#shrieking at my desk this morning tbh

[gourmet-trash]

SCREAMING. just read your Eldritch!Mumbo fic and i really am just AJJCJSKSKAKSJJCJD but verbally <3

i just LOVED the whole thing in and of itself, and i can’t really pick out any individual bit to gush over bc there’s too many !!! though , i Did really enjoy the imagery of when Grian Looked at Mumbo and the vague yet detailed descriptions that await all eldritch beings :)

i hope you have a good day though !! i will certainly read more of your works after reading this :D <3

a;ldksfj AHHH! THANK YOU!!! my gosh!! what a lovely thing to wake up to this morning!!

i really can't tell y'all how NERVOUS i was writing and posting that thing given how new i am to the fandom side of hermitcraft and how unusual it is to most of my writing. but stuff like this is just TRULY the best and makes me wanna indulge the little "what if you wrote MORE" voice so -- seriously, thank you so much!! i'm so, so thrilled you enjoyed it!

[superhero--imagines]

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! / Part 7 Here! / Part 8 Here! / Part 9 Here! / Part 10 Here! / Part 11 Here! / Part 12 Here! / Part 13 Here! / Part 14 Here! / Part 15 Here! / Part 16 Here! / Part 17 Here! / < This is Part 18!>

Donate to Move to Higher Ground HERE!

* Your eyes open, and your hand flies to your throat 

* You’re thirsty

* You sigh as you sit up in your bed a little annoyed, you were having such a good dream too

* Only when you look to your night stand to grab your blood bottle, past it you see Edward sitting in your desk chair 

* “What are you doing?” Your voice is gravely, and you don’t wait for a response before uncapping your bottle and taking a sip

* Edward fidgets, his hands tugging with the sleeves of his shirt 

* “I like watching you sleep” he admits with a shrug and a boyish quirk of the lips. 

* Of course the dork likes watching you pretend to sleep

* Somethings haven’t changed from the books at least

* Maybe he’s part owl or something

* “Ugh, it’s already Sunday where does the weekend go?” You mumble, it’s around 3 am right now

* To be fair you know  half your Saturday went in self loathing in a tree, and the other half spent with your entire coven congratulating you and Edward on your new relationship

* “I call (Y/N) as my sibling the next time we move!” Emmett grins

* “That’s not fair, I was going to make them my sibling.” Jasper pouts

* “You already have Rosalie don’t get greedy”

* And then they all basically tried to plan out your wedding. 

* So the pressure is on

* At least you still have all Sunday before you have to face everyone at school though. You haven’t even tried to look at your phone 

* “Edward,” he perks up at the sound of your voice “were they really thinking vile thoughts about me?”

* His eyebrows thread together, head tilting to the side

* “Mike and Conner, you said they were thinking vile thoughts when you...came to get me.”

* It’s been bothering you for some time, Conner you can understand, but Mike? 

* You feel....betrayed 

* Edward averts his eyes, you’re half hoping he was lying to you and that he was just upset you were kissing other people

* “Were they thinking of r*ping me?” The second the words fall out of your lips he scampers closer, the chair screeching behind him.

* “No! No of course not-at least I don’t think so-“ His hand cups your face, the other cards through your hair. He sits on the edge of your bed carefully

* “They were thinking of taking you...” 

* oh well that’s no so bad.

* “At the same time”

* So that’s a little worse

* “So they were thinking about a threesome?” Edward winces at the word but nods

* You let out a sigh of relief, a threesome is still kinda sketchy but that���s just normal teenage boy brain for you 

* “At the time I didn’t appreciate their...vivid thoughts but” he looks into your eyes, like two pools of gold. “Maybe you wanted that.” 

*  He had acted instinctively upon seeing their thoughts, but in reality he wasn’t much better

* He had imagined that same needy expression on your face dozens of times 

* Maybe... you might have enjoyed an experience like that. After all two lovers are better than one

* He’s stuck in his own self loathing until he hears you laugh. 

* You’re actually laughing at him!

* He’s worried that you missed out on a vital human experience and you’re laughing!

* The nerve

* And yet, he feels his heart flutters when he see’s you smile at him

* “No, I’m good.” You laugh, and he feels himself let out a sigh of relief.

* “What about Jessica? Does she hate me now” Edward shakes his head

* “I think she might have a bit of a crush on you now.” He grins at your confused expression

* Well that’s unexpected

* You know you can’t really sleep but you feel exhausted, completely emotionally drained

* You snuggle back into the covers  And pat the space on the bed beside you

* “Sleep with me?” 

* Your face feels uncomfortably hot when you realize what you just said. “I just meant like-dream with me-not um no-“

* “I know what you meant” Edward says with a small smile

* He lies down on the other end of the bed, at least five feet away from you

* “You can come closer, you’re my boyfriend now, boyfriend privileges”

* Boyfriend 

* He’s always thought the word was garish. 

* A boy who was your special friend, how idiotic. But hearing the word tumble from your lips makes him unbelievably  happy 

* “What are boyfriend privileges?” He repeats carefully. Shifting so he is lying beside you

* “Normal couple stuff I guess, kissing, hugging, public affection-“ 

* and sex stuff

* “So I get to be as greedy with you as I want?” 

* You feel your face grow warm at the thought of Edward being as greedy with your body as he wants

* The way his hands would feel as they ghost over your body, his sweet rosemary and argon scent filling the air

* You can’t manage to get out words so you just nod, and he grins

* “Let’s go out tomorrow” 

* To like a hotel or?

* “We can go to the aquarium in Seattle, I think it’s supposed to rain so something indoors would be good.”

* Oh like greedy with your time

* That seems more on brand for Edward tbh 

* “The aquarium sounds nice”

* You curl into his chest, breathing in his scent deeply. He feels warm, not as warm as a human, but soothing in its own right. A gentle warmth, like the warmth from a candle

* You feel so safe here with him. You feel yourself drift off into sleep, and Edward’s arms tentatively wrap around you

* Your weight is pressed against him, and he can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have you pressed against him even more

* Your hands clawing at his chest as you plead

* “Great now I’m the one having vile thoughts” he murmurs to himself 

* You both sneak out early in the morning, while all your other coven members are still preoccupied 

* “Grab a couple blood bags and I’ll get some tumblrs” you nod, shoving it all quickly in his nike backpack, and you both practically jog to your jeep.

* The drive feels a lot shorter than you remember, it’s only 10 when you get there. 

* You sigh as you get out, you’re wearing faded blue jeans and a black coat that cinches at the waist

* Edward is dressed in a similar fashion, faded blue jeans, white shirt and a leather jacket

* Both of you wearing sunglasses 

* You don’t miss the looks you get as you walk across the parking lot. You already get a lot of attention as is  with the hot pink Barbie jeep

* But you and Edward together look like something straight out of a magazine catalog 

* “Did you already buy tickets?” You ask, your arm linking through his. 

* “Yeah, we just have to pick them up at the box” 

* It’s actually pretty busy, it is a weekend day though so it’s to be expected 

* “(Y/N)?” You turn to the voice and feel like the wind got knocked out of you

* “Jessica, Bella...” and there’s someone else with them, brown skin and long dark hair.

* Well he’s kinda hot, for a human that is

* “What are you doing here?” 

* They’re like the weirdest group for a Sunday hang out

* “My Dad had some tickets, he was going to come with my mom but I guess they got in a fight or something.” 

* You get the feeling that there’s more to it than that, but you’re just happy she’s talking to you after you kissed her without consent 

* “Oh um , this is Jacob we’ve been friends since we were kids.” 

* So this is Jacob, he looks older for his age.

* “Hey Jacob nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N)” you extend your hand and you see him stiffen for a second

* Yeah that sounds about right. All humans get afraid when they first me et you, you are technically their natural predator after all. He seems to get over it and grasps your hand

* “Hey, nice to meet you” 

* “Do you go to school with us?” 

*You know he doesn’t, but you’ve found it best to pretend in this situation. 

* You glance at Edward who hiding a twitching smile, looks like he heard something interesting

* “No I go to school on the res, I’m a sophomore.” 

* Oh a sophomore, younger man is more her speed huh? And they’ve been friends for years, he’s to her what Edward is to you

* You ship it

* “Do you guys want to join us?” 

* You can feel Edward’s eyes piercing you in the back. Yeah you know this is a date, and he probably wants some quality time with you or whatever-

* But it’s not like you’re f*cking after or anything

* And honestly you kinda wanna see how this whole Bella-Jacob ship plays out 

* “Well I don’t-“ Bella starts

* “We’d love to!” Jessica interrupts, and then taking a nervous glance at Edward she adds:

* “That is if you don’t mind?”

* Queue everyone looking at Edward. He looks at you, a small pout bowing onto your lips and let’s out a deep sigh

* “No of course not, I’ll get the tickets and meet you at the gate.” He says with a resigned smile

* He leans down, catching your lips in his. You know you don’t have a beating heart, but you feel it stutter when he pulls away and smiles at you

* “See you in a bit daring” and then he walks towards the empty “reserved pass” line

* Darling?

* DARLING???

* (Y/N).Exe is broken

* And you would stay broken if Jessica and Bella didn’t each grab a shoulder and shake you.

* “Oh my god what was that?!?!” Jessica shrieks

* “Are you guys like...dating now?” Bella grins

* “Yeah, I guess we are?” The human part of you understands that you’ve just agreed you feel the same, and that you have just started a relationship

* But the vampire part of you, the primal part, knows it’s so much more than that

* He’s your mate

* And saving any major changes, he is yours for as long the universe will permit 

* “Wait are you guys on a date right now?” Jessica asks, and it pulls you right out of your thoughts

* She’s worried she’s intruding

* “No-I mean maybe? Honestly we both just wanted an excuse to get out of the house.” You sigh

* “Are the rest of the Cullen’s not taking it well?” 

* You do live together, and you’re at that age. Sure Emmett and Rosalie and together, but that seems to be under more transparent circumstances 

* So imagine her surprise when you card your fingers through your hair

* “No they’re taking it too well!” 

* Last night you basically rotated between coven members as they all told you how happy they were you were with Edward now

* “Honestly I thought the nerd would never find the nerve” Emmett confided in you

* “Eleazer you’ll never guess what happened....we’re going to be brothers!” You had heard Carlisle tell Eleazer over the phone before breaking down into tears

* “Carlisle stop crying, the venom is going to make a hole in the floor.” Esme shouted before turning her attention back to you

* “So what colors do you like (Y/N)? I’m partial to gold and white myself-“ she said pointing the color combination examples in her wedding book 

* They were driving you crazy.

* “Carlisle keeps rotating between smiling and crying because ‘two kids are leaving the house’ and Tanya called to give me the most smug speech about it- I just need a break.”

* You sigh

* “Wait-did all of this happen after the party?” Bella asks with a smile creeping onto her face

* Before you can answer though, you see Edward walking towards you

* “We’ll talk about this later” Jessica whispers, not that it matters, going on the smirk on Edward’s lips he already heard everything

* “So Tanya called you huh?” He whispers in your ear when the others move ahead

* His breath fanning against your ear causes your stomach to flip. You’ve been around him so long, you almost started to forget how hot he was.

* “Yeah, she’s basically hoping I crush your heart so she can get revenge.”

* You’re mostly joking, but given past history, you know she wouldn’t mind if that’s how things turned out anyway

* “That’s fair.” He looks almost sad. What the hell happened between them to make him like this?

* You want to ask, but you feel like now isn’t the best time. Not when Jessica and Bella are a mere five feet away arguing about whether to see the jellyfish or penguins first

* So you do the only thing you can: You reach out and hold his hand, squeezing it slightly. Edward doesn’t say anything, he just squeezes back

* It’s a pretty nice day, Bella’s dad bought her a digital camera so you take a bunch of cheesy pictures around the aquarium

* “Oh try to get one like a shark is eating us! Like I’m in Jaws!”

* “You know they’re an endangered species and that stupid movie doesn’t help right?” 

* “There is no ethical consumption under capitalism Bella”

* Edward just makes a pained expression as he holds up the camera. All he wanted to do was go on a date with his significant other

* “Girls am I right?” Jacob asks, extending his bag of popcorn

* For a second you think Edward might hate him, but instead a smile arch’s onto his face

* “You have no idea.” He smiles, taking a few kernels.

* Aw, it’s Edward’s first human friend 💖

* You kinda wish you were the one with a camera now, or at least a smart phone

* Instead you settle for a grainy picture on your flip phone. They both look at you like confused puppy's when the shutter clicks 

* “Aw that’s a cute one” Jessica coo’s

* “You even got a shark in the back” Bella says pointing to a blurry gray blob in the background

* It’s a good day 

* You’re almost sad when you have to part at the end 

* “You sure you guys don’t want to come with us? Jessica’s dad is letting us have his reservation at the revolving restaurant in the space needle”

* You and Edward exchange a look

* “Nah it’s fine, I’m pretty sure Esme is wondering when we’re coming home” 

* “She’ll be pissed if we eat there without here.” You add for good measure 

* “Well alright we’ll see you at school tomorrow” Jessica says with a wave, and you smile

* “See you tomorrow”

* Looks like things are back to normal

* Edward drives on the way back

* You hold the plush sea turtle close to your chest as you watch him

* He really is handsome, chiseled cheekbones and full rosy lips. To add he has that mane of auburn hair, and that irresistible splatter of freckles across his nose 

* The prettiest boy you’ve ever seen

* “I can feel you staring” he says with a smile twitching onto his lips. Oh god you want to kiss that stupid smile right off his mouth

* “What went wrong with you and Tanya?”

* Way to kill the vibe

* “I’m sure Tanya told you all about it.” He shrugs. There’s that sad look again

* “I want to hear about it from you though” 

* And Edward might have denied you if your hand hadn’t found his, resting on top of it 

* He grins

* You don’t play fair, do you?

* He sighs, squeezing your hand while keeping his eyes on the road

* “I just...didn’t like the way she thought about me”

* “Like you were a piece of meat?” 

* He laughs

* “Like I was some charity case besides-“ he stops abruptly, looking at you before swallowing hard. “Never mind”

* “No tell me!” You lean forward cradling your hand intertwined with his against your chest and he chuckles, you really don’t play fair

* “ I didn’t-I don’t feel attraction to people unless-“

* He looks into your eyes, and you feel his fingers squirm against yours 

* “Unless we’re friends first” 

* Oh, he’s asexual. 

*Or  demisexual. 

* Somewhere on the spectrum for sure

* Is he coming out to you right now? 

* You give his hand a squeeze 

* “I get that.”

* You want to smack yourself. 

* The boy you love just came out to you about his sexuality and all you can say is ‘I get that’ 

* You feel so useless

* But Edward doesn’t let you feel useless for too long, he squeezes back looking at you with such warm eyes

* And again you can’t help but think that even though his heart doesn’t beat anymore, he looks so human

* He’s just pulled into the driveway at the house, the car parked. He’s about to say something when you cut him off, tugging him closer to you and placing your lips on his

* If he’s surprised he doesn’t show it, placing his free hand on your shoulder and leaning a bit closer to you 

* He’s so careful and gentle...and dazzling 

* He’s barely touching you but you can feel yourself seeing stars

* That thing he does with his tongue-it’s indescribable 

* Are you sure he’s a virgin?!?

* You can’t help the sigh that passes your lips when he pulls away. You’re still in a daze when he pulls you into his lap, one leg straddled on each side 

* His head is tilted back, an easy smile on his mouth. 

* You suddenly feel shy, that look in his eyes should be illegal 

* “So-“ you lean back a bit “do you-um-do you have feelings like that for me?”

* He tilts his head to the side in confusion and you gulp

* “Y’know sexually speaking” 

* He actually laughs at you

* Right there, when you’re only a handful of inches away from his face

* But you’re not annoyed, instead all you can feel is a rush of affection

* His eyes crinkle at the ends, his pearly white fangs sparkling as he grins. Your hands cup his face as he looks up at you with adoration 

* You can imagine the rosy blush that would light his face so clearly, the deep emerald green of his eyes. You’re almost starving for the image you see in your mind to be real

* He pulls you out of the image with a simple touch. His arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer

* “I - like the rest of the entire student population at Forks High School- find you absolutely bewitching” 

* The way he says it makes you shiver, and Edward’s hand trails up your back. 

*He sits a little straighter, bouncing you slightly in his lap as he does, so you’re looking straight into his eyes

* “I find it hard to believe you don’t know that I have been dying inside everyday watching you walk around in those short shorts you love so much,” he whispers in your ear. 

*“That I haven’t been dying to absolutely ravish you .”

* You gulp.

* It’s all you can do when he’s looking at you like that

* If you thought Garrett’s bedroom eyes were intense, then Edward is on an entire different level

* You feel your heart stutter, butterflies erupting in your stomach...and something else

* A certain heat you haven’t felt in a long time

* You’ve never seen him look at anything like that, like he’s hungry- 

* Starving even 

* His lips brush against your neck, trailing down to your collar bone and you sigh

* He really knows everything about you doesn’t he? All your sweet spots, all your stories, every one of your secrets.

* Your hand trails up his chest, entangling in his hair and a low gasp tumbles from his lips

* And then your phone rings

* You hear him groan, and you shake your head

* “Ignore it” you mumble, your mouth meeting his once more 

* And you continue on for a few moments, until his phone rings

*He pulls away from you with a groan

* “Rosalie’s calling me a long list of profanities right now” he mumbles, you sigh pulling away to lean against the steering wheel 

* It’s probably for the best, no point in getting too turned on when you knew he was going to say ‘you should wait until marriage’

* Like honestly, he died, and you died, and now you live an alternative lifestyle where literally nothing matters anymore 

* But you’ll respect his wishes 

* “Guess we should go inside” You sigh, you move to get off of him

* But just as your about to crawl off, he tugs you to face him once more

* His thumb brushes over your cheek, and those deep gold eyes bore at you with that same intensity as before 

* He pulls you in for one last kiss, before getting out of the car and closing the door behind him

* “We’ll pick up where we left off later.” 

* (Y/N).exe is broken

* You walk to the house slowly, like humans do 

* “Are you ready?” He asks, holding out his hand

* You smile, placing your hand in his and nodding

* “Ready”

* So imagine your surprise when you and Edward get inside, hand in hand, to find the entire coven is laughing in the living room. 

* From where you’re standing you can only see Carlisle 

* “Ah your home! Come, I want you both to meet someone-“ 

* You move forward but Edward stays rooted to the spot

* Three people come into view, a woman with flaming red hair, a man -no older than 25- with rich mahogany skin, and a dazzling young man with hair the color of the sun.

* “Meet our new friends, Victoria, James and Laurent” 

* You turn to look at Edward, his mouth pinched into a frown

* Well F*ck 

Tags:  @moonlights27​ @thebluetint​ @the100thtwilight​ @awesomebooklover17​ @oneofthepotterheads​ @smileygirl08​ @imdoingathingmom​ @iconicgguk​ @yrawn​ @alyciaswhore​ @little-horror-show​ @wicked-watering-can​ @lazydreamers​ @ xxxmuxxx @ideas-for-you-to-adopt​​​ @poisoinedhope @maryleigh8796​​ @moose-squirrel-asstiel​​ @hotmessgoodness​ @jaimewho​ @corabmarie​ @what-am-i-doing10​ @alluring-venus​ @imdoingathingmom @anotheryooniverse​ @im-tired-not-sleepy​ @emmettcullenisahimbo​ @my-super-musical-life​ @smolvampiregirl​ @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream​ @mihikaahujaaa @werewolflover3252​ @teenagezombiekryptonite @shynz​ @reclusive-chicken-nugget​ @monkeyluver4546​

[thirstyforcharacters]

When the Universe Collides (Sam Wilson x Reader)

Summary: Every person has a soulmate. When your soulmate experiences pain, so do you, and any bruises, scars, or other markings that they get appear on your skin. Or, the story of how smacking yourself in the face with a cabinet was the best thing to ever happen to you.

Notes: Hi! Since the first episode of Falcon and the Winter Soldier comes out today, I wanted to write something for Sam! He’s super underrated and deserves more love! Also, this soulmate AU is extremely self-indulgent and has absolutely nothing to do with the TV show, but tbh I don’t care. Hope you all enjoy it too! (no y/n, no pronouns) (PS: any italicized text is Sam texting and the italicized and bold text is the reader texting!)

Warnings: mentions of a stab wound (nothing explicit), cursing I guess 

WC: 2.2 k

Your soulmate must have one hell of a job.

Almost every day, you woke up with dark bruises covering your body. It seemed that whenever one faded, another took its place. At completely random times, you would double over in aches that you certainly didn’t inflict upon yourself. One time, in the middle of the night, you woke up with pain in your stomach so intense, it felt like someone had stabbed you! It turned out that it was a stab wound, but given that no one had stabbed you lately (or ever), you figured it was from your soulmate. You definitely didn’t appreciate that hospital bill.

But you still desperately wanted to meet them. Meet that person that completed you: your other half. As a teenager, you made your parents tell you the story of the day they finally met so many times, you knew it by memory. They were both in the library at college, and your mom dropped a psychology textbook on her foot! Her howl of pain was only matched by the “SON OF A BITCH” that came from your dad on the opposite side of the library. When the two of them made eye contact, they instantly knew they were the ones for each other (they were also immediately kicked out for making such a ruckus). You wanted to have that moment so badly; meeting your soulmate was a huge milestone in every person’s life, and you needed it.

Your best friend and roommate, Brianna, had met hers just two months ago. They had met at the beach, when out of nowhere, Bri had shrieked in shock and pain.

“A crab just pinched me!”

When you had looked at her foot and told her nothing was there, she was totally confused, until you saw a handsome guy with a crab hanging from his foot! He had introduced himself as Julian, and the two had been inseparable since. He was living with you now, and you had honestly never felt more lonely in your life. Sure, you had your dream career; you ran a music shop in New York City, selling instruments, making repairs, and meeting all sorts of interesting people. You had a decent apartment, a chill best friend, and the cutest Yorkie, named Muffin, on the planet. By all accounts, you had it pretty good. You were just missing your other half.

It was a rainy day in NYC. The chill of winter was still clinging onto the March air, and you shivered as you trudged from your apartment to your shop. Even though you had an umbrella to protect you from the rain, the wind blew right through the too-thin jacket you yanked off of the coatrack in a rush. Still holding your half-eaten toaster strudel in your hand, you pushed open the doors to Major Instruments and Minor Repairs, your pride and joy.

It was two floors: the first was where you sold instruments, and the repair shop was above. Acoustic panels were attached to the burnt red walls to help quiet down the place, since the hardwood floors didn’t do much to help with that. The checkout desk was directly in the center in the room. Surrounding it were reeds, bottles of valve oil, and guitar strings. Picks were placed in two clear, plastic bowls on the desk itself. In the front left corner of the room was a grand piano, situated right in the window so passersby could see whenever someone plucked its keys. The entire back wall was covered in guitars and basses. To the right of the desk was a large drumset, accompanied by a pair of drumsticks and brushes. On the right wall were string instruments; string basses and cellos were leaned against the wall, while the violins, violas, and bows were displayed on it. Woodwind and brass instruments were scattered across the room in various display cases. Instrument stands, bow rosin, and miscellaneous instrument parts were on shelves throughout the room as well. The spiral staircase leading up to the repair shop was in the back left corner of the room. Behind the staircase was the door to the back store room, where you kept your extra supplies and also where you took your breaks.

“Good morning!” called Andrew, one of your closest friends from college, from behind the desk.

You waved in reply, wandering to the back store room. You were lucky you had Andrew; you could rely on him to run the front desk while you and Brianna assisted customers on the floor. Unfortunately, Bri had the flu today, so it would just be you on the floor, which would make things a little more hectic. You hurriedly finished your strudel, took off your jacket, which left you in a black and white flannel, a matching black tank top reading “Music is Life,” black leggings, and black combat boots (you had an aesthetic to uphold), and strode back out to the main area.

“You seem in a bit of a rush. Everything okay?” asked Andrew, who was currently restocking bell covers.

You sighed, “Just a whirlwind of a morning. Bri has the flu, Muffin nearly choked on a chicken bone, I almost burned my toaster strudel, and I smacked myself in the face with my cabinet door by accident.”

“Oh, that’s where the new bruise on your eye is from,” he mused.

You snorted, “Yeah, for once it’s not from my soulmate.”

“Maybe he’s a spy. Or a superhero!”

“Yeah, or a criminal,” you joined in on the restocking, grabbing some trumpet mutes since the place opened in just half an hour, “thanks for opening up, by the way.”

“It’s no problem,” he replied, “you know I don’t mind.”

The doorbell jingled and two of your instrument repair people, Sarah (for strings), and Natalie (for brass), entered. Natalie was lugging what was unmistakably a tuba case, while Sarah carried both of their instrument repair kits.

“Morning, ladies!” called Andrew.

“Good morning,” Sarah replied pleasantly.

Natalie huffed out a “morning” and dragged the tuba up the stairs.

“Her tuba’s broken. The tubing that holds up her mouthpiece completely snapped off. She’s going to try and repair it before her appointments today,” explained Sarah.

You winced, “That’s rough.”

Sarah dropped off both of their jackets and followed Natalie up the stairs leaving you alone with Andrew again. Soon after, Erik, your percussion guy, and John, the woodwind repairman, arrived, and it was time for the shop to open. For a while, it was just another mundane Thursday. Customers came and went. People tested the piano and drumsets, someone bought $100 worth of jazz scores, and a teenaged boy came in who somehow got a ping pong ball stuck in their trombone (you learned to never ask). But at exactly 1:47 pm, a time you would never forget, two very unexpected customers walked through the threshold of your store. You were up on a ladder, carrying a large, rather heavy, box of violin bows to situate on the wall, when you heard their voices.

“I’m telling you, Buck, I’m a wizard at the saxophone.”

“Sure, Sam. I’ll believe it when I hear it.”

“I’m serious, dude! I played all the time before I joined the military, and I picked it back up a little bit again after the whole Avengers thing. I just need to get a new one.”

“Hmm, okay. We’ll see.”

“Bastard.”

You whipped your head around and saw the Falcon and the Winter Soldier themselves in your shop. Having superheros in your place was a first. And who knew Sam Wilson played the saxophone?

Andrew offered them a cheerful greeting and directed them toward the saxophones, which happened to be near the ladder you were teetering on. Every time you leaned up to put a bow on display, it wobbled so badly you thought you were going to fall. You really needed to allocate some funds toward a new one.

As you continued to place bows on display, you heard the conversation of the two gentlemen browsing the saxophones. Apparently, Sam much preferred the tenor sax (which you happened to play, quite well you might add). Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pick up a Selmer Paris model and inspect it. Those didn’t come cheap, but you were sure that saving the world gave a man a pretty decent paycheck.

“You think I can test it out?”

“I don’t know, dude. You should probably ask.”

You saw him nod, “Yeah, I guess so. And there’s not a reed in here, anyway. Excuse me!”

You realized he was calling you, so you craned your head to look at him. Both men were looking up at you, both with kind smiles on their faces.

“Is there any way I can get a cheap reed to test this out with,” Sam asked, “and are we even allowed to test them in store?”

You smiled back, “Yes, you can. We have test reeds at the front desk, just ask Andrew and he’ll give you one. That’s the only one you’ll get though.”

“Cool, thanks,” he replied while looking around, “nice place you’ve got here.”

Your smile grew a little wider, “Thank you! It took a little while to get it off of the ground, but I’m really proud of how it turned out.”

It was almost as if the universe wanted you to suffer. You stretched up to display yet another bow, and the ladder toppled to the ground, taking you with it! You shrieked in surprise and braced yourself for the impact with the floor.

But it never came.

Instead, you were caught in a pair of (ridiculously) muscular arms. When you looked into the arms of your hero, of course it was Sam himself. He was too handsome for his own good. The thing that stood out most to you were his deep brown eyes. And how, on the left one, was a bruise that exactly matched the one that you gave yourself this morning.

“Are you alright? That ladder must have it out for you,” joked Sam, though you could tell that he was concerned for you.

“I’m okay,” you squeaked, “thank you.”

“It’s no problem. All a part of the job.”

You nodded distractedly, still fixated on the bruise adorning his eye. He couldn’t be your soulmate, could he?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he questioned.

“I-yes. I just got a bit, well, distracted.”

“By what?”

Well, it was now or never. You might as well just go for it.

“When did you get that bruise?”

He looked a bit surprised by the question, “The one on my eye?”

You nodded.

“This morning. It just popped up. Hurt a little bit, like something hit me in the face. Can’t be worse than what I’ve given my soulmate, though. I got stabbed in the stomach once and all I could think about was how confused and hurt they must’ve been,” came his reply.

It was him. It had to be! All of your random, serious injuries made so much more sense now.

“It did hurt,” you murmured back, “but not as much as the hospital bill.”

His face went from apologetic to elated faster than you had ever seen, “Wait, that means it’s you?”

“I think so,” you said, “I hit myself in the eye with a cabinet door this morning, and that-” you gestured to his face, “matches mine.”

“Oh, it does!” he exclaimed.

“Are you two done over there?” complained Bucky.

Thankfully, the Winter Solider had successfully rescued your box of bows.

Sam stood you up, and you could feel the embarrassment slowly creeping over you, “Yeah. Sorry about that, guys. Promise I’m not usually that clumsy.”

“Seems like you need a new ladder,” Bucky told you.

“You don’t say,” you sassed back, prompting a laugh from Sam.

Bucky then strode off to return the fallen box to Andrew. He gave Sam a knowing look as he passed by. He wasn’t very slick, though, you totally saw him.

“Listen, since apparently we’re soulmates and all, I’d love it if I got your number. I’ll take you somewhere nice to make up for all of the times I’ve gotten you hurt,” explained Sam.

You smiled bashfully, “That sounds nice.”

He handed you his phone and you input your digits. As Sam and Bucky were in the checkout line, your phone buzzed.

Hey, gorgeous. It’s your new man.

You giggled softly and looked up at him. He gave you an exaggerated wink and launched finger guns at you, making you laugh a bit harder. You entered his number into your phone and decided to send a text back.

Looking forward to you making up for all of those broken bones.

Me too.

You knew you’d be happy with him. Whenever the universe collided in this way, it always turned out for the best. If your parents and your roommate weren’t enough proof, soon you would discover it for yourself. You couldn’t wait for all of the memories you’d make together.

[rocorambles]

Omg thank you 🥺 I’m the anon who took the LSAT this weekend. You’re so sweet, and your response really made me feel better about the whole thing. I thought of a Noya request, but again, no worries if you’re too busy!

Tbh I would really love a Noya who’s a little frustrated because reader’s been busy working and not giving him much attention. Maybe he’s starting to notice she’s burning out and decides he’s got to get her to take a break. And after a bit of initial resistance they share a nice smutty evening...

I’m glad my response made you feel better and I hope this drabble only adds to the good vibes~

Warnings: NSFW

Nishinoya knows how important studying is for you, how much you love the path you’ve chosen, even if he doesn’t understand your fondness for countless cups of coffee and a handful of hours of sleep (if even that). He loves watching the way your brows furrow as you scan over your notes and textbooks, loves observing how beautiful and passionate you are as your eyes light up when something clicks in your head, loves nodding along as you excitedly go on and on about an interesting case you read through. He doesn’t really understand what you’re saying and can’t really follow along, but that’s alright. You’re happy, so he’s happy and he rests his head on your lap as you pore over more and more pages. 

But Nishinoya has never been known to be patient or for his self-control and he grows more and more antsy as your exams come up and you barely spare him even a good morning or a chaste kiss, too busy squinting at your laptop or accidentally falling asleep right on your desk mid-study session. 

It would be one thing if this was just another exam or assignment that was due and as frustrating as it is, Nishinoya is fairly good at entertaining himself, his right hand getting some extra exercise in as he keeps him and his libido from distracting you until he can pounce on you the second you’re done. 

But it isn’t and he can feel distress mixing with his touch starved appetite as he sees the fire he had loved about you dwindling down to mere embers, as he feels anxiety, stress, and doubt tearing you apart. And when he hears you sobbing alone in the bathroom one late night when you think he’s fast asleep, he can’t hold himself back any longer. 

You shriek as the bathroom door is slammed upon, hastily trying to hide your tear-stained face away from your lover. But maybe you needed this more than you had thought because as soon as you feel familiar wiry arms tug you in close and inhale Nishinoya’s comforting scent, you’re breaking down again, soaking his shirt with your tears as you clutch onto him, basking in the way he just silently holds you and lets you cry away the heavy weight on your shoulders, sharing your burden with him. 

The silence doesn’t last long though and you giggle when you can practically feel Nishinoya vibrate in anticipation, guiltily trying not to push you so fast after your emotional breakdown, but also doing a terrible job hiding how excited he is about getting to hold you in his arms once again. You suppose he deserves a reward for all his self-control and if you’re being honest, now that you’re here, pressed against his toned body, arousal begins to flicker through your pent-up body. And in silent encouragement, you playfully plant your lips against his, humming in pleasure at the feel of his skin against your before pulling away with a slight nip to his lower lip and a mischievous smile on your lips at the wide-eyed look of shock and hope on his face. 

You squeal when strong arms quickly lift you up, Nishinoya bounding towards your shared bedroom and throwing you on to the soft mattress. But your laughter is swiftly cut off by breathy moans and gasps as hungry lips kiss and suck your neck and collarbone, greedy hands roughly kneading your breasts while simultaneously ridding you of any pesky fabric that inhibits their access, Nishinoya’s groin eagerly grinding against yours. 

And then you’re wailing, internally cursing yourself for not letting him do this sooner, for withholding this pleasure from both of you these past few months of studying as a hot wet mouth wraps around your nipples, tongue flicking the aroused buds, calloused fingertips diving between your already drenched pussy alternating between fondling your clit and stretching you open. 

But as much as Nishinoya could happily lose himself in just playing with your chest, his throbbing cock and heavy balls ache in need and desperation and deeming you sufficiently prepared, he slips inside of you in one smooth motion, groaning when he’s finally balls deep inside of you, biting hard on his lower lip as he uses every last bit of restraint he has to not just fuck you hard into the mattress in a chase to his own end. 

Confused, you whine, weakly pawing at your lover, tightening your sopping wet pussy around his cock to spur him on. But your face heats up when intense eyes pin you down, lust and love swirling in an intoxicating cocktail, moaning into the sloppy kiss he bestows upon you, returning his feverishly muttered mantra of “I love you, I love you, I love you”, eyes rolling in the back of your head as he smoothly ruts in and out of you all the while. 

It’s intoxicating, addicting, the way his cock drags and rubs against your walls, nudging at the spongy spot inside of you that has your jaw going slack. But you want more, more, more and how can Nishinoya resist when you’re screaming his first name, begging and pleading like your life depends on it, like you need his cock to survive? 

And just like that, any self-control he had shatters to pieces as he brutally slams into you, pounding in and out of your gummy walls, losing himself in the lewd symphony of your bodies connecting and your pleasured cries echoing through the room. You’re not faring any better and your orgasm crashes over you, surprising you with its intensity and suddenness, body convulsing and writhing underneath your lover and as your walls clamps down around him, milking him, he thrusts one last time inside of you, filling you deep inside as he empties his balls inside of you, marking you with hot sticky white stripes. 

There’s only the sound of your panting breaths as he collapses next to you, exhaustedly pulling your still twitching body into his arms and you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, letting yourself bask in the sweet blissful afterglow, heavy eyelids fluttering shut. 

But a dopey smile spreads across your face and you deliriously laugh at the cheeky comment that flits through your ear before you fall fast asleep. 

“We should do more of these study breaks.”

[cacoetheswriting]

unrequited love - spencer reid

Warnings: mild cursing, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of murder, usual criminal minds stuff tbh Word Count: 2.6k Requested By: anonymous : “can you write a spencer reid fic? something ansgsty maybe..”. 

--

No one understands why you do certain things even when you know you're never going to get anything back. - Shahul Hussain

QUANTICO, VIRGINA

The smell of freshly brewed coffee was probably your favourite, especially at ungodly hours of the morning. Closing your eyes for a brief moment you could feel a sort of calm and warmth surround you. The aroma slowly awoke your senses. Your lips touched the brim of the white mug in your hand and you took a slow sip.

“Good morning Y/L/N.” Derek Morgan appeared beside you. You looked up at him from your mug. “I brought you a coffee but I can see you couldn't wait.” He joked holding up a paper cup. “You know me Derek, I’ll take all the caffeine I can get.” You replied grabbing the cup from him. “Especially at four in the morning.” Derek smirked. “Yeah, they have to stop doing that to us.” 

With two coffees in hand, you made your way to the conference room. The rest of the team was already there. You sat at your usual seat, placing the coffees on the table in front of you, and turned your attention to the screen.

“Morning my lovelies.” Penelope began. “I would say good but there is nothing good about it given the case we have been asked to wor-” “Garcia.” Hotch interrupted briefly encouraging her to get to the point. “Right. Yes. No time to waste.” Penelope cleared her throat and fixed her glasses.

“Last night, twenty-five year old Millie Moore didn't return home after her shift at a bar in Riverside, California. Her body was discovered this morning in a dumpster behind her workplace.”

“The killer wanted her to be found.” JJ stated. There was a brief pause before Penelope continued. 

“The kidnapping and murder was linked to four other cases in the state of California spanning over the last month.” The images filled the screen causing you to clench your fists in disgust. 

The small rather insignificant action was observed by the brunette man sitting across from you. Unnoticed by everyone else at the table, Spencer’s eyes focused on your hands before travelling up to your face. He examined the look spread across your features, trying to figure out what was on your mind. 

“He definitely has a type.” Rossi noticed. “Any signs of sexual assault?” Derek questioned. “Yes, actually all of the victims displayed signs of uhm.” Garcia couldn’t bare to finish her sentence. 

“Given the small cooling off period between each victim, we need to assume the unsub has his next target already picked out.” Hotch stated. “Garcia can finish briefing us on the plane. Wheels up in twenty.”

The group nodded at each other and all got up from their seats - all but you. For some reason you couldn't avert your eyes from the gruesome images that filled the screen. 

“Y/N...” Spencer’s soft whisper brought you back to reality. He stood just a few steps away. You titled your head to look at him noticing a concerned look spread on his face. “They look like me Spence. The victims, they all look like me.” 

Spencer cleared his throat. “Humans in fact, aren’t that genetically diverse. So eventually, the numbers would dictate that certain features resembling yours and another persons will randomly combine.” He paused. 

“But that doesn’t mean they are an exact duplicate of you.” He smiled hoping you would smile back. “You’re right, sorry. It’s just a little weird.” “We’ve had weirder.” Spencer said as you got to your feet. The young doctor grabbed one of the coffees for you as you grabbed the other and followed you out to the pit. 

“You know caffeine increases alertness by blocking a brain chemical called adenosine that makes you feel tired, while at the same time triggering the release of adrenalin that’s known to increase energy.” Spencer stated placing the coffee cup he was holding on your desk. 

“If the amount of caffeine is high enough, these effects are stronger, resulting in caffeine-induced anxiety.” You finished the fact for him, slightly rolling your eyes. “Yes Spence, I know. You tell me this every time I have more than one mug in the morning.” The smart doctor shrugged smiling at you. He grabbed his go-bag from underneath his desk and waited for you. 

The friendship you shared with Spencer was an odd one. The two of you were quite close when you were still at the academy. He helped you study for all your tests and was always one to share tips on how to complete certain tasks. 

A couple of years go by without contact. At that point you were a field agent in New York, which is where you reconnected on a case. The spark was instant although neither of you wanted to admit it. This time Spencer stayed in touch. It was clear then that whatever undiscovered feelings he had for you back when you first met resurfaced - but you weren’t ready to explore whether you felt the same.

Next thing you know you were getting a call from Aaron Hotchner with an offer to join the BAU. Something, you later found out, Spencer had fought to get organised. 

It felt like you played with his heart. To an outsider it probably even looked like that - he fell in love with a girl and landed her a dream job in hopes that she would love him back. 

RIVERSIDE, CALIFORNIA

“What if we’re dealing with a disgruntled boyfriend or husband?” JJ posed the question. “He lost someone in his life that resembled the victims.” “Then why kill them?” Derek questioned. 

The team was gathered around a conference table brainstorming. Spencer was the only one not sitting down, not unusual for Dr. Reid. He was pacing around the bullpen talking on the phone, probably with Penelope. 

Your eyes lingered on the back of his head for a moment through the glass window. Something Derek noticed immediately. “Where’s your head at Y/L/N?” You turned your attention to the rest of the team. “What if JJ is right in a way? But rather than a significant other, what if the unsub was rejected by these women or someone who looks like them?” 

Derek nodded his head in understanding. Your eyes scanned the team waiting for anyone sitting at the table to suggest something else. It was Rossi who opened his mouth next however whatever was on his mind was interrupted by Spencer storming into the room.

“Where’s your mind at pretty boy?” Derek questioned leaning back in his chair. “I spoke with Garcia. All of the victims had social media accounts and tagged-” He approached the map pinned to one of the boards. “- three different spots in this location before they were murdered.” With a red pen, Spencer circled one area on the map. 

“The hunting ground.” Rossi stated and everyone else nodded.

“Let’s split up.” Hotch began. “Reid, go with Y/L/N. Derek and Rossi, and JJ you’re with me. I’ll get Garcia to send us the exact addresses, hopefully one of these places will bring us a step closer to catching the unsub.” 

The team got to their feet and one by one left the conference room, leaving you alone with Spencer. “Ready partner?” He asked smiling at you. “Always.” 

It didn't take long to get there, traffic was unusually quiet for California. Plus whenever you’re with Spencer the conversation flow makes the moments pass by quickly - you never run out of things to talk about.

“Looks closed.” You said getting out of the car, shutting the door behind you. “Strange, it’s the middle of the day.” Spencer noted as he walked around the hood. The two of you glanced at each other before moving forward towards the entrance of the coffee shop.

The door wasn't locked so you made your way inside. A small ‘ding’ from the bell above your heads signalised you have entered the premises. An eerie feeling came over you. 

The lights were switched off. The chairs were placed neatly on the tables. Menus were carefully stacked beside the register, sugar bowls placed in a row along the countertop. A wet floor sign was placed in the middle of the room. You walked around it carefully, that’s when you noticed the strong smell. 

“Is that?” You asked looking at Spencer. “It smells like bleach.” The young doctor stated back, his hand travelled to his gun. Slowly, with one hand on your weapon holster, you made your way around the countertop. That’s when you felt someone grab you from behind. A shriek escaped your mouth getting Spencer’s attention. 

The unknown male held your arms behind your back as he led you back towards the middle of the coffee shop - using you as a human shield. He kicked over the yellow sign and stopped. You could feel his hot breath against your skin, it made you sick. “Let her go.” Spencer stated sternly, pointing his gun.

“I’m going to walk out of here.” The male said. “And you’re going to let me.” You watched Spencer shake his head. “I can’t let you do that.” His response wasn't what the man wanted to hear. Frustrated, he drew your weapon from the holster and placed it to your temple causing the air to catch in your throat.

“How about now?” The man sounded angrier. He could sense your fear, just like you could sense Spencer’s. The young doctor met your gaze briefly before looking back at the man holding you. 

“What’s your name?” Spencer asked. The man scoffed. “I’m not telling you shit!” “Tell me your name and maybe we can sort something out.” Spencer said calmly, his gun still pointing in your direction.

There was a brief moment of heavy silence before the man snarled: “You first.”

“My name is Dr. Spencer Reid and the woman you are now holding at gunpoint, that’s Agent Y/N Y/L/N.” You could feel the man shift, as if he was trying to get a better look at you before he turned his attention to Spencer again. “Theo.” He said simply. 

“Nice to meet you Theo. How old are you Theo?” “What’s that got to do with anything?!” 

Your whole body was shaking at this point. 

“O-okay Theo. Tell me this instead, why did you kill all of those women?” “I didn’t hurt anyone!” Theo snapped. “Only a guilty man would hold a federal agent at gunpoint.” Spencer pointed out. “Shut up!” Theo lowered the gun from your temple and pointed it at Spencer. A lone tear escaped the corner of your eye. 

“Why did you kill them Theo?” Spencer asked again. 

“They deserved it.” Theo answered after a brief moment of silence. “They hurt me!” “How did they hurt you Theo?” The man’s grip around you tightened. “They just hurt me!” He screamed. “Now let me go or I swear, she’s next!” The gun was back at your temple. 

Spencer met your scared gaze. The look in his eye was almost as if to say everything was going to be okay, that he was going to get you out of this. You tried to smile. You even mouthed “It’s okay.” at which Spencer’s jaw locked - he wasn’t going to lose you, not like this. 

“Those women hurt you Theo? I know exactly what that feels like.” Spencer said calmly. “Being hurt by someone you love.” You could feel Theo nod against your head. His grip loosened slightly.  

“Do you know what unrequited love is Theo?” Spencer asked and without waiting for a response continued. “It’s love not reciprocated or returned. It’s when you love someone and they don't love you back, they don't acknowledge your love.” Spencer stated. At this point you were crying. Lone droplets escaped your eyes and traced down your cheeks. 

“That’s how those women made you feel, right? As if you weren’t worthy to love them.” Spencer said. You could feel the hurt in his voice.

“They didn't see me.” Theo said, his voice shaky. “They didn't care!” He exclaimed taking a step forward. In doing so, his grip around you loosened completely and you were able to turn around while grabbing his arm that was holding the gun.

Theo kneed you in the stomach causing you to fall back a little. When you looked up he had the gun pointed at you. 

“If you shoot her, I shoot you.” Spencer said sternly, his weapon once again drawn and pointed at the unsub. Theo scoffed. “She's the one that hurt you, isn't she?” Spencer didn't respond. “I figure I’d be doing you a favour then.” 

The sound of the gun being cocked caused your heart to stop. Yet Spencer was quicker. He fired one shot, hitting Theo in the shoulder. This enabled you to overpower the unsub and disarm him.

“Call for backup.” The young doctor said kneeling down beside you. “Spence-” “Call for backup.” He repeated without looking at you. Without saying another word, that’s exactly what you did. 

BAU Jet

The sound of silence filled the plane. Everyone was exhausted to say the least, and catching up on necessary sleep. Yet every time you closed your eyes you felt uncomfortable. Spencer’s words from the coffeeshop kept ringing in your ears, the broken look on his face overwhelmed your brain. 

Slowly, you got to your feet and walked down the jet. The young doctor was sitting alone at the back of the aircraft, head buried in a book. 

“Hey.” You whispered loud enough to get his attention. His head popped up, his eyes met yours. “Hi.” 

“Mind if I sit down?” You asked politely pointing to the empty seat. “Not at all. Make yourself comfortable.” He placed the book down as you made yourself comfortable. 

“Can’t sleep?” “I could ask you the same thing.” Spencer replied. “Well, having a gun pointed to your head isn’t exactly dreaming material.” You breathed with a soft smile. Spencer nodded his head.

There was a brief moment of silence.

“I wanted to thank you.” You said. “For saving my life.” “I was just doing my job.” Spencer replied. “Right.” You sighed and leaned your head back on the chair, breaking eye contact.

“Y/N-” “I’m sorry Spencer.” You interrupted. Confused, the young doctor asked: “Why are you apologising?” “For hurting you.” Slowly, you tilted your head to once again look at the brown haired man. His head was down, his fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

“I’m sorry for making you feel as if you weren't worthy.” “I just said that to get the unsub’s attention. I said that so he would let you go.” “We both know that's not true Spencer.” 

The young doctor sighed. “I don't know what you want me to say Y/N.” He whispered while turning his head in your direction. “You don't need to say anything.” 

Spencer lifted his hand and slowly using one finger placed a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he did. A shiver ran down your spine at the touch. 

“I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.” Spencer said, his hand now holding your face. “However, you made it obvious you don’t feel that way about me so I’ve done my best to just be your friend.” He sighed. “Y/N it’s getting really hard to just be your friend.”

He let his hand fall before shifting his body weight away from you. He leaned his head against the aircraft and looked out the window. 

Tears formed in your eyes. “Spence.” You whispered but he didn't respond. Instead, the young doctor closed his eyes.

You knew better than to keep pushing. With your fingers, you wiped the tears from your face and made yourself comfortable before also closing your eyes. 

Hoping you’d drift asleep quickly your mind wondered. Tomorrow, you would talk to him again tomorrow and everything would be just fine. Right?

Never pretend to a love which you do not actually feel, for love is not ours to command. - Alan Watts

--

masterlist

[sxfterhearts]

healed

31. [12:19 pm]

➳ pairing: yugyeom x reader

➳ genre/warnings: slow burn, fluff, slight bad boy!yugyeom, triggers; mentions of past violence, injuries, physical abuse

➳ word count: 2,725 words

➳ summary: 31. “Don’t worry about me,”

➳ author's note: this is it, the final part of this series! i hope it doesn’t let you down 😭😭 i’d love to hear your thoughts on this series, what you liked/didn’t like, and whether you’d like future drabbles in this universe!! (i’m tempted, tbh) that’s all from me, please please enjoy, lovely readers 🥰 (credits to @jinyoungot7​ for this wonderful gif that kills me everytime)

wounded // scarred // healed

A deep inhale made you giddy with joy. The familiar, sweet scent of this morning’s light drizzle lingered in the air. Although the weather was a bit too humid for your liking, you gratefully savoured the smell that filled your lungs. For some reason, being outside in the aftermath of a downpour always brought you back to that wooden counter of your parents’ restaurant. You used to watch the rain blanket the outside world from the inside as you soaked and drowned yourself in your daydreams. You were a foolish teenager back then, uncertain of the paths you would take and anxious of the future. Getting your heart broken by the one and only Kim Yugyeom was just the icing on the cake.

It was fair to say that a lot had changed since then. In the span of three years, you graduated high school, moved out of that tiny neighbourhood in Namyangju, rented a small studio apartment in Seoul and became a proud Veterinary Science student of Seoul National University.

Yet, you couldn’t help but to admit that while you had progressed into the next chapter of your life, some things will always remain the same. Like how your best friend, Yeeun, never missed out on an opportunity to lecture you over the phone from the comforts of her Busan home. You lifted the device away from your ears to save them from further damage, just as the leash of the cream Pomeranian in your care, Daisy, tugged you forwards, towards a passing bicycle. You urged the dog away from the edge of the sidewalk with a solid ‘No’, which she thankfully obeyed.

“I can’t believe that you’re not doing anything special the week before uni reopens! I mean, hello, we’re going to be spending the next twelve weeks slaving away at our desks, don’t you want to do something fun?” Yeeun shrieked in disbelief. You could imagine her shaking her head at you with that resigned look on her face, the one that signalled she had already given up trying to change your mind.

“Here, girl.” You whispered as softly as you could, trying to grab Daisy’s attention and guide her back to the adoption centre-cum-café, her temporary home. “This is fun and special, Eun. You of all people should know just how special it is to help out these cute furry little babies!”

“More like furry little rascals.” She muttered under her breath. “Come on, Y/N. I get that you’re really passionate about animals and all but just think about it – you’ll be facing these creatures for the rest of your life. You should really try something new once in a while. You know, go drinking or clubbing like a normal uni student. Besides, didn’t you just visit the centre last month for your birthday?”

She was right. You did make the one-hour trip to the adoption café on the morning of your birthday. Ever since that birthday three years ago, you always made it a point to celebrate by being in the presence of a furry companion. Taking care of another living creature, going on walks with them and picking up after them helped you to take your mind off that painful sixteenth birthday when you found out he was leaving. It became your annual ritual.

You cleared your throat, trying to get rid of the small lump triggered by those memories. “Yeah, yeah I did. I… Did I tell you about the dog that I took care of that day?”

Yeeun took a large bite of her favourite takeaway noodles before letting out a muffled “No, what about it?”

“He was… Well, he was a tiny black Pomeranian puppy, not more than four months old. He was cheerful and energetic, couldn’t wait to go on his walk.” You smiled sadly at the thought.

“Yeah…? And?”

“He reminded me so much of Charcoal. You know, the black puppy from your mum’s shelter? I walked Charcoal with him three years ago.”

“Oh, him.” Yeeun grumbled at the mention of Yugyeom.

You ignored the obvious disapproval in her tone. “Yeah, the thing is I really, really, really liked this puppy, and I was even thinking about adopting him for good. I got everything set up in my place, got the pee mats, the dog food, everything, but I came in this morning and he was gone.”

Yeeun hummed over the phone. “I’m sorry, honey. Maybe you and the puppy just weren’t meant to be.” She said, trying her best to comfort you about the adoption that fell through. “Do you still think of him? Kim Yugyeom?” Yeeun asked gently.

You sighed, catching a brief glimpse of your reflection on the windows of a cold noodle restaurant a few doors down from the adoption centre. To this day, you couldn’t enjoy a bowl of naengmyeon without your mind wandering to the boy. “Not often. Honestly, Eun, every time I think I’ve forgotten him, I’ll see something that reminds me of him and he’ll just creep back into my head.”

“You know what they always say, darling. You never really forget your first love.”

You mulled over her words as you rounded the corner towards the adoption centre, Daisy trotting a few paces in front of you. “I wouldn’t call it love, per se, it’s just-”

“Wait, hold that thought,” She interrupted. “I’m sorry honey, the boyfriend is at the door. Do you mind if we continue this later?”

“Yeah, sure, I need to go too.” You stood at the entrance of the centre, reluctant to go in and part ways with Daisy. The dog came to a rest by your feet, huddling close. “Thanks for calling and reminding me of my poor life choices!” You said, full of sarcasm.

“Hey, that’s my duty as your best friend, don’t mention it.” She chuckled. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember what I said. Go live a little, okay? You’ve already wasted too much time on Kim Yugyeom.”

“Yeah, I will.” You mumbled, agreeing with her words. “Go enjoy yourself with the boyfriend. Not too much though, and spare me the details. Talk next time!”

The two of you bid each other farewell and ended the call. Miraculously, talking to Yeeun made your chest a little lighter. Amongst countless other things, she had been there for you during Yugyeom’s abrupt departure and the initial stages of denial. She helped you draft, edit, and re-edit the numerous emails you sent to the boy, the only form of communication between you two for the first six months. She hugged you close and let you sulk on her shoulder when the emails suddenly stopped seven months after he left for Incheon. You were beyond grateful to have her as a voice of reason amongst your irrational thoughts; someone to walk with you hand in hand through the storms of life.

You made a mental note to ask your mother to send Yeeun a parcel of her prized kimchi as part of next month’s delivery. The girl never failed to mention how much she missed your parent’s cooking whenever the two of you talked on the phone.

All of a sudden, a high-pitched bark travelled across the street. You instinctively tightened your hold on Daisy’s leash, wary of the arrival of another canine. Cautiously, you watched as a four-legged, black ball of fur whizzed past the empty street, arriving before you and Daisy in a matter of seconds. As the dog grew closer and closer, recognition flashed across your mind as you noticed the dog’s distinctive white collar, a stark contrast to his coal black fur. The dog you intended to adopt this morning was wagging his tail and panting by your feet, letting out occasional playful barks at Daisy, his former neighbour. You bent down, arm reaching out to get a feel for his oh-so-soft fur–

“Dal!” A male voice, bright and awfully familiar, exclaimed between heavy breaths. “Dal, slow down, big boy! Daddy can’t…” The voice died down a notch, reducing to a whisper as its owner’s feet entered your line of sight. His entire body shaded your crouched figure from the afternoon sunshine that peeked through the clouds. “Catch up.”

A moment of silence ensued as your eyes panned upwards, scanning a pair of long legs covered in ripped jeans, then a yellow plaid shirt that was haphazardly tucked in, right up to the owner’s face. You couldn’t help the sharp gasp leaving your lips. 

Standing before you was none other than Kim Yugyeom himself. His features were more defined than ever, his wavy hair a silvery shade of platinum blonde and his ears adorned with a pair of silver hoop earrings. A single stainless-steel drop earring dangled from his earlobe, its bottom decorated with a half-crescent moon and a star. You stood there and stared at the boy you once knew, now a fine young man, just taking him in. You noticed the lack of cuts and scars on his unblemished, fully healed face. You spotted the beauty mark right under his right eye, standing out against his fair skin. You watched, mesmerised, as his lips twitched to form a slightly sheepish grin, while the tips of his ears burned and glowed into a striking shade of cherry red. Yugyeom’s eyes widened in mild surprise, his gaze lingering on your face for a few stretched out seconds before wandering away, then returning back.          

Him… It’s him… He’s here, in Seoul? But I thought he was supposed to be in Incheon, with Mark. What is he doing here? And how did he…? Your never-ending stream of thoughts swirled inside your head at an alarming rate, and you felt the onset of a splitting headache crawl up your temples.

“There you are, Y/N.” Yugyeom said finally, releasing a satisfied sigh and an airy laugh. He didn’t seem nearly half as surprised as you felt under these unlikely circumstances. In fact, you thought that the expression he wore on his face morphed into one of relief instead. “After so long, I finally found you.” He bent down to scoop the black puppy into his arms, leaving you utterly stunned. Before your mind could process the meaning behind his words, however, he suggested, “Let’s talk inside,”, gesturing towards the entrance of the adoption café. 

You gave him a meek nod, not daring to let out a sound on the off chance that you would stumble over your words and make a fool out of yourself. With the manners of a gentleman, Yugyeom held the door open for you and waited patiently as you ushered an excited Daisy into the café filled with her furry friends. He took confident, quick strides towards the barista standing behind the counter, much like the first time he had walked into your parents’ restaurant. The way he carried himself, with an air of calm coolness, had not changed at all. You followed closely behind, struggling to keep up with his bigger steps.

“Hello, noona.” He greeted the lady, friendly and warm. “Can I please get an Iced Choco and…?” Yugyeom turned to you expectantly.

“Uh…” You started, soft and uncertain. “A peach iced tea, please.”

“No longer a coffee addict, huh?” He teased, unable to contain his toothy smile. Yugyeom retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and held out his card to pay. It was then that you noticed, quite belatedly, the yellow Rilakuma plaster wrapped tightly around his left index finger.

Your mind began to race. You were unbelievably happy that even after three years, he still stuck to the same brand of bandages, but at the same time, fear and anxiety gnawed and scratched against your chest. All this time, was it still happening? You wondered silently. Surely… “What’s… What’s with your,” You gestured vaguely towards his appendages. “Your finger?” You squeaked.

“Ah,” Yugyeom glanced briefly towards the yellow plaster, paying it little to no mind. “Come, sit down first, okay?”

“No,” You replied with a firm tone that you rarely used. You were a little taken aback yourself. “I’ve spent the past three years worried sick about you. Don’t you at least owe me an explanation about your most recent injury?”

Yugyeom sensed your insistence and determination, knowing that there really was no use trying to convince you otherwise. “It’s nothing to worry about, Y/N, trust me, I’ll show-”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Let me see.”

“Look, it’s just a small cut, okay?” You raised an eyebrow at his description. From memory, his definition of a small cut was miles apart from yours. He took a step closer, hoping to persuade you. “Here,” Yugyeom peeled away the sticky fabric with little difficulty, revealing a thin slit that already closed up. “See? It’s tiny. I was cooking the other day and the knife just sort of slipped and nicked my finger. I told you, don’t worry about me.”

Still, you were unwilling to let him off the hook so easily. “Kim Yugyeom? Cooking? Are you sure that’s safe?”

“Perhaps not the safest…” He admitted with an embarrassed rub of his neck, leading you towards an empty table by the windows. “I just really, really missed your mother’s food. Her naengmyeon especially. I’ve tasted every single naengmyeon in Incheon and Seoul and honestly, nothing comes close. I even tried to cook it myself but, well… You can guess how that turned out.”

“What made you think that your naengmyeon could be better than a restaurant’s?” You questioned jokingly, earning yourself a faked wince of pain from Yugyeom as he clutched the right side of his chest, the wrong side.

After that, it was like the words couldn’t stop flowing out of your mouths. He told you about how he caught a glimpse of your adoption papers during his interview for Dalkyum, the black puppy, and recognised your photo. He confessed that he was initially drawn to Dalkyum due to his sheer resemblance to Charcoal, to which you agreed wholeheartedly. He moved to Seoul late last year to study Fine Arts at the Korea National University of Arts, and you revealed that you were studying to become a vet. He explained how half a year after moving to Incheon, Mark had accidentally downloaded a virus onto their shared laptop while gaming, rendering it broken beyond repair. He didn’t write down your email address and thanks to his goldfish memory, he forgot the entire string of letters once Mark found a replacement.

It seemed like the more you talked to Yugyeom, the more you felt the icy shards of pain and sorrow around your heart melt away. Although, that could probably be because he was looking at you with the brightest of expressions, his mouth permanently fixed into a wide, million-watt smile.

“What do you think? Shall we start over?” You asked after a lull in the conversation, taking a sip of the soothing, saccharine liquid.

“No, I’d rather we pick up where we left off, but with a proper introduction.” He extended his arm for you to shake, which you did with a light scoff and an upturn of your lips. “Hello, my name is Kim, Yu, Gyeom. Kim for gold, Yu, which means to have, and Gyeom, as in humble or modest. It’s nice to meet you again, Y/N. You look beautiful today, as always. Did you know that? I can’t stop myself from being drawn to you, but I guess some things never change.”

“I… What…?” You sputtered hopelessly, reigniting the butterflies in your stomach. “Yugyeom, I’m literally in an old t-shirt and baggy shorts.”

“Doesn’t matter to me, Y/N.”

//

“There’s another thing that never changed, which unfortunately was also out of my control.”

“Oh no, what else, Kim?”

“I’m sorry to tell you this so late, Y/N, but sadly, you were and are my first love. And you see, the thing about first loves is that no matter how hard you try, you simply can’t-”

“Forget them.”

“Exactly. Trust me, I tried.”

“Yeah, I tried too, so hard. I guess you weren’t meant to be forgotten. Or I guess we weren’t meant to forget each other.”

“First loves stick with you like a scar that can never be fully healed.”

“Wow, look at you, Kim! I’m impressed, you’ve become so poetic.”

“From now on, I’ll only write poems for you.”

[yikesharringrove]

I'm loving Mango! I actually had a idea of someone they know (maybe Carol? Or Jon? or any of the kids, etc go wild tbh) is under a lot of pressure, maybe blatant sexism "just because they care" for them to have a pup? And its causing a lot of strain and they come to Steve and billy for help and they're just immediately supportive! Like having a kid is HARD even one like Mango, they're still valid if they dont want kids, it's their life. Esp cuz both boys know what it's like to be a unwanted kid

Masterlist

Part 19

-

Mina was at the door, trying to reach for the doorknob and let in their guests.

“Watch out Mango.” She moved to allow Steve to open the door.

Tommy and Carol were in San Diego for the week, came to visit some of Tommy’s family, and check in on Steve, Billy, and Mina for a few days.

They settled down in the living area, Mina playing on the floor. She had given Tommy a stuffed bear and Carol a blue blanket, had taken to giving all of their guests their own little item.

“I haven’t seen her in so long. She’s like a whole person now.” She was playing with a few Barbie dolls, loved playing with their long hair. Steve kept his at his shoulders these days, it helped her with tantrums when she could run chubby fingers through them.

Her hair grew so fast, was halfway down her back. Steve would do it immaculately every morning before she went to preschool for a few hours.

“God I know. It feels like I’ve blinked and now she’s fully grown. She’s going to preschool for three hours in the morning, just to get her used to school and other kids and stuff.” That had been a big decision. Steve usually spent time with her on the weekdays, didn’t want to have her school taking up their time together. But then Billy brought up socialization, that going to school would be good for her, and Steve could not say no.

“What are you two getting up to these days? You old and boring yet?” Tommy smirked at them.

“Oh, yeah we are. Steve got his GED and his working the desk part time at an animal shelter. I found a garage here and am going to school and stuff. What’s good back in Chicago?”

They had moved just after Mina was born, both going to school in the city.

“Just school and shit. Well, and this.” Carol held out her hand, had a simple diamond ring on her left forefinger. “We bonded in September, and we’re getting married in April! We’re gonna have a big wedding in Hawkins!” Steve made an excited noise, standing up to hug Carol tightly.

“I think we have champagne in the fridge...” Billy was digging through, found a bottle that was probably as old Mina. He popped it, made her shriek at the noise, climb up into Steve’s lap.

They sat together for the evening, talking and laughing. Billy excused himself to put Mina to bed, had to spend about ten minutes chasing her around, fully naked while he sighed a lot, trying to shove her into pajamas. Steve just laughed from the couch.

“So, listen. With getting married and bonding and everything, we’re getting, I don’t know, like a lot of pressure to have pup.” Billy joined them on the couch, Mina asleep in her bed. “And we’ve talked, and, neither of us really want to have one.” Tommy looked sheepish as he spoke. “You’re the only people our age we know with a pup, and just wanted to, pick your brains I guess.”

“Look, I love Mango, and wouldn’t change our life for the fucking world at this point, but kids are hard. I mean, she’s overall pretty good, but she has her moments.”

“Oh, those first few months when she would just cry, and I thought maybe she was in pain or something, and would just have meltdowns alongside her.”

“I must’ve come home to find Steve crying on the floor, saying that he’s a bad father at least three times a week for the first two months. I love the garbage out of her, put it’s a lot of work.”

“Well, and although she was definitely an accident, we both knew we wanted to have kids at some point. We made it work because we wanted to. If you don’t want to, don’t do it. We were both unwanted kids, and it fucking sucked.”

“You’re good people, if you had one, you’d learn to love it, by why bother. If you’re happy just the two of you, be happy. Tell everyone else to fuck off.”

“Mina is my favorite thing on this planet, but she stresses me the fuck out sometimes. It’s all worth it, because I’ve wanted pups since I was one, but it may not all be worth it to you, and that’s fine. Maybe later you both decided you do  want pups, maybe you don’t. Either way, it’s up to you.”

“Sorry, do you love Mina more than you love me?” Steve turned to Billy, raising an eyebrow.

“She lived inside of me for nine months. Of course I love her more than you.” Billy threw his head back and laughed.

“Honestly, Tommy was worried you two would try and talk us into having a pup.”

“Well, it’s like Stevie said, we both know what it’s like to grow up with parents that didn’t want you. It really fucked us up. I’m not saying you two would become abusive, if you did have an accident pup, but trying to have a pup because it’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t the right way to do it.”

“That makes a lot of sense.” Tommy sat back. “It’s really nice to hear that from people that have one.”

“Plus, kids make you boring as fuck. We go to bed at like, nine thirty.” Steve laughed, slapping Billy’s chest.

-

Carol and Tommy went back to their hotel just after midnight, had helped Steve and Billy clean up the hors d'oeuvres they had put out.

“I’m glad they’re being thoughtful about this, not just throwing caution to the wind and having a pup.” Steve was standing in the doorway to their bathroom, was putting moisturizer on his face.

“It was kinda funny when they said they didn’t want pups. Could you actually imagine those two as parents? Not saying we’re perfect, or anything, but just like, imagine.” Steve crawled into bed, shoving his way into Billy’s space.

“Remember when we talked about having another one, eventually?” Billy’s heart began to thud in his chest.

“Yeah...” Steve was quiet for a moment.

“I’m pregnant again.”

[tastyliltina]

Splintered (VORE)

A/N:  FINALLY got finished with an art trade between me and fubardish *cries*. Writing big bit hard today and I’m super happy to have gotten something done!! Got to use one of my newer chars, Kenny, too! Which is always a blast tbh!! I love writing with my sassy little spitfire~. Flams belongs to Kubes, and Kenny is mine!!  

If you want a story like this for yourself, check out my commission page!:   Want a story like this for yourself?  Check out my commission page!  tinascommissions.carrd.co/

“Ah, here we go!”

The tiny voice caught Flams’ attention. Flams felt a sharp tug, and groaned as a painful pressure eased. His tongue moved to the swollen area, bumping against a small figure. He caught a tang of blood, intertwined with the pleasant flavor of chocolate, and sighed as something warm and alive moved back across his tongue, eventually to his teeth, and out. Finally, he could close his lips-and he did. His tongue grazed every bit of his mouth it could, and he hummed as he enjoyed the last of the warm and mocha-like taste.

“Thanks, Miss Chris…” Flams murmured. A hand moved to his chin, rubbing the swollen and scruffy skin. He glanced to the slobber-soaked figure on the counter, and to the impressive tree branch at her side. He’d had that in his gums all day? No wonder it had been so painful…

“And this is why we don’t eat trees,” snarked another voice. Flams’ expression flattened as he looked to Kenny, sitting in a guest chair beside his cot. He rolled to face the human, raising a brow at her.

“There’s plenty of other things I could eat, y’know,” he smirked, smiling like he normally did. It felt good to smile-since the splinter incident, it had been hard to get his mouth to cooperate. His gaze fell to his little savior, and he sat up in the cot. “Uh-is there anything else I need to do for this?”

Chris, who had seemed to busy herself at a computer on the countertop walkway turned. Flams squinted, but even then he couldn’t make out what the screen said...granted, it was the size of a fingernail to him-perks of being a giant.

The human vet tilted her head, then shrugged. “If you’d like, you can ice the side of your face to help with that swelling...and try to not eat anything crunchy or tough for a few days. Other than that, there’s not much to do.” Shrugging, the brunette faced away from Flams, and clicked the screen on the tiny laptop. “But um, if you must know-“ Chris turned to Flams, a mischevious grin on her face. “eating humans, safely of course, is a viable option. As long as they don’t have sharp weapons,” she grinned.

Kenny bolted upright, staring at Chris bewilderingly. “Wh-the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” The darker-skinned woman snapped.

“Flams knows what I mean~,” Chris hummed, and Flams nodded. He knew exactly what Chris meant...and was surprised she knew that was his next question. Though, he guessed she’d had an idea he enjoyed a temporary human snack..., considering she’d spent the last twenty minutes in his mouth….and by how much he’d drooled.

“Noted~,” Flams crooned. Much to Kenny’s chagrin. Before she could give Chris a hard time though, Flams reached out and nabbed the feisty human by her jacket. “Come on, toffee~. Now that I’m all better,” he bought the writing human closer to his face, grinning, “we can have some fun~.”

“GOD DAMNIT!” Kenny roared, but she didn’t have much choice as Flams lowered her into his free hand. He cupped it around her and moved to leave. But...he thought better of it. Instead, Flams made a loose fist around Kenny, ensuring the human couldn’t get away while he signed out. He walked to the raised platform, where Chris was busy at a laptop.

“Thanks again for the help, miss Chris. I’ll see you around-...maybe get a proper taste without the splinter.” Flams smiled, and chuckled as he stepped out.

~~

Kenny scowled. She glared at the walls of skin around her, scowled at the dimly lit interior of Flams’ fist. Dappled light shone shone through the gaps in Flams’ fingers, enough for her to see...but not enough for her to peek at anything around the digits. Stupid giant-she punched against his hand, though it did little good. His hand remained curled up, keeping her perfectly trapped inside the warm and humid space. It smelled like smoke. Most of Flams did, but the ashen scent was almost impossible to ignore so close to the big guy.

She glanced up as Flams spoke, from the sounds of it to the clerk at the front desk. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the palm of his hand, sneering as though Flams could see it. He couldn’t… Giant ginger bastard.

But, soon enough, Kenny felt her organic cage shift. Flams’ fingers remained curled around her, but the sway of his footsteps loosened their grip just a bit. Kenny kicked a foot out, bracing herself as the fire giant made his way wherever he was going. Kenny heard a door chime, and close, felt the air become heavy and warm. She sighed. Maybe now the big guy would let her go…

He didn’t. At least, not at first. Kenny was trapped in Flams’ fist for a while, she couldn’t tell how long-save by the sweat dribbling down her brow. Flams’ hands were always so warm… It was a good feeling, being so toasty, but she was getting tired of the leathery sight of skin and fingers.

“Hey!” She barked. “Are you gonna let me out at some point, asshat?”

Flams’ hand shifted, slowly unfurling before light spilled in. Kenny squinted, shielding her eyes as the fingers spread out, leaving her in the open air. She scowled. “‘Bout time…”

“Oh, don’t act so smug yet~.”

Kenny blinked, glancing up at Flams. His lips were parted in his telltale grin, and a mischievous glint in his eyes made Kenny shrink back. He was planning something. Shit.

“Now, since you decided to be such a bother at my appointment….” slowly, the living platform lowered. Kenny sat up as Flams’ hand settled onto the ground, leaving Flams kneeling over her. “We’re gonna play a little game~.” Flams’ palm dipped. Kenny slid onto the ground, grunting before she pushed herself up and glared up at the redhead.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning...you better start runnin’, toffee~.” His grin broke into something more predatory, and Kenny didn’t need an explanation for that expression. It was hungry. The kind of look that meant if she didn’t book it, she’d end up being lunch.

“Oh...oh fuck you!” Kenny sneered as she whirled. She darted towards what looked like a treeline, hating how unfamiliar the area around her was. Hard to run when she didn’t know where she was going… Still, Kenny continued to sprint forwards. She didn’t bother looking back. Flams always gave her a head start-only fair; he’d take a few footsteps to catch up.

~~

Flams watched the little human run, crossing his arms. As rude, bitter, and fussy as Kenny was, Flams couldn’t help but like the little spitfire. She had fight. She had balls, more so than most humans he knew. But she was...reckless. There were things Kenny did, the way she carried herself that worried him. She almost had no concern for her safety. So...he figured it was good to put her in her place. Better her get it from him, someone who wouldn’t hurt her, rather than with a stranger.

Besides, he could never turn down a good chance for a wiggly snack~.

Humming, Flams rocked back on his heels, looking to the sky with a frown. It was getting late...he wouldn’t drag this out too long. Just enough for bedtime to roll around. Having Kenny as a midnight snack was always fun~. Even if his stomach paid for it the next morning. Tiny punches were painful after a while… A hand brushed his chin, thoughtful. Maybe he could make some nice stew to try and amend any teasing...and prevent Kenny from giving him another temporary tattoo somewhere regrettable.

With a smirk, he stepped forwards. That was enough time. Flams closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. His feet turned, leading him in the direction of a familiar smell. Coffee cake. Rich, bitter, and all Kenny. Eyes opened, Flams began his trek to track the little human down.

Flams always forgot how fun it was to hunt until he was in the act… Something about following the twisting, winding trail of smells awoke something in him. Reminded him of something he’d been missing. Something primal. Granted, hunting a friend was a lot different than hunting a deer, or an animal. Friends were special. Friends were tasty. But they weren’t food. Kneeling, Flams parted a group of trees, peering through the branches before letting them return to their settled position. He was getting close.

He brushed his hands off, pursed his lips. Chuckling, Flams let the words of a spell roll off his tongue. Nothing special, just something to help him sneak around a little better. It was hard to ambush someone who could feel your footsteps a mile away. Besides, Kenny’s reactions were so much more fun when she was surprised, and Flams loved it when she shrieked at him~.

~~

Kenny pressed herself into the bark of the tree, head snapping in the direction of any sound. She hated this. Hated it when Flams pulled this shit; why was it her responsibility to entertain the big bastard?! Hands curled into fists, Kenny snorted. It wasn’t like she enjoyed this….enjoyed being treated like a snack. Even if Flams kept an eye out for her; and if being eaten wasn’t so bad, once she got over the smug smiles, teasing, and slime.

“God damned bastard,” she growled. Kenny leaned to one side, peering out over the canopy of leaves. They swished with a warm wind, shifting the fragmented light around her. She sighed. Slowly, she peeled herself from the tree, and moved to the next one. Like before, she kept her back pressed against the bark. It felt good to have something at her back. Felt safer.

The further she moved along, the more paranoid Kenny became. She hadn’t felt the ground shame in a few minutes. Flams liked to stop and think, she knew that much but he didn’t take this long. Right? Did he take this long normally? Kenny growled, shaking her head. Needed to stop getting caught in her thoughts and focus on getting the hell away.

She ran to another tree. Back pressed to it. A part of her knew she was only dragging out the inevitable. Still, she kept going. Moving from tree to tree, pressing herself against each one as she went. Waiting. Listening.

Kenny wasn’t sure how many trees she’d moved between when she felt it. Eyes on her back. She whipped around, eyes widening at the sight of two golden abysses. Eyes. They flickered mischievously, the black pit of Flams’ pupils honing in on her.

“FUCKING SHIT!” Kenny whirled on her ankle, prepped to sprint, but was stopped by a pair of hands. She smacked into one of them, scrabbles back, and was caught by the back of her shirt. A frustrated yell escaped her as she was jerked into the air, legs kicking at the empty space before her. Soon enough, she was held in front of Flams’ grinning face, his lips pulling back in a smirk.

“Ooh, gotta watch that tongue, toffee…” Flams rumbled, his free hand moving to his waist. “Don’t wasn’t that bitterness makin’ you taste fowl, now…”

“Kiss my ass, red,” Kenny snapped. She lifted her hand, giving Flams a full display of her middle finger.

“Ouch, oh, my frail feelings,” his hand moved to his chest. The sarcasm made Kenny’s eyes roll. “Really, I’m hurtin’, kid.”

“Ain’t your kid.”

“No...but you can be my treat~.”

Kenny glared at him. The giant licked his lips, making a point to pull them back so she could see. She hissed, legs and arms flailing as Flams’ fingers brought her closer to his face. Kenny came to a swinging stop over Flams’ face, and her chin dropped to sneer at him.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t~,” Flams purred. His fingers loosened a tad, dropping Kenny ever so closer to his maw. She yelped, tried to pull herself up and away from those teeth and what lay beyond. The pressure at her back loosened. Kenny gasped, only given a moment’s peace before she dropped.

Her arms windmilled, legs fought the air. The air got hot, heavy, and she smacked into something sticky. Before she could place up front down, Kenny rolled backwards, only stopping when the ground lifted under her. She untangled her limbs from their awkward position, instincts digging her hands and feet into the tongue beneath her. There was a moment of peace. Kenny caught her breath, then launched herself forwards.

Before she could get very far, the ground lurched under her. Kenny face planted, grunted, and groaned as the living bed of muscle raised her to the top of Flams’ mouth. She squirmed, trying to push the invasive tastebuds away as Flams got himself a taste. The ramping rumbled around her served to show Flams was enjoying himself. Dumb, stupid, giant red headed bastard.

Kenny sputtered. Flams’ tongue lifted up, the tip running along her face and drenching her in the drool pooling around her. She let out a hiss, slapping at it with a disgusted scowl. Already she felt the heat and drool slopping her bangs into her face, no doubt soaking through her bun...and her clothes.

Yet, despite herself...she tried to restrain her reactions. Kept her kicks close to her chest, her hands away from his gums. Flams’ mouth had been really sore at the doctor’s… No point in making things hell.

Flams’ tongue lifted again, arching downwards. Grimacing, Kenny rolled on her back. The arch opening to the back of the throat was getting closer, and she was sliding down fast. Breaths blasted like wind, gurgles of organs below joined their melody. It was the sound of her fate being sealed. Her legs scrabbled, trying to push herself up and away from the living cavern.

Kenny closed her eyes. There wasn’t a point trying to see now...not until she got where she was going. Her feet slid into an open space, the rest of her fell after. She landed with a grunt, and was promptly sucked down. Muscles squeezed in on her, squishing her arms and legs together, and forcing her down. Everything got tighter for a moment, and Kenny squirmed, knowing it was Flams pressing his fingers to his throat. To feel her. Bastard.

Another ripple of muscle yanked her down, tugging Kenny along like a child down a slide. If slides weren’t living, breathing, greedy giants. She growled, barely able to hear herself think around the chorus of Flams’ body around her. Breaths, organs, and the beating of his heart drowned out any sensible thought-until something grabbed her feet.

~~

Flams sighed as he felt Kenny’s weight plop into his stomach, a hand pressing against his middle. He chuckled, patting at the middle human as he murmured the proper spells. Couldn’t have Kenny suffocate or hurt...or have anything happen to her. Once the spells were finished, Flams dropped his hand.

“There now, that wasn’t so bad~,” Flams stretched and glanced around, figuring the best way to get home. He began the walk back once he found it, ignoring the little punches and kicks to his guts. Kenny’s steam never lasted long once she was tucked away. She’d fall asleep, pissed as ever, and let him get some rest.

Something itched at him. As he walked, Flams poked his middle. “You good in there?” After a pause, he heard a muffled voice.

“The fuck you mean?!”

“I mean,” Flams frowned, “ya’ weren’t as...kick-y as you usually are. Kinda felt like a noodle. You okay?”

It was quiet a moment. Then, there was an eruption of punches to his middle, and Flams’ nose wrinkled. Good to know she was fine now.

“I wasn’t-I was plenty kick-y!”

“Not really,” Flams frowned, scanning the tree line as he walked. He wondered how he looked, walking along and talking to no one. “You’re plenty fighty now, but earlier you weren’t.”

“I’m FINE!” Kenny’s voice was shrill. Much more so than normal...almost...embarrassed? Flams scratched his stomach. Odd. Why would she be so afraid to hide how much or little she was fighting? Shrugging, Flams sighed. He’d deal with that later. Kenny was fine, and back to her fighting spirit. For now, his only focus was getting a nap.

“Alright, whatever...just makin’ sure we didn’t need another doctor’s appointment or nothin’...” The sight of his cabin in the distant was a welcome one, though Flams made himself a note to visit that little vet again. She seemed sweet...in more ways than one. “I’ll letcha our after I get a nap, ‘kay?”

Flams didn’t get a response...didn’t expect one, either. But he smiled. What a day to get a splinter…

[jksangelic]

peaches & piercings (m)

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: punk!jimin, e2l, college au, very explicit smut, one-shot, jimin is a whole asshole

↳ pairing: cheerleader!reader x punk!jimin

↳ warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, sub/dom themes, casual sex, be t r ay a l, alcohol (and weed? idk) consumption, oral sex (male receiving), squirting, thigh-fucking, kind of exhibitionism?, jimin is pierced (that’s all i’ll say), just expect the worst from me tbh

↳ summary: jimin, dipped in hair-dye and pierced in so many places that you just couldn’t keep track, doesn’t think you’re his “type”. you call bullshit.

↳ note: i reallyreallyreally hated this fic. loved the idea, hated how i wrote it. i’ve had this bad boy sitting in my archives for months and months and months and couldn’t gather the courage to post it until NOW! partially because this is an apology fic for my inactivity and more so because i just think i’ve read it too many times that at this point, i’m just being nit-picky and need to move on.

a special thanks to the lovely @14statelier whomst unwillingly received dong pics for the sake of this fic. i’m so glad i found someone as sweet as you to beta for me + become an even better galpal! love u always xx

also thanks to my gal @jungshookz, i’m pretty sure (78% positive) i sent her my idea via snapchat and was probably inspired by her in some way, per usual.

OKAY i’m done you can read now hehehe

↳ words: 11.6k

↳ parts: one | two (complete)

“Jungkook, if you’re not going to throw it then get your grabby hands off my waist,” you warn, eyeing him as he stands behind you and delays in one-manning you into an extension or ogling your ass in your skirt.

           “You’re just so wobbly today, I’m waiting for you to chill out a bit,” he lies with a smirk. You smack his hand but exhale deeply as you firmly grasp his wrists and count.

           “1, 2!” With mutual timing, Jungkook dips down with you before heaving your body above, squatting to catch your heels mid-air, and pumping back up into an extended position. He’s right, you wobble a bit, calling out, “Bail!” and feeling his hands disappear beneath to re-catch your thighs and bring you down safely on your toes. You curse silently under your breath but pat Jungkook’s shoulder as a symbolic “thank you”.

“It’s too fucking early for this, I’m tired,” you say, only making excuses for yourself.

“Well, liven up. The doors are going to open soon and no freshmen want to join a failure of a cheer team.”

“Hey, stop bickering,” the captain, Suzy, orders, “Y/N, you’re fine to just handle the flyers, I’ll stunt with Jungkook.” You squish her into an exhausted hug.

“This is why you’re captain,” you coo.

With that, some of the staff open the gym doors, welcoming an intimidatingly large group of people in with smiles. You fake one yourself, ready to get this over with as soon as possible so you can go back to your dorm and sleep. Within ten minutes, you had a group of girls and a handful of brawny guys already watching Suzy and Jungkook’s exhibition, a mixture of oohs and ahs being rewarded. You handed each of them a thin, poorly-made flyer with pixelated clipart of a girl doing a toe-touch before they scrambled.

After a while, most of the initial commotion dies down and you people-watch each clueless face, thinking how adorable they are, so young and so lost, as if it weren’t you only a few months ago. You’re only a sophomore, but in your head that gives you enough authority to judge the freshmen.

You snap out of your daze upon boots clicking in the distance, soon revealing a man seemingly darting through the crowds to exit across the other side. You would’ve ignored him if it wasn’t for his peachy-tinted hair, long and slicked back atop and close-shaven near his neck, his thin but fit stature dressed in all-black, and the glint of metal, that you soon realized was a septum piercing, in his nose. He has a dark sleeve consuming his right arm and you wonder what eighteen or nineteen year old has a fully-developed sleeve.

Although his eyes were covered with chunky black sunglasses (in the gym, at that), the rest of his appearance sent your pierced-and-tatted-hot-boy alarm berserk. Suddenly awake, you wait for him to head closer to your booth before hopping next to him.

“Hi there, freshie. Care to take a tryout flyer for this year’s cheer team?” you ask with a pitch that’s much higher than your own, kindly handing him one of the shitty-looking papers. He mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch but speaks before you can ask him to clarify.

“Not a freshman. Do I look like someone who cheers? I’m just looking for the counseling center to turn in my transfer papers.

“Also, can you, like, give me some personal space?” he continues in a mock valley-girl tone.

You jump back, completely caught off guard with his sudden hostility and attempting to regain your composure by clearing your throat. Someone must’ve shoved a stick up his ass this morning.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Once you leave the gym, you head right, pass two sets of restrooms, head left, and it’s behind the big statue where the foyer is.” Your voice sounds much better.

His eyebrows rocket upwards over his glasses, completely frazzled by the number of directions you gave him, “Shit, okay. That’s a lot.”

“Here, I’ll just walk you,” you say, not giving him any time for him to probably decline. You don’t even question if he’s following you or not, the obvious clunkclunkclunk of his boots giving it away.

Unsurprisingly, the man doesn’t try to talk to you on the way to the counseling center. At most, he walks side-by-side, at least three meters between you for good measure. And even though it’s pretty clear he doesn’t want to talk, you ring him out a little more anyway.

“So, you’re not a freshman. Underclassman or upperclassman? And you’re a transfer? From where?”

Pass two sets of restrooms and head left.

“Senior. From Busan.” He doesn’t even show a hint of feeling. Emotion. Does this guy even breathe?

Straight until the statue in the foyer.

“Great. Well, it was nice to meet you, senior from Busan. I’m Y/N. If you ever need help or anything, feel free to ask me,” you deadpan, swiveling on your feet to salute him.

He leans on one hip, taking a hand with an incredible amount of rings on it and pushing his sunglasses over his hair like a headband. You certainly weren’t expecting a reveal of the kindest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life. He almost looks permanently sleepy—eyes drooping flat on the lid. Your trance distracted you from his brief once-over, unpredictably impressed by your looks, if he had to admit it.

“It’s Jimin. Jimin, senior from Busan. See you around, cheerleader,” he says with a sly tilt of his lips before swinging the door open and slithering into the office. Past all the glitter and bright colors that poured out of that hideous uniform of yours, Jimin found you really cute.

Jimin waits patiently for the front desk to call him up, lounging in one of the hard, black plastic chairs that never failed to give his ass cramps. Though he didn’t seem like it to new faces around the campus, he was ecstatic to be starting college again in a whole new atmosphere. He even got to room with another male originally from Korea, Min Yoongi, in a small condo not too far a walk from the area.

He could even prospect cuties like you during his year, undoubtedly positive he could busy himself judging by the attention he’s attracted so far. All it would take is a hungry stare, a lick of his lips, an all-knowing smirk. It was easier here than it was back home, if not child’s play. He could have you in three hours flat. But then he thinks of you choosing the obnoxious cliché of college cheerleader and cringes at the idea of associating himself with such… American-ness. He could at least go for some sort of indifferent, grunge hipster that might actually have some thought to her. Yeah, more his style.

The woman at the front finally calls for him, so he arranges his papers and shoos away any daydream of hooking up with the girl in a tight skirt and ankle socks.

Taking the long route back to the gym, your imagination sputters through all the possible reasons why you should hate that guy, bad-guy radar ringing and shrieking and threatening to punch you square in the eye if you even think about it. Eventually, it comes to the conclusion that he was just new, he was probably having a rough moving-in, and you shouldn’t judge a transfer by their hair. Book by its binding? You don’t really remember how the saying goes in this situation.

“Hey, good job on snaking yourself out of flyer duty. What, did you bang Asian Hot Topic on your way?” Jungkook snickers.

“And did Cait break up with you because you can’t dom for shit? Hand me my jacket.”

He guffaws, practically throwing the clothing at your face, “We didn’t break up, asswipe. How am I supposed to act when she suddenly calls me ‘daddy’ without previous warning? I’m not ready to be a father.”

“Kook, you’re dumb as shit. Maybe I should bang Asian Hot Topic and give you pointers of how a real dom works their magic.”

Jungkook crosses his arms in denial, “Pfft, you don’t even know him. He could be a receiver for all you know.”

One, two, three seconds. You both chortle at the impracticality.

You take one final look in the body mirror, adjusting the slinky grey dress and hanging an oversized burnt-orange corduroy jacket over your shoulders for that final touch of unnecessary, but fashionably-adept, garnish to your outfit cupcake. Not having enough time to do your hair, you sweep it over to one side and leave it as is.

“You look fine and you’re ten minutes late so get out already,” your roommate, Sara, whines. She practically pushes you out, slamming and locking the door for emphasis.

Waving off your discombobulated roommate, you start your trek to the humanities building (which is so far away) with a skip in your step. A new school year meant new people, new classes, more lunchtimes with subpar food and occasional parties that could potentially lead to you getting arrested. Who knows!

A new school year, however, didn’t mean that you would know your way to your new class apparently. Bummer.

It’s only by your fourth circle and a glance at your phone that you panic, fifteen minutes somehow passing in the midst of your scrambling. Pace quickening, you pull out your paper with sloppily written notes of what class room number was at which time, simultaneously half-jogging past classrooms and—

“Oof!”

You land straight on your ass.

“Ow, watch where you’re going stu—oh, it’s you.”

You look up groggily, pain stinging through your legs from the brunt of your fall and lazily making eye contact with a pair of puppy dog eyes. Jimin stands above you, rubbing his chin where, you suppose, your forehead made rough contact with and indiscreetly staring at your bright blue panties where your dress failed to cover.

Hopping up and dusting yourself off, you pick up your fallen bag and paper before glaring at him, “Sorry, I got lost and wasn’t paying attention.”

He scoffs, “Aren’t you the cheerleader? You’re supposed to be, like, the girl scout of the school, right? You shouldn’t be lost.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, well. I am,” you mutter to yourself, “I don’t even think there’s a 207 in this building…”

“Oh, 207? Intro to psych, right? That’s where I’m going too,” he admits, eyes blown wide. Welp, certainly not the highlight of your morning.

“Great. By the looks of the current time, we’re both lost and,” you wave around the empty corridor, “there’s no one who’s going to help us.”

“I’m not lost. I just woke up late,” he answers nonchalantly, a warm glow to his face like he couldn’t give two damns about his class.

“W-What? Then let’s go! Where is it?”

Jimin twirls and walks a different direction, mumbling, “I’m not your escort, rich girl.”

You prattle at his comment but follow him anyway. When you find the correct lecture hall, you groan at the fact that you already passed it several times. He opens the door quietly, not even bothering to hold it for you as you scramble to catch it. A couple of the back rows look back at you two, annoyed by the minor inconvenience.

“Well. Welcome to my 10AM psychology class at,” the professor booms through the hall and peeks at his wristwatch, “10:36. Go ahead and take these two free seats.”

Jimin shrugs and walks towards the front of the room, a quiet and embarrassed you tiptoeing behind him. Being this late and having to sit next to this ass wasn’t how you wanted your first day to go at all.

For the remainder of the 24 minutes until the first break, you skim over the contents that you missed in the syllabus and want to ram your head into the closest wall. Participation and attendance by themselves are 30% of your grade, homework and assignments (thank god) being a measly 20%, and the final plus tests and quizzes a hunking remainder of 50%. What even was this system?

During your ten minute break, you silently scroll through your phone notifications, setting it down irritatingly when the hall refused to grant you enough service to respond to any of them.

“Don’t have LTE, princess? Might as well watch paint dry without your phone to entertain you,” Jimin snickers beside you. You scowl menacingly at him and he giggles more.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but back off, Jimin. Sorry I don’t, like, play the electric guitar in my free time or whatever.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, still smiling and blowing bubbles with his gum, popping them quite obnoxiously, and quite intentionally.

“What, do you think I play the electric guitar? Are you stereotyping me as some sort of garage band drop-out punk?” he jesters.

“And do you take me for some sort of pink fuzzy consumerist? You don’t know me. Buzz off.”

Jimin had definitely tucked you into his mental folder of “tough gals”; his aloof tactic of flirting not seeming to penetrate that pretty skull of yours. He could just take the path of least resistance and approach you normally, but where was the fun in that? You were too interesting a specimen to just use-and-discard.

Jimin suddenly thinks you look attractive with furrowed brows and pouted lips. It was most definitely working for you, so he lets it slide for now. When class ends, you all but bolt before Jimin can even look your way, sure he’d find another surface flaw to pick at.

You suddenly think of what all of the adults in your life have said during your upbringing: people that went out of their way to bully you were either jealous or had an embarrassingly crushing “thing” for you. Jimin, on the other hand, was just annoying.

Of course, to your dismay, class isn’t the only time you ever saw him. You weren’t totally stupid. The campus didn’t stretch for miles and you were bound to see him sometime and have to deal with the efforts of avoiding the man at all costs but fuck were you praying to whoever controls your Sim above that they would grant you some mercy.

“Just tell him to fuck off if he’s so far up your ass,” Jungkook argues, crushing his juice box in one gulp and biting his massive cafeteria burrito.

“You don’t get it, Kook. I have. So many times, in so many different instances. Did I tell you about the time I thought he was helping me get a textbook from a tall shelf but he ended up taking that last one for himself?” You angrily rip a bite from your limp sandwich. You really did hate Turkey Thursdays.

“Eh, first come, first serve. Maybe he didn’t know you were trying to grab that one.”

“My ass, Jungkook. He claimed that if I really wanted it, I would ‘do something in fair exchange’ for it. I’m not looking to going into prostitution anytime soon.”

“Respect sex workers,” Jungkook criticizes.

“Oh, no, totally. Sex work just isn’t my forte.” Kook shrugs.

“Okay,” you continue, “how about the time I went to IKEA to buy that ceiling lamp and was obviously struggling to one-trip everything from my car? The dumbfuck passed by and asked if I needed help, so I was like, ‘Yeah! Sure, it would definitely make up for the time you asked for sex in lieu of my psych book,’ but instead of helping me carry anything he took my coffee, drank some, and left.” Jungkook starts a rebuttal but you cut him off short, “Then he showed up to my work the other day, god knows how he even saw me in there, and started taking a video of me when I wasn’t paying attention!”

“What the hell,” your friend sports a face of disgust, “like, he’s stalking you?”

You scratch the back of your neck, “Well, not exactly? I think he was just maybe—see, A$AP Rocky may or may have not been playing on the speakers, and I didn’t know anyone was in the shop! So. I don’t know. I started—”

“Started rapping with a rolled up poster as your microphone,” he deadpans. Finishing your horrid sandwich, you crumple the saran wrap and chuck it at his eye, satisfied when we wails exaggeratingly.

“Maybe that’s just his way of flirting with you, he’ll get bored eventually.”

“I think he just hates my guts and thinks of me as an equal to the gum under his thick, goth boots,” you mumble.

“Does it matter? So what if Danny Phantom doesn’t like you?”

“He’s causing a problem though. Besides, everyone cares if someone doesn’t like them. It’s bullshit if they tell you otherwise; bullshit or a lack of sympathy.”

“So what are you going to do about it? Because I’m totally your friend and all but I don’t necessarily want to hear about your boy problems all the time.” You harrumph at his negligence and slump back into your seat.

There really wasn’t anything you could do about it; it wasn’t bad enough to the point of distressing tyranny. You simply couldn’t befriend the guy, it was obvious he didn’t want that. You would just have to pray to all things good that he would eventually lose interest, stop harassing you out of kindness, or have a change of heart and treat you like the saint you were.

If only it were that easy.

Sylly-week kicked ass, to say the least. Even two days prior the hectic week from hell, your body aches from partying while your wallet cries from all the textbooks and supplies you paid for.

Sara slept beside you, forehead stuck to the desk with her laptop stuck on some sort of half-assed document and you couldn’t fathom a better picture to represent college.

Although it was already around 11, you hop out of bed and throw on your windbreaker from cheer and some spandex, shuffling into a pair of your sneakers and bolting out of your room with your bag. The amount of sodium and sugar you consumed from Cup-O-Noodles and off-brand cookie dough bites made you feel disgusting, and you know running a quick mile at the gym would get your blood pumping enough to make you: 1) feel better about yourself and 2) put your ass to sleep.

The walk is short, the air still a little heavy with heat but cool enough for you to be comfortable in a long-sleeve. Some tired students exit the library, really the only other people you see at this hour. You would’ve thought it creepy if the campus wasn’t so well-lit and played background music through the announcement speakers. If you died or got kidnapped, at least it was to some groovy jazz.

You swipe your card across the sensor beside the athletic building door, waiting for that subtle beep before the gears clank and allow you to heave the door open. Immediately, the smell of sweat poorly masked with air freshener fill your nostrils and your adrenaline builds. You’re no body builder, but a run certainly sounded nice right about now.

You practically skip through the halls, rounding a corner to enter the weight room before you stop in your tracks to see someone in the room across. You squint suspiciously, peachy hair striking a very strong familiarity to…

“Jimin?” you whisper to yourself. You shouldn’t be surprised that he’s at the gym, but you are because he isn’t. He’s in the dance studio. Before you bolt, your eyes glue to his sensual movements, legs gliding across the floor and body free-flowing alongside the bass-filled music. No previous bias could deny that he looks like an angel in his room, dancing smooth as meringue and practically skating across the floor despite those clunky black boots of his; and powerful, hitting every note and beat with intention and vigor. You’ve never seen anyone dance like this.

After a few seconds, you render that you’re spying on him and continue walking, nervously scuffing your sneakers down the linoleum and immediately, and unfortunately, catching his attention.

He first sees you in the mirror. Ignores you. Then realizes it’s you and turns into the most ungraceful bag-of-bones as he scurries to pause the music and chases you down the hall.

“Hey!” he yells, grabbing your elbow.

“Don’t touch me,” you strike back, jerking your elbow out of his grasp and staring him down.

He looks apologetic, genuinely worried for a second before he breathes deep and tries again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that. Um, why are you here?”

“Um, because I can be? I was going to go to the gym, dickwad.”

It takes all of his patience not to insult you, “Okay. You’re right. Were you… were you watching me?”

You give him a sickeningly-sweet smile, “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just passing by.”

He nods solemnly, straightening his tank as if it wasn’t already wrinkled and damp with sweat, “Okay. Okay, cool.” He starts to turn before he keeps going in a 360.

“Can you keep this between me and you? That I was here? That I was here and I was—”

“Dancing?” you ask quizzically, “Why does it matter?”

His eyebrows stitch together in frustration, “Y/N, do I look like I’m a dancer?” He gestures to his piercings and his sleeve, waving his hands about in so many different places that your lewd curiosity wonders what he looks like naked—for the sake of knowing how many piercings and tattoos he has though, obviously.

“I think you look like a dancer. Just not a contemporary dancer. Did you take ballet?” you half-tease, crossing your arms and beaming slyly at him.

Jimin huffs, impatient, “Will you just keep it locked somewhere in that airhead of yours?”

“What’s in it for me, Jiminie,” you pout, “what do I get as reward for keeping your secret?”

He falters a moment, licking his plump lips and walking dangerously close, “You want a reward? I don’t take you as that kind of girl, Y/N.”

He must be delirious, eyeing him so and shoving him away, “Ew, no. I just meant, like, be nice to me from now on. And help me with psychology. That class is nothing but a memory test.”

He blinks dumbly from your rejection; who ever rejected him? He waves it off.

“Okay. I can be compliant. I won’t treat you like the rich bitch you are, and I tutor you on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Deal?”

“I’m not a rich bitch. I have student loans like the rest of the student population, thank you very much. Deal.”

You smile at each other devilishly, ready to part ways before bursting out with an instant, “Wait!”

Jimin looks over his shoulder curiously. Damn, you could really see how toned his shoulders were in that shirt.

“There’re dance majors here, is that what you transferred for?”

He turns all the way, leaning sideways against the wall and sighing, “Honestly, yes. But my family thinks I’m transferring to finish my business degree and that I would have better opportunities here. I really did it because there’s some great studios in the area but—” he catches himself rambling, “I don’t know how they would feel about my grand decision.”

You shrug, “You’re a great dancer, Jimin. Honestly, you could open your own studio here if you wanted to. You do have great opportunities.”

His sleepy eyes stare you down, a half-smile drawing itself out before he can take it back. “Give me your phone,” he orders.

You don’t know why but you do.

He dials into it with his overly-accessorized fingers, giving you a moment to get a closer look at his septum and the abundance of ear-piercings he sports before he hands it back. You’re pretty sure one of them is Gucci and you bite back a chuckle. Rich bitch.

“That’s my number. Text me when you’re free on study days.”

And with that, he re-enters his room and resumes the music.

The first time Park Jimin meets with you at a Starbucks on a Tuesday, like he instructed, you thought you somehow managed to get yourself stuck in the Twilight Zone.

“Hey, it’s Y/N. My last class ends at 3 on both days and there’s already a quiz this Friday. Help.”

 You sent the text without emojis. He didn’t deserve any.

You had barely got to Instagram before he texted you back. With multiple messages.

 “u text like a gramma”

“but ok”

“starbucks at 330? i’ll buy”

 You giggled to yourself at his joke, sending a single “(:” and putting your phone to sleep.

 To your disbelief, he really did buy you a cheese danish and a tall, iced, caramel macchiato. You sip it gingerly while he pulls his things out of his bag: a couple mechanical pencils (the industrial, expensive ones), a 1-inch binder organized by subject with dividers, and notecards. You grab them and hold them up like it’s evidence from a leading murder case.

“Notecards? You are way too organized and functional.”

He snags your pastry before you can grab it and takes a huge bite, “Yeah, but ih’s gonna het you a bedder ghrade.”

Whining, you get it back after his second bite, somehow only half remaining.

“Okay. Let’s get started. It should only be a vocab check because that’s really all he’s asked us to study so far. We’ll start with my wonderful notecards,” he waves them in the air for effect, “and see which ones you do and don’t know.”

You nod, waiting for the chaos to begin. Who were you to tell him that you haven’t actually studied any of the vocab yet? He holds the first one up. Abductive reasoning.

“Uhh… is that like, something detectives use on kidnapping cases?”

“Wh-What? No. Well—are you thinking of ‘abductions’? Abductive reasoning is being able to use the two states of induction and deduction alongside your intuition to reach a conclusion,” he pauses and tilts his head a little, “ I guess the best analogy is giving out a verdict on a criminal case. Without being 100% sure, they use the evidence to tie together as many different points as they can to come to a conclusion. So, I mean, you got it wrong, but you can easily remember the definition with that.”

You’ll take what you get (majority of his reasoning went through one ear and out the other, anyway), wiggling your eyebrows in justified approval. Jimin laughs at you, eyes squinting to slits and shaking his head. He takes notice that you aren’t wearing much makeup today, your cheeks and the bridge of your nose a tad red with irritation and a bit dry where the sun burnt and eyes daintier without so much eyeliner on them. You threw on a tank and some workout shorts and look like the epitome of… comfortable, in your head. Jimin thinks you look effortless.

“Park?” you wave your hand in front of him.

He catches himself staring and jumps out of his seat, chair screeching across the tile.

“Sorry,” he coughs, “I’m going to take a whiz.” Stupid. He practically trips over himself to get to the restroom.

You watch him hurry to the back. He probably had much better things to do than help you study in the middle of the afternoon. A couple of younger girls watch him as he passes, giggling like a pack of fangirls and combing their hair out of their faces. If they only knew.

Did he even have a girlfriend? Most likely not, right? He only just transferred here and despite his well-endowed looks, he was still intimidating. Like a giant “don’t touch, I bite” sign constantly hung around his neck.

He comes back shortly, and before you can deduct that you would rather save the embarrassment than to quench your curiosity, you ask, “Are you dating anyone?”

“Because you get a lot of followers,” you reason, shamelessly pointing out the girls who ogle his tattooed biceps. They giggle again when he looks their way. God, so many giggles.

He rubs the back of his neck nervously and that intrigues you, “No, I’m not dating anyone. I think if it weren’t for my… accessories? And the fact that I’m foreign, girls wouldn’t like me as much.” You find tiny comfort that he’s single but squish the thought away.

“How ‘bout you? Dating that guy on your team?” he retorts.

“Who, Jungkook?” you snort, “No. He has a girlfriend and he’s all brawn over brain. I’m not dating anyone, actually. I don’t like guys that are so competitive to win females strictly for the points, and there’s a lot of that here. S’gross; we’re not animals.”

“We kinda are,” he argues, but smiles understandingly.

“Okay, but not in the way where your possible significant other has to perform an instinctual mating dance?”

He juts up an eyebrow, “Really? Because I could easily arrange that.”

For the first time, you both laugh. At the same thing. Who knew that Jimin could dance of all things? And pay for your food? And actually be a nice guy who’s really smart? Thinking about it, today has gone so polar-opposite of what you expected that you contemplate if this is Jimin’s identical twin that just happens to have the same piercings and ink that bully-Jimin has.

Twilight Zone.

“Okay, let’s continue,” he says, resuming the queue of notecards.

“Define abulia.”

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” Jimin waved a hand in your face.

“Hm? Sorry, say it again.”

Jimin packed up his supplies, then grabs yours and tucks them into your bag, “I said, ‘Are we going to your place right now?’ You said you picked up Black Panther on DVD so I want to watch it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Cats and shit.”

You both stand up and stretch, the rest of the students in the lecture hall slowly filing out. Midterms were already approaching, which meant that you and Jimin had known each other for quite some time now. His tutoring was ditched weeks ago after you were finally comfortable with the material and able to comprehend what the professor was saying without Jimin to interpret. At first, meeting up stopped completely. You two would talk occasionally during class break and that’s all, and after a while, you just figured your deal was completed and Jimin finished his case and you both separated onto your different ways.

But then Jimin had asked if you wanted coffee at the same Starbucks you had first studied at, but for no specific reason. Just to hang out. So, you did.

Hanging out once or twice for coffee turned into twice getting lunch turned into four or five times lazing about your dorm, and now, you were just completely, wholesomely, friends. It was hard not to be on edge at the contrast of current Jimin to hell-on-earth Jimin, but you took what you could get.

“Is something on your mind? You’ve been spacing out for a long time,” he prods, taking your bag himself and throwing it over the same shoulder his own bag was on. The

walk to your dorm building was short but you could feel your feet dragging from sudden exhaustion.

“I think I’m just tired? I’m fine. Ready to Black Panther it up and all that jazz,” you chuckle. He takes the hint and resorts to quietly humming to your room rather than talking. That’s one thing you liked about him, he always knew when your mind just needed simple white noise.

Unlocking the door and jostling it out of its stickiness, you make a running jump to faceplant onto your bed. The mattress dips next to you when Jimin sits.

“I know you like cheer and all, but I think you need to take a break,” he says.

“Easier said than done. And I have mandatory captain conditioning in 3 hours,” you groan, propping your head on the palm of your hand to watch Jimin as he eats a stale bag of chips that he found on your nightstand. His face contorts in repulsion and throws the bag away.

“Okay, well, you’re not going. Tell them you’re sick. Let’s watch some DC movies and eat popcorn and have, like, a girl sleepover but I’m not a girl and I don’t want to spend the night,” he says, counting each point on his fingers.

“First of all, you lunatic, it’s Marvel not DC. Second, I don’t have popcorn. I can’t just skip conditioning because if I gain one pound Jungkook will sense it with his nose or something and attack me.”

“What,” he says in disbelief, grabbing your waist with one hand and squeezing a little, “you’re fine. You’re not going today and that’s final.” It’s not very often he touches you and as much as you try not to show it, you feel your face heat and mouth gape open and closed, ready to combust. You don’t particularly know why; guys touch you all the time (not in that way, thank you very much) but when it was Jimin, it was like you had been raised feral and failed to receive any means of human interaction.

He notices, taking his hand away as quick as he placed it and looking at the floor. Despite your lack of proper reaction, you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel a little twinge of disappointment. God, you’re so confusing to yourself.

“How about you? Your vampire ass won’t dance in sunlight so you must be tired too. How long do you normally dance for when you’re in the studio?”

“Well,” he lays flat on his back and stares at your popcorn ceiling (your dorm building was extremely outdated), “I try to workout at the actual gym in the morning before I get ready for class, and then I dance from 11 to whenever I feel is enough during the weeknights. That is, if no one’s there.”

“Why do you even follow this whole path of disliking mainstream trends and ‘rebelling against the world’? Isn’t that tiring? Aside from dance, do you, like, make your own skateboards and go to secret underground bars or something?” you tease. He rolls his head towards you in annoyance and mouths a “ha ha”.

“No, I just. I don’t know. I don’t like people telling me what to do or where to go or how to look,” he showcases his tatted arm. “This is all mine. I don’t want to be another puppet controlled my whole life to consume and work off a never-ending debt just so I can only live comfortably when I’m old but too old to actually live.”

“Wow, bro. That’s deep,” you pretend to smoke a pretzel stick. He continues anyway.

“Recently I made some friends that are in one of my labs. They’re from Korea too. If I’m not studying or working or hanging out with you, I’m probably with them. Partying or something,” he says, stealing away your “cigarette” and crunching on it loudly.

“Woah, you work? How do you find the time to do that?”

“Kinda. Nothing official, I just tutor people sometimes. Charge them by the hour and make some decent pocket change for food or whatever.”

You contemplate. How come he’s never charged you for your tutoring before? You ask him, studying his side profile and admiring his jawline when he talks. Flexing then easing; taut then relaxed.

“Because we had a deal. We agreed that I would help you in psych as long as you kept my secret, in which you did, so I figured that was good enough. Besides, you’re too cute to charge. I look like a bad boy but I’m not evil.” You giggle, resembling a middle-school fangirl and exaggerating a flattered stature.

Jimin laughs again, light and refreshing staccato notes that you could honestly listen to all day. It was therapeutic in its own crackhead way.

You’ve been unintentionally staring at him more and more often, Jimin finally taking notice within the last few minutes. He knew how to read a girl; how revealing they make themselves to impress him or how their eyes dim in any sort of suggestion that his hands should somehow find place on their body. But with you, he has no idea what that stare means. For the most part, you carry yourself so independently to the point of being standoffish and Jimin just can’t figure you out. He sought the day you would give in and beg for a night with him just like most of the other girls in his classes did, and when you didn’t, he wanted to know why. Not out of inflated ego or need to get into your pants—okay maybe because of that initially—but even more so that he just needed to dissect you. Know how to get you going, what kind of person you really are, which was completely different from what he originally imagined.

You were talking amidst his thoughts, not paying attention to the strings of sentences that fell out of your lips and before he knew it, he held himself directly above you, hands on each side of your head and staring right down into your disordered doe eyes.

“What makes you so different?” he asks aloud, more to himself than you. Puzzled and not under the impression that it was a rhetorical question, you shake your head.

“I don’t u-understand. What are you doing, Ji—”

He tucks a loose strand of yours out of your face, causing you to hiccup. “I feel like when I think I know you, I’m actually far from it.”

You don’t particularly know what you’re supposed to say to that.

“You didn’t ever need to get to know me. You just needed to make sure I kept your secret,” you play along. Knowing it wasn’t really the whole case, your own statement stings a little. If it weren’t to save his own ass, would he even be here right now?

Like he read your mind, he answers, “Why would I be here? I haven’t needed to help you in weeks. I’m with you all the time because I want to be. Because I—”

“Because you…?” you trail on, heart beating so hard you swear he can hear it. You wanted him to say it, maybe that’s what was keeping you from confirming your feelings. You needed validation; that this wasn’t just you or that this was some one-sided longing because you doubted someone like him could ever like someone like you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks instead, so hesitant and delicate and worrisome all in one question and you ponder if this is the same boy you first met at orientation.

“Please.”

He dips down slowly, eyes half-closed in anticipation of what your face looks like so close, pausing an inch away when you shut your own. You feel his warmth near your mouth, waiting for that first touch, any contact, until it seems like it’s been far too long. When you peek, you see nothing but his perfect… cheekbone? He stares, jaw stuck open and eyes fluttering, at the intruder in the door before swinging himself off the bed and coughing awkwardly.

“Oh, Sara. I didn’t know you were coming home so early today,” you squeak out. You sit up yourself, brushing off nonexistent dust from the bed and watching Jimin gather his things in a rush and squeezing past a concerned Sara in the doorway. He doesn’t even turn back, ears stinging red and peeping a quick, havetogotextyoulater. Great, the asshole left you to face your roommate alone.

“Was that Jimin? Park Jimin? The fucking transfer student?”

“Oh my god, Sara, what’re you freaking out about?”

Dropping her stuff in the middle of the room, she shrieks annoyingly and grabs your shoulders, “Are you seriously fucking with the Park Jimin? Y/N. Nuh-uh. No way. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Chill out! We’re just friends. He tutors me sometimes.” Not quite a lie.

She eyes you and deadpans, “Yeah, I didn’t know tutoring also included a one-on-one session of how to have sexual intercourse.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you remove her hands, which were digging crescents into your skin, and pretend to arrange your bed, “we haven’t even kissed. You just walked in at an inconvenient time.”

Sara sighs, rubbing her temples and sitting on your bed, “Look, babe. Just be careful. I’ve been to parties with him and have heard some awful things. Shit you expect from a movie where the girl gets fucked over because the guy doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants. I just want the best for you, okay? He’s not as sweet as you might think he is.”

He isn’t sweet at all, you said internally. But still, your heart clenches at her words. Sure, he acts like a dick, and you shouldn’t be surprised if he really does get around as much as Sara suspects; but there was just some sort of denial that lingered. If he really was such a player, why would he have stuck around with you for as long as he has, as platonic as it has been until now?

“I… I didn’t know that. I’ll be careful,” you assure her.

All it took was a squinty-eyed smile and a tiny caress to the small of your back on the way into the lecture hall for you to completely melt into his hands. You were simply putty, magically molding into some gross, odd-smelling ball of love just because of the almost-incident yesterday. You can practically feel the radiating disappointment from Sara if she knew how easily you gave yourself up for him.

His face reoccurs in your daydreams for days, all the way up until the weekend comes up from behind and smacks you on the ass.

“Focus,” Jungkook taps you through you skirt again. Oh, or maybe it was Jungkook.

The stadium speakers blared with announcements and you’re brought back to the world of clashing helmets, captain’s orders and Jungkook’s strong hands residing on your waist for partner stunts.

You didn’t need to be reminded, you were much more stable than you were weeks ago. He throws you in the air during the signaling note of the band and catches your right foot with ease above him, keeping you stable as you pull a heel stretch and present a pretty smile. The crowd roars along, inspiring the team and singing along with the cheers.

By the end of the game, you’re exhausted, tearing down paper signs from the concrete walls and shuffling your poms into your bag in a hurry.

“Hey, are you going to the feed after? Everyone’s going, I could give you a ride,” Jungkook offers, but you shake your head.

“I’m pretty beat. I’ll go next time.” He shrugs, finding more interest in catching up to someone who is interested than trying to convince you otherwise. By the time your clean-up is done, most of the fans are gone, the stadium a comparable difference of quiet than how it was only twenty minutes ago.

“You’re sure taking forever,” a sudden voice pipes up. Outside the gate stands Jimin, all-black tank and jeans, per usual. “You looked great out there.”

You smile, suddenly awake and jogging towards him, “What’re you doing here? I thought you didn’t like football.” During all your rushing do you realize that you relax around Park, time always seeming to slow down in his presence and you dissolve into his effect.

“I don’t. Such an American moneymaker. They’re all cons.” He takes your bag like he always does, leaning against the gate and looking excited, “Mind if we stop by my place? I have something to show you. It’s not far, probably only a 5 minute walk from here.”

You nod before he even mentions how long it takes to get there, heart palpitating at the thought that he’s inviting you over. You’re sure you smelled from cheer and you probably looked like the opposing team warmed up suicide runs over your sweaty body, but you nod.

“Were you here the whole time? Or just towards the end?” you ask, slightly insecure towards the fact that he could’ve been watching you cheer.

“Was here since halftime. Got Yoongs to watch with me at the gate where I was before for the most part. He left halfway through fourth quarter though, said he got tired from seeing others exert themselves so much,” he chuckles at the thought, eyes squinting and crooked tooth visible from the side. Your heart swooned, you were even starting to notice the little things. How he acted. His habits. What he did and didn’t like.

You were in fucking deep.

“I did get to see you cheer though,” he answers your unspoken inquiry, “you looked pretty, Y/N. It’s like watching a whole ‘nother person compared to how you act outside of uniform.” You’re still stuck on the word “pretty” and nod along like you’re listening.

“You should see how people look at you,” he draws on, “like they’re entranced. Even when you were just relaxing on the sideline, not doing anything, you stand out.”

“Oh my god, Jimin, where is this even coming from? One more compliment and the world might explode from the paradox you’re creating.”

He shoves your shoulder lightly, laughing at your tomato-red face, “What do you mean? I can’t compliment you?”

“No that’s not—I just mean. You know. You used to hate me and now you shower me with praise like I’m the best person in the world. It’s just crazy how much our relationship has changed. And… And yesterday—”

“Yo, can’t believe you really stayed for the rest of the game,” a raspy voice outbursts. You just realize that Jimin stopped you in front of a house, presumably his house, as a mint-haired ball sits on the porch. He inhales from his cigarette and exhales through his nose before throwing it underneath his boot.

“Hey, Yoongs. This is Y/N. Y/N, Min Yoongi, my roommate. Has a bad smoking habit and have only recently gotten him to smoke outside.” Jimin snickers, offering a hand to lift Yoongi off the step and welcome him into some bro-hug.

“You smoke too, bastard. Just did it ‘cause I knew you were bringing someone home tonight,” Yoongi retaliates, eyeing your figure. Shivers run down your spine at the comment.

Jimin coughs unexpectedly, then anxiously laughs as he pulls your arm behind him and into the house, “We’ll be in the living room. Go sleep or something.” Yoongi only clicks his tongue in response.

“Sorry,” he says once your inside, “he can be a little too personal sometimes. He’s really nice once you get to know him.” You shake your head, giving him a comforting smile that eases the tension in his shoulders.

He settles you on the couch, host-like politeness apparent when he asks if you want anything to drink, tells you where the bathroom is, and hands you the tv remote before disappearing to find his laptop. His home was cozy, minimalist furniture often in gray, black, and an occasional blue spread throughout the rooms. You weren’t sure if the boys were attempting to be modern or if college tuition only allowed them this sort of set-up, but nonetheless, it was way nicer than you expected.

“Back,” Jimin plops onto the couch right next to you, Apple laptop unlocked to a default background. He looks to you briefly before setting up some page on Google, “Have you signed up for your classes for next quarter yet?”

He looks different, your eyes scanning over his face to figure out just what it is, “Basically, just gotta confirm and pay and whatnot. Have you, Jimin?”

It’s his septum, you discover, that he’s taken out. He looks handsome either way. Propping the laptop suddenly on your lap, he beams, “Yeah, go ahead and take a look.”

You scroll through the page, humming to yourself, “Mhm… Mhm… Accounting, business 101, contemporary repertory… God, you’re going to hate sociology with Doyard, she’s a complete psycho!” You trail, giggling at his misfortune. Once you’re done, you meet his discontent face.

It takes a few takes from his face to the screen, back to his face, until oh shit!

“Wait does ‘contemporary repertory’ mean something important?” you squeal in rushed excitement. “Is that a dance thing? Are you taking a dance class here?” Before he can even explain, you shut the laptop and safely place it on the coffee table before tackling the man, withdrawing an oof from his lips.

“Easy, girl. Please don’t break me before I even get to show up on the first day.”

“Jimin, this is amazing. You’re finally doing something you want to do, during regular hours, at that!” You nuzzle into his warm chest, “I’m so happy for you, Jimin. I hope you have fun.” His heart clenches at that; how could you be so fucking caring about him? He knew you’d be surprised, but not genuinely happy for him. His hand glides over the skin between your midriff and skirt, an inkling of a gasp floating out of your throat.

“Sorry,” he whispers, moving his hand higher and locking eyes with yours. Time is always slow with him but now, it’s like it was screaming at you to take the opportunity. Unwinding one of your arms from around his neck, you smooth his hair up so you can see those prepossessing eyes.

“You can touch me,” you confirm just as softly. His features harden and you hope you didn’t read the situation wrong.

“I… I never got to kiss you that night.”

“Then you can kiss me now, if you’d like,” you say, pleading in your voice and it’s all he needs to hear before he burns his lips into yours. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted this,” he pants between suckles to your bottom lip. He kisses like he dances: powerful and in perfect control with his body, molding it to yours and massaging the skin he just apologized for touching only seconds ago.

You cup his face and look down at him with sultry prowess, “I want you, Jimin. I’ve always thought about this, hoping you would just make a move, idiot.” You dive back into him, his moans prominent when you lick and nip at his lip. He lowers his grip to your ass, squeezing and pushing his hips into your own.

“Well, I’ve always thought about fucking you in this cursed uniform,” he growls, forcing a giggle out of you. Grinding down into him for effect, your mouth travels to his ear so you can state a small confirmation.

“I’m flexible, babe. I’m all yours.”

He hums his praise, latching his mouth onto your neck, laving and peppering blues into your skin before he carries you off the couch. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, “Where are you taking me?”

Heading into a hallway and taking a sharp left, he kicks his door open, “I don’t know about you, hot stuff, but Yoongs doesn’t need to see you getting dicked down in our living room,” he jests. When he lays you back onto the foot of his bed, you briefly scan his room and find it hard to believe that it’s relatively clean, the posters on his walls the only thing that seemed cluttered. This guy was your high school self’s wet dream. Scanning him promiscuously, you chuckle.

“I can be into it,” you drawl playfully.

Earning an unimpressed scoff, he fingers the hem of his shirt, “You’re mine,” he sheds it in a swift pull and throws it to the side cockily. Marveling at each detailed divot and curve of muscle, you can’t help but bite your lip in frustrated anticipation. “Unless, you don’t want me,” he finishes with a tilt of his head. He knew what he was doing, simulating innocence to draw you out of your transfixed stupor to hear those three words string from your mouth. You reach out to touch his abs, tracing over linework of ink and watching him shiver from your touch. Knowing exactly what he wants to hear, you gaze into oblique eyes and mouth the words, “I do want you”.

Goading him on, you lay back and extend your legs above you, shuffling your spandex tantalizingly slow over your skin. Jimin whistles at your show, staring at the white g-string you sported under your skirt and wandering his hands over the supple skin you expose.

“Jesus, you fucking tease. Leave the skirt.” Tittering at his request, you dig your heels into his back to propel him down towards you, his ringed hands keeping himself afloat and a winning smile winking down at you. Bless your heart you didn’t faint right then and there.

He kisses you like a man starved, lips burning hot with desire and aching to be bit—so you give him that. Sinking your teeth gently into the flesh, he punishes such action with a slap to the underneath of your thigh, then holding it close to the side of his abdomen and rolling over with you on top. Practically suffocating from lack of air, you dislodge yourself, quite reluctantly, from his mouth and soothe his complaints with brief kisses to his thick neck.

“Why didn’t we do this—ah, before?” he pants. Sucking a particularly tender spot of his jugular, he moans out and bucks into your hips. You continue your way down, leaving no inch of skin untouched until you reach where his skin ends and the nuisance of clothing began.

“You don’t make things very easy for me. Can I suck you off?”

“Fuck, don’t ask. Just do it. Turn around, though, I’ll finger you at the same time,” he offers, propping himself up on his elbows as you readjust yourself with your head towards his bulge and your ass facing him, knees keeping you up on one side of his torso. “Perfect,” he commends.

Unbuckling his ridiculously tight jeans, you hook your thumbs under the denim and whisper a quick, “Up,” to pull them off when his hips lift off the mattress. Your pride inflates at the sight of his bulge resting in the crook of his thigh, adorned by simple black boxers that hugged him in all the right spots. All but drooling at the member, you place a loving kiss where you know his head resides, mouthing at it gingerly and soaking the material with your saliva.

He ruts into your face as he watches such indecency, “You know, I should probably tell you something,” he says rather seriously, shuffling your skirt up above your ass and mischievously prodding at your sex with his thumb.

“Hmm,” you mumble, sliding his boxers down enough to suck at the pink tip that oozed of precum and spreading the liquid around with your tongue. The bitterness that came with it was all welcomed, slightly sweeter than others you’ve ever tasted and you appreciated it much more when a man this good-looking was laid out before you.

He groans, “Ever heard of a Jacob’s Ladder? Fuck, right there, underneath a bit…” You suck and nip at the skin of his frenulum, knowing he was bound to like small dosages of pain mixed with his pleasure—a guess all too correct when he cries out in ecstasy and gives your ass a light spank.

“A Jacob’s what?”

“Just—just look at it. If you don’t like it then I can just take them out,” he sighs, all too impatient to give you a rundown of whatever a Jacob’s hoo-ha entailed. You perk a brow at his vocabulary, halting your mouth and sliding his boxers the rest of the way down.

If you weren’t riled up before, you were hot, ready, and willing to beg on your knees to be stuffed with Jimin and his… accessories. You understand the term “ladder” now, three rungs of metal pierced on the underside of his shaft and glinting up at you with intimidation. You hope Jimin can’t see the now overflowing amount of arousal oozing out of your pussy, squeezing thighs together in a useless attempt of hiding yourself.

“Fuck, didn’t that hurt?” you question, hovering fingers over the balls of silver that protruded on each side in complete awe.

“Of course it did, honey. It’s all worth it, though. It’ll make you feel good too. Need me to take them out?” You shake your head a little too vigorously, earning a chuckle and his middle finger to slide in between your folds unexpectedly. Yiping at the sudden entrance, you cast a glare over his shoulder with his only response being the curve of his digit.

“C-Can I lick it? Can it get infected if you don’t use a condom?” you bombard him with questions, entirely unfamiliar with the subject and entirely enamored by it.

“It’s all healed up, baby. You can do whatever your little heart desires with it. And I would oh so much prefer going bare,” he confirms, and your heart flips at his pet name for you. That, and the thought of his thick, pierced cock penetrating you condom-less.

You wrap your lips around him once more, unafraid to take more and more of his length until you feel the cold metal—your stopping point. Call it your lack of experience, but you prefer not to catch your teeth on those piercings today. You make up for it by sliding a hand back under his scrunched boxers, fondling his balls as you bob diligently. He curses and struggles to keep his body still, digging another digit between your legs to slow your own ministrations. When it works and you moan around his cock, Jimin can’t help but want to play a little game.

“Should I give you a challenge, babe? It’s super simple. Whoever makes the other cum first gets to request something. Anything. Deal?”

“Deahl,” you muffle, swirling your tongue lavishly around his crown. Everything with Jimin was much more… intriguing. Even your first time having sex was turned into some lusty escapade of unexpected metallic embellishments and cheeky gambles. It made you feel something in your veins, wanting more and more of whatever poison Jimin was.

Taking a breath, you lick broadly over his entire shaft and scarcely taste the titanium—more than anything, it was just cold. Jimin shudders at the feeling, punishing you with a third and final finger and pushing downdowndown into a spot all too sensitive for you to focus.

Try as you might, your now pathetic attempts of sucking him off is all forgotten in your own haze of chasing your orgasm. Instead, you rest your head on his hip and writhe against his hand, fucking back onto it while he simultaneously prods your g-spot over and over again until you see stars.

“Giving up already? You were doing so well for a while, you could’ve won,” he lilts.

“Jimin, please make me cum. Oh god,” you wail, legs straining for just that final push…

“Is this what you want?” He slides his thumb across, swiping whatever he could collect and using it to knead at your neglected clit. It’s all you need, pleasure washing over you in tandem of near oversensitivity, a near scream tearing through your lungs that only comes out in ragged whines against his leg.

“Beautiful, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re ruining my sheets over here,” he criticizes, removing his hand with an obscene squelch and moving around in the bed.

The torpor you caught yourself in didn’t render what he was saying, just letting him move you about so your head rests on his pillows while he places himself between your legs.

“Jiminie,” you babble, “fuck me.” He strokes your hair away from your face and smiles, that cute puppy smile that turns his eyes into crescents. The rest of him, though, is purely sinful. Hair sweaty and pieced to perfection as his body taunted you with toned muscles.

“I don’t think you’re ready, honey,” he answers, “even though you’re dripping in your own cum.” He leans back and stares at your pussy without embarrassment, pulling your knees together and watching the juices flow even more. “I should put it to use.”

You peer up at him, curious as to whatever the hell he’s dreaming of over there and inexplicably stunned when you see his dick between your legs. “J-Jimin, what are you doing?”

“Shh, just keep them closed tight,” he orders, fucking himself between the lips of your heat and the warm skin of your thighs. You can’t help but ravish the sight of him as he slicks himself up, eyeing you down as his hips roll into you agonizingly slow. His piercings graze against your nub occasionally, warmth once again growing in your stomach.

“Fuck, you’re so soft and so wet. Who did this to you, hm?” You moan maniacally, angling your hips as to catch him and push inside, but he only laughs degradingly and intentionally misses.

���You think I’m going to fuck you if you can’t even answer this simple question?” he sneers. “Answer like a good girl, then I’ll fuck you into oblivion.”

You scramble for words, initially incoherent and struggling. “Jimin! Shit, Jimin. You made me this way. Ah, you m-make me so wet, so please put it in, put it in and—ha, aah!”

He shoves his length in like it’s all he knew what to do, your ankles to his shoulders so he can drink up your moans with his reddened lips. He was right—the piercings didn’t feel like any dick you’ve received before, it was so much better. This was pornographic, it was so good. He all but pistols into you, his cock grazing places previously untouched. Indulging in his heaven sent strokes, you cry and groan at each relentless thrust.

“Hush, baby, Yoongi’s going to hear your pretty self,” he warns, but you don’t give a shit. If anything, you moan louder with a know-all glint in your eye, testing Jimin’s patience. “Brat,” he spits.

He pounds into you repeatedly, completely removing himself before filling you up again and again and again. Between the pressure to your g-spot and the added stimulation from his Jacob’s Ladder—your stomach heaves, an unfamiliar feeling washing over your abdomen contrary to anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Oh, Jimin, wait!” you sob, halting his hips from another brutal shove a little too late. The second he pulls out, your second orgasm (and first ever untouched orgasm) of the night reigns over, briefly showering his lower stomach in your own wet arousal.

“Holy shit, that’s so fucking hot. Did you just… squirt on me?” he growls, not taking the time to hear your answer as he lifts you into his lap, legs wrapped around his muscular back and arms gripping around his shoulders for dear life.

He sinks back into you deliciously, filling you to the brim with your added weight and rutting up into you to chase his own release. Everything is soaked and sticky, Jimin’s ragged breathing and groans so close to your ear that you’re sure it’ll be engrained into your memory forever, his thrusts so deep inside you wail once more.

Consequently, the banging on the wall next to you comes as no surprise, Yoongi’s angry, “Shut the fuck up!” clear as day. Jimin waves it off.

“Don’t listen baby. Moan louder for me. Tell me where you want my cum.”

The slaps of skin become louder; it wouldn’t be long before Jimin came. “Inside, Jiminie, please. Cum inside me, pump me full,” you squeal, lust sparking inside you knowing that his roommate could hear you getting fucked senseless.

One, two, three more aching pounds before he spills into you, his pretty moans music to your ears. You flop back as soon as he takes himself out, suddenly aching all over from how much he stretched your legs and groaning at the pain.

You slap his eager hand away when he fingers his cum back into your abused lips, “That hurts, idiot.” He smiles and sucks your intermingled cum off his fingers with a pop.

“We taste good together,” he husks. Fuck. “By the way. You came first. Stay the night?”

You oblige with or without the pressure of the bet, dog-tired from your beating and not even fathoming the trek back to your own room. Jimin takes charge in your state of haziness, washing you off in his shower, replacing your uniform with a t-shirt of his own and laying you beside him on his mattress (sheets replaced and refreshed).

“You have piercings in your dick,” you state in the middle of the quiet.

Jimin snorts at the outburst, looping an arm around your side and melding his body to yours, “Yeah, is it weird?”

“… Robot dick,” you whisper, words cracking at the face of your laughter.

“Oh my god.”

“So, when you’re going through metal detectors at airports and whatever, do you have to tell them that the metal’s in your penis? Do they have to check?” Titters are awarded with light jabs to your side, which are then led to screams and kicks to his legs.

Yoongi bursts through Jimin’s door, brows stitched together in heated anger parallel to the flames of hell, “I swear to fucking god, if you two don’t quiet down I’ll mount your heads on my wall, it’ll make a great decoration.”

“What the hell, what if we were naked? Don’t just go busting through—”

“Yeah because you obviously care if I know you two are fucking. ‘Don’t listen, baby! Tell me where you want my cum, baby!’” Yoongi mocks. Pillows are flying and insults are thrown as you watch them bicker sleepily, all fading into white noise as you begin to drift off.

Sleep itself feels like a blink, so exhausted that you don’t dream. Waking in the same position that you were last conscious in, the only difference in picture is the fact that: A) the sun is shining through Jimin’s skylight and B) Jimin is no longer in bed with you.

But before you can even question where he’s run off to, his sly self sneaks back into the bedroom, shirtless and face clean from washing up just now. You don’t even hide the fact that you look down to check out his tight briefs, metal detector in your brain trying to scope it out.

“You’re awake. Sorry if I was loud,” he smiles, crawling on top of you as you stretch out like a mangled cat. You shake your head, combing his hair back with your nails as he dips down into your chest. “I like when you wear my shirts.”

“That’s pretty stereotypical,” you whisper out, voice low and raspy from your slumber. This isn’t fair, you think, he got to brush his teeth already.

He sits up and gives you A Look, making you giggle and giving you the leverage to feel up his abs as he flexes haughtily.

“I can get used to this,” you purr.

“I bet you could,” he mumbles into your neck, nipping at the places he already marked last night. He doesn’t push, just relishes in your warmth and fondles you carefully as you continue to wake up and it makes you shiver.

“I wish you would’ve done this a long time ago,” you sigh.

“You hated me.”

“You didn’t make it easy for me to like you,” you retort, gasping when he bites your collarbone, “Now—Now I like you.”

He stops abruptly and pulls away, landing on his side with an elbow and tilting his head towards you, “Well, I hope you don’t start liking me too much.”

You squint, “W-Why? Don’t tell me this was just a one night stand or anything.”

“No! I mean, not just one night or whatever. I just—this is just casual, right?”

You all but bite your tongue to keep from lashing out, “What do you mean ‘casual’? You didn’t say anything about ‘casual’.”

“Oh, Y/N, c’mon. Did you really think we should date? Look at us, baby. We’re just not… each other’s types, you know?”

It’s about time you get up, shoving aside his warm blankets and grabbing your soiled uniform from the floor, “No, Jimin. I don’t know. I thought you were being genuine with me.”

“Hey, no, don’t leave,” he grabs your arm before you leave his bedroom, “Okay, there was some miscommunication. I’m not trying to be mean. Can I just… I don’t know, think about it? I’m just not used to this.”

Looking into his eyes for some sort of confirmation, your tensions subside. “I’m not a toy. If you don’t want to be with me, just say it.” The hurt he feels in your tone breaks his heart, for once. Would he really be willing to try something he knows won’t work?

For you, maybe.

“I do like you, Y/N. Just give me some time.” He pulls your arm once more, hoping you’ll stay. But you draw the line and pry his hand off politely.

“Of course I’ll give you time. I’ll see you later, okay?” He nods understandingly. He can’t feel butthurt when he’s the one putting you on ice, he knows that. So Jimin watches you leave in his shirt, mind clouded more so than when you arrived.

a/n: yay! you made it through the first part! if you liked it, feel free to let me know or ask any questions to the characters! xx, selene

[samoyeddaniel-blog]

Rescue | Kang Daniel - Soulmate Series

sequel to Target

genre: angst & fluff

member: Kang Daniel (ft. Yoon Jisung)

requested: yes

a/n: thank you so much for loving Target and requesting for the second part! Tbh, I’m not sure about this one, because it feels kind of rushed >.< But I hope you like it anyway! Feel free to request!

summary: you couldn't stop worrying about Daniel and decided to do whatever it took to save him.

soulmate au: countdown timer - a clock suddenly appears on your wrist, telling you how long you have until you meet your soulmate.

soulmate series: Kang Daniel | Park Jihoon | Lee Daehwi | Kim Jaehwan | Ong Seongwoo | Park Woojin | Lai Guanlin | Yoon Jisung | Hwang Minhyun | Bae Jinyoung | Ha Sungwoon

Target | Rescue

It was extremely painful for you to spend each day worrying about Daniel, wondering whether he survived the day. You thought you were going crazy. Everytime you caught sight of the counter - which was now 0 - on your wrist, you were always reminded of him. You couldn't concentrate in everything you did and you always found yourself staring at nothingness, reminiscing the fateful day when you met him for the first time. Then you ended up crying all over again as you remembered the part where you left him, alone against whatever criminal gang he's involved with.

You questioned the same thing everyday, asking yourself whether he hid himself safely or whether he treated his wound properly. You missed him so badly that you often saw him in your dreams. Sometimes, they were sweet dreams where he came to meet you. Some other times, they were nightmares where you saw him being shot and you found yourself crying when you woke up. You missed him so badly that every thought about him slowly drove you insane.

Because you couldn't bring yourself to leave Seoul, you opted to stay in the city, trying to find Daniel instead of running away to save yourself. You'd been dying to ask your father about his involvement with the shady organization, but if you mentioned that they had hired someone to kill you, he might sent you to another country immediately. And obviously, that's not what you wanted.

So you chose to consult this with your police detective best friend instead.

"Jisung, can you find someone for me?" you asked, waltzing into the police HQ where your friend worked like you did most of the times - the other police officers tried to stop you at first but they gave up eventually.

"I'm busy, Y/N. Can't you see these stacks of documents?" Jisung tapped the piling up files on his desk in irritation.

You drew a long breath. "Will you listen to me if I tell you that a criminal organization hired a hitman to kill me because of a reason that has something to do with my father? And this someone that I'm trying to find is the said hitman?"

Jisung stopped doing what he's doing in a split second, eyes wide in disbelief. "What the-? What did you say this hitman's name was again?"

"I didn't. But, it's Kang Daniel."

You spent the rest of your day in the police HQ, helping Jisung to search for any information about Kang Daniel and this criminal organization in the archive. And the two of you found something about him. Kang Daniel was the name of a boy that was reported missing seven years ago. And when you looked at the photo, it's indeed the same Daniel you knew, but younger.

"I'll take it from here." Jisung put a hand on your shoulder to reassure you, but he continued when you didn't look the slightest bit convinced, "Don't worry. I promise I'll keep a low profile. No one will know besides me and a few guys I trust." Then Jisung guessed, "By the way, this Daniel is your soulmate, right? You keep glancing at your wrist, although it's already 0."

Knowing that it's fine to tell him everything, you told them what happened that night when you met Daniel for the first time. Jisung was listening to you intently as he took notes, asking you to explain the whole situation as detail as possible.

"We'll save your soulmate. I promise," Jisung said and insisted that you should go home and let him work in peace.

What Jisung meant by letting him work in peace was completely forbiding you to step inside the police HQ. The police officers who usually ignored you now approached you before you could even get near the entrance. Jisung clearly didn't want to involve you in this investigation, so you decided to trust him and gave up on trying to get inside the HQ.

However, days went by and you heard nothing from Jisung, causing to become more anxious. You tried to call him, but his phone was always turned off, so you got worried, afraid that something bad happened to him.

Then one day, you got a text from Jisung. You could feel your heart stop beating completely as you read his message.

We found them.

***

You, Jisung, and two other police detectives who secretly worked on this case with him headed to the abandoned building, which was allegedly the HQ of the criminal organization. He didn't let you go with him at first, but you kept nagging him until he finally gave in.

Jisung commanded when you arrived, "Stay in the car."

But of course, you wouldn't want to just do nothing when your friend and your soulmate were in danger. You ignored Jisung's command and immediately followed him out of the car, much to his disbelief.

"What the heck, Y/N? I just told you to stay in the damn car!" Jisung furiously said.

You didn't have enough time to answer, because right at that moment you were ambushed. The members of the gang surrounded you in an instant, as if they had been waiting for you to come. You were greatly outnumbered, but still, Jisung and his friends tried hard to fight them and protect you at the same time.

However, it was impossible to do that. While they were keeping your friends busy, one of them charged towards you when you were unguarded. You couldn't even yell to notice them because you're too taken aback.

Suddenly, you were struck with a strong sensation of dejavu as you saw someone rush to stand between you and your attacker, easily beating him. Just when your savior turned back to face you, tears streamed down your face when you recognized the face you missed so much you thought you might have gone insane.

"Daniel," you managed, not believing your own eyes.

Daniel's eyes softened as he caressed your cheeks to wipe your tears. From his touch, you could tell that he was feeling the same thing as you. "What are you doing here? You should've left the country."

You shook your head hard. "I can't leave you here to die. I can't... I can't..."

You burst out crying. The thoughts of Daniel dying kept hunting you for the last few weeks. You started to get frightened of night time, because you began having more nightmares than sweet dreams the more worried you were.

"Sshh..." Daniel calmed you down, pulling you into his embrace. "I'm here now, Y/N. Everything will be alright."

Enveloped by Daniel's big body, you were finally relaxed. The warmth you felt when you were in his arms was the feeling you liked the most. You felt safe, you felt content, and you felt complete.

You melted into Daniel's embrace, basking in his warmth, when you looked over his shoulder just in time to find someone pointing a gun at your soulmate. You saw Jisung dashing towards the man, but he's a second too late. The trigger was already pulled and the gun was shot, the bullet burying itself in Daniel's back. You screamed in horror when you saw his blood trickling down his back and staining your hand.

"Daniel!" you shrieked as Daniel lost his strength and collapsed on the ground. You could barely stop him from falling down because his weight was too much for you, so you dropped to your knees and held him in your arms.

Fortunately, at that point, police reinforcements arrived and successfully seized the gang members outside the abandoned building. Jisung briefly explained to them about their hideout for them to plan an ambush and walked over to you, his face worried.

"Jisung, call the ambulance! Quick!" you shouted in panic while sobbing uncontrollably. Jisung sensed the urgency in your voice and swiftly took out his phone.

You cradled Daniel against your chest, hugging him so tight as if you never wanted to let him go ever again.

"I'm so happy I can see you again one last time," Daniel said in a voice so low it waa barely audible. His hand was trying to reach your face, but he had no strength left so you had to hold his hand and bring it towards your cheek.

"No, no! Don't say that!" You cried even harder and hugged him even tighter.

Daniel gave you a weak smile. "I love you, Y/N."

With that, Daniel lost his consciousness.

***

Fortunately, Daniel's gunshot wound wasn't that lethal, since the bullet didn't injure any vital organs. Even so, you're still worried sick. You insisted to stay by his side all the time until he regained his consciousness; you wanted to be the first one he saw when he woke up. Jisung knew better than to make you change your mind, so he left first and dealt with the crime organization.

So that night, you fell asleep at the chair next to the hospital bed, your head resting on the edge of the bed near his hand. The day felt so exhausting to you since you had to witness the brutal fight and Daniel getting shot. It was like watching your nightmares came true, so you felt horrible.

The next morning, you woke up when you felt someone touching your hair. You looked up to see Daniel smiling at you as he stroked your hair.

"Good morning, beautiful," Daniel said gently. "Did I wake you up?"

You almost screamed out of happiness if you didn't remember that you were currently at a hospital. You leaned closer to him and said, "I'm so glad that you're okay."

"I told you that everything will be alright." Daniel moved his body to one side of the bed, wincing in pain as he did that, and tapped the empty side next to him, gesturing you to climb on the bed with him. And you did what he asked.

You two were cuddling on the hospital bed as Daniel told you his story. He was kidnapped seven years ago by this organization and he'd been harshly trained to be an assassin since then. The organization's business was to create competent hitmen for people to hire. He was basically a prisoner there. Since they needed money to fund their training facility, they made deals with CEOs of big companies by killing people for them.

However, your father didn't accept the deal and they decided to kill you to frighten him, showing that they had the power to do that. And Daniel was assigned to kill you.

"I heard from your policeman friend, Jisung, that all of the gang members have been captured and all the prisoners have been released. And that you're the one asking him for help." Daniel kissed your forehead. "Thank you for rescuing me."

You snuggled up to his warm body. "I'll do anything for my soulmate. What are you going to do after this? You're not going to jail, right?"

Daniel chuckled. "No. Jisung said all the victims are pardoned of our crime, because they forced us to do it. And he offered me to join the police force. He said they could use a combat specialist as an addition to their team. Should I join them?"

"Why are you asking me? It's your choice," you said, playing with his hair as you looked at him in the eye.

Daniel raised a brow. "I want to know your opinion. What do you think of a police detective boyfriend?"

You cringed. "Do you call that a confession?"

Looking at you in amusement, Daniel smiled. "Of course not."

"Then yes, I'd love to have a police detective boyfriend." You grinned widely.

Daniel looked excited and elated as he squeezed you tightly for a second. "Let's start with a proper date, without injuries and fights and dead people, right after I'm discharged from the hospital. How does that sound?"

"Awesome." You lifted his wrist and brought it closer to yours, smiling at the counter on both of your wrists that showed 0. "I'm glad that you're my soulmate."

"Me too." Daniel leaned his head towards you and kissed your lips.

a/n: sorry, I know this sucks, and it took me a long time to write this because I’m really not satisfied. Hope you still enjoy it!

[dialux]

let my soul with their souls find peace, and forget what is done and undone

This began as a series of typos that I laughed about with @alittlestardustcaught, and slowly morphed into a smutty oneshot about Jon x Sansa x Satin; this, in turn, grew into an s7-s8 redux that... is slightly terrifying me, tbh.

Premise: Littlefinger’s killed before the beginning of the story; the Northern lords named Jon king in return for his promise that the North wouldn’t surrender its freedom under him; Jon’s trying to find people to throw at the Walkers until he can figure out a way to end this menace; everyone’s pretty sure that this won’t, in fact, work, and they’re just going to end up dead.

Enjoy!

...

Prologue: my life is bitter with thy love

(Jon hadn’t meant to.

That’s how any song they ever sing of him will begin, in all likelihood: Jon Snow hadn’t meant to find himself knee-deep in snow, but he’d followed his uncle easily enough beyond the Wall; Jon Snow hadn’t meant to fuck his wildling lover, but he’d loved her and found her too enticing amidst mounds of frozen earth; Jon Snow hadn’t quite meant to fall into this- arrangement- with his steward, with his half-sister- but he’s here anyhow.)

Arc One: let life burn down, and dream it is not death

It starts with a candle.

Or, no; before that- when Sansa falls asleep over the records, head resting on the pages, small fist pressed against her mouth. It’s been weeks since retaking Winterfell but she’s still too thin, hollowed-out, overly different from the girl that Jon had once called sister. 

Sansa falls asleep, and Jon can’t find it in himself to grudge her that rest, or try to move her. If there’s one thing he’s learned of her, it’s that Sansa can be more stubborn than Arya, Robb, and Rickon combined if she puts her mind to it, and when she feels her pride has been trampled on, Sansa tends to put her mind to it. And she’s had dark circles ringing her eyes for all the weeks they’ve met, from their first night at the Wall when Jon’d had nightmares because of her appearance. It had made a startling contrast against the dank emptiness that had been his dreams up until then, which is why he remembers it, but his worry remains.

Jon sighs, instead, now, and leans back in his own chair. 

They’ve settled into a nice rhythm here: past dusk, seated opposite each other in the common solar of the Lord and Lady Stark, going over records, consulting each other quietly. It’s quiet and nice, beyond all else that he’s ever considered before.

And if it feels too domestic- if he feels a flash of warmth, whenever Sansa smiles at him over the top of her papers- it’s the stirrings of a base-born man who’s known little of a woman’s touch in his life, even less of a woman so well-bred as Sansa. 

Nothing more.

He might have ignored it, Jon thinks, he might well have ignored all of those stirrings and those warmths and those kindnesses. He might have done a lot of things. 

But the gods have always hated him.

And then- Satin brings the candle into his chambers.

...

It’s Satin’s damn job to bring those candles in.

He’s to keep stock of the stationary the Lord uses, the inks and quills and papers and, yes, candles. And Jon’s a good man to serve, Satin knows; he doesn’t truly have a head for the finer nuances of penny-pinching, but that’s where Sansa enters.

Sansa.

Lady Sansa.

She’s not quite like many of the ladies that Satin’s seen, though there are times when she feels like any of them, like all of them. But Sansa’s pretty, with fine-lined cheekbones and a shining sweep of hair that he’d think dyed on anyone of less high birth. And she’s kind, that’s what’s even more surprising: sweet, for all that her silences can be as cold as the Wall itself; generous, for all her insistence on lords’ fealty to the Starks; and kind, for all that she’d not hesitated to feed Ramsay to his own hounds. 

She makes a good match to Jon, which Jon might have realized earlier had he not been so invested in those White Walkers. 

(Jon gets... single-minded, Satin’s realized. It’s his job to soften things up. To smile at the world when Jon seems so invested in the Army Of The Dead and tell the lords or the servants or the smallfolk- no, sorry, m’lord’s busy right now, he’ll... probably not remember you but I promise that if you take it up with Lady Sansa- yes, that’d be wonderful, I’ll put in a word with her-

It’s him and Sansa who’re doing the ruling, while Jon raises the armies, is the point. And Satin’s seen quite a bit of Lady Sansa over these past few months, working in tandem beside Jon while still managing to butt heads over the most inane points- gods, they’d once spent an afternoon shrieking at each other over some fish-barrel Sansa’d imported from the Stormlands-

But whatever else, Sansa’s good at ruling, and Jon’s good at leading, and Satin’s good at getting ink in the middle of the damned winter, so they make a good team.)

“Satin?” 

Satin looks back and tips his head forwards, shoulders bowing enough to qualify as a bobbled-bow. It’s the compromise they’ve reached between themselves: enough to satisfy both their senses of priority.

“M’lord.” He lifts the candle- it’s a thick one, long, made of better-quality wax than the kind they’d bartered from Torrhen Square. Satin had won it off a bet the previous night. “Where’d you like this?”

“Just- set it down,” says Jon, waving at Sansa’s desk. 

He looks weary, Satin thinks. He looks wearier than he’d done walking out of those ice cells, and he’d looked like he was halfway to the Stranger then.

The darkness is taking a toll on all of them.

“M’lord,” Satin says, slowly, when he sees the ragged cut of Jon’s nails, made less by a clean blade and more by gnawing teeth. “M’lord, is... everything fine?”

And Jon- fool that he is- only lifts a brow. “There’s an army of the dead arriving,” he says, dry as the wine Sansa so enjoys.

“I only meant,” Satin begins, hand gesturing slightly- 

-but he’d forgotten, he’d forgotten, he holds a candle that’s twice the size of any other candle he’s ever held, and the delicate pile of papers on Sansa’s desk go crashing to the floor when his candle knocks into it.

Satin might have forgiven himself for that, but the soft fwump of papers falling onto the flagstones makes Sansa lurch sideways, graceless as he’s never seen before; her sleeve catches on the corner of the desk but she jerks anyhow, the cloth ripping loudly in the abrupt silence of the room. When she looks up, there’s a line across one cheek from the abrupt drag of her face against the wood, rubbed raw and red.

But it’s her eyes that catch his attention: large, and blue, and terrified.

And unseeing.

“Sansa,” Jon mutters under his breath, before rising, stepping around both of them to lean down next to her, hand cupping her cheek.

She flinches away. Jon goes still at that, his shoulders pulling tight. There’s a long breathless moment, stretched taut with words Satin can’t quite pull into being- and then he, too, steps forwards, the anger-despair in Jon’s spine propelling him those few steps; Satin places one hand square between Jon’s shoulderblades and the other on Sansa’s shoulder.

“Lady Sansa?” he ventures, slowly. There’d been a woman in Oldtown who’d been like this, sometimes, when a customer was over-rough. Satin had once sat in the sunlight with her, popping dried apricots into his mouth until his tongue blistered. He’d rather liked that woman. “M’lady. You’re- you’re in Winterfell, now, m’lady, you’re safe. You- d’you remember? Your brother- m’lady-”

Sansa shudders out of the rabbit-caught stillness she’d been in, her shoulders hunching up to her ears and face staining a shade just a little duller than her hair. Jon, too, moves- or- something- something similar. Satin feels the vibration through his palm, flat on Jon’s back, but there’s no outward sign of it. 

“You should’ve woken me,” she says, voice quiet, voice rough. An edge that reminds Satin of screams, of- of not-quite-screams, of screams swallowed before they were every allowed to be screams.

Jon doesn’t move. Fool, Satin thinks again, though this time it’s with admittedly more fondness. “You’ve not been sleeping well.”

“Yes, well,” says Sansa, “clearly that’s not going to be remedied by sleeping on desks.”

“I’m-” Jon pauses, checks himself, sighs. “I’m sorry.”

She leans back, pulling away from Satin’s fingers just enough that it can’t be an accident- far enough to look Jon in the eye, not far enough for Satin to let go. She’s slotting her masks into place again, Satin realizes; masks and smiles and courtesies, all of them to divert from the true girl under it all.

“Whatever for?”

“I scared you,” he says, flatly.

At that- there’s another, longer, moment of silence. Her face pulls tight.

“Jon.”

“You should rest,” Jon says, with the almost-impatient cadence of repetition, and rises to his feet. Satin’s hand drops fast. “I’ll speak to you in the morning.”

He leaves, and Satin’s left touching a woman who’s lovelier than any other he’s ever seen, a woman who has masks enough to make the Faceless Men envious.

Satin’s other hand still feels warm, warm from the heat of Jon’s back. He curls it into a fist and brings the other to his side and bows, and when he leaves he doesn’t look back at all.

(This is a lie. He does, just a glance over his shoulder when he reaches the door; and he sees Sansa staring into the guttering flames of the candle next to her- her eyes are dark, and heavy-lidded, and her hand is cupped over the shoulder he’d been touching, fingers running over the bare square-inch he’d brushed.

Satin wonders, at it. How long has it been since someone just- just touched her? Without cruelty, or wanting. Simply to comfort her.)

Looking back, Satin ought to have known. 

He never has been able to resist broken things. Even less beautiful ones. And less than that, brave ones. And if Sansa Stark is anything at all, it’s brave and beautiful and broken.

...

Sansa doesn’t sleep that night.

She doesn’t dream of Ramsay often; even then, when she does, it’s usually of the way his blood painted Winterfell’s mud under Jon’s fist, the pad of his dogs before tearing into his flesh. Of course the one time she dreamt of his hands on her skin it was while in public.

But it shakes her, more than anything else. Ramsay’s hands on her skin, the way he’d tended to rip the blankets off her and then rip her clothes off her and then- and then- her skin.

Breathe, she tells herself, but it doesn’t work, she can’t- 

She stands, and belts her nightdress together, hands aching for something to do; she’s almost at the door when she sees the jug of wine she’d stored in her chambers almost a sennight previous. She pauses only briefly, however, and reaches for it; and when she swallows two mouthfuls, she feels a slow warmth light in her belly.

There’s a curse on the tip of her tongue for her foolish mind, but Sansa swallows it instead, running a hand through her hair. These nightmares don’t come often, but they’re often enough to leave her hesitant to sleep. 

It’s really been her memory of Robb that’s provided courage- how he would have laughed, and lit up all the candles in the room to ensure there wasn’t a speck of fear inside her chest, and likely slept beside her until Sansa finally kicked him out herself. And when even that fails, she has Arya inside her head. 

She’d have slapped me until I fainted, Sansa thinks wryly, tugging the sleeves of her nightdress further down, against her cold wrists. And then she’d have told me that she was more frightening than any monster I had inside my head, so as long as she was there I’d have nothing to fear.

Arya’s not here now, and neither is Robb, but Sansa carries them inside of her like they were sunken into her ribs and heart. Her dead aren’t quite dead, and they won’t ever be. Not so long as she lives.

Sansa sighs and turns to the window, inspecting the sky critically. 

Dark, but not too dark. 

Jon’s taken to studying Sansa with worried eyes. He thinks he’s subtle, Sansa knows, but the rub is that he’s not; Jon and subtlety tend to go together as well as a Stark in the south or a Baratheon on the throne. And the care with which he treats her when he remembers how damaged she is- it’s irritating, more than all the other annoying habits he’s picked up over the years. 

They’ve fought, the two of them, over what must seem utterly inane in retrospect- Jon’s clothes, Sansa’s sleep-habits, one time that Jon refused to treat one of the lords with enough courtesy- though they’ve fought over harsher, more important things as well, and that louder.

Admittedly, Sansa’s sleep has been one of their longest fought battles, even if it isn’t one of the most vicious. If he knows that she didn’t sleep for the full night, he’d as like as lock her in her rooms as not, and Sansa doesn’t think the nightmares will fade at all if he does so.

But the night sky is tinged with grey, so Sansa has hope that she can just pass it off to any people who see her as getting up early, not not sleeping at all.

A few minutes later, she’s creeping down the hallway to her solar, taking care to avoid the looser flagstones and hollow areas- if her knowledge of Winterfell hadn’t been good enough in her childhood, she’s learned it well enough when the Boltons held it. Jon’s room is next to the solar, all but attached; Sansa must be careful to ensure she doesn’t wake him. The doors are thick, yes, but it always pays to be more careful than not, as Sansa’s learned.

Just because she cannot find sleep doesn’t mean that Jon must waken as well.

She slips inside, silently, and closes the door as gently as she can, only relaxing when the lock’s tumblers settle without any corresponding shuffle in the adjacent rooms. Then she turns around, and all the care in the world wouldn’t be enough to stifle the shriek that climbs out of her throat when she sees a wavering flame hanging in mid-air.

Sansa’s fingers close over the handle, heartbeat jackrabbiting in her chest, all but ready to slam the door open.

And then she realizes: it’s Satin, not wearing his customary black cloak but in a brown jerkin that’s almost the exact shade of the paneling. With his back to her and a candle held aloft, the solar still not-quite lit, it’s not exactly surprising that she hadn’t realized that there was someone there.

“Oh,” she says, pressing a hand to her neck, trying to lower her voice from the octave it’d jumped to, “Satin, it’s you.” A breath, in and out, whistling in her lungs. “I don’t- what are you doing here?”

Satin stares back at Sansa, eyes wide. “Cand-”

Before he can finish the sentence, the door on the far side of the solar bursts open. Jon flings himself through it half a breath later, brandishing a dagger that she’s seen only in one man’s keep, and Sansa blinks at him for a long moment. The large-bladed, long-handled knife catches the light, and she feels the shock shift, abruptly, to anger. 

Anger at Jon, who makes it damn easy to be angry at him anyhow.

“You took Littlefinger’s dagger,” she accuses.

“You shouted,” he replies.

“I didn’t expect anyone to be in here,” Sansa says levelly, drawing herself up. “But then, I didn’t expect you to enter either.” That, I think, is a lie. But it’s not like you need to know that, is it? What she says doesn’t matter all that much, with Jon; what matters is how she says it- the tone, the rhythm, and body language. Sansa lets censure hone her voice, now. “Least of all like- this.”

Jon’s cheeks suffuse with a color that makes him look younger. It’s a good look on him: his hair cuts across his over-sharp jaw, and the color softens his face even further, and the light in his eyes is bright enough to make her chest ache a little, faint memories of their childhood coming together to remind her of him laughing, sometimes with Robb, sometimes with Arya, bright as children still innocent of the horrors of the world.

He cuts his eyes over to Satin, who’s frowning determinedly at the far wall as if it’s done him an injustice, and flushes further, painfully red. 

Her toes curl in her slippers, something hot and brilliant coiling in her belly.

“I was- worried,” Jon bites out.

“For what?” Sansa asks, tipping her arms wide. “We’re inside Winterfell, Ramsay’s gone, Petyr’s gone, what more-”

“-you screamed,” he says.

“I did not,” says Sansa, almost insulted. 

It hadn’t been a scream. A yelp, a shout- but she hadn’t screamed, not really. Certainly not loud enough for Jon to hear through his door, not unless he were...

Oh, she thinks, a vicious sort of triumph flitting up her throat like a flame’s heat. Oh, Jon.

“You were awake,” she says. 

Jon frowns, and then he sees her face, and he pales. “No,” he says. “No, no. Be quiet. I wasn’t-”

“You were,” says Sansa, the anger quickly being replaced by delight. “You haven’t been sleeping, I knew it!"

“Sansa,” he hisses.

“Jon,” she mimics, before quirking her lips. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

His hands clench. “I’m not lying to you,” he tells her slowly. 

Sansa pushes away from the door, stepping closer to him. One step, and then two, and then three- each foot closer feels dangerous, but not as it’d ever been with Ramsay; less like she’s balancing on a knife’s edge and more like she’s on a high wall with a net strung to catch her if she were to fall. Still frightening- but not- not too much.

The firelight flicks over his eyes, shadows sharp over most of his face; over all of him, truly, all but the gleaming flats of his cheekbones. 

“Yes,” Sansa tells him, her braid loose over her shoulder, nightgown loose over her pale skin. It’s too dark, damn it all, she can’t quite see what he’s looking at- but she sees the bob of his throat as he swallows, and it’s that single motion that gives her the courage to step forwards once more, close enough to brush his arms if she just extended her own: the idea that Jon’s throat is as dry as her own, for reasons neither of them is willing to explore. “You are.”

“I’m not,” he whispers, but she can see the way he pulls away, even as she comes closer; Sansa can see it, and she’s not half so blind as to think that it’s for anything other than the heat low in her belly.

“Sansa,” Jon sighs, again, but this time she thinks there’s resignation there as well- and it makes triumph flare like a falcon’s spearing wings inside her. 

But then- but then-

Satin coughs.

And Jon jumps, wild as a startled deer, away from her and whatever delicate confession she’d almost wheedled out of him.

“M’lord,” calls Satin, startled all on his own- oh, be quiet, is all Sansa can think, likely with too much of a spiteful edge- “M’lord, I didn’t mean to-”

The far door slams behind Jon. Sansa braces herself on the table, the edge digging into her palms. Satin starts towards the door as if to follow him.

“Let him go,” she says, biting back the sigh crawling up her throat.

Satin halts, looking between Sansa and the door, conflicted. Sansa looks up at him, and releases the sigh anyhow, before jerking her chin at the door- effectively dismissing Satin.

Alone in the study, she glares at her hands, sleep a far memory.

“Coward,” she says.

Sansa’s not quite certain who she’s branding such. Perhaps, she thinks, the petulant part of her still awake and baying- perhaps it’s all three.

...

The Wall fell, the note reads, in a script too jagged to be written by someone who could truly write. It’s the cut of a quill made by unused hands, and it makes dread seize in Jon’s lungs, in Jon’s throat, in Jon’s mouth.

Please help us.

Written by an illiterate person, begging for assistance against an undead enemy- 

I’m coming, Jon thinks, and when he announces it that night, the hall doesn’t say a word against him.

The hall doesn’t, but Sansa does.

Jon remembers the slope of the ‘l’ in the note, slanting together as if leaning for comfort. He can’t forgive Sansa for daring to put him above the land she’s sworn to rule, and so he meets her flint with his own flash, and-

Well.

Is it any surprise that there’s a fire?

...

“M’lady,” says Satin, before pulling away hastily at Sansa’s cool, arched brow. “I- I’d like to speak to you, if I could, in private.”

Sansa’s mouth curves into something that only just apes a smile. “We’re rather busy ensuring the King has all he needs to leave.” 

“Tonight, then,” Satin says, immediately. “Please, m’lady.”

She pauses. Then: “Yes. Tonight.”

Satin’s a mess, for the rest of the day; he stutters through half his meetings, remembering the way Sansa had looked up at Jon, the way Jon had stared back down at her, the flicker of Jon’s pale eyes towards Satin before he turned heel and fled- 

Fuck, thinks Satin, fisting his hands in his tunic. They’re so pretty, the both of them, and he can’t stop imagining the play of firelight across their skin, the way Jon’s face would flush like roughened silk, the bend of Sansa’s waist against those scarred fingers. I’m a selfish bastard for this, mayhaps.

Selfish, yes, but content.

He spends precious minutes trying to find the courage to knock on Sansa’s door- but Jon is going to leave on the morrow, and Satin’s leaving with him. If Satin loses his nerve, he’ll lose it all, and all before it even forms as well.

“Lady Sansa?”

Sansa doesn’t speak when he enters, instead choosing to study him closely. Satin looks back frankly, and he wonders if there’s ever been anyone in the lovely lady’s life to care that she has a patch of freckles on the side of her neck, a constellation almost like the Seven Sisters in the sky. Likely not, and that’s as great a tragedy as Satin’s ever known.

“You wished to speak to me,” Sansa says, finally.

“Yes.” Satin coughs. “I meant- that is- I thought-” her brows climb higher with each stutter, make his heart pound a little harder. But Satin’s not going to lose his mind to shame, not before he’s spit out what he wants. There’s every chance he’ll die within the fortnight, and he thinks he deserves to know what Sansa’s answer would be. “I’ve seen it, you know,” he says, holding her gaze until he feels like he’s drowning. “How you look at Jon.”

And how he looks at you. But he bites back those words, mostly because Sansa’s face goes- not whiter, not precisely; Satin can’t tell exactly what changes in her face, only that there’s a strained cast to it, all of a sudden, despite her still-arched brows and disapproving eyes. Did you think you were hiding it?

Perhaps to someone who wasn’t in constant, daily contact with both of them, but Satin’s definitely not one of those people.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Sansa says, so evenly that had Satin not been sure of himself, he’d likely have been convinced. “He is my brother, yes. And I’ve precious little family left, so I’ll forgive you for your ignorance-”

“M’lady, that’s not how any sister looks at a man she calls brother.”

Sansa smiles thinly. “I’ve lost all my family save Jon, and he’s as like as not to lose himself to those thrice-accursed dead. The way I look at him is the way a woman resigned to being alone looks at her last blood, Satin.”

So you’ve hidden it from yourself as well. 

“You love him,” says Satin.

“Of course I do.” Her smile seems to grow teeth, just a hint. “He is my brother.”

For a long moment, Satin cannot find the words. Then he straightens further, pleads every inch he can out of his spine, stares directly into Sansa Stark’s stubborn face and says, “I love him.”

There is silence around them, like the quiet before a blizzard. Satin can see the surprise flood Sansa’s face, along with the smaller, pettier emotions; he can see the way her jaw clenches, the pulse of her heart along the skin of her neck.

Satin hadn’t known that himself, not entirely. But it’s the truth, isn’t it?

(There had been a customer, back in Oldtown, who’d been- gentle with him, in the fashion of a man who thought himself generous and utterly capable. He’d returned time and time again, trying to find a purchase in Satin’s heart; each time, with a different object. 

Flowers, at first, and then satin, and then jewels.

On their last night together, before he’d had to return to Essos, the man had slowly, thoroughly fucked him into the bed, and then, as they laid together, he’d whispered of the hundred names the Lyseni tongue had for love.

“Brother and family and lover,” he’d said, “and a hundred more besides, which I can’t ever remember- but- you’ve captured my heart, little Satin, over all those types, in a hundred different ways.”

Satin never saw him again, and never truly cared either way.)

He’d always thought there was exaggeration, to say I love you in a hundred different ways, but- Satin thinks about it, and he does, he loves Jon as a brother in arms, as a king, as his king; he loves Jon deeper than he’s ever loved anyone else in his life, and it’s not least because Jon would never demand that love of him.

Satin loves Jon, with all the ways that he’d never known himself capable of. 

For little more than a heartbeat, Satin feels the yawning, terrifying depth of those truths- then he shoves it aside, and faces Sansa, and wonders if this is enough to break her of her masks.

“If you love him,” she says, then, and Satin thinks her hands are clenching beneath the desk, out of sight- “and you think I love him, as well, what is this? An attempt to- to convince me to leave well enough alone? Or-”

Ah, poor lady, you have been hurt far too much, to think me so cruel. I’m afraid that I’m not so selfish as to demand that of you- though I am selfish enough to demand the both of you.

“You love him too, I think,” Satin says, quietly. Sansa twitches, but keeps quiet. “I wouldn’t wish to keep that love of him, m’lady. I didn’t come here to warn you away, rather closer.”

“I don’t understand.”

Do not lose your nerve now, Satin orders himself. You’ve come this far, just- tell her the rest.

“We could,” he says, hesitantly. “We could- there are ways. For all three of us. Together.”

Sansa pales further, instead of the flush Satin had hoped for. 

“I think you should leave,” is all she says, before she reaches for the papers in front of her. Satin hesitates, and her eyes flick from him to the door, blue and almost electric in their intensity.

Slowly, Satin bows out of the room.

...

Sansa doesn’t sleep that night, either.

Perhaps Jon is right, she thinks, her fingers drumming against her legs. Perhaps I ought to speak to a maester about this.

But speaking to a maester would be akin to admitting defeat, and Jon’s stung Sansa’s pride enough that she knows she won’t back down before he does. 

The rest of the hall had let Jon walk away, after he announced his intentions. But Sansa- Sansa’d stared for a full minute before throwing down her napkin and fleeing after him- and they’d fought again, after that, with words and thrown papers aplenty. The world might well be content with Jon throwing himself into danger after danger, escaping by only the slimmest of margins, but Sansa certainly won’t lie down and accept that.

I’ll drink a sleeping draught after Jon swears never to seek out the dead, and not a moment sooner.

That decided, she closes her eyes, and resigns herself to another night of staring at the canopy, anger and fear a hot mess in her chest.

It doesn’t come, though. What does come is a vision that leaves her feeling too tight for her skin, the same twist in her belly that had come when she almost confronted Jon: a vision of Jon, and Satin, and the contrast of their hair- not too much, not enough at all in dim light, Sansa decides, but during the day... -and their skin, too, one tawny and the other pale, though she doesn’t know which one is which; and their bodies- one muscled, the other thin, one sharpened, the other softened, and still, somehow, both lovely.

The three of us, Satin had said, ducking his head, looking so bashful that no one would ever imagine him to give such a bold suggestion. Together.

But he’d looked at her, and he’d told her that he loved Jon, and Sansa can’t think of anything more bold than that. She isn’t so bold herself. 

And still, somehow, for some reason, the image won’t leave her mind.

Gods damn it all to hell.

She’s angry, yes, angry like she’s never been before in her life. Jon does make it easy to be angry at him, because he doesn’t really defend his decisions; he only makes them, and those who wish to fall in line can, while those who don’t leave. It’s how it’s been with him ever since he left Winterfell- perhaps even before, it’s not like she knows all that much of how he was treated then- but Sansa’s not going to leave, and she’s not going to shy away from throwing Jon’s decisions in his face either.

I love him, and I’m going to make sure he survives if I have to break the world for it. Call me selfish- I don’t care. Not anymore.

Sansa digs her fingers into the muscle of her thigh. For the first time in days, she feels a plan brewing in the back of her mind- a desperate, terrible sort of plan, but a plan nevertheless.

I might be selfish, she thinks, and closes her eyes, remembers the shadows ringing Satin’s thin face. But I think I know one person who wouldn’t care either way.

Call her selfish, but Sansa won’t hesitate to use him.

Not if it means bringing Jon back.

...

Jon hadn’t expected Sansa to come meet him.

They haven’t spoken since she yelled at him; Sansa’s avoided him so expertly that Jon hasn’t been able to find her, much less speak to her. But when he starts harnessing his horse, Sansa appears besides him- she looks tired, her skin parchment-thin and Jon wonders when she last got a good night’s sleep- but they’ve only got a few more minutes together, and he’s not going to let their last words to each other be so petty.

“My lady,” Jon murmurs.

“My lord,” Sansa returns, courtesy polished to a honed edge.

She bows, stiffly, and some of her hair slips over her face when she does- it’s not in her usual braid, and the free locks look even brighter now. Abruptly, Jon’s seized by a rush of- something- something rich and deep, that makes him want to reach out and brush his fingers over her- her face, those sharp cheekbones, the joint of neck and shoulder that looks so soft, that thick hair. Reason asserts itself a moment later, but the damage is already done: Jon can feel his cheeks heating, and in the middle of the courtyard, mere moments before he’s to ride out, he feels utterly foolish.

“I bid you fair travels, and fortune enough to return to these walls in good health.” Sansa doesn’t smile at him- she does that very rarely, and usually when she does it’s because she’s furious, not when she’s happy- but her face does soften, and her eyes brighten, and she looks as unabashedly beautiful as she’d once looked all those years ago before the Lannisters rode North.

“I thought you’d not miss me,” Jon replies, and cannot stop the wry smile curving his lips. “I’ve seen little enough of you over the past sennight.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Sansa says airily, before stepping closer to him. Her voice is far quieter, though no less sharp, when she says, “I want you to come back, do you hear me? No matter what, no matter how desolate it seems out there- you’re not going to stop fighting. You’re going to come back.”

“I’ll certainly try,” Jon replies.

Sansa looks as if she might hit him- and, yes, admittedly, Jon could have been less flippant with his response- but Sansa takes it even harder than he’d expected of her. Her lips curl, and her eyes narrow, and every inch of her goes as rigid as a board. “I don’t care how hopeless you feel it is,” she grits out, eyes blazing. “You’ll swear to come back, right here, right now. And- Jon?”

“Yes?” Jon asks, warily.

A good precaution, as it were, because Sansa looks as if she’s spoiling for a whetstone for her tongue, and Jon’s the nearest target.

“You’ll hold to these vows,” Sansa says sweetly. 

Someone who doesn’t know Sansa very well might not have realized the venom in that tone, but Jon knows her very well indeed. Jon might have broken some vows, but-

“Sansa,” he says lowly.

She sighs, just a little, and unbends enough to reach out and catch his hand. “I didn’t mean that. Or, I did, but- not that way. You know how I was in the south, Jon, how lonely it was- and I came North, and after I met you it was- I wasn’t alone. At least for a time.”

Which Jon might very well end, with his untimely death.

“If it were up to me,” Jon says, gently, “we’d be in Essos, or perhaps Ulthos, and the dead would not be our problem at all. But they crowned me their king, and you are the only Stark in Winterfell now.”

“We will survive,” Sansa says. Her eyes shine, for all that the rest of her face looks calm. “The Starks endure, and you are as much a Stark as I am. So you’ll come back to me, do you understand?”

She steps forwards and embraces him, so abruptly that Jon can barely respond; and then she steps away just as fast.

“Yes,” Jon says finally, helplessly.

Sansa nods, a spearing motion that looks at once triumphant and resolved. Then she turns, eyes sweeping over the courtyard until she finds- Satin, and strides over to him, gripping Satin’s elbow hard enough to dent the leather vanbraces he wears. Sansa leads him away; they bend their heads together, not a few feet from him, and Sansa says something to Satin that makes him pale.

But they’re too quiet for Jon to hear, so he’s reduced to watching them- the steward he’s grown to rely on more than is likely healthy, or good for the kingdom; the sister who’s his last family in all the world.

Eight millennia, and a bastard and a girl are all that is left. 

Somewhere up above, the gods are laughing at them, Jon’s certain of it.

Finally, Satin seems to agree to whatever Sansa asked of him. They return, but both look grim. Grim and resolute as well, which is a dangerous combination- Jon remembers that feeling well, before he fled Ygritte, before he let the wildlings south. Actions undertaken when feeling this particular emotion can make the stuff of legends, Jon knows.

The stuff of legends, or the stuff of eulogies.

...

Save him, Sansa’d said. If you love him, even half as much as I- save him. At the cost of everything, if necessary. Your men’s lives, and the Night’s Watch’s lives, and your own life, if it comes to it; they are none of them- she’d hiccuped, a little, before forging on with the sheer stubbornness that must have been Stark, for Jon had it as well- you will bring him back here.

And why should I? Satin had responded. 

That still haunts him. If he’d said something else-  perhaps no, or what you ask is a selfish thing, or even what will you give me in return; but Satin did not, and Sansa drew herself up instead, and she said, more royally than anything Satin’s heard in his life: For you love him, and you know his worth, and you know Jon Snow to be a better man than most any other you’ve seen in your life. And because you pity me, and if you let him die you will have to contend with my grief when you return.

My grief, Sansa’d said, and it echoes in his every bone like a cursed thing.

It echoes and echoes and echoes, and when Jon remains inside the Wall even as it crashes down- Satin’s first impulse is to run, when the crack forms across the wall of ice.

MY GRIEF, Sansa’s voice thunders over him, rolling even louder than the terrible sound of Brandon Builder’s Wall crashing down- MY GRIEF!

It is a song, and a chant, and Satin draws himself together to the beat of it. 

He dives into the Wall, and when they escape, the two of them- the last thing Satin sees is red, spattering over the snow. It looks like Sansa’s hair.

Oh, he thinks he hears, before his eyes close; this time, the voice is aching with pain, softer than it’s been for weeks. Oh, my grief.

...

 “M’lady!”

Sansa steps out onto the ramparts, and she sees a sight that makes her heart skip a beat.

Ghost stands right beyond the walls, two bodies slung over his back. There’s snow frosted along the two bodies, light and glittering. The image imprinted along the backs of her eyes, however, is of the scarlet stain dribbling down Ghost’s sides.

No.

It’s hours later that Sansa comes back to herself. She has a vague sense- slightly- of screaming, both orders and quieter sobs. But Jon and Satin rest inside the walls, now, and they’re no longer in danger of dying from their wounds as they’d been when they first arrived.

They both almost- almost died. 

There had been so much blood. Frozen blood, crusted blood, dripping blood. Sansa had never known the human body could bear that much blood. Sansa had soaked straight through three layers of wool and linen, and her skin still feels cold with it.

Jon almost died. Her hands are still stained with his blood. He’s a fool, Sansa knows, but she hadn’t ever thought him so utterly brainless. Half their army is gone in an attempt to save more men than returned- and the gods only know how long it will take Jon to regain consciousness.

Until then, Sansa is the sole ruler.

And she has bargaining chips aplenty.

“Get me a piece of parchment,” she orders the man who’s taken Satin’s place as steward- who’s far less capable, in all truth. 

He nods. “And a washbasin, my lady?”

Sansa hesitates. But the blood is still wet on her fingers, and the desperation will look good on parchment. The Targaryens understand blood, according to all the stories. And if the Dragon Queen believes Sansa to be more desperate than she actually is-

Of all the things she’s learned from Petyr, the foremost among them is to keep the truth a close thing.

“No,” she says. “Just the parchment, if you please.”

...

Satin wakes.

This is something he hadn’t entirely expected- without blood loss addling his wits, he realizes that the redness splattered across snow was blood, not Sansa’s hair- but even more importantly, he’s warm, and Jon’s there in the same room- he’s asleep, or so Satin suspects; there’s a blanket thrown over his shoulders, and bandages peeking out from underneath it, the linen just a few shades lighter than Jon’s skin.

Jon is alive, is the point.

“You’re awake,” a voice says, sounding surprised. Satin tries to turn his head, but his neck twinges sharply, and he desists. A moment later, Sansa steps forwards out of the darkness shrouding the entryway. “Don’t get out of bed.”

She comes closer, placing a wooden bowl on the table besides him and dipping a cloth into it. “The muscles were sprained,” she says, by way of explanation. “According to the maester, that is. He said-” Sansa breaks off, before she turns and approaches him with a cloth. Satin shies away, as much as he can with a sprained neck and a still-aching body.

“You’re not- I’m a-” 

What lady tends to a-

“Steward, yes,” says Sansa. “And a bastard besides.” I ought to be glad she didn’t call me a whore as well, I suppose, Satin thinks bitterly. “But you’ve done more for my family than most any other person I can think of, and I am quite grateful for that.”

Wait, what?

Sansa quirks her lips at him, and she looks far too beautiful; Satin can’t help but think he’s still in the middle of a fever-dream, because gods only know how many of the dreams have ended up with him grievously wounded, a lovely woman tending to said wounds-

It’s the pain, in the end, which convinces him it isn’t a dream.

“That you survived is a miracle,” Sansa says softly, brushing a stinging liquid along his brow. “Had Ghost not been there- had it been any colder, or any warmer for that matter- you’d both have died.” Her hand pauses at his elbow, where it had rested in the courtyard, before Satin left. It’s soft, and warm, and gentler than Sansa’s ever been in his presence before. “What happened there, Satin?”

He shudders, hands fisting in the coverlet across his knees. “We got to the Wall easily enough,” Satin murmurs, steadying his voice when it threatens to break against Sansa’s touch. “He left me at Mole’s Town, and went on ahead to the Wall to convince some o’ the men. It... they were tryin’ to leave, almost there, when the Walkers came.” 

He shudders, again, shoulders jumping. Satin’s spent so long training that lowborn-Reach accent out of his words; turns out it only takes some fear to bring it back.

And gods, but the fear is there inside of him even now: of the Wall, which had felt more frightening than death even as he raced inside it; of the darkness, which had swallowed him whole in his desperate search; of the cold, which had frozen and shattered his blade even before he met a Walker.

“Jon was fighting them.” Blade almost glowing, a blur of silver around him as he stood in a pile of bodies. “He hadn’t known how to get out- was going in the opposite direction- so I helped.” Satin had been sure, bone-sure, that they wouldn’t get out. When the light finally emerged in the distance, he’d almost cried with sheer happiness. “It was right terrifying.”

“We heard of the Wall falling,” Sansa says quietly. “Do you know what Jon did- what anyone did to-”

Satin shakes his head. “No,” he replies, eyes flickering over to the pale figure asleep on the bed. “No, m’lady. I had to bring him back, and I did it. I know nothin’ more of all of it. The Wall fell, and I was sure we’d die even after we go’ out, ‘cause there was no way we’d get any distance- both of us wounded, barely able to walk, no supplies.”

Sansa nods. “And if Ghost hadn’t found you, you would’ve died there.” Then she tacks her lips up in a faint smile, or a faint attempt at a smile. “You did more than I ever hoped for, Satin. It’s why you’re here: I didn’t want you to wonder how Jon was, when you awoke.” The smile fades, replaced by a far more genuine look. “And I didn’t want to tend to the two of you in separate rooms. Time would be wasted in simply walking back and forth, wouldn’t you say?”

“So,” says Satin, simply to clarify- “you put me in the same room as the king.”

“No,” Sansa says. Satin’s brows furrow, and she smiles at him, pleasantly. “Do not tell this to Jon until I’m there, but he’s not king any longer. Or, rather, he is; but only until I receive a raven from the south.”

Satin hauls himself upright so fast his neck cricks. “You spoke to them?” he cries.

Sansa looks as if she’s readying to answer, but before she can, a voice croaks from the far side of the room:

“Traitor.”

Horror rises up Satin’s throat, along with a flood of words; but Sansa reaches out and rests a long-fingered palm on his knee, stopping his words; then she closes her eyes. When she opens them, there’s only resolve in them. 

Resolve, and an anger deeper than any sea Satin’s ever seen. 

He knows then, with the surety of a man trained to judge other’s emotions: this fight between Sansa and Jon will be more vicious than any other they’ve ever fought, and Satin’s caught right between them both, with no way to move at all, not even to twist his neck.

...

“You’re certainly one to talk.”

Jon closes his eyes. He hadn’t thought- 

I thought you could be trusted. But if Sansa’d done what she had just told Satin, and if she’d set events in action that threatened their entire realm... What other word is there for it than traitor? 

“I am your king,” he says wearily.

Sansa tosses her hair, surging to her feet like a twisting column of flame. “And did you think the realm would rule itself when you slept? The North needed a ruler, and I was de facto head.” She lifts her chin. “Half our army is gone. Our food stores are almost disappeared. What more can we lose, before we lose our lives as well?”

“Doesn’t look likely that we’ll have that, either, for overlong,” Jon retorts, through the pounding headache behind one temple. “‘Twas a condition of the lords, wasn’t it, Sansa? That we never kneel to the south? And now you’ve brought the south’s attention to us.” He bares his teeth at her. “One army we might have dealt with. One threat. Not both!”

“So you think one threat will ignore us while the other is dealt with?” Sansa demands. “The living, the dead; once we finish dealing with one we’ll have naught but ashes for the other. Better we make them allies. Better we treat with the one threat that is reasonable, and even better to do so before we’re cut off at the knees with all we’ve lost.”

He grits his teeth. “The lords won’t like it.”

“Oh, what will the lords do?” she asks. “Hide in their homes until they’re swelling the Night’s King’s army? After what happened to the Umbers, they’re all too scared to do even that.”

"I don’t like it.”

Sansa’s face shadows. Then she turns to Satin. “Tell him how close he was to death,” she orders, before turning reproachful eyes back on Jon. 

Satin hesitates, and then he says, a little brittlely, “You were rather close to death, my lord.”

“Rather close? Rather close!” Sansa looks as if she were trembling from the force of her anger. “Your face was blue, and you’d both spilled so much blood that it was frozen to your body! I had to cut it off with a knife, and pray that I wasn’t skinning you while at it! And as if that weren’t enough-” 

She cuts herself off, face white.

“As if that weren’t enough?” Jon inquires, as politely as he can, his own temper heating.

“I have ruled the North while you played games against these dead,” Sansa whispers, and when she steps closer to him she looks just as bright-eyed and terrifying as when Jon left, eyes blazing like a dozen stars all sunk together. “But no longer. What need have we of a king so lost in one threat that he forgets all others? Better a queen with an army behind her, no matter the price.”

Jon swallows, hard, and drags himself further upright. 

Coups should be more obvious, I think. Jaime Lannister had struck Aerys down as befitted a mad king. There should be more to a king losing power than a darkened sickroom and a skull-bandaged steward and a red-eyed young woman. But then, I was never a proper king.

“And that queen shall be you, I suppose?”

Sansa manages to bristle further. “What army do I have?” she demands scornfully. “No. I sent for the Targaryen Queen. Three dragons, and enough horselords to make Cersei quail- it’ll be enough, hopefully.”

Jon thinks he knows what Sansa’s not saying, though: If it won’t be enough, it scarce matters; we’ll all be dead.

“How did you send it?”

“Ser Davos made a good messenger.” Her lips thin when she sees his disapproval. “He knows Dragonstone best of all the people here. I suspect he’ll return within a few days.”

Satin frowns. “M’lady,” he says, quietly, “if the Dragon Queen’s got any worth to her name, she’d’ve captured Davos.”

Sansa inclines her head. “Yes.”

“He’s not likely to escape.”

“Ser Davos knows Dragonstone better than all the people here,” Sansa says neutrally. “He also knows Dragonstone better than the people currently residing there. If he sticks to the shoreline he won’t be captured by the queen, not even if she were to ride her dragon and scour the sea. And once he reaches the Vale, it won’t be too difficult to ride north.”

And she thinks me a fool?

“Even if he escapes,” Jon says, “do you think the Queen won’t know where he’s headed?” 

She’ll burn us in our beds, and if she doesn’t- by some miracle- we’ll have to give away everything you fought so hard for. 

“She’ll come here,” says Sansa, before smiling, thin and small. 

“And you’re not frightened by that,” Jon says flatly.

“Oh,” Sansa murmurs, the smile growing wider, dangerous as a wolf’s bared teeth, “I’m rather counting on it.”

[soulspideys]

Gotcha

just bc i’m a slut for soulmate aus

Word Count: 849

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Requested: nah

Warnings: peril, language

Synopsis: Everyone in the world is born with a timer on their wrist. The day Y/N’s timer is supposed to hit zero and she is to meet her soulmate, she finds herself in a situation that could prove slightly problematic.

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Master List

This was the day. The big day. You had worn your favorite outfit, carefully brushed out your Y/H/C hair, and were now studying yourself in the bathroom mirror. You checked your wrist.

0000d 5hrs 27mins 42secs 

Sure, it was still a while. But today was the day. You were going to compete in the Academic Decathlon Nationals that morning with your school. Your biggest rival was Midtown Tech, from Queens. Last year they had beat your school before being trapped in the Washington Monument.

This year, your team desperately wanted to win again. Despite how distracted you were, when your team assembled in front of the school bus, you forced yourself to focus on the situation at hand.

“Okay, so apparently their new team captain is good,” your teacher said. “Like, really good. But I have complete confidence in you guys. You’ve been working hard, and I just know we’re gonna finally steal back that trophy!”

Your team all cheered and high fived. Then you clambered onto the bus and started towards your destination. On the way there, your team captain started quizzing you all.

Your hand was quick on the buzzer, and you got every answer right. This is the day, you thought to yourself excitedly. Nothing can stop me. 

Finally, the teams all arrived at the building. You looked around, taking in the other schools here. Right next to your team was Midtown Tech, but they didn’t seem nearly as confident as you did. You overheard one girl muttering, “How does he always disappear? Does he even care that it’s Nationals?”

Another girl, presumably the team captain because she stood at the head of the team, was on the phone. She was obviously upset, because her voice was rising.

“I don’t care, Peter! It’s Nationals! No, you’re not gonna -- get your ass over here, or we’re screwed! No, don’t you -- ugh!” She took the phone from her ear, having obviously been hung up on.

“Hear that?” whispered your friend, Y/F/N. “They’re missing a member! We’ve got this.”

“Yeah,” you said with a thin smile. “Totally.”

Finally, you all filed into the building, sitting behind your desks. The Decathlon went by in a blur. Quick hands and clear voices led to a close win for your team. When Y/F/N called out the final, correct answer, everyone jumped to their feet and screamed in excitement.

You noticed Midtown Tech looking grumpy and a little pissed off. Their team captain looked like she couldn’t wait to give that Peter guy an earful.

As all the teams were heading out, you got to carry the trophy. 

“Come on!” said your team captain. “We’re going to the Washington Monument!”

Your team groaned, thinking back to what happened to last years’ winners, but agreed nonetheless. After all, the same thing couldn’t happen two years in a row, right?

Wow, were you wrong.

An hour later, you were screaming in an elevator as the tour guide tried to reassure you that everything was okay. This time, however, it wasn’t the fault of any alien technology. The structure was still weak from last year’s incident, and they had decided to reopen too soon.

“I’m gonna die before I meet my soulmate!” you shrieked, staring at your wrist. “This sucks! This was supposed to be the best day of my life!”

0000d 0hr 4mn 29sec 

The elevator slipped a notch and everyone inside screamed.

“Hold still!” your team captain told everyone calmly. “Just hold still, don’t make it fall anymore!’

“Rats, there goes my plan!” snapped Y/F/N.

“Okay, one of you, give me your hand.”

You looked up. A slot in the top had opened, and a red hand was reaching down. Spider-Man had come to save the day, again!

Your team captain instantly reached up, and Spider-Man shot a web down. They instantly rose, disappearing through the slot in the top. He repeated this process with three more people in the elevator. Then it fell a few more feet, and he focused on holding it up while handlers nearby pulled students out.

Finally, you were the last one in the elevator. You stepped forward, reaching towards the worker kneeling on top of the elevator.

Then there was a sickening snap! and your heart leaped into your throat. The roof tore away from the elevator, and you were in a free fall. From what you could gather, Spider-Man had managed to save the guide on top of the elevator, and was now shouting after you.

“Help!” you screamed. You stretched your arms upwards, saw Spider-Man rocketing down towards you, and then everything was still.

Hardly daring to breathe, you opened your eyes a crack. You were pressed against Spider-Man, his arm tight around your waist, holding a web attached to the ceiling.

Your wrist was scrunched against you, but you still glanced at it.

0000d 00hr 00mn 00sec

You glanced up at him, and his robotic eyes were trained on your wrist. He awkwardly shifted around a bit before pulling off his glove. His wrist matched yours.

You couldn’t hold back the smile on your face.

“Hey, soulmate,” you whispered. “Thanks for saving me.”

“Any time, soulmate.”

He slowly began to pull you up with him, and you shut your eyes, just taking in the moment.

wow that ending was shit and tbh this is really weak but i hope you enjoyed!!

[dong-hyucks]

Kairos

Requested Characters: Reader / Sungjong (Infinite) Genre: Fluff, soulmate!au Word Count: 1.4k Request: Promot: soulmate au where everyone has a watch w/ a time that indicates when theyll meet theif s/o A/N: we had to do this as a scenario and not as a ‘prompt scenario’ (although there really is no difference??) sorry annonie ;-; also tbh this was my entry for a writing contest at school lol just changed the names

Masterlists

Kairos || refers to the opportune time and/or place that is, the right or appropriate time to do or say something

"Half an hour," my mom said excitedly, squeezing my dad's arm. The two of them shared the same open-mouthed grins. I sighed, leaning back into the soft cushions of our couch. They'd been ecstatic all day, and for what? My birthday? I don't know why; it's a truly over-hyped day in my opinion. Ever since I was little, my parents told me I would love turning sixteen and that it would be amazing. What was so good about it? Sixteen is just an age. I'd still be in high school and I'd still be the same old Sungjong that I am now. 

They kept glancing at the door as if they were expecting something. "Are you ready?" My dad asked, practically bouncing in his seat, along with mom. "Ready for what?" I sighed, exasperated. "You always tell me that tomorrow will be this spectacular day, but you've never told me why. What do I have to be excited about?" The two exchanged a glance. "I suppose it's fine if we tell you," mom said slowly. Dad agreed, straightening his back.

"This may seem odd," he began, "but everyone receives a package on their sixteen birthday." Mom picked up where he left off, "and in that package is a watch. It's a special watch-- you can't even open the package until it's midnight." I furrowed my brows in confusion. A watch? "The watch depicts how long it'll take until you meet your soul mate. They call it the 'hourglass of fate,' which is odd since it's not actually an hourglass--"

I cut off my mom's rambling with a scoff. "So what you're saying is those stupid soul mate stories people come up with are true?" I shook my head in disbelief, "I stayed up for this... I'm going to bed." Standing up, I ignored my parent's crestfallen expressions, as horrible as it may sound, and I began to ascend up the stairs. When a familiar ring resonated throughout the house, I froze. Turning around, I stared at our front door. Who would be ringing our doorbell at midnight?

I noticed my parents watching as I got closer to the door. Standing on my toes, I glanced out of the peephole. A mailman stood outside, whistling to himself. "It's the mailman," I said, my voice going up in question. "Open it," mom exclaimed. Rolling my eyes, I opened the door. "Hello," I said carefully. The man looked down at me with a small smile, handing me the small package in his hands-- a package I hadn't even noticed before. 

"I'm assuming you're," he paused to look at the box in my hands, "Lee Sungjong?" I frowned, turning my head around to face my parents, whose grins had gotten even bigger if possible. The mailman pulled down his cap, nodding at me. "Good luck, sir." With that, he turned around and disappeared into the darkness of the night. Hesitantly closing the door, I looked down at the package. It was relatively light and my name was written on it with a black marker. "We told you," dad said happily, dancing with mom in the dimly lit hallway.

"Don't tell me," I murmured to myself, "that whole soul mate watch thing; it's real?"

I spent the rest of the day thinking about that package. I couldn't sleep, I had been so focused on the package and its contents. When I went to school, I had found out that my older friends had gone through the same thing, but were told not to say anything. School had been, to put it bluntly, a complete and utter blur. When I got home, mom and dad were in the living room with their own watches from back when they were younger.

"Why does yours have scratches on it?" I inspected mom's watch with curiosity. True to my words, there were deep, jagged scratches and indents on the watch's surface. Mom chuckled to herself while dad rolled his eyes. "Your mother had tried to cut the watch off when she got it. She had been dating someone at the time and apparently he wasn't the one," he teased. Mom hit dad's shoulder gently, but she didn't deny it. "Why didn't you just take it off?" Mom laughed again, ruffling my hair. "You'll see." 

Before I knew it, time had passed so quickly.

I lay in bed, staring at the small but noticeable bumps on my ceiling. Glancing to my left, I groaned when I read my alarm clock; 10:38. Closing my eyes, I began to imagine what tomorrow would be like. Mom and dad would probably fuss over me, as usual, and my friends would probably gush over it. But to think, I'd be able to know when I meet my soul mate? That seems extremely out there in terms of logic. 

Rattling. What was that? I opened my eyes slowly, realizing that I had fallen asleep. I looked at my clock and gasped; it's 11:59! The rattling got louder, thus getting my attention. I searched my room for the source, but froze when my eyes landed on the moving package that was on my desk. That's right-- moving package. It seemed to have something living inside, something trying to escape. I stood from my bed, making my way toward the desk.

Suddenly, the box's lid popped off and a black blur flew out of the opened box. Stumbling back, I let out a groan when I hit my back on my dresser. My eyes bounced back and forth between the corners of my room, searching for the blur, when suddenly it appeared it front of me. Now that it was still, I could see that it was a watch. "It's floating," I stammered aloud, my hands gripping the edge of the dresser. "Why is it floating?" I asked myself incredulously.

Unexpectedly, the watch seemed to undo itself. When the watch was completely unlatched, it wrapped itself around my wrist. In shock, I let out a shriek. The watch's screen blinked on, and three sets of numbers appeared on it.

36 : 16 : 22

I could hear footsteps in the hall, and it wasn't long before mom and dad burst through the door. They immediately saw the watch and the opened package on my desk and gaped. "What's the time," mom asked, scrambling over a few items both I and the watch had knocked over. "Thirty-six hours, fifteen minutes, forty-two seconds-- Jinwoo! She's meeting her soul mate tomorrow!" Dad took hold of my wrist to check for himself.

"Tomorrow," I gasped, still in shock. "Oh my god," I ran a hand through my hair. I moved to sit on my bed, not trusting my legs to not give out on me. I looked down at my wrist, noticing something strange. "It's clasp is gone," I mumbled, twisting my arm to look at the accessory at all angles. "That's why my watch had scratches on it," mom explained. "It won't come off until you meet your soul mate." Dad smiled softly, "luckily for you, you don't have to wait that long. They can get pretty irritable.”

My parents are pretty excited. A lot more than I am anyway. Was I even ready to meet this person? My soul mate?

I waved goodbye to dad as he drove away. I could feel my heart beating faster and I still had an entire day left until I met my soul mate. "Sungjong," I heard one of my friends yell. I turned to see Woohyun and Myungsoo waving me over. Shakily, I made my way to the two. Woohyun almost instantly saw the watch and freaked out. "You got your watch!" He said happily. "When do you meet your soul mate?" Myungsoo asked, craning his head to look at the watch. I brought my wrist up for them to see, flushing at how much I was quivering.

"Tomorrow?!" The two said in unison. "Lucky guy," Myungsoo mumbled, eyes wide. Woohyun nodded, his jaw ajar. I looked at their wrists. "You still have yours on," I stated. They nodded, showing me their time. "I still have five years to go," Woohyun pouted. "I have a year," Myungsoo shrugged.

Tomorrow came a lot sooner than I was prepared for. I had freaked out in the morning, debating with myself whether I should dress up a bit or not, but ultimately deciding not to. If the person's really my soul mate, they wouldn't care what I wore, right? All throughout my first class, I kept glancing at my wrist, watching the numbers go down.

00 : 02 : 13

I tapped my desk as I stared at the clock. Second period didn't end for another half an hour, and I already know all of my classmates. Who was I going to meet in two minutes?

A knock sounded at the door, making me freeze. I stared at the person as they walked in, my heart racing.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. I'm a transfer," they smiled.

[safyresky]

STORY IDEA: Jacquie has to go save Jack's bootay from another thing he's screwed up. Objective: free him from the mousetraps. Go!

It wasn’t uncommon for Jacqueline to get a message from Jack asking for help. 

It also wasn’t uncommon for said message for help to be something very, very not serious from “Jacqueline I have a salsa stain on my favourite suit please come help me” to the slightly more serious “Jacqueline I can’t find the twins help”.

Today’s message, however, was one of the vaguest she had ever received. It had interrupted a mid-afternoon cartoon binge session and Voltron was getting good. What was the message Jack had sent, you may ask?

Jacqueline I’m at the Pole, come quickly it’s urgent!

What was urgent? She had asked, and gotten no reply. So, begrudgingly, she un-burritoed herself from her comforter and teleported over the the North Pole, zoning in on her brother’s whereabouts.

She walked into Santa’s office, mildly annoyed. “What on Earth is it this time?”

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” two people shouted.

Jacqueline jumped back, which was really quite the relief because directly in front of her, covering Santa’s office floor were at least one hundred and fifty something mousetraps. She blinked, frowning; on Santa’s desk stood the Christmas legend himself and of course, her dumb, dumb brother.

Who was covered in mousetraps.

“What in the name of Winter–”

“Don’t use Mother’s name in vain!”

“Are you really in any position to tell me whose name to use and not use in a curse ridden way right now Jack?”

“She has a point.”

“Thank you for your input, Santa,” Jack said icily.

“Okay, what in the blazes did you two do now?”

“I did absolutely nothing,” Jack began. “Santa switched my cocoa with coffee this morning–” 

Santa laughed. “That was hilarious. The look on your face made it very, very worthwhile.”

“So I decided to get him back by doing a good old mouse trap trick.”

“Usually that’s one or two mousetraps by someone’s bed while they’re sleeping. But no, Jack had to go overboard and cover the office floor in them!”

“You almost poisoned me this morning!”

“It was just coffee!”

“So bitter, it’s honestly quite gross Santa–”

“Okay hold on a second. Are you telling me that the two of you are stuck on top of the desk in a room covered in mousetraps because of your stupid prank war?”

The two legends shared a look. Santa made an uncertain sound in his throat, Jack shrugging.

“Yes?”

“Oh my gods,” Jacqueline said, rubbing her forehead. The prank war had been raging for a year and was fast turning her into a Bernard. Shenanigans like this happened all the time. This one was just the latest in a string of sleet-filled ideas. “And why shouldn’t I just leave the two of you up there? Give me one good reason.”

“Whoa, someone’s cranky.”

“Voltron was getting good!”

“And I’m loosing circulation in my toes!”

“Now how is it that you’re covered in mousetraps, and Santa is not? And where are your shoes?”

“My brilliant plan backfired.”

“His timing was off. I got back from the washroom to him laying down the last one. I said hey, he screamed like a girl and well, this happened.”

“Firstly, I do not scream like a girl.”

“That sounded a lot like a shriek Jack, I mean I heard it. So did half the Workshop. I think some glass broke.”

“I will fling you off this desk and into the pit of mousetrap doom.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I would,” Jack said, giving Santa a little shove. He lost his balance and fell, one hand catching himself on the surface of the desk, the other one setting off a whole slew of mousetraps. 

Ping pong balls Jacqueline hadn’t noticed before went flying. She dove to the other side of the doorway, a few of the small plastic balls flying out of the office and into the hall, pinging down the stairs and into the Workshop. She waited until the screaming in the office died down, and the sound of clicking mouse traps as well, before cautiously peering in through the doorway.

It looked like all of the mousetraps had been set off. For good measure, Jacqueline caught one of the ping pong balls and sent it flying into the room, knocking the few that were left out. 

A crowd of elves had gathered behind her, drawn by the very loud noise.

“So, uh, care to explain, Jack?”

“Well the idea was to give him a good fright, and a few ping pong balls to the face for good measure,” Jack said, laughing. “It…it backfired. It definitely backfired.”

“It was a good idea though, Jack.”

“Thank you, Santa. It would have been better if it had worked properly.” The sprite pouted, sitting on the desk now.

“So you called me here to–?”

“Help take off the mousetraps and free Santa and I from being stuck on his desk forever.”

Jacqueline rolled her eyes, carefully making her way into the office to help a pouting Jack release the many mousetraps on him.

“And your shoes? Where’d they go?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jack said, pouting still.

“Hey Jack, don’t worry! It was a good one. And if it makes you feel better, some of the ping pong balls did give me a good whack.”

“It does make me feel a bit better–ow.”

“Serves you right,” Jacqueline said, as Santa carefully toed his way around the mess of mousetraps on the floor to shoo away the crowd of laughing elves and call for a clean up crew.

“Ow. Ow. You could be a little more careful!”

“I don’t wanna, though. Next time maybe do something simpler? Like I dunno, replace his icing with sour cream?”

“That’s a good one. I think I may steal that.”

“Oh boy,” Jacqueline said, pulling another mousetrap off of Jack. She couldn’t wait to see what show this next prank backfiring interrupted for her.

I HOPE THIS TURNED OUT OKAY MELLO! Honestly the imagery of Jack and Santa stuck on Santa’s desk surrounded by mousetraps was too good to pas sup. Also, the ping pong balls were my own addition b/c of this really cool experiment we learnt about in astronomy that demonstrates energy exchange. Check it out here, it’s wild!

This was a giggle to write about. Jacqueline is watching Voltron b/c I am in a Voltron mood tbh