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crimsonbubble · 3 years

Text

[4:12 PM]

(warnings: fem teacher!reader, school teacher!Jongho, dilf!Jongho, mentions of blood, clothed sex, overstimulation, edging, clit play, fingering, cum eating, brief spanking, mirror sex, praise, pull out method, exhibitionism, brief pet play, mentions of Mingi and Yunho)

*more and taglist after the cut*

note: @woowommy enabled me

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"You've got to be kidding me." Jongho looked at his colleague in distaste. "Come on, you're always working, you need some time to just relax and have some fun.." Jongho quirked an eyebrow, eyeing the way Mingi held back from saying something. "You're hiding something. Spill it." Before Mingi could open his mouth again, someone opened the classroom door.

"Ah Ms. L/n, good morning." You walked into the classroom, a warm smile on your face. Jongho felt his heart rate pick up, his face turning a soft shade of pink. "Morning Mr. Song. Principal Jang wants to speak with you, she's waiting in her office." Mingi said his farewells, waving as he left the classroom. "Good morning to you, Mr. Choi." Jongho felt his throat go dry as he looked at you, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to come up with what to say.

You shook him by the shoulder, trying to stifle a laugh as he stuttered off his mind. "Take a breath, slow down." Jongho filled your words, calming himself down before he embarrassed himself further. "You're awfully dressed up for a sports day." You pointed to his suit, moving your water bottle to your other hand. He let out a grumbled mess of words, running a hand through his hair. "I forgot sports day was today until Mr. Song reminded me."

You let out a laugh, making Jongho look back at you. "Well, I've seen what you can do in suits. I'm sure you'll be fine." Jongho felt his cheeks heat up, your suggestive tone and your hazy eyes made his brain go on autopilot. "Besides, you look hot." You winked at him before turning around to leave the classroom, leaving Jongho a flustered mess.

---

"Remember students, if you or another student happen to get hurt, alert one of the teachers nearby immediately. That's it from me, so have fun today!" The end of Principal Jang's message ended with a beep, letting the third, fourth and fifth grade teachers lead their students outside to their assigned stations.

---

Two students come up to you, one of them holding their arm. "Ms. L/n, they need a bandaid." You bend down, asking if you could see the scrape. The student holds out their arm, letting you inspect the wound. "Ok bud, let's get you a bandaid. You can go back and play, alright? We'll be back in a few minutes." You smile softly, leading the student to the front office. "Hey Mrs. Cho, can I have a sanitizing wipe and a bandaid?"

The front desk secretary looks from you to the student who lets her see the small scrape. She smiles and nods, walking off to the back room to retrieve the items you've requested. "Come on, let's sit down for a second." You softly nudged the student forward, letting him take a seat while you stood against the wall. A few seconds later, Mrs. Cho came back, handing you the items. "You can be brave for me, right?" The student eagerly nodded, wanting to show you that they can do as you asked.

You carefully cleaned up the small cut, quickly peeling the bandaid. "Wait, can I do it?" You smiled gently, giving the student the sticky bandaid. You watched carefully as the student applied the bandaid, who smiled triumphantly when they got it on. You gave them a high five, standing up to walk with them back outside to the field. "You did great buddy, now let's get you back outside." Before you opened the door, you turned to the student, pointing to the bandaid. "Remember to be more careful, or you'll get hurt again." They nodded quickly, running off to their friends as soon as you opened the door for them. "Thank you, Ms. L/n!"

---

You talked and laughed with other teachers, taking a pause every few minutes to check on the students. "Ms. L/n, watch out!" A chorus of students called out from behind you. A sudden chill goes through your body as you turn around. You put a hand on your back, peeling away the popped water balloon. You looked to the students, who only laughed and pointed at Jongho. He held up his hands in defence, trying to talk himself out of this situation.

He couldn't stop the smile from making its way onto his face, as he watched you set down your stuff. Mr. Jeong, a fellow colleague, handed you a water balloon, smiling at Jongho who looked almost scared. "You better start running!" You yelled as you threw the water balloon, making it pop against his chest. Jongho let out a loud laugh, running away from you as you picked up more balloons.

You chased after him, soaking him as well as yourself, laughing as Jongho surrenders when he ran out of water balloons. You stepped forward, making Jongho step back against the wall. You step back, the students cheering as you popped a final balloon over his head. Jongho looked at you in fake offence, brushing his hair out of his face. He looked at you, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath from all the running. But before you knew it, a sudden rush of cold water crashed over you. You and Jongho both yelped, looking at each other in shock.

The students and staff members laughed as they watched the scene unfold. You turned around, spotting Mr. Jeong holding a bucket. You almost lunged at him but stopped once the staff dismissed the scene. "Alright students, as fun as this is, you can get back to your play stations. Mr. Choi and Ms. L/n can head inside to dry off." Principal Jang laughed as she ushered teachers to lead their students back to their stations. You couldn't even deny it, he looked so hot right now. His black hair wet and sticking to his face, his clothes soaking wet and sticking to his well defined and sculpted body.

Jongho turned to you, eyeing up and down your body, trying not to let his eyes linger on your chest for too long. Though Jongho couldn't deny that he thinks you looked hot. The way your shirt clung to your figure, more specifically your chest, made it hard to focus on anything you were saying. You could both tell that you're staring at each other, but your desire is starting to peek through. "Let's head in shall we, m'lady?" You rolled your eyes at his antics, walking away with a slight sway to your hips.

Jongho trailed behind you, taking quick glances at your ass. He made eye contact with Mingi in the hallway, who only sent him a wink. Jongho's tongue poked at his cheek, trying to hide his smug smile. Jongho scanned around him, making sure the classrooms and hallways were empty. Once the coast was clear, he sped up to you, throwing you over his shoulder. You let out a small yelp, staring down at the ground, shocked as Jongho rushed to the nearest staff washroom. Locking the door behind him, Jongho set you down, turning you around to face the small mirror above the sink.

"You can stay quiet for me right, baby?" You nodded eagerly, your grip tightening on the brim of the sink. "Please Jongho, just fuck me." Jongho unbuttoned your shorts, tugging down to your thighs along with your panties. Jongho leaned into your neck, placing sloppy kisses on it as he tugged down his own pants and boxers. He let out a shaky breath, sliding his cock through your folds. You spread your legs as far as you could, giving the fact that your shorts are around your thighs.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'll make you feel good." His voice went down an octave making your pussy throb. You leaned forward, pushing your ass out to him. "Even going as far as presenting yourself to me, so needy." Jongho slapped your ass, making you let out a soft whine. Jongho trailed his middle two fingers through your folds, carefully pushing into your hole. You pushed back against him, moaning as he thoroughly scissored you open. "So pretty, baby, always so fucking pretty." Jongho groaned as you clenched around his fingers at the praise. You've never felt this full before, your fingers not being as long or thick as Jongho's, making you push back against him as you release over his fingers.

"Aww, look how fucked out you are, and I haven't even fucked you yet." You look up, catching your reflection in the mirror. Your cheeks heat up as Jongho laughs from behind you, his fingers not stopping even as you come down from your first high, already working for a second. You bit your lip, trying to stop the flurry of moans that threatened to leave you as Jongho steadily pumped his fingers into you. "You can be good and cum again, right?" You desperately nodded, wanting nothing more than to hear him praise you for taking all that he gave you. "Always so good, so well behaved." He mused as his other hand languidly stroked his throbbing cock.

Jongho quickly brought you to your second high, rubbing against your sweet spot as your hips jolt. Jongho leaned over you, kissing up your neck. "F-fuck, Jongho please fuck me, need you so bad." You whined, looking at him through the mirror with glossy eyes. He smirked, pulling his fingers out of you to slide his cock against your folds again. He pushed forward, his tip brushing against your clit, making you clench around nothing. "Think you can take it, darling?"

Jongho watched in amusement at how you begged, loving how easy it was to make you fall apart. Feeling strung too high, Jongho pushed into you. Your back arched as Jongho slowly pushed in, inch by inch. He stretched you out deliciously, reaching deeper than you thought anyone could. You shook under him, making him laugh as he held your hips. "You really can take it," Jongho watched how his cock disappeared inside you, "Taking my cock like the pretty little baby you are." You moaned loudly, making Jongho cover your mouth. "Seems like you want us to get caught." You whined against his hand, your back arching as he pulled out only to slam back in.

Jongho fucked into you vigorously, slowly losing his self control with how warm and tight you feel around his cock. Your knees buckled and you would've fallen if it wasn't for Jongho holding you up and the sink you were leaning on. Peering through the mirror, your eyes rolled back at the sight. Jongho's dark eyes hooded, his head thrown back with his hair sticking to his forehead, his rolled up sleeves showing off his toned arms and pulsing veins; he looked delicious. But you can't seem to think as Jongho fucks the common sense out of you. Your cunt clenches around him as you cum. You can feel yourself drool against his hand, listening intently to the deep moans Jongho lets out.

---

It's been at least five minutes and Jongho has managed to pull four orgasms out of you. How he's still holding on is a mystery, but you don't mind because he feels so good rubbing against your sweet spot. "O-oh fuck, gonna cum." You tried to meet his thrusts halfway, your ears ringing as Jongho pulls you back. Jongho pulls you away from the sink just far enough to have you completely bent over for him.

"Aah fuck-" Jongho pushed the back of your shirt up, before pulling out and releasing on your wet back. Your cunt throbbed as you felt his cum spurt onto your back. "You did so well for me, took me so well." Jongho patted your ass, humming softly but his next action almost made you cum untouched. Jongho held your hips as he leaned down, dragging his tongue over his own mess. You let out a whine, feeling his warm tongue slide across your skin. Jongho laughed against your skin, leaving a kiss on your spine before letting your shirt fall back into place.

"This is far from over," You looked back at him shocked, nearly choking on your spit. Jongho looked at you with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to your exposed cunt. "You'll just have to wait until after hours to get a good taste of what I can do to you, my pretty pup."

---

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ncitygirls · 3 years

Text

only - changbin x f reader

angst, fluff, suggestive, royal!au, cw: war, 5.3k

you were barely eighteen when you accepted the hand in marriage of the son of the duke and duchess of levanter. seo changbin - an affluent heir to an impossible fortune - almost had you surprised when you found his interest in you was unlike that of your fellow bachelorettes. naturally, their interest was fuelled by an insatiable greed and a hot desire for financial prosperity. as should yours, as was yours. not changbin though. no, changbin prided himself on many things unfitting for a man of his status, even his age. he wondered not of your family’s alliances or existing trading partners, but of religion and upbringing. he tsked at mention of your international estates, unless in regard to your memories there. he was complimentary of your attire, less in expense but rather in beauty. changbin wanted to know of your favourite season, and your preferred time of day. who was your favourite poet, and from them your favourite poem. he was obsessed with your knowledge of the world, or rather your interest in it. you had been to neo, but did you really see it, really explore? and if not would you care to? did you prefer sugar or honey in your tea? your bread buttered or oiled? to sleep bare or in silk? he wanted to know what side of the bed you preferred to sleep on, if you were adverse to cuddling and if so, if you could be persuaded.

to be fair, he only spoke with you like this for two reasons. the first being your shared upbringing. after almost two decades of friendship, having you enter his home in the prospect of being his wife didn’t come as a surprise to the young bachelor, but rather a relief. he spent days in and days out discussing family politics, ancestry, and accounts. he chose to ignore the blatant issue there, sharing the intricacies of his family’s wealth and heritage with these ladies from kingdoms and countries he’d been too busy to pay any mind in schooling. he knew his ignorance could come back to bite him and it did, especially as you entered his home looking far prettier than he had ever recalled you looking. he held his tongue before he could whistle, but you could see his smirk all the same. it softened into a grin as he bowed, you returning the pleasantry with a lot less pleasantness than he offered you. he welcomed it all the same. it was why he could be free on this day. speak about the things that would effect you two as one another’s, not you two as one.

your presence also meant he didn’t have to pussyfoot around. he didn’t have to fear your hatred, nor your judgement. though your eyes rolled more than the actual number of potential brides he had become acquainted with. he let f bombs slip, and his guard down. he frolicked with you through the grounds you already knew so well, and guided you through the parts once forbidden to the rambunctious children you once were. he walked you to the kitchen and asked for bread, as opposed to stealing it like you both once would. he tried to describe the estate’s chambers as best he could, detailing the art a then prince hyunjin had gifted him and your childish scratchings still on his door frame.

‘you can see it one day,’ he had whispered under the willow tree on the grounds, watching the way your fingers clung loosely to the weeping leaves. ‘it’s still as it was when we were children.’

‘and how would i do that?’ the question is valid enough, though he frowns, tilting his head. ‘i did not realise i had uttered a riddle, my lord.’

‘well neither had i,’ he tutted, moving to latch onto the same branch you once held. ‘and here i was, assuming you to be the smart one.’

‘i am the smart one.’

‘then answer me this,’ he began, pausing to firmly elaborate, ‘plainly.’ your eyes roll for the umpteenth time at his silent warning before you concede with a nod. ‘how might you see my bed?’

with a sigh you deadpan, ‘if you were to make me your wife.’

‘so to see my bed, and your vandalism-’

‘scribbles.’

‘i must make you my wife.’

‘it seems quite the extreme just to see some old scribbles.’ if changbin senses the hidden meaning to your words, he gave nought away. ‘mightn’t someone just bring me a piece of the bed? i’m sure it’s almost past its use, just peel the pane off. and why still the same bed? you are a young lord of age now, don’t you think-’

‘you know you prattle when you’re nervous?’

‘i do no such thing-’

‘it’s cute.’

‘changbin! how are you so sure i want to be your wife, hm?’ you half questioned, moving away from his looming figure. ‘i only came because your parents asked me here.’

‘y/n, i have known you a long time,’ he punctuates his reminder by closing the distance you so bravely placed between you. ‘if you wished not to be here, you would have found no greater pleasure than to decline the invitation.’ that much is not only true but undeniable. the seo’s was your third courting invite this month alone. you knew, and worse, changbin knew. ‘is it so hard to admit that i might have soften that hardened heart of yours?’

‘i find no pleasure in your games, changbin.’

‘what game, y/n? can a man not just want you?’ your eyes betray you as you try to expel the softness conjured by his taunt. a taunt that is starting to sound less like a taunt, and more like a confession. ‘can i not just want you?’

‘how do i know you want me, bin?’ you pressed, pressing your back to the leaning trunk of the all encompassing tree. ‘how do i know you don’t just want a way out of this endless cycle of mindless heiresses?’

‘you said my parents asked you here?’ your head bobbed as he approached you, nodding in time with you before he stopped a foot before you, smiling eyes gazing right at you. ‘who do you think asked them?’

you were married that fall. under that same willow tree, in the presence of his royal highness and his kin, your family and the seos. the affair was small like you both wanted. small like your needs. you joked marrying you was a cop out, as he spun you around the gardens, escaping the intimate celebrations in the grand banquet hall to enjoy the breeze on your skin and feel the wind in your hair. it was the first time he held you since your dance lessons as kids. where you would lead and he would follow. he once swore he would follow you anywhere. both literally and figuratively. around the grounds of your childhood home, in all your beliefs and ideologies. he filled his mind and self with your gospel and truth, infatuated with your manner of thinking, how you arrived at conclusions. changbin spent his whole childhood falling in love with you.

‘you weren’t a cop out,’ he breathed into the shell of your ear, humming as you lay your head on his shoulder. pressing his lips to your temple he confessed, ‘you were my only choice.’

that night, the two of you consummated your marriage under that same willow tree. his hands clinging to your waist as he ground his hips into you. his tightened breaths filling the drum of your ear with every snap, his lips closing around the skin of your jaw, summoning the most satisfying whines he could draw from you. his lover. his friend. his lady.

in his absence, you remind him of this night. how biting the bark had been on your skin, the autumn air stinging your already teary eyes. his last letter arrived over a fortnight ago, it spoke of his fears at battle, the treacherous methods of his enemies. the only face he prays to see again and until that day, the only face he will dream of. you have sent a handful of letters since then, yet still sour as you awake another day to no news. you sigh as you grab your quill, letting the ink drip before signing off your letter.

‘my dearest, changbin. a season separates us, but only a season could.’

it isn’t long after you seal it that you are summoned to the hwang holiday estate. the royal family have a long history of retreating to the country when the weather is a touch higher than that of luke warm water, or near cool cinder. the seo’s residence is but a short carriage ride from the estate, though a tad longer walk. you often opt to walk as you do today, taking no larger than foot long strides between the cobbled paths. your guard walks in time with you, though no more than a few feet behind. he had never been one for small talk, you quickly came to realise. though, since neither is your husband, you feel an odd sense of relief, normality, even in his absence. you try and enjoy the song of the breeze through the willow, the scent of the king’s rose garden carried on its back. it’s hard over the creak of your guard’s hurried stomps, his pace doubling with every corner you take. you only verbalise your awareness of his impatience when he arrives beside you, hastened to strike the door to announce your arrival.

“master yang,” you call softly as you two await entry. “if i did not know any better, i would say you were rushing me.”

“apologies, my lady,” he confesses, stepping back at your side without any question. though, when he gulps, you eye him with a softened concern. “i was informed you were summoned due to a grave emergency.”

“worry not, jeongin.” you chide, recalling your highness’ idea of an emergency. “the king often calls when the queen is away and he is tasked with matters such as assigning dinner seating.” jeongin looks as if he is about to ask when you add, “she says his involvement humbles him.” when he nods, you straighten as the door swings open, a servant welcoming you in. “yes, there is nothing to fear, master yang.”

only, falser words had never been spoken.

you are quick to note the tremor in the king’s frame as he hurries to stand upon your arrival, rushing you through the official pleasantries of an official summoning. “lady seo.”

“your highness.” you reply, your knee bending as you politely lower your head. “how are you on this fine afternoon-”

“i apologise, y/n. but as you know, i didn’t call you hear on matters of leisure.” he politely interrupts, a flush of embarrassment flooding his cheeks as you frown. “when was last you heard from him?”

“heard from who?”

“from—” hyunjin’s confused gaze cuts to his informants, a few members of his court shying away from him before he marvels at them. “has lady seo not been informed?” when he receives no reply, you feel yourself shrink as the gentle king bellows, “why has lady seo not been informed?”

“informed of what—”

“the order of information begins with yourself sire, before reaching the court, the council, the lady and then the people.”

“i specifically requested she be kept informed. why has she not been kept informed?”

“well, your grace, the lady of a knight is only to be informed once official word is received from the battlefield and delivered to you sire.”

“official word of what—”

“which came through this morning and you are about to deliver the information to the lady.”

“king hyunjin!”

gasps fill the room from all but the king himself. he doesn’t falter, instead he turns to move towards you, his eyes growing more fearful, more earnest as he approaches. he shudders at the thought of delivering this message. he even scolds himself for attempting to delegate such responsibility. you are a friend. not only to the crown, but to the royal family itself. before heavy crowns kissed their heads. before rings ever kissed your knuckles. you were his friend. you had always been a friend to him, and the only time you had ever needed him was now and he had let you down.

“we received word that neo soldiers stormed our fortress in miroh. while we have received word from a few troops who were able to escape, we have yet to ascertain who of the full fleet have made it to safety.” when he pauses to gulp he sees your eyes gleam, breaths shallow. his hands then find yours, gripping your shaky, sweaty digits tightly. “we have received no word from changbin’s troop,” he stops when you gasp, your tears falling, cascading down and around your stained cheeks, your lip trembling. “but we have been able to track a number of our men back through the yellow wood, south of levanter.”

“i-is he there? is he okay?”

“we are yet to hear word,” the tears continue to fall, and he hates himself but all he can do is continue, divulge everything he knows. “they plan to set up camp on the edge of the wood, so i will make my way there now and have word sent back to you as soon as i find him.”

“no,” you refuse, snatching your hands away to drag them over your stained cheeks. “i cannot wait, i will join you.”

“as will i,” jeongin pipes up behind you, his voice an odd comfort once more. “your grace.”

“it is no place for a lady,” hyunjin tries, sighing when you just scowl, already mid curtsey as you preempt his agreement and dismissal. “i will have a carriage sent for you at once.”

“would taking just a horse quicken my arrival?”

“i-it would,” he discloses reluctantly, watching you ready yourself to decline the carriage. “for my sake though,” your scowl returns, ignoring the concern from the king. “i implore you to take the carriage. the yellow wood is far from kind..” you decode his meaning before he ever finishes speaking. the yellow wood is far from safe.

“but is this not the same wood my husband’s troop plans to take, sire?” hyunjin’s nod comes seconds later, shame tensing his jaw. hyunjin is visibly trying to appreciate your patience after having all this information dumped on you. but hyunjin also recalls the threats you readily made and followed through on in your younger years. so much so, he fears the worst of you when you bow before slowly approaching him, voice but a decibel higher than a nat’s buzz to threaten him. the king. before as many witnesses as it takes to have your head. “fine. i will take the carriage.

“but i regret to inform you i have fallen victim to the sick allure of hope. so if this carriage takes him from me? if i am too late? i will burn your kingdom to the ground, jinnie. mark my words.”

only once you leave does hyunjin breathe, noticably shaken by the violent rage existing within the women of his kingdom. “ready her carriage.” he suddenly commands, terrified of letting you down. “i want her there by nightfall.”

hyunjin had not embellished the treachery of this road. you had halted close to ten times in the first six hours of the journey. thanks to forewarning by the king and his council, your guards were prepared to be extra vigilant. weary from all sides of the carriage, bandits who fell from the trees and ambushed from the sides did not live long enough to prevail. from dawn til dusk, the wood falsified night with its woven rotted branches and the gradually setting sun, seeing was becoming more hopeless yet more crucial. without a maid for travelling company and jeongin busy guarding your personage, you were once again left with your thoughts. in times of dire woe, you called on memories of your love, though they read more like dreams. this dream is one that only longing for the man you prayed awaited you on the end of this perilous journey could conjure. because not only do you miss him, you fear for him. not much has changed.

‘you think i am going to get myself killed?’ he breathed, nipping at your clavicle as you rest in his lap. ‘have you no faith in me?’

‘of course i do,’ you defend, gasping as he clamps down, teeth rolling your skin. ‘i just-’

‘you just.. what?’ he doesn’t expect an answer. or so you suspect. especially following a slow drag of your thinly veiled heat over his firmed thigh. ‘you think i would ever abandon you?’

‘no, binnie,’ you start, rising from him with a sigh. ‘i just know you.’

‘you do?’ he ponders sweetly, gazing up at your shining eyes. ‘and what is it you know?’

‘you’re powerful, but far too stubborn.’

‘you know,’ he hums, crossing his thick arms as a small pout steals the lips of the strongest man in the kingdom. ‘for someone who claims to adore me, you tend to speak ill of me every chance you get, my lady.’

‘must the two be exclusive?’ when his frown only deepens, his folded arms tightening, you sigh once more. returning to his spread legs, you perch yourself on them, raising your steady fingers to the creases painting the forehead of the most stubborn man you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. he softens only slightly, his pouted lip closing around yours when you lean in, silently asking his forgiveness. ‘for every ill spoken word, i make up for with countless good, bin.’

‘such as?’ he huffs, knowingly egging you on.

with a small smile, you offer a final peck to his lips before praising the knight beneath you. ‘i know you will fight valiantly.’ you admit, pride permeating right through you to the man you call yours. ‘you will bring honour to your family, to your country.’ with the pads of your fingers, you tuck his hair behind his ear, cooing as he relaxes at your touch. ‘you will be a hero, my love.’

‘and this all worries you?’

‘do you know who will keep your legacy alive, changbin?’ his frown returns at concern for your quivering lip, a sudden fear seeping into your tone. ‘me. your widow.’ he begins to shake his head, a half assed assurance on the tip of his prideful tongue when you remind, ‘it may vex you to hear this, but please remember your knighting was in part an award for your bravery, but also in large part to hyunjin’s love for you.’

‘how can you say that-’

‘since bang chan the brave, name a knight who lived to see his knighting. just one, bin. name one who knelt before their king and felt the sword atop their shoulders. name one who did not die in battle, leaving their grieving widow to accept a meaningless commendation of his honour?’

‘you call your father’s commendation meaningless?’

‘don’t make me laugh, bin.’ your scoff would wound him had you not uttered, ‘i would have rathered he be the one to walk me down the isle the day i married you. knowing my father loved me enough to protect his country is a nice sentiment, but don’t you dare assume i would take that honour over his life.’

‘hey,’ he calls, holding you in his lap as you try to move from him. ‘my love, i didn’t mean to offend.’

‘i know,’ in these seconds you see past the facade, the knight that your husband is. you only see what you fell in love with. you see the compassion, the understanding. ‘bin, i need you to understand. really understand.’ with his cheeks cradled in your palms, you plead with your love. ‘you mean everything to me, seo changbin. before i ever realised you did. i will not let this mindless war take you from me.

‘don’t be a hero, changbin. leave that to some village boy with a chip on his shoulder, with something to prove.’ he nuzzles into your palm as he listens to your plea, gazing into your warning eyes. ‘just come back to me, okay? don’t make me beg.’

‘what if it helped your case?’ he mumbled into your skin, his lips gently puckering as his palms glide up the side of your neck. his tongue slid betwixt your parted lips, trying to exorcise any and all tension from your trembling frame. with another soft pucker of his lips, a suck on your wet muscle has you loosening, falling into him as he moves to embrace you. ‘would you?’

‘do not mock me.’

‘i would never,’ you find this hard to believe as he smirks like a man with ten knives readied for your back. they come as kisses instead, they line the column of your neck, followed closely by his thumbs as he angles your head toward him. ‘you just seem ready to, so i would love to hear it.’

‘perhaps i will marry that lee boy, with the speckled cheeks. i hear the maids think he’s a descendant of fairies, born from the very stars that kiss his face-’ the words halt in your throat as he flips you, firmly pinning you to the goose down.

‘you seem to have thought this through..’

‘have i much choice?’ you huff, glaring at his thoughtful gaze. ‘one tends to ponder such things when faced with their husband’s imminent demise.’ he only sighs, eyes rolling skyward as he asks the gods, old and new, why they ever chose you for him. ‘i hear his line is filled only with beautiful men. who was his ancestor again? minho the something.’

‘you know,’ refusing to come to your aid, he gathering up the hem of your silks. ‘most men would have your head by now.’

‘-magnificent! it was minho the magnificent!’

‘maleficent.’

‘hm?’

‘his name,’ nipping at the exposed skin of your chest, his hand tugs at the starched fabric as he corrects you. ‘it was minho the maleficent.’

‘oh,’ you breathe, less in defeat but rather in sweet contentment. ‘and why is that?’

‘because, my sweet,’ he huffs into your chest, resting on the heels of his palms planted either side of your cushioned head. ‘he burned all of levanter to the ground when his queen died.’

‘yes, he did.’ changbin only strokes the skin of your cheek as you pout, his eyes rolling at your uncanny ability to bring everything back to his encroaching departure. ‘and my husband will not even skip one war for me.’

‘’one war’?’ he smirks, dropping his lips to your exposed breast, tongue sweeping over your teased nipples. ‘you speak as though war is like an evening in a tavern.’

‘both tend to end in regret,’ you jest, or attempt to. it is growing increasingly difficult to barter with him as he presses his lips to your stomach, his body lowering in kind with his touch. before he can disappear entirely from view, you rise. as he rises with you, you are stunned by his rosey cheeks, the flush journeying to his neck as you rest on your elbows. he sees your turmoil. your clear desire for him shadowed painfully by your love and fear. he drops a kiss to your hip, his knuckles dusting the veiled bead of your heat, eyes hard on you as you falter, head lolling to the side before you regain your strength. ‘bin?’

‘hm?’

‘stay.’ it’s faint. so faint he barely recognises it as a plea. he only sighs, his forehead pressed to your abdomen as he purges your wet eyes from his memory. ‘please say you will stay. i cannot bear the thought of a winter without you.’

‘my love,’ changbin speaks into your skin, lowly beseeching your understanding while praying for your peace. ‘a season might separate us,’ he hums, expertly parting your thighs as he offers a lone kiss to your mound. ‘but only a season could.’

“my lady?” jeongin’s voice is first to break you from your nostalgic nightmare. the second is the cries of injured men. “we have arrived.”

the edge of the wood is a wounded minefield. limbless soldiers, knights and footmen alike, are dotted around the dimly lit field. your eyes gloss over at the heaped bodies, and water at the stench. “how long have they been here?”

“just under a week,” jeongin recalls, holding his hand out to stop you as medics pass with a burnt body on a stretcher. “it is hard to believe this is the winning camp.”

“there are no winners in war, jeongin.” you whisper, watching a man close the eyes of his fallen comrade a pair approach to drop his body in a mass grave. a fight ensues. “only loss.”

“y/n?” you halt at the call, half sprinting at the sight of han jisung, wearing a smile warm enough to light the night. “i thought his highness was jesting when he said you’d be here.”

“han!” you cried, latching onto him with a grip that nearly winded him. “thank god, thank god.”

“more like thank changbin,” he wheezed, squeezing you back just as tight, lifting you a few feet off the ground. “had he not been here, i would have surely-”

“where is he?”

“-died.” he only grins as you stiffen, recognising his part in your terror a second too late. “oh! no! he isn’t dead! he is alive! very alive!” his eyes flicker to a scowling jeongin, gulping down an apology as he gestures to his left. “come.”

further from the wood and slowly decaying corpses are the tents. some somehow less grand than a teepee, some spacious enough for a few hours sleep. jisung guides you both up to the largest of the lot, where you find an ill tempered king hyunjin growing increasingly more so. “no, leave him be.”

“had we known you were coming your grace- we can have him moved immediately.”

“your king gave you an order, soldier.” jisung chimes in, tongue slotting into the swell of his cheek as he gestures to you over his shoulder. “now move out of the way or i’ll have you explain to lady seo why she can’t see her husband on account of your insubordinance.”

“yes, sir.”

hyunjin bristles at jisung’s ability to command his men with little effort before he softens at your restless gaze. “he’s been asking for you.”

the grandeur of the king’s tent suits changbin well, you think. a fire crackles at the furthest end, masked only by a large canopy where you know he rests. the four poster bed takes up most of the space, and around it lays tin bowls, rags, blankets and water. the room seems barely lived in bar the knight whose faint breaths float toward you through the warm air. you feel yourself stalling, too busy taking in the space to recognise your fear. what will you find when you pull the curtain away? what remains of your husband, your lover, your friend? will he still have the same warm eyes and full cheeks? will his hands still fit in yours? his feet still step in time with yours? will he look the same, sound the same even? you swallow down this fear, and instead bask in the joy that he’s alive. your husband is alive. and nothing separates you. not a season, nor a wood. not time or conflict. only your fears.

and then they don’t. when you pull back the veil, nothing separates you but air. a soft man made gust as you reveal the man you’d once called your friend, only to call your betrothed and then yours. the fire barely lights the room yet still he glows. he lies bare from the waist up, his abdomen bandaged in rolls of cotton, his chest exposed. you watch it, the slow rise and fall of the place you longed to rest your head, you dreamt of dreaming on. before you realise, you have lowered yourself beside him, careful not to disturb him, nor his wound. before you can call for him he smiles. even in his state of slumber, he leans into your touch. before you meet his eyes, you feel his on you.

“you came.” he whispers, a heavy breath of relief escaping him as your thumb dusts his cheek.

“of course,” you try, before taking your lip between your teeth, fearful your tears might dampen his skin. you kneel at his side, carefully ridding yourself of your outer garments, before returning your hand to his cheek. “how do you feel?”

“now?” he smirks, wincing as a laugh runs through him. “wonderful.”

“and before?”

“so, so.” he murmurs with a kiss to your palm. “a sword to the stomach will do that to you.”

“do i have han jisung to thank for that?”

“no,” he coughs, recalling his sacrifice. “only me.”

“well that’s good,” you hum, employing the upmost care when leaning over him. “because i would hate to think my knight was blindsided.”

“never,” his assurance fans your lips, as yours hover over his. “only by you.”

you almost forgot how it felt to kiss him. the feeling only coming in dreams. there was no memory strong enough to conjure the feeling of his lips pressed against yours. the slow melt of tender skin on skin, the warmth, his gentle caress. his kiss is slow, but even in his prime he took his time. his lips close around yours with such timing and precision, ushering a slow burn of desire from the heels of your feet all the way up to the crown of your head. he knew how to expunge pain and fear from you, to free you from your demons, to reinvigorate you. to love you.

he’s weak. in all the worst ways. his body, his will. he raises his hand to your neck, pulling you closer as he presses his tongue between your lips, connecting the muscles with little intent of parting. he swallows around you, drinking you in, keeping that same, slow and teasing pace. only to pull you closer.

“you need your rest,” you pant into his mouth, resting all your weight on your arms as he pulls you back down, pinning your forehead to his.

“no,” he refuses, sweeping his thumb along your jaw. “i need you.” his voice shakes then, unlike him. unlike the man you know. “only you.”

“is that why you called me here?” you tease, silently wiping his tears away, silently reading the fear in his eyes. he begs them away though warms at your easy dispelling. “to use me?”

“my love,” he laughs, ignoring the pain in favour of basking in your smile. “you know i did not call for you.” when you move to argue, he recalls, as if he were there, “‘would taking just a horse quicken my arrival?’”

“i might have been here sooner if-”

“this,” raising his other arm, he gathers your face in his palms, “is soon enough.”

safe.

“okay.” you agree, allowing him to tug you closer once more. you let him kiss you without restraint. you let him curl his fingers into your neck, ignoring his wincing and kiss him through it. you let his grunts mask his pain, his teeth rolling your lip between the rows, you let him share it. you let him have you, because despite the odds he stayed alive. he stayed alive for you. and that was enough. “i love you.”

he blinks up at your shining eyes, guiding your wet cheeks to his puckered lips. “i love you,” he whispers back against your lips, feeling himself heal at just the touch of your hand. “only you.”

because only a season separated you. but now, not even a season could.

#so #changbin #seo changbin #changbin smut #changbin fluff #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #dno if it counts as angst #stray kids au #ncitygirls #skz au #skz smut #skz changbin #lol it is angst #skz angst #changbin angst #stray kids angst

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peaceoutofthepieces · 2 years

Note

Could you do No. 23. for Sterek? From the kissing prompt?

I cannot thank you enough for this ask

23. now-or-never kiss

Stiles figured if he was going to die, doing so in an abandoned building with none other than Derek Hale was a pretty unsurprising and not-too-bad way to go, all things considered. It really seemed to surmise the course his life had taken the past few years, that he was past the point of allowing this to cause a panic. After all, he wasn’t actually dead—he wasn’t, in fact, even injured—and they had escaped worse situations than this. It wasn’t all over yet.

It wasn’t entirely reassuring that Derek was their more likely method of escape and he was slumped and panting in the corner, sure, but panting meant he was breathing, so really, Stiles wasn’t too worried.

They weren’t even locked in, a lack of precaution that was honestly a little insulting, in Stiles’s opinion.

“Okay,” he said, more to himself than Derek because Derek was, well, still slumped and panting away. “This is fine.”

“How is this fine?” Derek grit. “No one knows where we are.”

“There’s not even a door. It’s just a bit of mountain ash. Do they not know I’m human, or do they just think we’re really dumb?”

“They know it doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t get far.”

Stiles squawked, waving his arms as he shot Derek an offended look. “Why the hell not?”

Derek gave him a very deadpan look.

“Okay, fine, so maybe I’d struggle on my own. But all we need to do is wait for you to heal, I’ll break the barrier, you go all grrr, and we’re free.”

“I won’t heal.”

Stiles paused, swiveling slowly from where he’d been eyeing the mountain ash barrier to eye Derek instead. “Come again?”

“I won’t heal.”

Stiles stared at him, then flailed again, stomping over to where Derek was slouched and leaning down to hiss at him. “Tell me you didn’t avoid telling me you were injured with wolfsbane. I swear to God, Derek, if you tell me you’re freaking dying—"

“I wasn’t,” Derek growled, though it was really more gasp-y. Which was somehow not as appealing as the growl, in this particular context. Any other occasion, and Stiles could probably get behind eith— “Injured with wolfsbane, that is.” He peeled his hand away from his side just long enough to show Stiles the ordinary, bloody bullet wound, no concerning poison-symptoms in sight. He reapplied pressure with a pained grunt. “Dying is looking higher on the list of possibilities, though.”

“If there’s no wolfsbane, why the hell won’t you heal?” Stiles grit out, lowering himself to his knees barely a foot from Derek’s side. “Because I know for a fact you had enough power to maim with both teeth and claws on our way in here, so we’re not doing that whole thing again. So you need to just spit out whatever it is because you’re bordering on Deaton levels of cryp—"

“Maybe if you stopped talking long enough for me to get a word in, you’d already know by now,” Derek snapped, which Stiles would let him get away with on this one occasion when he was, in fact, bleeding and grimacing quite a bit. “I wasn’t shot with it, but it’s—I can feel it, everywhere.”

Stiles leaned back on his heels, brow furrowing. “What? What the hell does that mean? Like the air…?”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t know. My guess is they’ve somehow lined the walls with it. Or it’s buried, under the ground.”

“And it’s enough to stop you from healing?”

“Looks like it.”

Again, Stiles would ignore the tone, just this once. “So the literal building is going to be how you die a slow and painful death? By the way, I’d watch the tone if you think I’m about to save your wolf-y ass.”

Derek huffed, but the accompanying smile was more exasperated fondness than condescending, which was a lot of progress. It also wasn’t helping the state of Stiles’s heart, which wasn’t sure if it should burst out of sheer panic or shrivel on the spot. “I’d love to hear how you’re planning on doing that.”

“I’ve done it in arguably worse situations before,” Stiles pointed out, but it was too wavering, too tinged with softness to be considered defensive.

Derek softened in the face of it, and his free—though still bloody—hand settled over one of Stiles’s, gripping gently. “I know. But someone—someone will come in enough time. I’m—“ He did gasp, this time, pained and a little wet, and Stiles squeezed his hand tightly, wishing for once that he wasn’t so human if only it meant he could take someone’s pain. “I’m sorry you’re still the one who thinks you have to. I’m sorry I failed you again.”

“You never failed me before,” Stiles bit, though his voice betrayed him by cracking in the middle. “You don’t get to do that. We’re even. You’ve helped me just as much, that’s what we do.”

Derek lifted his hand from Stiles’s long enough to raise it to Stiles’s face and thumb away the tears before dropping it back down. “Stiles, your heart,” he said softly. “You need to calm down.”

“Do not tell me to calm down when you’re saying stupid shit and holding my hand because you think you’re going to—“ Stiles cut himself off this time and took a steadying breath. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Scott will come,” Derek said insistently. “He always does.”

“And what if he doesn’t? You said it yourself, no one knows where we are. By the time they even realise we’re gone, it’ll be too late, even for me. If there’s a chance I can save both of us, I have to try.”

“I can’t let you die for me,” Derek whispered.

“And I can’t let you die,” Stiles said harshly. He shifted a foot under him and scooted closer, now down on one knee in the world’s worst proposal. “Look, even if Scott and the others got here, they’d have the same problem as you, right?”

“Argent, or even Theo could—”

“Theo could get past the mountain ash, not the wolfsbane, and if you think I’d rely on him to save your life, you’re even d—”

“Stiles—”

“Derek. We’d have no way of knowing they’d even bring Argent or anyone with them if they actually managed to find us, and that’s a big if. Meaning our best luck would still be me, maybe Lydia if we’re lucky. Why can’t you admit I have to be the one who does something?”

Derek stared silently back at him, the grip on his side growing tighter. His golden skin had paled, no longer offering much contrast to Stiles’s.

“Come on, Derek. Don’t you trust me?”

“Maybe I just don’t want you to go,” Derek said. “Maybe I just want you to stay here.”

The ‘with me’ was unspoken, but implied, Stiles thought, which really made this whole horrible situation all the more horrible. “I wouldn’t leave you behind,” he argued, raising his hand to Derek’s cheek in a reverse of their earlier exchange. “I’m taking you with me.”

Derek shook his head, his stubble brushing Stiles’s fingers. “Do you even have a plan?”

“Do you trust me?” Stiles reiterated. When Derek only leaned wordlessly into his touch, he went on. “I did actually pick up a few things on my FBI training, you know. Plus I have the bonus points of a few years’ life experience with this pack. All of whom I’m pretty sure I’ve saved at one point or another, you know.”

Derek let out a pained sigh, but softly admitted, “I know.”

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Stiles repeated. “You know the lengths I’d go to. You really think they’d be able to stop me?”

Derek finally laughed at that, a choked, wet sound that had Stiles’s heart fluttering all the same. “I really think you’d surprise them, and me.”

Stiles surged forward, moving his hand around to the back of Derek’s neck as he pressed their foreheads together. “Trust me,” he murmured. “Tell me I can do it and I will.”

Derek’s lashes fluttered, then his gaze steadied on Stiles and he nodded. “Go.”

Stiles nodded with him, giving Derek’s neck one tight squeeze before rising to his feet, mind already whirring. “Are your senses still working enough to suss out the place?”

He waited, listening carefully as Derek did his best to tell him what heartbeats were where, how many there were, and together they worked out which route he could take that would be easiest to clear. If he could free up one single pathway long enough to come back and get Derek out and free of the wolfsbane walls, he’d be back up and growling and they would have a fighting chance.

As far as plans went, it wasn’t their best, though Stiles was willing to bet they’d had worse. The fact they hadn’t been killed on the spot instead of imprisoned suggested that worse case scenario, they were prepared enough for the probability that Stiles would try to escape and simply planned to toss him back in.

It was this or nothing, and Stiles had to do something if he wanted Derek to survive.

When he was finally moving to break the barrier and go, he looked over his shoulder and met Derek’s gaze. His heart froze for a moment as the unwanted memory surfaced, and then kicked into overdrive. Derek heard it, if the concerned furrow in his brow was any suggestion, and suddenly Stiles couldn’t.

“Yeah, not doing this again,” he muttered, which only seemed to deepen Derek’s confusion as Stiles marched back to him and dropped to his knees once more. His hand once again raised to Derek’s cheek, and as Derek’s eyes widened in apparent understanding, he thought, well, chances are it’s now or never.

Then he leaned in and kissed him.

Derek returned it with all the strength he seemed to have, free hand coming up to cup Stiles’s head and thread through his hair as he pressed immediately and insistently closer, and Stiles let out a breath.

“Oh, thank God,” he gasped, and Derek only swallowed it up, licking into Stiles’s mouth with surprising finesse for someone who was covered in their own blood. Just when Stiles had been thinking he couldn’t love the asshole any more.

He really couldn’t let him die. Which meant he should really go and work on saving them. Then, hopefully Derek would let him try this again, when there wasn’t any chance of it just being driven by the thought he might never get to kiss anyone ever again and Stiles would do for a last taste.

Not that Stiles didn’t dream of being just that, but he hoped it would be years down the line. He hoped he got to taste a lot more of Derek a lot more before then, and vice versa.

So Stiles should really go, but as he leaned back, Derek’s grip on his hair tightened, and he followed. And Stiles would never allow anyone to call him weak, but he was also only so strong. Derek Hale was kissing him and didn’t seem to want to stop, and Stiles wasn’t stupid enough to argue with him before it was absolutely necessary.

Which it became about ten seconds later, when Stiles heard the distinct sounds of gunfire.

Only, Derek was still kissing him.

Stiles pulled back with a small noise that was half-protest, half-warning, and still Derek followed. “Derek,” Stiles got out, a moan-gasp that didn’t really convey the urgent need to stop. “Derek, dude, don’t you hear that?”

“You just had your tongue in my mouth and you’re calling me dude?”

“That’s what you—can’t you hear that? Your senses were fine a second ago! Oh my god, are you dying? If you’re dying—”

A familiar roar cut across Stiles’s panic, and his eyes widened as Derek’s brows rose.

“That, I heard,” Derek said. Then, “And there’s nothing worse about my senses. You’re just more distracting than the wolfsbane.”

The words took a moment to sink in, and then Stiles couldn’t fight a dopey grin, or the urge to lean in and kiss Derek again. He was pretty sure he had time now, after all, and Derek still seemed very much like this was something he actually wanted, if the increasingly-sloppy but dedicated response was anything to go by.

“Stiles? Stil—oh, shit.”

Stiles whipped around in time to see Scott freeze beyond the doorway, eyes caught on them and lips parted in surprise. When his eyes met Stiles’s, they widened and he winced, shrugging at his best friend in an apologetic manner. “Sorry,” he said awkwardly.

“What are you apologising for?” Derek said dryly. “Saving our lives, again?”

“I mean, he did steal my opportunity to prove to you that I can do that just as well, so maybe he shou—ow.” Stiles cut off as Derek released his hair and smacked him upside the head, whipping around to shoot him a look of betrayal.

Scott looked like he was swallowing laughter, which did not do him any favours in Stiles’s book. “When I actually get you out, you can thank me.”

Then he stepped forward, smack-bang into the mountain ash barrier. “Shit, fuck. Stiles, what the hell? You can break this. You guys aren’t even trapped, why are you—”

Stiles moved out of the way and gestured emphatically to Derek’s wounded side, then their general surroundings.

“Oh,” Scott said. “So I was feeling that right, wasn’t I? There’s wolfsbane somewhere.”

“Everywhere,” Malia called, as Theo appeared at Scott’s side. He paused there, eyes flickering from Scott to Stiles and Derek. He smirked slightly and scuffed his foot through the mountain ash.

“How did you all even get in here?” Stiles demanded.

“Stiles,” Lydia sighed, marching to Scott’s other side and barely blinking at the way Stiles and Derek were still folded together. “The door is like ten feet away.”

“And there were only two guards at it,” Scott shrugged.

“Was harder to get the ones in here,” Liam called. “But still fine, because none of them actually know how to even throw a punch.”

“And you have plenty of experience,” Stiles muttered, causing Derek to huff beside him. Stiles turned back to him and couldn’t help the uptick of his lips before he realised the older man had basically turned grey with the blood loss. “Yeah, okay, we gotta go.”

Derek grimaced and nodded at him, and it was somewhat gratifying that no one moved to ‘help’ as Stiles hoisted him to his feet. Derek leaned on him heavily, but it was nothing Stiles couldn’t take. It was only more motivating when ‘now or never’ was slipping into the possibility of forever.

kiss list

#sterek #teen wolf #stiles x derek #prompts #the first version was 100% better and i’m bitter #but whatever it’s done #it got kinda angsty so i’m sorry about that #there was also no reason to include the pack other than that i wanted to so i’m sorry about that #still hope it doesn’t suck entirely #and i really do love you so much for sending me this ship so thanks anon

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hunnybadgerv · 2 years

Text

Sorry I messed this post up earlier. :(

oxygenforthewicked asked:

Happy Friday! For DADWC, perhaps: "Character cradling their significant other’s face while they kiss" for Sebastian Vael/Siobhán Hawke, or another pairing of your choice?

This is a lovely prompt, I think you so much for it, though I must admit I wrote it sober. @dadrunkwriting

Section 1 of A Prince's Prerogative

Siobhán Hawke could honestly say she hated every single thing about Starkhaven. Well, except him, she acquiesced when Sebastian’s lips fell onto her bare shoulder.

“You look exquisite, Mouse.” His eyes caught hers in the mirror as he grinned michievously at her reflection. He brushed his lips against her skin then placed another kiss closer to her neck. “I suddenly have an overwhelming desire to peel you out of this gown take you right here and now.”

Leaning back against him, she tilted her head to allow his mouth to easily traverse the column of her neck. “Be my guest. I’d much prefer that to what faces us downstairs.” Her hand slipped behind her, grasping his thigh before teasing upward.

A sharp bite landed beneath her ear and he spun away from her before her hand reached his groin. Siobhán glanced back over her shoulder, shooting him a pout.

“Sweet temptation,” he said, biting his own bottom lip in lieu of braving her reach again to capture hers. “We have a duty, my dear princess.”

Siobhan rolled her eyes hard at the title and turned back to the mirror. Even the dress was too much, with a skirt large enough to camp under, she thought again. Though the silky fabric would never hold up against the weather. One thing could be said about the Champion of Kirkwall—she was practical. That was one of the things that chafed about Starkhaven, nothing seemed practical. It was all designed for one show or another. Of course, it hadn’t been much different in Kirkwall, during the short time she’d spent as Viscount.

“Fine. But when we get back. I fully expect you do precisely that.” She turned her head and caught his eye. “Like I cost your whole month’s salary.”

Sebastian’s laughter roared through the room, but the twinkle in his eye offered her an enticing finish to a torturous evening of pretending to listen to people discuss the importance of this designer and the merits of that fabric and the rumors of this daughter or that son’s escapades. She figured by the end of the night she’d be ready to set fire to the entire ballroom. These events often left her wondering how Sebastian had dealt with it all.

When he offered his hand, she crossed and slipped her gloved fingers into his palm. He pulled it to his lips, then turned her hand over and pressed his lips to the bare spot on her wrist to kiss her pulse.

“You’re just an awful tease,” she grumbled at him as those vibrant greenish-blue eyes flashed up at her. He smiled against her skin and kissed it once more, letting her feel the heat of his desire.

“It’s all your fault,” he chided, pulling the door open. “If you weren’t so enticing, I’d be far more well-behaved.”

“Doubt that,” she retorted.

Sebastian flashed her a devilish smirk. He’d told her all about his youthful escapades and the methods his family employed to try and curb his appetites. He stopped in his tracks, his hand tightening around hers to pull her toward him. Both his hands cupped her face in both his hands. “You are the only one. The one I love, the one I lust for, the one I cannot live without. No one can hold a candle to you in any arena,” he told her with a serious tone he held back for moments that required severity. His forehead rested against hers. “If you weren’t by my side, I don’t think I could do this.”

Siobhán pressed his hand more firmly to her face and tickled the tip of her nose with his own. “We both know you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Even so, there’s nowhere else in all of Thedas I would want to be than at your side. Even in this monstrosity,” she added with a wide smile and a soft laugh, which he echoed.

“I think it looks quite lovely.”

“You could fit an entire guard patrol under here.”

Sebastian’s smirk revealed the thought that flashed through his mind. “Might have to test that theory.”

SHe leaned up and pressed her lips to his softly. “Do not start that again. Otherwise I’m going to drag you back to that room.”

He hummed against her lips and extended the kiss.

“Majesties,” a familiar voice called from the end of the corridor.

She pressed her lips harder against Sebastian’s knowing he’d be pulling away any moment—far too soon for her tastes, though in all honesty there was no such thing, and she felt there never would be a moment when she was sated with the feeling of him in her arms, in her life. It always made her chuckle to think back to their first meeting when he tried to capture her in order to drag the frightening, menacing apostate to the Circle to be dealt with. It was such a far cry from where they wound up.

When the kiss broke, she turned her head and pressed her lips to the inside of his wrist. First a kiss, then a sharp little bite that earned a quick peck to her temple before his hand turned and clutched hers tightly.

“Is something amiss, Georg?” Sebastian asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

They both knew they made the man’s life a bit more difficult, and grated on his overdelveloped sense of timing. Despite that Georg Lang’s approach to his position aligned far more closely to Sebastian’s world view, if they still vastly differed on more practical concerns.

“The guests have all arrived,” he said in a polite reproach for their delay.

Siobhán knew it was code for stop flirting with that troublesome mage and get your ass downstairs to welcome the visitors. And even if Georg was thinking those exact words, he was far too proper to be quite so blunt, at least in the presence of said apostate vixen, as she’d overheard him call her in the past.

Sebastian pulled her hand around his arm and pressed her fingers around his forearm, leaving his hand to cover hers as he started down the hall once more. When they approached the seneschal, he turned to lead them down the stairs, and Siobhán leaned her temple against her husband’s shoulder. The thought of that word was no longer strange to her, though it still made her stomach flip. Despite the concerns of everyone about the magic in her blood and what that could mean for the Vael lineage, Sebastian ignored it all and followed his heart.

Hawke would have happily crept into the palace from time to time to sate her feelings for him. She didn’t desire the title that accompanied their current position, though she certainly preferred not having to share him with some proper wife needed to produce heirs the nobility would prefer. He’d quieted them with reminders that the Vael’s were only able to return to Starkhaven because of Hawke’s intercession on his behalf. That reminder would grow stale, she knew. But it worked to shut them up about the Prince’s preference to marry the woman he loved rather than some woman who could never be more to him than a reminder of his duty.

With her still walking far too close to the Prince, the senechal presented them to those gathered. The applause was to be expected as a matter of position, though it still made Hawke cringe and want nothing more and to shrink into the shadows. She’d spent most of her life, avoiding people’s notice, so moments like this still did not settle well with her personal approach to existing.

As was expected, once they reached the center of the room, the musicians began a traditional song and Sebastian pulled her into his arms. The dance was nothing like how he held her when they danced alone. Everything about it was designed for grandiose display.

Varric had been dead on when he called the city pretentious. But with her eyes on Sebastian’s the rest of the nonsense could almost fade to the periphery until she was once again just trying to master the steps. In Starkhaven, he proved her solid foundation and her soft place to land when she faltered. With a flourishing spin that made her skirts flare outward impossibly, the once again presented themselves to their guests. Like a proper gentleman, he kissed her gloved fingers and led her off the floor to allow the evening’s festivities to begin properly.

They’d barely reached the edge of the floor before Georg was at Sebastian’s side, guiding him to the first diplomatic conversation of the night. Her prince squeezed her hand before the distance pulled him away. She looked after him for a moment, but on turning her head found herself amidst a small congregation of women with questions about the gown; ones she likely would forget the answers to, despite the dressmaker’s notes left for her.

#Badger Scribbles #dadrunkwriting #Siobhán Hawke #Sebastian Vael #Hawke/Sebastian #DADWC #Dragon Age Fanfiction #Templar!Sebastian AU

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yungbud · 4 years

Note

Could you do some Y/N x Dom ddlg smut?

Word count: 2.6k

TW: Smut including, Daddy kink, throat fucking, bondage

A/n I wasn’t 100% sure where you wanted this to go so I tried to do a little bit of both. If you wanted it more rough or more soft i’d been happy to rewrite it for you, just shoot me a dm/ask with the direction you’d like me to take it and it should be up within the week <3 hope you like it though.

---

Dom stood in front of you, hard dick standing at attention, his tip red and swollen.

You would’ve helped. Really, you would’ve. You wanted to, even, but Dom had left you with your hands completely tied…

Well, literally.

It all started when he stayed late at the studio one night working on the album, and then another... And then another… His fans were practically begging him to take a night off, but he just wouldn’t. Sometimes he wouldn’t even bother to come home at all, heaven knows if he even bothered to sleep.

The fact was, with Dom gone so often you got a bit lonely. You’d tried explaining this to him in passing but he was just so caught up in his work, promising that when it was all done he’d spend nothing but time with you. The promises always seemed to fall flat, project after project withholding his attention from you.

And then you remembered…

You and Dom had an array of sex toys, a fond memory attached to each one. Dom also had a certain set of rules for you when it came to sex, and by assosciation said sex toys, one of them being that you were only allowed to touch them if he was there to watch you.

This rule fell through about a month in when you realized he was never home to watch you… Which also meant he was never home to catch you. You figured, he’s having fun working on his album and you deserved to have a bit of fun of your own too.

With not much left to do you’d been abusing this rule like it owed you money ever since. It was actually a lot of fun. It took a little getting used to at first, you missed Dom and wished he was here to do it instead, but pretty soon you were getting off all on your own and you even used a heating pad and stuffy for the post orgasm cuddles you were missing.

Of course you still loved and missed Dom, and would be glad to return to normal as soon as possible, but for the time being you were perfectly fine with your little situation.

You had a pretty productive day cleaning the house, you were now working on dinner, something small since you’d probably be the only one home to eat it. You worked strategically around the kitchen, cleaning up as you went, and once your food was safely in the oven and the timer was set you had a little over half an hour to kill. Wandering into the living room, you searched for the remote, finding it on the couch where you plopped yourself down and began scrolling through netflix.

God, there’s never anything good on here, you thought, it just isn’t what it used to be. You remembered when netflix had everything, and now everything had spread onto their own respective streaming services. You clicked the tv off, staring at the wall for a moment as you went over the things left to do in your head.

There’s always instagram or twitter, but those tend to piss you off in one way or another and there was nothing good on youtube.

Your thought about how your day went, reviewing everything mentally and you realized what you could fill your time with. A reward for all your hard work.

You practically ran up the stairs, wanting to fit in as much you time as possible before you had to return to make dinner.

You started off slow, squeezing your breast and pretending it was Dom instead, trailing your hand down your body until you hit the waistband of your shorts, slipping them down your legs and haphazardly tossing them across the room. You gently rubbed yourself through your underwear, pressing a few teasing fingers against your entrance. Taking a deep breath, you slide your hands up and down your thighs, allowing your eyes to close and your body to fully relax before reaching over, wrapping your fingers around the small, pink vibrator that was sat beside you on the bed, shifting it on and pressing it against your clit.

Inhaling a sharp breath at the feeling, your hips moved along with your actions. Soft moans fell from your lips, taking a moment to rid yourself of your underwear before continuing. You tried to imitate the motions of Dom, pretending he was laid next to you and whispering dirty things in your ear, encouraging you to continue.

His plush lips pressed against your neck, leaving bites in his wake that would surely show up tomorrow. His tattooed middle finger coming down to press inside you, pumping it in and out a few times before curling it inside you.

He seemed so far away, and yet closer than you thought.

What you hadn't known was that Dom had chosen to come home early today so he could spend dinner with you, and he was standing in the doorway watching as you slid the vibrator up and down your glistening pussy, whimpering his name.

“Hm, dinners ready.” Your actions snapped to a pause in shock “Oh don’t worry, love. I got it.”

Your eyes opened slowly, unsure if you really wanted to acknowledge the scene in front of you.

Dom stood in front of you, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed as he stared you down.

“S’that?” He questioned, knowing damn well what it was, but wanting to hear you admit it. You wrapped your hand tightly around it, a futile attempt to hide the item in your hand. Dom tilted his head disapprovingly at this, walking over to you and peeling your hand open to take it from you, clicking it off. He cleared his throat, putting it on display for you, his gaze boring into the side of your head as he waited for an explanation.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” There was A moment for you to plead your case. Nothing. “Alright, fine.” He says, sitting on the bed motioning for you to lay over his lap. You looked up at him, eyes wide and innocent in a silent plea. When his stern look didn’t budge you complied, perching your ass into the air a bit.

“Are you going to tell me what you were doing, or am I going to have to get it out of you?” Dom asks, his hand rubbing soothingly over your ass.

“I was masturbating.” Dom hummed, his hand coming down in a sharp smack against your ass.

“With?”

“A toy.” another, his hand smoothing over the already reddening skin.

“Which?”

“I’m not supposed to do unless you’re here to watch me.” twice in a row this time

“So, let me get this straight. You knew you were being disobedient, and decided to do it anyway?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well, at least you’re telling the truth.” Dom said, leaning down to whisper in your ear “‘fraid you would’ve been better off lying, love.” His hand coming down thrice more on your already raw ass. Your teeth dug into your lip as you tried your best to hold back the squeaks that clawed their way up your throat.

“Do you want me to count, daddy?” You offered, trying to earn yourself a few brownie points.

“No, I’ll stop when I’m good and damn ready.” And he did exactly that. Although he didn’t ask you to count, you did so anyway. You found it helped to distract from the pain. You got up to around twenty when he finally stopped, leaning down to place a kiss on your red bottom. It wasn’t that you didn’t like it, but when you were genuinely in trouble with Dom, when you had so blatantly disobeyed him, the spankings came across as a bit more of a genuine punishment than normal. He wanted it to be sexy and feel good, but he also wanted you to know that your behavior was not acceptable.

“Your ass is so red. Does that hurt?” He asks, concern lacing his tone

“Yes.” You whimper, pouting back at him

“Awh, you poor baby. Probably should’ve thought about that before you decided to break one of my rules.” He said, smacking your ass once again. Shoving you off his lap, he left the room, leaving you alone on the bed, staring at the ceiling as you waited patiently for him to return.

You hadn’t actually seen him as he walked back in the room, only acknowledging his return when you felt his hands wrapping around your wrists. Before you realized what was happening your wrists were tied to the head board, your gorgeous boyfriend hovering over you, pulling your shirt up to admire your tits.

“Since you got to get off, it’s daddy’s turn.” He said, pulling his pants down just enough to pull out his swollen prick, jerking it off inches from your face. He tapped your jaw, your mouth opening at his command, slipping his dick down your mouth slowly. You were gagging before he was all the way in, staring up at him from your place on the bed. He groaned at the feeling of his tip hitting the back of your throat, your gags only encouraging his thrusts as he fell into a rhythm.

“Oh fuck, princess.” He moans, hand wrapped up in your hair, tugging at it lightly, his hips moving methodically as he ruthlessly fucked your throat.

There was a string of spit from your throat to his tip when he pulled out, Dom’s hand coming by to swipe it out of the air. He sat up a bit, placing his balls in your mouth as he continued pleasuring himself, his head hung back in pleasure. You lifted your head in an attempt to return his tip to your mouth, but Dom crawled off of you and stood beside the bed instead.

And there you were, with Dom stood in front of you, hard dick standing at attention, his tip red and swollen.

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You say, choking back tears

“Then why’d you do it, princess? Hm? Just such a horny slut you couldn’t help yourself? You know what I think? I think you did it on purpose because you thought I’d never catch you. I don’t think you’re sorry for doing it, I think you’re sorry you got what you had coming for being such a disobedient little slut.” He hummed, swiping a piece of your hair behind your ear “But thats okay, because I promise” He says, his tone sinister “that after tonight you won’t need to touch that pretty little pussy for awhile.”

“No, I really am sorry for disobeying you, I promise.” You plead, letting your hips flatten against the bed.

“So are you going to tell me why you did it or just keep apologizing? Because only one of those is going to get you anywhere but a wheelchair tonight, pretty girl.” You avoided eye contact, focusing on the pattern of your bed sheets as you tossed the thought around in your head, hesitating to tell him what had really been going on.

“You’ve just been gone for so long and you’re never home anymore. It gets so boring and lonely being here by myself all the time and I wasn’t able to get myself off and you weren’t here to do it so one night I reached into the drawer and I used one of the toys and it just felt so good… ” You rambled, tears welling up in your eyes as the feelings of resentment and loneliness poured out of you all at once. Dom stopped for a moment, untying your hands and moving you up to a sitting position, enveloping you in a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, princess. I hadn’t even thought of it like that.” His lips connected with yours in a soft kiss, his hand coming up to hold the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. When he pulled away he left a series of kisses all over your face, an apology after each one.

“Come here.” He whispers, pulling you on top of him.

His lips connected with yours as he began pushing himself in, waiting for you to move against him before continuing his actions. His strokes were long and slow, making sure you felt every single inch of him. His lips leave small kisses along the length of your neck, hands gripping at your ass, your own scratching down his back.

“Well, I guess I’m here now.” He jokes, reaching over to grab the vibrator, pressing it firmly against your clit. You were already close from before, the punishment only adding to the little ball of pressure you could feel building in your tummy.

Pathetic, needy whimpers slipped past your lips as your orgasm came over you.

“I got you princess.” He whispers, you can feel Dom twitch inside you as he comes up on his own, releasing inside you with a heavenly moan. He remained inside you, allowing the two of you to ride out your highs, before pulling out and collapsing next to you. It took you both a moment to catch your breath, but when you did Dom was the first to speak.

“Okay, new rule.” He turned to you “You’re allowed to use the toys when I’m going to be consecutively busy, but if you can I want you to call me, or if I'm busy send me photos. Daddy loves to see his little girl getting off, I don’t wanna miss a thing.” He says, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Come on, lets go eat.” You said, attempting to sit up, but being pulled back down by Dom.

“Dinner can wait, you need a bath.” He says, picking you up and carrying you into the en suite bathroom. He set you on the counter, mindful of your bum, before turning to heat up the bath water. He turned back to you as he filled the tub, kissing you softly on the lips as he waited. You denied his offer to pick you up and set you in the tub, opting to walk the step and a half there yourself, sinking into the inviting water and letting it soothe your ache.

He seemed extra protective of you, your words obviously going to heart. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten so caught up in his work and left you home all alone feeling like that. Worse yet, you’d expressed these emotions to him before and he shrugged them off. He was determined to make it up to you.

Dom let you pick a bath bomb, watching as you marveled at the colors. He dragged his attention away from you eventually, once again leaving you alone in the room.

When he returned he had a plate of food in his hand, setting it on the edge of the tub for you and playing with your head as you ate, asking you how you’d been while he was away.

He waited for you with a warm towel when you were ready to get out, tentatively drying you off. He allowed you to dress yourself, sitting on the edge of the cabinet as he watched. After dinner and your bath, he tucked you in, placing a kiss on your forehead and promising to be there when you woke up in the morning, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you drifted off to sleep.

#Yungblud #yungblud smut #yungblud fic #yungblud x reader #yungblud aftercare #yungblud fanfic #Dominic harrison #dominic harrison smut #dominic harrison fanfic #dominic harrison x reader #dominic harrison aftercare

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hes-writer · 3 years

Text

Patreon Masterlist

These are exclusive fics that you can read on my Patreon!

* = complete, ^ = in-progress, + = will be posted on tumblr, (s) = smut (implied or mentioned) writing count: 78 pieces

**billing cycle currently paused** | new patrons will still be charged

This is a reupload of my masterlist with sneak peeks of each piece so you know what's up :D

Multi-Part Series | One Shots | Drabbles | Extras

* Unwavering (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) - 6.5k, the one where harry cheats (again)

"Right. Maybe we can go out tonight to grab some dinner," She suggested, a hopeful glint in her eyes and he almost felt guilty for putting her on the back burner of his mind. "I really have to go, baby," Peeking his head around her frame, he spotted the untouched toast and apple juice resting on where he should be. "I'm sorry."

^ + Roommate Series (3) (4) (5) (6) - 9.8k, the one where harry and y/n are roommates

He sighed, “I finished my coffee ages ago. I was just waiting for you to finish studying so we could leave together and go home,” Y/N dropped her fingers from his wrist, slouching the slightest bit as butterflies attacked her stomach. “Don’t look at me like that. I just wanted you to get home safe,” He nudged her forehead with the ball of his palm, his face contorting to annoyance.

^ + Notes on Camp (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) - 16.5k, the one where harry and y/n are camp counsellors

Y/N looked around to be met with puckered lips and clenched hands as the campers practically requested for her to kiss their favourite counsellor. Wide, hopeful stares were willing her to commit.

“Alright, alright,” She bent her upper body to reach his cheek, licking over her lips once before pressing it on his skin. It was only a quick peck and then she pulled back. He stayed unmoving.

Jacky and Emy poked their finger at him on opposite sides. His cheek dimpling with their small indents. “Maybe you should do it again?”

* Friends Don't (1) (2) (3)- 3k, the one where lines are crossed

“It’s Harry Styles fanfiction on Tumblr,” She suggested a conversation, shyly smiling in embarrassment. “I can see that,” He murmured, using his thumb to scroll through the rest of the story, “It’s . . . interesting. People write these about me?” His retort made the situation seem like an utter surprise.

* Digress, Progress, Regress Series - 5k, the one where harry falls out of love

Y/N wondered if there was a chance to fixing what has been lost--what has disappeared as the canvas soaked through in a permeated osmosis. Coating the brush of blue with white paint took several layers to completely cover the mistakes. There had to be an effort in wanting to make the faults and errors completely opaque from the eye; the bleary, watery irises soaked with tears, dampening her lashes in a thick haze as she cried.

Tickle Fights (1) - 1.2k, the one where bff!y/n teases harry about his boner

“What’s going on here, Harry?” The light tone of her voice indicated that she was teasing him, paired with the subtle movements of her lower half. Harry whined in response, feeling the blood rush downwards to make him even stiffer. “Does this feel good? Got hard over me straddling you, huh?” It was almost degrading, the way Y/N formed her question yet Harry couldn’t help a whimper from lingering in the air. He nodded, hands sliding down to grip at her moving hips.

Real Mature (1) (2) - part two is patron exclusive! - 603 words, the one where bff!harry and y/!n fight

“You shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for being bitter about you and Ruby,” She rested her forearms on his shoulders in a slant when he stood to his full height. “I know you’re happy with her,” Harry gave her a shy smile that confirmed his words. Ruby is someone special to Harry now and Y/N had to learn how to share his time, attention, and affection. “I reckon I’m just missing you a lot more now,” Y/N’s tone was sad and despondent, trailing her gaze to the floor where she almost chuckled at Harry’s fuzzy bunny slippers which she had gotten him.

^ Fine Line Series: Adore You - 1.1k the one where harry and y/n are friends with benefits

Still, with her back against the wall and Harry’s fingers still gripping her hips—she waited for his response. I told you I loved you. Say it back, Y/N thought. “I love her, Y/N,” He mumbled against her neck in a drunken stupor. So close.

Kinkmas Blurbs (1 - 7) - 4.6k, the one where it’s all smutty

Maybe it was the way that his jaw ticked harshly every time he threw his head back at a particularly good stroke. You wondered what he was imagining that had him bucking his hips to his fist before realizing that the movements would probably cause you to wake up. Still, his hooded lids didn’t peel open—not until a core shaking fondle of his heavy balls forced a choked whine out of his throat.

Harry’s neck snapped to your figure, catching the way you looked at him as if you were in distress that he wasn’t cumming anytime soon—not when you were there, willing and able to help.

“Fuck, love. ‘M sorry,” He mumbled, not stopping the flicks of his wrist. In fact, you swore that you could hear the squelching of his clear pre-cum squishing between his fingers.

The Secretary (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) 11k, the one where harry is the CEO and y/n is the assistant (cheating fic)

Two months ago, Y/N unburied a not-so-hidden secret that Harry tried to bury. Two months ago, Y/N walked in on her boyfriend and his secretary fucking on his office table. Two months ago, Y/N experienced everything from pain and discomfort, to disappointment and being scornful. She threaded the line of confronting him or waiting for the day he came forward and admitted it himself. There was a desire for Y/N to see Harry sweat beneath her beady eyes, watching him scratch the back of his pants in a nervous manner. She wanted to hear him stutter as he spat an excuse, she yearned to see him pleading with his gorgeous green eyes for her to stay. Y/N craved for his throat to close up, whimpers choked from his trachea because he was losing his stability as she walked away from him.

(s) Tension (1) (2) - 5.3k, the one where harry and y/n hate each other

“S’that why you hate me so much?”

His fingertips tapped his thigh methodically, crumpling a faint thud against his jeans. With how close they were sitting, Y/N’s bare knee brushed against his clothing. A burn of desire and anticipation lit inside of her like a dose of gasoline another in a flaming hot fire.

Harry shook his head, “Don’t hate you."

Champagne Problems- 4.4k, the one where marriage is a sensitive topic, the 1 - coming soon!

The freshly popped bottle of champagne poured into the flute on the table beside her bubbled and simmered, the sizzling reaction of the golden liquid ignited a moment of realization within her. The reason why her body felt more weighted, why tears filled her glazed eyes, pricking her corneas and threatening to spill down her face. Y/N’s heart had cracked–she was certain that everybody around her could hear it.

One Shot

(s) Achy Back - 813 words, the one where harry draws y/n a bath

A pout sat on her face as Harry stopped himself from ducking his head and catching her plush lips with his, craving the sweet taste of her and her strawberry lip balm. Her arms wrapped around his snatched waist, halting his breath at the tightness of her embrace and settling for a kiss on her forehead, the scent of her shampoo wafting in his nostrils, knowing that she had taken shower hours prior.

A Letter to the Man I’ve Loved - 1.5k, the one where harry receives a letter from his ex

Is it really worth it to look back in retrospect about ‘what had been’ when she can think about ‘what could have been’ if both of them realized their faults? Granted, he was more resilient in that sense than her, but he was no better at the time. She made mistakes and it had haunted her to this day, practically killing her with each moment she spent without him by her side.

Renegade - 981 words, the one where harry and y/n do a tiktok dance

“What are y’doing?” Harry asked, his eyes wide as his large palms ruffled the fluffy towel on his damp curls. The steam from the bathroom escaped to your bedroom where you were panting with effort, your chest heaving so hard that the peaks of your breasts rose with each breath.

“Uh, what are you doing?” You retorted slowly, hiding your hands behind your back were your fingers gripped your phone. Your thumb dug hard on the volume bottom, frantically trying to decrease the music from the phone speaker.

(s) Drop the Towel - 644 words, the one where harry does the ‘drop the towel’ challenge

You gasped at the sight, the knife clanging on the marble counter, “Ooh, hi there,”

He smirked cockily, watching your eyes observe his body, tongue subconsciously peeking out between your lips until you snapped your head to the window, “Oh my god! There are people out there, Harry!” You wailed in alarm, bending over to hand him his towel.

All I Ask - 2.2k, the one where feelings aren’t mutual

“I don’t want to be scared of what will happen tomorrow or if all we have is right now because we’ll have nothing left but I am,” A sob ripped through his throat, emotions were heightened tenfold because she was so close yet so far and they were still Harry and Y/N but at the same time they weren’t. They’ve changed over the span of one night. “All we have is tonight,”

Little Prince - 583 words, the one where 7-year-old harry takes care of his best friend

“Y/N? Y/N! Are you okay? I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I swear I wasn’t mad at you, I was just jok- Why are you smiling?” Harry yelped, panic evident in his shrill voice. His hands wandered towards her face, tilting it left to right, up and down, searching for any visible and invisible injuries besides the bump on her forehead.

Stressed Out - 1.8k, the one where y/n has a huge term paper due

“What d’ya mean I don’t get it?” He closed the paperback, making sure to clip in his bookmark to save his spot.

A pregnant pause slithered the room. Her fingers typing against the keys of her laptop ceased as she shot him a glare, “You’re not studying, are you? All you do is write songs, fiddle with a few instruments and sing it in front of people who adore you,”

Valentine’s Day - 1.5k, the one where harry runs into trouble and y/n is there to save him

“Shit! Are you crazy?” Y/N gasped in surprise when the passengers seat was occupied, the door opening and slamming shut all while the car moved at a speed of 15 km/h —cursing her forgetfulness for not clicking the locks shut.

“Keep driving!” The passenger shouted, looking back through the windshield.

Dream With Me - 1.3k, the one where y/n has trouble sleeping

Harry’s admiration gets interrupted when a sudden jolt took over Y/N’s body. He dropped his mouth open a little in shock, rubbing her back soothingly when she whimpered quietly, “Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe with me,” She must have had experienced one of those moments when she was falling until her vision drooped to a shaded black.

Pet Name - 1.2k, the one where bff!harry just wants y/n to call him by his pet name again

His voice emulated a soft, syrupy tone that lingered in the air whenever he spoke. He was the colour honey itself–golden and yellow like the colour of the sun. Harry was bright in its sense of intelligence and the way he illuminated the whichever room he entered. His kindness catered to everyone’s needs and left pieces of his heart wherever he went.

Harry was honey.

Shave - 768 words, the one where harry helps y/n shave her coochie

She sniffles some more, “I’m trying to shave, H. It’s so itchy but I-I can’t reach down there,”

Y/N began to sob. The rattle of the razor clanking on the bathtub floor where she sat her bum on the edge. Her baby bump was causing her to teeter over the porcelain which urged Harry to swiftly plant his hands on her to keep her steady.

“I’m so huge! I’m the size of a house,” Y/N palmed the crest of her bump, rubbing it loosely as she admired the stretched skin yet slightly wishing that it would disappear and she was holding their baby in her arms instead.

(s) Don’t Worry, Darling - 1.5k, the one where y/n rides harry

He slipped down the headboard, resting his back flat on the mattress with Y/N sliding with him. She positioned her feet to rest near his knees, wrapping their limbs together so she could have some sort of sanity whilst Harry incepted on his shattering thrusts. Feet were planted on the mattress to give his lower half elevation to propel his hips against Y/N’s core. Harry’s fingers left white marks on her skin, gripping the plush flesh and essentially spreading Y/N open as he rapidly shoved his dick over and over inside of her with no signs of slowing down. He staggered for a few moments when her pulsing core emitted dazing throbs over his leaking cock but Y/N was quick to duplicate and resume the pace he had set with the movement of her hips.

To Be Loved - 2.3k, the one where y/n’s feelings are more than friendly

“I love you. Don’t you love me back?”

Harry’s eyes visibly widened, clearly taken aback by the question spewing from Y/N’s mouth. Her heat cheeks and a shy stance; knees knocking against his knobby ones while her dainty hands interlaced her fingers.

Revelation - 2.1k, the one where famous!y/n and harry are spotted together (pre-relationship)

Before there were Harry and Y/N--the power couple--there was Harry and Y/N.

Y/N, who was one of the most sought after female artists in the industry because of her angelic voice. The woman who had managed to catch the lingering stares of every household and the ears of many listeners with her truthful songs; narrative from the experiences she had gone through and shared through the art of songwriting.

Harry, who was quite the artist for the night. Harry’s limbs were being pulled metaphorically every which to ensure that the cameras captured him clapping respectfully in the audience. Others were asking him to stay for a bit more time backstage for content for an upcoming video. Right now, he was sat in his uncomfortable chair beside a handful of producers and well-known singers. A brief hug and whisper with Ariana Grande were enough for their fans to implode about a possible collaboration, granted that Harry had written a song for her album before. But Harry was certain that that feature wasn’t coming for a long while.

Apple Cheeks - 1.1k, the one where harry says something and y/n isn’t listening

Clearing his throat, he began, “I love you, Y/N. And I know that it might be too soon considering how short our relationship has been so far but I-I really do have strong feelings for you,”

Harry dropped his gaze as soon as he managed to peel off the first three words from his hoarse throat. “You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted to let you know that I really care for you and me. I definitely something for us in the future and I hope you feel the same,”

Dreadful seconds shivered up Harry’s spine. His stare was still fixed on her shuffling feet and the floor. It was painful to hear nothing but silence so Harry decided to courageously lift his head up.

Affliction - 1.5k, the one where Harry breaks down (TW: depressive thoughts)

It wasn’t even that Harry did not know how to say ‘no’ because he truly did. However, anyone would be worn-out by the amount of exhaustion carried on his back. That cold shudder of loneliness--even when he wasn’t alone-- because nobody shared the experience of defeat with him. The twitch of his ears straining to listen when nobody would do the same for him. A subtle jerk of the corners of his lips because he could not keep the smile plastered on his face like paint chipping off the drywalls. The flutter of tired lids waiting to be shut tightly as tears were wrung from his green eyes, lashes tickling his skin underneath the violent colour of his eye bags.

From the Dining Table - 748 words, the one where y/n’s new boyfriend looks a lot like harry

Y/N wondered if her former lover shared the same thoughts as she did. The girl that he woke next to—was she still there? Did they share the bed together—not just in the morning—but the nights as well? If so, did Harry love her like he did with Y/N? Or was he just pretending to be okay like she was?

Blanket for Two - 990 words, the one where y/n kicks harry out of bed

And now, Harry was in bed with the woman he loves. Her light snores echoing in the dim room and he was staring up at the ceiling, shivering in his bones. If she were awake, Y/N probably would have made a snide, joking comment about how he shouldn’t sleep naked, especially in the winter. Not like she didn’t do that either--she was practically naked with the thin camisole over her body. The difference was that Y/N had an extra layer of blanket keeping her warm, shielding her skin from the night air and Harry only had the friction of his palms rubbing against his arms. He was sure that he was a hint away from his teeth chattering. Harry had half the mind to dip his freezing feet beneath the blanket and jolt her awake with the change in temperature.

That’ll show her, he thought.

Around 1:32 - 3.2k, the one where y/n has a wet dream

“What?” Harry spat, tugging his shirt over his head, waiting for you to form a coherent excuse. “‘Think that jus’ because you woke up horny from a dream that y’can touch yourself? What a slut. Are you that desperate?”

Your cheeks flamed at his words of degradation, doubling your arousal and one that had you smushing your thighs together to relieve the ache. You rolled your eyes as he continued his rant instead of using the time to keep you satisfied. That was his job, wasn’t it? To make you cum and make you feel nothing but pleasure, yet here he was shaming you for touching yourself. Granted, you did it without his permission and done so while he was asleep beside you, but still.

“Wouldn’t have touched myself if you treated me well.”

+ Stories in My Eyes - 1.2k, the one where dad!Harry gets woken up in the middle of the night

And while he liked to think that he had gotten the hang of—quite literally— his kid dangling on his leg like some sort of koala, pulling on his hair every time he gave Beau a piggy back ride, and the random visits late at night where the small child would stand at the doorway with his teddy bear so quietly only to say, “Can I sleep with you and mumma?” He was not at all prepared for tonight’s’ events.

+ Feather Boa - 1.5k, the one where harry comes home after the Grammys

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Oh, stop that!”

“Stop what?” Harry nudged the strap of his custom tote bag higher on his shoulder.

“You just won a Grammy, you goose!”

Harry’s gaze softened, endeared at how happy Y/N was for him. She was jumping on the tips of her toes, hands clasped in front of her as she stared at him with admiration and awe.

(s) Roughed Up - 2.8k, the one where harry’s domestic and y/n’s mind wanders

You whimper in return, almost collapsing straight on his body when Harry uses your body to move you up and down his cock. His curls flop on the soft pillow beneath his head, sweat matting the tiny hairs to his face. The way he looks at you with such intensity and a certain kind of awe as if he couldn’t believe that this was really happening is rewarding. Hooded eyes observing how your body twitches in his grip, gasping at how strong he felt underneath you like you were merely a ragdoll to be played wit

Pudding Cups - 1k, the one after harry steals food from the kitchen (Notes on Camp Extras)

“So is it common practice for counsellors to steal food from the kitchen?”

Harry lifts his head up at inquiry, shifting his attention from gently taking out the contents of the reusable bag towards Y/N. She was laying on his mattress, flat on her back as she stared at the wooden ceiling. If she looked closely, Y/N was sure that his light bulb was flickering the tiniest bit and usually, she would’ve been freaking out over the fact that she was in the middle of the woods, hovering over a potential power cut. But the fear subsided once she reminded herself that Harry was around.

“Hopefully not,” He muses with a suggestive eyebrow.

Drabbles:

(s) Drabble #1: Fratboy!Harry - 469 words, the one where y/n meets fratboy!harry at a party

Y/N snapped her head towards the member. When she applied for the rush, she didn’t expect that she would have to sleep with someone in order to officially join the sorority. “What? Why him?

Sadie chuckled, sensing the panic in her voice. “Don’t worry, Harry’s nice. Besides, everybody does it,” She swirled her drink around, mixing the liquids together. Her lashes draped over her cheeks, almost touching the apples. “Are you in?”

Drabble #2: Asshole!Harry - 848 words, the one where harry cheats

You were calm, silent, and patient to see where he would take the conversation. Guilt was not present when you stood face to face in a battle of tranquility that pierced through your heart. His eyes gleamed in concealed smugness while his tongue curled in endless apologies. You knew him too well that he didn’t even stand a chance to hide his true intentions. But to Harry, you were a naive little girl that failed to acknowledge the difference between his acting and the truth.

(s) Drabble #3: Tease - 1.4k, the one where harry teases y/n

Harry plunged two fingers in her hole carefully, biting his lip to suppress the sound he was bound to release from the feeling of her wet walls suffocating his digits. He delivered punctual thrust, making sure to graze her sensitive spot to heighten her arousal. “Harry,”

He stepped back abruptly, pulling his fingers out and creating distance between them. “We have dinner to get to,”

(s) Drabble #4: Dessert - 1.7k, the one where y/n makes dinner but harry wants dessert

His thoughts were always about her no matter how hard he tried not to. And the fact that she took the time out of her day to prepare him something that he will enjoy; well, Harry’s heart just about swelled up to three times the size in his thumping chest.

She pulled away, shaking her head adamantly, “No way! I spent all day cooking and you’re not gonna skip it just to eat my pussy,”

He the corners of his eyes squinted in offence at her description, “Your pussy’s top tier, baby.” Harry ‘tsked’ his tongue, “If yeh didn’t know that already, then I’m doing a horrid job,”

(s) Drabble #5: Mine - 579 words, the one where harry is obsessed with y/ns tits

But he couldn’t exactly do that when all Harry wanted to do was do her. The smooth skin was supported by a navy blue push-up bra; he could tell by the lace mesh that he could see peeking out. It gave Y/N every favour because Harry was trying so hard not to let saliva pool in his mouth and drip out in a line of drool, his eyes widening with each movement she made with her arms, jostling her boobs a little bit here and there.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Y/N waved her arms to catch his attention. A frown creased her brows as he blinked sluggishly before finding enough coherence to recognize that she was trying to talk to him.

(s) Drabble #6: Early Mornings - 1k, the one where harry thinks y/n is prettiest in the morning

“Get to see ya’ when you’re most beautiful,” Harry tickled his nose on hers, smiling at the way the feature scrunched up as she giggled. He groaned at the contractions her walls gave while her tummy flipped in gentle laughter. “Oi! What’s so funny?” He smushed her face with kisses, pausing his thrust halfway through which had her whining.

Drabble #7: Getaway - 952 words, the one where harry is always cold in the mornings

"Y/N, have you taken my purple bathrobe?"

“No,” Y/N tugged the lavender coloured fabric by the sleeves first. Then, by the lapels draping over her chest, drawing them tighter to block the gust of wind currently caressing Harry’s floppy curls.

Twisting his body, a knowing look overtook Harry’s face as Y/N exited the cabin door. The sheepish smile on his lover’s face granting all the information he needed for this morning’s chilly inception.

There she was, clad in the said purple bathrobe.

Drabble #8: A Little Chilly - 451 words, the one where harry sleeps on the couch

“‘S my bed. Dunno why Lydia can’t jus’ stay on the couch,”

“It’s Y/N!” She wailed, walking closer to the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Dear, we didn’t know that you were coming home,” Anne tried reasoning with him, not seeing the gravity of the situation as Harry was making it out to be.

Text Messages:

Text Messages #1 - ‘would you love me if I was snail?’

Text Messages #2 - ‘did you know we had a quiz today?’

Text messages #3 - ‘did you steal my hoodie?’

Notes/Behind the Scenes

Notes: Tarnish

Notes: Stressed Out

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #masterlist #hes-writer

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drabbles-mc · 4 years

Text

Adrenaline Rush

Kozik x OFC

Request by Anon: Hulloo there, may I get a sort of all sons x female reader, but mainly Kozik x female reader, where the clubhouse gets hit, and one of the guys gets hit - and they need something to stop the blood flow, so reader takes off her shirt to reveal her sports bra and ripped abs so that the wound can be attended while they wait for Tara, and the boys are like - damn, and when reader goes to get another shirt, Kozik follows and some form of smut ensues?

Warnings: language, blood, injuries, unprotected sex, brief mentions of bodily fluids

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I didn’t do a reader insert for this because I try not to describe and particular kind of body-type for the sake of inclusivity. I know I never really made a point to mention that explicitly, but yea. So I just switched it up and changed it to an OFC, hope that’s okay! This was also my first time writing for Kozik, so hopefully it came out alright! Enjoy xo

Join my group-chat here: (X)

SOA Taglist: @garbinge @masterlistforimagines @adela-topaz-caelon @mijop @chibsytelford @xladymacbethx @i-just-read-stuff (If you want to be added to the taglist just let me know!)

The clubhouse was nothing but chaos. It had never been a place associated with calm, but with everything that the MC had been getting themselves into lately it had been a bit more of a hotbed than usual. It all came to a head when a rival MC rolled up and opened fire on the clubhouse one night.

The gunshots were deafening, and bullets were flying everywhere. Before she even fully registered what was happening, she was getting shoved to the floor, pinned underneath someone else’s body in an attempt to keep her safe. Her head smacked off the hardwood and everything went fuzzy for a minute, but there was so much going on that she wasn’t sure that she would’ve been able to keep up with it anyhow.

She didn’t know how much time had passed. It could’ve been seconds or hours that she was trapped underneath the weight of another body. The first thing that felt clear to her, though, was the loss of the weight on top of her when they rolled off. They crouched down next to her in the silence that followed the bullets, shaking her shoulder.

“Alli? Hey, Alessia,” they lightly tapped the side of her face, “You with me?”

She knew the voice sounded familiar but her brain still felt too scrambled to place it as she forced herself up, nodding her head as she tried to regain her bearings, “I’m here.”

She shut her eyes tight for a few moments before reopening them, hoping that it would make things come in a little clearer. She was rewarded with being able to see who it was that had tackled her to the ground, most likely saving her life in the process. One end of his mouth kicked up in a smile when she looked at him, glad that she was conscious and seemingly unscathed, but she could still see the concern pooling in his eyes.

“You okay?”

She nodded, “I’m good. Fine. You?”

“I’m fine. Just wanted to make sure I didn’t break you.”

He stood up and held his hand out and pulled her up to her feet. She stumbled a step and collided with his chest. In a calmer moment they might’ve let it linger, but there was too much to think about. She stepped back and shook it off as she looked around the clubhouse.

“We whole?” she glanced over at Kozik.

“I don’t—”

“No!” Jax’s voice cut through the rest of the dull noise of the clubhouse.

Alessia and Kozik glanced at each other for a moment before quickly making their way over to the chapel. They both looked at Jax as they walked, seeing the way that he was clinging to his own arm, face contorted in pain. He saw their looks of concern and shook his head, nodding towards the table. They pushed their through the small crowd of people and were met with the sigh of Juice laying on the table, blood gushing from his leg.

“You call Tara?” Alessia glanced back over at Jax.

He nodded, “She’s on her way.”

“Fuck,” Juice groaned, writhing in pain on the table.

“Stop moving,” Alessia’s voice was firm as she tried to get her thoughts in order.

She was no Tara—she didn’t have any kind of medical degree or professional training. But she’d been around the MC long enough to pick up some practical first aid. She’d MacGyver’d her way through more than a few injuries for herself and for the members of the club. She just had to figure out how to keep him alive until Tara could get there to do the heavy lifting. He was losing blood fast and she was just hoping that the bullet didn’t hit an artery.

“Shit,” she pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment, “Alright.”

She peeled her tank top off over her head and folded it into a long, thin rectangle, her fingers moving quickly and methodically. All of her focus was on the task at hand. She didn’t even realize that she’d drawn the attention of more than a few hungry, wandering eyes as she stood there in her sports bra and jeans.

She glanced over at Kozik, “Belt.”

He’d been too busy staring at her, allowing his eyes to rake over her chest and abs to hear what she’d said, “Wh-what?”

She snapped her fingers and pointed to the buckle, “Your belt. Now. Please.”

Her voice had so much authority to it that he instantly started undoing his belt without questioning it. He had no idea what she would need it for, but at that point he really didn’t care. He slid it out of the loops of his jeans and handed it over to her. She laid her shirt over the wound, pressing down hard on it to give it some pressure. Juice tensed up and cursed loudly. Her apology was passive as she slid the belt around his thigh.

“It’s gonna get worse before it gets better,” she warned him as she got ready to pull the belt tight, “But it’s better than bleeding out in church, yea?”

Juice nodded, already clenching his fists in anticipation, “Yea. Just…just do it.”

They each took a deep breath. Her eyes were on his legs and his eyes were on her. She pulled on the leather strap, tightening it as best she could around his thigh. Juice clenched his jaw tight and did his best to stifle the groan of pain that was fighting to escape past his lips. There were a few moments of utter silence as they all waited to see if her makeshift solution was going to staunch the blood flow at all, let alone enough to buy enough time for Tara to come in and do damage control.

Her split-second decision-making paid off. The blood stopped flowing. It wasn’t going to be a long-term fix, but she figured that Tara couldn’t be far at this point. She looked over the rest of his body, making sure that nothing else needed to be taken care of. He looked a little pale, and extremely tired.

“Need anything else?” she asked.

Juice shook his head, resting it back on the table, “Just a fucking doctor.”

She chuckled, “We’re working on it,” she sighed, running her hands down her face, “You owe me a shirt and I’m about to collect,” she smiled, “Consider it your medical bill.”

“Done,” despite the pain shooting through him, Juice managed a laugh, “Top drawer in my dorm.”

“You’re a gem, Juicy,” she called back as she walked out of chapel towards the dorms.

The men all watched her walk away. It took him a few moments to snap back to reality, but once he did Kozik was hot on her heels. He caught up to her in a few long strides as she was about to push Juice’s door open. She heard him behind her but didn’t say anything, mind still reeling from everything the day had already entailed.

“That was, um, impressive,” he said as you started to walk over to Juice’s dresser.

“We do what we gotta do, right?”

“Right.”

She turned around to face him once she had found a shirt that she wanted to take as her own. Surprise was written all over her face when she saw the way that Kozik was looking at her. She felt the heat beginning to rise in her face, but she tried not to let it show that his stare was getting to her. Despite the fact that he was looking at her with nothing but admiration, Alessia found herself wanting to quickly pull her fresh shirt down over her head to cover herself up.

When she went to lift it up, though, he stepped in to stop her. He pushed the shirt down, taking it in his own hands, “Don’t.”

She watched him as he discarded the shirt, tossing it over onto Juice’s bed. Once his hands were free, they instantly found their way to her sides, running all over her exposed skin as he pulled her closer to him. She wanted to blame the fact that she wasn’t playing hard to get on the adrenaline of the day, and the fact that he had definitely saved her life only a few minutes before. But she knew in the back of her mind that this had been building for a while. There was a reason that he jumped to make sure she was okay before anyone else.

Before she could overthink it, she put her hands on the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. He immediately pushed and leaned into her, hands roaming all over her, grabbing whatever he could hold onto. She bit down on his bottom lip and he let out a low moan as his mouth continued to move against hers. Her hands snaked up into his hair and gave it a light tug.

He quickly wrapped his arms around her and lifted her, prompting her to wrap her legs around his waist. With ease he carried her over towards the bed, not taking his lips off of hers.

Just as he was about to lay her down, she pulled away from him, “In here?”

“What?” he smirked, “Not like he’s going to be using it anytime soon.”

She laughed, “C’mon, he almost died today. Don’t need to disrespect his room, too.”

“You saved his life! Least he could do to repay you,” he laughed as he kissed along her neck.

She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face. She shook her head slightly but didn’t protest any further as she let him gently lay her down on the bed. He made quick work of pulling off her shoes and jeans. She couldn’t wipe the smile off of her face as he climbed onto the bed, positioning himself over her. His lips crashed back into hers as his hands ran down the toned lines of her stomach, making her shiver.

Alessia reached down and undid the button and zipper on his pants. She could feel the rumble inside his chest as he tried to contain the laugh building up inside him. He pulled his lips off of hers to push his pants down the rest of the way, a smirk etched into his expression. He peeled his shirt off as well and threw it to the floor.

She hooked her legs around his waist, pulling him as close as he would let her. He kissed her, biting down onto her bottom lip as he slowly slid inside her. She tried to stifle her moans but it wasn’t any use. Her legs shook and trembled and she knew that it was no longer just from the adrenaline of the day.

His fingertips dug into her thighs as he thrusted into her. She tilted her head back, letting out a moan, and he took that moment to bite down on the soft, sensitive skin of her neck. She tangled her fingers into his hair and held him there, not wanting to give up the sensation.

“Fuck,” she breathed, “Don’t stop.”

Stopping was the absolute last thing on his mind. He felt the way that her nails set into his back, the way that her body tensed around him, and it only encouraged him to keep going. He increased his pace and let out a low moan as her nails raked down his back. She bit down onto his shoulder, attempting to muffle her screams as she came. His nails dug into her sides as he felt him bite down onto him. It sent a brief jolt of pain through him but he loved it. He cursed quietly under his breath as he approached his own release, pulling out of her right before he did so.

He collapsed next to her on the bed, looking over at her as they both attempted to catch their breath. She glanced over at him and when her eyes caught his, they both couldn’t help but to break into laughter. She ran her hands down her face, wiping away the sweat. Kozik carefully got up and went to grab his boxers and jeans.

“Let me get something to for you to clean yourself up with,” he chuckled as he glanced around the room.

“Time for you to give up your shirt for the cause, Kozik,” she laughed as she propped herself up on her elbows.

“What? No, Alli, c’mon, please,” he laughed as he picked his shirt up off the floor, “Don’t do this.”

She held her hand out, “Hand it over. Time to pay your dues,” she laughed as he threw the shirt at her, “Besides, you’ve got other clothes here anyway. What’s the big deal?”

She threw it back at him after she had wiped herself off, shaking her head with a smile as he dodged it, carefully choosing where to pick it up off the ground from. She set about getting her underwear and jeans back on, and finally pulling on the shirt that she had decided to borrow from Juice.

The two of them stood in the middle of Juice’s room. Alessia was redoing her pony tail, and Kozik couldn’t help but to stand there and watch with admiration. She could see him looking at her out of the corner of her eye and made a point to not comment on it.

“Y’know,” she looked at herself in the mirror with a chuckle, “I might be onto something here. I look good in Juice’s clothes.”

Kozik laughed and shook his head, “You look better than he does, for sure.”

The two of them slowly made their way out of the room. They looked at each other for a moment, each with a small smile on their face, before heading off in different directions. Alessia made her way back towards the chapel to see if there was anything else to be done, or if Tara had shown up yet, and Kozik headed back towards his own space to get himself a fresh shirt. As she walked away, she could feel his fingers trace lightly along her lower back for a moment before she had stepped out of reach. She shook her head slightly and tried to contain her smile as she headed back into the chaos.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #soa #soa imagine #kozik #herman kozik #kozik x oc #herman kozik x oc #my writing #fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfiction #drabblesmc

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jennikkugoesoff · 3 years

Text

Monster

((Hi! I did this drabble to start feeling out some character personalities!))

((cw: Descriptions of Gore/Cannibalism, don’t worry nobody gets hurt, Light Horror, Lemon Demon’s in this, take with that what you will.))

"Keep looking. They've gotta be around here somewhere." Well, this had gone about as well as he'd expected. They were gone. Why had he agreed to help babysit the two most mischievous kids in town, did he really want to see her that much? Then again, this did sort of snowball into something bigger than he'd have liked. BF rolls his eyes and deeply sighs as he closes the bottom cupboards of the abandoned kitchen of the abandoned house. "They aren't here! I don't know where they could've gone, they just up and vanished!" he complains, adjusting his now-askew cap.

"They could've maybe just gone home. They're fairly independent for their age after all, and it's not like we're far from Lila's." GF suggested, peering into the kitchen from the open doorway. "They do know the neighborhood fairly well--" "Oh don't remind me, about once a week they come up to my apartment asking for candy." BF complains as he strains up to try and reach the top cupboards, just a little too short to reach them. "I-I've, had to start buying crappy candy regularly just to get them to fuck off." he sighs with a grunt, stretching his arms to their limits. GF chuckles as she walks up beside him and opens the cabinets for him, peering into them with him. "See, that's the ticket to this. You have to think like they do. Think about being a little kid obsessed with Halloween, where would you be hiding? They're probably snickering somewhere because we aren't coming up with the 'brilliant' hiding spot they have." she proposes, closing the cabinet after taking a good, long look. BF groans and rolls his eyes again, running a hand through his hair as he leans up against the kitchen's counter. "This is stupid. Why did we come here." he complains. "I mean, it was your idea, and I told you it was a bad idea." GF mentions. "Well you- should've- I-" BF defends, getting red in the face, before huffing and relaxing harder against the counter. "...Hey, don't worry. I can tell you're just worried about the kids. I didn't mean to drill you or anything. It'll be ok, we'll find them, ok?" she assures. "I hope so. I just--" BF's sentence was cut off by a sudden scream as he lurches forwards and starts patting himself off frantically, shaking himself off to reveal a roach skittering away after he'd knocked it off of the back of his arm. GF held her breath, but sighed with relief once she had realized what was going on, and, she couldn't help but chuckle a little bit. BF got even redder in the face. "Don't LAUGH at me!" he shouted. "What if that had been you?!" he whined angrily, his voice pitching and cracking. GF only laughed a bit harder. "I-, I mean...." she managed to get out. "I--" she tried to get out again, giggling it off. "I'm sorry, just, with how you screamed, I would've thought you'd seen a monster, and just--" CRUNCH.

The two young adults pause, and look off towards the source of the sound. "What was that?" BF asked. "...It, sounded kinda like-" CRUNCH. By this time, the gentle rain outside had turned harsh, the wind blowing scraped the overgrown branches against the windows. "...U-uh, kids?..." BF called out into the hallway where the sound had come from. ... Only silence. "Welp. I've heard enough, let's go." BF said, walking away. "Hold it there, sag-pants. You're not going anywhere until we find the kids." GF declines, grabbing her boyfriend by the back of his shirt and pulling him back. "Did you not hear that fucking inhuman crunch just now? It's probably EATEN the kids already!" he complained. "That's probably what we're hearing, the critch-crunch of their bones! Now let's not be horror movie white people and let's GO!--" he protests, trying to walk away again. "And what are we gonna tell Lila?" GF asks. "Oh, sorry, we left the kids in an abandoned house because we heard crunchy sounds that may or may not be a stranger, Skid and Pump are probably dead but at least we're still here!" she mocks with a faux-deep voice. "That ain't no stranger! That's a fucking monster!" BF protests, pointing off towards the living room. "Ok, look. If you're gonna be this much of a pussy bitch about it, I'll go and find the kids. You stay here in the living room." GF bites back, in a stern tone as she walks off. "Wait!--" BF says, stepping out into the living room, but it was too late. She'd already left. BF sighs to himself as she leaves. Well, this was a disaster. He'd put kids in danger and made GF mad at him. Or at least, it seemed that way. He hung his shoulders and put his hand on his forehead. He'd gone from starting to regret this to full on just regretting it. They were gonna be so disappointed in him, and even worse, they may have just proven how irresponsible they really were by hurting someone else's kids. Well, actually, someone else's kid and also another someone else's kid, but in a way, that was even worse. Actually no, scratch that, it was worse. Maybe though, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe they were just heated in the moment and everything would be ok. Maybe she'd come back with the kids in just a minute. ...Yeah! Maybe he could explain all this. Explain himself. It'd be the right thing to do after all. He owed her an apology anyway after all. That was sort of a shitty little bout he had just now-- drip. Something hits BF on the shoulder. It felt like a rain drop, but it was warm. Surely it was just the pipes, right? This... house was like a bajillion years old, please just let it be the pipes. BF looks up slowly, white in the face. ... That's not a pipe. BF's eyes meet with another pair. These are cetainly not human eyes though, instead, they were large, bulbous and shining in the dark, but had large, void-like pupils that stared right through the human. BF doesn't scream. He doesn't move, he's frozen to his spot, all that escaped him is a broken breath of fear. The pair of eyes, keeping focus on him, moves slowly and methodically to the nearest wall, before a black, clawed hand begins pulling the shape of the figure down the wall. The head the eyes were socketed into was elongated, wrinkled and bright yellow, like a lemon. ...Actually, it was a lemon. Another clawed hand revealed that the ghastly form was crawling down the wall, like a spider, a disgusting chittering sound coming from it as it moved, although it was unclear whether it was making the sound or just it moving was. BF just began to sweat more and more as more of this horrible thing came into view. It had a long, skeletal body, yet velvety, jet-black skin that just barely draped across it's form, it's joints audibly popping and cracking as it moved. "Whaaat the... fuu...." the human trails, as this thing stood up. Well, kind of. It was too tall to stand at it's full height in the room, so instead, it bent over where it reached the ceiling. Most disturbing of all though. It could speak. And it does, as it leers down at him, smiling wide to reveal a mouth full of large, slightly yellowed human teeth that sat crooked in it's dark maw. "Well, well, well, what have we got here?" it asks, in a gentle, uncomfortably soothing male voice. "You're a long ways from home, aren't you, little human?" he- it, said. "W-what-- who, are... you?..." BF stumbled, taking several steps back as this thing slinked up to him like a snake, pinning him back against the wall. "Me?" the figure asked, almost curiously. "I go by a few different ones." he explained, drawing away from him. "The thing that goes bump in the night, the monster underneath your bed, or in your closet, or under the stairs, the thing from which you run, the something wicked this way comes... but most people, you know what they call me?" he asks. "W-what?" Then, the creature lets out a very human scream. A scream of pain, a scream of death, and dread. Then, he chuckles. "It's an affectionate nickname, I think." he clarifies, the disparity between the horrible shrieking and his paradoxically comforting voice uncanny. "But, let's not worry about formalities, and let's get down to brass tax." "You're a human, and you're in my territory, and that means you're game." he explains. "Game?..." BF queries. "Game, to hunt." the creature clarifies, with a chuckle. "And it's such good timing too, I love humans, my favorite part is the skin, and how at just the right temperature, it so easily peels from your-" But ever-so abruptly, the creature's dialogue was interrupted by the sound of heels on wooden stairs. "Hey! BF! I just got a call from Lila, the kids did go home! Apparently they got distracted for a while and just, left? We can finally get out of this-" GF cuts in, as she stops about halfway down the stairs. "Oh. Great. It's you." she sighs, rolling her eyes. "I should've known you'd be here, you creep." she says, taking several paces down the stairs and walking around to their sides, pulling BF out of the corner and close to her. "Y-you know this thing?" BF asked, clutching his girlfriend close. "Unfortunately." she adds. "Ohh, ohohoho... Gwen, you didn't tell me you had a little boyfriend." the monster coos, as he reaches out and draws a finger underneath BF's chin, but the hand is quickly slapped away by GF. "Don't touch him." she warns. "You couldn't stop me, even if you wanted to." he brings up, looking sly, as he slinks away from the pair. "Oh what to do with you two..." he says. "I've always wanted a two course meal..." he almost, whispers, drooling as a huge, rancid slab of meat lolls from his mouth and he licks his lips, tracing across one of his bulbous eyes like a lizard. "Yeah, whatever, you ain't shit." GF fires back. "Don't tempt him..." BF frantically whispers back. "He's fine. He won't do anything, just keep him talking, it'll get his guard down. He thinks we're weaker than him. No matter what he says, just, don't be afraid, ok?" she whispers back. "'Ain't shit'?" the monster asks, almost offended, and holding his hand up to his mouth, before chuckling. "I think you'll find I'm quite the connoisseur of... heh, alternative cuisine." he says, bending down at the pair, his breath stinking of the same rancid meat that his tongue appeared to be... and vague hints of citrus. "Hm, what to do is the question though, I mean, your skulls would simply make lovely little soup bowls, from which to drink your blood..." he said. "Or.. hm, your bones would make excellent broth, wouldn't they?" he asks. "Light, sippable... although I must confess, your little boyfriend's torso would make an excellent roast, stuffed with your guts, left to steep in the oven for five hours... just, thinking about that smell.." he describes, drooling heavily. BF was shaking like a leaf, clutching his girlfriend tightly. "Aren't you scared?!" he hiss-whispers to her. "Watch this." she says, with a wink and a smile, as she urges him off of her, and she walks away. "Or, maybe I could put you both on different racks of the oven... serve you both up on silver platters, and turn your teeth into- wait, where are you going?" A couple seconds of awkward silence follows as GF walks back into the kitchen, and pulls something out of the drawer. "Hey, you know what you should serve up with a couple of golden-brown human roasts?" she asks. "A nice, ice-cold glass of... lemonade." she says, as she hold out her hand to reveal a hand-juicer. The monster's tune then changes completely, his huge eyes widen even more and his pupils shrink as he sharply gasps, scuttling into the corner of the living room, forcing himself into the corner, his disproportionate bones seeming to almost disjoint as he takes on some unnatural-looking positioning to mash himself further into the corner. "H-hey now! T-there's no need for that! I-... h-heh, heh, c-c'mon now, I was just kidding! H-he, he gets it, don'tcha?" the monster defends, gesturing to BF as he tries to cover his ass as he slinks back. "Ohh, but weren't you just saying you should turn us into roasts? C'mon, wouldn't a nice thick lemon-rum glaze go nice with that?" GF asks, stepping forwards. "N-no! No! It wouldn't! You've got the flavors all mixed up! Y-you animals! Stay back!" he warns, thick beads of light yellow sweat falling from his face as his wide smile contorts into a wide frown. "I-I I, taste terrible! I'm sour! I'll make your lips pucker!" he fires. BF, having been impressed by all this, decides to step in himself, walking up and taking the juicer. "Oh but it'd be so nice though! Perhaps afterwards we could use the leftovers to make some tasty lemon squares?... Or maybe some lemon meringue pie?" he suggested, smiling devilishly as he watched the monster's face get increasingly horrified. The now quivering-monster shrieks in despair. "Y-you better... p-put that thing down right now, y-you, you barbarians!" he threatens, his bloodshot eyes going completely red as he begins stalking up towards them, growling. "Oh it's so satisfying, the sound that a halved lemon makes... when you squeeze it." BF croons, pretending to juice a lemon, and stepping forward. That was it for the monster, he couldn't take it anymore, so off he went, quick as a flash, whimpering like a dog as he scuttles away, climbing up the wall, breaking one of the windows and crawling through it like a distressed house centipede. BF stands there, feeling quite pleased with himself as he drops the juicer. GF giggles and claps. "Nice job, Hannibal. Let's get out of here before he realizes he's several feet taller than us." she warns. "Yeah. I think I've had my fill of spooks for one day too." BF agrees, as they head toward the front door, hand-in-hand.

#my work #Friday Night Funkin'#Friday Night Funkin #fnf bf #fnf gf #fnf lemon demon #sm skid and pump #Drabble #Fanfic

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ricaffeine · 4 years

Text

𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐓𝐰𝐨

an: in conclusion i suck at writing, this took far too long to write and i'm not impressed. fingers crossed that the next chapter will make up for it 🖤

leave a comment! i'd appreciate it a lot :))

CHAPTER THREE

The doors creaked open, screeching into the frosty silent of the night, before snapping loudly against the wall. In contrast of the dark night, the full moon shined proudly, its light gently twinkled through the glass ceiling of the room.

Followed by were firm footsteps, shoe soles tapped against the hardwood floor and fainted into the distant. He collapsed onto his arm chair, a sigh of relief washing over as he shifted his weight back.

A knock was heard twice, followed by a steady pace of footsteps that visited the room. Kangtae averted his vision to the man– no, the ghost. Polished in his neat blue uniform, reflecting against the moonlight was a silver half-moon shaped pin tucked above his chest.

"Mr. Moon, you're back." His voice emitted softly as he stopped right in front of the desk- exactly four feet away– accompanying in this hotel for over seventy years– the longest person aside from Kangtae yet to stay, he had his own merits. Jin Hyun paused reluctantly, his wrinkles creasing from concern, eyes wide alert. "What happened to your hand?"

At first a bit muddled, but realization crept after him and Kangtae sighed. Glancing at his blood-clothed hand– scenarios of red winded up in his head. "Ah.. this?"

That impulsive woman.

"Just some accident." His reply was simple– like the man he was and unlike the moon guest house's previous owner, he was, you can say, far less complicated.

Kangtae peeled at his clothed hand, anticipating as the blood wrenched skin morphed back to what was before, clean flesh took back its place. "Where's Manager Lee?"

He then reached for his whiskey decanter, filling up a quarter of the lowball glass. "Isn't she back yet?"

Jinhyun hesitated. "About that, I'm afraid to tell you that there had been a major issue regarding your latest purchase. But do not worry sir, Manager Lee will inform you once she has discussed with the–"

"Tell her to take the day off tomorrow." Kangtae spoke and sipped his glass, embracing the scorching burn that drained down his chest. "I'll manage it myself."

Although struck in confusion, the old spirit knew better than to question his boss's command. Jinhyun nodded reluctantly, made sure he would address the message to the mortal being.

"It's the full moon today, so I think we are expecting many guests."

Kangtae drained his glass and set it back on the table, jaw clenched at the comment– though it was swiftly masked away with his poker face. "Open for business, but don't accept the ones whose death were so gruesome. They're a pain in the ass."

Suppressing the urge to tell him that discriminations shouldn't be allowed, instead Jinhyun bowed, no interest to provoke any further into his bitterness. "I will take special care, so they won't get in your way."

He left with another steady bow, footsteps fell into the distant and Kangtae picked on the red stained cloth that layed flat on his desk. A blue flame lit up on its end, he watched waves of blue consumed all of it, before golden ashes swirled and vanished into thin air.

One speck however, did not follow and he reached out, trapping it between his pincers.

"Ko Munyeong, what should I do with you?"

Munyeong slapped her phone shut.

Frustration built up like a ticking bomb as she threw it behind her. It landed with a loud thud, but she could care less. Yesterday's event had bittered her enough and Sangin's repeating missed calls since 6 a.m. weren't brightening her mood any better. Tires screeched against the waxed floor as she struck a sharp turn into the parking slot, the reserved for CEO sign knocked into nowhere.

In her new prized possession, Munyeong stomped through the building, brave less employees– who ever barely had the guts to look at her on a usual day, shuddered twice as much–

"Good morning Ms. Ko!" The tiny body wiggled its way to block her off. A weary smile is served from Sangin's pesky assistant.

"Move aside."

Seungjae shuffled, hands suspiciously frantic as she spoke. "Mr. Lee just informed me that he will be here soon–"

Munyeong hissed. "And?"

"..And that you should go wait in his office." She finished meekly, unsure of her tone.

"Why would I wait there?" She pointed her finger foward. "The meeting room is right here."

Not intrigued for her reply, Munyeong nagged the girl's shoulder, rather she'd figure it out herself.

"Move."

She strolled across, then paused within her pace, eyes captivated by a figure. Leaning onto the metal rail, Prada purse dangling in the air, she hummed in her own favor.

Ah. Him again.

"What a sight." Munyeong said as she stepped down in her extravagant red mini dress, ballooned sleeves cuffed tight at her wrists, a plunging neckline where she proudly presents her new gold necklace. True to her words, he appeared just as fine. Black slacks– which to her favor, did an incredible job in displaying his godly thighs. Cuffed sleeves of his button up accentuated his broad broad shoulders, and the spectacular waistcoat that hugged his chest.

"You look more dashing in these clothes."

The man teared his eyes away from The Witch's Rose– another of her cash-claiming pieces. A work of watercolors and actual blood splayed onto the canvas, everyone who has seen it ends up in complete awe.

However his gaze was not purely admiration, rather laced with criticism– certainly something she never enjoyed from anyone. But there are some exceptions for some specific people, aren't they?

"I thought you were different, but I was obviously wrong." She crossed her arms. "How much did he offer you?"

His voice was rough, almost coarse even. "If you can't talk politely, at least try to not be so cryptic."

"Ah. Look at you talking so casually."

Munyeong raised her chin and barged into his space, weaklings would have already shown signs of discomfort, but surprisingly he was remarkably unbothered. She dragged a finger along his shoulder, the curve of his skin firm beneath her touch, and tapped his bicep. "I practically stabbed you."

He swiveled around, this time his body directly faced hers. "What about it?"

"How much did Mr. Lee offer you to compensate and make sure your mouth stays shut?"

A short spur of silence fell before he let out an cocky ahh. "I'm guessing that method always works."

Her smile dropped. "Verbal consolation is bullshit, money is best."

"You really think so?"

She shrugged. "Then what do you want?" Eyes wide as she suggested. "Sex?"

In a swift moment he had drowned closer to her. His gaze burned at her, brushing at her lips and froze. "Is it worth that much?"

Admittedly he was good at getting on her nerves. Too good, though she'd never lose to anyone, including him. Munyeong let out a scoff.

"If you're not here for money nor sex, then what do you want?

He cocked his head slightly, his prominent eyes playing innocent and for a second Munyeong forgot that they were bickering. "A refund?"

A snap back to reality, her face laced with confusion. "What refund?"

He dodged her question and looked over her shoulder. "Ah. There it comes."

She turned around to see a Sangin entering with a box of not-so-secret cash in his hands.

"Good afternoon Mr. Moon Kangtae. I deeply apologize for what happened, what can we do–"

As usual, meetings with her always began with Sangin's devastated face– knowing all the trouble she is going to cost him– but today it did seem particularly worse.

Kantae lifted his hand, as if it was a sign to stop. "Let's cut to the chase– I want my money back."

Sangin's smile dropped, though immediately replaced by his appealing mask. "Yes, I understand–"

Kangtae stared at Munyeong, a smirk rising on the corner of his lips. "Including our little incident, I say it'd be 11 million."

Tragically, Munyeong had not noticed by the consequence of the appalling numbers. She snapped at the man to her side. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Sangin sighed. "Munyeong-ah, you see.. your little smashing session. It had wrecked The Nightmare Garden, therefore, we will have to repay our client. Mr. Kangtae is here to–"

Client?

Her eyes shot at him again, impossibly wider. "What do you mean client? Then who was that snobby lady?"

"Ms. Lee is my representative." Kangtae stepped in. "But it doesn't matter. The fact that you jeopardized my painting with that cheap wine-"

"I'm not giving up my money!"

"Well, there's nothing you can do." He smiled– devilishly and yes Munyeong would kill to wipe it off his charming face.

"You'll be hearing from my lawyers in a few days." Kangtae reached for his box of honey money, which was sheepishly handed from Sangin. "Until then, I'll take this."

With another amused– and irritatingly handsome smile, and piles of cash he headed off. Left in silence was a raging pit of fire and its hopeless manager.

Three hours and seven corspe employees later, Munyeong crumbled the paper cup in her hand. Furious was an understatement. How could she give her money back to him? She was set, eyes on her prize but just like a fucking clownery it vanished into thin air.

"Aish Moon Kangtae, that bastard." Munyeong trampled at the crumbled trash, letting out on a slice of her frustration. It was his choice to interfere with her, no one forced him to.

"Oh my my, you're a such a pretty girl." A squeaky voice giggled, penetrating into her quiet atmosphere.

She glanced at the lady, head to toe. Dressed in a horrifying shade of hot pink. Her frail grey hair was topped by a floppy hat- also in the same absurd color. She seemed to fond pearls, as it was accented everywhere, including on wrinkly her fingers where she had slotted a card in between. "Mr. Kangtae had asked me to pass this to you."

Her high-pitched voice rang like bells as she added. "He also said that he'd be willing to compromise, if' you go visit his hotel."

Munyeong raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

With a delighted smile, the lady nodded along and Munyeong promptly snatched it, ambiguous eyes interpreted onto the cursive blue lettering.

"Hotel.. Blue Moon?"

A condescending smile played on her lips. More so amused by the piece of paper and unaware of the soft breeze that swept past her.

Fine. If he wants to play with her, she'll play with him.

#it's okay to not be okay #psycho but it's okay #iotnbo #pbio fic #kdrama #kim soohyun #seo yeaji #hotel moon light #hotel blue moon #moon kang tae #moon gang tae #ko mun yeong #사이코지만괜찮아 #호텔 델루나

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sleephyjhs · 5 years

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You Suffer with Anxiety (REACTION)

[ requested / masterlist ]

tw :: talks of anxiety throughout (no anxiety attacks)

KSJ

Whenever you felt unnecessary nerves beginning to build up within you, you took it upon yourself to prepare some tea. When you were diagnosed with anxiety as a teenager, one of the coping methods you discovered for yourself was hot drinks. The warmth from mugs somehow manages to calm you to a certain extent and steady your trembling hands.

Unknowingly to you, your partner Seokjin had easily picked up on your coping method. As you weren’t the biggest fan of caffeine, it always became apparent to him when your anxiety was particularly bad. He figured quickly that each period of anxiety was different from another and that there was no set way to help you. Any support you needed was completely in your control.

You felt sick. Anxiety never failed to strip you of your appetite. Jin would be home before long, and soon after he would begin to prepare a meal for the two of you. Everything he made in the kitchen always tasted incredible, but you always felt bad breaking it to him that you just weren’t in the mood to eat.

Soon enough, he came through the door and leaned over the armrest of the sofa to kiss your forehead, “What’s with the mugs? You never drink tea.” You shrugged, struggling to find the words, “Alright, what’s going on?”

Seokjin crouched at your head and held contact with your eyes. Only then did it occur to you that he’d figured you out, “My anxiety is pretty bad today. I don’t know why. I feel like I can’t eat, sleep, breathe-“

“Woah, it’s alright! We don’t have to eat or sleep right now. We can talk through some things if you’d like?” You shook your head. Talking about what was wrong made you feel even worse about it, “Well then, all I can offer is to leave you alone, or just.. hold you?”

Physical contact and your anxiety could often be a hit or miss, but that evening, it seemed right to you. You raised your torso from the couch to let Seokjin slide underneath and embrace you on his lap, “You don’t have to tell me anything, but I promise I’ll help you as much as I can, alright?”

MYG

The single most thing you hated about anxiety was its unpredictability. You’d experienced first hand how it easily ruined long-standing plans and disabled you from living the packed lifestyle you once did.

Everyone had different standards for being at their ‘worst’. For you, when the concept of leaving your bed became overwhelming, it signalled to you that perhaps you should take each day a bit slower.

You had felt Yoongi leave the bed early that morning for rehearsals, but as he kissed your cheek as a goodbye, you had pretended to remain asleep. Looking him in the eye would have certainly caused you to burst into tears, and the last thing you wanted to do was make him late.

While Yoongi was gone, you had chosen to stay in bed. All the premonitions you had told you that your legs weren’t strong enough to carry you anywhere else. Collapsing wasn’t on your agenda. You tried music and television, even reading. Nothing helped. You needed company. You needed to know you weren’t alone.

When the clock turned 9pm, you began to count down the minutes. He hadn’t rung to alert you he was staying later, so before long, Yoongi would be home. As you raised yourself from lying down, your stomach growled at the lack of food you had given yourself.

In all honesty, comfort food was what you really needed. Nobody made bulgogi like Yoongi. Mist of your willpower to get through the day was knowing he was treating you to your favourite when he returned home.

As you lost track of minutes, the bedroom door pushed open gently. A blur of black hair and pale skin peeked through the crack, before emerging to reveal a concerned boyfriend, “One of those days?” You nodded sullenly as he paced towards you, “Have you actually gotten out of bed today?”

“Maybe once or twice. I just feel weak.” He folded a wavy piece of hair behind you ear and offered you his hand, glossing over your pale knuckles.

“Would food help?” You nodded before Yoongi could finish his short question, “Come on then, let’s get you sorted out.” He linked your left arm in his right, and held you steadily to guide you downstairs, grasping your hand particularly to let you know he was still there.

JHS

After a year of being with Hoseok, it was finally time for him to embark on another world tour. Because of your job, you were unable to join him as much as he would have liked, which in turn caused you a decent amount of anxiety. Travelling worried you sick, and so the thought of your partner travelling was almost paralysing.

Without realising it, you sat in the artist lounge with Hoseok biting and peeling skin away from the edge of your nail. You couldn’t help it, it was just a nervous habit. As he waited for his turn to record for the new album, all the possibilities of things going wrong on an international trip played through your mind.

It wasn’t your job to mother him, you knew that well. Hoseok didn’t even know about your worries. Your concern stemmed simply from your own anxiety, and you quickly realised there was nothing you could do to stop it.

“Ah, fuck!” In the meanwhile of chewing on your fingers, you forgot to take notice of how hard you clenched your teeth, resulting in you biting more than you had anticipated.

“What happened?” Hoseok asked, drawing his eyes over to you, where you caressed a now bleeding finger, “Oh my god, let me get you a plaster.”

“No, it’s alright. It’s just a nervous habit,” you convinced him, sucking the small droplets from your tiny wound. In his silence, you gazed up to see Hoseok more confused than you ever had before, “Sometimes when I get anxious I bite my nails.”

You dreaded this moment, but after asking you what you were worried about, you confessed your anxieties about his upcoming travels, “I know saying this might not help but you really don’t have to worry, jagi. It’s safe! And you don’t have to worry about being alone either. I can always fly you out if you feel a bit left out.”

KNJ

Namjoon carried through a glass of cold water, watching you and your shaking frame more than the glass itself. After an hour of persistant crying and breathlessness, you had come to a somewhat peaceful state. Although you were calm, you still felt uneasy and unstable, which you were hoping some comfort from your partner might help.

“Just take it easy. There’s no rush for anything right now.” Namjoon urged as he placed the glass on the coffee table. You’d been sat on the hardwood floor for too long, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Not even support from another person could make you strong enough.

Sure enough, Namjoon places himself next to you on the floor and slipped an arm around your trembling shoulders. You were thankful that skinship was something you both enjoyed, “You don’t need to tell me what’s wrong. If you want to, we can talk about it if you’d like. Or we could sit here. Or do anything you’d like to do.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong, Joonie. That’s the problem. I don’t know.” You explained, your voice still shaky from the previous troubles, “Nothing’s straightforward-“

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay not to know what’s going on up there. Main point is, you’re safe right now. That’s all that matters.”

You paused in your thoughts for a moment to absorb the gentle comfort Namjoon’s presence gave you. Even his physical warmth made you feel better in one way or another. You didn’t want to turn him away. You needed him.

“Let’s just sit for a while. Is that okay?” Namjoon nodded and nestled his fingers between yours. Without realising, the pair of you began to rock slowly back and forth. In that moment you felt content. Still not fine, but just content.

PJM

As soon as he felt your hand begin to sweat in his, Jimin was unable to resist checking up on you. Walking around the city was something you did together regularly, but often the large morning crowds were enough to overwhelm you.

“Can we sit down for a minute somewhere?” Without needing to ask any more, Jimin led you into the next coffee shop along (which thankfully, was quite drained for the capital’s morning rush) and found you a table in a far corner where music was drowned and company was scarce.

“Usual?” He checked, before strolling to the counter to place your order. Unable to focus on the muffled commotion by the door, you rested your forearms on the table and leaned over your elbows, steadying yourself from your trembling limbs.

Although you hadn’t looked up to witness, Jimin was unable to take his eyes off you. It was endearing how much Jimin cared about you and how much he continued to demonstrate his love. What he wouldn’t tell you is that he also worried about you. A lot more than he’d ever admit to.

Before long, he carried over to you your regular tea and his iced americano and settled it between your still shaking hands, “Take your time. We have time to calm down and sit for a while. Talk to me. Talk to me about anything.”

Only blank thoughts filled your mind. You felt nothing but guilt towards your partner, “I’m sorry. I never mean to do this.”

“You don’t need to apologise, my love. I know crowds aren’t your best friend. You’re okay with me, I promise you.” His words came as a great comfort, but the regret that came woth ruining what was a perfect morning walk was unbearable, “We can chill out here for a while? Karaoke, park, cinema. Today’s all about you, okay?”

KTH

You’d never realised it, but your anxiety had led you to develop some habits that for your partner, Taehyung, had become more like warning signals.

Mental health was a struggle you had opened up to him early in your relationship. You knew that sometimes your behaviour could alert other people, and the last thing you wanted to do was make it seem like he made you uncomfortable or that you didn’t want to be there. Explaining that your expressions or habits were sometimes ahead of you came to be of benefit.

When you entered the dining room, you ignored Tae’s greeting and sat beside him. Withdrawing from conversation was an indicator of your anxiety, and so he turned off his tablet to focus on trying to talk to you, “How is everything?”

You could hear him perfectly well, but talking to him would surely induce your tears. Instead, he laid his hands out on the table. Without hesitation, you grabbed onto him.

Ignoring him was the last thing you wanted to do. In fact, you felt as though you desperately needed him. However, you didn’t want to break down in front of him, he shouldn’t have to see that, “I’ll listen to whatever you want to talk about.”

A few seconds of Tae caressing your hand pulled a tear from your eye, and within seconds, you were deep into his embrace, “I’m sorry. This is so pathetic.” You weeped in between deep breaths.

“No, it isn’t. Let’s go up to bed and get more comfortable, yeah? I’ll keep you company.”

JJK

Jungkook has been stroking your hair for the past half hour as you wound down by watching an animation film. After an anxiety attack, going back to a comfortable memory could help you sometimes. Cuddling with Jungkook only helped you to feel even better.

His gentle hand running through your hair was hypnotic and you were close to falling asleep. Something stopped you. Something was still playing on your mind.

“Jungkook?” You turned your head upwards to search for his brown bambi eyes. His small almond eyes were framed by raised eyebrows. He was listening, “I think I need to get help.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, twirling loose ends of your hair around his fingertips. You readjusted your twisted body to cause less strain on your neck and held eye contact with your partner.

“Like professional help. I can’t go on with this anxiety, it’s too much.” Jungkook nodded along with your narration, “Do you think they’d see me?”

“They can’t turn away somebody who asks for help, surely. And if for whatever reason they do, I’ll make sure we find someone who will work with you.” He moved his thumb over to your cheek, where your dried tears had created a rubber-like layer of skin.

“You don’t have to do that, really.”

“But I want to. I can’t help as much as a professional can, and I want you to feel better in your own skin. I really do, angel.”

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miafic · 4 years

Note

currently thinking about students coming out to mr. w and how safe he makes them feel <3 anyway hello!! how are you today? :)) — 🍯

ive been REALLY busy but other than that, i’m doing pretty well!! thank you. i hope you’re doing well, too :)

thanks for inspiring this!

if i said anything wrong or outdated, please correct me. and as always, i apologize if there are typos lol.

---

“Hey, Mr. W?” you ask, poking your head through the classroom door.

The English teacher looks up from the neatly stacked papers on his desk. “Oh, hello!”

“This is your free period, right?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Can I talk to you?” you wonder, and you force a smile in an attempt to hide your nerves. “Just for a second.”

“Of course,” Mr. W says. His eyes are wide and concerned. You love him like you’ve never loved a teacher in your life, and you are fucking terrified.

“It’s not... that important.” Except that it is, it is, and you’ve heard from upperclassmen that you hang around sometimes that Mr. W isn’t just cool but the coolest and that he’s fine with your friend who’s gay and this boy that you know of in the senior class who has two girlfriends that are also dating each other, but you wonder if this time it might be different, because this time it’s not about girlfriends or a boyfriend but about... you.

“If it is important to you,” he tells you seriously, “then it is important to me.”

You nod and allow yourself to drop the fake smile.

“Are you alright?”

You nod again, this time at the floor.

“It is perfectly normal if you are not.”

Something about the way that he says it, the genuineness in his voice, maybe, or about the way that you can literally hear how much he cares about you, makes you look back up at him. “I’ve only told one person,” you murmur.

“You may share anything with me.”

And he means it so much! God! He means it so much that it hurts. I wish you were my dad, you catch yourself thinking for the millionth time, but you reel yourself back in and take a deep breath. “Do you know about trans people?” you ask quietly, and for some reason, your eyes flood with tears.

You haven’t said anything yet, not really, but the words are out there now. They exist. He could connect the dots, he could scream at you, he could kick you out and tell you that you’re disgusting, he could-

“Yes.”

You can’t help but peek up at him. He’s still calm, but he only looks more concerned. When your eyes meet his, he slowly gets up from his desk and walks around toward you. You feel fear again, but he doesn’t touch you.

“Please, have a seat,” he directs, motioning to the two desks closest to where you’re standing. You take a few steps over and drop into one. He sits down in the one beside it.

You stare at the floor again, but this time, the words really aren’t coming.

“Are...” Mr. W begins, but then he stops. He’s silent for a moment, and then he gently inquires, “Am I in the company of a trans person right now?”

In a split second, you’re half laughing and half crying. You nod, and you’re still scared, but you’re also thankful that he’s given you a pass. You get to skip the words this time. Telling your best friend had been a little easier, so you’re glad that Mr. W figured out a method of coaxing the information from you.

Mr. W’s hand reaches forward. He sets it on your desk, not on you, and he says with a slightly wobbly voice, “I have always cared for you very much. That does not change now.”

You decide to look up at him then, and you find his eyes swimming with tears.

“You are safe here, and you are welcome here,” he continues. “And I am honored that you have chosen to share this information with me.”

You lean forward and throw your arms around him. He returns the hug, and you feel what he promised. Welcome. Safe.

I love you, you want so badly to say, but instead you tell him, “You’re my favorite teacher ever.”

He laughs the littlest bit, but he doesn’t pull back. “You are special to me as well.”

The two of you stay connected for a little while longer. Then you retract your arms so you can wipe your eyes. “Sorry,” you say, but you only kind of mean it.

He shakes his head and dries his own tears. “No, please do not be.” He motions to his face. “I am sorry; I often cry when others do. Please do not believe that I am upset with you.”

“No, I know,” you respond. His emotional reaction had clearly been rooted in empathy, not disappointment. “So, um...” There’s more that you want to tell him, but you don’t know how.

He seems to understand. “Should I continue referring to you by your name?”

“In class, yeah.”

“Do you have a different name that you prefer?” he asks.

You tell him, and he nods.

“If I pass by you and we are the only two present...?”

“You can use it then, yeah.”

He smiles, and it’s warm. “Very well. And your pronouns?”

“Changed, yeah. Um... kind of the same situation, though.”

“I understand.”

“I just don’t want it getting out, you know? People here can be...”

Mr. W makes a face, something you’ve only ever seen him do once or twice, and it makes you laugh. Suddenly, you feel a whole lot better, and you realize that there’s a thick tangle of relief and happiness in your heart. “Thank you,” you blurt. “That went way better than I could have hoped.”

He looks a little bit sad then, and he repeats, “You may tell me anything. Truly.”

“I know; that’s why I’m here.” You glance at the clock, sigh softly, and stand up. “But, um, I’m gonna be late to history, so-”

“I will write a pass for you,” he nods, getting to his feet as well. He goes to his desk drawer for a pad of sticky notes, and you pull your backpack onto your shoulders. While he scribbles a brief message to Mrs. Anderson, you smile a little to yourself. He knows your chosen name, and he knows your pronouns, and he’s fine with them. And he’ll even help you blend in during school. Yeah, he’s the coolest teacher ever.

“Alright, here you are,” Mr. W says, and he peels the Post-It off and hands it to you.

“Thanks.” You hold up the note but then motion to the desk chairs. “Like, for everything.”

He smiles. “You are welcome.”

As you head for the door, you call, “Bye! See you in a couple periods.”

He bids you goodbye as well, and when he does, he calls you by your chosen name.

#geoff #mr. w #lhs #hcs #anon #ask Aly

18 notes · View notes

itsthemoofacewriting · 4 years

Text

Potato Peeling- Chapter 2

So, I gave myself a week to update, which seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, except I didn’t factor in that I’d just written a 15k story and the first chapter to this beforehand. Needless to say, not much writing was done in that week but better late than never, right?

I had to learn how to make marmalade and duck l’mikan for this story, all for you Momo!

Summary: Sanji's had never had an assistant before, but now, at least once a week, Nami's there to keep him company. Rating: K+

This can also be found on AO3 and FFN.

Enjoy.

Sanji looked down at the ripped and stained little piece paper that was handed to him with nothing but warmth. The penmanship was atrocious, and years of love had blurred the writing, but he knows exactly what this is and the deeper meaning behind it.

A handed down, family recipe.

Bell-mère’s recipe.

Nami had never shared this with him before now and he’d never taken that personally. As a chef he knew how personal these were and that these were about more than just the food. It was sentimental. But he’d heard whispers about this infamous dish, Nami had mentioned it in passing and that Bell-mère would make it on special occasions when talking about their childhoods. It’s why he’d never tried to recreate it without her say so and had stuck to other mikan based dishes.

It had all started when she’d walked in just after lunch and asked if he’d started preparing for dinner. When he’d answered in the negative, she’d thrust the recipe towards him and said that he could be her assistant for the evening if he was game. He was more than game. He wanted it more than anything and had nodded far too quickly, showing just how eager he was. Luckily, she hadn’t said anything about that, to his relief.

Now he was looking over the recipe with the critical eye of a chef before they started, he didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of Nami, especially not when this was his field of expertise. He’d be a fool any other time for her, but not now.

He wanted to impress her.

He looked through the method, from cooking the duck to making the mikan marmalade and nodded to himself. it was a very well written recipe, despite the state of the much-loved paper.

His eye caught something, and he bit back a groan. “Nami-san, please tell me you’ve made this before, and you know what ‘secret ingredient’ means?”

It was one of the biggest issues with handed down recipes, especially if they’d already been passed through a fair few generations. It’s what made them family recipes after all, a special ingredient or certain mixture that made the dish unique. But what may seem self-explanatory to begin with when it’s originally handed down, started to get lost further down the line.

Nami frowned and it didn’t fill him with much hope, but as she stood next to him to peer down at the recipe in his hands she laughed. “Oh! That’s just Bell-mère’s mikans. They’re one of a kind, you can’t get them anywhere else, you know,” she told him proudly, mirth in her eyes.

“Oh thank god,” he sighed in relief. He was an outstanding chef, he knew that, but even he wouldn’t be able to figure that one out.

“Breathe, Sanji-kun, you’re in good hands. I know what I’m doing,” she said teasingly, winking at him and squeezing his hand.

He ignored the way his hand tingled her at touch and smiled widely. “I’m at your mercy, lead the way, Nami-san!” He said with a dramatic flourish of his hands, gesturing for her to start as he bowed slightly, and she giggled in response.

It’d been a week since that night in the kitchen peeling potatoes and something had changed… but also not. Nothing was verbally said, but Nami was different with him. Friendlier, perhaps? She stood closer to him, touched him more and there was occasionally a look on her face that he couldn’t decipher.

He thought he knew what it meant, but he didn’t want to overstep the invisible line and ruin whatever it is this was. He’d aired his feelings that night, at least it felt like he had, and she hadn’t accepted or denied his feelings. And that was fine, because honestly it was just a relief to know she still wanted to be around him. He was happy to have whatever he was given.

But it left him in this weird limbo, where he didn’t know how to react to her touches or her flirtatious words. The flirtatious words weren’t completely new, he knew she’d lay it on thick when she wanted something, and he was more than happy to concede to her whims. Maybe it was more accurate to say that the context had changed. It happened when she didn’t want anything, they could be in conversation and she’d say something that’d make him splutter and then moved on like nothing had happened. It was both wonderful and embarrassing.

He was brought out of his musings when her hand came to rest on his arm to get his attention. “Ready?” She asked, holding out an apron for him with her other hand.

“More than ready,” he replied with confidence and she smirked back at him.

It was clear she’d made this recipe many times before and he was truly impressed. Which didn’t say very much in truth, he was always impressed by her, but this time, he was impressed as a chef. She moved with such confidence and fluidity, hardly ever looking at the recipe on the paper.

Not only that, they moved around each other with such ease; moving to the side before the other had to ask, passing the other the ingredient they were after, it was like they’d been working together for years.

Before he knew it, the duck was in the oven for the first cook, pricked and seasoned.

“So, what we need to do now is make some more marmalade, we have enough for dinner, but we won’t any left after that, and then make the orange sauce once the duck’s done it’s second cook,” Sanji said, mentally checking off the list of things still left to do in his head.

He stopped at the bland look Nami was giving him and then it clicked. “Sorry, you’re in charge. What do you want to do next, Nami-san?”

“Thank you,” she replied tartly, in jest. “So, what we need to do now is make some extra marmalade, because we’ll have none after this and then the orange sauce. But I don’t suggest we make that until the duck’s finished its second cook,” she finished smartly, eyebrows raised and looking pleased with herself. Almost as if daring him to say something.

“Excellent suggestion! This is why you’re the chef and I’m the lowly assistant,” he praised, more than happy to play into the joke.

Nami laughed then and he’d been right, playing into the joke was more than worth it when her sunny smile soon turned on him.

“Right then, you scrub the mikans and I’ll measure out the water and bring it to the boil,” she instructed and then they were back into the task once again.

They were back to moving around each other as the mikans were placed into the boiling water to simmer until they were soft and Sanji was getting the pre-peeled potatoes out of the fridge to cut and get ready for roasting. There were a few moments in-between where Nami would stand just that bit too close or lean into him to see what he was doing and he had to remind himself to focus, to not think about how warm she felt or how nice she smelt. It was a challenge to say the least.

The scent of the duck was soon wafting through the kitchen and Sanji was kneeling down beside Nami to check the duck. He praised her technique when she wiggled the leg to check how it was cooking, and she told him how Bell-mère had shown her when she was young.

“If you’d do the honours,” she asked, stepping away from the oven to grab a bowl for the duck fat to be drained.

He was more than happy to comply as he lifted the grate the duck was sitting on and drained the fat from the tray beneath. “Using me for my muscles, huh?” He joked as he placed the duck back onto the tray and into the oven for the second cook.

“Just one of the perks of having you around,” she said coyly, looking up at him from under half-lidded eyes and oh god, it felt like he couldn’t breathe. His tie definitely felt too tight right now. He gulped heavily and her eyes traced down to watch the action, which only made it worse.

And then he was free as she turned around as if nothing had happened. He was going to end up with whiplash at this rate, although he couldn’t complain too much. He was enjoying this. This couldn’t be his imagination at this point, right?

By then the mikans were soft and once they were out of the water, Nami and Sanji were both scooping out the innards to put into the muslin bag. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Nami’s eyebrows pinched together and she looked so focused on the task, to get all the innards out and into the bag. She must have felt it as her gaze shifted to him and her focused determination shifted into something softer. He felt like a little boy being caught stealing biscuits from the jar before dinner and his eyes were shooting back to the mikan in his hands as a flush worked onto his cheeks.

“Okay, I’m done. We need to cut the rind next,” Nami said and when he eventually made eye contact, he was faced with an all too knowing look on her face, something that did nothing to help the heat on his cheeks.

He cleared his throat then. “Fine or chunky?” He knew she liked it finely cut but she was in charge and he’d always indulge her.

“Fine, please.” She beamed up at him.

His hands moved the knife swiftly through the rinds with precision, gliding across the board and watching as the pieces got smaller and smaller with each cut. That was until he could feel eyes on him and was met by Nami’s piercing gaze from the corner of his eye. He hummed at her in question.

“I can work a knife well enough, but not like that. I’m a bit jealous,” Nami admitted, watching the knife glide across with board with no hesitation.

“Years of practice,” he reassured, “And plenty of cut fingers. In the early days Zeff wouldn’t let me do anything but chop. Said I had to get the basics right first and at the time I resented him for it, but now I get it.”

“I don’t fancy cutting my fingers, but any tips?”

Sanji smiled at that. “I don’t blame you. We couldn’t possibly damage Nami-san’s gorgeous hands.” Nami laughed at that and elbowed him good naturedly on the arm. “But if you tuck your fingertips under, you can move quicker without the risk of chopping them off. Much harder to cut yourself but if you do, the worst you’ll do is take the skin off.”

Then his hand was over hers, showing her how to place her fingers and his eyes were nervously shooting up to her face. It was ridiculous, they’d touched each other multiple times, she’d certainly had no qualms about touching him, yet he still worried about pushing it too far. This felt intimate and he didn’t want to overstretch the elastic band until it snapped. Yet she wasn’t looking at him, she was looking down at her own hands and moving them accordingly.

She started cutting again when he moved away and although it was nowhere near as quick or precise as him, it was a vast improvement. “See!”

“I know you’re just humouring me-” she rolled her eyes “-but I’ll take it.”

“Everyone has to start somewhere!”

The muslin bag was added back into the water with the sliced mikan rinds. Nami started adding the sugar and stirring it to dissolve it. With everything going on, the kitchen was slowly getting hotter and hotter. Sanji had already removed his jacket but he used the quiet moment to roll up his sleeves to his elbows and loosen his tie. It’d probably make more sense to remove his vest, but he didn’t miss the way Nami’s eyes lingered over it when she thought he wasn’t watching. So that would be the last thing to go, if he really had to.

“How often did you make this when you were younger?” He normally didn’t ask questions about her childhood unless she brought it up first, but he felt they’d passed that barrier. This was a bit of a test to see whether it was true.

“Every Sunday. It was cheap to make and Bell-mère enjoyed cooking with us. We’d have it on toast for breakfast for the week coming.”

Sanji let her talk as she stopped stirring the simmering marmalade and he moved to add the duck fat to the potatoes to put them in the oven with the duck.

“Afterwards,” Nami paused briefly and Sanji understood exactly what she meant, “I’d make it with Nojiko when I’d go home. It’s like she knew I was coming; everything would be ready for when I arrived,” Nami smiled fondly, leaning back against the counter.

The duck would be done in a few minutes, but before then they had a marmalade to finish. He grabbed the dishes he’d put into the freezer earlier and Nami joined him when he set them on the side next to the simmering marmalade.

“You know how to check this?”

“Of course, I’m a marmalade connoisseur, were you not listening?” She teased and hip checked him cheekily, to which he breathed out a laugh and handed her a spoon.

He wondered if the heat and the few hours they’d spent hauled in the kitchen were getting to them. They giggled like schoolgirls as the bickered playfully back and forth about whether the marmalade was set as they poked and prodded it. It wasn’t the most professional thing to be doing but he couldn’t find it within himself to care. It was always lovely to see her like this. Especially around him.

The playful atmosphere dispersed as quickly as it’d arrived when Nami lifted her thumb to her mouth to lick the marmalade off. His mouth suddenly felt too dry. The scene before him played out in slow motion in his head and he was left wondering if it did for her too. It certainly didn’t help that she maintained eye contact as she did it, her tongue darting out to lick away at the marmalade there and he couldn’t believe he was jealous of a thumb right now.

All of his reservations were flying out of the window in the next moment as he suddenly crowded her, all of her teasing over the past week and today coming to a head. It was sink or swim… and was she leaning into him?

Any speck of confidence that he’d had in that moment deflated as the oven beeped at them and he was both cursing and thanking the oven. He’d either just missed his moment (again) or was saved from messing this all up. He hated how he swung between both scenarios so quickly.

“I’ll get the duck,” he croaked as he took a step back and smooth his apron out, just to give his hands something to do.

Nami nodded at him and turned back to the marmalade to start spooning it into glass jars.

Did she look disappointed?

The atmosphere in the kitchen was awkward and there was no avoiding it, even as he took the duck out and she soaked the pot in the sink. It was deafening and his brain was left scrambling on how to rectify it quickly.

As he put the duck on top of the cooker, he settled on apologising. He’d overstepped, he could hardly call himself a gentleman if he didn’t.

The apology was on the tip of his tongue as he turned to face her but died a quick death when he realised how close she was to him.

“You have sauce here. No idea how you managed that,” Nami said and got even closer, so, so close, as her hand reached for him.

When she wiped sauce from the corner of his mouth, he finally broke, any self-doubt crumbling around him and falling to the floor. The act was so intimate, her hand cupping his jaw and her thumb lingering at the side of face and she’s so close to him that he moved without really thinking.

He leaned down to press a tentative, albeit clumsy, kiss to her lips. He didn’t manage to land it fully on her lips, slightly off centre, but there was no mistaking what he’s done.

He’s both relieved, for finally doing something that’s plagued his mind for a week, but terrified because he could still be wrong. He stopped breathing as he pulled away.

“Have I overstepped?” He’s terrified to ask, but he has to.

Nami doesn’t pull away in disgust like he thought she would, or worse slap him, but she also doesn’t say anything for a second. He’s stunned her it seemed, so maybe that slap could still be coming.

It doesn’t.

The expression melted off after a second and he watched her eyes warm and her lips slowly curve upward, and he never wanted to look at anything else ever again.

He’s watching her lips as they part to breath out a murmured, “Finally,” and then she’s tugging him down by his tie to press their lips softly together this time.

Any hesitancy flew out of the window as Nami initiated the second kiss and his hands are on her back, somewhat confidently, to bring her in closer.

The second kiss is nowhere near as clumsy as the first when Sanji got to take his time with it and take his time he would. This is all he’d ever dreamed of since meeting the woman in his arms and he’d savour and stretch this moment for as long as he was allowed to.

He was in no hurry as he pressed their lips back together in a series of pecks, lips moving languidly against the others as they found their rhythm. Sanji felt like he was sinking, her lips were so soft, and her hands were so warm as they released his tie to smooth over his chest. Although he’d wanted to keep the pace slow, he couldn’t help it when his tongue brushed against the seal in her lips.

And closed mouth kisses soon turned into open mouth kisses. Something that he should have done much sooner. She tasted of the marmalade they’d made, and he couldn’t think of a better way to try it for the first time. He chased after the taste, groaning when her tongue reciprocated in kind. Her hands left his chest, travelling up to play with the hair at nape of his neck and his hands sunk to her hips to squeeze at the feeling of her playing with his hair.

He hadn’t even realised that she’d been walking them back until her back hit the counter and he could finally press against her as tightly as he wanted to. Everything about this felt amazing, her taste, her touch. His previous fantasies could never have lived up to the real thing.

He pulled back briefly to let them breath, but it was a short interlude before he was kissing her again.

It wasn’t nearly long enough when Nami tried to pull away, muffling a quiet, “Sanji”, against his lips that did nothing but encourage him.

“Sanji,” she said louder this time, winding down the kissing into pecks again. “There’s still sauce to make, marmalade to put away and potatoes to deal with,” she reminded him, her hands leaving his hair to rest on his shoulders and put a bit of space between them. He didn’t let her go too far, but he did move his hands to her waist- a more sensible placement whilst he tried to compose himself and actually acknowledge what she was saying.

“You should think about adding this step into the cooking method,” he teased after a second. He could spare another moment before he had to act semi-professional again and finish dinner.

“You’re an awful assistant, Sanji-kun, distracting the chef like this,” she jokingly scolded him as she half-heartedly slapped his shoulder.

“Oh, you wound me, Nami-san.” One of hands clasped over his heart dramatically and Nami snorted in response.

“Far too distracting,” she said, her hands snaking down to him back to play with the fabric of his waistcoat. He knew it.

“Like you’re one to talk.” Eyes skimming across the apron that’d teased him throughout that day, he was far too into it considering what it was.

He leaned back in to press another lingering kiss to her lips. He would do it; he would step away and get back to work. He tried to convince himself, but it was getting harder and harder to as the seconds ticked by. In his defence, she kissed him back. She pulled away from the kiss a second later, like she’d read his mind, and covered his eager lips with her hand to stop him pressing forward again.

“No slacking in my kitchen, little eggplant,” she murmured against his jaw, planting a kiss there afterwards- like that was going to help him focus.

He froze at her words. Oh god. He didn’t know whether he was going to faint or have a heart attack. He was confident he’d be able to pull off both. Only Nami could make that nickname sound sexy.

“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” Sanji breathed back, sightly muffled behind her hand.

“Good or bad?” She asked, curious, and pulled her hand away to rest back on his shoulder.

“Good because you make it sound so good, but bad because I have to fight off the images of Zeff.”

“You’re making it sound like a challenge to change that.”

Oh god. Oh god. He wouldn’t be able to face Zeff ever again if she had her way. And he wasn’t sure if that was something to complain about or not. It wasn’t, he decided quickly, it was stupid to even entertain thinking of that negatively. He’d probably beg for it too, that’s just how powerful she was.

She smiled up at him, like she knew exactly what she was doing, and she probably did.

He was rewarded with one last kiss, short and sweet, before she was stepping away and ordering him on how to make the sauce. Back to business. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

This might just beat peeling potatoes with her.

----------------------------------------

Am I ever going to get over confession stories? Probably not.

As always, please excuse any errors.

Thanks for reading.

#SaNami #SaNa #SanNami #SanjixNami #opfanfic #opwriting #one piece #Nami #Sanji

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hamiltalian-creates · 4 years

Text

Wine Mom Dadceit, Pt 1

Summary: Just the adventures of divorced wine mom Deceit trying to figure out how to deal with his feral son and emo teenager, especially when they decide to team up.

Pairings: Past Deceit x Patton, Queerplatonic Patton x Logan

Words: 2,043

Warnings: Slight spoilers for the new episode

Ah, the weekends of a divorced dad. Janus would never say that they were his favorite time of the week, but he would say that they were his most peaceful. No work, no kids, just him and his self care regimen. There was nothing quite like taking a hot, lavender scented bubble bath with a mimosa or five, though on this particular week, he did have to alter that plan the tiniest bit. Remus, his younger child, seemed to be getting more chaotic by the day and Virgil, his thirteen year old with a twelve year head start on his emo phase, was not helping. In the past, Virgil would help Janus keep his brother in check or would at least keep himself busy while Janus rounded him up, but more recently, Virgil was getting involved in Remus’s schemes, at least at home. In public, he still just preferred to keep to himself and let Remus draw all of the attention to himself.

So, instead of the usual champagne in his drink, Janus decided to go with vodka and did so with a heavier hand than usual. Originally, his plan was to go through the line of drinks that he’d made and see how long it would take before he passed out in the bathtub, but sometimes parenthood meant that he couldn’t enjoy even the simplest of pleasures.

Janus had just taken the first sip of his first drink when his phone began ringing all the way from where it was beside the sink.

“Someone had better be dying!” he said as he got out of the hot water. Every weekend, he set his phone to only ring for a call from Virgil, his ex husband, Patton, or his ex husband’s much more responsible queer platonic partner, Logan, but he also made it very clear that he was not to be bothered unless it was an issue of utmost importance.

On this weekend, it was Patton who either had to give Janus a good enough reason to be calling or risk his head. Janus rolled his eyes and answered the phone, the same reaction he would’ve had if it was anybody else.

“Hello?” he said, trying not to sound too annoyed.

“Hey, Janus, I know you asked for us not to bother you, but we can’t find Roman anywhere and I know that Remus and Virgil did it.”

Ah, yes, that was another issue that they had. Logan, had Roman, a kid about Remus’s age, from a previous relationship and, to put it simply, he didn’t get along with Remus or Virgil. Things never got as out of hand as they did between Remus and Virgil alone, but it did still worry Patton.

“Well, how do you know they did it?” Janus asked, partially because he really didn’t want to have to go anywhere and partially out of defense. To be clear, he wasn't defensive against Patton, he was sure there was a good basis for the accusation, but the stupid PTA moms made it instinctual.

“Because I asked where he was and Remus said ‘don’t worry, I’m sure he’s being fed and hydrated’ then Virgil gave him a look. They’re refusing to talk.”

“... Did you check the attic?”

“Janus!”

“Alright! You’re right, fine, I’ll be there in a bit,” Janus decided, putting his phone on speaker mode as he began moisturizing. “I hope you appreciate the fact that I’m saving my vodka for later over this.”

Patton paused for a second. “Were you drinking? I can go pick you up, if you want.”

Janus laughed and began getting dressed. “And leave Logan to deal with Remus and Virgil? No way, I like him too much for that. Don’t worry, I only got to take a sip before you called.”

“Alright... Thanks again.”

“No problem. You know I can barely handle them and I’m the one taking care of them most of the time.”

“I’ll see you when you get here.”

Janus heard his phone beep as Patton hung up and groaned. Why couldn’t they terrorize a kid that he didn’t care about?

As soon as he was ready, Janus drove over to Patton’s house, noticing that it was almost too quiet as he walked up to the front door. Were they sure that his kids were inside? He knocked on the front door and waited to find out.

Logan answered the door, visibly relieved as he saw Janus there. “Thank goodness.. Sorry to interrupt your self care day, but we seriously cannot find Roman anywhere.”

“I get it, it’s fine. I told Remus that Roman was off limits for his little torture sessions, but we both know he doesn’t like to listen.”

“The fact that you didn’t put any kind of air quotations around ‘torture sessions’ is really not going to sit right with me.”

Janus shrugged and walked in. “Just tell me where they are and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Logan closed the door behind him and lead him to where Patton was holding the two kids. “Oh, you don’t have to take them for the whole weekend, we can still watch them once this is done and over with.”

Janus almost laughed at that. “No, after I had to stop my self care weekend for this and Remus did what I explicitly told him not to, I’m taking them with me. No offense to either of you, but Patton’s method of just grounding them won’t work.”

Logan was too afraid to ask what would work on a kid like Remus. He was a good kid, he was just absolutely feral. “Well, they’re just waiting up in Remus’s room..” He showed him the rest of the way up and announced their arrival. “Patton, Janus is here.”

“No!” Remus cried out, running straight towards Janus to headbutt him, his father putting his hands in the way and catching him by his head.

“Remus, listen to me, where did you put Roman?”

“I just want to point out that this was completely Remus’s idea,” Virgil said.

“Ah, yes, because an eight year old is capable of pulling this kind of heist off,” Janus remarked, picking Remus up and carrying him under his arm. People liked to remark that Remus was a little too old to be carried like that, but then Janus gave him permission to give that person hell for a few minutes and they were silenced.

“He called Virgil a raccoon! Only I can call him a raccoon!”

Logan cringed at that. “I told him to stop with the name calling..”

Janus waved it off. “Remus, Roman is like your step brother now. We talked about this, when you get mad at him, you do not hide him.”

Remus pouted and wiggled to get down, landing on his feet as Janus released him. “Fine, but if he keeps making fun of Virgil, I’ll hide his favorite prince costume.”

“If he keeps making fun of Virgil, I’ll allow it, but can you please tell us where he is?” Logan asked.

Remus nodded and walked over to Roman’s room, leading the adults to his closet.

“We already checked in here,” Logan muttered.

“Well, he’s in there,” Remus said.

“Again with the talking back?” Janus scolded. “Please just show us where he is.”

Remus opened the closet door and moved all of the clothes out of the way, showing them a Roman that had been duct taped to the wall.

“Oh my goodness!” Logan cried out, running to get something to help free his son.

“Where did you even get this much duct tape?!” Patton asked.

Janus rolled his eyes. “You’re in so much trouble... Patton, do you guys have any alcohol?”

“I don’t know if this is really the time for a drink..”

“Rubbing alcohol, Patton, for the tape on his face.”

“Oh! Right, sorry..” Patton laughed awkwardly and ran off to get that.

Janus smiled and turned back to Roman. “Sorry about Remus... He gets protective of Virgil sometimes.”

Roman just shrugged, apparently unbothered by the situation.

“I’m guessing the fear wore off a while ago. This is the part where I would usually tell you that I’ll do something next time you mess with my son, but I feel like he doesn’t need the extra protection.”

Roman shook his head.

Logan ran back into the room with a pair of scissors and a box cutter. “Alright, Roman, hold still..”

“Yeah, or else he’s going to cut off your fingers!” Remus said, laughing.

“I think we’ve heard enough out of you,” Janus scolded. “I’m going to need you to wait with Virgil while I figure out what to do with you when we get home.”

Remus pouted. “But I want to stay with papa this weekend!”

Janus shrugged and carried him over to Virgil’s room. “Then consider this part of your punishment.”

Remus groaned as Janus put him down on his brother’s bed. “Pack your shit, we’re going home early!”

“Remus! We’ve talked about the cursing! Save it for when we get home!”

“You never let me do anything!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and grabbed Remus’s arm. “I’ve got him, don’t worry.”

“Oh, yeah, don’t let me forget that you did have a part in this too.”

Virgil groaned as he realized he wasn’t getting out of this and grabbed his weekend bag, getting ready to leave with Remus.

Janus nodded and walked back to Roman’s room, watching as his two dads freed him.

The second Roman dropped to the ground, he marched right on over to Janus.

“You can tell Remus that I’m ready for a rematch at any time!”

Janus chuckled. “Oh, really? Let me get him right-”

“No! Take him away! Take him away! Take him away!”

Were it any other child, Janus would’ve taken offense and followed through on his threat of bringing Remus out. But, considering the fact that Roman was known to be dramatic and they just peeled him off the wall, he decided against it this time.

“I guess the three of us should get going, then. I’ll talk to you later, Patton. Logan, help your son stay off of walls.”

Roman stuck his tongue out at him.

Janus just laughed and left, dragging his sons to the car. “You two are in so much trouble,” he said as they got into the car.

“What are you going to do?” Remus asked. “Stick us in a dark closet? Wax our hair with duct tape? Hang us on a wall by a chain?”

“Stop listing weird things!” Virgil said, holding his head. “He’s not going to do that to us! ... Right?”

“No!” Janus insisted. “No, I’d never do that. I’m taking you to the park. Virgil, we all know how you feel about sunlight and Remus, if I see you anywhere you’re not supposed to be or if you bother another innocent child, I will bring out the leash and you’ll be on a boring walk with me and Virgil.”

“No!”

“You should've thought of that before you taped Roman to a wall!” How Remus usually ended up on the sun covers above the playgrounds or sitting on top of the swing sets, they'd never know, but it seemed to be at least half the fun of going to the park for him. At least this way, Remus would still be getting all of that energy out for a little bit.

“Do I have to go?” Virgil asked. “It’s so bright and it’s so hot out...”

“You do. You can walk with me under a parasol.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, hiding a small laugh. “You’re so gay..”

Janus swatted at him jokingly. “Uh, excuse you, I am bisexual. You, however, are gay. If you’re going to use labels as an insult, please use the correct ones.”

Virgil snickered. “I still don’t want to go out in the sun.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you helped your brother duct tape Roman to wall. It’s a two man job, minimum.”

Virgil tutted and stayed on his phone for the rest of the ride home.

Janus smiled and sighed, wondering if his five champagne flutes worth of screwdrivers would fit in his water bottle. For some reason, he had a feeling he’d need it.

73 notes · View notes

chyrstis · 4 years

Text

A change of pace (and opinion)

Somewhat of a companion fic, but not quite, this has been in the workings for a while now (as far back as either Feb/March?) and I finally managed to figure out what direction I wanted to take it, and also gave me the chance to play around with some fun headcanons I've seen floating around too!

With a lot of time left unaccounted for during the main fic, that gave me a great chance to start tackling some missing scenes between chapters, and this is hopefully the first of at least two fics to do that. There's also more than a few ideas taking place after, but I wanted to see if I could at least finish this up first before moving forward timeline-wise.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed (pre-ship) Rating: T Word Count: 5K

Link to AO3!

—

It’s a hot day down by the river, and while Sharky’s not too keen on a break when John suggests it, a bet’s a whole other story altogether.

[Set between I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I'd like you) ’s Ch. 3 and 4]

———–

It was a scorcher. One that Sharky wasn’t entirely prepared to face as he trudged over to the boathouse, lugging as much wood as he could carry under his arm.

His tank clung to his back in record time as the sun kept on shooting rays down at him, making him pull at it every now and then to get some kind of a breeze going, but the relief never lasted.

He’d hardly been spared a single cloud, which meant he was going to burn before the day was out, and removed his hat off to wipe at his forehead. The sweat would be back in minutes, falling back into his eyes as he threw another ten, twenty, thirty, who knew how many pounds of shit around, all while under the watchful eye of the asshole currently doing anything but the actual watching part.

Leaning back on the bench as he sunned himself, John reclined as he stretched into it, like the world’s pissiest cat, but worse.

He’d been there for roughly ten to fifteen minutes now, taking the position shortly after heading off in the direction of the picnic table, and Sharky didn’t think anything of it at first. Ignored it mostly, because not having John breathing down his neck was a holiday in and of itself and he was set on celebrating it, but the silence stretched on. Started turning weird as he kept on going, taking looks over his shoulder every now and then to see if John had budged even.

And no, he hadn’t moved at all.

Not even an inch as John let out a loud sigh, and reached for the bottle of water sitting next to him.

Sharky swiped at his forehead, irritated at just how blatant he was being about all of it, and swore if his next move involved pouring it over himself he was out.

John had already ruined most of his week by dragging him out here twice, but ruining Flashdance? That was just straight-up fucking wrong, and like hell was he going to be stuck thinking of him shaking that water off whenever he’d want to fire the movie up. He didn’t need that thought popping up or existing at all, and it wouldn’t be the only time it’d come to mind either.

No, it’d be stuck there in his head permanently, and seeing John, dripping wet and wearing a smug-ass grin at any point wasn’t his idea of a good time.

The water bottle went up as John took a drink, and Sharky watched his eyebrow climb up with it.

But the water went where it was intended. Right down his throat, not over his head, and John lowered the bottle back down as he leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand. Finally focusing his attention on something other than the sun hanging above their heads.

A shame it took Sharky five minutes too long to realize just what he was looking at.

Him. Standing there, wooden planks in hand all while he’d let Maniac run through his head on repeat, and John held that stare as the corners of his lips curved up.

Aw, fuck.

Fumbling everything, the wood clattered as it fell to his feet, and Sharky quickly picked it all up. The rest went right into the wheelbarrow next to him, and he hightailed it towards the boathouse.

His thoughts shifted to sorting through specs after that. Lengths and widths as he tried to stack and sort what he’d brought with him in the hopes he could hold out there as long as he could before John came sniffing around to check.

Time ticked by as the piles grew in height, but nothing happened. So, he went and re-stacked them again, making sure he’d had it right the first time.

Still, nothing.

Leaning against the wall by Billy, Sharky eyed the doorway, staring at that open space as he waited for John to step through it, but he didn’t. He’d managed to summon him like this before on accident, but this time it’d failed. Almost as if he wanted to be hands-off this time around, and that didn’t make a lick of sense at all.

His knuckles were rapping against the wood by Billy now, tap, tap, tapping along with his foot’s anxious rhythm, and the sound only grew louder as Sharky kept up with it. He even set off Billy once so he wouldn’t be able to hear his own tapping anymore, and shoved away from the wall when the tune only made it all worse.

Poking his head out of the door, he looked over towards the bench, and noticed John hadn’t moved much at all. Sitting there with his head leaned back, he looked like he was taking a nap on top of everything else. A motherfucking catnap all while Sharky was busting his ass, waiting to see how he’d fuck up without him, and like hell was he going to play right into that.

Whistling loud enough to make anyone want to clap their hands over their ears, Sharky gave it his all, and John’s head shot up instantly.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

Looking right at him as he raised his sunglasses, John’s surprise settled into an expectant smile. “Yes?”

“Seriously?” Sharky took a few steps towards him, and crossed his arms. “That’s it? Like, you’re just going to stay there the whole time?”

“I wasn’t planning to,” John started, crossing one leg over the other, “but I was thinking about just how lovely this day was, and maybe it would be nice to enjoy it for once. Just to sit back for a moment or two to take in the breeze, and how the sun feels. You appear to know what you’re doing, so I was content to leave you be. Unless you have concerns?”

“Wait, hold up.” He made a move to clear his ear out, because John didn’t just throw out what he thought he did. “You wanna repeat that, ‘cause it kinda sounded like you said I know what I’m doing.”

“Well, I thought you did.” John tilted his head to the side, aiming his stare at him long enough for Sharky to want to fidget in place. “You do, don’t you?"

Standing up straighter, he almost sneered at him. “Psh, yeah!”

“Good,” John said, relaxing. “I’ve been counting on that. But truthfully, I was thinking that I may have been harsh in my methods, and pushed you harder than necessary. You almost broke your neck the last time you were out here due to overworking yourself, so I was thinking you could join me.”

“…Join you?”

Patting the seat next to him, John nodded. “Right here. To relax and have some water even.”

Sharky’s eyes darted from the spot to John, and back again. “You’re fucking with me.”

John rolled his eyes. “Please. If I actually wanted to fuck with you, I could do so much better than this.” Leaning back, he inclined his head towards the seat. “Rest. Take five, take ten even, and understand that there’s no catch to this. Just…a friendly suggestion.”

Friendly and John didn’t even belong in the same sentence, but he’d caught a hint of that once already. Saw what that looked like coming from him, and couldn’t even plead ignorance after spending hours before talking to the guy and borderline liking it.

And while John wasn’t offering him beer this time, Sharky could imagine just how good it’d feel to throw back that water and chug it.

John patted the seat again.

Fuck it, Sharky thought, and made his way over the bench. Sitting down, he cracked open the water John pushed his way, and downed it in record time.

And it was good. Good enough to get a loud, drawn out sigh from him the minute it was gone.

John smiled out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing. Just lowered his sunglasses and tilted his head skyward again as he soaked in the sun.

He almost didn’t know how John did it. Still in all of his layers, he looked comfortable, and wanted more sun on top of it.

At least he’d given up on his hoodie hours back. Pulling at the neck of his tank, Sharky dragged it up to mop at his face, peeling it away from his skin long enough to get some airflow going. It wasn’t much, but he’d take it, cooling off even a hair just by having it there.

It was quiet after that. Quiet enough for him to hear every bird that flew overhead, and the movement of the river as it drifted on by. Soaking it all in reminded him just how damn pretty it all was, and how he’d be fine with spending a lazy day here himself, but he wasn’t here to be lazy. Hell, he wasn’t even here to take a breather, even with John’s stamp of approval, because that didn’t put boards up. That didn’t knock dollar signs off of any of this, and instead of making progress Sharky was sitting well within view of it all with his thumb up his ass.

Well, he was twiddling them more than anything, and he’d found a decent rhythm to follow with his feet going off of the one started in his head, but the longer he stayed in place the more he felt the need to move, and he wouldn’t be able to handle it much longer. Not at this rate.

“Having trouble?”

With his sunglasses still down, John angled his head just enough to be able to see him, and Sharky side-eyed him as he dragged his tank off. “Yeah, it’s hot. I’m fucking swimming over here and you’re telling me you’re not?” He twisted it between his hands and squeezed, and John’s nose wrinkled at the gesture. “I’d have shed more than half of that shit after ten minutes.”

“Clearly, judging from your current state,” John said, opening both eyes to look at him. “But I wasn’t referring to any of that. It’s hardly been five minutes, and you’re all but vibrating in place. Is it really that difficult to stand still?”

Sharky gave him a withering look. “You kinda forget the part where I’m working to pay you off? And the longer I take, the longer I gotta do any of this?”

Pursing his lips, John sighed. “You can take ten to rest. You can take fifteen even. If you’re tired you get injured, and if you’re injured you can’t work. Defeats the purpose of any of it, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yeah. But-”

“Believe it or not, I don’t want to see you hurt again.” John sat up, and leaned towards him. “And I’m in charge here still, aren’t I? I could order you to sit here for however long I wanted, but I won’t.”

A frown had crept in, but Sharky let it go. “Yeah?”

“Yes, because that won’t get either of us what we want, and right now I want you healthy and thinking clearly. You, on the other hand, want to be debt-free, and only work will properly get you there, but I think I may have found a compromise. I did mention that I wouldn’t be throwing orders at you to sit still. That’s still true, but a bet? That might be more to your liking.”

“…A bet?”

John’s lips curved into a wicked smile. “That’s right. A bet. Interested?”

Asking about it to begin with was a strike. John’s growing smug-ass smirk, strike two. Admitting he was interested at all was the third, and the longer the answer sat in his mouth, the longer he wanted to keep it there.

“Seeing as a bet got you into this to begin with, I can understand the hesitation,” John replied, stretching the word out, “but it does tempt, doesn’t it? And I will promise you there’s no hidden catch, or difficult task ahead. Only a simple request.”

Simple. The guy had on almost a three-piece suit to sweat in, and was regularly paid to make shit as complicated as possible. Simple for him came with enough fine print to make Sharky’s head want to start pounding. But hearing him out and agreeing to it were two totally different things. Nothing set in stone, nothing he could claim as legally binding or whatever, so…

“Like what?”

John raised his sunglasses, and made sure they were looking at each other directly. “You remain here, in place, resting with no complaints for fifteen minutes, and you’ll be fifty dollars richer for it.”

Letting it all sink in, Sharky ran over the challenge, lapped it two times over, scrunched up his face as he came back to the start, and still couldn’t drop the suspicious look he shot John’s way. “You want me to sit here.”

“Yes.”

“Doing nothing, like just kicking back and loving it, and that’ll net me fifty big ones?”

“I’ll place it in your hand myself as long as you don’t move a single muscle. Is that acceptable?”

Fifty dollars for doing jack-shit? Hell yeah, it was.

It was also playing right into whatever John wanted. Let him pull the strings on whatever mini-power trip this was, which annoyed the hell out of him the longer Sharky thought about it, so he crossed his arms and focused on giving him as cold a shoulder as he could. Just ignored him completely as John started tapping his fingers against the bench, and didn’t say jack or shit in response.

“Would a hundred dollars suffice?”

That made his eyebrows go up.

“I suppose fifty might’ve been too modest of a thing to offer. Hardly worth taking a risk for.”

“Oh, it’s still fifty bucks,” Sharky said, turning towards him. “That’s some good shit right there.”

“Really? Then I can only imagine how appealing double that amount would be. Or perhaps even triple?”

Boom. A hundred and fifty dollars, as if it were nothing.

Sharky sat up and held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, just-first up, you’ve got that much on you right now? And second, you’re just gonna hand that over?”

John shrugged a shoulder and glanced away. “I wouldn’t make an offer I couldn’t back, and it’s only if you earn it.”

“So, you do.”

“I might.” The smile came back, one that really should’ve set off more warning bells than it did, and John aimed it right at him. “Depending on whether or not you decide to say yes.”

Scrunching up his face, Sharky really didn’t want to, but John had him. Fucking hook, line, and sinker, and he let out a sound of aggravation before finally saying, “All right, all right. I’ll do it.”

“You will? So, we have a deal?”

“…Yes, we do.”

John held out his hand to him. Eyed him expectantly as his smile grew even sharper. He had half a mind to shove it back at him, but knew exactly what he was waiting for. What was going to seal this for him, and rolled his eyes only for John to jerk his hand away the second Sharky reached for it.

“Ah, ah, if you could,” John said, pretending to wipe his hand off on his shirt.

Sharky glanced down at his palm. It really wasn’t that bad, just sweaty, but he scrubbed it against his jeans anyway, shooting John a dirty look as he did it. However, when he went for him again, John didn’t fake him out. Just let him take his hand as Sharky gave it a firm shake.

“Excellent,” John replied, and he could’ve sworn the motherfucker almost purred it.

Lawyers, man. He probably got off on this shit, and Sharky let go of his hand as soon as the thought hit.

Returning to his side of the bench, John checked the time on his watch and gently tapped at its face. During this, Sharky slipped his tank back on and waited as the seconds ticked by. Started tapping his fingers against the bench himself - none of it even close to John’s established rhythm - and almost attempted whistling before deciding to say something.

“Yo, you gonna start this? Or are we-”

“Almost. Patience is a virtue after all,” John said, eyes right on his watch, “and yours will be rewarded in due time.”

Tap, tap, tap.

By the third set of taps, he’d fallen back into it too, drawn in without even thinking.

Tap, tap, tap.

All of it like clockwork up until he saw John’s finger pause in mid-air. “All right. Your time starts…now, and don’t forget our terms.”

“Yeah, yeah, my ass ain’t going anywhere. Better hope you’ve got more than a twenty and a few crumpled ones, though, ‘cause I ain’t gonna lose this.”

“Oh?”

“It’s half-off shots at the Eagle tonight,” Sharky replied with a grin. “Karaoke’s on too. Hurk’s already got me covered for half, but the minute I win this and head out there, shit’s gonna be fucking lit.”

John rolled his eyes. “And every cent gone just as fast as you've earned it.”

“So, I wanna go out and enjoy myself. The hell’s wrong with that?” Sharky shot. “That’s making the best of a Tuesday when I don’t got a whole lot else going on. ‘Sides, can’t spend it all there anyway. Still gotta buy underwear, socks, shoes and shit.”

Ticking each one off on his fingers, the mental price tag kept climbing, and he squinted out over at the boathouse as he added it all up.

“Then there’s gas. Can’t run out of that. Mags, ‘cause I gotta stay up to date on my reading and viewing material. Food, though my jerky stash’s all right, but I could grab more cereal. And duct tape, which is fucking magical. Seriously, get a roll, it’ll fix anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. Hole in your pants? Done. Hole in your roof? Done. Hole in you? Also done, though if it’s a real gusher, you uh….might wanna slap two or three layers onto it, or I don’t know, go with that Flex Seal shit. You know, like on the infomercials?” he asked, nudging John with his elbow. “Keeps most of the bleeding internal rather than external, though you’d need to ask Hurk about the last time we tried that. Might’ve been in and out of it as he ran me to the clinic, and he swears by the stuff.”

Sharky pretended to slap some on his arm - flashing John a thumbs up while he was at it - only for John to give him a flat look.

“What? Shit works! It seals, and it holds. And I know it works ‘cause I only lost so much of my blood on the way into the clinic, and even the doc was looking at me like I should’ve kicked it. So, if anyone’s gonna give it a bonafide seal of approval, it’s me. Get it? ‘Cause it’s a seal, and I’m here telling you about it, and uh…yeah.”

Sharky’s crooked smile fell as John stared him down, and he let the rest trail off after that. Just shifted his attention to his hands as he pulled off his cap and gave it a few shakes before flexing and folding it between them.

“How either of you are alive at this point I don’t think I’ll ever understand.”

“Good luck, and maybe a little something my cuz calls Boshaw Bo-wisdom.”

John pressed both hands to his eyes, breathed deep, and then dragged them down. “Wisdom.”

“Bo-wisdom.”

“Charlemagne, you are…” John began, considering him long enough to make Sharky’s leg start bouncing in place, “absolutely bewildering, and yet-”

“Really, really ridiculously good looking?”

John’s words caught in his throat, and he coughed out a laugh a beat later.

"That don’t sound like a no." Sharky slapped a grin on his face and slipped his hat back on. “Like, I know I ain’t a fancy lawyer or a pilot, but I got it.”

John opened his mouth, but paused. Hmm-ed to himself as he gave him a quick once-over, and cocked his head. “A certain, je ne sais quoi?”

He'd been full set on John giving him a no straight-up, but that wasn't it at all. “Uh, sure? If you wanna get all fancy with that too.”

Never mind the handful of French he knew came from commercials, food labels, and old Saturday morning cartoons, but he’d heard some form of that before once or twice, and didn’t recall anyone getting slapped for it.

“Fancy?” John laughed, and said something else. A whole string of words Sharky didn’t recognize at all up until the final ‘oui?’, and raised an eyebrow.

“Amigo, if you want me to agree to any of that, you’ll have to give me something. ‘Cause I got the yes, but everything else?” Sharky waved a hand right over his head, and whistled.

Because of course John would know another language inside and out too. Probably went straight to France to learn it, and could’ve spun up all sorts of shit that sounded nice on first pass only to mean something else entirely. The longer Sharky thought it over, the more it made him want to frown at it, and before long went back to staring out at the boathouse. Focused on burning a hole right into it, and wouldn’t have cared too much if he’d actually had the ability.

“What did you think I said?”

“I dunno,” Sharky muttered. “Something-something, mustache twirl, you suck?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched John’s amusement fade. “I said that you probably didn’t understand me, which was a shame. It leaves things more than a little one-sided, and insulting you during that’s something I’d prefer not to do. Especially since a proper insult would’ve been more along the lines of this.”

The next string of words still had that overly fancy ring to it as it all flowed together, but by the time John turned to him, Sharky was watching him intently.

“Would you like to know that one?” John asked.

“Dude, you can’t just say that shit and leave it hanging like that.”

John leaned towards him, silent as Sharky motioned for him to get on with it, but what followed was stated so bluntly, it took a solid minute to sink in.

But the moment it did, Sharky let out a laugh that had him almost doubling over as he struggled to recover from it. “Fuck, man! Are you for real?”

A smile crept onto John’s face, and soon he was smiling as wide as Sharky was. “I might’ve picked that one up a long time ago from an acquaintance of mine.”

“And you actually got to say it? Like face-to-face?”

“Once or twice, but it loses its impact if you say it too often, so I might’ve had to use a few alternatives in its place. A hazard of the job, really.”

“So you’ve got a whole bunch of these stashed and ready to go, huh? Like if I say something, like ‘shove your head up your own ass’, you’d be able to translate it, no problem?” More French followed, and Sharky squinted at John when his name popped up in the middle of it. “Cool. ...Long as you didn’t just tell me to shove my own head up there.”

“No, I merely said that of course, it would be possible.”

“The whole saying it part, and not-”

“Not the second.” And John slipped back into it again, saying every last word with a smile right on his face. “But that would be how I’d phrase it if I wanted to.”

With that on that table, Sharky threw another insult at him. Just let the eager feeling driving him take the wheel, and John didn’t even pause this time before quickly giving him the translation for it. He even sounded it out for him as Sharky tried reciting it right after, and was left practicing Rs with John until even his tongue needed a fucking break. Then went for another, and another, and neither of them let up for a second. Even when he decided to get creative with it, throwing weirder and more obscure stuff at him, it didn't matter. John gave it all a fair shake. Whether he was thinking over some of the harder phrases, or giving him the evil eye, John never told him no, or to fuck off. He dished it all back, the words way too damn smooth for the kinds of things Sharky was asking about, and even started chuckling with him midway through the last one, giving up the fight completely as he came to a stop and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Stumped?”

John peered over at Sharky as he kicked back in his seat, but glanced away the minute he started waggling his eyebrows at him. “This was not the intended use of the language. Not as I first learned it, and not later on when I experimented with it as well, so forgive me if I need a moment to continue entertaining any of the things that have left your mouth so far.”

“Hey, you offered.”

“After you asked,” John countered, lowering his hand. “And you did, so there’s no arguing that point. But I will admit that this is one of the more interesting uses of that particular skill set. Even after having a chance to test it on the streets of Paris myself.”

“Figures,” Sharky chuckled. “Probably been everywhere.”

“Almost. I made a list of places when I was fresh out of law school, and started crossing them off one by one. Wanted to see the world beyond the one built around me and for me, but…over time it lost its appeal, and other things became much more important.”

John leaned forward, folding his hands together as he rested them on his thighs, and aimed a curious glance his way. “How about you? Ever traveled?”

“Me?” Sharky asked, gesturing towards himself. “Like, I’ve been to the border. Got to see Canada for about five minutes before Hurk had to get us out of there, but having a PO kinda put a damper on any travel plans real quick. But that don’t mean I don’t want to. Just never had the chance, you know?”

“So, where would you go if you were able to?”

“Shit, all sorts of places. Could probably stay local, but where’s the fun in that? Better somewhere far away, exotic. Like Florida.”

John’s eyebrows drew together. “…Florida.”

“Florida,” Sharky repeated, bobbing his head.

When he didn’t say anything further, John wet his lips and turned towards him fully. “I could offer to fly you anywhere in the world right now. To any continent, any place, and given those options would you still make the same choice?”

“What’s wrong with Florida?”

John slowly blinked at him. “Aside from it being Florida?”

“Aw, come on," Sharky said, lightly punching him in the arm, "they got all sorts of nice things there. It ain’t all orange juice and gators. Got cocktails, racing, and palm trees too. Oh, and water sports.”

This time when John pressed his lips into a thin line and scowled, Sharky eyed him right back.

“I’m talking polo and jet skis. Dunno where your mind’s going, man.”

“Well, there’s a good reason for that,” John spat, “and I’m staring right at i-”

A shrill beeping cut him off, nearly making Sharky jump in his seat as he gripped the bench. “Not it! Also, my ass is on this. Didn’t leave it once.”

John dropped his gaze down to his watch, and frowned deeply as he shut it off.

“Wait, we hit fifteen already?”

That had Sharky’s eyebrows flying sky high with no hope of falling. Leaning towards him - which was pretty pointless seeing as he couldn’t read shit even from the new angle - he got as far as reading the hour before John jerked his left arm away from him.

“Yes, and much as I’m loathe to admit it, you’ve honored our agreement.”

On the edge of his seat, Sharky watched John climb to his feet and pull out his wallet. Thumbing quickly through the bills, he didn’t even look up at Sharky before withdrawing them, and just tossed the cash his way.

“Uh, cool, I guess-whoa, hey!” Snatching them out of the air, he’d crumpled the bills in his rush to save them, and did a double-take when he realized just what he was looking at. “Yo, this is-you said one-fifty, max.”

“And?” John asked, acting like he’d just tried to inform him the sky was blue, that he was a dick, or that water was wet. Simple run of the mill shit that anyone would know.

“This is two-hundred, man. Don’t remember agreeing to that.”

John tilted his head back, and lowered his sunglasses. “They’re the smallest bills I have. Perhaps you lucked out there as well.”

The smallest he had. Not a fifty, not even a twenty, but hundreds only.

What. The fuck, Sharky mouthed, gaping at him.

“And I do believe that means your break is also over, so if you could?”

“Whoa, what?” Sharky sputtered, as John turned his back on him and headed towards the building. “You-you told me to do this shit!”

“I bet you that you wouldn’t be able to,” John threw out, glancing at him over his shoulder. “Now that you’ve proven me wrong, I see no reason why you wouldn’t be able to redouble your efforts and really impress me, hmm?”

Disappearing through the entrance to the boathouse, Sharky had a minute to sit there. Mouth open, wide enough to swallow a fucking bee if it decided to fly right into it, before John poked his head out of the doorway.

“Sometime today?”

Letting out a string of profanities - including more than a few he’d thrown at John not even five minutes ago - Sharky crammed the bills into his pocket and booked it after him.

With over half of the day left to burn, he might as well not waste it.

#far cry 5 #sharky boshaw #john seed #john seed/sharky boshaw #fanfiction #FC5 fanfiction #I love how on the previous fic I hoped it wouldn't take too long to finish this #and here we are three months later #(and also 1-2K longer than intended)#but my weakness is two characters sitting and talking it out so...whoops #fic series: we could make a home out of this

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bang-to-the-tan · 4 years

Text

Vessel Euphoria Chapter 8

► SciFi!AU

Thriller

Warnings: Major Character Death, Mind Control, Upsetting Themes Throughout, Alien Parasitism

↳ Summary: 6 months ago, the crew of the space vessel “Euphoria”—destined for a scientific study on a distant planet—dropped out of all communication. You and your fellow crewmates are inbound to reestablish communication with home base, but things are not as they seem and the fate of the mission is placed in grave danger.

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Years of training. Months of preparation.

Months of flying through the endless void of space in a tin can, towards people you revered as idols. Hoping to help them. All for nothing. All wasted.

You’re sitting on the floor, staring at the panels on the far side, watching your thoughts swim desperate circles around your own head, trying to pull back into your body, but everything is static, disconnected, you can’t move so much as the tips of your fingers. Dimly, you’re aware that your breath is short, harsh.

It’s all over now.

At least two of them are dead. Dead? Tears bubble in your eyes, memories of the men on the tapes. Smiling, excited Taehyung. Confident, methodical Seokjin. Gone. Why? How?

And what about Namjoon?

“You have to take me back.” Jungkook’s voice comes through the intercom, crackled and static, and it brings with it a wash of anger in you.

You don’t answer, jerking suddenly to the side, blinking at the water in your vision that blurs the world, cascades down your cheeks, forces you to sniffle like a child. Your fingers fumble for the button on the quarantine room, scrabbling at it. Why won’t it go down?? This is the last thing you need. You don’t need this. Your world is teetering on the edge of breaking and he’s only going to complicate things if you keep listening to his madness.

“There isn’t time,” he insists, frustrated, choked.

“I have to shut you up,” you snap. “And then we’re going to wait for Hoseok.”

“We can’t wait. We can’t. Fever. You said fever.”

“Shut up.” Your fingers slip, scraping fruitlessly against the button, and a growl looses itself from your lips that sounds almost feral. “Just shut up, Jungkook!”

“You. Jimin. Hoseok. Teams of four. The fourth has a fever.” He’s chattering, breathless. “The fever. The flowers. We can’t wait. It isn’t safe.”

No matter how you pick at it, coax it, the button won’t yield, stuck down permanently. Logically, you know that’s not entirely unexpected. The Epiphany is an older model of space-faring vessel, frankensteined with scraps of decommissioned tech. Sometimes she develops quirks. But illogically, it’s another nail in your coffin and you can’t bear it. You can’t do it. You won’t. Furious, you rear back and hammer your fist against it, wincing at the pain, but go to stand anyway on shaking legs.

If you can’t fix the button, you’ll leave the room.

You’ll go look after Yoongi. Make sure he’s okay. Wait for Hoseok. Everything will be fine. Eventually.

“What are you going to do when it starts talking like him?” Jungkook shouts suddenly. Ice reaches down your spine, coiling in your legs, freezing you to a standstill.

You shouldn’t stay here. You need to leave. But your head cranes, looking to the stranger in the cell. He looks how you feel. Eyes red rimmed and teary, hair in disarray, hands against the one-sided glass like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“Because it will. It will, and you’ll miss him. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But we have to go. Before it’s too late.”

You watch him, realization dawning in the pit of your stomach, making you feel vile.

‘It’s my fault.’

“...Kim Taehyung and Kim Seokjin.” you croak finally. “You knew they were dead.”

He stares into nothing, face falling as if you’d stabbed him before he nods slow. “...Yes.”

“You apologized to him. Taehyung. You said you ‘didn’t have a choice’.” You take a long breath that does nothing to calm the battering of your heart against your ribs. “What choice?”

He doesn’t reply.

You aren’t afraid of hearing the answer. You’re afraid that you already know it.

“What. Choice.” You repeat.

“You don’t understand,” Jungkook whispers. He rests his head against the glass and you can still see the droplets falling behind the dark curtain of hair obscuring his face. “We have to go back. Namjoon—”

“Did you hurt him?”

“No! No. No, I would never, I would never. I would never.” He sobs.

“Did you hurt your crewmates, Jungkook? Did they get ‘infected’?”

“I—” his voice cracks.

“Namjoon recalled the logs for months. Why would he do that?” You’re stepping forward now, anger, anger coursing through you, fire in place of blood in your veins. “If for months everyone onboard the Vessel Euphoria was still alive and making logs?” You pause. “Unless someone was sick. Someone he cared about. Someone, convinced that something was replacing his crew members.”

A fresh wave of tears threatens to drown you, rising into your throat.

“What did you do, Jungkook?”

He shakes his head, his entire body shivering. Slowly, he starts to drift downwards, and you can hear the muffled, crackling sounds as he cries in earnest through the speaker.

“Please. Please,” he sobs. “We have to go back.”

“We’ll go back. We’ll go when Hoseok and Jimin come back. And then we’ll go home. And from there...” It’s a struggle to clear your throat, your words sticking to the roof of your mouth. “From there, central will figure out what’s best for you.”

You turn on your heel with an artificial sense of finality, striding towards the hall even as every step feels like you’re sinking into sand. Try not to speculate. Try not to speculate. You’re doing your best. You’re trying. It’s hard to pretend you don’t hear Jungkook crying and pleading at your back, or that you don’t feel your heart break a little with every inch of distance you put between the two of you.

The hallway leads you to the med bay before you’re even really aware of the direction you’re going. When the doors slide open, you’re relieved beyond any speakable measure that Yoongi is still where you left him, sleeping peacefully on the cot.

In desperate need of something to do, some way of calming the twitching in your fingers, the caged energy thrumming behind your eyes, you start meandering about the room quietly, picking up the mess he’d made on his exit. Occasionally, you throw glances at the mechanic, almost afraid that he’s going to rise up like something out of a horror film and start spouting gibberish like Jungkook.

Instead, he just sleeps. He looks so peaceful.

Gone is the guy who rigged your alarm clock to go off at 2 am as retribution for you putting salt in his coffee. The thought occurs to you and a wry smile tugs at your lips at the memory. In the end you had to completely dismantle it. He’d fixed it so it wouldn’t turn off and instead kept blaring, waking the entire crew. Oh, he was so smug when you confronted him with a jumbled heap of wires and plastic that had once been your alarm. You almost fed it to him. Looking back, you have to stifle a giggle. Hoseok almost had both of your asses, threatened to throw you in quarantine until you’d ‘developed more professional attitudes’.

...Yoongi would know what to think. If he were in your position.

Level-headed, pragmatic Yoongi. He said from the start that things were fishy about the Euphoria mission...You wish he was awake. Just one good conversation would be enough to ease your mind, at this point. One short chat, with an awake, self-aware, grumbly Yoongi Min.

‘What are you going to do when it starts talking like him?’

A frown slowly replaces the smile on your face as you stare, Jungkook’s words rising to the foreground of your thoughts completely unbidden.

As if deep in a trance, your hand reaches out. You brush a few strands of hair back from Yoongi’s face, tracing his relaxed brow, feeling for the skin, resting your hand on his forehead. A beat passes. Two.

He’s warm under your palm, but the fever has cooled significantly. By the time he wakes up, it might have gone entirely. Your whole body sags with relief at the very thought.

He’s okay.

He’ll be okay.

‘It will. It will, and you’ll miss him.’

You won’t miss shit. He isn’t going anywhere.

You finish tidying, making sure to keep as quiet as possible, and slip back out of the ward. For a moment, you hesitate in the hallway, glancing briefly at the quarantine room.

No.

No, that won’t do.

You walk past it.

Rummaging through the kitchen, you consider digging into a few snacks, but your mind inevitably drifts back to Seokjin and Taehyung and suddenly you’ve lost your appetite. You do some of the washing up, putting away clean dishes and making sure everything is set right. For a short while, you go to your room and try to nap, but your mind whirls so brightly, so worriedly, you can’t manage to eke out any peace from it.

Time passes as a sludge. A haze. It doesn’t march, it oozes. You try not to watch the clock, but it’s impossible, as you sit and count down the minutes before your crew returns.

An hour.

Two. You’re impatient, waiting, ears peeled for the automated message from the doors. The crackle of radio. Nothing.

With every minute over the two hour mark, your anxiety mounts until you’re having trouble catching your breath, chest tight and palms sweaty.

Why aren’t they back?

They should be back.

If they were within range of either of the towers, they would have radioed in.

You’ve started pacing around your small room, checking your comm. The seconds can be marked by the thud of your heart in your chest until finally you can’t stand it anymore and you start towards the communications room. Again, you have to pass by quarantine. Again you hesitate. But your feet are moving without you, propelling you forwards with haste fuelled by concern.

You swing your body into the worn, ripped captain’s chair, brushing over the buttons and switches with all the deft awareness of someone who’s been through the lifetime of training you have. The system takes a moment to itself to boot properly, but displays its startup checks in due time. Everything’s green. Everything’s go. You take a deep breath and press the button to transmit to nearby towers, making sure to amplify the signal enough to reach just that little bit past their respective ranges. It’s not very far, but considering their two hours are up, either they’re close to the Epiphany’s range, they haven’t left Euphoria’s or they’ve taken a detour in the opposite direction on top of a barren planet—unlikely, considering that neither of your crewmates are stupid.

“This is Communications from the stationed Vessel Epiphany, requesting contact with Officer Jung Hoseok and Specialist Park Jimin. Please confirm copy,” you intone.

There’s a silence broken only by the painful thudding of your own heart in your ears.

Again, you press the button.

“Repeat, Officer Jung and Specialist Park, confirm copy.”

Nothing.

You want desperately to throw yourself backwards and shriek, scream into the void. Dig your fingers through your hair until you pull it out by the roots, kick out with your legs and wreck the hulking pile of garbage in front of you.

“Godammit, guys, pick up your fucking comms.” You’re spitting down the line before you can stop yourself, your hand shaky where you hold the microphone steady.

Still you receive no answer.

You’re biting back tears for what feels like the millionth time in the past few hours. Jimin and Hoseok out of line and out of time. Yoongi in a coma. A boy locked in quarantine that may or may not have committed some act of violence against his crew members. And you. Just you. Your body leans forward, leaning your forehead against the desk, being sure to avoid the important switches.

“Please pick up.” You murmur, even knowing it won’t transmit without your finger on the button. “Please pick up.”

You don’t know how long you sit there waiting. Your breath eventually evens itself out and you slip into this state of suspension, poised to answer at the slightest hint of a reply. But still nothing happens.

You lift your head, blearily watching the lights wink.

What could have happened to delay them? Where could they have gone? You have two options. You wait here, for any sign, any communication. And in the meantime, they could be hurt. Stranded, somehow. A malfunction with the buggy. A wire tripped with their communicators. The flowers, perhaps reclaiming a pivotal turn in the road somewhere, leading them off-course. It isn't like either of them to just...not check in. Especially not after their discovery. Hoseok’s announcement. The failure of the mission.

The thought of staying here for much longer, doing nothing, is enough to make your skin crawl.

Right.

So the second option, then.

You shove yourself off the console, standing, stretching, casting one last grim look at the system before you shut it back down and leave the room, heading determinedly towards quarantine.

Jungkook’s fallen to his knees at the window, head against the glass, arms by his sides. He looks like he’s fallen asleep, but the staccato of his breaths tells you otherwise.

The buggy won’t have enough fuel for multiple trips. You’ll have one shot out there, to reach primary and look for Jimin and Hoseok, refuel there, and come back. And you’ll need Jungkook, if you’re going to get the fuel you need to go home.

“You said you know where the fuel cells are kept,” you begin. “Were you telling the truth?”

He shifts, barely, leaning his cheek towards you. His breath fogs the glass when he murmurs a quiet reply. “Yes.”

“If I take you there, we can grab a replacement cell.”

He perks up at that, turning to stare again at where he approximates you might be, struggling to unsteady feet.

“And open the tower,” he adds.

Your mouth purses into a firm line. “The tower,” you echo.

“The tower.” he repeats, emphatic.

There’s a moment of silence. “What’s in the tower, Jungkook?”

He doesn’t answer.

You don’t like that. You don’t like that at all. If you’re going to make the only trip to primary, you have to knock out as many objectives as possible. Search for Hoseok and Jimin on the way there and back, recover the fuel tank, and complete your original mission. Find out what happened to the communication of the Euphoria. Logistically, you need to get inside of that tower.

But why is he so keen on it?

“...I’ll tell you what. Give me the code.” He’s already shaking his head. “And we’ll both go to the primary base.”

“No,” he mutters. “No, you’ll leave me here.”

He’s right. You watch him grimly through the glass.

“You’re going to have to answer for what happened on Euphoria, Jungkook. You know that. You can’t outrun it. Please don’t make this difficult.”

“What happened,” he enunciates clear, slow, suddenly drawn bitterly through a snarl, “was not. My. Fault.”

“Then tell me what it was.”

His nostrils flare. His eyes water, brows drawing close over his forehead. Again, he shakes his head.

“I can leave you here anyway,” you press. “I can just leave you here and go myself, go looking myself.”

“You’re wasting time. Time for all of us. I have to go back. I ha—have to fix it.”

“Fix what?”

“...The tower.”

He’s lying. He’s lying through his teeth. You can see it in the way his eyes flit away from yours, staring holes into the panelling to his right. But he’s being purposefully obtuse. And unfortunately, he’s right. Every minute you sit here and argue with him is another minute you lose to uncertainty. To inaction.

“I need your word that you aren’t going to attack me. I’m going to keep sedatives with me, and if you so much as blink in a way I don’t like I’m knocking you out and we’re coming right back here.”

“I swear I won’t attack you,” he breathes, eyes wide.

“Swear on your life.”

He hesitates, a sigh leaving his chapped lips. “I swear.”

“...Okay. Alright. I’m going to get supplies first. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Hurry.”

What are you doing? What are you doing?

You’ve lost your mind is what you’ve done. What you’re doing. But it’s already been an hour since Jimin and Hoseok should have been back, and your stomach is doing somersaults just thinking of what might be keeping them. Your body is already in motion, desperate to reassign some of that anxious energy to movement, grabbing the sedatives and stowing them away in the pocket of your jumpsuit. It’s never been a habit of yours, praying, but you send out a quick one that you won’t have to use them. You’re packing a spare charger for your comms, making sure the spare suit is good enough for Jungkook to wear, ignoring the apprehension trying to cloud your vision.

Your heart rises into your throat when you step to the hangar, for a brief moment thinking that maybe you missed their arrival. Maybe the buggy is already there. Maybe you’ll see it speeding over the horizon just as you go down there and you’ll be able to call this whole madness off. But no. The space where the first one was is empty, and through the thick glass on the outside of the hangar you can only see the persistent waving of thousands upon thousands of bright red flowers. It’s only about noon—the suns are high in the sky, bathing the landscape in bright yellows and a warm blush. You can’t even see where the flowers had been burned away anymore.

Checking the fuel tank confirms your suspicions. You won’t be making more than one trip in this thing. That’s fine. That’s fine. For better or worse, you can manage it. For your crew.

Lastly, you go back to the sick bay.

Thankfully, Yoongi is still sleeping, and continues to slumber as you skirt around him and pick up a paper and a pencil. You scribble out a quick note, keeping one eye peeled for any sign that he’s being disturbed.

Min—

Gonna go get the fuel cells & teammates.

Door locked to keep you from sleepwalking again. Code is the date of our 1st mission.

See you soon. :)

When you’ve finished, you reach out on a whim and circle a comforting hand around his upper arm.

“Be right back, Min,” you whisper. “I’m gonna go grab those other two idiots and then...then we’ll head home. Alright?”

You tuck the paper gingerly underneath one of his hands.

“Read the note before you start wandering off again, you weirdo,” You add with a faint scoff.

You stand, heading to the outside of the doors. One last look at the mechanic as he rests, before you’re keying into the panel on the side. Should be simple enough. If he’s still feverish when he gets up, he probably won’t be cognizant enough to both read the note and remember the date. There’s also a chance he’ll wake up, forget it, be pissed, and then try to contact you to whine about trapping him unfairly in the med bay, but you’ll take that any day.

You head to quarantine. Jungkook is more alert than you’ve ever seen him, attention captured easily by the sound of the doors sliding open, eyes scanning his side of the mirror.

“Okay. All set.” you tell him, moving to the door button. “I’m going to open the door now. You’ll follow me down to the hangar. We’ll get in the buggy and make the trip up to the primary base, keeping an eye out for my crew. We’ll grab replacement cells and bring them back.” You pause.

“I swear to god, if there’s any funny business, I won’t hesitate, Jeon. You don’t know me but I know you. I’ve seen your logs, I’ve studied your file.”

It’s a bluff. Even Jimin could barely keep a handle on him. You aren’t sure you have the guts to back up any threat you make, much less the musculature. But it’s a necessary bluff.

“No funny business,” he mumbles, casting his gaze at the door expectantly. “I swear.”

The keypad chimes as you press the buttons, the door jolting once before finally sliding to the side, and for a minute, you’re afraid he’s going to leap out at you, hands raised, eyes wild. Instead, he steps out gingerly, with all the uncertainty of a newborn deer, clutching at the frame for support.

It occurs to you, as he stands before you, making eye contact once and nodding, firm, that it really is just the two of you right now. If anything were to happen…

You banish the thought. It’s all going to go according to plan. As you half-turn to start leading him down the hall, your hand brushes past the sedatives in your pocket, and you feel determination rise in you. Determination to make this work. It’s all gonna be okay, dammit, and it’ll be okay because you make it so.

“There’s enough to get us out to secondary. We can refuel there, head back, look for them on the way.” You begin to explain as the two of you walk to the hangar. You pause, turning to look at Jungkook. “You’re sure you know where the spare fuel tanks are kept. You can get us to them and out. Quickly.”

He nods, shrugging to the side, watching the far doorway. “Yes.”

The two of you get suited up in silence. For a moment, you consider offering to help him get it on, but though his eyes glass over with the aftershocks of some memory, he still slips into it with the ease you’d expect. He doesn’t offer any comment but another short nod when you ask if he’s good. You both clamber into the buggy. You press the buttons for the opening sequence to activate, listening to the hiss of air as the doors behind you seal shut.

Garage 1 opening, the overhead voice drones.

You tighten your grip on the steering wheel, looking to Jungkook for a brief moment. He’s sinking into his seat, eyes wide, fixated on the dashboard. His whole body is curling in on itself, his expression deeply, deeply uncomfortable.

“Alright?” you ask.

He shuts his eyes tightly, bowing his head until the bottom of his helmet rests on his chest, bouncing once in an approximation of a nod. You’ll take it. The engine kicks into gear when you rev it and you start your descent down the ramp, into the field of gently waving flowers, aiming for the metal waypoint on the horizon that points towards primary.

Your companion doesn’t speak again, only inhaling sharply every so often when the vehicle hits a bump and jostles the two of you.

You don’t either.

You’re too deep in thought.

The locked communications tower.

Hoseok and Jimin found Taehyung and Seokjin. Not Namjoon.

...What if Namjoon is alive? After all, Jungkook managed to survive this whole time.

The cynic in you doesn’t want to hope. You set your jaw and continue on, grimly aware of one fact.

If Namjoon is alive—and God, you hope he is—then you have to assume the worst. You have to assume the worst about the person in the seat next to you.

You keep an anxious eye on the scenery, scanning for any sign of Jimin and Hoseok and praying that you’ll find it.

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#bts sci fi au #bts scifi au #bts thriller #bts fanfic #vessel euphoria #we definitely aren't making it to 10 LMAO #welcome to the beginning of the end guys #place ur bets whos alive whos right and whos crazy #:PPP

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