals could only look on in horror at the battle unfolding in front of them.

“I told you both to stay there!” Yellow was suddenly next to them in the chaos, sword drawn and stained with blood. She was again yelling over the den before either of them could say anything. “We need to leave, now! Stay close!”

They followed closely behind her toward where the carriage was being kept.

Drysor soldiers were covering their retreat, pouring out of the barracks in varying states of undress or half strapped on armor, and moving to cut off the entry point that had been burned into the forts eastern gate to try and cut off the flow of enemies pouring in.

Debris flew through the air as the rebels catapulted flaming barrels full of grain alcohol and large rocks over the forts stone walls. They exploded as they hit the ground, spraying flames and chunks of wood in every direction.

The flaming liquid coated the ground around them. The two adults were quick enough to sidestep the fires but Pink was not, her foot caught on some of the bits of broken, flaming wood. She tumbled to the ground, only just managing to catch herself, hands landing right in a puddle of flames. Her scream made Yellow and Blue stop to see the girl, her hands and lower forearms coated in the blazing fluid as she flailed in a panic.

“Rosaline!” Blue screamed.

Yellow dashed forward, grabbing the panicked girl and pulling her to the ground, quickly smothering the flames with dirt while Pink wailed in agony.

Once the flames had been snuffed out Yellow pulled her back to her feet and threw the younger Princess over her shoulder as she continued to cry. Blue followed closely, skirts pulled up near to her chest to keep them out of the many flickering flames.

A soldier with a crossbow fell from the parapets as a rock flew over the wall, cracking open his skull. He fell with a loud crash as he hit the ground not five feet away from them.

The fighting only continued around them as they reached the carriage. Blue ripped open the door and Yellow quickly set Pink inside, Blue climbing in after. Yellow slammed the door shut and hauled herself up into the driver’s seat, spurring the horses into action, hooves kicking up dirt and embers

Seeing the approaching carriage the gate guard dropped the gate, only barely making it down in time before the speeding horses flew across and out of the flaming fort.

Yellow never slowed as they raced away from the sudden battlefield.

The rising flames and smoke lit the sky for miles around.

Yellow did not pull the carriage over till they were far away from Fort Luna. She jumped down, taking the carriage lantern with her. She opened the carriage door and climbed inside.

Blue was sitting on the floor with a quietly sobbing Pink curled up in her lap.

“How bad is it?” Yellow asked quietly, moving next to them. The light illuminated the space around them. Blue pursed her lips and glanced down. Yellow followed her eyes to see the younger Princess' curled up hands were raw and bloody.

“It’s not good, but it could have been so much worse.” Yellow mumbled quietly to Blue.

“It...hurts...” Pink hiccupped as more tears fell down her flushed cheeks.

“I know it does...” Yellow frowned. “But you will have to bear it until we get back to the capital.”

Pink choked back another wave of tears but nodded.Yellow reached out and laid a hand gently on her head. Well aware of the brave face the girl was trying to put up.

Yellow and Blue shared a look before the knight climbed back out, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Anguish for Pink and fury at the queen were welling up in her throat so thick they were choking her as she spurred the horses back onto the road. Riding through the night

~ ~ ~

It was mid morning by the time they made it back to the palace.

When Yellow opened the door Pink was asleep, curled up in Blue’s lap as the elder slowly stroked her head. Blue looked up, tired eyes looking up at her.

“We’ve arrived?” Blue asked quietly and the knight nodded.

“Wake up, Rosaline.” Blue nudged her gently. Slowly the younger princess stirred, opening her tired and puffy eyes.

Blue helped her slowly sit up, she winced every time she had to move her arms. In the light of day Yellow could clearly see the burns that littered both sides of her palms and a quarter of the way up her forearms.

The blood had dried, leaving splotchy and flaking maroon patches across her raw skin.

“Take her to the physician.” Blue said, surprising the knight. “I must go talk with mother…” She started, but Yellow was shaking her head,

“The queen can wait, we will both take her and worry about the queen later. I doubt anything we say at this moment would make any difference…"

Blue nodded, but the frown on her face made it clear that nothing about the situation made her happy.

“Can you walk?” Yellow turned to Pink.

“Yes…” Her voice was thick and gravelly from the screaming and crying.

They led her to the infirmary where the physician immediately began treating her wounds.

“We need to remove the old burnt skin, to prevent any infection from setting in...” The elderly, bearded man looked at Pink, than Blue, who nodded sadly. His assistants set out a coarse cloth, water and bandages. He took a breath.

“Captain?” He turned toward Yellow. “Can you help hold her?”

Yellow’s jaw clenched but she nodded, wrapping her arms around Pink’s waist and the two assistants took hold of her left arm, holding it out. She could feel the girl shaking in her arms and closed her eyes, silently asking for Pink’s forgiveness.

Without delay he wet the cloth and began vigorously scrubbing the burned skin from Pink’s arms.

Her screams echoed down the halls making servants stop to listen to the wails of agony. Blue choked back her own tears as Pink cried out.

An excruciating two hours later Pink lay in Blue’s arms on her bed, her arms cleaned and a salve with healing and numbing properties was applied before being bandaged.

The royal physician was fully confident that her hands would recover nicely, though she would always have scars. She was to come back every night to have the salve reapplied and new bandages put on.

Yellow laid back in a chair at the girl’s bedside, head lolled back as exhaustion took her full force. She was so tired.

Cool fingers wrapped around her bare hand and it took all the strength she had left to turn and look. Blue was on her left side, curled around pink, her left arm curled under the girl and running her fingers through her curly hair, damp from sweat. Her right arm stretched out to hold Yellow’s dangling hand.

Her eyes were full of anguish for the girl in arms and a bone deep exhaustion that Yellow’s face no doubt mirrored back.

She gave the hand a tight squeeze. Silently reassuring that she wasn’t going anywhere.

She glanced over at the windows, the curtains drawn so that only a sliver of light was peaking through, falling across the floor.

Slowly the knights eyes drooped shut and she was out, hand still held tight to Blue’s.

~ ~

It took two days for what happened to reach the attention of the queen.

Yellow was surprised it didn’t take longer given how reclusive the queen had been the last few months.

She was summoned to the throne room early in the afternoon by a royal runner as she stood in the stable.

The walk to the throne room felt like it took much longer than normal.

Upon entering she could see the queen seated upon the throne, Blue and Pink both on her right.

Yellow inhaled deeply and silently as she bowed.

"Your Majesty, your Highness'." She greeted.

Winea Diamond's gaze was sharp and focussed, but not in a way Yellow could ever remember seeing before.

Dread began to pool in Yellow's gut.

"Captain Stone." The queen began, her long immaculate nails clicked on the throne's armrest. "I do not tolerate failure." She enunciated every syllable sharply. "...and you, have failed!" She slammed her hands on the armrest, propelling herself to stand. Her pale gray eyes burned into Yellow with dreadful intensity.

Blue and Pink jumped at the outburst, both girls looking at their mother as though they had never seen her before.

"In the span of a single night you not only allowed your betters to be hurt, but lost ground at Fort Luna to the rebel traitors!" She glared at Yellow from the dais.

Seeming to suddenly calm, the queen lowered herself slowly back into her seat.

"I should have you hung for this."

"Mother!" Blue and Pink both nearly tripped over each other in their rush to draw the queen's attention.

"The attack on the fort was not the captain's fault…" Blue began, drawing her mother's attention. "The losses at Fort Luna were unfortunate, but we will recover, as we have before." She assured.

"And getting hurt was my own fault!" Pink jumped in as soon as Blue stopped talking.

"I didn't listen to her." She said, looking down at her bandaged hands. They still hurt terribly if she tried to move her fingers but they no longer throbbed with every beat of her heart.

The queen looked between the two before her gaze slid back to the silent knight captain.

"Captain Stone has been a most loyal and dedicated knight for years…" Blue pushed. Her palms were sweating as her mother's eyes stared in her own, eyes that were so familiar once, and yet so strange now.

The queens nails tapped out a staccato rhythm against the white marble of her throne as everyone else waited on baited breath.

"Very well…" she finally acquiesced and Yellow released the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "In light of your many faithful years of service to the crown I will forgive this failure… but there must still be a minor punishment." Her eyes lowered back to the knight.

Pink was already sighing in relief but the look in the queen's eyes made Blue and Yellow tense.

"Fifteen lashes…"

Pink gasped and turned to the queen, mouth opened to argue. Blue was quick to grab the girl by the shoulders, silencing her before she could start. Her fingers dug tightly in her, a silent command.

She could see that Yellow would not be walking away from this unscathed and further arguing could only make it worse. Looking at the stony, resolute face of her lover she knew that Yellow knew this too.

The queen turned to a royal guard and nodded. He disappeared as guards moved to the knights side, but she only stood taller.

"I know the way…" she said, head held high and turned, the guards following her as they made their way out into the courtyard.

"Come along…" the queen said absentmindedly to them as she followed, not even looking in their direction. Pink looked up at her sister desperately, but one look at the anguish on her face told her that there was nothing to be done now.

At the courtyards center was a stone pillar with intricately carved diamonds, part decoration, part instrument of punishment.

Blue felt nauseous at what was coming as they took the knights jerkin from her and then tied a rope around one wrist and wrapped it around the pillar before securing it to her other wrist and tightening it till she was flush to the stone.

The white tunic was hiked up over her shoulders, exposing the bare skin of her back.

The guard that had disappeared before reappeared. A whip clutched in his fist.

Yellow took a shaky breath, and shuffled her feet, muscles tense, refusing to look in the three diamond’s direction. She couldn;t bear to look at Blue or Pink.

The guard looked at the queen who gave a tilt of her head and he drew back his arm.

The whip snapped through the air and Yellow’s world was awash in bright searing pain. Her arms strained against the ropes, making them creak, but she made no sound.

Blue flinched when the first strike made contact with Yellows back, leaving a long streak across her shoulder blades that was beginning to seep blood. But she wouldn’t look away. She couldn’t help but feel responsible for this. If she had just done something about her mother sooner. Spoken up when told they were going to the front.

Something.

The whip cracked again and the knight grunted, jaw clenched as the fire seared across her back. Three more blows followed. The knight captain getting louder after each one as the whip passed over already flayed skin and droplets of blood splattered to the ground.

Blue’s hands were knotted into her skirts, pulling anxiously at the material as tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes. It took a monumental effort to hold them back, she had to stay strong for Pink and herself.

Pink bit her lip, trying not to make any noises. She too couldn’t bring herself to look away from the terrible sight in front of her but could feel her sister’s anguished presence behind her.

Three more lashes and finally the knight cried out in pain. All the muscles in her upper body visible through the skin, pulled tight as she strained against her bonds.

The tears began to drip down Blues face like as many drops of blood now splattered across the dirt.

Two more lashes and the knight dropped to her knees. The cry of agony that escaped her throat tore at both princess’. Pink choked back a sob and Blue was only just managing to keep herself held together. Her white-knuckled grip on her skirts threatened to tear them.

Beside them the queen stood unaffected, almost bored, looking off into the distance. The far away look had returned to her eyes.

Four more lashes carried on the same way, Yellow’s pained cries growing with each pass of the leather on her skin and sending drops of blood across the stone surface. Her back was mess a mess of blood and Pink had finally taken all she could and turned to bury her face into her sister’s chest, crying silently into the dress’ sapphire material, wetting it with her tears.

Blood now stained the area around the pillar and the once white tunic had turned crimson.

Blue’s heart clenched tightly in her chest when she realized that the quiet crying she was hearing was not coming from Pink… but from Yellow. Her body shook and she shut her eyes tightly, finally unable to bear it for another second. A tightly repressed sob rocked her body and it took everything she had to shove it down. She would not break in front of her mother or the guards.

The final strike landed, lacerating the already torn and mutilated flesh one last time.

The queen nodded and the bloodied knight was cut loose. She dropped to the ground like a rock and laid still and silent except for the quiet crying and sounds of pain.

“All is forgiven, captain.” With that, the queen turned on heel and left without so much as a second glance to anyone, disappearing back inside the palace.

Blue pried her hands from the cloth and rounded on the closest guard.

“Take her to her room, carefully!” She ordered. Several guards quickly gathered up the captain and carried her off.

Blue pushed Pink gently to arms length and looked at her tear stained face.

“Rosaline… go... get the physician and tell him to come to Yellow’s room, alright?” She managed to choke out as the cries she had been trying to suppress were now pushing to the front.

Pink nodded mutley, tears still sliding down her cheeks as she turned and took off running back inside.

Blue hurried after the guards and when they arrived at Yellow’s room she directed them in carefully laying her stomach down in her bed and then sending them away.

Blue dropped to her knees reaching out carefully to touch the side of Yellow’s head.

The proud knight whimpered, tears still sliding down her face.

“Oh...Oh my love...I am..so sorry…” She choked on the words as she carefully cradled Yellow’s head in her hands and began to weep.

One of those amber eyes slid open to look at her and her mouth twitched as if to say something.

“Don’t say anything, Aurelia… save your strength.” She wiped at the wet tracks on the knights face even as they continued to fall unhindered down her own.

She knew Yellow wouldn’t want anyone else to see her crying and the physician would be here soon.

She leaned in, pressing her face to Yellow’s. Mindful not to touch her back.

“I am so sorry…” She breathed as her own tears continued to fall.

#bellow diamond #blue diamond #Yellow diamond #pink diamond #white diamond #steven universe #knightAU #tw:blood #tw:burns #tw:gore #tw:death

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harrieatthemet · 6 years

Text

I Can Fix It

request (:

She’s learned to block it out.

In fact, she’s gotten pretty good at it. Even though she’s almost positive she blew out the speakers buried inside her headphones.

Sometimes, when the bickering takes longer than usual to die out, the door to her bedroom will start to rift open a little bit. And she can see it out of the corner of her eye, a messy mop of loose brown curls, poking in through the small-scale crack separating her bedroom and the hallway.

“You can come in,” she’d say, keeping her eyes glued to her phone, “s’alright.”

And her younger sister would come teetering in, eyes sad and shoulders hanging. The baby of the three would follow right on her heels, mimicking his sisters’ facial expressions.

The cycle has gotten old, tired, played out and just emotionally taxing. The arguing, the rising of voices, you storming off and Harry sulking in his room for the rest of the night. And at first, it was tolerable. At least you had the decency to pick a fight with him the the kids were out of the house, at school or spending the afternoon with Anne.

But the courtesy of waiting for the kids to be out the door had been abandoned, as these little debacles blew up to become something far more raw, with a deeper meaning. Each day passed, and with that came the reoccurrence of arguments. Twice a day, sometimes three.

She let her younger siblings crawl on her bed, creating enough space for all three of them after ordering the youngest to make sure the door was closed all the way. Leaving a crack was an invitation for voices to carry.

“What do they fight about?” The youngest asked, and neither of the girls had just one good reason to provide him with.

And though all three kids can’t seem to put a finger on exactly what it was that resulted in their parents constantly going at each other’s throats, Harry seemed to have the hardest time figuring out where things went sour.

Constantly, after a fight big or small, he’d have to rack his brain for so much as a little inkling to what he’s done to have gotten you to this point. And for the life of him he can never figure out why. He always comes out of these long sessions of curiosity, deep in thought, empty handed.

And his very worst anxiety, a worry of his that he’d been doing his absolute best to keep at bay, had soon morphed itself into a reality. And it shows, as all 5 of you sit at a dinner table in ear shattering silence. The entire house has become uncomfortable.

Literally, nobody has spoken a word. And the only noise that can be heard in the kitchen, in the entire fucking house, is table utensils scraping the tops of plates or the bad habit of open mouthed chewing that the youngest can’t seem to shake.

You don’t look up, at anyone, during most of the meal. And Harry watches as you fumble with a piece of stray string on the cuff of your sweater, deep in thought. He knows because your face is stoic and blank, aside from the small furrow in your eyebrows.

“Are you guys getting a divorce?” His voice is solemn, though Harry knows his question is not to be rude, but stems for nervousness. Even fear, maybe.

The oldest is livid. She’s eyeing her younger brother, practically seeing red. Her body goes stiff, amidst mumbling something borderline snarky under her breath. Because of course they’re not, they would never. Those are her parents and it just doesn’t make sense for them to get a divorce. She doesn’t want it to happen, so she believes it won’t.

“Why’d yeh ask tha’?” He frowns, as it deepens when the youngest delivers an unsatisfied shrug.

He’s looking to you for a little assistance, hoping you’ll jump in at some point to lend him in a hand. But he’s met with nothing, just the continuation of your mental absence as you sit there, across the table, and keep to yourself. Which leaves him with the question unanswered for both him, and his inquisitive 7 year old son staring at him while awaiting an answer. Are you guys getting a divorce?

“I don’t,” Harry demands, your back to him still, “don’t want it.”

“I wasn’t asking you whether or not you wanted it.”

His eyes are trained on you, his gave voiding because he thinks he’s choking. That or he’s gonna be sick. And his head is hurting now because he cannot even believe the words that came out of your mouth. This, too, will turn into an argument because it’s just another thing neither of you can seem to see eye to eye on. But he doesn’t mind fighting this, he doesn’t care if he needs to raise his voice again.

He built a life with you and divorce just isn’t in the cards. He won’t do it.

“S’alright,” Harry exhales, “s’okay, (Y/N), really. S’just a rough patch, yeah? Can get it through it, just gotta work on it.”

The way he’s saying it, how he’s talking, it’s so fast. And he feels like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince you.

You’re unswayed. For fucks sake, you haven’t even turned around to look at him yet. He knows he’s more important than folded laundry, he wants you to turn around and look at him.

“Can y’fuckin look a’ me?”

“Harry,” you lament, “I’m tired. Feels like we’ve been ‘working on it’ forever and I’m tired. Aren’t you? This isn’t exhausting to you?”

Of course it’s exhausting to him. Do you think he likes this? Think he wants to constantly be at war with you? He doesn’t. It is, it’s extremely exhausting. Coming home after a trip, after working, just to be shut out by someone he’s built a life with, started a family with? Someone he loves? Exhausting.

“No!” He’s lying, “No, s’not. I’ll fight with yeh forever if tha’s how I get yeh t’stay.”

“Doesn’t really seem like a way to live,” you emit, and he lets out a frustrated groan, “and I don’t want that for either of us. Or the kids.” “The kids,” he yells, “s’right, the kids! Think they want this? Know they don’t.”

“That’s not fair.”

“This isn’t fair!”

He’s borderline hysterical, and he swears if he hears the word divorce in a sentence one more time he won’t be opposed to resorting to ripping the hair straight from his head. No part of him can understand. He can’t fathom the thought of giving up. After everything, all the things he’s done alongside you, and vice versa. This life the two of you worked so hard for, became accustomed to, the life he loved.

“Got a good thing here,” he respires, “can fix it.”

“Harry don’t make this-”

“I can fix it,” he hisses, “let me fix it, (Y/N), please.”

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secret-rendezvous1d · 6 years

Text

D E C E M B E R 1 S T

REQUEST someone else mentioned pubes talk, and I thought it would be hilarious if Harry was trying to do something romantic like cooking a Christmas Eve meal but naked and there was singe-ing (not singing!).

Hello.

Hi.

Welcome to Blogmas, 2018!

I’ve been so excited for December to come around and it’s arrived so quickly. I love this time of year and I get to be festive on here and away from here and that makes me incredibly happy; Blogmas is one of my favourite things to do on here and I’m pleased that it’s back again... and I can only hope you enjoy this year as much as you have other years.

Feedback is welcomed, as always - please let me know what you think of my pieces, send me any constructive criticism you think would help out, any ways to make my writing better, anything. It really helps me and keeps me motivated to write and we get to work as a team to make things better, for me to write and for you to read.

This little something takes place during the December of 2017. When they’ve conceived Persephone and are on the verge of finding out that they’re going to a mum and dad! It’s not too Christmas-y but I can assure you that the rest of Blogmas will be festive, all around.

Enjoy! xx

When he’d woken up that morning, Harry had been in a specific mood where all he wanted to do was show off love and affection towards his wife.

A glance to his left showed him fluttering lashes against pale cheeks and a face that looked a little worse for wear after having been hit with a rough, sleepless night from the moment they had decided to settled down and had routinely started getting ready for bed. After a cruel round of nausea, that didn’t seem to let up and leave as just a phase, that had knocked her for six. She had had an excitable demeanour that had been filling the house with laughter and her shrill cackles throughout the evening, cracking jokes and giving his bum pinches and squeezes when he passed her by, singing Christmas songs into a makeshift microphone (which was a clenched fist that she held in front of her mouth) and she had managed to keep a conversation about sex and having a night of pure passion - ”to bring Christmas in with a good night” what she had won the argument with - on the table.

But that person had moulded into someone that lost all strength to cooperate within the click of a finger and had depended on Harry tending to her every need; waking her up when her head lulled to lay on his shoulder, guiding her up the stairs when she made it clear that her eyes were bleary and misted over, holding her tightly when her balance had been thrown off with a guttural feeling that she struggled to hide, and undressing her when her limbs felt heavy and dead.

An empty bucket occupied the space in front of her bedside table, a glass of water sat upon a woven coaster that his mother had gifted to her on her very-first Christmas spent as his girlfriend, a crumpled and dirty tissue had been thrown onto the top of the table, and a thermometer - that had been used in a frenzy, by Harry, after he’d finished panicking about her sudden illness and after he had tucked her up in bed once he dressed her into something warm and comfortable - was placed upon a book that sat adjacent to her lamp. A receipt sticking out from a page because she had lost her bookmark and needed a little something to keep her place. The painstaking silence that filled the bedroom as she slept, that was usually a silence that he liked to use as thinking time or as a time of reflection or to use to his advantage as he thought about song lyrics for new singles and songs for future albums, allowed him to hear her jagged breathing, the bubbles of her gut and the whistle that came from her nose with each out breath that pushed through from her lungs.

And even though she looked somewhat serene and peaceful, she still looked sick... and he hated that.

He hated seeing her so low, hated seeing her so down in the dumps and with a pucker on her brows that didn’t seem to loosen up, hated hearing her be so self-critical of herself and homing a permanent frown upon her face whenever she looked at herself or saw a glimpse in a shiny surface. He hated seeing her look so unhappy that a kiss and a cuddle and a crack of a silly joke couldn’t even bring a smile to her lips, hated how she felt so lethargic and he hated how she wanted to be on her own so she could sleep and get better without passing anything to him - because she had always deemed him as more important and never wished to tear away his happy spirit for more than a day - and he absolutely hated how he couldn’t take away any aches and pains.

He hated that one the most.

Because not matter where her aches and pains came from, he wanted to take them from her in an instant. Just so she never had to endure something so bad and so unpleasant.

Rolling onto his side, the mattress creaking beneath his weight, he delicately brushed his fingertips over her forehead and brushed her fringe away from her clammy skin. Thankfully, she didn’t feel as flushed as she had done before they both fell asleep but she still felt tacky and sticky and there were traces of sweat that had trickled down her jawline and disappeared behind her ears in a trail that was purely controlled by gravity. Resembling the look of tear-streaks but in no way were they. She squeaked in her sleep, her mouth moving in a motion that looked like she was chewing on something and sounded like a wet muscle sucking upon another, before her eyes fluttered open to start the day. A faint glimmer from a street-light outside their home, that was one of the many consecutive lamps that lined their Hampstead street, shone through the slit in the curtains and allowed a glow to form silhouettes on the walls and shadows upon her face from her features. Glowing in the colour of her eyes before she rubbed them with her fists.

“Good morning,” she rasped, a lopsided grin on her dry lips as she brought her hands up, groaning in delight whilst she stretched her arms above her head and pushed her knuckles into the fabric headboard behind their heads. Mewling and arching her back as she removed the kinks and the sleep of her limbs and let her whole body relax and flop beneath the duvet. His eyes watching her with concern. “What’s up? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You just look very lovely this morning,” he crooned, cupping her cheek with his palm and running his thumb across her cheek. He sounded cheesy and he knew that because, well, how could he see her in the dark? But she had grown so used to his sweet nothings being vocalised over the years, which always made her feel better, that she would take them over a simple ‘good morning’ any day of the week. His bare fingers feeling strange against her skin, since she was used to the sharp tingle of the cold metal of his rings against her warm cheeks, and she rather loved how they stroked her so mutedly. Her head tilting into his touch as a show of her appreciation. “Are you feeling better? You sound much better.”

“I feel a little sick still. A little wobbly, as well. Knees feel a little bit like jelly. And, is it weird that I can’t make proper fists with my hands?” She asked curiously and innocently and looking at him with a concerning look in her eyes. Sleep still evident in her voice as she spoke, stretching her arms into the air and fanning her fingers out for them both to look at, before wiggling them and curling them into a loose fist to prove a point to her question A gentle laugh leaving his lips as he rested his arm over her belly, hitching her t-shirt up with his wrist and palming the soft plump of her tummy - because that had always helped with period cramps, and belly-aches in general, and he had an inkling that it may have helped with making her feel a little more content. “But I’m fine. Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t think I’ll projectile vomit like I did last night. A sleep did me some good.”

He bumped his nose against her shoulder, inhaling a musky scent that he had always seemed to associate with sickness and being poorly, and puffed out the deepest sigh. He knew, firsthand, how she was feeling; regardless of being ‘a freak to staying healthy’, so she would call him. Because even ‘health-freaks’ fell ill.

Particularly as an active youngster with a social-life that took him off all over Holmes Chapel, he was prone to catching illnesses - from his friends at school to his sister, who liked to bathe in the sympathy she gained from those around her (and still did, and she found herself boldly admitting that), to the strangers that he passed, who seemed to have no respect for anyone around them as they coughed with no hand covering their mouth and sneezed with no tissue. Whenever he fell sick, or whenever he woke up with a poorly stomach or a sore head or clammy skin that, once he jumped on Google, he found out were symptoms of something yet to come, there was a smell that lingered in the air and it was one that he had grown to associate with having to be lazy, having to eat soup and dry toast and having days off for a reason.

Not so much as he grew older but he caught the odd germ, that lingered in the air and clung to everyday objects ,and the occasional tummy-bug from something that didn’t quite settle well with his stomach and the smell always seemed to find a way back to him. That made him smell odious, more than he would smell after a hard session at the gym, and made him feel gross. To the point where he would have slept in the bath if it was safe enough. It made him feel young, like he was the young pre-teen who wanted nothing more than to disappear from the world and watch Lord Of The Rings on the television in his bedroom and drink cups of warm tea and eat bowls of tomato soup until he felt better again.

And he couldn’t wait for the day when he felt fresh, smelt good and looked youthful and radiant again.

“Sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling okay,” she confirmed with a nod, “I’m a bit hungry though. I could do with some toast. Maybe some porridge drowned in sugar.”

“Shall we, uh, let’s just go easy on the thick porridge and go for something a little softer, yeah? A couple of pieces of dry toast, maybe?” He suggested. Her elbows pushing down into the mattress and holding her upper body up from the bed, hair knotted at the back of her head and tendrils sticking to her face with dried perspiration, as she frowned at him with distaste. If there was one thing she hated... it was dry toast. The neck of her t-shirt looked worn-out and over-stretched and sported the occasional hole within the dirty-white cotton that had a picture of Fleetwood Mac peeling off of the front, in tiny flecks that looked like paint peeling on a vintage wall. “I know you hate it but I think some dry toast would be best for you this morning. Maybe an apple or a banana, too. Just to see if you can keep that down.”

“And what if I do? Will you let me have some porridge then?”

She sounded seductive, her voice lowering an octave and a pout on her lips that only came out when they were in the bedroom, and he shook his head with amused disbelief. That was just like his wife. The woman who could still crack jokes, still play on their hormones, still make him horny and turn him on and still be in the mood for sex when she was ill.

“We’ll see, baby,” he hummed tiredly and rolled onto his back, clasping his hands over her belly and staring at the ceiling as YN kicked away the duvet and sat up on the mattress, “we’ll see. I’ll make you something better for lunch.”

The silence lingering in the air felt tranquil. Cars driving down the street, kids screeching and cackling their high-pitched laughter on the way to Hampstead Heath, parents calling out their names and scolding them to ‘be careful by the roads’, birds tweeting their birdsong in the trees and the neighbours’ gates creaking closed as they arrived and departed their homes to embark on long and tedious journeys to spend Christmas with their families.

She reached over and placed a flat palm on his ribs, scratching his skin lightly whilst his eyes fluttered shut, her eyes lingering on him as he laid beside her; his long eyelashes resting on his prominent cheekbones, his eyelids wrinkling as he squeezed them shut in an attempt to salvage any more sleep he had, his short fringe curling at the ends and in need of a thorough wash because it was starting to look like straw. His jawline was decorated with patches of messy scruff and his upper lip seemed to be adorned with a stretch of stubble that he, quite probably and much to her dismay, would shave off during his morning routine.

“Are you busy today?” She asked, breaking the silence capturing his attention as he peered at her with one open eye, “I don’t want you to be busy today. I want you to stay inside and look after me.”

“I thought you were feeling better. You don’t need someone to look after you if you’re not sick,” he breathed out and smirked in her direction, “did you lie to me? You know what happens when you lie.”

She feigned a cough, before faking a heavy groan and gripping her side, before she sniffled and attempted to reach for the bucket beside the bed.

“Don’t muck me around, darling,” he cackled, “said you were fine.”

She sighed and her shoulders dropped south. Like a reversed shrug that didn’t quite make it all the way.

“I’m not busy until the new year, baby, no. You know that. I told you after me and Jeffrey had that argument over the phone about me going to America for an appearance on a show out there. I’m all yours till you have to share me again,” he teased, pushing the duvet off of his body and kicking it towards the end of the bed with his bare feet, “but I wouldn’t be obliged to you wanting me to stay here, forever and ever, so we don’t need to share each other with anyone.”

“Told him to sod off and he didn’t know what that meant,” she snorted and ruffled her fringe with her fingers, to remove the tickle that was brushing over her forehead. Sitting himself up, he crossed his ankles and reached over for his mobile that was charging on his bedside table, pressing the home button and revealing a photo of himself and YN, from the year of 2012, with complete awe on their faces as they sat on the stage at Madison Square Garden and took in the view before them. A smile on her face as she scooted closer to him and nestled into his side. “It would be nice if we could stay here forever and ever. I like spending time with you.”

“You can spend time with me for forever and ever,” he said, grabbing her hand and rubbing her knuckles with the calloused pad of his thumb, “got married a few months back so you’re stuck with me forever. Which means I’m stuck with you forever.”

“Unfortunately,” she joked, turning her face to press a kiss to his cheek but catching his ear lobe as he jerked away from her in fake annoyance. Her lips pressing against the shell of his ear in a kiss before she realised where she was laying her mouth.

“Oi,” he struck her with a flick of his foot, catching her ankle with the tips of his toes, “don’t kid me around, baby. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I adore you and I love you and,” he paused for what seemed to be a dramatic effect when, in reality, he was letting his mind work wonders on how he was going to show off his love, “and I’m gon’a prove it to you later, n’all.”

“How?” She wondered, a glint in her eyes as she looked at him, “tell me. Don’t make it a surprise.”

“I’m going to cook you dinner. We’re going to go against our typical tradition of a takeaway on Christmas Eve and I’m going to cook you everything you could ever dream of. Mash, chicken, chargrilled veggies. The lot. Since you’re feeling better and all,” he grinned and pressed a strong kiss against her forehead, dropping his phone to the space between them and scooting his bum towards the edge of the bed, “you’re not going to do anything but put your feet up and relax. Do some blog writing, edit some of your photos, plan recipes or photoshoots, or whatever else you do. Let me do something for you since you’ll be on your feet Christmas Day.”

Despite them having this year to themselves and not having that many people to cook a meal for - what with YN’s parents away on a warm getaway for the festive period and with Gemma and Michal heading off to Michal’s parents and Anne spending Christmas Day with her friends in Manchester - they still had people to see and presents to gift to those nearest and dearest to them so they both knew, and they knew every year, that they would never be able to have a proper sit down, with no unwanted interruptions and no sudden invitations to hang out at the local pub with Nick, until the evening. When they could wind down with bottles of wine and left over pigs-in-blankets and stuffing balls whilst watching the soaps and the Christmas television that was scheduled to air. When they could kiss under mistletoe that was put up just for them, when they could wear ugly jumpers without anyone having their say in how hideous they were, when they could go to bed before nine and get away with it because it was just the two of them.

And they couldn’t wait.

“Aren’t you just a darling, huh?”

“I do my best to impress,” he threw over his shoulder sent her a strained wink with a green eye. A click of his tongue partnered that motion before he stood up and stretched his back. One hand braced on one hip as he arched his body and rubbed his belly with his other hand. “Come have a shower with me. Freshen up.”

“Fuck!”

His profanity startled her.

Her tea having spilled over the brim of her mug when she jumped at the break of the pleasant silence, dribbling down the white ceramic held between her hands and landing upon her knitted sweater in brown droplets, that looked like a children had drawn raindrops. The sudden jerk of her body shooting a chill through her limbs since she’d been so content with one specific position, set up perfectly so she could rest her laptop on her thighs and her camera on the thick cushion at the back of the sofa and where her mug was in arms reach and the television remote was right in front of her, that the air had a sudden temperature change and goosebumps rose upon her skin.

“What did you do?” She called, apprehensively letting her fingers hover over the lid of her laptop before deciding to close it and take a look at what damage he had done. Lifting her feet from the arm of the sofa, she placed them upon the ground and pushed her laptop to the empty sofa cushion beside her, leaning over to set her camera and her SD card delicately upon the coaster Harry had previously used for his own coffee mug before announcing that he was going to disappear into the kitchen to start cooking them dinner. “Harry?”

There was a clatter of pots and pans before his head peered around the frame of the kitchen archway with a displeased look upon his features and his hands clasped over his apron-covered crotch. A heavy handful of the laminate material scrunched in his palms, forming pleats up the chest, and revealing a little bit of fuzzy thigh from the red hem.

“So, uh, do you remember that discussion we had this morning?”

“We have a lot of discussions,” she reminded him, standing from her place before halting and allowing herself to take in his exposed shoulders, his bare hips and a nipple peeking out from the chest of the apron hanging down his body, “are you cooking naked under there?”

“Yes,” he rolled his eyes and released a hand to run his fingers through his hair, “the discussion in the shower that we had this morning. When I asked if you preferred me shaved or... messy,” he prompted, cheeks flushing pink as he watched a smirk toy with the corner of her lips and a raise of her eyebrow that made him want to cower with embarrassment. A look of ‘I know where this is going’ threading her features together and he huffed out a heavy breath, blowing a few strands from his forehead, “don’t. I know what you’re about to say.”

“Why were you cooking naked?”

Her cackling laughter entices a reflexive smile to appear upon his lips, revealing two front teeth from a pillow of pink flesh, as his green eyes looked down towards his pigeon-toed feet clad in a pair of her woollen socks - which had proven a difficulty when he was a good few shoe sizes up from her own - with one pulled up to his mid-calf and one bunched around his ankle.

“I was, uh,” he coughed into his free fist and gave her a sheepish smile, “I was trying to be, uh, I was just trying to be sexy for you, you know? But I think I might have, uhm, I think I might have singed some hair down there when I reached up to have a play with the fan of the cooker because the vegetables got a bit too steamy and, I was bloody lucky to have missed the goods, but-”

“H,” she sighed, stretching her arms out and wiggling her fingers as she forced herself to step closer to him, a frown on her face as her amused expression disappeared into a look of concern and worry, “you know that I already find you insanely sexy. Even dressed in this monstrosity,” she snorted and snaked her arms around his waist, wrists ducking underneath the cotton strands tied at the middle of his back and letting her fingers tickle around the broad stretch of his back, “you don’t need to impress me anymore. We’re married.”

“Heeey,” he grumbled into the thick material of her sweater. His hands hitching up the heavy hem before settling his palms above the elastic of her pyjamas trousers and upon her hips, squeezing her to his front as she hummed with content against his naked shoulder, “I do need to keep impressing you or else you’ll see through everything else and realise I’m not as great as you think I am.”

She scoffed and shook her head; “that’s rubbish and you know it.”

He chose not to respond and felt her lips press against his shoulder in a gentle and reassuring manner.

“I think I burnt the chicken, as well. Or, at least I did something to it because it looks black.”

“I love you because you tried but I will love you even more if you stopped what you were doing and didn’t end up burning the house down the day before Christmas,” she mumbled against his skin, tiptoeing and taking a sneaky glance over his stature to scan the mess he made (that she would most likely clean up whilst he disappeared to dress in something much warmer for the time of year). A bowl of lumpy mashed potatoes, a chopping board covered in carrot skin and chopped red onions and tomato juice that had seeds floating in the puddles, the microwave door left wide open and there was a pan on the cooker that was steaming away - and she dreaded to know what he had concocted. Or had planned to concoct. “Do you want me to order in a takeaway? I’ll save you ruining your dignity.”

He gave her a sarcastic smile before unravelling his arms from around her waist.

“So long as it’s a takeaway Wagamama’s then I’m good with that decision. I’m in the mood for-”

“Chicken katsu curry with extra curry sauce and some chicken dumplings on the side,” she guessed and he pinched her hip with his thumb and forefinger, “I can read you like a book, mister.”

“Oh, so it’s not because you’ve ordered that for me a thousand times before?” He scoffed and strained away from her with a cheeky smile on his mouth, “or is it because you’re going to order something you don’t really want and then ask me to swap meals because you really want the chicken katsu curry because it’s ‘your favourite’?”

“Well then,” she gave him bare bottom a pat with her fingers and wiggled out of his hold, “if you’re not going to offer your wife your meal when she wants it, then, a divorce may be on the cards.”

She spins on her heels and attempts to walk away from him, in the direction of the ‘menu drawer’ in their hallway cabinet to grab the takeaway menu, but his hand wrapped around her wrist before she was out of his reach. His arm pulling her back towards him.

“How about you go nuts? Get whatever you fancy. We can have some for a midnight feast if we get hungry.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, I’m exhausted and I’m feeling a little achy so the only thing I’ll be doing, come midnight, is sleeping.”

“I doubt you’ll be sleeping after we’re done giving Santa a show,” he waggled his eyebrows, “he won’t be getting mince-pies and milk tonight. He’ll be getting a live sex-show.”

“You’re gross,” she squawked with surprise and pushed his chest with her palms, pushing herself away from his body, “go upstairs and get dressed into something warm, please. Before you do yourself and your body hair any more damage.”

#harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry styles writing #harry styles prompts #harry styles concepts #harry styles preferences #blogmas 2018 #one direction imagines #one direction preferences #one direction prompts #one direction writing

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theleafpile · 6 years

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@dressedforthebills asked, in reference to the post I made stating that Solo: A Star Wars Story, is a bad movie:

What makes the writing bad? Plot? Structure? What stereotypes would that be?

So I’m just going to go over what’s fresh in my head, so there might be some pieces missing that I’m not particularly interested in. I enjoy the Star Wars movies and read a lot of fic about it, but I’m not a die-hard fan and haven’t read anything in the extended universe.

SPOILERS abound.

Rule #1 of Storytelling: Don’t tell the audience something they already know.

Solo already sort of breaks this rule simply by existing, but we could forgive that fact based on the idea that it was meant to show Han’s early years. However, this rule sticks out to me throughout.

We know Han won the Millennium Falcon from Lando in a card game - we see two (three?) card games played. It’s difficult to be invested in a card game when you don’t understand the rules. When they lay down their cards, we have no basis of understanding if they are good or not before being shown an in-world audience reaction, which throws off the beat. (At least in most card movies there is a shot of the cards and a voice over of the dealer saying what the hand is for those who don’t know, so the audience can see the cards and hear the hand and make the connection as though they made it themselves. So that could be a simple editing issue.)

We know Han and Qi’ra don’t end up together. We have no reason to be invested in their romantic arc. I could forgive this if they did something at the end like they did at the end of Casino Royale, where the pacing was thrown off because we thought Bond was really going to leave with Vesper, only to find out that she betrayed him at the end and he vowed to go back to work (and never fall in love again). But instead, at the end of Solo, we have Solo left on a beach wondering why the fuck the ship Qi’ra is on is suddenly leaving - was she trapped? Did someone else take over? Is she a hostage again? (all perfectly acceptable canon questions that Han would ask). There’s no clear cut image or moment to show that that was a betrayal, leaving us (and Han) confused.

Rule #1 of Romance: If you have to show two characters kissing to show they’re together, it’s bad writing.

The first scene with Qi’ra and Han breaks this rule. He’s running, in a panic - there’s no reason at all why he would suddenly stop what he was doing, switch gears immediately from panic to lust, and kiss her as he did. It’s a simple and fast way to show two characters are allied, but its boring. If he saw her hiding and waiting for him, and while running took her hand and dashed them to a safer place it would have 1) established that he is confident in his surroundings enough to hide (we love experts) and 2) shown them allied anyway.

They were able to show Qi’ra and Dryden Vos allied even though they never macked on one another, which I guess was to show that Qi’ra still had feelings for Han and that she wasn’t really on Vos’ side.

Qi’ra would have been a more interesting character if she were Han’s sister, not his love interest.

The guilt he feels for not be able to return to Corellia sooner and the worry he feels over her would have been more palpable if she were his blood relation, the only person in the world he had left and/or could trust, and the only person in the galaxy who could have actually relied on him - making seeing her on the yacht that much more of a surprise, showing that this girl who once relied on him has grown up.

Also, it would have made a neat parallel for Leia/Luke if there was any strange sexual chemistry between Han and Qi’ra’s actors.

No idea what planet Han was on as a soldier, their objectives, or the purpose.

Which, I guess, was the same as Han felt. If confusion was the goal, they got it. In the book, I guess, they give a reason why Chewbacca was caged there, but for the movie they didn’t tell us so it just felt very, you know. Contrived.

The heist scene doesn’t make any sense.

The goal was to attach the ship to one shipping container, detach the container, and lift it away. Which means that there was no reason to blow up the bridge ahead. Which means...

Val didn’t need to die during the heist.

There was no reason to kill her character. If they were doing this job, as Beckett said, to steal a bunch of coaxium for a gangster, then being a thief she would know the risk involved (i.e., Dryden Vos would kill them if they did not return with what was asked) and not be willing to sacrifice herself in the chance that 1) their failing plan would work, 2) Beckett would survive, 3) the coaxium would survive and 4) her life was worth saving Beckett.

Which, love, I guess. But seriously she had no reason to die. And, being the only black character of the group, it was pretty shitty that killed off her and the alien pilot and not one of the two white guys. Because plot. Of course.

Coaxium is apparently super unstable when unprocessed - but it’s okay to be tossed around.

Take any high school chemistry class and the teacher’s going to tell you that unstable materials are called that for a reason. All the moving around they do getting the raw coaxium out of the mine, loading it and transporting it on the ship, and the temperature heating up to the breaking point (yet still safe enough to get onto the other world, unloaded, and stuck in a container and plugged into something that I guess immediately neutralizes it) but it’s still able to be handled, without any safety gear, by Beckett when he takes “a drop” (not a unit of measurement) and shoves it into the fuel line of the Falcon.

I mean, hell. When it is processed look at Han so carefully gives the containers over to Dryden Vos. The audience is meant to think he’s being too extra careful because we think it’s fake and he’s overdoing it, but - no. That’s how you handle very explosive processed material. I guess the “super unstable” unprocessed material is okay, though.

Stereotypes.

Seems like Hollywood can’t make a movie lately without poking fun at “SJWs.” Enter L3. Who walked, talked, and sassed like a prototypical black woman. No thanks. She did have some funny lines, but I hate how her character’s actual correct ideas were treated as the punch line. (The same problem Hermione had with the SPEW stuff in the HP books.)

Lando is vain. He has a whole closet for capes. Unfortunately we don’t get to see him be or say anything vain at all whatsoever elsewhere.

The alien pilot at the beginning is like “I am here to state the theme and die.”

Major characterization problems - aka I don’t care about these people.

Qi’ra’s woe-is-me / you won’t look at me the same way if I’ve told you what I’ve done / you don’t know what I’ve done lines. The audience has no idea either, so I feel absolutely nothing when she says these lines. Was she a prostitute? Did she steal, lie, cheat? Did she make other people work for her? How did she get to be in Dos’ inner circle? No clue. It doesn’t make her mysterious. It makes her boring.

Enfrys Nest’s rebellion has nothing to do with rebellion against the Empire.

Meaning I don’t care about it. That twelve year old mercenary is rebelling against the crime syndicate, which is not affiliated with the rebellion. But wait -

There was zero indication that was Darth Maul speaking to Qi’ra.

Maul came from a planet where people just... looked like that. The actor was the same but much older, and it showed enough that I had zero inkling to think “oh, hey, that’s Darth Maul” who is a character I really liked. You know why else? Because Qi-gon Jin murdered his ass twenty years ago. I don’t think the Force can keep you alive after being sliced in half and sent down a bottomless well. That’s not how the Force works. They tried to make me think it by needlessly igniting his double bladed red lightsaber, but I was still like.. okay. Another Sith. Whatever.

Also. There’s no indication in the prequels that Darth Maul was the leader of a crime syndicate.

Things I liked:

- Making the Kessel run. The visuals were pretty cool with the tunnel vision, the Imperial ship, and darting off into the wild unknown with the eldritch monster. Here’s a good example at telling something the audience doesn’t know: Han cheated to do the run in 12 parsecs using the coaxium, which is why no one believes that he actually did that fast. So that’s funny. (”Not if you round down” was a cute line, too.)

- The riot scene with the droids at the mine. They were having a good time.

- Chewie helping his fellow Wookies to get free, and that moment where they touched foreheads. Small character movements like those make a big difference.

- Vos’ blades. That looked like kyber power, which means that those were probably super expensive, and that’s cool characterization.

So, no. I didn’t like Solo: A Star Wars Story. It added nothing to the characterization of Han or the Skywalker space opera universe we’ve all come to know and love. I know the prequels aren’t as beloved because of the political content, but I think a young Leia movie would’ve been a more worthwhile investment. We could have seen her on Alderran, a planet which we know nothing about, struggling with the life of being both royalty and a senator. We could’ve seen a young woman struggle to be taken seriously at her job that would have had actual in-universe repercussions for the storylines and characters we are familiar with. Yes, it could have had all the problems Solo did, but we would have known that Alderran would be blown up by the Empire, making us root for any chance we saw for characters to leave the planet (and be heartbroken when something required them to stay).

Young Leia was feisty, not afraid to stand up to Vader (of all people), and I want an origin story for her, dammit! I’m tired of men’s stories! Honor Carrie Fisher you cowards!

#star wars #asks #solo a star wars story #han solo

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discordandglory-blog · 7 years

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Roman Roulette || Callum and Cat

Callum and Cat go to a member of the Cult to do some digging into who tried to hurt Jax.

With everything that was going on, this was the last thing that Callum wanted to do right now. The tunnel that he and Cat had taken, opened up into a larger subterranean chamber. Torches flickered, lighting up the sides of the cylindrical chamber, but left the centre somewhat dim. Callum had been here only once in his life, to watch a death match the the Cult had ordered. It was called the Pit. And now, being on the ground floor rather than up in the stands and alongside Cat, he felt the true danger of the room. “Why are we here?” He asked, the shifting shadows unnerving him. “I’m all up for finding out who poisoned Jax, but this isn’t the best time to explore the tunnels or the pit.” He added, shivers creeping up his back, causing him to look over his shoulder into the swallowing darkness that was the tunnel behind them.

Cat had visited the pit before, it hadn’t exactly been a pleasure trip but one of business. Her father, along with some other members of the cult had business here and she had been part of the team that had been sent to negotiate with one of the more powerful members of the cult. He was known simply as the Chancellor. Not that Cat had an inkling of why that was. “We’re here because other than me, the Chancellor is the most well known keeper of secrets in all of New Rome and if there is anyone who knows exactly who it was that chose Jax for poisoning then I would bet all my drachmas on him…” she trailed off as they walked past two heavily armed guards. Full battle armour seemed a bit excessive, but she’d come armed as well. A dagger down one boot and her revolver tucked inside the leather jacket that she wore. “Be on guard Cal, we don’t want to risk anything unnecessarily.”

Callum eyed the guards men as he passed them, assessing them and how well they would compare to him in a fight. He felt something off about them, as if they had purposefully rid themselves of emotion. They seemed lifeless but deadly. He instinctively reached to put his hand on his gladius only to realize that he hadn’t brought it with him. “Shit.” He said under his breath. He had used it at the training centre earlier that day and had forgotten to pick it up on his way out. He puffed up his chest, trying to seem brave, whilst keeping up with Cat. If things came down to a fight, the odds wouldn’t be fair and he’d have a pretty rough time. “Do you think he’ll be willing to just tell you? Or will there be an exchange?”

As they approached the Chancellor's seating, Cat tried to compose herself. “I doubt that he will give it up for nothing, after all information is power and power isn’t something to be given away lightly. No, I expect that he will want something in exchange or he’ll want a favour. We’ll find out exactly what the price is soon enough.” She strode past the guards and presented herself to the Chancellor. He was a thin wiry man with greasy black hair. “Chancellor,” she said respectfully, bowing low as was expected of her, “I trust that everything is well with the Pit,” she nodded towards his business, the money he made from the gambling that went on here made him very rich. “Cut the shit Catherine,” the Chancellor replied, his eyes not even on them as he stared down at a laptop screen, “what is it that you want?”

Callum had followed the same formality procedure as Cat did as he took in the sight of the Chancellor. He had never seen this man before in his life, nevermind have to bow to him. “We’re here due to an investiga—“ before Callum could finish the Chancellor cut him off, “I don’t believe you’re name is Catherine.” He held up a finger to the Callum, “Although, perhaps you’re just daft like other children of Venus and heard the ‘c’, thinking I meant Callum.” He said all this while still glued to his laptop screen. His voice was powerful and deep, yet smooth; Callum almost felt compelled to apologize but held his ground. He opened his mouth again, but the Chancellor continued. “I can only assume why you are here. Poor little Jax,” He said the name as if it was an insult to Roman-kind. “Was poisoned by his dear sister and now here she is, bowing before me, wanting to know who gave her, her task.” His voice reminded Callum of a snake. Perhaps he was just a monster in disguise, but weren’t they all? He peeled his eyes from the screen for a split second to take in their facial expressions before turning his attention away. “And what do you offer in return Catherine? Make your bid, and quickly. I don’t have all day.”

Looking around her, Cat had to admit that she didn’t really know what she had expected from the man. They’d never talked one to one, and suddenly here she was exchanging words with him and Callum. “Callum is here with me and I’ll thank you to use a respectful tone with him Chancellor, he is as much a member as you or I…” trailing off, Cat shrugged and nodded. “We are indeed here to seek out your assistance with regards to the matter that you’ve brought up. I’d like to know who wanted me to poison my brother and why someone would risk my membership and my brothers life to make a point. Everyone knows that you have the information that I need, or at least you know something that will help me in some way. So let's not be coy…” she trailed off and paused, “what is it that you want? Money? You know that I’ll provide you with that,” he stroked his small grey goatee thoughtfully and shook his head, “no, you possess nothing that I want, but you have endeared me,” he paused and thought for a moment. “I want to see the legendary prowess of the centurion of the First Cohort, show me what you can do Catherine Karavadra,” she winced as he said her full name and shook her head, “I want to see you fight. We’ll make a bet, you fight for me in the Pit and we’ll discover whether I have the secrets you need.”

Callum definitely respected Cat. The only reason he didn’t snap back at the man was due to the fact that he didn’t want to ruin this. Cat, on the other hand, had handled the situation with grace and power. He waited in anticipation as the man had suggested that she fight in the pit. Callum felt like stepping in and optioning to fight for her, but he knew that Cat and the Chancellor would not allow that. Instead, he should be there for her after the fight, ready to help with any wounds and to follow through with their plan, seducing the chancellor if needed. “Cat..” He began, not even sure what to say.

“Fine, your friend can join in too, I can think of several fighters that would like to say they got to kill the Centurions of the third and first cohorts…” Cat bit her lip at the Chancellor's suggestion. “We get to choose our own weapons and I want armour for both of us,” she replied, “Fine,” the Chancellor replied with a smirk, “I swear on the styx that if you win your bout against both of my finest fighters, then I’ll tell you everything that you want to know.” He smiled gently, and Cat knew in that moment that this was something that he had been wanting to do for a little while. Being able to claim that his champion had killed two centurions was a huge bragging right and that would put the Chancellor above other members of the cult. At least in terms of pride. They just had to crush their skulls getting there.

Callum shifted, uneasy about the whole situation. Cat had called that they got to chose their weapons, that meant that Callum could use a gladius and his powers at will. This allowed his nerves to settle and he lifted his chin, confidently. “We’ve got this. I believe in you.” He whispered to her in her ear. Not that she needed to hear it, he felt that she knew that they could do it, but he just wanted to reassure the other. The Chancellor waved a hand and the guards escorted the two Centurions down the path they came and too a stand that held a variety of different weapons and armour. Callum swore he could hear the man chuckling from where he was seated. “Do you think they’ll play dirty?” He asked as he strapped on the armour and scanned the weapons in front of them. He heard metal clinking against metal and though that a piece of his armour was loose at first, but then realized it was the sounds of chains straining to pull open heavy metal gates on the opposite end of the pit. He turned to look their opponents up and down. One was a massive brute of a man, who Callum could have sworn was on steroids. The other was a tall, athletic woman, hair tired back. She reminded him of Adri, beautiful but deadly.

As the Chancellor waved his hands at them, Cat knew that their brief meeting had come to an end and stepped away. “I need weapons,” she replied without emotion as she moved towards the lower levels that would eventually lead them towards combat. But first she would have to choose their weapons. She assumed that Callum would choose a Gladius, it was his preferred weapon, she on the other hand needed something that would compliment her fighting style, so as a servant led them into a room full of weapons, she made her way over to a rack of daggers and pulled two long blades down, sliding them into sheaths that she strapped to her waist. Grabbing a polearm, Cat spun it through her hands expertly and strapped her gun to her waist. “I would guarantee that they’ll play dirty, the only way we’re going to win is by killing two of his best fighters and he isn’t going to want that at all.” Biting her lip she sighed and shook her head. “We’ll just have to play dirtier than them, I know that they’re not going to risk losing. Their lives are quite literally at stake….” she trailed off gently and quickly strapped on some armour. “I’ll take the big one, you take the girl, if it doesn’t work out we can swap opponents.”

Callum grew nervous as she mentioned how high the stakes were. It was one thing cutting down monsters, and a whole different thing killing demigods. “Why do you have the easy one.” He joked, picking up a dagger as back up and sliding it into a sheath strapped to his thigh. Fighting dirty was something he never got to do, but he had a few tricks up his sleeves. He stood ready at the entrance of the room that connected the room to the chamber. “Ready whenever you are.” He said with a sigh, trying to calm himself, but the adrenalin had already started to kick in. He slowly began to walk to the centre of the pit, glancing over at the Chancellor before getting his head into the game. His opponent seemed fast, strategic and murderous. A simple, cocky smile was on her blood red lips. He felt like smacking it off her face, and took pleasure in knowing that in a matter of seconds, he could. He could loosen her hair, causing her to be slightly blinded by it at times. He could also try and inture her first, to level out the playing field.

Laughing gently, Cat found herself grow even more nervous. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed gently and decided that a joke would make her feel better. “Oh, he isn’t the real champion,” she replied with a shake of her head, “she has killed over two hundred people in the pit,” she looked out and remembered her from her first visit. “I thought he’d ask for something like that so I made sure I knew what his fighters were like. All you’ve got to do is keep alive until I can come and help you, she is honestly very fast so keep on your guard and don’t be afraid to use your powers either.” She looked at the woman who was picking up two short swords before looking at the man who was hefting a large morningstar and axe. Swallowing she looked at the beast that she was meant to kill, somehow wondering if she had made the right choice. “Let’s start this,” she said darting forward and slicing her polearm forward at the brute who managed to block her strike with his axe, “just don’t die on me.”

Callum made the mistake of nodding at her. By the time he had faced his opponent again, she was halfway to him. He ran towards her and in the seconds before their swords met, he dropped and skid under her, slashing at her back as she passed above him. He got back to his feet as fast as he could and used the cloud of dust he had stirred to quickly reposition himself and focus. He concentrated on the feeling he felt from the kids in his cohort when the Giant attacked camp, a feeling a terror, and projected it onto her. It wouldn’t stop her, but it would hopefully make her sloppy. This time he made a full on attack and their swords met multiple times, sending sparks flying. Callum’s eyes glowed full-on pink. The downside was that the more concentration he used on his powers, the less he could use on fighting and before he had the chance to react, she brought her second sword down, slicing into Callum’s shoulder, between the kinks of his armour. He let out a yelp but allowed himself no time to react to the pain. He used his sword to break off from her and sending them both a few steps back from one another. “Fuck this Chancellor guy. He sure knows how to pick them.”

As Cat’s own opponent brushed away her flurry of attacks, she had to jump backwards out of the way of his morning star as it came whistling through the earth. Dodging again, she watched the spiked and weighted ball throw up a wall of sand as it lodged itself in the earth and was torn free, she jabbed at her opponent, scratching his thigh with her blade before darting away from him again. For someone so big he was blindingly fast, and Cat wasn’t sure that she would be able to keep dodging the large mace on a chain that he was using. As it came whistling through the air again, Cat ducked beneath it and slapped the staff of her polearm down on his hand, sending the morningstar flying through the air and thudding into the wall. It remained lodged in the concrete, long cracks emanating out of the point that had hit it, but she didn’t have time to savour her victory, because as soon as it hit the wall her opponent roared ferociously and slashed at her with his axe. “You said it,” she grunted to her friend, watching him take a wound as she struggled to kill someone who might well have been triple her size.

Callum took everything he had learnt and put it into practice. He dodged and struck when she wasn’t expecting. He aimed for her armour joints and even looked for her weak spots. Thankfully, his injury wasn’t on his wielding side and it had no effect on his word skills. He decided that the terror was not doing anything and started flipping through emotions, dodging attacks whilst he did so. Finally, he hit a nerve and it was evident as she hesitated before following through with her attack. He panted for air as he intensified the emotion he had found, one of loss of a loved one. Not to death but rather knowing that they were alive somewhere, but out of your reach. It was an emotion he had picked up through Maia, a pain her mom constantly went through. He attacked back, placing a good few hits and gaining ground, but he was now tired of constantly dodging her attacks on concentrating on manipulation her emotions. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer. He had an end game, one he barely ever considered using. But it was a gamble. If it didn’t work, he would be way too weak afterwards to fight back at all. He pushed the thought away and continued to the best that he could.

Cat pulled back for a second and focused her powers in one heavy burst of confusion, the emotions seemed to stun the brute just long enough for her to dart forward and drive her polearm through the thin armor in his stomach. The brute flailed and a heavily armoured fist crunched into her face, wincing Cat did her best not to stumble, but she lost grasp of her polearm, charging forward, she pushed as hard as she could and drove the blade deeper. Twisting it, she turned the shaft of the polearm until she felt the blade snap off. Grunting, she tossed the now useless weapon away. “One down,” she grunted as the brute breathed his last death rattle, “one to go.” She spat out a mouthful of blood and drew her daggers. Dodging forward, she sliced at the women, taking her unaware and leaving a long scratch on her arm. “Let’s finish this,” she said, feeling her gun at her hip, knowing that it was there as a last option.

Knowing that Cat had just finished off her opponent, Callum opted to stop using his powers and concentrate on his sword fighting. He tried hard to keep her attention on him, in hopes that it would create openings for Cat to get in at. But as soon as she blocked his attack she would spin around and deal with Cat, and face Callum again just before he landed his next strike. He knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep up the fighting much longer and that she would have to make a final move eventually or surrender. He was about to swing at her side when she let out a scream and swung her leg out, kicking Callum right in the chest and sending him backwards, crashing into his back. Winded, stunned and tired, he wasn’t able to move fast enough and before he knew it, she had broken away from Cat and was above him. She brought her sword down towards his head, but he managed to roll over and dodge her first strike, but she had learnt his move and had adapted, pinning him down with her foot, she lifted her sword above her head, about to bring down the fatal blow upon Callam.

Cat watched in horror as she watched someone who had become one of the closest things to a friend that she had. Slipping one of her daggers in between her teeth, Cat pulled her gun out, and without really taking aim she fired at the last champion standing. The bullet caught her in the arm and she stumbled back from Callum, a sigh of relief slipped out of her lips as she dodged forward and struck, slashing her daggers in a devastating pattern that the champion seemed to struggle to keep up with. Somehow, she managed to block, dodge or evade every attack that Cat sent her way. Cat was doing well when the other champion pulled a tazer from her belt and fired it. Cat was so shocked by the attack that she barely reacted, and when she did eventually react it was too late. The hooks of the stun gun sent thousands of volts down her body, electrifying her and knocking her weapons from her hands, her revolver skittering away from her, out of reach.

Callum flinched as the gun went off, causing the warrior to stumble off of him. He could have stayed down, trusted Cat to end the fight, but he knew that that wasn’t the honorable thing to do. He got back to his feet, a little slower than he’d liked, blood seeping into the shirt he had on. He had got to his feet just in time to witness the taser go off and shock Cat. Instinctively, Callum picked up his sword with a flash, and with all his might, flung his gladius at the female champion. He, unlike his sister, sucked at archery and other sports of the sort, but as the gladius left his hand, the words, “Cupid, obsecro.” left his lips. The gladius sailed through the air and planted itself straight into the warrior's shoulder, piercing her armour. She let out a wall of pain whilst Callum scrambled for the gun on the floor. He picked it up and aimed it at her head. For someone who had never used a gun before, he held it firmly and without hesitation, pulled the trigger multiple times. Hoping that one bullet would meet its target. His eyes had closed whilst firing, and when he opened them again, the female warrior had dropped to her knees, before flopping backwards into the ground. Callum dropped the gun, his hands shaking from the adrenaline. In a similar fashion, he dropped to his own knees and dropped his head, letting out a sigh of relief before realizing that Cat was down. He turned his head to where she had fallen. “Are you okay?”

It took Cat a moment to recover from the shock. One moment she was sure that she was going to die, there was no way that she’d survive. Then her opponent's head was exploding and Cat’s ears were still ringing from the sound of the gunshot and she’d never been more relieved in her life. In her last moments her life hadn’t even flashed before her eyes, although she considered that perhaps that only happened in the actual final moments of your life. Nodding gently, she replied in a shaky voice, “Yes, I’m fine,” she replied with a sigh, “are you?” she didn’t really have time to continue the conversation as suddenly the Chancellor was on the floor of the pit along with several large guards. “Well, I guess that a deal is a deal, I can’t tell you who ordered the poisoning of your brother, but I can tell you who could tell you that, speak to the outsider, he will tell you what you need to know. Now please leave, I’ve got to replace two champions because of you.” Shakily rising to her feet, Cat sighed and dusted herself off. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Callum simply nodded in reply to her question. He, of course, was not okay. He felt weak from the amount of blood he had lost and was still in shock from killing someone. Just because it’s not the first time you’ve killed someone, doesn’t make it any easier. He stood up, cradling his left arm with his right. On his way out, Callum couldn’t help but turn and pull the middle finger on them all before entering the dark tunnel that had delivered them to this hall of death. “I can’t help you fight the outsider today.” He jokes.

#f&gwriting #p: callum #chatzy para #para #Roman Roulette #gore tw

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thewaywedo33 · 7 years

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Wynonna Earp 2X10 Thoughts and Faves

I’ll be honest, I was expecting an episode with a complex plot and crazy reveals. Instead, we got an episode that was so simplistically beautiful in its focus that it took my breath away at times. Don’t get me wrong, I know over the course of the final two episodes we’ll find out things are connected in all sorts of crazy ways we didn’t see coming, and big ‘ole twists will happen, but this week the focus was on the individuals and their relationships. So many quiet truths about the characters played out on screen over the course of the hour, and all I can say is, Andras & Co. can throw my expectations out the window anytime they like.

This week’s opening scene might be my new favorite of the entire series. We had three women on screen dropping sassy one-liners while fighting, and I was grinning right up until that “Baby, stay with me” heart punch.

(This is Rude)

I loved Waverly and Nicole fighting like hell for each other. It doesn’t mean the issues between them disappeared (as we saw acknowledged in the hospital), but it does mean they have each other’s backs when things go down. They’re willing to throw themselves into the fray to protect the other. I think the scene is a glimpse of what we could get in Season 3, once Nicole is finally fully integrated into the team. Waverly now knows keeping Nicole at arm’s length doesn’t do a thing to protect her. Danger literally came knocking at Nicole’s door despite her efforts. The best way for them to protect each other is to fight side by side, but it won’t always be enough, as was the case this week.

The hospital scene before Nicole gets put under was such a quietly poignant exchange. Nicole gets her chance to properly apologize for hiding the DNA results, and Waverly is able to express that she doesn’t give a shit nugget about that right now, given the circumstances. Nicole surviving is ALL that matters to her, they can work the rest out later. The best of themselves and their relationship comes out in the span of a few seconds. Nicole is earnest and sincere, and Waverly is whimsical and sweet. Together they just work, like two puzzle pieces. Even though they’re cut with completely different angles and edges, they fit perfectly with one another.

My heart broke a little when Nicole said she loved her, and Waverly couldn’t say it back in the moment. I get it, she felt like it would be an admission that Nicole won’t make it. But the longer she’s goes without speaking the words, the more I’m convinced she’s afraid to say it. That if she does, Nicole will be ripped away from her somehow. Because that’s been her main experience with the people she loves. Wynonna left her behind for years, Curtis died, Gus seemingly handed her a check to take the place of her love and support as she booked herself a one-way ticket out of hellsville. But now that Nicole has survived this ordeal, I suspect Waverly will realize life is too short to holdback anymore.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Nicole tells Waverly she loves her more than she’s ever loved anyone shortly before Shae shows up. Nicole’s a smart cookie, she probably had an inkling Shae would get called, but when you’re writhing around in burning pain on your deathbed it’s not really the time to finally have the talk with your current girlfriend about how you got married on a whim and haven’t finalized the divorce yet.

Let’s talk about that wife reveal. How perfect that Ms. Pleat-in-her-pants lost her mind for a short while and tied the knot in a Britney/slots induced euphoria. It actually fits with her personality. Some of the most level-headed people in the world got that way by doing impulsive things and learning from them. I’m not sure if we’ll find out exactly why she and Shae aren’t divorced yet, but I suspect Nicole headed to Purgatory to make a fresh start, advance in her career, and had zero intention of getting romantically involved with anyone for awhile. She probably figured there was no rush on the divorce paperwork. But then Waverly Earp took her by surprise and completely upended her world.

The way Shae’s eyes widened just a tad when Waverly gave her name reads to me like she knew who Waverly was, so I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find out Nicole called her recently to have a little chat about that divorce paperwork. Nothing announces you’re serious about the new girlfriend like mentioning you’re dating, and hey, could we maybe push that divorce through asap? Plus, Waverly never said her last name, yet Shae referee to her as Waverly Earp later in the episode. Maybe she heard it while around the hospital, but I think the info might have come from Nicole.

I didn’t expect the Earp sisters to wind up on opposite sides of handling an issue so soon, but boy did this set up nicely. I understand both sides. Waverly is still reeling from her fight with Nicole and the kiss and Tucker, and she’s tired of having the things she loves ripped away from her, damn it.

(Waves has had it up to here, and quite frankly, she gives a damn)

Wynonna is tired of being burdened with a curse and all the repercussions she didn’t ask for. The third seal represents a chance to finally take control of things for once. She can raise Demon Clootie when she’s ready, and end the curse before it ends her and everyone she loves. Unfortunately she made a unilateral decision again, to hide the seal without telling anyone else on the team where it is. The face Waverly made when Wynonna revealed she had the seal suggests it was going to be an issue even if it hadn’t turned out to be prominent in saving Nicole.

(Mayday, this is not the face of an angel)

Yes, Waverly made a poor choice. It was impulsive, and in the end Wynonna came through with the antidote as promised, but I can’t blame Waverly for feeling like she had to exhaust every possible avenue, no matter how ill-advised. The woman she loves is on her deathbed, that alone is going to cloud her judgement. And while Waverly does trust Wynonna implicitly with her own life, it make sense for her to have doubts about her ability to save Nicole. Because Wynonna was convinced she could save Willa, told Waverly she was going to get her back, but ultimately had to shoot her. I know, the situation was different. Willa went all evil and was being pulled into the ground by a giant tentacle, but those are the sort of demonic curve balls that get thrown at them all the time, so I find it forgivable if Waverly couldn’t quite bring herself to believe Wynonna would pull off getting the cure.

I don’t believe the Earp girls will stay at odds for long. Waverly's choice feels like something pre-curse Wynonna would do. It’s all well and good that Wynonna says she would have trusted her team to deal with the situation, but that seems like a place she arrived at roughly fifteen minutes ago. Waverly is going to have to do things on her own learning curve, and I’d like to believe Wynonna will realize that eventually. Also, I just plain need the Earp sisters to not be at odds for a long time, because they are very important to me.

In regards to Waverly making a deal with Greta, all I can say is, of course Waverly trusted Greta, because it’s who she is. She didn’t believe Tucker was the total dumpster fire he was until he tried to kidnap her. It’s kind of a tragic flaw of hers. She probably should have gone to Wynonna once she found the seal, but the clock was ticking. Couple that with Dolls essentially giving her permission to hand over the third seal to Beth, and I can’t really blame her for the choice.

Speaking of Dolls, his “You’d do anything for the woman you love, right?” didn’t seem like he was just talking about Waverly with Nicole. I’m pretty much done making predictions for future episodes, because I’m batting about .125 with this show, but I think he’s referring to himself with Wynonna too. I have to wonder if he WANTS Clootie to rise so they can break the curse sooner rather than later, and the woman he loves can focus on her baby and making a real life outside of the constant danger and hell.

Nedley was such a good this episode. I’m regularly impressed by the show’s ability to give even the side characters meaningful development and arcs. We’ve come so far from Wynonna flipping him off in the pilot to trusting him with the seal. I like that we got to see him use his cop smarts, too. Mentioning his barstool altar and then casually asking Widow Mercedes where her altar is was well-played. And because there is apparently not a single villain in any fictional universe who can resist giving up really useful information while monologuing, she gives him info about where the ritual will go down.

Nicole and Nedley displayed a similar awareness in this episode, even while in pain/being tortured. Nicole, when the first thing she thinks to tell Wynonna is what Mercedes said about the law, and Nedley, with his alter question. It fits well now that we know Nedley handpicked Nicole as his successor.

Rapid Fire Random Thoughts:

-I wonder if Jeremy’s aversion to using Rosita and Dolls as guinea pigs has anything to do with what happened to his mother?

-It took Doc approximately .001 seconds to be ready to saddle up and go into battle when Wynonna told him Nicole was dying. The entire team really showed how much they care about her this week. I can only hope her found family makes it clear to her in future episodes, since, you know, she spent this one on her death bed and isn’t really aware of how everyone reacted.

-We got such a good tidbit with the reveal that Nicole doesn’t speak to her parents. I’ve felt deep in my bones that was the case ever since episode 1×07 (Hey, I got something right!). Something about her reaction to not being invited to Waverly’s party struck me. Sure, she was crushing on Waverly, and looking for new friends in this wackadoodle town, but it smacked of more than that. She also admitted in 2x08 she still struggles with feeling like an outsider with the Earps. I think Nicole harbors a deep desire to have a family who accepts her unconditionally, and it’s a truth easy to miss with all her confident swagger.

-I’m really going to need WayHaught to stop asking Wynonna to make impossible decisions. (1×13 handing over Peacemaker to Willa/2×10 Agreeing to end Nicole’s life if it comes to that). I also need Scrofano to stop doing that thing with her face when she tells them ‘Okay’ because it makes my heart break for Wynonna. Widow Mercedes could not have been more wrong when she said Wynonna doesn’t care about anyone but herself.

-Rosita the Revenant is stealing my heart a bit. Wynonna threatens her to get her to help save Nicole’s life, and Rosita responds by letting her know all she had to do was ask. You could tell she meant it too, and it wasn’t coming from a place of guilt, just compassion and a growing care for this group of people Doc thrust her into.

-I got Angel feels when the Order mentioned taking Wynonna’s baby in. Dolls better not get any crazy ideas about handing Wynonna’s baby over to them, because no one needs a moody boy coming back through a portal and bringing all the storylines and characterization to a screeching halt. (Ahem, sorry, still bitter).

-Everything about Nicole’s house is exactly the way I thought it would be. And after seeing her in her natural environment, I’m calling even more bunk on that giant purse she had in 2x08. Because come on, someone who wears cool Puma kicks, a blue button-up with the sleeves rolled up, makes an Ikea reference, uses soft blue-tones throughout the house, and has that collection of boots lined up? Not a gal who’s carrying around that purse. (Pursegate 2017 is the fictional hill I’m willing to die on, apparently). Also, I feel personally attacked by the Wynonna Earp styling department for putting Nicole in that outfit. It’s like one of them overheard me yelling in a bar about all my lady fashion weaknesses (which happens more often than I care to admit).

See you next week, after what I’m sure will be a ho-hum penultimate episode, because that’s what this show does best.

(J/K, this is me heading to the TV in my excitement...also, it’s never a bad time to use this Gif)

#Wynonna Earp #Episode 2x10 #Waverly Earp #Nicole Haught #WayHaught #Weekly rambling thoughts #Cuffs Gifs

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womanintheword · 8 years

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One of you asked about my love story, so here it is, in the form of a few small nonfiction essays I’ve written about my life thus far: Junior year of college. Late morning. Late September. “He just texted. He’s heading this way now.” My roommate Kate invited her friend from class to go with us to Mountain Heritage Day. We walked through campus, heading for the clock tower, red faced and already sweating. A boy in a camo t-shirt and matching hat strode towards us, phone in one hand pressed against his ear and a blue drink in the other. “Tell me that’s not him,” I said. “That’s him.” “I am not walking around with someone wearing a camo shirt and hat all day.” “Shhh, he’s really nice! Trust me.” And so I did, even though I wasn’t proud of my southern roots at that point in my life, and even though this boy was wearing the one type of clothing I despised most. We waited for Matt to get off the phone, Kate introduced us, and we made our way towards the fair with the rest of the crowds to look at things we couldn’t afford to buy and then spend the only money we had on the fair food, which was the main reason any of us went in the first place. Kate and I got ice cream and Matt got a funnel cake. “Do you want some?” he said, holding his plate out to me. I had only had funnel cake once before, years prior. It wasn’t something I would ever get for myself, but it looked and smelled fantastic, like a perfect warm summer day filled with uninterrupted sunshine and laughter. I nodded. “Can you pull a piece off for me?” I didn’t explain that I had a weird quirk about getting my hands dirty, and, luckily, I didn’t have to, because he immediately ripped a giant chunk off, dunked it into the powdered sugar to make sure it was completely covered, and handed it to me. “Can you pass me a piece too?” Kate said. “You can get one yourself!” he said. He was joking, but held out his plate to her for her to get her own bit just the same. Looking back, this was my first inkling that he was interested in me. “Dude, I want McDonald’s so bad,” I said. We were still eating the funnel cake. Leave it to me to not even be finished with what I’m currently eating before thinking and planning my next snack/meal. “Mmm, that sounds so good,” Matt said. “Let’s do it!” Kate said, swiping another piece of funnel cake off of Matt’s plate.

After I learned what a McGangBang was (a concoction involving two McDoubles and a McChicken and then squishing them all together into one giant sandwich), we picked up my pup Jake and headed to the park, where we walked for over an hour and talked about things that I think I have purposely pushed out of my mind because they were things I never would have talked about with Matt had I known I would start dating him soon after the fact. Going into the day I told myself that this boy would be just a friend, because I had never really had a guy friend before, but while walking in the park I think I knew: I felt more comfortable about this boy than any other in my life. It was different. Still, I didn’t push it. He went home after the walk in the park and Kate and I went back to our apartment, where we, after some gabbing, eventually went to our own rooms to study and work on homework. Later that evening I heard Kate squealing in her room. “Are you okay?” I shouted. “Come here right now!” I groaned. I was exhausted. Padding my way into her room, I knew something was up the second I saw her face. You know the one: the one your best friend gives you when they know something you don’t, when they’re so overly excited about something involving you that their eyes seem twice as large as usual and they won’t stop staring at you, and you think their smile might be permanent because it’s never changing for such a long portion of time. “What?” I said, my voice flat, crossing my arms. She patted her bed. I shuffled over, sprawled out, and stared at where she sat in her desk chair opposite the bed. While my room was plain and calm, hers was loud. She had pink wall stickers everywhere, writing on her mirror, stuffed animals lining the top of her bookshelf and wrapped up in the blankets on her bed. She had a giant flat screen tv and the newest video game system. I had played video games growing up with dad, Andrew, and Ames, but hadn’t played in well over 10 years. I spent a lot of time in Kate’s room making my character spin around in circles while getting shot at. Needless to say, I didn’t have the best techniques. “Guess who just texted me?” Kate flicked her eyes back and forth from her phone to me. “Lindsay?” One of our mutual friends at the time. A bad guess on purpose. I knew it was a boy from the way she was looking at me, eyebrows raised and head tilted to the side. She didn’t ask me to guess again. “Matt!” she said, her voice a normal pitch again. “Okay… What did he say?” It wasn’t a big deal that he was texting her. They had class together and had become friends. They texted back and forth most days, most of the time talking about the current girl Matt was trying to woo. Kate was his feminine perspective. “Quote: ‘Hey, I had a really good time today and was wondering… Do you know if Stephanie is talking to anyone?’” My entire body warmed, the heat traveling from my cheeks to my feet. I was ecstatic, though I tried to hide it. I’m sure I didn’t do a very good job. “Did you respond yet?” “Not yet. I wanted to see what you thought first.” “I mean… what do you think? And are you sure you’re over him?” Yeah, that tiny detail: Kate had originally had a crush on Matt, though she claimed a week or so prior to Mountain Heritage Day that she had decided she didn’t like him anymore, or rather, that she had never liked him, just the idea of him. “Yes, totally.” “Okay… because you say the word, and I won’t talk to him.” “Steph, I promise I don’t like him.” She held out her phone to me so I could see the screen and the text he sent. “Go for it.” “Okay,” I said, grinning. She turned her phone back and started typing. “What are you saying?” I jumped off the bed and skipped over next to her so I could see what she was doing. “I’m telling him that you’re not talking to anyone,” she said, not looking up. “Because you aren’t.” “This is so weird.” The whooshing sound of Kate’s text sounded. “Well, what are you thinking? I mean, did you have fun today? What do you think of him?” “I had a really good time. It’s weird because… I felt really comfortable with him.” I met Kate’s stare. “Like, really comfortable. That’s never happened before.” I thought back to the random conversations we had while walking through the park earlier that day and slapped my hand to my face. “Kate, I talked to him about masturbation. Oh, my God.” She paused, jaw dropping, and began laughing hysterically. “Oh my God, you did! You seriously talked to him about masturbation.” “I’m humiliated. I’m… mortified. I can’t speak to him again!” “Yes you can. Now calm down,” she said, unable to stop or hide her laughter. “He obviously likes you if he’s asking me whether you’re seeing anyone or not.” I nodded. “True, true. But still,” I sighed. “God, this would happen. I meet a nice boy and act totally vulgar around him the first time we hang.” Kate’s phone dinged in her hand. She glanced at the screen, then jumped up in her chair. “It’s him!” “Well… what’d he say?” “He wants your number.” She flicked her eyes up at me. “Can I give it to him?” “Yeah,” I breathed. “Sure.” She typed the message out and set her phone down on her desk. I laid down on her bed, stared up at the ceiling, and thought about how just weeks prior I had declared that I was swearing off boys. That lasted a good 20 minutes, I thought, fiddling with Kate’s sheets. I had met a boy my freshman year of college, and I use the term “met” loosely because he lived in Florida and the daughter of the minister at the church we were attending at that point introduced me to him. We only actually hung out in person two or three times. Other than that, it was a total text relationship. Which is fine. It’s what I needed at the time. I wasn’t ready for anything real, but I liked having someone “there” for me, if only through text, who I could talk to. After talking to him for almost two years and having nothing much come of it (mostly my fault because, like I said, I definitely wasn’t ready), and then having an incredibly ugly falling out (also via text like 99% of our relationship), I had told myself that I was going to stop trying to find a guy and was going to “let go and let God” as they say and was going to trust His timing. After all, if it was meant to be it would be. And boy was it meant to be. I got lucky, I will admit. Many people have told me this, my sister most recently and most often. Matthew was the first boy I ever really dated. He was my first real kiss. My first romantic love. My first… well, everything. And I his. We both got lucky. We both are blessed. My phone went off in the other room. Kate and I looked at each and grinned. “Yeah, you might want to go get that,” she said. My feet couldn’t carry me fast enough. I snagged the phone off my desk and jumped onto my bed, landing face first and stomach down. Graceful as ever. I read the text, responded, and saved his number into my phone. “How’s it going in there?” Kate called across the apartment. “Spectacular,” I said, loud enough for only me to hear.

He had spent the day over at my place, walking the pup in the park, laughing together while watching silly TV shows, and asking each other questions. We spent most of our time together in the beginning doing these kinds of things. There was so much to talk about, so much to learn about each other. And we’re still learning, because even now, years later, we are changing each day, molding, becoming different people, and so we continue to ask questions and learn about one another, about the one we will be spending the rest of our lives with. We walked out of the apartment together, the three of us: Matt, Kate, and myself. (Kate because I was still so nervous to be alone with Matt, even though I was getting good vibes from him and trusted him more than I had trusted any other guy before that point. Sometimes having a friend nearby can calm the nerves better than anything else.) Kate walked several feet behind us, and then several yards. “I’ll text you later,” Matt said. “And maybe see you tomorrow?” “That sounds good,” I said. “This was fun. I love spending time with you. I really like you.” “I really like you too.” We hugged and I turned to walk back up to my place with Kate. I made it halfway back to my friend before turning around. I had kissed boys before, but only a few, and only ever pecks. Also, I didn’t consider any of them to be of any importance as they were either dares or I didn’t actually care about the person I was kissing. Still, I was nervous because I knew what I was going to do the second I decided to turn back around. “Matt,” I called. He turned, holding his hand above his eyes to shade them from the sun shining ferociously behind me. “Wait.” I jogged back to him and kissed him, fast. His lips were soft and he smelled like the mountains, like home. “Bye,” I said, my voice high pitched and nervous, waving like a maniac. I ran off without seeing his immediate reaction, but halfway to Kate I turned around. He was still walking but was turned around looking at me too. I smiled, waved again, and kept jogging until I reached Kate. Our first kiss, and it had been perfect.

The night Matt asked me to be his girlfriend, we went to a Greek restaurant in Dillsboro, two towns over from the University. Before we left the apartment I shared with Kate, she took a picture of us standing by the door and we joked about how she was my stand-in mom and Matt was the guy taking her daughter out. I still have the picture: me in a black shirt with a gold, detailed tree on the front, and a red jacket thrown over top, Matt sporting a blue shirt under a blue and white plaid flannel, both of us wearing matching cheesy grins, and his arm around my shoulder. There’s another picture from that night, of me with a wine holder that stood in the corner of the restaurant where we waited to be seated. It’s a moose lying on its back, downing the wine, and I’m standing in front of it giving a thumbs up, smiling with my mouth open. The photo is blurry, probably because Matt was chuckling while he took it and couldn’t hold his phone still enough for it to focus. We thought it was such an odd decoration and were entertained by it most of the night. We’re still entertained by it now, actually. It’s still there. We point it out each time we go and remember our first time there. I ordered a tuna melt and Matt a gyro. I had gone into the night incredibly nervous, but it didn’t take long for my nerves (and stomach) to settle. Matt was wonderful. Like always, he carried the conversation, asking me questions about myself, my family, my friends, my interests, the books I was reading, the classes I was taking, and he made no comment and wasn’t at all phased that he seemed to be the only one asking questions. I prayed he knew my lack of questioning was due to my anxiety and wasn’t a lack of interest. I’m sure some people think me an egoist, but I tend to ask less questions of people in return of their questions directed at me, opting instead to observe them and learn from what they weren’t saying. For instance, someone may seem confident by the way they’re talking or by what they’re saying, but maybe they’re rubbing their hands together or shuffling their feet. We all have different quirks and tells, too. “Ready for part two?” Matt asked me after paying the bill. “There’s a part two?” I grabbed his hand and we walked out the door, past our moose statue, and towards his ‘96 Ford Explorer. It was my first time heading towards the Jackson County Airport and “The Lookout” (as locals had dubbed the area further down from the airport where you could pull off the road onto a small patch of grass on the side of the mountain). The roads, like most of the ones here in Western North Carolina, were skinny, windy, and a straight shot up with the edge of the road doubling as the edge of the mountainside. We drove up to the airport, a small airfield about three miles from town that sits on a ridge, and used the entryway as a turn around to get back to The Lookout, where Matt pulled off the road and onto the side of a mountain and I tried not to have a panic attack. I zoned back in from staring out my window as Matt opened my door for me and held out his hand. We could see for miles. We could see everything: the forest, the University, my apartment, the Fraternity house Matt was living in. It was all lit up, trying to keep up with the moon and stars above us. “So this is part two,” I said, turning in circles looking up at the sky and the world around me, feeling very, very small. “Almost,” Matt said as he opened his trunk and pulled out a blanket and some candies. “I brought this,” he said, holding up the blanket--blue and white, I saw now, with sheep on it-- “in case we get cold, and these,” he held out the candies, “because I know they’re your favorites. Junior Mints, Sour Patch Kids, and Swedish Fish, right?” “Yeah,” I said, smiling like an idiot. He put the blanket and candies down and we walked to the edge together, where I was reminded of the first time I had a panic attack (also on top of a mountain) years prior, and thought about far I’d come. Look at me, standing feet away from the edge of a mountainside, not completely freaking out. (I would have started to though if I could see future me sitting on the edge of a rock face that juts out from the mountain thousands of feet up, smiling and swinging my feet.) “You know, there’s this study,” Matt began after we stood in silence together for a minute or so.” “Uh huh?” He turned me around so I wasn’t facing him and trailed his fingers in circles all over my back. “That only a small percentage of people can actually figure out what someone is saying to them when it’s traced onto their back.” “Mm, I used to love doing that with my friends when we were kids.” His fingers began tracing. I tried to focus more on what they were saying rather than how good the tingles felt and how they traveled up and down my entire body. “W,” I said, when he was finished with the first letter. “Yes.” One straight line down followed by two horizontal lines, one at the top of the original line and one on bottom. He was writing in all caps. I shivered in pleasure. “I.” “Mhm.” One vertical line and a horizontal one stemming from the bottom of the first, the whole thing repeated right away. “L. Twice. Will?” “Correct!” He traced just a horizontal line and said, “That’s a space.” Y - O - U - space - B - E - space - M - Y - I knew the last word before he began tracing it. I had known the second he finished the second word in the question. His hands became more and more unsteady as he was further into the sentence. He even “erased” a letter or two that he had messed up by rubbing his hand, open faced, all across my back. G - I - R - L - F - R - I - E - N - D - ? He paused, waited. “Girlfriend,” I said. “Will you be my girlfriend?” I turned around to face him. “Stephanie Cheryl Wooten,” he said. “Will you be my girlfriend?” I let myself have a mini freak out session in my head before saying, “Yes.”

We were making macaroni and cheese and dancing in the living room while the water boiled. Matthew and I had been dating a few weeks, and he had already told me, “I love you.” It was the middle of the night. We had stayed up kissing and talking and keeping each other warm in between the sheets. After he said it, I told him that I really liked him, and that I thought I was on the way to love, but that I wasn’t ready to say it yet, to which he understood and held me until I fell asleep in his arms. While we were dancing together though, with the water boiling in the next room and our feet sliding across the carpet, I looked at him and I knew: I love him, I thought to myself. And I think I had loved him for some time. I just wasn’t ready to admit it to myself yet, or maybe it was that I had never been in love before--not this kind of love, anyway--and I didn’t know that was what I was feeling. “Come on,” I said, pulling him into my room by his hand. I closed the door so Kate wouldn’t hear what I was about to say. It was a private moment, just between Matt and me. “What is it?” he said, laughing, breathing hard from all the dancing. “I love you,” I told him, taking both of his hands in mine, lacing my fingers through his, and squeezing. The outer corners of his eyes pinched together as he smiled down at me. “I love you, too.”

Two years and nine months after Matthew asked me to be his girlfriend, we went out on one of our typical “date nights.” Our friends and family made fun of us, dubbing us the “old married couple.” Which we were, kind of. We spent most nights together, and most days. We ate together, walked together, made love together, fought together, laughed together, played board games together, watched TV together, went to the movies together, jogged together, cried together. We were going through life together, and even if it was only for a short time, I was ineffably happy. “Where are we going?” I asked Matt as we walked to his Ford, dressed up in our summer clothes. “You’ll see,” he said, opening the door for me. When we passed the town of Sylva, I began to have an inkling as to where he was taking us. I waited until we got closer, until we passed the place where you could paint pottery, to make sure my inkling was more than that. “I knew it!” I shouted as we turned left when we were across from the Jarrett House and pulled into the almost full parking lot. “No, you didn’t!” “Mhm. I did. You’re so predictable.” “It’s our place, though.” He cut the engine and jogged over to get my door for me. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome. I love you,” he said as he laced his fingers through mine and we started up the ramp to the front door. We talked about the moose statue, per usual, while we waited to be seated, and eventually wound up choosing to sit outside on the patio rather than to wait much longer. It was warm out and the patio was screened in. I ordered the same thing I did on our first date there and, just as the first time around, it didn’t live up to my expectations for it. “Why do I keep ordering this every time? It’s never as good as I want it to be.” “I’m putting a note in my phone,” Matt said, whipping his phone out of his pocket, “reminding you to never order this again.” He chuckled at me, put his phone away when he was done, and then looked at me like he always did, like he still does, like no one ever has before. It’s a look reserved especially for me, I know, and it makes me feel like we’re the only two people left in the world. I had a feeling this was the night: the night Matt would propose to me. We’d talked of it often together, talked about what our life with one another might look like. Plus, Matt had dressed much nicer than he usually did, and he was much more fidgety. I could tell he was nervous about something. We ate on the patio, surrounded by others whom we gave stories too. “Couple behind you and to your left. Guy is in the green shirt and girl in white dress.” I snuck a peak behind me. The couple in question didn’t look much like that. They were young, around our age. The girl was on her phone, presumably texting someone else while she sat across from the boy, who looked around the restaurant like a pendulum, back and forth and back and forth, anywhere but the girl sitting across from him. “First date,” I said, turning back around. “Or… Maybe hundredth date, and now they’re bored. Or in a fight. Something’s going on there. She won’t look him in the eye.” Matt nodded in agreement as I scanned the patio. “All right,” Matt said, putting his napkin on top of the food he couldn’t finish. “Are you ready for part two?” I lifted my sweaty glass to my lips and took one last sip. “Ah, yes. Always.” Once we passed the new Health and Science building and turned onto the familiar windy road, I knew: he was recreating our first date. “The lookout?” I said. He squeezed my hand, his warming mine, and grinned, his smile warm like the rest of him. We were quiet most of the ride up there, the silence a comforting one, like the feeling you get when you sit down in your favorite chair early in the morning with coffee and a well loved book. The view was the same, but different, mostly because we were different. I was different, and so while the view hadn’t changed over the past two and half years, my view had. We look at things differently at different stages in life, I think. It’s like I can read a book and have a very specific experience, and then read it a year or maybe even five or ten years later, and because of all the different things I’ve gone through and felt, because I’m a different person than I was one or five or ten years prior when I first read the book, the second time will be completely different. And I’ll get something different out of it. We parked and stood together at the edge of the mountainside, and I looked up at the stars and crescent moon. We listened to the crickets and frogs and stood still, enveloped around one another. “Do you remember that study I told you about the first time we came here?” he said, turning me away from him. “The one you made up? Yeah. Why?” “I’ve got another one for you.” He began tracing the letters. The first few words were the same: Will you be my… W - I - F - E ? I turned around to Matthew down on one knee, holding out a black velvet box with a ring I had pointed out casually once in our local jewelry story in it. “Stephanie Cheryl Wooten,” he began. “I know I’m not perfect, and I know we have our disagreements, but I love you to the moon and back, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” I was tempted to be cruel and say No but then really quickly after say yes, just to mess with him, but I didn’t want to give the poor man a heart attack. “Yes,” I said. “Yes.” He reached for my hand and slid the ring onto my finger, then rotated it side to side, admiring it on me. The diamonds shined almost as much as his eyes when he stood up and looked at me. Those summer sky blue eyes that had me the first time I saw them that October in 2011 at Mountain Heritage Day. I never would have thought that I would be engaged. I never thought I would ever get married, or even fall in love. I had been hurt so much by someone who was supposed to love me, who did love me, in a weird way. But then, I knew how blessed I was. I thought about the day God created us both. Did He know we would find each other? Was this His doing? One thing was certain: whether it was all God or our free will that led us here, I was grateful. Matt has the best heart. He takes such good care of me. We take care of each other. And he’s a Godly man, which I love most of all, because we lead each other closer to God each and every day. I mean, I get to hike and snuggle and read and build blanket forts and watch movies and eat good food and read and talk about the Bible and God with my best friend for the rest of my life. I am so incredibly lucky. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jesus. I love you to the moon and back too, Matthew.

#personal #matthew #marriage #christian #christianity #husband and wife #my posts #love story #writing #writeblr #love #creative nonfiction #memoir

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