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prose-for-hire · 3 years

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C-C-Cold Hearted

Pairing: Spike x reader [platonic]

Request: So glad your requests are open again!!! I have an idea for a platonic spike x reader, where reader's kind of a goody-two shoes with the Scoobies, but is actually punk in her personal life? I imagine Spike finding out after she drives everyone off home after a long fight and she swaps the music, forgetting Spike's still in the back (because he actually shut up for once, lol) but do it however the inspiration takes you. Thanks kindly! (Also no pressure if you don't wanna do it, it was just an idea I thought you'd be really good at.)Spik

Requested by: @cameo-greaves

A/N: I haven’t written a platonic Spike fic in a long time !! He’s protective like a big brother kind of relationship with the reader. So this was nice (I hope this was okay love) 💖💖

You and your friends had all been driving around looking for a demon. You had decided since Sunnydale had decided to completely freeze over it was better to take the car. You were driving Buffy, Willow, Xander and Spike around. Spike had insisted he came and Buffy eventually gave in. This demon was supposed to be hard to defeat.

Willow had cast a spell on your car so you wouldn’t slide around on the roads and you were all wearing coats in the car because no matter how much you tried you couldn’t warm up. The cold got everywhere.

The demon was named Jacque. He was large and ogre-like. With power that nobody knew the full extent of. He was somewhat of a myth, even according to Giles’ books. He had stretched light blue skin and he thrived in this weather. He was ice cold, his heart was literally a block of ice, one that never thawed. He had an icicle constantly hanging from his nose.

He had appeared one summers evening, turning the entirety of Sunnydale into Lapland. Nobody had seen this much snow before and it was only continuing through the weeks. Buffy and the rest of your friend group had been stuck in researching rather than having snowball fights like you all wanted.

There was a demon freezing people to death and you needed to figure out what you were looking for and quickly. Which is what you had been doing this evening. But you had been driving everyone around for hours now and there had been no sightings.

The radio was on, some tinny song you didn’t recognise. You didn’t get to hear much of it anyway as everyone was talking and laughing around you. You grinned as Xander cracked another joke with Spike just rolling his eyes and slouching in his seat.

Spike had shut up while the others in your car had gotten louder. He was just staring out of the window, he had offered to drive but you and your friends had said no. He took a lot of risks and in the snow the Scoobies could all see him managing to wipe the entire group out and managing to walk away unscathed. He had wanted to make sure you were back home before he got in. You had forgotten that he was still in the back of the car with everyone else chatting.

He kind of positioned himself in his own head as your big brother. He was weirdly protective of you but he didn’t let it show very often. You were too kind, a total goody-two shoes. Everyone thought so anyway. He was convinced that you wouldn’t last a second if you were left on your own.

You dropped each off one by one. It took a while people walking to their houses, scared of sliding around. You paused, making sure everyone got to their doors safely – not that you would have been particularly much help if anyone had been attacked by a demon waiting in the snowy shadows.

When you thought your car was empty, you exhaled slightly and turned to root through the glovebox for your music. You didn’t realise that there was a vampire still slouched on your backseat. You leaned in putting a cassette tape in and playing the first track. The music started, pounding through the speakers. You couldn’t help a smile spreading on your face.

You slammed the steering wheel in time, ready to launch into song alongside your favourite punk song. You hit the first note before you were interrupted suddenly.

An arm reached from the backseat to turn the dial up. He happened to like this song too. You screamed (and not in time with the tune) near drowning out the music that was playing. You had forgotten he was there and almost skidded into a snow drift on the side of the road.

You slammed on the brake and turned back to look at him, horrified to see Spike still there. You had been caught out. You weren’t too embarrassed or anything, you were just shocked he was there. He had actually managed to stay quiet for once.

You kept this part of your life away from the others. Especially Spike, you didn’t want him to look at you and think you were a poser. On the weekends you would often frequent local punk venues, soaking up the music and meeting people with a shared interest. You even dressed slightly differently (your look was a lot more toned down usually).

You needed a hobby that you could separate from the reality you lived in. You and your friends saving the world all the time, it was kind of heavy. You needed this escape. And what better than the embracing arms of the punk genre?

The lyricality of it you felt within. The heavy music and the powerful voices just spoke to you. In a way that nothing else had.

It made you feel alive. It woke you up from the dreary hopelessness that could consume you in Sunnydale. You could just get lost, it lifted the spirits when you were just shouting along to the words.

You and Spike didn’t speak much, other than squabbling over petty stuff. He just sort of turned up when you ended up stumbling into trouble the way you usually would. He often grumbled at you that you would happily plant your neck into a vampire’s jaw given half the chance.

You knew he looked out for you but you didn’t realise why. You were the same age as the others but he had a soft spot for you. You reminded him of his sibling. From when he was human. Now he realised you were slightly more similar to him than he thought in music taste at least. You were still as sweet and unassuming as you always appeared to be despite this revelation.

“Spike!? I could have crashed!”

“Didn’t though, did you?” he maintained, “Since when did you get any taste anyway?”

“I have always been cool, thanks very much” You insisted, turning your nose up at him and he scoffed.

“Wouldn’t say so, platelet. Unless you mean ‘cause of the weather that is” He teased which made you roll your eyes at him. Though you ended up smiling at him, you couldn’t help it.

He was always good natured with you. Made sure you felt safe around him despite him always insisting he was oh so evil. The others would tease him for it. They had thought he had fallen for you at first but he had made it clear he felt a duty of care to you. Couldn’t explain it, decided he didn’t owe it to them anyway.

“Well, now you know I guess… don’t tell the others?” You asked and he nodded. You appeared relieved. He wouldn’t want the others discouraging your interest. Your hobbies. He knew how that could be.

“You go to any shows?” He asked after a moment of silence, looking outside as he asked. The snow had began to slowly fall again. It was unending at the moment. Bleak.

But he’d rather look outside than watch you pull faces at his interest in your life. You would pretend you found it lame. He cared and you made it difficult sometimes despite it being in your nature to be kind.

“I go to the Fishtank sometimes to see the local bands play” You answered matter-of-factly. This was another reason you didn’t tell the others – they’d try to make you stop going. That place had a bad reputation.

He thought on this for a moment and then looked at you in the reflection of the rearview mirror as you anticipated his reply being one of disdain for the bar. Even he only risked that place if he was desperate.

“Well, if you ever need someone to take you there and back…” he offered, his brow furrowed at the idea of you out on your own in the middle of the night on that side of town.

“You want to be my chaperone? That’s so punk, thanks Spike” Your reply dripping with sarcasm.

“Offer’s there” he shrugged. You were about to open your mouth, maybe thank him or something. He really didn’t have to offer and it was him appearing to be genuinely kind without ulterior motive which was wholly unlike spike. But you chose to see the good in him. You were one of the only ones that did.

Just as you were about to speak there was a massive thud on the roof of your car. The roof dipped in slightly under the weight of whatever had jumped on there. You shouted in surprise as the demon jumped onto the bonnet before turning and landing on the ground and turning to face you, squinting into your car.

It was Jacque. The frost demon. You had finally located him. Complete with the sharp icicle on the end of his nose. But now you had found him, were completely slayerless.

Your brain caught up with you and you rushed into action. You reversed the car, manoeuvring the best you could to turn around while the demon set its sights on you.

“Bloody step on it!” He shouted, slamming his hands on the headrest of the drivers side as if it would make you drive faster. You would have said something snide about backseat driving but you were too panicked.

As you started to drive at a much faster pace, Spike threw himself into the front passenger seat with some struggle. His goal, not only to help you, but to turn the music right up. You were blasting the punk song for all of Sunnydale to hear as you drove recklessly through the streets and away from the demon blasting shards of ice at your poor car.

You took your eye off the road for a split second and really did drive into a snow drift this time. You couldn’t get the car started again. You would have to try and run. In what felt like six feet of snow.

The demon was more than double Spike’s height. Still, he ran at it with full force. Landing offensive blows where he could. The large demon swiped at Spike and sent him flying into your car leaving another large dent in the side.

While Spike was recovering, you tried to step up but you knew straight away it was going to be no use. He stared at you hard, using your body heat against you. Turning your body entirely cold. Frozen solid. Blue ice began to slowly create a layer on the outside of your skin.

“You c-c-cold hearted son of a-” Your teeth chattered as you tried to finish your sentence, but it was too hard to speak. You were so cold. You were becoming a statue. An ice sculpture. It was slowly creeping up your neck onto your face.

“Bitch!” Spike finished for you, spinning into a kick that knocked the demon backwards from where he was walking towards you.

“You do not have a heart either, friend… let me take this one” He gestured at you as you shivered in the icy prison you were encapsulated in.

“Not on your life”

“Okay” He shrugged, running at Spike again. They fought hard against each other, but Spike managed to gain the upper hand.

You began to thaw now his attention wasn’t on you although you were still very cold. Shivering violently. You could only watch as you started to be able to feel your fingers again although they felt as if they were cramped up. They were still numb.

Spike landed several successive blows, blocking the shards of ice that the demon threw his way. His ice powers wouldn’t work on a vampire. Spike knocked his feet from under him and

He took out his stake, piercing the large demon’s heart and shattering the shard of ice where his heart lay. The demon just lay there before eventually turning to snow like its surroundings.

He nodded once, looking at where the demon had once lay. Before turning back to you and gesturing with his head for you to walk back with him.

Spike took you home, teasing you lightly as you walked about how punk you looked when you were stood like a cold fool while he was fighting the bad guy. You shoved him and he rolled his eyes having to catch you as you overbalanced on the ice. He should have let you fall and taught you a lesson but it was instinct.

Hopefully now the demon was taken care of, all of the ice and snow would thaw sooner than later.

#Spike btvs #spike x reader #spike imagine #spike x you #platonic x reader #platonic Spike #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #btvs #btvs x reader #btvs imagines #btvs x you #gender neutral #gender not mentioned #Jacque the Frost demon #platonic #Spike

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el-gilliath · 3 years

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Maybe Forever

I did two remixes this year, and for @rnmremix I took on @daughterofelros and her story Maybe Someday which is about Michael plantsitting Alex’s plants. I turned it around, and this has Alex plantsitting Michael’s plants. I angsted in this, but the ending is still happy. Happy reading!

Ao3

It takes him by surprise when he gets the question, as it’s something he never thought Michael would ever be a fan of. Not because it’s wrong, immoral, strange or anything like that. He just didn’t expect it. Because, you know, it’s... Plants. Green things with foliage and sometimes flowers in all different shapes and sizes. Michael is rough, wild curly hair, motor oil, science and sass. Plants don't seem like something he would enjoy or care about. But here he is, down in Michael’s bunker where plants really shouldn’t thrive. But they are. Thriving, that is. Growing wild and beautiful in what is seemingly organized chaos around Michael’s science equipment and feats of mechanical engineering.

“This is what you want me to watch for you? Plants?” he asks incredulously as he looks around.

“Yeah? Something wrong with plants?”

He can hear the defensiveness in Michael’s tone of voice, and he flinches minutely. “That’s not what I meant, Guerin. I’m just surprised. I didn’t know you had them, especially down here.”

“There's nothing wrong with keeping plants down here you know.”

“I know that,” Alex says, his own tone becoming more defensive. “I’m surprised you have plants, I didn’t know that would interest you. That’s all.”

“I can have hobbies you know,” Michael replies, looking like he’s already regretting asking Alex to water them while he’s gone for a week.

Alex just looks at him, eyebrows lifting at the way Michael is acting, wondering if they can ever be close again without bickering. Michael seems to realize it too, as his posture relaxes with a deep sigh. He’s visibly calming himself down, and Alex can’t help but admire how easily he does it. Especially since he knows it isn’t easy at all for Michael, so used to keeping the charade that keeps him and his family safe up at all times.

“Sorry. I’m being defensive for no damn reason over here.” Michael sighs again, impossibly deeper this time. Like sighing takes deep stress away from him. Maybe it does, for all Alex knows. “My mom kept plants, and could grow them with her powers. I… I wanted to try it too.”

“You’re doing a great job,” Alex says, smiling at him. It’s tentative, but honest. Real. “And I’m sorry too, I was honestly just surprised, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about it.”

“It’s okay.” Michael smiles in return. “So. You think you could be up for it?”

“Yeah, I’ll watch over them. No promises they’ll be alive when you get back though.”

“Nah, you’re Alex Manes. You can do anything.”

The smile on Alex’s face turns wry, probably a bit unsure. It’s not true, in so many ways. But he appreciates what Michael is trying to do. The confidence he’s trying to instill in the face of a task Alex has never had before. Michael knows how uneasy he is when it comes to situations like this. But he’ll power through like he always does. Especially for Michael. And it’s plants. It can’t be that hard.

-----

He quickly finds that he’s wrong. So damned wrong. He has no idea how Michael created a thriving garden in the dark bunker but it quickly becomes apparent that Alex cannot do the same thing. He can water them and trim them if needed but three days into Michael’s week away from Roswell and they’re starting to droop. Sad, missing Michael, drooping. The worst part is he knows how they feel. And his life has officially turned even weirder now that he’s sympathizing with plants. But he can’t help but feel for them, as the flowers lose a little of their shine the longer Michael is away, how the leaves aren’t quite as green. Their person isn’t there anymore. Maybe they’ve given up on Michael coming back.

Kind of like Alex has. Oh, he knows Michael is coming back to town, he’s only in Albuquerque for a week with Isobel. But as the days grow longer the plants still turn sadder.

If he can’t do this one thing for Michael, how can he ever hope to get him back. In the way he wants, in the way it matters. Back in his arms, his life, preferably one day his, or even their, house. After Maria, after Forrest, after his dad.

Realizing he wanted Michael officially back, out, proud and completely took a long time. The knowledge of it not so hard, the need and want harder. They’ve wasted time, so much damn time. And here he is, surrounded by green and yellow and blue, things so important to Michael because his mom was supposedly good at it. And Alex is having the hardest time keeping them alive and well. It’s making him feel like his dad, trapping aliens behind glass walls and torturing them for kicks.

He just wants to do this right. Then maybe, just maybe, he can find the courage within to tell Michael his hopes. But it’s not looking too good. He’s tried everything, watering, giving them lots of light, talking to them, hanging out in the bunker in case it’ll help. But so far it’s not working and the plants just droop more by the hour. Michael coming home is still three days away, they’ll end up being dead if he can’t fix this. And he fears whatever progress they’ve made will die with them.

He’s out of options though, he doesn't know what to try next. He’s not an alien, he doesn’t have powers nor gifts with anything besides guns and computers. Neither which will be handy here. He looks around desperate to find something that can help.

He doesn’t expect to spot a guitar. The same guitar he tried gifting to Michael which failed desperately. The same guitar he regifted him later, after Maria, after Forrest. When death of loved ones and broken hearts weren’t between them. When they could actually call each other friends. Regardless if that friendship was still fraught with tension, a will they or won’t they that still weighs heavily on them. Even when they try to push past it and just be.

But the guitar means much to them. Music in general means much to them. Maybe it’ll help.

He picks it up gently, taking it out of its case with great care before running his hand over it and smiles. The strings have just been changed, Michael has been taking good care of it. Something eases inside of him when he sees that, though he doesn’t quite understand why. The guitar isn’t a symbol of their relationship, Michael making sure the guitar is in tip top shape doesn’t really mean anything. It just means he likes playing. It still brings a tingle to the pit of his stomach which he crushes swiftly and surely. There’s no point in useless hope.

He brings it over to the chair by Michael’s drawing board and sits down, settling it gently on his legs and making sure no pressure is on his prosthesis as he sits with the guitar. He takes a few deep breaths before he strums. Of course the guitar is finely tuned.

He still checks everything before softly starting to play. He’s played Wonderwall a thousand times, he’s sick as hell of it but he still plays it first every time he picks up a guitar. Old habits are hard to break. He plays bits of the melody to warm up, humming alongside it as he does. Five minutes in, he’s relaxed, he’s more settled, he feels good.

He drifts from Wonderwall, eyes closing as he moves over to various songs from Breaking Benjamin, stripped down versions of My Chemical Romance, seamlessly switching to Blink 182, Placebo, Snow Patrol and The Strokes. He loses himself in A Perfect Circle, in Third Eye Blind and The Cranberries, resurfacing after he’s hit Linkin Park, Gavin Degraw, Panic! At the Disco and the odd Spice Girls song just to switch it up.

He lets the last note fall as he breathes out, smiling at the peace he feels just from the instrument in his hands, his voice slightly raspy from singing and the contentment of being wanted and free in Michael’s space. He smiles to himself, taking another deep breath as he opens his eyes again, looking at his watch to find that almost three hours has passed since he started playing. He’s not surprised though, music has always been the place he felt the most free, the most able to be himself.

He takes another deep breath, briefly closing his eyes again as he centers himself before he looks up at the plants. They look the same, but no worse either, so he figures he’s done all he can for the day. He decides to go home for the night, he’ll come back tomorrow and continue trying his best to keep them alive. He doesn’t want to fail now.

———

The shock comes when he gets down the ladder the next evening after a gruelling day at the base. He comes down expecting the plants to be their usual droopy selves but instead he finds them perked up, their foliage nice and green, the flowers shining and pretty. He almost calls out Michael’s name to check if he’s there, but he knows he’s not, having talked to him just an hour earlier. He’s still in Albuquerque, still there for a couple days with Isobel and the newly arrived Max. Just three aliens in the big city, he’d joked, Max hissing at him to keep his voice down in the background while Isobel laughed. They deserve the time away to just be siblings, after everything. But the thrill of Michael calling him still sits in his brain, making him smile.

But there’s still the mystery of the plants. Happier plants. Plants who don’t look like they’re on the brink of giving up. And the only thing he did differently was playing guitar and singing. Maybe that’s how Michael keeps them happy. He decides not to mistrust his instincts the way he usually does and after checking the soil and making sure everything else is okay he gets out the guitar again. He still starts with Wonderwall, still hates it, still can’t break the habit. But he moves along faster than yesterday, switching to other songs of Oasis, moving along to Death Cab for Cutie, The White Stripes, Stereophonics and HIM, before jumping over to Shinedown, Muse, Journey and Creed. He plays for hours like yesterday, loves every minute of it, and feels more relaxed when he opens his eyes again at the end and sees the plants visibly better in front of his eyes.

He laughs to himself, a laugh filled with more desperation and relief than he wants to admit. But it’s okay. Maybe he can do this.

———

He spends hours down in the bunker the next two days, playing everything and anything he has in his repertoire, rediscovering the love he has for the music he grew up with and feeling the thrill of just his hands, his voice and the guitar, surrounded by Michael’s space, Michael’s plants, Michael’s mechanics. He’s surrounded in every way by Michael Guerin, and his own wants, hopes and dreams for the man and what he longs for them to become. He’s spent years away from Roswell and Michael before but now, after one week of him gone, after one week of his voice in his ears as they talk and laugh on the phone until Isobel or Max drags him away, he misses him. Misses everything that they were, everything that they are, everything that they’re heading for. And Alex knows where they’re headed, now. Knows where he wants them to head.

He’s there when he hears Michael’s truck, still playing guitar, strumming along on notes shaping up to be another song, the melody forming underneath his fingers as words form in his head. He doesn’t stop playing, but instead listens as the truck stops and Michael gets out, as his heavy steps move towards the bunker and down the ladder. He opens his eyes as Michael stops, watches him with a smile forming as Michael stares at him and the plants in awe.

“Damn Alex, I’d have stayed home if I knew listening to you play was on the menu.”

Alex snorts, stopping his strumming and placing the guitar back in the case before he gets up on his feet. “It was the only thing I could think of to keep them alive. We had a few dicey days before I started playing, and apparently they liked it.”

“You’re a good player, Alex, no wonder they liked it.”

Alex smiles, taking a step closer to Michael. “Maybe. I’m just glad I got to be here, it’s been fun.”

Michael tilts his head in that inquisitive way of his, but Alex just shakes his head. His revelations and discoveries are too heavy for this moment, he’ll get to them eventually. Michael nods, understanding without needing words that this is something to be left for now. They’re good at that, easy, silent communication. Too bad they kind of suck at the harder communication, but that’s all fixable.

“Hey. Thanks for doing this.”

“Any time, Michael.” Alex looks down for a second. “I’m happy you trusted me with this.”

“I had no doubts you could do it. The doubts were all yours.”

Alex can’t deny that’s true. But here, in the bunker, surrounded by plants and Michael smiling at him in his carefree and relaxed way, Alex feels another doubt snap. And before he lets himself second guess it, he steps forward and cradles Michael’s face in his hands. He sees the look of shock, but also the hope that blooms in Michael’s eyes and pulls him softly towards him in case Michael pulls back. But he doesn’t have to worry, Michael pushes forward as easily as Alex pulls and their lips meet softly. It’s a sweet kiss, a familiar one, but no less exciting with no small amount of fireworks firing in the pit of Alex’s belly as Michael puts his arms around his waist and pulls him closer still. It’s everything Alex wanted, everything he needs, the appreciation and love for Michael flaring as their first kiss in a long time keeps on going.

It turns from sweet to needy, to wanting, to unbelievably hot quickly, but that’s always the way it is with them. They can’t help but want each other in all ways. They both break apart at the same time, moving away from the kiss but not from each other, leaning their foreheads together as they smile and laugh at each other, their happiness bubbling between them. It’s never a question if both of them want it, they already know that. Maybe this time they can have it too.

“So,” Michael says after a while. “My plants decided to try and die on you and you got them back by singing and playing to them? How’s you figure that out?”

“Well.” Alex sneaks another kiss just because he can, a thrill going through him as Michael hums in a happy tone. “I figured you sang to them. You know, since your guitar was down here.”

Michael pulls back and gives him a puzzled look. “Alex, I live in an old airstream in the middle of a junkyard. I keep it down here so it won’t be stolen.”

“Oh,” Alex says. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Michael kisses him again. “I’m glad you can afford not to.”

“Guerin-”

“No, Alex. Your life has been shitty enough, be happy you don’t have to worry about that too.”

“How about...” Alex pauses, gathering his courage. “How about you keep it at my place? It’ll be safe there too.”

“Oh yeah?” The smile Michael gives him is blinding, beautiful. Happy. “You wouldn’t mind having me in your space?”

Alex smiles in return. He leans in, kissing Michael dirty and hot, the way both of them want it. ”I definitely wouldn’t. I’ll even take the plants, if you want to.”

He smiles wider as Michael laughs, head thrown back with unruly curls bouncing as he does. They need to talk, figure them out and take it day by day. But he’s so gorgeous, and Alex wants to keep him forever. Him and the green things who are perking up even more in Michael’s presence. And here he thought they were bonding.

“The guitar first. The plants we can talk about down the line,” Michael replies when he finally stops laughing. He tilts his head forward, looking at Alex through long lashes. Alex feels the same want bubbling in his stomach as always. He wants Michael in his bed, in his kitchen, in his living room. He wants him close, he wants them to be good. Together. They have a long way to go still, but it feels like a beginning. It feels like hope.

“I’d like that.”

#roswell new mexico #malex #malex fic #rnmremix2021 #my fic #that feeling when you forget the name of your fic #and give it the incorrect title

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crystalirises · 3 years

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In Dreams I See You, In Reality You Haunt Me

Today is a good day

For angst

Aka

I want angst and I haven’t been fed in daaaaays.

So... have this.

TW: Sleep Deprivation, Near Death Experiences, Implied Death Experience, and Suicidal Themes (at least in other people's POV)

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/82150489

When he’d asked his grandson to meet him in the ruins of New L’Manburg, he was unprepared for the person he would meet. He stood on top of the glass, eyes cast low to the crater of a country that once was. Red vines had crept along the crevices, consuming the land that they had tried so desperately to get rid of. He’d heard of the red egg, a being that was spreading throughout the land. Though Phil couldn’t find it in himself to care, so long as it left those he loved alone, then he’d let it thrive and consume the Essempy. He was so busy contemplating that he barely even noticed the hurried footsteps of his grandson until Fundy practically ran into him.

Phil flinched away, messy ginger hair and dark circles beneath the eyes reminded him of the last time he’d seen his son. He held Fundy at arms length, the tired fox hybrid blinking profusely like he wasn’t sure there was a person right in front of him. His hair was a tangle of uncombed hair, grayed at the edges with… soot and gunpowder. Fundy eyes were dull, devoid of any life, the dark circles beneath them only seemed to pop out against too pale skin. His clothes were a mess, his usual white shirt covered in dust and black with ash. He was shivering despite the warm sun that reflected off the glass, his black jacket didn’t seem to be able to keep him warm. Phil shrugged off his green cloak, it wasn’t made to keep anyone warm, but if it helped Fundy. He tied it around his grandson’s shoulders, but Fundy didn’t seem to acknowledge him at all. Phil sucked in a breath, smelling cinder and destruction. His grandson looked just like Wilbur now…

“When’s… the last time you slept and took a bath, mate?” Phil chuckled nervously, reluctant to let go of Fundy in case he decided to faint. Fundy jolted at his voice, blinking away his exhaustion, a weary yet confused smile appearing on the fox hybrid’s face. “You look like shit.”

“Huh? Uh no, no sleep. Bath… I… Why am I here? Oh, you wanted to talk to me…” With every word, Phil found himself slowly frowning. Fundy giggled, shaking his head as though to remember why he was there. “I was… I was blowing up my house. I, uh, a demon lives there, ya know? It’s in my dreams, in my house. Wilbur came by one time too, the demon was gone then.”

“Wilbur visited you?” His heart ached, his son really was alive…

“Uh huh, he was… he was standing there… all Wilbur-like.” Fundy let out a yawn, eyes fluttering close for a moment before he flinched, reaching up a hand to slap himself awake. Phil’s eyes widened. Was Fundy… intentionally refusing to sleep? He kept a gentle grip on Fundy’s arm, reaching down to untie the lead that kept Friend from wandering off too far. He didn’t doubt Fundy’s claim that he’d blown up his house, but that meant Fundy didn’t have a place to stay, and he wasn’t about to let his grandson wander off on his own. “Why am I here, Phil? What d—”

“Nothing you have to worry about, mate.” He would want to ask Fundy where Wilbur had gone off to, but he wouldn’t want to upset his grandson. He knew how… Fundy felt about Wilbur. He needed Fundy calm and relaxed, enough to push him into falling asleep. With the lead in one hand and his grandson’s arm in the other, he slowly led his grandson and Friend in the direction of the nether portal. “You’ll need a place to stay… I have a spare bed that you can sleep in—”

“NO!” He nearly fell to the ground in Fundy’s haste to get away from him, the fox hybrid pulling against Phil’s hold. Phil pitied his poor grandson… he wasn’t holding Fundy that strongly but he couldn’t seem to get out of Phil’s hold. “I don’t want to sleep! The demon is waiting to kill me!”

“Fundy, mate, there is no demon. There are no demons, they’re just nightmares, mate. You’re fine! They can’t get you in the dreams.” Fundy had started to cry now, shaking his head so fast that Phil was surprised he wasn’t getting sick. Friend let out a soft baa beside them, nudging Fundy’s leg as it to calm him. “I cannot, as your guardian, let you live while you’re in this state.”

“You don’t understand, I can’t go back in there. I-I can’t go back to that desert wasteland. I can’t, Phil! I can’t!” It was sad to watch, and Phil knew he’d have no choice but to take Fundy back. His grandson could get in a lot of trouble if Phil were to leave him alone. “Grandpa, please!”

“Fundy, you need to sleep. You’re wasting away like this.”

“I don’t need sleep! Wilbur even told me… he told me that if I wanted to keep the demon away that I… that I didn’t need sleep! I’m fine. ‘m fine!” After a few more seconds of struggling, Fundy slumped over, eyelids fluttering close. Phil adjusted his hold, praying for his back before pulling Fundy up into his arms. It wouldn’t be a proper sleep, fainting was different from sleeping, but they’d have to settle on this for now. He glanced over at Friend, the blue sheep giving Phil a baa before walking forward. At least Friend wasn’t trying to make a break for it while Phil was distracted, the poor sheep probably did want to search for Ghostbur… oh, right.

“I’m so sorry, mate.” Friend didn’t look at him, but Phil was sure that the sheep understood why.

He shook his head, he’d have to make sure Fundy got a better sleep schedule once they got home. With his grandson in his arms, and Friend in front of him, Phil started to head back home.

Surely Techno wouldn’t mind seeing his nephew again.

---

Techno wiped the sweat off his forehead, his breath coming out in cold puffs of smoke. He leaned against one of the spruce trees, taking a moment to breathe in the air of the arctic, the chill wind blowing through his pink hair. The hair tie must have come loose at some point during his training, he’d have to find it in the snow later on. He sniffed, the icy wind smelt of an incoming blizzard. He’d have to bring Carl inside the stables and collect Steve who’d gone out to go fishing in the nearby ice lake. His gaze turned towards the cabin, smoke coming out from the open window. He could only hope that Phil was cooking and that Fundy hadn’t caused a fire. He wouldn’t blame the poor kid, but it certainly would be exhausting to rebuild the house again.

Speaking of his nephew, Techno’s ear flicked up at the sound of a door creaking open. A familiar fox hybrid sneaked out the door, glancing around before pausing to look in the distance. He followed Fundy’s gaze, unsure if his delirious nephew was looking at Steve or at the ice lake.

He sheathed his sword, heading back towards the cabin. Fundy was very unstable, no matter how hard Phil had tried, Fundy refused to sleep. Techno would have to herd or drag him back inside.

Techno paused at the bottom of the steps, careful to avoid Fundy’s gaze, an easy feat to accomplish for he was too occupied to even notice Techno’s presence. He moved up the stairs, feet gently thumping against the wood, but the noise was enough to cause Fundy to bolt.

He glanced over at Techno, dull brown eyes blown completely wide before Fundy jumped off the side of the patio. Techno rushed forward, but Fundy had jumped down into the small pond. His tail was raised and bristled, his teeth bared at Techno while he let out a low growl. He made a move to jump down, preparing himself for the shock of jumping into ice cold water. Luckily, the water only reached up to his knees. Fundy screamed as he jumped down, running further away.

His heart seemed to freeze in his chest. Fundy was headed towards the ice lake. He raced after him, unclasping his blue cape along the way as it was only extra weight. Fundy was quicker, pouncing past fallen tree logs and rocks. He was determined, Techno gave him that. If only his nephew could put that energy into a hobby that didn’t involve jumping into freezing ice lakes.

“Fundy! Fundy!” Techno chased him down, “Fundy, you don’t know how to swim!”

He didn’t get a response, but Techno expected that. Fundy had reached the edge of the river by this point, pausing to glance back at Techno. “Fundy, get away from the edge. Now. Or else.”

His nephew was shivering. Frost had already formed on his dripping wet clothes.

“Mama.” Techno’s nose scrunched up. He hoped his nephew wasn’t hallucinating him for Wilbur’s wife, whose name he’d never been told for Wilbur was adamant to keep her a secret. Fundy scooted closer to the lake, shaking his head the moment Techno took a few steps forward. The fox hybrid had wrapped his arms around himself, his body aware that he was freezing even if his mind was muddled with sleep deprivation. Techno would have to research more on the topic. Fundy pointed at the lake, tears flowing past his cold cheeks despite his smile. “Mama!”

Fundy tried to jump.

Techno rushed forward, taking Fundy by the arms before setting him on his shoulder.

“Mama!” Fundy squirmed in his grasp, reaching back for the ice lake. Techno huffed, lugging his confused nephew back to the cabin, trying desperately to tune out Fundy’s cries. It hurt to hear.

It did hurt to hear, more than he cared to admit. He headed back to the cabin, waiting for Fundy to tire himself out. It was the only sleep he ever got nowadays, if fainting counted as sleep. He glanced back towards the river, unsure of why Fundy had insisted that his mother was in the lake. Phil hadn’t mentioned hallucinations, but Techno knew the signs. He’d heard them all his life, the voices. Fundy had visions, not voices, or maybe he had both. Techno paused on the way, waiting for Fundy’s breath to lull down. He only continued to head back once he was sure Fundy had passed out. He’d have to find a way to get his nephew to sleep. He’d die if he stayed awake.

Now, if he saw his twin brother, he’ll have to ask why Fundy thought a lake was his mother.

---

“I’m not a fucking babysitter, Phil!” It was too late, his dad had flown off before Tommy could curse at him further. He scowled, turning back to his… nephew. Gods, that was so fucking weird.

“Hey, big man. You look shit, you know?” Fundy glanced up at him, the book he’d been reading (though if you’d ask Tommy he was sure that Fundy was just staring at the page) completely forgotten. He sighed, sitting across from Fundy for a moment. It was unsettling - fucking creepy, if you asked him - how Fundy hadn’t stopped staring at him, if anything, he wasn’t sure if Fundy had even blinked once since he’d started staring. “Hey… You know that’s… You okay, Fundy?”

“... Why are you a ghost?”

He felt a chill run down his spine. He traced the scars on his skin, dark forest green eyes flashing in his mind, the stench of decay and blood hitting him in full force. His throat had gone impossibly dry. No one had known of his death, at least, no one had tried to talk to him about it. Fundy wouldn’t… how would he know? “You know you can’t just ask me that kind of question.”

“... How did you die?”

“I did not—” Tommy slammed his hands on the table, the noise startling Fundy. The fox hybrid blinked, mouth agape as if he was only seeing him for the first time. Tommy took a deep breath, counting down from ten before sinking back in his seat. He didn’t remember Fundy being so rude, but then again, he didn’t remember ever seeing Fundy tired. He looked at the dark circles underneath his eyes, wincing at how familiar the look was. “I’m not dead, and I’m not a ghost.”

A clear look was in Fundy’s eyes as he looked at the scars that traced Tommy’s hands.

It disturbed him. Fundy looked aware for the first time since he’d gotten to Phil’s house.

“I can’t sleep.”

“What?” Tommy leaned back against his chair, tilting his head as a bitter smile crossed Fundy’s tired face. He’d known that Fundy was going through some shit, but he didn’t know about what.

“These past few weeks, everytime I close my eyes I could see him.” Fundy curled in on himself, his face buried in his hands. Tommy winced, afraid that Fundy might start sobbing and that he wouldn’t be able to do anything. “I’ve had these nightmares. I can’t sleep because I always wake up in the desert, alone. The van is always there, until it isn’t. Then there are books, and they tell me to wake up. I… I’ve been trying to stay awake but Phil and Techno say that’s not healthy.”

“... They’re right, Fundy, and you know I hate agreeing with Techno of all people.”

“I can’t sleep, Tommy. I won’t.” Tommy didn’t know how long it’s been since Fundy’s had a proper rest, but there’s a reason why Phil had brought him back with him. If Fundy looked like shit now, gods know what he’d looked like when Phil first found him. “He’s waiting for me.”

“Who…?” Tommy frowned.

“The demon.” Fundy paused, and shook his head. “No, not the demon. Wilbur.”

---

He’d escaped. Phil was busy in the mines and Techno had been on the cusp of hibernation. He’d had to run from Steve but he’d gotten away from the arctic and back to the Essempy. Fundy walked down Prime Path, a voice whispering into his ear. His dad was calling him, and Fundy really wanted to see him again. The one in the real world, the one in his nightmares terrified him.

He reached the top of the hill, casting his eyes to the right where the walls of L’Manburg were (once were? no, they were right there). His dad said he’d wait for him at the bench. Well, it was Tommy and Tubbo’s bench but his dad said to meet him there. He swayed at the top of the stairs, shaking his head as he turned to look towards the bench. His dad stood by the edge, the sun illuminating the blue of his uniform. He felt something wet run down his cheeks. He reached up, surprised to find that he was crying. Why was he crying when his dad was right in front of him?

“There you are, Fundy.”

“Hi, dad.”

He stood next to his dad, basking in the sun that was setting in the distance. The sky had turned a beautiful mix of orange, purple, and pink. He couldn’t remember the last time he and his dad had taken the time to watch the sunset. He felt an arm snake around his shoulders, keeping him in place. His dad moved forward a bit, Fundy hesitating to follow. His dad hadn’t turned around to face him yet. His tail stopped wagging, his ears pressed to the top of his head. Was his dad angry at him? Had he taken too long to get to his dad? He let out a small whine, but then an arm ruffled his hair. A smile found its way to his lips. Oh. His dad wasn’t mad at him. That’s good, great.

“How’s my little champion?”

“I missed you.” He hesitated, but reached up to hold his dad’s hand. It’s been years, but somehow his hand still looked so small against his dad’s. He laughed nervously, his hold gentle as if afraid that the vision would end. But it wasn’t a vision. “I missed this version of you, dad.”

“Hm… come with me then.”

His dad finally turned around, a kind smile on his face before he turned back to walk forward.

His breath stuttered in his throat, his dad’s hand suddenly slipping from his hold. His dad was walking away, right into the sunset. Fundy could feel his breath quicken, his head heavy with nausea. His dad was leaving him again. His dad was leaving again. But he said Fundy could go with him, didn’t he? He took a step forward to follow after his dad, climbing over the wooden fence that was in his path. He reached out a hand, calling out for his dad… then he was flying.

He didn’t dare to loosen his grip.

Wilbur breathed through clenched teeth, grasping his son by the arm before willing himself to pull him up. Fundy had fainted, good. Wilbur didn’t want Fundy, his son, to struggle against him.

After a few agonizing seconds, he’d pulled Fundy away from the edge of the cliff.

He held Fundy in his arms, eyes tracing the dark circles beneath Fundy’s eyes. He’d been on a walk down the path when he’d seen his son climbing past the fence. Wilbur couldn’t believe it, but Fundy hadn’t stopped, eager to jump off the edge as quickly as he could. He had been lucky, he’d grabbed just as he fell. He cradled his son in his arms, pressing a kiss to Fundy’s forehead.

“Oh, my little champion…” Wilbur held Fundy closely, “Why would you do that to yourself?”

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Clarification:

I know he's supposed to be at least out of it... but I wanted Fundy to talk to Tommy cause honestly, I want more of their dynamic. It's like a friendship that doesn't seem like it would hold up... but I think if there's two people on the Dream SMP who has suffered to much, it's Tommy and Fundy.

#fundy #philza #technoblade #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp

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todaydreambelieversfic · 3 years

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Author Spotlight: Gleefuldarrencrissfan Day 2

Author: @gleefuldarrencrissfan

Share one of your strengths.

I've been told that I do a great job writing in each character's voice, especially Blaine, Kurt, Santana, Brittany, and Finn. It's very important to me that my characters remain true to who they are. I work very hard to make sure that each one sounds like they would in the show.

I've also been told that I'm great at cliffhangers. Honestly, I end on cliffhangers a lot as I try to figure out which route I plan to take for the story. I map out stories, but sometimes, the story takes me in a different direction. I also like to take suggestions from my readers. Many times, I have multiple scenarios on the direction in which the story can go. I love keeping my readers on their toes.

Share one of your weaknesses.

Well, because I have so many scenarios running through my head, I sometimes get stuck, and so, I don't update regularly. I used to try to publish weekly or more, but as a mom of two, a full time assistant in a high-needs classroom, an avid crafter, and a member of a band, my plate stays pretty full. I hope that my readers will subscribe and drop a comment from time to time to remind me to keep writing.

Which fic has been the hardest to write?

I'm going to bring up two, Dueling Duets and Love, Blaine. Dueling Duets is a complex fic with many characters and a very intricate plot. On top of that, Blaine has PTSD, as do I. It became too painful to finish this, so it is the only fic of mine that is abandoned. I would like to finish it, but I just don't see that happening any time soon.

Love, Blaine was so difficult for me because I wrote it all before publishing, and I thrive on feedback. I kept going back and rewriting scenes over and over because I just couldn't make up my mind about certain things. I also get anxious with a timeline hanging over my head, and so I went past the deadline. Unfortunately, my appendix decided to burst the week I was supposed to publish, so I was trying to write through the pain. I did finish it, and I'm proud of it, but I probably won't put myself through that again.

Which fic has been the easiest to write?

Private Messages, by far. Honestly, it was so easy because Kurt was me in a sense, a fanfic author, desperate for feedback on his writing. I also outlined this fic thoroughly, and so it just seemed to flow when I got to a certain point. It is by far, my most popular fic, and honestly, it is my favorite of all of the ones that I've written. Don't get me wrong. It was very complex, bouncing back and forth from Blaine's and Kurt's perspectives, with plotlines from the show, Kurt's story, and the actual story all coming together and interweaving at times making it difficult to write, but I always knew where it was going, and so it was the easiest to finish.

Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

It's one of my passions, along with music and crafting. I'm an artist at heart, and so I'd never be happy or fulfilled in life if I wasn't creating in one shape or form. I honestly love the way art makes you feel, both as the artist and as the person affected by other people's art. My favorite thing is one someone tells me how my writing or work made them feel.

I'm also writing educational children's books, and I hope to inspire kids in the future to love to learn, and so it is a major passion of mine to be a published author and get my books out there for kids to read.

Is there an episode or character or arc above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

Blaine Anderson. He was by far the character that inspires me the most, probably because I see myself in him, the confident, happy performer who is really quite insecure and maybe even depressed. I wish that the show would have let us see more of his personal life. At felt like, at times, he was just Kurt's boyfriend, but he was so much more than that. It would have been nice to actually see his home, his parents, and his brother to get greater insight on why he is the way he is. Thank god for fanfiction.

What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Just write. The first draft does not have to be perfect. That's what editing is for. Get yourself a beta, dig in, and just get the words on the page. No one can read your work if the pages are all in your head.

What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Stick to what you know. That's what research is for. Branch out. Explore. Interview and talk to others. Although, if you are researching something embarrassing, for example, Brazilian waxing, use incognito mode. lol.

If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Private Messages. I just love this story, and I think it would best translate into a movie. Besides, Blaine is an actor in this one, so it works.

What’s your process? Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order? Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines? What are the perfect writing conditions for you?

Ha ha. I find it funny that I have a process because it depends on the fic I'm writing at the time. for my more complex stories, I do best when I map them out first. I don't do a complex map, just a basic synopsis of the first 10 chapters or so, and then a rough outline afterward. Of course, I keep it a soft outline, and I also plan a few other scenarios in case the story goes in a different direction. Even Chris Colfer says that his characters surprise him in his stories, and so I'm in good company, I suppose.

However, on my shorter stories like Rim Job, and idea just comes to me, and I just write what comes to me, and then I even take suggestions from my readers about further chapters. I guess it just depends on the tone of the fic. If it's serious, I'm much more structured, but on my less serious pieces, I just have fun and write.

The perfect conditions are when I'm alone (be it when others are sleeping or out of the house) and I can just allow my muse to work. I put on some background noise (Glee music or episodes) for inspiration and just sit down in front of my laptop with my notebooks. Many times, I have scenes written in my notebooks before I type them out (I write when I'm waiting at the dr.'s office or at work during a break, ect) so all I have to do is type and polish the scene. Unfortunately, I have several scenes in my notebooks that haven't made it into a word document yet just because of lack of time. Hopefully, I will catch up this summer.

***

Check out Gleefuldarrencrissfan’s Fics

Somewhere Only We Know - Blaine has three little words on his mind when he says good bye to Kurt in the court yard at McKinley. Can he make himself declare them out loud? An alternate ending to "Born This Way"

Silly Love Songs - It's Valentine's Day, and Blaine had plans to serenade Jeremiah. But what if Blaine discovered the doodle Kurt made in Silly Love Songs before he serenaded Jeremiah? The scene at the Lima Bean is canon and everything to the point of Kurt sketching the doodle, but the ending, of course will be how I had hoped it would've happened.

Courage - Do you believe that one moment can change the course of your life? That one event change the way you saw everything, or do you think it's a series of moments that build from one experience to the next. A year ago, I would've said that was crazy. But I'm not the same guy that I was a year ago.

#author spotlight: gleefuldarrencrissfan

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yhmisun · 3 years

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*//𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒆: introducing 𝐘𝐄𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍!

hi petals 🥰 i'm so thrilled to be here with you all and bringing you this gullible little lioness!i promise i'll get to all ims soon, but my alias is penny, my pronouns are she/her and i'm in the est tz! this is my bby misun - the very soft-spoken principal of kwangsook academy. despite the shady way she ended up with it, she quite loves her job, as well as all the students and faculty at kwangsook :D i will have her full bio up sometime soon, but for now, you can find some relevant links and some bullet points under the cut! if you'd like to plot something out, feel free to hit the heart so i know and i'll come buzz you in ims! tw - brief mentions of death cw - workplace affair

statistics. // bio. // headcanons. // plots. // musing blog. // pinterest.

━ ❖ (kim ahyoung “yura,” cis female, she/her) hey thank you for coming to town hall to update your information yeo misun! you’re a citizen correct? good to know! are you enjoying yourself around yunhwa? you’ve been staying here two years right? i’m glad! remind me, are you born on 14/12/1992? we’re so lucky to have someone so dedicated around as a principal at kwangsook academy even if sometimes you can be credulous. hope to see you around the house #3034, hwesakgu!

born and raised in busan, the city was imbued in misun's veins. she was in love with how the highest skyscrapers mingled with the clouds on overcast days and how life always seemed to be racing by. her childhood was a happy one, as she gained a younger brother and sister along the way.

her mother was a science teacher and her father a commercial fisherman at the local dock. it wasn't uncommon for him to be gone for weeks at a time in order to bring an income into the household, so misun was often left in charge of her younger siblings. it was something she thrived at honestly, as she'd always had this nurturing way about her. she didn't even argue with her siblings much, she mostly just played peacekeeper when they fought amongst themselves.

she ran through the typical cycle of dream occupations as any child would. she had a particularly tight grasp on astronomy for awhile, but she also always appreciated her mother's work in the field of education.

misun could be be rather mild-mannered, but she loved to run free in the yard, as if the fence that boxed it in existed in another realm entirely. as she grew older, she picked up several hobbies that always seemed to lend to a tranquil state of mind, as it was her favorite feeling in the world. painting and surfing were two of her favorite things to do, once she learned the basics of them. some of her most cherished memories of her father were the trips they took to the beach whenever he was home for the week so that he could see what she had learned for himself. she'd never forget the proud smile he wore.

[tw:death] she was fourteen when her father's boat sank in the korea strait, he and all of his crew being lost in the tragedy. they were at least able to hold a funeral for him; and misun always knew it was something that could happen in the logical side of her brain - but that was rarely the side she wanted to agree with. it was extremely hard on the family for his already too brief presence to have lessened to nothing, and it was years before any sense of normalcy was felt. [end tw]

it was fortunate that misun was so prone to being a parental figure in the household, as she was able to help her mother with her brother and sister while the woman grieved. it was simply in misun's nature to forego her own feelings to give another what they needed.

there was a desperate need for the lost income to be restored in some way, as her father had been the primary breadwinner for the family. her mother's salary as a teacher simply wasn't going to hold four people afloat in the city for very long. misun spent years juggling her workload in school along with working part-time, putting her all into not only bringing home good grades that her mom could be proud of, but helping to keep the family's bills paid, as well.

by the time she graduated, misun had excelled so much in her studies, that she was offered two different scholarships, both of which would have easily covered the expenses of attaining her degree, a miraculous offer for the family who had no way to afford college for any of the three children in it.

the college experience was everything misun had hoped for; a chance to better herself, find herself and take a bit of a break from the full workload she'd been carrying for so long. she still worked part time, so that she could slowly add to the college funds of her brother and sister while she attended school herself, but it was nice to have such a heavy focus on her studies.

she'd come to find that she wanted to go beyond teaching. she enjoyed the thought of administrative duties in the school system; fighting the good fight so that students could always have the help they needed to prosper. it wasn't just about filling their brains with meaningless facts they'd forget over a summer anymore - it was about making sure they had the tools to make it in life.

while she did receive some brief classroom training as a teacher in her initial transition, once misun got her master's degree, she was able to fill the position of principal at one of the schools in the city. she fell in love with it immediately, as it fit right in with her facilitating nature. she had a knack for keeping the peace around the school and making sure things ran smoothly so that all the teachers and other faculty could do their jobs properly.

she even had a positive working relationship with the local school board and her superiors, one of whom seemed to have taken quite a shine to her. he'd find any opportunity to speak with her, even about the silliest things. it was quite odd for misun to see him go back and forth from a very personable man to a very stuffy superintendent on an almost weekly basis, but there was definitely something charming about him.

before she really knew it, he'd swept misun off her feet entirely. suddenly they were sharing their lunch breaks at romantic cafes and making excuses to see each other during inconvenient times. misun always saw the best in people, and the things she saw in him made her feel love on an intense plane. she felt special with him; wanted. she might have said he'd broken down all her barriers, if she'd ever bothered to put them up.

as sweet as the feelings were, she supposed she knew the relationship was inappropriate considering that he was practically her boss. still, she didn't want to let go of the happiness she felt, and that she thought he had felt to.

it wasn't long before he informed her of his suspicions that some of his co-workers had an inkling he was having an affair with one of the school faculty members in the area. he seemed to know it was only a matter of time before the truth would come out, so he would cover his tracks. he would make sure no one ever found out.

initially, they were only meant to 'cool things off' a bit so that the suspicion would die down. admittedly, if word got out about them, misun knew it would be quite the scandal, and he may have to step down from his position. it seemed like the logical thing to do to lay low for awhile.

she didn't see the next part coming, though; apparently it had been decided that she would take the hit entirely, in order to save them both. her superintendent had crafted the brilliant plan to transfer her to kwangsook academy out in the small town of yunhwa and away from the city that she'd always known and loved. she wouldn't have to worry, he'd told her. the job was all but hers after the glowing recommendation he gave her. 'thank goodness, right? now you won't have to face any humiliation.'

she was confused, hurt and more angry than she had ever been in her life. as lovely as yunhwa was, it wasn't her home back in busan. it wasn't her school district. why was it her life that had been uprooted, and hers alone? was he suffering any undesired changes in his life in the city? did he even care at all that she was gone?

still though, misun's resilience remained steadfast, even after her heart was broken. as bitter as she was about the forced move, she'd been given a job to do, and she was going to going to do it right. getting used to the small town lifestyle has been a major adjustment for her, but she's not really one to complain about her circumstances.

two years on, and she remains in yunhwa, functioning as the head of kwangsook academy. as lost as she'd felt initially, she's come to fit in at the school at last. she's a rather amicable person who gets along well with the other teachers and staff members. she's always willing to lend a helping hand when it's needed, and is extremely dedicated to making sure the school has everything it needs in the way of funding, materials, healthy lunches and meaningful extracurriculars. as unassuming as misun can be sometimes, she's very protective of her students!

#introyh #/pls forgive me for how long this got!!

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yeojaa · 4 years

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TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why. Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds. When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you. "Yes." Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic. Always had been. It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary. You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. who knows, honestly. the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.

tags. blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy, fluff, slow burn, smut, pining, unrequited love.

rating. ... 18+?

word count. ~7600

chapter 8.

You're reminded of how hard things like this are for you, anxiety digging its dull claws into the pit of your stomach and making the slow crawl up your sternum. It's not painful, per se, but the ache is there, evident with each swipe of your tongue, each persistent checking of your phone. You thrive on your own - much prefer it to the demand that sits heavy on your shoulders, working to coax you from your shell.

It's not that the people weren't nice. No, everyone was perfectly lovely.

Taehyung's friends had gone out of their way to chat with you. That is, except for Yoongi, who'd sat in silence next to you for the duration of time it took to eat his slice of cake - strawberry, you noted with deep satisfaction. He'd simply nodded when he'd finished, plate spotless, and walked off, back in the direction of the kitchen.

Even all of Gahyeon's friends were charming, the kind of people you'd want to grow up with. Beautiful women with the same sweet smile and flirtation on their fingertips; appealing men that had laughter rolling off them in tremendous waves as they shared inside jokes. They'd been incredibly kind, involving you as often as they could, asking about your life and interests and hobbies.

No, you didn't have a problem with anyone there. Well, maybe that wasn't true.

Perhaps you were a little frustrated, coloured a muddy green by the monster that lurked behind your uncomfortable smile. You shouldn't have been, though, and that was what drove you mad, pink swiping over your bottom lip in repetitive motions. Not even your Dior Lip Glow - brought out for special occasions and a far cry from your bubble gum balm - could save you.

Because he was right there. So close you could've closed the distance with an outstretched arm, curled your fingers around the turn of his silver-linked wrist and distracted him. Not that you would. Of course not.

You were here with someone else and well, he could do what he wanted.

The knowledge does little to quell the ache in your chest, though.

You'd always known Jungkook's effect on people - had felt it firsthand. The way he could make you feel like you were the only person in the world, as if every thought you had was worthy of his time. You knew the way he laughed, that godforsaken witch's cackle somehow endlessly endearing. Even those two larger-than-usual front teeth of his could be considered positive traits. They all amounted to more than you could ever begin to put into words.

So you try to ignore the way the sound nearly smothers you now, pervades your senses and beats against your eardrums. You turn your focus on something else - anything else - to forget the pealing bells of the girl he's speaking with and how, together, it sounds like music. You bite at nothing, gnashing your molars into oblivion when her voice joins the fray, velveteen and promising. You can imagine the way she looks at him - the same way you had, maybe still did - and how he'd be honey in her hands, seeping between her fingers.

"Actually, I know Jiyeon, too."

Your name tears you from your thoughts, snaps you into reality with a harsh tug. The same feeling comes physically, but far gentler. It's a hand on the back of your arm, just above your elbow. You almost flinch - almost - turning with what you hope is surprise and nonchalance on your face.

"Pardon?" The single word is laced with enough emotion to explode on impact, breaking across the dusty line of your obliterated enamel and slipping into the sharp evening breeze. Whether Dahye - you think that's her name - notices, you're not sure. She simply meets your stare with a pretty smile, delicate chin canted in curiosity.

It's Jungkook that has you reeling back, working desperately to rearrange your emotions, because whatever he'd expected to find in the shape of your mouth, the depth of your eyes - it isn't this.

The second feels like an eternity before it's swept up in the turn of his lips and his lovable laugh.

"I was just telling Jihye—" Dammit, wrong name. "—that we know each other." Something sweeps along the undercurrent of his response, tickling at the ends of syllables without overwhelming. Your eyes narrow, trying to read the answer he offers and everything in between.

Once upon a time, you'd thought you could read him like a book. Now, you're not so sure. The invisible ink disappears into his skin, the spaces between his teeth. They're not shades of gold, gleaming bright for your eyes only.

"What a small world," Jihye chirps, ever the benign figure. "Did you go to school together?"

He answers before you can, nodding in affirmation. "We were both doing art degrees. We got paired up for a few projects and helped each other out of tight spots." It shouldn't hurt, the way he speaks so nonchalantly. You should be bobbing along, offering casual anecdotes that give truth to his words. Instead, you feel as if you're six feet under and clawing at your own grave, sealed there by a one Jeon Jungkook.

Opening your mouth feels like a colossal chore and you're worried you won't be able to speak around the dirt that bites into your lungs. It tastes bitter and angry - gasoline and saltwater.

Neither of them notice, though, Jihye already somehow - no, you knew exactly how - enthralled in some story he's telling. He was an expert at that, after all, weaving colourful pictures with all the practice of Shakespeare. He'd done it for four years straight, dragging you through the fables that littered his brain.

"I'm going to get another drink," you announce, out of the blue, in the middle of their stupid mellifluous laughter.

Jihye waves as you leave. Jungkook would do the same, if he didn't feel locked in place by the sight of your retreating figure.

You make your way through dispersed throngs of people, greeting familiar faces when you pass them. There's Hoseok and Gahyeon standing together by the main entryway, the leading roles in a romance as they duck their heads and giggle together. Jin's booming voice can be heard from the kitchen, somewhere behind the state-of-the-art appliances because you can't see him. The familiar lilac of Namjoon's crown catches your eye exiting what you assume is the washroom, his beer held loosely between two fingers.

"Kim seongsangnim!" The title has him turning his head slowly, as if surprised. You know he isn't, spy it in the flat line of his smile. Still, he puts on a show, glancing this way and that to figure out who has called out to him.

It isn't until you're right in front of him, head barely clearing the slope of his jaw, that he exclaims. "Oh, Jiyeon-ah."

"Do you know where Taehyung went?" The question doesn't surprise him as he cocks his head toward what you assume is the rear of the home. "He, Jimin, and Yoongi-hyung are all downstairs. I was just heading back." Without missing a beat, you follow after him, trading your now-empty champagne flute for another on the kitchen island when you pass.

"Gahyeon's really nice," you muse, trailing after the other. You know you don't need to fill the silence, but you try anyway.

The producer hums in agreement. "Yeah, she is. I think she's good for Hope." You're not sure what that means but you're glad, all things considered. The two were like sunflowers, craning for warmer weather and rays; it made you happy they'd found each other.

"And what about everyone else?" It's a question that comes after a moment's hesitation. Your relationship with he and Yoongi had changed over the weeks, morphed into something more relaxed, but you still wondered where that invisible line sat. You worried, briefly, that you'd thrown yourself across it when Namjoon tosses a look over his shoulder.

"What do you mean?" There's no disapproval in his tone, only careful curiosity.

"Do any of you have someone special in your lives?" Another pause, tasting the inquiry before it can get you in trouble. "Or is anyone catching your eye here?"

You're treated with a laugh and that relieves the tension you're carrying, dragging it off your shoulders with the sound.

"It's not my place to say," Namjoon answers, unflappable. The respect he has for his friends is unparalleled. You like that about him. You feel silly for asking, though he continues speaking, voice softly amused. "I don't think any of us are going to find our next true loves here, though."

Your head cocks. He sounds so sure. "Why not?"

"Didn't you notice that's what most of these girls are looking for? It's hardest to find something when you're actively seeking it out."

Now that he mentioned it, you had noticed the way the other guests had seemed to make a beeline for the six - no, five - men who were otherwise strangers. You'd thought it was a little odd but had chalked it up to their good looks and whatever Gahyeon had shared about them. It clicks into place more slowly than it should. "Oh."

Namjoon chuckles but the sound is friendly, strings of mockery few and far between. "Exactly."

"Jiyeon-ah! You've come to join us!" The sandy strands catch the light before you see the rest of him, Jimin's head popping up over the back of some very comfortable looking chairs. He's half-turned to face you, beaming brightly as another head ascends into view beside him.

"She has a viewing room?" You can't help the way you sound, incredulous and envious all at once. Maybe you'd have to offer to be her live-in maid.

"Isn't it great?" Taehyung's at your side in an instant, brushing past Namjoon who settles into a seat a few feet away. You wave at Yoongi who's sequestered in a corner, playing with his phone and nursing a sizable glass of red wine, before meeting your boyfriend's stare. "I wasn't sure where you went but we got distracted in here." He sounds a little guilty, his lips soft against your cheek.

Your hand finds a home against his chest and you apply minimal pressure - the laziest rebuff you can possibly offer and one he ignores, arms looping comfortably around your waist. "You left me with the wolves." There's absolutely no malice in your words.

"They're not wolves! Everyone's really nice!" Jimin's not wrong.

"I'm kidding," you tease. "Though, Hoseok oppa might disagree." The sound of your snicker is amplified by the others' amusement, even Yoongi who looks up from his phone with a smug gummy smile.

"Did I hear my name?" The devil has materialized seemingly out of thin air, hip cocked as he descends the stairs. Luckily, he's alone.

"No!" You and Jimin chorus in near unison, sharing a conspiratorial grin before laying the rest of your charm - which you possessed nearly nothing of, in comparison to Jimin - on the suspicious brunet.

"Where's Gahyeon?" Taehyung verbalizes the question you're all thinking.

"Upstairs. She sent me to come get you." The answer is followed by a sniff, a wave of his hand as if he's indignant about whatever's been said. You know he isn't - and so does everyone else - but you play along like good sports, hmm-ing thoughtfully and expressing your thanks. "They want to play some get-to-know-you games. One of her friends is a teacher so she thought it was a good idea."

You meet Yoongi's stare over Taehyung's shoulder and you're pleasantly surprised he looks just as unimpressed as you feel. It makes you chuckle, stifling the sound into the collar of Taehyung's shirt.

"What are we, in sixth grade?" Despite the roll of feline eyes, Yoongi has risen from his seat and stepped closer to the stairs.

"Yes, you are." Hoseok's response is emphatic, as if he's talking to children. Then he's grinning, turning on his heel, and disappearing back the way he came. "Come on, kids!"

That garners a response, the remaining five of you shouting after him but doing as you're told, nonetheless, filing back up to the main floor.

"Jiyeon-ah, come sit!" Gahyeon's beckoning you from her seat, cross-legged and comfortable. There are open seats to both sides, and you sink into the one on her right, offering a grateful smile that she returns with ease. "Everyone, sit beside someone you don't know."

The look on Taehyung's face is that of a kicked puppy as she pointedly meets his gaze, gesturing for him to take up root elsewhere. You can't help but laugh, waving apologetically at your boyfriend's back as he drops into a spot across the loose circle, flanked by two girls that greet him warmly.

It surprises you how little it bothers you.

"I guess I'm here."

The last person you want beside you is joining you on the couch, Jihye nowhere in sight. He's got his hood up around his head, pulled forward like some kind of Sith Lord, and you can't ignore such a golden opportunity for mockery.

"Sorry - I'm not the droid you're looking for, Darth Vader." God, you're proud of that one, amusement twinkling in your eyes.

"Oh, right."

He makes a movement as if he's about to move but then whips around just as quickly, hand out, palm facing you. You take the bait, fingers flying to your throat in a dramatic re-enactment of the famous scene. You sputter around an obnoxious gasp, eyes rolling back as he laughs, the sound purposefully - and truthfully, very poorly - rasped out.

It's only when Gahyeon speaks that you're reminded of where you are and who you're with. You're immediately sober, straightening up at the same time Jungkook does.

"So, we're going to play some games to get to know everyone." No one dares scoff at the proposed activity. At least, not to her face. No one wants to see her angelic smile drop - or deal with whatever eccentric wrath Hoseok might unleash. "First, we'll do two truths and a lie. Pretty self-explanatory, right?" A single hand rises now, delicately presenting her generous glass of Riesling. Mischief dances across her expression. "Everyone will say which they think is the lie. For those that get it right, you don't have to drink. For those that do, a sip of your drink!"

"And no baby sips, either!" Her partner-in-crime choruses, raising his shot glass.

You study the near-full flute in your hand. Should you grab another?

"I've got you covered," comes the soft voice from your right and you follow the path of his fingers to the assorted soju bottles by his feet. A brow quirks in silent question and you meet his stare like a concerned mother. "Hobi-hyung told me to stock up before he went to get the rest of you."

You snort. "Well, you definitely did."

"Keep it up and you won't get any." His threat is rounded edges and hardly a threat at all.

It's so easy to get lost in a world with him, one miles away from this one. You have to bite back your response, instead returning your attention to the blonde on your left.

"I'll go first," she chirps, all sunshine and smiles. "I'm twenty-seven, I model, and I'm related to Shin Kwangho." The conspiratorial smile you receive is well-intended, but you're still dumbfounded for the right answer. You hadn't thought to ask how old she was or what she did and neither she nor Hoseok had offered anything up over the course of the evening.

Could you see him dating an older woman? Well, yes. But was she also beautiful enough to be featured on the cover of magazines? Also, yes.

Your brow furrows, fraught with confusion, and you barely hear the whisper above your right shoulder. "She's older than Hobi-hyung."

"Okay, at the count of three, please indicate with your fingers which you think is a lie." You think she'd be a wonderful MC or variety show hostess by the way she patiently studies the room, making sure each other person is ready. She's very much in her element now, surrounded by people she (mostly) intimately knows. "One, two— three!"

Your hand flies up, two fingers held up. Beside you, and along the circle, the same is reflected by most people.

"I'm not a model. I'm an art dealer." It's only Jin that's gotten the answer wrong.

He takes a swig from his bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a flourish before bowing to the winners. "I won't lose again," he promises. Yoongi laughs at that - a sound you hardly catch from where you sit, but that you can read in the way his lips pull back and his eyes crinkle.

"Your turn, Jiyeon-ah!"

Shit. You hadn't expected it to go counterclockwise. You scramble for facts and settle for stealing one of Gahyeon's. "I'm twenty-two, I have a cat, and um—" You're trying to think of a last one, your cheeks filling with air as you inhale deeply, seeking an epiphany in the breath. "—I play the piano."

You're not sure who will get it right. Jungkook, maybe. Taehyung, too. You're not sure how much you've revealed to Namjoon and Yoongi but you know they have a better chance.

"One, two— three!" Gahyeon's quick this time. She can read the room.

The results are varied, with most people holding two fingers aloft. As predicted, Jungkook's got his pointer finger in the air, pride stretching his smile and revealing adorable bunny teeth; Yoongi joins him in the realms of success and so do a handful of others who'd simply hazarded guesses. "I'm twenty-three. Sorry, everyone."

"But you’re twenty-two." The confusion reads like playful belligerence, filling the otherwise quiet circle as people take their requisite drinks. Taehyung's brow is knit, mouth drawn into a flat pout. He looks so cute, you almost want to give him a pity point.

Jungkook answers for you, shaking his head as his hand drops into his lap. "No, she's twenty-three."

The older of the two ignores the correction. "You said you were twenty-two."

"It was my birthday after we met."

"You didn't tell me?" Now that stirs the group, unease drawing forth conversation as it that might stifle the sudden discomfort. Even Gahyeon looks like she's at a loss for words, turning to Hoseok with a look of alarm in her eyes.

You're locked in a staring match with your boyfriend, unable to read the emotion that flickers across his face.

"Okay, let's keep moving!" It's Hoseok to the rescue, clapping his hands to gather everyone's attention once again. Taehyung breaks before you do, swivelling his stare to his friend as you heave a sigh. You'll deal with this later. "Jungkookie, it's your turn."

You feel him stir beside you, sitting up ever so slightly straighter as he speaks. "I have less than ten tattoos, I'm lactose intolerant, and I've been to Disneyland." You don't even have to think about your answer. He drank banana milk like he was made of it and he'd taken you to the happiest place on Earth for your birthday two years ago.

"One, two— three!"

Your pointer finger shoots up, as does Namjoon's, Yoongi's, and Jimin's. Jin's does, too, after a moment of hesitation. He seems eager not to lose again - at least, not so soon. Almost everyone else seems to have gone with the lactose intolerance lie.

"I've got more than ten tattoos." As if to prove it, Jungkook waves his hand around, showing off the ink that litters his otherwise unblemished skin.

People take their losses easily and the game continues, rolling to the girl next to Jungkook. She's beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way, with pretty eyes and thin petal pink lips. She lists her facts: half Japanese, born in America, and a former idol trainee. Everything seems about as preposterous as the next, so you don't think too hard, instead taking the time to rib your seatmate.

"The tattoo thing wasn't fair. You shouldn't get to use absolutes." You don't really mind - you hadn't lost, after all, but you like giving him a hard time.

He accepts it easily, allows it to slip off his broad back like a duck in water. "And you should've told TaeTae it was your birthday."

You’re not sure what you’d expected. He wasn’t wrong. No, not even a little bit. But you’re immediately on the offensive, mouth drawing into a flat line, sharp as the blade that seeks to slot between your ribs and remind you of your failures.

“I know.” You're begrudging, words barely audible behind your cage of teeth. They're coloured black and blue from an internal assault that drips saltwater into your lungs and has emotion sloshing over the edges like a too-full cup.

He should let it go. Your relationship isn’t the kind where he can ask these sort of things still - and yet he does. Wants to know for reasons he’s not quite ready to face. “Why didn’t you?”

Your answer comes slowly, following a sip of your champagne. Like a good third of the room, you’d guessed wrong.

“We’d just met. I didn’t want to bring it up and make it seem like I expected anything.”

Jungkook has to bite back a laugh because your reasoning is so very you it hurts. “Telling someone it’s your birthday isn’t a bad thing, Jiyeon-ah.” The shrug that rolls over your shoulders and tucks your chin against your chest would indicate otherwise.

He can’t help but sigh and turn his gaze to the next person, carefully choosing his words as he does his next answer.

(It was definitely three. There was no way she’d never had a boyfriend.)

“Imagine if you were in his shoes,” he reasons, finally allowing his eyes to flit back to your face. You’re focused on some point at your feet, not meeting his stare. “Honestly, neither of you are in the wrong. The fact that it’s coming out here, among a bunch of strangers, probably sucks, though.”

You won’t look at him but he can tell you’re listening, sees it in the telltale flex of your jaw and pursing of your mouth.

“Anyway, you should talk to him later. Explain yourself. He’ll appreciate that.”

“I know,” you say in a small voice that tugs at his heartstrings.

Right then and there, he wants to tell you everything you want to hear – lace together stories of happier days and stronger bonds. But it hurts a little, too, so he doesn’t.

He might want those things for you but he wants them with him.

“You got that wrong.” You choose to break the silence with a teasing prod, single digit digging into the taut line of his side. He blinks at you, surprised by the abrupt change in your mood. He knows it’s a façade – can practically see the mask lining your skin and fading into the strands at your temple. You’re holding yourself a little too tightly, the jab a touch too hard to be relaxed.

He takes the shot-sized swig without complaint, all the while meeting your eyes over the mouth of the green glass bottle.

“Careful.” It’s less of a reprimand than a gentle reminder, uttered quietly into the shell of your ear. Even at such a close proximity, it feels far away, shrouded in cotton balls and sugar dust.

You take a second to collect your thoughts, momentarily surprised by the weight of your tongue. You mull over this newfound sensation as it drags in your mouth, swipes lewdly over your bottom lip. “’m fine.” It comes out sounding anything but, vaguely slurred and off-kilter. Still, you push yourself straight – hands steadied against warmth that sears into your palms and flexes with the movement.

That’s not right.

You blink owlishly, eyes tracking movement much slower than you’d intended, and you find yourself drawn into the blinding glory of a smile. It’s amused, lips drawn wide around laughter that sinks into your eardrums and settles like feathers, further buffering the words that slip out in between each breath.

“You’re drunk.” Jungkook sounds terribly entertained when you settle back down, temporarily forgetting your earlier decision to stand up. You were too comfortable, caught between his solid form and the seat cushions.

“I’m not drunk!” And you’re not. A bit tipsy, perhaps. There’s a pleasant glow at the edges of your vision, heat warming you from the inside out as if there’s fire and brimstone in your chest. Sure, things might be moving a bit too slowly – or too quickly, depending on the moment – for your liking but it’s not enough to make you feel sick. It’s just vertigo when you move. You’d be fine.

Another laugh, softer this time, for your sake. He can see the petulance in your stare, the way you huff dramatically as you all but toss yourself against the back of the couch. It’s so dangerous when you’re this close and so beguiling. “Fine, you’re not drunk,” he agrees in a voice that isn’t very believable. “But you are something.”

“Yeah, she is.” A new voice – a familiar voice, you think. Your head swivels, searching for the sound, and lands with a dull thud on the man towering over your shoulder, handsome face scrutinising your own.

“Kim Taehyung!” The excitement forces its way out, spreading like honey over your lips and teeth and coating the words. You’re vibrating with delight, entire body shifting to hold yourself over the back of the couch. The movements aren’t nearly as smooth as you’d hoped, your knee knocking harshly into Jungkook’s hip, but you find your way there. “Where’ve you been?”

If he’s annoyed, he doesn’t show it, boxy smile tugging his mouth into the shape with ease. He’s got a hand on the side of your face, fingers threading into the downy softness at your nape. “You fell asleep on poor Jungkookie.”

The realization is unpleasant, shame climbing the column of your spine and settling comfortably into the hollow of your throat.

“I did what?” You think you might’ve screeched the words if you weren’t on the edge of inebriation, embarrassment painting your face in shades of scarlet and roses. It blooms beneath your cheeks and sinks into every other visible part of you, tipping your ears and nose brightly.

“Yeah, you’re really bad at calling people on their bullshit.” The broad figure beside you has the smuggest expression on his face. If you hadn’t just used him as your own personal pillow, you might’ve smacked it off.

As it stands, that’s probably not the best way to say thank you.

“I thought I was doing fine.” There’s that competitive edge, mirrored between your brows and in your words.

“You were,” your boyfriend reassures, quick to placate you. “But you don’t know many people so I think halfway through the first round, it kind of just went downhill.” You appreciate that he’s trying to make you feel better, softening the blow with his sweet smile and sweeter words.

“Then how come you’re fine?” You demand like it’s a personal affront.

“I don’t drink, remember?”

Okay, fair. “And what about you?” You’ve rounded on Jungkook, finger pressed into the centre of his chest, right over his solar plex.

“I’m not a lightweight.” He’s the opposite of Taehyung – completely okay with obliterating your ego, if only because you’re not not-drunk and anything he says won’t be remembered anyway. That, and it’s just too funny to see you all riled up, inhaling sharply as if to rebuff his words.

You look comical as your hands fly to your hips. It’s less so when you teeter in your half-reclined position, feet unsteady beneath your folded weight as you dare to tip back an inch too far.

Jungkook’s immediately reaching out, palm pressed to the small of your back to prevent you from toppling over, and Taehyung’s hand on your shoulder is gripping you tightly.

“Watch it!” Spoken in unison and shared with a look.

If you weren’t so grateful, you’d groan and tell them to get a room. “Okay, okay!” With their respective touches anchoring you in place, your hands fly up in surrender, held aloft in front of your face like some sort of white flag. “I’ll take it easy.”

“We should actually probably head home.” The words have you focusing hard, fuzzy attention turning to take stock of your surroundings. Most people – though there seem to be far less of them than when you’d less counted - seem to be edging toward the main foyer, ushered into the night by the gracious goodbyes of the hosts.

“What time is it?” You ask in the same instance you’re rising, feet landing on solid ground unsteadily. You wave off the hands that dart towards you, a bashful frown stirring across our chapped lips.

“Just after midnight.” Taehyung as he rounds the couch to you, fingers finding yours with ease before he tugs you close against his side. You’re not sure whether it’s for your benefit or his but you sink easily into him, head settling against his shoulder.

You try to ignore the way the third in your party turns away, hands jamming into the pouch of his hooded sweatshirt. He remains steadfastly removed when he speaks, though he’s soft, polite. “I’m going to see if I can help clean up.”

If his change of demeanour is evident at all, Taehyung gives no indication, simply reaching out to clap his friend on the shoulder. “We’ll see you, then.”

“Get home safely, Kook.” The words are barely out before you’re being led away.

You don’t miss how he turns at the last second, the same wistfulness you feel reflected in the quiet of his eyes.

You could very easily fall asleep like this, coaxed into dreamland by his touch. It feels so good, so soothing, traced into the length of your side and over any exposed skin he can find. You think he’s depositing sleeping powder with his lazy scrawl, inscribing everything left unspoken in the circular movements and sloping edges.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he hums happily into your neck, ignoring the way the hair there tickles his nose and gets into his eyes. He doesn’t mind these little things when he’s locked up in this piece of paradise.

“Thank you for inviting me.” You’re just as earnest, filled with all the eagerness of a budding relationship and untarnished by time.

Still, there are things you have to say. Things you want to apologize for, even if they seem miles away now.

“I’m sorry about the…” Careful, you think. You want to express yourself clearly, paint a picture that makes sense for both of you. Something real and true, despite your love for the abstract. You begin again. “I’m sorry for not telling you about my birthday and I’m sorry if that made it seem like I didn’t want to celebrate with you.” The usual rushed nature of your speech is decidedly lacking, instead lulled into a prudently composed apology. “We’d only known each other for a few days, and I didn’t want it to feel like an obligation.”

You don’t mention how the day had still felt been a dream because you’d spent it with him and that was all you could’ve asked for.

Against your shoulder, you feel his chin and the clear movement of his nod.

“I wasn’t mad,” he reassures with a sweep of his lips, meagre over cotton. “I felt silly—” You don’t deserve him and his honesty, how he bares himself up to you as if it’s the easiest task in the world. “—but I wasn’t angry and I didn’t mean to make it seem like it was.”

Your heart sings in your chest, a robin’s song that has you turning in his arms. It’s a little awkward, first untangling your legs and then hooking your knee over his hip, but it feels necessary. A physical token of how much you want him as you breathe life into the same verbal reminder.

“You know you’re too good at this.” Not that you’re complaining – not that you don’t love the openness with which he holds himself to you, laid plain for your prying eyes.

“Too good at what?” The question comes with a gift in the form of his signature smile. It follows with a suggestive roll of his hips.

You can’t help but laugh, depositing the sound against his bare chest. “Communicating, you animal!” The insult is anything but reproachful, instead dangling smugly over an almost wanton intonation. “You’re never afraid to say what’s on your mind.”

He’s got you held against him like he might swallow you whole and you don’t mind, finding peace in his warmth and softness.

“I just think if you never express how you feel, you’re never going to be able to get past it.” You want to liken him to some sage philosopher, the comparison growing stronger when he hums thoughtfully, gaze lost somewhere above your heads. “And I owe it to you to try, so it’s easier. I want this to work.”

Staring up into his face, memorizing the way his cheeks swell with his smile and his dark lashes frame eyes that crescent into pretty little moons, you understand.

“Me too,” you breathe, pressing a sugar sweet kiss to his bared throat.

You don’t miss the way he tenses around you before relaxing all at once, enveloping you with every part of him. His breath is hot in your hair, his hands familiar around your waist. You’re not sure whether you feel it in your lips or toes when he kisses you but you know it runs through every inch of you like a sugar rush.

It’s him that’s prompting you to drag yourself closer – if that’s even possible – and it’s him that’s got you seeking his taste, dragging your tongue over his bottom lip in some sort of bid for entry.

“Who’s the animal now?” Despite the playfulness in his tone, you can hear the creep of something else. Hunger, need – all the same things painting your breaths.

“Still you.” You murmur in between kisses that edge on sloppy, overly eager as they are. “But I can be, too.” A sharp tug at his bottom lip, edge of teeth sharp around the soft petal. “Not mutually exclusive, you know?” You don’t know how you’re finding words when all you want is him. It’s hard to be coherent around the Taehyung-shaped distraction your mouth is roaming across.

“You’re feisty when you’re drunk,” he quips, breathless against your crown when you descend further than the tantalizing slope of his neck, mouthing over the bare expanse of his honeyed chest.

The comment has you nipping gently, just enough to bloom crimson where your teeth have left little indents. “I’m not drunk.” Three words spoken more concisely than you have all night, driven to enunciation by sheer unabashed need.

“I’m kidding.” It’s less of an apology and more of a purr, stoking the coals that burn heavily in the pit of your stomach.

You’re tempted to remind him of his hubris once again but are rudely stopped by firm hands that rearrange you onto your back like you’re nothing but a ragdoll. By the way you huff, he knows you’re more than that – a girl with a beating heart and needs.

Forearms form a cage on either side of your head, and he lingers for but a moment, only long enough to catch you in a sweet, all-encompassing kiss that has your head spinning. You’re gasping when he withdraws, pitifully inclined to chase him when he slides further down your prone form, settling on his knees between your legs.

It’s a beautiful sight – better than the Mona Lisa or David or any of the greats.

His palm is soft on the swell of your hip, fingers tucking beneath the flimsy lace that nestles against your skin. He continues to feel the patterns that run through the material, smoothing it once, twice, before dragging it lower and lower in marginal increments. You feel like you might explode when it’s caught halfway down your thighs, stuck between his knee and complete freedom.

“Raise your legs, jagi.” The request shoots electricity up your spine. You don’t even have to think twice, doing exactly as you’re told, ankles brought parallel with your hips.

The scrap of fabric is gone then, loftily tossed across the room without a second thought.

You almost laugh, the sound bubbling forth but replaced by a keening moan when he sinks two fingers into you. Without time to adjust to the sudden intrusion, the burn is incredible, softened only by the slick that coats your thighs and drips over his fingers. He stretches you lazily, with slow measured pumps of his wrist; somehow, you’re already standing on the edge of a precipice, bliss calling your name from the abyss below.

He must see it in your face, framed between your pretty thighs that spread for him, calves resting heavily on his broad shoulders. “You’re so wet.” You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on by his voice, the way the velvet depths fill your ears with a melody. They play over the chords of your heart like practiced hands. “So ready and beautiful.”

The realization is fully formed with his words. You are ready.

It’s an epiphany and Taehyung – darling Taehyung – gives you exactly what you want. He adds a third finger with the utmost care, angled in such a way that he can brush the pad of his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. He ghosts a kiss over your calf, words disappearing against your skin. “Where are the condoms?”

You can’t even bring yourself to feel shame as you gesture wildly toward your side table. It’s just out of range for you but he closes the distance easily, his much longer reach allowing him to dip into the confines of the drawer.

Seeing the packet in his slender, capable fingers has your pulse speeding up, a nervous flush colouring your entire body. You know it isn’t unease that has you quivering, a bow strung too tightly beneath him.

“Please, Tae,” you can’t help the way you sound when he withdraws his fingers and - god have mercy on your poor soul - sucks the digits into his mouth. Glistening with your arousal, they disappear between pouting lips and return pristinely clean.

“Yes, jagi?”

He’s teasing you, taking his time in tugging his boxers off. You think you’d be mad if he weren’t so flawless, golden perfection sat bare before you. When you don’t respond, he takes his time in tearing the corner of the package and discarding same off the side of the bed. His movements are excruciating as he pinches the tip and rolls the condom over the leaking swollen head of his cock.

“What do you need?” The way he winds you up should be illegal, as should his expression when he drops back onto the bed, settling between your bent knees. There’s only darkness in his eyes, the entire ring of hazel engulfed by pupils that threaten to devour you.

You reach for him, a child seeking the thing they love most. You half expect him to draw away and giddily coo when he leans into your hands, allows his angelic face to be cradled between your palms.

“You. I want you.” No, that’s not quite right. “I need you.”

You think you might’ve given him the great gift in the world when he beams, shattering every wall of yours and sweeping shadows from your insides. He’s glorious sunshine, consuming warmth that pervades every inch. Sliding forward, his arm falls into place at the side of your face, delicate touch drifting through the silk of your hair. “Tell me how badly.” He asks so sweetly, you can’t deny him.

“So badly. Like I haven’t needed anything before.” Perhaps loose lips could sink ships, but you think they might also find buried treasure. You’re certain of it when you pull him to you, his frame fitting snugly against yours - a missing puzzle piece.

You feel him, heavy and hot between your legs. The way he rocks against you has you pawing at his chest, hands falling from his cherubic face. He rocks himself forward experimentally, enticed by the ease with which his straining cock glides through your folds, never delivering in the promise you so terribly need fulfilled.

“Tae,” you whine, features twisted into a picture of anguish as he catches your clit and then disappears. He doesn’t move again, instead studying your face as if he might find the answers to all of life’s questions buried in your smile, the lashes that flutter up at him.

“I’ve got you.” He does – hook, line, and sinker.

And then he pushes into you with one fluid flex of his hips. He fits into you like you were made for him, your aching walls drawing him deeper and deeper until he’s bottomed out and snuggled between your legs. You immediately lock your ankles around him, heels digging into his back in a bid to bring him closer.

It takes herculean effort to not fuck you until you’re seeing stars but Taehyung’s reward is the way you look.

He wants to imprint it into his memory forever. The way your mouth falls open, lips parted around his name like a prayer. How your back arches and he wants to bury his face into your cleavage.

“So beautiful, Jiyeon.” He finds you somehow, driven by the insatiable need to swallow your moans off your tongue. He sets a leisurely pace that has him drawing out slowly to admire every drag of you around his cock and you whine each time he nearly fully withdraws before thrusting back into you with a heart-wrenching smile. He loves the way you sound, all needy and breathless. “You feel so good,” he murmurs against your mouth, tongue dragging lasciviously over the corner where your own lolls. “Taste so good, too.”

In true fashion, you’re filled with delight at the praise, raising your hips to meet each measured, tantalizing roll of his. “Please, Tae. Please.” You’re not sure what you’re asking for, only that you need more. There’s a molten lava burning through you, swallowing everything in its sight, but it isn’t enough.

“Please what?” He’s straightening above you and reclining, dragging your legs from around him until they’re resting in the crook of each elbow. It’s a powerful position that has him admiring every curve of your body, his cock twitching as he smoothly pushes into you again. He can feel your need like an onerous wave but he’s feeling playful.

“Fuck me!” It explodes out of your mouth, wrenched forth by the teasing he’s been doling out.

“But I am,” he sounds almost dejected when he says that and your eyes snap open only to be greeted by his too-smug grin. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Two can play that game. “Well, then do better.”

That’s what pushes him to your figurative level, dragging him to hell. He grips your hips in his hands and tugs you forward with little care, burying himself to the hilt with a sharp breath. You quake with the sudden aggression and mewl with delight when he begins ramming into you with purpose, meeting his each and every thrust eagerly.

This is what you needed – to be consumed wholly, in no half measures.

“Oh, Tae.” His name barely makes it into the air when it’s snapped back with a gasp. The pad of his thumb is sweeping over your clit in time with each of his thrusts. It’s insistent, near punishing, as he pistons into you.

He's no longer Cupid playing a harp, drawing you slowly but surely to the edge; he's Lucifer in a mad descent toward Earth and you're caught in his wings. The knowledge that he's there at the edge with you, fingers laced with yours as he dives toward release, has you clenching around him. Fingers seek purchase anywhere you can find it. First down his back, carving mountain ranges over muscle, and then into his inky strands, tugging with abandon. You're so close you can feel it, a sob wrenched forth when he shifts and the new angle has him dragging over your g-spot with each thrust.

Between the pitching moans and your fluttering walls, he's free-falling, entire body vibrating with tension. He snaps forward with a wrecked grunt, signalling his impending doom. "Come with me, jagi. Please." His hips stutter, his motions uncoordinated and sloppy as he chases his end.

When Taehyung's lips find yours once again, your own name returned to you with aching adoration, you join him.

White paints your vision and the inside of latex and you're unravelling, held only to the physical plane by arms that soothe over every part they can touch. Over your thighs, across your hips, up and back over the swell of your heaving chest. Even half-wrecked and fumbling, he's an angel, taking care of you like it's his job. He guides sweet nothings into the shell of your ear, his tongue laving hotly over your neck, as he slows his thrusts, finally coming to a sated standstill.

"Are you okay?" With the fucked out look in his eyes and the way he gingerly extracts himself from your arms, pressing kisses to every salt-sweet part of you as he goes, he's divine. Even the very mundane task of knotting the condom and tossing it into the trashcan beside your bed is somehow ethereal. You don't think you'll get over it.

"One hundred percent."

notes. a small part of me was like, "why is there so much debauchery?" but then i thought, "why not."

anyway, the next chapter will explore her and jungkook's relationship through flashbacks, as well as some good ol' bro bonding and other goodness.

thank you for reading, as always! xo

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creampuffqueen · 4 years

Text

Aedion x Lysandra baby headcanons

Also introducing: shifters!

-This is actually going to be a kind of short chapter

-You'll see why soon

-So Aedion and Lys thought they were prepared for a kid, right? After all, they're the adoptive parents of Evangeline

-But raising an eleven year old girl who's been through a lot of traumatic experiences (being sold by her mother, witnessing the war, etc) is a LOT different than raising a baby

-They don't know this, of course

-Aedion and Lys have been happy together for a while, and have built the city of Carraverre into something great. The city is thriving, trade is booming, the people love their lord and lady

-But then Lysandra meets Aelin and Elide's babies

-She's instantly in love

-Like, completely obsessed

-Since Lyria is not an easy baby, Lysandra offers to babysit her all the time

-Aedion does too

-After all, he considers the young princess his niece

-And so does Lys

-Evangeline loves her baby cousin Lyria, and she's so good with her. Lys thinks that since Ev's face is so different than those she's used to, it always makes her happy to see Evangeline

-So Lys is holding Lyria in her lap, with Evangeline clinging to her arm and cooing at the baby, and Aedion is lighting the fire to warm the room, and its just so perfect

-With her golden hair and green eyes, like a mix of Aedion's hair and a darker version of Lysandra's eyes, she can almost believe that the baby is hers

-She shakes the thought from her head immediately of course. She could never be jealous of Aelin and Rowan and their daughter

-But now she's deep in the grips of baby fever

-Aedion and Lys had not been taking contraceptives, at least until Rowan and Aelin got pregnant out of the blue. They realized that if two pure-blooded Fae could get pregnant that fast, then they had to be careful

-When Lyria goes home with her parents and Ev is off to bed, Lysandra pretty much pounces on her husband

-He doesn't complain, of course

-The next morning he goes to get her a tonic, and she refuses

-"Aedion, I want to have a baby" she says

-Aedion has been thinking the same thing. He just didn't want to bring it up, because he didn't know if Lysandra wanted to

-But now -

-"Why didn't you just so?" He laughs

-Anyway,

-A very flustered Aedion tells Evangeline to get herself breakfast and that she can do whatever she wants until lunch

-And a very smirking Evangeline skips off to eat chocolate for breakfast, because the girl knows what's up

-Though, not quite

-Lysandra and Aedion pretty much have a repeat wedding night, but this time in the middle of the day

-There's sporadic sexy times every now and then throughout the next few weeks, just to make sure

-But...

-Lysandra's cycle arrives exactly on time, just like it's been doing since she was thirteen

-So what, they say

-It might take a bit

-But...

-Months pass

-And Lys's cycle just keeps on coming

-They're getting frustrated, but when they go to a healer, she just says to give it time

-Lysandra asks Yrene in private the next time she sees her, only for her to get the same answer

-"It takes some people more time, don't worry." She assures her. "Just relax, anxiety doesn't help conception."

-Even so, Lys is anxious

-She wants a baby

-Even Evangeline is remarking occasionally that she'd like a baby brother or sister

-And Aedion and Lysandra desperately want to give her one

-But even with all their trying, there's still no baby

-Then Aelin, Elide, and Yrene all become pregnant at the same time

-It's a blow to Lysandra's heart

-She wants so badly to be happy for them. She's trying so hard to be happy

-But all she can think about is that her friends will all have kids so close in age to each other, and she might not even get a baby

-Her smile is forced at the announcement

-And that night she cries into Aedion's arms, and he makes love to her slow and deep, all the while assuring her that it has to happen soon. Any month now, her cycle will disappear

-But it still comes

-Lys starts trying all sorts of 'pregnancy helping' herbs. Nothing works

-She wonders if it's because she's a shifter that it's so difficult for her. But if it was hard for shifters to conceive, then how on earth would her father have sired her, a bastard child he abandoned?

-She's becoming obsessed

-And as much as Aedion wants a baby, he wants his wife to be happy more

-So he takes her on a vacation, in the hopes that it'll help her relax

-And it works, sort of

-Not seeing the babies seems to help, but she still worries

-At least when they get back she seems calmer

-Lysandra decides that if being a mother isn't going to be meant for her, then she needs to find a hobby

-Handicrafts? No

-Gardening? No

-Painting? A disaster

-She's in the middle of trying to write a book (and failing horribly, she's three pages in and it's only utter nonsense on the page) when Evangeline calls her downstairs

-Lysandra's daughter, fourteen years old, is standing in the entryway, holding open the heavy front doors

-There's three children outside on the doorstep. A girl, about Ev's age. Another girl, about ten years old. And a little boy, maybe five. All are covered in dirt and grime, and looking absolutely terrified

-The eldest girl gives a low curtsy, and Lysandra's heart breaks. She can't believe this girl, who looks like she's been through hell, is still curtsying, for someone she doesn't even need to.

-"I said I could get them some food." Evangeline says

-"Of course." Lysandra responds. "Food, but first, a bath. And clean clothes. And after dinner, a warm bed."

-The kids look scared, but Evangeline drags them through the manor, holding the girl's hand

-Lysandra draws each of them a bath, and orders Evangeline to tell the cook to make something hearty and hot for dinner

-When all the dirt is cleared away, the children are quite pretty. The girls have lovely dark hair and eyes, and the little boy has light brown hair and blue eyes.

-They introduce themselves. The eldest is Marsha, the middle girl is Ella, and the boy is Declan. They're siblings

-They eat dinner, and Lysandra tucks them away in guest bedrooms

-Aedion is out with the Bane at this time, and not due back for a while

-In that time, Lysandra has managed to find her new hobby: helping children

-She draws up plans for a house where all homeless and orphaned children are welcome. A place where they can go to get a bath, and clothes, and food, and a warm place to sleep

-The building is underway when Aedion arrives home

-He takes one look at his wife's beaming face as she cares for the kids, and his heart melts

-The house gets built, and the kids move in there, happy and safe. Evangeline frequents it, as she loves to visit with the older kids and help out with the younger ones. Lysandra is over there every chance she gets. Aedion visits often, and the kids love it when he tells stories from the Bane

-Lysandra has gotten out of her obsessive baby fever. She still wants a child, of course, but it's not always at the forefront of her mind

-But then another blow is dealt to her

-Manon announces that she and Dorian are expecting. She doesn't make a big deal of it, of course, but still

-Lys can't believe that the witch gets a baby and she doesn't

-She puts all her efforts into helping the kids of Carraverre

-With her hobby, she's able to finally look at her friends' children again without feeling like she's going to cry

-Which is good, because damn does Elide need a babysitter

-Lysandra is able to find it funny now that Elide is drowning in kids. Drowning in baby boys, more specifically

-Well, all this relaxing must have been good for her

-Because one day, after nearly three years of trying to have a baby, Lys's cycle is late

-She tries very hard not to get her hopes up. Her cycle's been a few days off before. It probably means nothing

-And she doesn't want to get Aedion's hopes up either, so she says nothing

-But a week passes. And then two. And still her cycle doesn't start

-After about two and a half weeks of nervously waiting for her cycle to come, to dash her hopes again, Lysandra suddenly starts getting very nauseous

-And when Aedion offers her some eggs at breakfast, she barely makes it to the bathroom before she hurls her guts up

-Aedion is super worried, because she hardly ever gets sick, right?

-And even though she's vomiting and feeling miserable, Lysandra can't help the flicker of hope in her chest

-When her husband comes into the bathroom after her, she smiles at him

-"Aedion, I think I'm pregnant"

-Of course Aedion flips out

-He had been secretly blaming himself for a while now, thinking it was his fault and his Fae blood that was making it so they couldn't get pregnant

-But... there might be a chance

-Both are super nervous now

-Lysandra stays in bed or at least sitting for most of the time. She's scared that something will go wrong and she'll miscarry

-She doesn't even shift, because she doesn't know what will happen if she does and doesn't want to risk it

-A month passes with no sign of her cycle, and the pair dares to hope

-Lys sends Yrene a letter detailing her suspicions. Yrene can't come and confirm it, but she promises that if Lys really is pregnant, she'll come to deliver the babe

-At two months is when Aedion detects a change in his wife's scent

-She normally smells divine, but he wakes up one morning and she smells exquisite, with her scent much richer than usual

-They go the same day to a healer and get it truly confirmed

-They're having a baby

-Both start to cry when they hear the news, and Lys can't stop smiling

-They tell Evangeline, and she cries too, because she's so excited to be a big sister

-They see Aelin a few weeks later, and Lys knows they immediately scent her

-So the first thing she says when she sees them is "I'm pregnant!"

-Rowan gives them both congrats, and Aelin drags Lys away to hear everything

-The males find them, hours later, curled up on the couch by the fire talking about baby names and holding little Sam and Lyria

-The two are acting like it's their child, but hey

-Lys is happy, so Aedion is happy

-Lysandra's pregnancy is not that bad, at least nausea wise

-She's only sick for the first two months, and then its gone

-Her real pregnancy issue is joint pain (mostly in her back and hips) and the weirdest fuckin cravings ever

-She wakes up one morning and asks Aedion for chocolate and cheese bread. Not separately, no no no, she wants cheese bread covered in chocolate

-Aedion goes 'honey wtf'

-Then she starts to cry, so Aedion's like 'ok looks like we're eating chocolate cheese bread for breakfast'

-Evangeline is stoked to be a big sister. She doesn't care that she'll be fifteen years older than her baby sibling, she's just so excited

-Let me just tell you, when this baby starts kicking, it doesn't stop. Ever

-At any given time in any given place, you could place a hand on Lysandra's belly and feel kicks. Kicks, punches, headbuts, who knows

-So Lys pretty much doesn't sleep during the last trimester of her pregnancy

-Also, she hates with a burning passion when people touch her belly without asking

-Only her friends and family can, and only for a bit

-It's because she spent so long without being able to say 'no' to people touching her, and it seems that any essence of consent goes away when you have a baby bump

-Aedion and Aelin are always ready to fuck people up if they show even a hint of heading to touch Lys's belly

-When she's seven months pregnant, she feels a sharp pain in her abdomen

-Aedion is out with the Bane, Evangeline is visiting the childrens' home

-The baby isn't due for two months

-It's too early

-Lysandra starts to cry, hugging her stomach and holding onto the bedframe, trying to breathe through the sudden pain

-There's another sharp pain, and she screams

-A maid finds her, and immediately calls for a healer, for anybody who can help

-The healer tries in desperation to stop the labor, but is unsuccessful

-It's moving too fast to stop, Lysandra is nearly fully dialated after barely half an hour

-She's so scared

-Aedion was supposed to be there for the birth

-So was Aelin, and Yrene was supposed to deliver it

-Her uncle was going to be there to see her baby afterwards

-But she's all alone

-And her baby is so small

-And it's heartbeat is dangerously slow

-Her waters break, and they're a sickly green color

-There's an infection in her womb

-They need to get the baby out now

-Lys gets bundled onto the bed that was rapidly stripped, and five minutes later she's pushing like her life depends on it

-Because her baby's life may depend on it

-She pushes for fifteen minutes

-And then a tiny little babe slips out into the world

-"A girl" the healer says

-She's nearly blue in the face, and the cord is wrapped around her neck

-The healer quickly fixes it, but the babe's cries are so weak

-Lysandra is sobbing, reaching her arms for her daughter even as she pushes out the afterbirth

-The healer tells her the statistics and the facts: The baby's chances of survival are slim

-But there is a chance, and they have hope

-Evangeline bursts through the bedroom doors, her red-gold hair a mess

-"Is the baby okay?" She asks

-Lysandra isn't sure how to answer her

-"You have a baby sister, Ev" Lys finally says quietly

-Ev wants to hold her, but Lys is cautious. She's scared for her baby, she doesn't want her to catch anything

-Evangeline understands, and goes to send a letter to summon Aedion home as soon as possible

-The tiny baby girl has a little tuft of golden blonde hair

-The first couple of days are some of the most stressful in Lysandra's life

-Because every noise her baby makes she overthinks and by the end she's called the healer about twenty times

-She's so tiny it's hard for her to breastfeed, and a very stressed Lys is terrified that her daughter will starve to death. Luckily, she's able to get it well enough

-Ev wants so badly to hold her baby sister, but Lysandra is so nervous and stressed that she won't let anyone else hold her

-Aedion arrives home as fast as physically possible, bursting through the door and running to his wife and newborn child

-He pretty much drops to his knees when he sees them, tucked in the bed together

-His first words to Lysandra are 'she's so small... oh my gods, i'm so sorry'

-Lysandra shushes him and assures him its not his fault he was away for her birth. She wasn't due for two months, damn it

-Finally, with her husband home, Lys feels comfortable enough to let her baby be held by someone other than her

-Aedion cuddles her, and she's so small she fits in the palms of his hands

-When she's held by her father, her little eyes open up

-They're Ashryver eyes

-The brightest blue, ringed with gold

-Evangeline is so happy to hold her baby sister. It's the purest thing ever

-They may not look like sisters, but Ev swears to Lys and Aedion that she'll always take care of her, no matter what

-The healer comes twice every day to look at the baby girl

-She's so small. So awfully small

-She eats very little, since breastfeeding is difficult for her

-But she's getting stronger

-Lys sends out letters to everyone, letting them know the news. And that nobody is to see the baby until she says so

-So for the next month, the baby girl gets stronger and stronger, and is only seen by her immediate family and the healer

-She still doesn't have a name

-They're honestly scared to name her, because if something goes horribly wrong, even though all signs are pointing to her being just fine, they don't want their heartbreak to be doubled

-But then Evangeline points out that it's awfully sad she isn't named

-That's it

-They won't let their daughter think she's not loved, even at only a month old

-Aedion picks out the first name, Lys the middle

-And Asceline Eleanor Ashryver is now a part of their family

-Aedion picked the first name because it goes well enough with Ashryver, as well as his name and Aelin's. After, all, she's an Ashryver

-Lysandra picked Eleanor for the middle name after Aedion's mother (That's my headcanon name for her)

-Asceline is a bit of a mouthful for a newborn, so they stick to calling her Lina and Ashy

-When she's two months old, she finally is able to breastfeed without a myriad of issues, and Lysandra nearly cries with joy

-The healer confirms it: Little Lina is healthy enough, and she will definitely live. And now she can have visitors

-Aelin comes over the next day

-She walks in and sees the baby, and she nearly cries at seeing her new little niece

-"Well," she sniffles, "That's an Ashryver if I've ever seen one"

-Asceline gets bigger and stronger, but due to her being a premie she develops a lot slower than a normal baby

-She doesn't even crawl til she's nearly nine months old

-Her first birthday comes and goes, and she hasn't even started standing

-She can say a few words, though her favorite is her own nickname, Lina

-That, along with Mama, Papa, and Sissy

-She finally starts walking when she's eighteen months old, and then she's completely unstoppable

-Terrible twos extends into Terrible Threes

-Asceline is a tantrum machine

-She'll fall to the floor kicking and screaming at any given moment

-Despite this, Aedion and Lysandra couldn't love their daughter more. She may be a handful, but she's their handful, so that makes her wonderful

-When she's four, her favorite thing is to walk around with her Aunty Aelin and her cousins (who by this point have been joined by little Aspen)

-However, sometimes it's only Aelin who can come, without her cousins. No worries, Lina loves walking with just her aunt and mother

-The only issue...

-People mistake her for Princess Lyria

-Despite the fact that Lyria is seven and Asceline is four

-But people see the hair, and the eyes, (though Lyr's are green) and automatically assume she's Aelin's daughter

-It never fails to make Lys want to throttle people

-After one such incident, that evening Lys cries into Aedion's arms because gods, why can't people ever tell that they're mother and daughter? Why can't for once, her daughter walk with Aelin and not get mistaken for her cousin

-Unbeknownst to both parents, Lina is in the doorway, hearing every word

-And though she doesn't understand all of what's being said, she knows that her mommy is sad, and so she does what she can to make her feel better

-And that means that her golden hair suddenly turns dark brown

-Lys notices her daughter in the doorway, her daughter with a new hair color

-Asceline is a little shifter

-It's very sweet, but soon enough the little girl is using her newfound power to play all sorts of tricks on people

-She likes to amuse the kids at the childrens' home by shifting into different animals

-She's quite powerful, and can make very large animals, even though she's hardly five years old

-Ashy gets bigger and bigger, though she's always fairly small for her age

-By the time she's ten, she has pretty much complete control over her shape-shifting powers

-She enjoys having her hair blonde like her father, but she often keeps it brown to make her mother happy. However, her favorite hair is when she turns it inky blue, the color of the night sky

-She's eleven when she comes across a stray dog in the streets on her way back from the childrens' home

-And the caring little girl doesn't hesitate one second to take it in

-It's a fairly small dog, and she names him Scruffy

-Knowing her parents will be upset if she takes in a stray, she tries to hide him in her room

-It's not a secret for long. Being a boy dog, Scruffy has a tendancy to pee everywhere. And I mean everywhere

-Lys feels bad for the dog, but she doesn't want a dog in the house

-Aedion, however, tells his daughter that she can keep the stray only if he stays in the stables at night and she housetrains him

-Asceline has never smiled so hard

-Over the next few years, she happens to take in a lot more strays

-She cleans them up and trains them, and then gives them to good homes

-Half of the stables now belongs to her dogs

-Asceline is fourteen when Lord Darrow dies. Evangeline, being his heir, packs her things and leaves for the land of Arran

-Lina is heartbroken. Her big sister, her best friend, moves away

-She cries for days and only leaves her room to take care of her dogs

-She's acting as if Evangeline died, and didn't just move to another part of the country

-Eventually she comes to her senses more and accepts it, though she hates being apart from her

-Without the steady guidance of her sister, Asceline makes more and more irrational descisions

-Evangeline is like 99% of her impulse control

-At fifteen, she sneaks out all the time to meet a boy

-When she's sixteen, she secretly follows her father to meet with his Bane

-And at seventeen, she gets in a lot of trouble after an incident involving a certain shape-shifter, a large amount of dogs, a lot of water, and a freezing cold army

-She's a prankster, and a creative one at that

-But she's no longer listening to the authority of her parents

-So...

-Find out what Aedion and Lysandra do to try and tame their wild daughter in my story, Worlds of Fire and Darkness, where Asceline is 17

#throne of glass #tog #tog gen 2 #sarah j maas #lysaedion #lysandra x aedion #lysandra ennar #aedion ashryver

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jjkpls · 5 years

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sharing is caring (m)

> genre : smut, soulmate fluff

> pairing : park jimin x reader x kim taehyung

> words : 5.5k

> Taehyung is taken aback when his soulmate, Jimin, introduces his new girlfriend to him. Jimin tries to help them break the ice. (honestly pwp, slight slash)

> A/N : so... trying to get back into writing, hope this doesn’t suck too much (lmao way to sell your shit). so vmin 3some yay! thanks to anyone that’ll read it, let me know your thoughts ❤

It was one thing earlier when his fingers were laced in between the stiff locks of his hair. Short nails scraping on his scalp, gripping a little when his wet lips were covering the skin of his neck with love. It was warm, comforting, pleasing, felt like pure love and affection. Different from what they are used to give to each other but still oddly familiar.

But with her, it's something else. Taehyung does not know her. He hardly knows her voice. Has never met her heart. Does not know her body. As he is looking at her now, lain down, legs spread enough for him to sit in between, he realizes he meets her eyes for the very first time.

She looks kind. All he knows about her comes from what Jimin has told him. And for the most part, he was not listening. He was too busy trying to keep his heart from sinking with the weight of too many concerns, to care about whatever the hell she was studying and where she'd grown up.

His gaze falls from her eyes, slides along the line of her nose and the shiny curve of her swollen lips, to his own hands. They're spread over her naked waist. He doesn't even remember how it happened.

The skin feels so warm and soft under his palms. He does not feel like taking them off. He does not know if he wants more, if he can do more. Does she?

“I get it. I don't- I'm sorry for the way I acted before.” Jimin is beaming. His eyes have completely disappeared behind the thin crescent of his eyelids and Taehyung would make fun of him if it were not for the faint pink taint spread over the round tip of his nose, reminiscence of the big meltdown from earlier.

Jimin's chubby fingers wrap around the back of Taehyung's neck, cold rings recovering the skin in goosebumps, “I can have two soulmates, Tae. I do have two soulmates.”

Taehyung simply nods. He knows there is no discussion to hold anyway. He just has to accept it. He is not the only one to receive his friend's unconditional, endless love and devotion. He used to share, sure, with the rest of the band, and his family, and a part of the rest of the world. Jimin's heart is just so wide and so full and he wants to fulfil everybody and everyone with it. That's one of the reasons why he started loving him in the first place. How unfair would that be to blame him for it now?

He is scared though. He has not lost him yet but he is terrified he will. He knows his worth. Not so bad of a person, trying but lacking immensely. He knows how lucky he is to have him. Half of the time, he does not even know that he deserves him. But he's had him for so long, how could he give up on him now? He is just human. And he is greedy as one is.

“Taehyung, you don't have to worry. I won't take him away from you.” Taehyung looks down. She hasn't said much the whole time, her voice sounds so foreign, and sweet too.

She is waiting for him to say something, he does not and she flushes bright red under his feline gaze. She squirms around a little, her legs end up resting on his better. Taehyung let his hands slide along her sides, setting on her denim-covered thighs. He's grateful for her words. They've been spoken with a softness that he recognizes for he finds it in Jimin. He is sure she means it.

“You're adorable.” Taehyung whispers, charmed, as Jimin kisses his girlfriend's burning cheek.

“She is, isn't she?” Jimin is all giggles and sparkly eyes now. It is funny how excited he is at the prospect of having a friend see his girl and appreciate her the way he does, in this too intimate way. Then again, it is Jimin. He wants to spoil. He was made to spoil.

“Can I kiss you ?” Eyes diverting to her boyfriend, she absent-mindedly nibbles on her lips, licking them discreetly.

“You can do whatever you want as long as you don't forget who's your man.” He watches their interaction. It is weird. She is lain right there, almost under him, they're so close he can smell her scent -something mild and sugary that reminds him of an exotic fruit he can't pinpoint-; yet it feels oddly personal. He feels like a voyeur, observing the intimacy, the affinity of a longer secret conversation he is not part of. It is palpable. Maybe it is too wrong.

Her hands are pressing sheepishly on top of his now, making a flower of warmth bloom in his chest.

He does not understand how this whole thing can work. How it even just came about. Why do they need to include him, to give him some of this when they are obviously in perfect osmose already.

Taehyung wraps his fingers around her hands. His look so huge with hers nustled in their centre. They're warm, not very soft. He wonders why. He is pretty sure it's related to the thing she is studying or maybe a hobby of hers. Jimin's mentioned it but he can't remember.

From that thought, another one rises out of nowhere. When was the last time he has been this close to a girl? Probably some time in high school. So long ago, it feels like a whole life had passed by since then. He comes to this realization at the same time his heart does, apparently, as it suddenly starts beating hard and fast in growing anxiety and excitement.

A quick tentative peck on the corner of her mouth, and he is sure she wants it too so he just indulges into her. He assumed it would take more time for them to adjust to each other. It doesn't though. Quickly teeth are teasing, tongues meeting and exploring shamelessly. It feels so sultry, hot and steamy, he can't help but always lean in further, fingers digging in her thighs (secretly hoping it is hard enough to leave faint marks for them to look at later), mouths kissing always deeper.

And it gets hotter and bolder. His brain is definitely getting intoxicated by her perfume -he's decided to give up on trying to identify it now, from now on it's become her scent-, her touch, the moans she tries to conceal, how wet and warm and delicious her mouth feels.

His heart is about to burst and his arms are shaking, then fail to hold him up. He crashes into her, though he can’t even think about feeling apologetic when she seems so willing to welcome him in. Her tiny hands are gripping his shoulder and his waist, her legs are sliding up quietly around his waist. There’s no doubt she wants it as much as he does. And no doubt she feels as good as he does. He wonders, briefly, how much of him she’s feeling. Does she feel crushed, grounded down by the weight of his body? Because he feels pulled by her, by every bit of warm contact his body gets from hers.

He’s already so hard, it’s painful. Despite the anxiety and the confusion of the whole situation. His brain is still in a blur, trying to make out a logical and realistic scenario -the fumes their shared kisses and sheepish but needy touch induce are not helping.

He could not tell for how long they allowed themselves to lost into each other’s mouths but when he finally lifts himself up slightly, their ragged breaths, swollen and wet lips, burgundy cheeks and watery eyes mirror perfectly.

Jimin has slipped a hand between the two of them -hardly given the non-existence gap between their bodies- and he is now patting at his girlfriend covered crotch. Taehyung can feel it, the hand, obviously, but he can’t get himself to leave the warmth of the girl's proximity just yet. It doesn’t really trigger anything, this touch, foreign but not scary, so he just lets it be while he looks at her, staring at her boyfriend with big earnest eyes.

“Enjoyed kissing Tae?” Taehyung looks at the blush of her cheeks deepening two shades darker. It’s already addicting, watching her undergo her emotions with no ability to hide her shame and embarrassment. “I can feel how wet you are through your jeans, baby.” He is chuckling, while she mumbles something Taehyung doesn’t quite get, hidden as she is behind her hands but he grins anyway.

“Cute.” He realizes he said it aloud only because of Jimin’s crinkling eyes, jumping suddenly to meet his. He is grinning from ear to ear, overcome with joy as if the compliment was directed solely to him.

“See, Tae likes you now. I told you he would, didn’t I ?”

Was she worried? There are flashes of memories blinking in his mind. He can see himself not so subtly turning his back to her, serving her the nastiest tight-lipped smile and cold glare he owns, animatedly cursing at her to Jungkook trying desperately to get him to see his point -she was a bitch and Jimin too for leaving him- and he feels like shit. He was a dick. A jealous possessive greedy mean dickhead to this girl who, now that he takes a chance to yield his attention to, seems delectable.

They’re sharing another moment. Jimin is whispering in her ear, honey-coated words Taehyung can only imagine from the precious tiny changes in her expression, blessing her skin with kisses when she’s answering him back with the quietest words. They’re cute. And he wishes he could hear her while feeling awkward for intruding. But is he really intruding when she doesn’t make any move to get her legs to free his? He hates to interrupt -obviously not enough so to not proceed- but he’s scared they might flee before he tries to cease a chance. He feels he owes her for having been a massive ass. But also, he kind of really wants to.

“Can I...” He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to get their attention. Taehyung, who is a man who usually thrives from people’s ogling him, doesn’t shy away from but bathe in the attention, feels himself blush, hard, when the couple’s curious set of eyes fixate on him. They look so nice from down there, looking up to him expectantly. Still, he doesn’t know what they expect. And he still kind of feels like a sore thumb.

“I wanted to- I mean if you’re okay with it and-“ He is stuttering now like he’s fucking Jungkook and he doesn’t know how to fix it. He is not cute, he’s just awfully embarrassing. The chances of getting his request met are flying away with all his hopes. He wants to die a little or at least disappear but then Jimin’s chubby fingers are rubbing gently on his knuckles. He does it like he does all the time to reassure him or just show him support during interviews or even on stage. “Can I eat her out?” Jimin gives him a look. It's a bored one that says something along the lines of ‘I don’t know dude don’t ask me, I don’t have the pussy you wanna eat’. “I mean you- sorry, feels weird asking you...” He says, peering at her from between his dark lashes.

“Weirder than asking her boyfriend? Really?” And just like that Jimin's laughing again, and Taehyung wants to grab those fake ass friendly chubby fingers and crushed them in his fist until the traitor cries. “Babe, do you want it?”

“You can say no, I won’t- I mean you won’t hurt my feelings or anything. It’s- really if you want to.” She is looking right back at him, shiny eyes wavering but holding still. Her mouth is agape ready to say something that just won’t come out. He’s pretty sure it’s a yes. From the glint in her eyes, the rose that has reached her chest, the slight but unmissable way in which her legs parted more against Taehyung. He won’t do anything until she said so though.

She sheepishly nods. It’s almost good enough for him at this point. Well, for his engorged trapped cock anyways. But apparently, Jimin’s having none of it, if the impatient smack of his lips is any indication to go by.

“What is this pretty mouth of yours for?” He asks, voice lower and Busan dialect edges striking sharply to their ears. A mischievous glint dancing from a stare to another has Jimin giggling. “‘Course. But what else is it for?”

“Speak.”

“That’s right. So baby, tell us, do you want it or not?”

“Yes.”

“What is it that you want?” Her gaze is dark now, throwing daggers at her boyfriend who doesn't budge the slightest to avoid them. Taehyung follows the exchange with a growing fondness. She really is cute. Jimin not so much right now. Even Taehyung would call him a little shit. “You think I’m being mean babe but I’m not.” He is saying this with the most blatant grin, discrediting completely his claim. “Taehyung doesn’t know you well, yet, does he? Therefore it’s important for him that you’re clear with what you want and what you need. So you’re gonna look at him-“ Pinching her chin, he tilts her head gently for her to face Taehyung's. “-and you’re gonna tell him clearly what you want him to do to you.”

“I- I’d like you toeatmeout.” The words are barely understandable and Jimin's tongue clicks behind his front teeth. Taehyung has had enough though. “Stop annoying her, s’good enough.”

Jimin gasps dramatically, stares at his best friend, hand raising in the air like he’s about to smack some boundaries into him but the shit-eating grin wins and Taehyung starts unfastening her pants with fingers trembling with excitement.

Once she's naked from the waist down, he can tell she wants to shy away and he wishes he thought about it better and had kept her panties on for now. He spreads his large hands on her soft thighs, gently caressing, teasingly squeezing, attempting to smooth her down into feeling more reassured and confident in what she has to offer. Because god, does she have to offer, he thinks when he finally gets to see her.

The discovery is priceless. She looks so pretty, all pink and shiny, so shiny. There is a little hanging moment where he just stares, licking his lips without much thought, just emotions shaking him up until one thought emerges and threatens to freak him out into giving it all up.

He’s gone down twice on a girl before. Only twice. And that was back in fucking high school. He has no fucking idea how to eat pussies. Honestly. He can’t really gather all the ‘knowledge’ he’s gathered over the years from his high consumption of porn now, can he? They say it’s inaccurate and dumb but that’s all he’s got.

He then remembers what some of his hyungs had said, one of those late -or more accurately early morning- drunken conversations.

“If you wanna be good at it, you just gotta enjoy it.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You just enjoy it. Do it cause you want it, you’re hungry.”

“I’d say you eat it like jjajangmyeon.”

“What the hell hyung!”

Like jjajangmyeon. Well fuck, thanks Jin hyung. He’s then looking at her from up close. Lying on his stomach to get closer, the new proximity makes his heart beat harder. He can smell her he realizes and the thought that, when this is all done, tomorrow and the days to come, he’ll still have this piece of her in his mind that only Jimin will share, drives him a little insane. The other boys will get along, get to know her but he will have the most intimate sense of her that none of them will.

He settles, squirming around a bit to get more comfortable, his forearm ends up brushing against Jimin’s crotch and the rock hard member hidden in his jeans. Jimin hisses, while his friend erupts in a loud fit of thunder like laughter. “Why does it turn you on so much to have someone else taste your girlfriend, you weirdo?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.” They giggle like schoolboys, a part of it probably fueled by nervousness, eyes attached to one another. And as they share this intimate gaze, Taehyung feels like a complete and utter idiot to have ever doubted those tender chocolate eyes. He’d never let him down. He smiles before turning back to her.

From up close she looks even more endearing. The dim light is hitting just right to make the obvious wetness shown, it’s like it fucking glitters. And the pink so flushed, you'd think she’s been played with and abused a little bit already. He deems he gets it, what Yoongi hyung has said -not fucking moronic Jin hyung. When he sees her like that, he’s not sure he wants to taste her to make her feel good or to satisfy a curiosity and a thirst that he experiences.

Therefore, without much more thinking, without the least forewarning, he just dives in. Attaching his mouth roughly, messily, all over and licking and slurping and sucking, making out with it like a long lost lover. It’s infuriating those sensations. The thought of being so intimate with someone after such a long time of nothing. That person to be his best friend's girl, instead of seeming odd, fills him with gratitude.

And she feels so sweet. Her taste, her warmth, her trembling thighs around his head. She's the kindest gift he’s ever been granted. That's why he tries to give it his whole, not trying to keep it clean and collected. He thinks briefly that at least if he doesn’t do it right, they’ll be able to tell how willing and devoted he’d tried to be.

He’s not sure how well he is doing because she is pretty quiet. He is sure as hell enjoying his feast, as suggests his rutting against the mattress but to his disappointment, it doesn’t last. Or at least, he feels like it’s too short as after what feels only a few minutes, while the tip of his nose is rubbing against her engorged nub, she comes in a succession of charming cries, her hole seizing around the tip of Taehyung's tongue as a few spurts of her cum slip in his mouth.

He sees the way her hole is squeezing around nothing, how laboured her breathing has become now that she’s coming down, but he can’t admit that it’s already over. He kisses her clit tentatively, ready to go again but a hard pull of his hair yanks him up and away from her.

Jimin’s not even looking at him, despite the firm hold on his mop of hair. It’s painful so he doesn’t move an inch, simply watching, waiting for what’s to unfold, secretly hoping that more will be allowed for him to do in a moment if he shows himself patient enough.

Jimin, still ignoring Taehyung, is staring at his girlfriend's face, his full lips stretched into an amused grin, “I don’t remember the last time you’ve come that fast. Was Taehyung that good or were you just that excited?”

“Both.” She whispers, fighting off a smile that threatens to breakthrough. That’s funny how intimidated she still seems to feel, avoiding, for the most part, to hold his gaze for too long, speaking hardly above a whisper for only Jimin to be blessed with her thoughts. Yet, she still is spread open for him, some of her cum still glistening on his chin.

Jimin turns to look at his best friend after having placed a tender peck on her warm cheek, and he smiles fondly. The hand stuck in Taehyung's hair smooths its grip, sliding down along the back of his head, to slip under the hair so the short nails of his fingers can scratch his scalp gently.

“Thanks, Tae. You did well.” He's petting his head like he would a good dog before he lets him go, leaning back against the headboard. “Come here.”

In a swift motion, she's up and away from Taehyung, sitting comfortably on her boyfriend's lap, taking the seat so naturally like it's undeniably her own.

Taehyung, sat on his knees, is watching, probably like a creep, with great interest. He swipes his hair back from his sweaty forehead. Is it over now? Are they expecting him to leave? They're so lost into each other, obnoxious make out noises interrupted here and there by strained moans. Perhaps he should leave. He can't really move though, and his eyes can't stop staring at the dimples of her lower back that wink at him each time Jimin's wandering hands rise her tee-shirt high enough.

“Um?” Jimin's looking at her with raised eyebrows, his palms now holding her cheeks. She leans in to whisper something in his ear. “Of course, I will.” He answers, a kiss on her jaw. She mutters something else only for him to hear. “I don't know. Ask him.”

She turns around, showing off her pretty eyes and soft cheeks which crimson has still hasn't faded out. The duality of her is making him dizzy. She looks so innocent yet sexier than anyone has ever had.

Tender kisses pressed to the side of her neck encourage her and finally, with a trembling voice, she addresses him, “Are you going to stay?” He bites back a smile.

“Do you want me to?” She nods. The grin is harder to conceal. He tries to nuance it by licking his lips, face lowering down for a second. “Then, I'll stay.”

They fit so well together. Not in a strictly practical way, it’s something more subtle. It’s in their movements. How they move along, at the same rhythm, in the same direction, both following and guiding each other. It's like their bodies are so familiar to each other, nothing is lagging, or not completely natural.

Her legs, tied by the ankles behind his back, are holding him tight against her since the moment he slipped in. Jimin slowly thrusts forward -he needs to go slow as she doesn’t handle over sensitivity very well, as he explained so himself-, a tiny whiny moan and a severe groan, and Taehyung, who’s just witnessing the scene, sitting quietly on the bed next to them, feels himself growing a fever.

“Do you like having Tae watching you ?” At the mention of his name, Taehyung's whole stature straightens up like a meerkat. Jimin is gauging his friend's reaction, the most teasing smirk brightening his face under a new sinful light. Taehyung takes it as an invitation to get closer, lying right beside her, lain on her back. Head held by his hand to see her better and take in all the delicious expressions her pretty face makes.

“Yes.” She mewls, eyes shutting close at a particularly deep thrust.

“I love watching you, ___.” His deep voice mumbles to her ear. He’s pleased to see her visibly shiver. “You look so hot getting fucked...”

“Thank you.” Both men burst out laughing while she remains there, too fucked out to be dying of embarrassment.

“You’re so cute.” Taehyung keeps on going. He finally feels like the wall between them is gone for good. The way she throws him little glances, every now and then, with sugary smiles. “So beautiful.” He adds, his big charming eyes glued to hers. She blushes to the tip of her ears. Jimin, face buried in her neck, is groaning and whispering his own collection of praises; telling her how heavenly she feels, how good she is to him, and how beautiful indeed she looks lying there taking him in so nicely.

She’s bathing in, visibly loving his words as much as his ministrations and Taehyung is so amused to acknowledge that the alleged praise kink he thought to be a unique quirk of Jimin's, is apparently shared by her. At some point, the words and the soft kisses are too much and Taehyung sees how her hands clench harder on her boyfriend's back not from his thrusts but from his compliments and he’s living it up, relishing it.

“Stop clenching so hard you go- gonna make me-“ He’s cut himself off with the weakest whine Taehyung’s ever heard from him -and God knows this guy is a full-time professional whiner.

He hasn’t come yet, neither has she, but they’re right at the edge. So close that Jimin can simply not keep his pace soft and lenient anymore. He’s pounding hard and fast, smacking his hips loudly against hers and fuck, if this is not the hottest thing Taehyung has ever witnessed. He’s sweating bullets.

“Jimin I’m gonna-“

“Yeah? I’ve got you, baby, come for me. Show Tae how pretty you look when you come.”

And that’s exactly what she does. Looking at their voyeur, her pretty eyes begging for him to watch her, she comes right around her lover's cock, in a mess of indecipherable moans. Jimin follows suit, almost instantly, squeezing her ass in his hands, messily hitting his hips a couple of definitive times.

Taehyung felt weird engaging any skinship with his friend whilst he was in the middle of his coit but when his face is laid down, half of it all scrunched up because of his chubby cheek being pressed so hard against her chest, with his peaceful, totally content expression and rosy cheeks, Taehyung can’t help but reach out a hand and tease under his chin with caresses from the tip of his fingers.

“You did well, Minnie.” He mocks to which Jimin, with difficulty, raises a hand to pinch his mate's nipple. And they start bickering. Jimin’s butt naked, Taehyung still turned on beyond belief lain beside his best friend's half-naked girl, and they fight -sort of, Jimin’s only committed one arm to the fight, and Taehyung's attacks are pretty tame by fear of disturbing her- but they do, like little kids, like they always do, until a feminine voice, strained by nervousness and something else, probably envy, brings them to a halt.

“Taehyung is still hard, Jimin.” She didn’t whisper this time. Her voice is still pretty low and soft, but the calm that comes after a crazily heavy orgasm like the two she’s experienced so far is responsible more than remaining intimidation. Nonetheless, she’s loud enough for Taehyung to hear, and he can tell she wants him to hear.

“Uh-uh,” Jimin says, returning to his position, cuddled up and nuzzling against her breast. Looking at her curiously from under, he continues. “So what? Do you wanna do something about it?” She nods, turning her lip white from how hard she bites on it. “You think you can take his cock too?” She nods again with an evident enthusiasm but Jimin only chuckles. “Baby, I think you’re getting a bit over your head. You could hardly have me.”

“But-“

“Yeah...” Taehyung starts, voice hoarse from the crazy ride his mind just has taken him during the past few seconds. He is going against what his whole being is desperately craving as he says what he believes is the right thing to add. “Don’t worry about me.”

“But-“

“___, do I need to remind you of the whole Valentine’s Day debacle? Or you want me to tell it to Tae?” Silence. “You’re not taking his dick tonight, it won’t feel good.” The Busan dialect is back. Taehyung wants to laugh at how much like a dad he sounds more than a boyfriend. Picking a look at her, he realizes she matches with her pouty lips and drawn eyebrows, alike a bratty little girl.

“Do you still wanna help me come?” She’s observing him carefully with wide earnest eyes. “I wouldn’t mind having your hand...” He’s being awfully modest. Too modest. But when he sees her eyes shine and how fast she is to dismiss Jimin’s hold on her so she can face him more comfortably, her hand already reaching for his pants, he wishes he’s asked for more -like her lovely mouth for example- she looks like she would have given him anything he dared to ask right now.

It’s been months since he thought to his very frustrated self that jerking off couldn’t do it anymore for him. Too much time on his own hands, not enough extra attention from someone else, it just left him with virtual semi-blue balls each time.

But here she is, seemingly pressing buttons he didn’t know he had, provoking shock waves to shake him while leaving his vision completely white for few seconds at a time, and he doesn’t understand how one could master in a fucking discipline such as handjobs; and what the hell is she doing that feels so much better than when he does it; and how the hell is he supposed to hold himself back long enough to actually enjoy it when it feels that wonderful.

“Fuck-“ He growls out loud because now Jimin’s at it too. He can feel her breath hitting gently his cheek on one side and the kisses left by the plump wet lips of his friend on the other side.

He blinks furiously, wondering why the world seems so blurry and shaky and if he’s not really going to lose his mind this time. He always thought he was made to do so at some point, lose it somewhere, during one of his explorations into those too beautifully eerie places he likes to visit, since his head is so airy. But he never thought he would because of a handjob from his best friend's girl and said best friend's fucking sloppy neck kisses.

When he hears him curse so heartily, Jimin raises his head up to take a look at him, beyond amused. For a second too long, they stare at each other and their mouths, pondering until in sync, they scrunch their noses, shaking their heads, “Yeah maybe not.”

“Definitely no. But uh- feels nice on my neck.”

Laughing too loudly, Jimin complies, encouraged by the hand petting the back of his hair. And then she is playing with his slit, teasing harshly he can barely take it, and she softens her second hand around his balls and a new white flash lasts longer than the other ones.

“Fuck I’m close, just- please ah- squeeze har-“ She’s already on it. “Ah yes and f-faster-“ Again so diligently she meets his needs and in a couple of more strokes, he finally comes, harder than he can remember ever coming.

Maybe he’s a bit over the top, overreacting for a simple handjob but he’s been so hard for the past hour and they’re so nice and gentle with him, her nicely accompanying his dick softening, him pecking at his ear with sweet words only Jimin knows how to use.

It feels so nice.

Nicer than everything else has ever felt.

When his heart finally calms down, and his mind is back from the outer world, he acknowledges how weird it is that they still lie so comfortably in bed but more importantly, he is the one in between the couple; how this is a unique thing that won’t happen again and the wants and urges he’s mind is currently getting clogged up with won’t happen ever.

“So now will we be hanging out all together?” Jimin asks suddenly. His tone is all cheery and jumpy, his mission's been cleared he thinks and he can already picture the three of them.

“Honestly, I think I won’t be able to look at any of you in the eyes for some times.” Taehyung answers, half chuckling.

Especially Jimin. Especially after the thoughts that crossed his mind because of this damn mouth, thoughts he really needs to annihilate forever.

“You already regret it?” She is quick to ask.

“No I- I mean it was really fun.”

“Yeah, I thought so too...”

Taehyung turns his head to his right, looking at the blushy cheeks and timid but playful smile. And there’s something there that they share. He’s not sure what the fuck this whole night was about. He’s sure he’ll wonder for a long fucking time. But maybe, eventually, they’ll sort it out and who knows maybe... wish and try for more.

Maybe not. At least he’s sure they shared something special, and that new bonding won’t fade.

“So... what’s the Valentine's debacle ?”

#bts x reader #bts smut #bts fanfction #jimin smut #taehyung smut #v smut #vmin smut #vmin #jimin fluff #taehyung fluff #my writing

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nazali-md · 4 years

Text

Get to know my apprentice!

1. Name? Surname? Goes by Scilla. Surname not needed.

2. Any family? Only faint memories

3. Any familiar? A smartass fly named Myiagros

4. Love Interest? Every single one. How does that work timeline-wise? You're asking the wrong person, I don't even know how my day is supposed to work timeline-wise.

5. Best strength in magic? Her biggest strength would be using magic in creative, unconventional ways. Naturally talented in wind magic. Coming from a family of travelling story-tellers, blessed with a literally enchanting voice. Well versed in hiding her presence, altering her appearance, passing through unnoticed and being forgotten quickly.

6. Favourite colour? Royal blue, gold, and wine red

7. Favourite number? 4

8. Sexuality? Pan & Polyamorous

9. Weird hobby? Occasionally raising the dead.

10. Favourite season? Summer

11. Favourite weather? Warm but windy. Also night storms.

12. Favourite place in Vesuvia? The Fields

13. How does their laughter sound? Her honest laugh can only described as silent shaking. If you hear her laugh at you, she wants you to hear.

14. How do they look when they cry? 2 types: the Hollywood perfect fake crying, silent tears streaming down her cheekbones, artfully smudged facial paint; and the red eyes, voice breaking, lots of yelling, frustration crying

15. What do they like to wear? Lots of colour, lots of layers, patterns resembling the night sky. Fond of cloaks, capes, headscarves, veils and flashy facial paint. Anything that helps her hide her facial features. She has little regard to fashion though, and mostly just wears whatever was on the top of the clean pile. It has some... interesting results.

16. What are their fears? Closed spaces, losing magic. Her biggest fear is that people important to her would abandon her after seeing her true shelf.

17. What do they like to do Friday night? Clear weather? It's astronomy time. Otherwise she loves to go out dancing, and has no problem finding company. However if she's in the middle of some interesting magic stuff, well good luck, she's not going anywhere until it's finished.

18. Do they use makeup? Makeup, magic, magic reinforced makeup, it's all fair game. Mostly for fun. Illegal stuff, sometimes. All the flashy face paint. Lucio's crying in the corner.

19. Favourite food? Shrimps!

20. Favourite drink? Coffee

21. Zodiac sign? Aquarius

22. Day of birth? Classified information

23. Favourite play? Richard III

24. Favourite music? Her taste of music is somewhere right next to her fashion sense

25. Favourite song? Tinariwen - Nánnufláy

26. What are their aesthetics? The endless night sky, copper wind chimes, sand shifting, the piper of Hamelin, cornflowers in wheat fields, the call of the road, tall buildings with gargoyles, untameable hair, mountain peaks and open fields, scarf gone with the wind, dancing barefoot, the milky way

27. What is their style? Eclectic

28. What is their height? Taller than Asra, shorter than Nadia

29. Any mental health issues? Fear of abandonment, slight anxiety

30. Any health issues in general? Not quite an issue, but very sensitive to cold

31. Favourite book? The Decameron

32. Favourite book genre? Folktales, short stories, anecdotes. Also a lot of non-fiction.

33. Favourite time of the day? Night

34. If they weren’t a magician, who would they be? Hard question. Being a magician is a large part of her sense of self. She's already a successful shop owner and spy on the side, so probably one of those. She also made a decent healer.

35. Do they believe in ghosts? It kinda comes with her job.

36. Do they believe in demons? Same as above.

37. Do they like sports? Depends. She's pretty fit, but sports involving a lot of rules aren't her thing.

38. Favourite dessert? Chocolate. And those fancy pastries with a million layers.

39. What is their biggest motivation to solve Lucio’s killer mystery? Curiosity and boredom.

40. What do they think of Lucio so far? (I'll answer these as how Scilla thinks of the LI's at the early stages of their routes) Very entertaining company, but oh boy, so dumb. It's endearing though. They both have secrets they're hesitant to share with each other, and neither of them is happy about the snow.

41. What do they think of Nadia so far? Ooh, challenge. Nadia not only pikes her interest, she really awakens Scilla's need to prove herself. She desperately wants to gain her respect and favour.

42. What do they think of Asra so far? There's no life without Asra. He's already the centre of her world, but oh my god they were roommates. They love each other very dearly, but they can get under each other's skin in a second. Lots of frustration to work through.

43. What do they think of Julian so far? She's having a ball, this man is chaos, and she thrives in chaos. He's one of the few who can keep up with her, both in incoherent trains of thoughts and semi-parkouring around the city.

44. What do they think of Portia so far? It was love at first sight, slow motion, cheesy music, everything. She tries to hide just how far she's fallen, because it's really stupid, she's not that easy to win over, but she's failing miserably. Scilla is prepared to do anything to save her from harm.

45. What do they think of Muriel so far? They got off the wrong foot, and he's really trying her patience, as Scilla is not used to people disliking her. They have a long way to go, and I have a long fic to write :(

46. Do they like animals? She grew up poor, so the concept of keeping animals as friends is weird to her. If Scilla sees an animal her mind automatically sorts it to edible/non edible, could be used for farm work/practically useless. This is one of her many conflicts with Muriel. Of course this changes with time and she'd never eat Faust or Pepi, but Camio's on thin fucking ice.

47. Are they allergic to anything? Humourless people

48. Do they have any talents (except magic)? Dancing and astronomy. Also has a knack for smooth social interactions.

49. Do they get drunken easily? Hates to lose control over her actions, so she doesn't really drink.

50. What is their personality type? no idea

51. What is their worst negative quality? Desire to control people, greed, mistrust, dishonesty, a tendency to start unnecessary arguments, impulsiveness, pettiness.

52. What is their best positive quality? Creativity, attentiveness, sense of humour, willingness to help, friendliness, politeness, problem solving attitude.

53. What is their position to fall asleep? CUDDLE. If only a pillow, then a pillow.

54. The most uncomfortable moment they ever experienced? Getting caught lying by Asra. She used magic to vanish on the spot.

55. Their happiest memory? Waking up surrounded by those she loves, and realising it's not Asra's turn to make breakfast.

56. Do they blush? It doesn't really show on her skin.

57. Are they clumsy? Quite the opposite.

58. Do they like jokes? Hell yeah.

59. How do they flirt? You've got to be careful with an enchanting voice, so it's mostly nonverbal, the right dress does all the talking for her. Casual touches, eyes lingering a bit too long. Letting the strap of the dress slide off her shoulders, or her shirt ride up a bit. In a relationship, she's ready to throw in some whispered dirty talk and not so casual touching.

60. Favourite fruit? Grapes, blueberries and sour cherry.

Why, yes! I do have too much time on my hands due social distancing :)

The questions are originally from @gemarcana I think, picture made with picrew

#fan apprentice #the arcana #the arcana apprentice #the arcana oc #the arcana mc #the arcana game #apprentice scilla #60 questions #get to know my oc

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shibyn · 4 years

Text

and the wind sounds like the world’s sigh

persona 4 & 5 | shiho-centric, investigation team Near the end of May, Shiho transfers to a sleepy town called Inaba for a fresh start. However, Inaba isn’t the sleepy town her parents thought would be best for her— its on edge with unsolved mysteries, and Shiho finds that there’s a bit more behind what meets the eye regarding some of her classmates and a TV screen.

chapter 6 | 5.9k

Goddammit, what the hell is she thinking?-- maybe, just maybe, everything would be just fine, act like how it's meant to, that it's all just an ache she got when it rains or when she hikes up a hill-- she heard the fucking doctor, heard him say don't test it, looked him in the eyes and nodded yes sir I will not run ever again.

She closes her eyes, presses her knuckles against her eyelids. Lets it sit there awhile, till colors spark in her vision, till it starts to ache.

What a dream, she thinks, staring up to the ceiling. With the bleariness of her vision and the popcorn texture, it almost looks like static above her. Was that a dream? It was too weird, to surreal to be anything but a dream. Horror movie material. The unknowing protagonist coming across abnormal activity, something that by all means shouldn't be happening-- especially an image in the static, that's straight up a troupe, isn't it? But she thinks she remembers getting up and turning off the TV. Turning it on? Whichever it was. Maybe that was apart of the dream, too. Can you even fall asleep in your dreams? It might be an omen. Heaving a sigh, she rolls out of bed. "Good morning, Shiho!" her mother chimes. On the stove is sizzling eggs. The TV is playing some home-gardening channel, the volume low. Very homey. It's almost jarring how lively it is already, this early. For a moment, she can nearly convince herself that everything's okay in this household, and that she's not three steps from retreating back into her room. Shiho carefully sits at the table, where bowls of simple rice have already been placed. "Where's dad?" she asks just barely above the sound of the eggs. Her father isn't flitting around the kitchen, isn't grumbling around in the other room, so he must be out somewhere. Or the bathroom. Like an extension of her arm, her mother waves the spatula as a dismissal. "Oh, he went to run a few errands. He said we can go ahead and eat without him." In a smooth motion she lifts the pan from the stove, circling around the kitchen's island and to the table. She slops a few chunks of egg onto the plate in front of her, sets it down the middle for Shiho to scoop from. Conversationally, her mother asks, "Any plans for today?" while picking through the other garnishments on the table, stacking up her eggs. Shiho just takes hers plain. It's a little funny she bothers to ask. Shiho's days have been full of nothing since she got here. The most exciting moments are grocery shopping and phone calls with Ann. Wow-- she thinks, I think that's why everyone likes Junes. It really is the most exciting trips I make. "Not really," she says, chewing on rice. "Maybe study." The last quiz she got back wasn't too bad, all things considered. She didn't fail. Er. She didn't do well either. But that's not something her mother needs to know. Gosh, when grade reports are released... "I heard that one of the restaurants down town is going to be having karaoke nights this week!" her mother says idly, not yet digging into her food. She smiles at Shiho whenever she glances. "I think we've eaten there a couple of times. The noodle place, I'm pretty sure." "Mmhm," she hums around her spoonful. "I heard some people talking about it in class. Apparently highest score would get a free meal coupon." "Sounds fun! D'ya think you're gonna go?" she asks pleasantly, eyes creased in a smile. Shiho doesn't really want to think that it's an incentive to go, like she's being told to. Subconsciously her grip tightens on her spoon, metal digging into her fingers. She hopes she's just imagining that bit. "I don't think I will," she says truthfully. Her mother desires that much-- no lying, no fibbing, no maybes sures okays. The prodding won't stop until she admits it. "I don't... really have anyone to go with." Maybe Chie would go. Karaoke seems like something that group would do-- Yosuke's a Tokyo boy, so he's gotta have some experience under his belt with karaoke. Chie just seems like she would thrive in that place, and Yukiko, too, maybe. They would be an absolute riot. There's a long silence. She doesn't even realize how long it stretches until she looks up cautiously, catching the scrunched up expression on her mothers face, exasperated. "Look, Shiho," her mother says, tense, borderline desperate. The hitch in her voice makes Shiho tense up in her seat. "Are-- are you even trying?" What. What? Her mother takes the lack of response as an incentive to keep going. "You--" she motions aimlessly, her hand waving to indicate something, "You're never here, you keep leaving the house-- where the hell are you going? You don't hang out with anyone! You loiter around, doing nothing, instead of coming home! I honestly wouldn't be surprised if someone told me you were hanging around that biker gang--" The dam holding back the river is leaking. She's standing at the bottom, watching the crack tear through the entire length. God, it's an ocean behind that dam, not a river. "W--What?" she breathes, shell shocked, rigid. "How did you--" How did she know? Are-- Are people telling her--? "I don't get it, we're not in Tokyo anymore," she barrels on, not even looking at Shiho. It's like she's talking through it on her own, trying to figure it out. "Everything's a fresh new start here! The people are so nice around here, the school is great, everything... Why aren't you giving things a chance? Finding new friends? Finding things to do?" "I am trying," Shiho bites back, though it sounds close to pleading. The back of her eyes are getting hot, her vision wobbly. The worst part is that she thought she was doing better, too. Baby steps, right? She doesn't loath being here. Not anymore. She's getting there. She's getting there. They've lived here for nearly a month, maybe. She's never been a sociable kid in the first place. Ann was the only friend she had in Tokyo for since pre-school. Did she expect an instantaneous change? New environment, new her? Is she suddenly meant to be miraculously healed? Happy? She's only recently started feeling okay. Even then, that okay is so uncertain, in such quotations, unreliable. There's such a bone deep exasperation on her mother's face, unbelieving. As if she knows more than Shiho. Knows she's lying, though she truly wasn't, knows she's not trying, though she is. It almost makes insult flare up in Shiho. "Are you?" she asks, sad, so sad, but so misplaced. Her lungs are gonna collapse in on themselves, she feels it already happening. "Are you?" Shiho spits, wheezing. She reels as if she's been struck hard. The lines on her face are deep. She used to not have them; the worry lines, the furrowed cut between her brows. Did Shiho cause them to grow on her? Boiling over. It's been simmering this whole time, and now everything's boiling over. Now that she's started, she's gotta keep going, or-- Shiho plows on, "Are you trying, mom?" Her fists curl on the top of her thighs, skin stretched tight over her knuckles. "You... you keep acting like everything is normal, but you're the one who thinks avoiding it all is the key to getting a normal life again!" "That's not true," her mother breathes, hurt. Hurt that she's being accused. Does she not know? Shiho doesn't even blink. "It is!" The chair screeches against the floor when she stands. Her mother jumps, shoulders hitched to her ears. Almost a deer in headlights. "I wasn't even out of the hospital when you decided we needed to move. To leave every bit of it behind!" she chokes, swallows, and picks up again, "For a fresh start, you said. More like to act as if it never happened. Nothing's changed, not even from when it all was going on!" Maybe-- maybe she should tone it down. With each word, her mother's been shrinking back, looking small, like she's the one cornered. Guilt flashes through her-- Actually. Screw that. Screw that. "Do you just want a normal daughter? Is that what it is? Not this--?" she motions to herself, her no-longer-seasoned-for-volleyball self, her busted up legs, her, "So if we just forget everything, I'll be normal? Have normal friends? Have a normal hobby?" She feels herself tapering out, rapidly losing steam. "Mom, it happened." Shoulders sloping, a bone deep sigh. "Do you... do you think I like being like this?" Shiho whispers, almost lost in the air. She doesn't want to look at the expression her mother has. Just saying all of that-- things she's kept quiet about for a month, months, and she doesn't think she can take anymore.

She. She needs to-- to clear her head.

Despite every warning, every red flag, blinking caution sign, enormous Xs, do not do this, Shiho leaves her mother in the kitchen and walks straight out the front door.

There's no way in hell that just happened. No way.

Restless, Shiho walks around the block, hands jammed as far as they'll go in her hoodie pocket. Every couple of seconds she almost pauses, certain that the contents of her stomach are roiling back up. Dry heaved several times. Felt something come up four times.

Her stomach flips again and again. The entire organ system might come up eventually. She hoped she wouldn't have to breech that topic with her parents. Ever. If they were keen on ignoring it, so was she, as long as... as...

Flinching, she slouches further. And she just said that to her mom?

There's no one outside, none that she can see, and yet-- and yet she feels like all of her neighbors are staring, looking, knowing. You just broke your mother's heart, you fiend. Why aren't you trying for her? She is. She is.

Why does she have to try for her mother? Isn't she allowed to try for herself?

Her pace picks up-- There's no one at the windows, no one looking at her, yet she needs to get away from here. Far. Far away. At least out of the neighborhood. Then her neighbors won't squeak out on her to her mother. Won't ask her what she's doing. Someone opens the door from behind her and her shoulders tense with the definite curious look she's being given. She turns the corner and goes.

Maybe she's in a jog right now-- its the fastest she's ever gone, since, well. It hurts. It's not pleasant, the tightness of her knee, it sends twinges of discomfort all along her leg. With foot falls so heavy they click in her jaw. But it still holds, it still supports her upright.

Now there's a different reason her breathing is unstable. God. God, her stamina's gone to shit. Her everything's gone to shit. Getting better. Hah. Where?

Frustration coils in her chest. She can't let this get the best of her, regardless if her lungs squeeze to pulps the further she goes, the longer she goes. She's doing better. She's gonna be doing better.

Shiho's knee buckles.

An eternity passes as she trips forward-- yet, somehow, there's still barely enough time for her to catch herself before her nose crushes against the pavement. Essentially it's How Many Body Parts She Can Hurt At Once-- her knee skids, she rolls and jams her shoulder, her palms are neatly skinned, and she still ends up bumping her head. It even takes a second for her to settle against the ground.

It takes her a full couple of moments to recoil, shocked. The first thing that she fully comprehends, even before I fell, is the pain. It runs a blazing trail up her hands and arms and knees and ow. Ow. It hurts, along with the spasm of her knee, the grounded bones, stretched muscles, and it hurts. She winces, pushing herself up and winces again when the rawness of her hands and forearms grind into the pavement.

She closes her eyes, presses her knuckles against her eyelids. Lets it sit there awhile, till colors spark in her vision, till it starts to ache.

Maybe she thought she was different. Maybe her legs had healed miraculously and she could do everything on them again, just with the side effects of a constant ache. Maybe she's doing better, like she thought she was. Like she could move on without a constant weight on her.

Is this what Ryuji felt, she thinks with a jolt, jittery. Even though he's got the reputation of being an idiot, he's probably not as bad as her. Though his whole livelihood, being able to run, was ripped away from him, he didn't even do something as-- as stupid as this.

A gentle touch brushes against the bridge of her shoulders, obviously intended to not startle her, and yet she nearly pitches into the pavement again she tears herself away so fast. She looks back frantically, grimacing when every part of her protests the sudden movement, and sees the look of alarm on Seta Souji's face.

Ah. Goddammit. Of course someone saw.

She really wants to crack a joke to dispel the tension in her chest, maybe something like 'huh, funny seeing you here,' but the very subtle crease in-between his eyebrows, the very heavy droop of his mouth, says that this is not the time to try and act like he didn't see anything. Besides, she doesn't think she'd even be able to get the huh out without it cracking and shattering every step of the way out her mouth.

Just to avoid looking him in the face, she brushes what she can out of her scrapes, jaw clenched enough it creaks, frazzled. Okay. Okay. Someone saw. It's probably no news to anyone in the whole town that something's up with her legs, with her awkward occasional hobble and overtly present knee brace. Cool. He probably also saw her take a nosedive into the pavement, and since he probably saw that play out, he probably saw her sprinting just before it. Anyone with a brain would know hobble and knee brace and sprinting go together like oil and water.

Blood smears along her elbow when she swipes at it probably too aggressively. She grimaces. Dammit. Dammit, and, and she had gotten it into her head she was doing better, being better. This-- this isn't doing better. Maybe her mom was right. Maybe she isn't getting better. After all, what kind of idiot pulls a stunt like this--

"--Suzui," Abruptly, he calls out, voice firm, stilling her frantic-ness. There's an edge to it, like he's been repeating it. How-- she belatedly realizes she nearly forgot he was there, and just waits. Waits for what he'll say, since he isn't laughing at her, isn't talking, and she doesn't know if she wants to hear what he has to say.

Would he-- would he nag her about it? Scold her? They've never even spoken a word to each other. But people in this town always think that they've always got a place for their input. They told her mother. They told her mother she was just as horrible as she suspected. Would he be any different? Would he tell her mother that she's putting a nail through any progress she made towards recovery, running from a conversation where she said she was fine? She doesn't know.

He reaches an open palm to her. "Are you alright?" He asks simply, no accusation in his voice. If she wasn't listening as closely, she could mistake the concern as speaking out of obligation. Maybe she's just tricking herself into thinking he even remotely cares.

Something wells up in her throat despite herself, nearly impossible to speak around. "I-- Sure. I'm alright," she says, voice scratchy and hoarse. She clears her throat awkwardly. Jesus, did she scratch up her throat along the way, too?

Embarrassed, she struggles to her feet, ignoring his hand. "Uhm," she flounders, brushing her fingers along the back of her legs. How can she pass this off? Even now, she notices the brief glance to her knees, noting both the beading blood from the scrapes and also the lack of that stupid knee brace. She tenses from the scrutiny. "Uhm, yeah, I'm good." Testingly, she bends the knee that gave out. She hopes she masked the grimace as well as she thinks she did. Idiot.

"Hey," he says just before she can jet it down the street with some flimsy-ass excuse. (Jet it. More like power walk as fast as her knee will allow it--) He motions to the line of houses on the other side of the road. "My house is right there, so you can... clean up there, if you want," he finishes. He politely keeps his eyes on her face and does not look down again.

He's almost telling her to listen. It's not in his words, no, but she gets the feeling if she tried weaseling her way out of this one, he'd only find another way to convince her.

Dammit. Dammit.

"...okay."

She isn't sure what she's expecting, really, when she enters. It's a house. Normal entryway, normal floors, normal everything so far. There's a couple of shoes resting by the door, some pairs perfectly straightened up and some awry. Distantly, she hears the TV, running commercials as a quiet drone.

Standing in the entryway as Souji continues walking in, she feels foreign. Alien. This is a normal household, she thinks, the floors are made of wood and not eggshells. It makes her stomach twist another coil around itself. (Horrible. Horrible.)

As she toes her shoes off she belatedly notices that Souji didn't have any on, more less slippers on. She doesn't know what to do with this information.

"--Big Bro? What'd you run out for--?"

Shiho doesn't really freeze in place, but she sure as hell halts trying to set her shoes as neatly as she can. She glances up-- Souji's waiting patiently a few steps away from her, glancing over his shoulder further into the house. Past him, she sees the curious face of a girl peering around the corner.

Ah. She recognizes those pigtails. It's the little girl who was at Junes. She forgot Souji's her older brother.

There's a whole pause as the girl stares, doe eyed. She can basically see the gears turning in her head before her entire face lights up in recognition like a rising dawn. "Oh! You're the nice Pudding lady!"

A startled laugh bubbles from her lips, surprised by the name. "'Pudding lady'?" she echoes, amused. Isn't she a little too young to be called 'lady'?

Face flushing bright cherry red, the girl quickly tries to amend, waving her hands frantically. "I! I mean!" She's too flustered to say anything else, fidgeting, struggling to amend.

"This is one of my classmates, Suzui Shiho," Souji quickly supplies, saving the girl from anymore fumbling. He looks fond, somehow. Shiho gives her a small wave, unsure of what else to do.

She perks up, less red but still pink. "Oh! Uhm, my bad, Suzui-san! I probably shouldn't've called you that, it was really silly-- Oh!! I, um, tried the caramel chocolate pudding! That you said was your favorite!" Shiho blinks, surprised, but doesn't get a chance to speak when the girl keeps barreling on. "It was super good! The caramel was very tasty!!"

Shiho is about five seconds from being overwhelmed with affection. She never would've thought that something she said-- something so fleeting-- would even matter that much to this little girl. Gosh. Gosh. "It's one of my favorite flavors for anything," she says, smiling something small. It's the flavor she always defaults to if she isn't in the mood for trying a new flavor. The crepe shop she used to go to had really good chocolate caramel crepes and desserts. She could really go for something like that right about now.

"Nanako? Could you get the first aid kit?" Souji asks, almost hesitantly breaking their conversation. Nanako tilts her head in query, but hurries off nonetheless.

He goes ahead down the hallway, leaving Shiho to linger behind absently. She steps out of the entryway, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet. Along the walls of the hallway are photos-- she easily recognizes Nanako in most of them, her pigtails never changing, also a man and a woman who she assumes are their parents.

Souji is absent from every single family photo. It jars her enough that she nearly pauses to look and make sure, but at Souji's curious glance, she keeps following.

She heads to the kitchen sink, sticking her palms up under the stream of water. It burns bright red, washing away the small bits of blood to show the angry red of her palm's heels. Softly brushing the grit from where its stuck, she glances around the house absently. The television's playing the news, fleetingly about some artist fellow in Tokyo.

The floor boards creek, signaling Nanako quickly reemerging with the kit in her hands. She curiously looks at her, gently placing the red bag onto the table top, eyes jumping from each little scrape, following as Shiho dries them off with a paper towel-- she quickly skitters back to the TV when Shiho purposefully clears her throat, shifting to turn the raw red from view. The tips of Nanako's ears burn pink in embarrassment.

Thankfully Shiho's ended up being handy at navigating a first aid kid-- she only mourns how long it's going to be to get everything covered and how much it'll be. Luckily, when she opens the kit, there's the usual contents of a first aid kit inside but then there's a plethora of cartoon themed bandaids piled on top.

Unsure if he should leave, Souji just hovers nearby the kitchen table, pretending to watch the TV but she sees him fleetingly glance her way. Nanako, on the other hand, restlessly looks over from where she's on the couch. It takes the three bandaids plastered on her shin before Nanako finally blurts, "What happened?"

"Tripped," is what she says. She very pointedly does not look up from where she's pressing the edges of a princess bandaid on her knee. Ariel's hair looks like a splotch of blood on the bandaid.

"Tripped?" Nanako echoes. Shiho can basically hear the scrunch of her nose, unbelieving.

"Well, I mean, I fell hard, that's why I'm all banged up."

Nanako hums, openly staring. A complete contrast from Souji, who is Specifically Not Looking.

"Big Bro was kinda weird for a bit," she says, oblivious to the way Souji tenses up from the corner of her eye. She rests her chin atop where her arms are crossed on the table, looking at Shiho sideways. "He, like, glanced out the window and then kinda sat up straighter. Then he jumped and ran outside! It must've been quite a fall, Suzui-san, he really sprinted! Are you sure you're okay?"

She glances at Souji but his expression is very carefully neutral. "I'm fine," she says, practiced.

Physically? Debatable. Mentally? Also debatable. Emotionally, too. She's tired enough she might not rise up whenever she leans to plaster another bandaid on her shins. Nanako doesn't need to know that.

Not fully satisfied, Nanako only pouts, but no longer prods. To the sound of the weatherman, Shiho dwindles through the pile of bandaids.

Patched in a billion colors, she looks a little bit like a mess along her shins and arms. The large plain bandaid on the heel of her palm pulls a little awkwardly whenever she moves her hand, but hey, it works.

Souji looks up from the TV when she zips up the first aid kit. Maybe six minutes in, after Shiho had finally cleaned and dressed her left leg, he had sat down at the other end of the table, still both attentive and non attentive. Always within reach if she needed help. She doesn't know if it bugs her or not.

"You all done?" he asks, brushing his bangs from his eyes. He rises, and for a second she almost thinks he's going to offer to help her up, like she needs help, a flash of something fiery and grimy in her chest-- but he only moves to snag a blanket from the edge of the couch, draping it over Nanako's shoulders. She didn't even notice Nanako had clocked out.

Shiho exhales. Physically shakes the tension from her shoulders. "Yeah. Thank you for, uhm, letting me come in," she says. When she stands, her knee's tight, achy, but it supports her weight. Doesn't buckle. Pretending not to see how Souji's discreetly watching, watching for any limp or sign she'll drop again, she pushes her chair back under the table.

At least he's got the decency to look as if he's not watching the wobble of her legs. "It's no problem."

She heads to the doorway without much fanfare, toeing on her shoes, pulling open the door. Really, she does try to look like she's not in a hurry to leave because that's rude, but she really just wants to go--

"Suzui," Souji calls out from the entryway. She halts, feeling caught, turning.

Visibly there's something on the tip of his tongue. His nose scrunches, probably unsure of how to say it--

He sighs. "Take care," is all he says.

Throat tight, she nods at him, and closes the door behind her.

—

According to her phone, it's only a little after ten o' clock. If it weren't for that, she could mistake it for being three in the morning.

Besides. She has no clue how long she's been standing in front of the ice cream section. They're all starting to look like the same brand, same type. She checks her phone again. Ah. She's been standing there for five minutes.

At least being here this late means no one's lingering in the aisles to give her grief about staring at the cheapest ice cream. No one being here also makes her feel much more lonelier than she thought she could feel.

Typed in the message box of her mother's contact is 'I'm sorry. I'll be home soon.' She typed it out maybe two hours ago. Had her thumb hover above the send button multiple times, for a moment or two, before clicking her phone off and putting her mind off of it.

She's. Not very surprised they haven't called. Is she?

Before, they never called whenever she was later than she said she'd be. Never fretted, never worried. Maybe they thought she'd be with Ann, goofing off somewhere in the streets of Tokyo, being like how teenagers should be. Never have. Still haven't. Only after it starts growing dark and she isn't home yet she'll possibly get a where are you. She should be the bigger person. Message them. Call them.

Her parents-- they're trying, aren't they? They're right, she isn't trying to get friends or a job or a hobby. She's trying to keep from rooting down in Inaba, to just breeze by the year and get the hell out of here. But they... they still ask. They themselves have thrived in Inaba, bonding with neighbors, with the old ladies who visit the antique shop her mother works at, the regulars they'll meet at restaurants they'll go to.

She was never the sociable type. Ann's the only one who brought her out of her shell-- she never thought she would need someone else besides her. Lord knows her life would be over if they ever got into an argument big enough to split them apart.

Truly. Thank god no one's around to bug her about not grabbing a damn box yet. There went three extra minutes of her swimming in her own thoughts.

Just as she raises a hand to pull open a door, any door, her phone begins to buzz against her knuckles in her hoodie pocket. She grimaces, full bodied. It's probably her parents. It's most definitely her parents. Wondering where in the hell she is. They're not normally up at this time-- Well. She never really did return home, after this morning, after the whole fiasco at Seta Souji's. Couldn't bring herself to. Leave the house after a fight (can it even be called a fight?), and then return patched up to all hell? She might as well join the biker gang her mother thought she'd be apart of at that rate.

But maybe they're calling to make sure she's okay, not dead in a ditch or abducted by the freak that's in town. Good god.

So she absently answers with a quiet and quaking yeah? as she moves to look a different section of ice cream. Not a single logo is comprehendible to her, too unfocused, straining to listen.

"Shiho!"

Ann's voice hits her ear full force, the loudest thing she's heard in hours, and Shiho nearly drops her phone. Completely oblivious to the spectacular fumbling Shiho just did, Ann chatters on, "How are you doing! Sorry I'm calling you so late-- today was a crazy day!"

"Ann," Shiho breathes, almost cupping her phone to her ear. Nearly inaudible over the phone, it dregs on the tail ends of her voice but Shiho can hear just how exhausted she is. She didn't even realize... the last time they messaged each other was yesterday, then. It really must've been busy today. "Ah, it's-- it's fine, I don't mind. You sound really tired, Ann-- should you even be calling me?"

"Pssh." She can almost imagine Ann waving her hand dismissively, the scrunch of her nose. "I'll be fiiine. It's only a little bit of sleep I'm missing out on!"

She-- She didn't even realize how much she needed to talk to Ann until now. The tension that's been in her shoulders all day slowly seeps out. Resting her forehead against the fridge doors, she smiles privately to her phone. "You'll get bags under your eyes! They'll bug you about that when you're modeling, won't they?"

There's an awkward noise, almost surprised. She doesn't really get why Ann made the noise, but she doesn't have time to ponder about it when Ann continues, "Actually, I think I might end up quitting modeling...!"

Quit modeling. She probably shouldn't be as shocked as she is, but.

At her first photo shoot Ann had dragged Shiho along for moral support. It was only fair, she did convince Ann to go for it, since when did being unsure stop Ann Takamaki from doing anything? Though there was a bright smile on her face, her fingers still trembled around Shiho's wrist. She was so excited for it-- she nearly didn't sleep the night before, but conceded whenever Shiho had scolded her she was gonna feel like shit during the shoot if she didn't take care of herself then.

They had celebrated by going to the crepe shop like they always do, went the day she got the gig, went the night before, went after the actual shoot too. Ann nearly cried bubbly tears over the extra-extra creme crepe she had gotten, excited, exhausted, glad it went well and that they gave her a date for the next shoot.

Shiho's fingers tighten around her phone. Hobby or not, she loved doing it. What could've...

"Is-- Is Mika that bad, recently?" she asks, picking at her phone case absently, a little jumpy, "I knew she was a stick-in-the-ass, but it never really got to you, right?"

"Oh! No, it's not Mika!" There's a stage whisper to the side, though its great I don't have to deal with her anymore, that makes Shiho breathe out a little airy laugh. "It's just that it's really suckin' up a lot of my time, y'know? Also they've been giving me a lotta shit for eating out more recently. Can you believe it! They know I can't help but eat sweets, but they still nudge me about it! Let a girl live!" It doesn't quite feel like the whole story. She's not exactly sure why she's getting that feeling, that Ann's purposely letting something slip by-- guilt swells up in her chest, because, well, why would she even think that Ann's not telling her something?

Ah. That's what happened before, wasn't it? They didn't even tell each other what was going on, dancing around each other, assuming, and this is where they've ended up: miles apart.

Shiho bites on the corner of her thumbnail, forcefully pulling her thoughts away.

"I feel ya," she says in the lull, "I'm actually in the ice cream aisle right now-- I got reminded of that chocolate caramel crepe I used to always get earlier and now I'm trynna find something to measure up..."

"Oh!!" Shiho pulls her phone from her ear briefly-- people in the next aisle over could probably hear that, if there are any. "Shiho! You have to try these ice cream bars, uh, the ones with a little polar bear logo on them! Cookies and cream flavored! God, I can't remember what they're called, but Ryuji lost a bet between us and had to buy us snacks and he chose these ice cream bars and they're good!" Idly she walks down the aisle until the ice cream bars line the shelves. She tries looking at the brands, but they're all starting to look the same again. "You let him choose a snack for you?" she asks, voice tilting at the end, surprised, "Risky gambling. I thought those gummies were always your go-to snack?"

Ann laughs like wind chimes. "I wanted to try something different! Plus I always see him get something good at the 777. Lately I've just let him get whatever for me! I had no clue Ryuji was, like, a guru of convenience store snacks. Akira, too! Man, I was really missing out whenever I was so caught up on those diets for modeling...! At least I'm above Yusuke. His life was only cup noodles, I swear."

She finds the ice cream bars with the polar bear logo. The frost melts under her fingertips, numbing.

Shiho feels like she's watching a month old rerun. There's no where to see the newest episodes at airing time, they're never scheduled. No longer up to date. Only catching up. Always behind.

"Oh, hey, do you also have the same long weekend as us?" Ann asks with the excitement growing in her voice, oblivious to Shiho's pause. Not unkindly. "Next weekend? Er, not this upcoming weekend, but the one after that one? Next-next weekend? Maybe you could come up and visit!"

Pressing her forehead to the chilled glass of the fridges, the box of ice cream thawing in her hands, Shiho exhales.

"I think so," she says evenly. She doesn't know. She doesn't even care if there isn't an extended weekend-- Yasogami can be damned. She's going to visit Ann.

"For real?!" Ann squeaks, like she's surprised herself. "That's-- Awesome! Okay! Sweet! Uhhh--" she shuffles around, muted through the tinny speaker, "Cool! We can plan more later, yeah? I gotta head to bed, I nearly just dropped my phone I started nodding off. I'll talk to you tomorrow!"

"Oh, okay, talk to you tomorrow," Shiho says, almost detached. "Sleep well, Ann. Love ya."

Ann chirps, "G'night, Shiho. Love ya," and the line clicks to silence.

#persona 5 #p5 #persona 4 #p4 #persona #Shiho suzui #seta souji #A WHOLE WHOPPIN YEAR N HALF SINCE LAST UPDATE!!!#how's everyone liking p5!!! kasumi is so cute. I cried when I saw there's a tiny bit more Shiho content

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jaeminhours · 5 years

Text

Wild Things | Chapter Six

SUMMARY | For you and your friends, street racing is just a hobby, a game. But newfound feelings and realizations suddenly make things seem much more real. In which you and Na Jaemin thrive off danger, but everything comes with a price.

PAIRING | Jaemin x Reader ft. Renjun

CATEGORY | street racing au, angst

WORD COUNT | 4.4 k

WARNINGS | implied/referenced depression, mentions of emotional abuse, mentions of an accident/death, etc.

SONG REC | Be My Mistake - The 1975

—a/n: links are temporarily removed, sorry! check the bottom of my masterlist for access to previous chapters!—

At first, Jaemin’s words didn’t make sense to you. You’d stared at him incredulously, taking in his red-rimmed eyes and chapped lips, the way he seemed like he was there and not really there at the same time. He seemed hysterical, yet he hardly moved a muscle, his voice hoarse and broken and absolutely, completely terrified.

“We need to go back home.”

You chuckled awkwardly, brushing some of his hair out of his face. “Jaem, you’re not making sense. You’re not getting discharged for another three days,” you told him gently. “If you need something, just tell me what and I’ll go get it.”

But Jaemin shook his head, his hand reaching out to grab your arm, a sense of urgency racing in his dark eyes. “No, no,” he muttered. “You don’t understand. We need to.”

You frowned, pressing your hand against his forehead. “Jaemin, you’re burning up. Let me call a nurse.”

Jaemin caught your arm, and you winced, his nails digging into your skin before he released you from his grip, a strange expression flashing over his face.

“We need to go back, Y/N. I need to go back,” he said, his voice raw and desperate. “I need to see my dad, and Mom, and I need you to be there with me, please.”

You were startled, and you backed away, your eyes wide. “What do you mean? Why would we need to go back? Especially without Jeno?”

Jaemin sat up, groaning against the harsh morning light and gesturing for you to close the curtains. “I don’t really know. Not yet,” he confessed. “I just… have this feeling that I left something unresolved back then, and I need to go back to fix it.”

“Y/N, I need closure. I need to know that part of my life is over. I just don’t know how. All I know is that I need to go back, and I need to fix whatever needs fixing so that I can just live.”

You didn’t want to go back. Like Jaemin, it was just full of bad memories, and unlike him, you didn’t feel the need to go back. You’d cut your ties thoroughly, had left with no remorse. You’d reconciled with your parents before you’d left, but they didn’t live there anymore. All that was left in that town were bad memories.

The death of your older sister when you were little, so young you could hardly remember her face. But you’d always remember the looks on your parents’ faces whenever relatives would say how much you looked like her. How they couldn’t look you in the after you’d grown. It was stuck with you forever, attached to that town.

Your first kiss in the boy’s bathroom, Heo Hyunjoon pushing you up against the wall. Jaemin had walked in, looked furious, and then left without a word. Hyunjoon hadn’t called the next day, and you’d found out the kiss had just been a dare. Jaemin had held you while you cried on your bathroom floor. He’d looked so angry, muttering that he was going to kill Hyunjoon the next time he saw him, but you’d made him promise not to touch him.

Your first high school party. Some girl had slipped something into your drink as a sick joke, and you remembered stumbling down the hall, your head spinning and your heart pounding in terror as you searched for Jaemin. You’d found him in one of the bedrooms, and your heart had broken just a little at the sight of him kissing another girl against the wall. His eyes had been red and dazed, his lips swollen and hair tousled, and for a moment, you’d found yourself wishing that it was you pressing kisses to the skin of his neck, but it wasn’t. But his eyes had widened when he saw your state, pulling away from her and catching you in his arms. You’d told him you were scared, that you didn’t know what was happening, and he’d taken you home. Your parents had been sitting on the couch, watching TV. They didn’t give you a second glance as Jaemin pulled you upstairs, held your hair back as you threw up in the toilet.

Your parents had never cared, but that had been fixed before you’d left, and they’d left soon after. Now they called every weekend and sent you postcards from their travels and you were all finally healing, but the memories were still there, at what used to be home.

But maybe Jaemin needed it. Maybe he hadn’t said his goodbyes the way you had, maybe there was something still tethering him to the open window of his bedroom, to the shattered glass on his kitchen floor. And who knew, maybe you’d find that you’d left something behind too. You didn’t know. You just knew that Jaemin needed to breathe. You had always been Jaemin’s lungs, had always helped him with whatever he needed, and you weren’t about to stop now.

“Okay,” you breathed, and Jaemin’s eyes widened. “I’m not saying yes just yet, just so you know. But I’ll think about it, okay? I can promise you that. I just want the best for all of us.”

Jaemin smiled sadly, but there was something new lurking behind his eyes, something that looked dangerously like hope.

“Um, I should go,” you said. “And you should visit Jeno today. He’d like to hear your voice, I bet.”

Jaemin smiled sadly. “He can’t hear me.”

“I know.”

“But you should still talk to him.”

It was hard to go back to your apartment alone. The first night, you’d been so tired that it had been relatively easy to fall asleep, the shock and terror not enough to keep your eyes from falling and your world spinning into darkness. But the next few days were harder.

You couldn’t sleep in your own room, so you’d been sleeping and living in Jaemin and Jeno’s apartment, curling into Jaemin’s blankets and praying that Jeno would wake up, that Jaemin would be okay, that he wouldn’t blame himself for whatever would happen to Jeno.

You thought about Jaemin’s proposition; you really did. But eventually the problem had turned from you not wanting to go back, to not wanting to leave.

Jeno was dying alone in the confines of the white halls of a hospital. His eyes were closed and his skin was pale and you couldn’t leave him to go with Jeno because despite everything Jaemin was to you, Jeno was your other best friend, just as important, if in another way.

You were stuck between staying for your best friend, staying for the chance to say goodbye when the inevitable finally came, and being there for the you’d finally admitted you might love, to watch him fix whatever he thought was broken. Because it was finally him wanting to fix things; it was him making an effort, and not you, and it was new and you all needed it.

But you couldn’t leave Jeno, because you were too scared that if you left now, you’d never see him again.

You’d been getting ready to go the hospital a couple days later to tell him you couldn’t leave, not just yet, and neither should Jaemin, when Renjun knocked on your door. You’d forced yourself into your room to clean things up when he arrived.

“Hey,” you said.

He smiled softly at you. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

You shrugged. “Could be better,” you said.

He nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Do you… need help with anything?”

You shook your head, your hair falling in front of your face as you shoved some clothes into your drawer. “I… I don’t know.”

Renjun didn’t need you to say anything else. He sat down on your bed, patting the spot next to him. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

You sighed, but complied, feeling the bedsprings sink slightly under your combined weight as you took a seat next to him, your leg brushing his.

“I don’t know what to do,” you confessed, feeling the familiar burn of coming tears well behind your eyes. “Jaemin… I just don’t know what to do with him.”

Renjun leaned closer, his dark eyes searching your face, brows knit together in slight concern.

“He asked me to go back home with him,” you continued.

“For how long?” Renjun asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe a week, maybe more. He says he needs to go back, and he wants me to be with him.”

“And why’s that so bad?”

Renjun’s words startled you. Suddenly, you felt dizzy, confused and disoriented. And then angry, and hurt, and sad, and suddenly you were leaning forward until your lips were pressed firmly against Renjun’s, your eyes screwed tightly shut as you wished for something to feel, to replace the part of your soul lingering by Jaemin’s bedside.

Renjun moved back a few centimeters, but you moved forward, threading a hand through his hair as you pulled him closer.

“Y/N—” His words were muffled by your mouth, but eventually he succeeded in pushing you off of him. “Y/N, you’re crying.”

He was right. When you brought a hand to your cheek, your fingertips came away wet, and you could taste salt on your lips as you licked over them.

“Oh,” you choked out. You tried to laugh at yourself, but it got caught in your throat.

“Y/N, you don’t want to kiss me,” Renjun said.

“I do,” you said, shaking your head. “I do.”

“Y/N, you’re not in love with me.”

“I have to be,” you said desperately. “I can’t—”

Renjun grasped your hand between his, silencing you. He gave you a sad, melancholy smile, before his lips parted and he began to speak.

“You’re in love with him. And that’s okay,” he said softly. “He’s in love with you too, but I think you know that already.”

“I like you, I really do, Y/N. But I understand you can’t force yourself to love me. It doesn’t work like that. What you and Jaemin have—it comes naturally. You shouldn’t fight that kind of love, Y/N.”

Renjun smiled softly. “And besides, Jaemin’s not a bad kid. He’s just troubled, but he’s everything that’s important. He’s kind, and caring, and he loves you. And from what you’ve told me, he’s trying.”

“Okay,” you choked out. “Okay, I get it. Yeah, I’m in love with him too, all right? But that’s not the only problem, Renjun. I can’t go home with him. I can’t help him no matter how much I want to.”

“Why not?”

The words were stuck in your throat, stinging your skin like a rose’s thorns, poison blood welling at the tip of your tongue.

“Jeno could die,” you said. “He could die while we’re gone and I wouldn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“He could still wake up,” Renjun said quietly. “The doctors said—”

You scoffed. “Oh, the doctors. Jeno has never been lucky. He always loses rock paper scissors and Jaemin always wins, and he always loses coin flips and stupid bets and that’s why Jeno has never, ever gambled anything in his entire life, because he’s smart enough to know he’ll lose.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Renjun whispered.

You began feeling frustrated. Renjun’s lips no longer looked welcoming and inviting; instead, his eyes were weak and fragile, his words comforting lies instead of the hard truths you felt you needed to hear.

“Just tell me he’s not going to wake up,” you snapped. “Just say it, Renjun!”

He shook his head. “No. Because I know it’s not true.”

You were crying again.

“He’s not going to wake up, Renjun, he’s not going to wake up,” you cried. “He’s going to die and it’s all my fault.”

Renjun pulled you into a hug, letting your tears wet the fabric of his hoodie as he held you to his chest, making comforting noises in the back of his throat in an attempt to console you.

“The best thing you can do for Jeno is believe,” he said softly. “He’s going to wake up. I know that.”

You shook your head. “You’re lying.” you sniffled.

“Maybe, but I’m not. I’m saying what I believe. And I think the least you can do for you best friend is hope he’ll be okay.”

You hated how sensible Renjun was.

“Say it with me,” he murmured into your ear. “Jeno will be alright.”

Your eyes burned.

“Jeno will be alright,” you whispered.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Everything will turn out okay.”

Renjun smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear fondly. His eyes were sad but proud, dark and melancholy but achingly wise, terrifyingly neutral.

“I wish I would’ve fallen in love with you,” you muttered quietly, exhausted.

He laughed. “I wish so, too. But you don’t choose who you love, not all the time. So I’m happy as long as you’re happy, okay?”

You nodded, returning his soft smile.

“Now,” he said firmly, gently moving you off of him and brushing off his pants as he stood up, “Let’s get you packed.”

You decided to say goodbye to Jeno before you left, just in case. Jaemin was discharged from the hospital a few days ago, and had spent his time making preparations for the trip back home. He seemed livelier, a now unfamiliar jump in his step that you’d been missing from the moment you all quit dance club in middle school. He even talked faster, and his eyes were brighter. He was at his apartment now, while you stood in front of Jeno’s hospital bed, watching your unmoving, sleeping friend do absolutely nothing at all. He’d regained a bit of the color in his face, which the doctors had said was promised, and his skin had been cleaned of the dry flecks of blood that had remained even a week after the accident.

“Hey, Jen,” you said softly, moving to sit in the armchair at his bedside. You moved his fringe out of his eyes, making a mental note to remind his sister to give him a haircut next time she visited.

“I’d really like it if you could hold out a bit longer, you know.” you choked out, forcing a tight laugh. “I’ve heard Seol misses you a lot, you know.”

You paused, but Jeno didn’t answer; he couldn’t answer.

“God, I had a whole speech planned out, you know,” you said wryly. “But now that I’m actually here, I can’t remember any of it. Jaemin won’t say goodbye. He’s convinced you’ll wake up. Which is good, I’m glad. It’s the first time he’s been so positive in a long time. But I wanted to say goodbye for him, just in case.”

Silence.

“We love you, Jeno. I’m sorry we dragged you into this. You’re a good kid. I know it’s not my fault, according to Renjun, but I still wanted to say sorry. You don’t deserve this. None of us do.”

Still quiet. You didn’t know what else to say. “I guess it’s goodbye, then. Just for now, I hope. Don’t die.”

No chuckle, no rolled eyes and stupid smile.

“I love you, Jeno. See you soon.”

You left what had grown to be your new home within the span of only a few days, Jaemin bouncing on his heels with barely concealed excitement, fear, apprehension. It was a look you hadn’t seen a while; it was akin to what Jaemin often looked like after the initial high of a race, except there was something deeper lingering in the depths of his coffee brown eyes. Instead of the rush of a win and the scent of danger, something wild squeezing his heart, a spark of hope was flickering in his chest, and to you, it was painfully visible, both relieving and terrifying. You hoped that spark wouldn’t die, that spat words wouldn’t strangle it out of him, that it wouldn’t be suffocated by a forgotten childhood returned. You hoped it would burn brighter, but you were scared it wouldn’t.

You and Jaemin took the cheapest available option, which ended up being a six hour train ride to your destination. Long, but cheap. The seats were crammed, and the girls crammed into the seat across from you wouldn’t stop staring at Jaemin, then bursting into small giggles, all blushing cheeks and fluttering eyelashes.

No matter how sad Jaemin got, there was something that always made him feel better, a habit you’d hated for a long, long time.

Na Jaemin had always been an awful flirt.

The third time the girl with the soft brown locks and long eyelashes caught his eye, he flashed her a mind-numbing smile. Her cheeks reddened, and her friend nudged her in the side, whispering something in her ear. She shook her head, bringing a delicate hand to her parted lips in a mock gasp, but a smile still grew at the corner of her mouth.

“Hi,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Yoona.”

Jaemin smiled. “I’m Jaemin,” he said, then winked at her.

You frowned, but quickly smoothed your expression as the girl’s eyes darted over to you. Under the train’s table, you decided to dig your heel into to top of Jaemin’s foot. He hissed in pain, looking shocked.

“What was that for?” he demanded.

You shrugged. “Sorry. My foot slipped.”

He scowled at you, before flashing an apologetic look to Yoona.

“So,” Yoona said, leaning forward on the table, “which stop are you?”

“The last one,” Jaemin answered.

She pouted. “Aw, I was hoping we’d be getting off at the same place,” she said, her lips curving up. “That way, maybe we could’ve spent some quality time together. Maybe we can meet up sometime.”

Jaemin’s eyebrow quirked up, his mouth setting into a smirk before you coughed loudly, causing the girl to look back at you, annoyance passing briefly over her features before her expression settled back into a nonchalant indifference.

“Well,” you said, “that’s too bad, but we’re pretty busy, you know. Not really the time to… play.”

Yoona glared at you, her eyes angry. “I’m sure Jaemin could make the time,” she snapped, her voice hardening.

“I’m sure you could su—”

“Okay!” Jaemin interrupted you, chuckling awkwardly. “I’m sorry for, uh, whatever this is, but she’s right. We’ve got business back home.”

The girl settled back in her seat, crossing her arms. “Shame,” she spat.

Yoona and her friend left at the next stop, by which time you were already fuming from the few remarks she’d made that were obviously meant for you to hear. Each time you’d opened your mouth to reply to a snide comment, Jaemin had gripped your forearm with a loose hand, his thumb rubbing gently over your inner wrist.

After they’d left, you caught Jaemin watching you, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“You were jealous,” he teased, and you felt your cheeks burn with humiliation.

“I was not!” you retorted. “She was just shameless.”

He grinned ever wider. “She wasn’t even,” he said. “But you were jealous.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he interrupted you. “Don’t worry, it was cute.”

You gaped at him. “Cute?! How was that cute?”

He looked down, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves. He shrugged. The soft, gentle smile remained.

“I don’t know. Just you, getting bothered over other girls. I’ve never really seen you like that again.”

You scoffed. “You better not get used to it, you asshole. And I wasn’t jealous.”

Jaemin laughed. “Okay, Y/N. I won’t tease you.”

“Thank you,” you muttered, feeling a pout pulling at your lips.

He just laughed again, shaking his head softly, yet his eyes never left you.

The late evening hours crept in during the third hour, the sun setting at a miraculous pace, until the little light filtering through the train’s darkened windows was overshadowed by the dimly lit lights overhead. You found your eyelids drooping half an hour into the third hour, sleep tugging at your eyes. Your head dropped to Jaemin’s shoulder, a soft breath escaping your lips from the light impact. Jaemin’s arm curled around you, pulling you closer until you were snuggled against his side. You were barely awake, barely coherent enough to recognize how close you were to you best friend, the boy you had come to love a long, long time ago, and so all you could do was let yourself slip into the darkness, your heart fluttering under his comforting touch, as Na Jaemin pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

For the first time in weeks, your dreams weren’t nightmares. Instead, you dreamt of a childhood. Not yours, but someone’s. Jeno and Jaemin were there, playing in the long, vibrant grass as the sun shone overhead and the soft breeze caressed your skin. You couldn’t be much older than ten, your bodies long but still growing, filling out, the telltale sharp turn of Jeno’s jawline yet to make its long-awaited appearance. Your parents sat on the side, chattering excitedly among themselves. Your mother caught your eye, sent a wave and a warm smile, catching you off guard. Next to her, Jaemin’s father laughed at something yours said, his eyes bright, a glass of cool soda in his hand and square-framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

You heard your name. Jaemin and Jeno stood behind you, twin smiles on their faces. Jaemin reached out a hand, grinning, his hair mussed by the wind and eyes wild, yet soft. You took it, and Jeno took yours, and suddenly you were running through the long blades of grass, stems catching in your hair and laughter bubbling in your chest as Jaemin pulled you and Jeno somewhere new, somewhere safe and somewhere warm.

You awoke to the soft sound of Jaemin’s voice nudging you awake. He spoke softly, his voice riddled heavily with sleep and exhaustion. You were snuggled up against him, your body curled into him. Your head lay on his shoulder, and one hand was in his lap, which he’d grasped gently, a thumb rubbing gentle circles around the back of your hand. You coughed awkwardly, pulling yourself away from him.

“Is this our stop?” you croaked, wincing as your voice cracked.

Jaemin gave you a soft smile, nodding. “Almost, yeah. I didn’t want to wake you, but…”

You shrugged, gathering your things and letting out a sigh at the pounding in your head.

“You looked really peaceful,” Jaemin murmured. “I haven’t seen you sleep like that in a long time.”

Then he reached up, smoothing a finger across your brow, the small crease on your temple. You immediately relaxed your forehead. He chuckled.

“Good,” he said quietly, and then the train jolted to a halt.

Under the shadow of night, your hometown seemed peaceful and mundane, almost beautiful in a simple, ordinary way. The streetlamps shone dimly above the weathered streets, concrete cracked by ivy and weeds, and yet the wild tangling of the vines reminded you of your own roots, growing up in a town choked by tradition and tight leashes. It was only a matter of time before you broke free. Jaemin grew quiet beside you, his eyes darkening with each step he took toward his past. The hope in his eyes was still there, but now, it was overshadowed by apprehension and the light shading of fear. Hoping to comfort him, you grasped his hand in your own.

“It’s alright, Jaemin,” you murmured. “I’ll be with you the whole time we’re here, okay? Whenever you need me, I’ll be right there.”

Jaemin nodded stiffly, gulping nervously. “I know. Thank you.”

Jaemin’s past came in flashes of emptiness and sorrow, loneliness and small moments of joy, seemingly ripped away from him at every opportunity. Jaemin used to think Fate hated him, to let him turn out like this, alone but not alone, alright but not fine. He used to think that he had no right to complain about his life. People had it worse, after all. Some people had horrible parents, parents that hurt them with more than just words, but Jaemin’s father hardly ever touched him. He never got close enough to. For Jaemin’s father, his words were his weapons. Jaemin used to think that words didn’t have to hurt, that he could just shut them out and they wouldn’t matter to him, that if he accepted that he wasn’t loved, nothing the people who didn’t love said could ever hurt him.

But he was wrong, and walking back to his childhood brought everything back. As he turned the corner on Sunset Avenue, he remembered the time his father came home drunk when Jaemin was only eleven years old, his words slurred and eyes dark and angry.

“Why are you here?” his father had screamed at him. “Nobody wants you here, you piece of shit! Get out!”

When he stepped on the cracks that lined the edge of the playground he used to play at, just a little bit away from his childhood home, he remembered his seventh Christmas, when he came down and saw nothing sitting underneath the tree except the trembling figure of his mother as she sobbed into her hands, and his father, sitting on the couch, sipping on whiskey at six in the morning. The sun had barely even peeked above the horizon, the moon not yet gone to bed, and yet Jaemin’s father was already drunk, already spouting nasty words at the people he was supposed to love. Disgust was what Jaemin had felt at that moment, and yet it had scared him to see his family like that, so he hadn’t done anything. He’d just left, crawled back into bed, and gone to sleep.

I’m not ready.

He could see the window to his old bedroom from here, dark and empty.

Your hand tightened around his.

The steps of his porch creaked underneath his feet as he approached the front door.

His breath was caught in his throat, and suddenly, he found it difficult to breathe.

“Jaemin?”

You were looking at him with wide eyes. He saw fear, worry, everything swirling in the darkest parts of your eyes, glimmering like stars under the moonlight. He could see himself in your eyes, scared, but not alone.

He smiled. “It’s okay,” he said. “I think I’m ready.”

As long as you’re here, with me.

He knocked on the door, and let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

And then, the door opened, and Jaemin suddenly found it all too difficult to breathe.

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megalony · 5 years

Text

Royal affair- Part 4

Here is another part of my royal! Ben Hardy series involving a love triangle with Joe. I hope you all like it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @rogahs-drowse

Series taglist: @justmesadgirl

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tipping her head forward, (Y/n) rested her forehead on Ben's shoulder as she loosely wrapped her arms around his neck. Her legs stayed hooked around his hips as he leaned back in the chair, one hand resting on her hip as his other hand rubbed soothing circles on her back.

(Y/n) held her breath for a few seconds before relaxing against him when he made no attempt to move either of them or tell her to go. Normally he never told her to leave, either he left after kissing her or a silent look passed between them and they both wandered off in different directions.

She wanted this time to be different.

(Y/n) wanted to stay in the study she had never been in before and just sit with Ben like this for a while. She wanted him to keep holding her like he was trying to tuck her into his heart. She wanted to stay close to him rather than leaving after he fucked her. It had been just over a month since the incident in the library where he told her he wanted an affair with her. And every time after they hooked up whenever the opportunity arose, they went their separate ways soon afterwards.

They did chat for a little while sometimes and when they met in a secluded corridor they would talk on time to time before sex eventually occurred but (Y/n) wanted more.

She wanted to be able to have a conversation with him and just get to know him rather than every single time just fucking and leaving. She got to know Joe a little better but it was Ben who intrigued her, it was Ben who she wanted to know about rather than her husband.

"What are you thinking?" Ben stated quietly, brushing some of her hair behind her ear before he cupped her cheek. Gently turning her head so she was looking at him causing (Y/n) to lean her face against his shoulder as she looked up at him with a lazy smile. Her fingers started to trial up and down the back of his neck, gently dragging her nails across his skin causing him to shiver against her as he waited patiently for a response.

"Don't leave me just yet." (Y/n) whispered the words against his neck as she felt his hands stop rubbing over her skin. Instead, his palms simply pressed against her back under her shirt.

Ben didn't say anything in response, he simply kept one hand on her back and moved the other so he was cupping her face again. Leaning his head to the side as his eyes narrowed in a silent plea to ask her to continue talking, to explain what she was thinking. This wasn't exactly normal for the pair, they didn't usually hang around after sex, not that he didn't like this. It was different but it was a good different.

To have her in his arms with the peaceful silence wrapping around them, no worries about someone finding them. No wondering what Joe or his mother or anyone else would think or say if they found out about the affair.

"I... I just want to stay like this for a while, we don't talk or relax." (Y/n) lowered her eyes to his chest as she wondered if he would laugh or tell her he was going to leave or simply think she was being silly for wanting to get to know him. But to her surprise, he simply wrapped his arms around her properly and kissed her forehead. He didn't think it was silly, he thought she was very timid but sweet.

"Ah, the lovely lady wants to get to know me." Pushing herself off his chest, (Y/n) sat up on his thighs as she leaned her head to the side. Moving her hands so they were resting on her chest as she nodded.

She didn't know much about Ben other than he had a brother, an overbearing mother and his father had passed away leaving him the throne. She didn't know what his childhood was like, many of his interests other than sport, any dreams he had or things he wanted to do. If he liked reading, what it was like being King. (Y/n) knew very little about him and she wanted to get to know him because he peaked her interest and intrigue highly.

"What do you desire to know?"

"I don't know much about you, that's all. Tell me your life, what your childhood was like your interests, just... stuff about you." (Y/n) didn't have any questions for him or any specific details of his life she wanted to learn about. She simply wanted to know what it was like to be him, to build a better picture and know him better.

She watched with a smile as Ben tipped his head back against the chair, his eyes drifting up to look at the ceiling as he seemed to ponder on her request. Wondering what he should tell her, what she would like to know and he took a moment to think about his life.

"You know my mother, growing up with her was hard enough. I didn't really want to be King but my father taught me everything I needed to know. My mother backs down to me now, she won't dare go against me because her little boy took the crown like she wanted and he took control." (Y/n)'s eyes seemed to sparkle as she smiled, she could clearly imagine what he was referring to and what he meant.

His mother had been overbearing all through his life because Ben was the firstborn. He was the one who was going to be King and she wanted her little boy to soar and thrive and take the crown and be a great King. Ben had always bowed down to his mother and given in to both parents. Even though he didn't want to be King he listened to his father, took all the lessons he was given and learnt what it would take to be King. When he finally got coronated his mother was proud but she started being easier with him. She didn't order him around, she let him do and say what he wanted because he was a very controlling person and now he was King he didn't care what he said or did. She didn't dare go against him.

Ben had everyone right where he wanted them and (Y/n) could clearly see that.

"I think Joe was always pissed at me, I got the moral lessons, people telling me about parliament and the decisions our father had to make. Joe got the free reign, he got music lessons and fencing and saw plays and drama shows. He wanted the lessons for a King but he's five years younger so he only gets the throne if I die with no offspring."

Both brothers were jealous of the other because the other got what they wanted most. Joe desired the attention of their father and the lessons on how to be a King. He wanted the crown, he took an interest and thought he would be a good King but Ben was older and that was simply the luck of the draw. Ben wanted the freedom Joe had because Joe chose to have music lessons, he chose to go and see plays in London and travel and go to the theatre. Ben wasn't allowed those things. He was forced to take the lessons of a future King and to go to parliament every Monday and see how it worked and what he would need to do to keep it running smoothly.

"What did you want to do instead?" (Y/n) asked softly as she trailed her finger over his jawline causing him to smile.

"I wanted to be a boxer. My father said a King couldn't indulge in such a sport and my mother said boxing was not something a Prince should do. They made me do fencing instead. When I was fifteen I threatened to abdicate the throne to Joe if they didn't let me take boxing as a hobby. I was never allowed in a tournament or to box outside the castle but they let me box so I took the crown."

Ben had a temper and a fire that was perfect for boxing. He had seen people do it and he thought it would be the perfect sport for him but his father only let him have fencing lessons and learn boring croquet. His father even made a gym in the west wing of the castle to try and fulfil Ben's passion for sport and make him content but it wasn't what he wanted to do. So when he was fifteen he went into parliament with his father and demanded he was allowed to box or he'd sign the papers to make Joe take the crown he always wanted.

Ben had been the one to have all of the lessons for being King, he knew what to do and he had the head and mentality for it. His parents desperately wanted him to be King and they had invested his whole life into it so they had to bow down to his demand.

"When did you become King?"

"Four years ago when I was twenty-two, Joe was seventeen." That did seem quite a young age for him to become King, it would have been even worse for Joe if he was a King at such a young age. "Alright, what about you princess? Tell me your story."

(Y/n) knew this would happen, Ben had told her his story so he was bound to ask her for her own which she had never spoken about to anyone. She never talked about her life or her feelings to Joe, he didn't know the full story and she had no one here to tell. Eliza, the maid who travelled here with her only knew a little about (Y/n)'s life and she never pried. But Ben had been kind enough to talk so (Y/n) owed him her story in return.

"I hated my life since I was ten... I dreamed of being an escape artist and running away in the night. Then, when I married Joe and finally got away, I suddenly wanted to go back." (Y/n) spoke slowly and softly but she knew her words had suddenly shocked Ben. He interlocked their hands, watching carefully as (Y/n) looked down to their hands to have something to focus on.

"Why was it so bad?" Ben gently tilted her head up so she was looking at him, his expression changing when he noticed the tears beginning to prickle in her eyes. He silently brushed away some of the tears but frowned when (Y/n)'s breathing hitched as she tried to stay calm but it wasn't working. "Oh, baby." He sighed, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of her lips before (Y/n) moved around. Pulling her legs from around his hips, swinging her legs slowly so they were resting over his own before she leaned her side against his chest. Tucking her face into his neck, seeking the comfort he didn't normally give like this.

"I... I had a sister, a twin." Ben didn't say anything but it was clear from her words that her sister was no longer alive. "She was the golden child, the one who took ballet and singing and classes on how to be a lady. She was graceful... b-but she got pneumonia when we were ten."

(Y/n) never really minded about her sister being the golden child because she didn't like all the attention their parents gave them. She liked how her sister was the one who took ballet and actually wanted to be a prestige lady. It let (Y/n) read books and get lost in her imagination without her parents telling her off. She could wander the house pretending to be a rebel escape artist.

"She died?"

"I was suddenly the centre of attention. Mother couldn't look at me, I looked just like Amelia. Father tried to make me like her, sent me to ballet but I started too late, he made me take classes but I didn't like them. My m-mother made the maid cut my hair s-so I looked less like Amelia."

Ben moved his hand so he was cradling the back of her head, holding her tighter to his chest to try and comfort her. His parents had been overbearing but he had experience with being forced to take the classes, from the beginning. He didn't know how (Y/n) felt to take those classes and not excel at them. He didn't know what it was like to lose such a close sibling and have his parents feel resentful of him or feel they couldn't be around him because he was too much of a reminder.

The fact that her mother made her cut her hair sent Ben reeling because it wasn't (Y/n)'s fault she was a twin. She couldn't help looking like her sister and he suspected she didn't want that reminder either when she looked in a mirror.

"I didn't want to marry Joe but I had to. My mother finally seemed to accept me when I married him, l-like I finally did something right." (Y/n) saw the look in her mother's eyes. She seemed so happy, so fulfilled and proud for the first time since Amelia had passed away. She finally accepted (Y/n) as her, not as her dear sister or simply as a failure.

"Tell her you fucked the King." There was a sense of humour to his rather bitter tone. If (Y/n) indeed told her mother that she elder woman would have a heart attack or disown (Y/n) on the spot.

Pulling back so she was able to look at him properly, (Y/n) felt a small smile pulling at her lips when he moved to kiss her jaw.

"I think you're perfect."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You okay there?"

(Y/n) jumped at the sudden question she wasn't expecting as she pressed her lips into a thin line. Ben had his back to her as he was facing the punching bag in front of him, she thought he was too entranced in trying to split the bag open to realise that she was hiding in the doorway.

She had stayed in the doorway for a few minutes, she thought about voicing her presence but decided against it when he seemed like he was in a perfect rhythm. Moving away from the door, (Y/n) quietly closed it behind her before approaching the blond who was a few feet in front of her.

He turned around so he was facing her, sweat dripping from the limp curls folding over his forehead as an open-mouthed smile pulled at his lips when he saw her. He brushed a taped hand through his hair to fold the strands back on his head and out of his eyes before he slowly started to unravel the white tape from his knuckles and fingers.

"Everything alright?" He asked with a raised brow as he let the tape fall to the floor at his feet. His chest heaving to try and regain back the breath he had lost from the rounds he went with the punch bag. When (Y/n) nodded he advanced towards her, snaking his hand around to the back of her neck before he pressed a rather gentle kiss to her lips opposing to the usual fierceness he kissed her with.

His hand tightened just a little around the back of her neck as he moved to kiss her jaw. His other hand tugging her closer until she was pressed flush against him, feeling her hands holding his bare shoulders as he was simply wearing his jet black shorts he usually sparred in. Pulling back, Ben narrowed his eyes just as he was about to kiss her again. There was something in her eyes, some sort of look or nervousness that set him on edge, especially when he saw her eyes suddenly welling with tears.

Leaning forward, (Y/n) wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as she pushed herself up on her toes so she could bury her face in his neck. Trying hard not to break down in sobs but she was finding it very hard.

"What's wrong?" There was an urgency to his tone as he felt his heartbeat increasing. Unsure what was happening and why she was suddenly worried or upset. "Princess, talk to me. Has something happened?" Ben's tone sounded authoritative as he had to know if something had happened or if someone found out about them or if it was something else entirely that was causing this reaction from her.

He tried to pull her back so he could look at her but (Y/n) kept her arms tight around him, refusing to budge from sticking herself to his front.

"Come on, you have to talk to me. Tell me what's happened."

(Y/n) looked up at him with worried eyes as he gently held her wrists in his hands, adding a small membrane of space between them so he could look at her properly. He had to know what was upsetting her so he could try and sort things out. He couldn't help her in any way if he didn't know what the problem was.

"I- I'm sorry..."

"Sorry? Princess, what do you have to be sorry for?" Ben shook his head as he spoke, feeling his nerves beginning to knot and turn haywire at her words that worried him to no end. What on Earth would she have to be sorry about? "You're worrying me now, tell me what's wrong." Ben couldn't help but talk in a stern tone because he wanted to find out what was wrong. He liked to be in control of the situation and as soon as she told him what was the problem the sooner he could gain control and sort it out.

All he could think was that someone had found out about them but he didn't know how. They were always alone when they met up, they didn't go telling anyone about their affair and Ben knew (Y/n) covered up the marks he left on her skin so Joe didn't find out. He knew his brother was clueless, she could have all the bruises in the world and he wouldn't suspect anything.

"I'm pregnant."

(Y/n) bit down on her lip to stop a sob bubbling past her lips as she watched the man in front of her look like he was going to smile in disbelief as if he thought she was joking with him.

Ben knew she was telling him because it was clearly his child and this complicated and ruined everything.

If people found out it was Ben's child (Y/n) would be disgraced, Joe would divorce her and her parents wouldn't let her back home. Not to mention the reputation for Ben and what it would do for him since he was the bloody King. But (Y/n) knew that if she hadn't of told him now and she had told Joe and pretended it was Joe's then if Ben found out he would go mad. She had gotten to know Ben a little over the past two months. She knew that he was rather possessive and could get jealous.

He wasn't the kind of person that would allow his brother to bring up his own child as their own. Ben wasn't the kind of man who would ignore this fact and pretend the child wasn't his and that meant that the situation was now going to get tricky.

(Y/n) held her breath as Ben looked away for a moment, his eyes showing he was lost in thought before he suddenly looked back at her. Gingerly reaching his hand out to press to her flat stomach as if he was expecting a bump or a kick already. His eyes followed his hand causing his already laboured breaths to increase in pace.

"Oh, shit."

What had they gone and done?

#ben x reader #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy #imagine #borhap #joe x reader #joe mazzello #joe mazello imagine #royal affair

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panda-noosh · 5 years

Text

Secret Santa {Matt x Reader}

Words: 4.3k

Summary: In which Matt is your Secret Santa, and he has the perfect idea for a gift.

Genre: fluff

Notes: masterlist

+++

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

“Let me see that.”

Before Matt could reply, Pidge had snatched the sheet of paper from his hand and was already reading the contents - the contents which had made Matt’s stomach flip upside down with nerves.

It wasn’t a big deal. He knew it wasn’t a big deal, because this was something that everybody was doing. Secret Santa was a store tradition, and Matt had participated in it every single year since he had signed on with the clothes shop he currently worked at.

But god, how was he meant to buy something for you?

Just the thought had his head reeling with stress. Once upon a time, he was the best at Secret Santa. Anybody was lucky to have him, as he truly did go all out to buy things that the person would like.

But now, looking over Pidge’s shoulder, rereading your name which was lazily scrawled on the piece of paper, Matt’s mind went completely blank. There was a level of pressure buying for the person you’ve been head over heels for for nearly three years.

“Surely you’re not freaking out over this,” Pidge said suddenly.

Matt’s eyes snapped up, startled. “What do you mean? Of course I am.”

Pidge scoffed, shoving the piece of paper back into Matt’s hand before leaning casually back in her seat. “You’re being ridiculous. You and Y/N have been best friends for ages now - you should know what they like.”

Matt blanked. That was a mighty fine point, and one he hadn’t thought about. Because of course he knew what you liked - you liked music, liked reading books on your break, liked Gummy Bears and white jelly beans. You liked having bath bombs every now and then, a face mask every once in a while to relax with.

And yet going through your list of hobbies and interests was not helping Matt in the slightest.

“I can’t just get them something boring,” he grumbled, sitting down on the chair beside Pidge. She creaked a single eye open and regarded him. He could feel the judgement coming off of her - she knew of his crush, knew of his feelings towards you because how on earth was he meant to hide them from the one person who could read him like a book? It wasn’t possible.

“You’re not gonna get them an engagement ring or anything like that, are you?” she asked.

Matt flushed. “No. But I want to get them something special.”

“You’ve never thought this hard about a Secret Santa gift before.”

“You wanna guess why?”

Pidge frowned, but placed a small and gentle hand on his arm anyway; she understood. He knew she did. She had seen him fluster over you for years now, seen him fall deeper into the trap that had been set from the moment he first stepped through those doors with his CV and his National Security number in his hand.

He would think about it for a little while longer. Perhaps a good nights rest would bring him a good idea - at this point, he could only hope.

+++

He inhaled sharply - you were working today?

He tried to recall the rota that had been hung upon the wall the previous week - his name had certainly been on it too many times for him to count, but he had only seen your name sprawled upon the sheet a few times throughout the week. Long shifts, but less days. That was how your schedule was going.

And yet here you were, on this frosty Monday morning with your hair tangled in a set of Christmas lights, balancing on the top rung of a ladder as you tried to remove them from your ponytail.

“Oh my god,” you groaned in frustration, snapping Matt out of the stupor he had fallen into upon sight of you. “Can somebody help me?”

Matt was immediately bolting upright, straightening up his Christmas jumper and rushing towards you. “Here, here. You shouldn’t be up there like that.”

You looked down, clearly startled that somebody had genuinely heard you - it was still a few hours before opening, meaning nobody else was actually present. You had clearly requested help without actually meaning to acquire said help.

Nonetheless, Matt was by your side in an instant, placing a gentle hand on your hip and guiding you down the ladder with as much care and ease as he could with how his hands were trembling. They flinched away from your hip bone as if somehow touching you there was taboo.

“Oh, Matt,” you said once you were finally back on the floor. “I didn’t know you were in today.”

“I didn’t know you were in today,” he replied, before nodding to the mess of Christmas lights still tangled in your hair. “Uh... What were you doing, exactly?”

You flushed, reaching up and tugging at the tangle. “The boss asked me to hang some more Christmas lights up above the bookshelves. I thought I’d get it done early, but apparently it’s not a one person job.” You smiled sheepishly, finally managing to pull the lights from your hair. “I must look like a right idiot.”

“No!” The word shot from Matt’s mouth before he could think better of it. He flushed immediately, looking away from you before he could be subjected to the startled expression that overtook your features.

He coughed awkwardly and shook his head, trying to soften his own insistence. “No. No, you didn’t. I can do the lights if you want?”

You raised a brow. “Are you sure? You have to open the shop today, right? I don’t want this cutting into your break time or anything.”

Matt shook his head dismissively, already grabbing the string of lights from your hands. You watched him - he knew you were. He could feel your gaze burning holes into the back of his head as he climbed up the ladder and started hastily pinning the Christmas lights to the bookshelves.

The silence was crushing. It wasn’t awkward, considering he had something to do. It wasn’t like the two of you were just standing before one another, doing nothing, saying nothing - you were craning your neck to and fro, trying to get a good look at what Matt was doing.

Nonetheless, the silence was suffocating him, and he had to speak before his face got any redder.

“So, are you doing anything nice for the holidays this year?” he asked. It was a stupid question, clearly meant as a conversation-starter, but it was the only thing he could think of right now.

You sighed. “Not really. Spending the day with my family, working for most of the days leading up to it.” You shrugged as if to say ah well, before your face lit up. You were suddenly smiling, tapping your fingers against the ladder in excitement.

“What?” Matt asked, unable to hide his chuckle.

“I was just thinking about that Christmas market that’s coming here in a few days. I’d love to go to that. Have you heard about it?”

Matt had, considering his father was the one who was organising it. He didn’t say that, though, but instead pursed his lips and feigned ignorance. “No. Does it sound good?”

“It sounds brilliant,” you gushed, still grinning. “I saw some pictures of it online and it looks absolutely beautiful.” Suddenly, your grin was fading, returning to that tired frown you had been wearing before. “I think I’m working everyday it’s on, though, so I shouldn’t really be getting my hopes up.”

Matt frowned, very nearly tipping over on the ladder with how quick his eyes shot down to gouge your expression; as soon as he saw you, he wanted to look away, because you didn’t look happy. You had pursed your lips and was looking idly around the shop, one hand still holding the ladder, knuckles white with your grip. It made Matt’s stomach curl. You were the type of person who should never be frowning, should never look upset.

Matt looked back up at the work he was doing, mind running at a thousand miles per hour. He could scarcely help it - was this his opening? If he could pull this off...

“There’s always next year,” he said softly, biting his lower lip to stop his grin from showing.

+++

“You’re really asking me this during the busiest month of the year?”

Matt resisted the urge to clap his hands together and beg. Instead, he ran his hands through his brown hair and looked over at Coran with eyes that did the begging for him; he needed this. It was perfect.

“Please, Coran. I promise I’ll work extra time in January, but Y/N and I need this day off. Just one day!”

Coran sighed, leaning back in his chair with that air of authority he always seemed to hold. He spoke a great deal of nonsense, but anybody with two eyes could see that he knew exactly what he was doing at all times - he was a decent businessman, meaning Matt could twist his arm if he tried hard enough. People like Coran thrived off of deals.

“What if I can’t find anyone else to cover you both?” he asked.

“My sister has already agreed to come in and cover my shift,” Matt replied. “And I’m sure I can get Shiro in to cover Y/N’s. You won’t be short staffed - I promise.”

“Those were supposed to be your shifts.”

“I know that, Coran, but Y/N and I have been in work almost every day for the past two weeks. Do you not think we deserve this break?”

Coran pursed his lips. Matt hadn’t meant to use the deserve a break card, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“You have both been working hard,” he mumbled, sparking hope in Matt’s chest. “And this is for your Secret Santa gift?”

“Mhm.” Matt fumbled in his pockets, tugging out the tickets for the Christmas market. He had gotten them from his dad for a discounted price - there was no way in hell he could let his plans fall through now. “Look, this is proof. I’ve even got the tickets already.”

“And how do I know you’re not just gonna spend the day doing inappropriate things behind my back?”

Matt spluttered, cheeks flushing red. “Excuse me?”

“Are you and Y/N not together?”

“No! We’re just - We’re just friends!” Matt shook his head hastily, desperately wanting to skip to the next subject matter before Coran could do what Coran did best and make the situation even more uncomfortable. “What do you say then, huh? Just this one day off, I’ll work overtime, and I won’t be leaving you short staffed. It literally does not affect you in any way, shape or form.”

Coran looked up at him. Matt knew he must have looked like a desperate child right now, but that’s what he was - desperate.

Finally, his boss sighed and shrugged. “I guess I can give you both the day off. But only because it’s the holidays!”

Matt was already on his feet, grinning from ear to ear, the tickets pressed tight to his chest. “Ah, yes! Thank you so much! I promise, I won’t let you down!” He span on his heel, stumbled over his chair on his way to the door. “You’re the best, man! The best!”

Coran mumbled something along the lines of “The things I do...,” but Matt could barely hear him over the roar of his own heartbeat, pure bliss taking over his being as he stampeded out of the room and began planning for his special Secret Santa present.

+++

Quickly, Matt straightened up his Christmas jumper. It was now or never. Sure, he had been up since 6am, working nonstop and dealing with stressed out customers, and sure, asking you out on a date wearing an ugly Christmas jumper was not going to leave the impression he wanted, but he had no other choice. The market was coming to town tomorrow, and god only knew the next time Matt would get a day off.

So, he took what he could get, and made the most out of it.

Running his fingers through his hair, he made his way towards you. You had only been in work for an hour, rebuilding an old Christmas LEGO display that a kid had come and knocked over the previous day. You were still at it, sitting on the floor in the corner of the shop with the instructions laid out beside you and a concentrated look on your face. Your tongue peaked out from between your lips, and it took everything in Matt not to chuckle at the adorable sight.

He approached behind you, kept his hands behind his back, gripping the tickets tightly. And then, using all of the courage he could muster, he pulled his hands out and waved the tickets in front of your face, startling you out of your daze.

It took a moment for you to realise what he was actually waving in front of you. Your eyes darted over the papers hastily, narrowed, before your brows shot up in realisation and you were suddenly spinning around and throwing yourself into Matt’s arms with a ferocity he had definitely not been expecting.

He grunted, stumbling back. He just barely managed to catch himself on the table behind him, one hand wrapping around your waist whilst the other shot out to stop himself from falling over. Nonetheless, he was delighted with your response, and was too much in his own head to pull away.

You nuzzled your nose into his neck. He could just about hear your squeals of excitement, muffled by the flesh of his neck, but it was enough to have his own face lighting up in delight at the fact that he had been correct - you did like what he had given to you.

“Matt!” you groaned, tugging away from him. You kept your arms wound around his shoulders, looked him in the eyes in a way that made his knees go wobbly beneath him. “You really didn’t have to do that for me. Are you serious?”

Matt grinned. “Of course I am. Merry Christmas, from your Secret Santa.”

You gasped, eyes shooting up. “You’re not supposed to tell me you’re my Secret Santa! That’s the whole point.”

He shrugged loosely, too excited to care about his little slip-up. “Oh well. The secrets out now. So, what do you say? Are you willing to accompany me to the Christmas market tomorrow?”

“Are we both not working?”

He grinned even brighter. You caught the flicker of his expression, and it was clear that he didn’t even need to respond for you to understand that he had got you both the day off. Your face softened in gratitude, before you were slowly shaking your head and tugging Matt back into a hug, quietly thanking him with your embrace.

+++

You were right when you had claimed that the market was going to be beautiful, because that was exactly what it was.

From the moment the two of you stepped through the Grotto-themed front gates, the air shifted. It was something magical, the kind of mood that anyone would associate with Christmas immediately being thrown upon his very being. It was a direct contrast to the grouchy form he had been in these past few weeks - with work, and his stress of his Secret Santa, he hadn’t really been given the time to cherish the holiday season. He drove past Christmas decorations without a glance in their direction, grumbled to himself at the thought of buying gifts for anyone.

But stepping foot inside of the market with you by his side had somehow revived the festive cheer he was so used to feeling around this time of year. It brought him back a piece of his childhood, and he couldn’t help but smile at the feel of it.

You beside him only made the day ten times better. You both walked around, talking about everything and anything because you could, because the freedom of being away from work and hasty customers allowed you to finally walk around and just get to know each other in the way Matt had craved for months now.

You were bundled up in an oversized, waterproof coat, your scarf peeking out of the top of it and covering the lower half of your face. Matt wore similar attire, only he kept his scarf pulled down and hanging loosely from his neck. You had already commented multiple times that he looked like a drama student, and he had already teased you about how you looked like you had just come fresh from the North Pole.

“Look at me; always on theme,” you had replied, before the two of you had chuckled and continued walking.

The stalls were gorgeous. Christmas lights twinkled, only becoming prettier as the sun set and they were forced to pop out at you a little bit more. Little Christmas nic-nacs were set up; snowmen teddy bears, gingerbread men treats, snow globes that depicted the North Pole. Matt wanted desperately to buy you one, but his anxiety got the better of him - would his feelings become too obvious if he were to buy you something right now?

You didn’t seem to mind. You were too busy gawking at the nearby pastry stand, a fresh batch of Christmas muffins having just been set up on the counter. You had gasped, darted off towards them before Matt could even fully comprehend you were no longer by his side.

“Y/N?” he called, startled. He followed after you, muttering apologies to the people he was forced to push past in his haste to catch up. “Where are you going?”

“Look at these!” you exclaimed, snatching Matt’s hand and tugging him into your side. He couldn’t ignore the way you snuggled into his arm, pointing at the fresh pastries before you like an excited child. “Oh, should we try one? How much are they?”

“Fifty pence each, my dear,” the kind old man dressed as an elf replied in passing.

Matt was immediately tugging a pound coin out of his pocket, tightening his hold on your arm to stop you from doing the same. You frowned, glancing up at him with furrowed brows. He simply smiled before he placed the pound coin on the counter and ordered two of the fresh muffins.

The old man handed you both the treats and sent you on your way with a jolly “Merry Christmas!” that you responded to by grinning from ear to ear and yelling the phrase back to him, causing Matt to chuckle as you both walked away.

“You didn’t need to do that, you know,” you said once the two of you were a little further away and the excitement of fresh pastries had died down. “I need to buy you something now. That’s the only way this is going to be fair.”

“I don’t want you to buy me anything. I’m your Secret Santa, and this is my treat.”

“You’ve already spent so much on the tickets,” you protested. “Look, just let me buy you a gingerbread man or something. Or we can get our faces painted! I can pay for that-”

“You’re not paying for anything.” Matt looked down at you, noticed the small dot of frosting on your lips. It took all of his strength, but the confidence that came with you hugging his arm was enough to have him reaching out and gently brushing his thumb against your lower lip.

You flushed, crossing your eyes in an attempt to see what he had done. He scoffed, shook his head and looked forwards, trying desperately not to let the flutter of his heart get in the way of the confident aura he had just been showing.

You sighed like a five year old having a huff, shoulders slouching. “Fine then. But I’m gonna get you a super good Christmas present - something big.”

Matt raised a brow. “You’re getting me a Christmas present?”

“I feel like I kind of have to now.”

“It was Secret Santa, Y/N. You don’t have to get me anything.”

You raised a brow and glanced over at him. “Why are you being so generous right now? Nobody in their right mind would pass up the opportunity of a free Christmas gift.”

“Is that not what you were just doing by insisting on paying?”

“My present was the tickets.”

“Your present was the experience, meaning I should pay for-”

“Okay, okay, let’s not argue over who pays for what,” you said, quickly dismissing the topic. Matt grinned and nodded. “Should we stop and get a picture somewhere? I’d like to remember this.”

Matt flushed, having not expected the request at first. Of course, he wanted nothing more than to remember this memory, but the idea of you actually considering the same thing had not been something he had thought of.

Still, he nodded and tried to keep his cool. You grinned from ear to ear, wound your arm through his again and started trailing him towards the small, multicoloured-lit fields that were behind the main stalls. There were multiple backdrops set up for public use, and you dragged him towards one of the empty ones.

It didn’t look like much, simply two pieces of wood set up in an arch with a backdrop of a fire set up in the background. It was peaceful looking, lit up only by the fairy lights draped over the arch.

The two of you politely asked a passing person to take the picture and quickly got into position; Matt’s heart was beating at a thousand miles per hour, but he somehow managed to wrap an arm around your waist without his hand trembling. That would be embarrassing, and he had sworn to himself this morning that he would not make today awkward by letting his feelings get in the way. It simply could not happen.

You wrapped both arms around his middle, grinning from ear to ear. Matt was fairly certain that you would be able to hear his heartbeat hammering in his chest if you were to lean towards him any more.

“Alright, three...two...” The man taking the photo abruptly stopped counting, his eyes flicking up in surprise. Matt narrowed his own eyes, following the mans gaze to the space above his head.

“Of course,” he mumbled to himself.

Because of course this had to happen - stupid Christmas traditions that just had to put him in the most awkward situation.

“Looks like you two have to kiss,” the man chuckled. “That’ll be a nice picture for the in-laws, eh?”

Matt flushed, glancing up at the mistletoe which had suddenly appeared above his head. “Actually, uh, we’re not-”

Before Matt could finish his sentence, however, your hand suddenly came up, cupped his jaw and tilted his head down. You stood up on tippy toes, and then your lips were on his and he wasn’t entire sure what to do or how he melted into the sensation so quick, but it was happening - in fact, it felt like his entire body was melting.

It was almost a natural reflex for him, though he wasn’t sure why. His lips moulded into yours as if this wasn’t the first time he had kissed you. His hand wrapped around your waist a little tighter, pulling you closer until your knees were clashing together and Matt could smell the faint scent of candy cane coming from the fabric of your scarf.

He had only kissed a handful of people in his time, but this was unlike anything he had ever experienced. And he knew it was cheesy, knew he was probably just basking in the delight that was being kissed by the one person you wanted kissing you, but that’s truly what it felt like - like this was how it was supposed to be. There was no rising panic in his stomach, no sudden reflex to pull away and ask if he had done a good job. He just held you close to his body until the photographer chuckled and was approaching him with his phone held out.

“I got a good few pictures on there for you,” the man said, bowing his head kindly. “You kids have fun now, okay?”

Matt nodded dumbly, your hand still resting on his cheek, your eyes still burning into the side of his head. Once the man had walked away, he looked down and met your gaze, swallowing thickly. Your eyes were blown, lips that had already been swollen from the cold looking even more plump, even more inviting. He wanted to swoop in and kiss you again, but looking at you now was so much more rewarding than any kiss would or ever could be.

You nodded slowly, though Matt wasn’t sure why. He simply nodded along with you, tightening his hold on your waist and refraining from grinning - would his goofy grin ruin the moment?

Suddenly, you chuckled, shook your head and kissed him again. It startled him, but he kissed back immediately. When you pulled away, his lips chased your own, wanting more but not quite being allowed.

Your hand slid from his face, down his chest before you shyly looked away. Beneath the Christmas lights, he could see the way your eyes awkwardly shifted to the left, the way you scraped your foot in the dirt. He reached out and gently folded his fingers in your own, a silent comfort that what you had just done was not something you should be regretting.

You looked up at him, smiled warily and said, “Merry Christmas, Matt.”

And with a burst of confidence, Matt leaned down, pecked your lips and said, “That’s one of best presents I think I’ve ever received.”

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