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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Drawn Together 10

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Note: I wasn’t sure how this chapter would go but hoo boy.

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You bring out the platter of cheese, crackers and grapes and place it on the round table by the sofa. As you do, you hear the front door and your heart lurches. Oh gosh, you’re not prepared. For any of this. As you haven’t been for Steve.

You stand and face the archway over the stairs as a steady ascent creaks on each step. You brush your trembling hands over your dress and swallow through your dry throat. A woman appears, her finely waved blond hair so pale that the silver is indiscernible. Her face is long and elegant though she is not very tall herself, scrawny even in the cinched coral dress. Mrs. Rogers.

Her blue eyes, the same hue as her son, wander around the room. Her lips hold the shadow of a smile and she finds you standing nervously by the sofa. Her cheeks bulb and her lips curve delightfully.

“Ahh, honey, there you are!” She struts over to you as Steve appears behind her, “I’ve waited so long to meet you.”

You’re overcome as she advances on you. With nowhere to go, you can only let her kiss both your cheeks with her precisely lined lips. She grasps your shoulders and looks you up and down at arm’s length.

“Wow, you are so beautiful, darling,” she preens, “this dress is wonderful,” she pulls back one hand as the other follows a fold in the fabric, “if not a bit evening, but oh,” she parts completely and spins, “this is such a quaint little home you’ve got.”

“Sweetheart, this is my–”

“Of course she knows who I am, Stevie,” his mother spins around, so lithe that she seems to float. Her age does not slow her, “you said so yourself, but let’s not forget ourselves. You may call me Sarah, honey.”

“It’s…” you glance past her to Steve as he watches intently, “it’s nice to meet you, Sarah.”

“Ah, excuse me, I am just elated. I am so happy that my boy’s finally found such a nice girl.” She goes to the window and hums as she taps one of the bent nails. Peculiar but not enough to bother her. “And to think he’s hidden you for so long,” she pivots back to point at her son, “and when he told me I had this dreadful fear that he would go so far as to say you eloped!”

You blink, speechless, looking between her and Steve. He’s not very concerned as he watches her flutter around. In fact, he seems rather pleased with himself.

“But he knows how much I’ve looked forward to his wedding and I have so many ideas,” she proclaims, “what were we thinking for the dress? Lace? You would look fine in satin.”

You sniff and try to gather your wits, “I… I haven’t decided.”

“Well, ma,” Steve steps forward, “I haven’t exactly had a chance to uh… pop the question. Um, your ring?”

“Ah, yes, yes,” she touches her cheeks, “I hope I haven’t spoiled anything.”

“All good, ma,” Steve comes up and turns to stand beside you, stretching his arm across your shoulders, “she knows she’s the one.”

You pinch your cheeks between your teeth. You want to scream. You want to run. And as his fingers tickle the sleeve of your dress, you sorely want to slap him.

“Aww, you two are so cute together,” she squeals as she strides up to him. She straightens his collar and fixes his tie, “you look so much better when I can’t see all those scribbles.”

“Ma,” Steve warns.

“And how do you feel about it? All that mess on his skin?” She looks over at you.

You hesitate and shake your head, “um, I…”

You move your foot back in an effort to hide your own tattoo. She senses the movement and her eyes flick down. She leans a bit to get a glimpse and her eyes narrow.

“Honey, please tell me you’re not covered in the same.”

“No, ma,” Steve interjects, “that one’s for me. That’s it.” He squeezes you against him tighter, “she’s a good girl, like I told you.”

“Yes, yes, you do talk a lot, why don’t you let the girl speak for herself?”

“Well, I–” Steve begins, “of course she can, I was only–”

“You were only being rude,” Sarah reaches and takes your hand, “come, honey, I want to see more. Show me around and we can talk.”

“Uh, sure,” you pull away from Steve slowly. You feel his gaze on you and try to ignore it, “it’s pretty small.”

“Modest, it’s sensible,” she clings to you, “oh, and there’s your piano. He says you’re very gifted. He’s always been an avid player but he never did much with it. He was more into his drawings.”

“Oh, yeah, I… my grandfather taught me to play,” you utter, just to have something to offer.

“Ah, and your parents? Mother, father? They’ll be at the wedding?”

“Um…” You don’t know what to say. You fidget with your free hand, tugging at the fabric of your skirt, “no. They… passed.”

“Honey,” she says as she stops at the mouth of the hall, “I am so sorry. I had no idea.” She turns you and pulls you into a hug, her skinny arms tight around you, “that’s absolutely horrid but we’ll make do.” She draws back and cradles your face, “hm, your lips would do well in a sweet shade of rose, I think.”

You’re put off by the suggestion. So sudden and sharp. Amidst the talk of death and grief, she can’t help but bring up cosmetics? Well, she is a bit strange and what can you expect given her son has proven to be entirely unpredictable.

“Um, I’ll show you the master, then, the guest, and um, the office is just closed up right now.”

“Oh, office? Why’s that?”

“Just… needs some fixing up,” you lie, “I’m working on it.”

“That’s too bad. Well, it would do to clear it out and make a nursery. I’d love to help–”

“A nursery?” You stop her at the end of the hall, just before your bedroom door. Why are you doing this? Why are you playing along? “What–”

“You’re going to have babies. You’re still young enough, he is too. I know he’s a bit older but men are virile for a lot longer. You on the other hand, you should start thinking–”

“I’m not having babies,” you spit out, “are you as crazy as he is?”

Her lashes flick down then up. She lets go of your hand and faces you as he arched brows rise, wrinkles lining her forehead, “crazy?”

“Yes,” you hiss, “crazy. I don’t know your son. He’s got me trapped here. He’s… He’s…” You shake your head and scoff, “your son is a psychopath and he doesn’t live here. None of this is real. Do you understand?”

She shakes her head as her eyes flutter madly. She touches her throat as her lip quivers, “I don’t understand what you mean,” her voice cracks.

You huff and roll your eyes. “I’m not doing this.”

You turn on your heel and stomp down the hallway. You don’t look up, you don’t look anywhere but ahead of you. You barrel down the stairs, surpassing your shoes as you twist the knob. The door shifts but does not open.

You hear the top stair groan and a shadow falls over you from above. You fumble with the latch but find another lock you can’t undo. Shiny brass, newly installed. A hole you have no key for. What the hell? This can’t be.

“Sweetheart,” Steve comes down the stairs as you turn the handle back and forth desperately, clawing at the wood, “where are you–”

“Help! Help! Let me out!” You scream at the door, “someone! Anyone–”

Steve’s hand smothers your mouth and his arm hooks around your middle. He yanks you away from the door as he grunts. You flail as he drags you backwards, up one step at a time. You thrash and grab at the banister, your fingers slipping with his strength, a fingernail breaking as it catches on the wood.

You murmur into his palm as he drags you onto even ground. You kick out as he struggles to subdue you. Your eyes water as you see Sarah standing in the hallway. She comes closer and looks you over as you try to dislodge Steve’s hand. You plead with your eyes. Can’t she see how afraid you are?

“You said she was a good girl, Stevie, but I think she could do with some discipline,” Sarah declares, “don’t you?”

“Yes, mother,” he answers, his voice rumbling through you, “I’m sorry. Please ma, she is good. Please, I want to keep this one.”

Sarah clucks and nears. A tear beads over the brim of your eye and falls. She traces its path with her thumb, “then you know what to do, Stevie. If she is to be a good wife, a wife good enough for my son, you must punish her.”

Your garble and round your eyes. Your heart throbs and your ears ring. No, no, no.

“You must do it, Stevie,” Sarah’s voice hardens to stone, “look at her. She needs it.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #sarah rogers #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #series #drawn together #mcu #marvel #captain america #au #tattoo au

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nervouscupcakeinspace · 3 years

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BTS FIC RECS (PART 2)

Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope

Don't Get Charmed by shikiso

When an injured omega is found on their territory, Jungkook's instincts scream danger. He is the pack's omega, they don't need another one. Jungkook is doing a good enough job by himself, protecting the den and soothing the tension off everybody's shoulders.

Why is the pack so adamant on keeping that useless omega in ?

They have Jungkook, they don't need Hoseok.

Why can't they even see his little game ? Hoseok definitely knows how to play the scared and helpless omega. But, if he manages to trick everybody, he can't trick Jungkook. He is immune to his sweet scent and sweeter eyes.

He won't fall into his trap.

Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin

Omega Drip by sugamongoose

Park Jimin is the kind of alpha who makes you coffee and asks about your day before reducing his partner to a crying, writhing mess on his organic cotton sheets. He doesn't even seem to care one bit that Jungkook is a broken omega who doesn't get wet when he's supposed to.

“Are you busy right now, alpha?” Jungkook asks, holding his breath in anticipation. He can already visualise getting on his knees for the smaller man, can imagine those soft-looking hands petting his hair in approval when he shows just how good his mouth is.

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Namjoon | RM

Every Kind of Way by Oh_Hey_Tae

And then he realizes, quite belatedly, that he’s not supposed to be shaking the hand of the barista. Because that’s weird. And uncalled for. And really, really weird.

So Jungkook draws back his arm, grips the straps of his backpack, and promptly flees the building without a word spoken. Which is fine. Sometimes you have to get out of awkward social situations and blacklist particular cafés and adjust your route to school to avoid said café and the barista with the heart shaped face and his sweet pea scented hands. It happens.

“Jungkook-ah, meet Kim Namjoon.”

And sometimes during your bi-weekly dinner one of your good friends introduces you to said barista with the terribly soft hands who also happens to be getting his masters in social work to help underprivileged youth in inner city neighborhoods. Which is fine. This is fine. Jungkook is doing just fine.

(Or: Jungkook adores everything about Namjoon except that the man can't catch a clue.)

Here Is What I Know by Oh_Hey_Tae

There are flowers growing on Namjoon’s arm. They aren’t real flowers, of course. That would be absurd. Impossible. Ridiculous. But Namjoon spends most of his lecture on Kant watching the garden of ink bloom on his skin, beginning at his pinkie and spreading across his wrist, trickling down to his elbow, curling up and around his bicep and out of sight under the sleeve of his shirt. Irises and peonies and roses and sunflowers. The girl who’s sitting beside him is staring, and when caught, gives Namjoon a bright-eyed grin before glancing back to the board. Namjoon spots a faded smiley face inked into the skin of her thumb, what looks to be a grocery list scrawled over the back of her hand. Notes or reminders from her soulmate maybe. Soulmates. Huh. It looks like Namjoon has one of those now.

try to resist, i still want it all by exarite

At first, Namjoon doesn’t think much of him.

He looks familiar, but he’s too far away for Namjoon to really see or scent out his dynamic. He’s cute, but Namjoon's not new to cute boys either. He's far too used to handsome, and pretty, and everything in between in the industry.

But then he stands up. Namjoon's eyes catch on the swell of his belly, and every nerve in his body lights up, his mind going blank, and—

Oh, he breathes. He's pregnant.

Namjoon fucks a pregnant Jungkook.

just let me adore you by elle_O_moonchild *

Rockstar omega Jungkook has never let an alpha tie him down. He was independent, and happy, and had no need for a domineering knothead to mess up his career and lifestyle.

But powerful and wealthy alpha Namjoon only wants to spoil the pretty omega rotten.

A smitten alpha Namjoon gets a weary omega Jungkook to go on a date with him and shows him just how good they can be together…

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Seokjin | Jin

more and more and more by moonsuns

"If you haven’t had sex by the time you’re twenty, then I’ll have sex with you. That way you’ll have a guaranteed end date for your virginity.”

“Do you promise, hyung?”

"I promise."

The problem was, Seokjin never expected to be called on it.

you shouldn't give it to me (good like that) by jamaisvore

opposites in the eyes of the media, but a perfect match in each other's arms.

or: supermodel!jk x rockstar!jin

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM

Pull Me Under by Oh_Hey_Tae

It’s been two weeks. Hoseok has managed to survive two weeks of Kim Namjoon’s progressively darkening thighs and his cheek craters and his swooshy hair and that stupid laugh he does that makes him sound like a bleating sheep.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder. Stares. Slowly draws his gaze back to Hoseok. “Are we discussing the same man who tried to brush his teeth with sunscreen yesterday?”

“Ew, he did that?”

“Your voice says that’s disgusting but your face says you’re enamored.”

Hoseok presses his palms against his eyes until he sees colored spots. “Make it stop, hyung.”

(Or: Hoseok works at a summer resort and Namjoon is the newest lifeguard. Chaos ensues.)

fall underneath by crycoby

“Is this secretly about your huge crush on Namjoon?” Jimin asks, his fingers digging into the back of Hoseok’s neck in a way that is frankly criminal. “You know that if you like him, you’re going to have to be more direct. He doesn’t like to assume things about people and… He overthinks a lot,” he finally settles on diplomatically.

Hoseok groans, half because of the pressure and half because the idea of talking about this, about any of this, about any of the gnarled mess that is the clutch of Hoseok’s emotions in the knot of his chest, gives him hives.

hoseok could talk about his big messy feelings about namjoon, or he could talk around them instead and just hope for the best. yeah. that sounds good.

Methods of Mutual Stress Relief by Only_A_Fangirl

Hoseok cringes, “How weird would it be if I actually asked to jerk off in here with you?”

“Very,” Namjoon answers instantly.

Hoseok nods, “You can choose the porn.”

Namjoon blinks, “Are you for real?”

lyre lyre lyre by oliviacirce

Namjoo regrets every life choice that has led her here, to the hard wooden floor of this dance studio, where she's lying on her back like a beached whale.

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Taehyung | V

the long and winding road by moonsuns

Hoseok is (basically) forced to go on vacation and leave his stressful idol life behind, at least for a little while. He wasn't expecting to find Taehyung, that's for sure. (He's glad he did, though.)

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin

Procurement by FlyYouFools1 (WIP) *

Seokjin and Namjoon have waited decades for a little of their own. Taehyung just wants to pay for his little brother's education.

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Taehyung | V

Dandelion Love (part of the (Not) Destined series) by almostsophie1

Taehyung is twenty-one when the word on his wrist turns ashen. The kind of love that soulmates share is forever out of reach.

(But enter one Kim Namjoon, who doesn't think the same.)

Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga

Bleeding Love by beebalm

Yoongi was already dressed and halfway to the door, nothing but a dry chuckle and a See you around when Namjoon asked for his number.

It's not that Namjoon is hurt Yoongi only ever wanted him for a one night stand. And he doesn't have a crush. He just wishes they didn't have to keep seeing each other all the time.

Kim Namjoon | RM/Park Jimin

but i want it anyway by ameliabedelias *

Park Jimin’s roommate goes to study abroad for a semester. Kim Namjoon takes over the lease.

only lingering around you by moonsuns

“I don't. I mean...this is going to sound awkward, but I’m...not really looking for a relationship right now.”

Namjoon considers, for a moment, elaborating and telling Jimin about everything with Hoseok, but there wouldn't be any point in that. And also, Namjoon is pretty sure that Jimin doesn't care about any of that anyway.

And he's right. At this, Jimin outright laughs. It isn’t a mean laugh, but Namjoon is pierced by the sound anyway. “Who said anything about a relationship, or even feelings? It’s just sex.”

Or, Namjoon and Jimin are friends with benefits.

Kim Seokjin | Jin/Min Yoongi | Suga

운명 (Fate) (part of the (Not) Destined series) by almostsophie1

Yoongi is part of that three percent population left without a soulmate word. It doesn't matter if he falls in love, because love isn't meant for people like him.

(Then he meets Seokjin.)

candy on my lips (part of the just desserts series) by moonbabie

Anonymous advice columnist and baby bi Kim Sujin meets queer club president Min Yoonji, and does the following: writes some cheesy advice columns, cuts her hair, and figures out her shit. (aka a queer romcom meets emotional constipation, self-discovery, and clueless wlw)

Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin

pull me closer in the backseat of your rover by moonsuns

Jimin had just wanted to get off. He didn't think he'd end up with a boyfriend at the end of it all.

Or, another friends with benefits AU.

Nip & Bloom by sugamongoose (WIP) *

The year is 2021, and yet traditional and oppressive views of alpha/omega relations run rampant in the Korean society. Unmated Park Jimin is placed in a government programme which pairs delinquent omegas with support mates to make them more comfortable in their submission. Jimin’s alpha for six months turns out to be Min Yoongi, a tiny music producer who wears fuzzy sweaters, and who won’t stop talking about his kitten Holly.

“You look like an omega,” Jimin blurts out. The strange alpha flashes him a smile that reveals the pink of his gums. “Is that something you prefer? I saw your file, and it said you identify as queer.” “Oh, you looked at my file just to see if I like to fuck other omegas? Knot swelling yet?”

POLY RELATIONSHIPS

OT7 - Relationship

indiscentsible by cloudyworld *

Jungkook had been a little disappointed when, after all the build-up and speculation, he'd presented as a beta. Betas are great! They play an important role in society: level-headed, big-picture thinkers, the solid foundation that holds everyone together. But that pull of instinct that comes with being an alpha or omega, the feeling of belonging... He was crushed at the thought he might never get to have that.

In a pack with three alphas and three omegas already, presenting beta was a gift; Jungkook learns to see that too.

Precious Mettle by glitterandgilt (WIP) *

Jin loved his nest. He'd built it very carefully from the ground up. Spent centuries on selecting the individuals he wanted to spend the rest of his immortal life with. He was proud of his nest and protected it with a possessive love that rivaled a dragon's guard on their trove.

Jin didn't get the chance to go through that evaluation process with his newest treasure. But he would never let it go.

When Jin's blood is stolen and used to sire a new fledgling, Jin has two choices: to ignore the strands of magic binding him to his new childe, or to lay claim to another jewel for his collection. He chooses the latter and drags his entire nest into a situation none of them were anticipating.

Kim's Seven by Gobi17 (WIP) *

Jungkook, 17 year old YouTuber, is in awe of the 6 hot boys who have adopted him online.

Bangtan are a dangerous group of vigilantes who seize the opportunity to kidnap the stepson of their latest target.

Found Kin by Adaptive_Artist (WIP)

Jungkook is starving. Food doesn't make anything better, and his teeth ache like someone is hammering on them. He thought he was cursed. Turns out he's a hatchling kin, and is now the precious baby of the renowned Kim nest. He's also growing little fangs.

Huh.

love bites (series) by feraljk (WIP)

Summary from the first fic:

newly-turned vampire jungkook still has a lot to learn, but his hyungs are there to help him. taehyung enlists yoongi and jin to teach the fledgling how to teethe and helps him discover how much of a bonding activity teething can be.

or: trans koo and tae teeth on their hyungs and also come

Isn't it lovely? (all alone) by hopefully2020

At age eighteen, all citizens are given a concentration that will determine their fields of study. A small empty square on their wrist will gain a color corresponding to their skill set. Everyone’s fear is that their square color is black, meaning they are destined for a life of crime. When Jungkook turns eighteen, he waits anxiously for his square to gain color, only to be presented with a blank square. He is shunned by his family, having to struggle through high school while trying to figure out what to do for the rest of his life. Jungkook's life gets flipped upside down on the day of his twenty-first birthday when the store he works at is robbed with Jungkook at the cash register. Fearing for his life he believes he is going to die, only to be saved by a figure in black with a mask covering his face. To make things even worse, Jungkook suddenly becomes the target of one of the largest drug syndicates, solely because of his new connection to his savior and five other men who turn out to be the biggest crime lords in Seoul. What happens then, you ask? Well, then the blank world Jungkook always saw starts to drip with black, just a little bit.

blueberry peaches (a serendipitous summer) by elle_O_moonchild (WIP)

Jungkook spends a life changing summer working at a beachside car wash and meets 6 new lovers who change his heart and life forever.

Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM

Falling For an Alien From Amalthea 5 by Pyotr_Keats78 (WIP)

Jungkook has been in and out of the hospital for years with various medical problems. Eventually, his heart becomes so weak that no human medicine can save him. Believing he will die never having come out as trans to anyone, he gives up. That is until his brother Jimin tells him, “You have two choices, Jungah: you can stay here in this hospital and get high every day until your heart fails you, or you can go to Amalthea, grow a parasite, and live.”

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin

Mentoring on Marsa by FlyYouFools1

Jungkook comes to the planet Marsa after being promised a full scholarship to Marsa National University. When the scholarship falls through, his academic advisor gives him the number for a mentoring service for newly stranded omegas on Marsa. With rent due, no way home, and no success in finding a job, Jungkook calls the number. The organization sends him Min Yoongi, a fellow omega who's been living on Marsa for 8 years. Yoongi teaches him how to survive. Jungkook's first attempt at survival is alpha couple Jimin and Taehyung.

Features: Yoongi doing his best to teach Jungkook how to manage handsy alphas, handsy alphas (like all of them are touchy) taking liberties with omega protagonists, and my best attempt at writing problematic but entertaining sex. A lot of fluff too, actually. The alphas are fluffy as hell with the omegas, and pamper them a lot, even though their actual behavior is wrong.

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V/Min Yoongi | Suga

November (series) by cuttothequickk

Summary from the first fic:

Sometimes, Jeongguk gets so lonely he doesn't even feel alone anymore. He's practicing, and he's very good at it. Loneliness. Being alone. It's blustery cold, and the leaves are falling from the branches of trembling trees, and Jeongguk is alone in a big city, shivering without a jacket, trying desperately to keep himself warm.

There is no one, and then there is someone. Two someones. The lovely winter boys from Daegu, Taehyung and Yoongi, opposites and equals, so loving and in love.

It would be ridiculous, really, if Jeongguk didn't fall for them, too.

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga

how, or when, or from where by moonsuns

“Stop calling it my quest,” Namjoon whines, and Hoseok laughs.

“You’re the one that said it first.”

“I was drunk.”

“Well, the bad thing about going out with people, is that you can’t take back the stupid shit you said when you were drunk. Especially when they’re way less drunk than you.”

Or, after Namjoon almost dies, he decides to go on a quest to live his best life, and takes Yoongi and Hoseok along for the ride.

(* Personal favorites)

MASTERPOST FIC RECS PART 1

#bts fic rec #my fic recs #mine #koobi #jikook #namkook #jinkook #namseok #vhope #namjin #taejoon #namgi #minimoni #yoonjin #yoonmin #ot7 #bts poly #bts

165 notes · View notes

babbushka · 3 years

Note

not to be a kinky bitch but for mother's day can I request a wee bit of mommy kink goodness (with any boy of your choosing)?

Anonymous said: "You look so pretty beneath me" with sevier?

1.2k; cw: mother's day, tattoos & NSFW (sub!Paul Sevier, big mommy kink (even though he doesn't explicitly call reader mommy), face riding, masturbation, praise kink) this gif has nothing to do with it, i just think he looks fluffy here lol

He had treated you to a wonderful day, all day long. Paul had worked his schedule so that he could spend the entire weekend with you, which was hard to pull off when cases for work made him fly all over the country.

But he’s home, and he’s been nothing but sweet to you all day; Woken up with breakfast in bed, you were showered in gifts. He took you out to brunch to that nice place you like down by the park, you walked hand in hand window shopping where he bought you anything that caught your eye, and now the two of you find yourselves winding down for the evening in the only way that you wanted, in bed.

---------------even manage to get all of his clothes off before he was asking so gently, so sweetly if he could make you feel good, if he could please you. It’s your special day, he pouted, mother’s day, and dammit if you weren’t the most caring deserving person to be spoiled on today, he didn’t know who was.

So you had led him up to the bedroom you share, stripped all of your clothes away and pushed him onto the mattress, his hands desperately reaching for your hips, guiding you to sit on his face. He loved this, loved being so completely surrounded by you -- your thighs on either side of his head, face shoved between them, nothing but the smell and taste and feel of your body wrapped up in his mind.

“You’re doing so well Paulie honey, so well for me.” You card your fingers through his hair, your back arching as his tongue thrusts in and out of your wet cunt, scritching at his scalp.

The praise has Paul moaning into your pussy, the deep vibration of the sound tickling up your spine as he sucks down the slick your cunt gives him. He’s good at this, he’s your baby boy and you want him to always know when he’s doing a good job.

You can tell by the way he’s gripping your thighs that he wants to add a couple fingers to the mix, but he can’t get it because of the angle. Frustrated, he groans and moans and huffs against your folds, whines, desperate for more. You soothe him, your hands rubbing calming circles on his strong biceps where they’re wrapped around your body.

“Keep it up darling, I’m close.” Focusing on the feeling of his mouth on your pussy, you ride his face, eyes closed, savoring the way he sucks and licks at you so expertly, wanting to please you, and he does, so you tell him, “You look so pretty beneath me.”

It only spurs him on, this deep sated desire to make you happy, to do what he’s told. He loves it, he craves it, fuck he craves you, and he starts to cry, tears at the corners of his shut eyes as he swallows down all the wetness that you make -- that he makes, until he’s moving from thrusting his tongue up into your cunt, to sucking his lips over your clit, the friction and suction making you moan.

“That feels amazing angel boy, do that again?” You grab at your own breasts, pinching and squeezing them, your nipples stiffening as he sucks again, harder this time, laving his tongue over your clit again and again, bringing you closer and closer until you’re pushed over the edge, “Mmm -- yes!”

Coming down his throat, Paul mumbles out a desperate plea, “C-can I -- please can I --”

Even with the soft wave of pleasure that ripples across your body from your sweet Paul’s attentive love, you have the presence of mind to notice the way his body is taut like a wire, jumpy, jittery.

“Go ahead sweetheart, jerk off, come all over yourself like a good boy.” You give him the permission he’s been craving, one of his hands flying down to his cock where it’s leaking and drooling pre-come onto the stomach of his button-down in a thick stream, only having gotten so far as wrenching open his pants.

To his displeasure, you pull yourself away from his face, instead choosing to settle down on the mattress next to him. He must be getting so overwhelmed in all those clothes, the fabric brushing against his overly sensitive skin. You know how to make it better, and he whimpers and whines, his fist stroking his cock fast fast fast, when you wrap him up in your arms and pull his face to your breasts.

“God your cock is big.” You whisper lovingly, combing your fingers through his hair as he cries out his desperate aching pleasure into your cleavage, kissing and sucking little spots on your sternum, “So big and just for me, isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes!” His eyes are pinched shut, and he’s breathing hard, fast, so close to coming that he could shout about it, but muffled against your chest all he does is chant, “All yours, I’m yours, I love you so much.”

“Shh, shh darling I know, it’s okay, I love you too.” You pet his hair and let him breathe in the scent of your sweat off your chest as he jerks himself off, bucking up into his fist, crying hot tears of pleasure all over his cheeks, until he’s gasping and groaning and moaning and coming, making a mess of his clothes.

It takes him a while to come down from his high, body twitching and jolting from the shocks of pleasure that course through him. You hold him and kiss him through it, licking into his mouth lovingly, a steady anchor for him to cling to.

The dark golden light of sunset streams in through the curtains, and turns the entire bedroom into a wash of orange that makes you feel like this is a dream, but then he’s shifting around, uncomfortable from the come that’s starting to dry into his clothes, and you know it’s real life.

“I got you one more thing.” He says nervously, shyly, like he’s done something without permission and is afraid he’ll be punished.

“Oh?” You prop yourself up on one elbow, watching with a smile as he begins to strip out of his clothes finally, revealing his body to you.

It isn’t until he takes off his undershirt that you see it, just there, under where his firm pectoral juts out from his chest, is a tattoo of your name in black ink. He watches anxiously for your reaction, but you couldn’t be farther from angry -- beaming at him, you rise up onto your knees to better reach his lips where he stands next to the bed, throwing your arms around him.

“Oh Paulie, I love you.” You cup his cheeks with your palms, kiss him hot on the mouth, emotion tugging on your heart. You’ve never cared for anyone so deeply, and knowing that he cares for you in the same way, in such a permanent way, is more meaningful than he knows.

“Happy Mother’s Day.” Paul blushes like the darling boy that he is, cheeks and ears going bright red, thrilled that you’re happy.

He wants to be yours forever, and this way, no matter where work takes him, you’ll always be with him.

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Tagging some Paul lovin' friends! @painttheskylineforme @caillea @cornmousequeen @2000andwhat @glassbxttless @schopenhauerdeathsquad @chapterhappygirl @mousemakingjam @littleevilme13 @drake-bells-waxed-penis @steeevienicks @sunflowersinthesnow @reyloaddict55 @direnightshade @artsymaddie @sacklerscumrag

#paul sevier #paul sevier x reader #paul sevier/reader #flip zimmerman x reader #midnight special #adam driver fanfic #adcu #paul sevier smut

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myfearless-love · 3 years

Text

The Wildest Place You Run (3/?) - Pretty Scary Sometimes

If anyone missed Killian in the previous chapters (because who wouldn't miss him, let's be honest) then I have good news: we are getting more Killian now that most of the flashbacks are done! I enjoyed writing this chapter as we dive deeper into the character's backstories and present happenings! I hope you like it too! Let me know :)

Also, check out the amazing and beautiful art that @thejollyroger-writer made for chapter 3 & 4!! I love how she always captures the essence of the chapters!

Summary:

Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapter: 3/? - Pretty Scary Sometimes

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~3k

Previous parts:

Ch 1 II Ch 2

TW for this chapter: Implied miscarriage

"Emma! Lock the door behind us! We probably won't be back before morning…"

David's voice snapped her back out of her memories and back into the present, and she stared up at her brother with misty eyes. "What?"

"Lock the door behind us," he repeated, shaking his head slightly in disapproval, and hurried out of the kitchen.

Somewhat dazed, she started walking towards the team of Hunters, but by the time she reached the living room, they were all gone. All except Killian, who was still fumbling with his gun holsters.

Her memories still held her a little captive, she stared wearily at the front door. It had been more than half a year, but she would never forget that night or that horrible half an hour she spent in the morgue…

"It can't be him! It's probably a mistake, Neal certainly isn't…" she shook her head and sobbed hysterically.

If David hadn't been holding her, she would have simply fallen awkwardly to the shiny floor.

"Emma! It pains me too, but if he were alive, he would have come back long ago…"

"No! He's not…" she repeated tirelessly, like a broken record. She couldn't comprehend that she had lost Neal along with the little one…

"Are you sure?" The coroner stared doubtfully at Emma, and there was also a hint of pity and contempt in his gaze.

Of course. To him, he was just a corpse, but to her…

"She won't calm down until then…" David sighed somewhat bitterly and stared at the white-covered body in front of them.

"All right," the coroner shrugged.

He was a short, broad, and severely balding man, with gray hair and several days of white stubble. He reached for the edge of the sheet with his stubby fingers, but before he could pull the fabric aside, a brutally burned hand slid off the autopsy table.

The breath caught in her throat, and she suddenly forgot how to breathe. They were long, thin fingers, just like Neal's. The skin was burned almost black, cartilage showing on the fingers.

"Maybe it was a bad idea..." David whispered, pulling her head to his chest and trying to shield her vision. He tried to soothe her, even though she was no longer sobbing anymore. Her eyes widened in horror, and she gasped for air.

"I think so, too. She's quite neurotic," the doctor grunted.

"Just keep your mouth shut! We didn't ask for your opinion," David snorted.

"Sorry," he muttered in a mocking tone and sauntered off.

He grabbed something from the table and handed Robin a plastic bag containing a sooty, burnt box. "We found this a few feet from the body. Does it look familiar?" The doctor scanned the faces of the Hunters impassively.

"Oh my God…"

"You've got to be kidding me…"

"Shit…"

Emma didn't understand their outburst, she just saw the horror and shock on their faces.

"What's that?" Mary Margaret glanced at the tiny box with watery eyes.

The others, on the other hand, didn't seem to have heard the question at all, staring uncertainly at each other and the box.

"Can we have this?" inquired Robin.

"Of course. We don't need it," replied the doctor.

"How generous," Leo said.

"David, what do you think? Should we give it to her?" Robin stared at her uncertainly.

"What's in it?" Emma asked in a husky voice. "Is it something of Neal's?"

"No. It's yours," Ruby replied gently.

"No, it's not mine," she shook her head. It wasn't at all familiar to her.

"But what's inside is yours," David replied, nodding to Robin, who opened the plastic bag and carefully pulled the box out. "Emma… you probably would've figured it out or guessed, it's better to just rip the band-aid now," he whispered, stroking her hair.

Emma raised her head suspiciously. "What's going on?"

"I'm sure Neal would have been happy to see you wearing it…" he added carefully. "He was going to ask you to marry him that night…"

Robin opened the small box. Inside, her engagement ring remained perfectly intact…

She opened her eyes slowly and raised her hand in front of her face. The ring still glittered on her finger. It was made of white gold, and the most beautiful amber she had ever seen shone upon it. It was terribly painful to realize what a wonderful night it could have been, and instead, it ended with the death of her boyfriend and unborn baby. They could have been a family.

But she wore it, despite the pain it caused when she looked at it. She could still feel him a little close to her. It hurt, but not so much that she couldn't bear it.

"Swan, are you all right?" Killian was already standing on the doorstep, eyeing her anxiously.

"I'm fine," she nodded, but her tone was the slightest bit sharper than she'd intended.

"Apologies." He turned away, but she gently grasped his arm.

"I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you or anything. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"It's alright, love." His lips twisted into a faint, understanding smile.

His good manners were sometimes in stark contrast to his appearance. His dark, almost black hair, disheveled as always, brushed against his forehead now, in need of a haircut. The thick stubble on his face was peppered here and there with a hint of ginger if the light fell on him at the right angle. His right ear was pierced and adorned with a solid black stone earring. There was no room for new tattoos on his left arm, various drawings of a compass, skull and crossbones, symbols, and plants were inked into his skin, likely to hide the age-old scar that ran from his wrist to his bicep. He also accentuated his eyes with black eyeliner, making his arctic blue eyes stand out as prominently as the North Star in the dark sky.

He wore his signature black outfit - jeans, a shirt that was always missing a few buttons at the top to reveal a generous patch of dark hair, leather jacket, and combat boots.

All in all, he looked like a textbook bad boy, which was why Emma preferred to keep her distance from him.

"You better get going," she remarked as the front door closed behind the others.

"They won't leave without me, anyway. Who would look out for them?" he let out a laugh, attaching a pistol holster to his hip. "Take care, ladies," he nodded to her from the other side of the doorstep, then disappeared into the night after the others.

Emma retreated into the apartment and carefully locked the door, padlocking it as a precaution. No one could say she hadn't heeded their warning.

"Are they gone?" Mary Margaret sank down on the couch.

"Yeah," Emma nodded and plopped down next to her friend.

She closed her eyes, leaned against the headrest, and stared up at the ceiling.

"I wonder what they're trying to accomplish with all this," Mary Margaret shook her head. "Rebellions everywhere, in almost every country. They can't defeat us, so what do they want?"

"I don't care what they want. All the damn beasts need to be wiped out," Emma hissed.

Ever since that night, she hated those monsters even more, and honestly, who could blame her?

Mary Margaret only hummed and nodded, and for a long time, neither of them said a word.

After a few minutes, her friend broke the silence: "Don't you miss it? Our old life?"

"What do you mean?" Emma glanced at her.

"When we went to college and this craziness hadn't started yet," Mary Margaret replied, and Emma raised one of her eyebrows.

"I don't miss it. If there's anything I miss, it's...him. But nothing else."

"Maybe you should take the ring off. It always reminds you of him. It's been over seven months. I know you don't want to hear this, but sooner or later, you're going to have to move on. There's life after Neal."

If it wasn't Mary Margaret sitting in front of her, telling her that, she probably would have slapped her or, at the very least, made her leave. But Mary Margaret was different. Emma knew she wanted the best for her, and she had much better insight into her situation than she did.

"I can't," Emma shook her head. "It would be like...I don't know. It would be like I was denying him or something."

"No," Mary Margaret objected vehemently. "It wouldn't be like that. To be honest, I didn't agree with the others when they gave you that damn ring. It was like twisting the knife that was already in your heart. If it had been up to me, I wouldn't have told you he was going to ask you to marry him. Sooner or later, you may have realized it yourself, though. Would it have been easier for you if there had been no ring?"

"Maybe," she breathed, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

Her gaze soon drifted to her ring. Maybe she really did need to take it off. "I don't know yet… Maybe in time," she replied.

"My advice is not to hesitate too long. It will be easier after that, believe me."

"I hope so," she smiled finally.

She was startled awake by the ringing of her phone. The rays of the full moon broke on the dry branches of the trees in the woods behind the house, and the silvery light painted indelible patterns on her bedspread with the shadows.

She forgot to close the blinds.

Her phone buzzed again and, still a little sleepy, she rolled onto her side in the huge double bed. She pulled aside the dark green canopy and reached for the vibrating device on the nightstand.

She glanced at the caller ID.

Of course.

Only David would call her in the middle of the night.

"What happened? Are you okay?" she immediately straightened up in her bed, holding her breath, waiting for her brother's answer.

"You're about to find out. We'll be home in five minutes. In the meantime, open the door and get the couch ready for Ruby." His voice sounded calm and Emma concluded that they couldn't be in too much trouble.

She ended the call, jumped up from the bed, and yanked open the door to her room. She ran down the hall and hopped down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. When she reached the front door, she took off the padlock, pulled out the deadbolt, unlocked the door, and opened it wide.

She ran back to the couch and tossed all the unnecessary things off of it. A couple of remotes, two blankets, and a few pillows landed on the cherry wood floor. Just as she stood up, she could hear the hurried footsteps of David and the others.

"Let me go! I can walk on my own two feet!" Ruby's voice sounded rather irritated, but her statement was immediately followed by a loud thud.

"I can see that," David hissed angrily, with a slight note of mockery in his tone. "Jones, if you will! She already tried to claw my eyes out…"

David marched into the apartment like an angry boar. He dropped his gun on the coffee table and sank into one of the black leather chairs. Leo and Robin nervously scurried into the living room, followed by Killian with Ruby in his arms.

Ruby stubbornly struggled against Killian, trying to break free of his grip, but he held her tight. It didn't matter that she could easily stand up to two guys, she couldn't outmaneuver Killian.

Killian wisely turned his face away from Ruby's tiny but sharp fingernails and carefully laid her on the couch.

"If any of you dare touch me again, I'll castrate you!" she growled, and then hissed, a grimace on her face immediately following.

"What happened?" Emma crouched down beside the brunette in horror.

"Can we go to your room?" Ruby pleaded desperately.

"No. She's been shot," David replied before getting up from the chair and drifting into the bathroom.

"What? Have you lost your minds? Why didn't you take her to a hospital?" Emma snapped, glaring at Leo and Robin.

"It was a miracle that we were even able to carry her here," Robin shrugged.

"I'll live," Ruby growled, but tears were running quietly down her face from the pain and exertion.

"Only if I take the bullet out and tend to the wound," David nodded.

"Ruby, we have to do this," Emma sat down next to her on the couch and took her hand.

She knew full well that she didn't like to be touched when she was injured. Ruby blinked up at David in alarm, disgust written all over her beautiful face. "Only you, David. No one else…" she moaned in a fading voice.

"All right, so be it. Let me over there, Emma. Take a look at Killian's arm until then."

She got up from the couch, grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and a bandage from the pile of medical supplies scattered on the table, and walked purposefully toward Killian, who stood silently by the banister.

"There's really no need," he shook his head with a forced smile when she reached him. "It's just a scratch, love, really not that serious."

"Not you, too."

"I don't—"

"Show me. I really don't have the patience for that right now, Killian," she interrupted him.

She didn't know what to make of the look he gave her. His impossibly blue eyes reflected annoyance, fear, and confusion all at once, but he soon relented and reluctantly peeled off his black leather jacket. The left sleeve of his shirt was completely soaked with blood.

He rolled up his sleeve. At first, she didn't see a wound under his many tattoos, it was hard for her to notice any damage done to his skin other than the scar that was already there. But as she scanned his arm she soon found a cut that seemed far too tiny for the amount of blood that adorned his clothing and skin. There was barely any blood flowing from it now.

"What the…" her eyes widened as she ran her finger over the wound, but Killian didn't even flinch. Right before her eyes, the cut disappeared under the ship wheel — or helm, as he called it — which wrapped around his bicep. "Killian," she stared at him, dumbfounded.

A mere Mage wouldn't be able to do that, even if he had as much power as Killian.

"There were Elves among my ancestors," he shrugged, his face becoming an imperturbable, grim mask. His gaze seemed petrified, expressionless.

That explained some strange things about Killian, Emma thought. He had an abnormally high physical resilience and was almost as fast as a Vampire or Werewolf. That couldn't be possible through mere magic.

"Oh," she couldn't force a more meaningful answer out of herself. "Why didn't you say that before?"

"I didn't think it was important," he shrugged.

"Sorry, but you don't look like an Elf," Leo shook his head with a grin.

Emma only now noticed that the other Hunters had been standing behind her the whole time.

"That's because I'm not one. Some of my ancestors were. I'm just a freak," his voice sounded strangely bitter and he turned his head away.

Instinctively, she took two steps away. Killian's icy magic flared up without warning, along with his rage.

"Hey, calm down, dude. I didn't mean it like that," Leo raised his hands.

"What's going on?" Mary Margaret reached the bottom of the stairs, still in her pajamas.

"Nothing new. Just a bit of bickering, the usual," Robin grinned.

Only now did Mary Margaret notice David at the other end of the room. A broad smile was on her face as she walked over to where he was still crouched by the couch, finishing patching Ruby up.

Emma turned away as they threw themselves into each other's embrace, kissing as if they hadn't seen each other in days. She glanced back at Killian who was watching her face with a coy expression. His gaze positively shone with panic, almost desperate.

"I… I apologize. I think I'd better go," he murmured, lowering his gaze.

He rolled down his sleeve and picked up his jacket, then stormed out of the apartment without further explanation. Emma stared after him, uncomprehending. She had always known he was kind of a weirdo. But this was unusual, even for Killian.

"What the hell was that?" she turned to Robin, confused.

"He's a little cuckoo in the head. You'd better not get any more friendly with him than you already have," Robin shook his head. "Seriously. He can be pretty scary sometimes. He's pretty weird."

She didn't answer, just stared after Killian thoughtfully. She agreed with Robin that there was something up with him. But she immediately ruled out the possibility that he was suffering from some sort of mental illness.

"You knew about this?" Leo turned to Robin.

"That he was part Elf? No, I would never have guessed that. But now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense. He's done things he wouldn't have been able to do otherwise," Robin replied and goosebumps appeared on Emma's arm.

Maybe Robin was right. She shouldn't get close to him.

#cssns21 #cssns 2021 #captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #killian jones #emma swan #killian x emma #captain swan supernatural summer #thejollyroger writer #cs fanfiction #ouat #once upon a time #ouat ff #captain hook #TWPYR #captain swan ff

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wherevermyway · 3 years

Text

you taste flamin’ hot | hyunsung | smut

pairing: han jisung x hwang hyunjin rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: explicit sexual content, awkward sexual situations, alcohol, public sex, food kink, deradation, watersports, dacryphilia. word count: 6,346 also on AO3!

originally published: 12 october 2020

Hyunjin and Jisung have no idea why they're roommates, or even friends. They're the polar opposite of each other: Hyunjin was well-pampered and high class, his platinum blond hair always well maintained, he was always draped in nice, bright, tasteful designer clothing; Jisung, however, was the exact opposite. Jisung would buy the cheapest, darkest shade of boxed black hair dye and hastily slather his hair in it, missing big patches and splattering viscous ink everywhere. He only wore black, sometimes with red accents, and would cake on eyeliner like there was no tomorrow.

Hyunjin was neat, well kept and groomed, and was a picky eater. Jisung was a sloppy mess, and practically lived off of iced americanos and spicy Cheetos. Hyunjin was a quiet, reserved drunk. Jisung was a sloppy, flirty drunk.

When they get drunk at a party one night, they finally realize that they were friends for one glaringly obvious reason: they were both incredibly sexually compatible, and Hyunjin finally had a good excuse to get messy.

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

Crunching. That was the only thing that Hyunjin could hear as the younger man in his lap snacked on those toxic waste-like Cheetos that Jisung loved so much. They smelled briny and, not surprisingly, like they were laden with salt. Hyunjin could never understand why Jisung liked those stupid, messy, disgusting snacks so much. There was no nutritional value to them, they were overpowering, and they got absolutely fucking everywhere.

The residual red flakes from the spicy Cheetos bag stood out like a bright red highlighter on Jisung’s fingers. It didn’t bother the younger man, but it bothered Hyunjin. “Would you please go clean your disgusting fingers? Stop getting all of that shit on me.” He stared down at the bright, neon red dust and scowled.

Jisung cocked his head to the side, looking up to his senior in confusion, before he looked down to his own fingertips. “Ah, whoops,” he muttered before sticking his fingers in his mouth, rolling them around before grating the residual coating off of them with his teeth. “My bad, dude.” He immediately went back to scrolling and swiping around inanely on his phone, leaving oily, smudgy streaks on the screen.

Hyunjin groans, rolling his head into the back of the couch. “No,” he mutters, reaching down to Jisung’s phone, plucking it from his fingers and taking it away from him. “I mean, go actually wash your nasty fingers.”

“No,” Jisung mumbles, reaching up to grab his phone from Hyunjin, rolling his head in the lap of his senior. “I’ll do it later. It’s just not important now. I’m in the middle of my manga.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and groans. “You’re disgusting,” he says a bit louder than he intended.

“So what?” Jisung mockingly groans back, pressing the back of his head into the thigh of his senior.

“You’re disgusting,” Hyunjin repeated with emphasis, rolling his head back. “I don’t know how someone like you, so outwardly concerned about your cool guy aesthetic, is fine with being so gross.”

Jisung rolls his head back a bit, looking up to his senior. “It’s not hurting anyone, is it? Then what does it matter? Besides, I’m not that gross.”

Hyunjin sighs, sticking his hand underneath Jisung’s back and lifting him off of his lap. “Fuck you,” he grumbles as he stands up, brushing neon red crumbs off of his nice clothing. “I’m gonna have to get this shit dry-cleaned. I should make you pay for it.”

“Make me.” Jisung flopped back down on the couch, right back to the warm spot was from where Hyunjin was sitting. Without skipping a beat, he went right back to scrolling through his phone. “You wouldn’t have signed the lease with me if you were really that disgusted by me, and you know that.”

A frustrated groan erupts from the blond as he spins on his heel and storms off into his room, slamming the door behind him. He knew that Jisung was right, but he would rather walk on hot coals than admit that.

“Are you ready yet?” Jisung shouts into Hyunjin’s door. “You prissy bitch, I know you look fine. Stop fussing over your stupid hair and let’s go. I don’t wanna be late for the party.”

Hyunjin’s door flies open, and he scowls down at the black-haired man in front of him. “Like you’ve never spent hours in front of the mirror, trying to perfect your stupid eyeliner and get your bad boy look down. Sue me for wanting to look good.” He unironically flips his shoulder-length blond hair, almost as if he was punctuating his statement with sass. “Everyone’s going to be looking at me, anyways.”

The pair was an interesting duality. Jisung only wore black, would wear thick layers of eyeliner, and dyed his dark brunette hair deliberately darker: the cheapest, darkest box of black dye he could find. Hyunjin was the exact opposite: he wore only designer brands in bright colours alongside shades of cream and off-white. His hair was platinum blonde, well maintained with his monthly appointments, and had weekly manicures and facial appointments.

How the two of them got along as friends was beyond them. They shared virtually no similar interests, they butted heads all the time, and they were constantly yelling insults at each other. The thought of their sexual compatibility did cross Hyunjin’s mind several times, though. Especially on the nights when they would go out and party together. Jisung was a touchy-feely drunk, loud and experimental, and Hyunjin was quiet, loving all of the attention he got from him for it. They would recklessly flirt when they got drunk, but nothing ever came from it, because they still managed to be awkward cowards, even while hammered.

“Shall we?” Hyunjin sarcastically coos as he lightly shoves Jisung’s shoulder, pushing him out of the way.

The party, not surprisingly, was uneventful. Jisung forgot to eat something between the Cheetos incident and the start of the party, so he got drunk really quickly. About two hours in, he started doing body shots off of a couple of decent-looking guys, Felix and Chan. Hyunjin sipped on his vodka soda in the corner, enjoying his light buzz as he watched his friend be the sloppy drunk he always was.

“Jinnie!” The black-haired man called out to him, waving him over to the kitchen table he was sitting on. “C’mere, c’mere!”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes and slowly made his way over to Jisung. “What?”

Jisung hastily grabs the empty shot glass from earlier and the bottle of vodka next to him. He lays on his back, balancing it on his sternum as he tries to open the bottle without knocking it off of him.

“What are you doing?”

“I want you to take a shot off of me,” Jisung frowns up at the man as the glass falls and he attempts to stand it up one more time.

“You’re an idiot.” Hyunjin snaps at him, grabbing the bottle from Jisung. The younger man pouts, until Hyunjin grabs the glass off of him, placing it down on the table. He pulls up Jisung’s skin-tight black shirt enough to reveal his abdomen, causing the black-haired man to gasp and flush. “You take a real body shot off of skin.” Hyunjin unscrews the cap off of the bottle of vodka, then pours some of the liquid into Jisung’s belly button.

“That’s cold!” Jisung cries out, his abdomen flexing in response.

“Suck it up.” Hyunjin doesn’t say anything else as he leans down, feeling the warm heat radiating off of Jisung’s skin as he’s maybe a couple of centimetres away from his flesh. He flits his eyes up, making eye contact with a very confused Jisung. Hyunjin bites back a smirk, deliberately not breaking eye contact as he brings his lips to the rapidly warming liquid on the soft skin beneath him. He sucks up the liquid, wincing as the cheap vodka burns his throat as it goes down.

The look on Jisung’s face is priceless, but it’s made better as Hyunjin sticks out his tongue, rolling the tip of it around the bottom of Jisung’s navel, then around all of where the vodka touched his abdomen. “Oh my god,” Jisung drawls out the last syllable as he rolls his head back, letting it collide on the table with a soft thud. Hyunjin smirks to himself, knowing that was a good reaction he just got out of the younger man.

“That’s how you do a body shot.” The smirk on Hyunjin’s face causes a confused look to pass across Jisung’s face. Hyunjin knew he was finally going to fuck the life out of him tonight, and he was beside himself with excitement, thinking of making the man cry as he choked on his dick.

“We should go home,” Jisung breathes out, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

“Party’s just started.” Hyunjin smirks and takes a long swig of vodka directly from the bottle. Looks like his plan was paying off. “You sure you wanna abandon all of your friends so early in the night?”

Jisung sits up, wobbling a bit. He takes a second to reorient himself, then looks up at Hyunjin with a serious look in his eyes. “They’ll be fine. That’s not what I care about.”

“What do you want?”

“After that body shot?” Jisung bites his lip back and looks away for a moment, before looking back up to meet Hyunjin’s eyes. “You.”

“I like the way those chains slap against your ass, Sungie.” Hyunjin says, eyes trained on the back of the smaller man in front of him, entranced by the way the flimsy metal danced around his waist.

Jisung spun around and pouted at Hyunjin. “Stop looking at me like a piece of meat, Jin.” He attempts to walk backwards, but isn’t quite coordinated to pull it off drunkenly in knee-high platform boots. Jisung’s foot catches the sidewalk awkwardly, and he throws his hands in the air, waving them around to balance himself.

Hyunjin takes a long step forward, moving in to catch Jisung before he was able to tumble to the ground. The two of them make uncomfortable eye contact, and stare at each other for a beat too long. Hyunjin, without any tact, slips his hand down from the small of Jisung’s back, sliding his hand down under the chains draped from his hips, and grabs a fistful of the younger man’s ass.

Jisung lets out a whiny gasp as the firm hand makes contact with him. “Hyunjin,” he whispers in a panic, “we’re in public, what are you doing?”

“Letting people know what’s gonna be mine tonight.” The blond smirks, helping the younger man stand up. “C’mon, let’s go to GS25. I have an idea.”

Jisung’s face is a deep shade of crimson as his senior lets go of his waist and walks off without him.

The two men walk through GS25, and Jisung is about to dart off to grab a bottled americano from the cooler, but Hyunjin grabs his hand and yanks him towards the back. “What are you doing?”

“My parents own this one. It’s fine.” Hyunjin quips, still not answering Jisung’s question. He pauses in front of the staff washroom door for just a moment. “Wait here.”

“What? Why?” Jisung pleads, but Hyunjin darts off into a back room for just a moment. Jisung fiddles with his hands while he waits, clearly looking nervous as he waits for Hyunjin to come back.

Hyunjin comes back out of the door, holding a key between his fingers. He says nothing, just slides the key in the lock, opening the door and pulling Jisung in by the wrist. “Be quiet. My parents may own this place,” he locks the door behind him, then pins Jisung up against the wall, “but I don’t wanna get in legal trouble. Because I’m gonna wreck your fucking night and make a mess out of you, embarrass you so badly as we walk home. You cool with that?”

Jisung sputters incoherently, then nods his head nervously.

“No,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes, “use your words. I need to know you’re fine with the shit I’m about to do to you. I know you’re not into vanilla shit after that stint you had with Seungmin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung grips at Hyunjin’s hips and he pleads with wide eyes.

“Good. Colours?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, because I wanna make you fucking cry.” Hyunjin presses his lips against his junior’s, jamming his tongue in between his parted lips. Jisung ruts his hips against Hyunjin’s, aimlessly letting his hands wander up against his cream coloured, silken shirt. The blond reaches down to his belt, undoing it and unzipping his pants. “Get on your knees.”

Jisung does as he’s told, bringing his face up close to Hyunjin’s crotch.

“I’m not gonna hold back unless you tell me to stop. Slap my wrist or my hips if it’s too much.”

Again, Jisung nods, which earns a glare from his senior. “Yeah, sure, I will.”

“Good boy.” Hyunjin coos, then pulls his cock out of his pants. He takes Jisung’s jaw into one of his hands. “Open.” Once Jisung’s opened his mouth, Hyunjin aims his cock into the younger man’s mouth, allowing him to run is tongue over him, warming up to the taste and the sensation of him.

It only lasts for a minute. Hyunjin roughly positions Jisung’s jaw right where he wants him, then takes his hand and slides it to the back of his head, gripping his hair tightly between his fingers. He slowly pushes his hips in, until he’s completely inside of Jisung’s mouth, rubbing up against the back of his throat.

Jisung’s eyes widen in panic for a moment, but then his eyelids flutter in excitement. Hyunjin takes this as an invitation to continue, pulling back and preparing himself to fuck his junior’s face like nothing more than a sex toy. “I’m not gonna stop until you cry.” Hyunjin says, then thrusts harshly into Jisung’s throat.

The younger man lets out a stifled moan, surprised as to how much Hyunjin filled his mouth. He reaches his hands up to Hyunjin’s hips and saliva comes sputtering up from his mouth as Hyunjin relentlessly continues to aggressively pound the back of his throat. It felt so good, but it hurt and he felt the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Gonna ruin that pretty face of yours,” Hyunjin pants, tugging on Jisung’s black hair a bit harder, with purpose. “Look at you, getting your face fucked in a disgusting public bathroom. I bet you love this kind of shit with how nasty you are, don’t you?”

Jisung lets out a choked affirmation, and starts to feel the tears spill from his eyes. He was secretly thankful they both had a little too much to drink, because his gag reflex had completely disappeared. He looked up at Hyunjin, meeting his eyes for just a moment before he closes them. Hyunjin grips his hair even tighter and thrusts more aggressively.

The tears start pouring, now. They weren’t tears of sadness or pain, they were tears of pure enjoyment. Jisung loved to be used like this, to be rendered as nothing more than a way to please someone. The way that Hyunjin’s cock felt in his mouth was enough to make him uncomfortably hard.

Hyunjin suddenly pulls out, relinquishing Jisung’s hair from his hands. “Don’t touch your face,” he pants out, then slips his dick back into his pants.

Jisung blinks rapidly, his moment ruined. “What? You’re not gonna come?”

“That’s for later.” Hyunjin pulls out his phone and aims it at Jisung. “Gimme a slutty face, I want a photo so I can show you how pathetic you look, and just for personal reference later.”

“Okay,” Jisung bats his eyelashes and offers a peace sign with his fingers, opening his mouth wide and sticking his tongue out.

“Beautiful, I love it.” Hyunjin stares longingly at his phone for a moment, before turning it to face Jisung. He captures a glimpse of the photo, his perfectly applied eyeliner now ruined, streaking down his face haphazardly and completely fucked up. Jisung subconsciously goes to wipe his face, but Hyunjin swats his hands away.

“Stay like that until we get home.” His voice is cold, calculated. “Don’t rub it off or try to make yourself pretty, my disgusting little Sungie. I want the strangers we walk by to know how much of a dirty slut you are for me.”

They take a moment to compose themselves, then walk through the GS25. Hyunjin doesn’t bother with returning the key, just leaving it in the door. He grabbed Jisung’s hand, interlacing his fingers together. “You sure you’re alright with this?”

“I’ve done worse,” Jisung quips. “This might be the most obvious ‘my-throat-just-got-fucked’ look I’ve ever had, though.”

Hyunjin laughs, leading him to the cooler. “Grab your stupid americano. I’m gonna grab something for us while we’re here.”

Jisung cocks his head as Hyunjin walks over towards the bagged snacks, but doesn’t question it. He doesn’t question it until he’s got his americano in hand and they are at the counter together, and Hyunjin tosses a bag of spicy Cheetos onto the counter. Jisung looks wildly at Hyunjin as the clerk gives them both a horrified look.

“What?” Hyunjin says to both of them. “Boyfriend had a rough day, just making it better.”

They get home maybe ten minutes later, earning some choice looks from passersby on the street as they walked down the sidewalk, Hyunjin’s hand down Jisung’s tight back pocket. He was wearing women’s pants, he figured, with the way they hugged his hips and his ass, and he loved it.

Hyunjin unlocks the door, letting Jisung walk through first. Jisung spins on his heel in confusion, but Hyunjin just tosses the bag of Cheetos to the younger man, then bends down to untie the intricate weaving of Jisung’s knee-high boots. “Shut up and eat them. Get that stupid red shit all over your fingers.”

Jisung’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, and he makes some sort of unintelligible noise.

“Shut up and eat your toxic waste-looking shit.” Hyunjin doesn’t bother looking up as he undoes the lacing in the first platform shoe, then moves to the next one. Jisung opens the bag, shaking his head in disbelief. He wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity for a post-drink snack, especially if it was his favourite thing and if it wasn’t going to bother Hyunjin.

Hyunjin holds the boots down, and looks up at Jisung. “Get out of these.” Jisung steps out, as requested, and Hyunjin tosses the shoes carelessly to the side before undoing his shoes. “I can’t believe you actually walked around in public with makeup streaked down your face.” He scoffs, sliding his shoes off and neatly tucking them onto the rack by the entrance. He stands fully upright and gets directly in front of Jisung, centimetres away from his face, pushing him up against the wall next to the kitchen. “You really liked it, didn’t you?”

Jisung nods twice, a single Cheeto halfway in his mouth as he stares up in confusion at Hyunjin. “I didn’t tell you to stop eating.” Hyunjin gently pushes the snack into his mouth, as daintily as possible, with a single finger. He scowls at the residual dust on his finger, then grabs a fistful of the briny, neon red sticks from the bag. “Open.” He commands, and Jisung obeys.

Hyunjin takes his free hand and tilts Jisung’s chin up, then firmly grips his jaw and holds his mouth open. He drops a few of the snacks into his mouth, letting the younger man chew them and swallow, looking up at Hyunjin with big, pleading eyes. Jisung opens his mouth again, and Hyunjin deposits the last of the snacks into Jisung’s mouth.

Hyunjin snatches the bag from Jisung, putting it down on the kitchen counter, then grabs the bottle of coffee. “Don’t clean your fingers off yet. I want you to get that shit everywhere in a minute.” He says, passing the drink to his junior, who accepts it, opening it and taking a few hasty swallows. Jisung is barely able to take his lips off of the bottle before Hyunjin is pressing his lips up against him.

Jisung practically chokes on the americano, some of the drink leaking from his lips, sputtering on to Hyunjin’s face as he barely swallows most of the cold liquid. More spills as Hyunjin assertively jams his tongue into Jisung’s mouth, spilling down his chin, spilling down Hyunjin’s chin. They were making an absolute mess out of each other and it was so wrong, but it strangely felt incredible to ruin each other.

The two of them continue to kiss for a few moments, then Hyunjin pulls away, looking down at his hand. “You know,” he says, “you’re awfully messy, huh?”

Jisung bites his lip, nodding his head in excitement. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m gonna make it worse.” Hyunjin quips, leaning into Jisung’s face. He takes his tongue and drags it up the side of his junior’s cheek, repeating this a couple of times, then he takes his reddened, crusty hand and pushes it into Jisung’s cheek. He leaves a red, greasy mess tangled up in the streaks of black eyeliner on Jisung’s face.

“You look so filthy.” Hyunjin’s voice is breathy and layered with excitement as he stares down at Jisung with wide eyes. “I’m gonna take a photo of this, too.” He reaches back into his pocket, hastily snapping a couple of photos without even bothering to show Jisung. “Come on,” he pushes his phone into his back pocket “Let’s get cleaned up.”

Hyunjin steps back, letting Jisung peel himself off of the wall. Jisung takes a couple of steps forward, before he’s stopped by Hyunjin taking a fistful of his hair and pulling him along as they walk towards the washroom. “Ow!” Jisung sharply whines. “Why are you dragging me?”

“You want me to stop?” Hyunjin asks insincerely, continuing to lead the two of them along. “Didn’t hear you tell me a colour.”

Jisung whimpers. “No, I don’t want you to stop, it just surprised me.”

Hyunjin chuckles once as they approach the washroom. He flips the light on, then shoves Jisung in, pushing him into the wall with force. He crashes his lips against his junior, the nauseating taste of coffee, spicy Cheetos, and a little bit of vodka overwhelming his senses. It should distract him, make him not want to kiss Jisung at all, but it strangely drew him in, like a moth to flame.

They continue to roll their tongues around each others’ mouths, as Hyunjin works on getting them undressed. He unbuttons his nice, silky shirt, then tosses it to the side. Jisung unbuttons his pants, chains clattering as his pants and briefs collide to the ground. Hyunjin grabs the hem of the bottom of Jisung’s shirt, hastily pulling it up over his head and discarding it somewhere past his shoulder.

“Get me off,” Hyunjin demands, grabbing Jisung’s hands and bringing them to the button of his pants. “I’m gonna come all over that pretty face of yours. You’ll look so pretty with white, black, and red all over you.”

Jisung fumbles a bit with the button of Hyunjin’s pants, too distracted by the promise his senior made. He eventually undoes the button, pulling the zipper down, then helping Hyunjin shimmy out of his pants. Once they were both fully disrobed, Hyunjin grabbed Jisung by the hair and pushed him down.

“On your knees, where you belong.” His voice is stern, but also dripping in anticipation. “It’s probably not gonna take long with that pretty mouth of yours wrapped around me.” Jisung opened his mouth, presenting his tongue to Hyunjin before he takes his cock into his mouth, unprompted, but Hyunjin doesn’t complain. “Oh, that’s good,” he groans, tilting his head back.

In this moment, Jisung is like the antithesis to Hyunjin. While his senior is rough and direct, he’s more gentle and calm, enjoying taking his time with things that have a good payoff. The two of them together worked a little too well, Jisung managing to tame the wild side of Hyunjin, while Hyunjin brought out the freak in Jisung.

Hyunjin wrapped his fingers in Jisung’s hair, looking down and making eye contact with Jisung as he offered a few tiny licks at the head of his dick. It was cute, he had to admit, but he didn’t want cute, not right now. “Come on,” Hyunjin whined, “don’t be a brat and tease me. You know I’m impatient.”

A devious smirk curled up Jisung’s lips as he pulled back. “Shut up.” He barked back at Hyunjin, dropping his cutesy, quiet demeanour. “Learn how to let go for once in your life. Not everything is about instant gratification, you uptight bitch.” His lips pulled up into a wide grin as he could barely contain his excitement when Hyunjin chewed over the words he spat at him.

“'Uptight bitch'?” Hyunjin tugs Jisung’s hair, pulling his head back. “That’s awfully brash of you. Did you forget that you’re the one that’s covered in filth?”

“Bite me.”

Jisung’s attitude snaps something in Hyunjin. “Fuck you,” he growls as he tugs at Jisung’s stupidly dyed black hair harder, enough to make him squeal, to open his mouth just enough to push his cock in, all the way to the back of his throat. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

The younger man starts to drool uncontrollably as Hyunjin repeatedly, aggressively thrusts his hips back and forth. “I can’t believe you had the audacity to speak that way to me. Gonna fuck your throat so hard, you’re not gonna be able to talk back to me for a week. Change that attitude of yours right quick.”

It felt good, probably the best oral he’d ever received. The people Hyunjin had been with before were usually never this experimental. He’d never felt comfortable enough to ask someone if he could ruin them in such a way. He loved taking beautiful things and destroying them; it was something he was never able to do, being forced to be such a pristine example of high-class lifestyle for his entire life.

Jisung looked up at Hyunjin with wet, teary eyes, more black streaks being painted on his face. To anyone else, it may have looked like he was truly unhappy, but the way that his pupils were blown wide open, his eyes were half closed, and the way that his dick twitched with every thrust was enough to drive Hyunjin mad.

The blond pulled his cock out of the black-haired man’s mouth, letting go of his hair, moving his hand down to his chin as he firmly held it upright. He stroked his cock feverishly as the two of them made eye contact. Jisung closed his eyes, knowing what was coming, and he opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out to catch any stray cum that would stream down his face.

“Fuck you,” Hyunjin pants as he removes his hand from Jisung’s chin, slamming his hand on the wall, his cum splashing onto his junior’s face. “Fuck your stupid face. Fuck your attitude.” He gasps in between statements, stroking the last bits of cum onto Jisung’s tongue.

Hyunjin took in the way that Jisung looked, and it took his breath away. Jisung was an absolute mess. Jisung blinked one of his eyes open a couple of times, looking up at Hyunjin. His face was covered in sloppy, patchy streaks of eyeliner, there was still some oily red flakes on his face, and now, there was cum dripping down from his forehead, rolling down his nose and eyebrows, down to his cheeks, some hanging from his lips.

That’s when Hyunjin gets an idea. He reaches down to grab his phone out of his pants, taking a couple photos. “You look so wonderful like this, a masterpiece with the last strokes of paint on you.” He tosses his phone back down to the floor and walks over to the medicine cabinet. “I’m almost done with you. Get in the shower and wait on your knees, and I’ll clean you off before we shower.”

Jisung swipes some cum off of his eyes so he can see, he slips his socks off, then shuffles over to the shower, where he obediently waits on his knees.

Hyunjin makes his way back to the shower and tosses a bottle of lube in between Jisung’s legs. “I’m gonna let you fuck me in a minute when we finally get all of this shit off of us. But I’m gonna make one last mess out of you yet, get some of that cum off of you.”

Jisung’s eyes flutter open and widen as Hyunjin towers above him, cock in hand. He suddenly realized exactly what he means. “Dude, are you seriously about to piss on my face?”

“And in your hair. Do you not want me to?”

The younger man takes in a sharp breath and closes his eyes. “I love this. Clean me off, stuck-up pretty boy.” He presents his face and opens his mouth, and the sight is almost enough to get Hyunjin hard again.

It takes a minute, but the stream weakly starts, splashing up against Jisung’s face. The sudden warmth and shock causes the younger man to flinch, but he gets into it immediately, rolling his head all around the stream and making sure that it gets all over his face and in his hair. Hyunjin lets out a strained groan as he empties his bladder on Jisung’s face, enjoying the view far more than he should’ve.

Hyunjin shakes out the last few dribbles, then drops to his knees in front of Jisung, gripping his face tightly as he pulls the younger man in for a hasty kiss. He didn’t care about the acrid taste that danced on their tongues, he just couldn’t believe that someone actually indulged him in all of his strange fetishes, all in one night, so he had to show his appreciation in some way.

“Okay,” he says as he pulls back, “let’s actually get you cleaned up, then I’ll let you fuck me.”

Jisung rubs his eyes and nods his head. “You know,” he scoffs, “you’re probably the freakiest, messiest person I know. Messier than me, just so you know.”

“Shut up.” Hyunjin stands and grabs Jisung’s hands, pulling him up to his feet. He reaches behind the younger man, turning on the shower. The water is cold, shocking both of them a bit, but then quickly warms up. “You went along with all of that,” he scoffs as he wipes off all of the mess of various substances off of Jisung, “so that says something about you, too.”

“Yeah, it means that we’re both pretty freaky and should do this more often.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and turns to grab a dry hand towel from off of the wall, passing it off to Jisung. “Wipe off your face so you can finally fuck me.”

Jisung takes the cloth, making sure to dry his eyelids off well enough so he didn’t have any leftover irritants on his face. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” He reaches down to grab the lube and tosses the hand towel behind him. “Now I get to have my fun with you. Face the wall and keep that pretty mouth of yours shut.”

Hyunjin lets out a scoff, but chooses not to say anything in response as he slaps his hands on the wall dramatically, slightly bending over and presenting himself.

“Don’t you look pretty like that?” Jisung flips the lid of the lube open, squirting some on his fingers. He takes another step closer, putting his free hand on Hyunjin’s hip as he takes his lubricated fingers to the older man’s rim. “You want my fingers inside you, pretty baby?”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin whines, “do your worst.”

“Maybe if you ask nicely.”

“Fuck you.” Hyunjin’s arrogance earns him the loss of Jisung’s touch.

“I’ll leave you here by yourself and just go jerk off or something.”

Hyunjin turns his head to face Jisung, a look of bewilderment on his face. “You wouldn’t.”

“Be that way,” Jisung steps back, making his way towards the shower door.

“Wait, please!” Hyunjin whines, surprised he was actually begging for this. “Please come back and fuck me, okay?”

Jisung smiles and turns back to Hyunjin, grabbing his hips and hastily slipping his index finger inside, causing the older man to whine. “Pretty bitches like you are always so impatient. You need to be taught a lesson.” He twirls his finger around a bit, circling the digit in a calculated motion to find the older man’s prostate. before Hyunjin arches his back and lets out a strangled cry. Jisung bends down next to Hyunjin’s ear and whispers, “I wanna fuck you so hard that you can’t walk straight in the morning.”

Hyunjin curls his toes a bit at the comment. “Please,” he whines, “that sounds so good, Sungie.”

“It’s nice seeing you not being such a spoiled, impatient brat,” Jisung laughs and slips his middle finger inside. “You should let loose like this more often. You might think that, just because I let you make a mess out of me, even in public,” he continues circling his fingers around the sensitive spot inside of the older man, causing him to let out pathetic mewls, “you think that I’m not going to devastate you? Nah. I’m gonna wipe that stupid, ‘holier-than-thou’ grin off your face.”

Hyunjin was honestly surprised that Jisung had such an attitude in him. He knew that Jisung was a bit of a brat, but to be so commanding was the inverse of his personality. This kind of night/day difference in Jisung was causing Hyunjin to go mad.

A third finger slips in, causing Hyunjin to throw his head back and let out a drawn out moan. It was almost too much, too soon, but there was something about the way that the discomfort of the stress made him feel so good. Jisung waited a moment for Hyunjin to adjust, to relax a bit, before he started circling his fingers again.

“I can’t believe it took you so long to admit how much you wanted me.” Jisung condescendingly coos, slowly moving his fingers around. “Can’t believe you actually begged me to fuck you. You really want my cock inside of you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Hyunjin whispers, and Jisung isn’t very pleased with that.

“Speak up and speak nicely, otherwise my pretty little prissy bitch won’t get what he wants.“

This new side of Jisung was shocking, but also a turn-on to Hyunjin. He’d never been talked down to like this by anyone; he was always the one that took control and talked down to his partners, but it felt good to just let go for once. He had his cocky, arrogant moment, now it was time for him to be put in his place.

“Yes, please,” Hyunjin whines, resting his face against the cool tile. “Fuck your pretty little slut, please. Show me where I belong.”

Jisung lets out a laugh as he grabs the lube again, squeezing a generous amount onto his cock. “The slut gets what the slut wants, hmm?” He teases, before he slides his fingers out slowly, then replaces the empty space with his cock. He does so in such a painstakingly slow manner, that Hyunjin lets out a frustrated groan, but knows better than to say anything.

“Impatient, hmm?” Jisung grabs both of Hyunjin’s hips and bends down to be right up next to his ear. “I don’t care. I’ll take as long as I want with you.” He sinks his teeth into Hyunjin’s exposed shoulder, causing the older man to shudder. Without warning, he pushes himself all the way inside of Hyunjin and it causes both of them to make guttural, sinful noises.

“I’m getting you back for this, just so you know,” Hyunjin spits out in between pants.

“I didn’t ask you for your opinion.” Jisung bites another mark into Hyunjin’s shoulder as he slowly rocks back and forth at an even pace. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Are you always this much of a fucking tease?”

A sharp huff of air is exhaled through Jisung’s nose as he scoffs. “Alright, fine. You wanna play that game, I’ll play along.” He stands fully upright and takes a fistful of Hyunjin’s hair and pushes his face firmly up into the wall, using his head and his hip as anchorage as he moved at a relentless, unforgiving pace.

Hyunjin’s eyes roll back as his face gets repeatedly slammed into the tile wall with Jisung’s thrusts. He doesn’t intend to, but he lets out pathetic moans each time Jisung’s hips slap against his thighs.

“This is the only noise I want to hear you make.” Jisung says, pants punctuating each thrust he makes. “You talk too much.”

“Payback for how disgusting you are.”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” Jisung lets out a moan at the end of his sentence. “Okay, fuck, I’m really close. Where do you want it?”

“Don’t care. Come inside, outside, on my face, it doesn’t—“ Hyunjin is about to tell Jisung that it doesn’t matter, but, before he can finish his sentence, the younger man bottoms out behind him, and he feels cum filling up his insides.

Jisung pants and collapses onto Hyunjin’s back, loosening his grip on his blond hair. “That was so much. How are you feeling?”

“I’m pretty sure you broke my cheekbone, but we’re fine.”

“Oh, shit,” Jisung panics for a second. “I didn’t even think about trying to get you off again.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. It would take a while anyways, I’m not lucky enough to have a freakishly short refractory period. You’ll just have to make up for it later. Anyways, can we please shower? We’re wasting the hot water and I feel disgusting and I’m pretty sure I have your nasty Cheetos flakes in my hair.”

After their shower, the men towel off and awkwardly stand in the washroom. “Now what?” Jisung questions, staring up at Hyunjin. “Are we supposed to, like, cuddle or something?”

Hyunjin looks down to Jisung, then spins on his heel before he’s able to see the inevitable blush creeps up on his face. “I don’t care. It’s pretty cold in here, so I won’t say no.”

Jisung shrugs his shoulders and follows Hyunjin towards his room. “Alright, cool, I guess.”

“That was fun and all,” Hyunjin says as he opens the door to his bedroom, “I just hope you know that you’re paying for my dry cleaning, you filthy brat.” Hyunjin says as he flops down onto the bed.

“Worth it.” Jisung quips, laying down next to Hyunjin and curling up into his chest. “I’ll pay to ruin your clothes any time you want, you prissy bitch.”

#hyunsung #smut #skz smut #han jisung x hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x han jisung #hyunjin x jisung #jisung x hyunjin #wherevermyway

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ashes-and-ashes · 4 years

Text

Lightning and Marauders

Draco stares out of the window.

He’s still furious, with Harry and with Dumbledore and the entire fucking Order. He can feel it, rage coiling around his bones, the anger making him feel light-headed. He’d always had an explosive temper, the type that ended up with shattered glasses and holes in walls.

It didn’t work when his father attempted to beat it out of him, but then again, rarely anything worked. He learnt though, over the years, learnt to keep everything contained inside of him, because at least he didn’t cut anyone when he shattered.

With a sigh, Draco stares down at his arm, the ugly brand that couldn’t cover the scars on his wrist. He couldn’t even remember what the fight was about - something small, he was sure, something inconsequential and pathetic. Stress had blown it up, turned it into something so much bigger then it should have been, made him keep pushing, keep arguing until him and Harry were both screaming at each other from opposite sides of the kitchen table.

Of course, he had spat, anger making him feel like he was on fire. Of course you would say that. You’ve always had it easy, being the fucking savior.

Don’t you ever say that again, Harry replied, all hissed words and cold fury. Don’t you ever say that I had it easy. You’re the one on your Malfoy throne, all high and mighty -

You don’t know what they did to me.

What? Harry sneered. Bought you a broomstick and held your hand? Is it to your advantage to switch your side?

Fuck you.

Harry laughed. What did I expect? You’re the son of a Death Eater. Why did I ever think that we could trust you?

Draco had stormed off before he could say those damning words spinning around in the back of his head, echoing the cold words spoken by his father so long ago. You’ll never be enough. You’ve doomed us all.

He couldn’t though, couldn’t bring himself to say the words. It would destroy them, that already fragile bond he had with Harry, the small hope of something more. Even he wasn’t stupid enough to risk that.

Draco leans his head against the window, the glass cool against his cheek. The rain cast patterns over his face; he watches the shadows trace against his skin.

He doesn’t know where he is - some tower room in Grimmauld Place. The house was huge, larger then the Manor, all stone and dark wood and huge green drapes. There are tapestries all over the walls, symbols embroidered on them in heavy gold thread; he recognizes a few of them. Whom ever owned this house must have been rich - Charmed Marks were expensive and there were hundreds of them all over the walls.

He sighs, turning his attention back to the scene outside. His head pounds; he lets it drop back against the window frame.

“Done being all melodramatic?”

He can see the barest hint of a reflection in the window, all darkened shapes and blurred lines. He doesn’t bother to turn around though, just shrugs. “It’s my forté. I should go into acting.”

The person lets out a dry chuckle. “Aren’t you a spy? It’s close enough.”

Draco stiffens. “Who told you that?”

“You’re not the only Drama Queen here.”

Draco turns slightly in his seat, just so that he could see the figure standing by the door. He’s tall, hair down to his shoulders and covered with tattoos. There’s a casual sort of elegance to him, the type that Draco had spent most of his life trying to perfect, all careless arrogance and stunning grace.

Charcoal eyes met his; grey, he thinks, just like mine. Draco gets to his feet quickly, leaning back against the wall. He’s learnt that appearing casual made others lower their guard. The man’s quiet chuckle lets him know that his action had not been missed.

“God,” he says, giving him a small smirk. It’s the grin of a younger man, the ghost of something that had long died. “You remind me so much of - “

“Don’t,” Draco says, cutting him off. “Don’t say that I remind you of my father. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? As if I wanted to be some egotistical fanatic - “

The man laughs. “No. I wasn’t going to say that. I get the sense that you aren’t fond of your father though. He was an asshole. A brilliant, conniving asshole but an asshole all the same.”

Draco looks up, startled. “You know him?”

“Doesn’t everyone? Everyone who knows about Death Eaters, that is.”

Draco flinches. “I - I’m not - “

“Like them? Family bonds can be hard to sever. Just take me for an instance.”

“What do you know?” Draco fires back. “Don’t pretend like you know anything about Pure Blood families. You don’t know what it’s like to be suffocated, to be forced into a mold that doesn’t fit you - “

The man throws back his head and laughs; bitter and amused. “Oh I don’t know, do I? I probably know better then anyone else here, I Draco.”

Draco turns away, willing the tears not to come. “Oh, really?”

The man smirks. “I’m Sirius,” he says. “Sirius Black.”

“Harry’s Godfather.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been known as anything but Traitor.”

Draco folds his arms across his chest. “I’m a Malfoy,” he says. “Your name was synonymous with Hero back at home.”

“Nice to know I’m still worshipped.” Sirius leans back against the wall. He’s covered in scars, hundreds of them; up his arms and wrapped around his fingers, disappearing under his shirt. Draco thinks of his own back, the smooth, pale skin and shudders. His father was careful - and even Voldemort’s Crucio’s didn’t leave any scars. He didn’t want to think about how bad the pain was to leave so many scars across Sirius’ flesh.

“What do you want?” Draco says, keeping his voice even. “I assume you don’t just want to chat.”

Sirius shrugs. “Harry. You had a fight with him.”

“Why don’t you check in with him?”

“I already did.”

“Did he tell you about how much of a manipulative, lying bastard I was?”

Sirius shakes his head. Draco stares at his forearms, the silver moon tattoos inked onto the skin. They seemed to shimmer, even in the dark room, the edges rippling and fading into the next shape. “He told me all about you, actually. How brave you were. How you’re only 17 and yet you’re spying for a side that will try and execute you if they win this war.”

“What do I have to lose?” Draco whispers. “There’s nothing left for me in this world. I might as well try and - “

“Make it better?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius smiles. “I was actually going to say, before you interrupted me earlier that you remind me a lot of myself. Back when I was younger. You have the same...complete disregard for yourself. Self-destructive tendencies, almost. Because who cares if you burn as long as you’re warming those you love?”

“I - “

Sirius fixes him with that piercing gaze, the one that saw into his soul and stripped him bare. “Jesus, you’re young. I fought in the first War, back when I was 19. I still have nightmares. To do that to innocent kids - I don’t - you’re so - “

“Young?” Draco’s voice was a near-breath. “I’ve already killed 8 people, Sirius. I’m a little too damned to be innocent, don’t you think?”

He stared at his hands, palms up, the light dancing off his fingertips. “I’ve tortured people and been tortured myself. Spying is nothing.”

“True.” Sirius’ voice is light. “But I never knew Lucius would lay a hand on his son.”

Draco’s breath hitched. “What?”

“Don’t what me. My mother was the one hurting me. I know those marks.”

Draco stares down at Sirius’ hands, the tiny scars that flecked his skin. “What are those?”

Sirius’ grin was savage, brutal and cutting and painful. “Crucio.”

“Crucio doesn’t leave marks.”

“When you use it enough it does.”

“I’ve never met someone who knows what it feels like. Besides Harry and myself.”

Sirius blanches at the sound of Harry’s name. “He’s been...”

“Yeah.”

“God.” Sirius drops his head in his hands. “12 years. 12 fucking years I’ll never get back. God, I missed so much.”

“He loves you,” Draco says quietly. “He adores you.”

Sirius looks up. “You love him.”

It wasn’t a question. Draco feels the blood drain from his face, his heart falling to the floor. He takes a deep breathes, holds it, waits until he knew his voice wouldn’t shake. “He’s one of my closest friends.”

Sirius studies him for a minute, then lets out a low whistle. “God, you are practically a carbon copy of me.”

“What do you mean?” Draco demands.

Sirius just studies him, his head tilted, those piercing eyes shredding him slowly apart. Draco just grit his teeth, met his gaze.

Finally, Sirius speaks. “I was in love with a boy,” he says, and Draco flinches. “For ages, actually. Since I was 12. He was my best friend.”

“How did you know?” Draco breathes. “That it was love?”

Sirius smiles. “You just know.”

“I don’t though.” Draco looks down, at his feet. “I always hear things, about how love makes you soft, makes you happy, lifts you up and turns you lighter. And I always think what bullshit. Because that’s not what I feel. Not at all.”

“It’s fire,” Sirius says quietly.

“God, it’s more then that. It’s consuming. It scares me, because I’m in a war, and if something happened to him...There’s nothing I wouldn’t do - I’ve switched sides for God’s sake. I’ve damned my soul because of him, I love him that much.”

Sirius just shrugs, head propped up against his han, and Draco thinks again that he looks very, very young. “The only monster made are ones that are in love.”

“And he doesn’t - I don’t even know if he loves me.”

Sirius laughs. “Oh Merlin. Harry most definitely does, Draco.”

“No - “

Sirius cuts him off. “Yes. He does.”

Draco looks down, at his feet. He can feel the weight of Sirius’ gaze against his back, burning into his soul. “Tell me about him,” he says.

Sirius closes his eyes. “I don’t know. He was...beautful. All full of light - the steady kind. A candle, compared to the raging flames inside of me - inside of both of us,” he adds. “He never thought he was good enough, but he was better then I ever could be.”

Draco nods. He thinks about Harry - his smiles, his eyes, the way his hair felt when Draco let his hands brush through. The harsh set of his mouth when he was concentrating, the way he laughs, all quicksilver and molten metal, the way Draco’s heart stopped every time they touched. He thinks about how he dropped everything - his family, his title, his home, how he was willing to die just to give Harry a chance and he wonders if he’ll ever have anything like this again.

“Do you regret it?” he asks. “Telling...telling whoever it was?”

Sirius’ holds Draco’s gaze.

“No,” he says, and Draco believes him.

4K notes · View notes

omgrachwrites · 4 years

Text

Tell a Tale of You and Me - Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You knew that making a bet with Sirius Black was like making a deal with the devil but you just couldn’t help yourself. You had never been a heavenly woman.

Warnings: angst, fluff, pining

Words: 2527

Disclaimer: These gifs don’t belong to me!

A/N: How are we on chapter thirteen already?! I think I said this in my last post but I’m going to be writing a Remus fic that will connect to this one, I want to make these fics into a little series. My Remus fic will still be a reader insert but she’ll just have a proper name otherwise it will be so confusing with loads of Y/N’s running around so I hope that’s okay! I hope you guys enjoy this part and please let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

Chapter Thirteen

Everyone – absolutely everyone – knew that Sirius and Y/N were at odds with one another, even if Sirius and Y/N didn’t know them personally; random people somehow knew that something was going on. Even the first years who had never spoken a word to either of them knew that something bad was happening because they’d watch Sirius joke and grin with his friends in the castle corridors, only for his grin to drop a moment later.

Whereas, McGonagall knew that something was wrong because Sirius had been unusually quiet in her class and he no longer exchanged wistful looks with Y/N from across the classroom. McGonagall missed his bold personality and even his incessant annoying pranks. She hoped that he’d be back to his usual self soon.

Sirius chewed his lip as he fiddled with the fanged Frisbee he was holding, scowling down at it when he felt it bite him and he slammed it right back onto the shelf in a huff. He didn’t think that he wanted it after all, “what did that poor Frisbee ever do to you Pads?” Peter smirked and Sirius narrowed his stormy eyes at his friend before turning to speak to James.

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how much does Lily hate my guts right now?” Sirius didn’t want to cause a rift in his best mate’s relationship. He didn’t want to screw anything else up; he just wanted a quiet year from now on.

James sighed as he turned away from the display of nose biting teacups, “she doesn’t hate you mate, I think that she’s just disappointed,” Sirius winced, on second thought he would rather it if Lily hated our guts, “you have to understand Pads, Lily and Y/N have been best friends since our very first day at Hogwarts. Remember how inseparable they were by Halloween? She’d pick Y/N over anybody. I honestly wouldn’t worry about it too much; the boys and I are all on your side. You don’t have to work things out before you’re ready.”

Sirius looked up at the rest of his friends to see if they were of a same mind as James, Remus chewed his lip and immediately walked up to the counter to buy his items. Though, Remus needn’t bother trying to hide it, Sirius knew that Remus disapproved of the way he’d handled things.

However, Peter piped up which surprised Sirius, “yeah, we are on your side, Y/N could have at least told you about the fact she wanted to date your brother.”

It still caused Sirius a painful pang when he thought about Y/N – his Y/N – with Regulus. He looked outside, out of the rain streaked window, biting his lip when Lily and Y/N walked out of Honeydukes, munching on their sweets. Sirius wondered how sweet Y/N’s lips were with the sugar that was undeniably coating them.

“Be honest,” he started, turning back to his friends, “do you think that Reg and Y/N are properly going out?” he almost didn’t want to know the answer. But, he supposed that he couldn’t feel any worse than he already did.

James and Peter exchanged nervous looks, “well, I think if they were properly and seriously going out then they’d be walking down the corridor holding hands and they’d be snogging in The Great Hall like Lily and I do,” James chuckled before he got serious and he rested his hand on Sirius’ shoulder, “I know that I said that you didn’t have to work things out before you were ready but maybe you just need to shelve your pride and tell her how you really feel before she does get with Regulus for real. The problem is that you two are way too stubborn.”

Sirius rolled his eyes as he groaned internally, he didn’t want to lose his pride but he also knew that James was right. In these sorts of situations he was always right. The boys paid for their Zonkos’ products before they left the warm shop to join Y/N and Lily in the rainy country lane. Sirius made sure to keep a couple of paces behind.

A couple of days later, Sirius walked across the wet muddy lawn after dinner to meet James, he looked up with a groan at the dark sky that was threatening to pour down again and the air stank of wet grass. With the last two Quidditch matches looming James had become more frantic with his Quidditch practises; he wanted to win the Quidditch cup one last time. James had started scheduling them in the evening now as well as keeping his usual morning practises.

Sirius nodded in greeting as he noticed that James was walking up the hill, he was spattered with mud and Y/N was at his side, they both looked miserable. When Y/N looked up and saw Sirius, her eyes turned hard and cold and she brushed past James without saying goodbye to him. Sirius opened his mouth to say something to the pretty girl but she was already long gone. He turned back to James and saw that his usual warm and kind eyes were angry, “what’s the matter?”

James huffed angrily before prodding Sirius in the chest hard, “you need to make things right with Y/N, and soon. Because I need my amazing seeker back,” he grimaced at Sirius before storming ahead, leaving Sirius in the mud, he was utterly speechless.

Thankfully, by the time that Sirius had got himself up to the warm and mercifully dry common room, James seemed to have calmed down, he wondered whether it had something to do with Lily running her fingers through James’ hair. James gave Sirius an apologetic look as Sirius sank into the plush couch next to him, “sorry mate, practise has been so bad lately and I’m just so frustrated, I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“It’s fine, honestly. I think you were right to have a go,” Sirius smiled, he wasn’t going to hold a grudge against his best friend because of one stupid comment said in a moment of anger.

Later on that evening, the marauders were finally getting to work on that dreaded Potions essay that was due in the morning; however, Remus had already completed it somehow. Peter was going on about asking Evelyn out properly, she had gone to The Yule Ball with him in the end, “like what if she rejects me? James, did you ever feel this way before asking Lily out?”

Before James could reply, Sirius interjected loudly, “I wouldn’t if I were you Wormtail, when you show your feelings to someone, you only get stabbed in the back,” he didn’t know what made him say it, maybe his feelings had been bottled up inside him for too long.

A hushing silence fell over the common room as Gryffindor students looked between Y/N and Sirius as they waited for Y/N’s answer. It seemed like the whole room was holding its breath. Y/N glanced up from where she was sitting with Alice and she blinked with a confused expression etched upon her face. In a matter of seconds her face warped from an expression of polite confusion to an expression of rage as she angrily threw her quill down on her parchment, splotching ink everywhere. Sirius half expected to see steam billowing from her ears.

“Oh, would you just stop it? So what, your feelings got hurt, mine have too! But why do you have to make everything so much worse? Would you like to know why I took Regulus to The Yule Ball and why I’ve been spending so much time with him?”

“Enlighten me, Y/L/N,” Sirius smirked as he raised an eyebrow as he leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms behind his head. He couldn’t wait to hear her explanation.

“Y/N, don’t do this, think about who’s watching,” Lily warned but Y/N didn’t abide by her words.

“No Lily! He wants to know so I’ll tell him,” she narrowed her eyes as she walked over to stand before him and Sirius waited with bated breath, “your hag of a mother and my mum – the traitor – have taken it upon themselves to set me and Regulus up. For marriage, and you know what your mum is like when things don’t go her way, she’ll make my family’s life a living hell. The wedding is scheduled for Midsummer which is why I’ve been spending so much time with your brother. I don’t want to hate my future husband Sirius. What else do you expect me to do? I’m doing the best that I can,” her voice broke and those beautiful blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

Sirius felt his stomach lurch unpleasantly as his eyes stung, he felt completely awful; he’d made such a huge mistake. He should have known that something else was going on, he should have just been an adult and asked her. The last thing he wanted was for Y/N to become his sister in law. Not when he was completely crazy about her. He knew that he owed her a massive apology, he’d said some really awful things, they both had.

“Y/N, I,” he sighed, at a loss for words. What could he possible say other than he was sorry? Y/N sniffled and looked away from him.

“Good talk Sirius,” she mumbled before crossing the room and she climbed out of the portrait hole. Sirius couldn’t let her go like this; he quickly stood up, not caring that the majority of Gryffindor were watching this scene unfold. He had to go after her to let her know how sorry he was. He had to let her know that he didn’t mean all those horrible things that he’d said.

However, Lily’s words stopped him before he could reach the portrait hole, “Sirius don’t, I’m sorry but I think that it’s too late.”

————————————–

You grinned happily as Alice positively gushed about her boyfriend Frank, they could compete against James and Lily for Hogwarts’ cutest couple. It was very clear that Alice was very much in love and you knew that they would go the distance. At first, Alice wouldn’t talk about her happy love life because she didn’t want to upset you but you had quickly explained to her that it was absolutely fine. You didn’t want her to censor the conversation purely for your benefit.

Despite everything that had occurred over the last few days you were feeling pretty happy and positive. It was a beautiful day sunny day and you had managed to ignore Sirius – and how beautiful he looked with slightly shorter hair. He knew the truth now and you thought that he knew how you felt; the ball was in his court now so you hadn’t worried about it too much.

You checked the time on your watch and saw that there was about twenty more minutes of lunchtime left, if you were going to help Remus then it needed to be now, “I’ll see you guys later, okay?” you grinned, feeling pretty excited.

“Bye Y/N,” Lily pulled you into a warm hug and Alice blew you a kiss.

“See you later honey.”

You smiled at your friends and wandered over to the Slytherin table, “hey, Reg?” you smiled sweetly as he greeted you with a kiss on your cheek; he was so adorable, “have you seen Morgana?”

He frowned at your question and you ignored how much he looked like Sirus when he did that, “I think she said she was going to the library. Why do you want to know Y/N?” he narrowed his eyes suspiciously and you laughed.

“Don’t look at me like that, I only want to talk to her,” you offered him a small wave and an apologetic smile as you hurried off in the direction of the library.

You navigated the extremely busy library with some difficulty and you smiled, with the amount of people in this one room it was surely pissing Madam Pince off. That thought made you happy. Eventually, you found Morgana at the back of the library with her head stuck in a book, you nervously approached her table. You didn’t know how she was going to react when she saw you, “Morgana?”

At the sound of her name she looked up and quirked a beautifully arched eyebrow, “Y/N. What do you want?” she drawled and rolled her eyes as she closed her book and she gestured for you to sit down in the free seat.

“We need to talk about Remus,” you said as you sat down, at the mention of Remus’ name, her whole demeanour changed. Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink colour as she looked at the table before looking up at you almost shyly. It was a good look for her.

“What about him?”

“I need to know how you feel about him,” you started, your protective instincts kicking in, “he’s my best friend, he’s been there for me and I’ve been there for him. He likes you and I really don’t want to see him get hurt.”

Morgana sighed and chewed her lip as she fiddled with her fingers, “Y/N, I know that you don’t like me and you have every reason to be suspicious of me. I have a hard time truly opening up to people but with Remus, it’s just so easy, he makes it so easy. He’s been so amazing, so patient when I did nothing but push him away. It’s so different being with him, different in a good way. It feels more than sex; I want it to be more than sex. He makes me want to be a better person Y/N, I would never hurt him, please believe me. But there’s something you don’t know, and I’m not sure that I deserve him,” she seemed so sincere and you were glad to see this side of her.

She was incredibly human and you couldn’t help but believe her, Remus usually had a good judgement of people, “if you’re not going to hurt him then I’ll say that you more than deserve him. I believe you Morgana, why don’t you ask him out?” you liked playing cupid, it was fun.

Morgana looked away from you and wrapped her arms around herself, “oh, I couldn’t,” she hesitated before looking at you warily, “you’re going out with Regulus right? Would you be interested in a double date?”

You didn’t bother to properly correct her about Regulus, “yes, if that would make you more comfortable,” you sighed wondering whether you were playing with fire.

“Thanks Y/N,” she smiled.

After your talk with Morgana you made your way to Potions and grinned at Remus but before you could tell him the good news you noticed that Sirius was gazing at you. His stormy grey eyes were wary and vulnerable, and when he spoke to you it was in a civilised tone that you hadn’t heard in so long.

“Y/N, I think that we need to talk.”

You nodded at him, this was either going to be a very good thing or a very bad thing, “yes I suppose that we do.”

————————————–

@approved-by-dentists @thefuturelawyer @a-miserable-hufflepunk @firelordmillie @seriouslysiriuss @sleep-i-ness @play-morezeppelin @pregnant-piggy @sleepingalaska @smiithys @blisfvll @rexorangecouny @findzelda @wangmangagavroche @the-moon-and-the-book @hxrgreeves @ghostofstudentspast @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @my-unique-mind @im-an-angel-of-the-lord-you-ass @acciovisio @obsessedwithrandomthings @kashishwrites

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seokiloquy · 3 years

Text

Bruised Ink - Kageyama Tobio

Soulmate AU: When you write on your skin it appears in the same spot on your soulmates body

Requested (though I changed it a bit to keep it as canon as possible)

Tags/Warnings: GN!Reader, Kageyama being a bit of an airhead, mild swearing

Word Count: 1.7K+

Art club, morning, lunch, and after school. Though admittedly your art club supervisor / English teacher didn’t enjoy seeing an eager face so early in the morning. She, over a matter of days, had gotten used to your silent presence in the corner of the art room as she worked on papers, occasionally asking for your opinion on a topic.

“See you after school!” you called down the hall, before waving to your aforementioned supervisor who was talking to the art teacher in the corner.

You flicked your uniform jacket off, letting it hang off the top of a chair as you ran to your canvas. The clean paint brushes waited patiently next to the progressing piece of art and your pallet rested next to them, mummified and waiting to let it’s paints feel the air again. You delicately picked at the tape wrapped around the pallet, pulling it off to reveal the chemical smell of acrylics.

You gazed at your painting for a moment, admiring the contrasting muted colours that blended nicely into the slowly fading background. Taking a brush, no larger than the width of your pinky, you reached for a vibrant green and royal blue, ready to dollop small portions onto your pallet. You huffed through your nose as a clump of blue stuck to your fingers. With no paper towel in sight, you kept your mouth shut and rubbed the paint against the back of your opposite arm.

“You’re going to stain your skin,” your teacher huffed behind you as she walked to her desk, brushing a free hand through her bob cut. “It looks almost like a bad bruise.”

You sighed, picking up your pallet and brush, gently working the bright teal colour you mixed into the layers of your canvas. “Maybe, but if I’m lucky it’ll be gone before any of the other teachers notice just like every other time.”

She gave you a quirked brow sliding into your spinning chair that was tucked into the corner of the room. She grabbed a pen with one hand and sipped on her coffee mug with the other. “What do you mean by that?”

You laughed. “Every time I doodle, draw, paint, or just anything on my skin whatsoever, it’s gone before I see it again.”

“So your soulmate’s washing it off before class?” she hummed, turning her eyes away from your blocked-out painting and onto the sheets before her.

“I don’t have a tattoo or a red string, so most likely, ya. They probably don’t want to get in trouble. Or maybe they’re in a swim club and don’t even notice it?”

Chuckling she looked up but kept her head down, gifting you the sight of a mischievous look. “Or they could be sweating it all off.”

“How often does a person sweat to get rid of that much ink on a daily basis?”

“There are some dedicated athletes out there.” She shrugged, rubbing the golden tattoo on the back of her hand. “Then again, all soulmate connections are a bit different.

Humming, you turned back to your painting that leaned against the wall. “What are you working on this morning, Ms. Ono?”

Behind you, a page flipped followed by a groan. “First-year English.”

“First-year? I thought you taught second-year English?”

“I did for Sugawara’s class, but I usually teach the first-year.”

You pushed your brush into the canvas a little harder. “Damn, I thought I would get to be in your class.”

“Sorry, kiddo, but you wouldn’t be in my English class anyway. But your Japanese is improving!”

You huffed through your nose. “I’d hope so, the Sugawara’s really aren’t giving me a break.” You studied your canvas and took a step back, looking at how the light bounced off the surface and made the teal look with the less saturated colours.

“Good on them.”

“Don’t encourage it!”

“Kageyama, what happened to your arm?”

The boy’s grown out bowl cut swished as he flipped his arms around turning his head in search before eventually finding the offending colour that had spread into his skin. Twisting his arm, he gave the colour an indecisive look, before poking it his index finger. “Must be a bruise. Probably smacked it when we were setting up the net. Doesn’t hurt though. So hurry up, let’s get started.”

“Why does everyone have to get to school so early,” Sugawara mumbled to himself, pushing the door to the gym open as he ruffled his hair. He spoke louder, “Tanaka, can’t you stop these two?”

“Sorry, dude. But I’m having fun with this. Why are you here so early anyway?”

Sugawara sat down in the doorway, changing his shoes and rolling off his uniform pants to reveal his loose shorts for practice. “(Y/N) has been coming to school early to paint. And my parents said ‘they’ll get lost, you go too’ instead of ‘no, sleep a little longer.’”

Tanaka huffed through his nose, “Has (L/N) been settling in well?”

“Oh ya. Eichi loves the new company. But now I have to keep up with essentially two siblings instead of one and these two idiots.” The silver-haired boy yawned as he gestured at the two first years that yelled at each other while throwing balls into the air.

Tanaka gets out a gruff chuckle before running into the centre of the gym to join the duo with endless energy.

“Gone again,” you mumbled as you slowly packed up the bento box that Koushi’s mom had prepared for you.

Your arm, which had been covered in paint stains and ink marks across the whole colour spectrum, had been wiped clean. No doubt the work of your soulmate and whatever activity they partook in during their free time.

Grumbling, you took out your white ink pen and doodled a subtle frowning face on the inner crease of your wrist.

Ms. Ono rose from her seat, patting away invisible dirt that clung to her dark pencil skirt as the warning bell sounded through the speaker system. “Alright, (L/N). I have a class to teach, out you get.” She shuffled hat stacked papers in her hand, pausing for a moment as a look of realization was thrown onto her face. “Oh and, there won’t be art club this evening, so tell the other members too.”

“What? but that’s the best part of my day!”

“Sorry, (L/N) but I can’t be in here all the time.”

You whined, following the English teacher out of the room. Mr. Sato, the art head, walked into the paint-filled classroom as you left. You both gave him a friendly nod, before continuing with your conversation. “What can I do then? I’m not allowed to go home alone.”

Ms. Ono hummed, “Why don’t you sit in on Sugawara’s volleyball practice, you can use it as a figure study and sketch in your notebook.”

“I guess that’s not a bad idea.”

“Well, there you go. Alright, get, to class or you’ll be late.” She stepped into her sunlit classroom, walking straight for her desk with clicking heels.

You left the entryway of class 1-1’s homeroom and started making your way down the hall to your own room in class 1-4. As you weaved through the crowded hall of first years you kept your head up, looking for the nearest tunnel of space, only to get locked against the wall staring into the eyes of an intense schoolmate you were unaware of.

“Uh sorry,” you mumbled, looking away from his pinched brow and sharp eyes that only held your gaze for a moment.

He raised a brow, looking down the hall behind you to his classroom. Saying nothing, he huffed and schooled his expression. Placing the opposite hand on your shoulder, he spun your body to be behind him, switching locations, and continued down the hall. You watched his flat black hair bounce as he turned into class 1-3’s room.

“Well, isn’t he sweaty,” you mumbled to yourself as you made the last few steps into your classroom.

“Koushi, Koushi, Koushi. Are you sure it’s okay for me to sit in?”

“Just don’t encourage any foolishness and it should be fine. We still have to practice.”

You nodded, following your homestay as he led you to his club’s gym, rambling about his teammates.

“Ah, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi? They’re in my class. I didn’t know they played volleyball.”

“Do you talk to them?”

“No sir, I do not think Tsukishima's intimidating.”

Sugawara led you to the side where their manager stood, speaking with one of the teachers you had seen running around the school, you bowed silently as Sugawara quickly gave an introduction and ran off to change his shoes and clothes.

The group had an easy time ignoring your presence as you sat on the metal bench, flipping coloured pens between your fingers. Rough doodles filled the page as messily scribbled outlines took the form of the players you saw before you. Some were stretched out in the air while others dove to the ground in elegant swoops.

Your pen skidded across the paper.

“Damn,” you muttered, lifting the tip and forcing it into the papers again. Nothing.

Twirling the ink-filled tool between your fingers you shifted the sketchbook off your lap and taking the pen to the surface of your skin.

The ink skidded, leaving uneven marks in an indecipherable pattern along the surface of your skin before running dry. You reached for another pen, only for the result to repeat. You grabbed another, and another. The pattern continued, pushing and pulling, dragging the fine tips as they slowly began to cover the entire surface of the back of your hand in every colour including your white ink, which luckily still worked fine and contrasted brilliantly with the muddied mess on your hand.

You huffed out a quiet cheer of success, finding that a majority of your pens worked fine, and placed the forgotten book back into your lap, coloured pages ready to be drawn over with your trusty series of pens.

“Yo, Kageyama. Is that another bruise?”

God this one is vague as hell but I didn’t have to brainpower to make it any more decipherable.

It was originally requested that the reader be Sugawara’s little sibling but he only canonically has a little brother, not everyone physically looks like Sugawara, and the adoption trope is meh to me. So I went with a foreign exchange student that is being housed by his family. (if you couldn’t tell)

This au, in particular, is very hard because we try to keep our character (being Y/N) physically ambiguous for the purpose of allowing everybody to enjoy reading it. This au very much panders to those with lighter skin, so I apologize if I didn’t make it as open as I could’ve and please let me know if there are ways I can make this sort of au better. I want everyone to enjoy reading them and not feel excluded.

That’s all, and I hope everyone is healthy and safe. - Bacon

Posted: 06/12/2020

#kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #Haikyuu x reader #Haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #anime x reader #anime #manga x reader #manga

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smiting-finger · 4 years

Text

Bin AU Headcanons

Part II of the (〃ω〃) 500 followers! unwritten-headcanon amnesty (some given in response to AO3 comment questions, and others given unsolicited, lol), this time for Out of the Bin and Into Your Heart and from me to you, my heart to yours

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian

Pre-Wei Wuxian’s first arrest, Lan Wangji was quietly volunteering as general legal aid (helping old migrants with their internet/other service contracts, helping women with their domestic violence paperwork), and then Wei Wuxian gets arrested at a protest and Lan Wangji is not there and he doesn’t know this area of law so he signs up to get involved with Activist Legal Support the next day.

Relatedly: Lan Wangji’s approach to helping Wei Wuxian has always been to turn up, do what needs to be done for Wei Wuxian to achieve his goals and then silently leave again. So when the two goobers eventually move in together (and are finally fully in each other’s space, and fully across each other’s movements), Wei Wuxian goes through a period of constant realisations like “Oh, Lan Zhan, you’re the one who’s been doing this? This as well?! THAT, TOO???”

Pre-fake dating, Lan Wangji knows that Wei Wuxian won’t keep any gifts given by secret admirers, but will shamelessly accept anything that Lan Wangji gives him outright as a friend (”friend”). He derives a petty satisfaction from that, and so has responded more than once to a gift-incident by giving Wei Wuxian a corresponding gift of his own:

So if he heard about the gift socks, he’d go out and get Wei Wuxian a pair of novelty There’s No Planet B! socks, which Wei Wuxian would naturally wear both immediately and proudly with his shortest pair of 4/5ths pants. (And Lan Wangji would stand next to him and somehow radiate smugness without making any change to his expression.)

Needless to say, Wei Wuxian has received a lot of Lan Wangji chocolate (chilli, fairtrade), lunches (homemade, nutritious) and other small items.

Wei Wuxian never even considers the possibility of not putting all his fake-dating eggs into the Lan Zhan basket. And also never stops to think about why that iss.

In re kungfu practice: when sparring against normal people, Lan Wangji does annoyed-leg-sweeps because of “I’ll bring you down every peg to the floor” reasons he’s too well-bred to voice.

Past recipients of this treatment have included:

Wen Chao,

Xue Yang at his most obnoxious

Jin Zixuan when gossip about his comments in re Jiang Yanli not being pretty or successful enough to date him (”I can’t believe my mum set me up with someone so mediocre”) is at its height.

This is pre-Wei Wuxian onstage-punch. That comes during the second round of gossip.

With Wei Wuxian (and only Wei Wuxian), however, it’s always leg sweeps and pinning, which is because of ... “irritation”.

The Phoenix Mountain Reserve photo has been Lan Wangji’s favourite shot of Wei Wuxian since it was made publicly available, but he couldn’t use it as a wallpaper for obvious reasons.

Then he agrees to the fake-dating, sees how far Wei Wuxian was going to take it and realised: chansu!

At some point during the fake-dating, Wei Wuxian escalates from the phone entry of Oppa to calling Lan Wangji “Oppa~!” in real life, and then from there to a full “Oppa! Saranghaeyo~!” with the arms-on-head love heart.

After n iterations of this, Lan Zhan responds with a mirror arms-on-head love heart and a deadpan “Saranghaeyo.” with his face still like (• _ •) and it’s an instant, supereffective K.O. for Wei Wuxian.

Every so often, when another one of his romantic overtures has soared right over Wei Wuxian’s head, Lan Wangji considers Jin Zixuan’s over-the-top demonstrations of affection and thinks (bleakly) “...Jin Zixuan got a singing telegram. Must I also resort to a singing telegram? ; _ ; “

In re: the concert hip-hop number, shirtlessness is the goal all along:

A-Qing (who is also a troublemaker on Lan Qiren’s radar - as soon as he receives the form that says that she and Wei Wuxian will be working together, his spidey senses start tingling) has been constantly referencing it throughout all their practices like:

“Well, because you’ll be shirtless, you’ll have to make sure to-”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea, totally do that, but remember that you’ll be shirtless too, so-”

Even Song Zichen and Xue Yang know about it and have been visibly bracing themselves for the dress (or undress, lul) rehearsal

Wei Wuxian has missed all of this because of his amazing tunnel vision.

Speaking of Song Zichen and Xue Yang, while they’re having their Moments:

Xiao Xingchen is swanning around like “But do you think the performance had artistic integrity? A-Qing, I’m a little worried that the choreography didn’t do full justice to the abilities of all our members! I hope they don’t think I’m hogging the limelight!”, taunting them with his half-nakedness while he earnestly tries to make sure that all the other dancers are comfortable and happy with the final arrangement

A-Qing fully notices the heart-eye beams shooting over from the wings (and fully notices the same heart-eye beams shooting over during various practices), briefly thinks about saying something to put the two losers out of their misery (because Xiao Xingchen is not the special level of oblivious that Wei Wuxian is), but then thinks ... nah.

During practice back-painting, Wei Wuxian is so focused on Not Looking that his mistimes his ~sexy stretch~ and gets it in precisely when Lan Wangji has turned his back to get the towel, so it really is all for nothing, RIP.

In the reprise back-painting session (and there definitely is one, what with Lan Wangji’s love for marking and the fact that Chinese calligraphers usually sign their name on their work), the levels of both shamelessness and trolling shoot through the roof on both sides:

Wei Wuxian suddenly feels the need to do a lot more whimpering and moaning, and his flinches of “surprise” and wriggling to “get comfortable” suddenly happen a lot more in the hip area than they did before.

Lan Wangji does a lot more touching of the skin he’s about to paint to “warn” Wei Wuxian that the brush is coming (do warnings have to be quite so ... lingering? Only Lan Wangji knows), discovers a sudden need for wrist-pinning to “hold Wei Wuxian still while he works” and his blowing on ink to get it dry suddenly gets a lot more ... sensual ...

Lan Wangji is the teacher that all his babies are always proposing to. They lOvE him with every inch of their tiny baby hearts, and after they get together, Wei Wuxian watches on with a knowing nod, like “My fam, I getcha. Gege will support you in expressing your feelings and we can ALL win!”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know it, but he has a group of grannies and grandpas wringing their hands over his happiness, too: It’s all well and good that he’s seeing the Lan boy now, but when are they gonna get married, huh? HUH?! WHAT’S THE POINT OF SAVING THE PLANET IF YOU’RE NOT GONNA FILL IT WITH BABIES, WEI WUXIAN???

So once they officially start dating, Wei Wuxian steps into the Cultural Centre like “Ah, our fresh new romance! Even after all this time of fake-dating, I’d better give people some transition time to get used to this new state of affairs!”

And in the background, 73 aunties and grannies are thinking “Look how behind schedule you are, Wei Wuxian!” (because it’s definitely his fault, and not Lan Wangji’s). “Where are the babies? WHERE ARE THE BABIES??”

The wedding advice Wei Wuxian got from the grannies during Mianmian’s wedding prep is liberally flavoured with real life anecdotes like:

“Don’t be like XX’s son. He made the mistake of trying to skimp on the dowry - so disrespectful to people who’ve poured so much love and energy into raising a daughter - and it poisoned the entire relationship.”

“That venue is no good - YY’s daughter had her reception there, and we all had diarrhoea after eating the prawns.”

(And Wei Wuxian is like: “How can you retain all of this bullshit detail about every wedding the Cultural Society has ever witnessed, but still not know how to say the phrase ‘Excuse me, what time is the bus coming’ in English?!”)

Mianmian definitely also gets strong-armed by her excited mother into some glorious(ly terrible) Chinese-style studio wedding photos (with industrial-strength airbrushing and wedding costume changes that span many cultures and many Chinese time periods).

Mianmian swears to never let Wei Wuxian get his grubby hands on that album, on pain of death.

But then her parents host something, and Wei Wuxian goes, and right there, hanging in their living room, is a floor-to-ceiling calendar, featuring Mianmian and Mian-man dressed as Chinese emperor and empress (because Mianmian certainly didn’t want it in her house, but it came with the package.)

Wei Wuxian makes a noise that Mianmian previously thought only dolphins could produce, and proceeds to take SO MANY photos with his phone.

At some point after Mianmian’s wedding, Lan Wangji comes out of the shower to find:

1 pair of pyjama bottoms waiting for him on the bed; and

Wei Wuxian in the corresponding top (which doesn’t cover his butt after all, but whatever, he’s committed), shooting him a double-thumbs up and wearing an expression like 8D!

(And Lan Wangji decides it’s not worth fighting and just goes with it.)

Lan Qiren

Lan Qiren is totally the kind of parent who never boasts about his children directly, but will listen politely to you telling him about how your son scored 86 in his maths examination, and wait for you to obligation-ask about his kids before casually saying, “Oh, Wangji? He scored full marks” and smiling thinly.

He’ll add “Sounds like your son worked really hard” for extra fuck you value if you were being particularly obnoxious.

The greatest tragedy in his parenting life is realising that if your children are The Best, it’s only possible for them to marry down.

His initial feelings regarding Wei Wuxian dating his nephew can probably be summed up as: “Wei Wuxian, I did not lovingly raise my precious Lan Wangji just to give him to you!!!”

(The problem is that his nephew (inexplicably) likes Wei Wuxian so much, mumblegrumble.)

For weeks after The Resentment of Lan Qiren, every time Lan Qiren sees Wen Ning, he shakes his head sadly to himself and mutters “What a shame, what a shame.”

When Wen Ning responds with a slightly panicked “?!”, Lan Qiren just pats him on the shoulder, like, “No, no, it’s not you. We can’t choose our relatives. And isn’t that the greatest shame in the world?” - and then DOESN’T EXPLAIN ANYTHING.

And after many bouts of thinking and rethinking still lead him to the conclusion that Wei Wuxian is the best choice in comparison to all the other available options, Lan Qiren may or may not visit Cangse Sanren’s grave to burn some incense for an excuse to stand there and offer a sullen, “You fukken got me again, you bastard. I can’t believe you.”

He doesn’t know who he hates more:

Wei Wuxian for being himself and yet still the best choice

Cangse Sanren for not letting being dead stop her from continuing to be a thorn in Lan Qiren’s side

Wen Ruohan for being undesirable enough to disqualify the only valid competitor

The other parents for failing to produce children who are better than Wei Wuxian

(Like: Surely it can’t be that hard if he (+ his brother + his sister-in law) managed to produce two)

So he settles for hating everyone.

For his next birthday, Lan Xichen sends him a box of blood-pressure-lowering supplements.

Lan Qiren is like “!!!” but he still takes them because just because his nephew is being impudent does not mean there is not also a Need.

In re 3zun:

Lan Qiren goes around determinedly Not Thinking about Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao. Every time his eyes approach something he doesn’t want to see, he just turns his head like NOPE.

He eventually realises that he and Wei Wuxian have this in common and that Wei Wuxian is therefore his most valuable ally - both in terms of having someone to pivot to and have very loud, very enthusiastic conversations about anything else whenever the 3zun do something they don’t want to see, and also having someone to commiserate with about Not Wanting to Know. (But because they’re them, they alternate between teaming up for self-preservation and using their mutual weakness to take petty jabs at each other.)

"-If two of them are dating, then where does that leave the third one?!"

"RIGHT? Imagine finding out that they were silently pining away, forced to third-wheel for their unrequited love and best friend - unrequited LOVES AND BEST FRIENDS? What would you say to that?!"

"That's not even considering which one the third wheel would be - I honestly don't know which option would be the worst, they're all terrible."

"I'm almost ready to say that I'd rather they all be dating each other, except then I'd have to think about how that would work, dynamic-wise, like - who calls the shots? Do you think Nie Mingjue is domineering all the time, or do you think it’s a public front, and he then goes home to be dominated by-"

“STOP.”

Even before 3zun get together (both Lan Qiren and Wei Wuxian have chosen to Never Know when this is), Jin Guangyao is throwing out suggestive comments left and right and then immediately whipping out his (◔◡◔✿) face for anyone’s double-take:

50% to test the waters of public sentiment before he makes a move and it actually becomes his problem

50% because he’s a troll who likes dominance displays

Knowing this factoid, one of Wei Wuxian’s mental 3zun Dynamics possibilities features Superdom!Jin Guangyao, but he does his best to avoid thinking about that.

After Lan Qiren mentally accepts Wei Wuxian into the fold:

He still internally responds to at least 50% of the things that Wei Wuxian does with “Why, that little shit”, but it’s also implied that Wei Wuxian is their little shit now.

And for Lan Family! Qiren, this means: If you shit on him, WE shit on you.

“Shufu”

Lan Qiren definitely Notices when Wei Wuxian calls him that, but it Doesn’t Do to make a fuss.

He probably has a conversation with Lan Xichen sometime around the first family dinner that goes:

LQR: You've noticed that he's still calling me 'Uncle Qiren' like we're nothing to each other.

LXC: ...If you want him to call you Shufu, should you perhaps not mention that to him?

LQR: What? No, he should already know these things!

And then after the wedding:

LQR: Your brother's boyfriend is finally acting like one of the family. LXC: Haha, oh my.

Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan

Although their mothers have been friends for ages, Jin Zixuan grows up in a different city, so they don't see each other growing up. The Jins later move for Jin Zixuan's high-flying corporate job, Madam Jin joins the Culture Society at her friend's behest and immediately falls in love with Jiang Yanli as a daughter-in-law.

After a lot of cajoling (in both directions), she gets them to agree to one date, which is a disaster (I have more headcanons about this but they won't fit in here)

Jin Zixuan has a lot of money and zero sense of proportion, which does not generally result in tasteful things. (Where Jiang Yanli is concerned, his desire to keep up a "cool" image is completely overpowered by his desire to please, so that doesn't help either. Like a golden retriever who wants people to think he's a cat.)

After they get married, Wei Wuxian sometimes thinks about the peacock's peacocking rituals, like: "It's good that he's gotten more reasonable now that they're married - no, wait, what if he hasn't gotten more reasonable, but there's just no one around to see it because they're married?!" and never gets brave enough to ask his sister about it.

After Jin Ling's birth, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng (and maybe even Jin Zixuan) get locked in an ongoing battle for Jin Ling's affections. Jiang Yanli is the clear favourite, as she should be, but they all want to be #2, and their constant jostling is how he ends up with no chill despite being raised by one calm mum and one aloof (but secretly disaster) dad

But because Jiang Yanli is around, he's very polite about it: the kind of kid who barrels in screaming blue murder, skids to a halt and says "Auntie", and then tears out screaming blue murder again

Wei Wuxian tones it down a lot after he and Lan Wangji adopt A-Yuan because he’s got better things to do, but it’s still A Thing (during visits, A-Yuan spends a lot of time in Auntie Yanli’s lap being gently fed things while his dad and shushu yell at each other over the top of his cousin’s head)

Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli

Initially brought together by their brothers, they now meet up for regular, peaceful, wholesome tea-dates where they discuss the lives of their mutuals and gently exchange advice (and strategies on how to keep their angry-angry parent/proxy-parent's blood pressure down.

Whereas Jiang Cheng gets closer to coughing up blood with every year that passes by without Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji getting their shit together, Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli take the more optimistic view of "Look at how well-prepared we are, we've just run another year ahead of schedule!"

Dinner Crew

Jiang Cheng has been the unwilling audience to years of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s bullshit.

If asked, he would say: “And you wonder why I’m so angry?! What do you mean ‘dating’, you’ve been fucking married for the last five years!” but no one ever does :’D

Every so often, he thinks about how happy their sister is about the dating situation because she doesn’t know that it’s fake, and he grinds his teeth because why can’t he also not-know!?

To this, Nie Huaisang says, “If we didn’t know we couldn’t help!”

And Jiang Cheng replies, “WE’RE NOT HELPING ANYWAY, LOOK AT HIM!!!”

Meanwhile, Jiang Yanli continues to gush about how happy she is for Wei Wuxian and all Jiang Cheng can do is laugh really unnaturally because he has to “Be strong, Jiang Cheng! Be strong for A-jie! ╥﹏╥”

He goes to read the comments on the Society Facebook after the fujoshi conversation, and gets so angry at all these people who are like “Ah, their love is so beautiful!” that he has to uninstall his Facebook app, and go and shout into a cupboard somewhere.

The non-Wei-Wuxian members of the dinner group have set up a separate chat to act as a support group, where they all go to:

Wail and gnash their teeth after Wei Wuxian does something particularly dumb

Scheme ways into getting Wei Wuxian to get a clue

Console one another when someone’s brave attempt at getting Wei Wuxian to face the truth fails miserably (because while they play by the rules of ‘what a normal human would do’, Wei Wuxian lives by the principle of ‘lol norms are for losers’.)

Relatedly: for every resigned Nie Huaisang face or enraged Jiang Cheng face that Wei Wuxian notices, there are at least three desperate-yet-silent exchanges that he doesn’t.

Wen Ning is always really optimistic about it, nodding encouragingly like “He’s gonna get it - he’s gonna get it! - oh no, he’s not gonna get it. Oh. Oh no. Ó╭╮Ò”

Wen Ning always has at least one small child hanging off him at all times when he’s at the Cultural Centre because they know he can always be bullied into playing with them and they think he’s great.

Past bullshit dinner group projects have included Getting Jiang Cheng a Date and Making a Picture out of Jin Guangyao’s Forehead Dot While He’s Sleeping

(In re the forehead dot, they end up settling for making it bigger every time he nods off during a movie night at Nie Huaisang’s house, and Nie Mingjue comes home to what’s basically a Japanese flag on Jin Guangyao’s forehead and is like ಠ_ಠ)

Future dinner group projects include providing Wei Wuxian with support for Grand Plans like Getting Along with Uncle Qiren and providing Jiang Cheng with unwanted support for things like Workshopping Jiang Cheng’s List of Partner Requirements

A-Yuan

After A-Yuan’s adoption, Wei Wuxian and Lan Qiren redouble their efforts in Can we divorce an in-law?! because although they couldn’t save themselves from being related to Jin Guangyao, for their PRECIOUS BOY--

Therefore, when A-Yuan is five or six and starts to sound out how he’s related to people and why:

A-Yuan: So if Jin-yeye is Uncle Guangyao’s dad, then that makes him my-

Wei Wuxian: NOTHING!

Lan Qiren (springing up from the other side of the room): NOTHING!

Lan Xichen: lol

At around about this same time, Wei Wuxian, who is never gonna stop trolling Lan Qiren about ruzhui until the day he dies, runs A-Yuan through the “You see, my son, my family is not so well-to-do, and since your Uncle married into the Nie family-” talk, and then proceeds to reference it at every opportunity:

1: Despite A-Yuan almost certainly not asking, and

2: despite (/especially because of) Lan Qiren shouting “DON’T TEACH HIM WEIRD THINGS!” in the background.

(Lan Wangji probably lets it happen or encourages it because he thinks it’s funny)

#CQL #The Untamed #Wangxian #陈情令 #魔道祖师 #mo dao zu shi #not-fic

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mahizli · 3 years

Text

Sparks of Hope (Obi-Wan, 1 BBY)

Art by agarthanguide and final part of ‘Sparks of Hope’.

***

The stars had adorned the evening sky once more, and the desert was painted in inks of azure and violet. The suns had set, and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi was sitting alone on a rock, watching the jewelled sky.

But he was not alone.

He had never been alone, not even as a tiny infant. Not in all these years where he had breathed in, and breathed out, the Force bathing each of his atoms with light, and love.

The Force was infinite, the Force was everything, and Obi-Wan was just a small, breakable vessel who would return to its currents once more.

Soon, my Padawan.

Qui-Gon’s voice echoed in his mind, reverberating deep within his chest where strength and steadfastness lay, and Obi-Wan breathed out.

“I know, Master.”

There had been such holes in him. Such cracks, and scars, and wounds, and fissures. There had been times where Obi-Wan had felt so lonely, so cold under the unforgiving heat, alone with the ghosts of people he had loved, and lost.

But he had not.

And the Force had filled those holes, one by one. Cradling him, first, curling around him, kissing his tears away. Embracing his infinite sadness until all was left was silence. Then wonder. And finally peace.

Obi-Wan had longed for peace, more than anything – almost ever since he could remember. Even as a tiny-limbed boy, he had sought for it – in the Temple’s Gardens, in Master Yoda’s eyes and silvery Force-signature. In the Archives, bathed in azure light, where knowledge used to sing. In Qui-Gon’s silence, whenever his Master closed his eyes, basking in the moment.

And later as a Jedi, through his very crystal, immersing himself into Soresu, finding a rare form of elation as he practised the katas, travelling unknown ways along with Luminara.

You are my twin moon, Obi.

“And you my twin moon, Nara”, he whispered, like so long ago, feeling the cool, serene Force-brush on his very brow, shuddering slightly, even though it did not hurt anymore.

It did not hurt anymore, because Nara was right there, within him and around him. As was Kit. And Quinlan. And Mace. And Plo. And Shaak. Adi. Aayla. Vokara. Ki-Adi. Jocasta. And Ahsoka.

Do not weep, Obi-Wan. Do not be sad.

“I am not”, he whispered, but even now, after all these years, tears still sprang to his eyes, because Obi-Wan was human, and frail, and mortal. “I am not sad. I cry because I love you. Because you are still there.”

Sweetest pea of Coruscant...

Obi-Wan smiled through his tears, and reached out for Shaak in the Force, feeling the ghost on fingertips run through his hair, like so long ago, when his hair had not been white, but fiery and baby-soft.

We will never leave you.

This was Mace, steadfast Mace who had stood like the pillar he was against the raising darkness. But it was also Plo, who had fallen under the fire of Men he loved. As had Ki-Adi. And Aayla. And so many more.

At the beginning of his stay here, Obi-Wan had whispered all their names, like an endless litany, like pearls of an ancient rosary, every night, on and on, until his voice was hoarse and his eyes burning with exhaustion instead of tears.

He had shed so many tears for the children, for the small Initiates and the young Padawans, during the night and even under the searing suns, until his body felt like nothing more than a dry well.

Until he planted the seeds Beru had given him, and watched the Funnel flowers blossom, green and tender as they all had been.

Master Obi-Wan…

The voices rose like silver bells, and Obi-Wan wiped his cheeks, facing the stars once more, because this – this still hurt, deep within.

Master Obi-Wan, what is the lesson we tried to teach you?

“Oh, dear ones…”, Obi-Wan breathed out. “I… I know. I am… I am so sorry.”

Can you say it aloud, Master Obi-Wan?

The tiny voices were playful, and Obi-Wan straightened, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, immersing himself deep within the Force.

“What happened to you is… it is not my fault.”

Force, how the words felt wrong in his mouth still.

It does not count if you do not believe it, Master Obi.

“I… I still struggle. Forgive me.”

We know… We forgive you…

It still made him cry. Because he had struggled so much to forgive himself, was not even sure to have achieved it entirely yet.

You forgave me.

The voice was fierce in the Force, and Obi-Wan exhaled, opening his eyes once more, reaching out through the Cosmic Force once more.

“Yes. Of course I did.”, he said, very softly, remembering yellow eyes in a gaunt, dark and red face.

Eyes that had turned to gold, as the Force had finally welcomed him back.

“I broke you. And you broke me back. It was an unending circle, Maul. And you were not the one spinning it.”

The Force was silent for a while, and Obi-Wan thought back of this moment, a year ago, when he had drawn his lightsaber for the last time. For Luke. For the Light.

His crystal had stayed silent and hidden ever since.

He had tried to bring balance once more. Tried to mend what had been broken.

The Sand people, first, who were still making offerings to their secret shrines, fearful of the desert demon Anakin had become in their minds. Obi-Wan had meditated close to these shrines, countless times, diffusing the Force with calming, peaceful currents.

You are safe. He will not harm you again.

There had been no more raids towards moisture farmers either, Obi-Wan had made sure of that. No more fighting for dominion in the desert – but protection towards everyone.

I told you so, Obi’ka.

“Yes, dearest”, he whispered. “I know you abhorred violence, and preferred neutral solutions. I suppose using Force currents isn’t entirely neutral, though…”

Well, it depends…

He loved the playfulness the Force always conveyed through Satine’s presence. It felt like a gentle warmth, against his spine. Something to lean on.

Padawan. One day, you will have to face him.

Qui-Gon’s voice was a grave reminder, and brought Obi-Wan back to the night and the desert once more.

Him.

His Padawan, who had committed atrocities Obi-Wan still struggled to believe, even after decades. Who was still alive, in a black, terrifying armour, circling the Galaxy and coming nearer and nearer in the Force, forcing Obi-Wan to shield, fiercely, and mute both his and Luke’s presences.

There is still goodness in him.

“I know, Padmé.”

Anakin had burned like the fiercest light in the Force. His Padawan had harboured the raw, explosive strength that came with true power – but there had been wounds and cracks in his soul Obi-Wan had failed to see and mend.

No, Padawan.

Obi.

Master Obi-Wan.

“He was… too attached”, Obi-Wan whispered. “To those he loved. To you, Shmi. To you, Padmé. To you, dearest Ahsoka. And… to me.”

The night cradled Obi-Wan, the stars kissed his hair like every eve, on the high peaks of the Western Dune Sea. He was cloaked in his brown robe, the one marking him as a Jedi, but could as well be a farmer’s or a traveller’s.

“It sprang from love. I know it sprang from love. But he was misled. Darkness surrounded him from the very first day.”

Sidious.

Once more, Maul’s fierce whisper echoed through the Force, the name resonating like a curse.

“Sidious. And fear. And loneliness. And pride. And a sense of exception that turned into expectations so crushing and contradictory it breached his very soul.”

Do you pity him?

Ah. This was the stern voice of his Grandmaster, who spoke very rarely to him, but whose words Obi-Wan had learned to mark.

“I do. I do feel nothing but compassion and love for Anakin. But, if I have to strike down Vader to free him, I will.”

Are you willing to lay down your life, for him?

It was a test – one more test. Obi-Wan knew it, had been used to the Force’s teachings, who often chose to spoke through voices he loved. So Obi-Wan searched his heart, thoroughly, and let the Force flow through him before he answered.

“Not for him. But for balance, for peace… I am.”

The voices were silent, for a while, becoming one with the Force once more. They were all so close. So close to Obi-Wan now. Sometimes his very atoms seemed to resonate with theirs, separated only by a tiny veil from their very essence… Parts and sums alike.

Soon, my Padawan.

Qui-Gon’s voice echoed once more – a prophecy, a warning, perhaps. But to Obi-Wan, it sounded like a promise.

Like small sparks of hope, shining like a beacon in the infinite darkness of the sky, flooding the Force with light.

FINIS.

#star wars fanfiction #Obi-Wan Kenobi #hurt/comfort #what a ride it has been #I need to let go of this story now #and it's so bittersweet #thank you all for reading #for liking and reblogging #please feel free to tell me which chapter/character you preferred #that's why I have an ask box #much love to you all #take care #meysun

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lordseochangbin · 4 years

Text

Soulmate AU- Yang Jeongin

A/N: This probably isn’t my best writing but it is a really cute read for Jeongin <3

Word Count: 2130

It was no mistake this time. At first, Jeongin assumed maybe it was the boys messing with him, writing on his hand when he fell asleep and claiming not to minutes later. It was always a mystery to him, how beautifully drawn objects would magically appear on his arm. After noticing it a few times however, Jeongin seemed to mind it less. That was until he got caught for it.

“What is this?? On your arm?” Jeongin’s makeup artist asked, holding his hand up to reveal the small designs printed across it.

“Oh! Nothing..” Jeongin smiled nervously, slowly pulling his hand away from the makeup artist’s grip before she could explain, “We’re going to have to wash this off Jeongin, you’re wearing short-sleeve”

Jeongin rolled his eyes, of course his soulmate had to draw on their hand right at this moment. The lady practically dragged Jeongin to the nearest sink, lounging his arm in the water and scrubbing as hard as she could. “What is this?! Sharpie??”

“Umm.. I’m not sure” Jeongin muttered, making the lady groan. “We’re going to have to make you wear something long-sleeved.” As much as Jeongin hated wearing long-sleeves during a concert, he knew it was what he had to do. He had only been in Seoul City for a week but the drawings on his arms were getting bolder- more prominent. Little did he know that was where his soulmate lived.

----

A loud shriek came from your sister’s room. God, it took you by surprise, causing you to jump in your seat and make a mistake on your new mural.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T GO??!!” Your sister exclaimed on her phone, “We planned this for so long..” A few seconds later you hear your sister barging into your room, you quickly throw a sheet over your art. Cursing yourself you thought about the paint which still wasn’t dry, either way you already messed up because of your sister.

“Hey, you have to go to the Stray Kids concert with me, my friend just cancelled”

You nearly choked on your spit, how could she ask you to go to a concert that was going to begin in a few hours?

“Um no? I have artwork to do” You replied, shoo-ing her out of your room and slamming the door just for her to open it again.

“Does it look like I care? Quit talking about your dream of making art and come with me. It’ll be fun!” She said, giving her fakest smile before leaving the room.

“God, I seriously can’t-” You took a deep breath to calm yourself down before getting ready and leaving for the concert.

----

On your way to the concert, you looked out the window to admire the view. A pen inside the cup holder had you writing things on your hand, one thing stood out to Jeongin when he saw it appear on his as well.

SKZ

“S-stray kids?!” Jeongin gasped to himself before putting his hands behind his back.

“What are you looking at?” Hyunjin asked with a smile as he approached the boy. “Nothing!” Jeongin giggled before continuing his exercises.

---

You had to admit, even though you had never listened to Stray Kids, the adrenaline that ran through you during the concert lasted the whole two hours and was still with you as you got ready for the Hi-Touch.

“So basically, all you do is give them a high five! Pretty cool right!” Your sister exclaimed.

“You paid $200 to give them a high five?”

Your sister rolled your eyes, leaning closer to you before whispering, “So here is my plan, when I see Chan- one of my favorite members- I’m going to try to interlace my fingers!!” She squealed as your face turned into a look of disgust.

“God you’re obsessed” You muttered before security could place you in line.

Waiting in line, you couldn’t help but to feel a tingle from your arm. God, was it an allergic reaction? Maybe the ink from your sister’s pen wasn’t vibing with your skin. You looked at the small roses and flowers that adorned your skin, the ink suddenly blackening, darkening in color. You could feel each line piercing through your skin the closer you got.

With a small smile you approached the boys, your heart beating out of your chest. “Hi!” You exclaimed as the boys greeted you. One by one, the members' faces came and went until one locked with yours. A shocked expression.

Your eyes met Jeongin’s before it could interfere with the contact of your palms, his long sleeve shirt peeking down just enough for you to see a small flower that mirrored the flower on your right hand.

Jeongin stared at the flowers on your skin as well. Was this it? Was he your soulmate?

“Hey! Stop holding back the line!” The voice took you by surprise, unlatching your hand from Jeongin’s and turning to see your sister being pulled by security as she tried to hold onto Bang Chan’s hand.

“I WON’T LET GOOOO” Your sister cried before you could pull her away, apologizing to the boys and leading her outside of the venue.

“Are you insane?!” You scolded her, “Go to the restroom and clean your face, this concert had you crying buckets”

Your sister nodded in response, the sound of a few sniffles heard before she could go to the restroom.

----

When hi-touch is over, Jeongin quickly rushes to the dressing room. He doesn’t hesitate to pass the staff and members, shutting the door behind him as he looks around. How could he get your attention? You were his soulmate, the one making all these drawings on his arms, on his body. He adored your art, especially the one on his inner thigh, a simply smiley face that made him laugh every time he saw it. But was it a two way route? Could he possibly draw something on his arm and have it appear on yours as well? It was worth the shot.

Taking a pen from Hyunjin’s bag, Jeongin quickly scribbed Stay, don’t go on his arm- hoping that you would receive his message.

----

In the car you find yourself watching outside as the city starts to build up with lights. The view is beautiful, breathtaking as you take out a pen and draw and your bare skin that wasn’t inked.. until you find out that it is.

The words Stay, don’t go mark behind your wrist, grabbing your attention as you get out of the car.

“Where are you going?” Your sister asks before you could leave.

“I’ll be back” You simply reply. Getting a phone call from her friend, your sister dismisses you as you find yourself running back to the venue from the words on your hand.

----

Maybe it was a waste of time. You’d been here for what felt like hours, looking for a sign or some sort of message to tell you that you weren’t crazy. To tell you that the boy from that band did have your drawings on his arm. To tell you that the words written on your hand were written by him.

Your fingers line the drawings on your skin, wondering how soulmates link to mirror such drawings. Just how lucky you were to have found yours.

“You’re my soulmate” You heard. Looking up in front of you was Jeongin, standing proud in a purple tee and sweats.

Getting up from the floor, you faced him, eyeing his drawings that looked just like yours. “I am..?” you whispered before he could pull you into a hug.

“Jeongin what-”

“Shh..” He whispered, holding you closer against him. “I always wondered who was behind these drawings, always something different everyday, I love them”

“You love them?” You replied, grabbing his hand with a light grasp. “How can you love them?”

“What do you mean? They’re amazing y/n, I feel almost honored to have your art on me…”

You smiled at his words. Keeping your talent of art from your disappointed parents, always being told that art was a waste of time from your sister, and now finally here you were- being told by your soulmate that he loved your art.

“Don’t tell me that’s the first time you’ve heard that,” Jeongin said before taking his hand in yours. “Can you show me what else you’ve done?”

----

You and Jeongin sat down on a blanket in the middle of your room as you showcased all your works to him, pulling out each sheet to reveal your works that he continuously praised. He was by far impressed, and even though you two had known each other for less than a day it felt like you had known him for your entire life.

“So.. the drawing of a dog that you drew on your leg a few years back was your dog?!” Jeongin asked as he eyed the pictures of your family and friends on the wall.

“Yeah!! And remember the women I drew on hand, that was Julia Roberts” You giggled, watching as he gasped in shock. “No wonder I recognized that face!”

When Jeongin paced around your room, he noticed the painting from earlier, covered with a green sheet. “What’s this?!”

“Oh don’t look at-” You said before he could pull the sheet over. It was your incomplete work from before the concert, the one you spilled paint all over when your sister forced you to go to the concert.

“Why not?” Jeongin said, crossing his arms and touching the wet paint.

“Because… it’s not finished and it’s really bad” Jeongin frowned, dipping his finger in the paint before swiping some on your face.

“Hey!!” You chuckled, getting some paint on your hands and rubbing it on his cheek. Before you two knew it, you were a laughing mess- throwing bits of paint and taking brushes to paint each other. Your room was a mess but you didn’t even care at this point, you hadn’t felt this happy this much in a long time and you would do anything to live in this moment forever.

Soon enough, Jeongin was drawing on your face with red paint, the two of you on the floor giggling from the adrenaline.

“Your art isn’t bad y/n, I’m going to make sure the rest of the world can see it”

“What?” You said, keeping eye contact with him as he closed you against the wooden floor. You could almost hear his heart beating against your chest, his breath fanning against your lips. You two were getting closer and closer by the second and you just wanted to hold him forever.

“Your art is beautiful y/n, just like you” He smiled before pressing a kiss on your lips.

You blushed at the sudden action, realizing your eyes had fluttered shut and your arms had wrapped around his neck.

As you leaned closer for another kiss, you heard the sound of your front door opening, quickly alarming your senses. “Oh my god, that’s my sister!”

“Your sister?” Jeongin asked, watching as you opened your room window.

“Jeongin you have to get out”

“What?! Through the window??”

“My sister is a huge fan of Stray Kids, remember how she was holding that one boy during hi-touch? If she sees you she’ll literally freak.”

“Alright, alright” Jeongin said, walking towards the window.

“We’ll meet again y/n” He said, placing a kiss on your lips before crawling out the window.

“Bye Jeongin” You pouted, closing the window before you sister could open the door.

“Oh my god, what is this mess?”

----

After dinner, you plop onto your bed, smiling at your artwork that you had unveiled in your room. Remembering how happy Jeongin was when he saw them, you wondered if you should put them out for the public to see. His reaction made you feel more confident, despite what your family had to say about it. You knew at heard that you carried a talent, and now you knew you had a soulmate as well.

Pulling the covers over your head, you grab a pen from your nightstand and draw Jeongin’s name with a heart around it on your hand.

The ink tracing on his hand took him by surprise, the members crowding his hotel room as he sat on his bed, getting ready to rest for the day. The night itself was overwhelming, but Jeongin was happy to have met the girl of his dreams and he’s glad he didn’t miss out on kissing you.

Putting his phone to the side, Jeongin noticed the small message on his hand, a small smile creeping on his face as he grabbed the hotel provided pen and wrote your name with a heart by it.

#jeongin fluff #jeongin imagines #jeongin x reader #yang jeongin imagines #yang jeongin fluff #yang jeongin x reader #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #kpop imagines #kpop fluff

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brophigenia · 3 years

Note

If you fed me more dark Gansey I would ascend spiritually it would change my life monumentally

Ask and ye shall receive.

I give you:

dick gansey and his pack of dogs

(TW: mentions of sex work, class differences, dark!gansey)

***

ronan

The collar is thick, handsome brown leather with a glinting gold buckle. Tasteful. Classic.

It could’ve almost been a fashion statement. Outlandish, yes, but excusable, especially when you knew that Ronan had always been a bit eccentric in his tastes.

Almost, except for the shining O-ring fixed in its center.

Almost, except for the way he wore it, with his uniform unbuttoned to expose it, brazen against his fair skin and the black-as-night ink wrapping around his throat, feathers brushing his adam’s apple.

Almost, except for the way Dick Gansey would curl his fingers into it, possessive and transparent, whenever he and Ronan were within four feet of each other.

… so, always.

Gansey holds onto it while he fucks Ronan, always like he’s got all the time in the world. So leisurely with the pounding grind of his hips, as if it were only his right.

And it is— Ronan is nothing but Gansey’s, now. Nothing but his bare scalp and his ink and Gansey’s fingerprints smudging black-blue into his skin as a reminder that Niall Lynch is dead and Ronan is fatherless, drifting, tethered to the earth only by Gansey.

Nothing else matters.

(In another world, where Gansey was less selfish, perhaps it might be different; in another world, he might be able to swallow down his terrible obsession with Gansey’s everything to have his own life.

In another life, Ronan is freer but no happier for it.)

“Ronan,” Gansey murmurs quietly, always quietly— whether he’s balls-deep inside of Ronan or holding Ronan’s leash or setting him loose on some ruffians, Gansey always speaks so gently to his most faithful dog.

(Gansey speaks softly to everyone; he carries a big stick named money.)

***

adam

His parents die in a tragic accident when he’s fourteen years old.

He stands in front of their graves with dry eyes and a bruised cheek, and then uses their life insurance checks to prepay four years’ room, board, and tuition at Aglionby Academy.

The money goes quick, after the burials and the school expenses, but Adam sees it as an investment.

So too is making friends with G and Lynch, at first only because he can see the writing on the wall and he knows they are his best chance for connections both above- and below-board.

Letting G put a Rolex on his wrist and the keys to a Range Rover in his pocket is just another investment. Where once his pride would’ve boiled over into rage, all Adam can feel is numbness. Is ambition, choking him. If the way to the top is through sacrificing his dignity, then so be it, except G doesn’t want his dignity.

G wants him to sit up late into the night and look pretty and talk to him for hours about Glendower, wants him to stretch out naked and speak of Welsh legends and ley lines with Ronan’s mouth stretched around his cock.

He could love Ronan, if it weren’t for the fact that Gansey outshined the morning goddamn sun. If it weren’t for the way Gansey must be loved, whole-heartedly, in order for his hunger to be sated. Gansey would allow them this, and call it a kindness, call it taking care of his boys.

Gansey would not allow them to take all his generosity and spit in his face for it, though.

It was alright— Adam could love Gansey, and fuck Ronan, and drive his Rover, and do whatever else Gansey asked of him.

It was a political alliance. He didn’t need to get everything he wanted to be satisfied.

***

noah

Noah is dead; Noah is tied to Gansey.

Noah could’ve, would’ve, should’ve.

Noah watches Gansey, so different from Barry had been, but no less magnetic. No less the king of everything, everywhere, everyone.

(Sometimes, he thinks he picked wrong; sometimes, he thinks he should’ve died quiet and let Gansey die, too, his young body pricked and tortured and stung.)

Sometimes the only way he feels alive is by pressing against Gansey when he’s on fire with it, when he’s wrapped around Ronan as he bloodies his knuckles on the faces of whoever for whatever, when he’s kissing Blue for Gansey at Gansey’s behest, when he’s watching Adam clean blood off a switchblade with the steady hands of a practiced killer.

Fuck. Fuck.

***

blue

Raven Boys are useless except for when they’re not.

There are too many bills and too few clients; more than once, Blue patches up Orla after a particularly nasty one, one who was more interested in the sideline services than the actual fortune telling. It pays better, the fucking does— but it’s riskier, legally and physically and mentally. Riskier in every way, except for how much quicker they can make rent, can pay hospital bills and grocery bills and car insurance.

They tighten their belts, all of them, and sometimes Blue can’t remember the last time she ate anything but yogurt, but it’s still not enough.

Gansey leaves her a two hundred dollar tip the first time she serves him at Nino’s, and Blue goes home and vomits because she’s so furious, so angry, so humiliated that he took pity on her to do it. She wants to throw the money back in his goddamn face, but she can’t, because she needs it. They need it, and every dollar keeps them afloat.

Gansey thinks he can buy everyone and everything.

Or, he doesn’t think about it like that- instead, he thinks he’s being generous. Being kind. Thinks that any girl in the world would find it romantic, or something, to be taken care of.

Gansey wants too much; he wants too much from the world, and from Ronan, from Adam, from her. He doesn’t understand that there are so many things he can’t buy; he doesn’t understand that while part of her adores every inch of him, the very pitted core of her is curdled sour by humiliation and resentment.

If the world was fair, or just, it wouldn’t be like this.

The world is neither fair, nor just. Blue sits at Gansey’s left hand because he wills it so, because he doesn’t give her a fucking choice, because he’s paying the house payment and for her youngest cousin’s braces, because he doesn’t trust anyone enough to see if they’d stay without the added bonus of Gansey’s cash and his cock.

She watches Gansey fuck Ronan, because Gansey wants her to. Gansey wants them to surround him, to press against him, to remind him that he’s alive and not alone.

Gansey wants so much, and Blue hates herself for forgetting, sometimes, why that should even be called a bad thing.

“Jane,” he will say, inside of Ronan, and draw her down until she’s touching Ronan, too, Adam down Ronan’s throat and her hands on his back, his ribs, tracing featherlight over his tattoo. She does it because it drives Gansey wild, but also because it’s comforting to feel Ronan’s feverhot skin beneath her hands and know that at least she wasn’t him. At least she didn’t need Gansey like this.

(Oh, and what a spectacular lie that is.)

***

Ronan is Gansey’s dog. Adam is Gansey’s right hand. Blue is Gansey’s girl.

They are all his.

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drwcn · 4 years

Text

Yes anon! You’re completely right. I wrote a (somewhat long) passage from btsf, a conversation between Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli explaining the details of the engagement, featuring our oblivious boys wangxian.

The contract laid in front of him in black and white, the ink drying as he allowed the finality of the transaction to sink in. Lan Xichen carefully eased the excessive pine resin from his brush tip so no blotches would dribble and ruin the paper. Only then did he fill in his signature adjacent that of Jiang Yanli.

Picking up the cloud emblem seal of Gusu Lan, Lan Xichen considered the hefty weight of the white jade in his hand and the decision he was making on behalf of his little brother. His eyes flicked up, looking to his Yunmeng counterpart across the room and seeing she was about to do the same. Wangji liked Wei Wuxian immeasurably, of that he was sure, or else he would not have fought the Elders and his uncle tooth and nail for this engagement. But did Wei Wuxian feel equally for Wangji? Lan Xichen could only guess on the younger man's reaction to all this, and wondered that as his elder sister, if Jiang Yanli felt the same hesitation he did in this moment as she pressed her signet seal, a lotus carved from amethyst, slowly and firmly into fine white parchment.

If she felt it, she didn't show it. Yunmeng's youngest sect master, their first ever female head of family, was not what anyone had expected.

When the legalities were complete, both he and Jiang Yanli stood from their dais.

"I hear our brothers are running drills with the disciples. Shall we go see?" she suggested.

Truth be told, neither Lan Xichen nor his uncle paid much attention to her when the Jiangs came to study at Cloud Recesses. Jiang Cheng was - had been - young and inexperienced, prone to outbursts and became abrasive when challenged. Wei Wuxian, living up to his name sake, was in a whole category by himself, with none to compare. Their sister, however, became something of a surprise. She was, in Xichen's opinion, perhaps the most pleasant and well-mannered young lady of their generation. Not bold nor withdrawn, not somber nor frivolous, amicable yet always knew how to keep others at an appropriate distance.

Lan Xichen extended a hand courteously, "After you, Jiang-zongzhu." [zongzhu = sect master, a gender neutral term]

"Binghu, Shuangxue, you're both dismissed."

"Zongzhu…" Her guards, ever diligent, were hesitant to leave. Since their arrival at Unclean Realm, Lan Xichen had yet to see her without them, which was understandable considering Jiang Yanli herself was not a cultivator and rumoured to be of poor health.

"This is Qinghe Nie's territory, and I am in the company of Zewu-jun. I am in no danger. You've both been so busy. Take the afternoon off." Jiang Yanli gave them a meaningful nod, to which they bowed their heads and conceded.

"Understood."

Qinghe Nie's Unclean Realm was built like a fortress, a citadel intended for protection and intimidation. It lacked Cloud Recesses' air of tranquility and had none of Lotus Pier's blithe. The oak and stone surrounding Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli were nothing like the homes they knew, but within these walls, they were allowed a moment's reprieve to breathe.

Even though the formal robes on their backs felt too big for their persons, even if the guan and headdress upon their heads weighed like the combined lives of every loved one they had lost...

Lan Xichen wondered if like him, Jiang Yanli's neck ached under the pressure of the sterling and pearls in her hair.

For now, they were done away with the formalities. He felt it was an appropriate time to discuss this marriage matter, not as sect masters, but as elder siblings who both cared for their brothers very much.

"I must confess," He began. "Nie-xiong was none too happy to hear you've accepted my clan."

"Really? Why is that?" Jiang Yanli blinked innocently, but the corner of her lips twitched, belying her amusement.

"Oh come now, Jiang-zongzhu, don't be coy. Surely you've heard of Mingjue's intention of aligning Qinghe with Yunmeng through Huaisang. He and Wei-gongzi have always gotten along, so it was only natural that Mingjue-xiong thought them well matched."

"I'm sure Nie-zongzhu meant well, and I'm sure when it came down to it, Nie-gongzi and A-Xian may not even have minded, but as you and I both agree, our brothers make for a much more…serendipitous pair."

They strolled across the stone overpass connecting two buildings, pausing mid way to observe by the railing. In the courtyard below, a group of Yunmeng Jiang's disciples in their violet and navy robes were paired with their Gusu Lan counterparts, both struggling through what seemed to be a particularly difficult sparring drill.

At one end of the courtyard stood Wei Wuxian with his arms crossed, his spine straight, calling out instructions over his disciples' huffs, groans, and whines of pain. Straining under the aggressive nature of the exercise, some Lans looked to Lan Wangji posted at the opposite end, hoping he would speak up on their behalf. To their dismay, their Hanguang-jun had no intention of helping them.

Lan Wangji's eyes were solely fixed on Wei Wuxian, on his tall lean figure framed by the dark cape of his uniform, fluttering in the autumn wind. A strong gust swept his hair back from his shoulders, giving attention to the arch of his neck and his comely face. Wei Wuxian, that oblivious boy, didn't seem to notice at all, his attention completely focused on his students. Then from the corner of his eyes, he sneaked a subtle glance towards the Second Jade (who appeared as handsome as ever in his opinion) but it was too late. Lan Wangji had already looked away.

Lan Xichen chuckled and shook his head. "They needed the push. Who knows how long it would've taken them if we left them to it. A decade at least, I'm willing to bet."

"Yes, but we couldn't have waited that long, could we? You're right, for Yunmeng, I would have agreed to Nie Huaisang, but in my heart, I had hoped I could find someone who would truly love my brother, as he deserved to be loved. I would hate to be parted from him for anyone less worthy."

Jiang Yanli's eyes were downcast, distant.

My brother.

Once, she might've had to clarify which younger sibling she meant, but that was no longer necessary. Lan Xichen couldn't even begin to imagine her anguish. To lose Wangji at all, never mind in the horrifying way she had lost Jiang Cheng, was unthinkable.

"Does Lan-er-gongzi know? The conditions of the marriage?" asked Jiang Yanli, turning to him. The grief Xichen detected just moments ago had completely submerged once again beneath her poise. "Gusu Lan agreed to everything Yunmeng Jiang asked; I can't see that being a very easy sell for the Grandmaster and your Elders. I had thought even your brother himself would've objected."

Not easy was an understatement. Uncle had been apocalyptic, and the Elders not much better. It was no secret amongst Gusu's inner circle that there had been plans to choose a bride for Lan Wangji for some times. While Lan Xichen as Sect Master was positioned to marry advantageously for the purposes of alliance, the Elders and especially Uncle had wanted someone from within Gusu for Wangji, a female distant cousin perhaps, or an outer disciple of grace and good cultivation. At worst, if Wangji were to marry from another clan, it would be them marrying into Cloud Recesses, not the other way around.

But Jiang Yanli had been adamant that whoever Wei Wuxian deigned to marry would be joining him in their sect, and that her brother would not be forced to leave his home and his family under any circumstances. What she didn't say, which all parties perfectly understood regardless, was that Wei Wuxian could not leave Yunmeng. His position as her brother, her closest advisor, and Yunmeng's strongest fighter made marrying out an impossibility.

Which was why Nie Mingjue didn't hesitate much to suggest Nie Huaisang, because the younger Nie brother's temperament would have been better suited to a life in Lotus Pier anyway. Lan Wangji on the other hand…

"Wangji knows." Lan Xichen replied. "Once the war is over and they are married, he will be moving to Lotus Pier with Wei-gongzi. He will no longer be privy to the inner workings of Gusu, no longer eligible for the tenure of an elder, and no longer permitted to vote on our internal affairs. All this, he accepts."

By now, the disciples down below have noticed their presence, but the two clan leaders motioned for them to carry on.

Lan Wangji returned his attention to the training, but Wei Wuxian still bowed respectfully to his shijie and Lan Xichen. He seemed so different from the loud, audacious boy wrecking havoc up and down Cloud Recesses. Without Jiang Wanyin, Wei Wuxian was exposed, pushed to the forefront of everyone's scrutiny, the only defense between his sister and heaven, hell, and man.

He knew it, and so did everyone else.

His sister waved fondly at him. As you were, her gesture seemed to say.

"When you put it like that, it sounds less like a marriage and more like exile. I know my brother; he would not mistreat Lan-er-gongzi, but nevertheless," Jiang Yanli looked up to face him. "Thank you, Zewu-jun. I'm sure the decision was not easy."

Lan Xichen closed his eyes momently and shook his head. "Mn. Not easy for those us he leaves behind perhaps, but my brother has always wanted simple things: family, unity, understanding. He will not have that in a marriage my Uncle arranges for him. Uncle means well, and maybe in time Wangji can learn to cope, to accept, but I cannot. I share your desire to see our own brothers happy, Jiang-zongzu, and marrying another will not bring Wangji happiness. This way, he may have lost some things, but he will still be permitted to teach at Gusu during the lecture season and to tutor our younglings. For him, that should be enough."

Jiang Yanli met Lan Xichen's eyes steadily, in between them hung words unspoken, heavy and binding.

They do not mention that by marrying Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji will yield his position as his brother's heir presumptive and his right to inherit.

They do not mention that any children Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji may adopt or father with subsidiary spouses would belong to Wei Wuxian and be granted no Lan privileges.

In particular, they do not mention the two special clauses that Jiang Yanli had added as a peace offering to demonstrate her goodwill. In the clause, it detailed that in the event of an arms conflict between Gusu and Yunmeng, Lan Wangji may choose to unilaterally divorce Wei Wuxian and return to Gusu and his previous status, to take up arms and defend the clan of his blood. It also detailed that any children fathered by Lan Wangji may forfeit their Jiang status and reclaim Lan privileges in the event of a divorce.

Neither of their brothers knew of the special clause, and they would never know, until they need to.

For the Elders of Gusu Lan, to part with their Hanguang-jun must be akin to an amputation of the limb. Yunmeng Jiang's demands may have been blunt, but these were desperate times, and it saved no one's face to pretend otherwise. Marriage alliance between male heirs were not usually arranged for this exact reason. Issues of inheritance and loyalty too often became messy - or worse - bloody if not laid out straight from the start. Jiang Yanli had hoped that the inclusion of the special clauses would convey her understanding of Lan family's worries and the sincerity of her alliance. She had no intention of making enemies of people from whom she sought support.

"It's cold up here, isn't it, where we stand." Jiang Yanli lamented after a long stretch of silence. The wind of Qinghe in October was indeed biting, but somehow that didn't seem to be what she meant.

Lan Xichen sighed. "I've seen my share of unhappy unions, as I’m sure you have too. Our brothers' will be a happy one."

"I do hope so, Zewu-jun. I do hope so."

#the untamed #cql #btsf #arranged marriage wangxian #lan xichen #jiang yanli #wangxian #corie fics #sect leader jyl #dark jyl #jiang cheng is temporarily dead but don't worry he's coming back #advisor!wei wuxian #head disciple wei wuxian #pinning lwj but what else is new

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remus-la-swearwolf · 4 years

Text

I have no idea what I wrote, but I’m feeling somewhat angsty rn, so enjoy this self-indulgent (wait, how is this self-indulgent?) oh yeah, because my brother’s busy on his playstation using ‘gay’ as an insult fic or read it on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763209

Sirius growls and fumbles with his keys in the lock, trying to force them into the jammed mechanism. This shitty flat isn't his home, and the neighbours who surround him aren't his family.

Sirius wrenches the key to the side. The door bursts open, finally, but the key is crooked when he pulls it out. When he tries, it won't bend back. He stares at the defiant piece of metal in his palm, and tosses it carelessly on the wobbling table under the chipped mirror. He'll have to get the key fixed.

It's dark outside, and the flat is cold and empty. He's exhausted, after the day he's had, and he'd like nothing more than to collapse into bed and forget himself in sleep, but his bed is cold and empty, and the springs dig into his skin through the worn padding. Undoubtedly, the couple upstairs are going to have loud sex the second that Sirius crawls under the thin covers, so he decides to camp on the grimy sofa without changing out of his clothes, like he's been doing since before he even moved out.

He closes his aching eyes with a weary sigh, and thinks that if he has to spend one more hour in that courtroom, listening to all his flaws and faults being bared before the eyes of some unsympathetic judge who'd heard it all before a thousand times, he'd go mad.

He knows he's the one who's messed up, and he's the one whose fault it is that they were in this mess in the first place, but that doesn't make hearing it any easier for him. He's always had a selfish streak when it came to drowning in his feelings and self-pity.

The flashing light of a street lamp outside burns through his eyelids, and he groans and turns his face away, wishing he could hide from all of his problems so easily. Remus isn't the only one he's let down.

"Moony, why's Padfoot gone?"

Remus looks at the child in front of him, and tries to crush down the overwhelming guilt and pain that wells up within him. He's already lost his parents once, and Remus can't bear to put him through it all again. He swallows back the swelling lump in his throat, and blinks rapidly until his eyes stop stinging. For Harry's sake.

Harry continues to stare up at him with big green eyes, and once again, Remus is forcefully reminded of Lily. He wonders how things might have been if she and James were still here. Perhaps if Peter hadn't lied that night, about Regulus and Remus, Sirius wouldn't have stormed off on his motorcycle, and James and Lily wouldn't have crashed searching for him, knowing how impetuous and rash Sirius could be. Sirius' downfall was always going to be how self-destructive he was.

Remus clears his throat, and wets his dry lips. He doesn't know what to tell the boy. "Uncle Padfoot -- Sirius -- he's-- he's going through a lot. He can't be here right now, but he still loves you very much," he says, but it comes out as a hoarse whisper.

"Will he ever be back?" Harry asks, eyes full of hurt. It must be like like losing his parents, all over again, and Remus' heart aches.

He can't tell this boy that it's over between him and Sirius, and that Harry won't ever have his Uncle Moony and Padfoot together again. He can't tell Harry that his other Godfather is a reckless, imploding disaster, that this is what's finally set the dynamite inside of him off, and that it isn't good for Harry or Remus to have him around. He can't tell Harry that it hurts Sirius every time he looks at him, and that the grief and guilt stab him in the heart like a knife every time he looks up and meets Lily's eyes in James' face, living on in their son. It hurts Sirius to be around Harry, and it isn't Harry's fault, but Sirius can't stand it, and both Harry and Remus have suffered for it.

"I dunno, Harry," Remus answers for the fourteenth time in seven days. "I dunno."

The form on the table in front of him is mocking him. Sirius is sure of it. He stares at the swimming letters and numbers, and growls, shoving a hand up in his hair. He reaches for the penpot he's kept (a habit picked up from Remus) and knocks it over, so that all the leaky and dried-up biros are scattered across the table. He reaches for the nearest one, and carves his signature onto the paper, not caring anymore about what the document signifies.

Or at least that's what he tells himself.

He crumples the paper up and shoves it into the pocket of his leather jacket, and grabs his keys, not bothering to lock the flat up after he leaves. The key probably wouldn't work anyway.

The drive is long, seeing as he's moved across town, but he needs this. The purr of the motorcycle beneath him, and the wind whipping at the long, uncut strands of his hair make him feel alive in a way that he hasn't felt for a while. Despite how fast he's moving, even in the muddle and jam of central London, the weight of the form in his jacket feels like it's dragging him down.

Sirius forces all thoughts of what had been and what could have been as he approaches the little house on the hill, with the perfect lawn and picket-fence he's secretly yearned for all his life. This is the moment all the dreams he had growing up die for sure; the first moment that he's truly been on his own since he was eleven, and James had burst in with his bright eyes and raucous laughter, Remus following, and together they'd chased the dark out of Sirius.

His motorcycle is parked down the road, no longer welcome on the garden path or by the garage where Sirius used to waste long afternoons, tinkering with his bike and showing a wide-eyed Harry the different bike parts he'd brought home to mend. He steels himself for Remus' accusatory stare, or even worse, indifference in his eyes as he takes in the miserable state Sirius is in now. And worst of all, he doesn't know how he'll handle Harry's questions and his eyes, which only serve to remind Sirius of just how many of his loved ones he's let down.

Each step down the garden path lasts an eternity, and the paper in his pocket is a rock. He finally musters up the courage to knock weakly upon the door, hesitating before forcing himself to get on with it and do it.

It takes a minute, but soon the door swings open, and a familiar smell Sirius has missed for so long washes over him, and Remus is standing there, flour on his cheek, and his eyes and hair as honey-like as the first time Sirius had been fortunate enough to have laid eyes on him. Sirius tries to speak, but his mouth moves uselessly and the words swell in his throat and stick like bile, so he swallows them down.

Remus' expression is carefully neutral, and his eyes are guarded, but Sirius knows him well enough to recognise the pain behind them. He tears his own eyes away, unable to acknowledge it for one second longer. Sirius fumbles around in his jacket and grasps at the sheet of paper tucked away in there, holding it out clumsily to Remus, refusing to look at him all the while.

Remus stares down at the piece of paper emotionlessly, and moves his gaze to Sirius' face. "Come in," he says flatly, moving aside to allow Sirius in.

Sirius follows him reluctantly down the hall to the kitchen without looking around, afraid he'll see an ancient relic or a photograph Remus had forgotten to take down, and that the tears he's been biting back will escape.

He takes a seat at the table, as does Remus, and busies himself with tracing the swirling patterns on the wood. Neither of them say a word, but he can feel Remus' eyes on his face. Disappointed, maybe. Or perhaps he's ashamed of what a coward Sirius is, just like Sirius is himself.

"The document?" Remus asks, but he isn't asking really.

Sirius slides it across the table, and Remus straightens it out, and reaches for his pen-holder, his mouth tightening disapprovingly at the messy scrawl Sirius has provided instead of a signature. "I can barely read this."

Sirius shrugs. "Yeah, well."

Remus raises his eyebrows, but doesn't respond, shaking the ink pen out. "It'll be over, once we sign this paper," he says. "Forever."

"I know. That's why I've already signed it," Sirius responds bitingly. His nails bite into the wood of the table, trying to get through to the soft skin of his palms. His eyes burn, and he tries not to think of how handsome Remus looked that day, with his golden hair, and his golden eyes, and his golden heart, surrounded by friends and family, and his eyes full of nothing but love and adoration for Sirius, love and adoration Sirius didn't deserve.

Remus purses his lips and picks up the pen with firmer fingers.

"I'm sorry," Sirius says, faster than he can stop himself.

Remus' hands freeze, and he looks up in Sirius in disbelief. "What?"

"I'm sorry," repeats Sirius. "I shouldn't have said that. It was rude of me."

Remus nods. "Yes, well. It's -- it's all right." His eyes return to the paper, and he reads over it one last time, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles Sirius has put in it. He smiles, soft and bittersweet, and it almost stops Sirius' heart to see. "Wonder how it all happened. Us. This."

Sirius coughs, and subtly brushes an eyelash away from his eye.

"Guess we just fell apart," Remus shrugs, still smiling that awful smile. "I mean, you see it happening, but I couldn't help but think it would never happen with us."

"Me -- me too," Sirius croaks, feeling a thousand years old. His voice won't stop cracking, and he hates himself for it.

"For a while, I thought we were going to make it through. After James and Lily died. Even if it was just for Harry. I suppose I was wrong." He smiles at Sirius again, a sad thing that lifts the corner of his mouth half-heartedly, and Sirius wonders how long it's been since Remus last smiled properly.

"And Harry?" asks Sirius, a little more life in his voice. "How is he?"

"He's sleeping," Remus answers quickly. "I wasn't -- I wasn't sure how good it would be for him to see you. To see us like this."

"You're probably right," rasps Sirius. He wishes he could be the perfect Godfather to Harry, the parent that Harry deserves, but he isn't, and he hates himself for it. He feels guilty for feeling relieved that he won't have to see Harry, and he knows Remus can see it.

"He misses you a lot, you know. Won't stop asking about you."

Sirius can hear the bitterness in Remus' laugh. "I'm sorry," he repeats dumbly, for the third time.

"Don't be," says Remus briskly, before seizing the pen and moving it towards the paper in earnest this time. "Both of us played our part in this."

That isn't true. Sirius knows that he's the one to blame, just as well as Remus does. He watches the pen lift and drop, arcing smoothly down towards the paper . . .

"Stop." The word spills from Sirius' lips, louder than he'd intended for it to, and he realises he's standing up.

Remus blinks, and looks up at him. "Stop?" he asks quizically. "You're the one who asked for this. Isn't this what you wanted?"

Sirius' chest is heaving, and he clutches onto the table. "I don't know," he says, panicking.

Remus sets the pen down. "You don't know?" he repeats scathingly.

He's hurt, and Sirius knows he has every right to be.

"I don't want you to not be my husband." He forces the words out, even though they tear at him inside.

"You haven't been a very good husband, lately," Remus says at last, and Sirius is horrified to see tears glistening around his lashes.

"I know. And I haven't been a good father to Harry, either. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so fucking sorry. And I can't promise you I'll fix myself and make it all better right away, because I can't. But I'm still so in love with you, and being away from you is the worst thing I've done to myself, ever. And I've done some pretty fucked up shit." He chokes a weak laugh out, and reaches up a hand to brush away the tears that are already falling from his eyes. He sits back down.

Remus hasn't said anything for the past minute, but the tears by his lashes have begun to fall from his honey-coloured eyes.

"Don't," says Sirius harshly, once he's managed to wipe the dampness away from his own eyes. "Don't cry over me. I don't deserve it."

His voice cracks as he says it, and his throat aches like it never has before, and the shame is overwhelming, so he hides his face in his palm, and tries to look anywhere but Moony's face.

Remus makes no move to stem the tears that flow from his eyes, as he continues to stare at him, golden eyes on washed-out grey. He picks up the awful paper, and crumples it in his hand like Sirius has wanted to do since he first printed the form out, and he tosses it to the floor.

He reaches across the table, and takes Sirius' free hand. "Maybe we don't sign it just yet," he suggests.

"Judge'll be bloody annoyed," Sirius mumbles into his hand, before moving it so that he can look at Remus properly.

Remus smiles, and rubs his thumb gently across Sirius' hand in his. "I know. But I think we'll be okay."

#wolfstar #remus and sirius married #divorce #moomy and dadfoot #remus and sirius raise harry #marauders #modern marauders #marauders au #marauders fic #married wolfstar #angst #wolfstar angst #angst with a happy ending #y'all can't hate me for this #harry potter #james and lily are dead #sirius' motorbike #zfs #sirius x remus

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queenofmoons · 4 years

Text

Pink in the Night

Read on AO3

The first time MJ kisses Gwen is under a comically large bauble of mistletoe. It’s snowing, and Gwen’s cheeks are adorably red when MJ tucks her scarf under her chin. There’s a moment, right before MJ kisses her, where Gwen’s teeth scraped against her bottom lip and MJ thinks, vividly, I’m about to fall in love with Gwen Stacy. And then she does.

They pressed chapped lips together, and Harry whoops, and a few people clap, and Gwen is quick to pull her scarf up and MJ is suspiciously fast about assuring bystanders, we’re just friends.

It’s just a joke, and then it was over. Harry snakes his hand around MJ’s waist, and Peter steals Gwen’s hat and holds it far above her head, and they leave the mistletoe far behind them.

—

Gwen is asleep on MJ’s couch, one hand holding in place the textbook open on her chest, one leg hitched over the arm of the couch. There’s a half-eaten burrito on the coffee table. Peter glances over at her a lot from where they’re all seated at the kitchen table. The way he looks at her is so gentle it makes MJ’s heart seize so she says, devilishly,

“I’ve got markers.”

Peter’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Lord,” Harry says.

“In the drawer under the coffee pot.”

“Don’t,” Harry says, but he makes no move to stop them when turn around holding markers by the fistful.

“Oh, come on,” MJ says, holding a marker out to him. “Didn’t she totally whip your ass on that last test?”

“She destroyed the curve,” Peter reminds.

It’s enough to break him. He sighs and grabs a marker. “If she gets mad, I’m bailing. I’ll say you held me at gunpoint.”

“I’m sure she’ll believe that,” MJ says.

They crouch over her. Peter leans over the back of the couch, Harry kneels on the ground, MJ perches on the edge of the cushion and contorts to reach Gwen’s face.

They doodle. Boobs, and dicks, and the sun wearing sunglasses. Gwen startles right as MJ is in the middle of drawing in a goatee. She shoots up, and for the briefest moment their noses touch, and then they’re just staring.

Gwen looks around her, at the three of them. “You’re children,” she says, her voice still heavy with sleep. “All of you— this is washable, right?”

Peter turns the marker over to investigate and winces.

Faster than MJ thought possible, Gwen whacks him upside the head with a throw pillow.

—

MJ is good at tiptoeing around in her own life, turning corner just before the ghosts in her mind can find her, locking doors behind herself everywhere she goes.

She does it more often, now, since December.

Gwen hooks their elbows together and MJ turns another key.

Legs splayed over each other on the couch, shared clothes, borrowed lipsticks.

This is life: a corridor of security doors building up behind her.

Despite that, despite everything, MJ could live like this, because it’s Gwen. Because Gwen once spent the better part of a night tutoring MJ on introductory physics and threw her arms around MJ’s neck when she’d walked away from the exam with a B-. Because Gwen showed up at MJ’s apartment once with a kitten that reeked of garbage and held it out to MJ like an offering. Because Gwen knows that rubbing alcohol will take Sharpie off of skin, but she’ll still wait to remove it until after she’s thoroughly kicked their asses in a pillow fight.

—

The second time MJ kisses Gwen is on her fire escape. They’re sitting, legs dangling, passing a bottle of dollar store wine between them. Summer is on its way out the door, and the sky is cotton candy perfection.

They’re talking about Gwen’s breakup, about missed dates, and forgotten birthdays, and perpetual lateness. There is a truth on the tip of MJ’s tongue, but she swallows it down with the wine. Instead, she says, like it’s an excuse, and because she doesn’t tell secrets that aren’t hers, he’s always been that way, and Gwen hums. It doesn’t matter, MJ supposes, when Gwen has her entire life scheduled out.

There is another truth in MJ’s mouth, this one is not so easy to wash away. It is stuffed deep into keyholes, rusted silver.

Gwen says, “Boys,” dry, and MJ echoes, “Boys” and they are alone on her fire escape. The city below them is humming, and when Gwen hands over the bottle their fingers brush. There is a ring of purple on Gwen’s lips. Her nails are chipped, her sleeves are uneven on her shoulders. MJ takes a long drink.

When they kiss, it’s MJ’s fault. It’s her hand that flattens on the grate below them, her body that bends at the waist, her lips that touch Gwen’s.

But. But, but, but. It’s Gwen’s hand that steadies her by the shoulder, Gwen’s hand on her knee, Gwen’s lips moving against hers.

It’s months before they talk about it again.

—

For every time MJ has wanted to kiss Gwen, they’ve kissed thirty times.

It isn’t like their other relationships and it never will be. They only know each other behind closed doors, with legs hitched up on hips and mouths pressed together.

They can never be tight-knit Times Square couples. No sunlit lovers posted up under cafe umbrellas. But they’re still them, tangled in sheets, prone on the fire escape, textbooks passed and hands brushed.

They leave room for the other’s clothes in their dressers, keep mugs in the cabinet and souvenirs on the credenza and photographs on the fridge. Now, MJ sleeps on the right side of the bed because Gwen prefers the left.

They hang out with the guys and keep their distance, put arms around shoulders sparingly. Peter tells a joke and Gwen laughs and MJ forces her eyes not to linger on her lips.

She’s still locking doors, she’s just given someone the spare key.

Gwen catches her eye sometimes, squeezes her hand under the table, leans in and whispers a joke.

It’s marginally easier this way.

—

Three hours before Gwen dies, MJ offers to walk her home.

“We can stop for pizza on the way,” She offers.

Gwen rubs at her eyes, deepens the bruise forming under them. They’ve both been awake for way too long. “I’ve got a test tomorrow. Call you after?”

MJ nods. She’s relieved— her eyelids are heavy, all she really wants is to collapse onto her bed and sleep. “You’re gonna kill it.”

She moves to put a hand on Gwen’s cheek and falters. Rethinks. They’re standing outside of a hospital, in broad daylight, so she puts it on Gwen’s shoulder instead. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Mhm.”

They don’t kiss. MJ regrets that the most.

—

MJ has an opportunity to blame Peter and she doesn’t take it. They face off in the living room, limbs curled into themselves like dead bugs, or broken skeletons.

Or snapped spines, or bent textbooks, or chamomile tea bags that have caused rhytides on napkins.

She tells him, “I loved her too, you know,” and he scoffs.

Their fights are always like this, in doorways. Battlefields comprised of living room furniture, heaving scathing remarks over muddied rugs. This is the worst one yet, and Harry isn’t here to step between them. He’s off, confined to a bed in the room of a hospital, and it’s just the two of them, angry and scared, and they yell some more until a door is slammed and MJ is alone on the other side of it.

—

There is so much of MJ that reminds her of Gwen that sometimes it hurts to look in the mirror. She keeps her lipstick in her bedside drawer, keeps a sweater in her closet, shoves photographs into boxes because she’s not sure how she can just keep them around.

The world has collapsed, and there’s only one person she wants to talk to about it.

MJ doesn’t purge her apartment with malice, she does it out of desperation. She changes the bedsheets save for Gwen’s pillow, scrubs the carpet until spilled nail polish rises out of it. She changes out the air fresheners, she compartmentalizes her life until it feels the way it did before.

She unlocks doors and retraces steps and locks them again just so she isn’t standing in an empty room with a corpse. That’s just no way to live.

—

It gets better eventually. Things always do. By the time Harry dies, Peter and MJ are on speaking terms again. They get through that heartbreak together and pretend it pieces together all the shattered bits from before.

When they move in together, Peter finds the pictures.

He’s a photographer and he knows. How couldn’t he? The ink of the polaroids is made up of love.

He holds them up, blinking rapidly, and says, “MJ, I’m… Fuck, Em, I’m so sorry.”

She runs her fingers through his hair, presses their foreheads together.

“I miss her,” She says, and he swallows.

“I do, too.”

They sigh together.

#gwenmj #Gwen stacy #mj watson #gwenmj fic #gwenmj oneshot #I thought this one was gonna turn out way longer than it did but it's a short one #my writing

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