#it's because I started a full-time job and have been practicing my artwork | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hyperfixated-gvf · 2 years

Text

The Gift That Just Keeps Giving

On the fourth day of Tropemas, hyperfixated-gvf gave to me:

A smutty sex-toy find with switch!Sammy.

Christmas Song Pairing: “Ay Ay Ay It’s Christmas” by Ricky Martin

~~~

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Reader

Warnings: Language, smut, a tiny bit of begging, overstimulation

Words: 4.7k

Oh fuck.

It was the first thought that popped into your head when you saw Sam’s face.

Now usually, when your boyfriend came loping into your apartment, you had positive reactions. In fact, you couldn’t remember the last time that you weren’t happy he was there.

But now, a week before Christmas and just a day before he was set to fly home with his brothers to their family, you cursed a line in your head that would have made the devil blush. Because there he was, your sweet, excited, expectant boyfriend, standing in your kitchen with a professionally-wrapped gift box thrusted out at you like a two year old presenting their artwork –

And you had nothing.

What with work holiday parties, the last-minute family shopping, a surprise visit from your best friend, and trying to keep up with all the minute changes blasting through your phone outlining fluctuations from gifts to dishes being brought to dinner, flight times to rent drop-off methods – you’d become the worst kind of girlfriend, the one who forgot to buy a gift.

You swallowed, attempting to convince Sam that everything was great and fine while you raced to come up with a way to buy time.

“Sammy!” you said, admiring the box, “What an impressive looking gift-wrapping job – a big improvement since last year,” you teased. “Have you been practicing just for me?”

“Anything for you, baby,” he said with a wink.

You put yourself on your toes to lean over the gift and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. Just put it on the counter over there.”

He reached over and slid it into place, slipping his long arms around you and giving you a quick peck. “So where’s my present?” he asked conspiratorially.

You grinned and pulled him into a deeper kiss, stroking your thumb down the tendon in his neck and licking into his mouth before pulling away and leaving him blinking at the abruptness of both the start and the end of the kiss.

He gripped your ass and pulled you back, searching for another kiss, and you had an idea. It seemed like a really great idea, too.

“You don’t want your present?” you asked him. His eyes lit up like…well, like a little kid’s on Christmas, and he scanned the room. You laughed. “It’s not here – I hid it in my room just to make it a little more interesting. You have to find it first.”

He grinned lasciviously. “Oooo, so it’s that kind of present. Will I find it in your underwear drawer? Or is it one of those that has to be hung up?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile still playing at your lips, though. “No, it’s not that kind of present. Now go, little doggy, go fetch. Find. Whatever,” you laughed, calling after him as he tore down the hall to your bedroom.

There was nothing in there that he hadn’t seen before, and it bought you more time. As soon as he was out of sight, you searched through your cabinets for something of his favorite – his favorite alcohol? Not a half-full bottle. There were no vegan chocolates left, no hot chocolate mix, no gift cards, no nothing.

Until you caught sight of a box hidden in the corner of the counter.

“You’ve either made this hard for me intentionally or you really need to clean your room,” Sam called.

“Take your pick, any pick!” you yelled back, and smiled at his resounding laughter.

You glanced over the cookies in the box – unbelieving of the coincidence that they just happened to be from your vegan co-worker – and picked out a brown paper grocery bag from its place, putting the cookies inside. You saw a pen and scrap post-it notes lying on the table and decided to add a few ‘sexual favor’ coupons – Sam had really appreciated those on his birthday.

Just as you were jotting down some fun things, Sam cried out, “Ah-ha! I found it! I should have known – you hide everything in your closet, but I will say under a random pile of clothes was a smart choice.”

You furrowed your brow, looking up from your scribbling. “What? But that’s not whe – SAM, NO! THAT’S NOT YOUR GIFT!” You abandoned everything and sprinted down towards the bedroom, face heating and hoping that he hadn’t lifted the lid off the box.

Your momentum took you around the doorframe with the help of your hand, and your groaned when you saw the delighted expression on his face, staring down into the grinch-print wrapped box.

“So it is that kind of gift.”

You shook his head, making your way over to him with the intent to take the gift out of his hands. “It’s not yours. My best friend came to see me the other day and she gave me this as a gag gift – she literally regifted it to me because her boyfriend regifted to her because he got it as a gag gift from a friend.”

He saw you coming and held the box up and out of your reach, teasing you. “And now you’ve regifted it to me, and I intend to keep it, babe. Or are you telling me that my gift is somewhere else?”

You continued to jump around Sam, attempting to poke all his sensitive spots to get the box out of his hands. “Yes, it’s in the kitchen –”

“So you sent me on a wild goose chase, why?” His tone was unbearably arrogant. With a grace that you didn’t know he possessed, he set the box on your nightstand and backed you up with his body, your feet stumbling and shoulders colliding with a wall.

“Because,” you whined, trying to tickle him off of you. He fished for your wrists and you wriggled, but he caught them and pinned them to the wall behind you.

“Because why, baby? That’s a perfectly good gift, what could be better?”

“Cookies,” you said, staring defiantly into his amused eyes, “and…coupons. Like the ones you got for your birthday.”

“I didn’t see any gifts when I came in, you aren’t lying to me, are you?”

“No,” you scoffed, lying. “I hid them.”

“This isn’t adding up,” Sam said, getting closer and crowding into your space, looking down at you. “You have a gift, I ask for it, and you send me on a scavenger hunt for another gift that doesn’t exist. What were you doing in there while I was searching?”

He was catching on – the man was intelligent like that. “Finishing touches,” you said again, this time telling the truth – you were, technically, just on a present that hadn’t existed before the finishing touches were made.

Sam hummed, unconvinced. “It’s not because you forgot to get me a present, is it, baby? Or did you want me to find that gift?” His voice softened and lowered, and he pushed his knee between your thighs. The tension had started when you’d danced your way into a wall. Heightened when he’d taken your wrists captive. And was starting to peak – at least you’d thought.

“No.”

“To which one?”

You sighed. “I forgot. The cookies were a gift from my vegan co-worker as a Secret Santa gift, and I was planning on giving them to you anyways, so I threw in a couple of vouchers and called it a day.” He rolled his thigh against your core, and you felt the first wisps of arousal begin to form. “I’d completely forgotten about that one,” you said, nodding to the box.

“Well then, because you neglected to think of your poor, loving boyfriend this Christmas, I think it’s only fair that I get two gifts.”

You laughed softly. “I think that depends on if you’re counting how many individual items are in each gift – because then, you’d be getting four.”

He tilted his head, letting your wrists go and cupping your face, giving you a steady kiss. “Oh yeah? I deserve them, then.” His eyebrows furrowed then. “Wait, four? I thought you said you only put the coupons and the cookies in the kitchen present.”

Your grin widened when you realized he hadn’t taken a good look at the gift your friend had left for you. “The gift you found in the closet was a couples set, Sam. You didn’t see the other vibrator in there?”

He immediately disengaged himself from you, picking the box back off the nightstand and taking the ‘for her’ part of the gift out – a small, plastic, neon green bullet vibrator – and laughed uproariously at the ‘for him’ part: a matching neon-green vibrating cock ring.

“This is the best gag gift ever,” he said, examining the small piece of rubber, the vibrating motor encased in the same material at the top of the ring. There was a tiny switch on the exposed side to turn it on and off, and Sam curiously flicked it on, lighting up at the vibrations that carried around the object before turning it back off again. “The battery can’t be larger than a few coin batteries – there’s no way this thing was designed to go for a long time.”

You picked the vibrator that he’d tossed onto the bed and set it aside. “Here for a good time, not a long time. It looks cheaply made, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was only meant to be used once. A disposable cock ring,” you giggled.

Sam nodded, stretching the rubber out between a few fingers, still analyzing it. “A good idea. Get ‘em hooked and they’ll buy a good one. Won’t this also be for your pleasure?” he asked, and you flushed at the non-negotiable way he said it – he was going to use it, there was no question in his mind about it. “The way the motor is mounted, that’s gonna go straight to your clit, baby,” he mused, voice roughing as you assumed the mechanics of it started manifesting as images in his mind. “Only one way to find out.”

He set the cock ring down and started undoing the buttons that were done up on his shirt, throwing it off his body and leaving him in his high-waisted pants. He glanced over at you, watching him intently from your spot on the bed, still fully dressed and wearing a small smirk.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked, and you leaned back, drawing patterns high on your covered thigh.

“Immensely. Keep going, baby, show me whatcha got,” you leered, and Sam made a performance of swinging his hips around and shaking his ass in your direction.

“Gonna stuff some bills in my boxers?” he said, unbuttoning his pants and sliding them off. You laughed and finally stood up, rucking your hands under your shirt. “Hey,” he interrupted, taking your hands in his once more, “I wanna unwrap the rest of my gift.”

You rolled your eyes at the cliché. “Dork,” you said as he brought you closer to him, your hands wandering up his bare torso since the opportunity had presented itself. His hands smoothed up your sides and brought your shirt up with them.

“Maybe, but this dork is still the one taking your shirt off right now.”

You conceded the point, and reached behind you to unclasp your bra, his hands immediately cupping your breasts as soon as they were exposed. They didn’t stay there long, instead choosing to finish the job and slip your pants off of you.

With both of you left in your underwear, he kissed you deeply and backed you into the bed, where the normal vibrator was set conveniently nearby on the mattress. When you saw Sam reach for it, your heart picked up.

“So we’re really gonna use them?” you asked, looking up at him with a flushed face. His fingers reached down to stroke you over your panties, one of them slipping under the fabric and collecting the wetness that was beginning to gather there.

He wiped it on the tip of the vibrator, a smile playing at his lips and nothing but desire lurking in his eyes. “Doesn’t seem like you’re too opposed to it, after all.”

“Never said I was opposed to it,” you challenged. “I’m no stranger to vibes. They do the job.” His eyes twitched wide at the confession and he straddled your waist, looking down at you with a calculating expression.

“Oh? And how is it the first time I’m hearing about this?”

You shrugged. “Never need it when you’re here, but when you’re away, my fingers get boring.”

He groaned at the mental image and shifted his hips into yours, demonstrating just how hot he found it. “Yeah? Do you need to use it often? Where is it? And how have I not found it?”

You were tempted to meet his movement and grind up into him, but instead, you ignored his questions and took the vibrator out of his hand, turning it on; the mechanical buzzing was much louder than you were used to and seemed to you to be amplified by the garish color. Sam watched, mystified, as you put the plastic to your lips and dragged it down your neck, making a path across your collarbone and then dipping down to circle your nipples.

You were making the whole ordeal much more dramatic than you would have if you were alone, but when using a couple’s vibe set, you figured it was only hot if you acted like there was someone watching you – which there was, you didn’t have to act, and it made you feel powerful having all of Sam’s attention and arousal in your hands.

The moan that came out of your mouth was in part performance, but also because you didn’t usually play with your nipples all that much – alone, you preferred to get right to the main event, and with Sam, well, nipples were his job. You found yourself squirming away from the sensation and let your hand travel down to where Sam was pressed against you, separated by the barrier of your underwear.

He flinched at the first press of the vibe against your clit over your underwear, pressing against him in the process with his proximity, but then moaned and thrusted into it, eyes fluttering.

“Holy fuck, Y/N, I don’t fucking blame you for using one of these – that feels fucking phenomenal.”

You almost giggled – it didn’t occur to you that Sam would be into toys too – you had always thought of him as an ‘all-natural, spit or a little lube and a hand will do the job’ kinda guy. But now that you had this information –

“My vibe is a little bigger,” you said, pushing into the shared sensations, “it’s black and it has a bunch of different speeds and vibration patterns. I hide it in the back of one of the bathroom drawers when you’re here and use it pretty often when you aren’t – takes care of me just like you do.”

You moaned when Sam took the toy out of your hand and slipped it underneath your panties to settle it against your core and started fucking a rhythm into both you and the vibrator that surprised you with the speed in which it made coil of your orgasm grow.

“How often? How often when I’m gone, Y/N?” he grunted, every nuance just as if he were actually fucking you.

His enthusiasm did something for you, and you keened, pressing up against his thrusts while trying not to displace the vibrator. “All the time – not every night, but almost,” you answered, searching for your peak.

He groaned at your admission, stopping his movement and yanking your panties down, picking up the still-buzzing toy from where it fell, and guided it more deliberately against you, circling your clit and dipping down to rest at your entrance and then back up with more pressure.

“Slave to your pleasure? Don’t worry, I’m gonna make you cum, baby, then we’ll get the other part and try it out, too.”

The thought of Sam with a vibrating cock ring wrapped around his base sent goosebumps racing up and down your arms. “Please, I can’t – ahh, oh fuck – I can’t fucking wait, baby,” you told him, hips responding to each vibration in growing intensity the closer you got to the edge.

Sam leaned up, keeping up the pressure and movement of the vibe, to kiss your breath right out of your lungs. You gasped every time he let you up, only to be dragged back into the depths of his mouth, tongues sliding against each other, teeth catching other teeth and lips, faces smushed together, sharing air.

“I’m so close, Sam,” you whimpered, teetering precariously. Sam dug the vibrator upwards and directly into your clit, repeating the action in a fast rhythm, and you were gone. Your heels planted into the sheets and you strained your pelvis up, into the vibe and then away, from one side to the other, and then your thighs clenched together, Sam’s hand and the vibe trapped between them – the vibrations dulled from the pressure.

Sam kept pushing the toy into you as well as he could, helping you come down from your high until you spasmed when it hit an over-sensitized patch of skin. “That’s it baby, give me all you got and I’ll give you more.” Your hand shot to his wrist and he evilly kept at it for a minute more, fighting against your overstimulation and whispering praises in your ear.

Once you started pleading with him to stop, he switched it off and held it up to the light, hooded eyes examining how slick it was with your come. He shakily set it on the edge of the nightstand, shucking his boxers off and opening the drawer to get a condom, then stretched over further to retrieve the cock ring.

“You wanna put it on me or do you just wanna watch me do it?” His voice was rough and breathy.

“I want to watch,” you said, still tired and recovering from your first orgasm. He nodded and tore open the foil package, rolling the condom onto himself expertly. You loved watching him touch himself, and couldn’t wait to see his face once he flipped the switch for the vibrations.

He used both hands to stretch the ring of rubber out with his fingers, settling it at his tip and working it down his cock, making sure not to twist it and keeping the vibrating part upright. Once he got it situated on himself, he put a hand on your shin and smirked at you. “You sure you don’t wanna do the honors?”

You were recovered enough to feel a new clench of your walls. “Yeah. I wanna see you.”

He nodded and it was his turn to put on a show, taking his cock and slowly running his big hand down to where the ring rested, thumbing around the notches and caressing the switch side of motor, teasing you. Your eyes were glued to each movement, uncaring that he was being deliberately slow and sensual.

Then with one small flick of his thumb, a small buzzing lit up the silence, and Sam grasped his length a little harder, hips bucking. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, that’s a lot more powerful than I thought it was gonna be, Y/N, shit—”

Filthy images of remote controlled cock rings flashed through your mind, perhaps even another couple’s set, and you began to think that you may just have to get him and yourself a New Year’s present too.

The buzzing stopped and you blinked out of your half-state of fantasizing about what was happening right in front of you. “Why’d you stop?”

Sam laughed, shakily. “It’s not even touching you yet, what do you mean, why’d you stop?” He blew out a breath. “I felt like I was going to fucking cum if I kept that up much longer.”

“It’s a cock ring, Sam. Aren’t they supposed to make you last longer?”

He moved to hover over you again, lining himself up with your entrance again, but this time without the barriers of underwear. “Yeah, I guess. But I’ve never used one before. It’s fine, just turn it on, now, baby,” he said at last, and you reached down, fingers grazing his cock and then finding the motor, fiddling around until you felt the switch.

You moved it into position with a scratch of your fingernail, and Sam bucked again, his tip breaching in, and then he sheathed himself completely.

You understood what he was saying when you felt the vibrator flutter against your clit. The size definitely did not bely the power, but you were still certain that it did bely its performance time.

“I’m ready, Sam, you can go,” you mumbled into his neck. He was shaking.

“I know,” he whimpered. “But I – I still feel like if I move, I’m gonna come. And I wanna feel you come with me this time. Fuckin’ – you going all tight around me with this fucking thing is gonna be – it’s gonna be fucking magical if I can make it that far.”

You sucked a mark into the skin of his neck. “You’re not going to come prematurely. I’m sure it’s just because it’s the first time you’re using a toy like this. Just start moving and if you come, you come. I’ll give you another show with my better vibrator, then, so neither of us are losing here.”

He groaned, but started up a slow pace, grinding as far as he could into you just to make sure you felt the vibrations against your clit. You did.

“This is – this is really nice,” you breathed, and that was an understatement. Sex with Sam was good – you were always satisfied – but there was something about a vibe that satisfied you in a different way, and the clash between the worlds was delicious.

He grunted in response, picking up his pace a little bit. You could tell he was faltering, though – the two-way stimulation probably fucking with his attention – so you pushed on his shoulder.

“Roll over, baby, I wanna ride you.”

He went over willingly, croaking out an appreciative thanks through gritted teeth, sighing at your weight and not stopping his hands from wandering all over the skin you had to offer. “So fucking pretty, Y/N,” he praised.

“Just like you, Sammy, so pretty, so good to me,” you answered back, scratching his scalp lightly as you ran your hand through his hair to get it out of his face and he pushed into your touch like a puppy. You sank down on him, letting out a small moan when you realized you could get a stronger vibration from this position. You started a bounce and grind rhythm – drawing from the strength in your thighs to raise up and then riding your momentum forward to drag your clit across the motor.

You dropped your hand to either side of Sam’s head, the pleasure building again and prompting you to keel over so that you could use your arms to steady your torso and give more power to your hips. Sam lifted his head to mouth at your breasts, and slipped a finger down to run around the vibe, feeling your lift-drop-grind pattern in real time.

“I was thinking,” you panted, “that we might have to invest in a better couple’s vibe set. Maybe one of those Bluetooth ones that’ll connect to your phone. Could be fun.”

He nodded, finally finding a reprieve from the sensation of impending orgasm once his body became used to the dual sensations. “I’m gonna order it as soon as we finish here.”

“Not gonna be long,” you let him know, pausing longer to let the vibe do its thing against you. Sam noticed, and took a strong grip on your hips just as you were about to start moving again.

“No, no, you stay there,” he persuaded, bracing his shoulders against the mattress and giving a rhythm back, letting you keep the consistent pleasure of the toy and giving himself the friction from his rocking thrusts. “You almost there, baby?”

“Fuck yes,” you said, voice high-pitched and strung-out.

“Me too. I’m going to turn us back over, is that okay?” You nodded your consent and pressed your hips flush against him, trying to keep his inside you when he rolled over, and succeeded.

He kept a close-contact roll of his hips instead of a drawing thrust, keeping your pleasure from the vibe in mind.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby,” he grunted in a higher-pitched whine that told you of his impending orgasm, slick wetness infiltrating the buzz of the toy. You wanted to explain that having an orgasm directly before fucking and the additional stimulation of the vibe on your clit would do that to you, but only a whimper escaped your mouth, and he lost it, begging, “I’m – oh fuck me, I’m so close, so close. Please tell me you’re there, baby, please – please, I can’t – I can’t hold it – fuck, please.”

“Cum for me Sammy, baby, cum with me,” you whined out, walls starting to contract as you reached completion, and Sam let out a broken, grunting moan – spasming right there with you, having tried his damnedest to keep from coming before you, and released, shifting his weight onto one shaky elbow and reaching down to fumble with the switch on the vibe that was now overstimulating both of you.

You felt both his visible and auditory relief – the weight of his body that he dropped onto you and the warm exhale of his breath on your ear. He nuzzled into your neck, pressing soft, lazy kisses anywhere he could without actually moving his head.

“I’m gonna move, I promise,” he slurred against you, stroking his thumb up and down a section of your shoulder.

You returned the gesture, gently petting his hair and catching your breath. “S’okay, baby. Take your time.”

He rolled off you just a few moments later, not wanted to crush you. His hand groped down and pulled the vibrator up, stringing the rubber around his fingers so that it didn’t scrape against his cock, and pulled the condom off afterwards, tying and dropping it into the trash can by your bed and placing the cock ring right next to the bullet.

“I think we might get another use outta that thing,” Sam breathed out, digging his arm underneath your neck so that he could cuddle you to him. “Best Christmas gift ever.”

You chuckled. “Should I just toss the cookies and coupons, then?”

Sam scoffed. “And waste perfectly good food and sex? Not an option.” He wiggled deeper into the mattress, stilling for just a second before shifting again. “Oh shit, wait a second.” He withdrew himself and pulled his boxers on, searching in his pants pocket and coming up with his phone before settling back next to you in the bed and tapping against his screen.

“What is it?” you asked, turning towards him. Sam was momentarily distracted by the movement of your breasts, but then looped his arms around you so that you could participate in what he was doing. You laughed, eyes searching the page from an online sex-store outlining different selections of high-grade silicon couple’s Bluetooth vibrator sets.

“Help me choose your present?” he asked insolently.

Your smile froze. “What?”

“Your Christmas present, help me choose which one you think you’ll like best? Or two, or three – honestly, I’ll buy every single one of them if you think we’ll use them.”

You sat up straight, clutching the blanket to your chest and staring at him incredulously. “What did you have wrapped all pretty in the kitchen then?”

Sam grinned, unrepentant. “A big box of biodegradable packing peanuts that had a gift card to your favorite ice cream place. I forgot to get your present with all the recording and travelling I’ve been both doing and planning on doing, so I made a quick stop to the ice cream shop and then to the packing store and had them wrap it for me – they got a laugh out of it.”

The audacity of the man.

You harrumphed and turned away from a now laughing Sam, grumbling.

“Get the black set, it’ll match the one I already have.”

~~~

Tag list: @fleetsonfire @theweightofstardust @joshplaysthevocals

#12 days of trope-mas #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka #sam kiszka smut #greta van fleet smut #gvf fanfiction #greta van fleet fic #I accidentally found your sex toy

373 notes · View notes

perlukafarinn · 3 years

Text

so i felt really inspired by this adorable artwork by @yeesaac (though this isn’t an exact recreation)

All things considered, Dean thinks this hunt went pretty well.

It was just him and Cas and while Dean’s been worried about him since his grace started waning, Cas proved more than capable of holding his own. They got their monster, no major injuries sustained, and it even looks like they might make it back to the motel in time for Top Chef.

Then he looks over at Cas, about to congratulate him on a job well done, and that assessment immediately dies.

Because Cas is staring down at his coat and crying.

Panic grips Dean’s chest. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Cas looks up with a hangdog expression. Wordlessly, he holds up his coat, showing a huge tear on the side of it.

“Oh - okay,” Dean approaches him like he would a scared animal, and even knowing that Cas isn’t actually hurt is enough to calm his beating heart. Because, to reiterate, Cas is crying. “That’s okay, I can fix that.”

“You can?” Cas asks, sounding somehow both forlorn and skeptical.

“Yeah, ‘course. Gimme some credit, I’ve been fixing up mine and Sammy’s clothes for literally decades.”

Cas doesn’t look convinced but he shrugs off the coat and hands it over to Dean, who carefully folds it and places it in the backseat.

“C’mon, let’s get going before the cops show up.”

It’s a quiet, miserable ride to the motel. Once they get back to their room, Dean considers turning the TV on while he works but dismisses the idea - he doesn’t want Cas to think he’s not focusing on the task at hand.

He goes to his bag, gets out the needle and thread and sits down on his bed with them, folding the coat over to examine the damage. It’s a clean tear, nothing too difficult to fix.

The mattress dips and Dean glances up. Cas is sitting down next to him, crossing his legs as he makes himself comfortable on Dean’s bed.

Dean looks away, ignoring the heat rising to his cheeks, and gets to work. If Cas wants to supervise, if he must sit close enough that Dean can smell his aftershave, whatever. It’s his coat.

Even with Cas’ close presence distracting him, Dean soon falls into an easy rhythm. It’s soothing, the feel of the needle and fabric between calloused fingertips, the monotonous movements slowly calming his nerves.

“You’re good at this,” Cas says after a little while.

“I’ve had plenty of practice. These hands ain’t just for killing, you know.”

It’s meant to come out as a joke, sardonic and glib, but it feels a little too real as he says it. Hopefully Cas will let it go.

“I know that.” Of course not. “You’re a kind man, Dean. No part of you was meant for killing.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Okay, bud, lighten up. You’re gonna make me cry too.”

Another too-real joke. And oops, he shouldn’t have acknowledged that, should he?

Cas sighs. “I suppose it’s a strange thing to get so emotional over.”

Shit. What is Dean meant to say now? Why couldn’t he just have shut his mouth and kept sewing?

“It’s okay. I mean, that coat means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Cas says simply. “Mainly, at this moment, my failure as an angel.”

Shit. Dean pauses his movements, casting about for something, anything to say that doesn’t lead the conversation in an even more depressing direction.

“If I were at full power, if I didn’t need to conserve my grace, I could have mended that tear with a thought.”

There’s a long, painful silence. Dean finishes up on autopilot, running his fingers over his handiwork after tying up the loose ends. His needlework isn’t perfect, but from the outside, the damage isn’t too obvious anymore.

“Well,” he says, “it doesn’t matter. You do the best you can with what you have, and you were a damn good hunting partner tonight. Nothing happened that couldn’t be fixed, even if it took a little longer and looks a little messier.”

He startles when Cas’ hand closes over his, eyes darting up. Cas gives him a gentle smile as their eyes meet and then he’s prying the coat from Dean’s grip, holding it up to examine it. Dean blinks, warmth blooming under his collar. His hand feels branded where Cas touched it.

“I think,” Cas muses, “in this instance, I might prefer your method.”

He stands up. Dean wants to ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean but his throat feels too tight to speak, so he watches wordlessly as Cas puts the coat back on. On first glance it looks just the same as before but on closer inspection, you can see the mended tear running up one side like a pale scar.

#deancas #destiel #spn ficlet #perlukafarinn writes #i hope it's okay i tagged you and your work in this!#if not just lemme know

300 notes · View notes

verai-marcel · 3 years

Text

Of Dragons and Love (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Arthur didn't want to come to Strawberry, didn't want to help a certain sniveling rat escape his cell. So he decides to explore the town instead and runs into a mysterious woman whom he can't let go.

Author’s Notes: I’m gonna take a moment and lean hard on my heritage to pull some inspiration from an old Cantonese opera. And we're gonna leave Micah in his cell because nuts to that guy. So pretend this takes place in chapter two when Arthur was supposed to go rescue him, but decided to do a side quest instead. This was written for the RDR Mini Bang! @rdrbigbang

Tags: Arthur x F!Reader, spoilers, Chinese mythology-inspired, alternate timeline, mild exophilia, insta-love, magic, smut, HEA

Word Count: 6,378

Accompanying Artwork: @danger-r-98-5 has made some wonderful art for this fic!

AO3 Link is here.

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

Arthur stepped into the small town of Strawberry and immediately wanted to turn around. He could pretend Micah was dead. He could just bide his time and wait for him to hang.

As he rode through the small town, he passed the small jail and kept going to the visitor's center. Seeing the map of the nearby area tacked onto the wall next to the entrance, he hitched his horse and walked over to take a better look.

"Welcome to Strawberry, good sir!"

Arthur flicked a tired glance at the boisterous man before continuing his casual perusal of the map, waiting to see if he would leave. When the man remained beside him, he sighed, exasperated.

"Hullo," he said without looking at the other man.

"Are you here for business or pleasure?"

"Uh, just passin' through." It sure as hell wasn't for pleasure, and his business was his own.

"Ah, I see. Well, please keep us in mind if you ever want to spend a day relaxing in our lovely town. This hotel is the coziest in West Elizabeth," the man boasted, gesturing behind him. "And the scenic Mount Shann and Owanjila Dam aren't too far from here."

"Alright."

"And Big Valley, just past the mountains, is a beautiful place to hunt and camp."

"Uh huh."

When Arthur continued to look at the map without any further inclination towards interacting with him, the man gave up on his sales pitch. "Well, I'll be inside if you have any questions."

"Ayup."

Finally alone, Arthur focused on the path that would take him to Owanjila. He'd been meaning to do a bit of fishing and commune with nature. Seemed like as good a place as any.

Anything to postpone the reason he came here.

***

You weren't sure how you lived so long, not knowing what you were. You had been living with your mother for two decades, not knowing who your father was. Your mother didn't talk about him, and the one time you asked, she had simply said one thing.

"He disappeared."

You didn't know what that meant exactly, and she did not explain.

Until one day, on your twentieth birthday, he appeared. A large, scary looking man came to your door. Your mother paled and tried not to react, but when he held out a necklace and told her how sorry he was for leaving her alone, she broke down and cried.

You found out that when she was young, your mother lived in a small house by a waterfall that fed a large lake. There was a growing town not too far from there, where she worked as a waitress.

One day, on the other side of the lake, a group of Chinese workers made camp as they worked on the railway that was coming through town. They were not welcomed in the town by most people, but your mother took pity on them and sold them food and other groceries, for a delivery fee.

Somehow, your father had caught her eye, and they developed a secret relationship. When her parents discovered the love letter your father had written to your mother, she was kicked out of the house, without anything of hers to take with her. When your mother had gone to the camp to look for your father, it had been abandoned, the workers having left hours earlier to the next site.

Broken hearted, your mother had thrown the necklace he had gifted her into the lake and left town, moving to Strawberry and giving birth to you. You had grown up here, made friends, had a few short dalliances with boys here while you grew up.

Strawberry was a small town, but there was a creek running through it, and when you had free time, which was not often these days, you loved to follow the creek to a waterfall and watch the water. You always felt an affinity with the water, felt like it always pulled at your very soul. You had learned how to swim with ease; your mother had said you were like a fish.

Your father explained why he had left, and why he had finally come back.

"I am a Dragon," he had said. "Great-great grand-nephew of the Dragon King of the North Sea."

He was an immortal creature, drawn to the belief of his people in a foreign land, looking for something to comfort them while they worked in dangerous conditions to make money to send home to their families. He protected them, guided them, and thus, had to follow where they went. When the camp left suddenly, he had no time to say goodbye and was nearly dragged away, the pull of his people’s belief taking him with them.

But now he was free, his people having finished their jobs. They had dispersed, either leaving for China or moving to San Francisco, where other Dragon Gods held domain and took over the belief of his former followers. So he started looking for his long lost love, who still cared for him deep in her heart, and traced the thread of emotion leading back to her.

He promised to take care of you and your mother from now on, and he made good on his promise. For the past five years, he had worked alongside the two of you, making your small farm plot healthy and fertile.

It helped that he could make the sky rain whenever you needed it.

He had also trained you in your small powers. Because you had been untrained for so long, your powers were weak, but over time, and with practice, they grew steadily stronger. You could breathe underwater. You could swim faster than humanly possible. And while you couldn't transform into a dragon, your hair became teal and your skin could shift into a bluish-grey tint. It was a bit unsettling the first time you did it in the mirror.

But your most favorite power of all was the ability to shape nearby water to your will. At first, you could only move a small amount of water in a mug. But over time, you could move water in pitchers, basins, buckets, barrels, and even water troughs for animals.

At this point, if you entered a pond, you could easily create ripples and small waves just by focusing on your energy and sending it outwards from you.

Five years had passed since he had come back, and you had learned so much. Your life was so peaceful now that it came as no surprise when your parents announced that they wanted to move back to their hometown. Of course something had to change; that was the only constant in life, after all.

But you didn’t want to leave. You loved Strawberry. This was your home.

Your father had let out a breath, then smiled, much to your surprise.

“Owanjila does not have a spirit to guard it, since it’s a new body of water. Perhaps… you can become its guardian.”

“But I’m half-human,” you had said.

“So is Owanjila,” he said.

You nodded and smiled. Now you knew why he had been training you so hard all these years.

***

Arthur was pleasantly relaxed for the first time in a long time. He had spent all day fishing and gathering herbs after he set up a small campsite tucked away in the thicker part of the forest. It was quiet on this side of the lake, since all the travelers would go across the dam to take in the scenery. He was glad he picked a spot that was farthest from, for he didn’t have the energy to even say hello.

With a couple of large fish, he made his way back to his campsite, cooked up a fine meal with his freshly picked herbs, and spent some time writing and drawing before looking up at the stars before he fell asleep, the campfire quietly dying as his snores melded with the rest of the night.

***

It had been three months since your parents had left you here. They had sold the small farm and used the money to help you fix up a small abandoned fishing cabin out here on the far side of the lake, where you could hunt and gather on your own, trading furs and fish in town. Ever since you had become the guardian, the fish had spawned much more frequently and grew faster than normal, keeping you well fed. You figured it was a side-effect of the lake having a guardian spirit now.

You looked at your hands; yesterday, you had tripped on a step as you walked back from town, getting some small cuts on the palms of your hands as they had scraped against the gravel. Today, they had healed so quickly that there were no scars; you had never healed so quickly before. You wondered if your powers were growing and had walked into town earlier today to send a letter to your folks, letting them know what had happened.

It was late; the moon was high in the sky, and as bright as the electric lights in St Denis. You were roused from your sleep by the pull of the moon, and knew that it was time.

You took off your clothes and set them on your front porch. Walking to the water’s edge, you slipped into the water without a sound, the liquid embracing you as if you were an old friend.

“Hello, Owanjila,” you whispered as you walked deeper and deeper until you were completely submerged. Then you transformed, your skin turning bluish-grey, your hair shifting to a beautiful teal, and your gills appearing near your collarbone. You kicked your legs and swam gracefully through the water, spinning and twirling as you joyfully moved through the water as easily as you could walk on land.

Once you reached the middle of the lake, you bolted upwards, your legs kicking in unison with such speed and power that you broke the surface easily, your body shooting into the air. You let out a whoop of excitement, for it was only during full moons that you could fly this high out of the water; you had certainly tried other times. For a moment, the starry sky and the bright moon seemed impossibly close, and you held out your hands as if you could gather them all up and hold them tight forever.

Flipping backwards, you extended your hands in front of you and dove back into the water with barely a splash.

***

“Huh, whuzzah,” Arthur muttered as he was jolted awake by the sound of someone yelling. Immediately on alert, Arthur reached for his pistol and carefully made his way out of the tent, looking around. Seeing nothing but trees and rocks after circling his campsite twice, he was about to go back into his tent.

Another yell echoed through the trees. It didn’t sound like anyone in danger, more like… elation?

His curiosity piqued, he quietly made his way towards the lake, following the sounds of the water sloshing around as if someone was swimming. Coming to the shoreline, he saw the full moon, reflected in the water, with ripples circling from the center of the reflection.

Unable to stop himself, Arthur found a nearby rock and climbed it to better see the center of the lake. Squatting down, he peered out at the water.

Something shot out of the water at breakneck speed, surprising him enough that he fell onto his ass.

For a split second, he saw everything clearly.

He saw her nude form, water glistening off her skin, the moon bathing her in a silvery light. He saw the look of ecstasy on her face as she looked up at the moon.

He saw her eyes as they met his.

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.

Then she was gone, diving back into the water like an arrow, hardly disturbing the surface.

Sitting up, he crawled to the edge of the rock and peered at the spot, waiting for her to return. Part of him wondered if he had imagined it, and part of him hoped she was real. He had felt like he had seen something so evanescently ephemeral that his heart fluttered like a child seeing fireworks. He wanted to experience that sparkling feeling again and again.

When his knees ached and his joints complained, he finally gave up, climbed off the rock, and returned to his tent. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but it didn’t come quickly as his heart continued to race. When he finally managed to nod off, his dreams were filled with a mysterious woman with an expression so filled with euphoria that he could almost taste her joy.

***

You were mortified. A man was camping around your lake and you hadn’t noticed? Granted, you were in town most of the day trying to sell some rabbit pelts, and then you had written your letter at the post office since you had run out of ink and bought some at the general store and didn’t want to walk all the way back to your cabin.

But still, you hadn’t noticed. You supposed it was because he had no ill intent. It wasn’t that you could sense people, that wasn’t how your power worked; it was more you could feel out harmful intentions. People who came and went on the dam were usually harmless tourists and you took no notice of them. But occasionally that greedy mayor would come up here and consider building some cheap cabins out on the lake as tourist traps, and you would cause the lake to be extra choppy that day, splashing water on him if you were nearby. It was usually enough to change his mind.

You stayed at the bottom of the lake, waiting long enough before you slowly swam up again, moving towards the edge of the lake before you poked your head up from the water.

He was gone.

You sighed in relief and swam back to your cabin, looking around once more before getting out and back onto your porch. Grabbing your clothes, you got inside and dried off, thinking of the man’s shocked expression.

But what came to your mind most of all was that in the moonlight, you had managed to make eye contact. In that moment, your heart had pounded like you had seen something beautiful.

Despite your embarrassment at being caught naked and in your half-dragon form, you wanted to see him in the daylight. You wanted to find out who he was, and why your heart had finally moved after all these years.

***

Arthur came out of his tent, bleary eyed as he yawned. He hadn’t gotten a whole lot of sleep, but he was, for better or for worse, used to it. The sound of a crackling of a fire and the sight of a figure sitting with their back turned was also something he was used to.

Until he realized that the fire had gone out last night and he had come to this place alone. Reaching for his pistol, he stopped when he heard her speak.

“I mean you no harm.”

Arthur, suspicious, for people who had said that to him before often would turn around and shoot him, put a hand on his pistol, but left it in its holster. Coming out of his tent and rising to his full height, he walked around to face the woman at his campfire.

When she looked up at him, he felt like he was hit with an arrow.

Those same eyes from last night met his, and he felt like the whole world slowed and became silent. All he saw was her, and he didn’t care about anything else.

***

His eyes were beautiful, like gemstones sparkling in the morning light. His hair was tousled from sleep, but it made you think of him in bed next to you. You swallowed. Why were you thinking of waking up next to him? You barely knew him!

But you couldn’t ignore the heat in your veins as your eyes traveled down his body. His very tall, muscular body. Oh gods, you felt your heartbeat quicken as you suddenly had a mental image of him climbing over you, his naked body above yours, his big hands holding your hips as he thrust—

“Can I help you, miss?” the man finally asked, his voice rough from sleep. His voice was like whiskey, flowing smoothly over your body and making you burn with need. He swallowed, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat. Oh, to lick that sun-kissed skin…

You shook your head, both in answer to him and to clear the lustful images from your head. “I’m alright, I just wanted to share your campfire.”

***

“Oh?” Arthur asked, sitting down beside her to hide his body’s reaction to meeting her eyes. When he had met her gaze, he was hit hard with desire, the sudden image of her beneath him, legs spread, her expression of ecstasy for him and him alone.

For a brief moment, he wanted to take her, to guide her to the ground and thrust wildly inside of her like an animal.

But instead he reeled himself in; he wasn’t that kind of man. He didn’t even know why he had such a visceral reaction to her. All he knew was that she was sitting here with him now, and she was beautiful. When she turned away, he felt like he was suddenly lost, and wished for her to look at him once more with those mysterious eyes. He observed her as she poked the fire with a stick, wondering what she was thinking.

“So, uh, you live around here?” he asked, berating himself immediately for such an awkward question.

“I do, just down the shoreline,” she replied.

“Oh.”

She turned to meet his gaze, and he felt it once more. A pull, stronger than any he had ever known, as if she was hypnotizing him with just one look. Unable to stop himself, he leaned in closer, her lips beckoning him.

“What are you doing?” she asked curiously.

The spell broken, Arthur quickly leaned back and sputtered, “I, uh, I don’t know, to be honest.”

The woman smiled at him, and he felt his entire world light up with fireworks.

“What’s your name?”

“Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur.”

She told him her name, and he repeated it just so he could say it out loud. He loved the way her name rolled off his tongue. He had shivered with desire from the way she had said her name.

“So you saw me last night,” she said after a few moments.

He smiled nervously as guilt wracked him. “Uh, yup. I’m sorry, I didn’ mean to peek.”

“It’s alright, I should’ve been more careful,” she said, a wry grin on her face. “Usually no one camps here.”

Silence stretched between them as Arthur wondered what he should say, if anything.

She brought up her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “And there’s not much to look at anyway,” she said self-deprecatingly.

“You were beautiful,” he blurted out suddenly. He couldn’t believe she’d think that. He wanted to burn the sight of her coming out of the water into his memories so he’d never forget.

She turned her head to look at him, and he felt the pull once more, but it was tinged with melancholy. It made his heart clench. He reached out and put an arm around her, pulling her into his chest, desperate to ease the pain. “Yer beautiful,” he repeated.

***

Surrounded by warmth, you sank into his chest and breathed in his scent. His natural musk, layered with balsam and leather, was soothing to you, made you feel safe and protected. No other man had affected you like this. Was this how your parents had fallen for each other? Was it an instant attraction?

You had been taught to follow your instincts, and something about this man made you want to keep him forever. To hold him tight and never let him go.

So you reached back out to him, wrapping your arms around his broad torso. Looking up at him, meeting his surprised expression, you leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were chapped but pliable as you pushed forward, pressing your body against his.

You were met with a startled grunt. He let you go and backed away, like a shy lady from an all too amorous man.

“Y-you barely know me,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Sorry,” you said, shrinking back on yourself. Maybe you misread him, maybe he was just saying you were beautiful to make you feel better. Maybe you were just lonely and wanted to connect with him, the first man who had made you feel something in years.

“Look,” he said, leaning forward again, “it’s not that I don’t want to, I just think, well, maybe we git to know each other a bit more first before, uh, well…” He trailed off, gesturing blandly.

You laughed. Of course. He was shy. Standing up, you reached out to him. “Will you stay a while? My cabin is small but it’ll protect you from the elements better than your tent. And it’ll be warmer at night too.”

Arthur stared at your hand for a moment before standing up on his own. “Alright. I’ll pack up first.”

***

Arthur wasn’t sure how he was convinced to stay in a cabin with a woman he hardly knew, but every time he met her eyes, everything else fell away and all he wanted was to be with her.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, maybe a few days, maybe weeks. But he had never been so content to just fish and hunt and spend time with his sweet lady. He learned about her parents, who had been small-time farmers near Strawberry before they moved to her mother’s hometown, leaving her to live on her own. When he had asked why, she had said it was because she loved it here and didn’t want to leave.

He understood why; after the first few days of just roaming the land, living off its bounty, he was quite content to just stay and forget his troubles. She would go into town and sell his furs and pelts, and when he wasn’t hunting, he would help upgrade her little cabin, fixing up small things here and there to make her more comfortable.

He had insisted on sleeping on his bedroll on the floor beside her bed, at least for now. He felt like he was working up the courage to bed her, even though she clearly had given him an open invitation to her bed.

Every night he thought about it.

And every night, he trudged to his bedroll and slept beside her bed like a faithful pet dog.

***

14 days had passed. The new moon would be out tonight, and you were itching to go for a swim.

But with Arthur here, you hesitated. He had seen you that first night, sure. But he hadn’t seen you clearly. He hadn’t seen your skin and hair color change, your gills at your collarbone, your preternaturally fast swimming.

As you stood at the end of your little fishing dock that was connected to the porch of your cabin, you sighed. Watching the setting sun streak its beautiful orange rays across the water, you internally debated if you should show him so you could freely act as the guardian once more. You had been feeling stifled as of late, only able to use your powers while he was out hunting, and only in secret in case he might come out of the forest at any given time.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?”

You smiled. He had started calling you his darling or his sweetheart after a week of gentle caresses as he walked by, or even a casual kiss on the cheek as you went into town on an errand. No matter how much he said it, you melted every time. It was endearing and charming to you, even though they were simple words. The way he said them, the love and care he put into those pet names, was everything you wanted to hear.

Turning to Arthur, you saw that he was dressed in his usual blue shirt and black ranch pants, looking concerned. Seeing the care he had for your well-being made you come to a decision. He deserved the truth of you.

“I need to show you something.”

***

Arthur swallowed as his sweet lady began to disrobe right there on the dock. He was shocked to a standstill, unable to move as he saw every inch of beautiful skin exposed to his view. His pants grew tight, his throat dry, and his internal instinct to protect surged through him.

“Darlin’, what’re you…”

He couldn’t utter another sound as he watched her usual skin shimmer and then shift to a blue-grey tint. Her hair became teal colored, and slits appeared above her collarbone.

“Gills,” she said as she pointed at them, shrugging shyly. “I’m a dragon spirit. Or half of one.”

Arthur could only nod in both shock and awe. He had suspected she was hiding something, but he would have never guessed it was something like this. He took in her form, human and yet not, familiar and yet bizarre. But still beautiful, wonderful, her.

“Do… do I disgust you?”

“No!” Arthur said, quickly taking two steps to stand in front of her. “Yer still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

Seeing her smile shyly and look away, his need to assure her only grew stronger. “That why you could swim so good?” he asked, reaching up to caress her neck, right above her gills.

She nodded again.

“What’d you mean by half?” he asked, curious.

“My father, he was a dragon, the great-great grand nephew of the Dragon King of the North Sea.”

Arthur nodded. “Oh. Okay then.” He didn’t understand what that meant, but it sounded a bit important.

She tittered. “I don’t really know how important that is either,” she said, answering the unspoken question. “But I can swim real fast, breathe underwater, and I can control water a little bit,” she said, her excitement growing with each word. She turned to the water and put out her hand.

Ripples started to appear, and they grew into small waves, rolling across the surface of the lake.

She turned back to him, a happy glow to her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re not disgusted by me.”

“I’d never be,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. His gaze traveled along her face, admiring her hair color, her bluish-grey skin, and the gills at her neck, before looking at her smile, full of self-confidence. She was radiant and it made her all the more alluring.

“You’re beautiful, no matter what.”

***

This time when you kissed Arthur, he kissed you back, unafraid, bold, confident. He quickly took over, his fingers gripping the back of your head as he pulled your body closer to his. You felt the rough fabric of his shirt sliding along your sensitive nipples and moaned softly.

He suddenly wrapped one arm around your waist and one around your ass before picking you up with ease.

“I need you darlin’,” he murmured before turning from the dock and walking determinedly towards your cabin. He maneuvered you inside and shut the door, not wanting any interruptions. Laying you down on the bed, he stepped away to light the lantern before returning to you, taking off his hat and flinging it aside.

You shifted back to your human colors, your gills disappearing.

“Yer magical,” Arthur whispered before resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, a wry grin on his face. You kissed him back, smiling in return, acknowledging his silly word choice and accepting his sentiment for what it was: a compliment. He shared your gaze for a few moments before kissing you back as he unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it open while he climbed over you. You could feel his impatience as he pressed his bare chest against yours, his kisses heating up and becoming demanding.

“Arthur,” you breathed as he moved down to kiss your neck, his lips tracing lines where your gills had been.

“Why’d I wait this long,” he muttered, mostly to himself, as he ran his fingers from your hip up your belly. His touch was feather-light, almost ticklish as he skimmed the underside of your breast before tracing circles around your areola.

You writhed, whimpering softly. He looked at you, keeping his gaze locked with yours as he leaned down and took your nipple into his mouth.

"Oh, yes," you moaned as his tongue played with you, distracting you just long enough for his other hand to caress the inside of your thighs. You parted your legs eagerly.

You felt Arthur smile against your skin before he switched to your other breast, giving you the same pleasure as his hand slid between your legs, his fingers exploring your slit.

"This honey fer me, darlin'?" he asked in a low, husky voice.

"All for you," you whispered.

He let out a soft growl of satisfaction before dipping a finger inside of you. Your hips lifted up towards his touch. Moving away from your breast, he kissed his way up your neck, to your cheeks, then to your lips once more. He took his time tasting you, his tongue languidly caressing yours as his fingers delved inside of you, his thumb brushing against your bud, each stroke driving you higher and higher towards your peak that was approaching rapidly.

You moaned his name, muffled as it was by his mouth on yours. He growled in return, pumping his fingers faster, his thumb stroking you with determination.

"Ah, ah, Arthur!" you cried out as you climaxed. As you felt the pleasure zip through your veins, you buzzed with power for a moment before it faded.

You didn't have time to think about it, for Arthur climbed off the bed and took off the rest of his clothes. He was such a big man, with muscles from hard work, scars from a rough life, and a dangerous grace to him. He had power and knew how to use it.

And right now, he wanted to make you release over and over again.

He climbed over you, just like in your fantasies, and spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist. Taking his hard length in his hand, he slid the tip around your entrance, slicking himself up as he watched you tremble beneath him.

"You sure 'bout this, darlin'?" he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice, as if he was holding back. He didn't stop sliding the head of his cock along your slit, up and down in a slow rhythm.

"Yes, yes please Arthur, just take me!" you begged. He was driving you mad with his gentle strokes. You lifted your hips up, causing the tip of him to slip inside.

"So needy, sweet girl," he crooned before he pushed forward, driving himself deeper inside of you.

You writhed and winced as your body stretched around his girth. He was sweating, holding himself steady as he waited for you to regain your breath before inching forward some more. Patiently, Arthur watched your every reaction, taking great care to control his movements until his hips finally came flush with yours.

He murmured your name, his lips brushing against yours before he kissed you. His hands cradled your face as he grinded against you, the heat of his body warming you up like a thick quilt. Deepening the kiss, he angled your head so he could devour you. A low moan escaped him as his hips shifted, building a steady rhythm of short thrusts.

"More, Arthur," you said when he finally let you take a breath.

"I'll give you whatever you need," he replied before lifting himself up, letting the cool air touch your body. He pulled his cock out almost all the way and waited for an eternal moment while he stared into your eyes, the lust blowing out his pupils.

Then he slammed back inside of you.

Your pleasure-filled yell was stopped short by Arthur's swift uptick in pace. He was hammering his cock inside of your tight, wet channel, and he couldn't get enough. Not saying a word, he only moaned and panted as he drove into you relentlessly, taking just a split second to adjust his angle before continuing.

"So good," he moaned before he got up onto his haunches, taking your hips in his big hands, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fucked you like a man possessed. He growled, a feral sound of pleasure, before he reached down and stroked your clit.

"Need… to… see… you… let go…" he panted.

You tightened your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts with your own enthusiastic motions, reaching for your breasts and playing with your nipples before him.

"Oh darlin', you look so pretty like that," he grit out, his face contorted in an effort to control his desires. He was so close. So very close.

"Give me everything!" you gasped, your body shaking, on the edge of a precipice so high that you almost felt fear.

Feeling your body grip him so tightly, Arthur let out a passionate shout before he spilled inside of you. His eyes were wild as he stared at you, his mouth open as he drew in breath after ragged breath. He moaned as he thrust one last time before crushing his hips to yours, keeping his shaft inside of you for as long as possible.

As he spent himself inside of you, you felt your core suddenly overflow with ecstasy, your body shuddering as you came around his thick cock. At the same time, your power unleashed, making your body glow a bluish hue.

"Darlin'!?" Arthur panicked, sounding winded, his brow creased with worry.

The power that had unlocked within you gave your vision a strange overlay of colors. And within the warm orange glow of Arthur was a black cloud in his chest. You reached out through the haze of your afterglow and pulled at it.

He gasped and coughed.

You pulled again. Now that you had touched it, you knew it was bad. It needed to get out of his system before it did permanent damage.

Arthur grasped his chest. "What…" he trailed off as he coughed a few more times before you managed to heave out the black cloud from his lungs. You quickly quashed it in your hands.

Looking up at him, you put your hands on his cheeks and kissed him, pouring the last of the glowing power inside of him. On some instinctual level, you knew you had healed him of something. Whether it was an old lingering illness or a new one that was just about to form, it was now gone from his system.

When you finally pulled away, Arthur looked bewildered. For a few seconds, or a few minutes, you weren’t sure how slow or fast time was flowing, the two of you could only stare at each other, lost in that foggy place between dreams and reality.

"What'd you pull outta me?" Arthur finally asked, still a little breathless.

"Something bad. An illness, I think,” you replied. You took a deep breath before squeezing his hand. “Whatever it was, it will no longer hurt you."

Arthur smiled and pressed his forehead against yours. "Thank you, sweetheart."

***

Arthur left a day later, telling you that he'd be back once he had taken care of some people.

You didn't see him for a long time.

Four months passed before you saw him again. He looked ragged, skinnier, as if he had been through hell and back. But when he saw you, he rushed over and fell into your arms, holding you tight as if you were the only real thing in his world.

***

He told you everything. He confessed that he had been the one to help that criminal escape and shot up the town. That he had been chased all over three states with his gang. That he had stolen money from several trains. That he had been on a ship that had sunk and was stranded on an island for days before finding a way back.

He told you about John. He told you about how he had helped him escape the Pinkertons, had ran with him all the way down the mountain before telling him where to meet his family. Then Arthur had set off, the long way around through the wilds of Ambarino so he could lose the men who were chasing him, just so he could get safely back to you.

You saw now that his eyes were unclouded, having seen his world for what it was. You saw pain and regret in his eyes, but you also saw understanding and a clarity that was not there before. He appeared to have finally found wisdom at a heavy price.

After he had told you everything, you cooked him a meal of steamed fish and herbs. He ate quietly, as if his confession had stolen all of his words from him.

He finished his meal and sat in silence for a few minutes before looking towards you. "I ain't a good man—"

You shushed him. "You are more good than not, Arthur," you said. "We all make mistakes. You were just trying to do your best. That's all any of us can do."

Reaching for his hand across the table, you grasped it and pulled it to your chest, placing it over your heart. "Will you stay?"

Arthur smiled hesitantly. "You… still want me?"

You stood up and leaned across the table to kiss him. "I'll always want you, Arthur. I love you."

He kissed you back. When he looked at you, his gaze full of gratitude. "I love you too, my sweet darlin'. Thank you fer believin' in me."

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

End Notes: I had to end it on a sappy note, of course. Hope you enjoyed that little romp with some folklore!

#rdrbigbang2021 #arthur x F!reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #rdr2 #fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic

97 notes · View notes

hopelesshawks · 3 years

Text

Ash and Dust Part 6- Small Victories

18+ Dabi x fem!reader (MINORS DNI)

Summary: You first meet Dabi on the worst night of your life after unwittingly walking into the very bar the League of Villains made infamous. That should probably be the end of the story. You stumble on the remnants of one of the most infamous terrorist groups in the history of Japan, get viciously murdered or call the cops and get them arrested, the end. Except that’s not the end of the story. It’s only the beginning.

Masterlist Help Lulu (Kofi)

It’s been a month now.

A month of the worst game you’ve ever played in your entire life.

Dabi enjoys the back and forth the two of you have, that much is clear. He seems to get a sick thrill prodding you to see what elicits a quip out of you and what renders you speechless. It’s nerve-wracking constantly standing up to him, trying to navigate the line between jabs that will amuse him and those that will genuinely anger him. By now you feel you’ve got a pretty solid handle on where that line is. You’ve made an art form out of treading around it, but every so often you’ll say something particularly witty or biting and there will be a moment of silence. Those cold blue eyes will fix on you and your heart will pound in your chest. You used to identify the feeling as fear but you think it’s something else now, something you’re unwilling to put a name to. That one moment always seems to extend infinitely before collapsing back in on itself as the words sink in and you pull another amused smirk or even a full-blown cackle from the man. You don’t think he likes you per se, but there’s a persistent fascination that you’re pretty sure makes him want to keep you around. If that were the only facet of the game you think you could live with it, but there’s one more thing.

Dabi is determined to keep you unemployed.

Or perhaps more accurately he’s determined to see how long it’ll take you to give up on being employed.

Every morning for the past month you’ve attempted to get a new job and every morning for the past month Dabi has managed to fuck it up for you one way or the other. From preventing you from doing any prep work for the numerous interviews you’ve attempted to set up, to sabotaging your morning to ensure you show up late, he’s done it all. On one occasion he pretended to be your concerned husband calling to cancel the interview on your behalf, on another he’d burned all of the paperwork you’d needed to bring in to cinders. The interviewers hadn’t been very amused when you opened your manila envelope only for ash to come slipping out and onto the table instead of the requested files. The only reason you aren’t terrified of being unable to pay the rent is because of your artwork. A sentence you never thought would apply to you.

Those two retweets you’d gotten on the Deku painting you’d posted had quickly grown to twenty, then thirty, then a hundred, and then a couple hundred. A few people had even started tagging Deku himself in hopes of drawing his attention to it. The recognition had drawn people to your page and then, finding no other work there, to your dm’s, begging for copies of the painting or their very own Deku fanart. It had reached the point that a couple weeks ago you had decided to start advertising commissions and a few people had taken you up on the offer. It’s not much, but between the commissions and your savings, it would be enough to get you through this month’s rent at least.

You love creating art and it’s surreal getting to do what you love to pay some of your bills, but between spending more time slouched in front of your easel or over a sketchbook and sleeping on the couch, your back is the sorest it’s ever been. As you finish getting ready for bed, slipping into a pair of comfortable pajama shorts and an old college t-shirt, you stare at your bedroom door longingly, yearning for the comfort of your mattress. As you hear the creaking of its springs, a sign Dabi must be crawling into bed after another successful day of fucking your life up, something in you snaps. Your feet carry you into your bedroom, shoving the door open with righteous indignation. You’re a little surprised to see that Dabi is shirtless as he lies in the bed nonchalantly, brow quirking at your sudden entrance. Your eyes can’t help but wander over his chest, noting where scarred tissue is stapled to unmarred flesh but also drinking in the lean muscle on display.

“Ever heard of knocking Doll?”

The sound of his voice breaks you from your thoughts.

“Sorry what?” you ask, cheeks heating up as you realize where your mind had gone.

“I didn’t take you for a pervert but here you are, bursting into my room just to ogle me,” Dabi teases, and immediately your embarrassment from before melts into anger.

“Your room? This is my room! And that’s my bed! And I didn’t come in here to ogle you, I came to sleep in my bed in my room in my apartment!”

“I have zero intention of leaving this bed, but I don’t recall ever saying you couldn’t sleep here.”

Your eyes narrow at him. He’s so smug you want to wipe that stupid look off his face. He’s bluffing and it’s a damn good bluff but it’s a bluff all the same.

“What’s wrong, Doll? Scared to sleep next to the big bad Wolf?” he smirks and that’s the last straw.

Without a word, you storm over towards the bed and practically launch yourself into the limited space Dabi isn’t occupying. You groan appreciatively and within minutes you’re under the covers and getting comfortable. When you look up to Dabi’s face where he’s still sitting up there’s a brief moment of genuine shock and discomfort that flits across his features. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared but a smug feeling of triumph swells in your chest in response.

“What’s wrong Dabi? Scared to sleep next to your Doll?” you smirk and the amount of serotonin you get seeing the look on his face could last you a lifetime. It’s a combination of affronted at your audacity, annoyed you’d called him on his bluff, and begrudgingly impressed you’d had the courage to do it. “We both know I’m not scared of anything,” he growls. “Then sleeping next to each other shouldn’t be a problem, should it? Since I’m not scared and you’re not scared,” you fire back. “No, it shouldn’t.”

Dabi makes himself comfortable as you both stare each other down, daring the other to chicken out and move to the couch outside. Stubbornness cements you both in place though and eventually with a smug goodnight you roll over to face away from him. You hear him scoff and do the same but it feels distant as your aching body settles into the mattress and you drift off to sleep.

A/N: I am very much obsessed with the dynamic reader and Dabi are forming and really enjoy the idea of her feeling out where the line is between “I’m gonna fire back and he’ll be amused my puny ass had the tits to do it” and “oh he’s genuinely pissed and debating ending my life”

Taglist: @thechroniclesofawriter @simpsfortodoroki @ahtsuwu @oliviasslut @larkspyrr @oikawaandkuroostan @tina-98 @vibesdontlie

#hopelessad #dabi x y/n #dabi x fem!reader #bnha dabi #dabi #touya todoroki #touya x y/n #touya x fem!reader

50 notes · View notes

caffeinated-cryptid · 3 years

Text

ashes, ashes.

10.8k | AO3 link | tags/tws: intrulogical, serial killer/deity of death au, lots of death (murder, mentions of a previous suicide attempt, and brief descriptions of animal death), injury, violence, swearing, morally grey characters, crime.

““You’re not supposed to be able to see me.” Logan blurted out with a start, eyes wide and looking at Remus like he had just killed a guy in front of him. Oh wait-

“Mamma always told me I was special.” Remus replied with a woozy grin, leaving back against the cool bricks of the alleyway. Seeing things that weren’t there was a new level of fucked-up for his brain, but hopefully that was just a side effect of hitting his head and not something he’d have to take pills for later. Either way, at least this spectre was pretty to look at. Trauma had its benefits.

“You think a deity of death is pretty?” Logan asked wryly, cutting through the stream of subconscious babble he’d accidentally spilled into the frigid night air. “I’d be flattered, if that didn’t sound like such a red flag.””

(aka: remus chases death like it's his favourite pastime, since it means he gets to see logan again. understandably, logan has some objections to this.)

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

Case 1: the man in the alley.

The first time Remus and Logan met, it was more or less a complete accident.

As a part-time warehouse operative slash freelance artist, Remus had a lot of free time between jobs, and one of the things he enjoyed doing most while waiting for his next gig to come around was spray-painting obscene images into the side of alleys.

His latest project was a 7-foot tall purple unicorn with generous proportions. Pretty tasteful by his standards, all things considered.

If nothing else, the piece of work would give passers-by a topic of conversation, and that was always something Remus aimed to inspire with his art. These topics, however, often happened to be the ‘why’ variety. Most commonly, the old classic (and his personal favourite): ‘why are you like this?’.

Regrettably, the evening passed pretty quickly with no curious pedestrians passing by his alley and starting up such a conversation. By the time Remus finished, it was past midnight and by now the only people around were the regular nightlife-- primarily the local college kids who had recently come home and were enjoying their break from classes, and adults like himself who were trying to chase away their loneliness with some other kind of high.

...Woo, and that’s enough depressing thoughts for tonight. Remus declared to himself. After all, he had a new piece to admire! Stepping back, he spent a moment taking in the completed artwork by the light of his phone’s torch before deciding it was as perfect as it could get. He’d come back later and get a picture during the daytime to show off to his friends, so for now he begun preparing to leave by packing his paint cans into his backpack.

It was when he had collected the last can of magenta from the ground that he felt something grab the back of his coat hood. Remus had no time to process the fact that someone had snuck into the alleyway before he was shoved against the same wall he'd painted his mural on, coming face-to-face with a hooded man waving a rather pathetic-looking pocket knife at him.

“Give me your money. Now.” The man demanded.

Remus blinked in delayed surprise. Usually he was the one being the creep in the alleyway. He had never expected to come across an actual creep. Heck, this situation felt like it was pulled straight out of an old PSA with how stereotypical it was.

“What?” He blurted out unthinkingly, because of that exact train of thought.

“You heard me! I want you to get your wallet and hand over everything you’ve got.”

What an unfortunate victim this man has chosen.

“You think I have any money to my name? I’m practically the starving artist every parent warns their kid about becoming.” Remus said with a huff of amusement.

“Don’t try to bullshit me!” The hand clutching the front of his coat tugged him forward before violently slamming him back against the bricks. The back of Remus’ head ricochetted off them roughly with the sudden movement, and the small grin he had been wearing quickly faded with flash of pain and the realization he may actually be in trouble.

“I saw the paint you’ve got in your bag,” The man continued over his dawning concern. “Somebody who’s broke wouldn’t have all that.”

Remus’ thoughts halted for a second. His bag…! He knew the paint can he was holding onto for dear life wouldn’t do much in the way of self-defense given that it was practically empty, but a whole bag of them? Hitting this guy with that much weight would make him think twice about trying to stab him, at least.

“Okay, okay. You got me, I’m rich as hell. Just let me get it, alright? My wallet's in there.”

The man gave him a skeptical look, but stepped back slightly, continuing to hold the weapon in his direction. “I know how to throw knives. Try to run and you’ll have a hole in your back quicker than an onset stroke.”

Yikes, and Remus thought he was bad at metaphors. He didn’t even need Virgil here to tell him that that made no sense. Still, he grinned placatingly. “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye: I won’t run.”

Finally, bad-metaphor guy let down his guard and allowed Remus to side-step around him. He walked a few paces towards where he dropped his backpack in his initial shock, putting the magenta spray in before he picked it up by the straps. True to his word, he didn't run; instead he swung around on his heel, slamming the full force of his hardback sketchbooks and cans of spray paint into the face of the hooded man.

He instantly dropped his knife, falling backwards and clutching his nose as blood erupted from it. Under the low-lighting of the street lamp, Remus was transfixed for a second, feeling like he was in one of those gritty r-rated movies he watched with his babysitter as a kid. The moment was ruined when he realized that 1) the man was approaching again very quickly, and 2) he couldn’t get the momentum quick enough to swing his bag around and hit him a second time.

Before he knew it, Remus had accidentally let go of the makeshift weapon when he was tackled to the ground, wind completely knocked out of him as the two of them collided against cobblestone moistened with rain.

“You fucking bastard.” The guy hissed furiously. His voice was nasally now that his nose was crooked and broken-looking, and Remus almost wanted to poke fun of him for it until he felt two hands wrap around his throat and start to choke him. “‘Could’ve just made things easy, but now you’re gonna die with all the other trash.”

Why? Remus wanted to ask. Over the 7 dollars and 15 cents he had?

But as he tried to tear away the vice grip on his neck, he couldn’t find the voice to talk back, even though the seriousness of the situation was hitting him like a freight train. Maybe it was his own fault for escalating things instead of playing along. Go figure, he had overestimated his own abilities after years being the off-putting one; the person others thought they had to watch over their shoulder for. Either that, or maybe it was the fact that his wallet carried more sentimental value with it than monetary. It was small and made of orange ducktape, but it carried so many things that Remus wanted to protect; a photo of his family, one of Virgil's guitar picks, the ticket to the last Tenacious D he went to, and of course, the receipt for his first condom purchase.

His mind flashed to his friends and family, and he wondered how they’d feel about this; him dying because of some dumb robber in a dumb alleyway because he was painting his dumb artwork. That was hardly the kind of death one could look back on and regard with pride (Hell if it wasn't funny to imagine how everyone will react to the news, though). But as he focused on the face above him, he realized with some panic that the grip wasn’t loosening, even as he could feel his lungs burn and a near-soothing feeling telling him to just let go.

As a final act of desperation to save himself from becoming a wholly embarrassing funeral eulogy instead of having a rockstar’s death in his 40s like he always imagined for himself, he patted the ground frantically, looking for a loose rock or something to stop this with. That’s when he felt it; the slightly warm plastic handle of the knife the guy had been holding. Remus’ heart pounded as he realized what he needed to do, and he barely even considered the repercussions of the action before he was plunging the knife into the side of the guy’s neck.

Finally, the grip around his throat loosened as the guy gasped, his expression flickering back and forth between anger and shock. Remus ripped the knife away, inhaling air greedily when the sudden action caused the man to loosen his grip and move off of him, trying to cover the stab wound with his hands and failing.

Remus quickly scrambled back and pulled himself up the wall, watching and waiting for the guy to fall still. He did, after what felt like a few minutes, and Remus didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. He’d just killed a man. It was self-defence, but still… even the morbid thoughts he had over the years couldn't have prepared him for what it would have actually felt like to go through with any of it.

In that moment of pause, his injuries caught up with him as both his head and neck begun to ache. He was so disoriented that he barely even noticed the third person standing in the alley until they spoke up.

“Well. I didn’t see that coming.”

Remus snapped his head towards the source of the voice, and immediately regretted it when the hasty motion made him dizzy. The only reason he didn’t immediately jump into fight mode was because of the unusually casual way the voice had spoken. Beyond that, the figure he saw standing a short distance away didn’t really… look like a regular person. Beyond the odd formal clothing that had no discernable modern style to it and the shock of white hair that could only be achieved with hella bleach, his skin was a cool grey like a cadaver and he had a ghostly appearance to him; transparent and misty around the edges.

Definitely not the sort of thing Remus expected to see, but he was always one to accommodate the unexpected.

“...You and me both. My only goal for today was to draw unicorn porn.” Remus replied lightly, once he decided it wouldn't hurt to entertain whatever was currently happening.

The figure turned, startling at the sight of Remus staring directly at him.

“You’re not supposed to be able to see me.” He blurted out with wide eyes, looking at Remus like he had just killed a guy in front of him. Oh wait-

“You think a deity of death is pretty?” The man (deity???) asked wryly, cutting through the stream of subconscious babble he’d accidentally spilled into the frigid night air. “I’d be flattered, if that didn’t sound like such a red flag.”

"I can't believe my own brain is kinkshaming me." Remus whined, slipping down slightly as the worn-down soles of his boots lost their grip on the concrete for a second.

Death frowned, until a metaphorical lightbulb lit over his head. "Ah- you think you're hallucinating. Well, that's not an unfair assumption. Keep believing it, by all means."

"That doesn't sound like something a hallucination would say." Remus pointed out.

"Well then, I'll gladly prove my non-existence by disappearing." Death said as he took a step towards the body.

"Wait!" Remus called before he could figure out why. The ghostly figure stopped, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Remus’ composure slipped as his eyes darted between the body and Death. "I...I need to know that this is real. That I'm not making this up. This feels like something I'd dream, but…"

His hand clenched around the knife, feeling the squelch of blood and the tremor of his hand. Despite the mixed signals he was currently getting on the state of his sanity, it felt solid and real, and Remus wasn’t sure what to make of that.

"Fuck. Please tell me! Am I being as messed up as usual or did I really just kill someone?"

Death’s eyes softened. "You did. This is real."

"Well shit. Okay…" Remus looked back at the body with a deep resignation. He wondered if he should do something about that. Probably not; that would look even more incriminating.

"...If it makes you feel better, he has hurt people in situations like this before, and completely unnecessarily; his only motive was to achieve a rush.”

That did make Remus feel better, actually.

"Good. I’m glad I killed a piece of shit and not someone down on their luck." Remus sighed, eyeing the spectral figure. "Speaking of, if this is real, then I guess that means you are too right?"

Any sympathy on Death's place quickly faded as he was caught out. "Erm-"

"It's cool." Remus leaned his head back again. "Talking to a cute ghost man? Sounds like a typical Thursday night for me."

Actually, this was the furthest thing from a typical Thursday night for Remus, but he didn’t want to admit that to the cute ghost man and risk looking uncool.

"You shouldn't get acquainted with it. Seeing me is hardly a good thing." Death replied, though his cheeks were distinctly a darker grey.

"Aww- don't sell yourself short. I love your work!" Remus waved away vaguely. He always had a strange relationship with death in a way that others didn’t; always the first to laugh at a funeral or smile instead of grieve. That was probably why he felt so comfortable right now. “Besides, we’ll all be food for the dirt and worms eventually, anyway. Why get uncomfortable with it?"

Death met his eyes again, seeming slightly more firm. “Perish those thoughts, it's hardly your time yet."

Remus pouted. "It's still inevitable, though. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy I didn’t die today and got to meet you instead, but what’s so bad about something that’s going to happen either way?”

“I’m starting to think I was right by judging your attitude as a red flag.” Death muttered.

“But I'm right aren't I?” Remus prodded.

“Indeed.” Death begrudgingly conceded. “And do you know just how inevitable it is? Approximately 2 people die per second; 106 per minute. There have been 6435 events of armed conflict in the past year alone, and over 690 million people who are undernourished as we speak. Beyond that, there are even more people losing their lives to case-by-case natural events and incidents. So if you’d be so kind, do not be so eager to create more work for me.”

Remus absorbed that information, tilting his head. “Despite all that, you’re still here?”

“...I am.” Death agreed after a heavy pause, in the same manner most would admit their own defeat. “I’ll admit, I’m not used to… talking so much. It’s an unusual feeling, but it’s been pleasant, I suppose.”

“Death likes my company.” Remus laughed. “That’s gotta be saying something.”

Death rolled his eyes. “My name is Logan, not Death.”

“Huh. I’m Remus.” Remus replied, a little baffled. He didn’t expect a deity to have such a normal name.

“Remus ‘Tsukio’ Kaneshiro, I already know of you. We’ve met before.”

Remus’ bafflement only grew. “We have? I think I’d remember meeting someone like you.”

“You wouldn't; you were unconscious. It was after you overdosed on cold medicine. Thankfully your parents got you to the hospital on time before I could do my job, but I remember it being a close call.” Logan looked at him knowingly.

“...Oh.” Remus laughed nervously. He definitely remembered that. Finding out you could overdose on a lot of common household items was pretty dangerous for him to learn as a teenager, and he’d never forget how furious his entire family was with him for being so reckless. He never knew how to tell them that it wasn’t quite the accident they assumed it to be (needless to say, his adolescent years were pretty shitty to him, being the outsider in this town in more ways than one). Thankfully, the taste of cold medicine had become too repulsive for him to try anything like that again.

“...I am glad you’re alright. It’s always unfortunate when a life ends too soon.”

“Well…thanks. This has been pretty trippy, so I’m glad I met you too, Logan.”

Logan hummed and looked towards the end on the alleyway. “By the way, you should think about leaving soon. There’s a group of people approaching us.”

Shit, Remus had almost forgotten that he had just committed a crime. Given how awful this scene looked, there was a big chance he’d get thrown into jail for this if he got caught. But at the same time, he was almost hesitant to leave behind the spectre that had enchanted his heart within a few minutes, even if his mind was still trying to catch up with the overload of information.

“Why would you help me?” He asked quickly and somewhat suspiciously.

Just as Logan finished his business with the body, he looked at him over his shoulder with an almost sly expression. “You seem interesting, Remus. I’d hate for you to lose your life over someone so unworthy of one.”

And with that, Logan disappeared like a cloud of fog. Remus stood there transfixed, until he remembered Logan’s warnings and snatched up his bag, shoving the knife into his pocket and dashing into the night.

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

Case 2: the man who couldn't leave well enough alone.

The next time Remus and Logan met, it was slightly less of an accident, but fuck if the guy didn’t deserve it.

When Remus got home after the night he first saw Logan, he was more grateful than ever that he lived in such a run-down part of town. There were barely any security cameras to look out for, let alone people who were willing to be out during the early hours of the morning.

He was able to slip into his apartment complex unseen, avoiding his early-bird roommate long enough to wash away his crimes in the shower.

After that, he fell into his bed, completely unable to process everything that had just happened. So instead he fell asleep and left the deep thinking to his future self.

As expected, he needed plenty of time to collect his thoughts. First of all, he knew he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing because after weeks and months of taking it as easy as possible, he hadn’t seen anything else as strange as a personification of death named Logan. Logan...what kind of name even was that? It felt like the name of a teacher, not something that should be as grim and macabre as Remus himself.

But that was the other thing; Remus couldn’t get the thought of Logan out of his head. He was like the angel who had come down to bless him in a moment of weakness, saving him from further misfortune. He knew he had little to no chance of seeing their deity again, but that didn’t stop him from plaguing his mind constantly.

Remus figured the best chance he’d probably get at seeing Logan again was to become involved with death once more. His mind immediately jumped to animals, the easiest targets; he pictured slipping into a farm late at night and slitting the throat of one of the sheep, going to a pet store and buying a hamster for the night before ‘accidentally’ leaving it in a box to suffocate, picking up a stray from the street and snapping its neck quickly. But just as soon as those thoughts came to him, he waved them away with a grimace. He wouldn’t be able to go through with any of that, even for Logan.

People had always talked about him like he was a serial killer in training. They would keep a wary eye when he picked up sharp objects and ask his brother if Remus had ever hurt one of their pets as kids, as if because he had unconventional ideas, he was a complete sadist towards the innocent. (And yes, perhaps he did have thoughts of that nature too, but they’d always fill him with sickness because he fucking loved the pet dogs they had as kids, damn it). In any case, he knew that going through with those ideas would only be proving those people right, that he was a dangerous individual who’d murder an innocent creature just for someone his brain maybe made up.

...Perhaps he was losing his mind after all. What was he doing, plotting out the best way to see Death? If anyone else could hear his thoughts, they’d think him half-mad or suicidal. It seemed like the best thing so do was to try to push this out of his mind, so eventually, that's what he did. He wasn’t so good at that usually; his mouth ran a mile a minute and the people who knew him would often say that his brain-mouth filter was non-existent. But this felt like something he’d like to keep for himself, especially when news of the murder made it onto the local news, presumed to be the outcome of ‘gang activity’ simply because the victim was successful and had a loving family and what else could explain this?

He decided to not think about making plans anymore, and he only thought about Logan when his mind was otherwise unoccupied. It stayed that way until the very next week when he found out about the situation with his roommate’s ex.

Remus didn’t have many people in the world who were willing to put up with him, but the one’s that did, he cherished dearly. So when Nadia, the woman he’d describe as belonging among the Valkyries (if only she could get past her deal of not wanting to hurt a fly), came to him looking uncharacteristically shaken and upset, Remus felt something in him snap.

She told Remus about how her ex-boyfriend was following her to her workplace and making threats on her life. He’d even begun showing up outside their apartment late at night in an attempt at intimidation, and that detail alone pissed him off considering he’d been too in his head to even notice.

“All because I decided I deserved better.” Nadia told him tearily. She was so strong usually, both physically and emotionally, so seeing her so close to crying felt like a punch to the gut. “I just want for him to be gone… But James would probably kill me before I could even file a restraining order.”

“What if he was gone?” Remus blurted out. “Hypothetically.”

Nadia blinked at him, wiping a stray tear. “Honestly? I think the world would be a better place. But that’s never going to happen.”

Remus nodded. “Right. Of course. Do you still have his number, by any chance?”

Remus’ plan was simple: Nadia would call her ex and ask him to come over to ‘reconcile’, and when he did, Remus would confront him. Scare him enough to stay away for good. He was pretty great at being intimidating when he wanted to that the both of them assumed it would work out.

Well, James came as planned. Their apartment complex had one massive security flaw in that anyone could get in without keys or permission, so the only clue Remus got that James was coming was the sound of footsteps bouncing off the walls of the stairwell. Remus stood upright and waited, until he saw the top of James’ head slowly ascending up the stairs, pausing on the second-top step.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” James scoffed disbelievingly as Remus moved in front of him. “Did Nadia seriously send out the guard dog? What? Suddenly too afraid to talk for herself?”

Remus considered barking at him in response, but considering how James was way above the common creep in terms of persistence, he crossed his arms instead and glared steadily.

“Hell yeah she did. You should know why, given how much of a low-life asshole you’ve been acting all week. When are you going to give up the big guy act, huh? Curley called and he wants his complex back.”

James, in all of his 5-foot-no-thoughts glory, only squinted as the insult went over his head.

“...I knew I never fuckin’ liked you. Don’t get involved in our relationship, you little freak.” James tried to pass him, and Remus quickly blocked him, taking out the knife he’d stolen months ago.

“Take another step and this is going in your goddamn eye.” Remus raised his voice, confident that most of their neighbours were already out at work. “You’re not going near Nadia ever again, do you hear me?”

“Or what?! What’ll you do, Kaneshiro? Stab me? Put the toothpick away and step aside, for god’s sake. This is embarrassing, even for you.”

The two of them stood in a standstill, staring each other down as the echo from James’ exclamation faded out.

“...Fine.” Remus said finally. He slipped the knife back into his pocket, and James smirked smugly until Remus grabbed the front of his shirt instead. “It’ll be more fun to do this, anyway.”

With that he shoved James backwards, who quickly lost his footing and fell down the long and narrow flight of stairs. He tumbled for few moments, hitting each step, until he landed on the ground floor with a distant thump.

Remus stared after him, preparing for James to get up and start making a scene like he always did when he didn’t get his way. He didn’t.

Frowning, Remus descended the stairs, and as he drew closer to the slumped-over body, he noticed the puddle of blood around James’ head and the odd way he’d landed.

“Damn.” Remus commented under his breath. “Nadia’s going to kill me.”

He heard a sigh somewhere ahead of him, and fearing someone had walked in on his compromising position, Remus quickly glanced up, excuse at the ready.

“It was an accident-!” He exclaimed, before he realized it was Logan standing there, looking between James and Remus with a pinched expression.

“I know you pushed him, Remus. That’s not exactly what the law would define as an ‘accident’.”

For a second, Remus was starstruck (and opting to ignore the consequences of his actions). “You remember me.”

“Of course I do. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, though.”

That almost sounded like an accusation, so Remus held his hands up defensively. “Hey, in my defence he was just asking to die. The dude's a dick!”

Logan sighed. “Regardless, you shouldn't go around killing people. Sooner or later you’ll get caught.”

“Well, I’m 1 for 1 so far! But if you’d rather me not get in trouble… Have any tips on how to cover this?” Remus joked, winking.

Logan frowned at him before he truly considered it, looking around at the scene thoughtfully. “...Double check to make sure you left no evidence. Move quickly, before anybody stumbles across the scene. And if you have time, plant something which will make this look more like an accident-- for instance, a spill on the stairs.”

Remus’ eyes widened. “I wasn’t expecting actual tips. Holy shit- okay.”

He went over to check the body, feeling his cheeks heat up. He absolutely should not be getting flustered over advice on how to cover up a murder, yet here he was.

“I feel like you shouldn’t be encouraging this.” Remus said jokingly as he smoothed out the creases on the front of James’ shirt. “Didn’t you say something about having more work to do? Who knows, you might be giving me a new hobby.”

Remus laughed. Logan didn’t. When he glanced up, the deity was frowning.

“Perhaps not. Forget what I said; I shouldn’t be interfering in matters like this. I shouldn’t even be appearing to you now.”

“Woah, woah, woah. What’s the matter? I thought you liked talking.” Remus hastily stood upright, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I- regardless of my personal feelings, I have a job to do. I can’t allow myself to become so partial over one human.” Logan replied, rubbing at the crease between his eyebrows.

“Why? What’s the worst that could happen?!” Remus argued.

“You could cheat death, for starters.”

“You already know how I feel about that.” Remus whined. “I’ll off myself when the time comes, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Don’t-” Logan exclaimed, before he reigned himself back in. “Just. No. You’re supposed to go naturally. Neither you or I should interfere with that.”

Remus frowned. He wasn’t so sure he liked the thought of such a boring death. If anything, he wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. Otherwise, he’d be just another body no one would remember-- like loverboy over there.

“That means no more meetings like this.” Logan continued on.

“But what if I want to see you again?” Remus muttered. He looked across the room to Logan and found him wearing a similar downtrodden expression, until it grew serious.

“You’ll just have to deal with that, because we were never supposed to meet in the first place. I have a duty to fulfil and you have a life to live. Our paths are as parallel as can be.”

“This is bullshit, Logan.” Remus said, but he didn’t argue any further. Not when Logan walked around him to complete his business. Not when he prepared to leave, either.

“Don’t do this again.” Logan said finally, giving him a stern glare. “I mean it.”

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

Case 3: the woman in the streets.

The next time Remus and Logan met, Logan was starting to think Remus was making a habit of this after all.

In Remus’ defence, he totally wasn’t.

Logan’s parting words just wouldn’t leave his head. It was even worse than last time; the knowledge that he could kill anyone and get to see Logan again plagued him, and he found himself pulling away from his family and friends after the questioning from the police was over and done with.

They were all worried for him, but especially Nadia who knew exactly what he did and assumed it was because of the guilt that he was becoming uncharacteristically withdrawn. Although she was shocked at how things had escalated, she tried to apologize multiple times for letting Remus confront James, which he would always blow off. It wasn’t killing James that had gotten to him, not at all; in fact he was glad that prick was out of their hair. Rather, he grappled with the idea of never seeing Logan again, one of the few people who truly saw the worst sides of him and accepted them nonetheless.

He didn’t deal with it well.

The night of their next meeting, Remus was out drinking alone. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but he didn’t want to justify why he wanted to get absolutely wasted to his friends, so being sad and lonely for one night it was.

He had stumbled out of the bar late at night, beginning his unsteady trek home since he had accidentally spent too much money and couldn’t afford an uber to drive him back. Stepping onto the street a couple blocks from his apartment, everything was quiet until the person ahead of him crossed the road, just as a car sped around the corner and knocked them over with an awful crunch.

Remus stood in shock. He looked after the swerving car to get the licence plate, but it was already too late and they had hit the gas upon noticing him. Swearing, he stumbled over to the person left in the road.

“Shit- Are you alright? Of course not, you need an ambulance.” He was struggling to unlock his phone when he noticed how still the person-- a frail old woman-- was. It didn’t even look like she was taking breaths, though it was hard to tell through his swimming vision and the thick coat she was wearing.

With unsteady fingers, Remus pressed against the pulsepoint on her neck, and felt the moment her heartbeat stopped.

“Oh…”

And then he turned on his heel and threw up.

Death wasn’t supposed to bother him like this. He had always been proud of his ability to frighten others with his dismissive attitude towards life’s eventualities. But this was different. He had just watched the murder of a complete stranger right before his eyes, and there wasn't even anything he could do. What the fuck?

He didn’t even feel better when the person he’d been longing to see all night appeared right in front of him, arms crossed and ready to give a lecture.

“Again, Remus?! What did I tell you?! No more murder!” Logan threw his hands up at the sight of Remus next to the body, that was until he noticed the cause of death and Remus’ sickly appearance,

“I-I didn’t do anything this time, I swear. Logan I promised myself I wouldn’t.” He picked himself out of the gutter he had been puking into, trying to look at the deity, just so he could feel some sense of reassurance. “I thought I’d never see you again. ‘Thought I was okay with that, but I’m not. I missed you.”

Logan only stared at Remus when he began crying. He was a sappy emotional drunk when he got through the fun tipsy phase, sue him.

“...I apologize for yelling at you.” Logan said, awkwardly hovering his hand over Remus’ shoulder until it shuddered with a sob and accidentally brushed against him. Remus jolted at the cool touch, as did Logan, who quickly retreated his hand, eyes darting around worriedly.

“‘Always thought you’d be like mist.” Remus slurred, awestruck enough to forget his sadness. He reached forward to prod at Logan, who furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully.

“I… Yes, that’s definitely strange.” Logan cleared his throat and straightened up. “In any case, you need to get off the street, report this incident, and go home. Being around so much death isn’t good for your mental health.”

“Maybe.” Remus sighed. “I quite like hanging around you, though.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re drunk. You’re going to feel a lot worse about seeing me in the morning, I promise.”

“I never feel bad about seeing you.” Remus said, picking up his phone from where he’d dropped it. “I only feel bad that it’ll be a long time before I get the chance to see you again.”

“...I don’t get it.” Logan replied softly after a heavy pause. “You shouldn’t want to see me at all. I’m a bad omen. You’d only ever get to meet me in times of tragedy.”

“‘Bad omen’... And I thought Emo was dramatic.” Remus chuckled weakly. “You’re not so bad, Lo. You guide people to the end. You care for them even when you have so many people to watch over. You’re opinionated and you’re easily curious when things don’t go to plan. You don’t mind when I’m weird and you’re fun to talk to. I like you.”

Logan blinked rapidly with surprise, clutching his chest. “I wish we could be having this conversation away from the recently deceased. But... I suppose I feel the same way. I still don’t know how or why you can see me, but our conversations haven’t been unpleasant.”

“Death likes my company.” Remus said, smiling softly to himself. “...You’re right though. I should probably phone this in. I just wish I could remember the licence plate… Something like XQ... ugh.”

“XQR 460.” Logan supplied helpfully.

“That’s it!” Remus cheered, sloppily kissing Logan on the cheek. “Thanks babe!”

Logan floundered for a second as Remus begun calling an ambulance, struggling to regain composure. “I hope we don’t meet like this again soon. Three times over the span of a year is already too much.”

“I don’t know.” Remus looked at Logan slyly. “I’ve always had pretty bad luck.”

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

Case 4: the bad doctor.

The next time Remus and Logan meet, it’s completely coincidental and under less stressful circumstances for once.

Well, still stressful. Just for different reasons.

Roman was in the hospital because of some dumb motorcycle crash he got into, which near-gave Remus a heart attack when he heard about because he may often ask for death these days, but not like this. Never like this.

Anyway, he was more or less alive in the end. Just a broken leg and a lot of scrapes and bruises since he always refused to wear the proper protective clothing when he went riding (due to it ‘not fitting his aesthetic', apparently. Remus assumed it was pussy talk for ‘I don’t look badass enough to pull off leather’).

Remus had stopped by to visit, bringing some of the fancy name-brand crackers Roman liked since he kept complaining about how stale and awful the hospital’s ones were, and to say hello to Virgil while xe was on shift. The three of them even managed to sit down while Virgil was on break and catch up, too. Roman and Virgil seemed glad Remus was doing a bit better after his downward spiral a couple of weeks ago, even if they didn’t mention it.

After a few hours spent catching up and teasing one another, he decided to leave Roman to get some rest. His plans for that evening were to take a load off and perhaps call for some takeout with Nadia. Honest to God, he didn’t plan on looking for any trouble.

But still, trouble found him when he noticed Logan walking the halls of the hospital, following a doctor to the elevator.

Remus double-taked. Though he shouldn’t really be surprised to see Logan here in a place with so much death, it was still odd witnessing the cloaked figure walk around normal people, none of them noticing his presence.

Remus quickly jogged over. "Logan!" He hissed under his breath.

The deity startled (startled!) before turning to him, just like the doctor he was following.

"Do you need something?" The doctor said, raising an eyebrow.

"Uhhhh, nope! Just… getting into the elevator." Remus replied, stepping in and standing next to Logan.

"Why must you have such awful timing?" Logan sighed stressfully as the elevator doors slid shut. Remus looked at him, unable to verbally reply with the doctor standing right next to them. Fortunately, his unspoken request to elaborate was picked up on.

"This doctor is going down go the morgue. I was here to see a patient that died under his care, and I noticed how death seemed to latch onto him. I got curious."

Sounds like a bad doctor, if even a deity of death was interested in him. Heh, that probably said a lot about Remus too.

Logan elaborated for Remus’ misinterpreting amused expression. "Remus, he murders patients purposefully. You should not have gotten on this elevator."

...Oh. Remus looked past Logan to the doctor, who had noticed his glances.

"...Hm, aren't you supposed to be in your room? Broken leg, road burn, lacerations?" He questioned, eyes flicking down to where he assumed Remus must be injured.

"Nope! You’re thinking of my twin. I came to visit him today." Remus responded as chipper as he could manage, suddenly a lot more unnerved knowing that this apparently dangerous doctor knew about his brother.

"Ah! I see. I did wonder how you managed to grow a full moustache in a day." The man chuckled. "Twins… quite fascinating."

Uh oh spaghetti-os. "Yeah… people say we're like two unrelated people, we’re so different." Remus laughed dismissively. It didn't seem to bother the doctor.

"Interesting… Say, a partner of mine is conducting a study on the differences in the individual psychologies of monozygotic twins. I'm sure it would please her to get more data, if you'd be interested in participating. There would be monetary compensation for your time, of course."

"This is such an unethical form of recruitment. What kind of professional are you?" Logan argued in frustration. Remus almost burst into laughter on the spot from the bizarreness of the situation, but he somehow managed to turn it into an agreeable grin instead.

"Sounds good, doc." Remus said.

"What-?!" Logan exclaimed. Remus spared him a glance, hoping it would let him know he knew what he was doing. Logan didn't look placated in the slightest.

"Excellent! I'll pass the details onto your brother and we can arrange a meeting sometime this week.”

At that moment, the elevator stopped to let a few other people on. Remus took the opportunity to head out before they could reach the basement floor.

“See you later!” He called to both the Doctor and Logan.

“REMUS!”

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

Case 4.5: the dead doctor.

The next time they meet, Remus fully expects it.

Roman asks him over text why he volunteered them for a study, and Remus makes some vague excuse like ‘sexy doctor’. Thankfully, he bought it.

Before the date sent to them by the doctor, Remus decided to do his own research first. To do so, he contacted Virgil and asked for details on the man.

After copious amount of friendly jabs (like 'oooh Remus, I didn’t know tall, straight, and boring was your type'), Virgil told him his name and not much else, given that xe wasn't exactly close with the older staff member. That was fine; Remus used the information to find online profiles, where he found contact details and photos, where he found business accounts, where he found history.

After pulling a few more strings from people that owed him one, he managed to gain access to the vital records from the hospital. It didn’t take long to discover that Logan was right, there had been a spike in deaths since the doctor, a mister 'Stacey’, had begun working there. It was a mystery how no one had noticed the pattern honestly. Weren't doctors supposed to get their licences taken away after a certain number of incidents? As he begun looking through the files more closely however, he realized that the deaths were often chalked up to accidents; small things that could have been due to anything, from mistakes during operations, to the patients overdosing on their prescribed medication, to incidents days after they’ve been discharged.

As Remus closed his laptop, he begun feeling very glad he had impulsively accepted Stacey’s offer.

The meeting ended up being scheduled for Friday evening, and by the time it rolled around, Remus was fully prepared and waiting outside of the agreed location. He dialled Roman’s number, looking out to the empty parking lot and familiarizing himself with the location.

After a few rings, Roman picked up, sounding slightly agitated. “Yes, Captain Dookey?”

Remus snickered at the old nickname-- it was practically a relic from when they played pirates as children. Perhaps Roman was feeling sentimental after his accident.

“Aye aye first mate. You should know that I’m not gonna make it to the study. I already called Dr. Stacy to let him know we’re cancelling for today, so you can stay home.”

“Really Remus? I just got ready.”

“Yeah well, you’re supposed to be resting anyway. Unless you want to drop a visit by yourself that is, but Virgil told me he’s straight, soooo...”

He heard a retching sound on the other end of the line.

“No thanks.” A sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, I guess.”

“Bye, ugly.”

“Later, Rat Bastard.”

“Rats are cute, that’s not an insult. Byeee~.” Remus quickly hung up, his grin quickly fading as he took in the apartment complex.

It didn’t look like the sort of space that would house an office, but Stacey didn’t look like the type to break the Hippocratic oath either, so perhaps the world wasn’t as straight-forward as it seemed.

Slipping his phone away, Remus buzzed the number he’d been given, and it wasn’t long before the good doctor himself came down to answer the door personally.

“Remus.” Stacey almost looked surprised to see him. “Is your brother not coming?”

“Oh, no.” Remus waved a hand. “I just got off the phone with him and he told me he’s running late. He said to get started without him.”

He received a charming smile. “That works just fine. Come on in.”

Stacey led him up the stairs to his apartment, and the whole time Remus felt the weight of the kitchen knife in his pocket. When they got to the ‘office’ (which was really just a living room with minimal furnishing), he offered him a drink.

“No thanks, I’m good.” Remus said, looking around. “...Seems pretty empty in here for an office.”

“Ah… Yes, unfortunately my colleague is having renovations done in her usual space, so we’ll have to collect our data here. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

A fair enough explanation on the surface, and one his brother would probably accept if he was here, but Remus wasn’t nearly as trusting as Roman was. Nor was he as ignorant to the true purpose of this meeting.

“I see… That makes sense. Or at least it would, if I didn’t already know all about your dirty little secrets.”

Stacey glanced up from where he’d been looking for a pen. “...Pardon?”

Remus smiled back; a grin with all teeth. “You have quite a few skeletons in your closet, doc. Even for a fine medical professional like yourself.”

The doctor very carefully didn’t react to that. "My apologies, do you have the right person? To the best of my knowledge we've only spoken once."

"Yeah." Remus agreed. "And once is all it took. I found out about all those little accidents that follow you, doctor. Weird how many times your patients pass away from nicked veins and potassium chloride overdoses, hm?"

The only outward response Stacey gave was the clenching of his fists. Subtle, but Remus noticed it. "Be careful Mr. Kaneshiro, because that sounds an awfully lot like a baseless accusation. People sue for that, you know."

"I don't doubt it. But you already know it's not so baseless, don't you? You know exactly what I’m talking about, which is why you invited us here to a shady apartment late at night, no colleague in sight."

"Remus what the hell do you think you're doing?!" A familiar voice chimed from behind him.

Remus startled out of his focus, whipping his head around. "Logan?"

"Don't look at me, you ignoramus-! You met a serial killer alone after I told you to stay away?!"

"He knows my brother, I couldn't just-!"

Remus looked back at the doctor was closer now, looking down at him pitifully. "I see now. The talking to air, the erratic behaviour, the pushing your delusions onto others… you mustn't be well. It's alright, Mr. Kaneshiro, I could easily refer you to a mental health facility who will take care of you."

"Remus, you have to get out! Now!"

"I know!" He wasn’t a complete idiot, damn it! But he needed to get Stacey to confess or-

"Ah, perfect! If you wait here, I’ll go and make a call."

Remus stepped backwards, hand going to the knife in his pocket. He needed Stacey to confess, but if he didn’t-

Unfortunately, Stacey noticed his movement and quickly grabbed his left wrist, putting way too much pressure in his grip than was necessary.

"Ah-ah. I told you to stay put, didn't I? Come now, don't be difficult. I'm only trying to get you the help you need."

If he didnt-

"Let go of him!" Logan demanded to the man who couldn't hear him.

Stacey froze, feeling the cool touch of Death on his arm as Logan tried to pull him away, and at that moment Remus pulled his knife out and stabbed him in the chest; slipping the blade right between the ribs.

Red pooled around the knife, staining his crisp white shirt vividly. Stacey stared at the knife, and dug his nails into Remus’ wrist.

"Fucker." Remus yelped with pain, pulling the weapon back out.

Finally, Stacey let go and stumbled back, hitting the wall and sliding down to the floor. His expression didn't recover from the shock from when Logan touched him; he didn't even try to apply pressure to the wound as he bled out. He just sat there until the light left his eyes, and the only sound left in the room was Remus’ laboured breathing.

"I… shouldn't have done that." Logan muttered, eyeing the limp body.

"Done what? I'm the one that killed him. That was my backup plan all along." Remus replied numbly, looking at the scene he had caused.

"I gave him the touch of Death, it's- it's an omen. I'm not supposed to use it ever."

"Gee, I'm flattered. I promise murder was always on my brain though." Remus said as he took the tape recorder out of his pocket. No need for this anymore. He wanted to get a clip of Stacey saying something incriminating so that he could defame him and ruin his reputation, but well, him not being able to benefit from a reputation at all was the next best thing.

Logan watched him, taking in the claw marks across his wrist. "...Right. He scratched you, so remember to clean under his nails."

Despite everything, Remus smiled softly at the advice. "Aww, you really care about me, don't you?"

"I- no. Absolutely not. That’s absurd" Remus snickered as Logan flushed an adorable shade of paynes grey, which he hid by going to deal with the corrupt doctor’s soul.

"...Why did you show up, by the way? There isn't anyone dead in this apartment is there?" Remus realized belatedly, looking around the empty space.

"Ah… No. Admittedly, I've been keeping a closer eye on this town than I really should, and after what happened the other day, I figured I needed to be here when I noticed you two meeting… I probably shouldn’t have.” Logan conceded.

"Well, at least you can't say this wasn't a business visit." Remus giggled to himself, wiping the blood from his knife with a tissue. Maybe he was a little giddy from the endorphins of confronting a prolific serial killer, or perhaps it was the confirmation that Logan cared for him, but either way he felt really good right now, like he could take on the world.

Logan looked at him and sighed. "I should've known you'd be trouble. No more killing, Remus. This has to be the last time."

"Of course, pinky promise~."

"...I can see you crossing your fingers behind your back, you brat."

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

Case 5: the one who tried to get away.

The next time they met, Remus broke his pinky promise. No surprises there.

It was hardly even a promise to begin with, but for some reason Logan expected him to stick to it. Quite foolish, if you ask Remus, given that he now had a total of three murders under his belt, and stopping there almost felt like giving up.

Of course, he had to lay low after Stacey however. The hospital was holding a memorial for his death and Remus later found out that it was ruled a break in. (Made sense, since Remus took a few of his fancy cleaning products on the way out, as a treat to himself.)

It was a shame Stacey was being remembered so honourably, but he couldn't really do anything about that. At least he wasn't out in the world hurting more people.

But unfortunately for Remus, the ruling of Stacey’s murder didn’t stop the incident from trickling into his normal life, as Virgil and Roman seemed to grow suspicious of him. Virgil didn't bring up the topic to him directly, but xe begun acting sketchy when the two of them hung out (Though that could easily be wariness after having one of xyr co-workers be killed). Oppositely, Roman brought the topic up at the first chance possible.

"Dr. Stacey was murdered the night we were supposed to meet him." Roman commented the next day they were able to have lunch together, arms crossed confrontationally. "Funny that."

"Yeah. Sounds like we had some pretty good luck, if you ask me." Remus grinned.

"Wha- why are you smiling?! A man died!" His twin hissed at him. Under his breath, as to not alert the other tables.

Remus’ grin faded. "Listen Ro-bro, I didn't want to tell you this but our good doctor wasn't as kind as you think he is. I called you off that night to help you. Trust me. It’s better off that neither of us went through with that ‘study’."

Roman leaned back, looking unconvinced. "What were you doing instead, Remus?"

"...Huh?"

"You heard me. Where were you? What's your alibi?"

"You're not accusing your own flesh and blood of murder, are you?" Remus sipped his drink casually; ice coffee with as many pumps of peppermint syrup as the barista would allow.

"Just answer the question." Siiigh, what a tightass. How did they come out the same womb?

"I was meeting an old friend, for your information. Logan." Remus smiled to himself at the inside joke.

"Logan? You've never mentioned a Logan before." Roman raised his eyebrows.

Remus leaned back in his chair with a shrug, opting to look out the window instead. By doing so he missed the flash of complicated emotions that crossed his twin’s face at the dismissive gesture.

"I don't tell you everything about my life, brother dearest."

"Clearly…"

A week or two passed since his conversation with Roman, and during that time Remus didn't get to see Logan again once. That wasn't such a terrible thing, most people would assume, to not run into a deity of death, but Remus was so bored! He wanted to see his favourite death pal again, but no opportunities arose to do that, and nothing was striking his murder-fancy.

That was until the day he saw a familiar licence plate parked outside a shop.

Remus froze in his tracks, remembering the night he last saw that car.

A woman crossing the street, a body too still, a car speeding away with no remorse-

Remus had given the licence number to the police, but clearly they hadn't done anything about it. Or perhaps they'd tried and the asshole bought them off.

He growled at the idea, startling a passer-by who was crossing around him.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long before he found out who his ire belonged to. A familiar face left the shops and begun walking towards the car; Anton, a guy who had been a year above him back in high school. Remus’ memory of the man was vague; primarily made up of snapshots of cruelty and entitlement towards those around him.

He looked exactly the same, with his annoyingly polished appearance and ugly overpriced clothes. So he was right about the police being paid off, then. Typical.

He'd just have to do something about this himself.

“I suppose there’s no point in trying to convince you to stop this, is there?”

“I mean.” Remus begun, looking down at the body he had just finished suffocating and rubbing at his bruised arms. There was more of a struggle than tv had led him to believe. “I kinda had to do this one. What? Was I supposed to connect the dots on a murder and not stalk and kill the guy who got away unpunished?”

“Most people would say yes.” Logan groaned, in the sort of tone that said he already knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“We’re not like most people though, are we?” Remus grinned, fluttering his eyelashes.

“You’re most certainly not. I’m barely a person.” Logan replied with finality.

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

Case 6: the one who pushed their luck.

And then shortly after;

“Come on man, don’t do this.” The masked person pleaded, hanging onto the fire-escape for dear life. Literally.

Remus raised an eyebrow, making a show of contemplating the request. “Hmm, I don’t know. You did try to pull a gun on me.”

“It wasn’t loaded, jackass!”

Remus tutted and held his foot over the person’s clammy hands. They shook violently at the unspoken threat. “And now you’re gonna wake up the whole neighbourhood too? No consideration!”

His joking tone must have angered them, because they began struggling to hoist themself back up again, red in the face with strain. “I swear, when I get up there-”

Promptly losing his interest in hearing the rest of that threat, Remus stood on their fingers, causing them to let go of the fire-escape and plummet to the street below with a strangled yell.

“Whoopsie daisy.”

He leaned over the banister, whistling innocently as a familiar presence appeared next to him. Logan joined him in peering down at the body, eyebrow raised.

“At least this one was merely an accident?” He guessed by the cause of death, a twinge of hope in his voice.

“Nah, they’ve tried breaking in at least 3 times this year. It was getting annoying.”

As Logan scolded him for his recklessness, Remus decided not to comment on it when their topic of conversation turned back towards the casual banter they usually shared. The two of them stood on the fire escape until the sun was on the edge of the horizon and Remus had to dash back to his apartment to avoid being seen by the early-commuters.

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

Case 8: the innocent.

And then:

Remus curiously nudged the raccoon with the tip of his boot. He’d just stumbled upon it and it still looked fresh; given that he was standing by a busy road, it was no wonder what had happened.

He was making a mental note to come back and collect the bones at a later date, when Logan appeared in-front of him in a blink, looking completely unsurprised this time around.

Remus on the other hand startled before regaining his bearings and shooting the deity a smile. “Our paths are looking less parallel by the day huh, Psychopomp-ous?”

Logan raised his eyebrows appreciatively at the word play. “It appears so. It’s quite the pleasant surprise to find you not getting into trouble for once.”

“There’s always tomorrow.” Remus wiggled his eyebrows back. “That said, I really didn’t expect to see you. I was wondering for a while if you dealt with this kind of thing too, y’know.”

Logan looked down, seeming to really notice the raccoon for the first time. He nodded after a beat. ”She had a life too. My brother brought her into the world, and so I must escort her out.”

”Yeah? Anything of note happen?” Remus asked, eyebrows raised with genuine curiosity. He’d file away the latter half of Logan’s statement for later prodding.

”...She had a family. They stayed together under the porch of an old couple.”

“Ah, to be a racoon living under a porch.” Remus lamented dreamily. “I’m glad she got to live such a rich and fulfilling life before becoming road kill. I’m truly jealous.”

“In the wild, your lifespan would most likely be around 2–3 years as a raccoon.” Logan pointed out, attempting to contradict his idealistic tone.

“Exactly. The life.”

That earned a pinched expression from Logan that made Remus titter.

“Just messing with you, prim reaper~. Now, do you have any idea how long it’s going to take for her to decompose? I have a new piece of decor to make.”

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

Case 11: the matchbox.

Remus watched from afar as the house on Psyche Avenue burned. It was bright and brilliant, so of course the firefighters were already on the scene, trying to calm the fire and save the occupant inside.

They’d be much too late; the trafficker was already unconscious and likely burning to death, along with any evidence Remus might have left behind. It was the perfect crime.

Satisfied with today’s work, he took a drag of a cigarette, delighted when Logan appeared beside him instead of with the dirtbag who deserved to burn forever (and since it was a mystery whether he'd end up with such a fate, it only seemed fitting for Remus to play god and speed up the process.)

“Those kill, you know.” Logan said in greeting.

“That makes two of us.” Remus grinned sharply, even when Logan rolled his eyes and pinched out the end of his cigarette.

For the second time in a month, the two of them overlooked the sky together, illuminated by the amber blazes of the fire. It almost felt like a date.

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

Case 13: the one with bad luck.

He was back in the alley that had imprinted itself so clearly in his memory, knife buried in the chest of a would-be assailant. Remus was boredly watching the blood seep between the bricks when Logan finally appeared to deal with the body.

“You’re late!” Remus complained with a whine. “This guy’s practically cold already.”

“Apologies. There was a flash flood across the country, and it took more of my focus to handle than I would've liked."

Remus hummed. He thought he heard something about that on the news. Mother nature could be cruel indeed. Perhaps even worse than Remus himself.

“Anyone nearby?” He checked.

“Not in a half-mile radius, no. However, the police may be on their way.”

“Plenty of time, then.” Remus said as he pulled Logan down to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

It had been months since that first drunk sloppy kiss happened, and less time since it had become a regular greeting. Remus would never get tired of the feeling of cold skin against his lips. It was like kissing marble-- if marble had a sassy mouth and a sexy amount of knowledge.

Logan pulled back first, smudging away the trail of blood running from Remus' nostril. “Did you have any trouble?”

“Nah, you should see the other guy.”

That earned a laugh-- a quiet chime that made Remus’ heart flutter. “I see them. Good job, you’re getting rather skilled at that.”

“Why, thank you~.” Remus preened under the praise. “It only took a couple tries, but I think I finally got the technique down pat.”

“Hmm. Speaking of 'Pat', my brother doesn’t seem to like this much. He’s not unappreciative of your choices in target, although he appears to be rather disapproving on the amount of times I've been called to your side."

Logan didn't talk about his brother much: the deity of life. From what little Remus had learned from his prying and Logan’s own complaints, he seemed like a bit of a killjoy. He blew a raspberry in response.

"Tell Patton to stop making so many criminals and maybe I'll consider it."

The corner of Logan's lips quirked up. "I don't think I will, as humorous as I'm sure that would be. It doesn't quite work like that."

Remus shrugged, watching as Logan looked off to the side.

"...It seems I’m needed elsewhere."

”You can’t stay? We barely got to talk.” Remus said with a pout.

“Unfortunately so.” Logan turned to the body; what he should have been there for. It wasn’t long before his focus was back on Remus, though. “That said... It’s a busy night. Perhaps we’ll meet again sooner than expected.”

Remus’ frown tipped back into a smile as he watched Logan vanish. He then turned on his heel and retrieved his knife before walking off into the night. If he was going to make good on Logan’s expectations, he better get to work.

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

Case 0: the one who death followed.

It soon became an established pattern; Remus would come across someone shady, and he’d put together a detailed- or straight-forward- plot on how to get rid of them. By now his city must have noticed the string of deaths, but with such a random means and very little evidence, Remus was free to continue as he pleased.

In a sense, he was untouchable with Logan by his side, pointing out anything he left behind and giving warning for any potential witnesses. Especially when he gave up on persuading Remus away from this path. It's not like the moral argument could be made anymore; the city had seen a drastic decrease in crime once Remus had taken out a lot of big players (even if there was an air of fear that lingered in the back of everyone's minds, wondering if they'd be next up on the chopping block).

All in all, it was enough to make Remus cocky; perhaps even enough so to lead to his downfall. But how was he ever going to give up now? All his life he’d been hoping for some sort of excitement to fulfil him, and he finally found it in a surprise meeting with a deity of death. Death had gone from a distant longing to something familiar and welcome; something he could use to right wrongs and feel a sense of purpose with.

And as long as he was able to exchange a life for one more meeting with his beloved partner in crime, he would do his best to stay ahead of the game.

(No matter who was out there, trying to stop the two of them.)

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

Writing taglist: @just-perhaps @sashootkahoot @anxious-l0ser @illogical-immunity @overlad-of-the-snakes @varthandi @whisperinginthevoid @and-this-sword @creamiiteaa-xx

Deityfucker au taglist: @arodynamic-enby @its-the-usda-certified-trashman @overlad-of-the-snakes @aromanticwhore @haha-phrog @hetalianhufflepuff @emeryyleaf @winter-wandering @gaylotusthatexists @8bituin

#my writing #sanders sides #intrulogical #remus sanders #logan sanders #(others are mentioned)#deityfucker au #death tw #violence tw #crime tw #weapon tw #swearing tw #injury tw #(lots of warnings for this one. take care!)

264 notes · View notes

mimithings97 · 4 years

Text

ABSTRACT ft BOB ROSS (M) - JJK

Summary: Paintbrush in one hand, joint in the other and you sitting on his dick is what Jeongguk wants. And what Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets.

Genre: smutPWP, timid crack, established relationship

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: jeongguks horny! getting high, body painting, fingering, oral (both receiving), edging, slight subJK, unprotected sex, cockwarming, masturbation (fem), dry humping

A/N: Jeongguk being on his Bob Ross thing to help us through quarantine had me inspired. Fr Bob Ross was a legend. This gets steamy btw

Also pls stay safe everyone and don’t be selfish. Enjoy x

*Masterlist Link*

*Bold italic is JK speaking Korean*

“Tap it off… and just beat the devil out of it.”

“JEONGGUK FOR THE LOVE OF JESUSSS!”

“Isn’t that fun.”

“...What? Just doing what he tells me to do.”

And he persists, batting brush to easel with a rate of knots only a testament to how fast he jacks off. It sends diluted paint across the room so you’re left as a life size dot to dot, with splatters lining your lips down to the hem of your shirt and it’s cold and wet, and this isn’t what you signed up for when he said ‘couples bonding’.

“I’m fucking soaked.” He scoffs, that man sized brain of his conjuring a classic.

“That’s what she said.”

You’re four hours deep, and four hours too many by your standards. Jeongguk was always an avid painter at heart, finding joy in the freedom of all things creativity, but he was also a perfectionist, a competitor. It led him from tutorial to tutorial, because, whilst he’s got portraiture down, his landscaping needed a little brushing up - mind the pun - and it was only an amount of time before you stumbled across a Bob Ross tutorial in all things serene and panoramic.

You shake yourself off in some attempt to help the splay of wet paint and to ease your job with the washing machine later, and lean back on your heels to gather your bearings. Yet, Bob still drones on despite your misery, and your boyfriend’s all too eager to comply with his every word.

“Jeongguk!”

He’s laughing off to himself, easily pleased in the scheme of all things pensioner humour, but murmurs off a halfhearted ‘yeh’ in your direction to ease where he knows you’re about to nag.

“Look at me!”

He does. And it throws you off a little because he eyes you once over, twice and a third time before settling his gaze on your breasts - easily pleased for many more things than just Bob Ross.

“You’re messy.”

“Yeh fuck I am! You listen to Bob more than you listen to me, cockless.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and shuffles so the laptop settled between both your easels can be paused, leaving Bob frozen in time and you to deepen your scowl.

“Yeh, um, cockless, cool... Bob tells me how well I’m doing and lets me hit paint brushes on wooden sticks. You don’t even let me feed Sassy nugs of weed when you sure as hell fucking know she’s a stoner cat.”

Jeongguk was deep into his second joint after he fucked the first two paintings up enough he put a lighter to the edge of each. He even questioned using them as a roach, and you became one step closer to pleading insanity to your landlord and bolting the fuck out of you joint tenancy. But then he got you high and you persevered.

Four more questionable and highly abstract paintings later, he’s got the hots for Bob, and you're left staggering on your words to rope him into lucidity again.

“Guk, he’s a virtual man with 4 million followers, don’t take it personally and-.”

“But-” You deadpan, and point your paintbrush with emphasis.

“And you know full well Sassy gets baked anyways off of fumes. The smoke gets in her fur as well and it was me” he looks innocently at you, muted by your outburst, “who got clawed when she had to be bathed. So tuck your balls away from Bob, and sober up!”

He’s quiet. As are you. And even Bob lies dormant off in your peripherals.

The room grows small as you size each other up, paintings left aside with the sole purpose of being witness to argument, and you think he might just look hot with his nipples standing cold against the open air and abs rolling beneath the line of his sweats.

He’s on the same wavelength:

“I can see your tits through that shirt.”

You take a quick peak yourself, eyeing from one to the other, ignorant of the double chin you’re exposing, but all in the name of making sure the ladies stand perky. He’s got a glint beneath the surface now when he eyes your chest, and the paintbrush in his hand falls a little limper.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.” He tongues his lips. Hungry.

Self control in such a situation as this seems important. The ability to stand your ground no matter where your argument lies on the scale of idiocy. If you curtail into being seduced, he might still make you wash the shirt yourself, figure Bob Ross is a turn on and have Sassy seeing smoke rings by the end of the night. No. You’re not a pushover.

He’s an inch closer when you break the silence, the tumbleweed rolled aside.

“Turn it around. Let me see.”

“Ey?”

He’s horny and you’re not playing ball, something his brain can’t quite transfer to his dick yet.

“Turn yours around I wanna see how you did.” You give a nod in the direction of his painting. A spout of curiosity as to what monstrosity he’s conjured this time, but also a distraction, something for him to latch onto aside from your chest.

“I thought we wait til the end. It’s unfinished.” And one thing Jeongguk hates being is unfinished.

“Baby, Bob’s been overworked tonight and I wanna light the last spliff.” You air a finger and twizzle it, “give it a whirl.”

Being the competitor he is, Jeongguk plasters a smile and spins his easel, the pride practically radiating from him with the way he eyes the two trees and awkwardly sculpted sky. The clouds are askew and the lighting is directioned all wrong, in fact, it’s more a Picasso than a Mozart, blocks of colour screaming attention rather than the realism Bob was hoping for.

“What’s it abstract for.”

Jeongguk frowns because your tone clearly isn’t close to praise and that’s what he’s learnt to expect. What Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets. Tonight's seen enough of your short fuse, however, that he’s not in the running for your good books.

“Jagi-ya,” he pleads, “you know I speak in small English only when I’m stoned.”

You don’t even attempt to stifle the giggle. His eyes are round and his neck’s falling into his shoulders. A defence mechanism he’s well versed in because he knows it gets you in the feels. The jagi too.

“Yeh and this is how you paint when you’re stoned,” he eyes the work he’s made like your words have got him curious, like he’s never seen the capability of a weed induced state on canvas, “your lines get all boxy.”

He shifts, putting criticism to the test as he takes in his artwork from a new vantage point. In the meantime, the final joint lays naked and unused, almost sculpted like it was made for your fingertips. So you appease it’s calling and bringing tip to mouth, lighting the end until the embers begin to wisp away into smoke. Jeongguk breaths in like he wants it, but there’s an epiphany in sights instead.

“Mmm, it’s more like Picasso,” that’s my boy.

“Exactly!”

“...Bob doesn’t accommodate for high people.” He takes the joint when you offer it.

“Guk! That was a big word!” And he earns himself a kiss on the cheek, perhaps a hand to fiddle with his shoulders too, because those muscles aren’t gonna touch themselves.

He drags long and hard. A third joint kind of high taking hold from where his eyes grow thinning and his posture caves into your touch.

“Heard it on University Challenge,” you scoff at him. Since when was that on cable, “figure if I watch it enough I’ll be just as smart as them.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works, bubs.”

Your hands grow fond of his skin, and it’s only when he leans away to trash the fumes away on a burnt out scrapped painting that you realise he finished all the weed. Guk’s a kid in a pram when it comes to sharing his green goods. He compensates with good sex though.

And it’s where his mind lies - beneath the thin layer of your white painting top, a scrap piece of clothing donned for only the messiest of times. He seems to find inspiration in the idea.

“Jagi.”

“Mmm,” the air buzzes somewhere between stoned and excited with how he eyes you.

“Let me paint you like one of my Korean girls.” It’s said in a tone laced with enough lust that you ignore the reference and are turned on by the novelty of being painted. And you know he doesn’t mean Jack and Rose kind of style.

You offer him a smirk.

“How d’you want me.”

Jeongguk nips at his bottom lip and lets his mind and dick go wild at the thought of free reign. The contemplating drags on, but when his eyes settle on how your pussy lies just south of the hem of your shirt, he’s struck a vision.

“Back, legs spread, and shirt off- wait, no, actually, shirt on.”

He’s easy to comply with in the circumstances of things stoned and shirtless.

Your head is light, limbs soft when they stretch against the carpeted floor and you’re so prepared to be a canvas you’re wondering if maybe Bob had turned you on a little. And everything grows that bit more ambient, strewn into background noise. The paints you’d used now only exist with purpose of your skin, the Sam Cooke vinyl, now on its fifth round, is merely a melody to curl your toes to and the chiaroscuro lighting serves for the curve of your cheekbones only.

He’d call you artwork if only it did you justice.

“It’s cold.” He readies you.

His forth fingertip is crimson red. You think it’s a tester for temperature until he runs it down your thigh. A bold stroke for a starting place, but Jeongguk was never shy with paints.

“Mmm, yeh, cold.”

“You like it?” He asks like he wants to be in tune with you.

“I can get to like it.”

What you mean is you can get to like your boyfriend, in his half naked glory, playing temperature torture on your skin.

He’s beautiful like this. A little lost in the high, but even deeper in the depths of you and your body and your lips and how you lay for him. A shy boy at first now with the pick of the litter. And he’ll take his pick wisely.

“So pretty.” You’ve got enough understanding to writhe in the praise, “Can I ruin your top?”

You are high, careless and ultimately curious.

“Yeh,” and the shirt was fucked anyways.

He pulls up the palette next to him, drawing a sketch with his eyes because paint doesn’t allow for takebacks and twiddles the brush in circles with practised ease.

“Close your eyes for me?”

“Ey?” You question.

“Please, just, for now.”

And you’ll blind yourself for the sake of surprise, but now you’re sure you’ll just end up playing guess the drawing through touch alone, a mimic of what Jeongguk does on your naked spine in the mornings when you’re allowed a lie in.

It’s cold, he’s right, that first stroke. And it dances close to where your breasts hang.

“Can I touch you down there too?”

OH fuck yes. Multitasking you can get on board with.

“Please.”

He’s straight to it. A quirk on the line he was painting down you because suddenly he’s got you pleading and wet in unintentional places.

“You plead so nicely for me, jagi. So good.” You gush to the tune of his native tongue.

It’s all at once. An overload of the senses. Sam Cooke a soulful prayer in time with your boyfriends hum. There’s a perfect juxtaposition of nimble fingers on your clit and a flat planed brush streaking unabashedly on the cotton against your nipples. It’s cold and hot and light and dark and everything in between. It’s sexy.

You delve headfirst into the pleasure of it all, throwing an arm over your eyes and allowing the moans to spew and your body to convulse a little every time you’re hit with a newly loaded brush. Your body brews up a tempest and yo-

“DONE!”

Oh.

You’re panting. Soaked to the bone beneath your silk panties, and when you open your eyes, everything is in disarray.

The lust felt when in the thrones of your imagination is suddenly scattered, albeit, Jeongguk still looks like a feast. Because Sam Cooke doesn’t sound so harmonic and your skin doesn’t glow as bright when you assess the masterpiece you’d been distracted by.

“YOU GAVE ME PICASSO TITS!”

Fucking Picasso tits!

You’re horrified. And Jeongguk looks like he’s won the lottery.

“Yeh. Jagi! Abstact!”

“It’s abstract…” you whine.

Tugging and pulling at the hem of the cotton in some attempt to render the mess undone is your stress ball . Something to help it or just unsee it. Anything. But it’s useless, because the display is etched in primary colours only, a demand for attention that your Vanish Ultra won’t even touch the sides on.

Your eyes fume when they meet his crescents, “and you gave me square tits you freak! I have perfectly good tits, underneath, and this top was clean before you violated it!”

There’s enough rage in you to stand and peel the wet shirt from your body, only to find a coloured imprint on your skin and bra that seeped through the thin fabric. Pick a younger man, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Hildy can shove fun up her ass.

“Baby, it’s kind of funny.”

“Its not- its-,” he’s laughing. You’re exasperated. Both high. And maybe Hildy had a point once you let go of the burdens of sensibility and just crave what he’s having. Go, fat, high, fun.

“Gukkkkkkk.” So you end up whining. And, you don’t resist when he’s off his feet and drowning you in his chest, muscles vibrating to the tune of his giggles.

“Like, now, whenever we Bob Ross paint, I get to be reminded of the time I squared off your boobs then sexed you real good.”

You scoff from under his armpit, but refuse to depart from the embrace. He’s got a sweaty smell you only like on him and there’s nothing like Jeontits in your face.

“Never Bob Ross painting again and you’re not sexing anything, perv.”

“No?”

“Mm-hm,” he giggles over your dramatic head shaking, a true fan of you when he’s got you swaddled and in that high happy place. Jeongguk also, whilst he won’t admit it, likes owing you something. Likes poking and prodding at your sensitivity until he’s got something to make up for - he’s a people pleaser, what can he say.

So it’s a kiss here and a peck there. A mouthed map from shoulder to jaw before you’re the one to shift until your mouths align.

“I’mhard y’know.” Tongue deep into yours because he’s got nothing to hide.

“Mmm, and you’ll stay that way.”

But he really is oh so hard. His sweats hold little surprise under the surface because Jeongguk forgoes underwear on his days off and there’s a perk to his chest from his lunchtime weights set. It’s a self control that the weed in your brain isn’t quite abiding to.

“Jagi, come on,” the way his stance has a gain on your height means he can find friction where your groin lays. The perfect snuggle for his length to cant up into. He’s teasing himself, and pining for the quirk in you that’ll have him squirming later.

“Guk. You’ve stained my top. You’re not about to cum on my La Perla panties.” Yet he’s driving himself deeper into a painful withdrawal. And he can’t wait.

“You wore them without anything on your legs. You should know the risk,” his lips dance from collarbones to shoulder as he indulges in your skin, “You get me so hard, Jagi. So hard it hurts,” he’s biting whilst he ruts, “yet you tease me. How can you do that?”

Your resolve won’t crumble, but you may indulge a little. Press encouragement beneath his boxers and under the small of his back so he can carry himself away in the friction. He glows in it.

“Urgh, god.”

“Mmm, you still can’t cum you know that.”

Frantic. He nods frantic, and rolls his eyes back harder. He’s got balls so tight from the weed induced delusion that he’s lost in, but he knows you’ll have them blue and him mewling soon.

“Want it.” Submissive Korean sounds almost too good on him. He bows into your shoulder and grunts words, understandable in content, but so much more in context. An unfiltered, raw need he can only express in his way.

You almost give in.

Almost.

“Jeongguk, stop- stop.” He stills, and is pliable enough that you can cup his jaw tightly and meet him at eye level where he’s hazy. There’s a smirk nestled deep too because you let him go this far. And you got riled up in the process.

You eye him. Hairs flicking out from the thin headband he donned for painting and painting only. There’s a shine on his skin you can’t ignore and he’s so damn beautiful when he glows with want. Your man. A ‘my eyes only’ specimen except you get to touch.

So you do, hands to peck that draw up and down until you play peek a boo with his tip between the flap of his sweats. It’s the crimson that stains your thigh and the glossy look he’s edged himself to. You’re ravenous.

“Jagi, don’t just look. I’m dying here.”

You take one final glance, watch it bob when your nails scrape his abs and then quirk a look his way.

“Mmm, I’m still angry at you.” You’re not. Not really and never were. Just wanted something on him so you’d have him like you do now:

“Take it out on me” He doesn’t stutter. Doesn’t smile, smirk or indicate humour. Ready to risk it all.

“Lie on the sofa how you want it then… and them,” you once over the material on his legs with your finger, “off.”

He’s so compliant when he’s hard and no one will ever find you complaining at the notion.

There’s easles to dodge and paints that threaten to brim onto the wooden floors, but your apartment never had ‘perfect’ written on the lease, so you’ll let him settle his clothes haphazardly - teetering on messy.

You follow the path he’s strewn, bra off to join his boxers, until you settle your knees against his, shadow elongated on his face by the direction of the sunlight and hair swept over to one shoulder. His eyes follow your curves.

“Will you touch me now?” He’s craving and the concept has your mind whirling and eyes stuck on where he’s hard. You’ve only now come to notice the way he sits on his hands, wrists dug into the sofa from the pressure of his thighs. Filthy. It’s filthy that he edges himself for sport.

With a twitch at the side of your mouth because there’s a million and one different ways to have him crying, you descend so skin is on skin and he’s captive to you. Drunk in the way he looks. Nervous in the way his dick twitches.

“How d’you want me to touch you?”

“Any way, fuck, any way.. Please.” The pleasantries aren’t necessary. He’s at your mercy physically but this boy’s got a hold on you like no other, enough that what Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets.

“Here?” His dick is expecting when he sees your hand move in his peripherals. It’s sure and ready for your touch. But then you moan. Eyes roll back just like when he touches your cl-, “Is here good, Guk?”

“Oh fuck.” You’re two fingers deep and a palm to your clit. He’s taken note in the way you touch yourself before, mutual masturbation a 2 month-in kind of job, but this is different. Your pussy makes him salivate and the way you touch yourself makes him feel all too primitive. Like he’s never heard a girl moan before. “Jagi. Come on.”

It’s so damn hot to you that his dick sits there untouched, hips still glued as though he’s unaffected. You’re tuned in, though, to those things that tell you otherwise. The strain on his neck from where his bottom jaw clenches. English sidelined because he can’t think straight. His dick bobbing every time you hit an upstroke into yourself and the squelch rings out. He’s so damn horny, but he’ll wait on you. Knows seeking the end untouched is like drinking water after parching in the desert.

“So beautiful. You’re so beautiful. The way you touch yourself is beautiful too.” His eyes are fluttering and he can’t look away from you. It has you shamelessly moaning. “God I’m hard.”

You laugh, knuckle deep and feel the spasm of your walls. He’s really hard with precum immodest and when you meet his eyes again he’s vulnerable, too thirsty, maybe, for what he’s subjected himself to.

You’re left wanting, “I really wanna taste.”

“Jesus.” Jeongguk whispers under his breath, throws his head back for good measure because he’s got a visual before the main course has even happened. “You can’t be so shameless, it has me thinking things.” Vivid, things.

And his imagination plays out in real time when you descend onto the wooded floor. He stutters, splutters on his tongue when you’ve got long nails all up in his groin.

“F-fu- wait, Jagi, wait wait wait, jagi.” You’re an inch off, breath catching his tip and so close you can smell him. God you want a taste. “I’m- You can’t just.”

Ohhhh.

“You’ll cum?”

He’s not ashamed, embarrassed or anything in between. Just the longing for more, eating away at him, and knowing he’s a gonner in less than a minute if you’re to lick him.

“Just, fuck, Y/N. Just kiss me.”

You do. The head of his dick too appealing not to offer a peck to.

“Fuck.” He hisses it between his teeth and seeks refuge under an arm as to not concern himself with the way your tits look under him. “Not ther-” but not all cravings can be fixed, and you’ve got a mouthful.

His hand jerks out from where it situates beneath him. The dilemma as to whether his dick can handle the back of your throat, seemingly easier to combat if he can claw at his thighs. But you’ve fallen into a rhythm despite the discomfort of hard floorboards and empty walls, and he’s keening for it, low moans and harsh breaths when your throat constricts.

“Jagi, I real- oh shit, I really might cum.” You want him to. But the look that glazes over him when he’s edged is too good to wait for. Hit hits your throat deep, “fuck fuck fuck fuck,” hands thrown into your hair because he thinks maybe he wants you to stop.

But there’s the edge, and for a second he thinks he’s too far past it, balls tightened and his chest caves at the promise of lodging a load in your throat.

“Fuck!” You’re off him and shuffled back before he can cry wolf. Jeongguk helplessly grasps at his base, and screws his eyes tight to curb the feeling of blood rushing everywhere.

You’ve got a vantage point like no other. A vista genuinely for the ‘my eyes only’.

His chest violently rises and falls and his thighs shake at the same rate. It’s hard to reserve yourself from kissing up his legs, so you don’t, soft nips where the seam of his trousers would run and even though he was driven to maximum sensitivity, he wants you as close as you are.

You litter the expanse of his body until he can vent the lost orgasm into your mouth. A rage of tongues and spit that has your centre warm again. But he mellows out into you and plays seduction.

“Jagi.”

“Mmm,” you speak amongst the twine of lips.

“Let me kiss you.. Down there.” His eyes plague with sincerity. A wholehearted desire to taste you and taste you again, and you’re one to oblige.

The sofa, whilst a two generation hand-me-down, offers more comfort than the floor and you bask in being pampered when Jeongguk lowers your front to it, situating a littered pillow below you to accentuate the curve of your back. Your behind sits bare with panties discarded and you look beautiful enough he’ll tell you.

“Look at your body Jagi. How can you be mine?”

It’s unnerving being like this. Subject to alien words and a stare you can’t dilute. But it’s a package deal and Jeongguk doesn’t take long to offer the incentive.

“Smell nice too.”

He traces the curve of your back with his palm the same way he strokes you between your legs. Fluid and warm and...

“Goddd, that’s good.”

Jeongguk basks in all things praise. An inflation to his own high. So he hums approval into you as you begin to writhe.

You bite back the urge to push into him and seek a salacious end, frantic in the heat of lust, but Jeongguk keeps a controlled hold on you and eases the pressure away from the good spots, just so it’s better when he comes back for more.

“Mmmm, good, good there.” Where he’s spreading you and planting muscle deep. He doesn’t resist the temptation to go north either and explore tighter areas, and he hums a smile when he garners an entirely different noise from you because, fuck, that’s sensitive.

“Jeongguk, oh- I might cum.”

“Yeh?” He’s in you and around you and kneading at your cheeks like he’s rallying himself up. He is. Running his body in time with your movement so there’s a subtle rut to edge himself to.

“Yeh.”

“I want that. Bad.”

You’re loud and knocking on the door of something breathtaking, now that he’s left romance for dead. He wants you to cum, and hard

Fumbling an arm behind you until you can grapple onto the hairs of his head does little to prevent the sensation, the quaking and the tightening. He’s sinking a thumb against your rim and a tongue in your pussy and you indulge in it all.

“Shitshit oh my fucking god.”

He moans when you strike gold and pulse from every point of your being. Entrapped in that disembodied feeling where everything’s too good and all at once. It lags and Jeongguk’s hands purchase hard when you clench on his tongue.

“Shit.”

He lets you down easy though, mindful of all of the places that could be a cause for over-sensitivity - save that for another day - and nuzzles into your thigh.

The need to move lingers whilst you carry yourself away into the thrones of exhaustion, mind fizzing as you boyfriend sucks the meat of your ass with tempt. He’s wanting and you’ve got a craving to see him cum, but everything's numb.

“Jagi.”

“Mmm.”

You feel him before see him crawling up you, his front flush to you just as a means of exaggerating where he lays hard and in wait. He let you edge him and made you cum, a cause for a gold star among other things, so you flip over, careful not to knock him where it hurts, and pull at the straggling hairs the band can’t accommodate for.

“I want you. I want you really bad.” He feels selfish for feeling like it’s his right to claim an end. But there’s a genuine cause for concern that he’s been hard for so long, and will be as long as you lay bare and beautiful, and the biology of the situation isn’t just coincidental with his want.

But he kisses you soft and the sense of obligation dissipates into the desire to see him undone.

“You gonna fuck me?” He’s desperate to, and you laying pliant beneath him has his lust escalating quickly.

“Yes, yesyesyes jagi.” But as to not cum to quick he settles into stroking his length between where you’re wet. The sensitivity has lessened, but the rush of blood still is a cause for a grimace. Jeongguk kisses it out of you, settling into a rhythm of tongue then teeth then tongue then teeth. You’re lost enough, he’s sinking into your walls unhinged.

“Fuck.”

“God, how can you feel like this every time.” He’s driven to the edge of insanity with every feel of your walls, like a first time every time, uncharted territory he wants to explore as soon as he’s explored.

You grapple from the sweaty hairs that line his neck to where his muscles contract and sink now that he’s easing you into compliance. Not that it wasn’t easy to. But your walls, spent previously, make the glide a little harder in the promise that it’ll make him cum quick.

“You good? This good?” He caters for you in a strained plea.

“Amazing. God. A little faster.”

He’s sure to combust, purchasing his mouth on your neck and choking grunts into the skins there when his hips begin to snap and balls begin to ring an echo onto the four walls.

“Fuck jagi. Thank you. God, thank you.” He prays to your pussy as his abs clench in the knowledge that he’s teetering on the edge. Every run against you has him keening.

“Hold me.” He nestles his cheek to your hair until your breaths are synced, “don’t cum yet. Please, god-hm,” you choke, “don’t cum.”

“Oh god, oh god,” he’ll get you there, but he’s sweating out the urge to spill into you. He wants to see you done, hear you moan, have you every kind of euphoric. So he licks his thumb quick and has it in between you and on your clit quicker. A pressure and nothing more because he knows what hurts you.

He’s hissing at the strain, but you’re left in hopeless moans.

“Cumming, baby, cu- fuck.” There’s nothing stopping the assault of your walls on him as everything tightens and then releases. You quiver into him.

“Oh, you got so tight. Fuckfuck, oh god.” Jeongguk gives into it, too, when his body shudders and he pulls you tight, “ah,” spilling everything and it’s so hot but he’s heady enough that none of it matters.

You bask in that feeling for however long, lulling his shakes with a trail of nails through his hair down to his back, and nuzzle where your cheeks meet.

His back rises and falls and rises and falls and it’s all things soothing.

So you whisper lowly, “Guk.”

He shifts fractionally and huffs at the exertion of it all, body pliable and soft in and around you.

“Baby, we can’t fall asleep here.”

You know he’ll ask for a few more minutes, the true post orgasm baby that he is.

“Just a few more minutes.”

You laugh in the way of your predictable boy and snuggle him further now that he’s cocooned, the tingles in your toes eases and he might lay heavy on you but it’s comforting that his body moves to the puff of your chest. It’s like watching the clouds in the sky morph from one figure to another. Like the soft ticking of a metronome. Like counting sheep. And it’s easy to let ‘just a few more minutes’ trickle on and on.

What Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets.

#uneditedddd #bts #bts smut #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jeongguk #bts jeongguk #jeongguk smut #jungkook #taehyung smut #filth #abstract #ripbobross #stay safe everyone #jungkook things

862 notes · View notes

mae-gi-writes · 3 years

Text

Purpose of Hearts | Song Mingi (ATEEZ)

Summary: Two lives. One purpose. And a hope that someday, their voices would be heard.

Part of @atbzkingdom's timecapsule collab! Song: Utopia by ATEEZ

Genre: angst, slice of life

A/N: This is a love story but it also revolves around issues of modern society as well as the environmental crises that have been happening lately. I wish to incorporate more of these real-life elements in my stories because that's the only way I can communicate to people the importance of living a life that does not take away what Nature has made for us. So I hope that you guys aren't too harsh on this one, considering I worked really hard to write it. Thank you all. Love, mae xx

>>>

The first time I saw Song Mingi was by accident. I had been late to my interview that day, rushing in and out between my room, the kitchen and the bathroom to get my scrambled self organized, throw on a blazer over my white shirt and black slacks — honestly, had I washed it before?— while barely managing to shove a toast in my mouth as I ran down my apartment stairs two at a time, almost tripping over my own feet as I did so.

That was probably the first time I had overslept ever since reaching Seoul and in all honesty, that had done nothing to set my mind at ease as I caught sight of the overflowing crowd of people moving in the direction of the subway.

Every morning was the same, packed in like tuna fish that wriggled forward in too-tight compartments that made it impossible to breathe, also another reason why I always woke up an hour before the rush of workers came through.

“Excuse me,” I pushed at someone’s shoulder getting shoved into my face, trying in vain not to let my nerves get the best of me, “sorry, but you’re crushing me—“ “Oh sorry,” a man that looked like he was in his forties dipped his head in what seemed to mimic a bow, before he slowly tried edging back, in vain.

I huffed into the window pane, my breath fogging up the glass as I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for the ride to be over. 10:45.a.m, my watch said. My interview was at eleven. There was no way I was going to make it in time.

It felt like eternity had passed before I finally heard my desired station being called out on the intercom. I slowly turned my entire torso to face the exit with slight relief flooding through me. I hadn’t died. Things would be okay, it would be okay—The doors slid open and no sooner had I stepped through that I felt a shoulder shove into mine.

I stumbled, throwing my hands out before me to brace myself for the impact only to feel warm fingers grip onto my forearm to pull me up and away from the throng of people flowing out of the train.

“You okay?”

A deep alto resonated in my ear, causing me to look up into an unfamiliar face. There was no doubt that this stranger was tall. Taller than the average in Korea, no doubt. He had a nicely shaped nose, perfectly sculpted for his side profile, I couldn’t help but notice.

“Yeah,” I checked my handbag and quickly dusted off my pants, “thanks. Would’ve gotten crushed back there.”

“No problem.”

Needless to say, my interview was a complete and utter failure. That evening, I binged on some Mcdonald’s followed by a whole pint of ice cream while watching an entire K-drama on my own, ignoring the distinct ping! of my phone that signalled the upcoming stream of messages left unread. But I couldn’t do it. Not now, not when I felt like my life was falling apart and I felt powerless to stop it.

Why? I had thought then. Why me? Why couldn’t I succeed like all my my fellow friends did?

It was true that Marine biologists were at an unfair advantage from the get-go. Jobs were harder to find when you started out in a niche. I had known that much when I’d enrolled for the degree, when I’d cried by myself countless nights knowing that my future was all but a bleak, weak canvas of nothingness. But I couldn’t give it up, no matter how much I wanted to force myself to, for I knew that if there weren’t people like me around to help restore marine ecosystems, then the world as we knew it would end much quicker than intended. I didn’t have the heart to give all of that up when I felt partly responsible for all the lives that mankind was taking away.

All these thoughts were a dark cloud, each and every one of them slowly creating a storm that was out of my control as I went on in my day to day life. It consumed me from the inside until there seemed to be nothing left but an emptiness that blocked everything out. And that scared me.

That was when I met Song Mingi for the second time.

It was around late evening when my restless self decided to take a walk to clear my head. It seemed like my feet had a life of their own for no sooner had I allowed my mind to drift off that I found myself boarding a train to nowhere in particular. A heavy sigh left my lips and I sat back in one of the many empty seats. The peace and quiet was a nice change from the constant bustle and movement, and as I gazed out at the inky darkness of the tunnel, I noticed someone shift from the corner of my eye.

He was sitting on the opposite side, one row before mine, his gaze hollow and empty and directed at the ground, seemingly as lost in his thoughts as I was. I wouldn’t have recognized him if not for that particularly perfect nose slant that instantly caught my attention.

That man. The man who’d helped me out of the subway.

And as if sensing my gaze, his head turned around slightly to catch my eye. Though he was too far away for me to notice, his head cocked to the side as he searched my face for a minute. Before he nodded in acknowledgement.

I nodded back, looked away. Heat crawled to the back of my neck, embarrassed.

I need to get out of here, my mind raced.

The next stop couldn’t come fast enough. I jolted up from my seat once the station came into view and quickly scrambling for the exit, I failed to notice the said young man do the same until I bumped into him as we stepped out.

Stumbling to the side as his briefcase clattered to the floor and spilled the array of papers hidden inside, my eyes widened in horror as some of them started flying away as the train whizzed past. I launched my body onto the ground, curse words spilling from my mouth as I helped him gather the mess of artworks that decorated the floor, from pens to pencil scrawls to pastels to dabbles of oil paintings that even in the shitty yellow lights lining the station, they looked ethereal and raw with talent.

“I’m so sorry,” my head was ducked, I couldn’t possibly face him, as I quickly stacked up the papers.

“It’s okay,” was his only reply as we managed to gather most of his work. My eyes flew to the ones that now laid on the train tracks, crumpled and matted with dirt and practically unattainable.

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated hoarsely as guilt filled me up to the brim. It wasn’t enough that I was having a shitty day. No, I had to go and ruin someone’s day as well.

Fuck me.

“It’s alright, really. They weren’t that important to begin with,” he held out his hands for the remaining papers and stuffed them into his briefcase once I handed it over, making sure that the lock was set right before straightening up to face me, “they’re just practice drawings.”

“Still though,” all that pain and effort, gone and wasted because of my stupidity.

He chuckled then and I looked up at him, quite surprised at the grin tugging at his lips, “honestly, it’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

I nodded and decided to drop the subject, wondering how it was possible to feel even sorrier for myself when I thought I had already hit rock bottom. We walked up the station staircase together in silence, which I would’ve probably found awkward if not for the fact that I was mentally beating myself up for acting so foolishly. He must’ve noticed the tired lines of my face, for his voice rang out in the silence as he stepped out into the street:

“Hey, if you still feel bad about the papers, don’t,” he stopped, gazing down at my form with what I hoped to be a reassuring smile, “it would’ve been another story though, if these were my finals.”

I flinched, though I forced a faint smile back, “okay. I’m sorry. Again. Please don’t curse me to death or anything,” an idea popped into my head, “are you heading home right now?”

“Uh—yeah. Why?”

“Please…let me buy you a drink. Coffee? Iced tea? I just—“ my fingers were already scrambling for some money, “please. I feel terrible about this.”

He cocked his head as an amused smile graced his lips, “wow, you really do feel bad.”

“I do. Please?”

And that was how we found ourselves sitting at a cheap plastic table outside the convenience store that night, huddled in our too-thick sweaters and blowing at our hands while holding our beers close. Conversation flowed naturally as we sat and breathed in the night air, allowing life to pause for a moment and enabling my brain to disentangle itself from overthinking too much. It was nice in a way, the distraction of having someone to talk to, just so that I didn’t have to wallow in my own self-pity.

I learnt that his name was Song Mingi, and that he had recently graduated from Art School with a dream to be a full-fledged artist. He had one cat that he’d named Kimchi and absolutely adored anime because of the art style and the unique story lines. I learnt that he was quite fluent in Japanese and loathed the subway as much as I did.

“Right now though, I’m working at a design company,” he took a sip of his beer, head tilting and side profile backlit by the fluorescent convenience store lights. He appeared softer, younger somehow, than his actual age.

“You like it?”

“Not really.”

I threw him a pointed look, “is that how you say no?”

“Alright. No,” he laid his chin in his palm, “I hate it. I feel like I’m wasting my time.”

“But it covers the bills.”

“Yup.”

“That sucks.”

“It does,” he took another hearty sip as I gazed down at my own drink. And here I was, jobless and with no ambition, no dream to chase. Because I was burnt out before even starting.

“And you?” he asked as I glanced back up into his eyes — gentle eyes, I found. He had very gentle eyes, eyes that seemed to know a lot more than what he let on, “what do you do in life?”

“I am unemployed,” the words sounded even more grim as they fell from my mouth, and I averted my eyes to the table to avoid his own out of embarrassment, “and I’m pretty sure I failed all the interviews I had this week.”

“What did you study?”

“Marine biology,” my throat felt rough, choked up with emotion as I thought of how ridiculous I must sound to this total stranger who was both talented and seemed to have his life together. Maybe it was insecurity that made me spit out, “don’t laugh.”

A pause, before he said, “why would I? That’s amazing.”

My eyes slid back up to his, “I—because…well…” and I couldn’t help myself from spilling it all out. How I came to this major because this was presumably the most passionate thing I’ve ever stumbled across in life, how I’d studied so hard not to fall behind when all my classmates seemed to pass their exams with flying colours, and how out of all of us in our year, I was the only one still roaming around like a lifeless soul while most of my peers had landed themselves some high-standing positions at big-shot NGO’s and companies focusing on Marine Environment protection and sustainability.

I didn’t realize that my eyes had filled with tears by the time I was done rambling about the fact that our planet was dying and nobody seemed to be interested in that fact whatsoever. Not until Mingi’s hand came into my peripheral and I blinked, catching sight of the napkin he was offering me.

“Thanks,” I murmured, voice small as I quickly wiped away my tears. My cheeks felt hot, flushed from a mixture of alcohol and from the way his eyes were intent on my face.

“I…” Mingi bit down onto his lower lip. He’d moved on to his second can by then, “I don’t know what to say. You’re…”

I waited for the insult. For him to laugh at my ridiculousness. Or maybe offer sympathetic words that were devoid of meaning.

“You’re amazing.”

I blinked. Once. Twice. Slowly, my eyes fluttered up to his.

“What?”

“All these things you’ve told me, they’re so…real. And I wish I could be more like you, you know?” he leaned back in his chair, “I’m always complaining that my life’s not good enough. That I don’t have purpose. These kinds of thoughts that make you question your existence. But then you come along and you tell me all these problems — real problems that should concern everyone around us — that make me open my eyes.”

Was this flattery? A compliment? I didn’t know how to take it, considering the fact that I’d basically laid out all my cards in front of this man who’d been a total stranger just a few hours ago.

He continued on despite my silence, “the world needs more people like you. Kind people, who really want to change the world for the better. Not because they want to prove something. But because it’s the right thing to do.”

My heart lurched in my chest. Stranger or no stranger, hearing that made some of the weight lift off my shoulders, even just a little. How stupid. How pathetic, that all I wanted to hear was to be praised and recognized by someone who I barely knew.

Nevertheless, it warmed me. The warmth of his tone as he gazed at me from across the cheap table. That was incomparable to an entire life filled with nothing but disappointment.

“I—“ a hollow chuckle escaped the back of my throat, “I don’t know what to say.”

He was the one to flush this time, “sorry, I didn’t mean to pry—“

“No no! Don’t say sorry,” I protested, eyes darting between him and the drink in my hand, “it’s—it’s refreshing, compared to what I’m used to hear.”

"Wah, I mean...I took art so I'm not one to talk."

I can't help but giggle, "so we're just a bunch of nerds. Bet you watch anime too."

"Don't get me started unless you want to stay here till four in the morning," he chuckled.

I wasn't really sure how to describe that night in particular. It felt like catching up with an old friend and yet, I barely knew this man. Somehow though, it seemed like he understood the pain that simmered in me, the feelings that I bottled up for all this time and it brought me comfort that someone else could empathize with the thoughts that pulled me down by the ankles every time I tried to swim.

Something had changed between us by the time he walked me back to the station that evening. What had started out as a coincidental meeting of two strangers had ebbed into the softest brushes of friendship. I was more than giddy to exchange numbers in hopes of meeting him again.

That night, I fell into a deep and soundless sleep. The best sleep I'd had in ages.

>>>

The third time I saw Song Mingi, we promised to change the world.

It started out as him inviting me over for his apparently out-of-this-world shrimp pasta, to which I'd scoffed and broke his heart by stating that I was vegetarian. But that had only fueled his desire to make me fall in love with his cuisine as he promised me the best alternative to that.

He'd bought wine for the occasion, had managed to secure the apartment all to himself that evening, and had even decorated the table with soft scented candles and matching plates that brought out the magical air of first dates.

That was enough to bring a smile to my lips and I had looked over my shoulfer at him in amusement, "aren't you a romantic?"

I swore I caught his flush even in the dim golden hues that bathed the room, though he answered back with a scoff, "I'm an artist. Of course I'm a romantic."

"I was friends with some art kids, back in uni," I said as I sat down at the table, Mingi following my movements as he placed the pot of pasta between us, "and I gotta say, I felt like they were more cyberpunk and dark than actual romantics."

"Yeah, even art kids have their own little gangs," he wrinkled his nose, "honestly, I was pretty normal. Didn't dye my hair, no piercings in my nose, no tattoos 'coz I hated needles. People would keep asking me if I was a design student."

"Wait--isn't that like, kind of the same thing though?"

"It's different in the way we approach the subject matter. But yeah, I don't get it either. Why can't I be an artist and a designer? I don't want to choose."

"Ah, let the existential crisis strike again."

We clinked glasses, gobbled up the pasta with vegan meat that he'd replaced -- with too much confidence bordering on arrogance, I might add -- and as we spoke, my attention couldn't help lingering over his works until at some point, Mingi had relented and gestured for me to grab his sketchbook.

And that had been a game changer. It had opened my eyes.

Sure, I'd seen his sketches when I'd caused his spill a few weeks ago. But at that time I was all too panicked to actually care what had been sprawled over the paper...until now.

"So you draw characters?" My mouth was practically hanging open as I constantly gazed at the array of faces sprawled before me. They were beautiful. Stunningly so. And haunted somehow, as if wrapped in narratives of their own.

"Yeah. I like faces. I like people." I heard the shyness in his alto as he stood next to me, hand going to scratch the back of his neck, "I think they all carry so many different stories."

And they did. Their eyes said something different within each and every scene. My heart tugged with emotions I couldn't quite decipher for myself as I pondered oveer his intent.

That was when the idea hit me.

"Mingi," I turned to him, "you said you wanted to tell stories?"

Raising a brow, he said, "yeah?"

"How comfortable are you with animated movies?"

"Hm. I did some modules back in college so I'm not unfamiliar with it. Why?"

"This is going to sound crazy okay?"

Alarm flashed through his features. He blinked, "okay."

"Let's make an animated movie. About the ocean."

>>>

And he said yes. Just like that.

He heard me out first, worked through all the logistics of how we were going to create something together that would bring to life a vision of a new world, a world that would bring life within the marine ecosystem. Our meetings were flexible, in-between scraps of time that we'd get either during his lunch time or during evenings where we'd get dinner and discuss. But while I was unsure of whether I'd pushed him before even asking him about it, I caught a glimpse of the twinkle in his eyes, and that had made me pause for a minute.

It was the look of pure love.

Love for life.

In all honesty, a little part of myself fell for Mingi there and then.

"I was thinking it to be more like a kid storybook," I told him from my place on his sofa, watching him at his tiny kitchen desk sketching out some panels, "so that it's got a light mood with dark undertones."

"Yeah, it'll be more effective that way," he murmured, brows stitched together and lips puckered. That expression took ten years off his age, "I was thinking maybe we need a protagonist. Maybe she's a mermaid or something. Has animals friends and lives in the corals--"

"And she watches as all the fishing destroys her home," I finished with barely restrained excitement, "and she falls in love with a fisherman who decides to help her out!"

Mingi's eyes lifted from his paper -- that must've been the first time in a full hour since he was so focused on the task at hand -- and locked on mine. A grin slowly spread across his face, "I like that. A lot."

There was something in his gaze that made me heat up, though I made an attempt to shrug and look away to avoid the heat slowly spreading through my limbs as if someone had suddenly turned up the temperature in the room.

My week followed with a few more interviews, most of which were unsuccessful. One of them seemed interested enough -- a Marine conservation company that focused on dolphins and whale protection -- but upon scheduling an official meeting with the manager, I couldn’t reel in the horror that struck me as soon as I stepped foot into the enclosure. The dolphins barely had any room to swim around, let alone the condition of the waters that were more of a murky green than health aquamarine blue. The animals themselves didn’t look too happy to be here and god knows one could understand, considering the circumstances and the fact that this pool was the size proportionate to a tuna can.

The cherry on top though, was definitely the orcas. Top fins flipped to the side and with only three left -- the information board stuck to the entrance stated that there were at least ten of them -- it definitely appeared more to be a morgue than a conservation area.

At this point, I couldn't stop the tears. Pain scratched through my chest before I swivelled around with barely restrained anger, "you--" my nostrils flared, jaw clenching, "that's--that's what you call keeping them safe?"

The manager's eyes narrowed, "With all due respect, we--"

"You're killing them!" I yelled out, unable to restrain myself, "this is called murder! And you call yourself a marine conservation? What is wrong with you!?"

Needless to say, I was kicked out a few seconds after that.

But the damage was done. My heart was aching, practically empty of anything else apart from the horror I had just witnessed unfold before my very eyes. If they had a good reputation and were treating their animals badly, how about the ones that didn't have any funding? The ones that had smaller acres and less manpower to help?

How many animals were they killing in the process?

Sure, not all of them were like that. But that was a bit slap in the face. By reality.

Mingi noticed my wallowing silence when he came over that night -- I had cooked vegan burgers for the occasion -- though I tried to hide it behind the pretence of tiredness and lack of sleep. He wasn’t convinced though, for as soon as we’d dumped our plates in the sink and collapsed onto my worn-out red couch with frayed fabric ends hanging from its sides, the first thing he uttered was:

“Did something happen?”

I looked up, surprised that he’d picked up on my nonverbal cues since I usually prided myself on always managing to keep my emotions in check whenever I was in the public eye.

Admittedly though, this was a feeling I had never felt before. This wretched, this broken-hearted. I had seen documentaries, countless videos of slaughter and poor conditions.

But this, this was something entirely out of its league. This was horrendous. I couldn’t understand how one could even do such a thing. How one could think of this as humane, as a service to those beautiful animals that never hurt anybody.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Mingi continued in a rush, “I didn’t mean to pry--”

“They barely have any space,” I cut him off, voice practically on edge as the sight of the dolphins flashed through the back of my lids, “they--they looked ill. Mingi, you should’ve seen them. They didn’t--they didn’t look like they were going to survive in there and, I--I couldn’t not do anything so--”

My tears had already gathered at the corner of my eyes and I buried my head into my arms so that he wouldn’t have to fall victim to my sobs. It surprised me, though, when his warmth came to wrap around my figure, hand pressing against the back of my head so that I was nestled into the crook of his neck.

The murmur scratched the back of my throat, “I’m sorry--”

“It’s okay,” Mingi’s soothing alto washed away the nervous thought that maybe he was doing it out of sympathy. Out of pity, even. But he sounded more comforting than uncomfortable, which made me cry even harder into his shoulder.

It might have sounded stupid to anyone else; crying about animals that still had a chance at life, crying because they were forced to be in cages that didn’t serve them any better purpose than leaving them out to sea as dead meat. But I couldn’t help myself, couldn’t help my heart, from the deep sorrow that washed through me every time I pictured those lifeless creatures -- usually so alive and vivacious and just amazing to be around -- just wallowing in the waters like a bunch of dead floating bodies.

This wasn’t about allowing them to live. This wasn’t about carving out a better future for these animals. This was merely about trying to build a good reputation, and feeding off all the money they received because of good samaritans that wanted to do good and yet, had no idea of what was going on behind the scenes.

It was horrifying. Heartbreaking. And I couldn’t stand by to watch them all fall to pieces, to be killed to extinction.

“It’s okay,” he shushed me when he heard my sobs get a little louder. One of his hands soothed down my back, stable and comforting. I tried breathing in and out, raggedly, but eventually slowly settling into small hiccups as the night wore on and the pain subsided.

How stupid. How embarrassing. What an idiot.

Those were the thoughts that circled my brain as soon as my consciousness cleared.

"My neighbour had a cattle field,” Mingi said a while later when we sat side by side, one of his hands still on my back and rubbing slow circles. I had grabbed a pillow, hugging it for comfort, “back when I was still a kid. I had to walk to the nearest bus stop because we were so far out. We didn’t have any buses coming our way. Whenever I passed by that farm though, I’d feel so helpless to see all these cattle, bunched up together. There was barely enough space for them to breathe, let alone move.”

I sniffled and wiped my nose, nodding at him to go on.

“So one day, oh god. You’re going to laugh,” he chuckled softly, rubbing his face with his other hand, “one day I decided-- you know what? They didn’t deserve to live like this. I felt sorry for them. And they were getting slaughtered. Every single day. I was so angry that I went over to the backyard fence that afternoon and just opened the gate.”

“You did what?” My eyes bulged out of their sockets.

Mingi burst out laughing, “I know, I was stupid. And I wasn’t thinking about how this was the man’s hard work you know. It was what paid the bills. But I was naive and I just really wanted to help the cattle. So I set them free,” His laughter dimmed into chuckles, “all fifty-five of them.”

“Holy shit Mingi,” my mouth formed an ‘O’, “you’re crazy!” I started cackling, imagining a younger version of Mingi storming up to the fence with that same determined glint in his eye. I’d definitely done some crazy things back when I was still a child. But this one was unheard of.

He joined in and soon enough, we were laughing our heads off for god knows whatever reason. All I knew was that the ache in my heart had dissolved into a tiny stub the size of a burnt-out cigarette and my stomach now hurt from too much laughing.

“Don’t worry Y/N,” Mingi smiled down at me, those feline eyes soft and the curve of his full lips lighting up his features, “if they can’t see the wrong they’re doing now, then our project will.”

Right then and there, I believed him.

>>>>

I fell in love with Song Mingi the same way I fell in love with the sea.

I was not, until I was.

And when the realization hit me, I was in a little too deep to retract my footsteps.

Maybe it was in his gentle demeanour. Something I wasn't used to in guys. But Mingi had a sensitivity to him, a way with human emotions that made it easy to communicate. He was soft and kind and so open to everything and anything I said. He had a stubborn streak, but mostly for things that concerned his self-worth. And I hated how he couldn't admire his talent the same way I did.

But that was the thing with artists right? They always shied away from the limelight, let their works of art speak in their stead.

And what I loved the most about Mingi, was the fact that he listened. He actually took the time to listen and remember the things I said. It might have been little, insignificant. But it wasn't for me.

"Y/N! Guess what I brought for you!" He hollered one particular Wednesday night after work. He practically lived here, for his things were already sprawled onto the kitchen table from last night, and the night before.

"A donut? A latte? A pizza?" I called back while stirring the red bean stew as a quick dinner. The lack of response caused me to turn around, only to be faced with a bunch of red roses. I yelped in surprise, "what the-- what's this for?!"

My face heated up on its own accord as Mingi laughed and said, "Happy International Women's Day."

"What?" I blinked in shock, my curry now forgotten on the stove, "you mean, happy valentines?"

"Nope. No mistake. Today's International Women's Day," he grinned, "so here you go, a bouquet of roses to one of the strongest women I know.”

My face explode with heat and if it weren’t for me averting my head and hiding my face amidst the roses that tickled my nose, he would’ve guessed the way my heart beat for him. Too fast for it to be normal.

Another time, we’d been hanging out by the Han River sloppily eating our way through ice cream in zero degree weather and he hadn’t hesitated to give me his hoodie when he’d noticed the raw redness of my hands, the sniffles coming from my nose.

“You’re cold,” he’d stated with a small tut of disapproval. I protested with a shake of my head, but it had been no use. He was already pulling his coat off and not a second later, his hoodie was flung onto my face.

“Ow,” I mumbled as I maneuvered my hands through the sleeves, chest warming at his kind action. Mingi was a sweetheart, no doubt. And I really needed to stop crushing on him. He, however, did not make it so easy.

“Thanks,” I glanced back at him after stuffing my hands into his hoodie pockets. It smelled just like him, as if Mingi himself was wrapping me in his arms. The thought made my heart melt, “you didn’t have to, you know. I’m tougher than I look.”

“Sure, Y/N. You look like you could fly away if I pushed you too hard,” he reached over to ruffle my hair and I’d pouted then before jabbing playfully at his shoulder.

The more I spent time in Mingi’s flat, the more I got to know of his entourage, met his friends and saw how they genuinely cared for the said young man. In return, he met mine and it had become a habit to drag him along wherever I went and vice versa. So much so that it elicited a few curious glances and poignant questions that I tried avoiding at all costs for fear that they’d find out my true feelings.

“Mingi’s never been an outgoing kid,” Hongjoong said -- he was one of Mingi’s older childhood friends and they’d known each other all their lives -- during one of the evenings when the boys had crashed into Mingi’s living room and the flat had turned into a Mario Kart competition. Much to the displeasure of Mingi’s flatmates.

“Huh, that’s something I can’t quite picture,” I replied, gaze trailing back to Minig’s face as he yelled and high-fived Jongho and San. A series of groans echoed from the opposing team.

“Yeah, he’s grown out a lot more since university,” Hongjoong took a sip of his beer, “he does gets quite emotional from time to time. That’s why I worry about him so much. He’s sensitive.”

“I guess all artists are, in a sense.”

The man nodded, “yeah, but he’s been a lot brighter. Ever since you two started that project.”

I tried not to show that I was slowly becoming a blushing mess but it was hard to keep my feelings in check when Hongjoong’s eyes were piercing on my own, suddenly alert and filled with an intensity that made me want to squirm.

“You like him?”

The words were like icy shards. I froze.

I couldn’t keep the surprise from my face when I turned to face Hongjoong. My mouth suddenly felt as dry as sandpaper.

“Mingi’s fragile. If you’re gonna play him, I suggest you don’t.”

“I’m not--” the words ached as they escaped my voicebox, “I’m not playing him.”

“Then please, take care of him. He doesn’t show how weaknesses to everyone. But he has a habit of overworking himself, especially when it comes to pleasing others,” Hongjoong shot me a look.

My mouth reacted before my brain did. I blurted out, “why are you telling me this?”

And there was that look in Hongjoong’s eyes; the dark softeness filled with affection for the said young man that reminded me of that of a father’s. When he spoke next, his words were barely above a murmur, “because he cares about you, a lot. And I don’t want him to get disappointed.”

I wasn’t sure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment. Hongjoong’s words bordered on threatening, though I knew that it wasn’t the case. He was just doing his job after all; looking out for Mingi. But if he thought, for one moment, that I would go out of my way to hurt the latter, then that statement was proven wrong the moment I realized my heart beat for him.

As the coldness of spring melted away with the warmth of summer, sakuras went into full bloom and more and more people gathered outside to take pictures, couples strolling hand in hand while enjoying street snacks that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Empty streets suddenly turned bustling, just like our current storyboard coming to life.

“I don’t get it though. Why does the fisherman do that when he knows he’s going to go jobless when he exposes the fishing industry?” Mingi asked one night while we watched the animation roll by in comfortable silence. The frames were almost done at this point, with only the ending to wrap it all up and the music to be added in the background.

I leaned against his desk table, slightly curving of his sitting form, “because he loves the mermaid,” I went straight to the point, not realizing that my voice had dropped to a whisper until Mingi turned in my direction.

“He loves the mermaid just enough that he’s willing to sacrifice all of that?”

It sounded dumb when he put it so simply. So I shrugged, “people do stupid things in the name of love.”

A slight pause as my words buzzed through the air.

"Would you?” He spoke up,” do that?”

My eyes dropped to his face. The depth of his orbs reflected in the dim light of his room had my heart shaking and impulsively, my hand went to fist onto my jumper sleeve. Just enough to keep me grounded.

“What--” I swallowed thickly, “do you mean?”

A few beats of silence ensued. Our eyes locked.

“Would you give all that up for the one you love?”

I kept my eyes on his even as heat littered through my cheeks, “yeah,” I bit my lip, “yeah I would. Probably.”

Something flashed in his eyes then. Something different, darker than what I was used to seeing. A silent breath escaped my lips. Electricity curled through the air, buzzing in-between us.

I didn’t dare breathe. Didn’t dare look away.

Mingi’s eyes traced my every feature, gaze flickering to my mouth.

My lips parted on their own accord and he must’ve heard me, for his eyes flickered straight back up to mine and-- had his eyes always been this intense? This beautiful?

His hand suddenly fluttered over my arm. He tugged.

I stumbled into him.

And then his lips were pressing onto my cheek. Softly. A little shy. Breaths warm where his mouth hovered right upon my skin that burned as butterflies suddenly exploded through my stomach. A gasp died in the back of my throat and as I gazed down at him in growing surprise at his stroke of boldness, I saw his eyes widen in realization of what he'd done.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to get into your space--" his scrambled murmur died when I shook my head to silence him, a slow smile spreading across my lips. I didn't know what to say though, what to do.

I finally found my voice after a while, "what...was that for?" I asked, tentative.

Mingi's head ducked shyly, hand going up to rub at his neck while avoiding my gaze like the plague, "I don't know," he admitted, "I just--I wanted to cheer you up. I guess?"

"You guess?"

His orbs flickered to mine, "don't make fun of me," he sounded like a child and a giggle erupted from my mouth, "I'm not. Just making sure what your intentions were."

I almost missed him murmuring out, "even I'm not sure."

That shut me up. I blinked at him.

"You looked sad," he looked away, "I don't like seeing you sad."

Was that a confession? Or was it just me being overdramatic?

I didn't bother responding out of fear that flat-out rejection was waiting for me just behind the door that broke the boundary between friendship and romance. I moved away and his arms dropped, clearly sensing that something had changed in my demeanour. For the rest of the night, we didn't address the issue, made it out to have been an accident, a small 'slip' if you will. In truth, I was a coward. Couldn't muster the courage to spill out the weight that was heavy on my heart and would rather lock up my feelings away, push them at the far end of my mind.

Maybe it was for the best. We were partners only for this project.

After that, who knows when I'd be seeing him again?

>>>

The day our story came to life was the day I almost told Mingi how I felt about him.

"It's done."

My brain couldn't process what my eyes saw. The animation kept on rolling forward and repeating itself, the melody becoming a numb buzzing background noise as the roaring excitement flooded through my veins, my heart beating so loudly I feared its sound echoed through the room.

Mingi sat next to me at his swivelling desk chair, chin on his palm and eyes glancing between me and the computer screen.

Ever since that night, there had been a weird tension every time we looked at each other for too long. It felt like an itch under my skin I couldn't quite reach, something that made me want to squirm restlessly.

"That..." my throat went dry. It was beautiful. The shading, the fluidity of the storytelling. Everything. "It's..." I struggled to find my voice.

It was beautiful.

"It's beautiful."

Choking up on the wave of emotion crashing through me, I couldn't restrain the sob echoing through the back of my throat and turning away from the young artist to hide the tears welling in the corner of my eyes, I jumped when a warmth ghosted over the back of my elbow.

"You okay?" Mingi's alto rang deep. He'd risen from his chair and it took me aback to see how tall he actually was. I barely reached his throat.

I nodded, fervently wiping the tears away, "I'm fine. Just-- it's hard to watch."

"Yeah," his features softened, "it was hard to draw."

If I was an emotional wreck, I couldn't imagine how hard he must have struggled throughout the whole thing. My body reacted before my brain did, arms flinging themselves around Mingi's neck as I heard him stutter out with embarrassment.

Burying my face into his chest, my body melted into his scent of soft men shampoo followed by a citrus aftertaste. His figure stiffened for a few seconds, before his arms slowly laced around my middle with a hesitance that made my heart flutter to my throat.

"Thank you," came my muffled mumble, "thank you, for doing this."

A small noise of approval rumbled through his chest, palms smoothing over my back in a manner so soothing it makes my limbs turn to mush.

We headed out to buy some tteokbeokki straight from the street vendor later that night along with some pizza to honour our success -- or more precisely, Mingi's success since he was the one doing the majority of hard work -- and as we settled ourselves on a bench in a nearby park of the neighbourhood, I looked up at the night sky with a soft sigh, knowing that after this night, my chances of seeing Mingi would be slim to none.

It wasn't that I didn't want to see him. It was more because he probably had a life of his own, a life he wanted back. He had friends that cared for him, had a stable job he needed to dive back into. He didn't have as much free time as I did.

Something like a jagged rock cut through my chest at the thought. I wasn't going to life; it hurt to know that Mingi's face wouldn't be a regular in my daily schedule.

But he'd done his part. The rest -- figuring out how to pitch that project to our sponsors -- was up to me.

"Have you made a list of who you're going to pitch it to?" Mingi's voice drew me back to reality and I blinked up at him, catching sight of the beer he held out in his hand.

I took it gratefully, cracking it open and taking a huge sip. The liquid felt good sliding down my throat, the familiar sensation of alcohol warming up my stomach.

"I have a few names in mind," the night breeze was cool as it washed against my features that seemed permanently doused in embarrassment, "I might try and pitch it directly to the National Ocean Board*. Though apparently, you need like a contact to get to the organization itself so I'll have to figure that out."

He hummed in agreement, "the hardest part's yet to come."

"No," my eyes swiped up to his, hating how easily he pushed aside his efforts, "you did everything, Mingi. I--I'm really grateful. I don't know how to thank you."

"You came up with the idea. You're the one who wrote the entire storyboard," he shrugged as he took a sip of his own beer. I tried not to stare too long at the bobbing of his adam's apple -- he looked so fine. There was no doubt about that. Even in his casual hoodie and training slacks decked in shades of black and grey, there was no denying that he had the charm and the aura of a model itself.

"I'm just the one who knows how to draw," he continued in an easy tone, which made me snap, "that's not true and you know it," my eyes narrowed, hands clenching a little harder on my can, "you can draw, sure. Anyone can draw, or learn how to anyway. But you can tell stories and trust me when I tell you this-- not everyone can," I shook my head, "not in the way that you do, anyway. It's magical, it makes you dream, it makes you think that maybe--" the words caught in the back of my throat as I swallowed thickly, "maybe there's still a little bit of hope left."

A soft pause ensued. The crickets chirped in the distance paired with the distant hum of cicadas. I kept my eyes glued to his, insistently trying to prove my point as we kept our gazes locked for a few seconds too long. And then, his features softened and his face broke into a soft smile.

A small that took my breath away.

He reached up so suddenly that I didn't have time to register the fact that his hand came to a rest upon my head. He ruffled my hair, in a manner so gentle that I stopped breathing for a full minute.

"Thank you," his murmur washed against my face, breaths tingling my cheeks and causing a splatter of warm peony to rise through the back of my neck.

I wished to believe it was the alcohol.

"No need to thank me," was the only thing I could mumble back, if only to hide how scrambled up my brain had become.

"You'll let me know, right?" Mingi allowed his hand to linger for a few drawn out seconds, before he dropped his arm and took another sip of his beer, "if ever we get a breakthrough."

"Of course I will. What sort of question is that?"

"I don't know. In case you decide to run away without any credits to the artist," he flashed me a teasing smile and I shoved his shoulder in response, "thanks for having absolutely no faith in me."

He laughed, "I'm joking."

"Oh, you're not. You're actually really serious about me stealing your work aren't you?"

"What? Of course not Y/N! Who do you take me for?"

"Who do you take me for?!" I huffled out playfully, " asking me these stupid questions--hey!"

I didn't have time to defend myself when he suddenly pounced onto me, fingers finding my weak points right underneath my armpits. I squealed, bursts of laughter and cries of protests falling from my lips as his hands scrabbled against my sides in an attempt to make me pay for my earlier comments.

"Mingi! Stop it--" I choked on my own laughter, hands failing to find purchase to push him away as he continued his attack without mercy, "that's for using me!" he gloated.

My beer caner spilled over the ground halfway through our playful fight and it wasn't until I managed to grip his wrists that I realized our provocative position; Mingi's body was hovering over mine that had toppled onto the bench, back pressed against the cool metal as I gazed up, transfixed, into those gorgeous feline orbs glinting in the dark light of the park.

The playful air stilled in light of the realization dawning upon me; that he was so close I could kiss him if I wanted to. His lips were mere inches. Would he straight-out reject me if I attempted to bring him closer? Those sinfully rose-tinted lips that looked plush and inviting-- my heart fluttered to my throat just thinking about it.

No.

Don't do it. Don't ruin what you have, a small voice echoed in the back of my mind.

Mingi, maybe upon noticing the change in my demeanor, slowly pulled back and pulled me along with him so that I straightened up. His head tipped down to the spilled beer cans at our feet, and chuckled.

"Well, that's a waste," he commented lightly, as if we hadn't just engaged in something a little more intimate than interesting conversation, and that made my heart sink a little.

"Sure is," I avoided his eyes at all costs, kept my gaze lowered in case he caught a glimpse of what he shouldn't be seeing in the first place.

The words were lingering on the edge of my lips the whole night, deliberately playing back and forth between what was best for us right now, at this particular moment. And if Mingi noticed, he didn't comment on it, though from the way his eyes would find mine in concern every time a silence lasted for too long, I suppose he suspected that there was something a little more that was bothering the depths of my heart even though I forced plastic smiles over my face and pushed my eyes into crinkles to mimic my usual happiness.

My lips held onto a bitter aftertaste when he said our goodbyes that night, as I held onto his sweater a little longer than usual, numb from the cold and the things that clogged up the back of my throat.

It tasted sour.

I love you.

>>>

Y/N: They said they would sponsor it.

My fingers shook with every key tapped onto my phone, brown orbs glued to the screen as I awaited for Mingi's reply. He was online, I had seen his status a few minutes ago before I mustered up the courage to tell him the great news that would've once made me ecstatic, would have me jumping around in joy and barely restrained excitement at the thought that my voice, our voices, were finally being heard after months of toiling and searching and begging and being thrown out of doors.

After that particular night where we'd celebrated our win, I'd been trying my best to avoid the said man when possible. It wasn't that I didn't want to see him. On the contrary, I had to physically dig my nails into my palm so as not to dial his number every evening when the silence, the overbearing numb emptiness, became too much to bear. But I didn't want to overwhelm him, not if he didn't want anything to do with me.

He never took the step forward to contact me first. I guessed that this was my answer.

Instead of pondering over what could have been, I decided to delve deep into my search for sponsors. Easier said than done though, considering that there were numerous marine protection companies that were using greenwashing for their customer market and blatantly refused to take part in such a 'horrendous, misleading act' as they called it. To fund myself for the time-being, I was grateful enough to get a job as a cashier in a Pet Shop from across the street from my apartment. It wasn't much, but it paid the bills and I was able to spend as much time with animals instead of human beings. Life seemed to crawl by at a slow snail's pace for some time, going through the ministrations of life and falling in a routine of going to work, calling companies and sponsors during my lunch break, gong back to work, then getting home and trying once more to search up other kinds of sponsors in hopes that they'd give me the time of the day.

It wasn't until a few months later that a small company in the outskirts of Seoul reached out to me. They introduced themselves as a branch of a bigger Western umbrella and after running a background check, I counted them as credible and accepted an interview.

Which led to the current situation.

My phone buzzed. Screen flashing: Mingi is calling.

My brain backtracked. Huh?

Fingers shaking, I almost missed the green icon before pressing the device to my ear.

"Hey."

"They accepted it?!"

A smile instinctively hitched my lips upwards, "yes," I murmured, breathless. Then, said it a little louder, "yes!"

Mingi laughed, "oh my god! They accepted it!"

I couldn't help but laugh along with him. His effect on me was incredible, lit me up on the inside and for a second I wished I could get a glimpse of his face.

I suggested that we meet up at a nearby café to discuss the details, which was weird, considering that it had been a few weeks since I last saw his face. I couldn't blame him, for he'd been having a tougher time at work and I was burnt out. Coupling that with our lack of communication and you got a friendship that was slowly fraying at the ends.

I forced my heart to mentally put out a front so as not to jump on him the moment I caught sight of his face. But that didn't prove necessary, for the moment I stepped into the quaint coffee shop filled with the mixed scent of books and fresh espresso Mingi was already wrapping me up in a huge bear hug, so tight I could barely breathe, overwhelmed by the familiar scent of his shampoo.

"It's been awhile," he grinned, pulling back to gaze down at me and I swore I felt my chest tighten at the softness swirling through his dark pupils. Everything, every emotion came rushing back like a tidal wave.

"It has," I managed to cough up despite the fact that my heartstrings seemed to be dancing around in-between my lungs. Just tell him already! "You look good, Mingi. Better than the last time we met."

"That's because we managed to finish our project before the deadline," he grinned as he tugged me over to his table. I took note of the worn-out black edge of his sketchbook peeking out of his backpack and had to smile. Typical of him, to be carrying out of his sketchbook even now that he barely had no time for his personal art.

We caught up on each other's lives and about the specifics of the sponsor. They were willing to advertise it on their social medias, their websites, as well as present it to the National Ocean Cleanup Day that was soon approaching, which was an opportunity for all aspiring artists and storytellers to present their art in hopes that it would be seen by an influential eye. Every commission would be ours and they'd only take 5% commission for their advertisement, a pretty good deal considering their reputation.

"I still can't believe they want to advertise it," he raked a hand through his dark locks. They seemed to have grown a little since then, "It feels surreal."

"It'll be a good opportunity for you too," I smiled back, "to get yourself known as an artist."

"Oh actually, there's something I haven't told you yet."

Leaning forward in my seat, my eyebrow rose in curiosity, "spill."

"Well, I'm actually quitting my job next month."

I blinked, "wha--wait, really? Did you get another job?"

He shook his head at that before his smile broadened, "nah. I'm not about that life anymore. I want to do what I really want," pausing slightly as hesitation flashed through his features, I offered him a reassuring smile, "I'm going to be a full-time artist."

My mouth dropped open in surprise, eyes widening, "Oh my god--No! You're kidding?!" and when he shook his head once more with that knowing smile I knew too well, my hands shot up instantly to grab at his with barely restrained excitement, "I'm so proud of you, Mingi! What--How did you--What have you planned?!"

"I haven't really planned anything yet," though his tone was unsure, there was no denying the full-out grin on his face, "but I've been gathering a bunch of my sketches. They all follow the same theme so I might just go with that."

"That's amazing!" I couldn't believe it. Tears were filling my eyes, "what concept are you going for?!"

And that was when his gaze locked onto mine.

"The sea."

I probably looked like an idiot. Staring at him like he'd grown another pair of eyes and not really comprehending his words for the first few seconds they settled into my brain.

That was when it hit me.

I gasped.

"W--Why?" was the only thing I managed to stutter out.

Though there seemed to be a layer of pink dusted across his cheeks, Mingi answered confidently, "because of you."

I gulped.

"I got inspired, kind of," his head dipped down, dark pupils lowering to the table as if he was too embarrassed to meet my gaze, "I couldn't understand how someone could be as passionate. I--I live in my head most of the time, never really notice all of these outside problems. And it's bad. I know it is.” His eyes fluttered up to mine and I lost breath at the intensity present in them. They swirled with a gentleness that was seldom present, a vulnerable sheen of maroon reflecting in the depths of his dark irises and yet, so intense at the same time that I flushed right down to my feet.

“But you don’t. You live to make the world better and I—I wish I was more like that. I want to be more like that. Because these things matter just as much as what I want to show inside my head,” he paused, hesitating for a few beats of silence before continuing, “when you first told me about the animation, I was—I’m not going to lie to you—I was scared, that I wouldn’t be able to fulfill your expectations. That I didn’t have that in me,” his hands, which had unknowingly turned to grasp mine, slowly interlocked his fingers with my own, “but I’ve never seen someone look at me the way you do.”

“How…” my words trailed off as I struggled to form a cohesive sentence, “how did I look at you?”

“Like you believed in me.”

Tears suddenly pricked at the corner of my eyes. Because he was right. I had had so much faith in Mingi that I lost my own. I had no purpose, while he did. He was so overwhelmingly talented at what he did that I wished I was more like him.

And all along, he was admiring me for doing whatever the hell I wanted.

“I—“ I tried turning my head, hid it in my sleeve so he wouldn’t see the tears brimming in my eyes, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Hm, I guess you can say ‘thanks Mingi, for seeing me as your role model’ or ‘hey that’s cool. I actually inspired someone’. Something along these lines,” he grinned as one of his hands released mine to cup my chin. Turning my face towards his once more before brushing the tears away, he murmured, “why are you crying?”

I sniffled, “because that’s the most wonderful thing someone’s ever said to me and I can’t help but love you even more—“

The words had bubbled out without warning and instantly my mouth clamped itself shut. I stared at Mingi’s shocked expression, looked back down at the cracks on the veneered table before me, and tried withdrawing my hands from his grasp.

Except, he didn’t allow me to.

“What…did you say?” his voice had dropped even lower. My heart jumped to my throat, nerves suddenly jittery, “you…love me?”

I tried chuckling, though I sounded more like a dying animal, “of a sort. You know, like a friend loves another fri—“

His pointed look shut me up and I brought my eyes back to the table. How embarrassing. How stupid. What an idiot. You’re such an idiot! My mind kept on screaming over and over and over again.

“Y/N.”

I didn’t dare look up, for fear of seeing someone I shouldn’t. For fear that one glance might break my heart into little pieces without warning.

He squeezed my fingers as a sign. His hand tilted my chin up to his. My gaze insistently glued itself to the crack running along the table’s edge.

“Y/N. Look at me.”

No. My heart screamed out. No, this is all wrong. This shouldn’t be happening.

“Fine then. You give me no other choice,” he sighed in what sounded to be exasperation and before I knew what was happening, I felt the softest touch of blossoming warmth over my knuckles. Eyes shooting up with a silent gasp, they went straight to Mingi’s as I took in the way his lips were brushing against the back of my hand.

To say that I was combusting like wildfire would be an understatement.

“Does that answer your question?” he whispered.

“Uhm…no.”

His gaze darkened. My stomach churned.

“I love you.”

I swear I could’ve burst out crying then and there.

“You—“ my throat was dry. Hearing myself say them sounded pathetic, borderline ridiculous. Hearing it fall from his mouth though…that was exhilarating. Magical, “You…love me?”

When he nodded, fresh tears welled up in my eyes. Mingi couldn’t help but chuckle then, reaching over to wipe at my cheek, “why are you crying?” he sounded amused.

“I don’t know,” I blubbered back, “because I thought you’d say sorry and tell me we’d never be able to meet again and I don’t know how I was going to live if that was the case—“

“I don’t think I’d be that drastic, Y/N,” bringing my hands up once more, he allowed his lips to brush against my knuckles, the mere action comforting me, “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Pretty obvious? Jesus Mingi. I can’t read you. You’re not obvious at all!”

“But what about that kiss on the cheek I gave you that time?!” He pouted, “that must’ve counted for something!”

“Well you didn’t do anything else after that so how was I supposed to know?”

“I thought that you were disgusted when you didn’t respond because you didn't like me that way,” his pout deepened and I laughed at how childish he looked. A grown young man who was on the brink of a breakthrough in his career, acting like he was merely a five year old child, “how was I supposed to know then?”

I bit my lip to stop the grin from spreading over my face. I failed, smiling so wide my face practically broke in two, “you’re kinda cute when you’re mad.”

Huffing and muttering some in-comprehensive words under his breath, he tightened his grip on my hands and lifted them to press against his cheek, where his face mellowed out into that soft, crooked smile that turned his eyes into half-moons, “so does this mean we’re dating?”

“Well that’s kind of bold of you, considering you didn’t ask me,” I tried keeping a nonchalant air, only to burst into a fit of giggles as the said man threw me a horrified look, “but I literally poured my heart out!”

“I’m joking you big baby,” I ruffled his hair for good measure and though he grunted, there was no denying that the grin on his face was a permanent one. It made a series of butterflies flutter in my stomach and biting my lip to keep myself from giggling like a silly schoolgirl, I felt the slightest tremors of happiness that sounded like my heart cartwheeling in my chest.

Mingi accompanied me home that night, not hesitating to slip a hand into mine and intertwining our fingers throughout the whole train ride. We probably looked like a pair of idiots, smiling so wide at nothing at all that it wasn’t surprising if we scared off a few passerby’s. As we walked up the street towards my flat, we chatted about nothing and anything at all and somehow, I felt a sense of peace that hadn’t been there ever since our project was completed. As though all the puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place and now actually made sense.

It was calm inside my heart, inside my mind. The turmoil of waves that always seemed to brush a little too close to my sanity were now reduced to nothing, giving way to the calm sandy beach hidden below.

“That was a little too short for my liking,” Mingi’s statement caused me to blink back to reality and the fact that we’d already arrived at my doorstep made my excitement drop to disappointment in my stomach.

I turned to him nevertheless, graced with that soft smile that rendered me weak and made my throat clog up with unspoken emotion, “well, thanks for walking me back home,” my hands knotted themselves together, a habit of mine whenever I felt the nervousness take over.

“You don’t have to thank me, you know,” he flashed his pearly whites.

I turned away, feeling my cheeks warm up before Mingi gently grasped the back of my elbow. Tugging me close so that I stumbled into his chest, his hand was hesitant as it fluttered over my face, hovering a little distance away from my cheek before he mustered up the courage to cradle it in his hold. His other arm wound around my waist to pull me a little closer still and I would’ve lied to say that I was completely rational at this point in time.

My sanity had practically flown out of the window back then. Only leaving Mingi and his warmth in its wake.

His brown orbs held mine for the briefest of moments, as if asking me in silent permission whether he was allowed to take this step forward that would change our relationship forever.

So I did it for him. Pressed up on my tiptoes and claimed his lips.

Just like he’d claimed my heart.

The stifled yelp muffled at the back of his throat was one of surprise as I slanted my mouth against his and slowly, but hesitantly, moved my lips in a dance I’d hope he wouldn’t find to his dislike. But I was worrying for nothing, for a growl rumbled through his chest instead and he kissed me back with barely restrained vigour, hands pressing me close to his chest so that I gasped into his mouth. He took that to his advantage, tongue darting out to meet mine and drawing out a soft moan from my voicebox.

We parted for air after what seemed like forever, and that was when he pressed his forehead against mine with a tender, crooked smile that made me want to slap myself for wondering whether this was actually happening, that this was real.

“So,” his murmur washed over my face, nose bumping into mine, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Depends,” I shot back with a smile of my own, “Is it a date?”

“What do you mean?” he whined, “of course it’s a date.”

Laughing and pecking his cheek once, twice, three times until he turned his head to capture my lips with his, I pulled away with a breathless grin, pretty sure that I looked like a complete idiot with butterflies practically roaring through the entirety of my abdomen, “then sure, I’d love that.”

I didn’t know anything about what would happen to our small animation once it would be aired. There was a slight apprehension prickling at the back of my mind every time I thought about it, but somehow all this was overshadowed by the abundance of joy swelling through my chest every time I caught a glimpse of Mingi’s face, knowing that he was mine and that he believed in me, even if the rest of the world didn’t.

And that in the end, it would be okay.

36 notes · View notes

poeticandors · 4 years

Text

Cut to the Feeling Part 3

Poe Dameron x F!Reader (Babysitter!AU)

Summary: After graduating college and needing to have some cash in order to survive while doing an unpaid internship, Y/N decides to take up a babysitting/caretaking job. Little does she know that she ends up working for a familiar face.

Warnings: small mentions of smut, just little flashbacks really, and a ton of angst at the end

A/N: This is for @propertyofpoeandbucky Mystery Challenge! Thanks for waiting patiently, everyone! It’s been wild trying to figure out what to write but I hope this does justice. This one definitely got to me, and you’ll see why.

Part 1 Part 2

GIF by @captain-flint

Booster seat? Check.

First aid kit? Check.

Snacks in case Eva Bey gets hungry? Check, check.

You nod, double-checking the inventory again before finally closing the door. Today was your first official day, and you wanted to be prepared. You had to prove to Poe that you were the best choice.

Heading into the driver’s seat, you buckle up before you put in the address for Eva Bey’s school, and drive off. As you grip the steering wheel, your mind only wandered off. Was this a mistake? Did Poe make the wrong choice, hiring you? Did you make a mistake accepting the position?

No, none of this was a mistake. Sure, you may have slept with the guy who was now your boss, technically, but it was only a one-time thing. Everything had to be professional, which is how you would act when interacting with Poe. Every text between you was simple, it never led to a full conversation. Just simple directions and information that you needed. That’s all it was, and that’s all it needed to be.

Fuck, you taste even better, his deep voice rings in the back of your mind. You can’t help but think back to that night. The image of Poe kneeling on his knees in front of you as he throws your legs over his shoulders is clear as day. The way the light peeked in from outside and how his hands felt as they dug hard into your thighs, how his mouth felt—

Stop!

Shaking your head, you quickly think of something else. You really needed this job, and despite that one night no matter how amazing it was, you would not let that happen again.

Finally, you pull up into the pick-up car line and step out, taking a look around the school. Poe made sure to let you know the earlier you get there, the better chance of getting a good spot in line you would get. The parents can be very competitive, he told you.

You checked your watch, and realized you were right on time, so you started heading to the front office. As you look around, you notice just how much more lavish the vehicles in line were than your own. The front door had a buzzer that you hit to be let inside, and you noticed all the security cameras. This was definitely elite compared to the preschool you remembered going to.

Walking inside, you head straight to the front desk, spotting a receptionist. She gives you a friendly smile, leaning forward.

“Hi! Are you here for a pick-up?”

“Um, yes? I’m here for Eva Bey Dameron.”

“Oh, you’re the nanny, right? Mr. Dameron called and let us know you would be picking her up from now on.”

“That’s me,” you nod.

“Well, if I could see your ID please? It’s just a procedure when we get someone new for pick-up. I’ll copy it and put it in Eva Bey’s file.”

“Sure,” you reach into your bag and grab your wallet, pulling out or driver’s license to hand to her.

“Perfect, and if you can fill out this emergency contact form as well?” She hands you a clipboard. “It also asks for your vehicle information.”

“Okay, no problem.”

Just as you finish completing the form, she hands you back your ID. She then tells you which room Eva Bey is in and you make your way down the hallway.

The artwork displayed on the bulletin boards and the colorful decorations on each classroom door brightens up the hallway. Drawings, paintings, and even cut out projects fill each board. You finally make your way up to Eva Bey’s classroom, spotting a drawing of hers on the bulletin board. Smiling, you knock on the door before stepping inside, and see all of the children at their different stations.

A young woman walks up to you, a friendly smile on her face. “Hi, you’re here to pick up Eva Bey, right? I just got the call from the front desk.”

“Yeah, I am,” you shake her hand, giving her your name.

“It’s good to meet you. I’m Miss Connix. Eva Bey is just finishing up with her sensory station so after she washes her hands she’ll be ready to go.”

“No problem, can I grab her bag?”

“Sure, her cubby is over there,” she points and you nod in thanks as you go grab the small, pink backpack.

You hear your name being called in a small voice, and turn to see Eva Bey hurrying to you. Smiling, you kneel down.

“Hey, Eva Bey! Are you ready to go home?”

“Yeah! Will my daddy be there?”

“No, he’ll be at work, remember? It’ll be just us today.”

“Okay!” She turns to her teacher. “Bye, Miss Connix!”

“Bye, Eva Bey! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She grabs your hand as you stand up, making your way to sign her out before you lead her out of the classroom. She skips along next to you as you lead her to your car, her dark pigtails bouncing at the top of her head.

After getting her seated in her booster seat and buckled up, you quickly move to the front seat and look back at her.

“I brought some snacks if you’d like,” you smile. “We have granola bars and some Goldfish.”

“Can I have some Goldfish, please?”

“Sure.”

Handing her a bag, she happily takes it before swinging her feet over the edge of the seat. Flipping on your Disney playlist, you begin the ride to Poe’s house.

++++++

The trip back home wasn’t too bad, you were lucky enough to get past most of the traffic. A lot of the drive was spent singing songs from some of Eva Bey’s favorite movies, and hearing about her day at school. She mentioned how they were working on writing their letters, and also showed you a finger painting project she did for the letter ‘e’, which she was very excited to show you.

After arriving at Poe's house, you both quickly settled down so she could relax for a bit. Then, it was on to practicing tracing her letters from one of the few books Poe had left for Eva Bey to work on to practice each day. You sat and helped her for the first portion of the page for the letter ‘a’ before she was able to independently do the motions herself. While she worked on that, you quickly worked on getting a few things done for the house.

After putting away the dishes that were left in the dishwasher last night, you went on to go ahead and wash the few that were in the sink. There was a basket of Eva Bey’s dirty laundry that sat in the hallway, so you took care to get that started in the laundry. After getting that taken care of, Eva Bey ran straight up to you to show you the letters she did by herself.

“Wow! Look at that! That’s so good, Eva Bey,” you smile.

“Can we play, now?”

“Sure, we can play a bit before I start cooking dinner.”

She smiles and takes your hand, pulling you to her bedroom. As you sit on the rug in the floor of her room next to the small table, she goes and grabs a crate filled with various Barbies and other dolls, and then another filled with small dress up clothing accessories like beaded necklaces and hats.

“What are we going to be playing?”

“Tea party!” She comes up, placing a necklace around your neck.

“You know what? I was definitely ready to drink some tea, too,” you laugh softly. Her smile brightens and she quickly starts setting up the table. “Are there going to be treats, too?”

“Well, there’s biscuits! And cookies.”

“Maybe one of these days we can bake some cookies, what do you think?”

“Can they be Snickerdoodles? Those are my favorite.”

“Sure!”

You scoot closer to the table as Eva Bey sits down, pretending to pour tea into your little plastic teacup. Propping your pinky up, you feign taking a sip as Eva Bey giggles. The game goes on, the both of you acting silly and acting out a tea party when you notice how quiet Eva Bey suddenly gets. She stares down at her lap, and when she lets out a whisper of your name that’s when you realize something might be wrong.

“Yeah, Eva Bey?”

“...Did you ever play tea party with your mommy?”

The question kind of catches you off guard, but at the same time… You always wondered why Eva Bey’s mom wasn’t present, but knew it wasn’t your place to ask about it. From the way Eva Bey looks up at you with her soft, brown eyes, you figure it’s probably a sensitive subject.

“Well, I don’t really remember playing tea party with my mom,” you start off. “But I do remember playing other games.”

She only nods, and looks back down at her lap. You figure that’s all she is going to ask until she sighs softly.

“I don’t have a mommy,” she says simply, with a mere hint of sadness laced. “I ask my daddy about it but he says he will tell me when I’m older.”

“Oh… well,” you scoot closer to her. “You know, Eva Bey, there are a lot of people who don’t have mommy’s.”

“They don’t?”

“No, and that is okay. I know it can make us feel upset, too.” You say softly. Eva Bey mutters something and you lean down towards her to hear her. “Hm?”

“Sometimes the kids at school talk about their mommy’s, and it makes me feel a little sad.”

“Well… that’s okay to be sad, sometimes. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you have a daddy and grandpa who love you very much. And you know that you can always talk to them about it, and they will always be there to give you hugs and kisses when you feel sad.”

You hope that this was enough for Eva Bey to hear— you were not expecting this to be one of the first serious conversations with the four year old. But when she looks up at you, the corners of her mouth lift up slightly.

“Yeah… they do love me a lot.”

Relieved, you let out a slight laugh. “I know they do. Very much. Do you feel a little better?”

Eva Bey smiles fully, a bright sight, and nods. “Yeah.”

You smile, and check the time on your watch. “Oh, we should start cleaning up so that we can cook dinner. How does mac and cheese with some broccoli sound?”

“Okay!” She quickly jumps up, rushing to put all her toys away. You can’t help but chuckle at the sight, and help her out before heading to the kitchen.

++++++

Poe stretches as he gets out of his car, inhaling the crisp, cool night air. Everything is quiet now, despite the few cars driving along the road, and he checks the time. Eva Bey should have been in bed two hours ago, and he hoped that was the case.

Poe wonders for a moment how your first day together went: if there were any issues or if you guys had a great time. You didn’t have to contact him, except to tell him that you both made it home safely, so that should have been a good sign. And he knew that Eva Bey was talking nonstop about seeing you again after the first meeting.

Poe was glad, though. He wanted her to get along with you. Eva Bey was usually pretty shy, but yet you were able to get her to open up to you after minutes of being with her. She asked Poe plenty of questions like if he knew your favorite color or anything else, which Poe of course could not answer. Poe realized he didn’t know too much about you, and the little he did know was only what he learned from the interview and… the night before.

The sounds you made as he pinned you to the bed and rocked his hips into yours were etched in the back of his mind. The way you gasped and threw your head back in pleasure as you dug your nails into his back while he rubbed his fingers against your sensitive nub is pictured clearly. He hadn’t been with anyone who made him feel that good in so long and…

He should not be thinking about that right now.

Poe shakes his head, and wipes his hand down his face. He needed to stop. Whatever happened wouldn’t happen again, and he definitely would not cross any lines that were made between you both.

He unlocks the front door and steps inside, hearing nothing except the slight sounds of your humming. He sets his bag down, and walks to the kitchen to see you sitting at the counter with a laptop and binder out.

“Hey.”

You quickly look up, smiling. “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in. Eva Bey fell right to sleep at eight.”

“Did she? That’s good,” he nods as he heads to the fridge.

“Oh, I… actually made you some dinner— well… I happened to make more dinner for myself then I meant to, so… I made you a plate.”

Poe watches you walk over to the microwave, pulling out a plate of food. Turning, you place it in his hands.

“I figured you would want something different then Mac and cheese and broccoli,” you chuckle. “But I wasn’t sure if you ate on the way home or not, so—“

“I didn’t. Thank you, I’m starving actually and this looks way healthier then a drive-thru burger.”

Poe puts the plate back in the microwave and warms it up, while you stand awkwardly in place wringing your hands together. You desperately want to bring up the conversation you had with Eva Bey, but that would mean possibly having to bring up a new conversation that seemed to be sensitive with Poe.

But when he glances down at you, and sees the look on your face, you figure it’s too late to turn back.

“Um… can I ask you something?”

“Sure, anything.”

“...What happened to Eva Bey’s mother?”

Poe sighs, rubbing his brow as the microwave beeps and he pulls the plate out. He grips the edge of the counter, looking down in silence, and you wonder if you just crossed a line.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… she asked me a question about my mother and then she told me how she doesn’t have one—”

“No, it’s fine,” Poe waves you off. “It’s just… I’ve been trying to come up with a way to talk to her about it. But every time I think I found a way, I look into her eyes and just…”

Poe trails off, and you silently rebuke yourself for not keeping this to yourself.

“Poe, if you don’t want to talk about it—“

“No, no, it’s okay. I… I need to talk about this.”

Slightly relieved, you nod as Poe pushes away from the counter and faces you.

“When I was a sophomore in college, I met this girl. She was pretty nice, and of course I was just a dumb college kid. So, we made up this… arrangement. We were usually careful, but one thing led to another and, well, she ended up pregnant.”

Poe scoffs, shaking his head. You waited patiently for Poe to continue, leaning against the counter.

“Of course, I was willing to start a relationship. I told her I wasn’t going to walk out on her, and I didn’t want the kid to live without both parents. I took her out on dates, planned everything for the baby with her. I thought… I thought things were going well. That she felt the same way I did for her, and god, I even think at one point I was in love with her.

“Well, I must’ve been blinded or something. Because after she gave birth to Eva Bey, and she was cleared from the hospital, she left with no word. There was no way for me to reach her— her parents lived out of the state and I didn’t have any way to contact them. She just… disappeared, and left me alone to care for our child.”

“Oh, Poe… I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well… as Eva Bey got older, I tried coming up with a way to tell her about her mother. She’s only ever asked a handful of times, and of course she is so patient. She just looks at me and nods when I tell her ‘we’ll talk about it when you’re a little older’. But I just… I haven’t told her because…”

Poe swallows thickly, and you swear that if the crack in his voice doesn’t make your heart ache, the next thing he says will.

“...What kid wants to hear that their mom didn’t want to be their mom? That they didn’t want to read them bedtime stories and watch their dance recitals and miss their tee-ball games? Or kiss them goodnight and sing them to sleep?”

And of course, you feel for Poe after he says this. How do you even come up with a way to explain all that to a child? How can you tell them without making it feel like they did something wrong when in fact they did absolutely nothing?

And just how can someone look at a child— especially one as bright and sweet as Eva Bey— and decide they don’t want to be in their life?

All of these questions roll through your mind and you just miss the slight sniffle coming from Poe. Glancing at him, you watch as he wipes away a single tear.

“I just… I love that kid so damn much. I want to give her the world because she deserves it. Because she is one of the sweetest, and kindest kids. And she doesn’t even have the luxury of having both parents in her life. Just me—“

“Hey, don’t do that,” you shake your head. “Don’t even think of putting yourself down like that. Eva Bey is so lucky to have you as her father. That little girl loves you so much, I can see it all around here: from all the photographs and drawings of you both to the way her eyes light up when she talks about you.”

Poe lifts his gaze at the time you stare directly into his dark eyes, making your point quite clear.

“And she knows how much you love her. So do not ever doubt that you give her enough when the truth is you give her so much and more. She is so lucky to have you, and you are the only parent she needs, Poe. If her mother doesn’t want to be in that sweet little girl's life, then she doesn’t know what she’s missing out on. Because even I saw just how special Eva Bey is from the moment I met her.”

Something flashes in Poe’s eyes— something that you have to tell yourself isn’t really there because if it was, then that would be bad. But you continue to stay silent, staring into his eyes as the ticking from the clock in the living room makes its way to break the silence between you and Poe. And just as he stares down at you, it’s almost as if… as if he—

Poe clears his throat, taking a step back. “...Thank you, for saying that. About Eva Bey.”

You almost don’t hear what he says, but you quickly nod in response. “Well, it’s true. She’s a wonderful girl, and I’m lucky to get to be here and get to know her more.”

“...She’s lucky to get to have you here, too. And… so am I.”

A small, sincere smile forms upon your face, and Poe returns it all the same. Before you can say anything further, you happen to catch the time on the stove clock.

“Oh… it’s getting late. I should… go.”

“...Right. Right, you should.”

Poe watches as you gather your laptop and binder, and stuff them into your bag. As you throw the strap over your shoulder, Poe nods and follows you to the door silently. He opens it, and the slight breeze from outside hits your bare arms and causes you to shiver right away. Poe pretends not to notice as he walks you to your car, and you glance up at him.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Thanks for dinner, by the way. And for… the talk.”

“Of course.”

Poe looks as if he has something else to say, but hesitates, and instead bids you good night before you get into your car. You watch through your window as Poe makes it back into his house, closing the door, and you let out a sigh— the emotional exhaustion finally catching up to you. Running your hands down your face, you finally start the car and proceed on your way back home.

What a first day, you think to yourself as you turn off onto the main road. You were not at all prepared for any of that — for the few questions from Eva Bey to the long, heart-rending conversation with Poe. Eva Bey seemed to be fine after you were able to get her to eat her dinner and play a bit more before putting her to sleep. But Poe…

You think back to the way he looked at you— there was definitely something hidden beneath those brown eyes of his, but you didn’t know what that was. It was for the best, you figure. But still, you couldn’t help the way your heart raced against your chest as you think back to it.

Tonight definitely changed things between the three of you.

++++++

Tag list: @bellamys @liziihorta @woakiees @lizajane3 @danicalifxrnia @mrsdaamneron @spectre-leader @mystical-934 @atonemnt @shakespeareanwannabe @cyarikaaa @fandomtravels @someplace-darker @darksideofclarke @kittyofalltrades @galaxy-of-stories @thesoftdumbass @yougottakeeponkeepinon @obipoelover @none-of-your-bullshit @newyorksins @kittycatty072 @cheekygeek05 @mserynlarsen @loveboat

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x f!reader #poe dameron #poe x reader #poe dameron modern!au #poe dameron x you

308 notes · View notes

superman86to99 · 3 years

Photo

Who’s Who: Sam Foswell

(art by @donsparrow)

If you’ve been watching the CW’s Superman & Lois, you’ve heard the name “Foswell” a whole lot, usually in an exasperated tone. That’s the jackass who fires several Daily Planet employees in the early episodes, including Clark Kent and, most devastatingly, Whit, the heart and soul of the Planet. In the comics, Foswell plays a very similar role, with some slight differences that probably won’t make it to TV, like when he makes out with a satanic being masquerading as an angel and then transforms into a muscular demon (someone correct me if I’m wrong and that already happened in the show but I missed it, somehow).

And so, for anyone who might be wondering “Who’s Sam Foswell?” or “Which DC Comics does Sam Foswell appear in?” or other Google-able phrases that might lead people to this page, we present the definitive comic book history of this classic Superman supporting character (”classic” meaning “he was in the comics I read as a kid in the ‘90s”).

Sam first showed up in Superman #51 (1991), soon after a storyline in which a satanic being/nightclub owner called Lady Blaze steals the souls of Jimmy Olsen and Perry White’s son, Jerry -- who is actually the biological son of Lex Luthor, but should NOT be confused with Lex Luthor II (for one thing, Jerry never slept with a gooey other-dimensional being shaped like Supergirl). Superman manages to save Jimmy and Jerry from Blaze’s hellish realm, but only one of them comes back to life. Unfortunately, it’s Jimmy. I mention all of this because, after the death of his son, Perry decides to quit being the Daily Planet’s editor-in-chief for a while and cedes that title to long-time staff member Sam Foswell, who must have worked in another floor, because we’d never seen this guy before.

It’s pretty obvious right away that Perry would have been better off leaving a janitor or something in charge. In Superman #52, Foswell asks Clark for help using Perry’s computer and seems surprised to learn that those crazy Kent and Lane kids are working on a story together (they’ve been dating for so long that they’re already engaged). In Action Comics #665, he has to beg Clark to go from freelancer to full time staff member because he’s just way in over his head. Up until now, Foswell basically seems like a clueless grandpa running a major media outlet, but he’ll soon become far less adorable...

Clark’s full time salary must be pretty good, because in Superman: The Man of Steel #1, Foswell says the Planet is suddenly having money issues and fires some people. Among them is Jimmy Olsen, who literally just signed the lease on his first apartment, so excellent timing there, Sam. But hey, at least this means Jimmy’s concern that his new editor would “bust his chops” was unjustified! (Because he has no editor, because he’s unemployed.)

(Fun fact: That other girl Foswell fires is secretly the daughter of a DC hero, as part of a storyline absolutely no one noticed, which I’ll write about another time.)

Jimmy only finds out he’s been fired in Superman #57, and he tells Foswell he’s gonna regret it. I’m not sure what Jimmy meant by that, but it probably wasn’t “I’m gonna spend several months homeless and living in my car until a drunken bar owner takes pity on me,” which is what happened. Anyway, on that same issue Foswell says he’s gonna write an editorial praising the Eradicator, who was in his “murder criminals and forcibly turn the Earth into Krypton” phase. When Clark objects, Foswell not so subtly threatens to fire him, even though he was practically kissing Clark’s ass just the other day.

Foswell goes all “Mr. Slate from The Flintstones” on Clark again on Superman #58, this time because he thinks Clark overslept, like he does every time Superman has an early morning emergency. While at it, Foswell also gives Lois crap about some expense reports, leading to an adorable sequence where Clark kisses her at super-speed while she’s being chastised, without Foswell noticing. After going around firing and antagonizing people for several months, Foswell still seems baffled to learn that no one likes him in Adventures of Superman #481. Yeah, this guy’s not the most perceptive journalist ever.

Continuing his quest to become the most hateable Daily Planet staffer ever (not surnamed “Olsen”), Foswell writes an anti-Superman editorial in Superman #59 -- he says that if Superman really cared about Metropolis, he’d take over as CEO of LexCorp and create more jobs. Ironically, Foswell treats his own employees so poorly (the ones he hasn’t fired, I mean), that in Adventures #482 a bunch of them go on strike start heckling him... not very effectively, but it’s the thought that counts.

Perry comes back to the Planet in in Action #670 and the first thing he does is call Foswell and the other higher ups a bunch of idiots for mistreating their employees. Foswell goes back to being a regular staffer after that, but he’s so unpopular that they finally kick him out in Action #677. Foswell tries to get a job at Newstime magazine (the DC Universe’s version of Newsweek and Time) in Superman #68, but the owner, Colin Thornton, basically tells him to go to Hell... which is a spoiler of where this story is going.

This is where things turn really dark for old Sam. The next time we see him, in Man of Steel #14, he’s at the cemetery visiting his wife and son (or someone else he affectionately called “Little Geoffrey,” anyway) and thinking about joining them. Even the Babadook is like “damn, poor guy”...

And sure enough, in Superman #70 Foswell actually jumps off a bridge -- only for a beautiful angel to save him and promise that his fortunes will change if he “pledges himself” to her. Later that same issue, Foswell runs into Colin Thornton again and is offered a job as Newstime’s editor on the spot. Everything’s coming up Foswell! He even gets a smooch on the mouth from that hot angel!

Unfortunately, Foswell’s new “angel” girlfriend is actually the satanic Lady Blaze in disguise. This is leads to “The Blaze/Satanus War” saga (starting in Adventures #493), in which Blaze tries to invade Metropolis by teleporting demons through Foswell, since his soul belongs to her. In Action #680, she convinces Foswell that Superman wants to kill him for firing his pal Jimmy, so Sam fully gives himself to her and becomes a big, muscular demon creature (whom this blog dubbed “FosHELL”).

In Man of Steel #15, Superman is told that the only way to prevent Metropolis from literally going to Hell is to kill Foswell. This seems like it’s setting up a big heroic sacrifice scene, which would have at least given the character a dignified end, but nah. Instead, Superman ends up teaming up with Blaze’s evil-but-less-evil-than-her brother, Lord Satanus, to defeat her.

Once Blaze is taken care of, Satanus restores Foswell to his dweeby human form in Superman #71... but only because he now owns Sam’s soul and thinks he might be useful some day. Oh yeah, and Satanus is secretly Foswell’s boss, Colin Thornton! So he owns the guy in both the earthly and the satanic realms.

I guess his new demonic master never found a use for the guy, because this storyline was the last time we ever saw Sam Foswell... until he was brought back by a TV show in 2021. And he also got new art by our own Don Sparrow!* At last, everything really IS coming up Foswell. Until the show kills him off to bring back Perry White, anyway.

*Foswell fanatics can see Don’s full artwork without that pesky logo in our Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/51941393

#superman #superman & lois #sam foswell

14 notes · View notes

tiramisiyu · 3 years

Text

Tears of Themis: Lu Jinghe’s Birthday - NPC Interviews Part 4

Translation Masterlist

Event Story: 6.13 Decision to Compete | 6.15 Personal Instruction | 6.17 Building Block Dolls | 6.19 Participating in the Competition | 6.21 Birthday Celebration

Event Story Interviews: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Interview 16 – Female University Student

MC: Hello! Are you a participant in the building blocks competition? I would like to interview the participants of the building blocks competition and contacted you regarding this previously.

Female University Student: I know. Could you make it quick? My movie’s about to start.

MC: Alright, alright.

START QUESTIONING

⊳ Reason for competing

MC: May I ask, why are you participating in this building blocks competition?

Female University Student: Because I like them. A lot of people in our club joined.

MC: Club?

Female University Student: Yes, a building blocks club. I’m the club president.

MC: Then you must be excellent with building blocks?

Female University Student: I’m alright. Lots of people in our club are really good.

⊳ Competition Theme

MC: Do you have any thoughts regarding the theme of this competition, “A Reconstruction of World-Famous Artworks”?

Female University Student: This theme is very rare. Our club is currently doing research on various famous works from different schools of art.

MC: Huh?

Female University Student: To win in the competition, we definitely can’t skimp on researching the topic.

⊳ World-Famous Artworks

MC: What do you know of world-famous artworks?

Female University Student: I’m not too knowledgeable on that, but there is a painting that left a deep impression on me when I was researching the competition topic.

MC: Which is it?

Female University Student: “Impression, Sunrise”. It’s quite challenging to reconstruct Impressionist artworks using building blocks.

MC: (As expected of the club president of a building blocks club – every sentence of hers has to do with building blocks.)

⊳ “Z”

MC: Do you know of “Z”?

Female University Student: I’ve heard of him. Apparently, he’s going to be a special evaluator at this competition. I specifically analyzed his works – there’s a certain level of difficulty trying to reconstruct them using building blocks. However, I’ll do my best.

⊳ Things she wants to say to “Z”

MC: Is there anything you want to say to “Z”?

Female University Student: Though I know little about oil painting, when I look at his artworks, I feel a force in them. Perhaps this is the passion he feels for art. I hope that he can continue to maintain this passion.

END QUESTIONING

MC: That ends the interview, thank you.

Female University Student: No problem. My movie’s just about to start, goodbye.

MC: Goodbye.

Interview 17 – Young Teacher

MC: (The young man over there is holding a lot of stationery. Is he a teacher?)

MC: Hello, I would like to interview the participants of the building blocks competition and contacted you regarding this previously.

Young Teacher: Ah, I remember you. Let’s start.

START QUESTIONING

⊳ Reason for competing

MC: Why are you participating in this building blocks competition?

Young Teacher: Because my work requires it. I am a building blocks teacher, and I mainly teach creative building block classes. My students and I were all very interested in the competition this time, so we signed up.

⊳ Building Blocks Teacher

MC: Building blocks teacher? It sounds like quite an interesting job.

Young Teacher: It is. My work is mainly to guide building block hobbyists on an introductory level and stimulate their creativity. I came to the stationery store today because I wanted to buy some teaching materials, since I’m planning to hold a class combining building blocks and painting.

⊳ Competition Theme

MC: Do you have any thoughts regarding the theme of this competition, “A Reconstruction of World-Famous Artworks”?

Young Teacher: This theme is very interesting. I was just preparing to research it in earnest. As a building blocks teacher, I need to set an example for my students.

⊳ World-Famous Artworks

MC: What do you know of world-famous artworks?

Young Teacher: I’m not too knowledgeable about them right now, but I’ve already downloaded a lot of pictures online and am planning to start practicing today.

⊳ “Z”

MC: Do you know of “Z”?

Young Teacher: You must be talking about the special evaluator for the building blocks competition? I heard that his “Shepherd Girl” might become the topic of the competitions and tried reconstructing it. It is a very difficult piece indeed.

⊳ Things he wants to say to “Z”

MC: If you had the chance to speak with “Z”, what would you say?

Young Teacher: From Z’s paintings, I can feel his passion for art, just like my passion for building blocks. I trust that he will be able to create even more, excellent drawings in the future.

END QUESTIONING

MC: That ends today’s interview, thank you for your cooperation.

Young Teacher: No problem. If you want to participate in the building blocks classes, you can reach out to me. My classroom is on the nearby commerce street.

MC: Sure.

Interview 18 – Earbuds-Wearing Guy

MC: The next interviewee is… ah, the young guy over there.

START INSPECTION

⊳ Manhua books

MC: (He’s holding manhua books? Whoa, there’s a really cute girl on the cover. He must love manhua a lot.)

⊳ Earbuds

MC: (He’s wearing earbuds – seems like he can’t hear me calling him…)

MC: (Since he’s also a participant in the building blocks competition, I should hurry and interview him.)

END INSPECTION

MC: Hello? Hello!

Earbuds-Wearing Guy: Ah, sorry about that. I was just listening to music.

MC: It’s alright. I would like to interview the participants of the building blocks competition, and contacted you regarding this previously.

Earbuds-Wearing Guy: Ah, I know. Let’s start.

START QUESTIONING

⊳ Reason for competing

MC: May I ask, why are you participating in this building blocks competition?

Earbuds-Wearing Guy: Because Tutu Jiang, who I like the most, posted a status on a social platform, saying that she would also be participating!

MC: Who’s Tutu Jiang?

Earbuds-Wearing Guy: A very famous manhua artist on social media. The manhua she draws are really good – they have a miraculous magic that can heal hearts. Tutu Jiang likes building blocks a lot – if I participate, I might run into her at the competition venue.

MC: Is what you’re holding… also Tutu Jiang’s work?

Earbuds-Wearing Guy: That’s right, this is Tutu Jiang’s new work “Sleepless Magical Girl’s Campus Life”.

⊳ Tutu Jiang

MC: “Sleepless Magical Girl’s Campus Life”? Sounds very interesting.

Earbuds-Wearing Guy: Right? This manhua is really touching. I ended up crying at the end. Tutu Jiang really is amazing – all characters are set up really realistically, like they’re living right beside us.

MC: Really? Then I’ll go read it when I have time.

⊳ Competition Theme

MC: Do you have any thoughts regarding the theme of this competition, “A Reconstruction of World-Famous Artworks”?

Earbuds-Wearing Guy: So that’s what the competition theme was. Though I don’t really have any talent in building blocks, I’ll do my best in studying for Tutu Jiang.

⊳ World-Famous Artworks

MC: What do you know about world-famous artworks?

Earbuds-Wearing Guy: I don’t know too much about traditional artworks, but I do know a lot about manhua. “Space Squadron”, “Monster Superman”… I’ve collected the full sets of all these super popular manhuas.

⊳ “Z”

MC: Do you know of “Z”? He’s a famous artist.

Earbuds-Wearing Guy: Artist? Does he draw manhua? I like manhua the best.

MC: No, “Z” mostly creates classical oil paintings.

Earbuds-Wearing Guy: Oh? That’s amazing!

⊳ Things he wants to say to “Z”

MC: If you had the chance to speak with “Z”, what would you say?

Earbuds-Wearing Guy: Since he’s an artist, he must be someone who’s as gentle and kind as Tutu Jiang. I hope that all kind people can obtain happiness.

END QUESTIONING

MC: That ends this interview, thank you.

Earbuds-Wearing Guy: No problem, bye!

MC: Bye!

Interview 19 – Jiang Mingyue

Jiang Mingyue: Lawyer MC? So it was you.

MC: Miss Jiang Mingyue? Are you also participating in the building blocks competition?

Jiang Mingyue: Yes.

MC: What a coincidence – let’s start then, as I’m planning to interview the participants of the building blocks competition.

START QUESTIONING

⊳ Reason for competing

MC: Why are you participating in this building blocks competition?

Jiang Mingyue: Because I’ve been pretty interested in building blocks recently. For the past while, I haven’t been able to concentrate, so my friends recommended building blocks to me. Sure enough, when I play around with building blocks, it really does make me focus.

⊳ Competition Theme

MC: Do you have any thoughts regarding the theme of this competition, “A Reconstruction of World-Famous Artworks”?

Jiang Mingyue: I’m planning to find some tutorials to practice on this theme. Though I’m only a beginner, I still have a bit of a desire to win.

⊳ World-Famous Artworks

MC: What do you know about world-famous artworks?

Jiang Mingyue: My knowledge may not be professional, but when I’m drafting designs, I often flip through famous works to look for inspiration. Paintings of different areas have often been able to give me different inspirations.

MC: (It sounds like a very effective method…)

⊳ “Z”

MC: Do you know of “Z”?

Jiang Mingyue: He’s that painter, right? I heard CEO Shen mention him when I worked with her. CEO Shen admired him a lot, and said that “Z” was highly sought-after in the upper-class circles.

⊳ Things she wants to say to “Z”

MC: If you had the chance to speak with “Z”, what would you say?

Jiang Mingyue: I recently heard rumours that “Z” was going to resign. If possible, I hope that he won’t be affected by the outside world’s complicated issues, and that he can create peacefully.

END QUESTIONING

MC: Miss Jiang, you seem somewhat different compared to before.

Jiang Mingyue: Do you mean that I look livelier? Actually… after Mr. Li’s issue, I thought for a long time. Now, I feel that one should look forward. Blindly blaming yourself and regretting will only make life worse.

MC: You’re right. I hope that your future will continue to improve.

Jiang Mingyue: Thank you.

Interview 20 – Shop Owner

MC: (This interviewee arranged to meet at the cake shop?)

MC: Hello! I would like to interview the participants of the building blocks competition, and contacted you regarding this previously. Is this a convenient time for you? It seems like it’s work hours here.

Shop Owner: It’s alright, I’m the boss of this shop. Besides, there aren’t that many customers right now. Let’s start.

START QUESTIONING

⊳ Reason for participating

MC: May I ask, why are you participating in this building blocks competition?

Shop Owner: Because I like building blocks a lot, and even participated in a few competitions when I was younger. This is such a rare opportunity, and it’s the first building blocks competition in this city, so I naturally must participate.

MC: When you were younger?

Shop Owner: Yes. After all, I dreamed of becoming a building blocks designer in the past. Though I’ve now opened a cake shop, I still create some building blocks pieces and post them on social platforms when I have spare time.

⊳ Competition Theme

MC: Do you have any thoughts regarding the theme of this competition, “A Reconstruction of World-Famous Artworks”?

Shop Owner: A competition with this theme is rare, although I have participated in similar ones before.

MC: Eh?

Shop Owner: Haha, that’s something that happened over ten years ago.

⊳ World-Famous Artworks

MC: Speaking of world-famous artworks, what do you know of them?

Shop Owner: I don’t know that much, but I remember that there was a customer before who ordered a very particular cake. Icing was used to recreate Van Gogh’s famous piece “Sunflowers” on the top of the cake, and it seemed like he was planning to give it to his best friend.

MC: That’s so creative!

⊳ “Z”

MC: Do you know of “Z”?

Shop Owner: I do. He’s that famous painter, right? I like his works a lot. His “Shepherd Girl” piece left me moved for a long time.

⊳ Things she wants to say to “Z”

MC: If you had the chance to speak with “Z”, what would you say?

Shop Owner: “Z” is very talented. I hope he can create more works.

⊳ Cake Shop

MC: So beautiful – did you yourself make these cakes in the shop?

Shop Owner: Yes. Making cakes is just like assembling building blocks – they’re both arts that rigorously test one’s creativity. Do you need to order a cake? I can give you a discount.

MC: I actually do have a friend who’s about to have his birthday soon…

Shop Owner: If so, how about you try the newest product that our store just came out with? We have taro mousse, sweet orange cheese…

MC: (She’s really good at doing business, never forgetting to promote her products.)

END QUESTIONING

MC: Thank you for your cooperation; that ends today’s interview.

Shop Owner: No problem, I enjoyed chatting with you. Next time you want to order a cake, you can find me too.

#Tears of Themis #tears of themis translations #lu jinghe #tot translation #just getting all these in before LJH's birthday tomorrow (in china time)

18 notes · View notes

ravenclaw-headcanons · 3 years

Text

moving forward and propositions

tldr; although this blog has been p much abandoned I still think we could have some fun here with a bit of reformatting and fresh ideas. any thoughts on things you’ve enjoyed from this blog or things you’d like to see in the future? or do you think there’s nothing wrong with the format and I should just go back to posting headcanons like normal?

hey

long time no see.

it's been, what 18 months since I was properly active on this blog? actually I just checked and the last headcanon was posted in Jan 2019. mad

when I sent out the word that I wouldn't be keeping up with this blog anymore I cited graduating and starting a full time job as the primary causes. essentially that I just didn't have the time to dedicate to this blog anymore. which was and still is true tbf

but I also (semi) abandoned this blog for the less admirable fact that my heart just wasn't in it. I guess you could probably tell that considering the headcanons kept getting scarcer and scarcer. I guess it's just, I've always loved having this community y'know. we've had great discussions on here and held events and forged friendships and that was really cool to have

but in terms of what this blog actually is

I don't know. I mean I can't say I have my finger on the pulse of fandom culture the way I did back in 2015, but when I started this blog it really felt like we'd found this untapped thing that people could be passionate about and engage with in a new way

I'm not going to sit here and pretend I'm some sort of innovator. in fact I stole the premise of this blog from mugglebornheadcanon. but there was still something new and exciting about it

I had loads of ideas and people had tons of their own headcanons they wanted to share and idk I guess it was just nice to have a creative space for people who were all passionate about the same thing

whereas now we're 1000 headcanons deep, I have nothing left to give, and there are tons of other blogs out there who can do this way better than I can. I'm not saying that in a self pitying way. it's just to have a blog like this that feeds off ideas and creativity you kind of need some passion, or at least inspiration

anyway this is all a very convoluted way of asking for a community brainstorm

because I still think this blog is great, and has the capacity to be the community driven creativity vortex that it was, I just don't think this is the way to go

hey, maybe you'll all reply and say 'no we've still got hundreds of headcanon ideas please let us post them!!' but my intuition is saying it might be time to move onto other content? it just feels a bit like the well has run dry on this kind of content, but wouldn’t it be awesome if we could find something new that relit that old spark?

so I guess this is a general call for ideas? a heads up to the muse of inspiration that now might be a good time to strike

if anyone has any thoughts or ideas on a way we could direct this blog to actually being, well something then please drop me a message!!

general musings so far on my part are that by far my favourite parts of running this blog were the various community events. ravenclaw pride day, the advent calendar, secret santa, harry potter playlists, and primarily the rereads we did

if you missed them, on this blog we hosted rereads for the 20th anniversaries of PS, CoS, and PoA where everyone would read one or two chapters a day. people would post their thoughts on the chapters, artwork, their progress on reading in another language, jokes, I posted discussion questions every day, it was pretty much a free for all

I don't know, maybe there's not a way of turning that into its own project. I mean theoretically I could set up a blog dedicated to hosting those kind of events. obviously having breaks in the middle, but it could be kind of fun. percy jackson would be a great one to do, or maybe the hunger games, narnia, asoue, his dark materials, twilight, spiderwick, inkheart etc

idk the issue is theoretically it could be great fun. we could have community votes on what people would like to reread, we could reread books slowly so it's not really a commitment, and revisit some books we've all loved or maybe even some newer books

but I guess it’s more of a question of whether that could ever work in practice. like again theoretically I’d love to tie each event in to raising money for a charity (again by public vote). I mean wouldn't it be great to have a reread of GoF where people were encouraged to donate £1 to a charity to support trans people? or maybe raising money to help kids with ADHD when reading PJO?

I think I’m getting too ambitious haha

tbh the real thing that was great about this blog is the community feel it had. a group of people who all love hp and learning and creativity and expressing themselves and so really what I’d like to do is find some way to recapture that, however you guys see fit

I am obviously have no illusions about the fact that this blog is not active, and its followers are (mostly) not active so I know any projects would likely be on a smaller scale. but hey, I started this blog with a following of about 1k on my multi fandom blog so anything can happen when you hit on a good idea

and I think there’s still a great idea lurking here somewhere, I just need a bit of help from you guys to find it

so let me know what you think and I guess I’ll see where the wind takes us

#spring is for new beginnings y’all

30 notes · View notes

muddyhippy · 3 years

Photo

A Tangled Problem

Adorable artwork by the ever-lovely @smolghostings

Updated on AO3 here

Lily padded into the common room still quite sleepy but with a single goal in mind. She’d got up out of Jonny’s bunk whilst he was still fast asleep, carefully extracting herself from his cuddling arm determined to get washed, dressed and make a nice breakfast for everyone.

She’d had another bad nightmare and Jonny had stayed up late with her telling stories and singing. He made her feel safe and cared for enough that the nightmares stopped being horrible and scary in her head for the rest of the night so she wanted to let him sleep and make a tasty breakfast. Her plan was going quite well when she washed and dressed but was too excited and distracted by recipe ideas when tackling her locks and then quickly got stuck, literally, when it came to brush her hair.

Lily’s hair was a thick mass of candyfloss-soft silvery tangles at the best of times but last night’s upset had obviously made it ten times worse.

Her brush got stuck and no matter what she did it wouldn’t come free.

It hurt when she tugged and pulled and struggled. Enough to make tears prick her eyes.

So she headed to find the one person who’d be probably best to help.

Without ceremony she headed directly to the person she wanted who was sat on the sofa where they usually were this time of a morning, making use of the quiet, completely absorbed in their music to the point they didn’t notice her approach until she climbed into their lap.

Tim physically startled to suddenly have a lapful of Lily appear between his chest and his guitar and stare intensely at him.

“Um hello Sweetness?” he began, thoroughly on the back foot.

“Tim! Help!” She pleaded by way of greeting, tears already spiking.

He tensed, fully poised to unquestioningly murder the shit out of whatever that had prompted this response.

She pointed.

Tim’s eyes alighted on her very tangled-in-hair brush caught up in her tresses. His eyes ran a quick diagnostic that helpfully returned the report ‘Ouch’.

“Oh.” He considered why she was showing him this and came up with nothing, “Um why—?”

“Because Jonny’s asleep,” She explained simply, “and you’ve got the prettiest hair, you tangle it all up in your goggles but it always ends up nice and untangled again so you’ve got to be good at hair-brushing.”

That, that was an impressive leap of logic he had to give her that.

“But Raphaella…?” He began weakly.

“She has really pretty hair too and it’s even longer than yours but it’s never tangled! Yours does so you’ve got more practice at fixing it. Please?” She sniffed, “I’ve tried and tried and it only hurts more.”

Tim took pity on her, that snarl up did look painful and it was obvious everything she’d tried had made it worse.

Plus, she was doing the look that Jonny warned him about, the whole ‘her-eyes-take-up-half-her-face-look’ that made his insides get twisty and him want to fix whatever the matter was every time she pulled it.

He suddenly understood why Jonny was willing to do as much stuff as he did. Lily was bloody hard to say no to when she looked like a particularly sad octokitten.

“Um, alright then.” He carefully put down his guitar to give the small, miserable child his full attention.

It really was a disaster. Tim considered his approach whilst ignoring the growing warmth in his chest at the idea that the little girl who’d joined them not that long ago apparently trusted him enough to ask for help with something personal that had left her vulnerable. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Probably Bertie. Best not think about that then.

“Okay Sweetness, can you turn around for me so I can get to the brush please?”

She sniffed again, “Okay, thank you Tim,” she pressed a heartfelt kiss to his bearded cheek before turning around obviously utterly convinced that he’d got this and she trusted him implicitly that he’d make this better.

Fuck, he hated Jonny for not being awake.

Tim, not for the first time since Lily joined them, regretted being an only child with absolutely no sibling experience to deal with situations like this.

Ah fuck it, he’d do his best.

Using his enhanced vision, the patience he used when cleaning and repairing his weapons and the comb he kept in his coat pocket but would never admit to, he very carefully, painstakingly, detangled her hair.

After half an hour he managed to free the brush from her head then proceeded to comb all her locks clear so she would be tangle free for the next five minutes at least. Maybe he’d have to ask Ashes to show Lily how to plait properly since he’d seen Ashes wear some excellent styles over the years and their hair length was closer to Lily’s than Raph’s was.

He’d never bothered to learn, he liked having long hair, it was something that was his own rebellion after strictness at school and whilst he was completing his mechanical engineering apprenticeship. It was easy to tuck it up under a cap after all.

He’d tried not to show how heartbroken he’d been when he’d been conscripted and shorn short again. Bertie had known of course and told him he was still just as handsome. During the time in the tunnels his hair had grown out again since no one was really paying attention to uniform rules in the depths of the war.

He’d kept it long ever since. He wasn’t sure if it was out of defiance or as tribute to Bertie who’d never been able to keep his fingers out of it when they were alone together.

Tim mentally shook himself, now was definitely not the time to start down that track. That route led to months locked in the armoury, building non-stop. Or murdering Jonny repeatedly for being a dick (or just being present). Neither of which were viable responses right now.

“Right then, I think we’re done, turn around for me Lily.”

The little girl shuffled around on his lap to face him, she shook her head slightly, smile immediately blossoming across her face. “It feels so nice! Thank you!”

Little arms engulfed him in a grateful hug, enveloping him like the octokitten she masqueraded as half the time.

The master-at-arms was unspeakably relieved he’d not fucked this up, “You’re very welcome Sweetness, now, let’s show you how to brush your hair without it getting all tangled up. Sound good?”

“Yes please! Jonny helps me a lot but he doesn’t know as many tricks.”

“Jonny doesn’t have as much patience, he’s had longer hair a few times but mostly because he couldn’t be bothered to cut it.”

“Did he have hair as long as yours?”

“No. Just to his shoulders.”

“Oh.” She considered, “Mine’s already nearly that long.”

“I had noticed.” He couldn’t help grinning, as she tried assess the length of her hair first by tipping her head forwards to see, realising that wasn’t working then using her hand to feel the end of her lengths whilst trying to look out of the corner of her eyes. Her little tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth in solidarity and concentration.

“I want to grow mine more.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yes! So I can be as pretty as Raphaella and you!”

Tim felt both the blush and lump rise.

“That’s, that’s kind of you to say Sweetness, but you’re lovely just as you are. You don’t have to look like anyone else to be better in some way.”

Lily paused and thought about it.

“Well, I won’t be exactly like you and Raphaella,” she conceded, “my hair’s a different colour.”

He couldn’t argue with the statement, she was a lot lighter than even Raphaella, “That’s very true.”

“But I still want it long. I think it’ll be even nicer long.”

Tim couldn’t help but smiling at that very familiar conviction, “Then I best show you how to look after it then shouldn’t I?”

Lily beamed, lighting up the way she did whenever any of them took time to show her something. It was why they all, without exception, took time to demonstrate things to her. They might be immoral, immortal space pirates but none of them were above wanting to feel like a hero for teaching a kid to tie her shoe laces, flip pancakes or make belt holes. “Yes please!”

Which is why Brian walked in twenty minutes later looking for his fellow chef to find Lily and Tim in the middle of a hair brushing lesson, The child sat on the master-at-arms lap facing him, little tongue was back poking out in concentration, a long hank of Tim’s glossy tresses held reverentially in Lily’s tiny hand, her other carefully brushing it through as Tim talked her through the method of working in stages, his hands guiding hers, starting at the bottom and slowly working up to the roots.

Brian cleared his throat

Mechanised eyes zeroed in on the pilot, “This isn’t what it looks like—” Began Tim, colour rising dramatically in his face.

Brian raised an eyebrow.

“Tim’s teaching me to brush hair properly so my brush doesn’t get all tangled up in my hair again because that hurts!”

Tim sighed, utterly defeated.

“You know,” commented Brian, attempting to sound innocuous, “that looks exactly like what’s happening.”

Lily looked puzzled, “That’s because it is.”

“Quite right too,” Agreed the pilot, “looks like you’re doing a good job.” Brian took closer notice of their youngest crewmember, her usually wild mass of waves looked decidedly neat with that glossy sheen that only came with extensive grooming. “Did Tim do yours earlier?”

“Yes! He’s really good! I got my brush stuck in my hair and he got it out and brushed it really nicely! I asked him because he has really pretty hair and is good at getting tangles out of it after he wears his goggles. He’s really gentle and clever at it!”

Brian was amused to watch battle of emotions war over Tim’s face pride, pleasure, embarrassment and fury all crossed his face, clearly annoyed that this moment of softness with Lily was being witnessed.

Brian found he didn’t care all that much for Tim’s comfort, this was more important. Tim and Lily were bonding over something other than guns, completely unprompted. This was good progress. The fact that Tim was obviously trusted enough by Lily for her to ask his help and that he’d clearly given it freely said a lot about how comfortable they were becoming together which wasn’t bad for barely three weeks on board for Lily. Then again, last week her nightmare-stricken visit to Tim’s room that night she couldn’t find Jonny had probably cemented him as a ‘safe’ adult she could go to when the first mate wasn’t available.

Brian hoped the rest of them would become as easy to approach eventually.

It was nice to be reminded that deep under everything, he and his crew, at a push, could remember how to be kind.

“Right well, I’ll leave you to finish. Would you like me to start breakfast Lily?”

The child paused, looking conflicted.

“I am more than happy to.” Brian clarified.

Relief flooded her little face, “Oh um, yes please.”

“Did you have a plan?”

“Scrambled eggs and bacon and pancakes.” She recited her intended feast immediately. Jonny liked pancakes, said his mummy made them for him sometimes when she had the time and they were still his favourite if he had to choose.

Bacon had been a completely new food for Lily, but she loved how the saltiness of the slices complimented the sweetness of the pancakes, she wanted to learn how to make the syrup Ashes liked to go with it too. Eggs were very special because they were a treat on her ship, they had a few sealed cartons that they opened for very special events. On Aurora she could have eggs for every meal if she wanted AND they were fresh! In shells!

Brian had explained gently that eggs were more of a breakfast food and it was better to have them in one meal a day rather than more because she might get bored of them. (Also he was worried how much more omelette/poached eggs/boiled eggs/scrambled eggs/frittata/fried egg combinations the crew could endure with a smile and he really didn’t want to put off their newest member from the job she liked. Thankfully Lily took instruction and hints with equal grace).

“Sounds good to me!” Approved Tim, feeling that she shouldn’t feel all that bad about not cooking one meal.

Brian smile widened, pleased she was deciding to spend more time with Tim, “Me too, right then, I’ll get started, you can join me when you and Tim are done. See you later.” He left the scene as the two continued their lesson.

“Right then, reckon you can do the rest before Brian finishes?”

“Yeah!”

Tim arrived to breakfast on the table, Lily holding his hand, the two looking decidedly neater than normal.

As the others began to gently tease and pass the pancakes Brian looked over the group, his family, and couldn’t help but smile.

#the mechanisms #gunpowder tim #lily of many names #drumbot brian #the mechanisms fanfic #the mechanisms fanart #I've added a bit to this little fic #Happy New Year #Here's a hair brushing fic because I can

38 notes · View notes