#might draw on the leg tattoos if i go somewhere though

[eryanlainfa]

I just realized that even though i see your art of him and you talk about him a lot, i don't actually know anything about aiden. so. infodump to me about your OC lore please.

!!!! hi <3 I have SO MUCH to say about Aiden- and yet I don't share that much about them! I draw them a lot but never give much context, my bad xP

I did answer an ask a while ago about them here if you want! it has all the basic infos you might need and I've just updated it a bit because some stuff was outdated and I wanted to add some details. I also think you can find (very) few things in the eryanwrites tag

But you're asking for infodumping so!!! Imma infodump MORE >:3c

(this is in addition to the post I linked- you might want to read said post before, to have more context)

⚙ Backstory stuff

Despite being born in Old Corona, Aiden spent half of their childhood in another village even farther away from the capital. This village is run by a small saporian community and was mostly filled with travelers so people tended to come and go, lots of witches came by looking to seal their power to pass as human. So Aiden and their parents were easily welcomed there.

When Aiden was a child, the local Grandma (Aiden never learnt her name- she was just referred by everyone as Grandma) used to play with Aiden's hair a lot while she told stories. Aiden avoided cutting their hair for her, and even after her death they still refused to cut it.

Said Grandma was the village's healer and quickly became Aiden's role model. She was the first person to mentor Aiden in their quest to become a physician.

Aiden's second mentor is the current royal physician, the only one who didn't leave when the Queen got sick and no one could find a cure. Both of Aiden's mentor were/are unhinged and definetly shouldn't be trusted to teach children but that's why I love them.

Aiden is very not normal about human bodies. Both because of autism and the way their mentors educated them about it. Aiden is pretty desentisized about stuff most people would find gross.

⚙ Aiden's relationship with other characters

Aiden has a pretty good relationship with their parents. They're very loving people but a tad overprotective, it kinda made Aiden avoid talking to them about big problems because he was scared to worry them more than necessary, but overall they all love and care for each others. Aiden is just terrible at understanding and communicating his own needs.

They have many friends within the castle since they've been working here for a while now. They're also known outside of the capital since his mentor sometimes send them away, either on errand or to take care of villages without doctors.

Aiden isn't close to the main cast of tts, beside Varian. He respects and admires most of them but he doesn't consider them friends since he never really got interested in getting closer to them. They do know they can count on him when any of them gets hurt or sick, it's his job after all.

Aiden has a bestie- his name is Daniel, he's the son of the merchants proccuring most herbs for the physicians, and is currently part of the royal guards. He isn't a very fun person but Aiden enjoys how down to earth he can be.

⚙ random stuff

During the series Aiden went through like... 4 different leg prosthesis in one year because people (bad guy of the season) kept on breaking it. (I'll admit it was my go-to excuse as to why Aiden doesn't appear in canon. They're always off screen doing random things or laying on the floor stuck somewhere 😔)

They're very sensitive to temperatures since the Storm that made them lose their leg.

Aiden's magic got sealed by a tattoo on their back when they were very young, so as they grew up the tattoo got deformed and the seal weakened. Their extended family is the ones completely getting rid of it- by removing part of the skin. Hopefully for Aiden he was under hypnosis when that happens and he has no memories of it whatsoever. Varian is the one who found out about it and it made him really mad.

So you know Venefica's magic is linked to mind control. And Aiden caught feelings for Varian long before he caught feelings for them himself. Varian is very obvious about his feelings, yet Aiden doesn't acknowledge it at all. That's because they're somehow convinced Varian's feelings aren't genuine and is caused by their own magic they never learnt to control.

I mentioned witches cannot break promises so they avoid doing any, since it can easily end badly for them. Aiden (so far) made 2 : one to Quirin and one to Donella. The first one lowkey resulted in the loss of their leg. The second brought distrust between them and Varian. So yeah. Promises bad.

The only reason Hugo is allowed to call them Hobble is because he helped a lot with their prosthesis and still does

⚙ shipping stuff

At this point if you don't know I ship Aiden with both Varian and Hugo then-.. Idk how you escaped all my posting about them but I admire that, this is impressive. Anyway-

I wanted to try doing an actual love triangle so when each of them catch feelings it starts with : Aiden -> Hugo ; Hugo -> Varian ; Varian -> Aiden. Then things just... happen and at some point they all have feelings for both of the other and they are struggling to figure out what to do about it.

The first two to get into a relationship are Aiden and Hugo, but it's not really romantic, they're just having fun. Hugo quickly understood Varian was the team leader but the boy kept Aiden in high regard, so getting Aiden on his side would eventually bring Varian to it too. Aiden is very aware of it and is fine with it as long as Hugo isn't actively trying to get them hurt.

I have.. the worst love triangle dynamic chart ever :

I don't even know if its readable to others but oh well-

Anyway. I think that's enough! If any question rises I'll love to asnwer them! About Aiden or other ocs or timeline stuff- or aus- anything is fine

#sorry if any of this doesnt make sense ggkfldldld #its okay if you dont read all of it- no worries ^^ #eryanwrites #eryanswers #Vat7k aiden #Vat7k oc #writingraccoon #tangled oc #tts oc

[skell3]

If anyone wanted the random backstory stuff for my new Crane, here it all is. Headcanons above the bar, whole messily typed up everything below. I typed it up the other day so I might as well yeet it out here.

Just remember this is an original design complete with an original headcanon to it. I'm a big Scarecrow fan, but I haven't seen/read everything on him, so he's not going to be perfect or anything. He's just my brain boy. UwU

Please don't use any of this for your own use without any credit towards myself!

IMAGE

Jonathan Crane is a tall man, reaching somewhere to his mid thirties in age. He has been a villain for only a couple of years, so while he has had plenty of time to establish himself as the Scarecrow in his Gotham, he isn't one of the old baddies nor any new kind of threat. Long red hair is often left loose, though when he is working he has a tendency to pull it into a ponytail or tuck it away entirely when villainizing in costume.

While both eyes are a rich green colour, one is glazed over with scar tissue from a bird attack in his late teens, rendering him blind in that eye. Scars cross over that eye, and lid, as well as all over his face, shoulders, and arms. Primarily from birds, but a select few from a stay at the Arkham Asylum, which is not exactly known to be gentle with its inhabitants. Though he walks fine on his own, there is a slight limp to his left leg from damage thanks to a guard who had a vendetta against him.

He currently has no piercings or tattoos, and he wears glasses for his good eye when working or reading.

Jonathan usually wears something like work casual or formal wear, including button-up shirts and vests. He often covers as much skin as he can comfortably manage, including sometimes wearing makeup to lighten up some of his facial scars. His style in public could maybe be considered Goth Librarian, though he only sticks to black lipstick and maybe eyeliner and doesn't consider himself 'goth' at all. (I think I just mean, he sometimes wears dark makeup) When working at home or in the lab, there is zero attempt at keeping his appearance up, though he has a steady hand in keeping organized at the very least.

HEADCANON

|| Though his first major fear was a combination of gunpoint and bird attack, he is still quite fond of birds; corvids in particular.

|| He developed a mild fear of bats after he was taken down by Batman the first time. While he feels that he has overcome this, he still feels a shiver of excitement whenever he has a dealing with the Bat due to the both of them using fear as a tactic, and wondering if he'll glean anything from the man in their encounters.

|| Being legally unable to drive due to being blind in one eye (and a villain, and an escapee from Arkham) doesn't stop him from having a vehicle to get around.

|| This Dr. Crane is no stranger to murder, and his morals may seem skewed between friends and 'anyone else'. While he might make an attempt to put up a mask to keep people in the dark about his thoughts and opinions on the matter, it might become easy to tell that he just doesn't care about a lot of Gotham's population- or the world as a whole.

|| His primary weapon of choice will always be his Fear Gas, but he often keeps a pistol on himself if he suspects he may need it, as well as a knife just in case. While he isn't a physical fighter, not particularly strong of build, his lankiness can give him the upper hand at times.

FROM BIRTH TO FEAR

Jonathan Crane was born into a normal life, with a normal family in Gotham. He was orphaned when he was six, however, and was sent down south to live with his maternal aunt. This would shift his destiny from a possibly normal one, to one of villainy and fear. Bullied by his cousins, seen as a freak in school for his bright red hair and incredibly tall height once he hit puberty, Jonathan began to grow away from people and more to his studies... and birds.

The birds were Jonathan's fascination, their intelligence drawing him in. Specifically, there was a flock of crows he took to feeding while in high school out back behind the bleachers during lunch. Sometimes he would get found by school bullies, or even his cousins, and he would deal with it- and picked up the name 'scarecrow' not only for his tall and lanky stature, but his affinity for the birds. The birds themselves began to realize what was going on, and the bullies soon began having problem with them. Jonathan was almost thrown out of school because they said he intentionally sent the birds after them, but his grades were near-perfect and the school needed the rep to have such an esteemed scholar.

Senior year, Jonathan dressed up as an actual scarecrow- burlap mask, an oversize hat, and all. Which became both a problem, and his legacy.

The birds didn't know that the boy dressed as a scarecrow was the human who had been taking care of them.

The bullies thought bringing a gun to school for a 'good scare' on Halloween was a good idea.

A fight broke out behind the bleachers, and Jonathan narrowly missed getting shot. The gun went off and he managed to get it into his hands, shakily pointing it at the bullies who took off running to likely get him into trouble-

but then there were the birds, and that bullet had taken one of their lives.

A murder of crows is difficult to get anyone out of, but fortunately once the gun had been dropped and the mask was clear, they stopped swarming. There had been damage done already, however, and Jonathan Crane got his first taste of Fear that day. More so than bullying and being afraid of getting hurt or robbed or worse. True fear, the kind that sat on his nerves the whole time he was in the hospital. The kind that followed him through graduation, right into college.

Returning to Gotham likely didn't help even slightly.

Jonathan was one of the youngest in his college to earn a PHD for his studies in not only human cognition, but biological chemistry and how they work together. While the college thought he might have been the next branch in science to discover ways to help with PTSD and anxiety, his focus was on Fear and studying it further. Driven by his own fears and what he had viewed in others, he was borderline obsessive to figure it out. Why were some fears a learned experience, while others seemingly born with a person? He hadn't felt anything so deep before the birds, not even his sense of isolation, childhood abandonment, and some mental abuse he had gone through.

Becoming a Professor at age 27, Dr. Crane made a quick reputation of himself by frightening his class into compliance within the first week of every semester he taught. While it was frowned upon by many of his colleagues, they also tended to be a little frightened by the man and never approached him about it. He taught a course on human emotions, and while most of it was very textbook, every semester the topic of Fear would always either make or break his classes. Though the higher ups could never quite figure out why, he had a 34% drop-out rate when that section of the book was brought around.

Then they found out he was experimenting on his students, and that had him fired particularly quickly despite his arguments and threats.

VILLAINY

After being fired and entirely dismissed from the school board, with threats of calling the police on him, Jonathan Crane snapped. The culmination of losing his chance to study his students, to teach them about their fears, and the loss of access to a lab he spent quite a lot of time in was too much for him. He disappeared off the grid for a month, no hide nor hair seen of him until...

Halloween came around.

The whole school became the scene of a crime. It took hours for the police to even figure out what was happening, because they could not enter the building without losing officers to some sort of gas. It was rudimentary in form, but the first dose of Fear Gas was used in the airways throughout the college, and students, faculty, and teachers alike were all now Dr. Crane's experiments.

No- The Scarecrow's experiments.

Once they could obtain masks that helped a swat team enter the school, The Scarecrow had killed half the faculty and spent his time observing the remaining staff and students for their responses to the toxins in their systems. While his costume wasn't complete, it was clear as to what he was dressed up, and that was the first instance that The Batman made his appearance in Jonathan's life. He was taken out almost whimsically easy compared to the struggle the police had with him, and that night also marked his first arrest.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was deemed criminally insane and sent to Arkham Asylum not only for his crimes at the school, but for the potential problems he could cause outside of it.

In with the Bigs, Dr. Crane didn't exactly get along with many. He was uppity and rude when social, distant and cold when he didn't want to talk to anyone, and he was so incredibly bored that his moods were never good unless someone was willing to help with that. The guards loathed him, especially because he knew exactly how to talk to his doctors and psychiatrist to get either them into trouble, or him into some sort of better situation. They beat on him often, abused him plenty, and there were many days he never got any food.

Yet he stayed the same, and over time they would all gradually learn to live with each other.

It wasn't even a year in when the jailbreak occurred.

Jonathan had been handling chores scrubbing dishes, allowed in the kitchen not only because he hated it considerably, but because he hadn't made any attempts to steal anything up to this time. An explosion rocked the building, and the alarms went off. The guards who were supposed to be watching he and Tetch- the lad who was washing up with him- both disappeared off to deal with what was happening. Dr. Crane took his chance, and so did the Hatter. As did many others who had been holed up in there, waiting for something like this to come along.

It turned out that some of the Gotham Rogues on the outside were planning something big, and not only needed a distraction to draw the Bat in, but more hired hands and minds to assist them in their endeavors. Jonathan was recruited among some others, and while none of them worked well together- not quite- they didn't necessarily have to. An unknown supporter funded them not only on their escape, but in setting up outside the Asylum to not get caught and to further their own reasons of villainy on the city. It was like a dream come true, and Jonathan denies feeling anything more than relief at being on the outside again.

Underfed and weak, Dr. Crane took his time in not only recovering from his stay at the Asylum, but also collecting the necessary components to develop more of his Fear Gas... and to make it better. His benefactor liked his work so much, he was given more money for a better lab, better equipment, and a means to gather 'lab rats' to experiment on. While he could've had morals once, that all had gone out the door when they stripped him of his lab and classes as a professor, and he only seemed to spiral further away once he was introduced into his cell in Arkham. Whether his subjects live or die is nothing more than another point to study and adjust potency and amounts for his gas, as well as the serums he had begun to develop.

By the time Dr. Jonathan Crane had amassed a significant status as the Scarecrow in Gotham, he was thirty-six, and Halloween that year...

Well. Calendar Man and Holiday aren't the only ones who enjoy celebrating on festive days.

CURRENT TIMELINE

Dr. Crane currently still receives funds from a benefactor he has suspected on, but has never actually guessed who or why. It has been long since they needed him for their 'plan', of which had not only gathered the Rogues and some other Villains to some strange sense of community, but ultimately the goal seemingly had been to take down the Red Hood and to get the Batman to kill. Only one of which actually worked, and now there's a 'new' Vigilante working more with the Bat than parallel to him with more deaths involved. It has been both a frustration for the community, a popular topic at the Iceberg, and something of a breath of relief because apparently the Hood had been particularly gunhappy before the jailbreak.

Living in a flat of an older building bordering Crime Alley from the Bowery, Jonathan lives a very quiet life at home and a somewhat active life as the Scarecrow. While his crimes are always scientifically oriented- experimenting with his fear gas on a broader scale, observing the effects of particular popular fears on a community- sometimes they also have an underlying goal to them. Three times so far, his experiments and nasty work has been good coverage for other things going on in the background, like a bank robbery, a murder of an important official, and tipping the tides of a riot where the Gotham PD needed an extra nudge into the crowd to sully their records further.

#Jonathan Crane #batman rogues #rogues gallery #original design #scarecrow #birdscare-crow

[nadjadoll]

Honestly what are you doing if you aren't dressing up at 11pm to pose and take selfies on your bed

+ look at this precious little Harley dog!!

#birds of prey #harley quinn #i got the suspenders and the belt for this outfit today #now i just need the jewelry and to add the extra ring and padlock to the belt and its done! #besides the tattoos which im obv not going to get lol #might draw on the leg tattoos if i go somewhere though #i miss doing that for ss harley i got really good at drawing them #hope you guys arent sick of seeing me in this outfit lol #gonna post more/better pics with makeup when i get it all together #im dyyyyiiing to get that confetti jacket but its so spendy :'( #im trying to sell so many clothes to get some momey so hopefully i can get it soon #oh yeah and i gotta paint the shorts ahh

[bonny-kookoo]

Under Your Skin (JJK x Reader) | 🔞

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Goth/Punk!Jeon Jungkook x Secretary!Shy!Reader

Genre: Tattoo artist!AU, Badboy x Sweetgirl AU, Idk what else

Tags/Warnings: Ultimate goodboy Kook, He looks grr but is actually sweet, shy reader, smol reader, Kookers is WHIPPED, Also a tease, Dom!Jungkook because how could I not, Sub!Reader, Babygirl!Reader, Its not heavy on the whole ddlg-stuff but yeah they be having some vibes y'know, don't come @ me don't I'm not forcing you to read it lol, anyways moving on, because smut, yes I mean it's my content, and yall nasty admit it, slight hair pulling, manhandling also only a little, oral (f & m receiving), praising, mentions of emotional and physical insecurities, but Kook be supportive so we good, back to the nasty, body worship yes pls, biting, fingering, because why not, protected sex because we keep it clean in this household, light-hearted sex, kook being a romantic goof, yeah I think thats it?

Summary: Jungkook looks like absolute trouble; like one wrong look could set him off, and turn him into an absolute murderer. But oh well, ever heard the phrase 'Never judge a book by its cover'?

A/N: you might have noticed me only putting one emoji up top. I have decided to from now on only mark my adult fics with emojis (which is basically almost every single one lets be real). Also; stop reading my fucking fics if any of the tagged/warned things make you uncomfortable. I'm tired of everyone clowning in my inbox telling me how disgusting ddlg/smut content is. You can't even tell me you 'read it by accident' because that's why I'm always putting the cut underneath my fics =) so pls go finish preschool and then we can maybe shake hands. Maybe not. Covid and all. Yeah.

On the outside, Jeon Jungkook seems like absolute trouble.

He's working at a tattoo and piercing studio, dresses in all black, clattering chains and heavy boots always alerting everyone around of his presence. His long black hair is never truly tamed, his nails painted black, and his face expressionless most of the time. He's a talented artist and well trained piercer, always visiting conventions to keep up with the newest trends, styles, and equipment there is. He takes his job seriously- and is proud of it, knowing that he had proven his family wrong by now. They had been worried about him; especially his mother had scolded him that he shouldn't throw his time away trying to make it in a world of art many had already failed. But last year, he had finally invited them over to his rather nice apartment, showing them that he was living a good life, with nothing to really worry about.

Jungkook had made it.

Well, not quite.

Because as of currently, Jungkook had a new mission, a new goal.

"Ah, Jungkook!" You say, eyes sparkling as you smile at him when he enters the shop he works at. You had recently started to work there as well, since Taehyung was absolute shit at keeping files in order and track of schedules. You hadn't applied for the job specifically, that's at least what his coworker had told him- he had known you prior already, and was aware that you had wanted a change these days.

And Jungkook had been painfully crushing on you ever since you started.

"Your schedule for the week is already here- I uhm.. didn't put it on your desk cause, I didn't want to intrude your space and all.." You say, giving him a small black booklet where you always noted down his appointments. He appreciated it a lot- knowing how much of a hassle it could be to move dates back and forth just to somehow make it fit. You always made sure that he had enough time in between multiple daily pieces in case something took longer or less so you could make sure to be able to move things accordingly. You didn't want him to get overworked, you had said. He had smiled.

"Thanks- and you can go inside, no problem." He says, and you nod. "I know you don't make a mess, like someone else here." He says, hinting at Namjoon, who was known to be quite clumsy- yet a mastermind when it came to designing pieces he struggled with. Jungkook stayed at your front desk for a bit, making you tilt your head a bit, as you tried not to stare. He always took so much care of himself, you would have had to be blind not to see how attractive he actually was. But then again, you didn't get your hopes up- after all, he was nice to almost everyone around. "You've never been in there, right?" He asks, and you shake your head. You haven't been in his space at all- too scared to invade his privacy and making him upset in the process. "I mean- you got time right now? I can show you around." He casually tells you, and you look at your computer screen in front of you. Everything had been filed for today- so you probably had a bit of time to spare.

"Sure." You said, taking your phone and standing up from your chair, making sure to lock the pc so no one would accidentally make a mess out of your tabs. Or worse; close them. God knows all hell would break loose.

Jungkook had to really force himself not to let out any noise as you walked next to him.

You were so tiny next to him.

He wasn't that tall to be honest- with Namjoon and Taehyung both taller than him, he knew he was average at best. And for the longest time, he'd had a thing for tall girls, all elegant and confident. He still liked their aesthetic, yes- but now that he spotted you, he could really see the appeal of having a shorter significant other.

You were so cute.

You carefully stepped inside when Jungkook lifted the curtain that was used instead of a door, surprised to see how.. organized everything was. A little.. off- some things seemed to be randomly put somewhere, but in general, it seemed like everything had their proper spot. "I like to have it like this." He comments, and you nod your head to that, finally spotting his tattoo-gun. It was made out of purple steel- polished, and changing its hue depending on how you looked at it. It was absolutely beautiful, even though you had a rather limited understanding of these things. "Was a present from Taehyung last year." Jungkook says, sitting down on his chair. "I never asked- are you inked at all?" He asks, leaning backwards as you stand there a little awkwardly. "You can sit down somewhere, don't be so tense." He chuckles, and you look around, before you sit on the stretcher across from him. You shake your head, and Jungkook isn't surprised. Your pink converse sway back and forth as you sit on the stretcher, legs too short to reach the floor anymore as you rest your hands underneath your thighs; hem of your dress revealing more of them than he can usually see.

"I don't have any tattoos yet, but I've been talking to Namjoon about it." You said, and Jungkooks saliva tastes a little bitter at that. He doesn't want to pout or give away that it's bugging him at all that you're not talking to him about it- but he fails miserably. "Namjoon actually said I should talk to you about it, since the style I want fits you best." You say, and he can't hide his smile, bunny teeth on full display as he leans forward a bit.

"You'd let me tattoo you?" He asks, and you shrug, before nodding. "What do you have in Mind?" He instantly asks, not even bothering to hide his excitement.

If only you knew that it's because of you; and not just because he's gonna be the first to ink you.

You've both agreed on a design you want, and Jungkook can't deny that he thinks it's absolutely perfect on you.

"Are you scared?" Jungkook asks you as he prepares everything, his sweater's sleeves rolled up, revealing his own body art to you, as well as some bracelets; one that you recognize as the wooden-bead bracelet you had gifted him last year for his birthday. It was weird to see him wear it.

"I.. no. Just nervous." You say. "I'm worried I might cry and make a fool out of myself." You say with a laugh, and Jungkook chuckles, placing a reassuring and warm hand on your upper arm.

"It's fine. I've seen grown man cry like kids on this stretcher before." He casually says. "Don't worry; I won't think any less of you just because of some tears." He says with a smile, and you nod, turning your head to look at his room's walls instead; covered in drawings, sketches, and pictures of finished works he was most proud of. "Do you want anything to hold onto?" He asks, as he starts to shave the skin of your thigh to make sure he can work as best as possible. He's so into his work, so concentrated on doing everything perfect, that he doesn't even take much into account that you're laying in only your panties and oversized sweater; skirt neatly placed on a chair in the corner of the room, to get it out of the way.

"It's fine" You mumble, although you really want to. So instead you curl your fingers around the fabric of your sweater- something that doesn't go unnoticed by Jungkook, who decides not to comment on it for now. He simply throws the one-time razor away as well as the tissues used to clean your skin, before he carefully places the tracing paper onto where he seems fit.

"I think it would look great right here." He says lowly, carefully removing the paper to reveal the lines he's gonna trace with his gun in a few minutes. "You wanna look at it again?" He asks, and you shake your head. "Alright." He says, before he gets up and walks out his room; only to return with your small squishy and round unicorn plush that's usually sitting on your desk. "To hold onto." He winks, and you chuckle at that.

Jungkook really pays attention.

"So, Taehyung has told me you're a bit younger than me." Jungkook says to start casual chit-chat, trying to help your nervousness as his tattoo-gun starts to buzz to live. "Only a Year if I remember correctly." He says, and you nod.

"Yeah.." You say, and can't hide your dissapoinment flooding your voice. Jungkook, until now, only had relationships with girls older than him. He's even said before that he just likes having someone older than him around- which made you even more nervous around him.

"You sound upset about that." He chuckles, and gently holds onto your thigh as you jump a bit when he first presses the tip of the gun down. "Sorry. I'll be gentle." He lowly tells you, and you swallow.

Not the time Y/N, not the time.

"Uhm.." You say, fingers digging into the squishy plush in your hands. "I.. there's someone I like, but he.. only likes older girls, so.." You say, and Jungkook glances at you. You're already interested in someone? He continues to trace the lines, wiping afterwards to get the excess ink and blood off. "But I mean, then again I don't think I have a chance with him anyways." You chuckle, and Jungkook can't help but shake his head. Even if you're interested in someone else, he shouldn't let you have thoughts like that.

"Highly doubt that." He says. "If he doesn't see you, he's blind." He tells you, and you giggle, glad that he's able to make you feel a bit better about everything. "I'm serious." He says, and you nod at that, watching his inked arm flex every now and then as he draws with absolute concentration; black facemask hiding half of his face. You can see the way his eyebrows furrow, eyes fixated on his work as he moves with absolute routine. "Do I know the guy?" He casually asks, before he dips the tip of his gun in the tiny pot of ink again.

You don't know what to say.

He looks at you for a second, and decides not to dig. "You don't have to tell me. Sorry if I seemed nosy; didn't mean to." He apologizes, and you shake your head to let him know its fine. It's quiet for a moment afterwards, only the buzzing of his gun and your occasional whine of pain. "Sorry; it'll hurt a bit more now since I'm getting close to your inner thigh- that's always a little more sensitive." He comments, and you really hope he doesn't pay much attention to your panties.

When you can see his eyes stick to them for a second, you really want to just disappear.

He doesn't comment on it though. What is he suppsosed to say? He really doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, and considering that you already have a crush on someone else, he doesn't want to get himself in too deep as well. He simply works away, finally finishing the thin and delicate outlines of your piece- the first step, before he will see you again for color and shading. He finally connects the last line, and doesn't think twice about what he says next.

"Good girl."

It takes a second that feels way too long for the both of you to register the words, and Jungkook quickly occupies himself with turning off his gun and cleaning up your skin and his workspace to get the awkwardness out of his room. You try to instantly stand up, but his palm holds onto your leg- silently ordering you to stay put, which you do. He rubs something over the piece, before he gently lifts your leg to wrap it. "I'll give you a bottle of lotion for it. Leave that bandage on for.. I'd say until tomorrow morning at least. Afterwards, apply the lotion everyday to help it heal properly." He lectures you with a gentle voice, before letting you sit up.

"Thanks." You say, grinning eagerly at the now hidden artwork on your leg. Jungkook chuckles.

"We're not done yet, but I'll take it." He says. "I uh.." He starts, as you jump off the stretcher and go to take on your skirt. "uhm, you up for some fast food?" He asks, a bit hurried, before he can chicken out again. And he hates himself for a moment, because you had literally told him just half an hour before that you already had interest in someone else. But maybe you were too innocent to get his innuendo, maybe you wouldn't get that he was asking you on a date-

"Like a date?" You ask, and he really wants to hit himself.

"I mean, if you want it to be?" He says, swallowing as he averts his gaze, a sight very weird. His hand runs through his hair, chain around his neck and piercings on his ears clattering against each other and making sounds as he moves, his combat boots nervously tapping the floor a little. "It doesn't have to be.. I know you're already-"

"I'd love to." You say however, now fully dressed again, as you grin with your bright sparkling eyes.

And Jungkook feels like he's won the lottery.

It's your third time laying on Jungkooks' stretcher like this- waiting for him to work on your art, finishing it today. But the energy is different.

Things are different between you two in general.

After some casual movie dates and rounds of overwatch, Jungkook had admitted to you that he had a crush. It was rushed, while he was driving, so he didn't have to look at you and instantly get hit by your reaction. But then, you had told him that you felt the same- and the two of you agreed to let things process from then on. Whatever would happen; you would let happen.

And Jungkook was starting to flirt with you.

It was a little weird to get close to him like that. While everyone seeing you two was a little taken aback- with your dresses and skirts, and colorful and almost childish personality, he seemed like the absolute opposite- quiet, all dark and dangerous while carrying your milkshake so you could put your phone away into your purse.

"Alright doll, let's finish this." He said with newfound enthusiasm, winking at you as you laughed at his demeanor.

"You seemed more excited than me!" You say, and he chuckles. "You're really desperate to have me gone?" You say in a playfully upset tone, and he simply huffs out a breath, before cockily looking at you for a second.

"That's not true." He says. "I'd just rather have you laid out somewhere else than in my studio, that's all." He casually says, and you shut your mouth at that, cheeks red as he laughs at your cute display of embarrassment. He routinely prepares your skin, before he starts his gun. "Too much?" He asks, and you know he's not talking about the pressure of his ink filled gun on your skin.

"No-" You start, and he now seriously speaks to you, voice a bit muffled through his facemask.

"Please tell me if I ever make you uncomfortable." He says. "You're not upsetting me if you tell me I'm going to far." He says, and you nod, knowing that he now needs a proper answer. Jungkook is way more attentive and romantic than people may think he is. He's a gentleman pulled out of a dictionary- careful and gentle with you, and always keen on getting to know you for you, and not for the person you like to portray yourself as. He wants to know what you like, what you don't like, what you dream of, and what you hate about yourself.

"Don't worry- I will." You say, watching him work on your skin. "Jungkook?" You ask, and he hums a reply to let you know he's listening. "Is it okay if I sleep?" You ask, and he chuckles.

"Didn't I tell you not to stay up for too long before I left yesterday?" He teasingly retorts back to you, and you pout at him- with no hard feelings behind it. He had left last night after eating with you for dinner at your place; and he did indeed tell you to go to sleep a little earlier since he knew you would have an early shift today, opening up the store. "I'm really tempted to say no." He says, eyes now on your skin again as he dips the tip of his gun in a pot of color. "You know, as punishment for not listening." He mumbles, and you almost don't catch it.

Almost.

"Jungkook?" Taehyung stands in his doorway, finally finding him sitting at his desk. "Oh?" He says in a surprised tone, spotting your sleeping figure on his coworkers lap- head resting against the inside of his shoulder, with your arms around his middle.

"Yeah?" Jungkook asks, not at all shy or fazed by the fact that Taehyung is looking at you. "What is it?" He asks again, as Taehyung smiles, giving the younger man his small booklet that you usually give him every morning.

"Nothing left for today." He said. "Just wanted to tell you good work and send you home." The older one explains, zipping up his own jacket. "Guess she'll be coming with you?" He asks teasingly, but Jungkook doesn't bite the bait at all.

"Yeah. Don't burn the house down while we're gone, you two. " He says, slipping the booklet into his pocket before he pats your back. "Come on doll, let's go home." He tells you, waking you up at least enough to put on your shoes and lead you out the store to his car.

He buckles your seatbelt as the engine comes alive, radio playing its tune softly in the background as he drives you home. "You awake doll?" He asks, and you nod your head, turning towards him with barely open eyes. "You haven't had anything proper to eat today, so I'll make us some ramen at my place, ok?" He asks, and you nod, before your eyebrows scrunch up. "What is it?" He chuckles, and you now grow more awake.

"Wait- but if we eat at yours then you're gonna have to drive me home late." You say, and he shrugs. "Noo, Kook, what if you crash the car because you're sleepy?" You tell him with a whine, genuinely concerned for him, as he has the audacity to laugh. "Kookie, it's not funny I swear to god-!" You say, and he apologizes.

"I mean." He starts, casually dropping what he had wanted to ask you for a couple of weeks now. "You could always just stay over." He tells you, and you look at him, meeting his gaze at the red light he stops at, his head turned towards you for a moment until the lights turn green again.

"We.. would have to stop at mine so I could get some stuff though.." You mumble, and Jungkook looks at you with newfound enthusiasm, setting his turning lights to enter a different road.

It's in a parking lot that you first unintentionally confront him with your biggest insecurities and flaws.

You've tripped over a stray stone you didn't see laying on the ground, leading you to fall onto your hands and scraping your knees open. Just like any normal human being, you dust yourself off, instantly hoping that Jungkook inside the shop hadn't seen you fail at something so basic as walking. You had carried some of the items you two had bought into the car while also returning the shopping cart while he had payed- and by the look on his face, he had definitely seen you.

He wasn't laughing, or hiding his grin, or anything alike. He looked concerned, taking his card back from the cashier before walking out the store, jogging towards you, who sat in the open trunk, ready to get laughed at. Even though somewhere deep in your mind you didn't think he would, past experiences had led to you now having that fear, no matter with whom. "Are you okay?" Jungkook asks, looking at you as he squats down to take a look at your bleeding knees. He reaches into one of the shopping bags, taking out a water bottle and a pack of tissues, before he wets it, one hand holding your leg by the backside of your knee, while the other carefully cleans the small wound. "You gotta be careful Baby." He chuckles a little- nothing like the laughter you had expected.

"I'm fine." You say, not looking up at him.

"It's okay to cry, you know?" He says, and you stay quiet, trying not to breathe too much as you desperately hold them back. "I won't laugh." He promises, deciding not to look at you as to give you a bit more space.

"People will stare though.." You quietly murmur towards him, and he finishes his job, before he goes to throw the now used tissue away in a nearby trashcan. When he returns, he's taking his jacket off, the item way too large on your form as he throws it over you, pulling the hood up as you look at him for the first time since your little accident, eyes sparkling with unshed tears when he pulls the sides of the hood towards him a little. "There." He says, a reassuring smile on his face. "Now no one can see you but me." He tells you. "And I will never, ever, laugh at you." He promises, and pulls your head against his chest, as you start to let go.

He really hates to see you cry- but he's glad that you're letting him in enough to let him see you this way.

Jungkook is frustrated.

He tries not to really show it, because he doesn't want to blow up in your face like that, but then again, you're kind of the reason he feels the way he does. Because even though he thought you both had a genuine connection, you're yet to let him touch you.

And not just hugging and holding hands.

It's not that he's impatient- its because he knows you, at one point, wanted him that way as well. But something happened, something he didn't notice, that made you take ten steps backwards from him. You seemed to be retreating, giving up, and he has no idea what he had done to make you react that way.

As far as he knows, he had done everything right.

But then he sees them; the messages sent back and forth between you and Hana, a returning customer at the shop- well known to flirt with everyone around here. Jungkook himself had actually considered hooking up with her once a year back, simply to make her shut up, but then again, he wasn't into one-night-stands. And she had never truly been his type anyways.

'Ah yeah, just re-schedule that then, I don't mind at all! Just make sure we have enough time together, since we haven't had time to catch up on things recently, if you know what I mean.' She had sent, a week ago; exactly the timeframe you had started to distance yourself. He knew he shouldn't look into it, but then again- this was his business too. He had the right to know.

'Sure? I can give you an appointment at around 4 PM then, so you'll be the last one. Would that be okay with you? Again, sorry for re-scheduling on such short notice.' You had written, and Jungkook can't decide if you had been oblivious to her implication (which was bullshit), or if you were simply too polite to call her out. But it's the next messages that make him fume.

'Again, no troubles. As I said, I only care that its Jungkookie, I don't really trust anyone else with my body that way ;). 4 PM is perfect, you guys still close at around 6 PM right? He's got skilled hands, I'm sure we don't need much more time, if you know what I mean.' she has the audacity to write.

But its your answer that makes him fume.

'Good to know.'

"Jungkook?" You say, looking at the screen, as you suddenly dash forwards, trying to shut the screen off- as if that would make any difference. But he catches your wrist with ease, holding it in his palm as he looks at you.

"Do you think I'm sleeping with her?" He asks, and you try to escape his grasp; and he lets you, staying at your workspace however as he keeps you locked in place with his gaze. "Y/N." He urges, making you look away from him.

"It's none of my business." You say, shrugging. "I.. No, it's-" You start, but he cuts you off.

"No, finish that sentence. 'No' what?" He says, and you've never heard him talk like that.

"I just.. didn't think you'd.. do that." You meekly say, murmuring it as he tilts your head gently upwards to look at him; his face now more relaxed as he softly smiles.

"That's good that you think that way." He tells you. "Because I don't do that at all." He says. "She likes to start drama all the time- was probably bitter I turned her down so much. You know what?" He suddenly says, turning towards the screen as he clicks to change the account, opening his own Inbox as he starts to write an E-Mail.

'Appointment is cancelled, be glad I'm not suing you for defamation. JK.'

"Jungkook-" You say, trying to get him not to send it- but it's already gone. "Why would you do that? Just because I misunderstood?" You whine, and he chuckles, shutting down the system as he looks at the clock, signaling that it's closing time.

"No." He says. "But because I don't want her around anyways, and this gives me a proper reason." He tells you, ruffling your hair as he looks at you. "You coming?" He asks, and you nod, taking your bag and coat before following him out the shop.

In the car, you finally speak up. "Jungkook?" You ask, and he hums out a reply. "Do you.. think I'm attractive?" You ask, and he clears his throat at the unexpected question.

"I- what?" He asks, unsure what you mean.

"Just.. Namjoon said, that he thinks you.. see me as a friend only? Because I'm nothing like the girls you dated before.. If I misunderstood something here then Oh my god-" You start to ramble, and Jungkook laughs suddenly.

"You think I'm not into you?" He asks, and you shrug. "Of course I want to fuck you doll." He casually comments, and you can't help but feel your cheeks redden. "Wait- did you really think I didn't?" He asks, face showing genuine horror as he looks over at you.

"I mean.. you never really initiated anything so I thought.." You started, and he groans out.

Thank god you're staying the night.

"Looks so pretty, does it?" He hums out, palm running over the tattoo on your thigh, delicate lines and well-placed shadings complimenting the colors perfectly. "You know why I love it most?" He starts, hand suddenly gripping the flesh for a moment, before he pulls you closer on his lap by the small of your back. "Because that's mine." He says, before he leans in, placing an open mouthed kiss against your pulse. "The ink that's under your skin, the design, the idea-" He mumbles against your skin. "And the body it's drawn on." You whine at his tone, dark and low, as he urges you back and forth on his clothed thigh- your panties suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "Isn't it like that, baby?" He asks, and you nod, furiously, and he chuckles. "Hm, you seem out of breath baby.." He grins at you, like a predator.

"Jungkook.." You whine, not knowing what you're asking for.

He wordlessly moves, helping you lay down on his bed before he crawls over you, his lips instantly attached to the skin of your neck, hands helping you out of your dress wordlessly, as he can't help but let his gaze linger on your body for a moment. "I can't believe that-" He says, pulling off your overknee socks. "-you'd ever think of yourself anything less than perfect." He says, placing a gentle kiss to the colorful image now forever placed under your skin by his skilled hands. He continues to display his affection over your skin, wandering over your stomach up to your chest, where he playfully bites just above your breast. He struggles with the front of your bra for a second, unsure how to open the undergarment without breaking it, as you help a little; letting them spring free. But only for a moment.

Because in the next, he's got them in his hands, palms gently moving over them, feeling their softness as he groans. "You're so sweet." he comments, as he finally kisses your lips, smile interrupting him every now and then. "So soft." Another kiss. "So delicate." Another one. "And all mine, yeah?" He asks, and you nod, smiling as he grins back, the expression making him look so young and carefree you can't help but wonder how anyone could ever think he's a bad man.

He's anything but.

He's so careful touching you, so delicate in moving his palms over your skin, as if its the most divine thing he's ever felt. He's still smiling, as if in a trance, while he can't stop kissing you. Your hands move into his hair- way softer than you thought it would be, and he groans into your mouth at the feeling of your fingers running over his scalp.

There's no urgency in anything he does.

He slowly moves again, hands opening your legs for him as he sits back on his heels, playfully pulling you closer by the backs of your knees, making you giggle. "You sound so sweet baby." He tells you, innocently, as if he's not currently placing his hand onto your center, ring finger collecting your already leaking wetness before he spreads it, moving his thumb over your most sensitive bundle of nerves while his ring finger enters you slowly. You whine at the feeling, not enough to get you as riled up as you'd like to be. Also; this is the first time you're genuinely experiencing foreplay. You don't know what to do- and Jungkook seems to pick up on that. "You good?" He asks, and you nod.

"I.." You say, breathless as he tilts his head, smile still present on his lips. "What should I do?" You ask, as his eyes widen.

"You?" He wonders, before he stops for a moment. "Don't tell me- this is your first time?" He asks, now genuinely worried he might've gone too fast.

"No.." You admit. "But uhm.. no one's ever, like.. you know, what you're doing.." You say, and that's when it clicks for him.

What kind of guys did you date before him that never gave you any attention like this? He's upset by it, but also weirdly cheered on by that simple fact; it gives him even more reason to make sure you'll get the most out of it. "Ah, I see.." He humms out, letting another finger stretch your entrance for him. "..well, I'm not like that." He explains, before he moves, face now close to your center- and you're unsure what he's going to do. "Trust me." He says, mumbles out, before his tongue places itself flat onto your clit, licking painfully slow as you move your hands over your mouth, trying to keep your noises in. "nuh-uh baby." He scolds, free hand pulling yours away. "Let me hear you." He demands, before he places his mouth back where it was.

Your mind is completely blank at this moment, the only thing you can really concentrate on being Jungkook, working you up so quickly you feel dizzy. It's new, and it's a little weird- but it's more than anything you've ever experienced before. And it brings you towards your end so suddenly you suddenly gasp out, back arching off the mattress as you grab at the sheets below, one hand grasping for Jungkooks, who lets you ride out your high to its fullest. "So pretty." He comments after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling at your blissed out state.

"Kook-" You say, moving as you sit up, less shy now that your brain is still clouded by pleasure.

"Ah- you don't have to." He tells you, but you shake your head, and he lets you. He slips out of his clothes, finally bare, and you would've taken time to look at all the different pieces of art decorating his body- if it wasn't for his cock, red and ready in front of you. Usually, you would've let your insecurities and doubts get the best of you. But this was Jungkook. And you wanted to really believe that nothing you would do could ever be judged by him. So there was no hesitation as your hands reached out for him, gently moving, before you took him in, your lips wrapping themselves around his tip, before you moved downwards, fitting as much as you comfortably could. Meanwhile, Jungkook himself was steadying himself with one hand on the mattress, while the other was buried into your hair, his own head thrown back as he closed his eyes.

Of course he had fantasized about this every now and then; but he had never thought you'd actually be comfortable doing it. And even if- nothing he could've imagined would've ever compared to the real deal happening. There was something absolutely mindblowing about the way that you handled him, your sweet and pretty presence looking so divine doing such a sinful act with him. He had to pull you off by your hair, gently, because any more, and he would've been a goner. "G-Good god baby." He chuckles, pushing you a bit so you were on your back again, reaching for his bedside table to search for a condom. "I swear to god if I- HAH!" He tells you in victory, hands making quick work of opening the foil package and wrapping the safety over his length. "I swear I would've run out butt naked to buy one if I wouldn't have found this." He says with a grin, making you laugh.

"That's weird." You comment, and he chuckles, entering you slowly as to not hurt you, his breathing labored as he still kept the lighthearted energy going.

"You think?" He asks, and you nod, giggling as your eyes close, the feeling of him filling you up too good to keep them open. "Hm no." He said breathlessly. "Would've probably put on some pants maybe." He says, before he starts thrusting. "Doesn't matter if it means I'd get to fuck you." He says, and you giggle again.

"Kook!" You scold him, and he still continues to thrust into you, exhaling forcefully as he kisses your neck.

"What?" He whines high pitched as if to imitate you.

"Be serious!" You tell him, but can't help your own smile either.

"Oh, why though?" He says. "We're making love, not war baby." He whispers into your ear, and you still laugh at it.

"I can't believe you!" You complain playfully, moaning out when he suddenly thrusts with more force, obscene noises now interrupting you two as he picks up his pace, clenching his jaw.

"And-" He starts. "I can't believe how fucking good you feel." He presses out, hand now reaching between the two of you as he brings you towards an earth-shattering orgasm, making you mewl as you can feel yourself bursting. "Good girl!" He praises, watching as you squirt all over him, his own orgasm hitting him soon after as he grunts out, finally slowing down until he stills completely, his mouth attached to your neck to place gentle kisses and teasing bites near your pulse point.

"I love you." He mumbles out, and your eyes sting.

Because yeah, you love him- you absolutely do, but hearing it from him, hearing it in such an honest and warm-hearted tone, having this final proof of his own feelings towards you, makes you emotional. "Baby, why're you crying?" He chuckles out of breath, wiping your tears as you smile, and finally look at him with glossy eyes.

"Cause I love you too." You say. "So much."

And he can't help but grin at you.

You really are the sweetest thing.

You watch as Hana walks out of Taehyungs studio, arm wrapped up in clear foil as she walks towards your counter, pulling out her purse. "Taehyung agreed on 345." She says, until Taehyung yells another number out of his studio, making her eyes roll. She wasn't supposed to come back- but Taehyung had agreed to finish her piece at least. "Alright, here you go." She says, watching as you counted the money. "Does Jungkook work today?" She asks, and you nod. "I'm just gonna go say hi then. You can finish the receipt yeah?" She says overly sweet, and you're about to tell her that Jungkook doesn't want anyone entering without his permission, but he's already walking out his studio, black sweater and silver necklaces on full display as he walks towards you. "Jungkookie!" Hana exclaims, but her face drops almost chomically as she watches Jungkook walk up behind you, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder as he looks over it onto your screen.

"Oh, looks like I'm done for the day. You need anything Hana?" He asks innocently, one hand on your desk while the other rests on your chair behind your back.

"I- just wanted to apologize for uhm.. the emails. I didn't know you'd read them." She says, and you slowly close all programs, while Jungkooks humms out something.

"Yeah, I figured." He says, before he shakes his head. "As I said, I'm letting it go. No hard feelings." He says, shrugging, before he walks towards his studio again, stopping in his tracks for a second. "Ah, baby, can you text Jin-Hyung and ask him if we can come now? I'm actually starving I swear." He says, and you nod with red cheeks, pulling out your phone.

"Huh." Comes from Hana, as she takes the receipt from you. "I honestly.. would've never thought." She mumbles, before she simply leaves, without any more words.

Yeah. You would've honestly never thought either.

(c)Bonny-Kookoo. Please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi.com/bonnykookoo. Thank you for reading.

#bts imagine #bts #bts fanfic #jungkook imagine #bts fic #bts smut #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts reactions

[beifongsss]

playing with fire prologue [sokka]

Pairing: Sokka x f!reader

Requested?: Nope! just writing for my own pleasure bc I had a very cliche romance idea and bc i love sokka.

Summary: You’re a Fire Nation citizen who saves Sokka and Katara from some angry villagers. Aang "convinces” you to come along with them, finding your knowledge of the nation useful. Not everything is smooth sailing though as both Water Tribe siblings have their doubts about you.

this will be a series :D it begins in between The Northern Air Temple and The Waterbending Master!

.masterlist.

~

It had taken you months to earn the trust of the citizens of the small village you currently resided in, and you would be damned if two Water Tribe teenagers ruined it all for you.

You had run away from home two years ago, spending a year traveling before finally settling down in a small Fire Nation colony. You yourself were from the Fire Nation, but you were from the capital and the colonials didn’t trust you. And so you spent many months taking odd jobs around the town in order to be left alone by their so-called “military”.

And now all your hard work was at risk because these two dumbasses couldn’t hide in time.

“W-We’re not Water Tribe!” you heard the boy with the ponytail yell, hands up as a few of the military men surrounded him and the girl. The girl rolled her eyes before smacking the boy. She then turned to face the men.

“What my brother means is that we are simply travelers,” she stated nervously. “We have recently visited the North Pole, which is why we have these clothes.”

“We saw you waterbending!” one of the men cried out, aiming his spear at the girl. “Waterbenders are not welcome here. The governor will be pleased with your capture.”

“Please don’t,” the girl cried, trying to back away. It was futile seeing as how they were surrounded. The girl crouched down slightly, prepared to fight, and the boy reached for the weapon strapped onto his back. You decided it was time to step in.

“Gentlemen,” you said, drawing everyone’s attention to you. “Is there a problem here?”

The men’s eyes narrowed as they landed on you, standing in the middle of the path with your arms crossed. A blank look was on your face and you didn’t shy away from their glares.

“Yeah, there is,” one of the men finally replied. “These two are Water Tribe and you know they’re not welcome here.”

“Well they are welcome here,” you shot back, your expression never changing. “I hope you’re not trying to capture my servants.”

The boy’s jaw dropped at your words and he stepped forwards, ready to argue your words. The girl grasped his arm gently, pulling him back as she gently shook her head. She didn’t know what was happening but if your words kept them from getting captured, then who was she to argue?

“These Water Tribe scum are your servants?” the man asked, looking at you incredulously. His face suddenly hardened and he pointed his spear at you. “Why are they out here alone then?”

“Because they know better than to disobey me or try to run away,” you said harshly, moving your outer robe to the side to show off your sword. “They know that if they run, I will find them. And they will be punished.”

The men all exchanged uncertain glances before looking towards their leader.

“Now,” you continued, tone still sharp. “I suggest you leave, before I make you.”

You glared at the men’s leader for a few seconds before he finally turned away. He gave you one last nasty glare before whistling sharply and leaving the clearing, his buddies following after him. Your gaze drifted over to the two Water Tribe teens, who were still crouched and looking at you suspiciously.

“You should get out of here,” you said, your voice a lot softer than it had been when addressing the men. “They might come back.”

“Why did you do that?” the girl demanded, water now enveloping her hands as she stared you down. You stared back at her blankly before turning around and walking away.

You didn’t get too far before you felt a water whip strike you.

“Hey!” you cried, rubbing the sore spot as you whirled around. “What was that for?”

“I said, why did you do that?” the girl asked again, her face still angry. You opened your mouth to answer before your eyes landed on the boy, whose leg was currently bleeding heavily.

“He’s injured,” you answered instead, not looking at the girl. “Come with me, I can help.”

“Katara’s a waterbender, she can heal me” the boy snarled. You rolled your eyes at his words.

“If you don’t sit down or rest soon, she won’t be able to,” you snarked, meeting the Katara’s heated glare. “He’s losing a lot of blood.”

“Why should we trust you?” she asked, her hands still up in a defensive position “You’re just Fire Nation trash. How do we know you won’t capture us?”

Sighing, you loosened your belt. You tossed your sword to the two of them before holding your hands up in surrender. “There’s my sword. I am now powerless against you. I’m not a bender, I swear on my life.”

The boy looked at his sister and shook his head. “No, we can’t go with her.”

“Sokka, you don’t look good,” the girl replied. “We need to get somewhere safe so that I can heal you.”

Biting her lip, the girl snatched up your sword and handed it to her brother. She turned to face you, her expression a little bit softer. “We’ll go with you. But you walk in front of us and if you try anything, I won’t hesitate to hurt you.”

You nodded silently before turning around and walking towards your home. Luckily, you lived close by and you managed to make it there without incident. You huffed lightly as you pushed open the door, leading the way to your little seating area. Sokka immediately collapsed onto the ground, landing on some of the cushions that were lying around. Katara rushed to his side and began to heal him, her gaze snapping to you when you walked toward your kitchen.

“Relax,” you said, not turning to look at her. You looked into the pot on your counter, stirring the contents as you inhaled the smell. “I’m just getting us some food.”

“I’d rather not be poisoned today, thanks,” the girl said harshly, glaring at you as you stirred the pot. You chuckled softly before looking at her and taking a large spoonful of the food and shoving it into your mouth.

“It’s not poisoned, see?” you said, a cheeky smile on your face. You served the food into three bowls and brought them over to the teens. Katara stared at you warily before accepting the food. “It’s jook, freshly made. You guys look like you can use some warm food.”

You began eating, noticing the way both teens looked at you before hesitantly beginning to eat as well. “You aren’t from around here? Why were you two in the woods?”

“Why did you help us?” Sokka retorted, his gaze still suspicious.

You opened your mouth to reply when your door suddenly burst open, causing you to yelp and fall onto your butt.

“Katara! Sokka! We have to go. Now!”

A young boy stood where your door once was. He was short and bald, a blue arrow tattoo visible on his head. He looked around the home, his grey eyes widening when they landed on you. He gasped softly before taking a fighting stance and facing you. “Fire Nation!”

“Aang wait,” Sokka said, rolling his eyes as he looked at you. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but she actually helped us earlier. Don’t worry about her.”

Aang relaxed at Sokka’s words before turning to you and bowing shortly. “Hi! I’m Aang. Thank you for helping my friends.”

You smiled softly at the boy’s words, your heart melting slightly at his wide smile. “Nice to meet you Aang. I’m (Y/N). Oh, and it was no problem. This town’s military is a bit unhinged.”

At your words, Aang turned back around to the two siblings. “Yeah, about that. They’re currently after me.”

“What?!” the Water Tribe siblings yelled in unison, scrambling to their feet as they took in his words. “What happened?”

“They’re trying to capture me!” Aang exclaimed. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re the Avatar,” you said softly, catching Aang’s attention. “You’re in Fire Nation territory, of course they want to capture you. You have to get out of here now.”

Aang helped Sokka get up and the trio made their way to the door. Halfway there, Aang paused, turning to you with a smile on his face. “Thank you (Y/N).”

You smiled back, bowing to the young boy before straightening up. “You’re very welcome Avatar Aang.”

Unfortunately, the trio didn’t make it very far. As soon as they stepped outside of your home, they were surrounded by the men from earlier. Inside, you heard Sokka yelp and you quickly realized what was going on. You swiftly picked up your sword and ran outside, immediately jumping into the fight. Katara and Aang were doing fine on their own; it was Sokka who was struggling a bit considering he was still injured. You stepped in front of him, brandishing your sword as you made eye contact with the men’s leader from earlier.

“They’re your servants huh?” he snarled, lunging at you. You easily sidestepped his attack, bringing up your sword and hitting him in the back of the head with the hilt. He collapsed immediately and a smug smirk made its way onto your face.

“Are you okay?” you asked Sokka. The boy nodded and you pushed him away. “Go. Get your sister, get the Avatar, and leave.”

Sokka ran off, turning back to look at you once more before grabbing Katara. You looked around to see Aang taking on three men and you lunged at them without hesitation.

“Run!” you yelled at the Air Nomad, barely managing to dodge a strike from one of the men. You gasped loudly when you felt a hand entangle itself in your hair and pull, exposing your neck. You elbowed the man, causing him to hunch over but he still didn’t let go of your hair. Aang took this chance to run, looking at you worriedly before Katara pulled him away.

“We may not have captured the Avatar, but I’m sure that the governor will be glad to hand a traitor like you over to the Fire Lord,” the man hissed. He let you go before tying your hands together, making sure that you couldn’t hit anyone. You felt your breath leave your lungs at his words. You had run away from the Fire Nation capital and now here you were, about to be sent back again. You swallowed nervously, the thought of returning making you feel nauseous. You could only imagine the punishment you would receive from both the nation and your family.

You were thrown to the ground by your captor, and you shut your eyes tightly as they all laughed raucously. At least you had helped the Avatar escape. That’s what mattered.

All of a sudden, everything went silent. You opened one eye cautiously, turning to look at the giant animal that was flying in the sky. Your mouth dropped in surprise as you stared at the sky bison. You thought that they were extinct.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Aang cried, already by your side and undoing your restraints. You scrambled to your feet and barely had time to breathe before Aang was pulling you to the sky bison. You stopped suddenly, pulling away from the young boy. “What’s wrong?”

“My sword!” you cried out, rushing back to where you had been laying.

“There’s no time! Let’s go!” Sokka yelled.

You didn’t listen, instead sprinting over to where you saw the glint of the weapon. You picked it up and began rushing to the sky bison, only making it halfway before being tackled from behind. You struggled for a few seconds before rolling onto your back, coming face to face with the man you had knocked out earlier.

“You’re not getting away that easily,” he growled, trying to pin you down. You fought hard, managing to bring your legs up to your chest and kick him off. In fact, you were so focused on fighting that you didn’t notice the sharp blade in the man’s hand until it was too late.

A sharp cry left your lips as he stabbed the blade into your abdomen. You stumbled back, swiping your sword across the man’s arm. The man yelled out loud as your sword sliced his arm and he stumbled back slightly as well as he clutched at the wound. You used the distraction to run to the sky bison, hurriedly climbing the animal and apologizing whenever you thought you pulled his fur.

Aang pulled you into the saddle and Sokka wasted no time in having the sky bison take off. “Appa, yip-yip!”

You grunted softly as you rolled onto your back, your hand automatically going to your wound.

“Katara! She’s hurt!” Aang yelled, panic appearing on his face as he noticed the dagger. “She was stabbed!”

The pain hit you like a tidal wave as your adrenaline subsided. You muttered incoherently, clutching at the knife before yanking it out even though Aang was yelling at you to not do that. You lifted your hand to your face, a wave of nausea suddenly hitting you at the sight of all the blood.

Your eyes began to flutter shut and the last thing you saw before you passed out was a pair of scared grey eyes.

~

taglist!

@musicalkeys, @mywigglybaby​, @bubblebars​, @iguessthefloorislava​, @dekahg​, @boxofteenageideas​, @bottledcostcowater, @butterflycore​, @coldlilheart​, @the-firebender-girl​, @ajediherowitchrunner​, @lammello​

#sokka x reader #atla sokka x reader #sokka #atla sokka #aang #katara #toph #toph beifong #avatar #avatar: tla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar x reader #atla x reader #zuko #prince zuko #sokka imagine

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 11.3k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

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banner designer @jamaisjoons​ | many thanks to @joonsrack​ for her translations and @jooneggs​ for beta reading

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: just a heads-up, there is French in this chapter. it isn’t translated because y/n does not speak French and thus has no clue wtf goes On BUT if you want the goss, feel free to use google translate or ur Local Translation Engine. explicitly sexual content, cursing, voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, spanking, dom!jimin obv, sub!reader, public (not sex-sex but sexytimes in public), shoe kink, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, use of safeword, teasing, bondage, gagging, use of sex toys, fingering, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, overstimulation, crying during sex, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, a sexy sliver of aftercare before yn zonks it

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

Please vote for your favourite member in the house according to Week One only. Vote here. Multiple votes are allowed but please do not spam the voting as this is an overall audience pick. I’m very excited to see what the results will be ! Voting is closed! Thank you for participating!

DAY SIX

You wake up early in the morning to a sore throat. Though the arm that rests heavy on your waist and the breath that tickles the nape of your neck tempt you back to sleep, you can’t even swallow without wincing, and the only solution is a cool drink and some pain meds. 

Namjoon doesn’t react when you slip out from under him, sliding your pillow under his arm. He simply lets out a satisfied hum and curls it closer to him. Still, you dress in breathy silence, tiptoeing out and leaving the door open a crack for your return. 

Downstairs, the blinking numbers on the microwave read shortly before 6am and you groan. The chance of you getting any more sleep after this was slim.

You pour some water and swallow some basic pain meds with a sigh. If you were honest, quiet moments like this were rare. Past the glass sliding door which leads to the outdoor dining area, you can see glints of reddy golds and flaming orange, pooling between trees to warm the concrete patio. This villa was truly beautiful, and you knew you’d never stay in a place like it again. Not only the house itself but the company you shared was invaluable. All the guys had such a personality to them, and you were surprised at how quicky you’d grown accustomed to them all. Fond, too.

Yoongi’s thoughtfulness, Jungkook’s energy, Jin’s stability. Taehyung who was so giving and Hoseok who never let the mood falter. And more recently, Namjoon becoming more confident and Jimin revealing flecks of heart behind the stone facade. Everyone brought something to the villa that made it a truly magical place. You feel like you’d be happy even without the mind-blowing sex. As the elimination day draws painfully close, your stomach turns with the thought of turning someone away. Of removing them when they’d only just gotten settled. The Lady was the hardest job in the game in many ways. 

Finishing your glass, you set it in the sink with a wet clink and roll your shoulders, arching your back as the last of your sleep leaves you in a final yawn. You turn to leave, squeaking when you’re met with a solid body coming out of nowhere. 

“Woah- Jimin?” The last person you expected to be up so early, you cringe as your voice raises in disbelief.

The man in question grins, eyes twinkling even in the relative darkness of pre-dawn. “Going so soon?”

“I-” You find yourself at a loss of words, feeling caught somehow, and you clear your still-aching throat. “What are you doing up?”

“Looking for you, little mouse. Or did you forget I’m next in line?” He speaks as light and melodic as a music box, but his lips are twisted in a grin as his eyes roam over you, wearing the same clothes as last night. “Has our Namjoonie finally popped his cherry?”

The way he plays with every syllable has you feeling so vulnerable, so under his control, and your gaze falters, looking instead at his odd attire. Like he’d gotten up in a hurry, he’s wearing a mix of pyjamas and clothes. His legs are tightly clad in glossy faux leather, blacker than black, and his top half is a silk pyjama top, sinful red trimmed with black, and with only a single button done up in the middle of his torso, exposing his lower stomach and the top of his chest. You suck in a breath at the expanse of skin, and what looks like the black sliver of a...tattoo? 

“Cat got your tongue?” he questions, drawing your eyes back up as he licks his top lip slowly, purposefully.

“It’s none of your business,” you reply, cursing the way your voice catches throatily, clearly affected by him. “And if you’re going to take your turn, can we at least go somewhere a little more comfortable? It’s six in the fucking morning.”

Like a switch is flipped, his face darkens, the humour gone. You swallow the lump in your throat as Jimin’s mouth sours into a scowl, but you can’t deny the heat that pools between your legs at it too. “I knew it,” he announces, voice acidic. 

“Knew what?” Your fate sealed, a streak of confidence rises within you. You’d ruffled him. And every part of you is screaming to make him react again. 

His eyes are molten power as they focus on you. “Five days and you’ve already become a spoilt brat.”

Your mouth drops open. “Fuck you! It’s your job to fuck me.”

“Why should I fuck you when you haven’t done a thing to earn it?” Jimin takes a step forward and reflexively you back up. “You’re an ungrateful cockhungry slut, little mouse. If you want me, beg for it.” He takes another step and again, you shuffle back, heart picking up.

“I shouldn’t have to beg,” you counter, though your voice isn’t as firm as before. Jimin simply raises a brow, continuing to walk you further into the kitchen until your lower back strikes the countertop. You swallow again, wishing you weren’t so easily affected. “If you don’t fuck me, I’ll just send you home.”

“You could,” he gives dismissively, lips twitching into a sneer at his following words, “but I don’t think you will. I don’t believe you’d send me home if I didn’t fuck you. Because you want to know how it feels.”

You bite your tongue, glaring up at him, at the way he’s so indifferent about it. “Fine. Then fuck me.” 

Jimin tuts reproachfully, his arms leaning forward to prop himself up on the bench behind you, caging you in. Your heart stops beating, the throb felt between your legs instead as he’s close enough to touch, his mouth close enough to kiss, not that you’d dare. “That isn’t begging,” he whispers in disapproval. 

“I don’t beg,” you insist, even as your hands clench, fighting the urge to touch him. 

Suddenly, the shadow over his face disappears, and he pushes up, creating some distance between you again. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he says airily, causing you to frown in confusion. “We aren’t at the begging stage yet. You know what you need first?”

You stare at him blankly, giving him a shake of your head. 

Jimin grins, and you swear you see his eyes flash. “Punishment.” 

“You can’t be serious,” you breathe, though instead of sounding offended as you intend, you just sound needy. Fuck Park Jimin and his iron grip on your arousal. 

His grin broadens like the Chesire Cat. “You’ve been very bad, little mouse. You’ve been demanding and impatient, you’ve used vulgar language and I seem to recall the night you interrupted my sleep because of how loud you were next door. I can’t let it slide,” he divulges with a solemn shake of his head, like your poor behaviour pains him, “I just can’t.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you say with a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t punish me like a child.”

“And that will be another one,” Jimin says instead, perfectly calm, rich blue hair catching the light as the sun continues to rise just outside. 

“Another what?” you fire back, beginning to tire of so much talk and so little action.

“Another spank,” he deadpans. Were it anyone else, any other situation, perhaps you would’ve laughed at it. Instead, you stare wide-eyed at the stoicism on his face. “That makes it five for swearing to me in this conversation alone, four for being impatient, and five for keeping me up that second night. Should we round it up to twenty?”

You stay silent for a moment, desperately trying to process it. You shake your head slowly. “You can’t make me,” you point out.

“Of course I can’t,” Jimin gives with a chuckle, running a hand through his hair as if to demonstrate how calm he is. Your eyes are magnetised by the silver rings that glint on his fingers, unable to keep yourself from imagining how they might feel on you. “You can always use your safeword, and I’ll respect it,” he continues. “But I doubt it. Whether you like to admit it, little mouse, you want this. You think I haven’t worked out that you a little pain with your pleasure?” He stands back, just a step, but the extra distance makes you feel suddenly unanchored, and you hate it. “I’m going to give you three seconds to turn around and bend over. If you don’t, I’ll walk away and you get nothing. If you take your punishment like a good girl, then we can talk.”

You huff, pressing your lips - and thighs - together in an effort to stay strong.

“One,” Jimin begins, eyes alight with bemusement. You don’t move, just sighing in annoyance again. “Two.”

Your incisors are clamped on your tongue so tightly you can almost taste blood as you glare intensely at his mouth. He draws it out cheekily, letting you wait painstakingly as he wets his lips and finally opens his mouth, the pink of his tongue pressing against his teeth as he-

Before you can process it, you’re flipping yourself around and pressing your upper chest against the counter, eyes squeezed shut in humiliation as Jimin begins to chuckle. 

It’s far too loud for the stillness of the early morning, and you muffle a sob in your forearm - not regret, but neediness. A week he’d deprived you, and the smug fucker was right: you’d take what you could get, and love it too. Blessedly, he doesn’t seem to notice the sound, the air filled instead with his triumphant peal of laughter at seeing you presenting yourself to him just like he knew you would. 

“Oh, little mouse,” he coos. “What would the others think if they saw you like this, hm? Bent over for me in the middle of the kitchen where anyone could walk in.”

You take in an unsteady breath, feeling your pulse race with excitement as his fingertips - still cold from the morning air - slip under your waistband, as he painstakingly slides it down, revealing your ass. You let out a small whimper when the toe of his shoe catches your ankle, pushing to widen your legs apart. You bite your lip, cheeks heating, core heating even more. 

Jimin runs his palms flat over your bare ass and you hiss through your nose at how icy his rings feel. While his hands are smaller than those of other guys of the house, you feel no less under their control, shivering at the contact. “Was it twenty we agreed upon?” His tone is light, playful. He knows he’s got you, and one final burst of defiance bubbles up through your chest.

“Fuck you,” you spit. “Does that make it twenty-one?”

You’re jumping before you even feel the lacing of fire on your right cheek or hear the smack that echos in the room. You choke on a moan, unable to deny how the pain settles into a low-burning pleasure that adds to the wetness between your thighs.

From behind you, you hear Jimin sigh heavily and quickly, like he’s trying to calm himself. “I want you to count them,” he instructs, and you flinch as his hand comes down on you again, but this time his slaps are weak, light swats that warm your skin to prepare it. “Twenty starting now. Understood?”

You bite your lip, but pull yourself up a little to free your face, propping yourself up with your elbows. You feel so vulnerable like this, just your ass bared, legs spread and at his mercy, but all you can think of is feeling his hand on you again. Blearily, you nod, and a pleased hum comes from his throat, barely audible. 

Jimin makes you wait for it, holding the silence so that your ears strain, fighting the urge to glance ba-

You jerk with a shallow cry as your other cheek stings with his smack, core clenching. “One,” you announce quietly. With every moment of sunrise, the room gets lighter and lighter, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the thought of someone walking in on the two of you. Was that dread in your stomach or excitement?

He doesn’t speak, only smoothing the skin to cool it before laying another blow, waiting for you to call out a shaky “two.” He’s wearing at least three rings, and you can feel them, more unforgiving than his flesh and painfully ice cold. You wonder in the back of your mind if they’ll leave marks. You can’t help but hope they do. 

You’ve made it to eight strikes before your knees begin to shake slightly. Every lick of pain simultaneously hurts more on the raw skin of your ass, but pools as liquid pleasure between your legs faster as you grow accustomed to it. Your pussy aches for contact, and you arch your back after the ninth spank falls, presenting yourself to him even more in the hopes that he’ll be tempted, but Jimin just tuts in disapproval.

“Look at you, little mouse. Soaking after a few spanks. You love this, don’t you? No part of you can deny it anymore.” You pant and bite down hard on your lip, wanting so bad to beg for it. Still, you refuse. Jimin just hums at your attempt at stoic silence, amused more than anything. “Almost halfway. It’ll be over so soon, don’t you think? We should make the most of this.” 

You frown at his words, more so when you feel the heat of his body leave you. You crane your neck automatically, spine lifting to stand, but his voice freezes you. 

“Fucking face the front and keep position,” he seethes, “I never said you could move.”

You sink back down, widening your legs and lowering your chest so it rests on the edge of the countertop, eyes locked onto the splashback in front of you. With ears straining, you shudder at the sound of a drawer sliding smoothly open, and the various clinks and thuds that follow as he rummages. Once the drawer shuts again and Jimin returns, you can barely breathe, goosebumps breaking out on your thighs and arms. 

He pats something against you, then slowly runs it over the heated skin of your ass, the slight friction making you hiss. “Do you know what this is? Feel it.” He continues to brush it around slowly, and you wrack your mind. It’s not metal or plastic - the texture is a little too rough and it isn’t as cold as his rings were. You hiss when you feel it dip down between your thighs, too low to touch you were you need it most. The shape is a tall oval, flat on one side but concave on the other, and you let out a low moan, back arching lower as you work it out. Jimin laughs, bringing it back up to tap it teasingly on your cheek. “I think you do,” he remarks. “Shall we continue?”

You bite your lip but it can’t fully cover the needy moan that spills out. He’s really about to spank you with a wooden spoon, and you’re really dripping for it. “Ye-yes,” you gasp out, a cry ripped from your throat at the first hit. It’s far sharper on your skin than his hand, whistling through the air and landing with a resounding smack. The sting lasts longer too, almost like you can feel the exact outline of the spoon on your skin. “Fuck, ten.”

When Jimin speaks again, his voice is rich with sadistic amusement. “Do you like it, little mouse? You should see yourself. The outline of the spoon just now, the marks from my rings-” he drags a single nail down one of the aforementioned marks, and you keen, the raw pain sent straight to your core, “you mark so beautifully for me. This perky little ass of yours is so red, you know? Should we make it even redder?”

Without waiting for your answer, he lands three smacks in quick succession - right, left, right again. Your body’s instinct takes over and you pull your body forward, tucking your ass in as if to escape it, even as your core throbs with need and your nipples press stiffly against your shirt. 

Jimin won’t have it, though, and you moan in a low keen as he wraps an arm low over your hips and tugs you back down, pressing the middle of your back with the fist and clenches the spoon so that you arch beneath it, dropping down that hand to run his knuckles lightly over your abused skin. “Shh,” he hushes firmly, “we aren’t done here yet. If it’s too much for you, you know what to say.”

Your heart warms at his reminder of your safeword, but you have no intention of using it, already melting under the additional physical contact. Instead, you lean back into his grip, presenting yourself for more. 

You sense rather than see his grin, but it makes you shiver nonetheless as the amused breath escapes his nose, his cool fingers running over your flesh, thumb and pointer as the rest wrap around the stem of the wooden spoon. “Are you gonna count them then, little mouse?”

Your mouth drops open to answer, but you pause, having to really think back. “Mm, uh, twelve? Eleven?”

Jimin chuckles, returning to those light teasing pats of the wooden spoon, just to make your thighs shake. “Thirteen, actually,” he reveals in a rakish tone. “If you wanted more, you just had to ask.”

Before your brain can process a retort, the spoon comes down again, an audible thwack that jiggles the flesh of your ass with the force of it, and you keen, knees buckling for just a moment. The contrast of intense stimulation of the fiery skin on your ass and the complete neglect of your needy core is infuriating but addictive nonetheless. “Fuck, Jimin, fo-fourteen.”

You automatically suck in a breath in the sudden lull as Jimin rears his hand back, but the quiet reveals a different noise, the laughing and joking and thud-thud-thud of people coming down the stairs, and you’re choking on the air in your lungs, freezing as two familiar faces round the corner and come to a halt as they witness the scene you’re in. 

Your legs shiver but your core throbs still as Jungkook and Taehyung watch you wide-eyed, eyes dancing in unision from Jimin, to you, to your ass and the spoon in Jimin’s hand. The cheeks of your face are somehow hotter and redder than the others, but regardless you stay frozen in position, waiting for someone else to make a move.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Jimin who speaks up first, the only one of you four unbothered. “She has six hits left, boys,” he offers up, patting your hip like you’re a ride to have a go on. “Any takers?”

Taehyung steps forward first, Jungkook’s mouth still hanging low. As you watch his slender fingers wrap around the handle of the wooden spoon, you shiver, and he chuckles at your reaction. 

“You know,” he muses casually, replacing Jimin behind you as the older man steps away to lean against the bench beside you, “I think I’m starting to warm up to this whole situation, petal. Where else would I get to walk in on a sight like this? And Jimin-hyung is so generous to let us help out. Thank him, Y/n.”

A breath rushes out of your throat, one you hadn’t even realised you were holding. Humiliation rushes through you, but it’s cloudy with arousal, and your tongue is loose with it. “Thank you, Jimin.”

“Good girl,” Taehyung coos shortly, and that’s the only warning before he’s swatting you harshly with the flat back of the spoon, and you let out a strangled moan. Your ass won’t stop stinging between hits, but you obediently call out ”fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,” until you only have three to go. 

Taehyung relinquishes his turn reluctantly to Jungkook; the youngest contestant in the house eying you up strangely, almost like he can read and understand the pleasure in the welts on your ass and the tremble of your knee. Almost like he’s been where you are, or somewhere close. Judging by the apparent variety of his streams, you don’t doubt it. 

Like Jungkook’s testing the waters, his first hit is the weakest, barely making you flinch. You exhale lowly in disappointment. “Eighteen,” you say, swallowing down the drool that threatens to gather. 

Before any more land, you instead feel fingers at your hairline, brushing back strands that have covered your face. Small but strong points of pressure light up on your jaw as Jimin pulls your chin to look up at him, his eyes swirling with deep satisfaction. 

“I wanna see the look on your face,” he announces quietly. “I want our Jungkookie to make these last two hurt. Will you take it for me?”

His voice brooks no disagreement, still dripping with authority and control, but you know that he’s once more giving you an out should you wish to use your safeword, so you nod shakily, eyes fluttering. “Please.” You’ve still received no friction - or contact at all - on your pussy, and you feel yourself going crazy. The pain is addictive, licks of pleasure that seep into your veins after every spank, but you can’t handle how you drip down your own thighs, soaking your panties even as they rest hooked just above your knees. Two more hits and you’d finally get what you needed.

You haven’t seen Jimin’s face this close, and certainly not seen his eyes in such intense detail before, and instead of anticipating the next hit you find yourself blinking up at him dazedly. His hair, the deep glossy navy that you’d never seen on somebody before, is swooped gracefully over his brow, which is still a natural black, and below it his eyes are molten with lust and satisfaction, watching your face intently. His hands are hot on your face, the rings cool points of unforgiving contact, and you can’t help but wonder if the plush pillows of his lips are warm like his hands or cool like his rings. They’d feel softer against yo-

“Fu-fuck!” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as two sharp hits strike you not on the already-red skin of your ass, but the tops of your thighs instead, just below the swell of flesh. It’s more painful than you’d expect, but you’re so turned on that your mind just screams better and more. Caught up in it, you belatedly gasp out a “nineteen, twen’y,” and feel yourself sink against the countertop, held up by Jimin’s hands on your face and jaw.

“Little mouse,” his voice calls out, and your brows knit together as you struggle to decipher his tone. “Little mouse.”

You force your eyes open, breathing heavily through your mouth as everything except the burn below and Jimin above fade away. “Jimin,” you whisper, lips barely moving.

His give a twitch, pleased. It warms your heart to see the flicker of approval. “What do you say, hm?”

You don’t even think, but your body knows the answer. “Thank you, Jimin.”

“I’m not the only one,” he remarks, though a pleased grin is evident on his face and in his voice. 

Truthfully, you’d almost forgotten the others, but as you thank them, eyes still locked on Jimin, you feel your toes curl at the realisation that you’re surrounded by three extremely attractive men. Men that are all here to-

The dopey smile of anticipation is struck from your face when Jimin abruptly lets go of you, pushing off the countertop. You stumble, catching your legs under you and fumbling to pull up your jeans reflexively. “Where are you-?”

You jump at the dull clang of the wooden spoon being tossed in the sink, Jungkook’s hand free as Jimin discards the tool. You watch openmouthed, panties and jeans barely on as the former rest uncomfortably soaked against your core, as the eldest of the three rolls his shoulders and sighs happily. “So, boys; should we make some omellettes for breakfast? I feel like cracking a few eggs.”

Taehyung grins and Jungkook’s gaze slides to you in uncertainty but the two agree, casually retrieving ingredients and utensils like you aren’t sitting there with a stinging ass and your jeans unbuttoned. 

“Jimin,” you mumble dumbly, and to your surprise he acknowledges you this time, walking over to stand in front of you with a congenial smile. 

“You’re done here, Y/n,” he announces. Unabashedly, his hands slip down and begin to fully slide your panties and jeans up, fingers slipping up the zip and buttoning them closed. “You didn’t want to beg, and I’m not going to make you. You took your punishment, so why don’t you toodle along? I’m sure one of us will call for you when breakfast is ready.”

Your mouth drops open, the final lusty haze of the scene evaporating fast enough to leave you reeling. “Are you serious? You aren’t going to do anything?”

Jimin’s eyebrows lower intently, voice hushing like he’s sharing a secret, even though Taehyung and Jungkook are right behind him in earshot. “Oh, little mouse. You know exactly what to do to get what you want.”

He waits expectantly, but your eyes dart past his shoulders to the other two boys. Begging was one thing, but in front of the others? You fight a pout, hoping your face looks angry rather than put out. “You’re an asshole, and I’m voting you out.” 

His grin broadens, wolfish. “Well then,” he remarks with an unbothered lift of a brow, “I better hurry up and make these omelettes before I get sent home, now, shouldn’t I?” 

And with that, he turns his back to you and begins chatting to his friends. You stay for one more moment of shocked silence, but soon turn tail, stomping back up the stairs with the wet fabric of your panties pressing coldly against you.

---

When you peek your head in the door, Namjoon is still asleep, so you quickly duck back into your room and change into some fresh clothes and underwear before going back in, content to chill on his armchair until he wakes. 

You’d told him you would stay, and the way the fabric of your leggings rubs against your sore ass when you sit only reminds you of the fact that you’d been gone longer than anticipated already. He looks peaceful, though, clearly quite content with the pillow you’d left him with. Namjoon’s mouth is parted slightly, slack and half-pressed into his own pillow. He clutches yours with both arms, snuffling or grunting in his sleep every few moments. 

You’re happy with just scrolling through your phone aimlessly for the half hour or so it takes before he wakes, back arching and neck cracking as he stretches. A beam broadens on your face at the dazed slow blink and wide yawn that he emits. “Sleep well?” you ask softly, not wanting to startle him.

He pats the pillow and mattress beside him in confusion, sitting up to stare at you with a squint. “You stayed?”

“I said I would,” you dismiss, a single thread of guilt wrapping around your heart at the memory of where you’d just came from. “I woke up a bit early and needed a drink. Sore throat.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen dramatically, the concern on his face ringed by a mess of tanged purple hair. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve asked…”

“You’re fine, Namjoonie,” you murmur. “I was actually wondering if you’d want to-”

You break off to the sound of what is undoubtably Jungkook belting out his lungs from downstairs, announcing breakfast is ready. Namjoon lights up, kicking the blankets off in a rush to get out of bed. “I’m starving,” he chimes, getting dressed without a shred of the self-consciousness you’d witnessed the night before. Hunger has seemingly stolen all his brainpower, and you follow his eager slipstream as he rushes down the stairs noisily, thumping into the kitchen. 

Both your heart and your core throb in disappointment, your opportunity for morning sex lost by the offer of a hot meal. Your mood sours even further when you come face-to-face with the three youngest serving up omelettes, Jimin smiling brilliantly, still dressed in a barely-buttoned silk pyjama shirt and some black glossy pants.

He barely spares you a glance, even as he sits almost directly across from you. You take a seat between Namjoon and Jin, Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin on the other side and the heads of the table kept by Hoseok and Yoongi. 

You have to admit that the wafting smells of cooked egg, cheese and various spices have your stomach grumbling, so you vow to ignore the unsatisfied heat between your legs and the smug man across from you and tuck in, your knife cutting through the omelette like butter. It’s delicious, and clearly everyone at the table shares the same sentiment, moans of surprised enjoyment filling the air. 

“I’m impressed, Jimin,” Yoongi admits, “the first time I’ve even seen you awake for breakfast and you make us this. It’s fantastic.”

His voice is melodic, teasing at your eyes even as you avoid looking at him. “Thanks, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin replies warmly, “I was actually taught the recipe from one of my good friends who works as a chef in France.”

Hoseok isn’t impressed, and the way he scrunches his face up in annoyance makes you suppress a grin. “Let me guess, Remy the rat? If we dig around in that hair of yours will we find him tugging you around?”

Jimin ignores him coolly, knife twirling deftly around his fingers. “I haven’t seen Victor in several years, but his cooking lessons have always stuck with me. Dis-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai qui tu es.”

“You are what you eat,” Namjoon muses, shoveling a wobbling stack of egg into his mouth. 

Your eyebrows lift, turning to him with shock. “You speak French?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin straighten in interest at the man directly across from him, but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice, cheeks bulging as he hurriedly tries to finish his mouthful. “Took it as an elective in university,” he explains once he’s done, “never actually been to France, though.” He turns to Jimin finally, eyes shining with the spark of curiosity that always seemed to smoulder there. “What’s it like?”

“C’est incroyable,” Jimin enunciates, the French dripping off his tongue like sparkling water. “Tu devrais y aller un jour. Mon ami a un appartement à Paris avec une chambre d’amis dans laquelle je séjourne des fois.”

Namjoon gasps, and you glance around the table, everyone bar the two of them looking totally confused. “Avec vue sur la Tour Eiffel?” The only indication it’s a question is the way his pitch rises, but the rest is incomprehensible to you, so you just return to your omelette, content to watch the conversation play out like a foreign movie without subtitles. Body language and tone being your only clues.

“Bien sûr,” Jimin replies easily, his head tipping to the side, eyes burning as he stares at the older man, “mais on pourrait peut-être parler de choses plus excitantes que cela? As-tu apprécié la compagnie de Y/N dans ton lit hier soir?”

You straighten up as you hear your name, glaring at Jimin in suspicion. You’d never regretted picking Spanish in high school instead of French more. Namjoon, interestingly, seems equally ruffled by Jimin’s comments. “That’s really none of your busi-”

“Tu vas me parler en Français, Namjoon, ou je vais commencer à te poser des questions en Anglais. Qu’est-ce que t’en dit?  The choice is yours.” Jimin’s voice turns sharp, spitting out the syllables like jabs. The choice? In unison, everyone at the table turns to Namjoon in question as the academic flushes. 

“Fine,” he says shortly in English, before switching back to French. “On n’est pas vraiment... allés jusqu’au bout. J’allais lui proposer ce matin, mais tu nous a appelés pour le déjeuner. .”

Jimin’s mouth curls slowly, deviously, making Namjoon swallow. You feel your own cheeks heat at the thought that they were very likely speaking about you. “Is that so?” Jimin asks in English, head tipping slowly. He takes a single bite of his breakfast, making Namjoon shift awkwardly in his seat at the wait. “Well; I do apologise for interrupting.” You look up between the two of them. Was he referring to him spanking you that morning? Or him calling you down just when you were going to make a move? Jimin isn’t done, sliding down in his seat just slightly, so he’s leaning back. “Laisse-moi me faire pardonner.”

Namjoon’s brows knit and his mouth opens to reply, but suddenly he goes ramrod stiff, eyes flying wide open. “Wh-what are you-?” His chest heaves once, his throat bobbing as he swallows down the rest of his sentence. 

You frown, glancing down to see the shiny tip of Jimin’s shoe pressed firmly against Namjoon’s crotch, shifting back and forth. You look away, hoping to avoid attracting more attention to Namjoon’s predicament, but you can’t deny the hot rush of heat between your own thighs at the thought of Jimin getting Namjoon off at the breakfast table with just the sole of his shoe. You finish off the last of your omelette bitterly, hating the way that your mind wishes you were in Namjoon’s seat right now. 

Like nothing’s happening, Jimin continues to converse with his elder, the others at the table seemingly none the wiser. “Ce n’est peut-être pas une une chatte bien chaude et humide, mais tu es un bon garçon, n’est-ce pas? Tu vas prendre ce que je te donne, non?” 

“Jimin,” Namjoon croaks out, voice surprisingly steady even as it’s low with arousal, “i-is there any more batter left? I’d love another omelette.”

Jungkook pipes up, finally hearing enough English to be able to contribute. “There’s not much left, but I was actually thinking I kinda feel like some hash browns and bacon, so we could go for round two if anyone else is up for it?”

Yoongi and Jin, like they’ve been awakened with the promise of more food, drag their chairs back simultaneously to stand. “I don’t trust you with frying bacon, Jungkook,” Jin answers from beside you with a small grin, “let hyungs help.”

Half the table files away, Hoseok also joining those in the kitchen, probably because he’s hoping for some taste-testing, and you’re left with Taehyung being the only unaware party, on his phone as he mindlessly sips away at a glass of juice. 

“Regarde-moi ça,” Jimin announces with melodic glee. “il y a moins de regards sur toi maintenant. Les autres sont dans la cuisine, Taehyung ne nous prête pas attention, et Y/N sait déjà ce qui est entrain de se passer; regarde-la.”

You glance up at your name but Taehyung doesn’t even react, mouth slightly open as he focuses on the video he’s watching silently, pinky finger tapping at the condensation on the glass absentmindedly. 

Namjoon turns to face you, before glancing down at the shoe which rocks faster and broader between his legs, his cock tented and leaking a small wet patch in his trousers. He knows you know. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t-”

Jimin overtakes deftly, making Namjoon hunch over the table as the jerking of his shoe against Namjoon’s clothed cock speed up. Even as Jimin’s eyes are on you, he addresses the older man in lush French. “Est-ce que tu vas venir comme ça, hm? Crois-tu pouvoir rester silencieux?”

Your skin feels like it’s on fire, the heat stemming from between your legs as you wish you could’ve felt some contact from Jimin instead. Even just the sole of his shoe would be better than nothing, but it seems that Namjoon doesn’t share the sentiment, as his hand shoves at Jimin’s foot. “Rouge,” he gasps out lowly, and Jimin recoils like he’s been shot. 

Sitting upright, feet to himself again, Jimin’s eyes widen at the word. Even with the little to no French knowledge you have, you can guess the meaning. Red. Namjoon used the safeword. “I’m so sorry,” Jimin croaks, and you’re startled at the vulnerability and genuine apology in his voice, “are you not-?”

“Juste parce que je suis techniquement vièrge, ça ne fait pas de moi un soumis,” Namjoon explains with a rueful smile. You wish he would’ve spoke in English, but his light tone at least reassures you that he isn’t mad or hurt or upset. He mostly just seems a little embarrassed and overwhelmed. 

“Can we stop speaking in baguette?” Taehyung pipes up miserably, putting his phone away. “Oui, oui. Mercy. Oh reservoir. Anything more complex than that and you’ve got me lost.”

Namjoon frowns, bewildered. “Do you mean merci and au revoir?” 

“Do I?” Taehyung questions rhetorically, eyes dazed. Namjoon just shrugs hopelessly, but that seems enough for the black-haired boy. He cheers up a bit and, glancing at Namjoon’s hunched figure, lets out a short sigh. “You look tense, hyung. Do you need some help relaxing?”

Jimin bites his lip with guilt, and you hate the way you’re drawn to that pillow of flesh, so pink against the white of his teeth. What you wouldn’t give to lean over there and see what it felt like to kiss him. 

Namjoon, however, seems less concerned with Jimin. You get the idea that perhaps he’s not one to have a short temper or hold grudges. “It’s okay, I think I might have a quick shower upstairs before the second lot of breakfast is finished.” Displaying his characteristic shyness, Namjoon makes an awkward yet completely unsuccessful attempt to leave the room without revealing his tented crotch. 

Taehyung’s eyes follow it out until Namjoon’s out of sight, his mouth hung open. After a moment’s thought, brows knitted tightly together, Taehyung turns back to the two of you at the table. “Do you think he’s turned on by food or something? He did seem pre-tty eager to chow down that omelette. I should go ask him.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jimin sinks his face into his hands as Taehyung scrambles after Namjoon, and you honestly don’t blame him.

--

You manage to make it to late afternoon before you encounter Jimin again. After the meal, he speaks quietly to Jin and the two disappear into the private rec room. For you as well, the day is spent inside, Jungkook asking for your assistance in spotting him at the indoor gym, mostly so he can explain to you and Hoseok the extremely elaborate plot of his latest anime show while he lifts weights. You and Hoseok, completely lost, ended up spending hours there trying to understand all the character arcs and plot twists and backstories, eventually moving up to Jungkook’s room so he could show you the first few episodes. By the time he let you go, you made your way downstairs with a bag of laundry, having almost spent a full week in the villa.

Unlike most of the house, the laundry feels very basic and surburban: a front-loader, a dryer and a sink with some cabinets are really the only pieces of furniture, so you perch on the dryer as you wash, and the washer as you dry your load of clothes. 

Letting the regular thump of the drying machine lull you into a sleepy daze, you’re too zoned out on your phone to notice someone approaching until fingers wrap around your phone, pushing it down away from your face. 

Jimin’s still hasn’t changed out of his red pyjama shirt, and as you sit up ramrod straight and focus onto him, you admire the way the lapels lay open to expose his collarbones. “Fancy seeing you here,” he announces with a grin, eyes raking over you as you sit atop the washing machine. 

“What a coincidence,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what would that be, little mouse?”

You fight the urge to press your legs together at the petname, Jimin’s eyes intelligent and self-satisfied as they watch you. “Coming here to seduce me.”

Jimin laughs, and your cheeks flush hot at the sound, his head tipping back to expose a graceful neck. “Oh, Y/n, don’t think so highly of yourself. I’m just here to do my laundry.” 

Dubious, you keep your legs dangling over the side and your arms crossed as you look down. True enough, a basket of washing rests and his feet, and you wait bitterly as he brushes your legs wider so that he can turn on the machine, selecting the right settings and pouring in a scoop of detergent. You keep a stoic silence, biting down on your tongue at his actions, but he doesn’t seem to care about your eyes on him.

In fact, he appears to openly thrive on it, sinking into a crouch in front of the machine and blinking up at you innocently, his face in front of your aching crotch. Refusing to give in, you press your lips together while he opens the door and deposits his clothes, socks, underwear, everything he’s been wearing the past few days. Once he’s done, you feel yourself relax a bit, but then he lets out a thoughtful hum.

“I suppose I should wash these too,” he muses, fingering at the bottom edge of his shirt, and your mouth goes dry. That fucker. He doesn’t even look at you as he undresses, but the smirk on his lips speaks volumes.

Your hips long to writhe, but you force yourself still as he unbuttons his shirt, opening it up and chucking it in casually, running a hand over his now-naked chest, quite literally rubbing it in. The most skin you’ve seen on him yet, you allow yourself to drink in the sight. He’s more muscular than you’d expect, though it’s all lean muscle, graceful yet speaking to a corded strength. 

Even though you know it’s coming, there’s nothing that can prepare you for the obscene sight of him pulling down the zipper of his black patent leather pants, revealing equally black boxers. He’s not hard, not even the slightest hint of a chub, and the thought infuriates you that he could make you so needy without even getting aroused himself, like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

As he lowers his pants down, his thighs are revealed in all their glory, the thickest part of him. They flex as he lifts each leg, tugging off the pants fully and tossing them in. Though you hadn’t noticed before, now is the first time you’ve seen him without his shoes on, and you marvel at the fact that he loses none of his power like this, that it really comes from within, from his piercing gaze, knowing smile and confident posture. Chucking them in the washing machine too, he pauses for a moment, lip tugged up in a smirk, before his ringed fingers find the elastic waistband of his boxers.

Startled, a breathy, “Jimin,” falls from your lips unbidden, barely audible.

“Hm?” Jimin has no regard for modesty as he bares himself fully, cock twitching as you stare, wide-eyed. “What’s the problem, little mouse? This is a shared facility.” He chucks the slip of light fabric amongst the rest of his clothes and shuts the lid, pressing start. A gasp escapes you as the machine kicks into gear, already beginning to shudder and rock under you, sending vibrations to your needy core. 

As you stare, Jimin stands in front of you, resting a hand on the edge of the machine, right between your splayed legs. His dick is slowly plumping up, the man completely unbothered as he lowers his free hand to press at the skin around it, sighing. 

Your fingers clench into fists as your arms remain crossed, pussy thriving and dripping with the pleasure after so long, but cursing that his hand is so close yet so far to your clothed cunt. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you spit, leaning back and tipping your head up to stare stubbornly at the ceiling. The image of him, his naked body is still seared onto your eyelids and you let out a huff. “You have no shame.”

“Shame never seemed like a particularly useful quality to have.”

“I’m not giving you what you want,” you insist, voice trembling slightly - though you blame the steady jarring of the washing machine that runs from your core all the way up to your teeth. 

“Then I could say the same to you,” you hear Jimin reply easily, before letting out a suspiciously low groan. 

Your head shoots down and you gawk at the way he grasps himself, fully hard now, and runs the crook of his pointer finger over his weeping head. His cock is gorgeous, the hair above trimmed neatly and the tip arcing towards the ceiling, towards your shocked stare as he smears the glistening precum around his head, hissing at the coolness of his rings on the heated skin. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” you utter in complete bewilderment. “This isn’t washing your laundry!”

Jimin hums, head tipped back and eyes slipping shut in indulgence. “I can leave to jerk off alone if that makes you more comfortable?”

You fall silent, eyes locked onto his languid strokes. That isn’t what you want at all, and he knows it. “Jimin,” you murmur lowly, captivated by the slow drags of his hand on his cock, rings glinting wetly. He makes a noise of response, almost lost in the mechanical whirring and thudding of the washing machine that stirs in your loins. Your voice is barely louder than his. “Jimin, why are you making this so difficult?”

His head tips back down, lips parted and eyes lidded. “Oh, little mouse,” he sighs, “do you wish you could touch? Do you wish I was inside you?”

You glance again at his hand, resting mere centimetres away from your core. “You know I do,” you admit in a small voice.

“Then beg,” he replies simply, hand slowly picking up speed on his dick. “The only thing that’s keeping you horny and unsatisfied is yourself. You could’ve cum three times already if you knew what was good for you.”

You sigh, licking your lips needily. A light ding echoes in the room; your washing has finished in the dryer. You ignore it. “Please, Jimin.”

Jimin’s eyes open fully, locking on you with a smirk. “Closer,” he answers, teeth exposed as he grins just slightly. Still, though, he continues to stroke himself, even going so far as to take a half step forward to rest the underside of his cock against the washing machine, groaning at the vibrations. 

You huff when you realise he isn’t going to speak further. “You do realise I could just go get myself off, right? You don’t have all the power here.”

You know you’ve said the wrong thing when his cheeks lift, lips spread wide in a teasing sneer. “We both know that’s not quite true. Perhaps I don’t have all the power, but a little birdie told me that you’re no longer allowed to put your hand in your own pants. I don’t suppose that rings a bell?”

He knows about Hoseok’s deal. Perhaps they all do. In an effort to wipe the smug look off his face, you scoff, spreading your legs wider in a show of relaxation. “Well then, I guess I might as well go upstairs and ask Hoseok to fuck me. I bet he’d do a better job than-”

Like lightening, his hand leaves his own cock and lashes out, fisting your shirt in his hands and tugging you forward, hard enough that you have to quickly uncross your arms and grab onto him to stop your foreheads from knocking together. You gasp at the fiery look on his face, his voice a sharp growl. “If you think he can fuck you half as good as I can, you’re dreaming.”

“Wha-?” you make out, so close that your breath ruffles the wisp of hair that swoops over his brow.

Just as quick as he grabbed you, Jimin lets go, stepping away. “Your laundry is ready,” he announces lowly. “You’ll be waiting outside my bedroom door in two hour’s time or you won’t get anything at all. Clear?” 

Startled, you nod, jumping down off the mid-cycle washing machine, your legs feeling wobbly with the sudden withdrawal of vibrations. Grabbing your washing out of the dryer, you rush out the room with one last glance at him before the door slams and locks behind you. All is silent in the hallway as you ascend the stairs, but internally you scream with excitement. 

--

Two hours drags and stretches and then snaps, everything too slow and then too fast until you’re knocking on Jimin’s door, stomach swirling sickly with anticipation. 

He takes his sweet time answering, heightening your heart rate, but by the time he does it takes your breath away. He’s in a different pair of black pants, jeans that are skinny enough to make his legs seem a million miles long. His chest is fully covered this time, but it’s a transparent white mesh singlet, a white pressed blouse with gold buttons and cufflinks unbuttoned at the top to expose it. His lips, plush as ever, are covered in a sheer gloss that glints in the light and his eyes are intense in the frame of thick lashes and a hint of shadow on the lids, warm and smokey. As usual, he’s laden with jewellery, his classic silver rings paired with a pair of thin dangling chains from his lobes that sway hypnotically when he tilts his head in greeting.

You, too, had dressed for the occasion, seeking out your prettiest pair of lingerie - a black lace set with embroidered vines and buds around the hems and cups. The only thing you’re wearing on top is a black silk robe tied lazily around your waist. Thanking your lucky stars nobody had wandered into the upstairs hallway while you were waiting, you step inside, the thick carpet under your bare feet muffling your steps.

Jimin is back in shoes, and you bite your lip when you recognise them as the ones he’d worn at breakfast just that morning. It feels like days ago, your heightened arousal the whole day stretching time into an eternity. 

“Kneel,” he instructs shortly, pointing at the carpet in front of him. For a moment you hesitate, but you'd gotten so far and it would be foolish to test your luck and risk getting thrown out with nothing yet again. Besides, part of you wants to see what he'll do when you're actually good for him. You kneel.

His room is perhaps one of the largest excluding yours. His bathroom door is shut, but even just the bedroom has room for a queen bed, two nightstands, a dresser and a chest at the foot of the bed which you're facing. You wonder idly if he'd paid the staff off for the biggest room, but before you can ponder much more he steps in front of you, his crotch right at your eye-level. You glance up him, sucking in a breath at how perfect he looks glancing down at you.

You lick your lips in anticipation, and it draws his attention. "This pretty little mouth of yours," he muses, reaching out to run his fingers over your lips, tugging down the flesh to watch it bounce back. Your chest puffs in pride, mouth practically watering at the thought of sucking him off. You part your lips when he presses on the seam, and his first two fingers delve into your mouth, slowly thrusting so that the pads run along your tongue, making you drool around his digits. You widen your jaw obediently, eyes pleading. But his face changes, then, a frown clouding his features. "More trouble than it's worth," he decides stiffly, and suddenly your mouth is empty, Jimin wiping your saliva off on your cheek before he turns his back to you, opening the chest.

Your mouth stays slack and open, but for a different reason. From what you can see, the wooden box is filled with toys, slips of fabric and leather, metal chains, everything. Suddenly, something catches your attention. At the bottom right corner, the initial PJM have been gracefully engraved, painted in with a glossy black ink. This is his, you realise, what he uses for his shoots. You feel your panties dampening between your legs as he rifles around.

When he turns back around, you recoil slightly, recognising the buckled contraption he comes up with. A ball gag. He smiles wickedly at your reaction, standing over you and running his hand through your hair, combing it back from your face. "This is a good thing, little mouse," he explains, tapping your lips twice to indicate to widen your jaw. You obey in a daze, feeling the sphere of unforgiving black plastic fill the front half of your mouth, your teeth keeping it in place. "Now you won't be tempted to run your mouth. Isn't that thoughtful of me?" You glare up at him as the straps wrap around your skull, his deft fingers tightening the buckle just enough so you can't spit the ball out. Your breath comes through your nose now, huffing at him.

He chuckles, crouching in front of you. It's overwhelming, suddenly having his face so close again. The perfect swells of his cheekbones, the sculpted brows and intelligent eyes so intensely locked onto yours. "You can't speak now, little mouse. So your safeword is going to be non-verbal. Click your fingers once for yellow, and over and over as much as you can for red. Okay? Click now so I know you can do it."

You click your fingers, feeling your chest ease slightly with the reinforcement of your safety net. The moment you're done, however, that warm concern vanishes, and he straightens up, turning away from you yet again.

"You're lucky," his voice announces, leaning over to dig in his box of tricks, "normally I'm not so generous. Normally I wouldn't let you cum until you'd well and truly earned it. But those cries of yours on the Monday night..." He trails off, spinning back on his feet to face you, a pair of leather cuffs in his hand, unconnected with heavy duty silver loops dangling from them. His eyes pierce you with a hint of vulnerability that you don't think he even realises he's showing. "You drive me crazy, Y/n. I want to hear you cum over and over and over again for me."

No matter how much your chest rises and falls, you feel breathless, eyes wide. Unable to verbally respond - though you don't even know what you'd say - you just give him a pleading gaze, hips rocking against the bottoms of your feet in search of friction.

He lets out a breath, stepping forward. "Take off your robe," he instructs with a rough voice. Your fingers fumble with the slack knot, hurriedly shedding it and tossing it away, leaving yourself in just the lingerie. "Fuck," he says with a breathy chuckle, "you're gonna be the death of me, little mouse. Wrists."

You clench your teeth around the ball gag in a keen at his words, lifting your arms up to reach him.

One at a time, he fits on the leather cuffs. They're relatively wide, though not too thick, and once he does up the buckle on each one you feel your eyes flutter. Something you'd never felt before but it's divine, the way they wrap so snugly around your wrists, not only a physical anchor, but a reminder that you're his, letting out a low moan when he slips a finger in one of the silver loops, tugging to ensure the fit.

Jimin's lip twitches at your reaction, and instead of telling you to stand, he uses the hoops, pulling your wrists up by the cuffs until you stand to ease the pressure, stumbling slightly as you get off your knees without your hands to assist. He leads you to the head of the bed, where you see the two chains that wrap around the bars of the headboard.

"On," he instructs, letting go so you can clamber up, sitting as you await further instruction. "On your back, darling," he coos, pressing at your shoulder so your head rests back onto the pillow. Automatically, you lift your arms, pulling a smile from his lips as he loops the chains through the silver hoops of your cuffs, spreading your arms wide apart, knuckles brushing against the wood of the headboard.

"Don't go anywhere," he remarks teasingly before leaving you, retrieving a few things from the chest. You tug slightly at one of your cuffs, testing it, and muffle a groan at the feeling of being trapped, tied down and at his mercy.

When he returns, his hands are full, and he tosses the fruits of his labour on the bed beside your torso, getting up on the bed to sit between your legs. You gasp when he tugs your ankles firmly, making you slip down so that your arms are straight, less room to struggle. This way, too, you can barely crane your head up, chest blocking your few of the toys he's brought over.

"Now," he says with a patient sigh, fingering the hem of your panties, "let's get rid of these, mm?" You lift your hips obediently when he goes to slip them down, curling your toes at the sudden cool air on your pussy. "Fuck, look at you," he gushes lowly, his fingers running up and down your slit so light you can barely feel them, making you whimper. "So fucking wet, little mouse. I haven't even touched you."

You lift your head to moan at him, trying to get out your plea, though your words are unrecognisable through the ball gag.

He pouts teasingly, rubbing the flat of his palm over you, slicking up his hand. "Oh, poor baby. The mean old Jiminie kept teasing her, did he? Baby just wants to cum?"

You groan, eyes scrunching shut as you nod your head. Even the simple touch of his hand between your legs is so good you could cry.

You tremble when you feel two fingers slip inside your wetness, a tight fit but one that lets him in so smoothly with how much you're soaked for him. He finds your g-spot with an almost supernatural ease, rubbing at it with the pads of his two fingers, curling inside you. You let out a strangled groan which makes him chuckle.

"I'm being generous now, aren't I? Say thank you, Y/n."

You sob. He knows full well you can't speak, but you obey nonetheless, letting out an unintelligible garble of your thanks.

"Good girl," he coos, and your legs fall apart wider in bliss as he begins an indulgent pace, the cool bands of his rings when they plunge inside you addictive. The second his thumb lifts up and begins rubbing at your clit, you're already on the edge from being deprived so long, and you cum almost immediately, shuddering around his fingers at the deep but powerful satisfaction.

You come down from your high relatively quickly, but he's already slipped his hand out, and you glance down in confusion, only to choke on a moan when you see him, tongue poking out slightly in focus as he uses your own slick to lube up a dildo, a powder pink silicone one that's roughly the shape of a cock, but far smoother, getting wider at the bottom for a place to hold it.

Once he's done, almost without acknowledging you, he grips your knee, making it bend and your leg lift higher up the bed, spreading you wider open for him, the other one still flat on the mattress, splayed wide.

"That was your warm-up, little mouse, I hope you enjoyed it," Jimin remarks with a grin, and you breathe heavy around the gag, back arching as he presses the head of the dildo into you.

It's far wider than his two fingers, and the stretch dumbs you, making your mind slow to a halt to appreciate every inch that fills you, dragging against your sensitised g-spot. Jimin's knuckles bump your clit when he bottoms out, and you shiver, the dildo so deep inside you.

"Let's get started, shall we?" he declares rhetorically with a wolfish grin, and once again your eyes squeeze shut when he begins a bruising pace, every strike spearing you open and making your eyes water. Your spine hitches as you writhe beneath him, but his grip on your bent leg is too strong, and no matter how hard you clench he drives the dildo so fully inside you that your mouth is slack, wide enough that your teeth don't even clamp around the ball on your tongue. With an open mouth, more sound comes through, and you hear the room filling with the wet sound of him fucking you with the dildo, but also your own moans and hiccuped screams.

He fucks you to the edge faster than you can comprehend. There's so much pleasure on every stroke, and he's using so much speed that it feels like you can't take it, like you might explode, but still he pins you down, letting you yank at the cuffs that bind you as you're forced to cum violently around it, thigh muscles clenching as you try to clamp your legs around the intrusion.

"Fuck, that's it, don't stop cumming," you hear him growl, and you sob with pleasure as your orgasm morphs quickly into oversensitivity, but Jimin never lets up for a second.

Your eyes water, tears slipping down over your temples as he continues to fuck you, and suddenly you no longer feel his hand on your leg, it flopping down weakly as fingers tap over your hand.

"Don't forget the signal," he instructs as you sob and writhe, "I'm not fucking stopping without it."

It takes you a moment to process that he's asking about the safeword, but as overwhelmed as you are, you don't want him to stop. "Hngingn," you cry, his name coming out jumbled through the ball gag, and your legs automatically lock around his hand, seeking to stop the roughly thrusting dildo, but his spare hand just rips your legs away, one of his jean-clad knees pinning down your shin and your screams reach a new pitch when you feel fingers strumming at your clit, the pleasure like a million needles, making your hands fist.

After an eternity of going crazy with overstimulation, you pass a bend. The pain turns back into pleasure, and you settle, going quiet and shifting slightly to seek it out, eyes rolling at the rhythmic rocking of your hips as he fucks you with the dildo.

"That's it," Jimin guides, breathless with exertion, "I want you to cum again, little mouse. Clench tight for me."

You do as he says, eyes so blurry you can't even see anything but the patch of blue in your vision, his head bobbing slightly as he speaks.

Without thinking, you follow his instructions, and like clockwork a third orgasm rips through you, taking you by surprise as the extra pressure of the dildo on your g-spot plunges you over the edge. You hadn't even realised you were close, but clearly Jimin had, and you tremble beneath him, letting the waves of pleasure flood to every corner and crevice of your body, your fists tightening and your toes curling. You weep openly at how good it feels, whimpering when his fingers on your clit stop and the dildo slows, slipping out of you one last time with a slick noise.

You're sweating, twitching, trembling, but still you manage to blink away your tears and focus on him blearily as you feel him removing the ball gag from around your head, fingers gentle as they massage your jaw slightly, letting you close it and lick your lips, feeling the ache.

"Did so well," he praises, and you pant happily, a lazy smile stretching out on your face as your tears begin to dry. The sound of a zip makes you frown, so you glance down to see Jimin already fisting his own cock, just as red and needy as the last time you'd seen it. You whimper as he shuffles forward, lifting your legs up into the air to spread you wide for him.

Almost forgetting you can speak now, you whimper wordlessly for a few moments, before making out a weak, "Jimin," tone pleading.

"Shh," he coos, his cockhead tapping at your drenched entrance, making you shiver. "One more, little mouse."

"I can't," you sob, chest hitching as he slips into you, just bigger than the dildo. You let out a reedy cry at how he strikes you're abused g-spot, and his fingers massage the backs of your thighs soothingly.

"You can," Jimin insists, fucking into you slowly, making you hiss every time, "just one more for me. You have your word."

You sob at the overstimulating madness as his pace picks up, driving so intensely inside of you, but you don't use the safeword. There's a kind of euphoria bliss to being stretched to your limits, pushed so far, and you trust him to take care of you, want to do a good job for him.

So you shake your head, moans blending into cries blending into whimpers. "Fuh-fuck," you gasp as once more sharp stimulation turns warm again, and you near a fourth orgasm. You shiver under Jimin, his thrusts so deft and powerful, jerking your body in rhythm. "I ca- I can't cum again," you admit shakily, "'s too much, Jimin, I can't take it!"

Jimin grunts with the force of his thrusts, but his hands are gentle as they keep your legs spread. "You're almost there, little mouse, you're doing so well."

Your back arches violently when he drops one of your legs to rub at your clit, fresh tears streaming into your hairline. "Fuck, oh god, I'm gonna- fuck!"

You stream as your final orgasm takes you like a train, and a feeling you've never experienced rushes through you as you squirt, thighs clamping iron tight around his hips as he curses at the sight and spills into your trembling body.

Even in the throes of his own orgasm, you feel Jimin's hands pass up and begin releasing you from the headboard, your arms falling limply as he cups your face, barely even rocking into you as every slight movement plunges you into oversensitivity.

You gasp, trying to catch your breath with closed eyes as this thumbs brush away your tears, his cum hot inside you.

"God, Y/n, you were amazing, did so well for me," he confesses lowly in your ear, and you let out a whimper as he presses a single kiss to your cheek, the most tender he's been with you so far.

"Did well," you repeat mindlessly, "Jiminnie."

"You did," he promises, and you hiss as he pulls himself out of you carefully, the feeling of his seed mixed with your own cum flooding out down onto the sheets. "God, look at you," Jimin muses under his breath, surely not meant for you to hear.

Barely conscious, your eyes flutter, and the last thing you remember seeing is him stripping off his expensive white cotton blouse, cleaning you up with it so gently that you barely feel the sting on your clit.

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[snelbz]

Reckoning and Retribution {1}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, House of Earth and Blood, & Throne of Glass Crossover, Western AU fanfiction.

Based on a prompt sent in for the 4k follower contest {winner}, from Anonymous: “Ok hear me out: WILD WEST AU CROSSOVER”

@snelbz​ / @tacmc​

The sun was bearing down on the back of his neck as he rode through the vast expanse of open land around him. There was nothing around for miles, save for the little town up ahead.

Rose Creek, it was called, if he remembered correctly.

Rowan Whitethorn knew how places like this operated, it was his life to blow in and out of them, never staying for long. It was always easy to leave, when no one wanted you there. Small, tight-knit communities, where an offense to someone’s family could end in a fist fight or a spray of bullets.

As always, he had a goal in mind as he rode into town, his pale grey horse throwing her head slightly. He’d visit the sheriff, see what he knew about the warrant in his coat pocket, and begin his search.

As he entered the little town, he was instantly labeled the outsider. He could tell as every set of eyes he passed watched him stroll by, suspiciously. He didn’t say a word, although he acknowledged some he passed, either meeting their hard gazes or nodding his head and tipping his hat in a respectful hello to the few women he rode by. It was early in the day yet, and he assumed most were working or tending to chores. 

Although the town was small, there was a vast array of shops and the like, lining each side of the main, dusty street. After debating on whether he wanted to search for the sheriff or stop in somewhere and ask, Rowan dismounted his horse, tied him up to a post, and walked inside of the local saloon.

It was nearly empty, given the early hour, no doubt. A bartender stood behind the long counter, wiping it down, and a young girl was sweeping the hard floor, sending dust up all around her.

Rowan’s boots thumped on the wood as he made his way to the bar and leaned against it. As a measure of good faith, he removed his hat, placing it on the bar next to him, allowing the man behind the bar to see his face. He turned,  cleaning a glass, and if Rowan was surprised to see the crude tattoo of barbed wire around his forehead, he didn’t show it. “Whiskey, please.”

He slid two silver coins across the wooden bar top and the man nodded. He placed the glass he’d been wiping down and reached beneath the bar, producing a bottle of amber liquid. He set it down, and Rowan poured some into the glass.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” the bartender said, casually.

Tossing the drink back, Rowan blew out a harsh breath. “Name’s Whitethorn. I’m here looking to serve a warrant, was planning on going to the sheriff’s office, but could use some help being pointed in that direction.”

The man glanced over to the girl in the corner. “Evangeline, why don’t you go ask Emrys to make you those pastries you like?”

Her eyes went wide. “But it’s not even lunch time yet.”

He put a finger to his lips. “I won’t tell Lysandra if you don’t.”

The girl, Evangeline, Rowan gathered, hurried into the saloon’s kitchen where the sound of cooking could already be heard.

The man held out his hand. “Hunt Athalar. I own this bar.”

He grasped his hand, firmly. “Rowan.”

“Nice to meet you, Rowan,” Hunt said, and laid his palms flat on the bar, leaning down. “Hate to break it to you, but there is no sheriff. Haven’t had one in about six weeks.”

“What happened?” That was unlikely, dangerous even, in a town this far out.

Hunt shrugged, although a haunted look remained in his eyes. “Turned up dead, bullet in the head, on the outskirts of town. One of the ranchers found him about a day after, while they were out riding. No one knows who did it.”

“And you all have just been going on without a sheriff?” Rowan asked, trying to wrap his head around it, having never heard of such a thing before. He’d never heard of a town going without a sheriff for as long as six weeks. You’d think the position was cursed, and no one wanted to touch it.

“Deputy’s been watching over things since,” Hunt said, tossing a rag over his shoulder. “I’m afraid I don’t know much else, though. If you want any more details, you might want to go see the mayor. I bet he just got into his office, at this hour.”

Nodding, Rowan poured another shot into the glass and tossed it back. He nodded his head, gesturing to the stairs. “You have lodgings up there? I’ll be needing a place to stay while I’m in town. I can pay.” The silver pieces he’d laid down for the drink was proof of that enough.

Hunt shook his head, his eyes trailing over to the stairwell. “I’m afraid not. The, uh, girls entertain from upstairs, after dinner.”

A silver eyebrow rose. “You run a brothel?”

“Gods, no, I just...share a building with one.” He didn’t sound very enthused about that. “Talk to the mayor, let him know why you’re in town. He might have a couple suggestions for you.”

With a nod, Rowan stood, placing his hat back on his head and said, “Thank you for the information, Mr. Athalar. You’ve been very helpful.”

“It’s Hunt, please,” he replied. “I lost my right to common courtesy a long time ago.”

Rowan shook his head and said, “No one ever loses the right to human decency, as far as I’m concerned.”

Hunt nodded and Rowan tipped his hat before making his way back out into the morning sun. The city hall wasn’t far from the saloon, which sat smack dab in the middle of town. The founders of Rose Creek clearly had their priorities in place when they put this town together.

Leaving his horse tied up at the saloon with Hunt’s permission, Rowan walked down the dusty street to city hall. When he opened the door, he was met with an empty desk, a couch, and a set of stairs leading up to the second story. He didn’t want to surprise the man, didn’t feel like taking an accidental bullet to the heart, so he let his boots fall extra heavy on the creaking, wooden stairs. He could hear voices, both of them male, one of them far more frantic than the other.

“I’ll take anything more you can give me, Rhys, otherwise I’ll have to start burning them.”

“Calm down, it hasn’t come to that yet, and it won’t. I’ll see what I can work out.”

“Well, work it out fast, otherwise we’ll be out of graves. I’m not leaving a body out to rot in the sun and attract a coyote, not this close to town.”

Two sets of eyes were shooting in Rowan’s direction before he even knocked on the open door. The mayor, dressed in too fine of clothes for such a small town, sat behind a large oak desk. The other man was dressed in simple, dusty clothes, sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Pardon the interruption,” Rowan said, when it was clear they would say nothing. “I’m here looking for someone, hoping I can stay in town for a few days. I was wanting to talk to the sheriff, but I hear you don’t have one.”

The mayor blinked, then pushed himself up from his chair. “And your name?”

His voice was low, calming.

“Whitethorn,” Rowan said, simply. “Rowan Whitethorn.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Whitethorn.” The mayor smiled, and Rowan couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not. “I’m Mayor Lunasa. This is Azriel.”

Azriel tipped his hat in welcome. Rowan returned the gesture.

The mayor turned toward the other gentleman. “Az, use the land bordering the Vanserra ranch if you run out of plots in town. I’ll have a talk with Beron. But try to stay as close to the town as possible.”

He nodded and slipped out, passing Rowan and heading down the stairs.

Once the door opened and closed, the mayor walked around his desk and leaned against the front of it. “Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Whitethorn?”

“No, thank you,” Rowan replied, taking that as an invitation to enter the office. “I visited Mr. Athalar when I came into town. He was the one who suggested I come see you, Mayor Lunasa, sir.”

He gestured to a small sitting area off to the side of his office. “Please, call me Rhysand. What brings you Rose Creek, Rowan?”

Removing his hat, Rowan followed Rhysand, taking a seat on the plush, upholstered couch, and said, “I’m a duly sworn warrant officer in Prythian, Terrasen, Lunathion, Adarlan, and seven other states and Indian territories. I’ve come with a warrant for a man who was said to have been in this area last.”

“And who might that be?” Rhysand asked, crossing an ankle over a leg.

“A man named Grave,” Rowan replied, retrieving the warrant from his breast pocket, handing it to Rhysand. “Known to be a brutal man. Killed a homesteader a few months back, took advantage of his wife before he gave her the same fate.”

Rhys was looking at the charcoal drawing of the man. “Well, Mr. Whitethorn-.”

“Rowan, please,” he interrupted.

Rhys nodded. “Rowan, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve seen this man, but I’m not sure he’s in the condition you’re hoping for.”

“Why’s that, sir?”

He handed the warrant back to Rowan. “Because he’s currently in a wooden box, awaiting his final home six feet deep.”

Rowan nodded. “That’s alright with me.”

Dark eyebrows rose. “But that means no reward for you.”

Another nod. “I don’t do it for the money, Mayor. I do it for justice.”

A strange look filled Rhysand’s eyes, a shade of blue Rowan wasn’t used to, nearly purple in hue. “Is that so?” He stood and made his way over to his desk. “Mr. Whitethorn, I have a proposition for you. It seems my town is in need of a sheriff. It seems like the Cauldron brought you to Rose Creek for a reason. You seem like a just man, with a good head on your shoulders.” He turned and walked back to where Rowan sat, tossing something on the table between them. “I’m out of options, Mr. Whitethorn. It’s a salaried position, and this is a fairly quiet town, but this is the West, sir.”

Rowan slowly looked down at the table, where a six-pointed badge sat. 

“You want me to be the sheriff?” Rowan asked, carefully, lifting his chin as he did so. “And stay here?”

“For the time being, yes,” Rhysand said, cocking his head to the side.

Rowan wondered how he had become the mayor. He had to be young, around his own age, anyway. Young for a mayor. He thought to hang onto the question for now. 

“I have to get back-.”

“We’re in need of a sheriff, Mr. Whitethorn,” Rhysand said, his voice remaining low, his eyes bright. 

“Rowan,” Rowan corrected, again. “Please.”

Rhysand nodded, once. “Rowan. On top of your salary, I will give you free room and board.” 

Rowan lifted a brow. “It seems you're desperate, Mayor.” 

“Would it change anything if I were desperate?” Rhysand asked, humored. “You see, my people need protection, Mr. Whitethorn.”

“Rowan.”

“Of course,” Rhysand went on, waving a hand. “My people need protection, Rowan, and I feel like someone like you can provide that. The moment you want to move on, you may, but until then, you will be paid, and you will have a place to stay.” 

For a moment, Rowan said nothing. He thought about it in the silence, then snatched the badge off the table.

Rhysand’s grin grew. “Very well. Your office is across the street, Sheriff.”

“And where will I be staying?” He asked, running his finger across the embossed lettering on the star.

“If you’d like, the former sheriff has a home right outside of town. He had no family, so it’s sat unoccupied since his death,” Rhysand replied.

Rowan nodded. “And my deputy? I’ve heard he’s been handling things in the sheriff’s stead?”

“Ress,” Rhysand said, standing and making his way back to his desk. Rowan could tell their conversation was coming to an end. “A good young man, he was close with the former sheriff. He was a mentor of sorts to him.”

Standing himself, Rowan put on his hat and headed for the door. “I promise to do my best, Mayor, but I’m an outsider to these people. They might not respect what I have to say.”

Sitting back down, Rhys said, “Your best is all I can ask for, but seeing that on your hip,” his eyes fell on Rowan’s Deringer at his side, “makes me feel a hell of a lot better than I have in weeks.”

Rowan nodded, tipped his hat, and was walking down the stairs.

True to Rhysand’s word, the sheriff’s office was just across the street. 

He crossed the way, and ascended the creaky, wooden stairs. The door was already open, but no one was inside. At least, not where Rowan could see. 

“Anyone here?” he called, his voice low. With every step he took, the floorboards creaked, and as he peeked into the back hallway, he saw a shadow from the back just as a voice replied, “Back!” 

Rowan trekked down the hall, looking at the wanted posters as he passed.

In the back, just in front of the barred cells, was a young man, perhaps in his late teens, mopping the floor. As Rowan entered, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice not unkind, but tired. 

“I’m Rowan Whitethorn,” he said, having a feeling he would have to introduce himself another hundred times before people began to get the hang of it. “The new sheriff.” 

A breath left the kid, as if the news he had just received was some of the greatest he’d heard in some time. “I’m Ress. Current deputy.”

Rowan tipped his hat. 

Ress dropped the mop in the old tin bucket with a sigh. “I wasn’t aware we we’re getting a new sheriff, but I’m pleased, it’s long overdue.” 

“I’ve heard,” Rowan said, simply. “I heard you were close to the old sheriff. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Ress nodded in thanks. “It’s nice to meet you.” He looked down at the star on his chest, his own title emblazoned on the front. With a heavy sigh, he took it off and held it out to him. “Good luck.”

Rowan blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Good luck,” he repeated. “I can’t stay here. I just… I've got to leave this town, sir.”

Rowan hesitantly took the badge from his outstretched hand. Without another word, Ress stepped around Rowan, walked out of the office and mounted his horse tied up around the side. By the time, he made it out onto the small front porch, Ress was halfway down the street, heading out of town.

He blinked, staring after him and then looking down at the five-pointed star in his hand. Things just got much more complicated than he was expecting.

He sighed and turned around, walking back into the office and sitting down at his new desk.

It was plain, bland. There was no indication that anyone had been there before him. At least it was clean, no webs, no nothing. He ran his fingers across the smooth top before opening the drawers, one by one. He found a few sheets of paper and a couple empty bottles before coming across a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

With a sigh, he popped off the lid and sniffed it with a grin.

The shit was strong.

He put it to his lips, downing a good bit before leaning back in his chair and looking around his new office.

His new post.

Sheriff of a little town out west.

Ress hauling ass out of town was what unsettled Rowan the most. He understood grief after losing someone, but it seemed like there was more the young deputy wanted to get away from.

With a shake of his head, Rowan was left alone wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into.

—————

Aelin followed Aedion up the stairs of the saloon, jovial music flowing out. The sun was setting below the mountains in the distance. She could hear what sounded like a fight inside, but that was to be expected. Her cousin held the swinging door open for her and they found that their little saloon was packed full, a rowdy night ahead of their little town.

She scanned the bar, finding the eyes of her closest friend. Lysandra was, of course, perched in the lap of a well-dressed man. He already seemed three sheets to the wind, and Aelin could see that regardless the fact that they were still in the company of his friends, in the eyes of everyone in the saloon, his hand was already moving under her skirts.

She knew Aedion had seen, as well, and she gripped his arm and pulled him to the bar before he could say or do something stupid. He obeyed, though his jaw was set, and he flagged Hunt down, asking for two whiskeys. 

He set them down and Aelin asked, “Where’s Ress? He’s typically halfway through a bottle of Busthead by now.”

“Left,” Hunt said, looking around at the busy saloon. “Rhys hired a new sheriff, and Ress took the opportunity to run.” 

Aedion’s brows furrowed, downing his whiskey. After one last look at Lysandra, he asked, “Ran? Where?” 

Hunt shrugged. “No idea, he didn’t bother to say goodbye.” 

“Who is this new sheriff?” Aelin asked, hesitantly, looking around, as if she would instantly spot him and all of her questions would be answered. 

“Rowan Whitethorn.” Hunt meandered a little further down the bar, topping off an elderly woman with an absurd feathered headband. “Just got into town. Met with Rhys, Rhys made him sheriff.” 

Aedion looked at Aelin and didn’t like the look that had taken over her face. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips in a straight line. 

“Don’t-.”

“I’m going to see Rhys,” Aelin said, already hopping off her stool. Before Aedion could protest, Aelin was already out the door, walking down to Rhysand’s office. His light was still on, Aelin could still see the gas lamp burning near his open window. 

She didn’t bother to knock on the front door, rather she let herself in and was up the stairs before it had time to swing closed behind her.

Rhys’ head snapped up when she appeared in his doorway, forgetting whatever document he was looking at. “Miss Galathynius, hello.”

“I heard there’s a new sheriff.” She was breathless from the hurried walk over. “And I heard we need a new deputy.”

With a sigh, Rhysand sat down the pen in his hand. “I was afraid Ress might leave town with the position filled. I’ll have to see who I can come up with in the meantime. Cassian would-.”

“Let me,” she interrupted. “And not in the meantime. Let me be the sheriff’s deputy.”

Folding his hands on his desk, Rhys looked at her. “Aelin, are you sure that’s something you want?”

“You know I can handle myself, sir.” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in her eyes.

“That you can,” he said, rubbing his jaw in thought. “I’ll sign it into effect tomorrow. I believe I still saw a lamp on, across the street, in the apartment above the office. I believe you’ll find Sheriff Whitethorn there, if you’d like to make an introduction, Deputy Galathynius.”

Aelin liked the sound of that. “Thank you, Mayor Lunasa.”

“Please, call me-.”

“Rhys, yeah, yeah,” Aelin said, rolling her eyes, fondly, as she picked up her skirts.

Rhysand only chuckled as Aelin inclined her head, then left. She would be the first to admit that she didn’t act like most ladies did. Sure, she was cordial, respectful, and modest, but Aelin Galathynius wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, especially to a man. 

It was a well-known fact. 

Aelin walked across the street, keeping her eye on the lamp that burned in the apartment above the sheriff's office. She didn’t bother announcing her entrance as she swept through the front door. At first, she went toward the stairs in the back, but then she noticed the sloshing noise and took a turn, where a tall, broad-shouldered man was on his hands and knees, scrubbing at the floor with an old rag. 

He must’ve been in the zone, because he hadn’t heard her answer.

“What are you doing?”

He froze, slowly looking over his shoulder at Aelin. His hat was off, his sleeves rolled up, his silver hair a sweaty mess. 

“Cleaning up blood that I did not spill,” he replied, voice gruff. “Can I help you?” 

Aelin lifted her chin. “I’m your new deputy.”

He blinked. “Excuse me, miss?”

“You are Sheriff Whitethorn, correct?” He nodded. “Then I’m your deputy. Mayor Lunasa has already made it official. All I lack is my badge, sir.”

Dropping the blood-soaked, dirty rag into the bucket, Rowan stood up to his full height, and Aelin had to tilt her head up to look into his face. “Miss, I don’t know what Rhysand told you but-.”

“My name is Aelin Galathynius, Sheriff Whitethorn, and I’d prefer you use it over miss, ma’am, or any of the other bullshit men call me.”

He blinked, completely taken off guard. “Pardon?”

“I can tell what you’re thinking, sir.”

Rowan couldn’t help but chuckle, although the light didn’t reach his eyes. “And what is that, Aelin Galathynius?”

The way he said her name only pissed her off more. 

“That I have no business being a deputy because I’m a woman,” Aelin snapped. “Which, I protest, considering there is no logical reasoning for it. Yes, I am a woman, and yes, I am perfectly capable of being an outstanding deputy.” 

“With all due respect,” Rowan began, without missing a beat, “there is no way you can do this job well wearing...that.” His eyes travelled over her dress, her heeled boots, and her exquisite hat. “Besides, your hair is pristine, and whatever that is on your face. You wouldn’t want to mess it up, doing whatever must be done any given day in this line of work.” 

Aelin took pride in her appearance, but she also took pride in her skill. 

“I have the best shot in this town,” Aelin said, hands on her hips. “And, with all due respect, the mayor has already granted my wish, and you have no say in the matter.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Rowan said, seething. 

Aelin lifted up her skirt, and Rowan averted his eyes, although her undergarments remained perfectly hidden as she took her gun out of the holster on her thigh. 

Rowan stilled. “What are you doing?”

“Proving a point,” she said, chin raised. “Give me a target.”

“I’m not going to-.”

She pointed the gun into the front room, pulled the trigger and Rowan heard glass shattering.

“Are you insane?” He cried, running to the front of the office. “You can’t shoot out the damn windows! You could-.”

She followed him after holstering her gun at her thigh and fluffing out her skirts. He was staring, wide eyed at his desk, covered in whiskey. The bottle was intact, but the shot glass that had been filled with amber liquid next to it…

It no longer existed.

He heard her heeled boots coming up behind him and as she stepped around him, she grabbed the five-pointed badge lying on the corner of his desk.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Sheriff, and don’t worry,” she said, looming over her shoulder. “I’ll make sure I don’t look so pristine.”

_________

Nesta was running late, but she was so tired that she really didn’t care. 

She would be punished for something, anyway, it may as well have been for another twenty minutes of freedom. After slipping on her boots and pushing open the door, Nesta came to a halt.

Elain was bent over her flower bed, clipping lilies. 

“I thought you would be in town already,” Nesta said, shutting the front door behind her. 

Elain stood up, a handful of lilies in her arms. “Azriel buried another man today. I was going to go decorate the tombless patch of dirt.” 

Nesta looked out at the horizon. “It’s getting dark, El. You shouldn’t be going to the graveyard alone at dark.” Or, anywhere at dark, alone. 

“I’m not, Azriel will be here shortly to go with me,” she assured her older sister. 

Nesta nodded, descending the stairs. “Be careful. I’ll be home late, don’t wait up.”

“I won’t,” Elain said, although she always did. 

Giving her sister one more glance, she wrapped her shawl tighter around herself and hurried into town, hoping she could make it before Maeve realized she was late. She knew there was no chance, was sure she was already watching the door from her booth. It made her pick up her pace, just a little more.

A horse whinnied from up ahead and she glanced up to see Cassian Nazari dismounting from his horse, outside of the saloon. He was walking up the stairs, and Nesta breathed a sigh of relief, as she thought she wouldn’t have to deal with his longing glances tonight. But then he stopped.

As if he could feel her gaze, he turned to look at her, and Nesta’s steps slowed until she was standing in the middle of the dusty road. She stood there, waiting for him to enter the saloon. He stood, waiting for her to come closer, but he didn’t. She wouldn’t until he was inside, so she wouldn’t have to listen to his pleas.

Nesta wasn’t stuck in Maeve’s servitude like many of her girls. Nesta was there to keep Elain from her clutches, knowing she’d do something  ensnare her.

It made every day hell on earth, but Nesta would continue to do it, would continue to enslave herself, if it meant keeping Elain safe. Elain didn’t have the heart for such a life, wouldn’t be able to bear it. 

Cassian’s eyes slowly fell to his feet before he continued his walk inside of the saloon, where he disappeared. A sudden pang of disappointment settled into the pit of Nesta’s stomach, even though he went in without her, which was exactly what she had wanted. 

As she entered, she avoided Cassian’s stare from the bar as she swept inside. She also avoided Maeve’s glare, but she didn’t make it far. 

“Nesta.”

Nesta stopped as she approached the wooden staircase and slowly turned around. 

Maeve sat in her booth, staring daggers at Nesta from where she sat. Nesta kept her chin held high as she approached the booth. 

She didn’t say a word.

“You are late,” Maeve said, quietly. “Which costs me money.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied. She knew there was no point in apologizing or giving excuses. Maeve wouldn’t listen and they were likely to piss her off more. “I’ll be dressed and find a client in just a few moments.”

“You’ve already got a client,” Maeve replied, putting a cigarette to her lips and lighting a match. The tip of the cigarette glowed red, just like her painted lips. “Mr. Mandray has paid handsomely for your time, and you will be in his service for two hours. Now go. There’s cosmetics in your room. Use them, you have bags under your eyes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nesta repeated, and was hurrying up the stairs.

Nesta didn’t live in the brothel above the saloon, not like some of the less fortunate girls. No, when their father had passed unexpectedly last winter, the house and land they lived on was already paid in full.

As she reached her door, the one across the hall opened and Nesta found Bryce Quinlar pulling her own shut. Her hair was a mess and the cosmetics she wore were smeared. She wore only a corset, thigh highs and her boots. She was bare from the waist down. Their eyes connected and Nesta quickly pulled a handkerchief from the bag she carried.

“Here.” She wiped the wayward makeup from her face and did her best to make her look presentable. She knew what walk she was about to have to make, they’d all had to do it from time to time.

The smile was sad, but it was a smile as she breathed, “Thank you.”

As Nesta entered her room to get ready for her own client, Bryce stood at the top of the stairs, trying to calm her shallow breathing.

Her room was lavish. 

Maeve always made sure of it, that their rooms were beautiful, exquisite even. It was their reward for doing her dirty work, night after night. 

They were forced to sell their bodies, but at least they had silk sheets. 

At the vanity on the far wall was the cosmetics that Maeve had so lovingly suggested that she used. She did, primping herself to perfection. After she figured she looked beautiful enough, she stripped out of her street dress and exchanged her old, ratty corset for the one that Maeve had paid for, the one that the clients liked. She rolled her stockings up to her thighs, then slipped on her boots, lacing them up before she sat on the edge of the bed, posing, waiting. 

She tried not to think of what Bryce was currently enduring downstairs. For whatever it was worth, she sent whatever power she could to her imprisoned sister on the floor below. 

A sudden knock came to the door, and Nesta tried not to jump. At least, she tried to erase the tense hold in her shoulders as the door swung open, and Tomas Mandray swept in, shutting the door behind him.

His bleary eyes were instantly on her, hungry. 

Nesta pushed down the need to puke as she lifted her chin and whispered, “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

The night had only just begun.

—————

Bryce was on her third client and it wasn’t even eight-thirty. She was exhausted, but she wasn’t about to show it, wasn’t about to exact Maeve’s wrath upon herself. 

The man lying on the bed beneath her was old enough to be her father, possibly even her grandfather. She couldn’t remember his name, nor did she want to, but she remembered what Maeve had murmured in her ear before she sat her on his lap in the saloon.

He’s paid a premium for you. What he wants, he gets.

Usually that meant she was going to be spit on or defiled in some way. But sometimes, that meant he wanted to humiliate her. The dark gleam in this man’s eyes told her early in the evening that she needed to shut her mind down, to take herself to that place inside of her head that could numb her.

“Get off.” The man gripped her hips and shoved her off of him. “Go get me a drink.” She nodded and climbed off the bed, reaching for her skirts-. “No.”

Bryce turned to look at him, hoping he didn’t see the pleading in her eyes.

“Leave them off.”

A silent nod and she was out the door.

The kindness Nesta Archeron offered her was more than she deserved and after cleaning her up a bit, Bryce was walking down the stairs, cool air hitting her in places she wished it never would.

Every eye was on her as she descended the stairs, some in pity, some hunger, some judgement. She tried not to look at any of them, most of all Maeve, who looked proud of the good little whore she’d become.

She paid attention to no one, nothing, until she was at the bar, but when she met the eyes of Hunt Athalar, he was shaking, seething. 

“Don’t, please,” she breathed, barely a whisper. She and Hunt had had the same conversation a million times, and she was so tired, it just wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worth the repetitiveness, not anymore. 

“He doesn’t even have the decency to let you dress?” he snapped, his voice low, looking around, giving anyone looking at her a death-glare. 

In a dreadful, monotone voice, Bryce answered, “He isn’t finished yet.” 

Hunt’s jaw hardened. “Bryce-.”

“Whiskey.”

“Bryce,” he tried, again, unmoving. “Let me give you my jacket, something-.” 

“Whiskey,” she repeated, trying to keep that part of her shut down, those emotions that longed for the man behind the bar, the yearning that brewed so passionately beneath the surface. 

With weary eyes he fetched a half-empty bottle of whiskey and handed it to her. As she reached for it, he wrapped his hand around hers, not caring who saw. 

“I’ve almost got enough,” he whispered, leaning over the bar, closer to her. She could smell the bourbon on his breath, could see the desperate plea in his eyes.

She glanced around, making sure Maeve couldn’t see them, seeing if anyone was watching. “It will never be enough, Hunt, she’ll always-.”

“I don’t give a shit. One day, we’re leaving this piece of shit town behind. You and me.”

Before she could let herself believe him, before she could let herself hope or dream or even feel, she swallowed hard and hurried away, back up the stairs, back to her own personal hell.

#snelbz rar #snacmc #sjm crossover #snelbz tacmc collab #tog #acotar #hoeab #rowaelin #feysand #quinlar #theranchnessian #elriel #lysaedion

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Poisoning, cough, lung trauma, Peter Nureyev has ADHD, Heist gone wrong Summary:

After Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev return from a salvaged heist, Juno proves to have a little cough that's more than what it seems.

Chapter 1:

“God damn it Ransom, would you hurry up?” Juno hissed, anxiously pacing back and forth through the garden path.  

He cast his eye about the place, the snaking paths, the exotic plants and flowers crammed into every corner; thriving under the environmentally controlled conditions of the dome.  Had to admit, as far as giant waists of creds went, an arboretum wasn’t bad... or whatever…

That is if said arboretum wasn’t a cover for a shady cybernetics firm Mercury Wear.  

The mission had been on shaky ground from the get go.  May have thought that a multi-billion cred company like Mercury Wear could afford some halfway decent security- but no.  

The place was a mess from the shoddy placement of it’s security cameras to the guard's off schedule patrols.  Juno for the life of him couldn’t figure out why they even bothered with them.  Five minutes into the heist and they nearly plowed into a patrol at least an hour late for that sector.  

There was something to be said for the unpredictability of their movements, lot harder to navigate a place when you didn’t know what or who was around the corner.  But it lost a lot of it’s edge with how haphazard it all seemed to be.  

He turned on his heel, pacing up the way he came.  Cursing the decorative hedge rows and bursts of color from the flowers, making him see shadowy figures around every turn.

Damn it Nureyev- Where are you?  Juno did his best to quash the worry niggling away rising up within, but didn’t have to do so for long.  

There was a cracking sound, Juno stiffened, head whipping around for the source-  

Nothing-

He was just jumping at ghosts- great.

Juno turned back to his vigil, trying to keep the place clear for when Nureyev made an appearance.  Casually shifting his grip on his blaster when wham!

Something plowed into his side, a youthful voice shouting out “Intruder!”

His blaster was sent flying, making him swear.  They were bigger than he was and it was hard to stay on his feet with a blow like that.  He balled up his fist, and planted it into his attacker’s gut.  They coughed, doubled over, and Juno prepared for another blow but this time hit only air as they twirled away.

The opponent may be green, but was no stranger to a fight- that could be a problem….

“Hey!  Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Juno barked at their retreating back.  Their arm was wrapped firmly around their middle and they seemed- scared.  Juno didn’t have time to think about that as he lunged forward and just managed to catch hold of their uniform before they disappeared between another oasis hedge row.

They hissed and twisted in his grasp, scrabbling for purchase on the raised flower beds.  Squeaking “Let me go!  Let me go or else!”  The fear was plain in their voice, catching and tearing at the edges.  And god- Juno hated that, wishing more than ever he could have just stunned this stupid kid rather than dealing with all of this.

“Can’t- Do that-” Juno grunted, and it was true.

The fact was that Juno couldn’t afford to let them go- couldn’t afford to give them the chance to trigger the alarm.  Couldn’t afford to bring any unnecessary attention to Nureyev while he still had a job to do.

“Damn it, would ya- hold- still- Ahh!”

They’d taken a fist full of dirt, red as the Martian sands and blown it into his face.  A cheap trick, an old trick, but... it worked.  Juno reeled back scrubbing at his eye and gagging on the bitter taste.  He’d eaten plenty of dirt in his time.  Unintentionally, of course, but this was particularly foul.  

Soon as his hold loosened, the guard sent a kick to his chest that would make a sewer rabbit proud.  

Galaxies exploded in front of his watering vision as he was sent sprawling.  The kid was gloating and somewhere he was aware of Nureyev calling out to him.  

Nureyev- that thought stuck in his mind.  

A shuddering gasp later and Juno recovered enough to realize that the guard made a mistake-  There his weapon was, somehow, laying right next to him.  He took up the blaster, aimed and made the shot.

The guard crumpled.

“Detective!” Nureyev appeared “Are you alright?” he offered a hand pulling Juno upright.

“Yeah.  Fine, just one second-” he crossed to the guard, they were quite still, almost too still.  Not something he’d normally worry about if it weren’t for how young they looked, maybe the same age as he was when he joined the HCPD.  The hell were they doing in a job like this?  “Ohh thank god-” he exclaimed, the kid’s pulse beat a strong tattoo under his fingers.  Captain Khan would be proud.

“Juno?”

“Can’t leave an unconscious guard out in the open now can I?” He hoisted them up under the armpits and dragged them behind the hedge.  Their sleeve hiked up over their wrist and Juno’s gut twisted.

A debtor's tag.

Damn-

He really hated rich people.  

“Love, are you-” Nureyev paused mid sentence, looking down at the glittering bit of tech on the kid’s wrist.  “Ah, an…. employee of the Board of Fresh Starts then.  That would explain something about discipline of the place.”

“Yeah, I think it does.”

Just then, their radio crackled to life.  Though Juno couldn’t understand what was being said, the way the message repeated it was clear that they were expecting a response.

Before he could so much as share a look with Nureyev, the doors banged open and guards started to pour in.

“I believe that that is our cue, Detective.”

“No kidding.” he quipped.  But Nureyev was already making his way out of the greenhouse.  “Hey!  N-Ransom!” Juno took off running after, clearing a path for them to get through with well placed shots.  

“Thank you Love!” Nureyev turned briefly to flash him the signature fox’s grin, blown all the wider from adrenaline.

“Yeah, yeah.  Eyes front Babe-” he wheezed “you can thank me later.  Whoa! Hey!” a bolt of plasma whizzed past his ear, sparking dead against the wall.  Juno was about to pivot and return the favor when Nureyev yanked him around the corner, commanding the door shut.  

“Juno, the lock-”

Juno saw what he meant.  It was a cheap thing made of poor quality metals.  “On it.” Not the safest thing in the world, but at this range, he couldn't afford to miss.  One shot was all it took to fuse the mechanism.  

Though he really ought to have expected the fumes.  As soon as he took a whiff of the stuff his lungs seemed to launch a full scale revolt.  Probably would have keeled over if it weren’t for Nureyev’s steading arm about his waist.  

“Are you quite alright Love?”

His lungs still felt unpleasantly tight, but he was no longer coughing which was a plus.  “Yeah, jus’ fine- Forgot how much I missed the smell of burning epoxy in the morning-”

“I’ll make a note not to add it to my cologne collection then.”

Juno rolled his eyes, picking up his pace to match Nureyev’s easy strides.  Taking a moment to both appreciate and curse those long legs.  They could hear the pounding footsteps come up from behind.  Whatever time they’d bought with the door trick was coming to an end.

Damn.

“How do we get out of this damned place?”  Juno demanded.  He’d gotten hopelessly lost several turns back.

“Like this.”  Nureyev flung open a door with a flourish.  Several faces stared up at them from the stairwell, “Or not.” He shut it just as quick; moving aside for Juno to fuse that lock as well.  

“Just how many escape routes you have left in there?” he wheezed against the pressure in his chest.  

“Seven.” He shot over his shoulder.  The pounding of boots issued from the corridor to the right, drawing Nureyev’s attention, “Make that five.”

“Five?  Oh, Great.” he skidded to a halt at the mouth of the hall, grounding his feet and lining up the shots.  Three guards, he could take out three guards.  

“A simple process of elimination Detective.” He grinned, pulling Juno out of the way of an erratic burst of blaster fire.  At the same time, he extracted a smoke bomb from one of his overstuffed pockets, lobbing it back the way they came.  

To their credit, the guards weren’t idiots.  They knew a threat when they saw one and high tailed it back the way they came as the corridor filled with a brilliant purple smoke.  

Nureyev turned, leading him down the corridor bearing the stunned guards, flinging open another door.  

“Another Stairwell?” Juno asked bewildered.  

“Of Course love, unless-” he paused long enough to give Juno a cheeky grin “you’d rather we take a window or the vents.”

“You know, been meaning to take more stairs.”

Even skipping two at a time Juno was outpaced.  Nureyev could vault over the edges of the banister, his feet barely touching the ground before he was once more air born.  Juno plowed on, his lungs burning, itching with the effort of catching up.  He suddenly regretted missing all those physical therapy appointments.  

There was a loud bang and a shout, sounds of a scuffle.  Juno readied his blaster, heart in his throat.  He relaxed a little when he heard Nureyev’s voice, slightly strained.  He was saying something in a language Juno didn’t understand, and someone was shouting back.  

“Juno, Dear, if I might have some- assistance.”

It took less than a second to eye up the situation.  Nureyev’s arm wrapped around the neck of a struggling guard, using them as a shield while another had their blaster trained on him.  They plainly weren’t ready to shoot their companion, which was good for Nureyev.  

“Yeah babe.”

The guard only had a second to lock eyes with Juno before she took a stunner to the chest.  

“Thank you Love.” Nureyev tightened his grip on the person’s pulse point.  Their mouth opened wide, gasping, desperately scrabbling with his arm until they went limp.  He held on for a moment longer to ensure they were truly out before letting their weight slide to the floor.  Juno stooped, exposing the guard’s wrist.  “I assure you love, they’ll be quite alright.”

Juno gave a soft laugh “Yeah, I know-  Just looking to see if they have any accessories.”  They did.  He stepped aside showing the debtor’s tag to his partner.  “Been in this mess for three years by the looks of it.”

“Indeed.”  

Nureyev crossed to examine the other guard “Six years.”

“Damn, she looks young.”

“Never too early to acquire debt.” There was a bitterness to his tone that Juno longed to ask about, but wasn’t sure if he was allowed to yet.  

Just like he wasn’t sure if he could ask about the subtle change in Nureyev’s fighting style when they were paired on missions.  

It hadn’t escaped his notice that Nureyev had allowed more people to survive their encounter with the nameless thief.  Juno knew this was less about his own sensibilities and more about- trust.  That belief that someone had your back as much as you had theirs.  The sight of his boyfriend knocking someone out cold with a choke hold probably shouldn’t make his stomach do flips, but there they were.  God, they were both saps.

Juno coughed roughly into his elbow, earning him a look from his knight in stolen armor.  

“Not much further Love.  Jet has been notified of our change in exits.”

“Wow, don’t waste any time, do you?”

“No such thing as wasting time with such delightful company.”

Juno groaned affectionally, coughing again into his sleeve.  

He was right, they were practically right next to the exit.  Nureyev dashed ahead, drawn to the green of the Ruby.  He opened the door wide, allowing Juno to pile wheezing into the back seat before joining him.  

The Ruby whistled cheerily and Nureyev returned “It’s wonderful to see you as well Ruby, Jet.”  He gave nods to each in turn.  

“I appreciate the notice in the change of pick up locations.” Jet acknowledged.  

“Thank you for making the- adjustments,” Nureyev searched for his seat buckle, “to the plan.  It can’t have been easy on such short notice.” and offered a smile that Jet did not return.  

“It is important to be flexible in our line of work.”

“Quite.”

“Nice to see you too Big Guy, but could we get out of here?” Juno coughed, “Surveillance in this place is kind of lax, but I guarantee you that at least a few guards will notice a bright green car.”

“I imagine so, the Ruby 7 is many things but is not inconspicuous.”  

The Ruby made a sound that if Juno didn’t know any better would say was disapproval.  

Once they were off, Nureyev turned to look at Juno, laughing softly “Love, what in heaven have you got on your face.” He reached up, brushing a thumb under his good eye.  

“Wha? Oh! Yeah!  The kid fought dirty.”  he explained, scrubbing at his face with a sleeve, only for Nureyev to place a handkerchief into his hand.  

“Perhaps you’ll have better luck with this.”

Juno smiled fondly, leave it to Nureyev to bring a handkerchief to a heist.  

“I suppose I should not be surprised.  Out of all the people on the Carte Blanche, the one that would pick a fight with a child would be you.” Jet commented.

Juno’s head snapped up, “Hold on Big Guy,” he objected “first off, they were much taller and secondly I think you and I both know that I-” and he caught it.  The crinkle around Jet’s eyes and the faint up turn in his lips that he’d of missed a year ago, he coughed “Oh very funny.”

“I should think this a serious matter.”

“Okay, hey, you know what I meant!”

He spent the rest of the flight back to the Carte Blanche idly bickering with Nureyev and Jet.  There was an odd tightness to his chest he couldn't place.  His hand kept drifting up to massage his sternum, as if he could magically reach through tissue and bone to ease the pressure.

_____________________________

Once back, he headed to the shower to clean off the remaining sandy residue and, hopefully, open his lungs back up.  Juno Steel was many things but lucky was not one of them.  The spray washed over his skin, the steam warming his insides as he lathered and scrubbed in his usual fashion.  He turned to reach for his towel.  He could have sworn he’d stilled- but the shower kept on spinning.  

The steam that had felt so good a moment before now felt oppressive, suffocating.  

He tried to draw in breath, but he just couldn’t. Couldn’t hold anything down.  Fear spiked as dark spots bloomed in front of his vision, threatening to swallow him whole.  He launched himself out of the shower, slamming into the opposite wall.  Feet only just gaining purchase on the smooth-grip flooring.  

By some miracle, his airway cleared on impact.  Juno’s chest crackled with each forced gulp of air.  But he was breathing, and that was….good.  

He coughed again, spitting pink into the sink.  

A knock came at the door making him jump "Juno, love.  The Family Meeting is about to start."

"Jus-" his voice came out harsh and broken.  He rinsed and repeated, "Just-a minute."

“Alright.  I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah-”

Once it became apparent that he wasn’t going to keel over any time soon, Juno straightened, dressed.  The itch was still there but whatever freak thing that had him choking on nothing seemed to have resolved itself.  

"Juno-"  Buddy admonished, "how kind of you to join us."

"Yeah-" he coughed "had a lot to consider, like why you didn't tell us Enterprise Labs had dealings with the Board of Fresh Starts.  You said you'd-"

"There were people from the Board of Fresh Starts there?"  Buddy queried.  

"Yes Captain.  The security team seemed to have been compromised entirely of the unfortunates indebted to the organization."  Nureyev’s hands flourished through the air.  

"We knew they had ties darlings, but had no idea the connection ran that deep."

Rita’s eyes went overly large, “I didn’t see nothin’ about that in our intel Captain A, I swear-  Unless-” she gasped “Wait- let me check somethin’.” and she dove nose first into her comms, hot pink nails clacking against the screen.  

Juno opened his mouth wanting to argue further but Vespa cut in.  "If you think you are the only one that cares, Steel, think again-" she flicked back her sleeve revealing her debtors tag.  

The anger from a moment ago dissipated in an instant.  Hell, he felt so tired, drained.  Juno kneaded his chest trying again to ease the prickling.

"Yeah, right.  So what are we going to do about it?" Another cough, the harshness of it taking him by surprise.

"As loath as I am to admit it.  For now there is nothing we can do darling, save plot and scheme our way to the cure mother prime.  A collapse of their business model ought to put quite the dent in their debtor’s practice.” she frowned, “Are you quite alright?"

"What?  Yeah-"he coughed all the harder "Just forgot how to breathe and swallow at the same time-" and dissolved into a fit.  He was making a scene and worst of all he didn’t even know what was causing it.  All he wanted was to shut the hell up and get out of there.

Buddy gave a disbelieving humm as she watched while Nureyev massaged circles into his back with clever fingers.  Stars burst in front of his eyes and his head was set to pounding in no time.  

“Damnit” he rasped at last, panting.

“Quite.  Well if you have similar issues in the future darling, might I suggest you pay a visit to our resident physician?”

Juno pulled a face, Vespa took offence and the rest of the meeting passed in much the same fashion.  Juno didn’t really need to talk, so didn’t.  After all, he'd just been playing lookout while Nureyev stole some data and installed some spyware.  Mercury Wear’s security seemed to be something of a joke to Rita.  She kept bouncing up and down in her seat with each new discovery on her comms.  Juno very much doubted anyone else would be able to get that far in such a short space of time.  He may not know much about computers, but he did know Rita was one of a kind.  

___________________________________

“Are you sure you want to stay Nureyev?  I think I’m comin’ down with somethin.  Wouldn’t want you to catch-”

“Nonsense love,” Nureyev waved him off, “Besides,” he sidled up closer and delicately laid a kiss on Juno’s forehead, much to the Detective's chagrin “how could I possibly leave a lady in distress?”

“‘Reyev~” Juno groaned, despite himself sinking into the man’s chest.

“And- I'm certain to have caught whatever it is you have by now love.  We do spend a lot of quality time together."

Juno scoffed "If you call a shoot out, 'quality time' then we may need to reevaluate our leisure activities."

"But oh my Detective" Nureyev coyly walked his fingers along Juno's collar bone, sliding into some silly character "I do love a lady who knows their way around a blaster-"

"Reyev-"

"Why, the smell of the plasma-" he made the words as breathy as possible.

"Come onnnn-" Juno mock groaned, hiding his smile in a cough.

"The smell of the plasma-" Nureyev plowed on as if Juno hadn't said a thing "just makes me all funny inside."

Juno burst out laughing "funny inside?"

"I assure you love," Nureyev broke character "this is a serious matter.  Now where were we-"

Juno laughed all the harder, until his breath caught and he dissolved into a fresh fit.

"Oh Juno-" Nureyev wrapped an arm around him bracing him through it.  "Sorry love, I shouldn't have pushed so hard."

"It's- fine-" he managed between coughs.

"I dare say it isn't.  We should have Vespa take a look at you."

"Nn-no."  Juno panted, swallowing against the soreness. "no way- in hell- am I bothering her at this hour.  And certainty not for a cold or whatever."

"It's the 'whatever' that concerns me Juno-"

He wasn't going to let it go.  It was easy to see that, so Juno decided on a compromise.  "I'll see her tomorrow if it makes you feel better." messaging his sternum again.  

Nureyev made a resigned sort of sound.  "It will have to do."

"Good."  Exhaustion pulled him down into the bed "you coming?"

Nureyev looked as though he had something to say, but thought better of it "Of course." and climbed in.  With a practiced ease he cuddled close, worming an arm under Juno's neck so that the lady could curl into his side, a gentile hand running lazily down his spine.  Juno shivered at the touch.  The persistent itch in his lungs continued, but that nagging pressure seemed to ease up.

He nuzzled in, ear to Nureyev’s chest and allowed the beat of his partner's heart to lull him to sleep.

[Reblogs are greatly appreciated] 

#tpp #the penumbra podcast #peter nureyev #juno steel #jupeter #hurt comfort #whump #fanfic #writing #my writing #AlexandeNight #cough #sick fic #kind of #heist #shenanagans

[thicctails]

Summer of Whump Day 4 [Abandoned/Escape]

Ω

 Omega blinks, her frazzled mind confused when she only sees darkness. She squeezed her eyes shut, then slowly opened them again. Her chest ached, and the air around her was dusty and cold. Darkness still surrounded her, but she could just barely see a stone floor. Wincing, she slowly pushed herself up, her limbs protesting the movement. How had she ended up… wherever she was now? She had just been practising using her bow with Echo, so how had she ended up away from him? Had she hit her head?

 She coughed, looking around the area she was in. It looked like some kind of cave, part of it having collapsed behind her. That probably explained how she had ended up here, but where exactly was here, and how could she get out? Instinctively, she reached for her comlink, but was dismayed when she found that it had been damaged. Luckily, her glance downward had also revealed that her bow had fallen down as well.

 Activating the weapon, Omega set off into the darkness, her way now slightly illuminated by a purple glow. Her footsteps echoed as she walked, a slight limp in her step. Now that she was awake, a couple of injuries became obvious to her. It hurt to put her full weight on her left leg, she had a cut on her arm, and she was almost certain she had hit her head because it was pounding.

 She tentatively moved a hand down to touch the cut and hissed when she felt wetness seeping out into her sleeve. It must have been bleeding quite a bit. Frowning, she extended her uninjured arm and began to feel along the wall. She had no idea where she was going, but she couldn’t just stay put. Maker only knows what was in these caves, and there was a good chance that she could run into something dangerous down here.

   Crosshair growled softly as he stalked through yet another tunnel. Damn this network for being a kriffing maze! His task was suppose to be simple, enter the caves and search for rebels. Apparently, there was supposed to be a camp set up in the central cave, but he wouldn’t know because he couldn’t find it!

To make matters worse, he had heard part of the cave network collapse not too long ago. So now, on top of having to navigate his way through this underground hell, he also had to worry about the whole place coming down on his head. Fun.

 A sound pulled him from his inner complaining, and he stopped in his tracks. Enhanced hearing was Hunter’s thing, but the one good thing about this place was that sound carried tremendously well. It was a quiet sound, soft foot steps that didn’t quite sync up properly. Then, a more interesting sound, the ignition of an energy bow. Someone injured, but armed. However, unless you had enhanced vision, like him, such a weapon was of little use in the dark.

 His hands found his own weapon and he gripped it, slowly moving forward. His steps were silent, and he slowed his breathing to make as little noise as possible. The other person’s footsteps were light, but not in a way that made it seem like they were trying to be. They were small, most likely young. It was odd that a child would be in this far, and alone at that, but that just made his job easier.

 Somewhere, buried beneath the influence of a modified chip, a piece of his mind screamed to just leave, that what he was doing was wrong. But he blocked out the voice.

 Good soldiers followed orders.

    Omega sighed as she hit another fork in the tunnels. The labyrinth of caves seemed to stretch on forever, and she had no way of telling where she had been, where she was, or where she was going. Releasing her pull on the energy bow’s string, she slumped down. Archery training had already been wearing her out, and her muscles just weren’t developed enough to draw the string back that long. As the purple light died, she pulled her knees up to her chest. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she pressed her head against her knees as she sat in the dark. She wished that she wasn’t alone.

 Suddenly, she felt something. It was like the feeling she’d gotten the day she’d met Pillow, but also like the one she’d gotten just moments before she’d nearly been drowned. Something, or someone, needed help, but there was also danger. She stood up but did not draw the bow’s string. Instead, she listened, and tried to use the feeling to gauge where the other life-form was. As she stood still, the feeling got stronger. Whatever it was, it was getting closer.

 Not wanting to be caught in a dark tunnel, Omega decided to keep moving. Using the wall as a guide, she moved down the left tunnel. The other presence seemed to detect her sudden movement, and it increased its speed in turn. It wasn’t just coming towards her, it was chasing her.

 Forgoing stealth, Omega drew back the bow’s string and began to run down the tunnel. Her leg protested such an act, but she simply grit her teeth and kept going. A rush of relief surged trough her when the tunnel opened up into a larger cavern, and she immediately killed the light. As quietly as possible, she backed into the room, her eyes flicking around the darkness. She needed to know what she was dealing with, and how much room she had to move in.

 She drew back the string farther, the bow humming with unreleased energy as she waited for whatever was chasing her to catch up. Once the feeling reached what felt like it’s peak, she fired.

 The bolt illuminated the room, a ripple of purple light shooting across the room. As it struck the space above the tunnel that she had just came from, she saw her pursuer. Intense brown eyes flashed in the purple light, the signature reticle tattoo making her stomach drop and her blood freeze.

 ‘Oh shit.’ Was the only thought that ran through her mind at that moment.

 Crosshair locked eyes with her as the light disappeared, and Omega immediately drew her bow string back again, firing off another round. She saw it flash by Crosshair, the experienced clone easily dodging the shot.  Desperate, she aimed her next shot towards the ceiling, hoping that she could cause something to fall and distract the elder clone for a moment.

  As the surge of energy flew upwards, she caught a brief glance of Crosshair’s confused face. The shot hit its mark, and a chunk of the ceiling broke away. Omega leapt back as a large hunk of rock hit the floor. She was about to make a dash for the tunnel she had came from when another piece of the ceiling came crashing down. Dirt and rocks began to cascade down upon them, leaving both clones to scramble for safety.

 Omega rolled away as a stone shattered nearby, a few of the bits of rock embedding themselves in her skin. She yelped and pulled herself against the wall, trying to get away from the chaos she had created.

 Crosshair had almost made it back to the tunnel, but one of the rocks managed to clip him as he ran. He skidded across the floor, unable to get up fast enough as more rocks fell down around him.

   Omega coughed as the room filled with dust. She covered her mouth and nose with her sleeve until it settled, keeping her eyes closed so that no dirt or grime could get in them.

 Peeking over her arm, her pupils constricted as she took in the damage. A few cracks of sunlight now shone through the collapsed ceiling, illuminating the once impossibly dark space. Chunks of cave stone and mountains of dirt now covered the cavern, spilling out across the floor. Pulling away from the wall, Omega slowly stalked around the edge of the mess, her eyes scanning for any signs of Crosshair. She hadn’t meant for this to happen, she had just wanted to distract him!

 A groan met her ears, and she quickly limped over to a pile of rocks. She gasped as she saw the prone form of Crosshair, his lower half buried under the rubble. A large gash on the side of his head gushed blood, the crimson liquid dripping onto the floor. Omega dropped down to her knees and started to push and pull rocks off the unconscious man.

 “Oh Crosshair, I’m so sorry! I never wanted you to get hurt…” She said apologetically.

Once enough rocks and dirt had been cleared off of him, she set about dragging him forward. She was only a little girl, however, so the task took her far longer than she would have like. By the end of it all, Crosshair was free, but she was exhausted. The terror and the running and the lack of fresh oxygen was beginning to take its toll, and she flopped down onto the ground beside Crosshair.  Breathing hard, she let her head tip back, resting on Crosshair’s back. Sleep sung its siren song, and she soon found herself caving in to her body’s demands.

   Crosshair groaned, wiping at his face. His head was pounding, but for the first time in a while, it felt almost completely clear. Shaking off his disorientation, he propped himself up on his elbows and took notice of a few things at once. One: The room he had just been in was now a heap of rubble. Two: He had a large cut on the side of his head. And Three: There was a child using him as a pillow.

 He turned over, easing Omega’s head to the ground as he got to his feet. The coldness that had been holding his true self hostage had been beaten back, although it still slunk through the recesses of his mind. For now, though, he was in control, and he took a moment to decide what he wanted to do with his newfound freedom.

 He looked at Omega, who was still sleeping off her exhaustion. She’d had a perfectly good opportunity to kill him while he had been unconscious, and she would have been well within her right. Yet she had not only spared his life, but had seemingly pulled him free of the debris, something he might not have been able to do by himself.

 A beam of sunlight caught his attention. An exit. He could easily grab her and bring her back to Kamino, as he was ordered to do. Good soldiers followed orders…

 …but family protected their own. He hadn’t had the choice before, but he did now, and he wasn’t about to squander his chance to start to make things right with his brothers.

 Scooping up Omega and ignoring his own pain, he ascended the rubble pile. Once he was close enough, he chipped away at the cracks in the ceiling until he had created a big enough hole to fit through. He put the girl through first, then shimmed his way out of the underground space. Picking up Omega once again, he scanned the area. They had come up into a dead forest, the plants here having been scorched at some point.

 After setting Omega down as gently as he could, Crosshair began to scale one of the trees. His razor sharp vision allowed him to spot a familiar ship, and even more familiar people. They looked frantic, pacing between the ship and what looked to be the site of a cave in. He could tell that they were arguing by their wild hand gestures and tense postures.

 ‘They must still believe Omega is down in the caves.’ He thought to himself. ‘I need to get their attention.’

 Reaching behind him, he gripped his trustworthy rifle and took aim at the ground near the Havoc Marauder. He fired off a shot, far enough away to not be dangerous but close enough to be noticeable. His brothers startled at the sudden blaster bolt, and he saw them look towards his direction. He activated his comlink.

 “If you’re looking for the girl, you might want to come over here.” He said smoothly, smiling a bit in amusement when he saw his brothers look at each other in surprise.

 Before he could get a reply, he deactivated his comlink. They’d be here soon, and he needed to be gone before they arrived. He wanted to stay, he really did, but now was not the time. If he went with them now, re risked bringing the Empire down on their heads. Not to mention the fact that his chip was still active, just muted for now. He didn’t want to be around them when it took over again.

 Hopping down, he paused for a moment to look at Omega again. The girl had obviously been practising with the new weapon she’d picked up from somewhere, and a part of him ached at the thought that he wouldn’t be there to help teach her.

 “I’ll return soon, ad’ika. Then you’ll get some proper lessons.” He said, his voice holding a promise without actually saying it,

 Turning away, he sprinted off into the forest. He’d need to come up with an excuse for his mission’s failure and a plan to escape the Empire’s watchful eyes.

 ‘Wait for me, vods. I’ll find a way home.’ He thought to himself, disappearing into the ashen forest.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump[4] #the bad batch #star wars #star wars the bad batch #bad batch #omega bad batch #hunter bad batch #wrecker bad batch #echo bad batch #tech bad batch #crosshair bad batch #omega whump #crosshair whump

[anxiouslyfred]

Limping on Phantom Pains

Summary: Remus is very much against the world when it comes to injuries being celebrated as a chance to find your soulmate. Why would he want to hurt a stranger for so flimsy a reason. Roman doesn’t care and will drag his limping brother off to congratulate his friend in hospital

CW: broken leg, hospital scene

/\/\

Remus knew how to avoid injury and pain better than anyone he knew. Of course he also knew how to cause it, but that was just a fun hobby. Avoiding it meant that he wasn't causing pain to a stranger he might never meet; causing his soulmate to be in pain and that was vital for Remus.

He knew through his childhood they'd have felt pain from him a lot, had a full collection of 'congratulations hope you find your soulmate while healing' cards. Those were what first made him realise how sadistic and cruel the world was to soulmates,especially before you met.

If he attacked someone they'd as likely get congratulations and suggestions to thank him as told to report the assault and he hated it. There should never be a celebration of causing pain to others. 

Since realising that Remus had ensured the only pain that could reach his soulmate from him was the sore throats he couldn't avoid. He was going to cherish his soulmate and keep them free from pain even before they met if he could. 

In all honesty there was so rarely any pain he felt in return that it seemed his soulmate was trying to do the same thing, at least before this week. This week Remus had been limping around, a phantom pain in his lower leg leaving him limping and struggling to walk as far as he had to for work.

“Remus, Have you been vandalising all of my injury cards again? I need to congratulate Virgil on his broken leg. You're coming with me too, since I've been trying to introduce you pair for literally ever. I know you don't have anything going on this afternoon, since you're pulling a sickie.” Roman yelled through the house, clearly still in his room if the bangs from drawers and cupboards being opened and shut was anything to go by.

“What kind of sick twisted jerk do you have to be to congratulate someone on getting injured? I don't care if he could find his soulmate, we should be hoping Virgil gets better soon, not praising him for however he got hurt!” Remus screeched, deciding to hop down the hall on his good leg and see how high he could hop.

Roman just glared over his shoulder, now kneeling to look under his bed. “It's what we do, what everyone does. Not that you seem to care about finding your soulmate. Do they even know you're still alive with how injury averse you are?”

“I care about not putting my soulmate in pain. Why the hell has this connection become societies excuse to get hurt, hurting soulmates in turn and not the way to protect and look after each other it was probably meant to be?” He'd never agree with his brother about the romance of sharing pain with someone else.

Once Roman had proclaimed that as soon as he found his love they would never feel pain again, and been completely flabbergasted when Remus suggested limiting the amount he hurts them ahead of time instead of waiting for the meeting. He'd had to watch his back and double check any of his art supplies for the next month after that argument, even after Remus took off on a skiing experience in Japan.

Roman's back bristled at the question, just as it always would. “Because your soulmate is your other half, someone who'll help smooth all your broken edges and complete you. Anyone sane would want to increase their chances of finding them.”

“I doubt Virgil would agree, given you said he's strapped up in hospital with a broken leg days after the accident that caused it.” Remus countered, before frowning again. “Why's he still in there anyway? Don't the hospitals usually just put a cast on you and let you leave for broken bones?”

Roman just shook his head, finally pulling out a blank card. “Something about the bone possibly getting shattered. A stack of heavy books falling on top of his legs can do that apparently, but I didn't ask for the details. Maybe I should try drawing Logan's book stack teetering above the congratulations?”

Remus groaned, turning away now. He should have known shredding or redesigning all the injury congratulations cards his brother had wouldn't work if he left the blank ones still around. That's a mistake he wouldn't be making again. When vandalising his brother's participation in societies sickness, get rid of all things possible to make cards out of.

Then again, he was actually curious about this Virgil guy Roman had befriended a few years ago. Perhaps he should actually go along to the hospital, as long as he could hobble along at his own pace. Remus even had a few fun outfits to wear for hobbling around.

/In the Hospital room\

Virgil was going to scream if another nurse, stranger or friend tried coming in to congratulate him on getting his leg broken. Bad enough the pain he was in, that surely, should his soulmate still be alive, was hurting them a lot to, but to act like it was a good thing? He was fuming at the idea.

So far Logan had been the only sane person to visit, apologising and promising to store his books more safely in the future. He hadn't stayed long though, only enough time to explain the provisions he'd made at their work to ensure Virgil kept his job while unable to walk and could return to it once release from hospital.

Roman opening the door carrying a congratulations balloon and a card only made the glare deepen. “Hey Virgil. Are you looking forward to trying to find your soulmate once you're released? I know some wonderful cafes we could sit in and watch for-” The words were cut off with a yelp when Virgil threw the notebook he'd been scribbling in at him.

“Are you seriously telling me I should be celebrating getting injured you empty headed, dust filled dreamer? I have a broken leg, far more pain than I've ever been in, and you think I should focus on finding romance or friendship with someone I've never met?” Virgil snapped, already looking around his bed for something else to throw.

“Of course. It's a fantastic-” Roman was cut off again by a pillow being thrown.

Virgil scowled at him, “Fantastic what? Response to someone I only guess at being alive still because of occasional phantom sore throats? Opportunity to torture someone I've never even met yet with pain I wouldn't wish on anyone else given I'm going through it myself?”

He could hear a lift opening somewhere down the hall since the door was still opened but just carried on yelling. “Or maybe all you think about is the fact that this worldwide obsession with getting hurt does more harm than good. A bruise is a good way to find a soulmate, or a tattoo, where the pain is controlled, and caused safely. Broken bones and ridiculous stunts that will end in injury are cruel! Especially given all the pain gets inflicted on a stranger! And that's what you're trying to congratulate me for! Have a braincell Roman, or would you prefer I ask Logan to throw those books at you? Holy hell, do you actually think I'm excited by the sight of the books that caused this freaking injury?” Virgil had caught a closer glimpse of the card and finally stopped yelling, dumbfounded by the idiocy Roman must have to actually have drawn them onto the card.

“Oh, so Roman does have a friend with some sense about them. I'm Remus and have been trying to stop this stupid congratulations thing for years.” A doppelganger of Roman was suddenly leaning against the door, grinning and panting a little.

Virgil paused for a moment, before nudging the chair beside his bed. “You injured yourself or something? You look like you've run a mile to get here.”

“Soulmate hurt their leg badly. Walking too much is a bit of a strain this week. Hope you get released from here soon though. It can't be fun spending your days in this place.” Remus limped over to the chair, collapsing into it with a sigh.

“Guessing you already know I'm Virgil if you're prince prats brother. Which leg got hurt?” Virgil smirked, realising Roman had fallen quiet now, given in just their few words it was clear Remus shared his views about the nonsense idea of congratulating people for injuries.

Remus glanced at the bed, wriggling his eyebrows, “Same leg as yours if you wanna try me out for a ride.”

“Roman, give me my notebook back. If your brother's going to flirt I need something to thwack him with.” Virgil ground out at the insinuation. He wasn't looking for his soulmate, and didn't care for getting hit on. Either that or he really needed another dose of pain reliever, hurting only ever made him more angry.

“Well that's one way to find out if we're soulmates, but I'm sworn not to get injured if I can avoid it. No pain for my soulmate at all. I can even tell the chances of a landslide on various slopes to decide whether I'll climb them or not.” Remus shifts as though to get out of the chair, grimacing in preparation for the pressure on his leg, despite the pain he'd mentioned being phantom.

Virgil reaches out with both arms then, one to shove Remus back down, and the other to take his notebook back from Roman. “Well then I guess you can keep dreaming of being my soulmate then. Since I try my best not to get injured too. If only save myself from the Roman's of the world.”

He smirked at the cackles that brought from the man beside him, while Roman protested. He was curious though, since it would be nice to be able to keep his soulmate safe in person, despite being well aware they were already experts at avoiding injury.

While Remus was still laughing he moved the hand still on his shoulder to pinch the back of his neck, flinching himself at the sting to his own neck. The gasp cutting off the laughter showed Remus had realised what he'd done too, turning to face him properly somehow in a jump while still sat down.

“So? Soulmates? Weirdly coinciding injury and phantom pain? Team destroy the congratulating cards?” Remus rattled off ideas for how they could be connected, eyes scanning over his face.

Virgil smiled, nodding. “Guess we are soulmates, and I should be apologising about all this.” He frowned again, realising just how much Remus's leg was probably hurting him, even through the phantom pains. “Do pain killers work on the soulmates thing?”

“We've got a while to figure that out! I don't think they'd work if I took them though. Let's call the nurse to give you some.” Remus was already jumping up and hurrying out of the room, or as fast as he could with his leg still in a lot of pain.

Roman watched him leave, before tilting his head at Virgil. “So am I going to get something thrown at me if I try to congratulate on finding your soulmate now?”

“Don't tempt me.” Virgil groaned out, realising he was never likely to lose the romantic now, and that entire scene could have just proven the use of injuries in finding soulmates, whatever arguments he and Remus had against it.

#dukexiety #soulmate au #remus sanders #virgil sanders #shared pain #broken leg #hospital scenes #creativitwins #roman sanders

[palmett-hoes]

YES. Oh my God you explained perfectly the logic behind Neil getting tattoos. I get that people think tattoos fix Andrew's "aesthetic" more cause he wears all black and all but tattoos nowadays are popular and not really a thing that only alternative people get. Anyway -> if Neil got tattoos, do u have an hcs for what he might?

yea the more i think about it the more i really like the idea of neil getting tattoos. and who knows, maybe if his boyfriend starts to get covered andrew will take an interest too. i mean you're right, it does fit his aes. maybe he gets some matching tattoos with the love of his life

WHAT neil would get tho? oh there’s so many factors to consider

i see him having a similar ideology about it as i do, that his tattoos are to memorialize significant people and events in his life. most importantly though, they’re just,, to make him feel good about himself, so they’re all of happy memories, even if some might be bittersweet

it’s also not about full-coverage. he’s fine if his scars are still visible under the tattoo and probably isn’t going to try to religiously cover every single one. it’s about having something good on his body that he chose to put there to combat but not necessarily blot out the bad things done to him against his will

he tends to collect smaller individual pieces rather than large scale work and he’s not committed to a specific style, so his collection is a bit random and eclectic. but in terms of the style generally drawn to very kinesthetic art with a lot of movement and fluid lines, but also angular and hard-edged. i don’t think he’s color-averse and definitely not a strict black-and-gray guy, but at the same time i can’t see him doing like super super bright color work. he goes for darker, more saturated colors, like jewel and natural tones. also of course i see him as brown skinned so you need to approach color work differently anyway

in terms of what he actually GETS, i don’t really have a lot of opinions on placement or like,, what tattoos should cover which scar, but have some random ideas i think he might get

he has a large piece (like maybe a sleeve or thigh) that’s dedicated to his time on the run, but the good parts. it’s a mix of a lot of images and very chaotic, drawing from like,, the french cafe where his most first bought him a cup of coffee and cottage safehouses in the alps in summer and where they had room to stretch their legs and run and chase each other and hustling three card monty in dubai with his mom and diners in the pacific northwest that sold the best fruit pies

he of course gets a lot of tattoos for the foxes, definitely at least one straight-up fox. tiny pawprints are his go-to filler pattern

he has everyone’s signatures somewhere on him, maybe with a tattoo of the Championship trophy being hoisted up by a group of hands. he also has small individual pieces that memorialize each of them individually

definitely got several exy sticks and various other pieces of gear scattered in various places. dark stadium chairs leading down to a brightly lit exy court

andrew is probably his biggest inspiration. he has the photograph of them together in the airport turned into a silhouette like a victorian cameo. a ring of keys; this one might go on the back of his neck. a tire track skid mark. a skeleton sitting on a roof against a sunrise. andrew’s hand sparking a lighter. the only reason he doesn’t have a full portrait is bc andrew says he’ll leave him if he does it

a rabbit skull overgrown by moss and vines and flowers.

he gets a rook and knight chess pieces tat because kevin says that’s what he and andrew would be

he gets some small cheeky ones too. things like a line of script that says “you should see the other guy” with a gun running under a nasty scar or a skeletal arm broken in half

once he starts to really establish who he is and flesh himself out as a person he gets some that don’t necessarily have a lot of meaning but that he just likes the look of because he has the luxury of having opinions on art now

i don’t necessarily know if i want him to cover his facial scars, but i think that’s mostly because i don’t like facial tattoos very much, especially ones located where neil’s scars are. that’s just a personal preference though. however, i think the idea of a minimalist, abstract take of just like,, adding color to the scars might be nice. something like well-saturated brushstroke work

(addendum: an au or something where all neil’s scars are just covered in abstract brushwork would be so fucking beautiful. like this but full-body holy shit)

(i just don’t think it really fits him in canon to have a full-body tattoo scheme. also those would require so much long-term maintenance you’d have to get them redone like every 5 to 10 years)

he also doesn’t get them all at once, this is something he builds up over years. he also doesn’t want to rush it because he wants to stay open to memorialize things that will come in the future, because he has a future to wait for now

---

also i assume you probably want some reference photos too bc this can be a little hard to understand just as words, so here's some of my reference images under the cut

they’re more of a stylistic reference than a content reference. also - as in all things - this will of course also tell you a lot about my own personal taste in tattooing even though i try not to make it based ENTIRELY on what i like and try to factor in what i think neil would like

these were the tattoos that most inspired me about the tattoo idea for neil’s happiest memories with his mother. for some reason my gut really drew me towards architectural tattoos for it. i like the way the perspective on the left image is curved and confusing and it takes you a second to make sense of what you’re looking at. it reminds me a lot of an MC Escher drawing and that’s sort of the exact seeling of chaos and confusion that i think the tattoo needs. but then i was also really drawn to the soft colors of the right image (although they’d have to be adjusted somewhat for neil’s darker skin), because they’re so comforting, and i think that’s the sort of balance i’m looking for out of a tattoo for mary. so like,, compositionally like the left image but colored more like the right

literally every person who’s ever considered aftg and tattoos together HAS to offer up a fox tattoo it’s law. anyway these are mine. or well, the types i can see neil with. also, not aside from the foxes, these tattoos are really the best examples i can find of the angular, kinesthetic art style that i feel very strongly matches neil

inspo behind the tattoo of andrew’s hand with the lighter. also just a good simple style for smaller tattoos or filler tattoos

victorian cameos. inspiration behind both the silhouette tattoos of andrew and neil in the airport and the skeleton & the sunrise. both would be more than just the bust and the poses would be more fluid and they don’t need the brooch design outline. it’s really more of a starter reference or a jumping off point

neo-traditional tattoos. phenomenal style. strong lines and highly saturated color, super important both for a long-lasting tattoo and for tattooing on darker skin. they also just tend to have a certain composition i really like

this is the style i see the championship trophy tattoo, the chess pieces tattoo, the rabbit skull tattoo, and the ring of keys tattoo all in

---

okay i’m done now

thoughts?

#txt #pic #neil josten #my posts #im talkin #ask #anon #anonymous #tattoo #tattoos #foxes w tats

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

chapter - one | beautiful disaster

Full Masterlist

Beautiful Disaster Masterlist

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I watch the door, awaiting his arrival.

Cardan struts into the building with his eyes fixed on his phone. He looks as unimpressed with everything around him as the last time I saw him. His clothes are ironed to perfection, the crisp collar of the black shirt barely covering most of his tattoo, save for the serpent's head that peeks out from beneath it. I'm convinced his outfit alone is worth more than the annual salary I receive from Balekin.

He looks up at me and the force of my hatred hits me like a brick to the face, all my plans feeling impossible now.

"Shouldn't you be somewhere else, licking Balekin's boots, pleasing him and all, Jude?" he sneers. There's so much disdain between us, it feels impossible that it would ever be otherwise.

I will myself to ignore his barb. I'm used to much worse insults, and to retort might increase my chances at failure. But I'm drunk on my resentment at his position; he has everything I ever wanted, and yet he laments about it. His presence makes me reckless, makes me want to do things I shouldn't do.

"At least I'm capable of pleasing him." I tell him with a small smirk.

His rage is prominent on his face now, the mask of boredom gone. He looks so heartbreakingly beautiful even when he's angry, it seems unfair. I try to dredge up some pity for him. He has a brother who is hell-bent on making him a copy of himself, another brother who hates him, an indifferent father and a scheming harlot for a mother.

Yet, did Madoc not raise me to become a mirror of himself? Surely, he can't resent me for something I do not have.

But he does. I see it in his eyes everytime he looks at me, how unworthy he thinks me of everything. The feeling is mutual, the hatred between us as intense as it is unreasonable. It's for Dain, and for the gang I belong to, that I bother to look at him, to earn his trust.

I step forward, deliberately putting pressure on the heel of my left foot. The near broken sandal gives out, and I fall into Cardan's arms.

His coal black eyes burn into mine with an intensity I do not expect. I am so sure that he'll drop me, but his grip remains firm as ever. His phone falls onto the ground with a loud thud but he pays it no mind. For a moment, all his attention is directed on me.

It feels as wonderful as it's scary.

When I pull away, my heart pounds loudly against my chest. "Balekin wants you to see him as soon as you arrive."

"Of course he does," he mumbles something else, then walks off.

Cardan's phone lies on the floor, right where it fell earlier. I allow myself a small, triumphant smile. I am quick to retrieve it, limping away with one show broken and remind myself to find an extra pair to change into before I arrive at Dain's mansion.

I find Lilliver the first thing when I enter. "Unlock this one for me, then bring it over; you have thirty minutes."

Dain is neck deep in paperwork when I knock on the open door.

"Ah, Jude," he looks up with a grin, "one of these days, you should listen when I tell you to walk right in, don't knock."

His eyes move over my body, expression morphing into concern as he assesses me. To save him the question, I say, "I'm fine, he didn't suspect a thing. Should I be offended you don't trust your own second-in-command's abilities?"

I slide into the chair across from him. He still looks unsure, so I add: "He may loathe me, but he is no murderer."

Dain's expression darkens a little, the goofy grin vanishing from his face. "He was still raised to be ruthless and cruel. Forgive me if I worry about you, Jude," The words sound like a lament, and his voice is softer when he continues, "It's such an inconvenience to be worried you might get hurt because of me."

"I appreciate that," I tell him, lips twitching up in amusement, "but if it came down to it, I could kick his ass."

"I know you can." Dain talks with so much conviction, it's impossible not to feel as if I'm invincible, though I'm not.

He clears the space in front of him of all files, then looks at me expectantly. Rolling my eyes, I climb atop the desk, legs resting on either side of his chair. He stands between my legs, leaning forward. He presses his lips to my jaw, leaving a trail of kisses down my throat.

"We need to, ah, talk about the—" he nips at a particularly tender spot on my neck. My body archs into his touch, giving him better access. I can't supress my moan, more grateful for the soundproof walls than ever—"Oh, Dain—aboutthe shipment we're..." The rest of my words dissolve into a loud moan when he nips at the spot with his teeth, his hands sliding up my thighs, hovering over my jeans' waistband.

"I'd rather not talk about it," he simply tells me, hands roaming everywhere but at the spot where I want them.

"What do you, ahhh, want to talk about then?" I ask him, knowing the answer.

His lips hover inches away from mine, curled into a fiendish grin. "I don't want to talk at—" he is interrupted by the sound of something crashing on the ground and a muffled curse.

I pull away immediately, feeling as embarassed as Van looks, if not more. "I'm sorry, I thought you'd want to—ah, it was urgent, I didn't think you'd, ahem, I don't..." His words grow more garbled with each moment that passes.

Taking pity on him, Liliver interrupts, "Bad timing? We can come back later."

"No, we'll have a look now—unless Jude wants otherwise?" All eyes turn on me, still on the desk with my legs parted, hair mussed and a flushed look on my face. I'm sure there's a hickey on my neck, adding to my embarassment.

Dain looks amused at my condition and I know he did it on purpose. I want to slap him on the face for it. His eyes shine with mirth when he looks at me. "Jude, love, will you mind terribly if I ask you to sit on a chair for a few? Though of course, my lap is available—"

I scramble off the desk and slide a chair towards him, taking a seat before he can continue. Liliver gives us a knowing look, and I have no doubt my face has turned scarlet. It's one thing to have everyone know you have a 'friends with benefits' thing going with your boss; it's another to be caught doing it.

Van slides the phone I stole towards Dain, who passes it to me. "Take whatever information you can find, and have someone drop you off—"

"That's not necessary," I assure him and take my leave, rifling through the contents in his phone.

As predicted, Cardan isn't as given to secrecy. I transfer all the files with ease, have the phone locked and ready to be returned and still a half hour to spare. I'm not surprised by how much Balekin keeps his brother in the loop, or by Cardan's disinterest in all of it. What does surprise me is the business acumen he seems to have. He is clever with his words, creative with his ideas and efficient in their execution. If I wasn't dead set against him, I'd have been impressed.

I wait until I know he'll be outside his office to come with his phone, and I am surprised to find Madoc with him. I hesitate for a moment, but decide to charge through. I can't wait too long to return it, lest I draw suspicion.

He looks surprised to see me outside, but then he blinks and the expression is replaced with one of casual boredom.

Madoc regards me with suspicion, eyes narrowed and a small crease between his eyebrows. He says, "Jude, what are you doing here? It's an off day—"

"—I know," I tell him, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "But if he had his way, I'd have an off day for the whole year. I wanted to see if there's something around here I could do."

Madoc throws a cautious look towards Cardan, as if to make sure he's not displeased my casual censure of his brother. I could care less what Balekin thinks of me, he has never liked me much after all. I have no idea what I did to deserve his scorn but it's always been that way, and if I wasn't his loyal second-in-command's daughter, he won't have me here at all. He doesn't trust me very much.

And with good reason, I suppose. I've been spying on him almost ever since I joined, after all.

Cardan only raises a groomed eyebrow at me, as if to ask why I'm here. He must be in better spirits, because his expression is lacking the usual bite to it, though he looks impatient to leave. That might be more because of Madoc than me. Madoc has made no secret of his dislike towards the youngest of the Greenbriar brothers.

"Your phone," I extend it towards him. "It fell down this morning, when I tripped." I ignore Madoc's questioning look.

Cardan accepts his phone with a little shrug, but then there's a furrow between his eyebrows and I'm scared he has figured out that I stole information from it. I hold my breath, willing my hands not to tremble as he turns his assessing gaze on me. When he looks up at me, I feel like he can see every terrible thing I did, and it makes me more vulnerable than anything else.

He steps closer, forcing me to take a step back and repeats the process until I'm backed up against the glass wall of the building.

His hand comes to rest around my throat—a threat and a warning. "I know what you did, Jude. And there will be consequences for it." I can feel his breath in my ear, and blood rushes up to my face. There's nothing human in his expression. I'm afraid of his grip on my throat, the vile creature reflected in his black eyes but most of all, I'm afraid of the warmth I feel where his skin brushes against mine.

"I-I don't know what you're-what you're talking about," I stammer out.

"Don't you, Jude?" It seems impossible that he could be any closer, but he presses in anyway, and his grip tightens. His body presses against mine and all thoughts fly out of my head.

I shut my eyes close, and when I open them again, I realise it was imagination.

Cardan is looking at his phone still, but Madoc gives me a strange look. His eyes fix on the lovebite on my neck. I curse myself for not hiding it before.

My father's gaze travels from me to Cardan and back; it takes everything in me not to shout that it's not what he thinks at all. I bristle under his disapproving glare, choosing to ignore it too. Let him believe what he does. His assumptions are a thousand times less explosive than the truth. What would Madoc do if he found out where I spend my off days, which gang I work for? I shiver at the thought, distracted enough that I don't notice Cardan's gaze until he clears his throat.

"Thank you," he tells me, but somehow, he manages to make it sound like an insult. Before I can reply, he stalks off.

I hate how intoxicating his presence is, how he makes me writhe and tremble and crave for his attention, but hate it when he gives it. I have to remind myself I'm the predator, not him. This is my game, and I'm the one pulling all the reins. I hold all the power here. The repeated thoughts do nothing to erase the vision in my head, of his eyes, cruel and gleaming with hatred, and his grip on my throat, warm and painful and restricting my lungs and that tone; god, the mere thought of that chilling, ice cold gaze sends shivers down my body.

But this is my game, and by the time I'm done with him, the tables will turn.

═════════⚠═════════

tags:

@courtofjurdan // @thesirenwashere // @nightbringer // @queenofgreenbriar // @jurdanhell // @sweetlyvillainous //@clockworkgraystairs // @blog-lady-vi // @the-dark-swan //@storiesandschemes // @fangirltrash74 // @augustintodarkness // @queen-of-glass // @jurdan7 // @aesthetics-11 // @mijaldraws // @hades-flame // @sensitivehighlord // @annejulianneh111 // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @doingmyrainbow // @curlyredqueen06 // @chaotic-fae-queen // @thewickedkings // @thesurielships //@df3ndyr // @clouds-and-peonies // @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln // @thefolkofthefic // @st00pid231 // @iminsanenotobsessed

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged. Also, I'm trying new things: first person pov, a little touch of smut, and a new writing style. Feedback is invaluable rn, through anon asks or comments or whatever way you feel comfortable!

#the cruel prince #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jude x cardan #jude duarte greenbriar #jurdan #jurdan mafia au #jurdan fanfic #tfota fanfic #holly black #tfota fanfiction #the folk of the air #tfota #the wicked king #mafia au #aelin-queen-of-terrasen #jurdannet #jurdan fluff #jurdan fanfiction #cardan x jude

[farplane]

DAY 24: ILLUSTRIOUS

(cw: mild sexual content at the end of the first part)

“Anything yet?” Seax asked from the bed.

Wulfric, sitting by the dwelling’s sole window, stifled a yawn. “No trace,” he reported. “How long did you say we had to watch for?”

“I didn’t say.” That was why Wulfric had asked; he was trying to be polite. “It’s not very complicated. We just wait until that fuck Véland shows up, we teach him a lesson, we leave. Did you have to have your boot daddy explain simple assignments to you over and over back in your soldiering days, or are you just like that with me?”

Wulfric ignored the sour taste in his mouth and huffed out a breath, stretching out his legs. He kept his eyes on the movement out in the Sprawl; his focus on the Undercity always rooted out any discomfort he might have with the past before it could take.

“Far be it from me to be callous towards your friend’s plight—Véland does sound like a prime cock—but isn’t it entirely possible that he just won’t show? I mean, she’ll want to sleep in her bed eventually, won’t she?”

“She won’t be sleeping in that bed if she’s afraid he might come to steal into it,” Seax replied with a chill to her tone much unlike the unaffected attitude she had towards most things. “I’ve got her somewhere safe; she’ll be sleeping fine there.” 

And maybe she understood something Wulfric didn’t intend to communicate when he glanced at her, because she shook her head, clicked her tongue, and added, “Number of favours I owe her, I’ll stay a moon in her place to knife a man who’s got her scared if that’s what it takes—are we clear on that? If you’re so bored with being warm and dry for a few hours, I can stand watch on my own and you can fuck off.”

“That’s not what I was saying at all, Seax,” Wulfric said, as reasonably as he could make it sound, once it was evident Seax had finished speaking; if he’d learned anything from her since coming to the Undercity, it was that you didn’t interrupt someone like her, even if it was with the intent of correcting a misunderstanding.

“No? What are you saying, then?”

“Just that there are more efficient ways of fucking up a guy when you know his name, his face, his haunts and his friends.”

Seax liked that; her voice edged back towards the unbothered. “Ever so proactive,” she said lightly. “Normally, I would agree with you, but this is different. He gets a knife in a gutter, and that can be the work of any rotten fuck he’s gotten on the wrong side of this week. But he gets it in her house, and that teaches the whole neighbourhood: no one fucks with Eda and gets away with it. Not on my watch.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Wulfric said. 

Perhaps for the third time since he had sat down by the window, he pulled his dagger from the sheath at his thigh to busy his hands, running through the balance drills he’d learned from his blademaster as a youth. Easy as breathing.

Seax watched him flip the knife again and again, twirling it with the flat of the blade between his fingers, shifting his grip from forward to reverse. Then she said, “I know you’re eager to bloody your teeth, little wolf—” and in this she was wrong about him: he’d never been eager for blood, not really, just for anything to keep him moving— “but you’re going to drive me up the walls. Come here.”

He stilled the knife and pointed to the window, questioning.

“We don’t need to see him coming. If he shows, we’ll know.”

Wulfric supposed that was true. He shrugged, sheathing his dagger as he stood and crossed the short distance from the front of Eda’s home to her bed, which she separated from the rest of her place with a curtain Seax kept drawn back. At Seax’s invitation, he sat across the foot of the bed and kicked off his boots.

“She won’t mind us being in here?” he asked with some remnant of topsider modesty—or whatever it was Seax called it.

“I owe her a lot of favours, but still not enough that I’ll sleep on the fucking floor just to avoid her bed while I’ve got her good and cozy in my hideout.”

At that, Wulfric chuckled and stripped off his coat, boyishly satisfied when he managed to toss it over the back of Eda’s lone chair. Again Seax watched him, chin tucked in her palm, as he rolled up his sleeves. Without warning, she reached out to trace a finger over the thin band of black ink revealed just below his left elbow.

It wasn’t the first time an Ala Mhigan had touched his tattoos—he’d had enough lovers follow the lines on his skin to adjust from the feeling of wrongness to appreciating their touch, but Seax’s curiosity felt different. Sharp, like the rest of her; and he liked that about her, that rough loyalty that was conveniently devoid of affection. He simply hadn’t been prepared for it to come in contact with the still-raw Nhalmascan parts of him, even though she’d already bedded him more times than he could count.

“These are so strange,” she said, tilting her head as she studied the lines at the side of his neck. Her thumb brushed the pattern down the shell of his ear. “Are they from the glorious soldiering days? Battle marks?”

“What does it matter?”

Seax shrugged and dropped her hand to his lap. “Doesn’t,” she said, giving his thigh a squeeze. “Bloody touchy all the time.”

Unceremoniously, she shifted her weight to lean towards him and began to unlace his trousers. Wulfric raised his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Passing the time,” Seax said simply, slipping a hand inside his trousers. “Why, you got a better idea?”

He shook his head. “Not one,” he said; his mind had very quickly emptied. “Carry on.”

“Good boy,” Seax said. She drew closer so that her mouth was close to his ear, but refused any reciprocal touch. “Hands to yourself. Remember: you’re done when I say.”

Wulfric bit back a reflexive aye, sir. With her, it was always better to say nothing.

/

(Marco had stuffed more coal into the stove than was reasonable in anticipation for his return; Wulfric saw the thoughtfulness in the gesture the moment he stepped inside the cellar, but didn’t comment on it. He never knew how to say the simplest things, these days.

“How was it?” Marco asked, sitting up in bed. The movement made Montblanc groan at his feet and huddle closer, laying his head on Marco’s lap with no acknowledgement of Wulfric’s entrance.

“Bad,” Wulfric replied wearily. He gestured to his half-soaked clothing, but said little more, not wanting his foul mood to infect Marco when he was so close to sleep. As he yanked off his boots, he said, “Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing to be said about Bernt’s incompetence that can’t wait until morning.”

Rather than watch Wulfric hop around on one leg while he peeled off his wet trousers, Marco leaned over the bed to toss him a dry pair. “Here. These’ll keep you warm while yours dry.”

“Thanks. Fucking freezing.”

Wulfric removed his shirt next and laid out his clothes to dry; for a moment he lingered in front of the stove, shivering as the heat warmed his bare chest and arms. He shook out the wet tips of his hair, too, fingers catching on the beads threaded into his braids.

“Hey, Wulf. Can I ask you something?” Marco asked carefully. He scratched Montblanc’s head with an idleness to his hands, just for something to do that wasn’t staring at the black lines under Wulfric’s shoulder blades.

“Of course you can.”

“Your tattoos. They mean something, don’t they?”

At first, Wulfric meant only to nod and leave it at that, knowing Marco wouldn’t push; instead he sat at the edge of the bed, folding his hands together, his thumb running back and forth across the line running down the center of his middle finger.

“They’re… my fate,” he said with something of a shrug, because he could think of no better word. “In Nhalmasque, we have seers; we seek them out before adolescence to hear a pronouncement on our fate, and then they draw our life lines on our bodies. We preserve them throughout our teenage years, and when we come of age, those we didn’t let fade get tattooed. I kept all of mine.”

Marco nodded, serious. “What did the seer say they were?”

“She didn’t. It’s up to us to give them meaning; some of them I’m still not even certain of.”

Wulfric could feel Marco’s eyes on his back, and the question he was too polite to ask.

“These I know,” Wulfric said, crossing an arm over his chest to tap a finger over his shoulder. “Avis and Gawain. I trust them with my back.”

“I get it,” Marco said, and Wulfric knew that he did—knew that he was thinking of Ashley and Élodie. If he was Nhalmascan, they might be lines on his back, too.

He didn’t ask which ones Wulfric hadn’t figured out yet, and Wulfric didn’t wonder; one day, sooner than he expected, he would know the Undercity for one of the lines down his neck, like a blade at his jugular.)

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #c:wulfric #c:seax #f:xiv #city of shade

[khuns]

who else is there to love but you; a khunbaam au

He tastes like Baam has always thought of and more, lips slotting into Baam’s the way he has slotted himself into the space between Baam’s heartbeats, and Baam isn’t sure if he ever wants Khun to pull away.

“Come on, Baam, it’s our graduation. It’s the last time any of us are gonna have time to travel before we settle into jobs and fall victim to the monotony of everyday li-“

A snort crackles through the speaker, and Hatz’s voice rings clear, “Speak for yourself, Isu. Some of us still can’t find jobs-“

A jostle over the phone, then: “-anyway, as I was saying, it’s just one last hurrah before we officially start adulting. Please just say yes, Baam, nearly everyone else has agreed-“

Baam sighs and sets down his pencil. It’s literally the week of finals; every time he rubs his eyes he sees syntax trees tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. How does Isu expect him to make big decisions when his entire brain is clouded with theta roles?

He opens his mouth, about to ask Isu to please just ask him when he gets back to their dorm room because his brain really can’t handle thinking about budgeting and accommodations, but Isu’s sly voice beats him to the punch. “Khun’s coming.”

Baam lets his head drop into his hands and groans.

Damn Shibisu.

-

The first time Baam meets Khun, Baam is splayed out on his stomach on Hatz’s kitchen floor, honey dripping from his hair.

The laughter on his tongue dies out; Isu stops flinging flour at where Hatz is crouched, taking cover.

Baam watches in dismay as the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life stands at Hatz’s doorway, mouth pressed into a thin line and eyes as hard as flint. The man’s fingers are still curled around the door handle as he surveys the mess before a clipped, “Hatz.”

He feels Hatz tensing up from where he’s knelt beside Baam, hands braced against the fine dusting of flour on the floor.

“I’ll make sure the kitchen is spotless,” Hatz bites out, tone frosty.

Baam’s eyes meet the man’s through a slow tangle of honey, and he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. Even backlit and haloed in the artificial hallway light, he reminds Baam of someone royal, hair pulled away from cheekbones high and regal and bangs barely covering eyes cool as glass.

An eternity stretches before the man breaks eye contact with him and makes out a curt nod, “Make sure you do.”

And then he’s gone, door locking behind him with a neat click.

Isu is the first to break the silence- “Fuck, Hatz, when you called to tell me your new roommate was an ass you didn’t say he was a beautiful one-“

“Shut the fuck up, he’s a royal pain in the ass, that’s why I called you to come over- “

“His eyes, Hatz, did you see them-“

“I hardly feel the need to look into the eyes of someone who pisses me off from day one-“

“You ask me to come over and make cookies for you, but you just neglect to mention how beautiful-“

“You saw for yourself, he’s so fucking pretentious - look, Isu, if you’ve done quite enough salivating over my arse of a roommate, do you mind helping your poor roommate up?”

Isu squeaks and slides through the flour to Baam’s side, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Baam says. “Yeah, no, I’m alright.”

As Isu helps Baam pick himself off the floor and sends him into the bathroom to rinse out his hair, all Baam can think about is the man’s cool blue eyes and the way the image keeps sending his heart back up his throat.

-

It’s ten in the morning after his last final and Baam barely has time to stuff his duffel in the trunk when Rak calls shotgun.

It sets off a squabble between Hatz and Isu about who should drive and devolves into an argument over whether Rak can navigate (he cannot) and when Isu will even let anyone else drive his precious car (never).

There is a soft huff of amusement from where Khun is leaning on the side of the car, hands fiddling through what looks like a GPS, and Khun looks up at Baam, grinning. “We’ll never set off at this rate.”

“We’ll have to spend the first night back in our dorms and leave tomorrow instead,” Baam returns, biting back a smile. Khun laughs at that, his eyes sparkling through his bangs and curved into crescent moons, and Baam has to tamp down a familiar flare in his chest.

Keep it under control, he tells himself. It’s just a weeklong road trip, after which Khun will move somewhere in the big city for a job at his father’s company and Baam will move back home, despairing over what little job prospects a linguistics major brings. Useless crushes are just that, useless.

He watches as Khun pushes off from the side of the car and tosses the GPS to Isu. “Keyed in a place for lunch,” Khun grins as Isu squawks and fumbles to catch it, “Now you won’t need either of those two idiots up front.”

Hatz splutters indignantly and the rest of them just laugh, scrambling to get into the car so they can finally, finally get on their way and maybe get a decent cup of coffee.

(Rak, much to his disgruntlement, is relegated to the backseat, sandwiched between Khun and Baam.)

-

The second time Baam meets Khun, Baam neither is on the floor nor has any sticky substance in his hair (thankfully).

He knocks on Hatz’s door, ready to deliver Hatz’s notebook from where Hatz left it in Baam and Isu’s dorm room during an earlier study session.

(A ‘study session’, Baam has learnt, is just an excuse for Isu to bother his best friend into coming over to their room so they can talk about everything other than homework. Not that Baam minds, of course - conversations between Hatz and Isu flow like water, stories from their shared childhood spilling out as they try their best to embarrass each other in front of Baam.)

There’s a click as the door unlocks and Baam’s mouth opens, ready to remind Hatz that even though they only live just a few floors above him, it’s best not to leave his Physics notes behind ever again for Isu to doodle senselessly on, but when the door swings open, it’s Blue Eyes.

Oh.

“Looking for Hatz?” The man prompts, after a beat of silence. “He’s in the shower.”

Baam flushes and makes the conscious effort to shut his jaw. He holds Hatz’s notes out to Blue Eyes, “Hatz left this in my room earlier, could I leave this with you please?”

Blue Eyes raises an eyebrow at the dick drawn in Sharpie on Hatz’s notebook cover. He looks back up at Baam.

“It wasn’t me,” Baam blurts, suddenly anxious to inform Blue Eyes that no, he wasn’t the one childish enough to draw dicks onto other people’s notes. “My roommate and Hatz, they’re pretty close, I guess it’s their thing-“

He’s not sure why words are just tumbling out of his mouth, but Blue Eyes just snorts, corner of his mouth turning up in amusement. He takes the notebook from Baam and nods, “I’ll leave it on his desk.”

“Thank you...” Baam trails off, because for the life of him he absolutely cannot remember what Hatz has called his roommate other than ‘The Royal Ass’ and ‘That Fucking Asshole’. Neither of which, Baam is sure, Blue Eyes would like to be called.

“Thank you,” he manages, and turns to hightail it out of there before he embarrasses himself for the third time in a night.

“Hold on,” Blue Eyes says, and he waits until Baam fully turns back around to meet his gaze. “Who should I say left this for him?”

“I’m Baam.” Baam pauses, then tacks on, “From the twenty-fifth floor.”

“Alright, Baam-from-the-twenty-fifth-floor,” Blue Eyes says, and grins. “I’m Khun.”

Khun, Baam repeats all the way back up to his room, Khun. He tucks the name into the pocket of his cheek the way a child savours hard candy - Khun. Khun, Khun, Khun.

(Baam makes it all the way to the lift lobby before he realises that Khun has in fact cracked a dad joke, and when he tells Isu this Isu can’t seem to stop cackling.)

-

They stop for lunch at a cute diner at the edge of the city. The lights are dim and the booth seats are cracked, stuffing leaking out from where legs have over the years worn the leather down, but the food is warm and the coffee is strong and that’s all that matters.

“More coffee?” The sole waiter nudges Isu’s coffee cup with the jug.

Isu nods. Might as well, if he’s going to be driving for the rest of the day.

He takes a sip and leans back. Rak and Khun are arguing over routes, phones opened to Google Maps and fingers jabbing at the highways. Baam is listening intently to the road talk, slowly pulling the pickles out from his sandwich and setting them in a pile on the edge of his plate, ready for Khun to pick at later.

Isu smiles softly to himself as Rak leans over him to holler at Hatz. He’s glad they cobbled together this trip - it seems the perfect way to end four years of living together before they disperse and are only able to meet on weekends, or worse, every couple of months.

He’ll miss them, of course - if there’s one thing the university did right, it was their random roommate pairings freshman year. Isu’s heard horror stories of roommates going out partying and coming back to puke on rugs, but Baam clicked with him on all sorts of levels, from cleanliness to sleep schedules to taste in films, and it was only natural they applied to continue living together all four years.

And Hatz, despite his deep loathing of Khun during their first month rooming together, quickly warmed up to him too; they were both quiet and studious, were complete night owls and were quite alright with Isu coming to blabber their ears off every once in a while.

(Hatz also strenuously denies this, but after The Physics Lab Incident halfway through the first semester freshman year, Isu is pretty sure Hatz would follow Khun to the ends of the earth and back. And Hatz’s loyalty is hard-earned; he would know.)

Rak was a lucky happenstance in their second year, a constantly sexiled sophomore from across the hallway who more often than not ended up sleeping on their couch. When Isu found out Rak could make a mean beef stew, well? Isu adopted him into their little family straight away.

“What do you guys think?” Khun turns to his left, spearing a pickle off of Baam’s plate. Baam hums his approval and Isu shrugs. He hasn’t really been listening, but he trusts that Khun’s come up with a good route. If anything was weird, Rak and Baam would have pointed it out anyway.

“Doesn’t matter to me where we go,” Hatz says around a full mouth of fries, “As long as we make it to the hotel tonight.”

“Alright then,” Isu says, brushing crumbs off his shirt, “Where has the Great Rak and Khun planned to bring us next?”

“The Museum of Turtles.”

Rak is grinning so broadly Isu can’t help himself - he laughs.

-

The third time Baam meets Khun, it’s for dinner with Hatz and Isu.

They’re crowded around a table heavy with pizza Hatz must have grabbed on the way back from class. It’s somewhat towards the middle of their first semester - Khun and Hatz must be getting pretty close if Hatz has invited him to eat with them. So much for Hatz’s obstinate declaration that he’d never be friends with someone “that stuck-up”.

“-completely winded because as I said, I fell on my fucking back, and the crazy girl goes, “Oh my god, you’re looking up my skirt!” Like, I’m the one you knocked over literally half a second ago and you’re accusing me of looking at your ugly ass?! How fucking ridiculous is that?” Hatz waves his slice of pizza in the air, pepperoni somehow clinging to the cheese by sheer force of will.

Baam winces in sympathy. He’s not sure what he would have done in Hatz’s place. Maybe die.

“Then Khun - bless Khun - leans over from his bench and says- oh man, I think you better tell this part-“

Khun huffs and wipes his mouth. He sets his half-eaten slice back down, eyes sparkling with mirth, and continues, “So I’m quietly working on this stupid Physics lab sheet when I hear this idiot fall flat on his ass behind me and when I turn around to laugh at him-“

There’s something that resembles a protest from Hatz but it’s covered by Isu’s guffaw.

“-his lab partner looks like she’s about to scream bloody murder to the whole class so I lean over and - see, ordinarily I’d just laugh at Hatz and turn back but this was the girl who looks down on Hatz because she saw that his textbook was second-hand, and more importantly, she insulted my earrings once-“

“Your earrings! How dare she!” Isu is cackling even louder.

“Right?” Khun smirks, and Baam thinks his heart skips a beat, “Anyway, I lean over and I go, “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve fallen again,” and Hatz is on the floor looking at me like I’m some kind of fool instead of his damn roommate trying to get him out of trouble, so I have to tack on, “Sorry, my boyfriend is such a klutz, he’s always bumping into things. And don’t worry about him looking anywhere at you, he’s not interested.” The look on both their faces, priceless-“

“Boyfriend!” Isu howls, pounding the table, “Straight-as-an-arrow Hatz! Boyfriend!”

Hatz grins, “Whatever, you idiot, you missed the best part - then Khun says to her, “Not that there’s much to see anyway!” Oh man, her face must have been some seven shades of purple-” This sets all of them off and as their laughter dies down Baam is pretty sure if he laughs anymore his cheeks might just split in half.

But through his bangs he sees Khun looking, looking at him, and he instantly flushes. He reaches for another slice of pizza, just for his hands to have something to do, but he brushes against something cool and sees Khun retracting his own hand. Khun gestures for him to go ahead, eyes fixed on him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, then as an afterthought, “Thanks.”

Khun’s smile is absolutely blinding.

-

Baam hums happily, flicking through photos from the museum exhibit. They were nearly kicked out for being completely obnoxious, yes, but he got the absolute best photos and he knows Isu has more.

“We’re nearly there,” Rak says from where he’s finally wrangled shotgun. Sure enough, Isu turns into the gravel driveway of a small hotel.

Hatz is the first to tumble out of the car, stretching and nearly knocking Baam in the face. It’s been quite a ride from the museum to the hotel, including a boisterous karaoke session, and Baam can’t wait to check in and dump their stuff so they can grab dinner.

“Bad news, y’all,” Isu says, not even ten minutes later. “They have two rooms, but they’re all big beds instead of those individual ones. Hatz and I can take one - we shared beds during sleepovers - but two of y’all have to take a bed and someone has to take the cot.”

Rak, of course, lays claim on the cot instantly. “I kick in my sleep,” he points out, and everyone groans. He does.

Baam nods, but realises with a sinking feeling-

“That leaves Baam with Khun, then,” Isu says, satisfied. He shoots Baam a barely-veiled triumphant look as he hands him a key card and Baam can’t help but flush. This is a terrible, terrible idea, and Isu is a terrible, terrible friend.

He nearly groans in despair when they finally head to the rooms - even with the bed taking up most of the space, it looks barely big enough for two.

Khun clears his throat.

“I can take the floor,” Baam blurts. He doesn’t want to make Khun uncomfortable. With his luck, there’d be some sort of accident in the night and... he’d rather just take the floor and nap in the car tomorrow.

Khun glances sharply at him. “Don’t be silly, you’re going to ache all over tomorrow. We’ll just, you know, set boundaries.”

Baam thinks about the photo Isu once took of him starfishing all over his own bed and clinging to his pillow like a lifeline. Boundaries. “Um,” he says. “Um.”

“Fantastic.” Khun says, already dropping his duffel on one side of the bed.

Fantastic.

--

Khun eventually loses track of the number of times he meets Baam. It seems like he’s always there whenever Isu comes downstairs to go bother Hatz, or whenever Hatz pulls them all outside for dinner.

(Not that Khun minds, of course - Baam is... interesting. Khun refuses to explore why.)

He ends up seeing Baam outside of the dorm too, sometimes waving to each other across the street between classes. It’s not until Hatz pulls all their schedules together to find a time to go cake-shopping for Isu’s birthday that Khun realises they share a lunch time most days.

Baam volunteers to get the cake the day before Isu’s birthday, since Hatz has classes until late. Which doesn’t quite make sense to Khun, since they agreed on hiding the cake from Isu in Hatz’s and Khun’s room anyway, so he makes an executive decision to join him.

He leans against the wall, picking at his nails, until he hears shuffling from inside the classroom. A few minutes later, Baam emerges from his Phonology class,  scarf tucked messily around his neck.

He raises his hand in a half-wave, and waits for Baam to make his way over.

“Heard from Hatz you’re going to pick Isu’s cake out and thought I’d come with,” Khun says in lieu of greeting, and Baam beams at him.

“Great! We can put it in your fridge right after.”

“Exactly why I came,” Khun returns easily, but it seems like the wrong thing to say - the light in Baam’s eyes shutters a little, but before Khun can think about what he said, Baam’s hitched his backpack a little higher and takes the lead out of the linguistics building, waving goodbye at the security guard.

Huh.

He scrambles to catch up, long legs bringing him back up to speed with Baam easily. “I’m thinking chocolate?”

“Isu only ever eats chocolate cake,” Baam informs him, and flashes him a smile. “The only time I ever get to eat a full slice is when I get strawberry or some other fruit flavour.”

“Strawberry? Good taste,” Khun offers, and Baam’s beam returns.

If Khun waits by the exit of Baam’s phonology class the next week just to see that beam again, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

-

Time melts into months, and Khun and Baam’s weekly lunches melt into nearly daily lunches.

Sometimes Khun stops by the linguistics building to wait for Baam to end class; sometimes Baam finds himself waiting outside their agreed-upon dining hall before Khun shows up, waving goodbye to one friend or another.

Khun’s relatively popular, Baam thinks, until Khun corrects him one day with a, “No, it’s just that business majors have to network a lot. I expect we’ll either end up being employed by each other or buying up each other’s businesses ten years down the road.” He laughs at the mildly terrified look on Baam’s face.

Baam tells Khun about the calculus class he’s been forced to take for his math requirement, and Khun gripes about having to take a Physics class to fulfill his science requirements even though he’s a business major. Conversation flows easier than Baam expects, and the more he talks to Khun the smoother it flows.

He learns about how Khun is a business major because he’s expected to take over the family business. He learns about how Khun is interested in a Computer Science minor because he’s convinced the future of the world lies in tech, and Khun learns how Baam might be taking a Psychology minor because he just wants to learn more about the people around him.

Baam learns how Khun talks with his hands, long fingers swirling and jabbing as he maunders around his point. He learns how Khun’s laughs runs from derisive chuckles to laughter as bright as moonlight on icicles. He learns how Khun would rather carry around a hair tie than have to go to the barber’s every two months, and Khun learns, after an incident where his hair tie snaps and he can’t lean forward without getting hair in his soup, that Baam has taken to carrying a spare one around for him.

Baam learns how Khun takes his iced coffee with milk but no sugar, and Khun learns about how Baam’s favourite boba order is lychee green tea. Baam learns about the way Khun doesn’t really believe in dating for fun, not since he watched his sister run away from home with a boy and come back, badly bruised and begging to be loved again as though her family would have ever given up on her the same way that boy did. And Khun learns Baam is a hopeless romantic, and laughs at the way Baam flushes while admitting he believes in love at first sight.

They talk and talk, and as November melts away and Khun introduces Baam to someone as his best friend, Baam grins and feels as though he’s known Khun all his life.

(“It seems as though,” Isu remarks to Hatz one day, “instead of Khun-and-Hatz and Isu-and-Baam, we’ve become Isu-and-Hatz and Khun-and-Baam.”

Hatz throws a pen at his head. “We’ve always been Hatz-and-Isu, you fool. Ever since I saved you on the playground-“

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you swapped the order of our names, you bitch!“)

-

They’re settling in for the night, Hatz and Isu on the bed and Rak on the fold-out cot.

Rak is tapping away on his phone, setting his multitude of alarms for the next morning, but Hatz doesn’t bother. He’s sure Isu will shake him awake somehow.

He wrestles a good amount of blanket away from Isu’s octopus grasp, and gets ready to close his eyes when Isu suddenly says, “We really need an intervention.”

Hatz frowns. Did he take too much blanket?

“About Khun and Baam.”

Oh. Isu kicks all the covers off in his sleep anyway.

“Khun prides himself on how perceptive he is,” Isu is saying, “But it’s really stupid how he hasn’t cottoned on about Baam.”

Rak bursts out laughing. “We’ve has this conversation before, yes.”

“It’s so slow burn it feels like one of those frog-in-hot-water kind of stories, you know? One of them makes a move, but the other thinks it’s just bros being bros, one of them slips up but the other blames it on fucking Mercury in retrograde or whatever-“

Hatz snorts, “Pretty sure neither of them believe in astrology-“

“Point is, they practically orbit around each other and everyone, everyone, sees that but them. I mean, have you seen the way Baam picks food he doesn’t like off of his meals and Khun just straight up swipes it off of his plate, no questions? Who does that? Every time I swipe food from Rak he threatens to kill me-“

“It’s because you swipe the food I like, you stupid turtle-“

“Anyway, I pointed it out to Baam once and you know what he said? You know what he said?” Isu rubs his hand across his face. “He blinked and said he didn’t even notice! He doesn’t even remember when they started doing it! Khun does the exact same thing and you know how he hates people touching his food! I tried picking carrots off of Khun’s plate last month because I know he always sets his carrots aside and he fucking hit me so hard with his fork I bruised!”

Hatz hears the slight whine in Isu’s voice and finds himself suddenly unable to hold bubbles of laughter in. It’s ridiculous, it really is, four years of Khun being the absolute softest for Baam and Baam not noticing, and he hears Rak’s low rumble of laughter from Isu’s other side.

“The worst thing,” Isu says over their laughter, “is that you know Khun’s the type of person to not do anything if it might put his friendships in danger. Bet you he thinks Baam doesn’t like him like that.” That sobers them up pretty quickly.

“And you know what the absolute kicker is?” Isu’s voice is quieter now, as Hatz’s and Rak’s laughter die down. “Baam won’t do anything about it because - and I know this for a fact - the fool thinks the same.”

Rak groans and rolls over. “We really need to do something before everyone moves home, huh.”

“Damn right we do.”

(They don’t manage to figure out any sort of concrete plan before Rak drops asleep, but Hatz and Isu agree in the vaguest sort of way that Something Must Be Done, Even If We Don’t Know What.)

-

When their very first set of finals are over, Isu insists on dragging everyone out for drinks.

They find themselves in a small, dimly-lit pub a short walk away from their dorm, teeming with college students temporarily freed from the shackles and chains of higher education. It’s loud and it feels like there are too many people than there should be on a snowy weekday night, but Isu snags them a table and leaves them there to guard it while he goes to grab their first round.

Khun leans across the table, “How were your finals?”

“Glad they’re over,” Hatz says, unwinding his scarf. “I never want to see a physics formula again. How were yours?”

Khun shrugs. “Same about that physics requirement, I suppose. But we’re taking statistics together next semester, right?”

Baam looks up. “Which professor? I’m taking statistics too.” He’d like to take a class with friends, he thinks, and a small flame blooms in his chest at the thought. Friends.

Cheesy as it is, he’s glad he’s come out of his freshman semester with a group of friends to call his own.

“-Yoo, I think,” Hatz is saying, “The Monday and Wednesday morning one.”

“Neat,” Baam grins. “The three of us can study together then?”

“I leave to get drinks and you’re already plotting to take a class without me?” Isu plops a tray down on their table, sounding more amused than affronted.

“You’re the engineering major,” Hatz points out, but Isu waves him away.

“Enough school talk,” Isu says, and raises an eyebrow. “Let’s talk about more fun things.”

Isu’s idea of fun things, apparently, includes a list of get-to-know-you questions, and he grills each and every one of them as if he’s about to have a final on the details of his friends’ lives.

“-past relationships in three words, go.”

Hatz winces, “She… wanted… fencer?“ Isu groans at Hatz’s poor summary, then gestures for Baam.

“Um,” Baam says. “She… wanted better.” Not technically true, he thinks, but that’s as clean as he can get to describing Rachel without prying open a can of worms he had trouble closing in the first place.

Isu pats his hand in sympathy, “One of those, huh? One of my exes dumped me because he had his sights on something higher too. I’ll go for the other one then… his gay experiment.”

Hatz hisses at that, and drains the rest of his beer. “Deserved every last punch I gave him.”

Isu laughs, light and hollow and carefully wiped of emotion, and the sound, emptier than the thud of Hatz’s glass on the table, rings in Baam’s ears. He’s glad Hatz was there to dole out the hits all those years ago, because tipsy on three whole glasses of beers, he’s ready to go out and start a new fight himself.

Isu gestures for Khun’s turn, but Khun’s eyes are on Baam. His gaze has a sort of scrutinising air, as though he’s trying to figure something out, and Baam feels his scowl disappear and a tremble run under his skin.

“I don’t believe in dating,” Khun says, after a measure of silence, and Baam’s heart gives a soft thud from where it has sunk somewhere near the floor.

He isn’t sure why he’s disappointed; he’s known about it ever since Khun told him about his sister, of course, and he’s not even sure what he’s hoping for - they’re great friends and it’s already more than Baam could ask for. Khun is kind and smart and pays attention to the people around him and he has a sort of determined dedication that Baam has never quite figured out how to instil in himself. And even if Khun was up for dating, Baam thinks, he’d be too many leagues above Baam; just in the time they’ve been sat down, there have been countless looks thrown at their table, soft giggles about the boy with the messy blue ponytail and eyes like sapphires, quiet and not-so-quiet whispers daring each other to go up and talk to him.

None of them have, though. It’s just something about the way Khun’s eyes have never wandered from their table that has kept everyone away.

“-couldn’t press charges against him,” Khun is saying. The napkin between his fingers has been torn to shreds, and Baam wants nothing more than to be able to curl his hand around Khun’s in comfort without the tug in his heart begging for more.

He keeps his hands to himself.

“Well, I thought I was the most miserable story, but fuck,” Isu says, and stands up. “I’m going to get another round.”

He comes back with a tray full of soju bottles, and they end up drinking all the way through Isu’s list of silly questions.

They learn that Hatz would name his hypothetical bunny General McHoppers, and that Khun would rather fight a duck-sized horse than a horse-sized duck. Baam can’t remember if they decided on hot dogs being tacos or sandwiches on their way out of the pub, but somewhere along the way his gloves have been fumbled onto his hands and his beanie jammed onto his head.

Isu has his arm around Hatz, talking a mile a minute about how the flat earth theory could theoretically be true while Hatz is struggling to support his weight. Baam could laugh at the way Isu’s stumbling, but come to think of it, he isn’t so sure about the structural integrity of his own legs.

He feels an arm slide around his waist and a laugh, low and breathy in his ear. He shivers at the sound and the way it feels so achingly close he could just turn and- he decides to blame it on the wind chill.

“You’re a lightweight,” Khun accuses. There’s a ribbon of a laugh in his voice and Baam mutters out a stubborn, “I’m not,” that goes unheeded.

“So when are you coming back?” Khun asks, voice light and conversational. “We can probably do something together before winter break is over and the next semester starts.”

Baam squints at him, as though it will make Khun’s voice amplify through the cotton wool of his brain. “Mm not leaving for break,” he says carefully. “Staying here.”

Maybe taking phonology was a good idea, Baam thinks. Makes his enunciation clearer and all that. Maybe Khun will stop thinking he’s drunk and unhand him.

Khun just snorts, and if anything, his hold on Baam gets tighter. His voice is tinged with amusement as he leans closer, lips brushing Baam’s ear. “You are drunk,” Khun informs him, “and you’re saying all your thoughts out loud.”

Baam flushes and immediately clams up. That’s enough thinking and thoughts for tonight, he decides, and is rewarded with a silver peal of Khun’s laughter.

-

Khun tosses and turns.

There’s no reason why he can’t sleep - the curtains are drawn and Baam’s breathing is even and quiet. He can only imagine the storm coming from Rak just next door.

Khun groans quietly. This is the worst time for his insomnia to act up - they’re planning to go to an amusement park tomorrow and damn if he’s going to be tired through all the fun.

He gropes blindly about until he finds his phone. Isu and Baam sent photos from the museum earlier; he might as well use this time to go through them and save them.

He thumbs through them quickly. Most of them are shots of Rak staring open-mouthed at the exhibits, but there are some silly shots of them looking absolutely ridiculous.

There’s a mirror shot with all of them crouching in front of four huge turtle shells, with Rak standing in the middle, cackling his head off about them finally being “turtles”. Isu’s holding the phone and yelling at them to stop squirming and to please align themselves so they all show up at the correct angle in the mirror or god so help me, my arms are gonna fucking fall off. The photo is slightly blurry with his efforts and Khun can almost hear Hatz’s helpless giggles ringing through the photo.

His thumb stills.

Picture-Baam’s arm is half-raised, fingers coming up to brush away his bangs, and picture-Khun’s arm is slung over his shoulders. PIcture-Baam’s eyes are crinkled up, mid-laugh, smile bright and golden as sunflowers and not quite as radiant as Khun knows it is in real life, but radiant all the same.

And picture-Khun is looking at him, smile soft and head slightly bowed, eyes brimming an emotion Khun does not yet know how to describe.

His thumb swipes to save the photo before he realises it, and there is a flash of an idea about setting it as his wallpaper before he is distracted by a sleepy snuffle. By the light of his phone he sees Baam spread out on his side of the bed, face-down on his pillow.

Khun frowns. There’s no way that’s good for respiration.

He reaches over and gently tugs on the pillow, enough so that Baam has to shifts his head to accommodate for the change but not enough that it wakes him up. He waits until Baam resettles, head tilted and eyelashes brushing his cheek. His mouth is slightly open, lips soft and parted, and Khun is dimly aware of the urge to brush Baam’s hair away from where it is falling across his face.

Beautiful.

The word springs, unbidden, to his mind and he freezes.

Baam. Baam, with the biggest heart of anyone he knows. Baam, with his thoughtful smile and easy laugh and the quiet way in which he lights up the room.

Baam, with the way he finishes Khun’s sentences and laughs at all of Khun’s stupid puns, with the way he understands Khun without either of them having to exchange a word, with the way his loyalty to his friends is fierce and burns with the heat of a thousand suns. Baam, with the way he fits, just right, into Khun’s side, like two hands made to hold.

Baam, with all his kindness and his constancy and his optimism and all of his warmth.

Baam, his best friend.

Khun breathes out shakily, puts his phone down, knots his fingers together, and wills himself to go to sleep.

--

Baam yanks his chair out from his desk. He’s sopping wet and his bangs keep dripping in his eyes and his goddamn bag is soaked and he feels that awful discomfort of clothes sticking to his skin and really, all he wants to do is take a warm shower and curl into his bed and forget this day ever happened.

“Your mood,” Isu remarks from his bed, “seems to be absolutely foul.”

“You think?” Baam snarls.

Isu blinks, then shuts his laptop. “Wanna talk about it?”

Got caught in the rain, he wants to say. Got called out in class to answer a question about the reading I didn’t do. Got leered at by some creep on the street. But everything is stuck on the top of his tongue, dwarfed by a bigger truth threatening to slip out.

Got stood up for lunch by Khun again.

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen,” Isu says, voice soft and gaze even softer.

Just like that, Baam feels the angry knot in his chest loosen, gently unwound by the unquestioning kindness in Isu’s voice. He lets his backpack tumble to his chair, then sinks, wet clothes and all, onto the floor.

He opens his mouth, intending to apologise for snapping at Isu, but all that slips out is a sob.

Immediately Isu is on his knees, hugging him tight and cradling Baam’s head. Baam tries to bat him off, tries to say through a nose full of snot, I’m getting your clothes drenched with rainwater, but Isu just swipes Baam’s bangs away from his forehead and hugs him again.

“Go take a warm shower,” Isu says, “I’ll make tea, and you can tell me what happened.”

Baam nods, and Isu herds him off the floor and into their bathroom.

He tries to get his shit together in the shower, and emerges ten minutes later, red-eyed and sniffly-nosed, to Isu’s promised cup of tea. It takes five minutes for him to gloss through the shit-show that was class, then another five for him to meander around the topic of Khun.

Isu leans back, finally. “You were meant to meet Khun for lunch, but he stood you up and you’re upset because it’s the second time this week he’s done it without warning.”

“I mean... yes, but now that you put it like that, it sounds like such a stupid reason to be upset, I sound so stupidly clingy-“ Baam falters.

“Do you know why he didn’t show up?”

Baam looks down at the chip in his mug. It fits the shape of his fingernail exactly, almost as if he could have, at one point, dug his fingernails in so deep he chipped the mug himself.

“Yeah,” Baam says at last, “He was meeting his partner for their marketing project.”

“The marketing genius? The one he’s been nattering on about for the past two weeks?”

Baam swallows the bitter taste in his mouth that really has no reason to be there. There’s an uncomfortable knot in his throat, and he sighs. “The first time, I waited twenty minutes before I called and he picked up and apologised for losing track of time because he was talking to her. Which is fine, you know, we all do it.”

“And this time?”

“Called a couple times but he didn’t even pick up the phone. And it was raining, so I thought he might have been trying to wait out the rain and lost battery or something, or maybe something important popped up, so I ran through the rain to the business building to look for him, but he was just standing in the lobby of the building talking to his project partner and laughing with her and-“ Suddenly there’s a lump in his throat that he can’t speak around, and he falls silent.

It’s so stupid, he thinks. He’s acting like a spoilt child, crying because he doesn’t have someone’s undivided attention. It’s so, so stupid that he thought he had a monopoly on Khun’s time, that he thought he was so important that-

“It sounds,” Isu says carefully, “like you’re upset that he didn’t respect your time, and that he temporarily held time with his project partner in higher regard than time with you. Combined with the rest of your day, it’s understandable that it’d be a last straw.” He’s squinting at Baam, as though he doesn’t expect to be right, as though he expects there to be something more but can’t quite put his finger on what it is.

Baam nods at him anyway, but there’s an unsavoury, wiggling feeling at the bottom of his stomach that laughs at that.

If it wasn’t Khun, you wouldn’t have minded as much, it taunts him. If it was Hatz, you’d have just brushed it off as his scatterbrain and just waited out the rain. But it was something about seeing Khun with that girl that made you so upset you had to run home in the rain, wasn’t it? I think you’re-

“You’re jealous,” Isu says, slight incredulity colouring his tone as he arrives as the same conclusion. He rocks back in his chair slightly, and repeats, “My god, you’re jealous.”

Baam chokes. He briefly considers denying Isu’s scarily accurate mind-reading, but his head is so, so heavy, and there’s a tiny bloom of relief now that the nasty knot in his throat has finally been given a name.

He lets his head hit the table, and his question comes out more like a smothered whine. “How do I make it stop?”

He feels Isu’s fingers tap along the table as he works out the answer to Baam’s question.

“You’re acting like you’ve just got your heart broken,” Isu says, after a while. “I think that should tell you something.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Baam says, protest dulled and muffled. “I’m not.”

Isu remains silent.

“I’m not,” Baam insists. “He’s my best friend.”

He waits for the familiar bloom of pride he gets whenever Khun introduces him to someone as his best friend, but the words ‘best friend’ no longer taste like they used to.

“He’s my best friend,” he says again. As the words leave his mouth, Baam no longer quite knows who it is that he’s insisting to.

(Khun knocks on his door that night to apologise. Baam takes a deep breath and they both ignore his red eyes and pretend nothing ever happened.)

-

Baam shifts. It’s warm under the blanket and really, if someone could turn that fucking alarm off and let him sleep a couple more minutes, it’d be great.

There’s a slight shift behind him, and a small whine comes from the crook of his neck.

Baam freezes, suddenly more awake. There’s a heavy, warm sort of weight around his waist and a cool press against his calves. He doesn’t dare open his eyes to see what they might be.

This can’t be happening, he tells himself, then nearly laughs aloud. Of course it’s a dream, Baam thinks. His unconscious must have lifted something out of all the things he’s never allowed himself to consider, much less daydream about, and stuffed them all into a dream-

Lips brush the back of his neck and Baam’s mind stops working.

He’s sure his heart is thumping loud enough to wake Khun up, but Khun just mumbles against his neck again, whispers of a breath making Baam’s hair stand on end. “The alarm-“

He feels Khun still. Stars burn and burst and civilisations rise and fall in the spaces between Baam’s heartbeats. He can almost hear the cogs in Khun’s brain turning, and he’s so busy trying to keep his heart still and his breathing even that he thinks he imagines the barest press of lips on the back of his neck before Khun pulls away.

He nearly whimpers at the loss of contact, but Khun has already shut off the infernal alarm and is shaking him awake, hand warm against his shoulder.

Khun’s voice is rough with sleep and something else as he tells Baam to get up and get dressed for breakfast. Baam tries not to think about it.

-

Isu is convinced Baam just needs to go out more and meet people that don’t live with him and are not Khun.

Baam disagrees.

He doesn’t understand why Isu is squeezed onto his bed next to him, flicking through Tinder and showing him faces that frankly, look nothing close to Khun’s. “I’m not interested in dating anyone,” Baam mutters for the fourth time.

“You’re not interested in dating anyone that isn’t Khun,” Isu corrects. He swipes left a couple times, then frowns. “How about this one?”

Baam groans, and shoves him lightly. “Get off my bed, Isu, your bed is literally three feet away.”

“You can’t see faces on this screen from three feet away-“

“I don’t want to-“

“Listen, Baam, you want to get over Khun? Go on some dates. Seven billion people on this earth and you think that blue shrimp is The One?”

“I don’t think he’s anything, he’s just my best friend-“ Baam falters under Isu’s withering look. He has to admit that even to himself, his repeated denials have sounded particularly pathetic as of late.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Isu says finally, setting his phone down. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, and frankly? It reminds me of the way I used to look at Hatz.”

Baam’s eyes widen. “Hatz?! But-“

Isu waves him away. “Briefly thought I fancied him way back in ninth grade. Had a whole dramatic little crisis about pining after my straight best friend too, it was a nightmare for my mum.”

“And then what happened?” Baam’s voice is smaller than he intends.

Isu snorts, tipping his head back and letting it hit the wall, “Then I went on a date with someone else and realised that I was an absolute fool and Hatz wasn’t all that great, that’s what happened. My mum’s theory is that since there wasn’t anyone else in the picture, my brain went for the only one who would show me affection. Which was really stupid, because something in me already knew that even if Hatz and I were soulmates, we’re in no way relationship material, you know? It just took me a little nudge to better figure out what I wanted in a relationship and realise that Hatz wasn’t it.” He chances a look at Baam, and exhales a shaky laugh, looking back up at the ceiling. “Don’t tell him, though, don’t want to get his ego to get more inflated than it already is.”

Baam looks up at him. He sees how Isu’s biting his lip and avoiding his gaze, and he sees how Isu’s sharing a part of himself that he’s never told anyone, how Isu’s just really and sincerely trying to help. “I’d never.”

And so he agrees. He agrees to let Isu set him up on dates and he agrees to sit down and figure out what it is he wants. Because it can’t be -  and it shouldn’t be - Khun. It can’t be Khun and his smart quips and his messy bangs and the way he smiles at Baam like Baam’s the only thing in his world and the way that makes Baam’s heart skip a beat every time.

(Khun catches him, one day, stumbling out the dorm, running late to a date with some girl named Endorsi? Androssi? “Where you headed? Wanna get dinner?”

“Maybe later,” Baam mumbles, distracted and looking at everywhere else but Khun, “I’m late to a… to a date.”

Then he slips away, like sand between Khun’s fingers, and Khun tells himself for the rest of the day that the hollow feeling in his chest is because his professor only gave him an A- on that marketing project that he and Yuri slaved away over.)

-

“If I have to go on another rollercoaster, I’m going to throw up,” Isu warns the group. He’s bent over heaving, hands on his knees, and his glare just makes Hatz laugh even harder.

Khun chuckles and takes pity on him. “You all go on ahead, I’ll take this one and get us snacks. We’ll meet you at the exit of the next coaster.”

It takes all of two seconds for Hatz and Rak to cheer and haul Baam off to the next one.

“You didn’t want to get on another one too, huh?” Isu whispers conspiratorially, bumping his shoulder against Khun’s.

Khun snorts, “I can handle a couple more-“

“Liar!” Isu sings, and winds his arm around Khun’s shoulders. Khun bats him off, laughing, and they head over to the nearest concession stand.

Isu orders them hotdogs, but the churros in the display case catches Khun’s eye. A vague memory of Baam mentioning churros flashes in Khun’s mind and he makes a quick decision.

“And a churro,” Khun tacks on, then fishes out his wallet.

Isu eyes him. “Hungry?”

Khun shakes his head. “Baam likes churros, he hasn’t had them in a while.”

Isu just looks at him strangely, then turns to collect their orders from the operator.

Khun frowns. Should he have gotten all of them churros? Hatz doesn’t like sugary things, though-

As they walk back, foil-wrapped hotdogs and churro in hand, he hears Isu whistle quietly. He bumps his hip against Khun’s, and nods over to their right. “Look at that guy.”

Khun glances up, trying to keep the mini hotdog-churro mountain in his hand from toppling. The guy in question has short silver hair barely covered by a backwards cap and eyes red as a snake’s. The flimsy white tank top he has on leaves little to the imagination, and from the way he looks positively sculpted, Khun can see why Isu singled him out.

“Right Baam’s type, isn’t he?” Isu says, and Khun nearly drops the churro.

“Baam-“ he splutters, trying to salvage the churro from where it’s clamped in the turn of his wrist. “Baam’s type?”

“Yeah. You think he’s Baam’s type?”

“I don’t know, he’s only ever dated girls-“

“You’re his best friend and you never once asked? Also, he’s only had one girlfriend, but I set him up with all genders-“

“You set him up?!”

“For the whole of freshman spring, you fool, did you never catch on?”

“He’s never mentioned it-“

“That’s because he wasn’t interested in any of them, and I tried my best, mind you-“

“And that’s Baam’s type?” Khun twists slightly to look back at the man.

Isu bites his lip, grinning, and Khun has a strange feeling Isu’s just making it up in his head.

“He isn’t, is he?” Khun says, and ignores the way his heart lifts slightly.

“You’ll just have to ask,” Isu sings, and Khun groans.

Before he can think too much about why he even wants to find out in the first place, they see a brown blur barrelling towards them, and Khun has to take a step back to avoid being ran over by Rak.

Hatz and Baam are slower to head towards them, still talking about the animatronics in their last ride. Isu hands Hatz his hotdog, and Khun is about to tell Baam that hey, the concession stand was selling churros and I remember you mentioned a while ago-

“The animatronics were really cool, Khun, you should have seen it. You would have liked them.” Baam’s eyes are shining, soft muted gold, and Khun finds himself smiling softly back.

“I’ll go with you next time,” Khun promises, and is rewarded with Baam’s breathless beam.

(“Gross,” Hatz mutters, mouth full of mustard. Isu isn’t sure if he’s talking about the way Khun and Baam can’t stop looking at each other or if it’s the obscene amount of mustard he slathered onto Hatz’s hotdog as a joke.)

-

As it turns out, Baam gets along with all the people Isu sets him up with like a house on fire.

Not in the way Isu expects, of course. Baam finds out that Wangnan was forced to do it by his friends too, and they spend an hour commiserating over meddling friends with good intentions before realising they share their sociolinguistics class and move on to commiserating over that too. Ehwa is slightly clumsy with her words, but is completely endearing, and when she admits to Baam that she’s not really looking for a relationship because she’s still hung up over an ex, Baam finds himself equal parts relieved and sympathetic. Urek confesses that his main motive for downloading the app is to convince people to join his school’s flailing LGBTQ club, but it backfires when they realise they attend different colleges. Baam laughs and agrees to attend some of Urek’s club events anyway.

He ends up great friends with all of them, and with the flow and ebb of the semester, ends up spending less time in his dorm than usual.

“Getting popular, huh,” Khun says one day, as Baam taps out a reply to Ehwa that absolutely yes, he‘d love to hear about the new boy she’s been seeing. Baam hums distractedly in response, and sets his phone down when Khun sighs.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time out of the dorm,” Khun tries again.

Baam blinks. “Some of my friends living in different residence halls.”

“You’ve been spending less time with us,” Khun clarifies. Baam wishes he could see Khun’s eyes to figure out what he’s thinking, but Khun’s frowning down at his nails.

“You jealous?” The words slip out of his mouth before he can help it, and he nearly laughs at their irony.

Khun glances sharply at him, full force of a blue stare wiping away Baam’s smile. He’s looking straight at Baam with a seriousness that they’ve never shared in their nearly-two semesters of friendship, and there follows a moment of silence so loud that it echoes in Baam’s ears and with each beat of his heart Baam knows that Isu is wrong, Isu is wrong, Isu is wrong and that there will never be anyone for him but Khun.

Suddenly Khun blinks and he’s pouting, lower lip jutting out in petulance. “So what if I am?”

(When Hatz walks in, he says Baam laughed so loudly he could hear him all the way from the lift.)

-

Rak eyes Baam’s hotdog. He’s long since finished his, but Baam’s been stuck, starry-eyed, on the churro Khun bought for him, and Rak grumbles to himself that if Baam doesn’t get started on that hotdog soon he’ll rip it out of Baam’s hands and inhale it himself.

“Baam? Is that you?”

An unfamiliar man is standing behind them, head cocked to the side and unzipped hoodie barely clinging onto his biceps. Rak winces as Isu grabs his shoulder and whispers, “It’s him!”

Before Rak can ask Isu what he’s talking about, Baam has burst into a smile - “Urek!”

“Baam, baby, I knew it was you!”

Rak blinks. Baby?

He wants to ask Isu about this strange man with silver hair, but everyone’s mouth hangs open as Urek envelopes Baam in a bone-crushing hug and lifts him off the ground.

“Thought I wasn’t going to see you again, not with my club leaving for our trip two days before your finals ended, but I’m so glad to see you, babe-“

Isu issues a faint squeak as Urek plants a loud smack on Baam’s forehead, and clutches Rak’s shoulder even tighter.

Rak turns to Isu. “Explain,” he demands, under his breath.

“I thought he looked familiar when I saw him just now, fuck- I set up him with Baam ages ago, back in freshman spring, I thought nothing came of it since Baam talks about him like he’s just a friend but-“

“But babe?” Rak hisses. Khun isn’t going to like this, he thinks. He’s going to go into one of his infamous sulks and Baam’s going to be the only one who can pull him out of it, and good fucking luck to whoever gets the job of explaining to Baam why Khun was sulking in the first place.

“So you gonna introduce me to your friends, Baam?” The man says, slinging his arm around Baam and smiling genially at everyone. Baam’s smile is so wide it nearly cracks his face in half, and Rak wonders faintly how Khun is faring.

“Everyone, this is Urek, he goes to the college uptown. Urek, these are my best friends Hatz, Isu, Rak and... where’s Khun?”

Rak pauses as everyone turns to look around. He swears Khun was right beside Hatz half a second ago, but there’s absolutely no trace of him now. Half of Rak is relieved that he’s not on the other end of one of Khun’s patented glares, but the other half of him knows Khun well enough that he can smell the Brood building just right round the corner.

He sighs, and gently disentangles Isu’s arm from his. “He mentioned something about needing to run to the washroom, I’ll go see if he’s there.”

Rak waves a friendly goodbye at Urek, and as he walks away to search for a flash of blue hair, he hears a sly, “Oh, Khun? Your Khun?” and Baam’s flustered spluttering.

Ah.

He spots a messy blue flash a little ways down from them, and hurries over before Khun can see him.

“So,” Rak says by way of greeting. He clamps a hand on Khun’s shoulder as Khun turns, blue eyes flashing in surprise, “Our mighty Khun has run away.”

“I’m not running from anything,” Khun mutters, turning away again, “I just... saw this really interesting... thing and came over to look at it.”

“Terribly fascinating, these... uh,” Rak follows Khu’s gaze, “these trash cans.”

“They... they might talk.”

“Talking trash cans.” Rak is unimpressed, and he makes sure to let it into his tone.

He crosses his arms and lets Khun avoid his gaze for a few more seconds. Khun’ll start talking soon, Rak knows - he hates awkwardness, especially when they’re centred around him.

“He’s… he does seem close to Baam, isn’t he?” Khun says, eventually. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off the trash cans, and Rak briefly considers tossing Khun into one.

“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re his best best friend.”

There’s a flash of a wince before Khun’s cool mask is back. “He hasn’t told me anything about that guy.”

Rak waits.

“He’d… he’d tell me if they were dating, wouldn’t he?” Khun’s eyebrows are furrowed. “Why hasn’t he said anything about being someone’s… someone’s babe?”

Khun spits out the last word with so much disgust that Rak nearly laughs. “You’re an idiot,” Rak chooses to say instead.

He waits for Khun to look up before continuing, “You’re an idiot and lest you forget, you're his best friend-“

“Just his best friend-“

“-and what that means is that if he hasn’t told you anything about this guy giving him pet names, it probably isn’t significant enough to him and he hasn’t feel the need to mention it. To you or to any of us. Whoever Urek is, he doesn’t mean anything to Baam other than a friend, and you, of all people, shouldn’t worry that Baam is keeping anything from us. He’s your best friend, Khun. Trust him.”

Khun lowers his head, worrying a fingernail between his teeth. They remain silent for a moment, until Rak finally processes what Khun has said.

“Just his best friend?” Rak tries not to smile too widely. “You looking to be something more, then?”

Khun freezes slightly, then lets out a laugh that is far too cheery. “Course not.”

Rak isn’t as smart or perceptive as Isu is, he knows, but he likes to think that after more than two years of friendship, he can read Khun pretty well too. He kicks lightly at the trash cans, and offers quietly, “I know his friendship is valuable to you - I know all of our friendships are - but I don’t know if you see the way Baam looks at you sometimes. There’s… there’s something different there. There’s something there that Hatz doesn’t have with Isu. And I know you’re afraid of losing him, and you’re afraid taking the chance that one day he might leave you behind but… for what my opinion is worth, I think Baam might be a chance worth taking.”

He watches Khun take one breath, two, three. Khun’s hands are balled up into fists and Rak can see the cogs turning as Khun processes and reprocesses what Rak is presenting to him.

When Khun speaks, his voice is small. “The way Baam looks at me?”

“You’ve been walking around him with your eyes closed, haven’t you - he looks at you the same way you look at him.”

Khun’s mouth opens, as if in denial, and Rak huffs. “He looks at you like if you were to hypothetically be more than best friends with him… he looks at you as if he might like that.”

Khun shuts his mouth. He stays lost in thought for a while, and Rak feels an itch on the back of his neck like someone is watching him. He suddenly remembers the way they have left Baam and Hatz and Isu standing, waiting for them, and curses. “Come on, they’re looking for you. Should I tell them you were jealous that someone called Baam baby or should I tell them you were entranced by talking trash cans?”

Khun flushes and turns to walk away from said trash cans, tossing Rak two fingers.

Rak just cackles.

--

The first snow of sophomore year falls on a Tuesday.

Baam wakes up to a flurry of white outside his window, and as he trudges through the ankle-high slush and the snowflakes that threaten to glue his eyelashes together, he realises he forgot to bring gloves.

Ah, well. He’ll just suffer, then.

His phone buzzes with non-stop texts from Hatz and Isu all throughout his second lecture of the day, and he fumbles to set it on Do Not Disturb when his TA starts glancing over at him.

Best Roommate Ever: snowing!!!! Fencing Champion: snowball fight in the park, 2pm Best Roommate Ever: bring it on bro I’m not scared of you Fencing Champion: yeah, not scared of me keeping my winning streak alive  Alligator Overlord: get ready to get SMUSHED, cowards, the Great Rak is coming Khun: good lord, y’all couldn’t wait until classes were over?

Baam bites back a grin, heart oddly warm, and he finds himself unable to sit still for the remainder of the lecture. He ends up counting down the minutes to the end of class, and as soon as it hits 1.45pm he tosses his notes into his bag and his scarf around his neck.

He is the first one out of the building, and nearly blows by the person leaning by the entrance. The person reaches forward and tugs on his backpack, and Baam turns around, startled, only to come face to face with Khun.

“Woah there,” Khun laughs, arms reaching out to steady him. “In a rush?”

Baam grins in response. “Left my gloves at the dorm, thought I’d go grab them before meeting everyone for the snowball fight. Wanna come with?”

Khun raises an eyebrow, and produces Baam’s gloves from his own pocket and holds them up to Baam.

“Absolute hero,” Baam beams, and he tries to tamp down the wonderful sort of warmth curling out from his heart all the way down to his toes. “How’d you know?”

Khun shrugs. “You always forget your gloves. Thought I’d just let myself in and check if you did.”

He hands Baam his gloves, and wait for him to put them on before they begin the cold and slippery trek to the park.

Isu and Hatz are already there, wrapped in beanies and scarves and long winter coats.

“Get ready to get wrecked, losers!” Isu calls out, waving to them.

“Where’s Rak?”

“Rak’s here,” comes Rak’s voice, somewhere near Baam’s feet. He’s lying on his back, limbs spread out and tongue sticking out. “Mm trying to catch snowflakes.”

Baam just laughs, and helps him up. There are already multiple groups spread across the grass, flinging snowballs at each other with peals of laughter carrying in the wind.

“We’re thinking a three versus two game,” Isu offers, now that Rak is back on his feet. “How do we want to split?”

They decide on rock, paper, scissors, and by some feat of magic (“Manipulation,” Hatz insists), Khun emerges on top.

“You get first pick,” Hatz tells him, “but the other side gets the third person.”

Khun twists to look at Baam. “How’s your aim?”

“Terrible,” Baam answers honestly, and Khun grins with far too much delight.

“Great. I want Baam.”

“No cheating,” Hatz warns. “Just the both of you.”

Khun bumps his shoulder against Baam’s and grins at him, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Always been us, hasn’t it?”

And when Baam laughs, full and delighted, Khun swings, hidden snowball hitting Hatz right between the eyes.

(Baam dreams about us sometimes. He dreams of an us, a universe in which Khun is ice and he is fire, and they burn together in an endless firework instead of melting into a tepid puddle.

He dreams of a Khun that hurtles through space and time, and of a Baam that will rip rifts into the fabric of the universe if it means he can follow wherever Khun goes.

He dreams of a Baam that spins illusions out of thin air in a circus for those without a home, and a Khun that tells the future and flips cards and is the flip side of his card, the way people are in the best sort of love stories.

He dreams of a Khun that wraps his hand around Baam’s and tips their foreheads together in soft moonlight, and of a Baam that is brave enough to rest his head against Khun’s heart, finally brave enough to dance with him to the quiet song that is three o’clock.

He dreams of a Baam that charges into battle, cloaked in red, sword drawn and burning with the rage of a thousand souls, and of a Khun that grits his teeth and charges in right behind him.

He tells Isu about the latest of his strange dreams one day, and Isu just laughs.

“Of course he would,” Isu says, picking up his book again. “Khun looks at you as if he’d follow you around anywhere.”)

-

“Come on, eat faster, we’re gonna miss good spots for the fireworks!”

“What good spots?” Khun snorts. “In case you forget, fireworks are in the sky. Anywhere’s a good spot.”

Rak levels Khun a glare, and brandishes a fry in his face. “Not if the only place left is under an awning and all our views are blocked. Remember junior year?”

Everyone groans at the memory and starts eating slightly faster - they waited for the fireworks to signal the end of the pride parade, but when the fireworks started and they finally clambered outside of the coffee shop they were waiting in, all they could see was the red underbelly of an awning that desperately needed a clean.

“So,” Baam says, “Urek asks if we want to meet his club for lunch tomorrow.”

There is instant reaction around the table - Rak drops a fry on the ground and squawks, and Isu chokes on his soda. Hatz has to thump him hard on the back before Isu inhales, red-faced. He flashes a grin at Baam, “Why don’t you ask Khun?”

Khun looks up from where he is staring daggers at the table, and frowns. Why me? He wants to ask, but Baam has already turned to him, eyes hopeful and fingers poised over his keyboard.

He swallows hard. As much as he doesn’t like Urek (Which doesn’t make sense, by the way, a small voice in his head tells him primly. Urek’s been nothing but friendly to you.) he doesn’t want to be the one to deny Baam anything. “If you want to, sure.”

Hatz huffs in annoyance, and Khun shoots him a look. What’s with all his friends today, he wants to demand. First with Isu joking about Baam’s type, then Rak being uncharacteristically insightful about things Khun doesn’t want to think about, and now Hatz? But he sees an opening to get answers, and he goes in for the kill.

He turns to Baam, and slaps on a smirk. “So he’s your type, huh?”

Baam’s mouth hangs open, a faint blush painting his cheeks. “He’s- what- he-” Baam flaps his hands in Khun’s direction. “What made you think that?”

Khun affects a casual shrug. “Looked like you were pretty pleased to see him.”

“He’s a friend from uptown,” Baam says. “Nothing like my type.”

“And what would that be?” Khun says, then makes the mistake of looking into Baam’s eyes. Like honey, he thinks, dazed, the kind that is sweet and sticky and impossible to ever escape once you’ve fallen in.

He nearly misses Baam’s nonchalant answer, delivered as if he’d rehearsed in his mind a thousand times before. “You know, kind, smart, resourceful. Takes the time to get to know me. Same sense of humour. Always knows what to say. Remembers the small details about me, stuff like that.”

There’s a snort from the other end of the table that sounds suspiciously like sounds a lot like Khun, but the tips of Baam’s ears are red as he breaks eye contact with Khun and he’s pouting so fiercely at Isu that Khun’s mind nearly goes blank at how… how cute it is.

But Rak is growling at them about how if they don’t finish eating in five minutes he’s going to head out to see the fireworks without them, and so Khun’s mind shuts up pretty quickly.

(They manage to find a good spot, of course. Not many awnings in amusement parks.)

The first firework to go up is red, and the crowd oohs and aahs as their video cameras capture the peony bursting into a thousand tiny stars. The next one is a yellow brocade, and as the golden stars fade away, Khun can’t help but think that it doesn’t quite match the golden of Baam’s eyes.

Baam.

He turns to his side, shoulder brushing Baam’s, and is stunned to see Baam already looking at him.

Baam blinks rapidly at having been caught, and Khun can see a small flush making its way up his face in the dim light. Khun’s eyes unconsciously trail down, a small part of his mind wondering, wandering-

Khun finds himself leaning in, and his eyes dart back up to Baam’s, suddenly closer than they’ve ever been. They are full of… hesitance, Khun thinks. Hesitance and a quiet sort of yearning and something that resembles hopefulness that makes Khun’s heart flip in a peculiar sort of way.

He opens his mouth, but under the bursts of the fireworks and the thunder of his own heartbeat, he finds that for the first time in his life he cannot think of anything to say to his best friend.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like this, encased in all the things Khun doesn’t know how to put into words, a frozen bubble of their own, but all too soon the lights are flickering back on in the park and everyone is cheering for the fireworks display. There is a resigned sort of smile on Baam’s face as he raises his hands to join the applause, and Khun notices too late that Baam never pulled away.

“They were beautiful, weren’t they, Khun!” Hatz is saying, and Khun snaps away, shoulders jolting away from Baam’s and mouth fumbling through a yes, of course, of course.

-

When Khun is five, his sister tells him about her first boyfriend. What kind of person do you want to date in ten years, Khun? Khun thinks about it, and tells her, with all the gravity a five-year-old can muster, someone who eats all my carrots so I don’t have to. His sister bursts out laughing, then hauls him onto her lap. My boyfriend is tall and smart and handsome, she says, tickling his sides. Will you be tall and smart and handsome too? But he’s wriggling around too much to answer, answering shrieks of laughter echoing down the hallway.

When Khun is eight, he comes back from school with a backpack full of chocolates on Valentine’s Day, and when his mother laughs and asks him who he got them all from, he shrugs. Here and there, he tells her, and he hands her the stack of letters he gets along with them for her perusal. You didn’t open any of them, she says, but he has already wandered off. He ends up stuffing some chocolate into his sister’s jacket pocket, and when she disappears that night he wonders if she ever finds them.

When Khun is ten, his sister comes back home, bruised and empty. She sometimes forgets the motions she needs to go through to love herself again, Khun’s mother tells him, so he needs to love her extra until she remembers. He hears - he can still hear - the quiet, trembling way she tries to rebuild herself and when he climbs into her bed to hug her and pepper her forehead with kisses the same way their mum does, he tells her it’s okay to cry, and he tells himself that he will never let someone consume him the way that monster has consumed her, because even at the age of ten Khun has come to learn that sometimes the wounds that hurt the most are the ones that don’t show scars.

When Khun is fourteen, Novick gets a crush for the first time. He tells Khun all about her after school one day, and Khun nods politely in all the right places while trying to solve a rubix cube. How do you know? Khun asks, hands fiddling with his cube. How do you know you like her? Novick flops over onto his bed and sighs. Can’t get her out of my mind, Novick says. I can’t stop wanting to make her smile.

When Khun is seventeen, Dan applies to the same college his partner does. You’ll regret it, Khun and Novick tell him. Think about what college is best for your education, not who’s going to go there, but Dan just laughs. It’s a reach school anyway, he says. He might not make it in. But he’s test-savvy, and he does, and when it comes down to the decision between Khun’s school and theirs, Dan chooses them. Don’t sacrifice your future for someone you might not even remember down the road, it doesn’t make sense, Novick tells him, and tosses a pen at his head. Love isn’t supposed to make sense anyway, Dan grins, and that’s that.

When Khun is eighteen, he comes back to Dan and Novick for the summer with one name on his tongue. He tells them all about Baam and the way Baam’s eyes sparkle when he’s excited and the way he hates pickles and the way he laughs at all the bad jokes everyone else groans at. He talks about Baam until Novick swipes him on the head and laughs. You talk about him so much it’s insane. You in love, bro? And Khun remembers the flames that burned his sister, the way love ate and ate and ate away at her until she had to build herself again, and he bites his tongue and shakes his head, insistent. I’m not.

When Khun is twenty two, alone in a hotel room crowded with his own thoughts at two am while his best friend lingers outside, he calls Dan and Novick. They hear the worry of fingernail between his teeth, and they ask him what’s wrong, Khun, what’s wrong, and joke about how they’ll help him hide the body. He takes a deep breath, and whispers, I think I’m in love with him.

And just like that, the dam breaks.

He tells them about the way he cannot stop thinking about Baam - the way he has never stopped thinking about Baam since the day they met - and the way he’d do anything to make Baam smile. He tells them about the way Baam’s eyes shine a soft, subdued gold when he’s thoughtful and a fierce, flashing gold when he gets worked up, and the way Khun has tried his best but has never quite figured out if it’s the gold of dusk or dawn. He tells them about the way something inside him aches when Baam looks away, the way Khun’s hands itch to hold his every time they touch.

He tells them about the way Baam eats his carrots (Novick laughs) and the way Baam has a stupid sweet tooth that can only be satisfied with copious amounts of chocolate and the way he walked forty blocks once just to find the sort of chocolate Baam likes because he knew that Baam’s beam at the end of it would be worth it. He tells them about the way Baam looked, under the dim light of the fireworks, the way Baam looked at him, hopeful and yearning and sad all at once, and the way Khun wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment. He tells them about what Rak said, about the way Baam looks at him, and the way he looks at Baam and how the past few years suddenly clicked and made sense.

He tells them about the way he’s discovered that Baam has dismantled him, piece by piece, and has diffused through him so thoroughly that everywhere he looks, it just echoes Baam, Baam, Baam, and as a tear rolls down his cheek he tells them about the way it doesn’t make sense, because he’s told himself that nobody is supposed to cut through him like this.

Love isn’t supposed to make sense, Dan says. Now go, go and tell him.

-

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Baam looks up. He watches as Khun emerges from the shadows, hair almost pearlescent in the sharp moonlight. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he looks almost nervous waiting for Baam to allow him to sit.

Baam shifts, and he settles down next to where Baam is sitting on the curb, hugging his legs and chin on his knees. The curb is narrow, and Khun is nearly totally pressed up against Baam by the time he’s fully sat down, adopting the same pose Baam is.

Baam swallows. He feels the warmth of Khun’s leg through his own jeans, and the dangerous brush of Khun’s hand on his.

“Nice night.” Khun comments.

Baam hums in response. It is - the stars have all come out in this dark distance between them and the city, and the only things Baam can hear is the song of the cicadas and the low buzz from the neon sign outside the hotel.

“What brings you outside at 3am?”

Everything, Baam thinks. You. Me. What I want us to be but daren’t ask for.

The way I keep replaying that moment under the fireworks in my head. The way that when I close my eyes, I keep seeing the way you looked at me, keep feeling the brush of your shoulder against mine, but knowing it doesn’t mean the same thing to you as it does to me. The way that even if it did, you’d never act on it, and oh, the way I wish you would.

“Too stuffy,” Baam says instead.

“Me too,” Khun says, and his voice is so close, so close to Baam’s ear that he’s sure if he just turns his head a fraction Khun’s lips will be there. “Too many thoughts for one small room, you know?”

Baam swallows again, and stays still.

“Baam,” Khun murmurs. His voice sounds slightly strangled and all sorts of breathless, and it takes everything in Baam not to shiver in response.

“Baam, look at me, please.”  

And so Baam does, because he never can resist when it is Khun asking. He turns, and he sees the way the moonlight dances between Khun’s eyelashes, the way it brushes Khun’s cheeks and makes him glow, makes him look so ethereal that it makes Baam’s chest hurt.

He sees the way Khun’s eyes are soft and open and willing Baam to understand, but fierce and determined and brilliant all at once. They shine, and Baam’s breath stutters.

He wants to look away, wants to pry himself away from the trainwreck of a memory he knows he’s going to form, the memory he knows will replay in his mind’s eye over and over again when he lays down to sleep at night.

But Khun is beautiful, and Baam cannot take his eyes off of him.

Beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

And suddenly Khun is leaning over, hand warm on Baam’s jaw, eyes questioning, pleading, and Baam feels himself melt into Khun, carried by the ache of want he has hauling around by himself the past four years.

Khun tastes like iced coffee, like sunlight glinting off of fresh snow. He tastes like the crackle of lightning, like a multitude of city lights, like the sound of snowballs skimming across a frozen pond. He tastes like Baam has always thought of and more, lips slotting into Baam’s the way he has slotted himself into the space between Baam’s heartbeats, and Baam isn’t sure if he ever wants Khun to pull away.

And when they do break apart, it is with the feeling that everything in the world has snapped into place, brighter, clearer, right.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long,” Khun murmurs. “But I’m here now, and I don’t think I ever want to leave.”

====

anyway i just graduated and now i miss my friends and i don’t know what to do with my life what’s up with y’all 

#tower of god #tog #khunbaam #khunbam #vivi writes #what's up folks i haven't written a full fic in close to two years #anyway i'm not posting this on ao3 firstly bc . i don't have an ao3 acc #if anyone could help that would be very helpful #used the morpheme help twice! i'm never going to write 15k words ever again #chopped some too bc i was so scared this wasnt gonna fit in the tumblr character count #catch my old fandom references LOL #but also if you know where the title is from high five ayeeeee jj lin ballad king #除了爱你还能爱谁 is a masterpiece and none of you can tell me otherwise

[jenoptimist]

request:

can I request enemies to lovers with Lucas 👉🏼👈🏼🥺

✮ Pairing: lucas x reader (gender neutral)

✮ Genre: (one-sided) enemies2lovers | shopkeeper!au

✮ Additional info: miscommunication & misunderstandings

✮ Word count: 5.3k

♡ Yakult says: thank you so much for the request !! i decided to make this be in the same au as my florist!xiaojun fic but it takes place before it 🤪 don’t worry though, you can read this as a standalone !! 

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Dream Puffs stood in between a quaint bookshop named Moon’s Bookworms and the one and only tattoo and piercing studio in your small town aptly named, Nakamoto’s Body Art Studio. All three buildings adhered to a similar color scheme which consisted of various shades of brown; Moon’s Bookworms was displayed with gold plated, elegant lettering and a dark mahogany colored body, Nakamoto’s Body Art Studio was written with bright neon lights against an umber colored building and the Dream Puffs building was the color of pecans, its name displayed in large, white letters. The buildings across the street were the exact opposite; the flower shop Rainbow V was colored in pretty pastels and the bright thrift shop Tern & Ten’s Treasures was a fusion of artsy and chic. There was an empty outlet just in the middle of the two stores, directly across from Dream Puffs, that was very obviously lacking the loud personalities all the buildings on that side owned. 

Recently there had been rumors that the lot had been sold a couple of weeks ago and that whoever had bought it also would be moving into the apartment directly across from yours. Although your curiosity was peaked, not catching a single sight of the newcomer, you knew that you weren’t the only one. The other owners on the block had gathered around in the far corner of your cozy café, gossiping among one another. It seemed as if Yuta and Yongqin were doing most of the chatting, Kun and Taeil chiming in whenever they thought it was appropriate. Seeing as the rush of customers had officially calmed down, a few of your regulars in their usual seats, you allowed yourself to part take in their conversation when Yuta waved you over with that dazzling smile of his. 

“So, y/n, what do you think?” The tattoo artist asked, his cheek resting in the palm of his left hand. 

“What do I think about what?” You shot back quizzically as you sat down, automatically setting the nape of your neck on top of Yongqin’s arm when he rested it on the back of your chair.

“What kind of store do you think this mystery person will open up?” Taeil clarified, lazily fiddling with the straw in his iced-tea in between his index finger and thumb.

You hummed. “Maybe something for arts and crafts?” You weren’t good at guessing but you did know that a store that catered for specific types of painting and drawing materials were needed, judging by Taeyong’s constant complaints about how there should be an art supply store because shipping was too expensive every time he bought something online.

At your side, Yongqin practically began vibrating with excitement along with Yuta across from you. Their reactions were something you expected since the two of them, as well as and Taeyong, were extremely talented artists; where Taeyong and Yongqin drew for fun, Yuta’s job as a tattoo artists required him to draw on a regular basis and he absolutely adored it. As Yongqin and Yuta chatted excitedly, Taeil chiming in every now and again, your eyes zeroed in on Kun as he sipped on his latte, his eyes suspiciously shifty. Before you could voice out your question, someone entered the café and headed straight for the counter. You had sent Doyoung and Taeyong on their breaks ten minutes prior so you had no choice but to slip out of your chair and bounce over behind the counter.

While the customer’s eyes roamed the menu above you, you occupied yourself with wiping the counter and when you couldn’t pretend to clean anymore, you drummed your fingers on your thigh. Finally, the tall - and extremely attractive - man made eye contact with you. With a smile you hoped wasn’t awkward, you tapped in his three drink orders and asked if he’d like any of the sweets on display since he was studying them so intensely.

“Can I have one of each?” 

It wasn’t an unusual request, plenty of customers had asked before because Doyoung and Taeyong were extremely talented at what they did. You always found yourself fighting for the position to be their taste tester against Donghyuck and Jungwoo whenever they came up with something new. There wasn’t any friendly small talk as you prepared his order, in fact whenever you caught a glimpse of the customer, his eyes were continuously roaming around the building. You were particularly proud of the interior design of the place. Taeyong had spent endless hours painting designs on the walls while you and Doyoung chose the furniture you thought would suit it the best. Your favorite part in particular was the copper wire wall grid that was used to display the instant pictures of the staff posing goofily and the regulars. Judging from the way the customer’s eyes locked in on the pictures on the wall, he did too.

“Thanks for coming! Hope to see you again!” You chimed while you placed the money in the register. It was unlikely to happen, you knew, because the man wasn’t one that you recognized. Dream Puffs often had customers that stopped by because they needed a pick-me-up during their travels. The only response you received was the incline of his head and a gorgeous smile before he turned to leave. You watched his back as he strutted away, your head tilted to the side slightly. 

“Love at first sight?” Yongqin teased in a loud voice from your right and if you had been close enough, you would have thrown your cloth at him. 

“Shut up Yongqin!”

*

“You will not believe what I just heard!” Yongqin exclaimed from somewhere behind you. It was half past six in the morning and you and the boys were setting up, Taeyong had just taken out a fresh batch of pastries while Doyoung was bent over the glass display case for the food, organizing the goods meticulously and adding glacé cherries to the cupcakes. You hummed in question as you snatched a croissant that you knew would be deliciously buttery, flaky and soft when you took a bite of it. “The empty store! You’ll never guess what it’s going to be!” 

“A hardware store?” Doyoung guessed uninterestedly as he adjusted a cupcake. 

“No!” You watched, mid-bite, as Yongqin walked by you and stood so that he was in clear view of the three of you. “A café!” Both the statement and the hot interior of the croissant had your jaw dropping. 

“What?!” You exclaimed while you set your pastry on the flour covered counter, just beside the baking tray full of equally measured, unbaked cookies. 

“Yeah,” he said, dragging out the vowels as he slowly bopped his head, “I know right. Dream Puffs might actually have some competition now.”

“Out of all places to set up a café.” Taeyong mumbled, his brows furrowed, flitting over to the other side of the room to grab his bottle of strawberry flavored water. 

“Where did you get this information from?” Doyoung asked after he straightened himself out, crossing his arms over his chest.

Yongqin, who was watching Taeyong gulp down his beverage, mindlessly said, “Kun.” You pressed him for more information, recalling how shifty the said florist had been the other day. Yongqin tore his eyes away from Taeyong. “I don’t really know how he knew, he just let it slip yesterday.” He grabbed a glacé cherry and popped it into his mouth. “We should totally put on some disguises and scope the place out when it opens!” 

Taeyong snorted. “As if you work here.” 

“Well we don’t want you guys going out of business now, do we?” Yongqin reasoned as he ran his fingers through his pink streaked blond hair. “So, are you in?” 

“Of course.” You said, picking up your croissant and taking a big bite of it.

The plan was discussed in pieces throughout the day while the three of you manned the counter. Yongqin stood to the side, switching from chatting to your customers animatedly as they waited for their orders and telling the three of you how he needed a temporary employee because Chenle was going on vacation in a few weeks from June until August. He stayed until he had to return to his own store since his younger sister had to go for her break. As the day dragged by, you insisted that Doyoung and Taeyong to go home early - they deserved it for all the work that they do - while you stayed behind to some additional cleaning before you locked up for the evening. Not bothered to cook dinner once you were home, you called for some takeout as you toed off your shoes. While you waited for the delivery driver to call you to let you know they were downstairs, you flopped onto your couch and mindlessly scrolled through your phone. When the call came, you were quick to grab your cash and dash out your door. 

With a warm box of pizza in your hands, mini boxes of the sides you selected on top of it, you turned to make you way back up when a voice called out for you to hold open the door for them. You fulfilled their request by swinging your leg and waited impatiently for the weight to be lifted off of your foot so that you could run off and eat. 

“Thank you! Oh,” the stranger said when you managed to flash them a quick smile, “hey it’s you!”

Internally, you groaned. What would it take for you to be able to eat your dinner? It was going to get cold. Plus you ordered their fudge brownie that came with ice-cream. Nevertheless you plastered on a smile while turning your head to the side that the stranger decided to occupy and found yourself looking at the tall and handsome man from a few days ago. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, not knowing what else to say as you followed him into the elevator and also stunned by the fact that he could potentially have lived here all this time somehow without you ever seeing him. Although, maybe he was visiting a friend? “Are you the one who moved in across the hall?” You asked curiously after eyeing him press the button to your floor.

“Guilty as charged,” he replied, raising both his arms. Then, dropping them back down to his sides and stuffing them into his jacket pockets, he said, “my name’s Wong Yukhei.”

“Y/n. I’d shake your hand but, y’know.” You lifted the boxes of food for emphasis and he nodded understandingly. Yukhei got a few words in about the town, how cute he found it and how friendly the people were, before the ding! of the elevator finally signaled the end of your short journey to your floor. Yukhei allowed you to exit before him.

“Well it’s nice to officially meet you, neighbor.” Yukhei said, grinning cheekily as the two of you stood outside your respective doors, facing one another. 

After replying with sentiments that mirrored his, you finally entered your apartment and all but sprinted to your coach and dug in. Your new neighbor seemed nice enough. You wondered what brought him over to this town–there was nothing particularly attractive about it except for the people that lived there, not that anyone living outside of the town would know that or anything. It was when you were halfway through your third slice that something dawned on you. 

*

“I know who it is!” You said loudly, barging into Nakamoto’s Body Art Studio. As expected, Yongqin was getting his forearm tattooed by Yuta. You greeted Jaehyun, who was flicking through a magazine, with a high five as you passed by the reception desk and took one of the wheeled stools and sat on Yongqin’s other side, opposite Yuta. 

“Know who?”

“The new store owner! I met him yesterday.” Yuta finished the line he was working on before looking up at you briefly to acknowledge your presence before resuming his work. Yongqin was the one who prompted you to continue. “His name is Wong Yukhei. He was the really tall one from the other day.”

“The one you fell in love with?” Your friend teased. You mimicked his words, voice as high as possible, while making a face at him before groaning dramatically, thinking about how amiable Yukhei had been in the few minutes that you were together. 

“Guys, he ordered all of the food we had on display.” You chewed on your bottom lip. Maybe his friendly behavior was an act, he did know that you work at Dream Puffs after all–you literally co-owned the place. “You don’t think he’s going to steal everything the guys make do you?” Both of your friends scrunched their faces which only served to make you groan loudly again. 

“That’s rough buddy.” Jaehyun said from his position on the right side of the room, the sound of him flicking his page loud and clear when Yuta removed the tattoo gun from Yongqin’s arm. 

“What’s rough?” Jungwoo asked confusedly, his voice sounding further than usual, probably just having stepped out of the separate room that he used to pierce their clients. 

*

You stood behind the register, watching with narrowed eyes as Yukhei and some unfamiliar people filed into the building directly across from yours, each carrying supplies. It had been days and days of you heatedly watching their every move as they worked on their space. While they were all having the time of their lives interior decorating, you were practically tearing your hair out at the thought of having competition that was a mere twenty steps away from Dream Puffs. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Doyoung and Taeyong’s ability to bake or your barista skills and it wasn’t as if you were the only café in the area or anything - there was another one just on the other side of town - but he really couldn’t have set up literally any other kind of store?

What was even more infuriating was that Yukhei was acting really chummy with you and the others outside of your working hours. It even became a regular thing for Yukhei to wait for your shift to finish so that the two of you could walk back to your apartment complex together. Admittedly, even though you enjoyed your own company, it was kind of nice having someone to talk to on the way home. 

“You’ll scare away the customers if you keep making that face.” Taeil said, his eyes never wavering from the page that he was reading. It was a new book for the book club that he created recently, said it would bring in more customers. He shared a table with Jeno, who was reading the same book, and Mark, who was playing Luigi’s Mansion on his Nintendo Switch.

You sniffed, tilting your head to the side. “I’m not making a face.”

“Dude, you so are!” Mark, who was sitting across from Taeil, said after taking a sip of his banana milk. 

“Don’t listen to them,” Jeno told you nicely, “of course you’d be making a face, I mean, that guy is gonna make a store that could potentially out-business you.” 

You threw your hands at his direction as if to say exactly! with wide eyes. “We’re practically enemies!” 

“Enemies,” Taeyong repeatedly lowly from beside you, amusement ringing in his voice. “As if.”

You gaped after throwing him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean.” Before your friend could reply, your attention was redirected elsewhere with the call of your name. Taeyong bumped your hip and scurried off. You turned to face none other than the man himself. “Yukhei,” you smiled, “the usual?”

“Please. Oh and could I also get...” He listed five other drinks and then picked out some food to bring along with him. As you prepared his order, the two of you talked about your plans over the weekend and even though you were aching with the need to ask about his shop, you said nothing. 

“He’s the enemy.” You whispered firmly to yourself. “Do not get distracted by his cute smile!”

“Cute smile?” Yongqin startled you by popping up from behind you. “Is this about Yukhei?” He asked loudly, tone full of mischief, as he nudged your side.

“Who else would it be about?” Taeil countered. 

Mark and Jeno chuckled while you raised your eyes to the ceiling, briefly reconsidering your choice in friends. Maybe you should stop giving them free drinks. Your gaze flickered to what would be Yukhei’s shop and found him sipping on his drink as he leaned on the glass, chatting to someone. As though he felt your eyes on him, he did a double take and beamed at you. 

“He’s the enemy.” You whispered to yourself once again, hoping that you would actually begin believing it soon, as you raised your hand to wave at him–he kept smiling at you until the person next to him clapped his shoulder and you would have loved to know what he said because Yukhei all but whipped his head towards him, his eyes practically bugging out of his head.  

*

It had been almost a month since Yukhei had moved into town and he still hadn’t opened up his shop. That was something that you kept in the back of your mind, even as he continued to be cordial with you and the others. Although you kept referring him as ‘the enemy’ to yourself, at this point he was your friend. There was no point in denying it or anything, considering that somehow your relationship with him progressed from only speaking to one another when he ordered stuff from Dream Puffs and when the two of you walked home together, to actually hanging out. You guys had actually agreed to start watching movies together every Saturday night and regularly went over to each other’s apartment to keep each other company. 

In fact it was actually Saturday and instead of receiving a text from Yukhei about what food he should bring over with him, it was one asking you to meet in front of Rainbow V. After texting him an affirmative, you changed out of your pyjamas and headed out. 

The nearer you got to Rainbow V, the more you could make out the distinct figure of Yukhei; he was leaning against the door of his shop, his left foot on top of it as he scrolled through his phone. You allowed yourself to stare at him for a little bit longer before taking bigger steps towards him. 

“Hey,” you greeted once you were close enough, “what’s up?” 

Yukhei returned your greeting, stuffing his phone into his pocket as he stepped forward to mirror you before raising his hand. When you gave him the high-five you assumed he was waiting for, he clicked his tongue and wrapped his large hand over yours. Startled, you looked at him with wide eyes.

“Wrong,” he grinned, a playful gleam in his eye, “you forgot our handshake already? Y/n, you wound me.” He placed his other hand on top of his chest, where his heart was, dramatically as he said the last part. 

“I didn’t forget,” you countered. “You got it wrong, dummy, it starts with a fist bump.”

Yukhei huffed, the grin he wore turning into something much softer. “You’re right.” 

Instead of releasing your hand like you thought he would now that it was clarified, he continued holding onto it and even lowered it slightly as if he wanted a better look. He turned it this way and that way slowly while staring like he was inspecting it. As he did that, your eyes flitted over to the beanie that covered his forehead (you liked how it looked on him, it looked really cute on him,) before travelling down to the rest of his face; there was a spark of something in his eyes, his head at an angle, as he stared at your hand in his. It was the look someone got when they found something they had been missing for a long while.

You cleared your throat, warmth creeping up your neck all the way to your cheeks. “Is there something you want to show me?”

“Yup!” 

And with that he interlocked your fingers, fished what sounded like a bunch of keys from his pockets and unlocked the door. He made quick work of turning on the lights, allowing you to be greeted by the sight of minimal style interior. There were large potted plants by the door, a long island with seating as well as booth tables. String lights were hung all around the cream colored wall, providing additional lighting to the dim lights. Yukhei lead you around the space, excitedly telling you about the work that had gone into it and how he had difficulty choosing what kind of style he wanted. 

“It looks amazing,” you complimented as he gestured for you to take a seat closest to where the register was. “It’s going to be a great café, I can tell.”

“Thanks,” he smiled shyly, “that really means”-he paused, tilting his head to one side with confusion written all over his face-“did you just say café?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, “looks like Dream Puffs is going to have some serious competition now.”

Yukhei released a hearty laughed. “Y/n, I don’t know where you got that information but this isn’t a café.” Your jaw almost dropped in shock and you stumbled with your words before settling for a ‘huh’. “Yeah, dum-dum, it’s going to be a boba shop.”

“Boba. . .shop.” You echoed slowly. 

Yukhei nodded, “yeah.” 

Later on the stroll home, after the two of you spent an hour or two in his shop with him telling you what kind of flavors he planned to have on the menu and pulling some suggestions from yourself (“what about toffee popcorn with, I don’t know, maybe whipped cream and actual popcorn at the top?”), he asked who told you that he’d be opening up a café to which you grumbled ‘Yongqin’, he let out a heart laugh again. You could feel the tremors that went through his body as he laughed since you were tucked warmly under his arm and whether or not it was because his laughter was contagious or how weirdly intimate the situation felt - it was the way he took of his beanie and adjusted it on your head, insisting that you looked cold (you were) and the way the two of you were practically glued to each other’s side - but you huffed out a laugh before smiling to yourself and leaned into him more.

“Hey, y/n,” Yukhei called once you unlocked your door. You turned to face him and found him aiming his phone straight at you. “Smile.” Instead of smiling, you made a silly face at him and jogged inside your apartment after the tell-tale sound his phone made that indicated that he snapped a picture of you. 

It was only when you were taking off your jacket and shoes that you realized that he hadn’t asked for his beanie back. Although you knew that you could easily make the short trip to him across the hall, you decided that you would give it back the next time he was at your place.

* 

“A little birdie told me that you and Yukhei went on a date last night.” Yuta said the following morning, barging into your small office and then plopped himself on the couch that was placed near your work desk. 

You were quick to shoot his statement down with, “your ‘little birdie’ is wrong.” After typing a quick ‘Kind Regards’ along with your name and position at the end of your email, you swiveled your chair around so that you could face your friend. He was scrolling through Instagram, double tapping every few seconds. “Who was it that told you that, anyway?”

“I don’t snitch on my sources.”

“I’ll give you twenty-five percent off whenever you buy coffee for a week.”

“Sold,” he said while he typed something quickly on his phone before lowering it so that he could flip himself over on his stomach and look up at you through his lashes. “It was Taeil. He fell asleep in his office and when he was locking up he said he saw you two mooning at each other alone in Yukhei’s shop.”

“We were not mooning at each other,” you sniffed, skimming your hands down your thighs. “What? We weren’t!” You emphasized when he gave you an unimpressed look.

Just as Yuta was about to reply, probably something sarcastic by how he arched his brow, his phone chimed to signal a text. He tutted at you before re-arranging himself so that he could reply with ease. You watched as his eyes read the message quickly before the corner of his mouth quirked upwards and he huffed out a laugh, typing furiously. While a large part of you was curious as to what could have elicited that reaction, you chose to turn back to your computer screen and browse through your email inbox. 

“If you aren’t dating him,” Yuta said after a few minutes of silence that involved him typing away while you binned some junk mail, “then what’s this all about?” From the corner of your eye, you saw him lift his phone towards you so that you could read whatever was on his screen. Turning, your eyes skimmed through his text, your eyebrows all but crawling to your hairline. He allowed you to grab the phone from his hand so that you could zoom in on the picture that followed the texts from Mark–his words were all in capital letters followed by several exclamation points. You opened your mouth to say, well, literally anything but nothing came out so you snapped it shut. Wordlessly, you handed Yuta back his phone before logging out of your computer.

“I have to go,” You said lowly, dazed, as you stood up. “I have to- will you tell the guys I’ll be back soon?” Yuta gave you an affirmative and then you were off, practically sprinting towards the door. 

On the way back to your apartment complex, your thoughts were full of Yukhei. You could admit that you had a big crush on him. It was difficult not to, you thought, what with how sweet and thoughtful he was. He was also funny and knew how to brighten up the room. But did that mean you wanted to date him? You weren’t sure although you knew that you certainly wouldn’t mind going on a date with him to find out.

Soon enough, you found yourself in front of his door. You stared at it for a long time, your heart racing, before you found enough courage to rap your knuckles against it. There was no answer. You tried an additional two times before you decided to leave it be, that you could talk to him later after your shift because he would probably be by the door, waiting for you with that big smile of his. You nodded to yourself and turned to walk away.

“Y/n?” His groggy voice came when you had taken three steps away from his door. “What’s up? Are you okay?” You turned on your heel (he looked adorable with his bedhead) and nodded stiffly, your heartbeat picking up speed again. “Want to come in?” He invited, opening his door wider.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work right now?” He asked, locking his door after you shuffled in. 

“Yeah but there was something I needed to talk to you about.”

Yukhei took a seat beside you on the couch and you tried not to concentrate on his knee that leaned against yours or how he automatically rested his arm on the back of the couch so that you were practically laying on it. 

“Texting me wouldn’t have done, no?” He teased. 

You shot a quick glance at him, took in his cute little smile and then stared pointedly ahead at his carpeted floor. “I didn’t really think about that at the moment.” You replied, your shoulders lifting to your earlobes. The only thing you had thought about was how you wanted to see him when you confronted him about what Yuta had shown you. Yukhei prompted you to tell him the reason for your visit. “Well, um, earlier Yuta showed me a text from Mark and I’m- we’re- your phone wallpaper?” The arm beneath your shoulders was gone in an instant and Yukhei jolted to his feet. “So it’s true?” You asked, peeking at him through your lashes. His expression was one of horror, arms splayed at his sides as if prepared to explain himself.

“Please don’t be mad! Taeil took the picture last night because apparently he saw us? I don’t know, Mark told me so I asked him to send me the picture and, well, I thought it was cute you know?” You did know. Taeil had managed to snap a shot of you two in front of Rainbow V - didn’t Yuta say that he only saw the two of you in the shop? - and it was when Yukhei had been laughing with you under his arm, a smile resting on your face. “I know I probably should have asked you, I don’t know what I didn’t. I can change it now if you want? Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” you assured, looking him in the eye so he knew that you meant it. He visibly relaxed, the tension bleeding out of him at your words. Once he stopped looking so panicked, he looked at you with wide eyes before darting them towards the floor. It seemed the roles were reversed this time, what with him avoiding your gaze while you continued staring at him. He raised a hand to cover his eyes while the other went to hug itself around his waist. “Hey Yukhei,” he still refused to look at you, “would you maybe want to go on a date with me?”

That immediately gained his attention. “What?” His voice was soft, coated in disbelief. “Are you serious?” After you insisted that you were, never once breaking eye contact with him, a large smile blossomed on his face and he let out a loud whoop, punching the air in triumph. As if remembering that you were there, he dropped his arm, although the smile remained on his face. “Apparently there’s a boba place opening tomorrow, right in front of Dream Puffs, what do you say we try it out?”

“I’d love to but I’m worried about seating.”

“Don’t worry, I’m on good terms with the owner.” Yukhei winked. The two of you dissolved into a fit of laughter shortly after.

“I’ve gotta get back to work,” you said while you stood up from the couch once both of you sobered. “But I’ll see you later?”

“Of course!” Pleased smiles were plastered on both of your faces even as he walked you to the door. 

*

You had barely stepped foot into Dream Puffs before Yongqin wrapped an arm around you and lead you to a table where Kun, Yuta and Taeil were seated, two vacant seats in between Kun and Yuta. Taeil let out a small titter, a smile that was too wide etched on his face as you and Yongqin sat down. 

“Tell us everything!” Yongqin exclaimed, “spare no detail!”

“I will but first,” you said as you turned to face him. “You brat! You knew that he wasn’t opening up a café, didn’t you? You totally tricked me!” 

There was no hint of guilt from him, just a shit-eating grin that reached from ear to ear. “Maybe so. Now go on, tell us!” You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance but couldn’t fight off the smile that gradually grew wider and wider on your face as you recounted the recent events that transpired between you and Yukhei.

#ummmmmmm so this probably wasnt what u had in mind when u said enemies to lovers?????? #honestly idek what this is myself rip #i think i might have to upload a completely different one :// #i didnt want it to be yk the usual things like being against each other in school etcetc #i guess enemies to lovers but they're assassins would have been good????? #why did i only think of that now rip oh geez #regardless of the fact that i completely botched ur request-i hope u enjoyed reading it at least???????? #also update on my problems on the app: its still doing that thing i mentioned while editing so i think from here on out i might have to use #my laptop when i work on my fics ://////// #im working on the werewolf!lucas fic now so hopefully i have it up by tonight !!! #anyway here come the tags: #wayv #wayv scenarios #wayv imagines #wayv au #wayv fluff #wayv lucas #nct #nct au #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct lucas #nct fluff #super m #super m lucas #wong yukhei

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 22)

She is sick with over-exhaustion, with starvation and dehydration when they find her. She doesn’t have the energy to lift her head. She barely has the energy to part her lips when the man brings a waterskin to them. The woman hoists her up and tilts her head and Azula practically inhales the water. Suckling from the waterskin until it is as bone dry as her throat had been moments before. The woman helps her lay back and drapes a cool rag over her forehead.

She falls in and out of sleep and sometimes she finds herself in a state somewhere between. A state where the steady rocking and bumping of the ostrich-horse drawn caravan makes her feel as though she is a drift in the ocean. It comes with a sense of dread to think that she is somewhere floating in a vast, deep blue nowhere.

Sometimes when she manages to open her eyes the tarp is down and she can see the stars, can smell the crackling of a fire and something sizzling over it. Each time she is too fatigued to ask for a portion. The woman makes sure that she has a drink from the waterskin, even when she isn’t lucid--Azula is certain that the woman does so even when she is out cold. She never wakes up to a dry throat.

The man informs her that she is running a pretty decent fever when she comes around enough to sit herself up.

“Where am I?”

“We’re nearly across the plains.” He answers.

She tries to rub the fog from her eyes, shake the delirium and tiredness from her head. She feels as though she may just topple again. At the soft rumble of her belly, the woman holds out an apple. Azula takes it with eager hands. Only after several bites does she ask, “are we going to a village?”

“Little lumber and fishing town called Badgermole’s Hollow.” The man answers.

She nods and chucks the apple core over the side of the caravan. “Why are you…” she gestures to the waterskin and the blankets they have her swaddled in.

“Well we very well couldn’t just leave you there!” The woman exclaims as though that explained everything. Because the fact is, they very well could have left her, it would have been less of a burden to them. She recalls how many others have just decided to take her in as though she were a dear friend that they have just reunited with.

And perhaps this is something that the Earth Kingdom--or, at least, the more rustic parts of it--do better than the Fire Nation.

“Who are you?”

The woman laughs, “Min-Ta and this is my husband, Hao-Bai.”

“And you?” Hao-Bai asks.

Her mind wanders between Rikka and Azula before she finally settles on, “Azula.” She is too tired to keep on top of even a small lie.

She expects a question or two and she gets one, but it isn’t the question she had braced herself for. “You trying to get back to the Fire Nation?”

Azula nods at the man. She holds up a bag of coins that she has managed to hold onto. “I can get myself to Yon-Rah.” She isn’t sure what she will do then; Earth Kingdom coin won’t do her anything at all in the Fire Nation.

She lays back down and rolls onto her side, her eyes feel so very heavy. Min-Ta hums softly and carefully drapes another cool rag over her head, “you just rest now, until that fever’s run its course.”

She rests until they come to a stop that night. On slightly wobbling legs she comes to join the couple at their little fire. Min-Ta’s face lights up, “good to see that you’re feeling strong enough to join us.”

“Have some ale.” The man offers.

Azula finds herself a seat and silently drinks. Though it is somewhat bitter, it warms her belly. She isn’t sure what sort of meat the man is cooking, but it smells rather divine. She finds herself looking around. The grassland, now mostly behind them sprawls out endlessly waving and undulating beneath the stars. Dew catches in the moonlight and it brings a unique sort of sweet smell.

For the first time she truly deserves the couple and their caravan. They are a clean and well put together duo--it only just registers to her that they have kept her very clean and tidy. Their caravan is well maintained and she notices a second cart next to it. A team of four ostrich-horses graze nearby alongside another two--likely to pull the main caravan. They have a set of well cleaned and undaunted pots and pans and several other tools.

They themselves are in good condition as well. Hao-Bai is a burly man with a tamed beard. His muscles are so huge that she can see him pulling the caravan on his own if he must. He has a tattoo of a badgermole sitting on a tree stump inked onto his rather hairy chest. He looks as though he should smell musky but instead she smells only a fresh pine resin and the smoke of their fire clinging to his clothes.

His wife is decently muscular as well, her eyes are the brightest green that Azula has ever seen. Her hair is short and braided and she smells of the forest as well. With a second glance, Azula realizes that she is pregnant. She swallows and tries to put her mind anywhere else.

“Do you travel a lot?”

Hao-Bai flashes a grin. “It’s part of how we make a living.”

“I like to think that we’re experts at crossing the plains now.” Min-Ta adds.

“I wish I had the skills.”

Min-Ta quirks a brow. “If you came from Chin then you made it quite far. Most people don’t make it more than a week or so on foot. You have to know at least a little something.”

Or she simply has a strange dash of luck to cut through her misfortune. She sets her glass of ale aside.

Hao-Bai leaves the fire for a moment and comes back with a pipa. “How would you like to hear an Earth Kingdom traveling song.”

“That sounds pleasant.”

Min-Ta smiles. “Hao just loves to show off his pipa skills.” She leans in and whispers, “his vocals can use some work.”

Sometimes lessons are simple and light. That night she learns old Earth Kingdom songs.  

.oOo.

She sits in the grass with a pipa in hand. She doesn’t know how to play it very well, but it keeps her mind busy and it seems to delight the servants regardless. She wonders if she can work out the words to say if she forms them as a song first.

She thinks that she is only stalling but it doesn’t seem appropriate to just pound on Sokka’s door so late at night, now that she has put off talking to him long enough for the sun to have fallen completely.

“You’re playing off key!” The man in question accuses. “You have to tune it before playing it.”

“Have you ever played a pipa?”

“No, but I watched Aang play a few times.” Sokka smiles. “He, Katara, and Toph are gonna be here soon.”  He notes more to himself.

“Exactly how soon is soon?”

He shrugs. “I guess that depends on the sailor.”

Azula once again finds herself at least slightly perplexed. He has approached her with such ease as if nothing has happened between them at all. As if there were never any tension. She looks up from her pipa and into his soft blue eyes.

She wishes that he would just get it over with, that he would demand to know why she had been leading him on. Instead he asks, “want me to try to tune it for you?”

Azula nods and passes him her instrument. He twists a peg and gives the pipa a strum, repeating this several times until she finally asks, “shouldn’t you be mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

Azula shrugs. “You haven’t talked to me since…”

“I thought that you’d want some space to think about things.”

She nods.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you think about them?”

She nods again.

“And…”

“I have decided that it isn’t fair.”

Sokka’s brows scrunch and he sets the pipa aside. “What isn’t fair, Azula?”

Absently her fingers reach for the stone until she remembers that it is safely sealed up in Bao. “I still think about Hajime when I’m with you.” Even if she doesn’t mean to she often finds herself drawing parallels between the two of them.

“I don’t mind.” Sokka reassures, his hand comes to squeeze her shoulder. “Hajime is important to you, he isn’t just going to go away.  Yue didn’t, even when I was with Suki.” He pauses. “She’s still here and so is Suki. They were both so different from each other and you’re much different than both of them.”

She doesn’t think that she is different is a good way. And yet Sokka holds her as though she is. “I don’t want to compare you to Hajime all the time.”

“I don’t mind, Hajime was the first person to really love you, wasn’t he?”

Azula nods affirmatively. There was Seyhyuk, but that was much different. An example of forced love that was meant to be a friendship. That isn’t how Sokka feels.

“You can compare your relationship with him if it helps you navigate a new one.”

She is quiet for a while, simply staring at Sokka with parted lips. He laughs and tucks her hair behind her ear. “It you need some more time to think about it…”

“I don’t.”

He gives her the most delighted grin. “Great, I was hoping that you wouldn’t because I’ve been meaning to give you something.”

She tilts her head, “and what would that be.”

He tilts her chin up and offers her lips the softest kiss. When he pulls back he is still stroking her cheek with his thumb. She thinks that her face might be slightly flushed. “If you want to take it slower, just let me know.”

Azula nods again. “This is fine.” More than fine really. It is nice to be loved again. Nice to be kissed again. Nice to have someone who is willing to wait for her and work through her hesitations.

Sokka motions for her to sit on his lap. She picks up her pipa and makes herself comfortable with her head resting against his chest and her hands resting atop the pipa. He cups a hand over hers. She makes a point of ignoring TyLee and Mai creeping about in the bushes.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction