#and yeah 3 years is a short lapse of time to do that but. i am once again reminding people this is a CARTOON

[alicelufenia]

I have finally finished my first BG3 playthrough

Gonna go into HUGE detail below the cut over all my thoughts, including spoilers of potentially everything I've encountered in the game (and maybe a few I haven't but already know about)

Playtime

Might as well just start with the obvious question: what was my playtime?

A little over 344 hours.

Granted that's total playtime, I spent a lot of time (though not as long as you'd think) in act 1 with several characters that didn't go anywhere, only actually progressing with Alice after like a month of waffling on what/who to play. Or going back to old saves to take screenshots or record for gifs (which reminds me, I can go back and make all sorts of gifs now if I want) or to test my extremely scientific tumblr posts on how to recruit Minthara by giving her a concussion.

Total ACTUAL playtime for my main tav

A more respectable 189 hours, not counting the epilogue which was like, an hour tops.

While I played a ton in 2023, my opportunity to play has been hampered this year somewhat. Which is why it took me til March to finish when I reached act 3 in DECEMBER. That's three months to get to Act 3, but but 4 months to finish it. And I didn't even do all the sidequests! I gave up on the painter's wife and the necromancy guy, and didn't even start the Umberlee thing (is that even a sidequest? I honestly don't know) Which still amounts to doing a LOT anyway, and not having the tiefling npcs around didn't feel like it impacted much outside of a lack of a vendor.

The Grove and Minthara

Speaking of which, I guess I should talk about my act 1 choices, and why I went with raiding the grove and romancing Minthara for my first playthrough (a thing that seems to be incredibly rare from what I've seen of poll responses here)

When you don't want to admit you committed mass murder for some pussy, and maybe a chance to save the world I guess

In short, my plan was for my Sorcadin (Oath of Glory Paladin/Shadow Sorcerer) to have a lapse in act 1 and break her oath in an attempt to get close to Minthara and sway her from the Absolute, before fighting to defend the grove and restoring her oath in the process, but that act would leave a stain on her soul (the levels of Shadow Sorcerer thanks to a mod).

But then I fell absolutely head over heels for her. Oops.

This was back before a way to recruit her while saving the tieflings was a part of the game, and for whatever reason I didn't want to use the mod that let you do it. So I thought, I'll split my saves at the grove battle where I betray or side with the tieflings. So betraying them is, well an ordeal for sure, but then Minthara's scene.

Oh boy

HAAAAAA

So yeah, after completing all that and then going back and fighting for the grove, I thought about it for like a week or two before deciding, screw playing the game twice with this split point, I'll continue from the betray the grove point, see where this goes. And just like that my character goes from a faltering hero to a fallen one. Instead of immediately restoring her oath, she would remain an oathbreaker for the rest of act 1 and nearly all of act 2.

Act 2

By far the biggest impact your choices in act 1 have are on your path through act 2. Technically you can go either way (meeting the harpers and reaching Last Light Inn first, or following Kar'niss' caravan straight to Moonrise Tower) regardless of your actions, but the game nudges you subtly to one or the other, mainly by pointing to where your potential allies will be. So I wound up at Moonrise first, and I had Minthara recruited very early in Act 2.

Essentially I did the act backwards compared to how many people would do it, going from Moonrise, to the surrounding town, to Last Light, then the Monastery, the Gauntlet of Shar, and finally the assault on Moonrise. My party's turning point to "good guys" during all this was basically right when they fight to defend Isobel at Last Light, making that particularly hard fight feel really meaningful to the story (it weirds me out how many people recommend skipping it, like what just save before, it's hard but not impossible)

This resulted in Act 2 having this seemingly intended escalation to it; we are at our lowest on the way to Moonrise. The dream visitor scene you can get on the way is really good here, they ask you how you felt about what happened to the grove. Very funny how they have an encouraging answer whether you say you don't care or you regret it. Especially after we find out who they really are.

Exploring the NPCs at Moonrise feels like a weird dark mirror of the grove, all these seemingly normal people doing their thing but talking about committing the worst atrocities so casually. Then you run into Minthara—your one real ally here—and she's been made a prisoner? By a seemingly immortal general! Seriously seeing Ketheric before hearing Jaheira's summary of him is a trip. And then I went to free Minthara from her prisoners, getting advantage on the wisdom check to break her free of the Absolute's voice cause of my previous relationship with her, and oh wow this is like the second best scene in the game this was the best decision I ever made in a game! Now let's make these bastard cultists bleed!!

Oh I was all in on Minthara's side at that point.

And yet weirdly ready to try and be a hero again. Alice had a purpose again, and allies willing to see it through. Though Wyll and Karlach had abandoned her at the grove, she was now invested in those who remained, and begins striving to lead them better. She strikes her first blow against the cultists by killing Marcus, and at the Gauntlet of Shar, while at first I tried to push Shadowheart toward sparing the Nightsong (which went horribly bad) instead Alice said she doesn't like it, but doesn't want to lose her, so she'll back her up no matter her choice.

And Shadowheart chose to spare the Nightsong. And I was introduced to my OTHER favorite character in the whole game, Dame Aylin!

And now the act hits its highest point. Having Minthara with me for the assault on Moonrise feels SO right, she has dialogue with Z'rell, a reason to be there in every fight to come, the final battle is

JUST

It's so cool.

And then Minthara has one of if not her best scene in the whole game

Not only this line, but her whole speech on Orin, her continued quest for vengeance, with the ultimate goal of replacing the Chosen Three and becoming the Absolute. And shortly after Minthara confesses to her, and I was so blown away that it happened so early!

This was also when her romance was still a shambling pile of broken flags, and I was so happy it actually worked I immediately restored Alice's oath, as she renews her vow to seek legendary heights of glory (by seizing the elder brain).

Leaving the shadowlands and heading to act 3 also leads to the last (major) change caused by my choices in act 1; the shadow curse remains. I did attempt Art's quest, which ended when we had to confirm that Halsin was dead (or so we thought, but wait until I talk about that much later!), leaving the curse unliftable.

And honestly, probably the biggest let down I've noticed about the 'good' path through act 2 versus the more 'evil' one I took is that, the curse kinda never stops being a problem in the evil path, while the good path trivializes it so early. Once you get a hold of a Moon lantern (which you can do early if you turn on Kar'niss and then on the harpers), you can just release Dolly Dolly Dolly and be safe from basically all of the curse. If you maintain your cover as a cultist, Kar'niss disappears until the end of the arc, at which the moon lantern he drops has a dead Dolly in it, so no permanent buff (not that it would matter at that point). And the moon lantern you can pick up in Balthazar's room doesn't have a pixie to release.

I dunno, you can already lift the curse in the good playthrough, seems like an odd choice to make it more trivial in that one than the other path. Still, having to manage our moon lantern use throughout the whole area, kinda made exploring it feel more significant, and knowing when it was safe or not to put away the lantern made it at least a little more interesting to explore certain areas, whereas players on the good path probably don't even know there are individual buildings with a deeper curse that even the Selunite blessing doesn't protect, necessitating still using the lantern.

So despite not having Halsin's whole quest with Art, Thaniel and Oliver, I still KINDA prefer the way it played out for me. Might change my mind in the future if I actually do that quest line, Thaniel and Oliver are interesting enough characters to make that worthwhile from what I've seen.

Act 3

At this point I've been playing for 3 months and I finally make it to act 3. The mission here being "get Minthara's approval as high as possible without breaking your oath". In short:

Crushed it. And no oath broken.

But before that, we had to deal with the little problem of Orin's kidnapping victim being Minthara. For SOME reason, Minthara is the only companion who can be abducted even if she's currently being romanced (she just has to not be in the party at the time it happens).

Which is devastating, but also REALLY good story telling, cause you just told her not like an hour ago that you'd keep her safe from Orin.

So my first task upon entering the Lower City was "find Orin and rescue Minthara". I stepped right over that agreement to go after Gortash first, and instead tracked down a few of the Bhaalist murders, which led me to the Tribunal, standing before Sarevok to be accepted as an Unholy Assassin, not REALLY knowing what I was doing at this point, and then I'm asked to kill Valeria (who was a jerk during the investigation, but not nearly that bad) and, feeling myself up against the wall, say FUCK IT WE BALL and refused to kill her.

And Somehow. I managed to beat Sarevok, despite being surrounded by cultists buffing him up. My team was Shadowheart, Lae'zel and Gale, and lemme tell you that's POTENT (this was before I got the Markoheshkir for Gale but, turns out a level 11 Wizard is REALLY STRONG so it doesn't matter)

The way the journal updated made me worried that if I took a long rest, Minthara would be killed, so. I went looking for the Temple of Bhaal, getting lost in the sewers until I finally found it, and went to face Orin WITHOUT LONG RESTING AFTER SAREVOK.

I wasn't even at max level, or had much of the good equipment in act 3. Unstoppable is a Bitch of a mechanic, and silly me didn't prepare Magic Missle on Gale (which would have trivialized it). So I had Alice, Lae'zel, and Minthara chip-chip-chipping away at 7 stacks of Unstoppable, only occasionally getting a hit through, all while Gale provided support by burning just SO MANY high level scrolls (he ran out of slots at some point), and I forget what I was doing with Shadowheart. I still don't think I understood the mechanic, but I did get an achievement for killing Orin while the cultists were still performing their ritual, so I guess I brute-forced it like some have done with Grimm.

So, after Orin the rest of Act 3 was a breeze by comparison. Except the House of Hope, that was ALSO a bitch of a fight, and unlike Orin I had to reload after a party wipe. Just once though, I beat Raphael with just Minthara up, taking out his last 10 hp with a Psionic Backlash just as he was about to roast her with Incinerate again.

Other than those, the actual rest of Act 3 was... well, I mean it was fine. I did just about everything, found and recruited Minsc, was confused that the Emperor tries to talk you OUT of recruiting him for being too unpredictable, yet he never once raises an objection to bringing on Minthara. I dunno it made sense with my playthrough cause she basically never spent time as an enemy, but it's still WEIRD and not really a choice worth doing differently. Which will become a bit of a theme with Act 3.

As I said at the start, Act 3 took me longer than any other, but I did take my sweet time there. The sheer number of npcs that you can talk to is still incredible, I fell into some quests like the Mouth Gazette accidentally, and completing those was involved but didn't take too long.

Once I had taken out Gortash, we were basically ready to go straight to the end game. The path to it being through the Temple of Bhaal driving home the point even more that I was meant to tackle Orin last, but no WAY was my wife going to miss out on the entire Act 3.

My last big exciting moment for the playthrough was when Minthara spoke up out of nowhere while heading into the temple

That's right, I got the Alurlssrin line here, since Minthara wasn't around for it the first time I went to fight Orin. But, since the game doesn't check to see if Orin was still alive (or it did but it bugged?) I still got it anyway!

She still says we have to go kill Orin, but who cares! This was literally one of my major goals in the game, my Get Kim to Wear The Jacket of Baldur's Gate 3 (whereas that achievement was basically the best thing I did in Disco Elysium). So happy to get it my first playthrough.

High Hall

As for the end of the game, while I can see how it would be harder on higher difficulties, I still think I'd have a much harder time with earlier fights. I didn't play this optimally at all, not using elixirs nor summoning many of my allies. I kinda was worried about "using them too early" but I think you're meant to use them or they go to waste.

Now I had a lot of allies. Red dragon air support, Harpers, Guild assassins, Elite Fist unit, VOLO, and even Yurgir! I only summoned the Harpers and Yurgir, and they were fine, but I think Volo is actually the strongest ally. His "Volo's Guide to Monsters" condition that gives +2 to attacks, saves and checks, that's insanely good!

Meanwhile I was noticably missing some allies. Where were Isobel and Aylin? Where were the Gondians and the Steel Watch they're supposed to give me? Especially with the abrupt way Isobel and Aylin exited the game after Lorroakan (another choice that wasn't a real choice cause why the FUCK would I betray Aylin at that point), it was a let down. As was siding with the Gondians when Wulbren gave me zero reason to sympathize with me (it felt like a Lorroakan again, you need a reason to hate this character to refuse them, so they try to do something you would absolutely not do given the choices you've already made)

At least I finally know why people hate Wulbren, but MAN does that not feel earned.

My Final Party

Since I was locked into my party from boarding the boat to the credits, I might as well talk about who I took, and what build I used for them.

Alice (6 Paladin / 6 Sorcerer)

Pretty standard Sorcadin for my Tav, I had her wielding the Jorgal's Greatsword, eventually swapping to the Sword of Chaos (never got Balduran Giantslayer. No Wyll so I don't know what an Ansur is lol). I used mods for BOTH subclasses, Oath of Glory and Shadow Sorcerer respectively. I'm gonna be honest, Sorcadin wasn't as impressive as I was hoping it would be. First, Glory Oath has its charms (the mod user tweaked a lot as this oath is meant for grappling builds in tabletop), but the spell list was meh. Guiding Bolt didn't prove to be as useful as I hoped, and Oath of Devotion's tenets for oathbreaking works fine I guess, but doesn't quite match up perfectly.

Like I interpret it as Alice trying to become the kind of legend told in stories about truly heroic figures, hence the oath tenets making me stick with a knight in shining armor type for most choices. Still it means I could make all the best choices for my companions, so they can be the best they can be, and that's perfectly fitting for the Oath of Glory.

What made this REALLY take off was the level 6 abilities for Shadow Sorcerer, at least the version the mod maker made for Baldur's Gate. At level 6 you get Hound of Ill Omen, essentially a familiar that can perform an attack that can knock enemies prone, but you have to designate the target, which you can swap freely once each turn. You ALSO get Shadow Step, which is BONKERS in BG3 for mobility, as there's almost always some minor obscurement. She zipped around everywhere, concentrated on Haste and SMITE SMOTE all into oblivion.

Minthara (9 Paladin / 3 Rogue)

Of course I had to keep Minthara a Vengeance Paladin, it's so much of who she is. I gave her 3 levels of Thief Rogue for the extra bonus action, and the Dual Wielder feat so she could wield the Handmaiden's Mace in the offhand (letting her dump Strength) and the Devotee's Mace in main. The Alert feat basically meant she always went first, and could set up with Soul Brands or an early burst and just delete ANYTHING in one go, all while concentrating on Haste for just infinity attacks.

This build doesn't have TWF but honestly, I didn't miss it. The Handmaiden's main use is the stat boost, and it can poison, so once the target is poisoned I don't necessarily need to make attacks with it and just use all the Soul Branding I want. Or do bonus action dashes to move anywhere. And since in the end I made her partial illithid, she was BY FAR my most mobile party member, even more than Alice. Levitate + Thief Rogue's bonus actions means you can get absolutely ANYWHERE if you want.

And call me a simp but I love it when she growls "I am your death" or "No survivors" and then actually kills every mother fucker she clicks on. With Vow of Enmity up, plus The Dead Shot for lower crit rate, she critted quite a lot, especially when I gave her an elixir of viciousness (appropriate). It takes a lot to out damage a Sorcadin, but she managed.

Lae'zel (12 Fighter)

You know what's almost as good as a Sorcadin or crit-fishing Paladin, damage-wise? A Gith with 12 straight levels of Battlemaster Fighter, and the Silver Sword of the Astral Plane. She managed to out damage Minthara on the Red Dragon in the final battle, Precision Attacking with GWM to get SO MUCH damage in, the dragon was dead in like 3 turns.

Shadowheart (2 Paladin / 10 Cleric)

This was a bit of a weird one, and I would definitely do something different next time. The idea for this was, Paladin for smites and Ancients healing radiance, Light Cleric for spellcaster damage and using Sentinel to act as pseudo-tank. Selûne's Spear and Viconia's Walking Fortress with Reaper's Embrace for the highest AC in the group. Honestly this worked better than it looks on paper, mostly cause with the Amulet of Greater Health she had the most hp, and almost never lost concentration. Enemies still tried to attack her despite being more tanky, and I've had her soak up so much damage.

Next time I'm definitely going to resist the temptation to make Selûne Shadowheart a Light cleric (it's not even one of Selûne's domains) and I have some ideas for that with actual synergy with things like radiating orb, so hopefully next game she'll be more effective.

A New World for Ourselves

So we did it. Orpheus subjugated the crown, the Absolute is at our mercy. All that's left is to make that final decision. Do I destroy the brain, ridding us of the tadpoles and the threat of the Netherbrain forever, or do I betray everyone so that Minthara and I can become the Absolute.

Nothing could be more glorious! Of course I was going to pick this one!

Or do I? I mean, I could, and I did to find out what happens. But is it an ending? Maybe in the future when they make that update to the 'evil endings' that they mentioned recently, there'll be more to it. For now, it basically results in you deleting every other companion (except I believe if Minthara or Astrarion are your partner) and taking control of the Netherbrain to carry out your will with no one to stop you.

It ALSO is one of the extremely rare times that Tav/Durge gets a spoken line in a cutscene, and hearing Lynsey Murrell (voice of Tav 8) say "In my name" will sustain me for weeks. Minthara saying "In your name" so much REALLY went to her head huh.

C'mon everyone who follows me saw it coming, why do you think I made my blog name literally "In My Name"? I am cringe but I am free.

But, as of right now, this ending amounts to little more than an alternative game over, until they add an epilogue for it. There isn't even a stinger scene at the end of the credits. Oh well, I'm sure the actors will have a blast performing mind-controlled companions, when that finally comes out.

The Real Epilogue

So we did it. We ordered the brain to destroy all tadpoles (and taking away Minthara's veins and black eyes, which, they were cool, but I like her without them more) and then kill itself. Despite us being on it when it blows up, but after the gang climbs out of the river and onto the dock, we have our final moments before we go our separate ways.

btw this lady, who goes to town on a Mind Flayer to protect the tiefling kid? She's so badass and I think I love her. God I'm so weak to fearless women kicking the crap out of things, and this game just doesn't stop delivering on that front.

Minthara is taking the brain's destruction incredibly well, probably due to being rid of the tadpole at last.

I honored Orpheus' wishes and put him down so he can be a martyr for his people. Lae'zel departed to return to the Astral Plane for the war against Vlaakith, and poor Astarion had to run off cause the sun started burning him. As for Gale, I thought I had messed up his quest by not bringing him to the last battle, but he did in fact get a choice to retrieve the crown for himself or Mystra, or to leave it. I told him he should leave it. Still spiteful to Mystra, sorry not sorry, but at least he didn't make another mistake.

As we headed into the Epilogue, Minthara and I have been spending the six months weaving schemes and intrigue to take control of the city from the shadows. Probably the least evil option for Minthara's epilogue, but honestly it fits, Alice has achieved her legend status and Minthara has a genuine happy ending, not having to worry about all out warfare with her family (yet).

The Epilogue Party was as adorable as I had hoped it'd be. It was great to catch up with everyone, and it made me happy I used my oc from ffxiv, cause this is very much in line with the sort of "You fixed everything and everyone is praising you" ending the Warrior of Light gets in basically every expansion.

So after finishing the game, I have my thoughts. First off, I had such a great time, and fully intend to start another run (more on that later). I wouldn't say it's perfect; the epilogue does a good job to pad out the ending, but the base game ending after finishing the last battle is definitely pretty abrupt. But it's alleviated so much by seeing these characters I've spent so much time with, seen them struggle and grow, now finally getting closure. That still makes it worth it.

I am ashamed to admit I had to reload on the final battle after an impromptu party wipe. You'd think as a FFXIV savage raider I would be able to recognize "don't stand in the bad" mechanics and execute them perfectly since this is turn based. And not only did Shadowheart get hit by one of those nautiloid attacks, the final boss took us out because I didn't realize it'd blow up the platforms they were on. Still, as a savage raider maybe it makes perfect sense I'd have trouble not standing in bad.

There's one other thing I wanted to mention, something that a lot of people are concerned about when they play this game and I'm so happy I can say, after completing this run, that the Grove does not matter.

The Grove doesn't matter (just do it)

That's not even hyperbole, the grove literally doesn't matter. Notice I how I didn't have to mention it past act 2? That's because it matters basically only for act 2, while act 3 might as well exist on its own. Now I guess that makes sense if no npcs from the grove actually survive, since there's no one there to talk about them.

But like. Volo is right there. I saved him from cultists in act 3, and he shows up for the final battle and the epilogue, and he makes a big talk about telling my story, conveniently forgetting that whole part where I committed genocide for, as he himself noted at the time, no discernible reason.

Like I know I joke that you can raid the grove and still play the game as a 'good' character, and that's still true and I think it should at least be possible, but like. At least a mention?

I will tell you who I heard from that I was absolutely NOT expecting though:

I'm sorry, fucking who??

What?

So what seems to be going on here, is that because I never talked to Halsin after initiating "Raid the grove" in act 1, meaning he never left the goblin camp, the game never registered him as "dead" (even though you can tell Art that), but instead is treating him as "alive, and the shadowlands are still cursed"

Weird. I don't remember if I actually went back to the goblin camp and checked the worg pens to see if his body was there. But since Minthara showed up at Moonrise with his journal in her inventory, I just assumed she killed him before leaving to Moonrise.

It honestly would have been absolutely hilarious if I had gotten a "you may have saved the Sword Coast but I will never forgive you for what you did to the grove. May we never meet again" or something like that. But hey this is a party, we gotta stay upbeat!

Anyway the moral of the story is, if you haven't killed the grove yet, you should definitely kill the grove. Maybe not the one Larian intended, but it works for me.

What's Next?

I'm going to be taking a break from bg3 for a bit. There's a limited time event going on in ffxiv, and I still need to replay and finish Hi-Fi Rush (my other game of the year of 2023). After all of that, I have a few ideas for my next run, in order of preference:

Chosen of Eilistraee - Drow Bard/Rogue/Cleric (Shadowheart Romance)

I really wanna go back in and do another in-depth run as a more traditional 'chaotic good tav' like a lot of people did their first time, but with the luxury of being able to recruit every companion this time. I also really want to play through the game as a Bard, and play a more religion-focused character.

So a Drow Bard with the Cleric of Eilistraee dialogue options, and who will have a whole story involving obtaining Phalar Aluve (Eilistraee's weapon) AND Larethian's Wrath (Corellon's weapon) and dual wield them. Since Alice will no longer be my main tav after this (more below), I'll be giving this character the Guild Artisan (tav's canon background as far as I'm concerned) and she'll be my go-to heroic tav.

DU Minthara - Paladin/Sorcerer (Karlach OR Lae'zel Romance)

There's this brilliant mod that lets you play as any of the companions, Origin and non-Origin, using either Tav's or Dark Urge's dialogue. And listen. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense that Dark Urge is the perfect way to play Minthara AS an origin character.

I could romance either Karlach or Lae'zel (both incredible rarepairs, though Minthara/Karlach is less rare nowadays), but if I go with Karlach I'll HAVE to save the grove, because I don't want to risk her romance breaking if Dammon is dead. Plus fixing her engine means act 2 and 3 Karlach sex scenes with Minthara 😳 oooooh yes! Don't know if I'll be resist or embrace, but would aim for the Avernus ending. And of course with Lae'zel any way is fair game, meaning that grove is getting raided again boys!

And yes it is another Paladin/Sorcerer multiclass, don't judge me I'm going for a different level split this time and not using modded subclasses, and Storm Sorcerer is very Durge-appropriate.

Karlach Origin (Minthara Romance)

Same deal, but reverse. This will be my one concession to romancing Minthara on a 'good' playthrough. Normally I'm personally opposed to that; recruit her sure, but she needs someone willing to kill for her. That all changes with Karlach / Minthara, the tiefling has permission to concuss her and later kiss her, because she absolutely would, plus won't be around long enough to help Minthara with any of her plans anyway, so their future is either going to be brief or in Avernus (aiming for the latter as usual)

Can you tell I REALLY like this ship?

DU Alice - Paladin/Warlock (Minthara Romance)

I intend to replay Alice someday (need to let her story rest for a bit before I come back to it) this time using Dark Urge to fill in those needling holes in her background. Like just adding Durge makes everything about her character better imo. I'd play her as Oathbreaker from the start. Waking up with holes in her brain and a hole in her soul where her oath used to be, replaced by whispers of death. What even was her oath, and if she can restore it, should she? Basically a replay of my first run but with added DU angst, and a connection to Orin and Gortash that accidentally mirror her relation to Zenos and Emet-Selch in ffxiv. Neat.

Shadowheart Origin (Astarion Romance)

This one is wild, considering I don't really like Astarion (he does nothing for me, though his story and Neil Newbon's performance are both excellent). However I saw a certain Shadowstarion fanart and thought, what if they just made each other worse until we have Ascended Astarion reeking havoc for eternity alongside Dark Justiciar Vampire Shadowheart. That's all I got.

So if you read all the way to this end, thank you! I hope you enjoyed my ramblings. If you want, drop your thoughts in comments or ask, I'd love to hear them!

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldu'rs gate iii #baldur's gate iii #bg3 spoilers #act 1 spoilers #act 2 spoilers #act 3 spoilers #bg3 tav #tav #bg3 alice lufenia #my tav #bg3 minthara #minthara #minthara baenre #minthara bg3 #nightwarden minthara #minthara romance #thought about adding more characters but they didn't seem relevant enough to tag #long post #very long post

[kingreywrites]

ok this might be weird but concerning the whole rapunzel wants to go on an adventure thing, do you think she wants to spend a lifetime travelling instead of being queen after plus est en vous because I recently saw I post said she should have gone with cass instead of staying with eugene because he is more of a settle down guy, so what are they trying to say here and what are your thoughts on it ?

ghsgdj trying to answer this without getting into ship stuff because honestly that's just what it is here (i have Thoughts about the idea that eugene just wants to settle down asfdhjd BEA was the first ep but it wasn't the only one 🙃), I think the problem here is just... I don't really understand what constitutes freedom for some people

Like the idea is that if Rapunzel is queen she will not be allowed to like... go outside corona ever again? She won't be allowed to explore? And i just. in s3 she was queen in all but name, and did that stop her from having adventures and taking the balloon to go to different places and in general having time to do what she wanted? Being queen is not the same as being kept in a tower by her abuser she's literally one of the most powerful person in the world! She can do whatever she wants lmao the whole point is that now she has a choice in what she does in life!

and the other thing is, rapunzel says multiple time that she likes being princess and she likes being queen. Yeah she went through some tough stuff but actively working to make things better for people in Corona is something she loves! I do not see her wanting to just... abandon all of that, and leave, when she enjoys being there for these people she cares about

So like, often this argument revolves around the idea that Rapunzel needs to be Absolutely Free and the only way to do that is for her to leave Corona but i don't know, personally i wouldn't feel free travelling constantly? Some people do and some people don't, bottom line being that freedom doesn't come in only one single form. I think in a lot of ways we're shown that Rapunzel loves being in Corona, and that it doesn't stop her from exploring when she wants to, but that she's also enjoying her freedom when she works to better the lives of people in her kingdom?

#i hope this makes sense fhdhdjd it's just... idk i think that someone who never had a home finally having one is very meaningful too #i also saw some variantions of this which were like 'she's only completely free to explore in s2 that's not enough' and i just #tts is like s1: she feels stuck in corona; s2: she can go wherever she wants #and s3: now that she has experienced freedom in another way she's able to make the choice to still live in corona #while still travelling when she wants #that's the general progression; rapunzel frees herself and finally is allowed to choose how she's gonna enjoy her freedom #and yeah 3 years is a short lapse of time to do that but. i am once again reminding people this is a CARTOON #TTS had three seasons to show this literally what kind of enjoyment would you get if it was stretched out for years to be more realistic? #they had these three beats to show us and they did; irl 1 year of exploring alone would be short but this is ONE THIRD of the show #THAT'S ACTUALLY QUITE A BIT OF TIME IN UNIVERSE #people are allowed their hcs and their interpretations but as it is? the narrative works fine and rapunzel being happy in corona makes sense #anyway yeah i tried to stay focus on what i think makes sense or not for rapunzel #because i don't really wanna go in the ship fighting thing #but also it's obvious that i have Thoughts about this so I'm gonna stop here gjjfjfjf #i hope this make sense!! #tts rambles

[fruitcoops]

Hi, I love your blog so much! I recently got ankle lateral ligament reconstruction done, and as an athlete, it sucks so bad. I watched my basketball team play yesterday, and it felt really horrible to watch them lose by one point in overtime when I know I would have made a difference if I were on the court... I know you have lots of asks and prompts, but if you have the time and want to, could you possibly hurt me more than I’m already hurting with some angsty ankle injury stuff😩 like maybe Cap watching the Lions lose without him.

Thank you for all the awesome fics you write! Your blog is amazing!

Anon, this ask really struck a chord with me and I wanted to do it justice as best I could--going through a sports injury like that is the worst feeling in the world, and watching your teammates play without you just adds salt to the wound. Sending all the love and healing vibes your way, okay? Please keep me updated on how you're feeling if you feel comfortable <3

Combined with an ask for pre-Coops and Sirius' photo of Remus! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for canonical injury and mentioned scars (Remus)

Sirius felt a nudge at his arm and his irritation flared, but he did not take his eyes off the game. “Fucking hell,” he muttered as James missed yet another blatant pass. There’s three.

The next nudge was more insistent.

“What?” he snapped, sparing half a glance to his left and feeling his stomach swoop.

Remus raised his eyebrows and held the mouthguard out further. “Either put this in or unclench your jaw.”

You’re not my mother, Sirius almost snarked back, just to be even more of an asshole. He was cold from being at the rink without his gear, severely pissed off by the general bullshit happening on the ice, and the itch in the boot locked around his stupid fucked-up ankle was slowly driving him mad.

Remus offered the mouthguard again, and Sirius’ temper cooled by a few degrees at the soft encouragement on his face. Pretty, his brain supplied. He swallowed hard around his sudden dry mouth and shoved the plastic between his teeth, beating back the unruly emotions with a mental baseball bat. Nope. Not tonight. Focus on being angry.

Logan got distracted, and Finn paid the price as an enforcer slammed him against the boards; he bounced back immediately, but Sirius ground the mouthguard so hard it squeaked. “Tabarnak—”

“Come with me for a sec,” Remus said, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the angry shouts of Lions fans.

Sirius shook his head. What he wouldn’t give to be in the heart of the fight, letting off some of the steam that had been building with no outlet for weeks. “Game’s not over.”

Remus pressed his lips together, but said nothing; Sirius’ throat constricted as he looked at the scoreboard. There may have been three full minutes left on the clock, but the Lions had already lost—unless they pulled a miracle out of their asses, this game would be a stain on their record. Or if they just let me play.

Sirius sighed through his nose. The urge had been growing stronger the longer he stayed cooped up and restless, banging at the walls of his brain and bringing headache after headache.

“Cap.” The hand on the back of his bicep was surprisingly gentle and he closed his eyes as Remus gave him a light tug. “Come on. We can at least be productive instead of sitting here and stewing.”

He smells nice. How does he always smell so nice? Sirius stood and followed Remus down the tunnel, not even bothering to force smiles for the people pounding on the glass partitions. Don’t focus on the game.

Focus on his shoulders, something close to his heart suggested. You like his shoulders.

He scrunched his nose up at the thought—if he dwelled on the smooth, strong curve of Remus’ upper back for any longer, he would start remembering the one time he saw them bare, covered in sweat with scars that shone like moonlight and—

“Are you okay?” Remus asked, snapping him back to reality. Sirius jumped and concern flickered over the golden planes of his face. “You’re twitchy tonight.”

“Just…” He made a vague, aborted motion toward the ice before continuing toward the PT room, though he did not miss the worried look Remus shot him. Fantastic, now I look like a dick and an idiot.

“What’s going on, Sirius?” The door clicked closed behind them and Remus leaned against it with his arms crossed loosely as Sirius limped over to the table and sat down, pulling the mouthguard out. He stared at the floor and the hunk of plastic—don’t think about how nice his voice sounds around your name. Don’t.

He shook his head; through the door, the sounds of the game were faint. “They’re better than this.”

“Yep.”

“They’re all going to be angry tomorrow, which makes them sloppy.”

“Probably.”

“Coach will be upset.”

“No question.”

“It’s the Badgers.”

Remus made a face. “I know, right?”

“They’re a good team, but—” He tightened his jaw again and looked away.

“But we’re better,” Remus finished for him.

“Yeah.” Silence fell between them for a few moments, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Being quiet around Remus was never uncomfortable, and Sirius was pathetically grateful for every scrap of it he could get. “I—the game would be different if I was out there.”

“Would it?”

“It would.” He had been going over every mistake for two and a half hours, placing himself in like a chess piece to stop the missed passes, fumbled pucks, and thoughtless plays. “They need me with them.”

The paper crinkled as Remus sat down next to him, and every one of Sirius’ senses went on high alert. “They need to you get better,” he said simply, those caramel-apple eyes making Sirius’ knees go weak. “Have you been doing your exercises?”

“Of course,” he scoffed.

“Good.” There was no defensiveness or indignation in Remus’ voice—guilt snapped, a firecracker behind his teeth.

“Sorry.”

Remus smiled wryly. “When you’re around injured hockey players all day long, you get used to a little bit of bitchiness.”

“I’m not bitchy!” Sirius spluttered. The poorly-concealed amusement on Remus’ face made mortification heat his cheeks. “I’m not!”

“Uh-huh.” The note of smug disbelief should not have been as attractive as it was. “Alright, lay down.”

Sirius swore he heard a few crackling noises as his brain short-circuited. “Quoi?”

“I’m not kneeling on freezing linoleum to check out your ankle, Cinderella,” Remus snorted. “Now get a wiggle on.”

“You have the strangest sayings,” he said as he laid back and stretched his leg out, bewildered and yet somehow relieved.

“And you—” Remus pulled the top buckle free. “—have no appreciation for the great American north.”

“I can take it off,” Sirius mumbled, feeling redness rise once again.

He cocked an eyebrow. “The boot? I might not be a muscle-bound athlete, but I’m pretty sure I can manage a couple strips of Velcro.”

“No, it’s—doesn’t touching people’s feet freak you out? Like, the sweat and everything?”

“If it did, I’d have to find another profession, because I’m damp all the time from you fuckers and you all seem to have a habit of breaking things below the knee. Bend.”

Sirius complied, drawing his knee toward his chest. His bare foot looked weird in the bright lights, pale and still swollen, but Remus was as golden as ever. You can watch from afar, he conceded when the cute little furrow appeared on Remus’ forehead while he felt around the bone. Just for a little while. “Your hands are warm,” he said before he could stop himself.

Remus glanced up, and his small smile caused a flood of butterflies in Sirius’ stomach. “Thanks. They’re usually pretty cold, so I’m glad I’m not accidentally giving you foot hypothermia.”

“Is that real?”

“No,” Remus laughed. Sirius wished he could keep that sound forever. “How’s that feel?”

“Uh, fine.” He blinked a couple times to come back to himself as Remus put light pressure on the sole of his foot. “Still fine.”

“You’re a lot more flexible than before. Things are healing well.”

A loud buzzer went off outside—Sirius closed his eyes as disappointment and frustration fired up once more. The crowd wasn’t cheering. The windows weren’t shaking. He didn’t even want to look at the TV to check the score. I should be out there, he thought for the umpteenth time. I’m letting them down.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said quietly as he worked through a few more exercises.

“Not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either.”

Sirius wanted to believe him. “I’m the captain.”

“And you’re being responsible by doing this with me so you can heal faster.” People rushed past the door outside, but the PT room remained peaceful. Sirius stared at the plain ceiling and wished for a miracle. “They miss you.”

“Y’know, that’s not exactly making me feel better.”

“Sorry.” They lapsed back into silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Cool.”

Sirius chewed the inside of his lip for a solid two minutes, following Remus’ simple instructions without looking at him. He should have been out there with them, ankle be damned. It was basically healed anyway; they were just tying up loose ends, and maybe Remus needed to be a little less careful. “Is this really necessary?”

“I’m gonna give you five seconds to ask a different question.”

“I’m just saying, it feels fine and—”

“Time’s up.” Remus let go of his foot and Sirius only spared a moment to mourn the loss of his comforting touch before he caught the stormy, mulish stubbornness that took the place of Remus’ concentration. “Sit.”

“I am.”

He narrowed his eyes, and Sirius dragged himself upright with a huff. Arguing with Remus Lupin was about as useful as arguing with a brick wall, and that was coming from someone who won the ‘Most Stubborn’ superlative at their last end-of-year party. “First of all, ankles are annoying and the soft tissue will still be damaged even if the bone is healed. Second, it’s my job to fix you up so your boys stop whining to me about healing you faster. And third, I’m not giving up on you.”

Sirius paused for a long moment. “What?”

“I’m not giving up,” Remus repeated. His jaw set and he made direct eye contact. “I would love nothing more than to kick Snape in the kneecaps and let you go out there as soon as you can stand on your own, but that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to make sure you’re ready to kick ass and take names no matter what that little shit was trying to do. So don’t you dare sit there and try to chicken out at the finish line, because I know you want this even more than I do.”

In his chest, Sirius heart was hammering like he had just run five miles. I’m not giving up on you. Sirius had never wanted to kiss him more. “Thank you.”

Remus softened with a slow breath. “We’re in this together, Sirius. You and me.”

“I know.”

“Then let’s get to work. Next time you play the Badgers, make ‘em regret this game.”

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

Sirius walked back toward the locker room feeling rather nauseous. The whole team leaked their bad moods into the air—Arthur had barely looked at them before sending them home with a quiet “we’ll talk more tomorrow”, the equivalent of an arrow through Sirius’ heart. I need a pick-me-up, he thought as the rest of the guys trooped out in a melancholy raincloud. He fist-bumped each of them, per tradition, but their responses were weak at best.

Ice cream sounded good. Maybe a milkshake. Oh, who was he kidding, he needed a solid hug and something other than ice to look at. Not for the first time, he contemplated getting a dog, just so the house wouldn’t be empty and dark when he returned.

Laughter rang out ahead and Sirius inhaled sharply, letting the sound roll over him. “I’m not kidding!” Moody chuckled.

“Bullshit,” Remus countered, still snickering. “There is no way—”

“I’ve been around here longer than you’ve been alive, kid.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Remus groaned, though Sirius could hear the smile in his voice even from around the corner. “You only bring it up every goddamn day.”

“Brat.”

Sirius entered the room just in time to see Remus playfully knock the side of his foot against Moody’s; both were grinning. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, old man?”

Moody nodded to him. “Night, twelve.”

“A demain,” Sirius called, offering a slight smile as his eyes lingered on Remus. He was leaning back against the wall with stick tape in his hands—his hands, which never failed to make Sirius throw caution to the wind—and raised it in farewell. “See you, Loops. Thanks again.”

“No problem, Cap.”

He grabbed his duffel off the floor and slid his keys, wallet, and phone into his pockets as Moody and Remus resumed their conversation. He wondered how long they usually stuck around, and if they would oppose him staying—he wouldn’t interrupt, but being around people who weren’t going through the five stages of grief already felt nice.

An idea struck as Remus’ laugh raised goosebumps on his arms once again. With a careful glance over his shoulder, he slipped his phone out and snapped a picture before hurrying off toward his car. His breaths were shallow; that was such a creepy move, and surely one of them noticed—

No voices chased him. Nobody gave him strange looks. He waited until he was safely in the front seat of the car before unlocking his phone, and all the air in his lungs left in a rush.

The photo was perfect. It caught the lopsided tilt to Remus’ mouth, his slender-but-strong fingers, his long legs, the scrunch of his nose mid-laugh. Everything Sirius never let himself look at for long. He didn’t have much space left among the collection of paper memories on his dresser, but maybe if he put it in the back where nobody would see it unless they knew where to look…

He turned the car on. Later. He would print it out and deal with the taut rubber-band-ball of feelings later. Until then, he could settle for the imprint of Remus’ warmth taking away the pain in his ankle and the determination on his face as he promised to bring Sirius back from the personal hell he was living in. You and me, he had said, and Sirius wanted nothing more than to believe it.

#fanfic #my fic #sirius black #remus lupin #alastor moody #james potter #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #sweater weather #coops #injury #pre-coops #lumosinlove

[spideyspeaches]

Inconveniences ↬ p.p

AN: This is a reupload from my old account!

An entry for @geminiparkers’s 1k writing challenge!

Pairing- College!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Warnings: mentions of sex :)

Wc: 1.7k

Masterlist || Taglist

1.

You didn’t understand what people saw in the Avengers. They were annoying and had no concept of personal space.

Or maybe those were just your thoughts. You’ve been living with them ever since quarantine started, finally able to convince your parents that you were capable of living alone, you were an avenger, after all. Well you weren’t really living alone, as the people in question along with your boyfriend, Spider-Man lived with you.

Never were you ever glad that May Parker, the angel, had allowed you two to stay together (without much embarrassment).

Back to the point where you got no privacy. For example:

“Peterrrr” you whined, elongating his name to get his attention. You had been horny all day long, craving some semblance of touch from your extremely sweet, hot, amazing, beautiful boyfriend.

He hummed, not even looking up from the laptop he was typing on. He was laying on his side, so you tried to shimmy yourself between the little space on the couch and him, only to grunt when he wouldn’t move.

So you tried something else, because fuck the Avengers you wanted a dick now.

“Petey petey pie,” you whispered, tracing his abs from under his t-shirt. You knew your trick would work, because you could feel them clench.

“Y/N, not here sweetheart.” He muttered, holding your hand while he continued to ignore you.

Pouting, you huffed and flopped back as much as you could.

“You promised you would be free tonight! Gah you’re such a nerd!” You whined, rolling your eyes when you saw Nat entered the living room.

At first she ignored you both, sipping at her milkshake and walking towards the kitchen.

“You chose me and not Harry remember? Thought you were into nerds not gonna lie.” He smirked, his voice low, the kind that had you clenching without a thought.

“And? Are you questioning my choices? Come on Petey you can do your homework later.” You said.

You climbed on top of him, your foot purposefully catching his dick. By now you were practically on his chest , tracing circles around his nipples.

Smirking, you continued to pepper his exposed neck with featherlight kisses, making sure to moan every now and then.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” He clenched his jaw, huffing to show that your kisses were not affecting him.

“Well you’re being a party pooper, so I’m having mine.” You muttered, voice muffled as you slid your hands inside his t-shirt, scratching your fingers against his chest.

Grunting, he gently pushed you off, sitting up with his laptop on his legs, “Y/N this is important."

Mouth open now, you puffed your cheeks, folding your hands on your chest.

"Can you believe this dude?!” You shouted, looking at Nat while pointing at your smirking boyfriend, “he chooses homework over sex!”

***

2.

Sipping at your drink, you smiled at the scene in front of you. It was almost half a year under quarantine, and Tony had finally agreed to host a party, albeit an internal one with only the Avengers, and May, now that she was out of duty from the hospital.

“How’re you feeling babe?” Peter appeared, wrapping his hands around your stomach, resting his nose on the crook of your neck.

Sighing, you leaned onto his head, enjoying the way he kissed your neck, caressing your waist with his thumbs.

“I’m good, things are getting normal again, if only the president caught the virus, this country would be a much better place.” You snorted, feeling your back vibrate as he laughed.

“You hate him so much don’t you?” He said.

“He’s hate worthy.” You shrugged, turning around to wrap your hands around his neck, playing with the baby hair on the nape.

Leaning forward, you hummed against his lips, crading your hands through his hair as he pushed you into his chest, fingers playing with the hem of your pants.

“Someone’s gonna walk in on us.” You mutter against his mouth, moaning as his tongue attacks your lips, parting them hungrily.

Swaying with the loud music, you whimpered when he touched your waist, his fingers hot and leaving shocks, your pussy throbbing and gut coiling with anticipation.

Panting desperately, you pulled at his shirt, fingers scrunching in the material as he lifted you up, planting on the counter top as you wrapped your legs around his waist, effectively straddling him. Feeling his muscles rippling under the shirt, gave a throaty moan, huffing due to the lack of oxygen.

Sweat was already coating your foreheads, creating highlights on his cheekbones and reflecting off the lens of his glasses-

“Peter did you see my- Oh! Oh am I disturbing you? Why don’t you use the bedroom though, I don’t think Tony would like if you do it in the kitchen-"

"May! Oh my god-"

”-It’s okay honey, you’re not a teenager anymore-“

Falling off the counter top, you bit your lip, playing with the hem of your shirt, not meeting May’s eyes. You look at your blushing boyfriend, embarrassed at being caught making out in between a party.

"May, just go, please-”

“Um, sorry I was just leaving anyway, you know, I got work to do. Yeah. You both continue.” She smirked, nodding at you and sending a sly wink at you.

Shaking your head, you looked at Peter, twiddling your hands together.

“Sooo, wanna make out?” You ask.

“Yeah. Sure"

***

3.

The dishes clinked together, the noise echoing in the empty kitchen. Peter moved with agility, hands cleaning the dishes as he passed it to you who were putting them on the rack.

You saw him take a deep breath, biting your lips and gulping. You knew what was coming next.

Peter had always been protective of you, as a friend or as a girlfriend. He protected everyone who he loved.

"I’m sorry-"

"Save it. Take your meds and go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He grunted, nearly smashing the plates as you raised your eyebrows.

“Well be careful of the plates, they’re fragile.” You joked, heart beating fast as you contemplate his reaction.

“How are you so chill about all this?! You know you were reckless, and yet you do decide to not acknowledge the fact that you almost died!” He slammed his fist, nearly breaking the plate with his hand, a small piece did break, piercing his skin.

You jumped at his sudden aggression, your own anger building.

“I’m a big girl now Peter, I can take care of myself, I don’t need you to look out for me everytime I go out!” You snarled, curling your fist, “and you’re one to talk you hypocrite! You’re always so reckless during patrols, how is me getting blasted by a bomb in a fireproof suit, reckless when you get hit by bullets on a daily basis?"

"I stopped listening after you said you got blasted by a bomb, you’re not enhanced Y/N, how am I supposed to-”, he said voice cracking, “I love you okay? I can’t - I can’t lose you okay?"

Your chest ached at his hurt voice. Peter had lost a lot in his short life, his parents, his uncle, almost lost Tony. And now you felt bad about making him feel that way.

"I’m sorry Petey.” You said, taking his cheek in one hand, holding his suds filled hand in another, “You’re hurt."

He chuckled, looking at his hand where the broken plate had pierced it. Tony wouldn’t mind one broken plate, he was a billionaire after all.

"Yeah.” He said, sniffing and putting it under the faucet to get off any remaining blood. You watched in fascination as the wound closed up, not even leaving a scar behind as if you were watching a time lapse.

Rolling your eyes, you grinned mischievously, poking his chest with you fingers and snorting as he giggled, pulling you closer-

“Bucky! Give me back my cookie now or I swear to god-"

"Ughhh you guys do this purposely don’t you?” You groaned, glaring at Bucky and Sam as they stop in their tracks, looking at each other and smirking.

“We neither confirm nor deny your accusations.” Bucky said, plopping the cookie in his mouth and walking out of the kitchen as you bang your forehead against the table.

Why can’t people just let you be intimate with your boyfriend for one second?

***

+1

“Are you sure no one’s gonna walk in, Spider-Man?” You hummed against his lips, moving in slow motions as he caresses your bum.

“If they do, I’ll take care of it.” He rasps, squeezing your bottom and fingering the hem of your shirt shorts.

You were sitting in Peter’s bedroom after a full day of teasing him, because you were horny and desperate. Softly kneading your fingers through his hair, you whined at the feel of his bulge against your crotch, a wet feeling already seeping through those shorts.

Rubbing your hips faster against his, you huff, tracing his biceps and squeezing them occasionally as he moved down with his lips, slipping off your tank top.

“Thought you had super speed.” You grunted, urging him to go faster as he unclasped your bra before looking at you with a smirk, his eyes shining with mirth and lust.

“You were a bad girl today, teasing me every opportunity you got, it’s only fair if I get to do the same.” He said before squeezing your one boob and sucking on the other, a wet pop noise leaving his mouth every time he sucked on it.

Spreading your legs further, you shimmy out of your shorts, lifting Peter’s shirt up to get him out of it before he stopped you.

“Oh no, you’re not-” he started before the door opened with a bang.

“Did you guys-” before Tony could see anything, Peter produced his web-shooters and shot at the door, locking it for at least another two hours.

A muffled, “at least use protection!” Was heard from outside the door. Your face was burning with embarrassment, looking at Peter with an innocently terrified look on your face. He could hear your heart racing, and it was making him like, really hard.

“Now, where to begin.” He whispered, chills shooting up your spine, goosebumps appearing on your skin and the wet feeling intensifying between your thighs.

“Let me at least undress you.” You plead, lifting his t-shirt and unbuttoning his jeans simultaneously.

“No, you were a brat today, and brats don’t get a taste without punishment.” He smirked, flipping you so you hit the backrest, holding your arms up and…webbing You up against the headboard, “today I’m doing all the work."

And you didn’t mind it really. Like, at all.

#peter parker x stark!reader #college!peter parker #college!peter parker x stark!reader #college!peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #spideygirl writes

[detectivereyes]

Ribs Like a Cage Full of Fire

Summary: A call at an ice rink leads to some painful consequences for TK

Written for the “broken ribs” square on my @badthingshappenbingo card, which was requested by @paramedicstrand 27 years ago and i finally wrote it <3

Beta and emotional support provided by @marjansmarwani

read on ao3

“You know, I practically grew up on the ice back in New York,” TK says, unable to hide the grin as they pull the ambulance up to the ice rink. Not to say he’s excited that someone hurt themselves on the ice, but he hadn’t found time to ice skate since moving to Austin so there was a part of him that looked forward to revisiting the ice.

“Wow, you’re from New York? You’ve never mentioned it before,” Nancy feigns sarcasm with a playful roll of her eyes. 

“Ha ha, we’ll just have to see who's most comfortable once we actually get out the ice,” TK quickly retorts as Tommy gives them both a warning look. They lapse into a comfortable silence as they work together to get all the necessary supplies before heading out onto the rink.

As soon as TK steps foot onto the ice, he begins to wobble before quickly regaining his balance. He glances over to Nancy, hoping she didn’t see that but her mischievous grin says otherwise.

“Thought you grew up on the ice?”

He gives her a tight smile. “Well, it has been a while… Also I think the ice in Texas is extra slippery.”

“Whatever you say, dude,” Nancy says with a small chuckle. 

Tommy, for her part, pushes past the two of them, walking across the ice with ease towards the patient. Through the crowd standing in a circle, TK can make out a young teenage boy carefully cradling his wrist against his chest.

Once they make their way over with only a few slips on both their parts, Nancy and TK busy themselves behind their Captain, getting all the supplies together as she addresses the patient.

“Hey there, my name’s Tommy. What’s yours?”

“Jimmy,” the young kid stutters out.

“Jimmy, can you tell me what happened?”

As Tommy tends to the patient, Nancy and TK prep the bandages and split. Stealing a side glance at the offending wrist, it does appear to be a compound fracture and TK winces in sympathy. He doesn’t wait for Tommy to ask before prepping an IV line in the hopes of providing some pain relief for Jimmy. 

They work in a comfortable silence as Tommy carefully wraps the boy's injured arm before Nancy hands her the splint. They then ease Jimmy up to a standing position.

“You good to wrap up here, Strand?” Tommy turns and asks TK. 

“Sure thing, Cap,” TK replies with a smile, watching as Tommy and Nancy carefully escort Jimmy toward the waiting ambulance.

He takes the time to pack up what’s left of their supplies before standing up, intending to follow them. 

Except when he goes to stand, he must do so too quickly because before he can even process what’s happening, he finds himself losing his balance and struggling to remain upright on the slippery ice. His surroundings seem to blur as he falls back down, face first onto the ice. The moment his body collides with the ice, TK swears he can hear the audible cracking of his ribs from the pressure. 

He winces as he pushes himself back into a seated position, ignoring the sharp protests coming from his chest and the cold ice shavings digging into his raw palms. 

He takes a few seconds to glance around and see if anyone noticed. Other than a few side glances from various skaters gliding around the rink, no one seems to be giving him much attention. And by this point, Tommy and Nancy are loading Jimmy into the ambulance, too far away to see what had happened.

All of which means he’s on his own. 

Left with no other option, he grabs his medical bag which had fallen with him onto the ice and forces himself to stand back up onto the ice, this time much more carefully. He slowly makes his way towards the opening on the side of the rink, using his arm to hold his chest tightly and relishing in the relief that it provides from the pain.

When he arrives at the back of the ambulance, he removes his arm supporting his chest and does his best to mask the pained expression. He must not do a great job though because Nancy gives him a questioning look.

“The ice is slippery,” he shrugs, giving his partner a reassuring smile. “I’m good though.”

The little voice in the back of his head is screaming that he should tell her or Tommy that he’s not actually good. That his chest feels like it’s on fire and each breath feels like knives stabbing him in the lungs.

But whether it’s out of pride or convenience's sake, he keeps his mouth shut and Nancy seems to accept his answer.

He shuts the doors on the back of the ambulance and slides into the driver's seat. If there had been any doubt that he was hurt, the seat belt digging into his rib cage and sending sharp pains radiating through the rest of his body confirmed it. 

He suppresses the groan that threatens to escape from his mouth and sends a silent prayer that his teammates in the back of the rig don’t notice anything amiss.

All he can do is drive and choke back the tears that well in the corners of his eyes at each minor bump in the road. 

The emergency room doors can’t appear in his line of sight soon enough. And fortunately he doesn’t have to do much as the hospital staff unload the stretcher, giving TK a few minutes to collect himself before he comes face to face with his partner and captain.

He takes a deep breath before pulling the keys out of the ignition and exiting the ambulance. Spotting Nancy on the side of the rig, he gives her a nod and hands her the keys. “It’s your lucky day, Gillian. You can drive back to the station.”

She raises her eyebrows curiously before shrugging. “I would question it, but I’m going to say yes before you change your mind.”

The ride back to the station passes by in a blur. He tries his best not to let on that anything is wrong and even with Nancy now sitting next to him, neither she nor Tommy seem to pick up on the pained grimaces or the fact that he’s much quieter than usual. 

Once they are parked, TK wastes no time exiting the ambulance and ducking up the stairs towards the locker room, avoiding the curious glances of other members of the 126. Locking himself in a bathroom stall, he carefully unbuttons his uniform shirt before sliding his soft grey undershirt over his head. The movement only further aggravates his ribs and he can’t help the hisses of pain that escape from his lips.

He takes a shaky breath before glancing down, his face scrunching up in a wince at the sight of his chest. Though the fall only happened less than an hour ago, the faint outline of various shades of purple and blue are already beginning to paint his rib cage. Tentatively, he ghosts his fingers along the bruising and inhales sharply at the pain the soft touch causes. 

At minimum, it’s very bad bruising. But more likely, he has a few fractured, possibly broken ribs. 

He debates going to Tommy and confessing what had happened. It’s unlikely he would be able to last the rest of his shift like this and his paramedic brain is screaming that he needs actual medical attention. 

But the urge to power through is too strong. Despite how loud the voice is telling that this is bad, the voice arguing back that maybe it isn’t that bad is louder. 

There’s no reason to cut his shift short for this and make a big deal out of it. In fact, glancing at his watch shows that there’s only an hour left. Not that he wants to jinx it, but it’s likely that they won’t even get called to another scene. Besides, coming clean would also lead to not just his paramedic team, but the entire station finding out that he got hurt. Again.

No, that won’t be necessary today. He will power through the rest of his shift, looking forward to the moment he gets home and can ice his ribs. 

He can do this. 

Getting his uniform back on is no easy task, with sliding his undershirt over his again hurting him even more than when he slid it off. He settles for just wearing the undershirt for now, grabbing his blue uniform shirt before exiting the stall. 

Re-entering the locker room, he hastily shoves the shirt in his locker, figuring he can hang it up later when it doesn’t feel like he’s about to pass out if he moves the wrong way. He takes a moment to breathe, suppressing the panic when he begins to notice how hard it is to take deep breaths.

“Hey, man. You good?”

TK’s head darts up, caught off guard by the entrance of Paul into the locker room, but he quickly catches himself and smiles. “Yeah, just a rough call earlier. How’s your shift been?”

Paul studies him carefully and TK knows he can sense the deflection and quick pivot in the conversation. But at this point Paul has known him long enough not to press, knowing that TK needs the space and will come to him if and when he needs to. 

“It's been a little Q-word around here, so not too bad. Looking forward to a few days off after this, though,” Paul smiles. 

“Yeah, I hear that.”

Paul looks like he’s about to say something else before he’s cut off by the alarms blasting through the house. TK lets out a sigh of relief when Paul looks away that it’s only fire being called to the scene, and not ambo. 

When Paul turns back to him, they share a look and Paul shrugs. “Duty calls,” he brushes past TK, giving him a light pat on the back as he exits the area. A gesture which normally wouldn’t be much, but today it makes him see stars. 

Fortunately, Paul is already out of sight as TK tries to regain his composure. He rests his back against the hard wood of the locker door and tries to stop the tears as he struggles to breathe through the pain, with each breath seeming like it filled up less and less of his lungs. His ribs continue to throb, sending aches throughout the rest of his body and he wonders how he’ll be able to make it through the next 45 or so minutes.

Fortunately, the rest of the shift does fly by and he’s able to take it easy. The rest of the station doesn’t return from the rescue they were called to until near the end of his shift, so he only has to avoid Tommy and Nancy. With the former holed up in her office doing incident reports and Nancy reading in the common area, he is able to find refuge in the bunk room trying to rest and hoping that the alarms don’t go off again while he counts down the minutes until end of shift. 

His prayers are answered once the second hand on his watch clicks past the hour and he’s officially off duty. 

It doesn’t take long for a text to come through from Carlos that he’s outside the station waiting to pick him up. TK smiles to himself at the thought that his boyfriend was probably also counting down until the end of TK’s shift and was itching to see him as soon as possible, hence why he showed up at the 126. It’s a gesture TK has grown used to in the nearly a year that they’ve been together. 

He forgoes changing out of his uniform, whether that’s because he’s anxious to see Carlos or he knows it would cause too much pain is unclear. Instead, he quietly slips out of the bunkroom and exits the station before anyone can spot him.

“Hey,” Carlos greets him with a warm smile while leaning against the side of his Camaro.

“Hey yourself.”

TK approaches Carlos, pressing a soft kiss onto his lips before Carlos pulls him into a hug. Though he tries not to blackout from the pain and to focus instead on inhaling the familiar scent of Carlos’ laundry detergent, he cannot hide the involuntary wince of as his body contracts out of pain. 

Carlos quickly pulls away, scanning him up and down. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh,” TK nervously laughs and gives him a thin smile. “It’s nothing.”

“TK,” Carlos gives him a pointed look and before TK can stop him, Carlos is pulling up his shirt. His eyes widen as he takes in the bruising which has only continued to grow in the time since TK had last checked.

“It looks worse than it is.”

Carlos scowls, clearly not believing him. “Did you get checked out?”

“No. Well, it happened near the end of my shift and I figured that if I could just wait it out…” he trails off, shifting uncomfortably. 

Carlos shakes his head before pulling TK’s shirt back down and grabbing his hand. He doesn’t say a word until they are back inside the truck bay, scanning the area until he locks eyes with Nancy exiting from the common area, on her way out of the station. 

“Nancy, do you mind hanging back a sec and taking a look at TK? He got hurt on shift but didn’t want to tell any of you.”

Nancy’s eyes dart between the two of them before she drops her bag and ushers TK over to the back of the ambulance. He wordlessly follows and eases himself down onto the back bench, grimacing in pain now that there’s no reason to hide it.

At Carlos’ nod, he slides his shirt over his head, revealing the full extent of his bruised chest to both Carlos and Nancy.

“What the fuck, Strand?” Nancy exclaims as her eyes go wide. “When did this happen?”

“Remember when I said the ice was slippery…”

Nancy curses again under her breath before turning to Carlos. “Can you go grab Captain Vega? If she hasn’t left yet, I think we’re going to be making one more trip to the hospital today.”

“That’s really not necessary. Carlos can just drive me there. Right, babe?”

Carlos looks between him and Nancy, seemingly unsure of what his place is in this moment. “I’m staying out of this one. But I do agree Tommy needs to know.”

He disappears up the stairs, leaving TK and Nancy in a moment of awkward silence. 

TK knows he should say something. Explain what had happened exactly and why he didn’t speak up before. Even though their relationship had gotten off to a rocky start, TK now considers her one of his closest friends. And it’s clear she feels the same about him, caring deeply that he’s injured. Especially after what had happened to Tim, he feels bad to be causing his partner this much stress. 

But he lacks the words to properly communicate that so they sit in silence and wait for Carlos to return with Tommy. They don’t have to wait long as the pair arrives a few moments later.

“So, you want to tell me what happened here, Strand?” Tommy asks, taking a seat next to TK to start her assessment. 

“The ice betrayed me,” he says, earning pointed looks from all three of his friends. He shakes his head before continuing, “I slipped on the ice after you and Nancy left. Might’ve cracked a few ribs.”

Tommy hums in agreement as she runs her fingers along his chest, earning a few painful hisses from TK. “Yeah, I’d have to agree with that assessment. Alright, up on the gurney you go.”

TK opens his mouth to argue but Tommy gives him a look usually only reserved for her daughters when they try to talk their way out of going to bed early. So he quickly closes his mouth and lets his shoulders sag. “Yes, Cap.”

She gives him a sympathetic smile and assists him in getting settled onto the gurney. It’s an unspoken agreement that Carlos is welcome to ride along, with him making himself comfortable on the bench next to TK. They lock eyes and Carlos grabs his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Nancy’s worried eyes also don’t leave TK. Tommy must notice because she quickly offers to drive, leaving the three of them in the back before anyone can say otherwise.

“I’m really sorry I scared you both,” TK says to Carlos and Nancy after a few beats of silence.

“I hate to say I’m used to it but,” Carlos lets out a light chuckle. “I’m always going to worry about you though. But, I am glad you’re okay today and I just wish you could get it out of your stubborn head that it’s okay to ask for help from your teammates. It’s kind of what they're trained to do.”

“Yeah, I know,” TK casts his gaze down unsurely before meeting Nancy’s eye. The other paramedic had yet to say a word and the apology was for her as much as it was for Carlos.

A small smile forms on her face. “Yeah, what he said. If you could at least try to go a few weeks without getting hurt next time, I would really appreciate it.”

“Okay, deal,” he extends his hand as far as he can without putting too much strain on his ribs for her to shake. Despite how much he tries, the motion does still provide a painful reminder of his injuries and he can’t hide the grimace that forms on his face. 

Nancy gives his hand a quick shake before placing his hand back at his side. “Easy there, dude.” 

He shoots her a quick smile before locking eyes with Carlos again, grateful to have two people who care about him by his side.

#badthingshappenbingo #911 lone star #broken ribs #bad things happen bingo #my fic #tuserpaige #pragmaticoptimist34 #reyeslonestartag #userbones #usersaaya #idk who to tag in fics anymore sorry #911lonestarfic

[lin-nin]

Tribulation & Tenderness - Chapter 4

Ship: Main Technoblade x Reader, some Dream x Reader

Plot: You're a princess in a Kingdom suffering a years long famine. In a desperate attempt to help your people, you accept one simple offer: Marriage to the crown prince of a neighboring kingdom. Anything to help your people survive. Surely it can't be too bad, can it?

Chapter List: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Disclaimer:   Cross-posted on Wattpad (discontinued) and Ao3. This is based off of everyone's CHARACTERS. I do not write fanfic based off the actual people.

-- Chapter 4: Library Discussions

< | Previous Chapter

The library offered a quiet solace to you that was hard to find elsewhere. Hardly anyone else ever occupied it, and you were eager to find peace. So much had happened in such a short time, you wanted to just forget it. You considered burying yourself into a book but instead to just drape yourself across a chair. You hung your legs over one of the arms of the plush chair, neck craned over the other. Your fingers skimmed along the floor, eyes boring into the ceiling.

Why was everything so complicated? Who were your parents even expecting you to marry? You figured you would meet him in a few days. Assuming he was alive, of course. Had he met an accident and died, and Techno had become crown prince? Why were your parents so upset about Techno being your fiancé anyways? Surely his reputation wasn't that bad. Perhaps they were overreacting. You had doubts Techno would agree to a marriage only to rid of you.

Questions bounced around your head endlessly, ricocheting off one another. You had very few answers, no bread crumbs to follow for answers. There was no way to figure anything out about Techno without asking him directly. Which would be awkward, since you seemed unable to properly talk to him without stammering over your words. What a fool you tended to make of yourself.

The soft thump of boots on tile jarred you from your musings, eyes opening to seek out the source. When had you even closed them? You scanned the library, lifting your head up to look at the door way. Techno stood there, the faintest quirk to his lips as brown eyes bored into your frame. Right. You were a princess, draped sloppily over a chair. You scrambled to right yourself, dress fluttering around as you did. You flattened the fabric around your legs, pretending that it had not happened.

From across the room, you could hear that same small exhale leave Techno as it had earlier. He really was laughing at you. Embarrassed heat crawled up your neck again, and you looked away for a moment to compose yourself. "Techno, I didn't expect you to come here. Not that you can't, of course! Just no one does." You threw your hands up in front of you as you tripped over your words, cursing a little in your head. Damn it. Every time.

You were relieved that his amusement at your fumbling wasn't loud. You probably would have wanted to crawl in a hole if it had been. Instead he simply walked towards one of the shelves, angling his head to examine the spines on the books. "I needed something to do. My father is busy with matters I really don't care to be involved with." That was probably the most he had said to you in one go, and you kinda wanted to gape. You just nodded,before remembering he couldn't see you.

"Me too. That's why I'm here. Lots to think about," You said, gaze never leaving Techno. You watched the loose ponytail sway against his back as his head turned to look at you instead. You met his gaze as best you could, as if holding your ground for whatever reason. He simply grunted, turning back to the books. Exciting. Another conversation dead like it was nothing. That would be happening a lot, wouldn't it?

Your eyes tracked his movements, watching as he took a book off the shelf, flipping it over and extending it out in front of him, rather far, to see it past the school. It was certainly a sight to see. You struggled to suppress a laugh, it coming out in the form of a breathy giggle instead. You couldn’t help it. All this effort for intimidation with a silly skull, just to look like a dork when trying to actually look at something.

"Pfft- wouldn't it be easier to just… not wear that thing? It surely causes more problems than its worth?" You questioned without much thought. You blanched a little when he turned to you again, his hand raising to touch the tusks of the mask.

"I like it. It looks cool," He stated simply. Cool?

"It looks scary until you try to do anything. Why not take it off?" You pressed again. You sat back more comfortably in your chair, watching him curiously. You could hear him huff softly from across the room. He didn’t answer for a long time, and you were positive he was going to just ignore you. You wouldn’t entirely be surprised.

“I don’t like taking it off around people outside of my castle.” You supposed it made fair enough sense. Kind of.

“Does it have to do with your scary reputation, or whatever it is?” You pressed on your questioning. You might as well while you were being given the chance. He carried on his way of perusing the books, grabbing a few and holding onto them.

“Yeah, something like that,” He murmured. You did consider asking him more about the mask, but didn’t want to push it. Something told you that it would be pointless. It was a subject to be pushed another day. Which you were alright with, in truth. You were going to have plenty of time with him to figure things out. The library lapsed into silence, though it wasn’t as unbearable as previous ones. He just continued on his way of choosing books, and you could only think about everything. Your future was very obscured, honestly. You didn’t know what to expect from it.

Your head leaned back as you thought about it all. What was his kingdom like? His family? Would it be warm and welcoming? Or would it be cold? You hoped it was warm, you wouldn’t last in a cold environment. You sighed softly, staring at the ceiling. That was the worst part of this all. The unknown factor of your future.

Books hit the table across from you, causing you to jerk your head up. Techno slid into one of the nearby chairs, lounging into it. You blinked a little in surprise, having expected him to leave the library the moment he had picked out his books. You paused, thinking on if you should start up another conversation. Surely he couldn’t read with that mask on. Not conventionally, at least.

After a few heartbeats, you decided it definitely wouldn’t hurt. “What’s your home like?” You murmured, trying to stamp down the apprehension you felt. Surely it was natural, but it was kind of embarrassing all the same. You toyed with the fabric of your dress, awaiting his answer. It was so hard to read his face, to tell what he was thinking.

“Nice. Mostly quiet, if you ignore my brothers. It’s not too bad there, not too different from here. You’ll probably like it,” He murmured, eyeing the books on the table. You had a feeling he wouldn’t be reading them until he went back to his room.

“Your brothers? What are they like?”

“I have 2, Wilbur and Tommy. There’s also Tubbo, he’s best friends with Tommy so he’s like a brother as well. Wilbur isn’t too loud on his own, he’s nice. Tommy is… loud, and crude. Obnoxious at times,” He sighed, head shaking slightly. “Tubbo is kind. Tommy makes all of them very loud, though. It can be unbearable.” You let a small laugh escape your lips. You supposed that it would be entertaining. If you could deal with them, at least.

“Sounds… Interesting,” You fished around for the right word to describe it, offering up a small smile. He glanced to the side, rubbing at his neck as silence lapsed over the two of you again. This happened a lot, didn’t it? Hopefully it got better with time.

Next Chapter | >

#dream #dreamwastaken #dream smp #dream team #dream x reader #technoblade #technoblade x reader #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois family #kingdom au #reader insert #t&t

[xbaepsae]

same old mistakes (m)

“But it wasn’t that you necessarily regretted sleeping with Hoseok. No, you very much enjoyed it—maybe too much—which is why it was wrong. So fucking wrong.”

[rich boy!hoseok x reader]

genre: country club!au, smut, slightly angsty, some fluff

word count: 12.8k

rating: mature

warnings: sex. lots and lots of unprotected sex lmao (please use protection), slight rough sex, some jealousy, rich prick asshole jung hoseok, mentions of alcohol, language, golf terminology (i’m sorry if it’s wrong idk anything about golf LMAO) oblivious mutual pining lol

a/n: omg this fic absolutely consumed me these last few weeks. i haven’t been able to think about anything else, which is why i haven’t been super active lol. so glad i finished this before the upcoming valentine’s holiday and hobi’s birthday <3 loved writing this so much! rich asshole hoseok has my heart. xoxo

You have never felt more flustered in your life.

It’s the summer after your first year of college, and you decided to come home—to spend a little time with your mother and her new husband. Well, more like she begged you to come home. You actually wanted to visit your roommate’s family on the coast, and spend your days at the beach, but your mother insisted that you come home instead.

Now that you are home, she doesn’t even have time to spend with you. She and her husband are too busy vacationing; that should’ve been you. You can’t even bear to look at your roommate’s Instagram account. And worse of all, your mother signed you up for a job you did not consent to.

“You did what?”

Your mother blinked back at you, feigning innocence. “I heard from Mrs. Lee—you know, our neighbor down the street that attends the local country club—and she said that they were hiring for the summer. You know how rich people love their golf and fancy dinners.”

“And you just decided to volunteer me?” You couldn’t believe her. “I don’t want to work at some prissy country club.”

“Weren’t you just complaining about being broke last week?” She really did not need to expose you like that. “This’ll be good for you, honey.”

Thus, you found yourself standing in front of the country club not even a week later. They hadn’t even asked you to do an interview; you just talked to a manager on the phone and she said for you to just come in. Honestly, too suspiciously easy but what could you do about it? Your mother had been right—you did need the money.

When you arrived, you were immediately whisked away into training. There, one of the girls, Soyoung, fitted you into the uniform—a plain white polo and khaki shorts—and told you what you’d be doing here.

“So, there are a lot of different areas here,” she began, “as you can see from how big this country club is. So, you might find yourself working in different areas occasionally…but for now, you’re going to be on the course with the drink cart.”

Soyoung explained that as the drink cart girl, you’d be driving a golf cart around while handing out beer and other drinks to the golfers on the course. It seemed easy enough, except you’d never driven a golf cart before…or tried to sell people something. However, Soyoung assured you it was easy.

But that was about an hour ago. Since then, a lot has happened. You managed to get the golf cart to work, but it is considerably different from an actual car. The forward/backwards switches were tripping you up. Because of that, you already knocked over a display…or two.

Which leads you to your most embarrassing moment.

For some reason, you forgot that being back in your hometown means the possibility of running into people you went to high school with. The thought just didn’t seem to come to mind. Being off at university has made you forget about all of those idiots you used to be around every day. Until now, when you bump into one of them. Literally.

You really hadn’t seen him behind you; then again, you weren’t looking, which was probably not the greatest idea. But you blindly backed up and hit him. Not that you were going fast or anything, but he did cause an outburst.

“Oh my—fuck! Watch where you’re going!”

Horrified, you press onto the breaks. Turning around, an apology begins to fall from your lips. “I am so sorry. It’s my first time—”

“Y/n?”

You freeze at the voice; it sounds awfully familiar. Blinking a few times, your eyes focus on the person in front of you. And your stomach sinks. Standing in front of you is none other than Jung Hoseok—the last person you ever expected to see again.

He must see the recognition fill your eyes because he instantly smirks. “Wow, it really is you. It’s been a while, huh? Haven’t seen you since graduation.”

An awkward laugh passes through your teeth. “Yeah…it really has.”

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” his smirk seems to widen, and his eyes travel down to your clothes. “You work here or something?”

“Yeah…just started today, actually.”

He nods appreciatively. “Nice. Well, I’m here almost every day, so, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

I hope not. “Sure.”

Just as Hoseok opens his mouth to say something else, someone calls his name. He looks away from you, and that’s when you finally allow yourself a moment to look at him. For the first time, you realize how long a year is and how much change can happen in that time frame. Even though it irks you a bit to think about, he looks really good—even in his damn polo and khakis.

You take in the curved slope of his nose, the way his brows are perfectly arched to match his equally perfect eyes. And you’re almost blinded by his pearly white smile. Perhaps, Hoseok has always been attractive—dark, windswept hair and all. You’ve just never wanted to admit it; even after that one—

“Catch you around, y/n,” he suddenly says, and that’s when you realize he’s caught you. He smirks and shoots you a wink as he walks away, leaving you to mentally kick yourself alone.

***

In high school, you and Jung Hoseok were in different crowds. He was preppy and popular—kind of snooty, to be honest—and you were just normal. Not popular, but not a complete wallflower either. Despite not being in the same circles, you both had a few classes together; which meant that you knew each other decently well. At least, you knew enough about Hoseok that you wanted nothing to do with him.

Except for that one, momentarily lapse of judgment, your conscious suddenly reminds you. But you’d rather not think about that right now.

Another thing about Hoseok that you knew of was his background; he came from money—a lot of it, actually. You don’t know exactly what his family does, but they’re those old money types; the kind of rich people that have been rich forever. Which helped to explain his popularity in high school, and how he had a country club membership now.

You wished you knew that before you got the job here.

As you drive around the golf course, feeling more comfortable driving the cart now, you may or may not be on the lookout for Hoseok. Now that you know he’s here, your eyes seem to search for him everywhere. And it’s not because you want to see him; you want to avoid him, if possible.

It’s not until you’re halfway through the course that you see him with a group of other guys, which—to your displeasure—are also people you went to high school with. It’s fitting though, you presume, considering they were all close then as well.

You don’t know anything about golf, but you watch as Hoseok lines up his club to the ball. He swings only once, and the ball flies. You follow where it goes and watch as it hits the grass and rolls right into the hole. His friends cheer for him as he turns around with a smug look on his face. “And that, everyone, is how you fucking do it.”

“Nice, man,” one person—who you recognize as Jeon Jeongguk—says, moving to pat him on the back.

“The motherfucking GOAT,” another—Kim Namjoon—laughs.

“Maybe you should just go pro or something, dude,” the last guy says, and you recognize him as Kim Seokjin. “Because you’ve hit an ace, birdie or eagle at every hole.”

Hoseok laughs at that. “Maybe I’m just lucky today.”

“Dude probably just had good ass last night,” Namjoon smirks. “So, who was it?”

“A gentleman does not kiss and tell, my friend,” Hoseok winks, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the banter between all of these men. Disgusting. “But if you really want to know…”

“Not you trying to get Hoseok’s sloppy seconds,” Seokjin speaks directly to Namjoon. “Because we all know how that went the first time with—”

“It wasn’t my fault Katie caught feelings,” Hoseok interrupts, walking back towards the rest of his friends. “I told her it was a one-time thing.”

Jeongguk struggles not to laugh as he moves up to line his club and ball. “And then you introduced her to Namjoon.”

“And she used him to get closer to…” Seokjin starts to say, but then he notices you. You’ve never seen someone straighten up so quickly. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Long enough,” you say as three pairs of eyes turn to look in your direction as well. “Um, drinks?”

“Took you long enough to get here, y/n. I was starting to wonder when you’d arrive,” Hoseok takes a step in your direction, and you watch as the rest of the guys do a double take.

Namjoon is the first to speak, “Ah…y/n. Yes, I remember you…we had chemistry together, right?”

“Oh my gosh, you were in my calculus class!” Jeongguk exclaims, golf club still mid-air.

“I don’t think we had any classes together,” Seokjin says with a pout. “Because if we did, I would’ve remembered you for sure.”

For some reason, you feel your cheeks get hotter. “Um, thanks?”

You can tell they want to say more to you, but Hoseok shoots his friends a look you can’t see, and they close their mouths immediately. Turning back to you, he takes another step close to your golf cart. “A beer for each of us.”

“Aren’t you all underage—”

“No one cares here, y/n,” he cuts you off with a smirk. “Besides, Seokjin’s father owns this country club—we can do whatever the fuck we want.”

Shock passes through you at this news, mouth dropping at the realization that Hoseok and his friends might be more privileged than you originally thought.

“And we don’t usually have to pay for anything, but”—he fishes for something in his pocket— “here.”

You look down at his extended hand, where a crumpled 100-dollar bill sits, and practically gawk at it. Who carries such large bills around so casually? “What—?”

“Keep the change,” he stares you right in the eyes, and you have no other choice but to accept the money.

“Thanks,” you manage to say before reaching around to grab four beers from the cooler.

As each bottle is plucked from your hands, Hoseok is the last person to grab his; and the way his fingers accidentally touch your own seems like no accident at all. Although it was only for a few seconds at most, his touch leaves your skin burning. Burning for what? You don’t know; but it lingers the rest of your shift in a way that is so distracting, you nearly hit someone else with the golf cart.

***

“So let me get this story straight, you saw a guy you fucked for the first time in a year and now you don’t know what to do with yourself. Worst of all, his presence at your new job is going to be the death of you.”

You cringe at your roommates’ words. “God, why do you have to say it like that.”

“I mean, that’s who he is right?” her voice echoes through the screen.

She’s not wrong, but it still doesn’t sit right with you. “When you say it like that, it’s just weird.”

“Y/n, you act like you haven’t fucked other guys before.”

“Yes, but what happened with Jung Hoseok was a mistake,” you breathe. “It was never supposed to happen.”

Her pixilated expression softens upon seeing your clear distress. “I understand, babe. We all do things we regret.”

But it wasn’t that you necessarily regretted sleeping with Hoseok. No, you very much enjoyed it—maybe too much—which is why it was wrong. So fucking wrong. It wasn’t like he coerced you into that bedroom; you willingly followed him inside. And you can’t even blame it on the alcohol because you had been as sober as the day you were born.

It was graduation weekend, and everyone had come out to celebrate. You really didn’t want to go, but some of your friends forced you. Just enjoy the time we still have together, y/n, they had said. Ironic, because you no longer spoke to any of them.

Around the fire, behind the massive patio of someone’s house, drinks were poured and passed around. Even though you held a red solo cup in your hand, the murky liquid didn’t draw you in; you hated the way alcohol tasted back then. Still kind of do. But you simply pretended like you were enjoying yourself.

Every single part of you wanted to leave early that night, but you didn’t. You ended up staying because of Hoseok. It was something about the way he carried himself at that bonfire that night. Before, you never saw him as anything more than a spoiled brat; however, the flames of the fire seemed to soften him before your eyes. Because before you knew it, Hoseok pulled you away from the stares of everyone else.

You don’t even remember what happened—what you two talked about or didn’t talk about. But something happened before he kissed you. Unfortunately, it’s all a blur now.

After swelling your lips with, what seemed like, a thousand kisses, he told you he wanted more; and you told him yes. The memory of him rushing with you through the house and into a vacant room still burns hotly in your mind. You had been giddy with nerves and excitement as he pushed you against the closed door, sucking the air from your lungs.

Hoseok ripped your clothes off with practiced hands, clearly experienced with this, and made you come undone more times than you can recall. Throughout this whole exchange, not much was said; but no words were needed when he could read your body so well.

The both of you ended up falling asleep like that—tangled in each other’s arms. And when you woke up a few hours later to the rising sun, horror filled your veins like a shock of ice.

You left without saying anything. Not that you think he would’ve cared either way. Jung Hoseok seemed like he would be used to stuff like that.

You just never thought you’d see him again one year later.

But here he is.

***

During your next few weeks at the country club, you try your best to avoid Hoseok.

This, however, proves difficult to do since you can hear his laughter echoing everywhere. From the hallways to the range, you can’t seem to escape him at all. And it doesn’t help that his friends all seem to be around too.

Every time you catch even the smallest glimpse of him, you turn in the opposite direction. You aren’t sure if he can tell that you’re avoiding him or not, but you don’t care—you just want to get this summer over with already.

“Y/n!”

Turing in the direction your name is being called, you see Soyoung walking towards you. You offer her a tight smile, hoping she isn’t here to tell you that you’re in trouble or something. “Soyoung. What’s up?”

“Do you mind helping me clean up a little by the pool? I know you just got done on the range, but a girl called out and I could really use the help.” She gives you this sad puppy look, which means you can’t refuse her offer. So, begrudgingly, you follow her back outside.

In the hot summer sun, the large crystal blue pool looks like temptation. Soyoung notices your face and laughs. At her laughter, you realize you’ve never seen the pool this close. You pass by the canopy lined pool lounge every day, but you’re not a maid here or on lifeguard duty so you’ve never had a reason to linger very long.

“Looks inviting, huh?”

All you can do is hum in agreement as you begin helping Soyoung pick up disserted pool towels and throwing them into the hamper. As you’re bending down to retrieve a particularly wet towel on the concrete, the hot sun beating down your back is suddenly gone. You look up and notice there’s a shadow blocking the sun—a suspiciously familiar shadow.

Immediately, your back straightens, and you turn around to face a shirtless Hoseok. His hair is wet from the pool, which means beads of water are cascading down his chest. You try not to stare, but he’s literally so close; there’s nowhere else to look. Your eyes follow the towel in his hand as he begins to dry himself up, going from his abdomen before they travel down to the dark trail of hair that leads to—

You freeze and force your eyes back up, but the smile on his face tells you that you got caught—again.

“Like what you see?” His smile seems to grow wider at your expression.

You scowl. “In your dreams, Jung Hoseok.”

He leans down, face inches from yours, whispering, “If I remember correctly, that dream already came true…one year ago.”

Before you can say anything, he stands back up to his full height and brushes past you—his naked skin burning holes through your clothes. Once he’s a few steps away from you, you realize his friends were also there the whole time. Embarrassment burns your cheeks at what they might’ve thought, but their expressions remain too ambiguous for you to read as they follow their friend.

“I didn’t know you knew Hoseok.”

Your head whips towards Soyoung. “I don’t…I mean, not really. We just went to high school together.”

But your coworker doesn’t seem to buy it. “Really? I’ve been working here for a few summers and those guys have always been around, especially because Seokjin’s dad is the owner. I’ve tried to make small talk with them a few times, but they’re pretty intimidating.”

“They’re pricks,” you tell her. “Typical entitled rich boys.”

“I suppose so,” she hums, throwing the last towel into the bin. “Anyway, can I ask for another favor?”

All you can do is nod. “What?”

“I have another thing I have to do,” Soyoung starts, making you realize she works pretty hard here, “so, can you put these towels in the laundry room? You don’t have to start a load or anything; just leave them and one of the maids will wash them later.”

She slips the laundry room key into your pocket, telling you to give it back to her later, as she rushes off to her next task. Which leaves you to find the laundry room by yourself. After nearly ten minutes of searching, you find it tucked in a small hallway.

Opening the door, you push the dirty towel hamper into the room. You look around and see multiple washers, dryers, and a lot of storage shelves filled with miscellaneous items. You’re so caught up in looking around the room that you almost don’t hear the door close. At the sound of the lock clicking into place, you turn around; immediately, your heart starts beating faster.

“What are you doing in here?”

Hoseok leans against the door, no longer shirtless like before, and smirks at you. “I was following you.”

Like that’s not weird at all. “Stalker much?”

“Just wanted to know why you’ve been avoiding me, that’s all,” he pushes off the door, taking a step closer. You unconsciously take a step back, hitting the hamper.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you lie.

He just blinks at you. “You’re a bad liar, you know that?”

You’re shocked that he can read you so well. “Okay, so what if I am avoiding you? It’s not like you should care. Just leave me alone.”

For a brief moment, something passes over his eyes; but the emotion’s gone before you can think about it. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“What?” Now, it was your turn to blink rapidly.

Hoseok takes another step towards you, severing whatever distance there had been before. His arms move to cage you between himself and the dirty hamper. Slowly, he leans down, making sure not to move his eyes away from yours. “I can’t just leave you alone—not when you’re the only thing on my mind.”

“What are you trying to say—” his hand wrapping around your jaw shuts you up.

“To put it simply, I can’t stop thinking about you—about that night after graduation,” he says, eyes swirling with a darkness you know all too well.

“But that was a year ago,” you manage to say through clenched teeth, and he loosens his grip on you.

His signature smirk lights his lips. “So?”

“I was drunk,” you lie again. “I don’t even remember what happened.”

“So, you’re telling me you don’t remember this?” One hand curves around your hip. “Or this?” Another wraps around your waist. “Or this?” He plants his lips onto your jaw.

You release a harsh breath as the memories of that night come flooding back. Heat begins to pool in your stomach from his touch. As he peppers kisses along your jaw and down your neck, your hands move to fist his shirt. Just as a moan threatens to leave your throat, he pulls away.

Your lips part in indignation at the loss of touch, and Hoseok just smirks even wider. “I thought you said you don’t remember?”

“I’m going to kill you, Jung Hoseok,” your frustration is through the roof.

“Tell me you remember.”

Right now, there are two sides of you fighting. There’s one part of you that wants to tell Hoseok you don’t remember a single thing—that you really had been drinking graduation night. But there’s an even larger part of you that wants him so bad—to feel the same high you felt a year ago.

So, you settle with, “But I’m working right now.”

Hoseok’s eyes turn obsidian as his smirk drops. “I’ll be quick.”

He pulls you away from the hamper and pushes you, stomach first, against one of the washers. Suddenly, you realize what’s about to happen and you try to force the dopey smile off your face by biting your lip. In one swift motion, he unbuttons and pulls both your shorts and panties down to your ankles. By the sudden coolness below, you already know you’re soaking.

And Hoseok must realize this too because you feel him swipe a long finger over your folds. You instinctively jerk back, letting out a moan at the slight pressure. “Hoseok—”

“Fuck, y/n, you’re so wet for me already,” he groans, using a second finger against your wetness. He slowly rubs your clit and you can’t help but tighten your grip against the cool machine. “Wonder if you’ve been wet since we saw each other earlier.”

You roll your eyes. Typical, cocky Jung Hoseok. “Of course not, you douchebag.”

“I beg to differ,” he hums, inserting a single digit inside of you. “So tight—just like I remembered. Tell me, y/n, has anyone else had the pleasure to fuck your pretty pussy after me?”

His words cause you tense for a moment, before replying, “Yes, asshole. I went to college. What do you think?”

“I’m thinking that I’m about to fuck you so good,” he starts and finishes with a whisper, “that you won’t remember any of them.”

If you weren’t already turned on before, you were now. Hoseok continues to fuck with his finger, slowly adding a second one, edging you until you’re a panting mess before him. “S-Stop teasing—I thought you said you were going to be quick?”

“I will be,” he promises, and you can hear him pushing the waistband of his swim trunks down. You’re dying to see his cock again, so you turn and nearly drool at the sight of his angry red tip. For some reason, he looks bigger than you remember and that worries you a little. “What? Think it won’t fit?”

You raise your eyes to look at his, and he has the sexiest expression on his face you’ve ever seen. “No. It fit before, right?”

He licks his lips as he brings his cock close to your entrance, brushing his head back and forth against your clit. You turn back around, arching your back more in hopes that he’ll finally just stick it inside already. But before you can get too lost in the moment, you gasp.

“What’s wrong?” He actually sounds concerned.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask, facing him again. And by the pained expression on his face, he doesn’t. You let out a frustrated groan at getting all worked up for nothing. You’re about to reach down for your panties when he pushes you back into place. “What?”

“Are you on the pill?”

“Yes,” you answer, “but the pill is only—”

“I’ll pull out,” he says. “And I’m clean, I swear.”

You look into his eyes and seeing the desperation in them makes you want to indulge him. “I’m clean too.”

Hoseok breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank fucking god.”

“You better pull out, or I swear Jung—”

You fail to get the rest of your words out because he slams his cock into you. And you’re right—he is bigger than you remember. He bottoms out at your cervix and you feel like a mess already. You both moan at the feeling of being connected like this again, after so long, and Hoseok keeps his promise and wastes no time.

He thrusts into you hard and fast, leaving you to do nothing but take everything he has to give. “Fuck, Hoseok—oh my god.”

Earlier, he talked about fucking your past sexual exploits out of you, but there was no need to mention anything at all; no one compares to him. They never had a chance.

“Shit, you feel so good wrapped around me,” he groans, digging his fingers into your hips.

And soon enough, you feel your orgasm approaching. It’s slow building, but it’s there and you want it. You figure you’ll just chase it yourself. Reaching a hand down, you find your clit and begin rubbing it. But just as soon as you feel yourself get closer to the high you desire, your hand is ripped away.

There is a sudden weight on your back as Hoseok whispers in your ear, “That’s my job, sweetheart.”

His fingers find your sensitive nub and you come immediately, screaming a string of curses into your arms in hopes that no one hears you. As you ride your high, you feel him pull out. With a groan, his cum spills all over your ass.

As you try to catch your breath and calm your erratic heart, you feel Hoseok pull his shorts back up and take a step back. All of the sudden, a strange feeling builds up in your chest. Is this what loss feels like? But you don’t have much time to dwell on your own thoughts because you feel a towel wiping your body.

You turn and see Hoseok cleaning the mess he made; but instead of looking down, he’s looking right at you.

“What?” you ask, sounding defensive.

“Nothing,” he says, and you hate that you can’t read people well. You wish you could know what he’s thinking right now.

After he cleans between your thighs, you pull your clothes back up your body. You still have a few hours left of your shift, so you hope you don’t look too much like a mess right now. Pulling your hair into a low ponytail, you feel awkwardness hit you like a truck. What are you supposed to say now?

“Uh…I have to go,” you can’t even look at him. “We have a meeting this afternoon…”

You don’t have a meeting, but you don’t know what else to say. But unlike you, Hoseok can take a hint and nods. “I’ll leave first…see you around…and thanks.”

He stares at you for a moment longer before leaving the room. You look out to make sure he’s a considerable distance away before you follow, ducking into the bathroom to check your appearance. Once you look into the mirror, you barely recognize the person you’re seeing.

The girl in front of you has flushed cheeks and sweaty hair.

You spend the rest of your shift daydreaming about what happened. In all honesty, your body aches in the best possible way. And even after your shift, once you get home and lay in your bed, you’re still thinking about everything.

Did you really willingly have sex with Jung Hoseok a second time? Once is a mistake, twice clearly means there was choice involved. What would your roomie say if she knew? You don’t plan on telling her—at least, not until you get back to school. If she knew you had succumbed to his charms this early in the summer, she’d chew you out for sure. Besides, you won’t let it happen again.

There will be no more slip ups this summer.

***

“Oh, fuck—yes. Right there…!”

You cling to the shelf as Hoseok fucks you from behind. Your legs feel impossibly weak from being in such an uncomfortable position, but you couldn’t care less right now—you just want to come.

“Don’t be so loud, sweetheart,” he groans through clenched teeth. “Don’t want to get caught now, do we?”

“N-No…but if you d-don’t make me c-come quicker, Hoseok…” you moan, and he proceeds to thrust faster. You don’t want to scream, but it just feels so fucking good for you not to. “I’m going to—”

Hoseok clamps a hand over your mouth as you come undone. Your eyes shut on their own accord as you scream into his hand, body shaking from the impact of your orgasm. He curses, probably from how tight you’re gripping his cock, but continues to thrust a few more times before pulling out and painting you in strings of milky white.

Once your body shops shaking, he pulls you up and presses a kiss onto your exposed shoulder. “You’re amazing.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “Thanks.”

The two of you quickly clean up and readjust your clothes. You’re supposed to be organizing after all—at the place you are working at for the summer—not fucking an old high school classmate. Hoseok leaves with a promise of finding you later, and you’re left alone with your thoughts again.

What just happened?

You really did mean it when you said that you didn’t want to have sex with Hoseok again, but here you are anyway. It’s already been a month since the first incident, and you’ve been sneaking quickies around the entire country club with Hoseok.

Every time you think you’re alone, he manages to find you and that infuriating smirk makes you helpless. You’ve lost track of how many times he’s already managed to make your panties drop. But even though he seeks you out for sex, every now and then he sticks around to have a conversation with you.

You feel your resolve crumbling away every time you get a glimpse of the human Hoseok.

“So, what are you studying in school?” he asked one day, settling beside you on the floor of the laundry room.

“Is it bad that I’m undecided?” You tried to laugh it off, but the sober expression on his face stopped you.

He shook his head. “No, you have time.”

And just like, all felt okay in the world.

“What about you?” you managed to ask.

The scrunch of his nose had been nearly undetectable, but you noticed it. “Business. My father wants me to take over the company one day.”

“And you don’t?” the question slipped past your lips without a second thought. You’d been horrified.

“I don’t mind business, but I don’t want my father’s. I’d rather start my own.”

This truth had been rather insightful, and you couldn’t help but change the way you looked at Hoseok—only a little though. You still thought he was an asshole.

After another moment pondering your idiocy, you go back to whatever you were doing before. Just as you place the last shampoo bottle on the rack, a knock sounds on the door. You jump, wondering if it’s Hoseok again; but when it opens, it’s just Soyoung. “Hey—you’ve been in here for a while. Almost done?”

If only she knew.

“Uh, yeah. Actually, just finished,” you try to smile. “Got a little distracted in here, I guess.” A little more than distracted.

Soyoung offers an understanding expression. “Feel that. These storage rooms can be a bit overwhelming.”

“Did you need something?” you ask, changing the conversation.

“I actually bring word from our manager. You don’t work tomorrow night, right?” Tomorrow is Saturday and one of the few days you actually have off this week. You’re dreading what Soyoung is about to tell you. “She asked if you could come in for a few hours—just to help with dinner. They’re expecting a big crowd tomorrow night since there’s a fundraiser happening during the day. It’ll be like three hours max.”

You think about it for a moment, rolling your lips between your teeth. Honestly, you don’t want to come in on your day off—who wants to work when they don’t have to—but three hours doesn’t sound so bad.

“Just three hours?”

Soyoung nods. “Just three hours. I’ll be helping with the dinner too, so we’ll get to work together. And afterwards, we can go to a party, if you want.”

That piques your interest, even though you aren’t one to go out often. “What party?”

“There’s a few houses on this property—they’re rented out to people who want to stay at the country club for an extended amount of time. And I heard from some of the other employees that a party is being hosted at one of the houses. Anyone and everyone is invited—even us.”

For some reason, you actually want to go to this party. Why? Maybe you just want to forget about Jung Hoseok’s charismatic smirk. A party should be a good distraction. So, you tell Soyoung that you’ll come work tomorrow and attend the party with her.

And the girl gives you hug, promising that it’ll be loads of fun.

You hope she’s right.

***

The next night, you arrive to work in a different version of your uniform. Instead of the usual polo and shorts the country club has you normally donned in, you’re wearing a long sleeve button up and black slacks. In your bag, you brought a change of clothes for later. Thankfully, you remembered to grab it on your way out. Imagine having to wear your server uniform to a party.

That would’ve been a social suicide.

You meet up with Soyoung for a few minutes before the dinner staff collects you all together. They debrief about tonight’s expectations and everyone’s roles. Next, they list all the jobs and when they call your name, you find out you’re going to be taking orders.

“Do I also need to bring the food out?” you ask.

One of the leaders shakes their head. “No, we’ll have people specifically there for that.”

After all the roles are established, dinner officially begins and you try not to look dumbstruck when you walk into the formal dining hall. This is the first time you’ve been in this room and it’s absolutely magnificent. You continue staring around for a moment before walking towards your section of the room—a row of tables by the window overlooking the setting sun.

You proceed taking orders from the first table—a family of four—and then the next—a group of six—before walking to a table that only seats two people. Probably a date. You barely look at the couple as you push a strand of loose hair behind your ear and pull out the notepad.

“Can I take your orders?” you ask, click your pen.

“Yes,” says a nasally voice to your right. You follow it, meeting the profile of a gorgeous girl. Long, silky hair drapes down her back in waterfalls and she’s wearing a tight pink dress. You think that she’ll turn her attention to you, but she doesn’t; she keeps staring at her date. “I’ll have the ratatouille. What about you, Hobi?”

Hobi? “I told you not to call me that, Nina.”

She pouts. “But you let me call you that when we were kids.”

“Yeah, we were kids then.”

You spare a look at Nina’s date and nearly falter when you realize who this Hobi is. It’s none other than Jung Hoseok himself. He’s wearing a fitted charcoal suit, hair slicked back slightly. Even from this view, you can tell his suit is expensive; definitely imported and tailored fitted to his body. Still, you can feel yourself salivating. The man looks like absolute sin, and you feel a sudden flash of jealousy because he’s on a date with someone else—someone he seems to know pretty well.

But you realize you have no right to feel that emotion at all. He’s not yours to have. You both just happen to be sexually compatible. That is all. You two never talked about being exclusive. He is allowed to see other girls, even though the thought makes you feel a little sick.

Hoseok brings his eyes to yours, flashing you a smirk that has your knees weak. “Y/n.”

“You two know each other?” Nina asks, but your eyes don’t move from his.

“A little,” he says. That’s an understatement.

“We just went to high school together,” you add, playing along with his little game. “We weren’t friends though, just happened to be in a few classes together.”

Hoseok feigns hurt, bringing a hand up to his chest. “Can’t believe you think so little of me.”

“Oh, Hobi,” Nina interjects, her hand finding his on top of the table. You zone in on the touch, blood pressure rising when you realize he hasn’t pushed her away.

You try not to roll your eyes. “Yes, poor Hobi.”

When you turn back to him, he’s already looking at you. You stiffen for a second, wondering if his eyes have been on you this whole time. And by the scathing sensation you feel on the side of your head—Nina’s eyes, no doubt—you realize he probably has. “Um. Anyway, what did you want?”

He smirks again. “I’ll have the same, y/n.”

You quickly jot it down and excuse yourself before you start thinking too much.

The rest of your short shift, you make sure not to walk by Hoseok’s table again. Whenever you’re around him, you can’t think properly. He always seems to cloud your best judgment, which is why you’ve already been fucking him this summer. You allow work to consume you, which makes the time fly by. Before you know it, the three hours is already up and you’re headed to the bathroom with Soyoung.

“See? Wasn’t that bad, huh?” she asks from the cubicle beside you.

It was terrible. “Could’ve been worse, I guess.”

“I’m so excited about the party,” Soyoung changes the conversation. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a night out.”

You can’t help the next words that bubble out of you. “Why do you overwork yourself?”

Honestly, you didn’t mean to ask. After all, it isn’t your business to ask such questions anyway. Sure, you were curious about Soyoung but it’s not your place. You’ve been really testing boundaries recently.

“It just kind of happens,” she answers, which shocks you. Not the answer itself, but the fact that she even answered you at all. “I’ve been working here for so long, I guess I just can’t help it.”

“Well,” you sigh, “don’t overwork yourself. Live a little, you know.”

Soyoung laughs. “I’ll try.”

You step out of the stall first, moving to stand in front of the full-length mirror. Tonight, you opted for a flowy crop top and tight skirt. Not something you’d usually wear, but tonight’s different than most nights—you want to enjoy yourself. You pull your hair out of its tight pony, humming in pleasure at the sensation of your hair being free.

“Okay, I see you with the sexy hair.”

You didn’t even hear Soyoung’s stall unlocking or opening. Turning in her direction, you see she’s wearing something similar to you. Only, both her top and skirt are flowy. “More like messy hair.”

She laughs. “It looks good still.”

After running a hand through your hair a few times, and fixing your makeup, the two of you throw your bags into your respective vehicles and walk across the country club’s property. Not even five minutes later, you can hear music playing. Across the distance, you can see a massive house—no, villa—lit up with lights and people all over the place.

“Woah,” you breathe.

“Right?” Soyoung chuckles. “I told you this party was going to be it.”

“I thought you said it was going to be a house party.”

“It is?” She seems confused.

You shake your head. “Are all the houses on the country club property this big?”

Even in the dim lighting, you can see her nod. “I think so. Maybe not this big, but they’re all large enough to house multiple people.”

Damn. You wonder who’s renting this place for the summer. It’s huge, so there must be more than one person; maybe a family? Though, that seems odd since a party filled with young people is happening right now. However, you can’t even begin to fathom how much it costs to rent. How can anyone actually afford that?

But all thoughts of money fade when you actually reach the villa. You assume there’s mainly college-aged people here, though it’s difficult to tell age these days. Soyoung leads the way as you two maneuver past groups of people and into the villa itself. Once inside, you have to force yourself not to gawk at everything.

Grand doesn’t even begin to describe the interior. There’s so much to look at and before you can even begin to look at everything, Soyoung pulls you away. She finds the kitchen and hands you a drink from the cooler. You remove the lid and begin sipping, tasting the slight bitterness of alcohol on your tongue.

“So what do we do now?” You’re acting like such a noob.

Soyoung slants a look at you. “We mingle, maybe dance a little. Do you like dancing?”

You bite the inside of your lip. “Umm, kind of?”

Of course, you’ve been to your fair share of college parties—where dancing and drinking do not mix well. But you don’t mind it; you just don’t think you’re very good. You voice this thought out loud and Soyoung rolls her eyes.

“You don’t have to be good at dancing. You just have to do it. Usually, it comes naturally.”

You aren’t too sure about that statement. But as Soyoung pulls you in a new direction, away from the kitchen, you realize that you have no choice. In another large room adjacent to the kitchen, someone has started a makeshift dancefloor. The bass is booming against the wall and strobe lights illuminate the room.

Even though you’re struggling, Soyoung pulls you both into the middle of the room and spins you around to the music. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” she shouts over the music, proceeding to move her body dramatically. You can’t help but laugh. Shaking your head, you realize dancing really isn’t a big deal and you allow Soyoung to move you to the beat. And eventually, you can do it by yourself.

You close your eyes as you sway to the music, occasionally bumping into Soyoung on purpose. It even gets to the point where you feel comfortable enough to lift your arms into the air, which is something you’d never thought you’d do.

It’s not until a few songs later that you finally open your eyes. And when you do, you immediately meet his gaze.

A jolt of electricity goes up your spine at the look Jung Hoseok is giving you right now. He’s leaning against the fireplace in the room across from you, changed out of that expensive suit he was wearing earlier. Now, he’s only wearing the white button up—sleeves rolled to his elbows—and a pair of navy-blue shorts. In his hand he nurses a beer, and that’s when you realize he’s still with that girl from earlier.

You try to keep your expression neutral as you stare at them; but by the way Hoseok’s hard gaze morphs into something smugger, you know you’re doing a bad job at concealing your feelings.

Dammit.

You quickly whisper something to Soyoung about needing some air as you look for the nearest exit. Unfortunately, you don’t know your way around the house. You meander around for a moment before you find a door that leads to the backyard. Breathing a sigh of relief, you open the door and walk into the cool summer night.

There’s a pathway of rocks that leads to the dock of a body of water—a body of water that you didn’t even know existed. You aren’t sure what to call it; a large pond? Whatever it is, you take the pathway until you reach the end of the dock. There, you settle on the edge and stare at the murky depths.

Bodies of water like this were unpredictable. You had no idea how deep it actually was. It could seem shallow, but in actuality be sixty feet deep. For a second, you consider dipping your toes in; however, you decide against it. Who knows what’s in there?

You allow the echoes of cicadas and other small insects to fill your senses. Eventually, you even lay down on the dock and close your eyes, trying not to think too much about—

“What are you doing?”

Your eyes flash open. And as they adjust to the night, you make out Hoseok’s infuriating perfect face. He’s leaning over you, and it pisses you off that he looks good even from this obscene angle. “Go away.”

“Well, aren’t you grumpy,” he hums. “It seemed like you were having a great time shaking you’re a—”

“Hoseok,” you breathe. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to play your stupid games right now.”

He cracks a rare half-smile. “Who said anything about playing games?”

When you don’t answer him, Hoseok’s smile falls and he frowns. You don’t care what else he has to say; you really meant it when you said you’re not in the mood for him right now. However, the boy doesn’t seem to take the hint like he usually does. Because he settles right beside you on the dock, laying down so he’s now eye-level with you.

“You’re insufferable,” you roll your eyes, shifting away from him.

“That’s what you like about me.”

“Who said I liked you?”

“I think your actions speak louder than you think,” he says, sounding awfully calm right now, which is very unlike him. You have no other choice but to look at him. And when you do, your breath gets caught in your throat. Even in the darkness, his eyes seem to sparkle as he looks at you—so fucking intently like he’s seeing you for the first time.

You don’t like it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you force your eyes away, but his stare burns your skin anyway.

“You were jealous at dinner, weren’t you?”

The scoff that leaves your lips sounds beyond bitter. “No, of course not. Why would I be?”

“If you were jealous,” Hoseok begins, which makes your stomach churn, “don’t be.”

“Huh?” you ask, still not able to look at him.

“Don’t be,” he repeats. “Don’t be jealous of Nina.”

“I wasn’t jealous of—”

He cuts you off. “Don’t be jealous of her. She’s just a family friend.”

“But you two seem so close…”

Hoseok laughs. “I just entertain her because our parents have been friends forever. I’m pretty sure they want me to marry someone like her. I mean, she’s hot”—you suck in a breath— “but she’s not you.”

Your eyes finally give him and meet his, and he’s still staring at you. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

As you both look at each other, you expect him to say something. But he never does. Instead, he scoots a few inches closer to you—so close your noses are almost touching—and runs his fingers through your hair. Weaving his digits through your still messy hair, he pulls your head towards his and your lips meet.

And underneath the moonlight, you allow Hoseok to kiss you until your head is dizzy and you have no choice but to let him consume you again.

***

The next morning, you find yourself wrapped in pristine white sheets that feel like silk beneath your fingers. But that’s not the only thing you’re wrapped in. A heavy arm is slumped over your waist and the body heat emanating from him sets yourself ablaze.

Last night, after Hoseok bruised your mouth and skin with his lips at the dock, you asked him why he was at the party.

“This is my house,” he said so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. Your eyes bulged out of their sockets. “Well, my house for the summer at least.”

“You’ve been here this whole time?”

He nodded. “Our actual house is in the city, and I hate driving back and forth so much—especially since I’m here with the guys nearly every day. So, my parents decided to rent this.”

You didn’t know what to say. But you realized there was nothing that needed to be said because since this is where he was staying, it meant his bedroom was here too. You let him walk you back to the villa and up the stairs into his room, to which you had to text Soyoung and let her know you were headed home early. A lie. You told her you felt sick. Another lie. But she didn’t seem to mind. She had found a few other employees of the country club there and would walk back with them.

After losing track of how many orgasms he gave you, youth both shared a bottle of vodka he had stashed underneath his bed. And tipsy you had no inhibitions.

Every question Hoseok asked, you answered honestly.

“Favorite color?”

“Red.”

“Do you like working at the country club?”

“It’s a job.”

“If you could do anything in the world, what would it be?”

“Spend my life away on some island.”

He laughed. “Really?”

“Island life s-seems fun. It’s relaxing. You don’t have to worry about anything,” you slightly slurred your words. “You?”

“I think island life seems to be the move now.”

You both talked so much. About anything and everything. It reminded you so much of the first time you really spoke to him. Moments like this made Hoseok feel normal, which you don’t know how to feel about yet.

But one thing you realized you did enjoy was his laugh—his real laugh. Not the one he smirked with, but the one he gave when he thought no one else was watching.

You must’ve said something stupid—you honestly can’t recall it now—but when he doubled over in laughter, it was infectious.

The good thing is that you don’t have work today, which means you don’t have to rush anywhere. But you have a feeling that you’ve overstayed your welcome. You didn’t even mean to stay the night, but you’d been so comfortable in Hoseok’s bed that you fell asleep after all the conversations. It was probably the best sleep you’ve ever had.

You’re going to give the credit to Hoseok’s expensive mattress, and definitely not him.

Though, you can’t deny how good it feels to have him spooning you. A part of you wants to stay in this bed forever, but that’s crazy talk—you shouldn’t have come into the bed with him at all. You keep telling yourself—over and over again—that you don’t want to fuck him again.

But you’ve been such a liar.

Now, you’ve accepted the fact that you can’t resist him. You know it’s just sex, but you didn’t want to get involved with him in the first place.

You take in a few breaths as you try to move his arm off of you. Hoseok shifts a little, and you risk a look over your shoulder. When your eyes take in his face, your heart stutters for a moment. With his mouth slightly parted and eyes still firmly closed, you realize that he looks so peaceful asleep. So vulnerable. You have to force yourself from touching him.

What the fuck, y/n?

Turning back around, you gently pry his arm off of you and pray that you don’t wake him. But all your careful maneuvering proves to be futile because his arm releases from your grip and moves back down to your waist. With a squeal, Hoseok pulls you back on his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” God, his morning voice is so hot.

“Um, leaving?” you sound like an idiot.

“Stay,” he breathes against the back of your head.

You want to. You really, really want to. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” he asks, snaking his arms underneath the covers to find you—skin still bare from last night’s activities. Your breath hitches as his fingers trail across your skin, each touch feeling like sparks.

“I-I have somewhere I have to be,” you stutter as his rough hand wraps around one of your breasts, squeezing tight. Your nipple hardens immediately.

Hoseok slips the covers off your body, exposing you to the cool air-conditioned room. And without warning, he moves on top of you and begins trailing his lips over your body. You notice that he makes sure to suck those bruises he left scattered across your skin extra hard, purpling them even more.

“Hoseok,” you try not to moan. “I really have t-to—”

His lips crashing onto yours shuts you up. You kiss him back forcefully, nipping his lips with your teeth and running your tongue across his. As you two battle it out, he settles in-between your thighs. Bringing a hand down your abdomen, it slides straight to your cunt—which is already drenched.

He hisses against your lips. “So fucking wet. Thought you had to go?”

“Shut up,” you moan as he runs a finger from your ass to your clit, swirling your juices everywhere. Involuntarily, your hips buck up when he slides a finger inside of you. He gently fucks you like that for a moment, leaving you writhing underneath him. “More, Hoseok—I need more.”

A wicked smile erupts on his face. “Are you going to beg for it?”

An incredulous expression lights your face. You’ve never begged in bed before, and you aren’t going to start now. However, the man on top of you is sure getting a kick out of this. Hoseok moves his finger slowly out of you, which agitates you to no end. If you weren’t so horny right now, you’d kill him.

“No,” you narrow your eyes, not willing to give in.

His finger stops moving. “A shame, really.”

You freeze. “What the fuck, Jung Hoseok?”

“I’m not doing anything until you say please,” he smirks, moving his upper body away from you.

Even though you’re pissed, you can’t help but drink in the Adonis in front of you. Like you, Hoseok is completely naked. Your eyes rake his defined muscles and his thick cock that’s already unbelievably hard. He’s hard for you. The fact that you turn him on makes you feel good—too good.

“Fine,” you shrug, and his smirk falls. “Just get blue balls then.”

As his body goes slack for a moment, you use the opportunity to slip from the bed. But you don’t manage to get very far at all. You probably only take three steps before his arm wraps around you and pulls you back to the bed.

You fall on your back, and Hoseok pins your arms on either side to keep you from moving. Still, you squirm—heart drumming in your chest at the look on his face. His eyes have turned black, and he looks like he wants to devour you. “I’m not begging.”

“We’ll see about that.”

With your arms still pinned, Hoseok lowers his body and your legs spread on their own accord. Fuck you, body. The movement makes him chuckle darkly and he begins peppering kisses along your thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat, which turns into a gasp when he suddenly bites down on your flesh. Not hard enough to draw blood, but it’s enough to be painful.

And as much as you hate to admit it, you like it very much.

Hoseok continues alternating between kissing and biting your thighs until you’re one-hundred-percent positive there is a pool of your wetness on the bed. You know what he’s trying to do and it’s working, but you don’t want to give in. And then he’s so close to your pussy, not even an inch away. You can feel his breath fanning you there. If you just move your hips a little…

“Don’t even think about it,” he moves his head away.

You release a groan of frustration. “Oh my god.”

“If you just say the magic word,” he taunts, lips now on your stomach. He moves low, but never low enough; never where you want him to go.

When he moves up your body, pressing chaste kisses on your nipples before latching his lips on your neck, you release a breathy moan. Hoseok lets out a groan from the back of his throat, hands tightening around your wrists. Fuck, why are the noises he makes even attractive? “Hoseok…”

“Y/n,” he’s still sucking on your neck.

This position, you realize, aligns him perfectly with your body. Again, if you were able to move just a little bit…but Hoseok’s weighing you down with his body, not allowing you to move at all.

“Hoseok,” you say his name again, but he doesn’t respond—he just moves his lips to your ear, nibbling on the sensitive flesh there. And that’s when you crumble. You can’t take it anymore. “Please…please just fuck me already.”

Simultaneously, he curses into your ear as he slides his cock into you. Too perfect—the way he fills you up is too perfect.

You expect Hoseok to fuck you hard, hips slamming into you, but he doesn’t. His thrusts are slow, but the way he hits your cervix has you nearly in tears. Fuck. He releases the hold on your wrists to grip onto either side of your face. With lips ghosting over yours, you tangle your hands into his dark hair.

Your breaths mesh together as he continues to fuck you with slow, measured thrusts. You’ve grown accustomed to the rough way Hoseok likes to fuck; but for some reason, you love this so much more. It’s intimate and makes your chest tighten in a strange way but feels so good you don’t want it to stop.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips again.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, rolling his hips in a way that has you arching off the bed. Yes.

“Just like t-that,” you say, slanting your mouth to mold against his again.

Your orgasm comes without warning; you moan into Hoseok’s mouth, gripping him closer to you and you ride your high. Through the haze of your earth-shattering orgasm, you hear Hoseok ask if he can come inside you. He’s always pulled out—even last night when he fucked you for hours. But right now you don’t care, and your answer comes in the form of your legs wrapping around his hips.

He kisses you hard and comes inside you a moment later. You’ve never let anyone else come raw inside of you; never trusted anyone else that much. And in that moment, a terrifying thought flashes across your mind.

I’m in love you.

The thought comes so suddenly, burns your brain so hotly, your body stills. Hoseok finally lifts off of you, eyes crinkling in concern. “You okay?”

You quickly try to shake the feeling away. “Um, yeah.”

“You sure? Should I not have come inside you?” he slips out of you, and for some reason you want to cry at the sudden emptiness you feel. “You’re looking pale right now.”

“No, it was fine,” you blink too fast, feeling tears begin to well in your eyes. Get a fucking grip on yourself. “I’m sorry, I really have to go.”

Hoseok doesn’t try to stop you this time when you move away from the bed. You find your clothes on the floor and slip everything back on without looking at him, even though you can feel his gaze on you the entire time. Not bothering to check your appearance, you grab your stuff and move towards his door.

“Y/n,” he calls your name, voice sounding strange, but you don’t want to look at him. If you look at him, you’re going to start crying. And that’s too embarrassing to explain.

You slip out of his bedroom and take the stairs two at a time. As you rush down, you run into someone. “Sorry—”

Looking up, you realize it’s Seokjin; he must’ve stayed the night. Even in your distress, you feel feverish wondering if you were too loud. However, he takes one look at you and stares like he has you all figured out. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

“Did something happen…?” he asks, looking at the door you just left wide open upstairs.

“Don’t worry about it,” you quickly say, adverting your eyes and sidestepping him.

This morning, it’s much easier to find the front door. Just as you’re about to slip out, you hear your name being called again, heavy steps thundering down the stairs. Shit, shit, shit. You break into a run and don’t stop until you have no more air to spare in your lungs. Thankfully, you’re far enough from the villa and close to the country club.

Only then do you allow yourself to fall into the grass as the tears finally cascade down your cheeks.

You’re a fool, you realize. A fool to have fallen in love with someone like Jung Hoseok. Someone who will never feel the same way. Someone who just uses you for a good time. someone who you barely even know. Someone you never wanted to get involved with.

***

You call out of work the next week, claiming to have the stomach bug. But you don’t have the stomach bug; in fact, you’re not even physically ill at all. You just can’t bear the thought of running into Hoseok at the country club.

On the first day, you listen to your sad girl hours playlist on repeat.

During your second day of moping in bed, you half consider quitting your job. Would it be too cowardly? Maybe. Unfortunately, there’s only a few weeks left of summer and you doubt that you’ll be able to find another job.

When the third day arrives, you finally get out of bed and take a proper shower. You didn’t realize how much you needed it.

Your mom knocks on your door on the fourth day. You only know it’s her by the way she taps on your door rhythmically; she’s always done that ever since you were a child. When you don’t respond, she dares to crack the door open. Shit, you forgot to lock it last night.

“Are you feeling better, love?”

You don’t move on the bed, hoping your mother thinks you’re asleep or something. But despite you not moving, she still shuffles into your room and settles herself on the edge of the bed.

“Is this because I haven’t been spending time with you this summer?”

No, mom. It’s me. I fucked up. Although, I would appreciate it if you did spend time with me—like you dragged me here this summer to do.

“I’m really sorry, love,” she whispers, getting up after a moment.

Once you’re sure she’s by the door, you finally open your mouth. “It’s not because of you. It’s…something else.”

You hear her grab onto the door, but she doesn’t say another word before leaving you all alone again.

On the fifth day, the bruises that littered your skin finally start fading. Glancing into the mirror of your bathroom, you run your fingers along the—now greenish-yellow—hickies he left on your neck. Goodness, there were so many. And annoyingly enough, you can still feel exactly where he had touched you—like his hands are still there right now.

Pulling your t-shirt down, you see more evidence of Hoseok’s assault on your chest. You have to stop yourself from looking at the rest of your body.

The sixth day you, finally, spend time pondering that terrifying thought you had about Hoseok. Are you actually in love with him? Do you even know what love feels like? What even is love? You’ve always been an overthinker, and these questions only make your head spin more. But after hours and hours of teetering the files of your brain, you do know one thing.

You like him.

You like Hoseok a lot.

It might not be love—perhaps that had been your sex-brain talking—but you were definitely starting to fall for him. You don’t know when or where the change happened, or maybe you’ve always liked him, but it feels good to finally admit the truth to yourself.

Now, the real challenge was if you would tell him.

Would it be worth it?

***

“Y/n, I seriously thought you’d quit!”

Soyoung is the first person you run into on your first day back. You just thank god it’s her and not someone else. You flash her a quick smile and greeting. “Hey.”

“What happened to you?” she asks, walking beside you down the hall.

“Stomach bug,” the lie passes surprisingly easily through your lips. Good thing you had enough time to practice saying those words out loud.

Soyoung makes a face. “That must’ve been awful, but I’m glad you’re well enough to be here.”

“Yeah, totally.”

She leaves you at the golf cart and you get into the seat with a sigh. Over the month and whatever weeks you’ve been here, driving the cart now feels like second nature. You no longer bump into displays or people.

As you drive around the green, you make a stop at every hole and offer the players drinks. At the beginning of summer, you’d been a little apprehensive about this job. However, it turns out, working as the drink cart girl isn’t half bad. The tips you make are worth being out in the scorching summer sun.

Towards the end of your round, you feel your nerves twist. You’re relieved that you haven’t seen Hoseok; then again, a part of you is worried. Why isn’t he here? He’s always here. Every single time you’ve driven on the range, he’s been here.

Where is he today?

Soon, you realize that you didn’t need to worry at all.

At the last hole, you see him—well, them. Hoseok, Seokjin, Namjoon, and Jeongguk are together, like they always seem to be. Inseparable. For a second, you think about skipping them, but then you overhear their conversation.

“Damn, Hoseok,” Jeongguk whistles, leaning against his club, “this is the worst game you’ve ever played.”

“He played worse than Namjoon,” Seokjin snickers.

Namjoon narrows his eyes. “I’m not that bad.”

“You lack coordination,” Seokjin explains to his friend, as if that was supposed to make the burn better. “And Hoseok usually always wins.”

“Now that I’m thinking about it, he hasn’t played well all week,” Jeongguk twists his lips.

“Dude probably hasn’t had ass in a week,” Namjoon comments.

“I’m right fucking here, assholes.”

You finally allow your eyes to settle on the man of the hour. Like his friends have suggested, he does seem off today. Normally, the Jung Hoseok you know is easy going, laid back. He’s usually cocky and charismatic. Every time you’ve seen him play golf, he’s amazing. He always swings with blind sureness—like he knows the ball will hit green. But the man you’re looking at right now is beyond tense and agitated.

“You’re no fun today,” Jeongguk pouts.

“He hasn’t been fun all week,” Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Not since the house party.”

Your hands stiffen on wheel. Hoseok’s been in a mood for a whole week? You try to find the answer to your own question in his eyes, but he hasn’t looked in your direction yet. In fact, none of them seem to realize you’re close. They all seem to be thrown off their usual balance. That obvious fact makes you realize you should probably just skip them. But as you lift your foot to press the gas pedal, Seokjin notices you.

Damn. Why is he always the first one to see you?

His eyes widen at your appearance. “Just the girl I was thinking about.”

That statement draws everyone else from their stupor and towards you. You watch as Jeongguk and Namjoon’s eyes also widen, but the only pairs of eyes you really care about right now can’t even meet yours. Hoseok shoots you a glance before twisting away, jaw hardened. Ouch. You feel a pang in your chest.

For some reason, his dismissal hurts more than anything else right now.

“Glad you finally arrived,” Seokjin continues talking, walking closer to you. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

It was weird to have Seokjin speak so much to you. The only person you ever really spoke to was Hoseok, but it seems like he’s the last person who wants to talk to you right now. Maybe coming into work was a bad idea.

“I think you should talk to him,” he says, and it was your turn to have wide eyes.

“I don’t know…” What could you even say to him? You don’t know where to begin because you don’t know what kind of relationship you have with Hoseok. Did you want a relationship with him? Did he even feel the same way?

“He’s been a fucking wreck all week because of you, you know?”

Your chest hurts. “Really?”

Seokjin nods. “I mean, the guy’s always a pain in the ass…” he rolls his eyes, “but it’s worse now.”

Maybe you hadn’t been the only one suffering this past week. As horrible as it sounds, the thought makes you feel…hopeful.

“We’ll take your cart back and cover for you, if you want.”

You stare at Seokjin and find yourself nodding. “Okay.”

He calls Jeongguk and Namjoon over, asking you to get out of the cart. “Don’t worry—we won’t steal your money.”

It’s a joke. You know it’s a joke. Still, you can’t help the next that slip past your lips unconsciously. “Like you all need it.”

The three of them laugh at you as they pile into the cart. Before you can say anything else, they drive off—leaving you alone with the one person you’re most nervous to speak to. He’s still turned away from you, staring off into the distance. You will your heart to stop racing as you wipe your sweaty hands on the back of your shorts.

Calm down.

You take a deep breath before you decide it’s now or never. Deciding it is time, you take the tentative steps towards Hoseok and run a million different scenarios in your head. What’s the worst thing that can happen? He tells you to fuck off and never speak to him again?

Nausea settles into your throat at the idea.

By the time you run another worst-case-scenario into your head, you’re just a few steps behind him. Closer to him now, you feel like you’re going to burst at the seams. You stare at his disheveled hair—like he’s been running a hand through it all day—and stiff body. Despite his rigid posture, he���s still the most handsome person you’ve ever seen.

You don’t know long you stand there and stare at Hoseok, but you don’t jolt out of your daze until you hear his voice.

“Are you just going to stare at me all day?”

“Oh, you’re—I mean, I—” you fumble with your words, nervously twitching your hands. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk.”

“It’s kind of hard to talk to someone who doesn’t even like me,” he says, finally turning to face you.

What? “Hoseok—”

“I know you hate me, so I won’t bother you again, if that’s what you wanted to talk about,” his voice is detached, and you realize you’ve never seen this side of him before. No wonder his friends were fed up with him. You would’ve been too. “Sorry if I annoyed you this summer.”

Without another word, he begins to walk away from you. What the hell is going on? You shake your head as you march up to him and grab onto his shirt. “Stop.”

“Y/n…”

“Hoseok, shut up!” You bring your eyes up to glare at him. “Just—just let me talk first, okay?”

His eyes are still cold, but you can see a bit of softness pool in them. “Fine.”

“You’re an idiot,” you breathe, dropping your fist and feeling something prick your vision. “I-I don’t hate you…I don’t hate you at all. And I don’t want you to stop bothering me. Yes, you’re annoying”—you feel him take a step away— “but I like it. I like you. I like you a lot, Hoseok. So much…I don’t even know—”

He stops your rambling with his lips. The kiss makes your heart soar and ache all at once because it feels so damn good—Hoseok feels so damn good. But it ends all too soon when he pulls away.

“I like you too.”

“Then why are you being so mean to me?” You feel an onslaught of tears flow down your cheeks.

Hoseok wipes a tear away with his thumb. “Because I thought you hated me.”

“Well, I don’t,” you sniffle.

“Then, why’d you leave?”

You know he’s talking about that morning. Do you tell him the truth? “Because I thought I was in love with you.”

“Love?” he chokes, and you feel a blush heat your face. “What made you think that?”

“Uh…it was just a sudden thought,” you awkwardly scratch the side of your face. “But I thought about it, and it’s not love…at least, not yet.”

You say that last part so quietly, you don’t think Hoseok even heard. However, the way his eyes gloss over for a moment lets you know that he did. You’re even more embarrassed now. You try to cover your face, but he grabs both of your hands before you can.

“Let’s take this one step at a time, yeah?” Look at him being the rational one here.

You nod, agreeing with him. “So, we like each other.”

“We do,” he says, suddenly pulling you closer to him. Your body hums being so close to him. Being close like this, you’re able to wrap your arms around him and does the same—hand moving to the back of your neck to tilt your head back. At this angle, you’re exposed to him.

“So, what are we?” you dared to ask the question.

Hoseok ghosts his lips over you. “I don’t like sharing.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “I haven’t been with anyone else this summer.”

It’s the truth. You haven’t even looked twice at anyone else. You haven’t desired anyone else. You don’t think you ever can again. Jung Hoseok has ruined you.

“Me either.”

“You and Nina—”

“We’re just family friends, remember?” he cuts you off.

“She clearly likes you.”

“Well, she’s not you. I’ve told you that before.”

He did. And, for some reason, you believed him.

“So, what are we?” you ask again, looking up at Hoseok to gauge what he’s going to say. He stares down at you for a moment before that smirk you know all too well graces his lips. As irritating as it is, you’ve missed it.

“We’re dating,” his eyes sparkle, before dimming a little. “If you’ll have me.”

Warmth pools in your stomach as you nod. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

#armiesnet #btsbookclub #btswriterscollective #jhope x reader #jung hoseok x reader #hoseok x reader #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #kpop fic #kpop scenarios #hoseok fic #bangtan #bts #jhope #smut #angst #fluff #golf!au #country club!au #rich boy!au #same old mistakes #xbaepsae

[troublesomeshika]

After all this time, I'm still into you (3)

shikamaru nara x reader word count: 4.7k warnings: swearing, anti-kiba, fluff

You woke up groggily, the events of the day before coming back to you in pieces as you solved the puzzle. Something fluttered in your stomach but you pushed it down. Looking at the clock you saw it showed 10:07. If you were going to get your errands done, you needed to be out of bed thirty minutes ago at the latest. You threw the covers off, stretching as you stood. First things first: laundry. You threw your clothes from the night before into your hamper, grabbing the few stragglers that lay around the room to be sure they made it in. Quickly throwing on an outfit, you grabbed the hamper and walked it down to the washing room. After you’d finished and hung up your clothes to dry, it was almost noon. You glanced at your pantry, seeing the dust that had begun collecting on some of the shelves and groaned. You needed to hand in your fixed report so groceries would just have to wait until later tonight.

You were jogging, it had taken longer than you’d expected to hand everything in and it was already past twelve. You came to a halt a block from Ichiraku and tried to steady your breathing. Looking down, you smoothed out your shirt and ran your hands over your hair before shaking your head. You were having lunch with a friend, you didn’t need to look perfect. Shaking your head, you looked up to see Shikamaru standing outside the ramen shop with an eyebrow raised. 

“How are you always late to everything?” he chided as you walked up and ducked beneath the pulled back curtain into the small booth. 

“Sorry, sorry, errands took longer than I thought.” You smiled at Teuchi behind the counter as you took a seat near the wall. Shikamaru sat next to you, your elbows bumping together in the small area. You willed your stomach not to flip at such a small thing, reminding yourself, once more, that you were friends, best friends.

“So, they took it with your corrections and everything?” Shikamaru looked up from the menu.

“Hm? Oh yeah, I got chewed out for making the mistake even though they already yelled at me for it when they first gave it back, but it’s whatever.”

He chuckled, “Maybe you’ll do it correctly next time.”

You slapped his arm, looking down at the menu to decide what you wanted. Once the two of you ordered, you turned to him. “So what have you done today? Been at all productive, or no?” 

He glared at you, “I’ll have you know that I woke up early and went to training with Ino and Choji, so no comments on my laziness. I’ve earned the rest of the day off.” 

“Oh so one morning training session earns you a half day off? Guess I should have at least 2 years of vacation stored up then.”

“Uh, yeah. And yet you’d never take any unless I made you. But don’t worry, I’m a giver.” He smirked at the last part.

You rolled your eyes, “Oh yes, it must be so hard, but thank god you make the sacrifice.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm.

He shrugged, “It’s my duty, otherwise I’d be hard at work right now.” That made you laugh out loud, something about the idea of Shikamaru working hard was unimaginable. “Hey, woah it’s not that funny, I do work hard sometimes.” That only made you snort.

“Mhmm yeah, you. Shikamaru Nara. Working hard at something? That’d be a site to s-”

“Y/N?” You heard a voice behind you, which made you turn your head. 

“Oh, uh hey Kiba.” You smiled and brought a finger to your face, trying to quickly wipe the small tears at the corner of your eye.

He only glowered in response, looking between you and Shikamaru. “Already moved on, huh?” 

Your brow furrowed, “What?” You glanced at Shikamaru whose face showed no emotion.

“I saw the way you used to look at him, you’re doing it now. I knew you had feelings for him the whole time.” 

“Woah woah, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He scoffed in response.

“Hey, I’m trying to have lunch with my friend, so you can kindly fuck off if you’re gonna be weird about it.” You started to turn back around before he piped up again.

“So were you fucking him behind my back or is this a new development?” he sneered, “I should’ve known when you said it just wasn’t working between us, can’t expect you to slow down, right?” 

You felt like the air had been knocked out of you. “Excuse me?” You stood, raising an eyebrow at the boy in front of you, “I didn’t do what you’re accusing me of, but if you wanna do this in public, let’s do it,” Your smile was icy- you loved him, how could he ever accuse you of something like this? 

“No,” he shook his head. “I’ve had enough of this, Y/N.” 

“Enough of what?” Shikamaru’s drawl came from behind you, “Kiba, stop spouting off.” 

“You shut your mouth!” Kiba exploded.

“You’re the one accusing people here!!” You yelled at him. 

“Yeah because you’re the one on a date weeks after breaking up with me and acting all heartbroken.”

“So what if she’s on a date, Kiba, you don’t own the girl.”

“This isn’t a date and Shikamaru, stay the fuck out of this.” You gritted your teeth. The last thing you needed was another person involved in whatever this was.

“God, the two of you are so troublesome, you’re drawing a crowd. Kiba, just leave, you’re not going to accomplish anything here.”

The boy practically snarled at the two of you, baring his teeth before turning on his heel to stalk off. You were breathing heavy, fists clenched when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Rounding on Shikamaru you spat at him, “Why did you butt in? I didn’t ask you to say anything, now he’s definitely going to think I cheated on him. God!” You brought your hand to your forehead and squeezed hard.

“Hey, just.... sit back down. C’mon.” He guided you to your stool as you felt the lump in your throat that had been threatening to form.

“Why did he have to do that in public.... Now everyone will think I’m a cheater.” You stared at the counter in front of you. 

“It’s Kiba, what could you expect? He’s a hotheaded idiot, I still can’t believe you even gave him the time of day, let alone dated him.”

“Really not the time, Shikamaru.” You pressed your fingers to your temples, “I didn’t need this today.” Your nerves were so shot that when Ayame placed your order in front of you, you jumped.

“Honestly, I really don’t think anyone is gonna think that.” His hand rested on your back now, but you were too preoccupied to think about it.

“God, I just, the worst part is that I still love him so much? Why would he....” tears reappeared at the corners of your eyes, this time stinging with anger and pain.

“Hey, look at me.” You continued staring at the bowl in front of you, afraid that if you moved, your composure would break and you’d be reduced to crying in public. “Y/N, I need you to look at me, right now.” Shikamaru’s voice was firm and unwavering, but you could only shake your head softly. You sensed him stand up beside you before he turned your body and enveloped you in a hug. Your face hidden, tears spilled quickly onto his shirt, it was short but needed. You clenched your fist, digging your nails into your palm to ground you before taking a deep breath and untangling yourself from Shikamaru. When you looked up, his cheeks were flushed, likely from secondhand embarrassment. 

You smiled sheepishly, “Sorry about that, didn’t mean to fall apart on you!” you wiped your face quickly, turning to your bowl of food, “Better eat before it gets cold!” You forced an upbeat tone into your voice, trying to hide how you felt. Shikamaru sat down beside you and you felt his gaze still on you. “I’m okay, really, I just.... Having a bad day I guess.” You took a bite of your food and swallowed it, willing the lump in your throat to disappear. “Anyways, I overheard that your team is being sent out on a mission soon, do you know what it’s for?” Looking up, his eyes were studying you, picking you apart as only he could. 

He turned to his own food, picking up noodles on his chopsticks before replying, “I think it’s something about retrieving some stolen information, but I’m not sure. I didn’t really read the message they sent me, just looked at when we’re leaving.” 

“Which is?” You took another bite, beginning to realize how hungry you were.

“Tomorrow morning.” He took a bite and your eyes lingered on his lips a second longer than a friend’s eyes should. 

“Oh, so you probably need to get ready, I guess just lunch for today then.”

“Tch, you’re not getting out of it that easily. Especially after what just happened.”

You rolled your eyes, taking another bite before replying, “Please, it was a momentary lapse for me, I’m really alright and if you need to cut out to prepare, I can just take a rain check.”

He shook his head. “You trying to weasel out of this is tiring and it’s making me need the time off even more.”

You sighed, “Fine fine,” you held up your hands, finished with your meal, “lemme know when you’re ready to go.”

He looked up, mildly shocked, “You’re already done?”

Shrugging you grinned at him, “Need the fuel to keep me energized.”

He simply sighed and began eating faster. You took the opportunity to ask Ayame for the bill. By the time you���d paid, Shikamaru had finished his own serving and was standing waiting for you. “Ready?” you asked. He nodded and the two of you began walking. You talked to Shikamaru, going on about something Ino had said recently, not really paying much attention to where you were going. This made it all the more surprising when you looked around and realized you were in the woods, surrounded by trees. “Shikamaru? Where are we?” 

He chuckled, “Took you long enough to realize.”

Your heart was pounding as you realized you must be in the Nara woods. “Hey uh, I’m not gonna get trampled and beaten up by your deer right?”

“As long as you don’t annoy me, no. You’re here with me, they won’t bother you.” You couldn’t help but glance around the trees, noticing the eyes that blended in with the scenery. You shifted closer to Shikamaru as you walked, feeling the deer watch you. You felt bad as you bumped against his arm for the fourth time, hearing him sigh. Suddenly there was a weight on your shoulder and you were pulled to the side. “There. Will you calm down now? It’s clear you’re not a threat, they just watch everyone, it’s their thing.”

You nodded in reply, but your heart rate had only sped up now that his arm was around you. Thankfully you came to a clearing of soft grass where the sun shone perfectly. You couldn’t help the soft gasp that fell from your lips as you stepped into the area.

Shikamaru chuckled beside you, “Yeah, this is my secret spot.”

You thwaked his side softly with your arm, “Shikamaru Nara. I cannot believe you never showed me this!” 

“Well then it wouldn’t have been secret now would it?” he grinned at you, but you were busy staring around the clearing.

“It’s so beautiful,” you breathed out. 

“Yeah....”

You crouched down, running your hands through the soft grass before stretching yourself out. “Well? If we’re gonna relax, let’s relax.” 

He chuckled, looking down at you, “Alright fine, but I brought you here to make sure you’d relax, so no fidgeting.” He laid down perpendicular to you, resting his head on your thighs. Feeling your heart rate spike again, you shifted and put one arm behind your head. Your foot was still bouncing softly until Shikamaru reached out and grabbed it. “Stop fidgeting,” 

You blushed, “Sorry, I didn’t realize.” He sighed in response and your hand one made its way down to his hair. You had to continue moving somehow, this was the least offensive option. Before touching his hair you made sure to ask, “You okay with this?” When he hummed in response, you began to slowly fiddle with his hair, making sure not to pull on it. It was nice, you hadn’t done this in years, but it felt natural. The sun on your skin warmed your entire body and the grass was softer than any you’d felt. There was a soft breeze that carried some kind of floral scent and the clouds were floating by serenely above. You felt more relaxed than you had in years, and as your mind drifted you felt the urge to tell Shikamaru how you felt. He had a right to know, and you had a right to make your feelings known. You knew he didn’t feel the same, and you’d made your peace with that. “Shikamaru?” 

“Mm?” he hummed quietly in response.

“You ever think about how insignificant we are in the world?”

He snorted, “Y/N what are you on?”

“I don’t quite know,” you watched the clouds drift by above, “I think I just wanna talk to you,” you wove a few strands of his hair carefully through your fingers.

“As long as I don’t have to respond,” you tugged lightly on his hair in response.

“So you don’t mind if I just talk mindlessly to you?”

“No, I don’t mind Y/N. Feel free to babble about whatever you’d like.”

You smiled at his word choice, “Okay, well I feel like I owe you the truth especially after earlier today,” He only sighed, waiting for you to continue. “What Kiba said wasn’t actually that crazy, I realized last night that....” you paused, taking a deep breath, “I have feelings for you and they aren’t friend feelings,” you rushed your next words, making sure to get them out before he could reply, “I tried to get over it, but.... I’m still into you.” You stared straight up, focusing on a misshapen cloud that was floating lazily overhead.

“Is that all?” Shikamaru’s voice sounded mildly amused.

“Yeah, just.... thought I’d tell you,” you felt more comfortable, especially since he hadn’t sat up or pulled away. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of not hiding anything.

“Well, I guess you ought to know that I feel the same.” His voice didn’t change at all and he sounded almost bored.

Your heart stopped and your eyes snapped open, but you didn’t move. “You.... do?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh, okay.” you paused, unsure of what to do next. You felt Shikamaru shift and you sat up. You looked into his eyes, noticing his slight smirk as you waited for his next move.

His hand was resting on your thigh and he looked down at it before speaking, “I guess the next thing is for me to ask you out,” his thumb traced soft circles across your leg, “what a drag.”

“Well seeing as I confessed, shouldn’t I be the one to ask you out?” You raised an eyebrow, grinning at him. “So Shikamaru,” he shook his head, chuckling as you continued, “will you go out with me?”

He looked up and grinned, “I’d love to.”

Your heart swelled as you reached out and cupped his face, softly stroking his cheek. You sighed, “Maybe it’s too early, but.... I think I love you Shikamaru Nara.”

A blush covered his usually reserved features as he shifted to hide his face against your stomach, “Troublesome woman,” You laughed and tangled your fingers in his hair as you laid back again. “I think I love you too.” he murmured softly into your skin. The smile on your face wouldn’t go away as you closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of happiness that washed over you.

“So does this mean you’ll start paying for meals?”

“Not if you keep losing, our rule still stands.”

You hummed, softly running your hands through his hair. “Mm fine. When’s our next rematch then? I need to know so I can get your dad to teach me.”

His head appeared above you, his ponytail messy from your fingers, “You wanna come over tonight?”

You smiled at his eagerness, “Shikamaru, I don’t think your mom would take kindly to me bumming two meals in a row off you guys.” You reached up, caressing his face.

He leaned into your hand and smirked, “Please, you know she loves you, more than me.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Maybe it’s because I don’t lay around her house and mutter things under my breath when she asks for help.”

“You’re so rude,” He frowned, “maybe I won’t go out with you.”

You pulled his head to your shoulder, “Then I’ll just have to pester you until you do.”

“You would wouldn’t you,” he melted into you and you smiled at his weight on your body.

“Mhmm. If I have to come throw rocks at your window every night, I will.” You pressed a soft kiss on the side of his head. “If that’s what it will take, then that’s just what I’ll have to do. But it would be so very troublesome,” you threw his favorite phrase back at him to which he only huffed, “so please don’t make me.”

“Fine. But come over tonight?” He murmured into your ear, his hot breath making goosebumps run their way down your body.

You twirled the short hair at the nape of his neck as you thought about it, “Alright, I guess you’ve convinced me.”

He shifted and pressed a small kiss to your cheek. “Whoever thought I’d be the one having to force you to do things?”

“Quite a change of pace hmm?”

He rolled onto his back and pulled your body close to his, “Well then, I’ll have to make sure to beat you next time we compete so we can balance things out again.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” You nuzzled into his chest, and everything felt right. Breathing in his soft and familiar smell, you felt yourself drifting in the afternoon sun. The next thing you knew, soft kisses were being pressed against your head as you heard Shikamaru murmuring your name. Your eyelids fluttered open and you tilted your head to look up at him. A drowsy smile adorned his lips which you mirrored.

“Hi,” he breathed out.

You laughed softly, “Hi,” you felt like a schoolgirl again, shy and soft.

“How was your nap?”

“Wonderful, you make a great pillow.” You both sat up. Shifting to straddle him, you threw your arms around his shoulders. The sun was setting and it was catching on his hair just perfectly. You leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his, taking a deep breath. “I think this is the happiest I’ve been in awhile.”

“Oh really? All because of me?” His lips were tilted up in a cocky smirk.

You leaned forward slowly, lips barely brushing his and breathed out, “All because of you.” before pushing your lips against his. The way you two moved against each other was natural. You felt his hands grip your hips as you pulled away for air. A soft breeze blew past, alerting you to how flushed your face was as the cool air hit your cheeks. You leaned your head back to look up at the sky, noticing the stars beginning to shine above. “We should probably get back, seems our day off has ended.”

Shikamaru sighed, tugging you closer to him, “What a drag, how about five more minutes?”

You smiled, and tapped his nose with your finger, “C’mon lazy, let’s go.” You stood and held your hands out to him. He took them and you pulled him up, lingering there, fingers tangled together before you began pulling him back towards the village.

“That’s the wrong way, genius.” He laughed and pulled you the other way and you smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, guess you just make my head spin so much I don’t know which ways which.”

He groaned, “Please tell me that’s the only dumb line you’re gonna use.”

“Well, I got lost in your eyes, but since you know where you’re going I’ll just follow your lead.” You were grinning up at him, a shit eating grin plastered across your face. You opened your mouth, about to continue, but he cut you off quickly with a kiss.

“Dork,” he muttered, throwing an arm around your shoulder. You began walking back the way you’d come, offering up different terrible pick up lines whenever they came to you. By the time you came to the road you were sure he was questioning his earlier decision of saying yes to you, the only thing betraying otherwise was the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth. You turned towards his house, seeing the lights on, and you were struck by how much had changed in 24 hours. It felt crazy, but it also felt right. Shikamaru groaned beside you, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“You okay?”

“I just don’t wanna have to tell my parents about us, my mom’s gonna be insufferable about it.”

You stopped walking, “Well, I don’t have to come over, really it’s fine. We spent the whole day together.”

“No no,” he pressed his forehead to yours, “I want you to come over.”

“Okay well then we don’t have to tell your parents about us.”

He shifted from foot to foot, clearly thinking, “Hmm, I guess so.”

You laughed and pushed him away, “Then we’re back to platonic for tonight.”

“One more kiss? Just to tide me over.” He raised an eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop yourself from smiling at the request, “Hmm, I guess so.” You mocked him as he stepped closer and tilted your head up with his index finger, kissing you soft and slow.

He pulled away, dropping his hand from your chin, “Ready for another friendly dinner? Emphasis on the friend part.”

“I am, let’s go,” you both walked up to his front door and he opened it for you, the smell of mackerel wafting out the door, “You just keep winning today huh?” You glanced at him, knowing how much he loved the food, but he only grinned in response.

You walked in and were greeted by Yoshino who was visibly surprised to see you. “Oh, Y/N, Shikamaru didn’t tell me we were expecting you back again tonight!”

You blushed, embarrassed, “I’m sorry for the intrusion ma’am. I don’t have to stay for dinner, it's not a big deal!” You turned to Shikamaru ready to bid him goodbye but he didn’t look at you.

“It’s fine, I’m sure we have enough for you, right mom?”

“Yes, of course! That’s not at all what I meant!” Yoshino rushed to assure you, “I was just surprised is all. Well, Shikamaru come and help me serve the food, your dad is just getting changed out of his work clothes. Feel free to sit down, Y/N.” Shikamaru smiled at you, touching the small of your back softly before continuing through to the kitchen. You walked over to the shogi board that was still out, observing the game that was leftover from the night before, the one that had led to lunch this afternoon, where you’d seen Kiba.... had it really been this afternoon that that had happened? You still felt terrible about it, but the sound of Shikaku entering the room forced you to push your thoughts aside.

“Ah, Y/N! Back to join us?” 

You smiled and nodded, “Yes sir, also, real quick, I was wondering, do you think you could tell me why I lost this game last night?”

He grinned, “Ah, want to know what you should’ve done to beat him?”

“Yes sir.” You took a seat where Shikamaru had sat and Shikaku took your position.

“Well, it looks like when you moved your lance, you left yourself open to attack, and from there you were bound to end up in checkmate. You should have left your lance where it was,” he began explaining how you should’ve gone about capturing Shikamaru’s pieces. You tried to pay attention, you really did, but shogi was just so boring and so much had happened that your mind began wandering on its own. “And then he would’ve been stuck in checkmate and you would’ve won.” Shikaku finished his explanation looking up at you.

You looked up and nodded, “I’ll be honest I don’t know if I got all that but I think some of it stuck somewhere in my brain so thank you.”

He bobbed his head, frowning, “Well, if you’d like me to train you, you know where to find me, I’m always up to help you beat Shikamaru.” He smiled and stood, “Now, we should probably make our way to dinner before Yoshino gets angry.”

You stood and followed him through to see Shikamaru putting the plates out with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder. He looked so domestic it made you smile. He glanced up at you and you felt your stomach flip as he flashed you a smirk. You sat in the same place you had the night before, and made polite conversation as you ate. The topic of your day came up and you were forced to confess how Shikamaru had forced you to go cloud watching with him.

“Oh, so he roped you into his lazy antics as well?” Yoshino glared at Shikamaru who only shrugged.

You laughed, “Yes, but I think I was in need of a day off so it wasn’t unwelcome.”

“Who isn’t, I could use a day off. How about we go cloud watching, honey?” Shikaku smiled at his wife.

“Hm, I don’t know about cloud watching, but you could stand to take some time off as well.” You admired the way they were so comfortable with each other, going back and forth. Seeing how clearly they loved each other caused you to look fondly across the table at Shikamaru.

Yoshino spoke up, “You know, I was always so sure you two would get together.”

“Mom!”

You flushed bright red and stared down at your food, trying hard to suppress your smile.

Yoshino held her hands up, “I’m only being honest.” Shikamaru groaned and took a bite of his food, his cheeks red like yours, “Some things just make sense and I always thought the two of you were one of those things.”

You laughed awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed when a bird flew in through the open window, saving you from any further conversation. Shikaku stood and retrieved the message from the bird who left the same way it had entered.

“It’s for you, Shikamaru.” He handed the small scroll to him before returning to his seat.

Shikamaru unrolled it and began reading before he sighed, “They moved up the time for the mission, we’re leaving in a few hours, what a drag.”

You all quickly finished your meal, making sure that you helped to clean up before saying goodnight. Shikamaru walked you to the front porch, closing the door behind him. He pulled you in for a hug, arms circling your waist and his head resting on your shoulder as you slowly stroked up and down his back. “Can’t believe we just got together and I have to leave for a mission, how troublesome.” He murmured into your hair.

You laughed, “Well you were fine before we were together, I’m sure you’ll be fine this time as well.” You pulled back and cupped his face, “Just, make sure you come back to me, you know?” You leaned up and kissed him, soft and slow just like he had kissed you earlier.

“Of course,” he kissed your forehead before letting you go. As you walked away, you turned and glanced back. He was leaning against the house watching you, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips and smoke curling around his head. You grinned, shaking your head before you continued on your way, happiness blooming in your chest.

#shikamaru x reader #shikamaru x y/n #shikamaru nara #shikamaru nara x reader #shikamaru fluff #shikamaru x you #shikamaru x (y/n) #shikamaru nara x (y/n) #nara shikamaru #nara shikamaru x reader #naruto imagines #naruto imagine #naruto #anime #reader insert #x reader

[gumnut-logic]

Callisto (Part Eleven - Them)

Prologue 1. Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 2. Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 3. Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 4. Arrival - Bit 1 | Bit 2 5. Orientation 6. Rescue Site 7. Investigation 8. Recovery 9. Retreat 10. Capture 11. Them

Some reveal in this one, lots of worry and some discovery. John is not a happy boy.

As always, many thanks to @scribbles97​​ @janetm74​​ @vegetacide​​ and @tsarinatorment​​ for all their amazing support. you guys rock ::hugs you to bits::

Tonight is a bit of a posting night. I will be posting the last chapter of The Cane shortly as soon as I finish proofing it :D Yay, for finishing things :D Callisto is currently at 45,000 words.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one.

-o-o-o-

Alan was out of his pod, screaming Scott’s name, but his brother was gone. The water as still as before.

“Alan! Status!” John’s voice was as panicked as Alan had ever heard it.

“Scott’s gone.” He dashed over to Virgil. His big brother was crumpled in a heap. In the low gravity, Scott’s shove had been enough to throw him up against the rock wall. “John, I need you.”

“FAB.”

Virgil was unconscious.

Again.

A quick scan and his vitals were good. There would be bruising ...as if his brother needed more. But there was nothing broken, thank god.

A scan of the still unconscious director proved her to be stable as well.

He shifted Virgil into a safer recovery position.

“Eos, can we scan the lake?” He eyed where his big brother had vanished.

“No. I can get no data beyond approximately ten metres below the surface. It is very frustrating.”

Alan continued to stare at the surface and its glass stillness. “Can you locate Scott?”

“John has already pinpointed the Commander. He has joined the other life form below the lake’s surface. There is no comms response from the Commander.” The AI managed to sound both worried and frustrated.

“Are there any other life signs in the area?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

There was a pause. “There is no life as defined by the search parameters programmed into Thunderbird Five’s sensors on the moon beyond what has already been accounted for by International Rescue and Callisto Base personnel. Did you wish me to change those parameters?”

Alan swallowed as the third dragonfly buzzed into the cave. “ I think we’re going to have to. There is something down here.”

-o-o-o-

“We can’t leave him!”

“We’re not leaving him, Alan. We need to get the director and Virgil back to base.”

“But Scott-“

“He’s alive. We will do everything we can, but first we need medical attention for Virgil and the Director and to gather more information to better understand what we are dealing with.”

Virgil groaned and dragged a hand to his face. There was an oxygen mask in all its cold and moist glory and he shoved it off.

The elastic caught in his hair.

“Virgil!”

The pounding in his head was so loud, he could barely hear above it. There were hurried footsteps and someone ...Alan, it had to be Alan...touched his arm.

“Virgil, are you with us?” John’s melodious voice appeared on his other side and echoed through his aching head.

“You gonna open your eyes for us?” Alan sounded worried.

Open his eyes? Oh, yeah. A flicker and suddenly his retinas were assailed by the red of Three’s tiny infirmary.

A sigh. What the hell had happened now?

God, his head hurt.

“Alan, get us back to Base.” John’s voice was calm and quiet but had that tone of command.

There was quiet for a moment as the infirmary walls faded in and out of focus, roiling Virgil’s stomach.

A sigh and his little brother acknowledged John with an exhaled FAB before leaving Virgil’s bedside with soft footfalls.

Hands strapped him into the bed, fingers brushing gently across the surface of his uniform before landing ever so softly on his temple. “Rest, Virgil.” His hair was brushed off his forehead, the fine grip on John’s glove catching strands. “You’re safe.”

Virgil let out a sigh and closed his eyes, willing his head to stop pounding.

Perhaps it was a sign of the severity of whatever had happened to him, that he didn’t realise there was a voice and a touch missing until he was caught in the spiral of pain-induced exhaustion.

The question of a missing big brother followed him into an uneasy sleep.

-o-o-o-

Berry for his eldest son.

It was an exchange Jeff wasn’t sure he was willing to make.

But the thought was arrested before he could consider it further, knowing that Scott would admonish him for even thinking it.

But in the depths of his soul, the father in him was screaming.

Berry was off loaded from Three and onto the gantry, quickly followed by an equally prone Virgil. His engineer son was only asleep according to John, but with Scott missing, Jeff found himself clinging to his second eldest regardless.

The automatic cams on the Dragonflies had picked up what had happened. It was blatantly obvious there was something with purpose at work, something not human, possibly sentient.

The word ‘aliens’ bounced back and forth in his head.

Virgil was returned to the spot in the infirmary he had left barely an hour ago. Gordon sitting on the bed Jeff had restricted him to, stared at his co-pilot with worried eyes. Alan, equally as worried, sat down beside his fish brother and Gords wrapped his good arm around him.

Virgil was ever so quiet.

Berry was surrounded by the Base doctors, a curtain pulled around her bed, hiding her from the rest of them.

Jeff had the urge to shove it all aside and demand answers.

John had an IR medscanner out and was scanning his brother again. He spoke up without Jeff having to ask. “He’s sleeping.” It was a repetition of the earlier diagnosis, but it was welcome anyway.

A frown and the astronaut narrowed the scanner’s beam, prodding its controls and bringing it closer to Virgil’s head.

“What is it?”

John’s voice was calm, but distracted. “Director Berrenger has some ear damage. Virgil...” Another prod of the device. “Damn.”

“What?” Jeff took a step closer.

But John stopped scanning his brother, adjusted the controls and then ran the medscanner over his own head. Frowning at the readings, he activated his wrist ‘projector and swiped the results to that display.

The two scans bobbed up side by side, close up details of Virgil and John’s auditory systems.

“Virgil has had a headache since he arrived. We thought it was related to the T-Drive. But it appears that he has been subjected to some kind ear injury.”

Gordon spoke up. “He got dizzy.”

John frowned and poked at the hologram, spinning it. The frown deepened a moment before the astronaut suddenly darted around the bed and aimed the scanner at Gordon’s head.

“What? What the hell are you doing?”

“Hold still.”

A flicker of yellow and John obviously got what he was looking for. A breath and he aimed the scanner at Alan’s head as well.

His sigh was a frustrated one. “We are all exhibiting signs of ear irritation, but Virgil’s is by far the worst. Dad?”

Jeff blinked as John waved the device over his head. His son’s glare at the scanner was almost enough to incinerate it.

John slapped his comms. “Eos, land the probe closest to the Crystal Cavern. I need physical contact with the rock. Activate mic input, scan the spectrum.”

“FAB.”

It took a few moments and Jeff found himself absently stroking Virgil’s hair.

“Contact made. Scanning...oh, my!”

“Let me hear it.” John was wired ever so tight, eyes on fire.

“Input is being received at a very high volume, but at a very high frequency far above the human ability to hear. Translating.”

The sound that emitted from John’s comms was a very loud discordant screeching. Everyone in the room clapped their hands to their ears. A nurse attending to Berry shoved aside a curtain and shouted at them, as John yelled at Eos to stop.

“What the hell is that?!” Gordon, as always, voiced what everyone was thinking.

John was already bouncing program variables over his wrist. “That is what we need to find out.”

-o-o-o-

It turned out it was the moon itself.

Jeff sat with Virgil as his son slept, unable to relax himself. Alan intermittently gnashed his teeth fretting out loud what all of them were thinking. Scott was missing and it tore at all of them.

Virgil slept on.

John could only be described as frantic. The space monitor swore a blue streak that had Jeff snapping at him at one point. The man’s response was throw up a hologram on his tablet that mapped out the sounds being emitted by Callisto.

It was like a nest of spiderweb laced around and through the rock of the Jovian satellite. Pockets of density existed in places along with patches of less. John reached up and poked a spot that was slightly different from the rest, but still drenched in lines.

“This is Callisto Base.”

“And what is that?” Jeff pointed at the fine lines darting all over the moon.

John sighed. “My guess is that we are looking at a communications network.”

Jeff’s eyes widened. “Who is communicating?”

“Unknown. There are no unaccounted life forms on this moon. Not life as we know it.”

“What about life as we don’t know it?”

“We’re working on it.”

Next question. “How did we miss it?” The moon was literally shouting loud enough to injure.

John deflated on the spot, obviously considering the lapse a failure on his part. “Sound requires matter to travel through. Thunderbird Five is not equipped to detect it unless we have something in contact with the atmosphere or a mic in play.”

“We have mics in our comms.” But Jeff knew the answer before his son supplied it.

“The frequencies are beyond usual pick up range. Far too high.”

“What about Virgil?”

John wilted. “I don’t know, Dad. Why is he affected more than the rest of us? Hell, why aren’t the colonists showing symptoms?”

Jeff frowned at that. “Why aren’t they? They’ve been here for years.”

“I can’t see how they could not be affected. We’ve only been here a short time and we are showing the effects.”

Something cold curdled in Jeff’s gut. A sudden suspicion roiled to the surface. “Leave that one to me.” He threw himself to his feet.

“Dad?” Aquamarine frowned at him.

“I’ll get some answers.”

-o-o-o-

His head was hammering both in dream and, as he rose to consciousness, in reality. “Oh god.” Virgil rolled over clutching his head and curled into a ball.

“Virgil?”

Alan? He clenched his eyes shut, hands gripping his hair.

“Virgil?” The softer more melodious voice of his older space brother. “Hold on.”

There were words not directed at him and Virgil must have faded out again because next he knew he was flat on his back and the pain had been reduced to a pale echo of itself, replaced with a light fog.

Someone was holding his hand.

“Scott?” It came out hoarse and barely there.

“Virgil, you with us?”

Alan. It was Alan. His little brother.

Rocket boy.

God, his head was sluggish.

“Alan? Where’s Scott?” He forced his eyes open and blinked against the light. Another groan and he moved on the bed, his body aching and stiff as if he had been in the same position for an eon. “What happened?”

Another slow blink and his memory landed in Crystal Cave and rescuing Director Berrenger, and then…pain and nothing.

“Ummm…Scott’s not here. Lemme get John.” There was the sound of an active comm and Alan calling for his big brother.

Huh?

“Where’s Gordon?”

“Asleep.” Alan pointed at the blue curtain beside them. “Dad had a go at him for not resting. Threatened to send him up to Five if he didn’t try to sleep.”

Oh, just fantastic. “What about you? Have you slept?” How long had Virgil been down for the count?

“I’m good. Been helping John detect aliens.”

“Aliens? What aliens?” Frowning shouldn’t hurt like this.

“Virgil, you’re awake.” John’s melodious voice was a welcome balm despite the fact it was stating the obvious.

“John.” Virgil tried to sit up, but a gentle hand halted him. A pair of aquamarine eyes telling him more than any words. “What happened? Where’s Scott?” Scott should be here. He was always here.

John sat down beside Virgil’s bed deliberately and quietly.

Oh god. “What happened?” Virgil pushed himself into a seated position despite his brother, determined to face whatever had happened…not lying down.

“Scott is okay, as far as we can tell.”

“As far as you can tell?”

John’s lips thinned and his eyes screamed apology before he activated his wrist comm and showed Virgil footage from the dragonfly cam that caught exactly what happened.

Virgil stared as his brother sacrificed himself to save him.

The expletive that fell from his lips was sharp and vulgar.

He pushed the fog in his head to one side and forced himself to focus. “I need details.” He shoved the covers off his legs.

A blink.

“And clothes.”

-o-o-o-

Jeff stared the Commander of Callisto Base down, every ounce of his height, every piece of history they held together. “What haven’t you told us?”

“Have you located Ju yet?” The shorter man set his shoulders and glared up at Jeff.

“We have discovered that there is likely another form of life on this moon. Were you aware of this?”

Graeme blinked. “Life? What?”

“My eldest son was captured by the same mechanism that likely caught your wife. My second eldest has taken ill with the effects of strong ultra-frequency sound. These sounds appear to envelope this moon. Are you trying to tell me, that with all your scientific staff and equipment, supplied by Tracy Industries, no less, you have yet to encounter this problem after inhabiting this base for over five years?” Jeff inched closer. “Think before you answer.” The threat was clear.

Graeme swallowed. “There was Jeremiah, but we thought that was an isolated case.”

“Jeremiah?”

“One of our geologists. Took ill, nausea, headaches, nothing we did helped. Are you telling me he died of exposure to sound?”

Jeff’s eyes narrowed as his heart lurched. “He died?”

Graeme’s eyes grew frantic as the dots connected. “Stroke. The doctors said it was stroke. I was going to ask you to take his body home to his family when you left.”

Jeff’s lips thinned ever so much more. “Anyone else?”

“Uh.” The man was obviously floundering and cursing himself at the same time. “There have been instances of nausea, dizziness and headache, but nothing as bad as Jeremiah. We put it down to long term low gravity and the environment. We are living on the edge of human experience out here. You know what that is like.” He stared up at Jeff. “What kind of life? Have you seen it?” A swallow. “What about Ju?”

What about, Scott? “We’re working on it. We hope to have more information once Berry wakes up.” They needed so many answers.

-o-o-o-

John glared at Virgil, but his idiot brother was as determined as any of them would be in the same situation. John dreaded what would happen when their father returned.

There was going to be hell to pay.

Virgil was given his uniform and Alan was scooted out of the closed curtained area. John refused to move and earned a glare for his efforts, but there was no way he was leaving Virgil on his own in this state, stupid determination or not.

Dad was going to kill all of them.

The rainbow of bruises across Virgil’s back as he threw off the hospital gown their father had so painstakingly helped the nurses dress him in hours earlier only served to impress on John the fact that this was ever so wrong.

“Virgil, please give yourself more time.”

“Scott doesn’t have time.”

“How do you know that?”

“He’s been kidnapped by goddamned aliens, John. I’ve seen enough sci-fi flicks to know where that leads.”

“I don’t think we need a Ripley in this case, Virgil.”

His brother yanked spacesuit onto his legs. “How do you know that? You haven’t even located the bugs yet.”

“I doubt they are bugs, Virgil.” With a sigh, he reached in and helped his brother pull his spacesuit up over his shoulders, not missing any of the multiple winces at the action. “In fact, I think they might be the crystals.”

Virgil turned to look at him. “The quartz?”

“Yes.”

“How? It reads as silicon dioxide.”

“I know. Thunderbird Five is not the USS Enterprise. We’re doing our best here.” John lowered Virgil’s red and green baldric over his shoulders, ever so gently letting it rest on what he knew were bruises.

This was madness. “You should stay in bed. You’ve been affected more than any of us. Long term exposure to ultrasound can be life threatening. Please, Virgil.”

His brother turned around, ever the rescue operative, the uniform wearing him rather than the other way around. “And what about Scott?”

“Let me, Virgil, please. We have Dad and Lee. You need rest.”

Dark eyes met his. “With Scott down, I’m in command. It is my duty to lead.”

“Virgil, this is not a military organisation and you are not a soldier.”

“No, I’m a Tracy.” With that, he threw aside the curtain and strode out.

John sighed. First Dad, and then Scott, when they found him.

Yes, there was going to be hell to pay.

-o-o-o-

The woman on the bed was an echo of the team mate he used to know. So much time had passed between them and, as it was always with time, it took as it left.

Berry’s hair was fading to white. Her skin had been kept relatively young by the lack of sun in her life. After all, it was a six to nine hundred odd million further kilometres away out here. But there was a frailness, nonetheless.

She seemed so small against the white of the pillow and bedsheets. Lacking the vivacity he knew she possessed.

“Kate?” He swallowed. She couldn’t hear him. Two broken ear drums would do that. He reached out a hand and gently nudged her shoulder.

He was relieved to see those familiar green eyes open and look up at him.

“Hey.” His voice broke just a little.

“Jeff?” Those eyes widened. And suddenly, before he could react, he was wrapped in eager arms holding him ever so tight. “Oh, Jeff. You came.”

“Could I do anything else?” But her arms were still around him. She couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t hear his words.

He found himself hugging her ever so tight back.

But he had to break it off. He needed information.

A gentle nudge and she relaxed back onto the bed, frowning up at him in worry.

Grabbing a tablet, he typed in the question and held it up for her to see. What happened?

“They caught us. The water kept us trapped. Couldn’t get out. Nga and Steve and then Chrisoula. They killed them. Trying to do something.” Her breathing elevated and for a moment there, Jeff feared he had lost her to whatever she was remembering.

He shook her shoulder gently, bringing her eyes back to him. Fingers on the tablet. Sound. They use sound.

She nodded and then closed her eyes as if in pain, a hand going to her head.

He squeezed her shoulder again. “Take it easy.”

A blink and he realised she knew he had said something but not what. He hastily tapped the words into the tablet.

She sighed as she read them, melting a little into the bed. “Where’s Ju?”

I was hoping you would be able to help us with that.

Realising what he meant, her lips thinned and her shoulders straightened a little on the bed.

“She’s still out there?”

He nodded.

“Damn.”

There’s a possibility your release was either an attempt at communication or a ruse to trap one of our operatives.

“Operatives?”

International Rescue.

“Your sons are here? To rescue us?”

That’s the plan.

She blinked a lot at that, moisture in her eyes, her lips twisting a little. “Thank you, Jeff.”

It’s what they do.

They. His own words struck home as he looked at the tablet.

A hand scratched gently at his arm, drawing his attention back to Berry.

“They kept us in a room made of water. The walls were continually moving, like a waterfall that never stopped. But with our lights we could see through it.” She blinked, eyes again focussing away from him, seeing something he couldn’t. “In the room, the floor was bare rock except for one of those crystal formations. Just one. But in the water outside, there was crystal everywhere.” She looked at him. “It’s the crystals, you know? They’re alive.”

-o-o-o-

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #John Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Jeff Tracy #Alan Tracy #Gordon Tracy #callisto

[otomegema]

title: Convergence Theory, ch. 2 pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader summary: You are a lesser family member of the Gojo clan, so far removed you don’t even carry the name, but you carry the Limitless ability and thus the potential to be a bride to the future head of the clan— a fact you patently reject at fifteen. Twelve years later you are a second grade sorcerer struggling to obtain first grade status when the object of your deepest objections offers you a deal. rating: mature tropes: fake dating/engagement, rivals to lovers, slow romance Link: Archive of Our Own

It had been a logical move to allow Gojo to take down your number, entering it into his contacts with an obscene amount of heart and wishing star emojis by the brief glance you caught over his shoulder. It looked like he was already banking on your acceptance of the deal, but when you parted, your to-go sushi in a small plastic bag, you hadn’t expected to hear from him until tomorrow evening at the latest.

Or maybe even never.

But now, back in the hotel you were being comped for while in Tokyo, you wished silently that you’d never given that man your cell phone number.

Honey

Baby

Future-pretend-love-of-my-life

Have you made a decision?

He wasn’t human. It was barely 6am, did he wake up this early for lessons every day? You groaned, nearly swatting the phone off the nightstand in the dark.

You shot back a fast reply.

-oh I’m sorry

-I’m still recovering from getting electrocuted the other day

-Some asshat led a curse to me

You rolled over, managing to get at least another decent half hour of sleep in before the phone chimed again, lighting up the darkened hotel room.

\(★ω★)/

YOUR asshat

Should you choose to accept this mission

You threw off your covers, forcing yourself up to sit against the stack of pillows behind you as you tapped out a reply.

-My pretend asshat

-Mother will be so proud

The dots of his reply began immediately.

So is that a yes?

You sighed, rolling your eyes to yourself.

-Day isn’t over -Hasn’t even started tyvm

The dots began. Stopped. Began and stopped again, this time not reappearing. You tossed your phone onto the bed and teetered up and over to the coffee maker. The pot was finishing brewing by the time your phone chimed again.

You’re so slow.

The addition of punctuation and the sudden lack of emoji seemed almost like a warning flare that Gojo’s patience was waning. But you hardly knew the man and really, what did you care? A favor for a favor was what he offered. You didn’t owe him anything.

I have other options too.

His text continued and for a moment you frowned, wondering if his intention was to have that sound like a threat. You felt heat rising in your throat— he didn’t want to play that game.

So no pressure. Genuinely.

Oh. Good. That was better. You felt the tension uncoil as fast as it had grown.

Tho I AM your only hope for advancement <3

You could have thrown the phone right through the wall. Your thumbs worked rapidly, shooting out your reply in no time.

-Ah yes, your finest quality

A quick appearance of dots.

My special grade ranking? (･ω<)☆

You smirked.

-Humility

You’re no fun.

Text me when you are done being boring.

This was probably the most you had ever spoken to Gojo, despite having seen him on and off from a distance for the better half of your life. He was hard to miss. Every event at the main house would have him and his immediate family at the forefront. No one ever stopped talking about Gojo Satoru and his accomplishments and his strength and his skill as a sorcerer.

It was nauseating, having to pretend to nod and smile like it was all some great blessing just to orbit near him. It was bad enough he read like a sun to your abilities, as if he needed to be made to think he was anymore of the center of the universe.

Your palm itched. The desire to tap back a response now, a firm denial, very strong. But not stronger than your excitement at the possibility of being a first grade sorcerer. It was everything you had wanted. Prestige, recognition, tougher missions and the pay and rewards that came with them.

You were no weakling. Sure the telemetry technique took you out of commission, but it was hardly your greatest feat. You had finally been able to manifest the cursed technique lapse, blue. Granted, it was a one off and exhausted you so fully afterwards that you nearly fainted on the spot… but your tolerance was getting better. The precision of your manipulation of your cursed energy would never be on par with Gojo, but you could, some day, maybe even manage to shoot the technique off twice.

Reversal Red was next to impossible. And Hollow Technique? Truly impossible. The Six Eyes was needed to even attempt it. Most of your practice had been devoted to perfecting your long distance teleportation skills, fine tuning your telemetry technique and working on establishing your domain. That one was easier. The Unlimited Void crushed your opponent beneath an overload of sensory information, information you could easily channel and tap into with your own unique skills as a Limitless user.

But like all things, you were only second best. And barely. It was a joke. Comparing yourself to Gojo. He was on a level you could never achieve— unless.

You grabbed your phone, hastily dialing the new number and wincing at the loud, cheerful greeting from the other line.

“Good morning, moon of my soul, tenderest heart, darling—!“

“I haven’t even said yes yet, you monster.”

“Ah! A name of my very own? Be still my trembling heart!”

“I wish to make an amendment to the agreement.”

There was a lengthy pause. You could practically hear the slow spread of that sly smile. Content as the cat who caught the canary.

He knew he was about to win.

“Let’s hear it.”

“If you are putting my name forward for first grade, that means you have someone else in mind to be the second backer and someone in mind for me to shadow on missions and train with, yeah?

“I do.” Gojo said, his tone surprisingly serious.

“Have them put my name forward instead. I want to shadow you.”

Gojo laughed, a short mirthless thing, “What makes you think I have the time?”

“You have enough time to play pretend, I’d think any fiancé would leap at the chance to be with his lovely wife-to-be and keep her safe.”

Gojo hummed.

“Why me?”

This was an oddly familiar conversation.

“Purely selfish reasons. You are the best Limitless user. I am a Limitless user. I want you to teach me.”

“You aren’t on my level.” He said, no malice in his words, just simple facts.

“Then teach me what I can handle.”

There was another pause.

“I’m not gonna go easy on you just because you’re my girl.”

The bare utterance of the endearment sent a shiver up your arms and not an entirely pleasant one either. His girl. God, how would you even begin to explain this fake engagement to your parents? Who knew the depth of your jealousy and bitterness over Gojo since you were— what? Five? Younger?

“Since I am just your ‘pretend’ girl, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Your funeral, babe.” Gojo said, “But I’m glad we resolved this early! Because we are having dinner. Reservations are made, I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something pretty!”

Your words caught in your throat, stuttering across your tongue and unable to force out before the line cut off and he was gone.

You pressed the edge of your phone to your temple, already feeling a headache coming on. Something pretty? Shit.

-Something pretty? -Too vague. I have no idea what I’m supposed to wear.

A dress! Something for the evening. A Line.

V Neck def

Show off what puberty gave ya (＾〃＾)

Chiffon with ruffle lace

And grey-blue

-Why?

To match my eyes <3

-Where in the world do you expect me to find that specific dress in the next few hours

Downstairs with hotel staff I had it dropped off <3 <3 <3

-That’s creepy

(つω`｡) </3 </3

-Enough with the hearts -How much? I’ll pay you back

It is a gift <3

-How’d you even know my size

A gentleman never reveals his secrets

┐(‘～` )┌

You sighed and set aside your phone to call down to the front desk. Sure enough, a few minutes later someone brought up a large white box, tied with a grey-blue ribbon. You set the package on the small counter in your room’s kitchen and opened the lid, brushing aside soft tissue paper.

The dress was ridiculously soft, made of fine, nearly translucent layers of chiffon. It was a lovely color, the sight making you suddenly think of the feeling in the air before a thunderstorm, the smell of rain. The ribbon matched.

You looked for a price tag and found none, but folded away at the bottom of the box was a hand written receipt. You paled at the figure displayed on it.

-Gojo, I can’t possibly accept this.

Don’t be stupid. No one would believe I was serious about a woman unless I was positively spoiling her rotten. s’not like it broke the bank!

-Forget the first-grade rec

-Pay my bills

Too late! Negotiations are closed :)

-So what the hell am I doing at this dinner?

Eating Duh and being seen with yours truly easy peasy right?

You sipped your coffee, keeping the mug well away from the dress. It was certainly nicer than anything you had ever owned in— well. Ever. It was hard to argue that there were clearly going to be some additional perks to this arrangement you hadn’t previously thought of.

Plus we gotta go over some ground rules

-Thought you said negotiations were closed

-This mean we can revisit my bills?

g2g

Students need me!

Ttyl babe

The ease in which that man showered you so soon with endearments was nauseating. Had he ever even had a girlfriend before? Or just those usual moon-eyed women who fawned and petted him?

And now everyone was gonna think you were one of those girls. You drank your coffee faster, relishing in the way it burned down your throat and overpowered the bad taste in your mouth.

“First-grade… first-grade. Remember the first-grade.”

And training. You’d squeeze every possible benefit from this arrangement out that you could. Sorcerers worked in teams, but at the end of the day, it was every man and woman for themselves.

Let them think what they want when you were seen tonight. You would come out on top.

***

The day passed quickly and you found yourself standing in front of the hotel mirror, twisting back and forth to get a feel for the movement of the dress— and half practicing staying upright in the heels that had arrived not even a moment later.

They were high enough to be appealing, but low enough to keep you from falling over on your face. Gojo had texted an explanation that he figured you were out of practice in wearing anything other than sneakers and combat boots and to consider them training wheels.

You’d wanted, once again, to punch him in the face.

The kind of girl he liked was a stilettos kinda girl, you guessed, huffing to yourself as you sat down and twirled one of your ankles, stretching the muscle. Even the low heels were not entirely comfortable, but you’d manage.

Checking your makeup one last time, you picked up your own worn purse and slung it over your shoulder. Women who wore these kind of dresses and came in on the arm’s of other men and women like Gojo never had anything more than the smallest clutch— but you weren’t those women.

You made your way down to the lobby and were surprised to find a chauffeur waiting outside with a very very sleek European car of some kind. You weren’t great about those kinds of things, only noting the seats were made with soft black leather and there was even a divider built in like in a limo to give the passengers privacy.

The chauffeur ushered you into the empty car and you sat back with a sigh as silently he delivered you to the next destination. You had, in some small place, hoped Gojo would already be present.

Why he felt the need for such spectacle was beyond you, but maybe this was what was expected of a clan family son when he courted a young woman. It felt— weird. Nice, but weird. The drive was not overly long, the car coming to stop.

You knew this restaurant. Some fancy French-Japanese fusion place that charged a hundred dollars for a single plate with a broiled pear covered in wasabi or some weird shit. Already you felt your stomach churning with anxiety and encroaching regret.

This was gonna suck.

This was gonna suck so bad.

The chauffeur opened the door and you barely managed not to wobble on the pavement. Feeling stilted and exposed as other guests and couples regarded you with open curiosity and veiled judgment.

Clearly they were used to seeing the same people come and go from this restaurant and you were not one of them.

You clutched your bag tighter to your arm, hand reaching inside instinctively to find your phone and text Gojo you were out. This was over. Find someone else— when your surname was shouted from the door.

All eyes turned as if in sync to Gojo, wearing simple trousers and a white shirt tucked in. He didn’t even have a tie or a jacket, his dark glasses obscuring his eyes even as he looked right at you.

A few people tsked their disapproval, but they may as well have been ghosts for all the attention Gojo paid them. When you didn’t immediately make your way over to him, Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets and strode over to meet you.

He grinned, the lowering of his chin and the slow rise back up an obvious indicator he was sizing you up and didn’t care if you knew.

He whistled.

“Ow, ow!”

“Shut it— you know this dress could cover my rent for half a year?! And these shoes! I could buy a used car with this ensemble.”

“You even drive?”

“Not the point.”

He laughed again, loud and careless.

“Figured since you were dawdling you might need an arm to lean on.” Gojo said, offering your his elbow without removing his hands from his pockets, “Or perhaps…”

He feigned a gasp, “Are you feeling shy?”

“I’m leaving.” you deadpanned, managing half a turn before his hand was on your waist, turning you back. He took your hand, the feeling of his palm on your side still burned into your skin as he hooked your arm in his own.

You allowed it, leaning on him only a little. He looked pleased, smugly so, as he led you inside and to a table that was already set for two.

There was a wine glass sitting by your own plate. The one by Gojo’s was turned upside down and set to the side… a can of soda sitting, bright and out of place, in its spot.

“… where did you even get that.”

“Vending machine.” Gojo said simply and even kicked your chair out a little for you to take a seat. How flattering.

“Wine is for you, if you want it. Figured it might help take the edge off.”

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to wait for the server to return and simply tipping the bottle of red into your own glass.

“What about you?”

“I don’t drink.” He said, cracking the tab on his soda with a loud pop. Several eyes filtered your way, whispers behind hands and napkins as Gojo all but drained the can in one gulp.

“So— ground rules?” you said, unfolding a cloth napkin and settling it in a half folded triangle across your lap the way you saw other women doing.

“Straight in, huh? Alright. Terms.” Gojo lifted one finger, “As already discussed, you and I will be ‘courting’— dating. Whatever the fuck. I’ll take care of arranging the dates, you show up, act sufficiently smitten and in about a year give or take, we break up.”

Gojo lifted a second finger, “Two. In exchange, I have two first grade sorcerers who will back your promotion. And, as requested—“ Gojo’s voice dropped a fraction, almost grumpily, “—you’ll come with me on my missions for your first semi-grade probation.”

“Now ground rules. At any point either of us wants out, it’s done. No questions asked. But don’t think that means you get to ditch and just keep that first grade appointment. I’ll make sure you end up right back at a grade two.”

You sipped your wine, giving your mouth something to do than form some very choice words at that moment. Gojo noticed, his smile almost a snarl, but the expression quickly vanished. You had a funny feeling trying to hoodwink or swindle him would end very poorly for anyone.

“And when you develop feelings for me—“

“If.” You amended quickly, but Gojo ignored you.

“—when you develop feelings for me. You have to tell me and again, the engagement is over. You can keep your rank. No harm no foul. I can hardly blame you for falling for me.” Gojo said with a wistful sigh. You were grateful for the arrival of the first course, forcing you both to fall silent for a moment until they departed.

You had no idea what was on the plate. Some kind of salad? It was hardly a mouthful. Gojo didn’t even touch his silverware and feeling less than impressed with the cuisine, you didn’t either.

You drank your wine.

“Barring sickness or injury you are required to appear for every date I set. Including the ones where you have to meet other members of the main family.”

You frowned, but didn’t object.

“Wait— what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Is the engagement off when you develop feelings for me?” You said lightly, trying to play off your smile as wistful.

Gojo scoffed, his reaction almost enough to hurt your feelings… just a little bit.

“Non-issue. I don’t do feelings.”

“God, you sound like a fuck boy.” The words came out before you could stop yourself, the last syllable off your tongue right at the moment the server had returned to reclaim your plates. An eyebrow was raised and you hid your face down with a flustered cough.

By the time you looked back up, you got the joy of seeing Gojo staring at you from over his glasses, a broad and deeply amused grin on his face.

“Not non-issue. If I get the feelings rule you get the feelings rule. End discussion.”

Gojo shrugged, again not touching the newest course which was, to your extreme annoyance, some kind of grilled pear.

“You should slow down.” He warned in a sing song voice as you poured another glass.

“I’m not a baby— okay. So we got terms, we got ground rules. Anything else?”

“You can’t refuse my gifts.”

Your eyes narrowed sharply and he simply smiled and hummed with a shrug.

“It’s for appearances! Oh. Speaking of appearances—“ Gojo sat up, fishing something from his back pocket and sitting it on the table. You stared at the simple black box, fearing a vein might burst in your forehead at any moment.

“What is that.” You stated more than asked.

“Open it.” Gojo said, his voice light and encouraging as he nudged the box closer, “Come on, open it. Open it. You know you wanna, sweetie, light of my life, fire of my lo—“

You snatched the box up if only to stop him from finishing that sentence.

You swallowed hard, the sounds of the room fading out as you flipped open the box and found, sitting upon a small satin pillow— a… key?

You lifted it from the box, noting it even had a little custom keychain made to look like a white cat with a tiny blindfold.

“It’s to my apartment!” Gojo announced with a giddy laugh, clasping his hands together in a way that was entirely un-adult like.

“… I have my own place. Thank you.”

“In Kyoto. This is here, in Tokyo. Where you will need to stay for this all to work, remember?”

“Where will you stay?” You asked dryly, vaguely hoping his answer would be something other than what it was no doubt going to be.

“Very funny. You’ll have your own room—if you want it.”

“Why—“ your voice nearly broke and you had to take a moment to clear it, “Why uh— why wouldn’t I be wanting my own room?”

“Feelings are off limits, naturally. But if you want to take me up again on that offer from back in the day…”

The surge of cursed energy that rippled off of you was so strong Gojo nearly toppled backwards, his laugh gaining a somewhat nervous lift to it if only for just a moment.

“I’ll have my own room. My own locked room.” You bit out, feeling your face flushing hot and hating every second Gojo seemed to be enjoying your utter mortification, “Unless that is a problem.”

“Nope. Not at all. Probably for the best ultimately, I’ve been told I have a bad habit of dickmatizing folks.”

“… I’m sorry, you what.”

“Dickmatizing! Ya know. Like hypnotizing but with—“

“I got it!” You groaned, pressing your face into your hand. When did it get so damn hot in here? You snatched up your wine glass and finished off the contents, feeling even hotter.

“Is that all?”

“Unless anything comes to your mind, then yep.” Gojo finished, ignoring yet another course. You were almost tempted. The dish was some kind of meat, but the sauce drenched over it smelt sharply of something bitter and sour at the same time. You stomach recoiled at the thought and yet rumbled in protest to its growing hunger.

“So what do you think?”

“You’re disgusting?” you said flatly.

“I meant about the deal.”

You glowered openly at him. It was going to take a lot of practice to turn that deprecating expression you felt naturally pull unto your face at his sight into something loving and tender… but for first-grade ranking? For lessons on your Limitless? Fuck. Fuck you’d do it.

You poured the remainder of the bottle into your glass and polished it off in one shot.

“I accept.”

Gojo clapped his hands together, “Excellent! Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Huh?” You barely managed to get the questioning sound out before Gojo was up and out of his chair. You scrambled up, head rushing with the wine and the weirdness of this entire conversation. By the time you managed to catch up with him, he snaked out his arm and wrapped it around your waist, pulling you flush and warm against his side.

You about threw him across the room, but your attempts at a grapple were thwarted by the sudden thrumming of the familiar Neutral Limitless ability, stalling your moments to such a small speed you felt suddenly frozen.

The impulse to toss him passed and instead you let him escort you outside where the car was still waiting.

“Take us to the place, ya know the one.” Gojo said to the driver and in a surprising show of gallantry, actually held the door open for you to get in first.

“And open the back window. If she throws up, I’d rather it be on the pavement.”

You elbowed him in the chest— accidentally of course.

***

The car drive was a bit longer, taking you away from the glitz and glamor of this side of Tokyo and to what looked arguably as one of the most hole-in-the-wall noodle joints you had ever seen. The street kitchen was small, the counter open outside with a few bar stools. The smells of teriyaki and spices and cooking oils were heavy in the air and made your mouth water.

Gojo perched on one of the stools and you came to sit alongside him, watching as he ripped open a set of chopsticks and rubbed the splinters off.

He ordered quickly—yakisoba and yakitori. Along with several packages of mochi they kept behind the counter in the same kinda plastic bags you’d find at a convenience store.

Gojo had been right— you should have slowed down. The world had a light haze to it… a slight tilting. His hand on your back felt massive and overly warm as he guided you back to sitting straight.

“Eat, ya lush.” He ordered, piling noodles and chicken unto a smaller empty plate for you from his own, “C’mon.”

Gojo popped one of the mochi bags and dumped the sticky sweet confection right on top of your yakisoba. You grimaced, picking the sweet off and trying to wipe some of the sauce from it before you took a generous bite.

The food was greasy and delicious and abundant and cheap and your mouth was in heaven. Even having not used your Limitless since yesterday, every taste still felt heightened. Maybe it was the way your cursed powers tried to compensate from the wine, but everything somehow was more delicious.

You attempted to snag another piece of yakitori from Gojo’s plate, only to have your chopsticks blocked with a clack.

“Ah ah ah— hands off.”

“What’s yours is mine, right?” You chided, only to be dodged again in a movement faster than your eyes could perceive. Did he just use his Limitless to counter you? Feeling emboldened, you activated your own, the faint pulse of the energy so close together giving you the sort of deflecting feeling one experiences when holding two sides of the same magnet near together.

Repelling, shifting. Trying to shove the energy into a way that the two forces would collide rather than deflect.

You were concentrating fully. The minuscule movements invisible to even your eyes, but the feeling was there. A sort of blindsight where you didn’t need the Six Eyes to tell you what was happening— but it would have definitely helped. You flicked a glance up and lost your control, your chopsticks shooting away and nearly cracking one in two.

Gojo chuckled. It was the expression on his face that had distracted you. His eyelids were half dropped, his smile soft as he readied himself to deflect you again. Your energy was no match for his… but it matched. It was made of the same stuff. Controlled the same way. He could see, with the sharp clarity of his Six Eyes, every tiny precise movement you made with your cursed energy. A mirror of his own abilities in miniature.

He was playing with you. And all the sudden you felt as if a small knot in your chest had shaken free, the coil coming undone.

Was there anyone else on this Earth you could do such a thing with?

Feeling strange and suddenly shy, you drew your energy back in and refocused on eating from your own plate, grumbling at your loss.

A second later, Gojo’s chopsticks moved over your plate, dropping another helping of noodles in.

A small concession. A victory in it's own right, even if it had not won the yakitori.

“Sober up, will ya? But don’t eat too fast. I’m not cleaning up vomit, no way, no how.”

“You’re always so vulgar.” you murmured, speaking around a mouthful of noodles and mochi. Gojo turned and stuck his tongue out at you. A confirmation or a reprisal, you couldn’t be sure.

But regardless, it did something to you he had never managed to do before.

It made you laugh.

#gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x oc #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujustu kaisen #help ive fallen into gojo brain rot and cant get up

[penny-anna]

Hirsute (a tale in five acts)

The bard's shirt, loose-fitting as it was, had come untucked at the back, revealing a strip of pale skin – and a line of dark hair running down the base of his spine, dipping out of sight down below the waistband of his breeches and up behind his shirt and doublet. It was the heat, she’d reflect later, that made her so uncharacteristically loose-lipped. “Does it go all the way up?”

Five times Yennefer was curious about Jaskier's back hair and one time she had her curiosity sated.

(on Ao3!)

1.

It was late summer, and sticky. Yennefer brought her own breeze with her into the tavern, ruffling her hair and the hem of her dress, ignoring the puzzled and fearful looks from the villagers.

Geralt was nowhere in sight. Jaskier was leaning over the bar, waiting lazily to be served. He gave her a cursory nod as she approached. Over the past months he’d grown rather more civil with her; more inclined to be coolly polite, rather than insult her to her face. She’d consider it an improvement, if she cared a whit how he talked to her.

His shirt, loose-fitting as it was, had come untucked at the back, revealing a strip of pale skin – and a line of dark hair running down the base of his spine, dipping out of sight down below the waistband of his breeches and up behind his shirt and doublet.

She’d had enough glimpses of his arms and legs and chest to know he was hairier than his boyish face would suggest. But this was – intriguing. She studied that sliver of hair, and wondered how far up it went.

Idly, she reached out to lift his shirt and take a peek.

Jaskier caught her wrist before she could lift it more than an inch. “What are you doing?” he drawled, either unamused or perhaps too muzzy from the heat to muster much of a reaction.

“Nothing,” said Yennefer sweetly, tugging her hand out of his grip. She looked again at his back. It was the heat, she’d reflect later, that made her so uncharacteristically loose-lipped. “Does it go all the way up?”

The bard stared at her over his shoulder. He stood up straight, and tucked his shirt back into his breeches with pointed and theatrical motions. “That,” he said, “is absolutely none of your business.”

2.

It had been autumn for over a month, but the summer weather was lingering and the air was warm. She found Geralt out on the terrace, a map of the area spread out in front of him, making plans.

Jaskier was next to him, in his shirtsleeves, leaning over the table and studying the map with a pensive expression as if he actually understood any of what Geralt was doing.

“Morning,” said Geralt as she joined them. Jaskier raised his eyes, and said nothing. Looking back down at the map he rubbed the back of his neck.

The shirt he was wearing was cut low at the back. The short hairs at the nape of his neck ran down – down – underneath his shirt. Did it go all the way down, she wondered.

“It’ll be roosting somewhere in the hills,” Geralt was saying. “If you can help with a tracking spell we can find its nest – get in there while it’s asleep –” He went on talking, but she was only half listening. Monster hunts bored her. They all ran together after a while.

She watched the bard’s fingers move on the back of his neck, stroking his hair, and thought idly of putting her own fingers there.

“Yennefer?” said Geralt.

“Hm?” She glanced up – not quite quickly enough to keep Jaskier from catching her looking.

“What?” he said, touching his neck rather more self-consciously. “Am I sunburnt back there again?”

“Yes,” Yennefer lied. “You’re peeling. It’s disgusting.”

He felt the back of his neck. “I’m not,” he pronounced. “You liar.”

“Yennefer,” said Geralt. “The spell?”

“Yes, yes, I heard you,” she said. “I’ll have it for you this afternoon.”

3.

“I don’t understand why you care.”

“I don’t care,” Yennefer insisted. “It’s just that it’s a very simple question. Men take off their clothes around each other all the time, don’t they? You’re completely shameless, as a group. You’ve known him twenty years. You must have seen him without his shirt.”

She was sitting up in bed, her back pressed to the headboard, the sheets draped across her lap. Geralt lay beside her, flat on his back, his eyes closed. “Yeah. Probably.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t make a study of his back hair.”

“But you’ve seen it,” said Yennefer. “You don’t need to make a study of it to notice how much there is.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, “I didn’t notice.”

“You’re being obstructive. It’s a simple question. Yes or no, out with it.”

“Hm.”

Geralt lay silent and motionless. If she couldn’t feel his mind humming away she might have thought he’d gone to sleep.

Then he said, “are you attracted to him?”

“What?” said Yennefer. “Why would you ask me that?”

“S’simple question.”

“Emphatically no,” she said. “Not in the slightest. I can’t imagine why you’d think that.”

“Just seem very interested in his naked body.”

“It’s purely a matter of scientific curiosity.”

“I don’t care,” Geralt said. “We’ve talked about this. You can fuck anyone you want.”

Yennefer scoffed. “Even your bard?”

“He’s not my bard,” said Geralt. “And yeah. If you want to sate your scientific curiosity go right ahead.”

“My curiosity could be sated tonight if you’d just tell me.”

“Already told you I don’t know.” There was a slight smile playing about his lips.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m going to sleep.”

He lapsed back into silence.

“Geralt,” she said. “Geralt. Witcher. I can tell when you’re lying.” She nudged at him with her foot. “Geralt!”

“M’sleeping.”

“You aren’t,” she said. “You swine.”

4.

It was a simple plan, and obvious once she thought of it.

“Yennefer!” said the bard, flattening himself against the archway. “What brings you here?”

“Well, I was going to take a bath.” Yennefer wrapped her robe more tightly around herself. “How about you?”

“Just finished,” he said, trying to cover himself with his hands.

“I see.” She stepped to the side. “Don’t let me get in your way.”

“Actually, I think I shall head back to the cold bath for a bit.” He ducked his head back the way he’d come. “But, ah. Ladies first.”

“No – no,” she said, gesturing for him to go ahead. “You go on.”

“That would be contrary for the usual etiquette,” he said, motioning emphatically for her to go through the archway.

“You were here first,” she said. “You go.”

He repeated the motion. “I insist.”

“Well, so do I.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t mean to be rude,” he said. “But I’d prefer not to turn my back to you – especially in my nude and vulnerable state.”

“Why on earth not?”

“For fear you might lay a curse on me,” he explained. “Naturally.”

Yennefer leaned in closer. “I could lay a curse on you from any direction.”

“Yes, but at least from the front I’d be able to see it coming.” The bard adjusted his stance, still struggling to cover himself properly.

“Now you’ve offended me,” she said. “If you don’t go first I shall take it as a grievous insult.”

“Well, then, it appears we’re at an impasse.” He slouched back against the archway. “I can do this all day.”

“So can I,” said Yennefer. She stared at him. He stared back.

The air in the bathhouse was warm and steamy and smelled of sweat. The bard, conversely, smelled faintly of chamomile. In those long moments, waiting for him to break, she looked him up and down. He was an oddly put together man, she decided, his legs too long for his body and the thick hair on his chest and stomach clashing discordantly with his soft and boyish face. A strange combination of parts which, when put together, worked better than they had any right to.

She considered it. It was a large and cheap bathhouse and it was bound to be full of any number of dark corners a couple might hide themselves away in. He’d probably be up for it, assuming he didn’t think she was trying to hex him. And Geralt had given her his blessing.

The bard smacked his lips in thought, and then – think of the devil – raised his head and said over her shoulder, “Geralt! Hi.”

“Hm?” She turned to look.

There was nobody there. In the moment it took her to register that she’d been had, and humiliatingly so, there was a rapid pattering of footsteps on damp tiles and when she turned back to the archway he was gone.

“For fuck’s sake,” she said to herself.

5.

“How would you gentleman feel about making this a little more,” Yennefer paused for dramatic effect, “interesting?”

Jaskier touched his hand to his chest. “Yennefer,” he said. “Are you proposing we gamble?”

“In a sense.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m not a gambling man,” he said.

“Yeah, you are,” said Geralt.

“No I’m not.”

“You gamble all the time.”

“Well,” said Jaskier, more emphatically. “Tonight I am not a gambling man, on the grounds that, tragically, I have no money.”

“That isn’t the only way to gamble,” said Yennefer. “There’s other ways.”

Jaskier rested his elbow on the table and stared at her. “Are you proposing,” he said, “that we play strip dice?”

“I am indeed.”

They exchanged glances. Jaskier shrugged. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “Sounds fun. I’m in.”

“Yeah, I’m in,” said Geralt.

“Wonderful,” said Yennefer.

This was a good plan, she’d decided. She’d had no doubt Jaskier would be game, being as be acted like a teenager most of the time and had very little shame about his naked body. Anyway, she’d found that he was amenable to most things when he was drunk. Really, he was far more agreeable and pleasant to be around when he had a few drinks in him.

The tricky part of her plan, of course, was ensuring that he lost enough rounds to get him into a state of undress without raising his suspicions – or, more likely, raising Geralt’s suspicions, as the witcher was far more attuned to both witchcraft and trickery. She would also have to ensure that she lost a round or two, enough to look genuine, but not so many that she’d have to show any skin. She’d made a point of wearing a lot of accessories.

It all very smoothly, at first. She shed her jewellery, piece by piece. Jaskier lost his ring, and then his boots and stockings, and then his doublet. One more loss, and then all she’d have to do was leave the room to fetch more wine and she could take a look at his back.

Jaskier rolled the dice. “Ah,” he said. “Snake-eyes.”

“Ha,” said Geralt, shirtless and bootless. “I win.”

“Off with it, then,” said Yennefer.

The bard sighed. “If I must,” he said, reaching for the hem of his shirt. Yennefer sat forward in anticipation, watching him strip it off, and –

He was wearing another shirt underneath. An entire second shirt, in a slightly creamier shade of white. She stared in disbelief as he dropped his shed shirt on the bench beside him. For a moment she wondered if he might, somehow, be onto her.

“You’re wearing two shirts?” she blurted out.

“Hm?” Jaskier blinked at her, puzzled and guileless. “Um, no? I was wearing one. Now I’m not wearing any.”

“Then what is that?” she said, pointing.

Jaskier looked down at himself. “Doublet,” he said, picking it up from the bench and dumping it on the table. “Shirt.” He dumped his white shirt beside his doublet, and plucked at the one he was still wearing. “Chemise.” He lifted its hem, revealing – by all the Gods – a further layer of clothing. “Vest.”

Yennefer stood up so forcefully that her chair clattered to the floor behind her and said, “you have another layer under there?”

Jaskier looked at his linen-clad belly. “Evidently,” he said, and dropped the hem of his chemise. “It’s cold.”

Yennefer stared at him, breathing hard, studying his mind for any hint of deceit, any sign that he had done this intentionally. To all appearances he hadn’t a clue why she cared. It was unbearable. She couldn’t bear it. She wouldn’t bear it.

“I’m going to bed,” she snapped, stepping away from the table. She didn’t bother to right her chair.

From the hallway, she heard Jaskier remark, “that was weird.”

+ 1.

Hmm,” said Yennefer, running her fingers down the line of hair that ran along Jaskier’s spine. “Hm. Mmm-hm.”

He was lying on his stomach, his face squashed up against the pillow, his eyes closed. “Hm?”

She toyed with the dark hairs at the small of his back. It really did go all the way down, an unbroken line from the nape of his neck to his buttocks. Deeply satisfying. “I’m just thinking.”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Is your curiosity sated, then?”

Yennefer’s fingers stilled. “My what?”

Jaskier shifted, turning to face her. He opened one eyes. “Your unbearable curiosity about my back hair,” he said. “Is it sated?”

She resumed trailing her fingers along his spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Geralt said you were asking about it.”

“I can’t imagine why he’d say a thing like that.”

“Oh, yes,” said Jaskier. “Do you like it?”

“It’s fine,” said Yennefer, fingering the soft hairs at his nape.

He stretched, and sighed. “I must say, it’s not the part of me that ladies usually want to fondle,” he said. “But I’m not complaining. That feels quite nice. Do go on.” Shutting his eyes he settled back down on the pillow.

Yennefer tugged hard on the hairs at the base of his spine.

“Hey – ow!” He pouted. “Mean.”

“I’ll show you mean,” she said. “I shall hex it off. See how you like that.”

“Hex away,” he said, his eyes closed, smirking. “You’ll be the one who’ll miss it.”

Abandoning her exploration of his back, Yennefer settled down on the pillow. She studied his face, his eyelashes, the curve of his lips. “I despise you,” she said fondly.

#the witcher #yennefer of vengerberg #yennskier #jaskier

[cinebration]

Written in DNA (Booker x Reader) [Part 6]

The aftermath of the motel fight.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue

Tagged: @lucy-sky​​, @city-of-weird​​, @all-the-right-regrets

Warnings: none

Gif Source: musafiir

Booker sat hunched in the passenger seat, wishing he hadn’t guzzled the liquid courage he had bought earlier. He couldn’t stop sneaking glances at you. The murky lamplight painted your stony face in hazy yellows, your reflection jaundiced in the window. You had run your hands through some water before ditching the motel room, but blood still crusted beneath your fingernails and in the nailbeds.

Booker had seen death and gore and destruction a million times over, but the image of you standing over the broken bodies haunted him. It took him an hour to realize why.

One of the bodies at your feet had its head completely turned around.

A weapon, he thought, shivering. More lethal than the rest of us combined.

He hadn’t seen your face and demeanor so tense in the short span he had known you. He could hear the steering wheel straining beneath your iron grip as you drove, the muscle in your jaw clenched just as hard.

“How did you do that?” he heard himself ask, his voice raspy.

“Easily,” you muttered.

The response sent a deep shiver through him. “I meant, how did you—”

“I had a tracking chip.” You tapped the base of your skull. “I took it out while I showered and put it in the adjacent room.”

“When?”

“When you left to get drunk. Then I waited, and they came.”

Heat crept up Booker’s neck. He looked away from you, hunkered down further in his seat. Your answers did little to soothe him. Each time he blinked, he saw the twisted head, the confused expression on the man’s face.

Rage radiated off you. Booker shifted uncomfortably, warning bells chiming quietly in the back of his mind.

“He’s a fucking idiot,” you hissed.

Booker twitched, startled by the vitriol in your voice. “Who?”

“The general. The asshole who sent the men.” The steering wheel groaned beneath your grip. “He’ll keep sending them like cannon fodder.”

“They can’t track you now.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’ll keep sending them to me to die. An absolute waste.”

Booker thought back to the men who had died pursuing Andy and the others—how wave after wave had been slaughtered. The scales had been weighed against them, their lives measured against the perceived millions to be saved by the health benefits reaped from immortality.

“I understand,” he murmured.

He felt your eyes on him for a moment, trying to read his face. He turned away, tried to stare past his haggard reflection in the window.

“I could use a drink.”

Booker looked at you sharply, hope glimmering in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, but I can’t.”

Disappointment deflated him. “Why?”

“It doesn’t affect me. Part of all…this.” You gestured vaguely at yourself.

“When was the last time you had any fun?”

“When was the last time you did?”

It had involved baklava and a wager, he wanted to say, but he kept silent.

You drove for two hours, heading off the main road and letting them take you where they would. Booker dozed in and out of sleep, haunted by snatches of memory, as you navigated further into the middle of nowhere.

He woke abruptly with an urgent need to piss just as you pulled to a stop beneath a huge tree in full leaf. As he stumbled out of the car to relieve himself, he surveyed the landscape. Mountains rose up to the right, deep rolling hills to his left. It felt like he stood at the bottom of a bowl.

Shaking himself dry, he zipped up and returned to the car. You had tilted your seat back a few inches, allowing you to lean back to rest. You lay so still that he almost thought you were dead, your chest hardly moving.”

“We’ll sleep here,” you muttered.

Booker had slept in worse places, so he didn’t complain. Cranking back the seat, he closed his eyes.

~~

Hazy sunlight thick with dust motes slanted through the windshield, warming Booker awake. Blinking against the light, he cracked the kink in his neck, winced against the headache pulsing behind his eyes.

Sleep had been surprisingly restful, but he had had so little of it the past two days that he reasoned he had knocked out from the exhaustion. He needed a break, a drink…too much. He needed and could not receive—the bane of his existence.

He glanced aside.

The car was empty.

He jerked around, trying to see behind him. Pushing open his door, he tumbled out into the morning, sweeping his gaze across the beautiful landscape. Warmed grass tickled his nose with its heady scent as he walked around the car, scanning the rippling field.

You had left him.

He slumped against the trunk of the tree, passed a hand over his face. Everyone leaves, he reminded himself.

Delivering you to Quynh had been a fool’s hope. He had ninety-nine years left before he could reunite with the others, sans Andy. There was nothing he could do to change that.

Alone again.

An acorn dropped onto his forehead. Wincing, he glanced up.

Hidden among the branches, you sat with your back against the tree, one leg dangling over the branch you sat on. You peered down at him and waved him up.

“I don’t climb trees,” he shouted, trying to conceal his relief.

You waved at him again. Shaking his head, he hiked his pants up and proceeded to labor up the tree. It took him a few minutes to reach a solid branch next to you. He found you with your head tipped against the bark, specks of sunlight shifting across your face through the wind-stirred leaves.

“Sleep well?”

He nodded. “You?”

You shook your head. “Not ’til I came up here.”

Booker peered down at the ground. It would be a long fall.

“Why aren’t you with your team?”

The question caught him off-guard. Shifting uncomfortably, he groped for an answer. Your eyes bored into him, as though able to see through his lies.

“I made a selfish mistake,” he finally said. The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but the weight on his shoulders shifted a fraction.

“What about the one who sent you to me?”

“She’s…complicated.”

“Why?”

“She hasn’t been around.”

You arched an eyebrow at him.

It felt wrong to talk about the others to someone who wasn’t immortal. Booker shook his head and looked away, hoping you didn’t push the issue.

“Will you get to see them again?”

“Yes.”

“That’s nice.” A forlorn tone tinged your voice. “I may never meet more of my kind. In fact, my escape may mean their deaths.”

Booker frowned. “They would shut down the program?”

“If they can’t retrieve me, put me down, or successfully reprogram me, they may decide having super soldiers isn’t worth the risk. What use are soldiers who AWOL at the first opportunity?”

He wanted to say it wasn’t your fault, but he knew the words would fall in deaf ears. They certainly had fallen on his plenty of times.

Instead, he leaned against the tree and lapsed into silence, enjoying the morning.

“Is there a signal you could send your friend? Something she would know?”

He frowned, wracked his hungover mind. “There may be something…”

“Good, because I don’t think we’re getting out of the country without her help.”

#Booker x Reader #Booker #Booker imagine #Sebastien le Livre x Reader #Sebastien le Livre #Sebastien le Livre imagine #Matthias Schoenaerts x Reader #Matthias Schoenaerts #Matthias Schoenaerts imagine #The Old Guard

[pull-the-hoodie-strings]

Mystery March Day 3- "Alternate Universe"

(the idea of this au is that the gang never met which leads to a different encounter with the supernatural. this came from just an idea for a scene in my head so- hope it turned out good!)

--------

In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have gone this way.

Lewis thought his sense of direction wouldn't steer him wrong. Besides, he knew the area. There were only so many twists and turns between him and home, no matter which road he took.

Or at least, that's what he thought. Now he couldn't help but sit a little straighter, hold the wheel a bit tighter, and turn the radio up just a touch higher. This back road was deserted. It stretched far ahead of him, flying by in the glare of his headlights. The light didn't do much for the oppressive dark just outside his car though.

He shook himself. There was nothing out here besides some deer maybe. Get ahold of yourself, he thought, you'll be back on the main roads soon. Except Lewis could've sworn he should've hit a highway already. But still, the road stretched on. He hadn't even seen any houses or barns.

Lost in his own head, Lewis almost didn't notice the man on the side of the road. The glare from his vest caught Lewis's eye. He was short, thin, and limping slowly along. There was a beat of hesitation and then Lewis was slowing down, pulling over towards the shoulder. The guy didn't even look.

A pang of fear twisted in his gut; it was irrational but there all the same. Lewis told himself he should just keep going. The same icy feeling that had him driving faster than he usually would had settled under his skin.

But as the man kept walking, closer towards the headlights now, those thoughts fled. He was hurt. Ripped clothes and all, the guy looked like he'd been on the wrong end of a fight or two. The way he held his left arm had Lewis moving.

"Hey," Lewis had already hopped out of his car, moving into the man's path, "are you okay?"

Seeing as he almost bumped into Lewis the answer was obviously no. The man took a step back, looking up with a furrowed brow like he hadn't expected him to be there.

"What happened?" Lewis stopped just short of touching him. "Do you need to call someone?"

The man swallowed, his mouth worked for a moment. "No," he said distantly, "I don't need to call anyone."

Lewis had checked his phone anyway. Of course, no service out here.

"Can I give you a ride somewhere then? Maybe a hospital?" The offer was out of his mouth before he realised. Lewis didn't regret it much. The halting way the man spoke made Lewis think concussion. Despite that same cold knot in his stomach, it wasn't like Lewis could just leave him. Besides, the guy didn't look up to trying anything.

The man blinked at him. "You'd do that?"

"Yeah, of course it's no problem just-" Lewis opened the passenger door with one smooth motion. The man considers it for a moment before slowly, painfully, climbing in.

The ride after that was incredibly awkward. Lewis wasn't sure where to keep his eyes. Well, the obvious answer being the road but he kept catching the man in his peripheral. He didn't even get the man's name. Lewis cursed himself for the impulsive decision but he doesn't think he'd do anything different.

"Arthur."

Lewis jumped and glanced over. The man was still just looking out of the window, holding his arm close to himself.

"Sorry?"

"My name's Arthur," his eyes darted Lewis's way. "And thanks for the ride."

His mouth was dry. "Lewis. And no problem."

With that they lapse back into silence. Lewis quickly chalks it up to a coincidence and keeps looking forward. They really should've hit the highway by now. Lewis squirmed in his seat. He should say something, anything.

"What happened?" He asked before catching himself. "If you don't mind me asking, that is."

Arthur doesn't respond immediately. "I think I crashed my car."

Lewis whipped his head around and it was a miracle he didn't jerk the wheel. "What?"

"A mile or two back, maybe," Arthur squinted. "Kinda lost track."

Lewis cursed under his breath, going just a bit faster. Definitely concussed, he thought. "You were walking for that long?"

"Maybe."

The dreamy tone of voice had warning bells ringing in Lewis's head. Arthur needed help. There was no telling how long it'd been with him in this condition. Plus Lewis didn't remember seeing any wreck on the way.

"Well there's a hospital just a few minutes from here." Or at least there should be, Lewis thought. "I'll take you there."

There was shifting beside him. "Do you think," Arthur paused. For once his words were clear, more in the present. "Do you think you could take me somewhere else actually?"

Lewis turned to see Arthur staring at him. "Uh- I could but I really think you need to get some help, Arthur. Your arm looks broken and-"

"I know," his tone was gentle but his eyes weren't. "Trust me. I just- I need to get home."

At first, Lewis went to argue. He was injured and badly. The head wound alone was worrying enough. But something about Arthur's stare, something about the determination in his voice had Lewis shutting his mouth.

"Okay," he said slowly, "okay. Where's home, Arthur?"

Arthur let out a breath, slumping back against the seat and leaning his head against the window. "Just a bit farther now."

Then, and only then, did they finally hit the highway. Against his better judgement Lewis blew past the hospital. Arthur offered quiet directions the whole time. They lead Lewis to pull into the parking lot of an old, run down mechanics shop. The place clearly hadn't been used in years. Weeds poked up from between cracks in the pavement and signs were peeling off the windows.

Lewis frowned as he parked the car. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

The passenger door opening was enough of an answer. Arthur only had eyes for the abandoned building in front of him.

"Yeah, thanks for the ride," he said, distant again.

"Wha-" Lewis went to go after him, "Arthur-"

In the time it took him to open his door and get out, Arthur had disappeared. Lewis froze. He stared at nothing where just a second before there had been something, someone. The only sound was the breeze now. It chilled him more than it should.

Numb, Lewis slowly lowered himself back into the car. He could only look at the shop, eyes straining to see any movement inside. It was a long time before he could bring himself to drive again.

#mystery skulls animated #mysterymarch2021 #mystery skulls #mystery skulls fanfiction #my writing

[earth-electric]

Killing Eve Timeline (Tentative): With the Help of the Weather & Wardrobe

This took me fucking weeks and a lot of fucking headaches, so buckle up and shut up bitches!

I'm not going to go through each episode of days and days in-between, that's going to take to long to type (I already spent ages figuring it out, and now I'm lazy). What I am going to do is go by estimated total amount of time, and the estimated months. Along with observed weather patterns and wardrobe choices during the duration of the shows seasons.

The show purposely made shit vague. With weather being unpredictable, and filming scheduling of course they would make it hard to determine the dates and months of the show, but I do believe they do have a specific timeline they are following.

Thankfully season 3 being the outlier that it is, we have a clear and cut season (shocker) to base our timeline.

To note before continuing, Europe weather is weird, especially in the UK since its an oceanic climate mostly, that shit is wild. I went to London in mid June, it was gloomy, rainy, and chilly. Also its sporadic, its gloomy and chilly all year round and has glimmers of good days shoved in-between, then you go to France and its weather is warm when it should be and its cray cray, any who...

Season 1:

Estimated Total Time: ~42 days, 6 weeks

Estimated Time Period: March 15-21, 2018 to April 26-May 2, 2018

Many are going to point out, "Well the show started in April, so its April." Nah bitch st down. S1 and S2 are sister timelines and there's a fucking reason so wait. The thing about the first season, it's a messy, weird ass timeline and a lot of it had a gray tint when they had scenes out side (except for the scene in episode 5 of Villaneve meeting on a woodsy path), and of course that was purposely done. The season starts in early spring, we know Villanelles birthday just passed and peeps in London should not be wearing light layers lol it should be cold, cold even in late April but it must have been one of those good glimmer days. Now late April, they go to Russia unclear where but for this time it makes sense for Russia to be very cold (mid 20's to low 50's) but a few weeks the weather changes to be similar to or even warmer than London. This is one reason why the show does not start in April it wouldn't be that cold in late May or early June in Russia.

Season 2:

Estimated Total Time: ~49 days, 7 weeks

Estimated Time Period: April 26-May 2, 2018 to June 14-20, 2018

S2 is also a messy ass of a timeline. Especially pertaining to the time in Rome, which takes place in June, for creators sake they are wearing jackets and layered clothing have y'all ever been to Rome in June its hot, sometimes warm with a cool breeze but yeah I wouldn't wear a long sleeve or jacket. But they were filming in Italy in December, so this was a filming issue and its hella cold in Italy in December, so its not a pass but I understand. So yes season 2 takes place in late spring time, as you can see as how beautiful Amsterdam was. The Italy sequences could not have been more later, they had to be mid June to pass as average temp was in the 70's to low 80's and can be in the high 50's/low 60's some days, so a cool weekend in mid June can be passed off. Again another reason the show didn't start in April, but 2 to 3 weeks before.

Major Time Lapse:

Estimated Total Time: ~1 year & ~1 to 3 months

*Will explain this on a later date, but in short Eve's injury was very severe.

Season 3:

Estimated Total Time: ~59 -63 days, 8.5 to 9 weeks

Estimated Total Time: July/August/September 26, 2019 to

September/October/November 24, 2019

Thank goodness for S3 or I will be so lost, it is the only season with a transition of seasons and you can very clearly see it in the wardrobe. We go from summer to autumn, and the symbolism of that is beautiful. Episode 1 to 4 they are wearing very little layers, the least amount we ever seen our peeps in London wear. By episode 6 we clearly see a shift in clothing, much more thick layers from then on. And yes its that simple, S3 did a lot of weird shit but that timeline is on point. I am not firmly sure on a specific set of months, it can be between; July to September, August to October, or September to November. You can choose based on when you want Eve's birthday to be; based on evidence that contradict my estimations it's most likely to be August 20th, based on my calculations alone September 20th, or an extra possibility October 20th.

Can this timeline give us foresight into Season 4?

Probably, we can get a sense of what time of year the next season will take place. We have never seen a winter in the Killing Eve dimension so for me that will be cool to see (Villaneve snuggles please?). And that would mean season 4 starting right where is left off. If not, another springtime season probably a few months after, but I have feelings of doubt about that maybe that's my bias talking.

There is also the prospect of the timeline getting longer and longer. For example, S1 was 6 weeks, S2 was 7 weeks, and S3 was around 9 weeks. Maybe next seasons timeline will be 10 to 12 weeks? Who knows possibilities are endless. S4 is the season full of new possibilities. Thanks for reading! Hope this helps in the future!

#killing eve #villaneve #eve polastri #villanelle #obsidiana writes #earth electric #my post

[shootybangbang]

[Talking Bird] Ch 16: In which the plot finally makes an appearance

[Ao3 Link]

[Content Warning]: suicidal ideation, mild gore

[Note]: this fic has gone through some serious revisions — mostly expanded scenes/dialogue. The chapters most heavily affected are 1, 2, 3, and 7, but I’ve added a changelog to the end notes of each previous chapter detailing the edits that have been made. To save you some time though, here are the three main things to note:

The reader character does not have the bonds

The reader character refers to Arthur by his last name due to unfamiliarity

The horniness from last chapter has been moved to a future chapter. sorry!

This chapter is also pretty long in comparison to the others. From here on out, the chapters will probably be 2000+ words.

———

You look out into the plains, at the last pale band of light disappearing beneath a horizon of prairie grass and dark, looming buttes. The shadows of the scant trees stretch long and thin, their branches like a thousand spindly fingers grasping, searching. The landscape is dimmed to a tableau of reds and blacks, anything not illuminated by the fire slowly sinking into the featureless canvas of night. All of it blurred and indistinct behind a curtain of rain.

It’s a prettier sight by far than any you’ve had in St Denis. Or San Francisco. Or anywhere else you’ve lived, really.

And yet it hangs like featureless gauze behind the endless reel playing out over and over behind your eyes, spinning round like the printed images on a zoetrope.

The O’Driscoll’s hands wet with blood and mud. His eyes wide and uncomprehending. Trying to put himself back together the way one might a broken toy, sieving his viscera between his fingers and scooping it into the cavity of his chest. That initial, stunned bemusement giving way at last to the dawning horror of his own end.

And accompanying it, the numb realization that what bothered you more was the bare abstraction of the act. The burden of this sin weighing heavy with all the others, its addition tipping some moral scale, and —

“Hey.”

Morgan’s voice, jarringly brusque against the murmurings of your own private judge and jury, is almost mercifully irritating.

“What do you want?” you snap.

“Get up,” he says. “Start strippin’ the wet bark off the firewood.”

“For chrissakes, at least give me a second to catch my breath.”

“Why, so you can keep sittin’ there feeling sorry for yourself?” He leans one hand against the stone wall of the outcrop and drags himself back to his feet. The barest shadow of a grimace flits across his face as he straightens his back. “C’mon. Sooner we get set up proper, the sooner we can get back to ignorin’ each other. Then you can sulk all night in peace.”

The cottonwood branches are covered in cracked, ash brown bark that scrapes rough against your palms and fingers, rasping the skin raw as you hold the wood firm for carving. One of the downsides of living easy for so many years, you suppose — all the protective calluses atrophy to nothing, and what remains becomes susceptible to old and familiar hurts. But habits run deeper than skin, and what the mind forgets the body keeps.

As you work your way through the firewood, Boadicea nickers and paws impatiently at the dirt.

“I’m sorry girl,” you hear Morgan say. “Been a hard day for us both.”

You snort contemptuously. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he unhooks the horse’s bridle and lifts away the saddle, then starts grooming her with a battered looking brush, brushing with quick, circular motions, going against the grain and fluffing up her coat to dry out her fur with a solicitous measure of care that seems wholly unfitting of a man of his temperament and occupation.

Boadicea makes a low, rumbly noise in the back of her throat that sounds almost like a purr. She dips her head down and chomps at the yellowed prairie grass lining the floor of the outcrop, tearing up mouthfuls with a sedate contentedness that makes you sorely wish you could share in her circumstances.

A sense of fatigue more complete than any you’ve ever felt before settles over you like heavy snow. For the moment, you feel blank and washed out, stripped bare of all pretense.

“Morgan,” you admit. “I don’t have the bonds.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I know.” He unpacks his canvas roll and yanks free from it the saddle blanket of coarse, undyed wool, then unfurls it over the horse’s back, pulling it over her flank and adjusting the fit. “Figured as much before we left Strawberry.”

“Oh.” At this point, you haven’t even the energy to be surprised. “Huh.”

For a long while, the only sound is that of the knife scraping against bark and the intensifying patter of rain, fat droplets coming down hard and fast.

In a small voice, you ask him, “You’re not really gonna sell me to a brothel, are you?”

He scoffs. “What makes y’think that ?”

“Thought you seemed too… too decent to do something like that.”

“Me? Decent?” Morgan lets out a low, disbelieving whistle. “Thought you’d know better by now.”

He turns partway to face you. In the dim light of the fire only half of him is lit bright enough to see, the rest tapering sharp into dark silhouette. For the lapse of a heartbeat it’s as if all the irreverence and bravado has been ripped away like a sheet of paper, and underneath a viciousness, a suppressed violence that you’ve been too blind to see.

This whole time you’ve been treating him like a dog, when the teeth at your throat are those of a wolf.

Your mouth goes dry and your fingers tighten around the knife in your hand. You stare up at him like a deer caught in his sights — blind panic rising up in your chest and throat like cold water. You swallow hard and try to force it down so you can maintain at least a semblance of control.

“Mr. Morgan…?”

“You ain’t been half as scared of me as you should be,” he says. “holed up with a wanted man, nobody around for miles. Some of the men I’ve run with, they…”

He lets the sentence trail off, the implications clear enough without him saying so. Then he shakes his head, and there is a weariness in him, a kind of cynical exhaustion that ages him far beyond his years. “Girl,” he says. “You keep at this line of work, I guarantee you’ll be dead in a year.”

Morgan slicks his fingers through his wet hair to keep rainwater from dripping into his eyes, and you can see that the hangdog look is back on his face, all his suggested cruelty vanished like smoke. He shifts his attention back to the saddlebags. “No, I ain’t decent,” he continues. He pulls out a tin cup and the individual components of what looks to be a collapsible grill. “But I ain’t so far gone that I’d hurt a woman. Or sell one.”

“But you’d ransom one.”

“Figured it out, did you?” he says. “Thought you might.”

He sits back beside the fire and pieces the grill together, twists its winch tight and positions it over the fire. Then he fills the tin cup with water from the canteen and sets it atop to heat.

“If you don’t hurt women,” you say slowly, your right hand still holding the knife tight as a vise. “Then what’re you going to do to me when you find out I’m not worth ransoming?”

“Doubt that’s gonna be a problem.”

“Why not?”

“Had a brand new Mauser on ya. You know how much those things cost?”

Mentally, you kick yourself. Looks like begging the gunsmith to lend you the best pistol he had in stock has come back to bite you in the ass.

“The gun’s not mine,” you say quickly. “It’s a loan.”

“Those bloomers in your room were real silk. You gonna tell me those were a loan too?”

“You — my bloomers?! Why were you going through my bloomers, you fucking degen—”

Of all the things you’ve accused him of today, somehow this is the one that actually rankles him. “You think I like rummaging through women’s underwear? Had to go through ‘em to get to your billfold.”

You flush hard enough that even the tips of your ears feel hot. “I… I saved up for those bloomers. Not that I’d expect you to understand the importance of—

“That shirt’s custom tailored, ain’t it? Those boots, too. And that’s good leather right there. Far too good for your typical drug mule. Either you come from money, or you got rich friends.”

There’s not much you can rebut here. All you can manage is a lame, “You don’t even know who I am .”

“Got a friend not too far from here who’s plenty familiar with St Denis. He’ll know.” Morgan holds his hand out towards you. “Gimme that knife a second.”

The knife is the only scrap of protection you’ve managed to grab hold of through this entire ordeal. You squeeze its handle tight.

He lets out a short, impatient sigh. “If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it by now. So c’mere and hand it over.”

You’ve known men who take a certain vicious pleasure in abusing women. Merchants with cringing wives. Clients with kind faces who’d leave working girls battered and bruised. There’s usually a certain mien about them that sets you on edge and that Morgan, brusque as he is, thoroughly lacks.

You brush the wood shavings off your lap and approach him. When you reach his place beside the fire, he tilts his head upwards to meet your eyes, the look on his face calm and expectant. A self-assured confidence that you’ve seen many times before, in the guises of many different men. It sends a familiar shiver of resentment down your spine.

You could cut out his eye right now. You could sink the blade into the thick cord of his neck. And he’d shoot you dead just for trying it — oh, you’ve no doubt of that — but it’d be quick and it’d be painless, and here comes that pathetic urge again, that little whisper coaxing you deeper, deeper towards the welcoming dark —

But equally pathetic is the nagging insistence that always stays your hand, that strident, desperate plea born from bodily instinct. The shared fear of all life from the inevitable. Cowardice — that’s what it is. A cowardice you’ve never been able to shake, a resentful, stubborn tether that you’ve bitten and clawed at over the years, but that still stays looped firm around your neck.

( And what about Mei? What about her son? )

You hand him the knife, and he receives it without incident.

The water in the tin cup is boiling. Morgan slips the point of the knife through the cup’s metal handle, and delicately removes it from the grate to cool. As you stand there, wet and cold and resentful, but not sure what else to do, he saws the top off a can of beans and sets it on the grill to warm, then pulls something out of his satchel and tosses it in your direction.

Somehow, you manage to not fumble the catch. It’s a can of peaches.

“Don’t eat ‘em yet,” he says. “I wanna take a look at your arm first. Roll up your sleeve for me.”

You grimace. One of the pros of tailored shirts is having sleeves that actually fit. “It doesn’t roll up that far.”

“Then I’ll cut it off for you,” he says, putting the knife to the shoulder seam.

“Like hell you will. This is my last decent shirt.”

Morgan shrugs. “No way around it, unless you wanna take it off.”

A shirt nice enough to present a veneer of respectability costs at least $4. Your usual tailor’s fee runs about $2, plus tip. That’s $6 total: the equivalent of two week’s worth of food for Mei and her son. Good food — white rice and cabbage, maybe even a bit of pork belly. Not the bits of offal scrounged from the butcher and wilted produce she’d resort to otherwise.

You hold out your hand and say, “Give me something to cover myself with.”

Your time spent reading Ovid in college would have probably been better served learning to dress like him, you think to yourself as you try and try again to wrap Morgan’s blanket around yourself like a toga.

“I said I’d give you a minute to yourself,” he says. “It’s been more than three now. I’m gonna turn around.”

“Just ten more seconds,” you respond, hastily tucking the corner of the blanket into the horizontal swathe pulled taut across your torso.

The sheer amount of irritation he manages to convey in the sigh he lets out is really quite impressive. In it, you can somehow hear him rolling his eyes.

When you finally let him know you’re ready, he takes one look at you and has to stifle a laugh. “You could’ve just wrapped it around your chest. Woulda been more practical.”

“Oh, excuse me for wanting to preserve what’s left of my dignity,” you snap, keeping one arm pressed against your chest to keep the whole improvised garment from falling apart.

“Alright Caesar, c’mere. Let me see.”

The cut looks like an angry red furrow ploughed through the field of your skin. Its edges are ragged and torn, separated like poorly cut cloth. In between, the wound itself gleams red and raw, with particles and fibers mixed in with blood and indeterminate tissue.

Earlier, when you’d gingerly untied the makeshift bandage and taken off your shirt, you’d taken a silent moment to survey the damage, wondering with horrified fascination if it was perhaps your own muscle you were glimpsing, that particular facet of your body surfacing through its dermal barrier for the first time.

“I’m gonna hold your arm,” Morgan says. “That ok with you?”

You nod, a little dumbfounded that he of all people would have the foresight to ask for permission.

He lifts your arm towards the firelight so he can better examine the wound, and in doing so handles you with more care than you can remember any lover ever giving you. You tell yourself that it’s a rebuke of your own terrible taste than an indication of any extraordinary kindness on his part, then forcibly dredge up the memory of his gun at your back for good measure.

“You’re gonna have a hell of a scar after this,” he says, running his thumb along the unbroken skin below the cut. “No inflammation, which is good. I’ll patch you up the best I can, but we’re still gonna want to check on it every couple hours to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

He gets up to rummage through his saddlebags and returns holding a roll of gauze and a bottle of clear liquid. “You’ll be wanting this,” he says, handing over the latter. “This’ll hurt.”

You take a swig and nearly choke on it. “What the hell is this?”

“Grain alcohol.”

Grimacing, you bring it to your lips again and take in two more mouthfuls of the stuff before handing it back, gulping it down quick to get the burn of it down your throat and off of your tongue.

Morgan hovers his hand over the tin cup to test its temperature. “This needs to cool down first. Gives you some time for that liquor to set in too.”

“I think it’s going to my head already,” you admit.

Heat is spreading from the warm pit of your stomach to your neck and face, branching through your veins as sure as blood. The thud of your heart, previously an imperceptible thing, now asserts itself like a metronome.

He glances over at you and whistles low. “Not much of a drinker, are you?”

“Not usually.” You press your palm against your cheek. “Am I turning red?”

“Gettin’ there.”

It’s strange, settling into this oddly comfortable limbo between cordiality and aggression. Your sustained caution of him is beginning to wane so steadily that you have to consciously remind yourself the only reason he hasn’t shot you dead or at least seriously injured you is due to the fact that you’re worth more intact than otherwise.

“So,” Morgan says. “What’s someone with silk bloomers doin’ all the way out here runnin’ opium to Strawberry?”

“It’s a very long and stupid story.”

“Then give me the short version.”

You stare at the ground as though it’ll offer you some way to condense the sordid affair of your life into a couple easy sentences. He’d asked the question with what sounded like genuine curiosity instead of interrogation, and for once you feel inclined to blurt out the whole of it, like a girl in confession.

You want to tell him about how small the missionaries had seemed when you’d waved at them through the train’s grime-smudged window, not knowing it’d be the last time. The tweed jacket tossed carelessly onto the floor, and the cool, smooth sheen of mahogany against your skin. Feng fishing you out from the dark water lapping at the docks. The money, the opium, the blood.

The sight of the Heartlands for the first time, its blue horizon impossibly vast.

“I owe someone a lot of money,” you say finally, fiddling with a piece of grass between your fingers, tearing into halves and halves and halves. “He said it was either this or the brothel.”

“And you chose this. Runnin’ dope to those poor bastards working the railroads.”

It’s not the first time you’ve heard this particular tone of voice. The kind that implies its speaker’s higher moral ground as it categorically condemns you. But coming from him makes its sting especially hard.

“I don’t force them to buy it,” you say hotly. “It’s not just me that’s at fault here.”

“You ever seen a dope addict? They ain’t got a goddamn choice —”

“Well, d’you know what the average lifespan of a Chinatown whore is?” You don’t bother waiting for a response before plummeting to the answer. “Two years. After that she’s either dead from syphilis or suicide. At least with the opium I’ll die out here in the open and not in some squalid closet of a room that smells like piss and men.”

The liquor is starting to hit hard , and a part of you is fiercely grateful for it. It’s been a long time since you’ve been given an excuse to scream out the inequities of your life to someone, and a man who’s holding you for ransom seems as good a target for your vitriol as any.

“You think that just ‘cause it’d be better for the greater good or some shit, they should get to fuck me over? Is that what you think?”

Morgan seems a little taken aback. “I didn’t say th—”

“I don’t give a shit about the addicts. I don’t give a shit who’s life I’m ruining, as long as it isn’t mine. I don’t… I don’t care about anyone else because I’m a terrible excuse for a human being. That’s what you want to hear me say, right?” At this point, you realize that you’ve transitioned into a hysterical rant, that you don’t properly mean half the things you’re saying, but saying it out loud feels good nonetheless, like sucking venom from a festering wound. “But people like you don’t get to tell me so. Because at least I don’t hold people at fucking gunpoint . I don’t rob banks or kidnap women or beat debtors. I’m not a fucking murderer like you—”

The last statement barely clears the air before the image of the dead O’Driscoll, sprawled across the ground with his belly torn open, flashes through your head. You immediately clap your hand over your mouth, as if doing so will let you swallow back your words.

“No,” Morgan says, “You ain’t a murderer. And that’s why you won’t last long.”

“Good,” you seethe. The hot sting of tears begins prickling again at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to.”

He raises his eyebrows and regards you with a vague, detached kind of pity that makes you almost wish he’d just outright condemn you instead, then touches his fingers to the tin cup. “Water’s cool enough now, I think.”

You feel like a petulant child who’s just thrown an ineffectual tantrum. Rendered self-conscious and obedient for the time being, you allow him to secure your elbow with his hand and begin irrigating the wound with warm water.

“Jesus fucking god,” you hiss. You reflexively try and jerk away, but he holds you still and tells you to stop squirming, his grip firm as iron.

It’s the worst pain you’ve felt in years. Like a lick of flame passing over your skin, echoing its progenitor again and again as he washes the cut with a series of short, measured trickles of water, flushing away the combined grime of dried blood, dust, and lint.

“You think this is bad,” he says, unscrewing the bottle of grain alcohol. “Wait’ll I sterilize it.”

If the water was flame, then the alcohol is a streak of molten lava, wet fire soaking through the wound in a rush of white-hot burning pain. You don’t scream — you let out a weak, choking sob so pathetic that you cover your mouth again in an attempt to stifle it.

But you’re a little drunk and your subconscious recognizes this as an excellent excuse to cry, and so it lets flood the tears you’ve kept stoppered up for hours now. You whimper, meet his eyes briefly, then start bawling.

Your crying before hadn’t seemed to bother him, but now he looks almost comically alarmed. He must think it’s the physical pain sending you into hysterics, because he starts trying to comfort you the same way he did Boadicea when he’d led her into the river.

“You’re doin’ good,” he says, cajoling you in a soft, affectionate voice. He sets the bottle of alcohol on the ground and pats you awkwardly on the shoulder. “Just a little more to go, and we’ll be done.”

Another agonizing, scorching splash of fire. He doesn’t chide you this time when you try to pull away.

“Shhhh… I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, don’t it? I’m gonna give it one more rinse, and — yeah, there we go. You’re alright.”

Morgan wraps the bandage over your arm with deft, practiced fingers, and you wonder briefly how many times he’s had to do this for himself, with no one to soothe him. Though better that than the shoddy job you’d done on him six weeks ago, frantically patching him up with just the barest idea of what you were doing.

He ties off the bandage, then picks the can of peaches off the ground, pops open its metal lid with the tip of his knife and proffers it to you like a peace offering. “Here. You’re hungry, right?”

It’s very hard to cry and eat at the same time. You decide to concentrate on the latter.

After tapering your sobs down to a series of quiet, resentful sniffles, you begin gulping down mouthful after messy mouthful of sliced peach. It’s the first morsel of food you’ve had in over ten hours, and you wolf it down so quickly you hardly taste it. Just an impression of cloying sweetness mixed with something faintly aromatic (cinnamon, you think) lingering as an aftertaste.

The old instincts of hunger are hard to shake off. All decorum thoroughly discarded, you raise the can to your lips and drink down what syrup remains, tilting it nearly perpendicular to the ground to get at the last few drops.

“My god,” Morgan says. “I seen dogs with better manners.”

“If you’d fed me earlier, then I— what’re you doing.”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he asks. He holds his bandolier in one hand. The other is working at his shirtcollar. “I’m gettin’ the hell outta these wet clothes.”

You clutch at the empty can of peaches as his union suit reveals itself in a revelation of blue. A blue which, you admit to yourself with an uncomfortable surge of appreciation, suits the shade of his eyes extremely well. But when he begins unbuckling his belt, you quickly avert your eyes. “Really?” you ask. The scandalization you probably ought to have felt from the very moment he’d begun undressing finally begins to surface. “Your pants, too?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m keepin’ the union suit on.”

“Are you usually this brazen with the women you kidnap?”

“D’you usually sit around half-naked with the men who kidnap you?” he asks, jabbing his thumb towards your own discarded shirt, which you’d spread out neatly beside the fire to dry.

“That’s different,” you hiss, knowing very well that it isn’t. “I had a medical reason.”

“Yeah, and so do I. I don’t wanna get pneumonia.”

He has a point. You look down at your own sodden trousers, which cling to your skin in a cold, wet embrace, and your internal scale of comfort versus propriety tips decidedly towards the former.

“Turn your back again,” you tell him.

“What for?”

“I’m gonna take my pants off too, and I don’t want you trying to sneak a peek at my bloomers.”

He laughs, then winces and gingerly splays his fingers across his ribs. It’s the first sign of real levity you’ve seen from him. “Oh, that is the last thing on my mind right now, girl.” There’s a tired grin on his face, and were it not for the events of the day, you might have almost found it endearing. “Besides, you ain’t hardly my type.”

“Well that’s good to hear,” you reply, a little offended. “Because I’m not interested in men with terrible taste.”

But he does as he’s told, and when you’re satisfied with the oblique angle of his range of sight, you let the borrowed blanket fall from your shoulders and pull the ribbon securing your braid free. You rake your fingers through your hair until it hangs loose, then gather the ends of it in one hand and twist it tight to wring out the rainwater. Only then do you pull the blanket back over your shoulders and begin to undress.

First, your boots. Then the knee-length woolen socks, which have left their cable-knit weave as an imprint on your skin. After glancing at him one more time to make sure his face is turned discreetly away, you unbuckle your belt and wriggle your way out of your trousers. It takes some maneuvering, and some thoroughly indecent posturing, to finally get them off. You leave your cotton bloomers on, figuring that the warmth of the fire will dry the thin material soon enough.

When you look back at Morgan, you find that he’s since turned back towards you. Not to gawk, but to get a better look at his own wounds in the firelight.

His union suit is half-unbuttoned. Most of his bare chest is visible, and along with it, the bruises from the ricocheted bullet. A mottle of blue and violet, like a spill of ink that radiates from the negative imprint of the flask that took the impact in his place. And right below it, a glimpse of your own handiwork.

When you’d first found him, the cut had spanned diagonal across his torso, trailing shallow from his chest and biting deep near the ridge of his hip. Most of it’s healed over since, but the edges are angry and inflamed still, and you can see the fading marks of your inexpert stitches laid like railroad tracks over the land of his skin.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t looked at you,” Morgan says. He probes gently at an indigo patch and inhales sharply. “Too busy lickin’ my own wounds.”

If you look closer, you can see the remnants of multiple scuffs and scratches. A history of violence storied across his body, told in the pale lettering of scars, many of them recent. An unwelcome pang of guilt settles itself low in your belly. It looks like he’s been on the road for a while, healing sporadically through long stretches of hard journeying. Hard journeying made worse, no doubt, by your theft of his bonds.

“You… uh. You want me to keep carving off wet bark?”

“Nah,” he says distractedly, still trying to determine the depth of the damage left behind. “Should be fine leavin’ the rest of it to dry out by the fire.”

You draw the blanket tighter around your shoulders, then root around your head for something, anything to talk about. Anything to get this burgeoning sympathy for Arthur Morgan out of your head.

“Your friend in St Denis,” you say finally. “He’s not gonna know much about me if he doesn’t speak Chinese.”

Morgan absentmindedly scratches his chin as he begins buttoning his union suit back up. “Wouldn’t put it past him. I know he’s had dealings with ‘em in the past.”

Something clicks in the back of your head. Long overdue recognition like puzzle pieces fitting together. “What’s his name?”

“Josiah,” he says.

“Josiah,” you echo. The spark of some fit of emotion is beginning to rise in your throat. “Josiah… Trelawney?”

His bewildered face is enough to confirm your suspicions. Relief, anger, confusion — all of them flood you at once with such intensity that you have to take a moment to squeeze your eyes shut. When you open them, you take a deep breath and swallow hard. “Josiah Trelawney’s the son of a bitch I sold your bonds to.”

———

Massive thanks to @reddeaddufus for editing not only this chapter, but the entirety of this fic. This whole thing would be a lot more disjointed if it weren't for her.

Definitely give her fic Red Dead Pursuit a look. The main character is extremely compelling, the plot is fast-paced, and the porn is A+. Her writing style is also a delight to read.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #fic #red dead redemption #rdr2 #my work #talking bird

[thisherelight]

this year I've seen more LP elevated super cells, which are my absolute favorite, in one year than the last 3-5 years. I’ve made some ridiculous time lapses and just in general had a scenic and less pathologically dangerous storm season this year. I’ve usually kept more distance and even had the drone up for a couple of them. in short, despite fighting my way through each day health wise right now--this season has been spectacular.

I doubt everyone with massive hail damage would agree but nature is nature and she does what she likes all I can do is try to make some pictures. 

oh yeah, still 3 days till I pick winners on the print giveaway!

#alberta #landscape #original photographers #photographers on tumblr #lensblr #storms #2020 #LP elevated super cell #ruzz #thisherelight