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queenshelby · 5 months

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Forbidden Desire (Part 17)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

When an invitation to Tommy's wedding arrived, it was like a tsunami of feelings struck your spirit, shocking you to your core and leaving you breathless even after it passed.

Deep down you knew, deep down, that you would never forget the consequences that would run through your family's very roots if you turned down the invitation to his wedding. However, in the midst of this profound insight, your contemplative mind wondered if the heavy weight of emotional turmoil that this occasion bore was truly worth the endurance and perseverance it required.

Your father Arthur had gone silent, not a word exchanged, for months on end. He did not know about your secret yet, namely that, several months ago, you gave birth to a healthy baby boy. In fact, no one knew other than Ada and, luckily for you, Ada vowed to honour her commitment of utmost secrecy to you, valiantly concealing her own penetrating doubts about the progenitor's identity, yet lacking verifiable certainty.

Two months had passed since her last visit, when destiny laid bare the truth before her very eyes. The arrival was an unforeseen surprise but, she has been supporting you ever since. Being a single mother herself, she understood what you needed and this was emotional support and encouragement especially after you told her that you never intended to carry this pregnancy to term.

By a cruel twist of fate, it was discovered at the last minute that you were expecting your uncle's child. Termination was an unthinkable option by this point and one that you fiercely denied as you had already carried your son for twenty weeks without showing. It was confusing to you having to go through this alone but, in the end, you managed surprisingly fine.

Then, after you gave birth, in the midst of a maze of people, you met a kind hearted doctor named Robert who looked after your son after he was born.

Rich and well-connected, Robert seemed like a perfect match for you. He was kind and loving, treating your son as if he was his own. He was a man of unwavering dependability, someone you could always count on. However, a sense of unease crept over you when he expressed his desire to accompany you and your son on the imminent journey to Birmingham.

Robert was blissfully ignorant of the fact that your son was born out of the covert union between you and your very own uncle as, for months, you had been entwined in a web of forbidden passion and secrecy. He also had no idea how powerful your family really was and that their illegal activities could potentially put him into danger. Thirdly, you knew deep down in the pit of your heart that Tommy and your father would never approve of him.

“Robert, I am not sure if you coming to Birmingham with me is really such a good idea,” you thus said cautiously as Robert looked up into your eyes with a hint of doubt on his face.

"Y/N, please," Robert said with genuine sincerity. "I will be extremely happy to become acquainted with your family, especially if you should ever feel inclined to accept my marriage proposal,” he went on to say, causing you to sigh.

"We talked about this, Robert," you said coolly, looking into his sincere eyes. "My heart and mind aren't ready to dive headfirst into the world of commitment just yet,” you told him before taking a moment to collect your thoughts and attempting to unravel the complex web of your family's past.

“You see, Robert, my family is not like other families. They have a certain toughness that comes from running those factories and gambling dens I told you about,” you casually disclosed, hinting at the lawful ventures conducted under your family's wise leadership, rather than their illegal and illicit endeavours.

Robert dismissed the statement with a casual shrug of his shoulders and said, "So what? They export machinery and take bets on horses”, causing you to nod. “There are worse ways to make money," he then told you reassuringly, cupping your face before telling you a disturbing story of young desperation. He described a terrifying reality that had occurred just the day before. Two frail spirits, who were both gently starting their fourteenth year, had fallen prey to the deadly grip of cocaine's seductive appeal. But even before his depressing words could fill the room, you spoke up, breaking the heavy silence.

"Alright, alright! I will take you to meet my family, but you need to promise me not to bring up stories like this when you are around them. No mention of drugs and no mention of...anything to do with the prohibition and...just keep it simple...small talk only," you stammered nervously, not wanting him to create a conflict within your realms.

Robert nodded understandingly, his eyes reflecting the love he had for you. "I promise, Y/N. I will be on my best behaviour and avoid any topics that may cause discomfort or conflict. Your family's approval means the world to me, and I would never want to jeopardize that."

***

As the days passed and the date of Tommy's wedding drew near, you couldn't help but feel a mix of resentment and nervousness. The thought of introducing Robert to your family, specifically your unpredictable father and secretive uncle, made you tremble with apprehension. But evermore so, the fact that Tommy was getting married to Lizzie made you sick with nausea.

You despised her and, unbeknownst to Robert, you still loved him. You were in love with your very own uncle who was a dangerous man and the father of your son, whom he knew nothing about.

This incestuous relation had kept you captivated against all odds. You had often dreamt of the day when these secret encounters would turn into an actual romantic relationship, though you realized that this will never happen.

And there lay the crux of your problem – your undying infatuation towards Tommy amidst the growing bond with Robert, even after all the heartache Tommy had caused you.

The torrid dance between love and hate played out ceaselessly inside your restrained psyche now, consuming you entirely again.

On one hand, you never wanted to see your uncle Tommy again but then, on the other hand, you longed for him more than anything else. It appeared almost inconceivable how deeply enmeshed you were in the intricate snarl of these raw, fervent emotions. And, unfortunately, as much as you hated yourself for harboring these feelings, you simply couldn’t deny them.

Love or lust, whatever it was - it was intense. Every time you heard his name, every thought of him sent waves of arousal coursing through your veins, a constant reminder of your last few nights together before you were sent to America.

One night, in particular, was engraved in your memory like a tattoo and even though, that night, you were furious about his will to send you away just over elven months ago, you resolved whatever tension there was simply by being honest with each other.

That night, Tommy told you that he loved you more than life itself but, just like life, love wasn't always fair.

Backflash...

In a backflash, you remembered how, just the night before you left for Boston, Tommy took you to a place had never taken anyone else before.

It was his sacred place, his sanctuary, nestled among ancient trees where memories whispered softly in the wind.

Located on long abandoned land which he purchased without the knowledge of his family, a Gypsy wagon stood amongst wild flowers. Inside, candles flickered softly casting dancing shadows upon rough wooden walls covered in paintings depicting scenes from his past. There, hidden from prying eyes, he felt safe enough to express himself freely and vulnerably.

"Why did you buy this land?" you asked him quietly as you dismounted your horse and secured it against one of the large trees while looking around the peaceful scenery.

Tommy's voice sounded deeper than usual, touched with emotion, as he explained his reasoning behind purchasing the land. "Because I needed somewhere quiet to think sometimes, someplace where I didn't have to worry about anyone finding me," he told you as he approached and cupped your face tenderly.

His thumb caressed your cheekbone, the tenderness evident in his gaze as he stared intently into your eyes. "Away from everyone and everything," he continued softly, his fingers brushing across your lips. "Just one more time… let us forget about who we are, eh? Let's enjoy ourselves here tonight..." Tommy went on to say and you couldn't resist the intensity of his stare nor his touch, the warmth in his voice drawing you closer to him.

"Why do I have to leave, Thomas?" you questioned him sadly, unable to mask your sorrow.

"Because, unless one of us does, I will not be able to resist this constant temptation that pulls us toward each other Love," he admitted solemnly, regret etched on his brow. His eyes held yours steadfastly, refusing to look away, seemingly willing you to understand why it must be done.

"Then don't resist!" you urged passionately, stepping forward to press your body against his firm frame. Desire surging between you two, like an electric current sparking alive every cell within your bodies.

"You know it's not that fucking simple, eh?" Tommy growled, frustration seeping into his tone. "You are my fucking niece and we both know that this needs to stop," he declared forcefully, trying to suppress the desire threatening to consume him whole. But instead of withdrawing from your embrace, he pulled you closer, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate, hungry kiss. It was as if the very essence of his soul sought release through your mouth, through your body.

As your tongues tangled, he delved deep inside, probing and exploring, seeking something neither of you fully understood. With each thrust of his tongue, he seemed to find a part of you, awakening new sensations and passions.

"Don't you dare push me away for good, Tommy" you murmured breathily, clutching at his waist, digging your nails into his skin.

"We can't go on this way Love," he groaned, sweat trickling down his temple. "I want to protect you, and the rest of my family," he insisted, pulling back slightly, yet still maintaining eye contact with determination. "We need distance," he added.

He pushed you further against the tree behind you, pinning you there as he ravaged your mouth once more, his hands roaming eagerly over your curves.

Swept up in the moment, you lost track of time, the space around you falling away until there was only him—his scent, his taste, his touch. As his hand skimmed teasingly down your throat, stopping at the base of your neck, the feeling of being desired by this man consumed you completely.

He pressed harder against you, the heat radiating off his hard body causing your nipples to pebble beneath your clothes. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you ground your hips against him, silently begging for relief.

"Please, Tommy," you pleaded, gasping for air, begging him to take you.

Tommy paused, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to regain control of his ragged breathing. Gathering what little composure remained, he ran his calloused finger down your neck, tracing its curve towards your shoulder blade, creating goosebumps along your skin.

Reaching beneath your skirt, he pulled down your panties roughly, exposing your feminine folds to the cool evening breeze, sending shivers running down your spine. Your legs began to quiver involuntarily.

His hot breath tickled your ear as he muttered huskily, "just one last time, eh?" before unbuckling his belt swiftly. He then unzipped his pants and pushed them down, causing his erection to spring free, thick and hard, demanding attention.

Without warning, he pushed up your skirt and made you lift your right leg so that it would wrap around his waist, giving him the perfect angle to align his manhood with your soaking wet core.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him position himself. Desire, excitement, and fearsome anticipation melded together inside you, creating a potent mix of emotions. Your thighs trembled violently, preparing themselves for his penetration.

In spite of his best efforts to retain self-control, the animal instinct rose to the surface when Tommy grabbed hold of your ass and yanked you flush against his rock-hard cock. Then, he gave it a slight push, forcing entry into your tight, moist cavern.

"Ah! Oh god yes!" you cried out loud, welcoming his fullness with sheer bliss.

Feeling the warmth of his flesh spread throughout your entire being, you moaned, reveling in the pleasure you were experiencing.

Your head fell backward against the tree trunk as you absorbed the powerful sensations pulsing through your body.

Every nerve ending came alive with exquisite pleasure as Tommy began to move rhythmically inside you. The moonlight cast a soft glow on his rugged features, illuminating the raw passion consuming him. The air filled with the primal sounds of ecstasy as your lovers joined together in their most fervent union.

As the fire ignited between you both grew stronger, Tommy wrapped his arms securely around your waist, locking you tightly against him. He moved with deliberate precision, ensuring he hit all the sweet spots with each thrust.

"Fuck Love, you feel so good," his voice rumbled low in his chest, resonating deep within your core.

"Tell me how good my cock makes you feel, tell me how much you want it."

Panting heavily, you managed to reply, "Oh God, Tommy... I can barely stand it anymore... I want it so bad, so fucking badly... you make me feel things I've never felt before."

Tommy grunted with satisfaction, increasing the pace and depth of his thrusts.

"I love you Y/N. I love you so fucking much," he said hoarsely, reaching down to cup your breast, rolling your already swollen nipple between his fingers.

"I love you too, Tommy" you moaned as the pressure built up gradually, becoming almost too intense. Sensations flooded your body, culminating in a wave of pure bliss that coursed through you as you reached orgasm. Throwing your head back, your cries echoed around the woodland clearing, filling the silence with your rapturous release and, within seconds, Tommy followed suit.

His movements became erratic, his breath coming in short bursts. Grunting audibly, he poured every bit of pent-up energy into the act, leaving nothing left for tomorrow. The earth shook beneath you, trees creaked and rustled, and birds scattered as the primordial forces took hold, claiming its prey.

Drenched in perspiration, Tommy cradled your face, tears streaming down his own as he looked deeply into your eyes.

"Promise me, no matter what happens in America, you won't forget our time together, eh" he whispered, a note of desperation in his voice.

"Never," you replied earnestly, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss upon his forehead. "Our connection runs far deeper than just blood. It may change form, but it shall always remain," you said without knowing that your forever continuing connection would be through the birth of your son.

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ggulmul · 11 months

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Hello! Can I ask you what do you think about the Jungkook with his tattoo artist/Mijoo situation? Some people brought it up today and I'm always going back to it tbh. The whole situation just gives me bad vibes? From her staff, and the people around them, I don't know. Some people think they were dating but denied the rumors/lied because they both got a lot of hate. Some people think they were genuinely just friends.

I don't know what to think, tbh. The hug did seem kind of intimate? But I've seen Jungkook hug hoseok from behind and press his nose to his neck, so... Jungkook seems to be very affectionate and even clingy once he gets really comfortable with someone, friend or not. So, could be just his normal behavior with friends.

If they had a thing, then that would imply that Jikook broke up at that time, but I didn't see any change in their behavior? I mean, Jungkook did wake up really early in BV4 (which was after the whole scandal) just to catch some snow for Jimin, and he was very sweet to him, maybe to make it up for all the unnecessary drama?

Idk, sometimes I wonder what Jimin thought about this whole thing. If he was upset, or if he knew Mijoo and was friends with her, too, since she was tattooing Jungkook and he was hanging out with her. I think he has covered most of her tattoos with Polyc, though, so idk if they're still good friends.

She did post on her Instagram at the time she was "absolutely not" Jungkook's girlfriend, but it could be a lie to save the situation and end the rumors once and for all. People said she claimed to have a boyfriend, but I couldn't find anything like that in her statement. I did see a picture of her with a guy hugging her from behind the same way, so she could also be really affectionate with her friends.

The whole situation is unclear and very confusing. A lot suspicious too.

What do you think?

Hi, anon! Thank you for your thoughts on the Mijoo debacle. I don’t mind sharing my own perspective, although I know this can be a rather touchy subject. There’s the incident in itself and its possible implications. But also the invasion of privacy, and the harrowing backlash Jungkook faced because of it. The same goes for Mijoo, honestly, who was harassed ceaselessly afterwards.

Regardless of what transpired, neither of them is guilty of any wrongdoing. The reactions were out of proportion. Still, I can understand why this caused such a stir. Casual skinship between men and women isn’t common in South Korea, and is usually a sign someone’s dating. But there are always exceptions. We know Jungkook is physically affectionate with his friends. For him, gender might not even factor into that (well, besides in consideration of outward appearances). Additionally, there are photos of Mijoo being embraced in the same way by other male friends. This sort of neutralises the act, in terms of its romantic connotations. Let’s remember that we’re talking about a crew of tattoo artists in a conservative country where tattoos are still heavily frowned upon. They’re nonconformists, and the same could be said about Jungkook. One might expect them to be more relaxed about social and cultural norms.

Once the photos came to light, the rumours were swiftly denied by the company, and Mijoo herself in a personal statement. Could this just have been a tactical move to protect them from the hate and scrutiny? Sure. It’s not unthinkable. But I’m inclined to believe the explanation that was put forth as the truth, especially when there’s nothing definitive to disprove it.

As far as Jimin’s reaction goes, I can only speculate. But I reject the idea that Jungkook could have been seeing Mijoo while him and Jimin were on a break. Either Jikook were together before-during-after this ordeal, or they were never together in the first place. Shortly before the scandal unfolded, Jimin flew across the world to surprise Jungkook for his birthday. After their break, BTS were right off to shoot Bon Voyage 4, and Jikook were fine, no visible tension. I’m sure the experience was taxing for Jimin as well, but primarily from having to watch someone he loves being put through the wringer. I don’t think Jungkook was trying to make up for something with his chunk of snow, as cute as it was. I doubt either of them felt there was anything to make up for. Their relationship seemed to remain unchanged, and it’s probably because nothing that happened posed a threat to their relationship in the first place.

In conclusion, I get why this incident is difficult to shake. But I try to refrain from attributing any more significance to it. We were told there was nothing between Jungkook and Mijoo beyond friendship. It seems sensible to accept that, rather than ruminate on what is, at the end of the day, just a hug and some questionable circumstances.

#jikook

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adaminabarx · 3 months

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Thoughts on T-Slur Discourse

Who's allowed to say the t-slur discourse seems to be going on right now. Since I’m a 33y/o, non-passing, transexual woman who's been transitioning for about two years I might as well throw in my two cents.

Being a Trans Child in the 90s and 00s Sucked

I was born in 1990, meaning my childhood was in the 90s and my teen years were the 00s. When I was growing up tranny wasn’t even really a slur. Transitioning your sex or gender was so unthinkable that it was just never mentioned in any real capacity. I would occasionally hear about some “freak trannies” that actually went through with a “sex-change operation”. But that’s not me, I’m not a tranny, right? Doing something like that was for someone who was truly depraved and I’m not a freak. I was told I was a boy and that was the end of it. Why would I question it?

Now you might think that I grew up in some hyper conservative, evangelical household. But no, my parents claimed the opposite. They were super liberal (didn’t even vote for reagan in the 80s), we went to a unitarian-universalist church, everywhere I was surrounded by messages of love and acceptance and being true to yourself.

Yet even in this environment, tranny wasn’t a slur. I remember hearing my younger sister in her mean-girl phase saying that other girls in her grade looked like a tranny. Faggot was a slur and would get you in trouble, but tranny was just a light insult that people would casually toss around.

I knew of exactly one trans woman back then. She went to our church and transitioned in her 50s. I was in the youth group with her son and he fucking hated her for being a tranny. He just tried to pretend she didn’t exist. There was one time I got him alone and wanted to ask him some questions about his mom. As soon as he realized what I was getting at he started ranting about embarrassing and selfish it was for her to transition. How fucked up it is that he has to have a tranny for a mom. Keep in mind that this kid was misgendering his mom at every possible point in his rant.

I also remember one time my mom decided to talk about her on the car ride home. She spent the entire ride criticizing the way this trans woman dressed and talking about how she should have “at least” waited until her kids moved out of the house.

This was the attitude towards trans women at a Unitarian Universalist church in the most open, loving, hippy-dippy, liberal part of Minnesota.

Now I could talk for days about how the 90s and 00s were a traumatizing time to be a trans kid. But let’s fast-forward to the present.

I Don’t Pass

This isn’t me being self deprecating. This is a statement of fact. My testosterone-based first puberty did immeasurable damage to my body, mind, and soul. Every day I realize more and more that every facet of my being has been shaped by the trauma of having to go through a testosterone-based puberty and the expectations that come with it.

I don’t pass, I won’t have any chance of passing until I can afford FFS, BA, and various body contouring procedures. That said, don’t come at me with any platitudes about how I don’t have to pass to be valid. That’s not the point. The point is: not passing means I’m a tranny.

I see it in everyone’s face whenever I go out in public. Whether it’s going to the grocery store or hanging out with friends. When people look at me, they see a tranny. When people interact with me, they interact with me as a tranny. No one treats me like they treat women.

And it affects me! I *know* I’m a woman in my heart of hearts. But I don’t feel like a woman, I feel like a tranny. Everyone else sees a tranny so I see a tranny in mirror every morning when I do my skincare. I see my pronounced brow, my cleft chin, my pronounced jaw, the way my lips sit on my face. I see all the markers that people use to make the judgement that I was AMAB and now I’m desperately trying to be a woman.

Kate Passes Perfectly

The place where all this is the most pronounced is actually when I’m in the presence of another trans woman I know, for the sake of this writing I’ll call her Kate. Kate is one of my cousin’s daughter’s friend. She is a 17y/o trans woman who’s been out since she was 9, got on blockers shortly after, then started HRT at 14.

I met Kate at my cousin’s daughter’s graduation party. I had only been fully out for a couple months at this point. I didn’t really even want to go to this grad party, but my extended family and their friends are all “loving” and “accepting” and “open-minded” so I let my cousin convince me to go.

When I arrived it was all eyes. Just a sea of eyes making judgmental glances. And… Like… How could they not stare!? Here I am, a 32 year old tranny dressed in a gaudy black and white outfit wearing what she *thinks* is low-key makeup. Everyone was “nice”—no one actually pointed and went “look a tranny!”—but no one treated me like a woman.

Then at some point Kate came up to me, introduced herself, and immediately told me that she was trans. I didn’t believe her, I thought she was a cis girl setting me up for some cruel joke. But she wasn’t, Kate is just a sweet young woman who was assigned male at birth. Growing up with access to information and positive representation she was able to advocate for herself and avoid the trauma that would’ve come with a testosterone puberty and male expectations.

Being around Kate was shear agony. Nobody, and I mean nobody, misgendered or stared at Kate like a tranny. Here is a young woman living the life I should’ve had. The life I would’ve had, if I had access to less cruel representation. The technology existed when I was her age, I could’ve had this life.

I didn’t have to be a tranny.

Every interaction I had at this grad party was tainted with the fact that I was a tranny. Whether it’s people asking invasive questions; or being way too interested in me; or the classic “he—err, i mean she” pronoun fuck up; or when they smile at me like I’m a homeless man begging for change while they’re loaded with cash and have no intention of parting with a single dime. Even Kate’s interactions with me were because she saw that I was a tranny and wanted to come relate.

That’s not to say I didn’t have any fun, I got a free lunch and I had a couple interesting conversations. People are generally fun to be around and talk to even if I am the token tranny. But I couldn’t stay for long, while being a tranny is better than being a man, it’s still just so hard to bear.

Anyways… About That Slur

So what am I even trying to say with all these ramblings about my trauma? That not even passing transexuals are allowed to say tranny? That I’m the arbiter of who gets to say tranny?

Well, yeah I am.

And also no I’m not.

I mean, I can’t control people and dictate what words they say or what they think. Whether it’s a bigot calling me a tranny freak on the street or one of my extended family members muttering it to themselves when I commit the unforgivable sin of being a little cringe in my 30s.

All I have is my judgement. Take Kate, I can say with quite a bit of certainty that the word tranny has hurt me and stunted my growth more than her. I don’t want to discount any bullying that she’s gone through. But she’s not going to have to go through the horror of watching her body go through changes that are just simply wrong for her. The horror of being held to male expectations and dissociating away her teens and 20s.

So if Kate ever dropped the t-slur around me, it better be in the context of something truly poignant. Anything less and I’ll get pissed. On the other hand, If I’m talking to another trans person of similar age and transition history then I’ll probably be the one to start spouting off “tranny this, tranny that” and end up getting called out.

So when I see people that are non-binary and attractive in the manner that is expected of their assigned gender at birth start talking about reclaiming the t-slur, I don’t want to associate with them. I don’t care if they’re technically “allowed” to say it. Whether or not I confront them about it they lose my respect.

But why should you care about my respect. In all seriousness, you probably don’t. I don’t have any kind of following. And well, I literally just admitted to using conventional attractiveness as one of the measures for whether or not someone can say tranny! I clearly have a lot of self-worth issues that I need to unpack. But it’s true, and if that makes you lose respect for me then so be it. But I suspect that a lot of people hold similar values, even if they don’t want to admit it.

So, where does this leave us? I don’t know. I don’t have any real answers. I’m just some tranny, trying to figure out her life one day at a time. If you really want some kind of prescriptive advice, I’d say: read the room; say what you wanna say; and when (not if) you fuck up, listen to the people who are having feelings about it with empathy.

As for me, I think the real reason why this discourse is so touchy for me is because I want to eventually get to a point where it would be gauche for me to drop the t-slur. One of the few things that keeps me going right now is the fact that there are surgeries that can help me look less like a tranny.

I guess that’s what gets me about this discourse. It feels like there’s a contingency of people that just want a t-slur pass. When it’s a word I want so desperately to get rid of.

#transgender #reclaimed slurs #t slur #t slur reclaimed #transexual #trans experience

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jeonqqin · 4 years

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man up. [m] | pt. 2

h. jisung x reader | netflix teen rom-com au

— ❝Even with classes, annoying brothers, and an unrequited crush, you still figured your first year of college was going pretty well. Until you managed to get your first boyfriend, and suddenly your brother and his stupidly attractive best friend were attached to your hip for the whole damn ride.

or alternatively;

Why did Jisung care about you so much, and had his eyes always been that pretty?❞

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

CONTAINS: brothers best friend au, teen rom-com au, sorta crack fic, love triangle au, college au

WARNINGS: nopee, well ji looking at readers butt?

A/N: are u team Chan or team Han?

▸ request

CHAPTERS: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 +

blog masterlist | ⟲ fic song

After your afternoon class with Jisung, he quickly noted that you were absent for the rest of the day.

Sure, you didn’t have any other classes, but normally you would be hunkered down in the library with your nose stuffed in some sort of book, or wandering around campus with Felix at your heels. You were either cramming due to your procrastination or roaming around procrastinating. Jisung also knew you weren’t a fan of staying in your small dorm room since your roommate loved flaunting the fact that she had a boyfriend and how she wasn’t shy about anyone witnessing their ‘acts of love’.

So he really had no idea where you were, and it bugged him a little more than he would like to admit.

But outwardly, he didn’t want to show just how worried he was. You were his best friend’s sister, it wasn’t his job to make a fuss about something so trivial. It would be weird if he went looking for you… but if Minho just so happened to get word of his little sister’s sudden disappearance, Jisung would have to help his dear friend search for you.

It was only common courtesy.

“Minho, I think Y/n was kidnapped.”

“You WHAT?!”

Okay, starting the phone call with that probably wasn’t the best choice, but what other choice did he have. Jisung was an impatient guy.

“Yeah, I don’t know what happened.” He replied casually, already able to hear the panic on Minho’s end of the call. “She was here and then she wasn’t.”

Not only was he impatient, he was a(n idiot) songwriter; his words articulate and poetic.

Minho was silent for a second before cutting back for the call.

“I texted Changbin and he said she just ran off.”

Jisung frowned. “Do they know where she went?”

“Apparently to beat some sense into me.”

The two friends knew then where you were and a rush of panic filled their chests all at the same time.

“Fuck—”

“—Chan.”

Jisung nearly dropped his phone in the process of hanging up, immediately taking off towards the familiar apartment.

His worst nightmare was coming true—Chan was an unknown in Jisung’s mind. He was handsome, charismatic, and an older guy, so it was realistic to imagine you falling head-over-heels if you were to ever meet him. Unfortunately, it seemed like fate wasn’t in his favor and he was in deep shit if you were really at the apartment alone with Chan.

Alone with Chan.

He shivered at the thought.

The only brightside to the ordeal was that Minho was also aware of the dangerous situation. Out of everyone, he would be the only one to prevent any feelings from sprouting between you. Jisung counted on Minho every time and he never once failed to preform.

Dear god, he hoped he didn’t decide to stop now.

Arriving at the complex, he almost rammed full speed into Minho, who was also going as fast as his legs could take him. They only shared one glance before trampling over their feet to get up the stairs, no doubt bothering the neighbors along their way.

Minho was the one to swing the door open, his head on a swivel as he walked in. He was ready to break up any inappropriate business with as much force necessary—he didn’t care if Chan’s bicep was twice the size of his head, he had leg power on his side. And if he saw your tongue anywhere near Chan’s, Minho was going to be swinging.

“Chan?”

“Y/n?”

Thud.

There was a crash behind the closed door of the office, and both heads perked up at the sound.

Minho hurried forward, arm outstretched to grab the door, “No. No no no—”

Jisung never wanted in his life to see you involved with someone else. With your pretty eyes hooded and shining with desire, and your chest heaving heavily against the tight fabric of your blouse. It had been difficult enough to watch you fill out and grow into an attractive woman, he didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that you were old enough to meet other guys and moan their names.

He certainly didn’t want to hear you moan Chan’s name—of all people, why Chan?

“Shit, Chan—”

Jisung felt his face heat up as Minho pushed the door open, ready to pull his friend away to avoid the scene on the other side.

“—get your head away from my ass! The power strip isn’t even near there you prick!”

“Hey,” Chan defended with a laugh. “In my defense, all you said was it was over here somewhere. How do I know that somewhere isn’t next to your ass?”

The position that the two of you were in was compromising—though not in the way that Jisung had originally expected. It caused the two newcomers to freeze, their brains struggling to really understand what was happening.

The two of you were surrounded by thousands of cables and wires, black foam scattered across the floor as well. You were on your hands and knees, the only visible part of you was your bottom half with your head tucked underneath Chan’s mixing table doing who knows what. As for Chan, he was crawling around same as you, on his hands and knees with an extension cord wrapped around his shoulders.

“Uhm…” Minho gaped, eyes unable to focus on one part of the scene.

Jisung had no trouble at all, his eyes locked solidly on your raised ass.

You turned your head to look over your shoulder, eyes locking with Jisung’s and immediately widening. You couldn’t be in a worse situation—fucking hell.

In your haste to get out from under the table, you slammed the top of your head against one of the sturdy table legs and winced as Chan cracked up from your side.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class—Jesus, ow…” You asked, your hand moving up to rub the forming bump.

“What’s going on?” Minho asked, his eyebrows brushing his bangs.

“Y/n wanted some help with her stats class and I needed someone to help me upturn this room and make it into a recording room.” Chan snorted at your little dramatic groans, completely unfazed by the growing frustration on Minho’s face.

But before Minho could say anything to Chan’s statement, Jisung stepped in.

His lips twisted sourly, “I thought Seungmin was going to help you with your stats stuff?”

You shook your head with a huff. “I will not subject myself to that kind of torture and I refuse to let anyone convince me otherwise.”

“Well you could’ve asked me.”

Defeated and jealous; Jisung could no longer hide it.

The two older boys could see it clearly in the way he looked at you with big sad eyes, though neither of them said anything. Chan’s brows furrowed in thought, it looked like you had someone else infatuated with you.

You laughed. “Uh-huh, because you’re the resident genius here. Jisung, you dropped two of your classes last semester because both professors were minutes away from giving you an administrative failure.”

“Yeah, yeah. Jisung’s head is full of rocks—” Minho dismissed, unsympathetic towards the scandalized boy next to him. “Why the hell are you turning my storage room into a junkyard?”

Chan finally stood, pulling the cord from his neck and throwing it to the side in favor of helping you up.

“It was already a junkyard, bundle-boy.” You said, voice clipped and annoyed. Who wouldn’t be after smashing their head against a solid piece of metal? “We were renovating.”

“Like hell you were. I thought I said no to the recording room?”

Minho’s rage was just about completely directed towards Chan, but to your surprise, the guy gave minimal to no reaction. His face stayed indifferent, wide shoulders relaxed and eyes set.

You’ll be dammed, the fucker wasn’t scared.

Chan wasn’t afraid of your brother.

There was someone on the planet who didn’t go running when Minho looked at them funny, and he was standing right next to you in his beautiful sleeveless glory. If you weren’t currently suffering from a possible concussion you would be dropping to one knee and popping the question then and there.

“Oh, so what you said earlier was a no?” Chan (very unconvincingly) feigned innocence. “Sorry, the phone connection must’ve been bad.”

“I was yelling to you from the other room.”

“These walls are very thick, Minho. It’s your apartment, you should know that.”

“Do you want to be homeless?”

“Define; home.”

That was it, he was your one true love.

As Minho began to cross his arms over his chest, squaring up to Chan with the glare of a certifiable killer, you slid out of the way to avoid the oncoming fist fight.

Or explosion, whichever route Minho decided to take.

But then the unthinkable happened—Minho sighed, dropping his arms to his sides and turning towards you.

Both you and Jisung stood speechless, because you just witnessed someone give Minho an attitude and not get beat down afterwards. Hyunjin had once attempted the same thing and had been chased around the quad for a good forty minutes until the taller man had gotten tired and your brother had become uninterested.

Felix told you that they were both reemed during dance practice that night for being too tired to execute their choreography.

Minho shook his head, “You and Changbin were probably going to convince me anyway. Might as well save the wasted time and get it done now.”

Either your brother had a fat crush on Chan, or the Lee Minho was afraid of someone.

You knew Chan was older than him, but someone had to have some sort of super power to keep Minho from kicking their shins and shoving a knee in their face.

“What is happening…?” Jisung wondered, eyes wide and mouth open.

Chan smiled, striding over to clap Jisung on the shoulder, making the shorter boy jump in surprise.

“Good news. We’re getting a recording studio.”

And you would like to get married to one Bang Chan please.

You joined Chan’s side.

“Now you can finish that song you were working on.” You said, nudging Jisung’s shoulder.

He was just going to ignore the sudden wave of excitement at the fact that you remembered that he was working on a song.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Jisung laughed tensely. “Looks like I’ll be around more often.”

“Yeah, definitely…”

You nodded absentmindedly, eyes locked on the exposed skin of Chan’s arms. Chan himself didn’t acknowledge your stare, but couldn’t help the smug smile that slid onto his face.

Jisung watched the exchange and groaned, looking over to glare at Minho for failing him the only time it truly would end badly for him. Because of course Minho had to be soft for Chan and of course Chan had to be moving in.

Why couldn’t Chan just be ugly?

“Okay,” Chan sighed, placing all the wires he held into a pile on the floor. Suddenly, he turned to you, “You held up your end of the bargain. Let’s work on some stats, huh?”

Your eyes widened for a second, caught in headlights.

“Oh,” was your smart reply. “But we didn’t get to finish?”

Chan waved it off. “The only reason we tried to get it all done was to make sure Minho couldn’t say no. Now that he’s accepted it, we don’t have to rush.”

As much as it bothered him not to finish a project.

You laughed at the little punch Minho threw at Chan’s shoulder on his way out of the room, mumbling something about “going to bed before Changbin comes home to beg for food”. He also made sure to pinch your cheek before leaving.

After swatting at Minho’s hand, you grinned.

“Okay, well… Let’s figure out how we’re going to do this.”

Chan mimicked your smile with a nod.

No way, Jisung thought as you followed his older friend out into the living room, no fucking way.

You just left him without an acknowledging glance his way, and all of a sudden he had a really terrible feeling about leaving you and Chan alone together. Anything could happen—kissing, fucking, god forbid you talk to him. You could become closer and gain feelings for the guy, which would not be a hard task considering Chan was basically the human embodiment of the sun and every damn person seemed to be pulled into his orbit after the first meeting.

Dammit, it was even difficult for Jisung to be mad at him. The guy was too lovable.

Cursing under his breath, Jisung all but ran into the living room to prevent any and all touching or deep talks, because heaven knew how much Chan talked about deep shit.

Ew, he sounded like Minho.

“You don’t have any notes at all?” Chan asked, eyebrows raised. “What do you even do in there?”

You let out a sigh.

“Stats is where I usually do my biology work.”

“Then what do you do in biology?” He questioned bluntly, his eyes skimming all the lost files on your computer that you had given up on ages ago.

“That’s where I write all my essays. The teacher—”

“—never stands up from his chair.”

With wide eyes, you laughed in surprise. Your mouth formed many words but nothing stumbled out, perhaps for a good reason because what you had in your head wasn’t very coherent on its own.

So you just pointed at the snickering Chan, “You…?”

His head shook and your mood dropped.

“I don’t do work for other classes,” he corrected, the mischievous smile slowly sliding onto his lips giving you a little hope back. “I actually produced a whole song in that class.”

Was Jisung dreaming or were you looking at Chan with those big bewildered eyes? Was that what was happening right in front of him? Could he be seeing things?

For once he really hoped he was going insane.

“I knew I wasn’t the only one that slacked off in that class!” You chirped, bouncing a little in your seat.

“And I still got a one-hundred on my exam.” He told you pointedly before passing on the laptop and leaning back on the couch.

Normally, smugness wouldn’t have been attractive to you but on Chan it was something else. His eyes lit up in a way that was almost pretty.

There was a pull towards him as he just sat there and looked at you. It was something that set you on edge in the same way it put you at ease, he just had such a conflicting presence and you really didn’t know how to process it. So your body pushed you forward on it’s own, and with no complaints from him, you felt your hand come to rest on his knee—

But out of the fucking blue, Jisung was throwing himself between you two, his thinner body fitting snuggly in the unfilled space. You sputtered and Chan nearly yelped, holding his hand to his chest to placate his thudding heart.

“Jisung—what the fuck?”

“Did you just jump over the back of the couch?” Chan frowned looking over his shoulder to really determine the path Jisung took to get there.

Jisung smiled obnoxiously, “I just figured I’d help you guys out. Considering I’m also in that class.” He wiggles a little more to separate the two of you even more. “And three brains are better than two.”

“Not when yours is nonexistent.” You quipped, feeling your lips pull into a pout at the intruder.

“Ah, how I love your humor.”

Jisung poked your nose with a tight lipped smile.

Sending Chan a look of apology, he shrugged, falling back further into the couch.

“Sure, why not?” Was his response, shoulders lifting up and falling back down with a huff. “Let me help you set up some proper notes.”

Jisung brought his hands together once to create a near deafening sound that had you even more irritable. His happy-go-lucky mood wasn’t funny when you were on the receiving end of the annoyance.

One nice thing—you couldn’t have one single nice thing ever.

Between your brother and his dumb best friend (that you may or may not have sorta feelings for) you couldn’t do anything. Your prime years were being wasted on sucky romance movies with Felix and Hyunjin and cat fights with Jisung. You couldn’t afford such bullshit for much longer.

“You know I love you, Y/n.”

“Stuff your love up your ass.”

The rest of the week passed by smoothly with minimal conflict on your end and grades that didn’t have you contemplating slamming your face into a wall. On weekends you usually spent most of your time at Minho’s apartment while Changbin dicked around at the gym and your brother slept for the forty-eight hours that he had to himself. You could watch movies and finish your homework with no distractions.

That was until Chan decided to move in and steal your attention every moment he could. You were even starting to suspect that he was doing it on purpose after the time he walked out of the bathroom in only a bath towel and responded with a “oh, I didn’t notice you there”.

You also concluded that Felix was a snitch and no longer deserved your friendship, because once you shared with him your encounter with Chan, everyone in your group of friends was wired in to everything that concerned you and Chan.

Especially Jisung. Which eventually caused—

“Jisung why the hell are you following me?”

The boy in question didn’t bother to acknowledge you, instead he simply continued to walk at your side, hands stuffed deep in his pockets and hair just a little messier than usual, “What do you mean? This is how I get to my next class.”

You snorted. “Last time I checked, you had dropped your two-thirty class. And even then, it was on the other side of the building.”

Jisung couldn’t help but roll his pretty brown eyes.

“Stalker…”

“Says the guy who’s been up my ass all day.” You chirped, taking pride in the way he glared at you.

Jisung threw his hands up in frustration. He knew what he was doing was out of character, sure. But did he want to be called out on it?

“Can I not hang out with you? God, Y/n. We’ve known each other for years, I’d think you’d get used to me being around.”

You merely shook your head with a laugh, continuing forward.

“You’re really something else.”

He snorted, “So you’re being an adult now?”

“When am I not the adult when I’m with you? There’s no room for stupid energy with you around.” You replied cheekily

“Well I’m sorry for hogging all the ‘stupid energy’, damn…”

The way that Jisung held up the air quotes for “stupid energy” had your cheeks aching from how hard you smiled.

“Well, I’m going to lunch with Felix and Hyunjin right now. So unless you want to be subjected to their combined stupidity, I would suggest you go back to your dorm.” You sent him a small smile over your shoulder, just barely missing the way he tripped over his feet because of it.

Felix had called you in a rush right as you were getting out of your last class of the day and asked you to come eat lunch with him and Hyunjin. It was a one sided conversation that lasted almost ten seconds but you figured you had no other choice but to comply. Whatever reason he had for being in such a hurry was enough for you to listen.

“But you can come if you want, Sungie. I’m sure they won’t mind.”

Sungie.

It had been a while since you last called him that nickname—possibly way back when you were in primary school. It sent chills down his spine to hear you call him that again.

Jisung caught up to you easily, slinging his arm around your shoulders just as he used to when you began calling him Sungie. Over the years it had started to put a strain on him since he found it hard to differentiate what was friendly and what was too friendly. He had a girlfriend after all, and there were only so many things he could do with other girls that was acceptable.

But of course you were just Y/n. The little sister that bothered them all day and called him Sungie.

He didn’t have to feel embarrassed to hug you or tease you or hide his insecurities behind stupid pick up lines. Now matter how much it made his heart pound in his chest, you were still Minho’s baby sister—you were Jisung’s baby sister.

“I’d like that, my dear.” Jisung said, stuffing his free hand into his pocket and pulling you closer.

So close that it almost felt domestic.

Y’know, as domestic as it could get with someone who was like a little sister to him. He had a beautiful girlfriend too, so the domestication was more like a… family comfort and less like how it would feel if you were married and he was allowed to hold you as close as he wanted—

“Ah, you’re warm,” you hummed, making a small fuss of tucking yourself further into his hold. “It always looks like it’s going to be nice outside, but it seems like the weather changes its mind just as much as Hyunjin.”

You didn’t notice but Jisung was completely lost to everything you said after “you’re warm”. He just continued to hum and nod as if his brain wasn’t completely fried.

Jisung was in the midst of a mental breakdown when you somehow managed to lead him to the small restaurant right outside of the university. It was a popular place since it was so close and dolled out cheap food in a matter of seconds, which definitely appealed to its main demographic.

You spotted Felix’s head of purple hair immediately, a bright smile etched onto his face as he spoke animatedly to the waiter standing at the ready. The boy was cute, black hair and pretty dimples that made him appear younger. He also looked friendly with Felix with how he spoke with a wide smile that showed his perfect teeth.

You approached the table, shrugging Jisung’s arm off of you and ignoring his whine in protest.

“I made it,” you announced, gaining the attention of your friends—

And fuck.

You met eyes with Seungmin sitting in the seat beside Felix, and felt your shoulders slump as he flashed you a smirk.

“Glad you could come, Y/n.” Seungmin all but sang at your visible distress.

But Felix had a hold on your arm before you could respond with attitude, tugging you dangerously close to the waiter at your side.

“Y/n, this is Jeongin—” Felix gestured towards the boy who lifted his hand to wave. “He’s a school friend of Hyunjin’s.”

“It’s my last year.” Jeongin added with a shy laugh.

Peeling your eyes away from Seungmin, you got a good look at the boy in front of you. The unexpected cuteness both startled you and made your stomach flip. You really had to withhold from squealing and pinching his cheeks. He was so cute.

You smiled genuinely, “It’s nice to meet you, Jeonginnie.”

A small wave of red covered his ears at the sudden nickname, his long eyelashes fluttering in surprise.

Jisung just about combusted in his spot. He was getting pretty sick and tired of keeping tabs on all the boys you managed to hook around your finger, it was starting to get out of hand. Okay, maybe he was the stalker.

In a bout of frustration, Jisung grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers, sliding into the booth beside Hyunjin and tugging you after him. You made a noise of surprise as your ass connected harshly with the cracked red cushion of the booth, sending Jisung a glare.

Though, he kept his eyes on the table, avoiding the amused looks on everyone’s faces, even going as far as swatting away Hyunjin’s poking fingers. But for whatever reason, he couldn’t bring himself to release your hand from his.

Jisung’s palm was sweaty in your hold, but strangely enough it was something that you didn’t mind.

Jeongin looked between you and Jisung for a moment before quickly coming to some sort of realization that only Felix seemed to understand. His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape and a small smirk was suddenly on his lips as he asked what drink you would like.

Whatever that was about, you didn’t like it.

“I’ll just have a water.” You answered skeptically, finally managing to pull your fingers free of Jisung’s grip.

“Water for me too.”

Jeongin didn’t bother to write down your orders, instead he just nodded and left with that same goofy smile on his face.

Why did your friends have to corrupt the poor kid?

You sent a glare towards Felix, ready to grill him about what the hell just happened but his eyes were on something else above your head, his lips forming into the same smirk that Jeongin had on. Whatever what’s either above you or behind you was either a stupid compilation video of League of Legend funny moments or your next victim.

“Care for one more?” Came from behind you.

And both your and Jisung’s heads swiveled around at a dangerous speed to see the beautiful image of Chan, and damn was he beautiful. He was dressed for the weather, arms now covered in a long black sweater that hugged every one of his muscles so so nicely, and instead of sweatpants, he was wearing jeans. You could definitely tell the difference between a casual day around the house and one where he was going to be seen out in public—was that makeup?

And Jisung frowned. It had been going so well.

It was his turn to send Felix a glare.

The purple haired boy mouthed something along the lines of “girlfriend”, but Jisung couldn’t (could) really make it out.

“Sit down.” You managed to choke out, motioning toward the table.

“Hey!” Felix greeted, standing up to fully embrace Chan in a hug.

You were floored.

“You know each other?”

Felix’s eyes flickered towards you, “We both grew up in Sydney.”

And you thought your eyes were going to pop out of your skull.

“You’re Australian?” You gaped, watching Chan as if he had sprouted a new head.

He then proceeded to spout off some heavily accented words that you could barely make sense of, and you could feel your heart practically flutter in your chest. After meeting Felix, you never thought you’d ever find an Australian accident sexy as hell—but Chan’s was, in fact, very sexy as hell.

“Wow,” Hyunjin whistled. “What does it take for one to become Australian, because fuck.”

You didn’t think you would ever agree with Hyunjin so much in your life.

Chan snorted. “I think you have to be born in Australia unfortunately.”

“Or you know,” Felix tossed sarcastically. “Live there.”

“Damn. Always the catch.”

You sighed, almost going as far as face-palming yourself and/or slamming your forehead against the table.

Instead you just sent Chan an embarrassed smile. “You can sit down if you aren’t planning on running away.”

“Thanks.” He laughed.

Unfortunately for you, there were already three people in your booth and he wouldn’t be able to fit beside you.

Fortunately for Jisung, there were already three people in your booth and Chan wouldn’t be able to fit beside you.

But when Chan began to slide in the seat next to Felix, Hyunjin suddenly jumped with a yelp, glaring at the suspicious looking Felix in front of him. The two had a very strange conversation with their eyes before Hyunjin was huffing a sigh and maneuvering himself to slip under the booth and (clumsily, you may add) pop out on the other side of Seungmin, ignoring the spectacled boys' complaints as he sends Chan a smile.

Stupid plotting assholes.

“Just wanted to sit next to my… uh—”

“Boyfriend?” You supplied, blinking at him dully.

“Yeah, my boy—hey, fuck you!”

“Sorry, were you waiting to tell people?”

He took the liberty to be the kicker instead of the kickee and sent his foot into your ankle, making you hiss with a glare.

Felix nudged Chan’s hip to direct him into the spot beside you, his mouth open in a wide smile as you are further squished between both Jisung and Chan. With one boy being very broad and the other being very clingy, you barely had any room at all.

“Y/n, you look a little cramped, why don’t you scoot over here a little more—?”

“Jisung, if I get any closer to you, I would be on top of you.”

Hey, he wasn’t completely opposed to that plan.

Jisung certainly would rather have you on his lap than Chan’s. He couldn’t even think about that without grasping for your hand again, though you were too fast and managed to wiggle out of his grip.

“Yeah, Y/n. Why don’t you just scoot over?” Hyunjin sang, his mouth curled up in a coy little smirk that he always had carved onto his face.

“You scheming little—”

But your words were cut off by the clearing of a throat.

Seungmin leaned over the table, and the way his sleeves were rolled to his forearms was suddenly very noticeable. He looked at you with the intention to kill, and had he not been a prudish reincarnation of the devil, you would’ve thought he looked hot as fuck.

“Do you want me to retell the little incident that took place at last year’s Christmas party?”

A collective gasp went around the table, Chan being the only one who was absolutely clueless.

Felix whispered something under his breath about how “that was sworn to secrecy”, and Hyunjin’s wide eyes stuck to the side of Seungmin’s face like glue.

Even Jisung broke out of his jealous stupor to gulp.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would.”

That was the true form of Kim Seungmin.

“What? Do dinners like this happen all the time?” Chan asked. “Do you ever actually eat?”

As if on queue, Jeongin stepped up to the table, notepad in hand and wide eyes sparkling. “Are you guys ready to order—?”

But Felix was dragging the boy down to his height, whispering something quickly into his ear, causing his eyes to widen. After enlarging, his gaze flickered back and forth between you, Jisung and Chan.

“I… will give you guys a few more minutes.”

Jeongin scurried off and you wanted to kill everyone at the table.

“Well, I’m going to answer my own question here and say no. There will be no eating food today.” Chan hummed, tossing his menu onto the table similarly to a petulant child.

You huffed. What did you ever do to deserve any of this?

With both boys at either side of you, it seemed to create a visual representation of the conflict in your mind. And Seungmin looked like he was ready to pass out with how hard he was trying to hold in his laughter as Felix and Hyunjin simply smiled your way.

To say that the two boys were completely clueless, would’ve been an understatement—

With Chan too busy thinking about all the food he wouldn’t be eating and Jisung preoccupied trying to grab ahold of your hand, they didn’t once notice the way that the three little devils stared holes into their heads.

“I literally can’t stand any of you.”

1K notes · View notes

xpeachesncream · 3 years

Text

acquainted | nine

> series masterlist | series playlist <

summary: the biggest goal of a grad student is to get through school in one piece - no petty drama involved, no sweating over the little things. however, that plan almost always never follows through. sometimes, you can’t help but fall into the most unthinkable, unexpected traps and learn the hard way. like, exhibit a: being unable to resist your engaged, substitute teacher, kim seokjin.

pairing: jungkook x reader x engaged!teacher!seokjin

genre: grad school au, student life au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 3.5k

warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, jealousy, alcohol consumption, dancing/event scene, a lil bit of that good ol’ phone sex

tags: @laurynne5 @yiyi4657 @miinoongi @teamtardis-notdead @bluesharksandfish@photographic-girl @yonkoghan @moonchild1 @thebeebi (pls msg me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

You were a little relieved when Jungkook had mentioned that Jin and Grace wouldn't be able to make the charity event tonight. You weren't sure how you'd manage being in one place with all of them at the same time. Plus, your chaotic friends? Absolutely not.

Jungkook is driving you both to the campus event, with his hand resting contently on your thigh, the slit of your dress giving way to his large hand. You honestly really loved seeing his tattooed hand against your skin; it was attractive in many ways you couldn't explain. You donned a simple, satin black camisole dress with a cowl neck and slit to accentuate your legs. Jungkook wore a black turtleneck, slacks and a long blazer-like coat with black Chelsea boots.

If people were to see you together on the streets, you definitely would have looked like a serious couple who had been dating for years.

"Y/N!" Ryujin squeals as she runs [waddles] at you full throttle, heels on and all. She grips you into a tight hug, before smiling down at you and quickly observing your neck just to make sure. No, bitch. The hickeys are still gone! When she's satisfied with what she sees, she turns her attention towards Jungkook. "Jungkook! Wow you both are so fucking hot, it's insane." She grips onto his arms as she looks at up and down before pulling him into a hug.

"Definitely all Y/N, but thank you." He laughs as you both follow her. As you had entered the huge hall with high ceilings and old-fashioned chandeliers hanging, you caught a glimpse of Jimin and Taehyung in their suits. Boy, did your friends and Jungkook look fine as fuck tonight.

"Woah, you two." You hug Jimin and Taehyung before tugging on their blazers and fixing their cuffs.

"Like what you see?" Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows, making you shake your head. At this point, you've really run out of responses to clap back at him with. He came up with something new every time. "What's up, Jungkook?" Taehyung gently pushes you aside to casually greet Jungkook, along with Jimin.

"Dude, this charity event is way too fancy." Jimin laughed. "Majority of the people here are like, over 60 years old."

"Just wait, maybe more people from our class will show up." You chuckle. "It's for a good cause, I'm sure there's more people on the list than we think."

"Or maybe now, the party will finally start since Dj D-Sharp is setting up." Ryujin points to the DJ setting up his gear at the front of the hall.

"Fuck, finally." Jimin says, downing the champagne in his hand. You look at him, eyebrow raised because one, what kind of day did this dude have to be drinking like that? And two, he always drank alcohol like it was water, gulping it down in one motion. The fuck? "What?"

"What happened?" You chuckled, Jungkook's arm snaking around your waist as he talked to Ryujin and Tae next to you. He didn't seem too shy around them. Either that, or he just meshed well with your friends.

"Honestly, I'm just trying to feel good so I can call someone over to fuck." Your eyes widen. He was definitely allowed to drink more tonight, being that Taehyung offered to drive. Very unlike Jimin, but to each their own!

"Ohhhh, like that? Okay. Well, let's get you there then." You slowly nod in agreement. Remember, you always support your friends! [except Taehyung because that fool is dumb sometimes and he needed to deal with his own consequences] But especially Jimin; He needs some fun! You excuse yourself to get more alcohol with Jimin at the bar, Dj D-Sharp already starting to spin some ratchet, oakland-ish music even if the crowd was looking the way it was.

"You and Jungkook look nice together, Y/N." He says, clinking his glass against yours. "Seriously. He looks like a good guy." You smile toothlessly.

"Yeah, he is." No lie, Jungkook really was. Too good, almost. Every little thing he did made you feel guilty.

"One more? Should hold me out for awhile." You roll your eyes cause he was sure as hell lying, but you take the shot anyways. By the time you two are done making sour faces and sucking on limes, you begin to make your way back towards your date and friends.

And Seokjin and Grace, apparently?

You deadass almost stop in your tracks, noticing Jungkook speaking to Jin and hugging Grace tightly. The room feels like a sauna, and your throat feels like it's closing in on itself. This was the first time you were seeing her in person, and honestly, she was cute as hell. Suddenly, the guilt goes away and you feel.. bold. You want to tease Jin and you want him to want you, even given the circumstances we're in right now. You wanted him to want you so bad that he couldn't take it anymore.

"Bitch—" Ryujin places another shot glass in your hand. "I know you need this more than I do." You take it to the neck with ease like you weren't just making sour faces with Jimin minutes ago and place the empty glass on the table next to you. "I thought he wasn't coming!"

"I thought so too!"

"Oh, here! This is my date, Y/N." Jungkook happily swoops you by the waist and brings you forward to meet Grace.

"Uh, hi." You tuck a strand behind your ear, quickly glancing at Jin who is awkwardly standing there with his hands in his pockets. He simply looks at you, his hair swept and lightly gelled to the sides like it usually is and exposing his forehead; god, is he purely fuckable right now. Grace quickly catches the awkward look, but brushes it off and beams a big smile before opening her arms.

"Oh my god, she's so pretty Gookie!" She pulls you into a hug and you're internally screaming right now because what the fuck is even going on?! "Hi, I'm Grace. Jin's fiancé." She smiles from ear to ear.

"Mmm, yeah. I've heard a lot about you" You flash a toothless smile and nod. "Or a little." You clear your throat and mumble under your breath, shooting Jin another look. Ryujin is secretly pinching your back from behind for the unnecessary comment. Luckily, Grace doesn't hear the last statement, and giggles it off before swinging her arm around Jin's waist and placing her other hand against his chest. You hear Taehyung clear his throat behind you to break the awkward silence, so you shake your head and step aside for them to come into view. "This is Ryujin, Jimin and Taehyung." They all wave at her sweetly.

"Nice to meet you." Ryujin smiles before turning to your group. "Food, anyone? Looks like they set the trays of finger food down." She points to the table off towards the wall. Grace and Jin follow behind your group, Jungkook separating you from each other. Jin looks down to see Jungkook holding your hand tightly before his entire arm snakes up around your shoulders. He watches from behind as Jungkook feeds you with a small finger sandwich, you both laughing and smiling at each other.

Yeah, he shouldn't have come. Not if he was going to see this all night. But Grace had insisted being that she was finally home early for once.

You and Jungkook make your way to the dance floor to dance and keep it PG for the older audience around you. You still had fun, nonetheless, comfortably dancing and singing along to the songs with Jungkook. Occasionally, he'd wrap his arm around your neck as you both bounced to the beat and recited lyrics. You had fun with Jungkook. He was definitely into a lot of the same things you were, especially music-wise. It was easy to vibe with him. But the thing that separates him from Jin is the chase, the high of doing something so wrong but actually having it feel so goddamn right. Jungkook was like being served on a silver platter - prim and proper, easy.

For a minute, you're dancing with your friends, while Jungkook is dancing with Grace and Jin in front of your group. You figured you could start teasing Jin a bit more, playing this little game he absolutely couldn't stand. You smirk at Ryujin, who furrows her brows at you, confused at what you're trying to hint at here. Jimin and Taehyung are drunkily dancing, too busy woo'ing old ladies and buying alcohol for new friends they've been meeting.

You snake your arms around Jungkook, tugging him back towards you. He smiles as he turns and is now wrapping his arms around you. You both are slightly bouncing to the beat of the song while he looks down at you.

"What's up, pretty lady?" You pout.

"I just want a kiss."

"I think I can help with that." You tug onto the sides of his coat, tippy-toeing up to plant a good, soft kiss on his lips.

"I know she isn't right now." Ryujin says to herself, keeping her gaze on you as she dances awkwardly off beat since she's too busy watching you. She was 100% fully aware of what you were doing; You didn't need to tell her twice.

"Jeez, what happened? You're normally a good dancer." Taehyung says getting in her view, causing her to shove him aside.

"Out of my face!" She groans.

Jin occasionally glanced at you and Jungkook every time Grace had been looking away, feeling completely bothered. He caught you staring back at him with a small smirk over Jungkook's shoulder when he came down to envelope you in his long arms. He wasn't trying to play with you right now, and if he could, he'd probably take your ass to the car and fuck you senseless in that dress.

"Why are you being so cute?" Jungkook chuckles as he turns you around so he can hug you from behind and place kisses on your temple, you both now facing toward Jin and Grace.

"Just wanted a little attention." He sneaks a kiss onto your neck, causing you to close your eyes at the feeling of his lips against the surface of your skin. Suddenly, you feel the urge to head to the bathroom, the alcohol begging to be released from your body. "I'm gonna head to the bathroom really quickly."

"Want me to come with and wait for you?" You shook your head and pointed to your friends.

"I'll be good. Make sure you watch these drunkies, though." He nods and joins your friends on the dance floor. You actually really need to fucking pee, and the restroom inside the hall is out of service, leaving one stall available and a long line to accompany it. So, you exit the hall and turn to head towards the student center, where the bathrooms were located just around the corner. You felt like a huge weight was lifted off of your shoulders when you broke the seal, making you sigh contently as you flush the toilet and wash up in front of the mirrors. As you're happily making your way back, you feel hands grip your wrist and pull you under a dimly lit corner by the bathroom, completely isolated and almost eerie.

This was it. This is where your life comes to an end—

"Y/N." You hear Jin's voice breathily call your name.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Talking to you." His face slightly comes under the only small, weak light plastered on the building wall. "What does it look like?" You feel yourself getting weak, examining the sharp features on his face - his lips and how plump they are, his jaw, his eyes.

"I didn't know you were coming." You say softly.

"I didn't either." He pulls you closer to him, the both of you now in the dark and away from the dim light. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"I'm not doing anything to you." You feel his hand come down to the small of your back as he gently presses you against him.

"You know what you're doing." He says, almost at a whisper, sending chills down your spine. "You look beautiful tonight."

"You don't look too bad yourself, Kim."

"Your dress—" He leans forward to whisper in your ear. "Your dress makes me want to do so many things to you." You let out a breath, your pussy throbbing at the way he's speaking to you.

"We should get back before anyone realizes we've been gone for too long." You say lowly, your lips only inches away from his.

"Yeah, we should." He responds, but his lips are only getting closer to yours and you do nothing to stop it. You return the kiss, your hands gripping at his blazer as you bring him closer. The only sounds filling the air are the wet, slow kisses being exchanged between you and Seokjin.

"Jin, stop. No." You gently push him away, your hands pressed against his chest. "Don't. Not here." You look at him before walking off.

Fuck.

Even if your ass went home with Jungkook tonight, you couldn't even see yourself fucking him because of Seokjin solely. You were too caught up and that was the fucking truth. There was no way you were unraveling from his finger. He had you wrapped tightly and you had no intention of even trying to let that shit go.

That's the tea. The honest tea.

"What happened?" Jungkook comes to you, feeling how cold your skin is as he rubs his hands down your arms.

"Had to take a detour." You nodded towards the line at the hall bathroom.

"Shit, sorry babygirl. You should have used my jacket."

"I'm okay. Thank you." You smile, gently squeezing his hand before making your way to your friends. Sooner or later, all of you decide to call it a night being that the crowd is slowly dying and you've all had your fill. Jungkook says bye to Jin and Grace, with you following. Jin keeps his eyes on you, even as you're walking away and out of the hall.

He really hopes you aren't staying with Jungkook tonight.

And, you're not. Jungkook simply drives you home and walks you up to your apartment like he usually does. He gives you a peck on the lips outside of your door before he's able to finally pull away from the hug he has you in and wish you goodnight. You had fun, and it gave you butterflies thinking about tonight. But you weren't exactly thinking about your friends and Jungkook and all that cute shit; you were thinking about how you succeeded, with Jin pulling you aside to lay some kisses on you even with the environment you two were in. Risky shit. Risky business. You fucking loved it.

You decide to pick yourself up out of the long, steamy, hot bath you soaked yourself in for the past 30 minutes or hour, you aren't even sure anymore. Your body felt relaxed and you felt like you could go to sleep peacefully. You lathered your body in some lotion, happily slipping your naked body under the covers. Sometimes, you just needed to do this every once in awhile. Show some love to your body, let it free. Your duvet covers felt nice against your skin, with you sinking in deeper until the comforter hugged every inch of your body.

As you were about to go to sleep, your phone flashed an incoming call across the screen. An incoming call you almost expected after tonight.

"Hello?"

"Hey." Jin's voice is deep and husky on the other end, causing you to bite your lip at how awfully sexy he sounds. It instantly reminds you of the way he groans your name. Quite frankly, it's turning you on.

"Why are you calling?"

"Can't sleep."

"I'm assuming Grace is asleep already."

"Yeah, she is." You hear him fiddling in the background, door softly shutting as he makes his way around the house and out to his car. Jin sits in the driver's seat just so he can talk to you without having to quiet himself down. Truthfully, he just wanted to hear your voice. "Did you enjoy tonight?"

"Yeah, it was enjoyable at best. Did you?"

"Besides the fact that I had to watch Kook be all up on you, I guess it was alright."

"Jealousy honestly looks good on you." You joke.

"It's not funny, Y/N."

"Boohoo." You sarcastically respond, chuckling.

"Yeah, keep it up. What are you doing?" You bit your bottom lip, excited to get him started again.

"I'm in bed. Naked."

"Mmm." He breathily responds. "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"Don't tell me these things."

"But I am. Why would I hide it? You've seen me naked."

"That doesn't help anything." You're honestly feeling yourself right now, and you're pretty fucking horny hearing his voice alone. You wanted him badly, but you couldn't have him. You just wanted to feel him after tonight, be in his arms, have him tug on your hair - all that good good. Teasing was the next best thing you could do, an added bonus if he could make you cum over the phone.

"Jin." You say softly.

"Mhm?"

"I want you." It's silent for a moment before he sighs and lightly groans.

"Y/N, god. Please don't."

"I wish you could fuck me right now." You hear him mumble a quick 'fuck' before he's sighing again.

"Are you touching yourself?"

"What would you do if I said yes?"

"Let me hear you." You bite your bottom lip as you're actually moving your fingers in circular motions on your clit, a heel planted on the bed to give yourself more room. You moan into the phone, Jin staying completely quiet on the other end. You weren't sure if he was joining along, but whatever, fuck it. You were just worried about cumming at this point, whether he came with you or not.

"I want you to fuck me so bad. I want you to—mmmmfff." You lightly moan. "I want you to fill me up, and fuck me from behind. And pull on my hair like you do."

"Fuck, Y/N." He breathes as he begins to palm himself. "I swear I'm gonna fuck you so good the next time I can have you to myself." You start to insert a digit into your wet pussy, the sounds filling the air. You had shut your eyes, imagining that Jin was there the entire time with his plump lips pressed against your clit, causing you to moan loudly once more into the phone. The sounds of your wetness against your fingers loudly fills the room, you're sure Jin can hear it.

"Can you hear how wet you make me?"

"You're so fucking hot." He softly groans. "Wanna feel you so bad." You start to pick up the pace with your fingers, alternating between pumping them in and spreading your wetness out on your folds before rubbing on your clit.

"Wanna feel you deep inside of me, hitting my spot." You whine. "God, I'm gonna cum just thinking about it."

"Yeah?" You feel yourself getting close, only moments away before you tip and hurl over the edge. "Cum for me, baby. I wanna hear you." Jin is so fucking turned on right now just hearing you, and it's taking everything in him not to drive off and head to your place. He will literally blow his load right into his boxer briefs with the way you're talking and moaning for him. He quietly sits as he continues to palm and slowly jerk himself off in the car, listening to the way you're moaning loudly over the phone, calling his name along with cuss words trailing. He tilts his head back in pleasure, his eyes shut as he listens to your tone increase, signaling that you were about to cum.

"Ughhhhhgggfuck." You say as you let your body tremble freely, aftershocks rippling through your body as you release your fingers.

"Fuck." You hear Jin groan. "Thanks, now I have to clean myself up."

"You're welcome."

"I wanna see you soon."

"I don't know how you're going to make that happen."

"I'll find a way, I always do. Will you let me come see you?"

"Yeah." Is all you say, because you do want to see him. You do want to be with him and you do want to be in his arms.

"Okay." It's silent for a minute before he chimes in again. "I'll let you get some sleep, I need to get back inside anyways."

"Mmmkay." You hum.

"Night, pretty girl."

"Goodnight to you too, Jin." You sit your phone back onto your night stand before getting up to wash yourself up once again. At this point, you weren't even sure of your own feelings. Did you just enjoy fucking Seokjin because of the thrill and all the risks? Or, were you actually falling for him? There were so many things that you didn't entertain with Jungkook or other men because you couldn't see it being anyone else other than Jin. You wanted him to hold you, you wanted him to cater to you, you wanted him. But you always had to come to terms with the painful truth.

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jesswritesthat · 4 years

Note

☕️ + Atsumu please!

A/N: I - I don’t think this was for me was it? Well lovely, I ran with it anyway, I hope it’s alright even if not what you wanted. 💕

>>>>——————————>

It suited you really, and Atsumu was probably subconsciously seduced by your difference in aura to most he'd encountered, especially when they'd chose to celebrate leaving Inarizaki with alcohol. Instead, the coffee shop you'd proposed was mirroring in a way, full of warm hues and a comforting serenity - though he'd always felt that way in your presence, a calming wave relieving him of stress whenever you coaxed him to talk about it and the memories of soft laughter following thereafter. Geez, you were such a perfect friend it hurt.

You brought him here to fabricate dreams of the future presumably, you'd proudly found a part time job in the meantime and being friends for a while meant hang outs like this were normal - except it wasn't. It felt like goodbye. Inarizaki would no longer tether you together, so he savoured every moment he had left, his backhanded compliments forcing you to roll your eyes with an equally cutting remark just like they always had. He loved this.

But it couldn't last forever.

"Nice try blondie, but I'm the one earning more." Was your skilful interception, swiping your card before he had the chance to do so himself which left him momentarily disabled.

"Uh - So?"

Obviously he couldn't argue why he wanted to pay, those were the unspoken rules of a first date - but he suspected this didn't count as one. After all, you're friends. Regardless of the seemingly unspoken sentiments that hung over you like the heavy storm lingering outside - the ones you were meant to discuss today but never found the perfect moment. Because there wasn't one. There never would be one.

"Pay me back when you hit the Pro Leagues, alright?" A witty response, a challenge if he really deciphered the playful smirk dancing on your lips. But Atsumu would accept, and with casual determination, for his competiveness wouldn’t allow him to do otherwise.

"Sure thing."

The ringing of the golden bell hanging above the door signalled your departure, and he realises he should’ve said more back then...

—

With his induction to the MSBY Black Jackals, your paths intertwined much less than they had done prior (not that it was a significant amount after graduation) but he still missed your rare sporadic encounters. Futile he knew, but he hoped somewhere, you were at least watching each game he played. It was selfish to think so, considering you had no obligation to him to do such a thing nor did you owe him anything of the like.

Atsumu scoffed at that, maybe if he'd been cocky enough to ask you out those few years ago you'd still be together now, but it just wasn't the perfect time and you deserved perfect.

Then there was a burning heat through his veins, similar to the unfathomable twin connection he shared with Osamu - low and behold who was contently chatting with him. Did everyone feel this around you then, like drinking steaming coffee on a cold day that warms you from the core?

"Tell him I was asking after him okay? I'll see you Osamu."

Not like this - it's not a good time.

Before anyone could question his invigorated movements, Atsumu sped through the back halls of the arena and having recently beaten the Schweiden Adlers - he was grateful for the burst of adrenaline that came with victory when skidding in front of the exit right as you were about to leave. You stifled your footing, the unexpected appearance leaving you to gasp an instinctive apology until realising exactly who blocked your path.

"Atsumu, you're an idiot. I could've walked into you and I don't want to be smelling like sweaty athlete thanks." A teasing laugh accompanied your casual statement, Atsumu finding himself torn between biting back or doing the unthinkable.

It'd be late, years too late by this point, so was it better to leave it alone? You'd likely moved on anyway, probably found someone perfect for you. How could you when that was him?

His setting was like natural instinct and that worked near perfectly, so hopefully his instincts wouldn't betray him now.

"Hey, (Y/n)-chan, I believe I owe ya dinner right?"

It took a moment due the inexplicable timing, to recall that specific declaration dating back a couple of years now and it left you with a nostalgic smile once meeting the clever gaze of the blonde in front of you. Still as handsome as ever, if not more so.

"Din- ah I remember, wasn't it just a coffee 'Tsumu?"

The Setter smiled, truly smiled, with a breath of relief washing away his stressed tension, just like always with you.

"Call it interest."

Let's face it, Atsumu was very interested in you after all, that rate had only grown over the time spent apart and maybe it wasn't the perfect time, but that didn't matter. For you were perfect for him.

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

#miya atsumu #miya atsumu imagine #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!#anime imagine #anime x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagine

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queenofbaws · 3 years

Text

DA2: The Tale of the Champion (Who Didn’t Want to Be the Champion)

Characters: F!Hawke/Varric Tethras Rating: T Words: 8,328 Summary: After her duel with the Arishok, Hawke has some trouble getting to sleep. Ah, but lucky for her, she just so happens to be spending her convalescence with Kirkwall's favorite author! When she asks him to tell her a story to help her get to sleep, Varric obliges, but the tale's an awfully familiar one. Hawke can't help feeling that maybe she's heard it before...but if there's one thing Varric's good at, it's surprising his audience. Author’s note: The first of three pieces I wrote for Hightown Funk! If you’d prefer to read on AO3, the link is in the source! ---

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

“Can’t.” Hawke heaved a sigh as she said it, intending for it to come across as a joking, playful thing…only to cringe inwardly when she heard the sound out loud. She’d missed ‘playful’ by a country mile and, by her measure at least, had instead managed to land squarely in ‘pathetic.’ She set down the book she’d lifted from one of the side tables after pretending to read the front matter, making her way to him as casually as she could while still hiding the worst of her limp. “No idea how you do it, honestly…all the shouting and clanging…”

Varric breathed a quiet laugh through his nose. “Says the woman whose mutt—”

“War hound.”

“War hound, uh huh, my apologies, serah—says the woman whose war hound is just constantly bellowing at its own shadow…”

She rested her arms on the ridge marking the top of his chair and leaned her weight against the back of it. Much as she wanted to pretend she didn’t, she felt exhaustion’s insistent tug on every last one of her muscles, leading her to lower her chin to her arms and close her eyes in a half-hearted attempt to keep it at bay. Sleep wouldn’t come, but fatigue? Oh, fatigue was fast becoming an old friend of hers, a hanger-on she simply couldn’t seem to shake. “That’s different and you know it.”

“I don’t know it, actually.” With her eyes shut as they were it was hard to tell, but she thought the papery rustle that followed the statement meant Varric was starting a new page.

“Yeah, well…you’d understand if you were Fereldan.”

“Alas Hawke, the Maker in all of His divine wisdom saw fit to make me a Marcher instead of a mud-farming dog lord, so I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

She hummed a little chuckle of her own, but no matter how hard she tried, found she couldn’t come up with anything sufficiently witty to follow it up with. Figured. Well that was probably for the best—she had to assume writing was hard enough on its own, but writing and carrying on a snappy repartee at the same time? Impossible. Unthinkable. And since she was already leeching off of his hospitality…

All right, ‘leeching’ was perhaps going a bit far. He had, after all, always been very clear about his—ahem—palatial suite at the Hanged Man being her palatial suite at the Hanged Man…then again, none of those offers had been made when she was bleeding quite so much.

One of her ribs throbbed as though in agreement. Ugh.

It was also probably for the best that she couldn’t remember those first few days after the duel. If she really strained herself, she could pull up a few blurry images: the shadow of the Viscount’s throne, worried faces, the feathers of Anders’s pauldrons dark with blood, worried faces, the Knight-Commander’s disgusted sneer, more worried faces…honestly it was mostly worried faces, now that she was thinking about it, and none had been more worried than Varric’s.

Hawke didn’t like thinking about what that meant, didn’t like wondering how bad off she must’ve been there at the start if this was what she felt like now. Mostly, though, she didn’t like what it might’ve meant that Varric had been so concerned; in all their years of knowing each other, he’d reacted to even her worst bruises and bloodied knuckles with little more than an eye-roll and a shake of his head, maybe an incredulous “Again?” or “What did you get into this time?”

But since she’d woken up, something had…changed. He’d been a fixture at her bedside, there even when the others had given up and gone home. She’d come to mark the passage of time by the pages that had piled up next to him, the inkwells that had run dry. Again, there wasn’t much she could recall, but that much she knew—that each and every time the haze had lifted from her mind and the pain had let her think for even a moment, he’d been right there. And when she’d returned to herself enough to feel the horrible emptiness of the estate pressing down on her from all angles, he’d insisted on her staying with him instead.

Hawke couldn’t help but wonder whether he thought she might vanish into a puff of smoke if she wasn’t in his direct line of sight. Vanish or, Maker forbid, keel over dead.

Hmm. Cheerful.

“Are you my editor now? Is that what this is?”

She blinked herself out of that unpleasant line of thought, readjusting her position to take some of the weight off her injured knee as she leaned against the back of his chair. “Your editor? I’m an idiot, Varric, not a masochist.”

His eye-roll was positively audible. “All right, wiseass,” he said, clearly trying to sound authoritative but coming across wryly amused at best. “Please go lie down. Please sleep. Do you have any idea the bitching and moaning I’ll have to endure from Blondie if any of those stitches of yours tear?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “A lot.”

Hawke winced at the mention of the stitches. They, much like her ribs, took that moment to reassert their presence with a dull, throbbing ache. Healing magic, as she’d come to learn during her tenure in Kirkwall, only went so far…and she had a nasty, nasty habit of falling farther.

“All I’ve done for the past week is lie down,” she pointed out, and not without a touch of petulance, “What I need to be doing is stretching my legs. Get the blood pumping, as the saying goes. I mean…what would the good people of Kirkwall say if they saw their new Champion laying about like…like a…” Oh dear sweet Maker, she could handle the internal bleeding, but this marked difficulty with snappy comebacks was quickly becoming more than just a little distressing. “…well, like a layabout?”

That certainly seemed to get Varric’s attention. He set his pen down and twisted around in his chair to fix her with a look made of equal parts pity and fondness. She couldn’t quite figure out which part of that look struck her heart harder. “Hawke.”

“Varric.”

“I say this as your friend: Go sleep.”

“I’ve tried! You act like it’s easy to drift off into a peaceful, rejuvenating slumber when all of your bones are—”

“And I say this as your business partner—your business partner whose livelihood is upsettingly dependent upon your ability to, oh what’s the phrase…not be dead: Go. Sleep.”

That got a laugh out of her—a real, honest-to-goodness laugh—and while that felt like its own sort of miracle, it also sent another pang of pain shooting through her ribs, so it didn’t last nearly as long as she would’ve liked. “Fine, fine…” she said, heaving herself away from his chair with a grunt that couldn’t quite decide whether it was borne more of exertion or discomfort or a heady combination of the two. “I’ll lie down. Can’t promise sleep, though. Not unless drastic measures are taken.”

“‘Drastic measures,’ huh?” Varric asked dryly, “Dare I even ask?”

Her retreat wasn’t nearly as graceful as her entrance had been, and that was saying something. Leaning in that position for even that long, it seemed, had been all the permission her aching muscles had needed to lock themselves into stiff, unyielding knots, meaning she had little choice but to amble back towards the alcove of his bedroom with the gangly stride of a nug caught in a hunter’s line.

“Oh, you have no idea, Varric…you probably don’t know this about me, but since rising to the top of Kirkwall’s elite, my nightly routine has become a thing of decadence and ridiculousness. I’m not ashamed to admit it. It’s the sort of excess expected of noble houses like mine.”

“I know you did things a little differently back in Ferelden, but allow me to clear something up for you: A cup of warm milk hardly constitutes decadence.”

Another laugh…quickly followed by another grimace. She hurt like hell, there was no doubt about that, but even then it was impossible to keep from smiling. There was something so comforting about their back-and-forth, something that went beyond a feeling of normalcy. Now of course, that idea of normalcy, of things maybe not being perfect but at least being okay, was part of it; it just didn’t feel like the whole story.

“A cup of warm milk? Oh no. Oh nonono, you misunderstand. I need at least a single cup of warm milk—with honey and cinnamon, of course—my sheets need to be doused in only the sweetest smelling oils—” she heard Varric snort aloud at that one, “—I require a retinue of no fewer than three but no more than six musicians playing traditional Fereldan folk songs in the next room, and most importantly, it takes upwards of ten minutes of someone tenderly stroking my hair before I can even consider falling asleep these days.” Hawke lowered herself onto the bed, wincing every inch of the way now that Varric couldn’t see her. “So as I said, I’ll try, but my hopes aren’t high. I’ve gotten used to a very specific way of living, you understand. Noble living.”

“Yeah…not too sure I can help with any of that.”

“No lutists on hand, eh?”

“I could ask Corff if he’s hiding any in the back, I guess, but the chances of them knowing any traditional Fereldan folk songs are—”

“Pretty slim, yeah, I’d imagine as much.” She bit back a groan as she eased herself down onto the pillows, searching in vain for a position that could ease some of the strain of her back and legs. And arms. And shoulders. …and everything else, really. “You could always come stroke my hair,” she teased, hoping the lilt in her voice would cover the fact she was only half-joking. When it came to that sort of thing, she was always only half-joking.

With him, anyway. It was easier that way.

“Or…oh! You could tell me a story! That’s what you’re supposed to be good at, isn’t it? Stories?” Despite her discomfort, she couldn’t help but grin at the indignant sputter she got in reply.

“Supposed to be good at? One more crack like that, O Glorious Champion of Kirkwall, and I’ll see to it that Norah and Edwina drag you out of here kicking and screaming. Well…flailing and whining, at least. You look a little past the energy it takes to kick.”

The sprawl she ended up finding wasn’t perhaps the most delicate or ladylike of positions, but it would have to do. Her eyes fell closed and her body sank into the coverlet of his bed. “Methinks the dwarf doth protest too much.”

That time it was his turn to groan. And oh, what a beautiful sound it was, because Hawke knew it meant he was absolutely, positively, unquestionably about to humor her stupid request. “How about The Elf Who Never Smiled? That’s always a fan-favorite.”

Oh, it hurt to laugh—it hurt to laugh! “I know that one already. One day he finds a really big stick that he uses to smack other people around, and only then does he learn how to smile for real. Try again.”

“Hmm…what about…Five Times Daisy Used Blood Magic and One Time She Didn’t?”

“I’ve heard that one too. The one time she doesn’t use blood magic ends rather badly, and if I’m being completely honest? I’m not sure I ever really walk away understanding the moral you’re trying to impose.”

“Everyone’s a critic…ambiguity can be an important aspect of telling a compelling story, Hawke.”

“Mhm. Well. For future reference, I didn’t ask for a compelling story, I asked for a bedtime story, and if I may say so, your idea of what constitutes one of those is deeply, deeply flawed, my fine dwarven friend.”

“Hard in Hightown?”

At that, she opened her eyes for the sole purpose of rolling them. “I’m not listening to Hard in Hightown, Varric. Not again.” She turned her head just slightly, letting the downy fluff of his pillow envelope the better part of her face, and suggested (more as an afterthought than anything else), “What about whatever it is you’re writing now?” Had she not been so absorbed by trying to swallow back a considerable yawn, she might’ve noticed the silence brought on by the suggestion. “You’ve been scribbling like mad, the past few days…there’s got to be something salvageable in there, no?”

The ambient sounds of the Hanged Man could again be heard from outside the suite. Wood creaking under heavy boots, glasses clanking, unidentifiable voices pitching up and down as they moved from insults to jokes and back again. Then, just when she thought perhaps he hadn’t heard her, that she’d need to repeat herself, Varric responded.

“Yeah…I really don’t think you’d like this one too much.”

“Hmm, see, now you’ve piqued my interest! If it’s been enough to hold your attention for this long, I’m certain a lowly dog lord such as myself would be more than entertained by it.” Sleep felt no closer, but the longer she lay there, the easier it felt to talk, to smile, to laugh—and those were the things she’d been missing the most dearly since the Arishok had done his best to separate her head from the rest of her body, so she planned on taking full advantage of it. “Come on.”

“I really don’t think—”

“Can I at least get the title, then?” she teased, “Something to tide me over until the grand release where I can clutch my leather-bound first edition to my bosom and beg the author for an autograph?” Yes! Yes, she could feel herself slowly coming back into her own, and oh it felt so…all right, maybe not good, she was still probably a fair ways away from good, but definitely better.

Even from the next room she could hear him exhale. “It’s, uh, hmm.” There was a note of uncertainty in his voice that she wasn’t at all accustomed to hearing, and that only served to deepen her curiosity. He should’ve known better than that. “It’s The Tale of the Champion, actually.”

Without meaning to, she’d opened her eyes again. “Oh,” was the only thing she was able to manage there for a moment, something in her chest having gone suspiciously tight at the revelation. “…it’s a bit of a shit title, if you don’t mind a little friendly advice.”

Varric chuckled, but unless she was wrong, Hawke thought she could still detect a hint of that same uncertainty lurking just below the surface. “You could do better?”

“I didn’t say that.” Blinking at the wall, she tried to make it work in her head. Was he having her on, maybe? It seemed like a strange joke to pull on someone who was convalescing, that much was certain. But the thought of him being serious, the idea that those stacks and stacks of pages he’d been filling like a madman since she’d first opened her eyes were about her…well she wasn’t sure she knew how she felt about that. That was a lot to write about someone. A lot of time and thought and effort. Just…a lot.

“No, no, if you’ve got such strong opinions about it, then hey, you do better, huh?”

“Oh, have I hit a nerve, Master Tethras?” To her own ears, it sounded convincingly flippant, and that would have to do for now. “What about…The Tale of the Champion…Who Didn’t Want to Be the Champion?”

“Succinct. Really rolls off the tongue.”

“Considering only one of us in this room has had the great honor of being bestowed the title, I think I would know the feelings of any fictional Champion much better than you. Whoever your poor protagonist is, she—” she paused, deciding whether or not to commit to the oblivious act, “—or he…they probably aren’t terribly happy about the whole thing.”

“You’re right on that much, at least. I wouldn’t exactly say she’s been having the time of her life.”

Hawke swallowed, distantly aware of how scratchy her throat felt. In comparison to all the others, it was a dull, unimportant sort of ache. “You know, if you’d quit dancing around it and just tell me the story already, I could probably provide all sorts of valuable insights into the Champion experience. I know how prone you are to exaggeration, so…”

“Exaggeration,” Varric scoffed, “The word you’re looking for is ‘embellishment.’”

“It’s not.”

Another moment passed where the suite was quiet and still, the sounds of the tavern filling the gaps in their conversation. On any normal day, those sounds would’ve made her thirsty; now she felt strangely disconnected from them, as though they were coming from a different life instead of a different room.

And then, nearly as subtle as the rasp in her throat, she heard the small clink of a pen being set down. “I’m not reading it,” he warned, “But I can give you the main beats.”

“Be still my heart.” Though it pained her to do so, Hawke shifted one leg then the other, tucking herself under his blankets instead of lying on top of them. “Start it ‘Once upon a time,’ if you don’t mind. That’s how bedtime stories are supposed to begin, I think.”

He made a noise that could’ve been a sigh just as easily as a chuckle. “Once upon a time…” Varric began, his tone jovial but still carrying that faint note of uncertainty, as though some part of him worried of saying too much or not enough or maybe simply picking the wrong words. “There was a Champion.”

“…who didn’t want to be the Champion.”

“She did not,” Varric conceded, “She never really saw herself as a Champion of anything…she wasn’t the sort to care about titles, not when there were other things to worry about. See, where the story begins, the Champion—who isn’t officially a Champion just yet—is running. She’s running from the Blight, running from only home she’s ever really known, the place where she was raised, the place where her father’s ashes are spread, and as the eldest, she feels that it’s her job, her responsibility, to keep the rest of her family safe as they run.”

“A thrilling introduction.”

“Oh, you haven’t heard anything yet. As they run, they find themselves face-to-face with legend incarnate: A Witch of the Wilds—The Witch of the Wilds—a dragon of a woman made entirely of spite and cryptic advice. She’s impressed by the Champion’s ardor, or maybe she feels some sort of pity, recognizing in her some sort of kindred spirit, and so she whisks the family far, far away from the ravages of the Blight to a new world entirely. But…”

Hawke closed her eyes again, telling herself she was simply resting her eyes and not bracing for impact. All at once, Flemeth’s voice was in her head, ringing there like the tolling of the Chantry’s bells at night, reminding her not of what had been said just outside of Lothering, Bethany’s body growing cold on the scorched ground behind her, but later, on Sundermount: It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly. She thought she’d probably fallen more than enough for one lifetime…Maker help her, though, it didn’t seem she’d figured out the whole ‘flying’ thing.

“That help had come a little too late. In the madness of their escape, the Champion lost her sister. And there was nothing she or the rest of her family could do but carry on and hope they could make that loss mean something by continuing to live, themselves.” Varric cleared his throat, and she could almost see him flapping one of his hands to hurry himself along in her mind’s eye, “Then there’s this whole boring part with a boat…I’m thinking I’ll probably axe that in the second draft.”

“And disappoint Bela? You know how much the woman loves big boats. Axe that and you’ve lost yourself a reader, serah.” Thinking about Lothering, about Bethany, about Father…she was glad for the excuse to make a joke. Joking was, of course, easier.

“Well regardless, the Champion awakes one morning to find herself in an entirely new world…a city of chains. An old place, its roots ancient and dipped in bronze that’s gone green at the edges where they meet the sea, its cobblestones set out in mazelike patterns to ward off spirits or maybe just confuse the foreigners. It’s not her home, she doubts it ever could be, but before too long she’s carved herself out a comfortable niche in the underworld, her desire to keep her family alive outweighing her fear of bleeding out in back alleys.

“And then, one day, blessed Andraste on her side, she has the best run of luck she’s ever had in her life: Upon being accosted by a common hoodlum, she meets a devilishly handsome rogue—”

The sting of her memories immediately flew out the proverbial window at that. “A devilishly handsome rogue?” she repeated, her laughter giving way to a dry, hacking cough for a moment, “Oooh, see, now you’ve hooked me! That’s where you should’ve started!”

She could hear him snickering from outside the door, and unless she was mistaken, she thought he sounded closer somehow, as though perhaps he’d moved his chair or turned it around so she could better hear him. “Ah ah ah, don’t get ahead of me now. There are plenty of zany characters she picks up along the way. There’s…let’s see…there’s a pirate queen whose jokes are almost as ribald as her choice in clothing, a feathery apostate who talks too much and sleeps not enough, a sweet Dalish girl whose smile belies her affinity for more dangerous magic, a grim warrior from Tevinter set on revenge and redemption, a guardswoman with fiery hair and a heart of gold…all very compelling in their own right, all balancing the Champion out with their wide array of dysfunctional personalities. Or, more often than not, encouraging her awful behavior in their own unique ways.”

Hearing him describe their merry gang of ne’er-do-wells like that tickled her endlessly. He always knew how to spin things into a story, Varric, even things as banal and familiar as their friends. But what got her, though, what really made her laugh, was his obvious omission. “Aren’t you missing someone?” she asked, unable to keep from grinning despite the way it made her jaw ache.

“Mmm,” Varric hummed contemplatively, “Don’t think so.”

“There’s not, say…a displaced prince in shining armor, or…?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

She snorted so hard that her sinuses throbbed and she had to press her fingers to her face. “You’re sure.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Hawke…can’t say I’ve got a character like that in here.”

“Ah. Sorry. Of course. How foolish of me. Carry on, carry on.” Sighing, she once more tried to find a comfortable position to lie in, tugging the covers up as far as she could without her shoulders lodging a formal complaint. As it turned out? Not that far at all. “Tell me more about that devilishly handsome rogue you mentioned before,” she suggested, “I have this…uncanny suspicion that you’ve gotten his character fairly fleshed out.”

She could hear him chuckle along with her for a moment. “Eh, story’s not about him.”

Again she felt that familiar tightening in her chest, its tendrils wending their way around her ribs and squeezing gently. What she wanted to say in that moment was that there was no story of Kirkwall’s unwitting (and unwilling) Champion without him, that to focus on her without bringing attention to him was tantamount to telling the story of the Golden City without mentioning the Maker…but she was tired, and her body ached, and so what she actually said was, “It could be,” hoping deep down that some part of him understood what she’d meant.

“I’m less sure about that. He plays his own part, believe you me…he introduces the someday Champion to his devilishly conniving brother, you see, and that brother brings the lot of them down into the Deep Roads to search for gold, fortune, fame…all the things the Champion never really cared about. And though the Deep Roads are known for claiming victims left and right without discrimination, the Champion leads their little expedition out of harm’s way at every turn, saving their necks where even the most hardened Wardens might’ve fallen…at least until that devilishly handsome rogue’s devilishly conniving brother decides to stab them all in the back.

“And even still the Champion prevails! She finds a way to navigate the Deep Roads, slices her way through ancient thaigs and the unknowable things thought to be buried within them, but again, there’s a cost. She saves their lives…and then loses her brother to the Blight. It’s not fair, that irony—she’d been so sure they’d outrun it before, that they’d escaped its clutches, but there, miles and miles under the city that had given them shelter from the darkspawn, it takes her brother all the same.” Varric’s voice dropped off then, though only for a moment. “I really don’t think this is the kind of story you want to be hearing, Hawke. Seriously, I think this chapter of Hard in Hightown I’ve been working on—”

“That’s an awful lot of losing that your Champion does.”

From the main room of the suite, Varric exhaled. To her it sounded suspiciously like a sigh. “It is. It is a lot, isn’t it?”

“Now I don’t pretend to be a writer, Varric…honestly, I’m lucky that half the words that come out of my mouth on any given day make the slightest amount of sense, but it seems to me that the main character of a story like this should…win more often than not, you know? Your girl here? I’m not hearing about too many victories. Not very Champion-like behavior.”

“Oh, she wins. Believe me on that one, Hawke, she wins. If you haven’t heard me say that much, maybe you haven’t been listening: She flees before the Blight can claim her entire family, she earns the begrudging attention of a living legend, that ill-fated trip to the Deep Roads makes her a rich enough woman that she finds herself getting invited to an Orlesian Duke’s lavish tourney as a guest of honor…she wins! The losing’s just…well, it’s louder.”

Louder. That was one way of putting it. “You’re the professional, I suppose. But still, don’t you think the story would be better if you had a Champion that was, say, heroic and victorious and blah blah blah, laurels perched upon her head and applause following her through the town square and flower petals and blushing virgins thrown at her feet? Adventure stories like these sort of require that, don’t they? Having a hero you can—”

“Never said this story was an adventure.”

Her mouth turned down in confusion. Slowly, carefully, Hawke forced herself to sit up once more, Varric’s pillows wedged between her back and the headboard. “…it’s…this isn’t supposed to be an adventure?”

“It’s not.”

“They’re…they’re running through the Deep Roads and slaying darkspawn. There was a fancy tourney you mentioned there. They meet a dragon, and it’s…it’s not an adventure story?”

“Nope.”

Hawke swore she could still hear that strange, discordant note of uncertainty in his voice, but she couldn’t even begin to piece together what that might’ve meant. The idea that he’d be writing about her was one thing—mystifying and flattering in turn—but the idea that he’d frame her story as anything other than some rags-to-riches tale was something else entirely. She thought she felt a headache forming somewhere between her eyes, and she doubted very much that it had anything to do with the Arishok. “…this could very well just be the head trauma talking, but I am at a loss for where you’re taking this, then.”

Varric took his sweet time in responding. “If you have to know, it’s…” he cleared his throat again, and something about the sound made Hawke glad she’d decided to sit up after all.

How long had the two of them known one another? And in that time, she thought she could likely count the number of times she’d heard this sort of anxiety in his voice on one hand…and even then, most of those instances had accompanied Bartrand’s betrayal.

“It’s a love story.”

She was suddenly acutely aware of her pulse fluttering in her neck and wrists. “A love story?” Hawke asked, feeling as though she’d misheard him. That was possible, wasn’t it? That she was somehow hearing what she wanted to hear? Her quip about head trauma had been a joke, but…

Varric didn’t correct her. “If you’d let me continue…” he said, and she had the strangest sense he was gearing himself up in much the same way she was. It seemed possible, if not likely, that she wasn’t the only one in the suite whose stomach was a mess of writhing, wriggling knots.

For the first time in a week, her aches and pains weren’t the focus of her attention. “By all means.”

“After escaping the Deep Roads, the future Champion and the devilishly handsome rogue find themselves very wealthy people. As it turns out, sometimes treasure hunting results in treasure finding! Who would’ve guessed? With these newfound riches, the Champion buys back her birthright—her family’s old estate—allowing her mother to live the life she feels she deserves.

“Then, when she thinks the world has taken all it can take from her, the Champion loses her mother, too. Loses her to a maniac, a monster, and suddenly…she’s all that remains of her family. There’s no winning edge to that one. Nothing balances out the scales—nothing could. So the Champion keeps moving. She can’t stop. And that’s all right, because neither can the devilishly handsome rogue. They have that in common—the fear that if they stop, if they let themselves rest, that everything will catch up to them. So they don’t let that happen. And not to jump around and muddle the narration here, but the devilishly handsome rogue also knows firsthand what it feels like to be the only one left…to live with the fallout. It’s something else they have in common: Watching their mothers die and not being able to do a damn thing to stop it from happening. That sort of loss numbs something in you, I think. Numbs or kills, I’m not really sure.”

“Probably a little of Column A, a little of Column B.” The lump had come unbidden to her throat, and for more than one reason, she wouldn’t wonder.

“Probably. Anyway. She throws herself into doing everything—anything—to keep from thinking about it. From the moment she wakes up until the moment she falls asleep, she breathes for the city and its people, cleaning up the messes others have made and left behind, shouldering the blame for a sickness that’s rotted its bones for centuries…and then one day, she does something really, really, incredibly stupid.” It wasn’t a break she heard in his voice then, nor was it a crack, but it was something.

She couldn’t figure out through the mess of her thoughts why that something filled her stomach with hope. Then, unsure whether she was doing it to change the subject or confirm that anxious gnawing in her gut, she swallowed hard and interrupted him. “A thousand pardons, Varric, but I thought you said this was supposed to be a love story. So far all you’ve given me is pulse-pounding adventure and enough drama to choke a courtier, but where, pray tell, does the love come in?” She paused, worried that the next part would come out wrong…too obvious, too hopeful. “Who is it that’s in love with her, exactly?”

“Everyone,” he said without missing a beat. The shift in topic, it seemed, had been fine by him—as he spoke, falling out of the groove of recounting the events of the story to answer her question, he began to sound more like his usual self, no trace of that earlier strain remaining. “That’s the thing about her…she has this uncanny knack for turning everyone around her into besotted morons. It’s actually rather impressive, if you ask me…a real talent.”

“Everyone,” Hawke repeated, and oh, it was difficult to bite back the scoff that accompanied that particular thought, “I sincerely doubt everyone’s in love with her, Varric. The woman sounds like an absolute maniac. I can’t imagine even one person—”

Almost as though reciting verse, he ticked them off one by one, only succeeding in making Hawke roll her eyes harder. “The pirate queen offers her the open sea, freedom, plenty of booty—and I do mean that in whatever sense of the word you’d prefer—the sweet Dalish girl thinks the sun rises and sets wherever she walks, the grim warrior from Tevinter has on more than one occasion given her his heart…by which I do mean a heart he tore out of someone else’s chest, usually still beating, often with other organs attached…”

There was no fighting the laugh that time. “The guardswoman?” Hawke prompted through a smirk, “The one with the, uh…what was it? Fiery heart of…no, no, heart of gold and fiery hair. What about her?”

“Her love’s more subtle. Present mostly in the fact that she hasn’t strangled the Champion to death yet.”

“Ah. Of course.” Bracing herself against the headboard, she let her head loll back until she was looking up towards the ceiling, eyes tracing the cracks in the plaster as though they might spell out what she needed to say next. They didn’t, surprisingly enough, and so she tried to quell that fluttering in her stomach once more. “And the devilishly handsome rogue?”

“Oh, the feathery apostate, by the way, has threatened to drown the city in its own blood for her, too. I’d hate to leave that one out.”

“And the devilishly handsome rogue?” she repeated.

His pause went on for a breath longer than she would’ve expected. “I already told you, Hawke…story’s not about him.”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. If he thought she was going to let this drop, he hadn’t been paying too much attention to the character arc he claimed to be writing. “Well it’s supposed to be my story, to help me sleep, so perhaps you go off-script for a second and give me a peek into your author’s notes. You sat there only moments ago insisting that everyone was in love with your exhausting Champion who doesn’t want to be Champion. I simply want to know whether or not you’re counting your devilishly handsome rogue among that number. Is that so much to ask?”

“What do you think, Hawke?” he asked after another long moment where the seconds stretched and stretched until they strained at their seams.

“I think,” she said, more than a little alarmed to realize her heart hadn’t been pounding half so hard when she’d looked up into the Arishok’s dour face and accepted his challenge, the Viscount’s blood still tacky on his armor, “That you’re the author, so it’s your job to tell me what to think.” When he took too long to answer, she changed tack, asking, “Is she in love with any of them? The others?”

There was another beat of silence that she felt more than she heard. Then, “I haven’t made up my mind on that one yet.”

Instead of replying straight away, she hummed softly, adjusting her position again. It seemed impossible, even laughable, that she’d fall asleep now. Or ever again. “Ah, quite the pickle for a writer to be in, I’m sure. But if you don’t mind my saying so, again, as the resident expert on Champions and the inner workings of their complicated, complicated heads…if she hasn’t taken any of her colorful retinue up on their offers by this point in the story…and from what you’ve told me, we must be…where? Nearing the end of Act 2, I’d imagine? If she’s not with any of them despite their extremely tempting offers of both blood and booty, that’s probably an answer in itself, don’t you think?”

“Is it?”

“Isn’t it?” Hawke swallowed hard. She took a breath, let it out, grit what was left of her resolve, and did everything in her power to keep her voice light. “Like you’ve said, I’m sure I’m missing key details and…nuance, and all those other things your readers will no doubt be fanning themselves over soon, but speaking as a Champion who doesn’t want to be Champion, maybe…maybe there’s a reason she’s not with any of them. Maybe she knows someone else with a knack for making people fall in love them, and maybe she has, because they have so much in common and they’re such good friends and it’s just so…easy. But…but maybe you’re right, that losing is always louder for her, and so when she thinks about saying anything, or…or doing anything to let him know she feels that way…she’s just so scared she’ll lose him, too.”

The Hanged Man had never been so quiet.

Varric spoke up again after what might’ve been a lifetime, but he only had chance enough to get out a single word, “Why—” before Hawke answered, the words spilling out of her like bad blood from any of her many various wounds, unpleasant to purge but necessary for the healing to begin.

“I don’t pretend to know your protagonist, but if she was scared like that, maybe it’s because she feels like there might be someone else? Someone whose name comes up often enough to make her wonder…” She looked down at her hands, frowning at the bruises on her knuckles, the blood dried under her nails, and forced herself to laugh. “Or, you know, maybe once he made some witty comment about her being too tall for him or her legs being too long or something equally demoralizing for someone with an ego as overinflated as hers, who’s to say? The possibilities abound.”

“He is.”

She glanced up from her hands at the sound of his voice.

“Like everyone else in that damned city, he is…so in love with her, Hawke. The, uh, the rogue you keep bringing up.” The note of anxiety was back, lurking just under the surface of his words, though it felt different, somehow. The thought of bloodletting occurred to her again—uncomfortable at first, but necessary. “He suspects it for a very, very long time, but…but she’s the Champion, and he’s not the kind of person who gets included in stories like hers, so he keeps his head down. Or, you know. Tries to.”

“…how long?” It probably wasn’t the right question to ask in the moment, and yet it was the only one that came to her.

Varric’s laugh was just loud enough for her to make out from the other side of the wall separating them. “Long enough. He doesn’t realize how deep he’s in, though, until she does that incredibly stupid thing I mentioned before. Remember that? See, there comes a day where the city seems to explode in chaos. The Viscount, a benevolent if not somewhat standoffish figure, is murdered by an invading force. And the Champion decides it would be a wise idea to avenge that death by engaging in single combat with the leader of said invading force. An invading force, it stands to be noted, whose society focuses rather heavily on combat training.”

“I’m sure my continued asides have begun to wear on you, but I think your protagonist’s something of an idiot.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all! In fact, I have to agree—not completely, of course, because don’t worry, she wins that duel and, by extension, finally earns that title of Champion—”

“But the losing’s louder.”

“You’ve got that right. There’s a moment there where the devilishly handsome rogue is convinced she’s—” That was a crack. Hawke was suddenly unspeakably relieved she’d moved to the bedroom before he’d started telling his tale; she didn’t think she would’ve been able to keep from searching his face as that silence stretched on. “It sure looks like she’s dead, is the thing. Exceptionally dead.”

Her teeth worried at her lower lip until she tasted salt. “Takes more than a single duel to kill a Champion,” she said after a beat, wondering whether her voice had been loud enough for him to hear. “Even if they don’t want to be a Champion.” She pulled a deep breath in through her nose and held it for as long as she was able.

“Apparently,” he said, and rather flatly, at that. “But she’s not dead. No one can really figure out how she’s not dead, but…she’s not. She gets her title, she’s brought to a healer, and all the while, all the devilishly handsome rogue can think is that if that had been the end of her story…if she had died…she would’ve died not knowing how much he…” His voice trailed off then, and she couldn’t blame him for that. She knew firsthand how hard it had been to get out.

By her count, the silence the followed lasted roughly forever. Hawke sat there, basting in the implications of it all, the pads of her fingers working at a knot in her neck as she waited…and waited…and waited some more. But save for the muffled sounds of clanking glasses and low, buzzing voices outside the room, the silence persisted.

The mattress (and her muscles) creaked as she began to slowly push herself up towards the edge of the bed. “And?” she asked, surprised and perhaps even a bit alarmed to hear the hope, the anticipation, in her own voice. “What happens next?”

“Couldn’t tell you.”

“Oh come on,” she said, her emphasis on the final word little more than a flimsy attempt to mask her groan of exertion as she took to her feet. “You’re the author—you must have some idea how the rest of it will go.” She couldn’t say why precisely, but she felt continuing the charade was the safer option…at least for the time being.

So too, it seemed, did Varric. “Don’t know what to tell you. If you hadn’t picked up on this, the whole damn thing has been one unexpected turn after another, so…” He glanced up from his writing as she joined him at the table, and there was a moment where she was sure he was about to shoot another admonishment her way; he’d tell her to go back to bed, or to stop walking around, or maybe even to go home where she’d be able to ache in peace and they could both pretend they’d never had this conversation.

Only…he didn’t. All he did was move a few papers to the side when he saw she meant to sit on the edge of the table.

“Stands to reason, then, that whatever happens next will be just as unpredictable.”

“And just as ridiculous,” she added helpfully, trying not to wince as she perched herself on the table, her legs two sore, overstuffed weights dangling to the side of his. “Probably just as stupid, too…and bloody, I’d wager.”

“Sounds about right,” he said with a tired chuckle, keeping his eyes not on her, but the small point of ink where his pen met his paper, the shape of it bleeding into something larger the longer his pause went on.

This was where, under normal circumstances, she’d energetically swing her legs or crack a joke or do something—anything—to keep from bringing attention to whatever it was that thrummed in the air between them. Circumstances weren’t normal just then, though—they’d never been farther from it. There, against the muted chatter of the Hanged Man, her muscles weak with the relief of living to fight another day, she couldn’t recall a single reason why she’d let any of it muddle her thoughts: partnerships and losses, others’ expectations and crossbow names. So she didn’t make a joke to shift the mood of the room and she certainly didn’t swing her legs (though that one was admittedly more a matter of doubt she even could).

“I suppose it really doesn’t make sense to try and predict the rest of it,” Hawke sighed, her fingers gripping the edge of the table hard enough to hurt before she released it, allowing what remained of her apprehension to melt away. “Still…are you open to suggestions?”

“Oh, always,” Varric quipped back, having apparently decided to dig his heels twice as hard into the metaphorical dirt. “Unsolicited editorial notes are every writer’s best…” Something happened to that easygoing smirk of his when finally he looked up at her. There must’ve been something showing on her face. “…friend,” he finished lamely, his eyes dropping from hers for only a second, only a moment…

But that was all it took.

Hawke didn’t need to bend much, given the table’s height. She brought her hands to either side of his face and kissed him—kissed him without abandon, without doubt, without any of the mind-clouding bullshit that might’ve been there had she not caught the way he’d looked at her lips only a moment before.

She barely heard the noise of his pen being dropped before the warm weight of his hands on her sides stole away what remained of her attention, the pressure of his fingers soothing aches she hadn’t been aware of while managing (as if by magic) to avoid the worst of her bruising.

It felt, in a way, like the most natural thing in the world, as though it was something they’d been doing for years or even lifetimes. A part of her—many parts of her, in fact—suddenly wanted nothing more than to slide off of the table and onto his lap, to close what space was left between them…but that, Hawke knew, would have to wait for now, perhaps until she looked and felt a bit less like the things that sometimes washed ashore on the Wounded Coast after particularly bad storms.

Meaning to say something, she pulled away, her thumbs still mapping the curve of his cheekbones; “I think,” she began, though Varric leaned forward, following her, bringing their lips together again, and she lost her thought to a bout of delighted laughter.

“I think,” she said the second time around, breaking the kiss but setting her forehead against his such that they still breathed the same breath, “That whatever happens next, no matter how unpredictable or dangerous or downright bizarre…” It was impossible to control her smile as Varric laughed. “As long as the devilishly handsome rogue and the Champion who doesn’t want to be the Champion quit being thick and finally admit that they’re just…completely and utterly mad for one another…well, I think it has real promise as a story. In my humble opinion, it might even be the greatest story I’ve ever heard.” Hawke felt her smile grow pointed. “The greatest story I’ve ever heard from you, anyway…”

“Nice,” Varric chuckled, “Real nice, Hawke.”

If only her aches and pains would allow, she thought she could’ve stayed like that forever and a day, their lips close enough to brush, her thumbs slowly moving back and forth along the lines of his jaw, but something in her side chose that precise moment to twinge, forcing her to straighten her posture before it could become worse. She did her best to hide her grimace with a coy smile, gesturing vaguely with one hand as she joked, “Now, all of…that…the whole Champion not wanting to be Champion and the devilishly handsome rogue stuff? That was about us, right? Because if it wasn’t…”

“Hawke.”

“Oh, will I ever have egg on my face, Varric.” She wouldn’t have called the breath he exhaled through his nose a laugh, exactly, but it was close enough for her taste. Without wasting more time than she already had on things as useless as doubt or uncertainty or even thought, she plucked the ink-stained page he’d been writing on from the table, setting it atop the ever-growing pile beside him, and then nodded towards his bedroom again. “I’m afraid your little story had quite the opposite of the intended effect: I am now unbelievably awake. So. What say you that you make it up to me by joining me and stroking my luxurious hair until I drop off? We can forego the warm milk and the scented oils this time. Sound fair?”

He watched her for a moment, the corners of his eyes creased by a smile made of relief and disbelief and amusement in equal measure, and then stood from his chair and took her hand in his, their fingers fitting together as though they’d been made to do just that. “Still don’t know any Fereldan folk songs,” he warned.

“Ah well,” Hawke said, feeling more alive and whole than perhaps she had any right to, considering the bandages, “I guess I could settle for a proper Marcher ballad or two, instead.”

#dragon age #da2 #dragon age 2 #hawke x varric #varric x hawke #hightown funk #queenie writes dragon age #my fanfiction

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latinasmoak · 3 years

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the sweetest life (and the loving is easy when you’re with me)

tumblr version:

"It all started with an eclair. "

(Modern Polin AU) A mini series on how a couple of delectable desserts have the power to make Penelope Featherington's dreams come true.

rating: mature

tags: tooth rotting fluff, seriously so sweet it’s cavity inducing , it starts off sweet but we will be getting smutty in later chapters!

Chapter One: Mocha Eclairs

It all started with an eclair.

No wait, Penelope was getting ahead of herself.

It all started when she finally moved out of her mother’s home. The day when she realized that she was free from all the backhanded compliments, the nitpicking statements or worse, her mother’s “helpful” advice that wasn’t really helpful at all. Penelope loved her mother, she really did but Penelope would also be the first to admit that they had nothing in common and those differences often led to moments of extreme dislike and disappointment. But that daily torment was the past, now that she was in her own flat, and out of Portia’s critical eye, she was only privy to criticisms when she deemed it necessary to visit her mother, which to no one’s surprise, wasn’t often. And more importantly, living on her own - oh alright, with Eloise Bridgerton as her roommate of course - Penelope was finally free to indulge in one of her favorite secret hobbies. Baking.

When Penelope couldn’t write, she found that redirecting her brain power to learning the techniques and rules of baking, a satisfying distraction. (Self taught and with nothing but online tutorials, plenty of hands on attempts and several spectacular failures, Penelope felt a spark of excitement when, eventually, her creations didn’t turn out as complete disasters) . She still remembers the day her pastry attempt finally didn’t crumble or fall in on itself! When she had taken a bite and sighed with pleasure at how delectable it had turned out to be. To say she felt complete joy and satisfaction was a vast understatement. Her baking steadily improved and now she’s reached the point where sharing her creations with her favorite person was no longer unthinkable.

A flutter of butterflies erupted in her stomach and Penelope took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves. Before her very eyes was her own take on a mocha eclair; lightly brown, oblong choux pastry filled with an espresso creme patisserie. It was topped with a dark chocolate mascarpone and simply decorated with chocolate shavings. It looked divine and it smelled heavenly and all the while Penelope’s heart was about ready to burst. She had only one person in mind while she was making these treats, the one person who was constantly in her thoughts.

Colin Bridgerton.

Colin, her best friend’s older brother who was also her friend...sort of. At least she considered him her friend and Penelope dearly wished he felt the same. Well, if she was honest, she would prefer it if he viewed her as more than just a friend, but Penelope had been Eloise’s friend since childhood and because of that she was, unfortunately, like another sister to him.

Penelope shook her head, her loose curls flying about as she attempted to redirect her thoughts from the depressing spiral of her unrequited love. Instead she focused on boxing up her beautiful chocolatey creations. She was after all, expected over at the Bridgertons’ for dinner.

What was unexpected, was the sound of the front door opening and Eloise clamoring her way in. Penelope tilted her head in confusion as she stepped out of her tiny kitchen and followed the sound to see El.

“Why are you here? I thought we were meeting up at your mum’s place?”

Her shouted question was met with silence. No response came from her best friend as she zipped her way to her room, mumbling something utterly incomprehensible.

“According to her, she needed something from her room quite urgently , and no it could not wait, so here we are. At least we can all head to mum’s together.”

A distinctive male voice answered her, startling her enough to make her flinch. Her stomach dropped and her heart began pounding double time, but not just because of the fright, no... even without turning just yet there was no way she could ever mistake his voice. So melodic and captivating as it was, Penelope merely lifted her hand to her heart, willing it to slow down as she turned around to face the man of her dreams.

“C-Colin, you startled me.”

She tried to laugh off her reaction, cursing the fact that his simple presence was enough to make her body go haywire.

A little crease on his forehead appeared as he frowned. “I’m sorry Pen, I didn’t mean to give you a scare.”

He scratched at the back of his head, a small smile making its way onto his face.

“I thought you would have seen me behind El.”

Whatever she was about to say next was interrupted by Colin sniffing the air and casually heading towards the kitchen. “Pen, what is that? It smells really good in here,” his voice got softer the further away from her he got and Penelope quickly chased after him, knowing better than to leave him alone with a box of sweets. Penelope knew the instant he noticed her eclairs. It was hard to describe how excited he was, but his whole being came alive at the sight of food.

“Where did you buy these? Can I try one?”

Instead of answering, Penelope booked it, managing to reach the box before he did. A little miracle as she zoomed past him before standing in front of her treats, using her own body as a barrier to keep the man with a black hole as a stomach away. If she hadn’t been so busy trying to catch her breath, she would have laughed at the astonished look on his face. Colin had clearly not been expecting her to react like that but it wasn’t long before his stunned expression morphed into one of humor, his eyes alight with fondness.

After a few deep breaths Penelope finally had the capacity to answer without wheezing,

“I didn’t buy these. I made them. Yes you may have one, but not now. I was going to bring them to dinner.”

Penelope nervously pushed back her loose curls behind her ear before continuing.

“I know you Colin, if you eat one now, you could be tempted to finish the whole box and that wouldn’t be fair to your brothers and sisters.” she teased.

He didn’t need to know that the reaction she was looking forward to the most was his. In fact, Penelope had gone to great lengths to hide how pathetically in love she was with the third Bridgerton brother. From the moment boys had stopped being icky to her, her heart had belonged to him. It wasn’t just that he was ridiculously handsome and charming. Or that he was constantly smiling and having a good laugh. It was the fact that deep down, he was so... kind . He included her when he didn’t need to and he listened whenever she found the strength to push her shyness aside for actual meaningful conversation. Colin more than any of the other Bridgerton siblings -with perhaps the exception of Eloise- made her feel like she belonged . A feeling that was hard to come by in her own family. To feel it with him was something she so deeply treasured.

What started off as a childhood crush simply grew with every new detail about him she collected through the years. A soft and simple affection that bloomed into a deep, unshakable love. Of course, with every year that passed, her love grew stronger; the heaviness of the unreciprocated feelings began to build up too. The pain settled in her heart, encasing it bit by bit. She learned to tolerate the pain because the alternative, to cast him out completely, was unbearable and impossible. She’d rather have him as a friend, if nothing else. For now that was enough.

“You made them?”

Colin perked up and he leaned in closer, his height giving him the advantage to look over her and peer at the box.

“I didn’t know you could bake! Why didn’t I know? I feel like that is information I would know.”

His furrowed brows and mumbling was so cute Penelope had to squeeze her hands into a tight fist to resist the urge to softly brush away the wrinkles on his forehead with her fingers. And oh how she wanted to lightly cup his face and stand on her tippy toes for a simple kiss on his lips.

She pushed those thoughts aside and instead she laughed, oddly pleased with his reaction, with the knowledge that he cared. Cared enough to be disgruntled that she had secrets.

Pushing at his chest so that he would back up, Penelope looked up and smirked.

“Bold of you to assume you know all my secrets, Bridgerton.”

A huff of shocked laughter escaped him; this was a new side of Penelope, and Colin couldn’t help but be a little awed by the sight of her. There was this new confidence about her, and he liked it.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been surprised so many times in such a short amount of time. Since when did she bake well enough that her pastries looked like they were ordered fresh from a bakery? Since when was she fast enough to be on one side of the flat one moment and a second later right in front of him? Since when did she know how to smirk?

Nevermind that she was still adorably flushed, her bright blue eyes brimming with mischief as they met directly with his gaze. He was soon distracted by her deep red curls flying loose around her face. An unnamed feeling spread through him as he looked at her and he shifted his stance, backing away a little and letting her hand drop from his chest.

He was a little dismayed at the sudden urge he felt to get closer and wrap his arms around Penelope’s soft curves. To personally push her curls behind her ears before tilting her head and - stop. Stop. Where did that thought even come from? Trying his best not to think about where his mind was venturing to, Colin instead took Penelope’s full body defense of her treats as a challenge. God knows what was taking Eloise so long, but he would take advantage of this time to charm his way to a snack. The smell in the kitchen was absolutely mouthwatering and he couldn’t imagine Penelope not excelling at whatever she put her mind to, so he was positive in the knowledge that those eclairs would be delicious.

Throwing away any shame, Colin Bridgerton immediately clasped his hands together in a praying motion. He widened his green eyes pleadingly before setting his mouth into a perfectly formed pout.

“Oh come on Pen, please? Just one. I’m hungry.”

Penelope was not impressed, her single brow rising was enough to inform him of this.

“Colin you are always hungry! The sky is blue, water is wet and Colin Bridgerton has a black hole for a stomach.” She uttered dryly.

Colin pressed his hand over his heart dramatically as he gasped.

“Penelope! What a barb!”

Her resulting giggle was music to his ears, but he still had not given up on his endeavor. If regular pouting wasn’t enough, he would have to try something a little more drastic, but he was committed to this now.

Penelope’s mouth dropped open as soon as Colin went down to his knees, once again his hands clasped together, this time with him shaking them back and forth as he whined.

“Pen have mercy on me, your friend, who is so hungry and only wants to try your food. Please Pen. Please.”

Stunned, Penelope takes a few seconds before covering her face with her hands and bursting into laughter.

“Oh my god. Colin! Stand up! You are so bloody ridiculous, I can’t believe you just did that!”

She leaned forward and offered him her hand, still laughing, but she was shocked when he didn’t immediately reach out.

“I’m not getting up until you let me have an eclair, Pen.” He grumbled.

Rolling her eyes she giggled as she agreed to his demands. The fact that she had been able to resist him this long was enough of a victory for her. A few weeks ago the pouty face would have been enough for her to cave.

“Oh alright, yes! I’ll let you have one. Now get up.”

She helped pull him up, not really needing to do much since he was strong and agile enough that he didn’t really need her support. But it meant a lot to her that he still accepted her help, for she would always freely offer it. And if a spark went through her at the mere brush of their hands, and a tingling sensation followed as he gripped her tightly, well she would keep pretending like it was nothing. Even though it was everything.

After ensuring that they’d washed their hands, she pulled out a paper plate for him. Penelope then carefully opened the box and pulled out a single mocha eclair. She watched as his green eyes gleamed with pure want, and for a second she was insanely jealous over the fact that he would never have that expression on his face as he looked at her. She snapped out of it though, getting jealous over a pastry was a new low. Even for her.

Penelope held her breath, her stomach tangled up in knots as she waited for his verdict. Trying her best not to let her eyes linger on his mouth too much, she watched as Colin took his first bite of her mocha eclair. The one she’d made especially for him, with all the love and care she never had the bravery to share aloud. She almost looked away, something about seeing him eat a treat she made with her own hands felt a little too intimate, but his moan of appreciation had her unable to tear her eyes away from his face.

His expression… it was bliss. Green eyes widening before closing as he took in the flavors she incorporated for him, that heady mix of chocolate and coffee.

Penelope could only blush as her heart beat a tad bit faster and a beaming smile made its way onto her face as he took another hearty bite.

“That good, huh?” She said cheekily, feeling confident in the face of him devouring the sweet instead of, say, spitting it out politely.

“Inf oh ‘ood”

His mouth, still stuffed, made his response sound like pure nonsense but the approval was unmistakable. Penelope wrinkled her nose a bit at him attempting to speak with his mouth full but even that lapse in manners was utterly endearing.

Damn him .

She was so caught up in her joy that he liked it that she almost missed him reaching out for another one as soon as he had taken his last bite. Penelope’s eyes widened in alarm and she reached out for her box of eclairs.

“No! Nope! Colin the agreement was one eclair! I did not make this whole box for you! I did, in fact, make them with the intention of sharing with your whole family!”

She stepped out of his reach, protecting the rest of the pastries from his never ending appetite.

“Pen,” Colin whined, his eyes staring longingly at the box.

“You can’t just let me try one of the greatest eclairs I’ve ever had in my life and expect me to only be content with one!”

He reached for the box again, single-minded in his attempt to satiate his craving for another bite. The fact that Penelope had made it still had him in awe. When he had taken his first bite, the urge to groan had been practically overwhelming. It was like ambrosia, an explosion of flavor, the bitterness of the coffee followed by the sweetness of the chocolate and creme. He was distraught when he had opened his eyes to realize that he had devoured his whole eclair. He needed more.

Penelope turned her back on him, cradling the box and using her own body as a shield, shaking her head back and forth all the while. Another huff of laughter escaped him, she was so cute, protecting the sweets for his family. A noble endeavor indeed but he was much taller and the wall she made was nothing compared to his height. He stepped forward, his chest to her back, his arms wrapping around hers, Penelope stiffened in his pseudo embrace but Colin didn't notice as he finally had the box in his hands. Just in time too, as Penelope let go and twisted her way out of his arms.

“That’s not fair! Using the fact that you’re a giant against me is rude.”

Penelope was amazed that her voice wasn't shaking considering her heart was threatening to beat out of her chest. What was that? She had been so close to melting into his embrace, the urge to lean back against his chest and breathe in his scent had been so strong. How dare he do this? Didn’t he know she was only so strong? The fact that she could still feel him around her was enough to drive her insane.

“It’s not my fault you are so tiny, Pen.”

Colin grinned as looked down at the box, lifting the cover and mentally counting how many were left, “Come on Pen, there’s enough -” his sentence was cut short when Penelope grabbed the box from his hands unexpectedly and bolted to the other side of the counter, leaving him standing there in utter shock.

“Again? When did you get so fast? I swear I only blinked!” Twice now she had exhibited an alarming sense of speed.

“You guys are cute.”

Both Colin and Penelope are startled when a husky voice enters the conversation. They had completely forgotten about Eloise being in the flat with them. Caught up in the impromptu tug of war over the eclairs. They looked over at Eloise’s grinning face. Neither one of them sure they liked the twinkling light in her expressive brown eyes.

“I was here for a solid ten minutes enjoying the show, but mum’s waiting for us so let's get a move on.”

Eloise then grabbed the box from Penelope’s hands and headed towards the door.

“Let's make haste people!”

It didn’t take long after that dinner for Colin Bridgerton to become a frequent guest in Penelope’s kitchen. What started off as simple requests for his favorite treats quickly became an insistence on her part that he was to be her sous chef and help her clean up. Not that it was ever a chore, but if she was to dedicate so much of her time to feeding him, it couldn't be for free. His time was more than enough of a payment for her and every dessert she made was a labor of love. It was liberating in a way, to channel all her feelings into the dough and creams and treats. She was no longer bottling it all up, no longer letting it stew and fester and morph into agony.

And it was indescribable, the joy she felt to see Colin enjoy her food so earnestly. To see his hearty appetite satisfied by her own creations. Penelope felt like she was high in the clouds, he was always texting her new recipes they could make together or locations of different bakeries they could try. She never expected any of this, the fact that their friendship would grow into something deeper. Of course she still yearned for them to be more, and she constantly had to remind herself to not make a big deal out of normal platonic affectionate gestures. She was content for now, to have him at her side.

It all started with an eclair…

But it all escalated with a strawberry crème brûlée.

|| CHAPTER TWO || || AO3 ||

#Polin Fics #Polin #Penelope Featherington #Colin Bridgerton #Colin x Penelope #Bridgerton Fics #Bridgerton #fic: the sweetest life #yes I know I have this on AO3 but I also always planned to have a tumblr version #i'll be reposting chapters two and three soon as well #I love my babies sooooo much <3 #ale's fics

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hrodvitnon · 3 years

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Part 2: They stayed silent for the most part (except for Ni, who was already talking shit but kept mostly to himself) until Goji broke the silence by greeting them with a clear tone of mockery "Good morning, Sunshine" and while Ghidorah is still silent Goji explains the situation for them, he explains that he and almost everyone already knew that they were alive to some degree after Hong Kong was leveled, but instead of lunching an attack against then Goji decided to just order everyone to stay away from the area and let him deal with them, since at that point he wasn't confident that outright killing would get rid of them, so he decided to do something different. Ghidorah, more specifically Ichi, breaks the silence by saying that "It was stupid not to end us when you could." and Goji just casually answers that "Yeah, I know." Ghidorah, realizing that there was no imminent attack, decided to lay down themselves since they had already burned a good chunk of the limited supply of energy they had and continues "If you're not here to kill us, then what do you want?" Goji pauses and thinks for a moment, before answering them "I want...a truce" Ghidorah pauses but then immediately bursts out laughing at the ridiculous idea, but once they notice that Goji is not laughing with them they stop and just stare and think and...consider. "You can't be serious" Ichi says in disbelief while Ni sliders fort and growls at Goji while asking "And WHY would we want a truce with you?!" San is just quietly thinking about it and actually considering. Goji sighs and looks at them before answering "Because I think that, like me, you're tired of...this little game of ours. Think about it, we've been doing the same song and dance for ages now, but tell me, and be honest, have we gotten anywhere? I'm still here and so are you, nothing changed. What I am proposing is for us to give ourselves the chance to do something else, something different." At that, Ghidorah as whole goes silent, all of them consider Goji's offering to various degrees, that's when Ichi decides to bring up the fact that "We've already tried something different, don't you remember? That night where did the unthinkable, all of the sake of pleasure and dominance. Even then, we went right back into our little game and acted as if none of that ever happened." Goji is surprise by Ichi bringing that night up in the first place, he had looked away the memory of it, for personal reasons, but now thanks to ghidorah he can't help but remember it in detail. While Goji's is silent, Ichi sighs himself and continues by saying "And as much as I hate to admit, you're right." He looks at San for a moment before looking back at Goji "about us being...tired I mean. But I feel like I must ask, what are the terms of that..."truce"?" Goji stares at them before answering with a serious tone "The terms are very simple, you must not cause the needless destruction and death that you normally would" Ni cringes at that "But, you'll be given a territory of your own to..."rule" in Antarctica, I'm sure you're very fond of that place, am I right?" Goji smirks while Ichi just frows and continues to listen, Goji then finishes his statement by saying "you will be left alone, no one will bother you and you'll be allowed to roam free as long as you stay away from human settlements." Ghidorah is silent once more and Goji just waits for their answer, while they are quiet on the outside, they are arguing very loudly on the inside via telepathy. Ni is completely against the idea since he lives for the trill of battle and bloodshed and he wants to continue doing so, San on the other hand is very much in favor of the idea and thinks it would be healthy for then to lay back and relax for once in their lives, Ichi wants...a bit of both, while he enjoys bloodshed and to dominate his opponents, he also would like a bit if rest. That's when they have an idea, a devilish idea that could get them killed on the spot, but they also agreed that it was worth the try.

Ohh...?

(Then Ghidorah got an idea. An awful idea. Ghidorah had a wonderful, awful idea...)

#gemini amorim

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justcallmefox89 · 3 years

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The Bakery Fallout

Spoiler warning: if you haven’t read the book 3 demo, this fic does contain a small spoiler for Mason’s route.

Adam has to rescue the detective as they attempt to comes to terms with Mason’s statement in the bakery. Their adversarial relationship transforms into something softer as they realize they have more in common than they first thought.

I tap angrily on my keyboard in an attempt to finish my final report of the day as the scene from the bakery this morning plays on a loop in my mind.

Just seeing each other naked......

“What a smug, condescending........” My thoughts trail off into an inaudible growl as shove myself away from my desk. My office chair turns me in a lazy circle as I consider why I’m angry.

Fact - Mason had warned me that this would just be a bit of fun on his part.

Fact - I had agreed to those terms.

Fact - Somewhere along the way I lost my good sense and started to fall for him.

Fact - This morning he ripped out my heart and left it on that table at Haley’s.

I’ve spent the day stewing in my office, slamming filing cabinet drawers and dodging phone calls from the mayor. I’m pissed at Mason, but downright disgusted with myself. I glance at the clock hanging on my office wall.

Close enough to quitting time.

Now there’s only one thing to do for my sour mood. I catch Tina by the hand as she scampers past my office. “We’re going drinking.”

She doesn’t hesitate, just lets out a cheery laugh. “Lead on then Detective!”

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

Adam strides purposefully into the bar, eyes narrowing as he searches the dim establishment for Detective MacKenzie, nose wrinkling against the smell of cheap beer. He huffs in irritation when he is unable to immediately locate them.

He’s beginning his second scan of the bar when a pair of hands yank down on his arm. Officer Poname is gazing up at him blearily, holding his arm for balance as she stretches up on her tiptoes.

“They’re over there!” She points to a far corner of the room and shouts in an attempt to be heard above the din of the bar.

Adam winces as her voice attacks his hypersenses and steps away quickly, pulling his arm from her grip as he does. His gaze flicks in the direction of Officer Poname’s extended arm and catches a glimpse of the detective’s riotous black curls as they brush their hair over their shoulder, shaking their head and laughing as their long hair tickles their bare skin.

The detective’s tattoos are usually covered, but tonight they have removed their flannel shirt and Adam is momentarily fascinated by the colorful ink and pale skin revealed by the detective’s sleeveless undershirt.

“They seem to be enjoying themselves,” Adam observes, wondering for the tenth time since he left the warehouse why he was called to save the detective from their bad decisions.

“Yeah, about that........” Officer Poname slowly drawls. “There’s something going on. They won’t tell me what it is, but I haven’t seen them this bad since......”

“Since?” Adam prompts, impatient.

Officer Poname shakes her head and waves a hand, as if shooing the thought away. “If Kieran wants to tell you about it, they will. They point is, they’re drunk and in bad shape, and I’m not in any state to help them out right now.”

“I’m sure Specialist Agent Mason would have been happy to assist Detective MacKenzie,” Adam remarks dryly.

A strange look crosses Tina’s face. “They told me not to call him,” she admits. “They said to call the.....” She trails off and her face flushes momentarily. “They told me to call you.”

Adam furrows his brow, confused as to why Kieran wouldn’t want to call Mason, and even further confused at the small fluttering in his chest at the revelation that they had insisted he come to their aid.

“Well, uh, I’ll leave you to it then.” Tina pats his shoulder and clumsily meanders off in search of another drink.

He shoulders his way towards the dark corner Detective MacKenzie is ensconced in, stopping in surprise when he sees they’re not alone. Kieran is sitting with the reporter, more accurately, seated in his lap, both hands braced on his muscular chest as their fingertips toy with the buttons of his shirt. Bobby’s fingers run through their hair, tangling in their curls and playing with the silver and leather hair beads scattered through the thick locks.

Pushing down a sudden surge of irritation Adam moves directly behind the duo’s chair and loudly clears his throat. Bobby is the first to look up at him, eyes widening in surprise quickly followed by curiosity, undoubtedly wondering why Adam is there instead of Mason.

“Looks like you’ve got a visitor, angel.” He smirks as he twists one of Kieran’s curls around his index finger.

“I’ve come to escort you home,” Adam announces, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Kieran twists to look at him over their shoulder. They look angry, brows furrowed, lips parted to make a sarcastic remark, as per the usual course of their relationship with him.

As Adam braces himself for a confrontation he glances down to meet Kieran’s gaze. Their eyes are glassy, pupils blown so wide the black nearly obscures the vivid emerald color of their irises. Despite the fury that twists their features, their eyes are pained..........sad.

Adam takes a sharp breath, momentarily disconcerted by the pain that emanates from Kieran’s very being; washing over them in waves and threatening drown them. He exhales shakily, overwhelmed by the sudden, intense urge to dive in and save them from the undertow.

Kieran inhales deeply and blinks several times in rapid succession, and when they meet Adam’s eyes again he’s relieved to see their usual smirk is back in place.

“If you insist, Commanding Agent Du Mortain,” Kieran purrs. They lean in and whisper something in Bobby’s ear. Adam is only able to parse out a few words over the clamor of the other bar patrons, but whatever they say puts a large smile on the reporter’s face.

Kieran places both feet firmly on the floor and stands, wobbling slightly. Unthinking, Adam reaches out to steady the detective with one large hand on their shoulder. As soon as he touches bare skin his body tenses. Their skin is soft and so, so warm. For some reason he had imagined that the tattoos would feel differently, that maybe the ink would texture their skin somehow, but all he can feel is smooth, unblemished skin.

“Hey! Du Mortain!” Adam gasps, startled out of his shockingly personal thoughts about the detective, and realizes that his hand is still firmly touching them.

Kieran gives him an infuriating smirk and a quick wink. “Looking’s free, but touching will cost ya.”

Adam snatches his hand away from the detective and imperiously looks down his nose at them. “Never fear Detective MacKenzie, I have no desire to touch you any longer than absolutely necessary to ensure your safety.”

His stomach clenches and he frowns. His words sounded so certain, but why did it feel like he was telling a lie?

Kieran shrugs into their flannel shirt and gives him a coy look. “That’s what the pretty ones all say at first,” they murmur, patting his chest softly.

Adam’s eyes widen at the casual touch and he huffs out an involuntary rush of air. “Time to leave detective.”

Kieran turns to blow Bobby a kiss, then lazily waves a hand towards the bar’s exit. “Lead on then, Du Mortain.”

The chill of the outside air and a soft mist are a welcome change from the sour, fermented air of the bar and Adam inhales deeply to cleanse his lungs. Next to him, Kieran has closed their eyes and tilted their head back, lips curled in a soft smile as the mist touches their skin.

Adam has never seen the detective look so happy. No, not happy. Unguarded. Kieran has nearly as many personal defenses in place as he does, and to see them simply be is something he wants to savor. He allows himself a few moments more before catching the detective’s attention.

Adam coughs loudly, prompting Kieran to open their eyes. “If you’re quite through Detective MacKenzie, we need to proceed to your apartment.”

Kieran rolls their eyes and shoulders past him. “Whatever you say, Du Mortain.”

“If you find my company that distasteful you could’ve called someone else to retrieve you,” Adam snaps, matching his steps to their. “I’m sure Agent MacKenzie or another member of Unit Bravo-”

“Bleeding Christ, no,” Kieran snorts. Adam blinks, taken aback by their vehemence. “Those four are the very last fucking people I want to be around right now.”

Adam’s eyes widen. “You want to be around me?”

“Shocked the shit out of me too, Du Mortain,” they chuckle. “Nate and Felix would just look at me like I’m a wounded puppy and want to talk about how I feel.”

They blanch, a faintly sickened look on their face at the very thought. Adam feels a faint pang of empathy; the thought of having his feelings subject to the scrutiny of either Nate or Felix is enough to make him feel ill as well.

“And we both know that they only time Rebecca has anything to do with me is if she needs something or when we have a case. And Mason is only interested in what’s in my pants, not helping me out.” Kieran glances over at him, anticipating his rebuttal.

Adam opens him mouth, knowing he should put forth some form of token argument, but he can’t deny the truth of Kieran’s statement, so instead he asks, “Why call me then?”

“Because,” they sigh. “You leave things well enough alone. You don’t pick or prod trying to get me to open up about things I don’t want to talk about. You just let me be. And I appreciate that. You’re the only one who does.”

The rest of the walk continues in silence as Adam ponders the detective’s statement. He hadn’t considered it before, but he appreciated them for the very same reason.

The rest of the walk to Kieran’s apartment passes in a companionable silence. Once they have the door unlocked they lean against the doorjamb and rake an appraising glance over Adam.

“Wanna come inside?” They ask, jerking a thumb towards their living room. “We could have a proper sleepover, make hot chocolate and friendship bracelets and everything.”

Adam’s eyes bulge in surprise and he takes a startled step back. “You cannot be serious, detective.”

“Sure I am. I’ve got a crafting kit left over from the last time I watched Verda’s girls.” Kieran waits a beat then dissolves into giggles. “You should have seen your face, Du Mortain.”

Adam’s shoulders sag in relief, but for the second time this evening a faint pang of disappointment resonates in his chest. He quickly shakes the feeling off. “I trust you can handle yourself from here, Detective MacKenzie?”

Kieran smirks and gives him a lazy salute. “Absolutely, Commanding Agent Du Mortain.” They sober for a moment. “But seriously, thanks for coming to walk me home. You’re a regular knight in shining armor.”

Adam rolls his eyes in annoyance and turns to leave.

“Hey Adam?” Kieran’s voice is soft, hesitant.

He turns, an eyebrow quirked in curiosity. “Yes, detective?”

Their eyes are hazy now, glassy with unshed tears. “Why don’t they want me?”

Adam’s brow furrows as he attempts to work out who Kieran is talking about. A few moments too late he works out that they’re referring to Mason and Rebecca.

Kieran has taken his silence as something other than momentary confusion, and nods as they smile sadly. “Yeah.......I wouldn’t want me either.”

“Detective,” Adam begins, his throat clenching as they roughly rub the cuffs of their shirt over their eyes in attempt to stop their tears from falling.

They shrug in a half-hearted attempt to reassure him. “Goodnight, Adam.” They silently withdraw into the darkness of their apartment and shut the door.

He stands motionless outside the detective’s apartment, and for the first time since he’s known them, Adam feels a rush of pure rage towards Mason and Rebecca. Damn them. Damn them both.

#TWC #twc writing #detective #twc fanfic #twc stuff #twc detective #twc fic #twc a #twc m #twc mason #the wayhaven chronicles a #the wayhaven chronicles m #the wayhaven chronicles #the wayhaven chronicles mason #the wayhaven chronicles adam #adam du mortain #Specialist Agent Mason #the wayhaven chronicles detective

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haveanotherkpopblog · 3 years

Text

Vive la Revolution

Prologue

Genre: Cyberpunk!AU, Dystopian!AU, Gang!AU, Rivals-to-Lovers!AU

Pairing: TBA

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Sexual Situations

Masterlist || Next Part >>

Society fell when the game came out. It was supposed to be a game for children, where they could let their imaginations run rampant. The game was meant for them to have an escape from everyday life. But then they didn’t stop playing. They spent all day in the game. Nothing else mattered except the game.

The game--the game wasn’t like other games. It was the future of virtual reality. It was a game where you didn’t need to stop to sleep or even use the bathroom. Your consciousness was transferred into the game, putting you in a deep slumber, a coma almost. The only downfall was you had to leave, until you didn’t have to.

The kids turned to the black market for medical IV’s so they could keep playing. Crime began to rise significantly over the mere months since the game’s initial release. The police did their best, but with limited resources and limited money, there was only so much they could do.

Then the adults started playing. In an attempt to save their children, adults entered the game. The only problem was, they never left. The curiosity of what had captured their children’s minds so effortlessly and quietly. Slowly, the adults stopped leaving the game. They followed in their kids’ footsteps, buying IV’s and locking themselves away in the game.

Businesses began shutting down from the lack of customers and the employees seeming to vanish into thin air. Life began slowing down, the only thing thriving in the dying country was crime. The police slowly began to stop doing their jobs, letting the country run rampant with illegal activities.

The worst of it was in the capital. The most powerful people, the socialites, lived there, including the manufacturer of Virtual Paradise-- the game responsible for capturing half the nation’s mind. The game went world-wide, and soon everyone who was anyone had purchased the game. People, desperate to escape their lives, stole the game from anywhere they could get it. The company, Tempestechnologies, had become the company.

However, that was the capital and all major cities of the world. What was really scary was the rest of the country that couldn’t afford the game. Or if they could, they were smart enough not to buy it. With the world and the nation in chaos, the country had been divided into three districts.

The first was the JYP District. It covered most of the coastline and was the mediator between the other two districts. The leader of the District referred to herself as Queenie. As the only female leader, she gave herself a fitting title. While rather small in size, she was a force to be reckoned with. She and her husband had made a quiet, but successful, living working mainly with oversea gangs. She kept the other two districts as close allies.

The second was the SM District. This District covered the northern side of the country. It just also happened to be the richest amongst the three Districts since the Capital fell within their territory. The leader was Leeteuk, a successful businessman turned into an even more successful gang leader. He knew where the game would lead the country from a young age, and he’d been preparing ever since for the inevitable.

The last District was the scariest. YG District was made up of the southern side of the country and what little bit of the coastal region JYP didn’t control. The crime rates were so high, the police had completely given up and worked for the District’s leading gang and the leader. The leader--the leader was so many things, finding one word to describe him was impossible. G-Dragon had done so many unthinkable things, had seen the unimaginable, and he had laughed at it all.

Now while Queenie had aligned herself and JYP with SM and YG, the two didn’t like each other. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her, there certainly would have been a civil war unlike any before. That’s where the story started, at the end of a feud that started before either of them reached double digits.

Queenie sat in one of the clubs in her District. For the best outcome, everyone needed to meet on neutral territory. That meant her territory, which she didn’t mind at all. Her turf, her rules. She smirked, eyes scanning the club, skimming every face she recognized and every face she didn’t. She watched as A, one of her informants, flirted with some random guy at the bar. He wasn’t bad looking, but Queenie knew A was simply biding her time.

“Are you sure they’re going to show?” JB, Queenie’s second in command, sat perched at the edge of his seat. He was staring directly at her, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. His drink sat on the table in front of him, barely touched as the ice slowly watered it down. She smirked, reaching to grab her own glass off the table.

“Have patience. They’ll show up.”

As if on cue, Mandu, JB’s personal bodyguard, escorted four men in. Mandu had dark brown hair parted away from his face. His muscles bulged against his tight shirt, giving everyone a clear image of his strong physique that detoured most people, as long as he kept his mouth closed. Once he opened his mouth, any intimidation the other party felt disappeared. Even with his deep, intimidating voice, Mandu was simply too sweet and kind for his own good.

Leeteuk sat in the chair opposite of Queenie. His pink hair fell into his eyes, making him squint and occasionally toss his head. His suit jacket was undone, revealing the tight, black dress shirt that hugged his toned chest. It was a well known fact that he had quite the fascination with her. Whether it be because of her stunning beauty or the power she held was of little consequence.

Next to him was Suho, his second in command. Suho was to keep himself more put together than Leeteuk did when she was around. His black hair was combed away from his face, and his suit was well-put together, albeit more casual than what he usually wore. They were supposed to be more casual, relaxed, with each other. Hence them meeting in some bourgeois club. And that was strictly on Queenie’s request.

Behind them were their bodyguard, arms crossed over their chests as they eyed Queenie and her subordinates half-heartedly. They never saw her as a real threat. Whether it was because of their alliance or because they truly believed she wasn’t a threat to anyone was unknown to her. But she knew she could handle herself, and should the time ever come, she would show them just how well.

“Gentlemen. Welcome. I hope the journey wasn’t too hard,” she greeted.

“Seeing you again is worth every second,” Leeteuk said, shooting her a wink. Queenie peered over her glass, sparing a glance to Suho who was staring at Leeteuk with a slight scrunched face. He rolled his eyes, taking a prolonged sip from his cup. “I only wish it was under better circumstances.” She carefully set down her cup.

“I think these are the best circumstances. You’re finally putting that silly little feud behind you,” she said. She leant forward, placing a delicate hand just above his knee, giving it a light squeeze. “You know how much I dislike conflict.” He watched her hand with a dark gaze, his leg tensing under her touch. Suho and JB shared an unimpressed look before they both took a sip of their drinks. Queenie pulled back, crossing her legs as she observed Leeteuk.

Leeteuk observed her too, taking in her now short hair, the subtle makeup around her smoldering eyes and luscious lips. His eyes trailed down her body, admiring how the dress hugged her curves and even gave him a glimpse of what the thin fabric was covering. She was temptation. He knew that, she knew that, he knew she knew that, and he was more than aware she used that knowledge to her advantage, yet he let her pull him in. What they knew was of little consequence to them.

“I see they’re just letting anybody in here now.” Queenie and Leeteuk looked away from each other to the three people that had entered the room. DaH, Queenie’s personal bodyguard, had brought in two more people for their little celebratory party. Her long blonde hair fell down her back as she shot a harsh glare to the pair she’d brought in. DaH wasn’t built like Mandu, she was small and petite, but she made up for her lack of bulging muscles with speed and agility. And unlike Mandu, when she spoke, her words were laced with venom.

G-Dragon gave DaH a cheeky wink, to which she replied by narrowing her gaze more. She shot Queenie an unimpressed look before moving to stand behind her. G-Dragon oozed confidence. His hair was a disheveled mess, dark marks covered his neck and most of his chest from what could be seen of his unbuttoned shirt. She gave Queenie a sly smirk as she stood to greet him, a smirk of her own on her face.

“Well we let you in here don’t we?” she teased. G-Dragon chuckled, leaning forward to place a kiss on her cheek. He shot Leeteuk a wink as he did so, enjoying seeing him get worked up from a small action. Suho leaned over to whisper to Leeteuk, calming him down somewhat.

CL, G-Dragon’s second in command, sat next to Suho. She had at least followed Queenie’s request. Her curled, blonde hair fell over one shoulder, exposing her back and drawing attention to cleavage. She kept her eyes focused between Queenie, Leeteuk, and G-Dragon. She flicked her wrist, glancing down at her watch.

Suho, despite his best efforts to keep a bored air around him, watched CL carefully. He took in her poised posture and the unreadable mask that hid her emotions too well. He took in how her dress exposed her back, letting his eyes trail down the length of her spine. He felt his blood heat up the longer he stared at her back.

“I’m so glad we could have this little sit down,” Queenie said. She watched both men carefully, observing their subtle glances at one another. “I think it’s about time you two put this silly feud to rest.” Both men tensed at the statement, avoiding each other’s eyes. “JB, if you will.” JB cleared his throat, regarding each man and their associates.

“Queenie and I agree that the best way to show peace is to build trust. We’ve talked with each of you separately and from that we’ve come up with a plan. G-Dragon is being gracious enough to send someone to stay in the SM District for one year with absolutely no contact.”

“How exactly does that establish trust?” Suho inquired, leaning forward so his arms rested on his knees. “If anything, that causes more trust issues. One year to gather information to be used against us? I’m failing to see how that works in our favor.”

“Well firstly, the agreement is that our person lives with you for a year without any harm,” CL said, turning to look at Suho. “Meaning if you want to keep them locked in a dungeon, as long as they’re fed and clean, you can do so. Second, we’re not sending just anyone. He’s sending in his only living relative to live with someone he hasn’t gotten along with in years. If anything, that’s the most trust I’ve seen him give anyone.” Suho and Leeteuk both stared at her in shock.

“I wasn’t aware you had any family,” Leeteuk said.

“It’s not something I like to advertise. People like to use them against you. I’m sure you more than anyone can understand that,” he replied. “Now I’m sending them to show my complete trust. If and when they return, as long as they’re in good health and have been treated with respect and dignity they deserve, then I will let bygones be bygones.”

Leeteuk regarded G-Dragon carefully. Something wasn’t sitting right in the pit of his stomach. This seemed too easy. After years of them being at each other’s throats, G-Dragon was going to gift wrap his own blood to him? Leeteuk narrowed his eyes slightly, his fist tightening around his glass.

“I wouldn’t read too much into such a generous offer,” Queenie said. She leant forward, facing Leeteuk directly. “He’s giving you unsupervised access to the closest person to him, and all you have to do is keep them healthy and safe. If anything, I think you’re getting the better side of this deal.” She placed her hand on his knee again, tilting her head slightly and staring up at him with her big, round eyes.

“Unsupervised?” Suho said.

“Yes. One whole year of unsupervised access to them. YG will have absolutely no access to them while they stay with you,” JB said, shooting Queenie a pointed look.

“Don’t mistake me for a blissfully blind fool, Leeteuk,” G-Dragon said, pulling Leeteuk’s attention away from Queenie. “I don’t expect you to trust me or my family. So as a sign of good faith, they’re going in unaccompanied. Even their own personal bodyguard won’t be with them. That’s how you’re going to show me your trust. Return them to me unharmed and in good health, treat them like family, or at least better than the men you’ve so graciously returned to me before, and I won’t murder everyone in your district.” Leeteuk clenched his jaw. Suho leant over, lowering his voice.

“Wait. We can use this to our advantage. How much information do you think our people could get out of him? Who would know his deep secrets better than his own blood?” Leeteuk weighed Suho’s words carefully, slowly relaxing into his seat.

“So you want me to keep them for one year, three-hundred and sixty-five days, and then return them safely?” Leeteuk clarified. G-Dragon nodded, moving to lean back into his seat. Leeteuk drummed his fingers on the armrest, staring at G-Dragon thoughtfully. Something still didn’t feel right, but Suho had a point. His second in command gave him a subtle nod. Leeteuk smiled smugly, tossing his hands up slightly. “I have to agree with you Queenie, I’m definitely getting the better deal.”

G-Dragon smirked, outstretching his hand. Leeteuk grabbed it, giving him a firm handshake. Queenie clapped her hands together, a genuine smile on her face. JB let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Suho and CL shared a knowing look before turning back to the two leaders.

“I’m so happy everything’s worked out,” Queenie said, moving to stand up. “Now, I believe you gentlemen and lady have earned a night of relaxation. My club is all yours to enjoy.” She turned to G-Dragon, a smirk on her face. “I believe A is waiting for you downstairs.” G-Dragon returned her smirk, running a hand through his hair. Leeteuk held his hand up to the two District leaders.

“As much as I would love to, I should get back.” He and Suho, along with their bodyguards, headed towards the door. He paused briefly, turning to look back. “Just one quick question,” he said. “Who exactly is this relative of yours?” G-Dragon smiled, a genuine, scarily normal smile.

“My baby sister.”

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agent-cupcake · 4 years

Note

for the yandere prompt list, what about 24 for claude????

24. “You’re calling me a monster? Who do you think made me this way?”

“Claude?” you asked, a last-ditch effort to catch his attention. You had hoped he’d notice when you entered the library. Or when you sat in the chair across from him. Or when you cleared your throat. But he hadn’t. He’d been preoccupied as of late, following a cycle you were more than familiar with. Usually, you hated it when he was so distracted, but this time had been different. In a way, you were angry that he’d given you so much time alone. If he hadn’t, perhaps you could still be blissfully unaware. Perhaps you wouldn’t be sitting across from him with rigid posture, your nails were bitten down into nubs and your eyes were burning from a lack of sleep.

Claude looked up to your call, his face still scrunched up in concentration. Recognition hit a second later, a smile growing from the purse of his lips. “Hello to you, too,” he said. Warm, friendly. Your stomach twisted. “Did you need something?” Claude asked. “Or, let me guess, you were lonely.”

You didn’t respond, which he presumptuously took as agreement.

“Maybe it’s time I gave it a break,” Claude said. “After all this boredom, I could use a pick-me-up.” With a dull thud, he closed the book, tossing it aside and only half stifling a huge yawn. Usually, Claude’s playful moods brightened your own, but now you couldn’t help but look for something beneath it. Something Dark. But all you saw was Claude. A bit tired from his endless study but no less warm and inviting than usual. It almost made you stop. You could stop, you didn’t need to do this.

But of course you did. “Actually, I wanted to talk,” you said.

Claude’s smile fell, replaced by an apprehensive expression. “Well that doesn’t bode well,” he said slowly. “Which is fine, of course. Go ahead.”

A breath left your lips, collapsing your chest before you inhaled anew. “Right, so,” you began, trying to think of the best way to phrase what you needed to say. Anxiety nibbled at your insides, although you didn’t like to think of why. Claude looked so harmless, lounging in a chair with far too many books than reasonable spread around him. The same Claude you’d always known, loved, and trusted. He wouldn’t hurt you. “What I wanted to ask. Or say, I guess. Is that I, um-”

You stumbled on the words. Claude was giving you his full attention, watching you curiously, cautiously. It made it all the harder. What were you even afraid of? That’d he be upset about your discovery of the dossier he’d compiled on you, information about your comings and goings, private things? You were the one who should have been upset. But the man in front of you with his lovely eyes and puzzled expression couldn’t be that bad. Not possibly. Because if he was, then this had been going on since the beginning of your relationship. Before that, even.

“It’s something I found,” you finally managed to say. “I wasn’t going through your things to be nosy, I swear, I was just looking for the first few letters we exchanged. But your study is an absolute wreck and you were gone so I was going through the drawers and I-I found something else with my name on it.” You took a deep breath, daring to meet his eyes from under your lashes. “Claude, have you been spying on me?”

There was no grand shift of tension following your question, no dramatics. Instead, Claude donned an expression of comprehension, chin rising in a half-nod. “Ah, I was wondering when you... well, nevermind,” he said, clearing his throat. Rather than finish that thought, he quickly added, “This has really been eating at you, hasn’t it.” Not a question, a mere statement.

“Of course it has,” you said, frowning at the condescension that he’d state the obvious so patiently and sympathetically.

“I’m curious about why you didn’t ask me... before now, I mean. You weren’t scared of me, were you?” he asked, a joking tone creeping into his voice. “I would hope you know by now that I’m not some kind of monster who’s gonna fly off the handle or anything. Luckily, I got my mom’s looks, not her temper.”

“I know that,” you said, frustration growing. “That’s not why I didn’t bring it up. All of this... I didn’t want to.”

“I gathered as much,” Claude responded wryly. “Well, I’m happy that you were finally honest. Personally, I can’t stand to let my feelings simmer too long. It’s unhealthy.”

“I know,” you said. A moment later, you shook your head, frowning. Claude looked too innocent for you to tell if he was purposefully misdirecting. Although he looked too innocent for a lot of things. “That’s not the point,” you told him, forcing yourself to sound more authoritative. “Are you actually… Have you been watching me?”

“Sure,” Claude said, admitting to it without any hesitation. Your stomach dropped.

“And everything before? About me, my past. Before we even officially met, you were… Stalking me.”

“Stalking? That’s a bit harsh,” he said, face scrunched up in distaste for the word. “But I guess there was some light… Well, yeah. It was stalking.”

“You’re joking,” you said, almost able to convince that this was all some sort of prank. It was just too unreal, the unthinkable contrasted against the familiar setting of the library, coming from the mouth of someone you thought you knew. “Why?”

“I thought I made it pretty clear that I think you’re interesting,” Claude said, as if that was meant to explain it all away. “Besides, it wouldn’t look very good if you were getting yourself into trouble while I’m busy. Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

“You make it sound like-like I’m a child,” you said, anger swirling in with the discomfort and making your words stutter. “Like I’m in need of constant supervision.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Claude said, meeting your heightening mood with his own casual tone. “I’ve never seen you as a child.”

Your face darkened, stomach clenching and skin crawling. Anger was hot, but your hands were shaking. When you spoke, you knew it was edging on being a whine, but you couldn’t help it. “Claude, this isn't funny. I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

Those words pulled you up completely short. He was being serious. Claude looked unaffected by the situation, by your mood and accusations. It made you dizzy, the feelings too intense to process all at once. Words collected themselves in your head to fight against the spiraling sickness of slipping control, angry words meant to sound sharp. “You said you’re not monster, but that was a lie, wasn’t it? Maybe you’re not the kind with big teeth and claws but-but you make a pretty good boogeyman.”

“You’re calling me a monster?” Claude asked without pause, one of his eyebrows half raised. He sounded so damned unconcerned, never taking anything as seriously as he should. Or maybe he was. Maybe that was what you saw gleaming in his eyes, what was so horribly wrong about the situation. Still reeling from your outburst, you said nothing, unsure of what the right answer could possibly be and jaw clenched tightly. Claude shrugged off your silence as easily as he did anything else. “Fair enough. Tell me this, then. Who do you think made me this way?”

And, just like that, he had turned your attempt at control against you. It took a few seconds for your brain to even catch up enough to comprehend what he was implying. Claude was blaming you. Blaming you, and all the while wearing looking utterly collected, his eyes dancing in the candlelight. You wanted to answer, you needed to. This was all types of twisted and wrong. A peculiar swirl of rage and terror had struck deep into your heart. But he was wrong. You needed to refute the ridiculous idea that his constricting hold on you was somehow on you, that it was something to be treated so lightly.

But you didn’t. Your mouth opened and shut and your breathing caught and went stale in your lungs.

And that was enough of an answer for Claude. You could see the crystallization of whatever conclusion he’d drawn from your silence by the shift of his smile. Gone was the strangely intimidating edge of before, replaced by a familiar breezy attitude. You wanted to contest this, too, to force him to confront the insanity of what he had just admitted to instead of normalizing it. You needed to push the issue if you had any hope of making it right.

But you didn’t.

“Nah, I’m just kidding,” Claude said, waving his hand as if to dispel the tension like it was nothing more than a bad smell. Then he stretched, yawned again. “Wow, I really am beat. Have you eaten yet? I wonder what the cooks are up to…”

“No, I haven’t,” you said belatedly, hollow words. Claude smiled and stood, holding a hand to you.

“Shall we?”

#Anonymous #claude von riegan #claude von riegan x reader #fe claude #fe claude x reader #yandere #fire emblem three houses #FE3H #my writing #long post //#i almost didn't do this particular quote because i did'nt know how #but i live for strife

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arrowversefairytales · 4 years

Note

So since you mentioned Stargirl was on the table... how might Kara meet Courtney Whitmore? (I think they'd get along well!)

My first Stargirl ask! Since Courtney doesn’t have a fairy tale yet, I did manage to come up with one for her, but it’s a slightly weird casting so I’ll explain after the snippet.

Kryptonia was a very magical country. Kara knew that. Things happened in her kingdom that would have been unthinkable anywhere else. She was used to it, used to the unpredictability of magic. But once in a while, she came across something that surprised even her. And what she found on one particularly bright afternoon, riding through the high, grassy hills a few hours away from the palace, was one of those surprising things.

She didn’t have Alex with her that day. Chances to be completely alone were few and far between, and Kara made the most of this one. She didn’t really have a particular destination; she was just exploring for the fun of it. And by the time the sun had reached its peak, she was high enough in the hills that the rest of civilization seemed like a distant memory.

Which was why the bright flash of something in the sky overhead- something bright and blazing that left a trail of yellow flame behind it- startled her so much. Her horse whinnied, shying away in fear, and Kara quickly clutched at the saddle, murmuring soothingly until the horse settled down. She had already made up her mind to go find whatever it was that had just passed by her, but as it turned out, the whatever-it-was saved her the trouble.

“I’m so sorry,” a voice called out, breaking Kara’s concentration on her horse and startling her all over again. “I didn’t hurt you, I hope! I wasn’t expecting anybody to be up here!”

Recovering from her surprise, Kara was able to get a good look at the stranger. It was a girl, a few years younger than Kara herself, with a wild mane of blond curls and blue eyes that sparkled with fun. She carried a strange-looking golden staff in her hand, and her dress looked to be made of feathers, white and red and blue. Even more unusual was the fact that her skin seemed to be almost...glowing. Clearly, this girl was not just your average human. Kara knew enough about magic to be able to recognize it, even if she wasn’t sure exactly what kind of magic this might be.

“I’m...fine,” she said slowly. “Uh, were you just flying?”

The girl giggled. “That was me. I just wanted to stretch my wings a bit.” She said it casually, as if such a statement was perfectly normal for her, but, seeing the stunned look on Kara’s face, she realized her mistake hurried to explain. “I’m a firebird. My name’s Courtney.”

Ah. That explained the glowing. Kara had heard of firebirds, their remarkable shape-shifting abilities and the powerful magic they wielded, but it was rare to actually see one.

“I’m Kara,” she said. “You certainly woke me and my horse up!”

“Sorry about that,” Courtney said, rubbing Kara’s horse’s nose. “Like I said, we don’t see many humans come up this far.”

“We?” Kara repeated. “There are more of you? More firebirds, I mean?”

“Just my family,” Courtney answered. “At least as far as I know, anyway.” Suddenly an excited look spread over her face. “If you want, I could take you to meet them.”

Kara almost agreed then and there, but after glancing up at the sun she decided against it. “I should probably be getting home,” she admitted. “My mother will be worried about me.”

“Wait a minute,” Courtney said. She leaned down and plucked one of the scarlet and gold feathers from the hem of her dress and handed it to Kara. “There.”

“What’s this for?“

“It’ll summon me. If you want to meet my family, all you have to do is bring it back here and rub your finger over it.” The girl’s eyes sparkled. “I promise, if there’s anyone who can show you a real adventure, it’s a firebird.”

Okay, so, explanation time. I chose to go with a casting from a ballet to honor Courtney’s gymnast background (which required a bit of interrogation of my ballerina sister), and I picked the Firebird because I thought it went well with Courtney’s specific set of powers. It’s not a very well-known story, but I felt like it fit the character, so I just went with it! Hope you enjoy, friend, and thanks for the ask! <3

#courtney whitmore #kara zor el #kara danvers #supergirl #stargirl #fairy tale au #fanfic #ficlet

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laceymorganwrites · 4 years

Text

The story of the sad Chapter 10

Word Count: 1,724

Pairing: Ban x Reader

Warnings: swearing I guess

The next stop on your journey was Vaizel, Diane´s hammer Gideon was supposedly there.

You and the girls stayed behind while the boys went to town to find it.

Deciding that you three would be able to run the Boar Hat by yourselves, you gathered edible ingredients to cook.

“So (Y/N), you and Ban, tell me everything!” Diane squealed excited.

Of course your heart jumped at the mention of his name, but then again, what was there to tell?

“I don´t really know what to tell you, he told me he liked me and that´s about it. But I keep asking myself if he was saying the truth. I´m not sure if he only said that because he was bored or wanted to fuck with me, so I don´t really know how this will continue or if it´ll continue at all...” you let her in on your worries.

Diane pouted, deep in thought when Elaine and Elizabeth joined you.

“I don´t think he was only toying with you, I think he meant it. It´s pretty obvious he´s serious when you see the way he looks at you” she thought out loud and Elaine added to it.

“Exactly! There´s nothing to worry about, Ban just needs some time to come around, but I´m sure he will! It´s just hard for him to open up and let others see his vulnerability, and he´s scared of giving his heart away and having it broken. But I think it only makes sense that he has that fear of rejection when you take a look at his past” she placed her hand on your shoulder and you sighed.

“Yeah I get that, but how do I know if he really wants to be with me? I don´t want to do anything wrong, but I think I´m too much. I think I already overdid the romance” you just didn´t want to lose him before you even got him.

“Um...I don´t know if you want to hear my opinion but I think Ban-sama really likes you. I don´t see any reason he wouldn´t want to be with you. And… there is never anything wrong with any amount of romance, you´re doing everything right!” Elizabeth added to the conversation coyly and smiled shyly.

“I always want to hear your opinion, princess” you reassured her.

Meanwhile the boys were having the same conversation.

“So, Ban, how does it feel now that you and (Y/N) are together?” Meliodas asked cheekily.

Ban looked straight ahead and frowned.

“We´re not together” he admitted, the statement made him sad but he didn´t want to screw things up with you, maybe it was too early to ask. But honestly he was scared of relationships.

He just knew he´d screw up eventually and he didn´t want to hurt you.

“Hm, I thought you were… why not?” Meliodas kept asking.

“I just didn´t ask them yet, relax” Ban calmed him down, smirking.

Meliodas just raised an eyebrow.

After they realized that Gideon was the prize for winning the fighting festival, Meliodas and Ban signed up for it, dragging King behind them, practically forcing him to attend as well.

You were collecting some berries for dessert when you heard Elizabeth scream.

Immediately you ran towards the noise, but when you arrived you didn´t see Elizabeth, only Diane.

But something was different.

“You´re small” you noticed, tilting your head. This image was something you had to get used to.

Diane was wearing Elizabeth´s clothes for some reason, she was overwhelmed and crying.

“(Y/N)! Help us!” she whined.

“What do you mean? Us?” you asked perplexed.

“I´m in here” something squeaked from in between Diane´s boobs.

When you looked closer you saw that Elizabeth shrunk to the size of your palm and was now naked, hiding in between Diane´s cleavage.

“I see… let´s find Meliodas, he´ll know what to do” you suggested and you made your way to the fighting festival.

Diane entered under a disguise to surprise Meliodas.

“Why don´t you participate?” she asked.

“It´d be unfair” you smirked.

Instead you helped Hawk sell ale and watched the festival.

The elimination round was quite boring, Ban didn´t even notice you.

You were about to jump in when you saw a creepy guy walking up to Diane, but she handles things just fine.

Finally the real festival was about to begin.

Ban smiled when he saw you and pulled you close to him.

“Watch me good, will ya? I´ll win for you~” he husked into your ear and you giggled.

“Who´re you up against?” you asked.

“Just the captain” he said casually and your breath got caught in your throat as you thought about them fighting seriously.

“Thank god this is no real fight...” you mumbled.

“You don´t think I can win?” he asked glumly, his eyes heartbroken.

“You don´t know Meliodas the way I do. I´m not saying you´re weak, but he could obliterate you if he was serious” you said, only concerned for him.

“But, Ban… I´ll always watch out for you” you smiled at him sweetly and he was lost for words at the moment.

“There you are! I closed up the tavern as you told me, is everyone alright?” Elaine asked out of breath as she reached you.

“You´re just in time for the festival, Elaine!” you grinned.

“Stand with us, those are good places!” you moved over a bit so that she could stand beside you.

The first round was Diane against holy knight Griamore.

Though his magic seemed to be an obstacle at first, Diane overcame it quickly.

“So you couldn´t turn them back yet, huh?” Elaine asked you and you shook your head.

With that the tirade was over and a very unsatisfying battle between King and Cain went by.

Elaine just shook her head in disappointment.

Next up were Ban and Meliodas.

“Now this is gonna be interesting” you mumbled, smirking.

At the first blow, Elaine grabbed onto your hand.

She hasn´t seen the power of those two yet, she was intimidated and scared.

You cheered for Ban whenever he landed a hit and told Meliodas not to be so hard on him whenever he delivered.

Meliodas tried to do as you told him but still he managed to split the boulder the festival took place on.

It was a miracle it still stood afterwards and the fight was still going on.

“Ban! That´s cheating!” you called him out frowning, when he used his magic and Meliodas fell to his knees.

Ban tried to steal away all of the captain´s power but Meliodas still beat him, sending him flying far away from the fighting pit.

You sighed, shaking your head. You knew Meliodas would win.

But then again, Ban did give it his all.

You walked over to where Meliodas punched him and pulled him out of the stone.

“Am I still the winner of hearts?” he smirked at you.

At first you wanted to scold him but the expression on his face made you smile and then sigh in relief.

“I sure as hell hope you don´t have more than my heart. If you do I´m gonna kick your ass” you laughed.

“I wouldn´t mind that actually...” he mumbled before looking at you starstruck.

“Wait. I got your heart?” he asked dumbfounded.

You snickered.

“Of course you do, you idiot” you smiled at him, touching his chest and lingering there.

Ban smiled to himself and caressed your head gently as he kept you in place.

“Oi, (Y/N), since I got your heart and you got mine… why don´t we make it official? Will you be mine and can I be yours?” Ban looked into your eyes deeply as he gave you the most dreamy, sweet smile you´ve ever seen.

His presence, him saying such words and looking at you like that just stopped your heart, it was as if time stood still and there was only him and you, only this moment.

“You´re already mine and I´m always gonna be yours” you answered, taking his hands into your own.

Ban grinned from one ear to another.

“Really?! I´m so lucky~” he pulled you in for a hug, you giggled and felt up his back muscles.

“We should probably go back to the others...” you thought out loud after a while of bathing in his presence.

You just wanted to stay in his arms forever.

“You´re right, hold on tight” he picked you up with ease and carried you bridal style.

It was something you weren´t expecting, so you squealed a bit and locked your arms behind his neck.

There was this instance where you and Ban locked eyes that just sucked the air out of the atmosphere, your heart beat so loud, it made thinking unthinkable and the way Ban looked at you, it was unreadable and something about it all felt so magnetic.

You started caressing his cheek before holding onto his face and leaning in slowly, his heart jumped at the realization what you were going to do.

As soon as your lips connected, you were isolated from everything else, you were the entire environment you needed, consuming and living off each other.

In the beginning you were the one who was the leading part in the kiss, but that was only because he was too startled from you initiating things.

He loved being kissed by you, he loved that you were the one to make the first step, it made him feel special.

Ban smiled into the kiss and kissed back eagerly, adding tongue and turning the kiss into a make out.

Now you were the one smirking, you´d never lose a fight, especially not one in this matter.

He just let you take control and enjoyed the taste of you, he practically leaned back and let himself be intoxicated by you.

You didn´t know what the limit was for how long such a kiss and make out should last, but whatever it was, you were pretty sure you and Ban just exceeded it, it somehow made you proud, but after some time you really needed the air.

Not that you´d die, it was just more comfortable.

“Now that that´s solved I think it´s better to go back to the Cap´n and the others before they start worrying” Ban said cheekily, still carrying you all the way back to the others.

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cesabutterflywrites · 4 years

Text

The Duke of the Bay: Part 5 1/2

If you want to be put on a taglist for this please let me know!

[Spotify Playlist] [Youtube Playlist]

Song that Alice sings is on the playlist, it’s called April Showers

First Part, Ao3 Link, Next Part

Story Warnings: Guns, threats, alcohol, homosexual slang used pejoratively and positively, internalized homophobia, ask me to add any if need be

Chapter Warnings: None I can think of. Ask me to add any if need be

Chapter Word Count: 3149

Summary: Patton O’Hearty was a great detective. Most people didn’t take him for one at first glance, especially when he dressed casual. He was abnormally chipper; he thought everything was the cat’s pajamas. He had a smile for everyone he met. He was always tipping his hat at the dames and gents when he walked the streets of the Bay Area.

The only person he could never catch was the leader of the planted mob in Emeryville, nicknamed The Duke. The Duke was good at hiding his dealings and joints well, and he rarely had a snitch in his ranks. The few who tried, well, somehow they disappeared before they could give the police any substantial information. He was well hidden, but popular among the residents of the town. People talked boldly of his rambunctious parties, never revealing the locations though. He was hard to catch, to say the least.

So what happens, when instead, the detective is the one that’s caught?

Logan paid deep attention to Patton. He had been concerned about his partner’s mental state since they had started the case before they were invited to the party. There was something about this particular job that blinded Patton with obsession.

After they met the Duke, it had only gotten worse. Patton hardly ate lunch anymore. He’d come in with bruised circles underneath his eyes. Logan was starting to worry for his friend’s physical well being. Was he getting sick? Was he going mad?

He would focus on the case, sure, but they both couldn’t do much without telling the captain. Patton wanted to wait to bring it up to their superior. He planned on duping the Duke, but he refused to say how at the time. Logan only went with it because it would do more harm than good to try to reason with someone as stubborn as Patton.

For the past month, Patton would pause his work when they were at their desks. Logan would look up often to see Patton staring off nowhere. His partner would get a dreamy look in his eyes. So Logan would ask him what was on his mind. Then Patton would brush it off until it happened again.

Logan would be the first person to admit that he wasn’t too good with reading people. That’s what Patton was for, but he could tell that something big happened to Patton when they were separated the night of the party. He was frustrated that he wasn’t able to figure out exactly what was said. He wished he could have been in the room where it happened.

Logan wasn’t exactly stable after the party, himself, so he tried not to bring it up.

Logan was skeptical that Patton was clear-headed enough to keep working the case. Was he seeing things that weren’t there? Did the Duke play to his sensitivities? The kind detective was sometimes overly faithful in people. Logan knew that. Perhaps Patton thought he would be able to change him? The recent events worried Logan to think Patton was spiraling out of control.

Despite his worry, he listened as Patton told them his theory.

“I was wondering why the captain approved our going undercover to the party. You knew it was a trap. You saw it. Clear as day, you did. Heck, you said yourself you suspected a plant.”

“I didn’t imply that it was the captain .” Logan interrupted with an exasperated tone, “This isn’t sufficient enough proof, or new information.”

“Wait, that’s not all.” Patton responded, holding up his hand. He continued, his voice getting more animated. “Last night, when the Duke visited me, he said they had a big job. There’s something he said that’s been getting under my skin. He wasn’t sure of my loyalties. Why not the force’s? Why not ours?

“Further, he mentioned they had a big job last night. He didn’t want us getting in the way. You got there early, Logan, did the captain mention anything about a robbery? A murder? Kidnapping? Anything that could be a clue as to what the ‘big job’ was?”

Logan clenched his jaw in thought. That was a more compelling thought. The captain hadn’t mentioned anything to him that morning. In fact, he didn’t even greet Logan when he walked in. He just went straight to his office to lock himself in. Their boss had closed the blinds, too, and had a scowl on his face that Logan had never seen.

It hadn’t bothered Logan in the moment. Logan had done the same to Patton multiple times. He had then dismissed it as the captain being nervous about his child being on the way. Many men who were first time fathers seemed that way. However, if it weren’t that...

It wasn’t enough to convince him fully. Implying the captain was working alongside a criminal was serious enough. The very idea of him being a part of an entire criminal operation was unthinkable. He was the one who put Logan and Patton on the Duke’s case when they first got wind of the implant of the mafia in Emeryville.

What did that say of the captain’s confidence in their talents as detectives? If he was in on it, if he was turned, he thought they were gullible. He probably thought they weren’t loyal enough. Maybe he even would have planned for them to be scapegoats if the police were discovered to be in league with the gang.

If he wasn’t in it, he thought they could handle it. He probably approved the undercover job for the party to gather evidence quietly to be able to bust the operation later. There could be reasonable explanations to it all that would be revealed.

He didn’t give them much to work with, though. He just said to play it out for as long as they could keep the cover. He seemed unbothered when they returned with nothing. Not even information. What did that say to Logan?

“I think it’s definitely possible,” Alice piped up in the silence. “The Duke gets a tighter grip on this town every day. If he didn’t already have the captain, he will soon. That’s the facts, boys.”

Patton smiled, glad someone agreed with him. He looked at Logan with hope in his eyes. “I know you don’t trust me right now, partner. So I’ll let you decide for us in case my judgement is wrong...again.”

Something about that last statement made Logan rethink his thoughts on his partner’s mental state. Patton had a look on his face that showed determination. He did seem to be operating with a clearer head than before. What had happened to him last night? After a long minute, Logan made his decision.

“Fine,” he agreed, “We should assume the captain is in on it. If we do that, though, we assume everyone but us is in on it. We need to find proof in the meantime, though, as well as a safe place for Alice to stay.”

“What do you mean?” Alice asked, a defensive tone in her voice. She spun around to look at the two men.

“I mean they must know where you live. If there’s a price on you, they’ll look here first. Patton,” he looked at the older man, “Both of our homes are compromised, but I think she has a better chance with me. The Duke actually invaded your home. Does that sound okay to you?”

Patton ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t like the idea of Alice being out of his sight for too long. There was something about her that sparked a protective instinct within him. Maybe it was her small frame. Maybe it was her sweet brown eyes that were so much older than her body. He wanted to make sure she never hurt or struggled again. He would deal with that feeling later, though. Her safety meant everything to him, second to catching the Duke.

“You’re right, Logan,” he sighed, deflated. “Alice, what do you think?”

Alice bit her lip in thought. She kept glancing between the men and her vanity. It was obviously more to her than a place to get ready. It held a piece of her soul. It was an altar of hope. Hope for a better future with the woman she loved.

She thought about Lola. What would she want the person she loved most in the world to do? If her girlfriend had left her a note for this situation, what would she have written? Alice felt in her heart that she knew the answer.

“Let me pack a bag, then we’ll get out of here.” Alice smiled softly, “The rent is paid through ‘til next month, anyways.”

Patton cheered inside. He was happy that it was easy to convince her to let him help. Gentle coaxing did work, after all. Well, that and a little bit of peril. He grinned at his two companions. He was determined to get this case closed once and for all.

Catch me if you can, the Duke’s voice whispered in his mind. A challenge that Patton felt for the first time in a month that he will finish.

-----

Alice walked into Logan’s house with wide eyes. It was large, too large for one single man. It was nearly a manor. The hardwood floor stretched into a wide entryway. There was not a speck of dust out of place. Unlike the rooms in the Lion’s Den, Logan’s home had clear air. The furniture was lined up perfectly along the walls. It was bright, open.

She walked further in to look in the living room to her right. There was a fireplace, and above the mantle was a large painting nearly as tall as her. It was of a lighthouse on a cliff during the day. The blue sky was clear, the image of the waves crashing to the cliffs were so realistic she was sure they were moving. The picture made her feel calmer. Despite how large it was, it really brightened the large room. Alice felt safe, which was a foreign feeling to her outside of being with Lola.

She heard Detective Patton walk in with her two bags. She didn’t own much, so she packed lightly. It hurt to be away from the love notes Lola left her, but Logan was kind enough to offer to pay for her to send a telegram. She saw why he did now. The man must have been loaded with cash.

Patton took the bags up the stairs without a word to her. Logan walked in after, coming up to stand next to her to also look at the large painting.

“I never get tired of it,” he whispered, “It’s magnificent to me. I find it calming to look at it for hours after a long day at work. It clears my head. It calms me.”

“Me too,” Alice responded.

Logan smiled fondly at her. He didn’t leer at her like other men did. He was kind to her, just like Patton was. A part of her felt guilty for siccing Lola on him at the party. The other part didn’t, because without that she’d probably be dead in a ditch somewhere. That was an unpleasant thought, though, so she shoved it aside.

“Let me give you a tour of the house?” Logan offered his arm to her, “It would be wise, seeing as you will be here for an undetermined amount of time.”

Alice smiled and accepted the offer. She took his arm then walked with him around the home.

They toured the downstairs. His rooms were proper. They held sophistication. The various sitting rooms were adorned with bright whites, pastel blues, and golden trimmings. They were surprisingly clean of any mess. Logan must have servants somewhere, she decided.

The last room in the downstairs tour was a music room. There was a grand piano on a raised platform in the middle of the room. Alice felt tears prickle in her eyes. It had been so long since she had played. She hadn’t been able to since she was fourteen.

Logan recognized the look on her face. It was the face of a musician who had lost her melodies. If there was one thing he could read on a person, it was the love of music. She tried to mask her sadness.

He felt sorry for her. He couldn’t imagine going through something like this. She was like a young lamb, treading through a dark forest after losing her way. Well, maybe he could help her find her way again.

“Do you play?” he asked her. He unlinked their arms to step on the platform.

Alice laughed to mask her pain at the memories starting to make their way back into her head. “Oh, not since I was a younger girl.”

“Would you like to play something for me?” Logan offered. He was careful to watch her reaction. He didn’t want to push her.

She blushed pink at the offer. Her hands clasped together nervously against her stomach. “I don’t think I should…”

“Please, I insist. While you’re here you have access to everything. If you’d like to practice again,” Logan grabbed her hand, “Now is the time to start.”

She stood up on the platform to be at level with the young detective. He was charming in his awkwardness. What was it about this moment, though, that expelled his usual discomfort around her? His blue eyes twinkled in anticipation. He genuinely wanted to hear her play.

“I suppose I can see if there’s something I remember…” she acquiesced. She sat on the cushioned bench. It was surprisingly comfortable, she noticed. Her parents never had something this comfortable for her hours of practice. Perhaps this would be easier than

She gingerly lifted the cover to the keys. The sight of the polished ivory elicited an astonished gasp. Her fingers were aching to glide across them. A spark of joyous anticipation covered her skin.

Tentatively, almost as if she were scared the keys would disappear, she touched the middle C. It felt cool, like a refreshing drink of sweet tea in the heat of summer. A pleased shiver made its way down her spine.

As she pressed her finger down on the key, Logan grinned. It was like watching a puppy search around its new home. The way her smile glowed with warmth at the instrument resembled someone greeting an old friend after a long time apart. He felt proud of himself for offering this opportunity to her. With bated breath, he waited to see what she could come up with.

She played some scales, remembering her finger placements as if it were only yesterday she last played. The warm ups felt good to her digits. She laughed in glee. Her chest felt light.

For a moment, she wasn’t a young girl in danger of being killed for a debt she couldn’t repay. For a moment, Logan wasn’t a detective there to protect her from harm. She was a performer, and he was her enraptured audience. She played with a few random melodies before she found herself playing a familiar song. The last song she learned right after her world turned dark.

“Life is not a highway strewn with flowers

Still it holds a goodly share of bliss

When the sun gives way to April showers

Here is the point you should never miss”

She sang along to the melody. Her alto voice washed over her audience of one like rain.. Logan felt himself nearly hit back from an unseen physical impact. He listened closely as her eyes shined in relief at being able to play.

“Though April showers may come your way

They bring the flowers that bloom in May

So if it's raining, have no regrets

Because it isn't raining rain, you know, It's raining violets,”

Patton followed the music to find Logan and Alice. He didn’t want to stay too long, any minute passed idly was one more minute the Duke got further ahead of him. However, when he walked in on the young girl playing her heart out at the piano, those thoughts left him momentarily. He walked up to stand against the piano with Logan, and joined Alice to sing in harmony. His soft Irish tenor voice mixed a wonderful harmony with her smooth southern alto melody.

“And where you see clouds upon the hills

You soon will see crowds of daffodils

So keep on looking for a blue bird, And list'ning for his song

Whenever April showers come along”

She held out the last note with Patton, the two of them fading out sweetly. Logan applauded as Patton playfully bowed. She wiped at the tears threatening to escape her eyes, feeling overwhelmed after the tumultuous events of the day. Reality was starting to seep in for her.

She stood up swiftly. “Alright, enough dilly-dallying. What’s the plan here? Will I be here by myself?”

Logan looked to Patton, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. However if only one of us goes in to explain what happened with Mr. Doris this morning, it may be suspicious.”

“You’re right Logan. I just can’t think of which of us should stay here with her, though.” Patton brought his hand up to cup his chin. This was still a bump in the road.

“I think...I think you should stay, Patton. They’d search your house if they saw you were missing, and it would buy time before they searched here for you.” Logan suggested carefully. He didn’t want to make it seem like he was putting his partner on the bench on purpose.

Patton stood there, torn between wanting to get in the action of finding the Duke, and protecting his target. He ran his hand through his hair nervously. He looked at Alice, who seemed so tired. He noticed his breathing was starting to sharpen. Her brown eyes were tinted with red on the edges from holding back tears. She looked like she was on the edge of hysteria.

“Kiddo,” he spoke. He was unsure where the affection came from, but he continued, “You should go lay down. You seem tired.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she agreed quickly. “Upstairs, right?”

Logan nodded, “ First door to your left is a guestroom. Make yourself comfortable.”

Alice nodded tiredly. She stood up and hugged the two detectives. “Thank you so much, boys.” Tears escaped as she sobbed into their chests. The trio stayed in their warm embrace a moment longer before Alice left to retire to her new bed.

“Okay, Logan.” Patton started. “I don’t think I can stay here. I need to be on top of this.”

“I know this, Patton, but what if you go too far? You’ve been diving too deep,” Logan softened at the look in Patton’s eyes. “What happened when you were alone with him?”

Patton shook his head, refusing to tell Logan. “I can’t, my friend. Please trust me though? I’ll be careful.”

Logan sighed. It had some advantages to having Patton take lead. He was the one who knew what to look for. He was the one who thought up all this stuff in the first place. Plus the Duke seemed to have a fascination with him.

However, if one more meeting were to happen, would he lose his partner? How far was too far?

“Alright,” Logan decided, “We’re both going to go. I have someone who can watch her.”

“Who?” Patton asked, “We can’t trust anyone on the force.”

“It would be unwise to say. Just trust me, as much as I’m trusting you.” He couldn’t have Patton know yet. He wouldn’t betray his friend like that yet, especially after the sacrifices they both were making.

“Okay,” Patton nodded, choosing to keep his suspicions to himself. “Go call, I’ll wait in the car.”

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this story!

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