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bangtansbun · 4 years

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Peaches || Jeongguk

pairing: Jeongguk x f.reader

genre: fluff, smut

summary: you’re in your third year of college, a criminology major and music minor, and you’re still harboring (maybe even nurturing) a crush that you’ve had on a classmate since your first year. You’d seen him around campus, even had gen. eds. with him, but this semester he’s in your chorus class. He’s sat next to you in the tenor section and he just won’t stop calling you “peaches”

word count: 5,239

warnings: slow burn, massive pining crush, perverse thoughts, thigh riding, slight mentions of marking, dirty talk, praise, nipple stimulation, fingering, protected sex, cursing, vague description of squirting, details of JK’s pretty cock, this is kinda soft because he’s a sweet boy

a/n: kadjlaksdjlkj parts of this are literally based off of my high school crush

You’ve finished your first class of the day, Criminal Psychology, and you’re headed to your chorus class now. It’s across campus so you’re moving fast, but also trying to enjoy the walk since it’s flurrying outside and you’re excited for the snowy weather.

You’re hoping you have some good classmates this year, the boys in your Chorus 1 class last year were a nightmare and always pissed off your instructor. You’re okay with a little bit of fun in the class, but not to the point where you’re whipping around in your chair to tell the ignorant boy to “shut the hell up” in front of everyone.

You walk into the room and find your usual seat in the soprano 2 section (even though you knew you many not have that exact seat once your instructor decides where you would blend best). A few of your chorus friends from last year make their way into class too, and you make sure to say hi to all of them.

Then, he walks in.

You’d seen this cutie around campus since last year and had one- no, maybe two gen. ed. classes with him. He had down the goofy, boy-ish charm that had you absolutely swooning and now your heart is starting to thrum in your chest.

He moves to sit in the tenor section which is conveniently placed next to yours. You’re hoping to GOD that you don’t end up sitting directly next to him because there’s no way he won’t notice that your body is already vibrating at a high frequency.

After everyone is accounted for in the class, your instructor begins to ask everyone to go around and introduce them self – your name, major, and preferred section. It moves through the circle and you learn that the cute boy’s name is Jeongguk and he has a smile that’s both sexy and adorable. How does that even work?

It comes around to you and you dutifully answer: y/n, criminology major, and soprano 2. Before the next person can go, Jeongguk looks right at you and says “hey, peaches” with a smirk. His eyes crinkling at the corners, and you realize he’s referring to the peach colored Northface jacket you’re wearing.

Unfortunately, this causes a blush to cover your cheeks, about the same color as your jacket. All eyes on you. You duck your head and give a curt smile, signaling for the next person to go.

Everything else goes smoothly from that point on, that is, until seat placements are made. Of course, as fate would have it, your instructor places you on the edge of your section, right next to Jeongguk. Your voice apparently blends well with his.

You all take your seats and you make sure to hold your breath when he takes his next to you. Immediately, you notice his cologne. Probably Axe Body Spray, but he still smells good nonetheless, and you’re forcefully having to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes into the back of your head. WHAT is wrong with me??

He flashes his charming grin at you as he places his hands on his thighs, rubbing them up and down.

Oh god those thighs-

Stop, stop being such a perv

“’Sup peaches?” You want to be annoyed that he already has a nickname for you, but you can’t help but feel tingly all over when the word graces across his lips. You shake your head slightly, realizing your staring a bit. “Hi, Jeongguk,” you say while avoiding eye-contact now because you don’t know if you’ll be able to break your eyes away from him again. “Ahh, just call me Gguk,” he says this as he ruffles your hair a bit.

Your eyes go wide at the touch, “Oh- I- okay,” is all you can muster, and he chuckles at you. Running his hand through his dark brown hair, “this is gonna be a fun semester, y/n.”

That’s it. You’re dead meat. You won’t make it the whole semester.

Your thoughts the entire rest of the day were filled with his melodic laugh, his enticing voice, his muscular thighs, and the cute dimples that occasionally made an appearance when he blessed you with his bunny-like smile.

You felt like you were back in high school. Who has a crush this intense anymore? It had your hormones racing, images of his large hands on your hips and his pink lips on your neck as you ride his thig- JESUS CHRIST, I think I need church.

You roll over in your twin bed, groaning, and bring your covers up over your head in an attempt to snuff out the fire that was trying to burn its way through you. You needed to go to sleep and focus on the important major classes you would have for the rest of the week (and certainly not about the one other chorus class you would have with a certain flirtatious boy).

The week flew by without a hitch, but then again, it was only syllabus week so you couldn’t really expect it to be too bad anyway. Except, you had one more class with the boy who had you flustered and fumbling over your words after one conversation.

This time you would have a plan. You’d busy yourself by talking to your friends from last semester, some other soprano 2′s that sat in your section, until it comes time to pull out your sheet music. That should work, right?

Well, that’s what you thought anyway. And it had been going to plan, until he tapped you on your shoulder to get your attention. I mean you couldn’t outright ignore him, could you? So, to your dismay, you turn around to take in his light wash jeans and blue turtleneck sweater.

He looked so boyfriend it physically hurt.

He was sitting down in his chair and pointing with his thumb to the big windows behind you, where you could see the snow covered ground and more flakes falling. “Wanna go play with me in the snow?” He had to be kidding right? You couldn’t skip class, but also, why would he want you to go play with him? Out in the snow, that is.

His question had you blinking and stuttering, all while he had a cheeky smile on his face, like he knew what he was doing to you. He just chuckled to himself and turned back in his seat, grabbing his sheet music, and clearly not expecting an answer. What were you supposed to say to that anyway? Holy fuck this boy was wild.

“Gguk is so flirting with you,” you heard from your right side. “Wh-what?” your eyes looking back at your friend. “Oh come on, y/n, you aren’t that dense, are you? Why else would a boy give you a nickname and purposely make you turn into an idiot in his presence?” Oh my god. “Is it that obvious?” You smacked your palm into your forehead. She simply nodded at you, patted your shoulder and wished you luck.

You tried your best to focus on your setlist for the remainder of class, but it was so hard to ignore the handsome boy next to you. His voice was better than anyone else’s you had ever heard before, and he kept running his fingers through his hair. You wanted so badly to be able to run your own hands through his soft brown hair.

Despite his distracting charm, you were able to keep your eyes to yourself (or in the direction of your friends, at least) until class was over. It wasn’t until you were slinging your backpack over your shoulder and making your way toward the hall that he grabbed your elbow. “Peaches, wait,” he sounded out of breath for some reason. You turn around with bambi eyes, not sure what he could possibly want from you.

“Where are you going?” he asks as he falls into an easy stride next to you. “Uh, I have a short break for lunch before my next class.” He nods and continues to walk next to you. “What’re you doing?” you ask him pointedly. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m walking you to lunch.” You blinked at him, confusion painting your face. “Wh- why?” you’ve stopped walking now. “You’re cute,” he chuckles, putting his hands into his pockets and starting to walk in the direction of the dining hall.

You start to walk with him again, “we’re friends, aren’t we? I didn’t think it’d be a problem for me to walk you to the dining hall on my way to class.” Your cheeks start to burn, you feel bad that that you had given him that impression. You were just so confused as to why he was taking such an interest in you. “N-no it’s okay,” but by the time you give this answer, you’re already there and he’s turning slightly to head toward his class. “I’ll see you next week, peaches,” he shouts to you, giving you a wink, and his milliwatt smile.

The first half of your semester went by faster than you thought it would, and you had actually managed to stop feeling like a moron around Gguk (most of the time). You and him had gotten into a rhythm, you guys talked to each other in class - sometimes he’d flirt and make you laugh, he’d walk you to the dining hall, and occasionally you would meet up to hang out with him outside of class.

However, that didn’t mean you didn’t still have a raging crush on him that made your mind feel hazy and send heat through your whole body. This much was evident when he decided to skip his class one day and join your for lunch.

You both had opted for grilled chicken and french fries because your dining hall sucks and that was the safest option. The two of you fell into easy conversation with the occasional comfortable silence. He talked about his classes and how in his free time he’s been working on a mixtape. “I mean I figured you liked music considering you’re in chorus with me, but I didn’t know you were that into it!” He gives you a dimpled bunny smile and nods his head a bit, “yeah, maybe you could come over and listen to my stuff sometime.”

There’s a slight blush to his cheeks that you’ve not seen before. If you had to guess, you’re probably the first girl he’s ever offered to share his own music with. So, you take the opportunity to be bold while his coquettish demeanor is wavering.

“Oh, so would that be, like, our second date then?” You take a sip of your water, sneaking a glance over the cup to see the doe-eyed expression he’s giving you now. His mouth bobbed a bit like a fish’s before he managed to get words out, “did I miss our first date?” You giggle at how taken aback he seems to be. “Well, you went through all this effort to skip class and eat lunch with me,” you say with a lilt in your voice. “Oh please, peaches. You call this effort? I’d do way more than just this.”

Now it’s your turn to blush. Your boldness gone the second he calls you by the affectionate name. “Is this your way of trying to get me to take you out?” He asks this question with his tongue poking into his cheek, eyebrows cocked. “N-no!! I was just messing with you!” He grabs your plate, along with his, as you both get up to exit the dining hall. “To late now, I’ll text you when I’ve got it all planned out.” He winks at you as he puts the dishes on the conveyor belt and exits the building with a wave. Fuck.

New Message From Gguk:

[3:04pm] be ready tonight around 7:30

To Gguk:

[3:07pm] tonight?? where are you taking me?

From Gguk:

[3:09pm] don’t worry about it. just wear something casual

To Gguk:

[3:10pm] ugh you’re infuriating, but okay.

[3:12pm] you’re not gonna murder me in some back alley are you?

[3:13pm] omg you are aren’t you??

From Gguk:

[3:14pm] y/n.. our campus is huge with many secluded areas. if I wanted to murder you I would have done it by now

To Gguk:

[3:15pm] and yet somehow that answer isn’t reassuring at all. I’ll be ready by 7:30

Okay, so this was a bit short notice considering he only told you roughly 4 hours ahead of time, but he said to wear something casual so that should be plenty of time, right?

You decide to focus back onto your homework for the next hour or so. You’re able to do that for about 30 minutes but then you start thinking. I haven’t shaved my legs in over a week. He said casual but I should still look casually cute. What am I supposed to do with my hair now that the humidity is back?? Panic. Panic is setting in.

You slam shut your textbook and notes, and start to make your way to your dorm room. Once you’re there you begin to rummage through your closet and dresser drawers. The flinging of clothes and 45 minutes later, you finally settle on a pair of black ripped jeans, a flowy, strappy white top, and some white converse.

2 hours and 30 minutes left.

You didn’t think it would, but it did in fact take you that entire two and a half hours to finish getting ready, but you were pleased with the way you looked. This was more effort than you usually put in considering no one ever looks nice when they have 8:00am classes.

You also didn’t think you’d be phased by seeing Jeongguk dressed ready for a date because he always looked good, but the second you laid eyes on him, in his light wash ripped denim, black tee, leather jacket, and matching bucket hat, you knew you were a goner.

“You know it’s not polite to stare with a gaping mouth right?” he asks as he uses his index finger to gently push your chin up, closing your mouth for you. “I- I’m sorry. You look great, Gguk,” you say as you look down at your feet. You’re avoiding eye contact now since he caught you ogling him. “You look great too, y/n. I like your converse, a nice touch!” he says in that smooth and charming way he has about him. With that, he grabs your hand and leads you to his car to drive you off to god-knows-where.

Much to your surprise, he takes you to the local town fair. You’d never really participated in these types of things before because you had this ideal (probably from watching The Notebook one too many times) that fairs were romantic and meant for couples only.

However, you both had an incredible night, despite your reservations. He bought you cotton candy to share, you rode the ferris wheel together (sans hanging off the edge of it), scared each other in the fun house, and he even won you a stuffed teddy. It occurred to you that you hadn’t had this much fun in a while, and certainly not with a boy since you started college. He made you laugh, held your hand, and paid attention to you. It all felt a bit like a dream, what with all the pretty colors and twinkling lights around you.

You felt kind of sad that the date was ending as he drove you both back to campus. This date had allowed your crush to bloom into actual feelings and you were starting to worry about the days following. Would everything just go back to the way it was? Would he pretend like the date hadn’t happened? Did he even like you like that?

Luckily for you, you weren’t able to ruminate for too long on those negative thoughts because the car had come to a halt and you were suddenly back on campus. “You’ve been kind of quiet since we left the fair. What’re you thinking in there?” he pokes at your head for emphasis. “Oh, nothing! I had a really great time tonight,” you’re hoping you sound convincing enough so he doesn’t pry his way into your private thoughts. “Well, the night doesn’t have to end yet. We can hang out in my room for a bit if you want? My roommate is never here on the weekends, so the awkwardness of him being there is eliminated.”

Stunned. Yup, that would be an accurate word for what you felt in that moment.

“You’re gaping again, peaches. Am I going to have to be the one to teach you some manners?” He tsks at you and shakes his head, but there’s a smirk on his face. There’s also a darkness to his eyes. One that sends heat right to your core, and has you nodding your head to him in an instant. Your head feels cloudy as you walk to his dorm room, hand-in-hand, as if you’re caught under his spell again.

Once you’re there, the spell seems to drop and your nervousness is back. The room is dark, except for the soft glow of a lamp on his desk that he’s turned on. “I know you said we’d do this on our second date, but I figured we could merge the two,” he says handing you a set of headphones. Broken from your worried state, you realize he’s about to show you his music. The folder is labeled “JJK1″ and his angelic voice starts to flow into your ears, overwhelming your senses.

He’s singing in a lower register, the words feel emotional and meaningful. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. You look up at him and he’s not making eye contact with you, “this is amazing, Gguk.” You both listen for another minute or two before he hits pause and finally looks back at you. “Seriously, your music is so good.” You set the headphones back on their display and he does the same. “You really think so?” You nod, and there’s a shift in the air.

You’re both staring into each other’s eyes, then his own flicker down to your lips briefly. You’re starting to feel squirmy under his gaze, and you move to look away. To say something dumb about how his room is tidier than you thought it would be, but he’s quicker than you, grabbing your jaw to turn your head back and plant his soft, pink lips onto yours.

There’s tingles all over your body the second his lips are moving with yours. He’s careful with you as he brings a hand up to cup your neck. It feels like he’s scared to break you, but at the same time you can feel a sense of urgency lingering behind his tongue. You suppose this whole semester has built up the anticipation of this very moment. You don’t want him to be careful though, you’ve been waiting for this moment the second he walked into your chorus class.

Lips never leaving yours, he slowly walks you over to his bed. He sits on the edge of it and pulls you into his lap. With the tilt of his head he’s deepening the kiss. His tongue skating across your lips, asking for entrance, to which you gladly give him. His expert tongue maps the inside of your mouth as you’re moaning into his own.

Taking that as a good sign, he runs his large hands over your hips, landing with a firm grip on your ass. He squeezes your flesh, effectively causing some friction between you and his thighs. That has you moaning again. You couldn’t even count the amount of times you’d thought of being in this position. The chance to ride his thick, muscular thighs to heaven and back. You were growing wet just at the thought of it.

“Is this okay?” he asks even though he can probably tell that what he’s doing is very okay. You nod eagerly and make a sound close to mhm to indicate that you don’t want this to stop. The second you give him the okay to continue, his lips are back on yours and he uses his hands to rock you back and forth on his thigh. Even through your jeans, the friction feels electrifying. It appears he feels the same way considering his growing length in his own jeans, creating an obvious tent.

You break from kissing to let out a series of whimpers and groans from the heat that is building up inside of you. You head lolling back to allow Gguk the opportunity to lick a stripe up your neck to your jaw. Nipping and sucking at you every now and then. Everything feels too good. It’s all so surreal considering you’ve been pining for him for so long.

“You look so pretty riding my thigh like that,” he says in between planting kisses along your collarbone. “I’ve caught you checking me out before, I bet you’ve wanted this since the first time I sat next to you.” Now he’s lifting your shirt over your head, exposing your light gray mesh bralette to him.

Your hips never ceasing their movement, he brings his mouth down to your mesh covered nipple and laves his tongue over it. He notices your sharp intake of breath and a barely there fuck coming from you. “I love how sensitive you are to everything,” he sucks the nipple into his mouth for a moment before he makes his way over to the other one. This time he moves the bralette to the side so you can feel the full effect of his tongue. He rotates between swirling and gently flicking his tongue over the hardened bud.

It’s now very clear to you that the heat inside of you will be coming to a head soon if he continues. He’s very much able to pick up on your impending climax, so he takes the nipple into his mouth and begins to suck, all the while holding you down harder on his thigh as he rocks you back and forth. “Shit, I- I’m gonna come if you don’t stop,” you say breathlessly. “Now why would I want to do that, peaches?” his mouth now moving back to suck on the other nipple. He breaks away with a wet *pop* and brings a hand down to smack your ass. “Come on, I know you can come like this. Come all over my thigh like the good little girl I know you are.”

Your hair is starting to stick to you a little, sweaty from the exertion used to keep up the hard pace. The string inside of you is ready to snap any second. “Please, please, Gguk,” you whine to him, hoping he understands what you need. With both hands firmly in place on your ass, he sets a deadly pace and a flex of his muscle to cause the friction to burn straight to your slick core. You’re moaning his full name now as you feel yourself come undone around his thigh. Pulsing against him, your head slack on his shoulder, and your hips slowing down to ride out your orgasm. “Such pretty sounds when you come for me. I want to hear it again,” he says as he leaves sweet kisses on your lips.

He moves you from his lap to his bed, helping you out of your skinny jeans because your legs are aching now and you can’t find the energy to do it yourself. He takes in your form and the matching light gray mesh thong you’re wearing. “Were you hoping for this, baby? It’s okay if you were, I was hoping for it too.” You don’t know how you got to this place, but you were thanking whatever god it was that blessed you with this much luck.

Within moments, he’s undressed himself and you hear a wrapper crinkling over by his desk where he’s standing. He climbs back onto the bed and hovers over top of you. “You still doing okay?” he’s more considerate than you would have imagined a guy with his good looks would be, but you’re grateful for it. You smile at him and tilt your head up to kiss his lips and then his cheek. “God, look at you,” he says as he sits back on his heels, admiring the girl in front of him.

He bends down to press kisses into your inner thigh, bringing two fingers to hook into the waist band of your thong and tug it down. He can see a string of your wetness stretch between you and your thong before it breaks when he brings his fingers to your slit. A drawn out moan leaves your mouth, his fingers feel so good now that they’re finally where you need them. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me.”

He presses two fingers into you and they slide in with ease considering you’ve already finished once before. He uses his other hand to rub soft circles into your clit. Your breathing is becoming heavier now and you desperately want to feel his thick length inside of you. You can see his cock twitch at the sounds you make. It’s veiny and so so pink at the tip, no doubt leaking with precum. You’d be willing to bet anything that you’ll feel so full with him inside of you.

As if to read your mind, he pushes a third finger inside. “You ready, baby? I don’t know how much longer I can wait to feel you around my cock.” His words have you keening and moving your hips in time with his fingers. His other hand now moves from your clit to his length, rubbing up and down before he teasingly slaps it against your core a few times, causing you to bite harshly into your lip.

But then he’s pushing it in and you swear you see stars. He moves your legs so your thighs are against your chest now. “Ohhhhh my god,” you whine out to him as he bottoms out inside of you. “Fuck, you’re so tight, y/n.” He stills for a moment to allow you to adjust, but then he begins to move languidly. Thrusting ever so gently against that sensitive spot inside of you due to the position.

He leans down all the way to plant kisses along your chest, up your collarbone, and onto your neck. Lazy licks causing your heart to beat rapidly and moans escape your lips. His thrusts become rougher with each passing second, still never missing that signature spot inside of you, and it’s mind numbing.

He brings a hand down to your clit to rub figure eights into the bundle of nerves. “Please, d- don’t stop,” he grunts at the neediness he can hear in your voice. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. I’ll make sure you feel good,” He punctuates this with a particularly hard thrust into you and you let out a loud moan, curses following behind.

You’re so wet now and all you can think about is how good it feels to have him inside of you. You never want to let go of the feeling of his strong hands on you, sweat occasionally dripping from his hair, and his cock pounding into you. His first time fucking you and he already seems to know exactly what you like. Knowing not to rub your clit too much because it’s extra sensitive, that grabbing your ass will have your walls clenching around him, and kissing your neck leads to you mewling his name. All of this, in turn, causing him to feel rock hard, ready to burst his load any second.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that? Taking me so well and ready to come for me again,” he says this as he slows his pace down a bit. He wants you to feel every inch of him, savor the feeling, because soon enough he’s going to have both of you falling apart. He lets one of your thighs down and grabs onto the other, using it as an anchor. “God, you feel so good around me. Come again for me, baby. I wanna see your face this time while you cream my cock for everything it’s worth.

With his thumb on your clit and his words stuck in your head, you’re all of about two seconds away from losing yourself on him. He picks up his pace again, slamming into you over and over and over again until you can’t take it anymore. Juices gush out of you as you practically scream, complete and total ecstasy taking over your body. “That’s it, such a good girl coming for me again,” he says as he helps you ride through your second orgasm of the night.

“Jesus, y/n, you got.. so.. wet,” his thrusts growing sloppy now. His bottom lip is sucked between his teeth and his brown eyes are filled with need. He quickly pulls out, rips the condom off, and pumps himself just briefly before he’s spilling his seed onto your stomach. A slur of curses and your name leaving his mouth. Rope after rope of the white liquid coating you, his own personal masterpiece laid out in front of him.

When he’s finally finished, he falls back onto his heels, head lolling as he tries to steady his breathing. You think he looks so good fucked out. You could look at him like this for the rest of your life. Then again, you could look at him in any state for the rest of your life. This was a three year long crush (turned into feelings) in the making, after all.

“You look so perfect like this,” he says as he takes in your state. Sweat glistening on your skin, lips swollen and red, and his cum painted on your stomach. “Hold on, I’ll get something for you,” he says before he gets up to go discard the condom and grab a towel. He helps clean you both up and hands you a sweatshirt of his. “It’s pretty late now, you can spend the night if you want and wear that so you’re more comfortable. I’ll turn on a show or something for us.” He changes the sheets on his bed while you change and throw your hair up into a messy bun, ready for bed now.

You both settle into the now clean bed and he turns on New Girl. You curl up next to him, head resting on his taut chest and a leg slung over his. “So I know we just had our first and second date, but does this count as our third?” he says in a joking tone, and even though you can’t see him, you can tell he’s smiling. “I dunno, does that mean we’ll have a fourth?” He chuckles at you and kisses the top of your head, “anything you want, peaches.”

You had worried at the beginning of the semester that Gguk would flirt and taunt you endlessly and with no real reward, but you were wonderfully wrong. You were also pretty sure that this was just the beginning and that thought has butterflies swimming inside of you. This charming boy had you wrapped around his finger, and unbeknownst to you, you had him wrapped around yours.

4K notes · View notes

pleasantanathema · 4 years

Text

Pray to Me

Pairing: Shinsou x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Gods!AU, Rough Sex, Too Many Norse Mythology References

Word Count: 8.5k

The frigid waters were laden with blood and ice, the salty waves licking the bows of long boats as they accosted the shores. The dark waters of the bay looked black against the fresh snow, churning oars sending sprays onto the docks as warriors returned home.

You stood among the crowds, whips of snow billowing past your reddened cheeks, your arms crossed in protection across your chest. Despite losing the men within your family to raids and battles long ago, you always came to welcome back those who were fortunate enough to receive homecoming. Upon the sails of the ships was the symbol of your earl, dancing proudly against the winds of winter as the men and women beneath them hailed their successes from summer and autumn.

High upon the prow of the leading ship was a carved figurehead, meticulously crafted in the image of Skoll, the wolf who hunts the moon. The wolf’s jaws were wide and within his wooden tongue was an etching of a crescent moon; the wolf with his prey in his maw was a symbol of Ragnarok, a symbol of the return of chaos. And upon the prow was a man you had never seen before.

The man was all shades of violet and violence. His hair was the color of crushed mulberries, the long strands pushed back and wet from the sea, so deeply purple that it looked as if you were to touch him, your palms would stain with color. Blood, russet and old, crimson and fresh, was splattered across his cheeks. A warrior’s tattoos stained the expanse of his chest and arms; the thick, blue lines were heavy and sprawling from the wood ash buried within in pale skin. And his eyes, they were purple and bright, painted with black kohl. The dark smears ran down his impressive cheek bones and curled up from his eyes, appearing catlike. The curious orbs resembled the farthest stars that lined night sky.

You expected murmurs from around the docks, but it was as if the man belonged there, towering over all the rest, hands pulling at the mouth of the wolf within the wood. He was silent power within the snow, lean and muscular, body on display as if the storm did not touch him. You felt drawn to him, like he was looking for you high upon the prow. Your feet moved before you could think. You wanted to be closer, to have those violaceous eyes upon you.

You moved in front of the crowd, standing by the edge of the water, sand and ice crunching underfoot, but when your eyes darted to find him, he was gone. There was no trace of slick purple hair within the throngs of people. Disappointment settled into your spirit and wearily you traveled home to rest.

For weeks you dreamt of him, saw shadows of him within the corners of your vision; illusions of a dark cat in your windows, a tawny owl upon barren branches.

Some nights you dreamed you were sinking into a vast violet sea, trying to swim upwards to break against the surface, to breathe air into your lungs and call to Odin to rescue you. But you were stuck, some unknown force pulling at your ankles and keeping you in a watery, nebulous purgatory just below the surface. You would always give up, allow yourself to float within the celestial unknown of the eerie, mauve waters, allow yourself to feel weightless and accept that you were no longer in control. The undercurrents would push you, bring you into strong, waiting arms, and you would awaken, breathing in and feeling like for a brief moment you were whole.

No one you asked had seen the purple haired man, save those who returned from raiding in the East. One warrior told you that the man you saw upon the prow of the ship was a land spirit, brought with them from the Balkans after blessing them with the gift of fire and aiding their struggles to survive as the weather turned bleak. Another relayed that the man was a spirit of the Wild Hunt, a straggler from the ghostly procession that attached himself to the fleet and brought the callousness of winter with him. No matter what they believed him to be, they had all seen him, the man with violet hair and violent eyes.

You knew that the sisters were calling to you from The Well of Fate, whispering the future that they had laid before you. Something about the purple haired man, whether he be man, vestige, or spirit, made you believe that you were fated to meet him again.

Nearly a full moon cycle passed before your curiosity could take no more. In the dead of night, you wrapped yourself in your cloak, ignoring the shadows and wisps of eyes in the dark as you made your way through the sleeping village.

You found yourself before the Seer, ancient and decrypt, asking for him to translate the gods’ wishes and intentions for your life.

“What questions do you have of me?” His voice was as rickety as the bones that adorned his hut, rattling from stray winds. He had lived hundreds of years and now dwelled between life and death, an interpreter between gods and man.

“Wise one, I desire to know the gods’ plans for me. I have dreams.”

“What dreams have come to you?”

“I dream I am drowning within the bay, and that a man saves me, but only after I stop fighting the currents.”

There was a pregnant pause between you. The Seer considered your words. Your thumbs fiddled within your lap, and you felt heavy, like you were under the gaze of more than just the ancient one.

“A precarious quest awaits you, one that will take you between worlds, to the land of the gods.”

“But I do not understand. I do not adventure, nor travel. I am only a simple healer. What kind of quest could await me?”

Below hooded eyes you watched a black tongue escape his mouth, worrying across dry lips as he pondered your words. Only a few times in your life had you visited him, well aware that fate was already the master of all, even the gods, as even they were subject to fate just like any and all other beings.

“You shall go past where the fence separates us from the place of self-willed beasts, finding refuge in that which is chaotic, anarchic, and wild.”

“But, Seer, I do not—.”

“Yes, child, I know you do not understand. But such is the way of prophecy, only to be understood when it has happened, and it is too late to change it.”

You stood to leave, seeds of fear sprouting within your spirit.

“But do not forget there is order within the chaos.” His voice crackled like fire, calling out to you as you left his home, forging a path through the snow to your own.

The foresights of the Seer lingered within your disposition, the cryptic words reverberating through your mind and taking hold in your daily life. You started to fight the currents in your dreams, only to wake gasping for breath after monstrous beings pulled you into the abyss. The warm arms of your illusory savior felt farther away than ever before. The murky glooms in the crevices felt stronger, grimmer, the oppressive eyes of darkness following you from every corner, every winter shade.

Your hands began to slip as you tended to the wounded, your thoughts becoming absent as you crafted medicine or supper, often burning yourself over fires or forgetting ingredients. You felt lost, abandoned by the gods, but still yet you prayed.

Winter continued to rage on, with the moon living within the sky at all times of day and bathing the world in a constant dusk during the desolate midwinter. Every night before you made for bed, you trekked behind the village to the isolated temple to the gods. No one was ever there. The summer raids were over, the men safely returned with riches aplenty, which, along with the great harvest, had left many believing that the gods were in good spirits and were bestowing ample blessings upon their dedicated supplicants.

But you, you felt no love from Asgard, felt no promise of Valhalla waiting for you.

The temple was hardly a sanctuary at all, just a hut overrun by dormant vines and overgrown with dying grass, with an altar for blood sacrifices tucked away against the back wall. Despite being a devoted village, most saved their prayers for their pilgrimage to the great temple in Uppsala, but you had become desperate. You needed to feel closer to the gods, to find the place beyond the fence that was foretold to you.

You knelt upon a broken stone, obedient hands upon your knees as you began to pray.

“Odin, all-father and far-wanderer, may you grant me wisdom, and courage,

Thor, grant me your strength, wield your hammer to break the barriers that hold my mind,

Baldr, the beautiful, beloved by all, please bestow upon me joy and light,

And Freya, mother of beauty, the völva, help me to discern my fate—.”

Your prayer faltered as you heard steps crunch upon the grass. But the sound wasn’t of footsteps coming towards you, more like someone shuffling, shifting their weight within the temple.

You were not alone.

All your instincts began to fight one another. Your mind wanted to flee, to spring your legs and send you running to safety, but your heart felt like you needed to stay, to speak into the twilight for answers. The conflict led to you staying still and being silent. Your hands fisted upon your thighs, your eyes closing tightly. Whatever was there would go away, whoever was there would leave. Maybe there was nothing there at all, only the spirits playing tricks on you again.

“And why haven’t you called out for me, little one?”

The voice sounded like vibrations from within the deepest ocean; deep, unfathomable, and a little wicked.

He was there, before you, arms across his tattooed chest that was on display under emerald linen and violet head cocked to the side. He was grinning, like a cat would upon discovering new prey. His purple hair was arched into wild plumes, his skin rubbed clean but the kohl still upon his cheeks and around his eyes. He was handsome in the firelight, fiendishly so.

“Who are you?” Your voice was a whisper, so light and airy it floated away into the darkness.

“Who am I?” He laughed, leaning against the sacrificial altar, a blatant disrespect for the gods.

“Who am I…” he repeated it, drawing circles in the dirt with his toe. He shifted his weight back and forth for a moment, eyes closing as he picked up an imaginary rhythm.

“A creaking bow, a burning flame, tide on the ebb, new ice, a coiled snake…”

Your breath caught in your throat, fingers twitching in your lap. You recognized the pattern and knew what words came next. It was an old saying your mother used to whisper under her breath, a chant for the old women and those who held superstitions. It was a warning, a rhythmic song to help children remember to stay safe, to avoid perils.

Your mouth opened before you could stop it, finishing the proverb for him.

“The sons of a king, an ailing calf, a witch’s flattery. No man should be such a fool as to trust these things. For they are the trickster in disguise.”

“Aha, so you do know me, girl. Yet after all this time, I’ve never heard you pray to me. Why is that?”

He crouched down to your level, his startling, devilish eyes gleaming like amethyst. He was too close and you felt yourself leaning away, back arching and neck aching as you tried to pull yourself from his gaze.

“No one prays to you, trickster god.”

He merely shrugged, a strong hand reaching for you. Rough fingers found your chin, pulling you closer as his eyes danced across the planes of your face. You began to shake, overwhelmed by being in the presence of perhaps the most dangerous god.

“And how do you know I am he?” he laughed, thumb running over your lips, “I could be Heimdall, sent by Odin to watch over such a devout and…fascinating little creature.”

“Because you’re so…” you paused as you looked for the words. You felt like you were drowning within his gaze, falling to the ground even though you hadn’t moved since he appeared.

He stood quickly, turning on his heel and smirking.

“Because I’m so what? Handsome? Charming? Surprisingly muscular for a god who uses wits and magic to seduce his subjects?”

He pouted at your silence, wanting more of a reaction.

“What if I told you I could be beautiful instead? Would that hex you?”

This time he didn’t give you an opportunity to respond. Within a haze of smoke, he transformed.

A languid, sensuous body appeared between the mists. Voluptuous breasts met your eyes, smooth thighs peeking from beneath an exquisite olive dress. Long, violet tresses fell down the woman’s back, curling so perfectly she looked to be unreal. But his eyes stared at you from the feminine face, dark lavender and sinister upon high cheekbones.

“Hmm,” she sighed, holding her hand out for you to take.

You took the soft hand outstretched to you, surprised at the strength behind the grip as she pulled you to your feet. The goddess was tall and slender, and she gazed at you while she pondered whatever was on her mind.

“Still not as beautiful as you…” her voice was melodic as she looked over her own body, swaying within the graceful skin for a moment before catching your gaze and stopping. You stood still, heart pounding in your chest as you gazed at the hermaphrodite before you. Her lashes fluttered as a familiar smirk spread across her features.

It was as if she was floating when she neared you again, purple hair uncontrollable and suspended within the air. Her tender hands came to your cheeks, pursing your mouth with her thumbs.

“No…nothing is as beautiful as you, little servant.” Her supple lips overwhelmed your own. You gasped, hands flying to her chest to stop her, only to have your fingers sink into the luscious valley of her breasts. A chuckle fans across your face, more masculine than feminine, and the mixture of the voice had shivers of excitement and pleasure racing down to your toes. You were too shocked, too scared to kiss back, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her lips moved against yours gently, pleadingly, only becoming more active when the delicate hands upon your cheeks converted to thick fingers and rough calluses.

Before your eyes the god shifted again, returning to the fetching masculine figure that he was before. You could smell him now, taste him, like smoke from smoldering coals and the residue of rain from within a summer’s forest. Your hands were still upon his chest, your fingers brushing against the skin that was on display between the open buttons of his tunic. His kiss was intoxicating, a hum of magic upon his lips as he drank you in.

“You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He chuckled, licking your lips wantonly before pulling away.

“Why have you been haunting me?” You demanded between heavy breaths, emboldened by his kiss.

“Haunting you? No, no. I’ve been watching you. Observing you. You looked so…sinless among the throngs when I sailed in all those weeks ago. I must say I am very pleased by the things I have seen.”

“And what have you seen?” Your voice snapped; tongue sharp.

His hands caressed your upper arms, eyes glancing across your body as if he was admiring a pattern within runes that he had seen a thousand times before.

“You serve…everyone. The gods, the people in this village, you tend to the weak spirited and the broken bodied, you serve everyone but yourself.”

The god grew quiet, leaning forward to inhale the sweet scent of your hair. His lips pressed to your temple, thumbs stroking your arms through the thin fabric of your clothing. His breath fanned into your hair and you suddenly felt your heart begin to beat more slowly. It was as if his presence alone, his touch, could calm the raging turmoil within your mind.

“Now, I want you to serve me.”

“Yes,” you said too quickly, a knee buckling as you prepared to kneel, “of course, anything for a go—.”

“Shinsou.” His hands held you in place, kept you from bowing to him. He watched as your head tilted and your brow furrowed, obviously wanting to please him. “Shinsou is the name my friends call me, and as shall you.”

“Shinsou.” You tentatively said the name back to him. Your people knew him as Loki, but to know a more intimate name made tingles of warmth spread across your chest, like he was entrusting knowledge unknown by mortals into you.

He became violet and beautiful as you said his name, a warm smile decorating his striking face. The safe feeling of your dreams washed over you. These arms, his arms, his hands and his body, were the safety you had been dreaming of that saved you from the tumultuous seas. You stared at him for a moment, hands feeling a heartbeat within his chest. He looked so human, felt so real, yet still an otherworldly air swirled so poignantly around him. Everything inside of you wanted to fall into him, to feel enveloped by his spirit.

“I’m going to take you away,” he whispered it, hand trailing from your arm to your face, tucking hair behind your ear in a most affectionate way, “you’ll never have to come back here, unless you want to.”

“Take me away? To Asgard?” Your breath hitched as you said the name of the haven of the gods.

He laughed, the sound like honey dripping across your soul.

“No, little one. I am of the giants; don’t you remember the ancient stories? To Jotunheim we will go.”

Your brow lightened, remembering the words of the Seer. Jotunheim, your brain wracked over the word, letting it roll within your thoughts until it revealed what you were looking for. Útgarðr, you realized, the name of that same place given by your ancestors. It meant the world outside your own, the world of chaotic wilds that surrounded Midgard. The place beyond the fence.

This Loki—this Shinsou—was indeed fated to you after all. You felt the connection from the moment you saw him sailing in the winter winds, felt it even more profoundly as he held you before him in the temple. For some reason, the trickster god had chosen you, or perhaps he was merely following fate, testing you for all this time to see if you were truly the human girl destined for him. He was a sign of change, his hands wrapped around the prow of the ship that was carved into a symbol of Ragnarok, the end of the cycle of this world. He was proving to be a carrier of the end times, at least the ending of your own mundane life. And just like Ragnarok, you had a feeling that with this end would come a new beginning, that Shinsou was taking you away but leading you to a new life, a new destiny, far beyond what you could ever imagine.

“Take my hand,” it was a polite command, his words weighty but light enough to promise that you could decline.

You felt something between his fingers, a quietness, a wickedness you could not quite name. It was like a dull thrum of lightening humming between your skin and his. Billows of smoke weaved between your bodies. Just as quickly as he transformed into a woman, Shinsou had you whisked away, transported so rapidly you felt dizzy. You clung to him, your godly refuge, light flashing as your feet found new purchase upon what felt like a floor.

For a moment, you thought the room was a mirage. It was unlike anything had ever seen before, so lavishly decorated with lush furs, viridian curtains, polished stone and warm fires. Books lined every wall and the air smelled of perfumes and incense, even a fountain sprung from stones in the far corner. It was truly unearthly, but his arms around you felt like home.

His head rested upon your shoulder from behind, his palms flattening on your chest to feel your heartbeat as you took in the sights around you.

“This is…this is your home?” One of your hands gripped a muscular forearm.

“Mhm, more like a home away from home, a safe haven.”

He uncurled himself from you, a stout hand pushing at your lower back to urge you to explore. You padded around the room, fingers caressing the spines of books along the walls, finding many in languages unknown to you. Between many of the tomes were vases and trinkets, some glowing with mystic hues, humming with magic well beyond your comprehension.

“What will you have me do here?” Your breath caught as you turned to find him. He seemed so large and ominous within the space, like was the commander of the room and the only ornament to be admired within the vast collection around you.

“You haven’t figured it out? My, and I thought you were keener than most mortals.”

He rolled his shoulders, sighing with content as he removed his tunic, tossing it into the air to only have it dissipate before your eyes in a bright flash of magic. His tattoos seemed darker in the dim light, like the blackest earth pressed into his skin. A serpent trailed down one of his impressive biceps, his other arm decorated in a swirl of runes and etchings of a wolf and a horse, his chest covered with a dark, ethereal depiction of Yggdrasil, the world tree, it’s branches spreading across strong pectorals and its roots weaving between the hard muscles of his stomach.

“Come,” he motioned to you with his fingers, “come back and touch me.”

You had no hesitation, coming to his call like a pet would their master. It felt safe to be back in his arms again, to have your fingers running over the indigo lines of art upon his handsome skin. He proudly showed you his arms, eyeing you with great interest as you admired him.

“Your children,” you mused softly, tracing the pictures so marvelously stretched upon his musculature.

“Yes,” he laughed softly, “my children. Call me sentimental, if you must.” The enormous snake was no doubt Jormungand, the serpentine dragon that encircled all the oceans, all of Midgard. Then there was Fenrir, the ferocious wolf that was chained away somewhere from all humanity and gods alike, in wait to break his binds and eat the world as the end began again. And then there was Sleipnir, the eight-legged horse that bore the weight of Odin in all of his battles. They were all wild creatures, the offspring of the unfathomably powerful god before you. They were all beasts of anarchy, yet they looked so beautiful upon his skin, so harmless within the ink.

“Order within the chaos…” you whispered, echoing the words of the Seer.

“I want you.”

His powerful voice rumbled from within his chest. It startled you, caused your wandering hands to cease upon his arms and become still before him.

“Why?” Breathless. You felt breathless.

“I have traveled every inch of the nine worlds, regarded every corner for fascinations and enthrallments, yet it was in the homeland where I found what I wanted. You are the most beautiful, pliant little create I have ever beheld, and I want you within my bed.”

“No, you can��t! I’m nothing, no one of importance, you…you can’t.”

He left you then, smirk adorning his features as he sauntered to his bed, waiting for you to follow. And you did, an unspeakable urge to touch him, to follow him, to feel him, to be overwhelmed by him, drawing you to him like a fox to its den, to its safety.

“Well, if you don’t want me, my brother Katsuki would give up his fates in order to have such an alluring woman within his sheets.”

“Katsuki?”

He paused, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, that playful grin still upon his lips.

“Thor, if you rather. We all have many names, but I only want mine to come from your tongue. So many nights I waited to hear you pray to me, call out to me within your dreams, but I tired of lingering. So now I will have you say it, scream it, for me, little servant.”

He pulled you into his lap, hands greedy upon your flesh, pulling at your thighs and sinking between your ribs. He looked untamed upon the bed, hair almost purposely unruly and muscles rolling and ready to hunt what he wanted to take.

“Do you think you can do that for me? Pray to me? Call out for me like you need me?”

Thick fingers gripped at your cheeks; violet eyes hazy like storm clouds above the ocean. You were reminded that he was a devious deity, a shapeshifter, a trickster, the one thing that your elders warned you about as a child. A burning flame, tide on the ebb, new ice, a coiled snake, he was all those deceitful things and more. He was the epitome of chaos, yet he had chosen you, desired you, and you knew that deep within your spirit you wanted him as well. He was handsome beyond compare, but his physical splendor was not all that had you holding onto him. Behind those eyes was a promise of release from every woe, a chance to experience pleasure like you had never known before.

“Yes, Shinsou, whatever you desire.”

“So devoted to the gods,” he whispered, bringing you flush against his body, “now I’ll make you feel like one.”

Slowly, he ran his hand downward, finding the intimate, remarkably soaked place between your legs. He could feel your wetness from beneath your wool coverings and a satisfied groan builds within his throat as his lips curl even more sharply, devilishly.

“So wet for me already,” he chuckles, wrist flicking and sending your clothing away.

You gasped, feeling the threads peel away from your body by what felt like imaginary hands. Just like his tunic before, your shirt and trousers were gone, whisked away to perhaps another dimension never to be seen again.

“Look at you,” he boasts, keeping one hand tucked between your slick thighs as the other rakes across your curves, pinching, pulling, teasing at your flushed skin, “not even the goddesses compare to you. Mhm, thank the All Father for breathing life into you, I must thank him for creating such beauty.”

Your mouth could barely stammer a thanks. You were beguiled, stunned within his lap, your legs stretched over gloriously muscled thighs. You almost felt shameful to be on such display for him, but the hunger in his eyes and the hardening cock underneath told you just how pleased he was to have you.

A deft finger began to circle your most sensitive spot, making you bite your lip as a groan burned within your throat. He was slow and deliberate with his movements, gaze catching every breath you made, every shift and roll of your body. You felt hot, unbearably so, as his finger toyed with you so languidly.

His other hand found your breast, cupping it and testing its weight within his giant palm. His thumb grazed your nipple, circling it at the same pace and movement as your clit. He grinned as he watched you slowly come undone, felt your walls and insecurities crumbling away at his touch.

Shinsou then took your sensitive clit between two fingers, rolling it so perfectly that it sent sparks of pleasure racing across your nerves, surging from your thighs to your toes and back again. He kept going, stroking sensually, purposely, with such expert skill that you felt you could cum just from his slightest touches. Is this what being with a god felt like? Like you were constantly on the edge of euphoria, every touch and stroke like the gift of life within your body?

Your head tipped back as you moan, giving in to the overwhelming pleasure. He watched with glee as the column of your throat was on display for him. He took a moment to press his hot mouth against your flesh, sucking roughly against the side of your neck like he was taking your pleasure for himself. You could only moan again, the sensations already drowning you in such bliss you were surprised your inner coil of pleasure hadn’t broken for him already. He was an expert in giving pleasure just like he was the art of manipulation and sorcery.

All too easily he moved you below him on the bed, his impressive body now hovering over your own, mouth still biting at your neck, fingers still circling your nipple and caressing your pussy.

“Tell me what you want,” it was a soft command against the slick skin of your neck.

“You,” you breathed in deep, breasts pressing against his tattooed chest with your inhale, “please, more.”

“More of what? Of this?” he pinched at your nipple, tugging it and twisting it so wantonly that you couldn’t help but to shriek in pleasure for him, “or this?” his two fingers danced along the lips of your pussy, sliding between the wet folds before returning to your aching clit, swirling against it so proficiently that you felt your inner muscles clenching and begging for release.

“All of it, I want everything.”

“My, my, you are a greedy little thing.”

All at once, he ceased his motions, easing the pressure upon your body and leaving you wanting, burning, begging for more. But he is not gone from you. His fingers, coated in your slick, tauntingly trace over your clit once more, so light it’s like the kiss of life just barely brushing over your delicate flesh. You began to writhe in response, needing more friction, needing more of his touch, but he moved his weight upon your body to suppress you. He was teasing, purposely neglecting to give you the stimulation you so desired.

“Any time you want more, you say my name, little one. Say my name and I can give you everything you desire.”

“Shinsou, please.”

He groaned, he himself coming undone at the sound of your voice. He couldn’t even begin to explain how gratifying it was to hear his name come from your lips. He was no fool of a god, he knew no one prayed to him, but he wanted you to pray to him more than anything he had ever desired before. Your songs of praise would fill him in ways a mere mortal could never fathom; your prayers, his name from your mouth, was more intoxicating than any substance Odin had ever created. To have you, a devoted child of the gods, calling his name while he stole your faith away from every other god and claimed it all for himself, fulfilled him beyond measure.

His touch trailed lowered, finding your puckered pussy pulsing and waiting, ready for him. He entered a single finger, a heavy moan of approval ghosting against your neck as your inner walls contracted around him, pulling him deeper into you.

“So fucking tight,” he lifted his head, finding your eyes closed and pretty mouth agape, “I can’t wait to have my cock in you.”

Waves of pleasure rocked over your body as he moved his finger within you, curling it to massage the fleshy walls, quickly finding a sensitive spot to stroke against. His palm pressed against your clit as he buried another finger into you, the two digits working in tandem to spread you, spear you onto his thick fingers, pushing them far into your depths. Every plunge had you gasping, bursts of bliss spreading across your skin like flames.

His mouth returned to yours as he fingered you, hot and heavy, but his kiss felt controlled, like he was holding back. You reacted quickly, pushing up into him with all your strength, arms circling his neck and pressing him for more. You wanted what he can give, all of it, and you showed him with your actions. Your hands fisted into those vivid purple plumes of hair, tugging as your hips began to match the speed of the hand working within you. You moaned, loud, desperately, your tongue prodding his lips. He graciously accepted your tongue, opening his mouth and wrestling against you. His tongue licked your own, slow and wet, tasting you and groaning at the sweetness.

“Shinsou,” it was a murmur against his mouth, but he heard it, soaked it up and began to thrust and curl his fingers faster than before. You cried out at the pleasure, mouth falling from his.

“You like it a little rough, hm? You’re so easy to read, my dear. I am going to make you cum so hard you’ll be begging for all that I have planned for you.”

His words had your cheeks and ears burning with a blush. He only grinned, choosing to prop himself onto one arm so he could watch you. With every flick of his wrist, every move of his fingers inside of you, he watched your face. He watched how your lips curled, how your jaw clenched. He felt your hands twist in his hair; felt how you would pull on the violet strands in desperation when he touched the perfect spots. His eyes scanned your body as well, watching what made your breasts bounce, your stomach clench, your walls tighten around his fingers. It didn’t take the god long to discover exactly what made you tick.

He rapidly increased his pace, using his newfound knowledge to make your body feel like it could explode at any moment. He touched you just right, plunged his fingers so perfectly as to keep you on the edge of your euphoria for as long as he could. Truthfully, he could’ve kept you in suspense forever, but Shinsou was not a god known for his patience. He wanted to watch you cum, wanted to see your face when you came around the fingers of perhaps the most reviled deity. One even you wouldn’t dare pray to.

“You ready?” He called your name, making your eyes flutter open to see him. He saw the lust within your brilliant irises, your dilated pupils, and that sight alone had his cock harder than it ever had been before. He was no longer sure he could keep his composure as he watched you come undone.

He leaned down closer, close enough to catch your breath within his mouth. He would’ve expected you to kiss him had you not been so far gone, so close to otherworldly release that your lips could no longer form words.

“Cum for me,” that wicked tone of voice was back, his fingers now slamming into your body, “cum for a god, little mortal.”

His thumb returned to your clit, showing it no mercy as he rubbed tight, fast circles against it. His words, his fingers, his body, his breath, it was all too much.

“Sh-Shinsou!”

You reached a high you had never felt before as you came for him. Your head felt dizzy, like you were back to drowning within your dreams, waves and waves of euphoria crashing over you so roughly you felt like you were sputtering for air amidst the onslaught of pleasure. Your walls clenched and unclenched around his unceasing fingers, your chest tightening, your core exploding, heat blooming from every patch of skin he had dared to touch. You screamed. Over and over, the bliss felt never ending, and he baited you for even more.

“That’s right, cum all over my fingers, just like that, just how I want you.”

It felt like he was drawing your orgasm from your body, pulling everything he could from you. His thumb still stroked your clit, fingers still buried deep within your body as you quivered around him. Your thighs clamped around his thick forearm as you finally began to descend from your high, body loosening and sinking into his bed.

He finally stilled his movements. He merely smirked as he watched your chest heave with breaths as you basked in the afterglow of your pleasure.

“Good girl,” he cooed. In the haze you realized how much you wanted to hear those words again, recognized how much you wanted to please him. You wanted more of those encouraging words, more of his admiration, wanted to know how much of a good girl you really were. Your spirit suddenly craved even more, despite the world-shattering orgasm still lingering within your muscles, your blood, your soul.

You felt empty when his fingers left you, but watched in shocked delight as he brought the digits to his awaiting mouth. He sat up before you, sucking at his skin and cleaning your slick from his fingers with a very greedy tongue. He looked wild, uncaged, like the wolf Skoll had finally eaten the moon and brought the world to end.

“Fuck,” you whispered in awe, scrambling for purchase against his sheets as you propped on your elbows to watch him.

He quirked a brow as he slid his tongue between his fingers, relishing your slick as if it was the sweetest honey.

“I’m sorry, did I make the pious girl curse?”

“I’m not pious!” You countered, feeling flustered, shaking your head and pouting as he only laughed.

He smirked as he finished cleaning his fingers, crawling up the bed and pulling you into his lap.

“I dare not argue, not after those delicious sounds you just made for me.”

Shinsou quelled any words that were forming in your mind with a kiss, his lips tasting of you. You moaned against him, feeling his arms snake around your back and hold you to him. His cock was hard and heavy, now prodding against your still pulsating pussy.

“Mhm, how will I take you?”

It was a pondering to himself, but the words still made you tremble. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your nipples hardening as they brushed against the downy hairs of his chest. His strong hands found the flesh of your ass, lifting you to hover over his large, throbbing erection. You held in a breath, waiting, expecting him to take you hard and fast and now, but he merely teased your entrance.

“This way?”

The head of his cock began to spread your lips apart, warm and silken and making you drip even more than before. He sat there for a moment, using the strength of his arms to lift and drop you just ever so slightly onto his cock, each little movement making you gasp.

But then the anchors of his arms were gone, sliding down your thighs as he laid you back on the bed. So easily he moved on top of you again, one hand gripping your thigh, the other slithering up your body to wrap around your tender, kiss bruised throat.

“Or perhaps like this?”

He held you against the bed, cock still hard and waiting between your spread thighs, sliding ever so gently against your pussy. His fingers flexed against your throat and he watched how your eyes flashed with want, with need.

“I could always take you as a woman. You fell so easily into my kiss when I transformed earlier, hm? Would you like that?”

He could feel your gulp underneath his palm, shaky and deep.

“No,” he was smirking, plotting. His deft fingers took your hip into his hand and flipped you over, both hands skimming down your body and pulling you up onto your knees. With a stern hand he kept your breasts pressed into the mattress by applying pressure to your shoulder blades, positioning you just how he wanted. You felt even more exposed than before, your pussy open and wanting and waiting, spread before his hungry eyes like a meal ready to be devoured.

The head of his cock was back at your opening, prodding your lips apart and slowly sinking into you with agonizing slowness. You held your breath, hands fisting into the sheets. He continued to open you more and more, his cock thick and hot. His hand on your hip constrained you securely, keeping you locked into place. The hand on your back did the same, his hold strengthening as he felt you writhe before him.

“Yes,” he purred, cock easing into you, “this is how I want my little servant.”

But the rocking of his hips stopped, the head of his cock now barely pressing inside of you. You breathed heavily against the sheets, sweat trickling down the back of your neck in anticipation. Without being able to see him, face him, you could only feel him. You felt his fingertips press deeper into the curve of your ass, as if readying himself, or perhaps attempting to use restraint. The hand on your back was steady, keeping smooth pressure on your skin. His thighs were solid and strong against your own, his breaths even, his cock so fucking hard.

You cried out in anguish, your aching pussy clenching around the head of his cock.

“Please, Shinsou!”

“Pray to me.”

His tone was nefarious, teasing, almost inhuman in how deeply it reverberated from within that broad chest. You closed your eyes and imagined how the sound must have climbed the dark branches of the world tree upon his skin.

“Pray to me like you did to the other gods in the temple. I want to hear that pretty voice beg for me to fuck you.”

That breathless feeling returned. Your heart began to race, mind rolling around too many thoughts at once that couldn’t be comprehended within your lusty haze. You hastily mulled over words within your head.

“Shinsou…” you began, feeling his fingers begin to mark crescent moons into your flesh, feeling the tip of his cock throb within your core, “wielder of cunning, god of mischief, I beg of you, please bestow upon me great joy and pleasure, take my body as this offering to you, so that I may serve you and grant you the indulges of the flesh—!”

With your final praises tumbling from your lips, he slammed his cock deep inside of you, stretching and spreading you and making you feel like he had set your body alight with magic. Your body lurched forward, nearly toppling over from the power of his thrust, but his strong hands kept you in place, allowing him to begin a brutal speed. Your ass bounced forcefully against his hips, breasts jostling with every thrust. One of his hands curled around your waist to your lower stomach, and he groaned when he realized he could feel his cock bulge from inside of you. He became heedless then, impaling you with reckless abandon, eager to feel your belly swell from the onslaught of his cock.

The forcefulness of his fucking left your muscles aching and your lungs breathless. You were now moaning with every plunge of his cock, as with each stroke he lit a fresh burst of pleasure that rippled across your entire body akin to the streams of enchantments you had seen him wield.

You felt like you were slipping away, having to fight to keep your thoughts alive as he brought you up the mountain of euphoria with just the heavy strokes of his cock.

“Don’t fight the currents. Let go for me.” He grunted the words between thrusts.

You allowed ecstasy to fully wash over your body, allowed his hands to guide you, hold you, take you to far beyond what you once thought the limits of pleasure entailed.

Shinsou moved the hand from your back to your shoulder, using the leverage to pound your body back against his. You could only moan at the feeling, of being so full of his cock, of hearing his groans join the chorus of your own. You clung to the bed with what strength you have left, allowing him to completely take the reins of control and have his way with you.

With each and every thrust, he pulled you back at different angles, trying you, testing you, watching you, seeing which way he fucks you makes you react the most. He listened for sharp cries and deep moans. He felt for your walls to flutter, your abdominal muscles to tighten, learned your body and fucked you with a chaotic yet controlled force.

He leaned over your back, hand moving to your neck, pulling your face up from the sheets. This position has him somehow deeper, head of his cock kissing where the curve of your cavern meets your cervix, farther than any had ever gone before. He filled you to the brim, stretched you so wide you felt you could burst, the intense pleasure of it all bringing tears to the corners of your lashes.

He brought your face closer to his, so that he can kiss your cheek as he fucks you, feel your hair against his chin, watch your breasts bounce so unabashedly from his force.

“You like this, hm? Serving me? Letting me fuck you like this?”

“Yes, yes!”

He squeezed the hand on your stomach, making you moan as you felt the massive cock from inside of you press against your belly.

“You like being so full of my cock? No mortal could ever fuck you like I do!”

“Yes—fuck—you feel so, so good, Shinsou!”

You could feel sweat on his skin, feel his heart beating like a caged raven within his chest. He felt so human, felt so real, but the euphoria he brought you was transcendental.

“You’re such a good girl, such a dirty girl, for me, only me.”

His powerful words were becoming whispers within your hair, vestiges upon your skin. You could only nod, the plowing of his cock into your core now leaving you more breathless than before. You could feel your release nearing, the flames being fanned by every stroke of the head of his cock against your walls, every push of his hand against your belly.

Your slick was dripping down your thighs, pussy so wet that every time his cock assailed your core your ears were met with the sinful sound of drenched bodies meeting one another in animalistic rut. You were climbing the orgasmic ladder again, aided by the sublime feel of his crushing hands upon your neck, your stomach, his vast chest against your back, rough lips pulling your face into him, and his thick, repetitive cock drumming into you.

Your mind was on sensory overload, your body uncontrollably bucking against him, begging for another otherworldly release. You could feel your walls clenching around his cock, your body pleading on its own. Pleasure was singing down your body, bringing pure delight and bliss with every pulse, every push of his cock. You were so close, so fucking close, all you needed was for him to allow you to go over the edge. You had submitted to his currents and knew only he could bring the ebb and flow of release.

You began to chant his name in prayer.

“Fuck yes, little one, just like that. Oh you’re so good, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” you choked out, nearly sobbing for relief, “so, so good for you!”

“Then cum, cum for me!”

He roared the words against your cheek, his command overwhelming you and sending you spiraling as the waves of euphoria returned, crashing over your body like a tumultuous sea. Your body crumpled underneath his and he held you, the violent tightening of your body sending the god himself over the edge. Hot cum poured inside of you, making you cry out at the magnificent feeling of being completely filled by him. Your snug walls struggled to flutter around the girth of his cock, prolonging your orgasm and making you feel suspended within his arms, gasping for breath and reveling in every dull thump of his cock inside of you.

He held you for a long moment, hand against your belly, hand around your neck. It was his turn to bask in the afterglow of sex, to feel wholly spent and satisfied with the girl he had handpicked for himself. You were perfect in his arms, hands fisted into his sheets, lips swollen, his seed dripping from where he was still lodged within your depths. You’d let go, allowed him to have you, to take you, and there was no way in the nine fucking realms he was ever letting you go.

Shinsou kept you within his embrace as he collapsed to the bed, inked chest heaving and Jormungand curling around your back to hold you against him.

“Mhm, all the scheming I had to do to get you here, in my bed, filled with my cum.”

“Scheming?” You asked into his chest.

“What, you didn’t think all those dreams were coincidence, no?”

You sat up to look at him, all tussled violet hair, kohl on his cheeks smeared, grin upon his lips.

“And the cats? The owls? All those eyes on you in the dark? All that time spent waiting for you, little one. I even had to whisper my indecent plans to the Seer. Can you imagine that conversation? At least he put it into fun little riddles for you to decipher.”

“I—I can’t believe you would do all of that, for me. You could’ve just taken me.”

He snorted at your remark.

“I did. My hand was forced to interrupt your fucking daily prayer time and beguile you away.”

You nestled back to him, sinking into his skin, his touch.

“Well, I am gleefully bewitched.”

“And to think,” he chuckled, curling a finger under your chin and bringing your eyes to his, “all you had to do was pray to me.”

You were far too tired for rebuttal, choosing to instead settle with a kiss. He had chosen you. And for that you were filled with adoration, filled with a need to please far greater than you had ever desired to find the veneration of any other god. It was all for him, for a god who had no doubt tricked you into his bed.

__________________________________

This was written for the Citrus Dome writing collab.

#bnha smut #my hero academia fanfic #bnhabookclub #hitoshi shinso x reader #smut with plot #bnha x reader #shinso hitoshi #bnha shinso #bnha shinso hitoshi #shinso x reader #shinsou smut #hitoshi x reader #bnha hitoshi #bnha fanfic #my hero academia x reader

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infernwetrust · 3 years

Text

Eden’s Prodigal Son Part 4- Know No Better [Andy Dolan x Reader]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: You weren’t sure what kept you coming back to Andy Dolan. All you knew was that you kept coming back. And it only got worse before it got better.

Warnings: swearing, little bit o’ violence , drug use, fluff, angst, mentions of pregnancy

WC: 2.0k

A/N: Unlike the previous parts, the next couple of parts for Eden’s Prodigal Son will take place in the present with a few significant flashbacks. Thank you for reading! -Juno

GIF by kissxmedeadly

It never rained much in Eden. But when it did, it poured. Andy sat on the edge of the bed in his home, suitcases packed for yet another few months in LA. Except this time, he would have nothing to look forward to upon his return. Why? Because you were completely done with Andy Dolan. And he knew that.

His ears were ringing, his heart left his chest and went back and forth between his throat and his stomach. How could he be so fucking stupid? His eyes continuously scanned over the last text message that you sent to him and it burned him every single time. How could he?

I hope you have fun with her.

How could he have fun with her? He didn't want her as much as he wanted you. Anyone with eyes could see how obsessed Andy was with you, but he was so fucking stupid. Fear of commitment maybe? Maybe that's what did it? What was suppose to be just a fling from time to time while he was in LA, turned into something more. Something he didn't want. And now he was stuck. And now he's going through the headlines that exposed him.

"Fuck!" He shouted, abruptly rising to his feet and throwing his phone against the wall with all his force. He watched as it shattered into tiny fragments and he was thankful that he reminded to back his phone up the night before. He needed a new phone anyways. For a few moments he finally felt at peace, not being able to impulse look at things.

"Everything alright, mate?" Ben questioned as he barged into the room upon hearing Andy's scream. He looked back and forth between Andy and his broken phone and he immediately knew.

"I need a few of those." Andy stated simply, referring to the bag of green pills that he had in his hand, specifically for Andy, by his request. Ben knew better to try and argue with him when he was in such a state. He obliged, opening the bag and pouring 2 onto Andy's hand. He'd never leave him with the whole bag. And like usual, this was how Andy coped. "Are we leaving now?"

"Yeah.. yeah."

*** "Are you sure you don't want to see-," Hedwig began, but you quickly gave her your answer. No. You did not want to see Andy Dolan one last time despite the intense history. You never thought that you could be this broken, but here you were. You clung to his hoodie that he had left at your place, like your life depended on it. Tears fell heavily from your eyes as you laid your head in Hedwig's lap, the two of you on the couch.

"You told me you fucking loved me!" You screamed at Andy, your fists pounding into his chest, tears steaming down your face, ruining your makeup.

"I do fucking love you, Y/N!" He grabbed your wrists in an attempt to slow you down, but you weren't having it. You managed to snatch one of your wrists from his relatively strong grip, returning a swift and sharp smack to his face.

"Love me enough to get someone else pregnant?!"

"I think I'm going to be sick." Your legs couldn't carry you to your bathroom fast enough. There were too many memories of him, everywhere. You kicked him out of your home so fast that night, he didn't have time to grab anything. You turned your sink, splashing your face with the cooling water. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"It was a fucking mistake!" That's all he could say. Because it was. One drunk and sloppy hookup turned into an unexpected pregnancy for both Andy and his party.

"A fucking huge mistake, Andy Dolan! You have a fucking one year old and we've been together for 6 months and I find out through a news article. For fuck sakes Andy, you didn't think this one out did you?"

"I was going to tell you.." He mumbled, knowing how bad he fucked up.

"Fucking tell me?! It's been a year, Andy!" You shoved him back, watching him stumble to stay on his feet. "I gave you everything."

The tears fell faster than you could catch them and decided that trying to wash them away was a waste of your time.

I hope you have fun with her.

The last text message that you sent to Andy a week ago. He texted you several times after that, almost every day for the next week until you had to put him on do not disturb. That's the thing about Andy. And the thing about you too. He was never able to leave you alone and you the same.

Y/N please talk to me. I miss you. I love you... please. It was a mistake. I fucked up. I know. I should of told you, but I was scared. I'm not even ready to be a fucking father. This was before we even got together and I know a lot of things were said and were done, but we're all human, yeah? Please just talk to me, Y/N. I don't want lose you over this. I know it's a pretty big deal, but I'm not hiding anything else. I promise. I'm sorry...

He tried to call you a few times as well, but God knows why he would try to do that. Eventually he just started calling to hear your voicemail, anything, that could keep him closer to you. You caught yourself going through your camera roll one too many times, reliving all the memories.

You should of known. Andy was way too popular, way too good-looking to just settle down. You should of known. Right? Maybe you should of just stayed friends, but like a fool you fell for it. And fell for it. And fell for it. And now it's killing you.

"Y/N..." Hedwig's soft voice spoke from behind the door as you walked out of your bathroom, a sobbing mess. "Can I come in?" God bless her, huh? What would you do without your dear Hedwig? She was always in the middle of you and Andy. She was there for every small moment, every big moment, every argument. She was your rock and you were hers. You opened the door for her, still not able to control all of your sobbing.

In the distance you could hear small chatter. You forgot that tonight you had invited every one over for yet another small get together. But, you didn't know that you would be like this when the time came.

"C' mere." She spoke, engulfing you into her arms, letting you cry it out.

"I love him." You sobbed. "So fucking much."

"I know." Hedwig held you tighter. "He'll regret it. Andy. He's... fuck.." She knew what she wanted to say and although it was true, she could never bad mouth another friend. Burying your face in the crook of her neck, you screamed, letting some amount of stress leave your body for the night.

"I'm so-,"

"No. You're not. You're in love. It's okay to be in love. This is your first heart break. And it won't be your last, especially dealing with Andy Dolan, but the two of you just need some serious time apart." Hedwig cupped both sides of your face in her hand, making you look at her. She pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before pulling you back into a hug. "He'll realize how much of a gem he let slip through his fingers. But you have us. And I know we're no Andy, but we love you just as much."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

*** "Jesus Christ, mate." Ben growled, aggravated with Andy's intoxication as they traveled through airport security. "The no-fly list suits you well right about now, doesn't it?"

"Fuck off, yeah?" Andy chuckled, running his hands through his hair as he clumsily put his things in a bin to go through the scanner, nearly knocking the stack next to him over. Ben sighed, furrowing his eyebrows and he got his things together as well. This was the first time airport security scanned two people in the body scanner at once, Ben having to physically hold Andy in the position they requested. Embarrassed, they couldn't leave the area fast enough to start walking towards their gate.

"You fucking listen to me. And you listen to me good, aye." Ben spoke, abruptly dragging Andy into a nearby family bathroom, locking the door behind him. He slammed Andy up against the bathroom wall, spraying the water bottle he was carrying in his hand all over his face. "Wake the fuck up, okay?" He slapped him around a few times, Andy not sober enough to even attempt to fight back. And even if he wanted to, he deserved this. "Wake the fuck up, Andy Dolan." Andy choked slightly on the water that managed to get into his mouth, spitting it back up and coughing.

"Fu-,"

"Fuck off. I know, hm?" Ben opened another water bottle, spraying it on him as well. "You want to know the one thing you're good at? Driving people the fuck away.." Ben held Andy by his now soaking shirt, glaring into his eyes that screamed nothing but pain, regret, anger, and sadness. "Everything you have now, Dolan. I HELPED YOU GET. It's not just about you okay, dick head? As your agent this is MY life too and you are on track to fucking ruin it."

Andy was silent and in a daze. The bathroom was spinning and he swore he was looking at Ben 4 times, but all the words were registering. Ben was right for the most part. Andy was good at driving people away. People that weren't you, but now look, it is you. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes and he could feel his throat swell with sorrow.

"Your public image matters. Remember that. And for fuck sakes, mate. You don't fucking need her." Ben continued. "You're a fucking superstar. You can have any one you want. Mad at you because you got some irrelevant broad pregnant and the two of you weren't even together?"

"Stop.." Andy growled.

"No. I'm not going to fucking stop. She's done nothing, but distract you. That's all she has ever always done. I'm sure she's had her fair share while you were away. Did you ever think about that? She just got lucky to not get knocked up by the next bloke, huh? People make mistakes. You need to get over it. And she needs to get over it. You have a fucking full career ahead of you."

He let Andy go, rummaging through his bag for a new shirt for him to match the current style of his outfit. When he got re-dressed, his administered eye drops for the now teary-eyed man whose eyes were covered in red streaks. When the opportunity presented itself, they finally made their way to their gate, no conversation between the two of them until they would land in LA.

*** "We should get married y'know." You suggested to Andy, snatching his attention away from the joint that he was rolling.

"I'm sorry.." He chuckled. "But what? We should what? Y/N we're 16."

"Hear me out first, silly." You giggled at your idea.

"Okay, crazy. I'm listening."

"We only get married if we can't find the one. Someone has to be responsible for me when I die. And and. There are some pretty good benefits to being married." Andy glanced back and forth between you and his joint before he busted out laughing. "You're laughing, but it's such a good idea!"

"You really are crazy, you know that?" He handed you the joint and the lighter, always letting you have the first pull now that the two of you started smoking together. "But of course, Y/N. As long as we don't find the one. I will marry you so that someone will be responsible for us when we die. And for the benefits."

"I knew you'd understand."

But you are the one.

Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @9layerdevilfoodcake @ferndolan @dorklydefined @littledemondani @king-with-no-crovvn @chicaluna2410 @waitinvain

#andy dolan #andy dolan x reader #andy dolan imagine #eden #eden’s prodigal son #cody fern

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leftonraed · 3 years

Text

The Night We Met - Episode 7

pairing : Taehyung x OC genre : bodyguard!au, singleparent!au, idol!au word count : 5.9 k summary — Everything seems set fair for Taehyung and his niece, except you’re not in the picture much to their dismay. Warnings – smut scenes ahead, nothing too extreme I promise ;] Prologue | ep.1 | ep.2 | ep.3 | ep.4 | ep.5 | ep.6 | ep.7

It must have been the tenth time Taehyung’s skimming his completed adoption request. His parents who arrived a little while ago let him have some peace and quiet in the short minutes they’ve got left before the hearing.

His arms are resting on his knees and his hair hides his face from anyone walking down the large hallway. He relaxes his wrists, forcing himself to stare at anything else but the paper in his hands and calm his nerves.

He closes his eyes and tries to think of anything to disconnect from the noise of people buzzing around.

His mind takes him away for a moment, far enough to make his parents’ conversation nothing but a string of indistinct words. He’s being taken back to this morning, back to his earliest thought of the day – you.

He’d instantly conjured up a picture of you as soon as he had felt your arms wrapping around his body beneath the covers. His lips had stretched in a lazy smile while his hands slid down above yours. The feeling of your lips kissing the skin of his nape had thieved a soft groan of pleasure.

He’d turned around, taken his place between your legs, rubbing against their softness in slow moves before seeking your mouth blindly. You’d hugged him tight, answering his kiss just as zealously.

Taehyung isn’t sure how but he can still smell the scent your neck was giving off. It’s like you’re with him all over again.

The needy moan you had let escape once you had felt him pushing deeper within, had had him rolling his hips against yours for the first time, silently requesting more of those.

The notion of your presence in his embrace was overwhelming. He couldn’t get enough of you.

He’d offered you some respite and buried his face in your neck and hair, thrusting harder, squeezing tighter, inhaling deeply as much as possible.

He could hear you, gasping by his ear while stifling you with his love. Your nails had dug in his back as his name had escaped you in a tired pant. He’d smothered you in a possessive and comforting hold as he had helped you ride out the sudden burst.

He’d followed closely, trapping his throaty grunts in your mouth with a demanding kiss while he was filling you up with more of himself.

Taehyung had never opened his eyes the whole time, he didn’t want to, he wanted to keep you here, underneath and stuck to him simply because it felt right.

Once the pleasurable feeling had worn off, he eventually blinked himself awake, only to be surrounded by a deafening silence and the absence of you.

He felt hot, exhausted and wet. The pillow was sticking to his face uncomfortably when he pulled himself up on his arms to glance down where you were supposed to be. He was left to discover himself in the mess you had driven him to make.

“Taehyung!”

He opens his eyes and looks up in surprise at the loud call from his father.

“You left the poor girl calling for you for a whole minute.”

He recognizes and finally acknowledges Hina’s teacher bent towards him. She had graciously accepted to take part in the hearing in his favor.

“Oh- Hum, I’m- I’m so sorry. I-”

“Don’t worry. I was telling your parents that I’d probably be elsewhere if I was in your shoes.”

“Right,” he trails, smiling awkwardly.

“Your face… It’s hum- a little red, are you okay?”

He shakes his hair in front of his eyes, hiding away in embarrassment, ineluctably forced to remember the last image he had of himself from this morning.

“You sure? You’re getting redder.”

Luckily, she’s cut off by Hina’s sudden burst of joy at his sight, who comes running their way under the smiles of his parents. Her grandparents are walking behind along with Choi Seoyoung.

Just as everyone is done greeting each other, the door leading to the adoption court judge opens welcoming everyone in.

********************************

Now reunited for good, it feels like the past three months away from each other never happened. Taehyung learns to cherish even more the moments in Hina’s company, indirectly ensuring himself he’s still a special place in her heart.

He makes time for her, from now on family will always come first. It took a couple of weeks for Hina to feel safe in his absence again and stop feeling like being him was going to be ephemeral.

On the other hand, Taehyung’s insecurities were directed towards his career, he struggled to make sense of his desires and priorities. Should I take a break? Should I quit? He still very much liked singing and writing music but one thing he was certain of, he’d need to make some changes in their interest.

One day Hina asked where you had gone and he realized all this questioning made him almost forget about you for the longest time ever.

After she had been taken away from him, he’d become aware he had no means to get in touch with you. He’d never needed your phone number because you had always been around. He’d never seen you use one when he came to think about it. He remembered the gym place you worked at but his touring abroad and busy schedule prevented him from visiting it right after you’d left.

He questioned one of the staff members in charge of human resources but the equipment had been improved and the data with any reference to you had been lost.

He just couldn’t believe it. In this day and age, he couldn’t find you. Just like this, you had vanished.

Hina was just as disheartened when he told her. She made him hate his helplessness all the more.

*********************************

It’s the end of the year.

Parents and children are huddled in front of the school doors, talking animatedly. Taehyung keeps his distance as he ends his chat on the phone with his mother.

“I think I got it the first fifteen times you said it,” he whines. “I’ll give you 4K HD Hina, the singer. Don’t worry. I won’t miss a thing from it. No, still nothing. I don’t think I’ll- we’ll ever see her again. Hm… She tries her best, you know, to not be sad about it but- yeah… It sucks. You should’ve come with dad. It could’ve helped her cheer up a little... I know. Make sure he waits three hours before he takes those pills again.”

The afternoon sunlight is harsh on his eyes when he takes a look and he has to turn around. He’s on his own, save the two or three people lingering outside, on their phones as well.

“You know, your brother must be very thankful to have you.”

Taehyung smiles awkwardly at his feet, shifting his weight.

“I hope she’s not disappointed because it’s just me. I hope he’s watching too, she rehearsed very seriously.” He makes his mother giggle. “I listened to her so many times… I just might as well go and sing with them.”

“You’d look cute.”

“I hope you really don’t plan on doing that. That’s not what I came here for.”

Taehyung turns around instinctively when he hears the sudden voice behind him but the sun hits his face barely letting him see anything even with his eyes covered.

He frowns, blinking as his eyes adjust and freezes.

That dress, he wonders.

The stranger gets closer until the sun is fully hidden behind and Taehyung feels blessed with an even more dazzling view when he recognizes you.

“Mom, I- I’ll call you later.” He trails, locking his phone as he can’t look away.

“Hi,” you say.

You’re here. You came.

You stare back, breaking into a lopsided smile when he’s still not replying.

His mouth opens but nothing comes out.

You wait, the time needed for you to take him in after all those months away and appreciate how he’s changed.

It’s your first time seeing him looking this elegant and formal and it suits him. His hair looks a little shorter. You’re glad to find him doing much better than when you’d left.

Your name is the first thing that he eventually lets out. “You’re here.”

“Of course,” fixing your eyes on him with a soft smile. “I made a promise, remember?”

******************

Taehyung lets you lead the march after you’ve scolded him for making you two late. He finds himself glancing down at your hand holding his and at your back, staring shamelessly at the way the fabric hugs your flawless figure.

“It’s packed.” Your voice snaps him back in reality.

“Shit,” he mutters while looking around. “I promised her I’d sit in the front row.”

“This way,” you say but he doesn’t have time to react as you pull him strongly.

You find a bench on a high level.

“What are you doing? We’re all the way back now.”

“Stop whining and take my hand.” You say after climbing up the bench.

He listens and pulls himself up next to you. From this position, you can see the stage with no hindrance but it’s still quite distant.

The curtains are drawn and a group of toddlers is seen waiting behind. A few of them seem not to have moved away from their assigned position but most are either fooling around or look distressed, seeking their teachers and own parents.

Taehyung and you immediately find Hina, right in the center, standing tall and quiet as she skims the crowd. She slightly frowns when she still can’t see him after a third try until–

“Hina!”

She looks up and gazes further away where she’s heard the sudden call coming from. Her eyes widen at your sight.

You wave energetically ignoring the curious looks you’re drawing to yourself and Taehyung. He is staring as well, surprised. He looks back and feels warmth spreading in his entire being at her happiness.

“You can do this!”

Hina lifts her small arm to wave back, fighting the urge to run to you two.

“Yes, Hina! You can do this! Papa is so proud of you!”

“Thank you dad for your supporting words.” A voice suddenly announces in a microphone and laughter rises in the room making Taehyung turn a bright red while you stifle a chortle.

The voice continues, establishing silence, claiming the beginning of the show as the lights are dimmed.

He remembers to get his phone camera ready before the first notes echo. You never lose sight of Hina.

The children’s voices mingle in a surprisingly good harmony when the first lyrics are heard. You feel your heart thumping loudly in your chest as you listen to them, recognizing the lullaby you used to whisper to Hina so she’d fall asleep back during the trip.

Taehyung falters a quick second when you suddenly clasp your finger around his wrist. Making sure Hina’s still in the frame, he turns his head to look at you, noticing how emotional you’re getting.

***************

Less than an hour later, the show ends to thunderous applause. Taehyung guides you to the side where children come out to join their family. You don't have a chance to think of something to say to each other when you suddenly feel small arms wrapping around your knees in a tight embrace.

You instantly smile at Hina when you see her looking up delighted and crouch down to pick her up.

“Did you miss me?” You feel her nodding against your shoulder while she hugs your neck tight. “I missed you too. So much. You did so well back there. I really loved your singing.”

She leans back to look at you and holds your face to crash kisses all over your cheek under Taehyung’s jubilant gaze.

You put her down but she quickly catches your hand in hers and hugs one of his legs.

He pats the crown of her head and looks up at you. “I’m really glad you made it.”

You share a smile but get interrupted again as a small group of children comes surrounding you three.

“You’we Hina mommy?” asks a little girl, her neat ponytail swinging behind her.

Five pairs of eyes stare up at you in total amazement as small ‘ahhs’ and ‘ohhs’ are heard.

“Hina mommy is so beautiful!” Cheers a little boy, more excited than he should be.

“I’m not-” You begin, a little taken aback, looking for help from Taehyung but he only keeps smiling. He’s taking too much pleasure in seeing you flustered.

“I know.” Hina boasts with closed eyes.

A couple of looks lingers before one of them suddenly suggests playing elsewhere.

You decide to get out of the school when Hina complains about being hungry.

She peeks over his shoulder to ask, “you coming home with daddy and Hina?”

You meet Taehyung’s expectant eyes and your chest squeezes at their seemingly hopeful looks.

“I can’t, I’m sorry. I’ve somewhere to go.”

“I could drive you if you want,” he starts, tilting his head in the direction you guess his car is parked.

“Don’t bother, I-... You remember Shownu? I told him to come get me.”

They pout at the same time and it makes you chuckle lightly at their likeness though Taehyung tries not to look too affected. He’s hesitating and not so sure anymore about what he initially wanted to say.

Hina suddenly turns away from you to frown in his neck.

“What’s that?” He asks when he doesn’t understand her the first time. “You want _____ to come home with us?”

You gaze at the back of her head with a sad smile and meet his gaze in silence.

I’d like that too.

“Seems like I was right, huh,” he snaps you out of your thoughts. “That dress looks really good on you.”

You look down, blushing a little and nod in agreement. Silence falls again between you. You don’t show any intention to go yet as Taehyung gets lost in his thought.

What are you waiting for?

“CanIgetyournumber?”

“What?” You cock your head.

“Your number? So we can see each other. I mean with Hina too.”

You nod, seemingly accepting his suggestion because the reason he mentioned is a self-evident fact. “Sure.”

You exchange your contact information and you eventually walk away much to his dismay. Hina finally decides to look back when you’re already so far away.

She frowns at your silhouette. “Hina sad.”

“Don’t be, baby,” he cups her cheek to kiss her other one. “We’ll see her again.”

**************************

You’re the one texting first and Taehyung’s glad you do when he’s too upset with himself for not finding the courage to do so. You agree to meet one night and make sure either of you doesn’t do anything the following day because Taehyung wants to invite you to his concert he’s currently holding in the biggest stadium of the country for the whole weekend.

When you arrive half an hour before the beginning, you’re taken to a corridor left inaccessible to fans that leads to a platform positioned in front of the stage and in the middle of the pit above the fans gathered around. You notice some curious look thrown your way.

There you get to meet the CEO of the company Taehyung works for along with some of his employees.

The show is a big hit.

You’ve felt it the first seconds after Taehyung was revealed and the audience roared impressively.

It all feels a little overwhelming but seeing him in this new light makes you feel all kinds of way. You recognize the man you’ve worked for but he seems so foreign. The aura coming from him is nothing you’ve seen before yet has you enticed through his moves, his looks, his voice.

The crowd leaves bit by bit. You remember him telling you to wait for him right where your seat was assigned to you, saying your goodbyes to his boss.

The venue is now empty, you go down the stairs and notice Taehyung down the corridor chatting with someone on his way up.

You exchange a smile.

You shorten the space between you, you watch him eye you from head to toe as his thumb grazes his bottom lip. You look away. He stops before he gets a whiff of your fragrance, eyelids heavy. You take his hand when he stretches it to you.

“I took some time cause I was showering.” He explains pulling you to the parking lot.

You climb in his car.

“You okay with eating out? We can always order something and eat at home if you’re too tired.”

He swivels the wheel with one hand, running the car out of the premises and making the powerful engine roar while looking at you. “Don’t worry about me.”

The silence between you is comfortable but the atmosphere feels heavy with secret intentions.

“I really liked the show by the way,” you say softly while keeping your eyes on the scenery passing by.

“Yeah?”

“Hm,” you turn your head towards him with a playful look. “But I still prefer Hina’s singing.”

“I have to admit, she rehearsed that song more than I ever did my whole discography.”

Dinner is nice and quiet. Taehyung isn’t fond of talking while eating and you're thankful, it allows you to enjoy the food and himself in a comfortable way.

*************************

You’re back in the car and driving away after you’ve agreed to go to his home and see Hina.

“I got my diploma. Last week.” You share, “I’m finally able to work as a personal trainer.”

“Really? Congratulations,” he genuinely exclaims while checking the rearview mirror. “That’s awesome.”

“Yeah, but for some reasons I’ve also managed to get a contract with a model agency? I don’t know where this is coming from.”

“Well, they simply saw potential in you. I mean your body is perfect- I-I- I mean you work hard to stay fit so… They’d miss out if they didn’t take you..” He trails, mentally slapping himself.

You simply smile to yourself.

************************

The door unlocks and you both see Hina and the babysitter he got for the night sitting in the living-room. As soon as Hina notices you, she darts your way to crash against your legs.

“________!!”

“You’re still awake?” Wonders Taehyung, looking down not to step on her toes.

You hug and lift her in your arms after getting rid of your shoes. You greet the young girl as Taehyung takes care of paying her. You hear her letting him know she tried everything in her power to get the little girl to bed as you sit down and cover Hina with kisses and sweet words.

The door closes a little after.

“Come here. Brush your teeth, go pee and right to bed.”

“No!” She challenges with a frown at him. “I staying with ________.”

He calls her name with a strict tone making her pout and you can’t help but hug her protectively.

“Let me take care of it,” you suggest softly to him.

You carry out her nighttime routine like you used to, noticing how independent she has become which makes you yearn younger Hina.

You let her lead the march to her room, meeting Taehyung on the way and chuckles when she closes the door to prevent him from interrupting your time together.

“Do you want me to read you a book?” You smile once she settles under her covers.

She shakes her head and reaches for your hand. You understand she wants you to lie next to her. You indulge without a word.

“_______,” her voice is already filled with sleep some time after you’ve started running your fingers through her silky hair. “You staying with Hina foweve’?”

You hum back.

“Daddy likes ______.”

You look down at her, smiling faintly.

“He says it a lot. Hina likes _______ mowe.”

You squeeze her gently against you.

“________?” She’s speaking more slowly now. “Pwomise... mommy staying with Hina... and daddy... foweve’.”

***************

“Sleeping?”

You noticed Taehyung’s already changed in his sleepwear. You nod while closing her door as quietly as possible. “Like a log.”

He stands up before you get the chance to get close to one of the couches and leads the way to his bedroom.

You wait at the doorstep, watching him browsing clothes inside his wardrobe while in the dark. He shuffles towards you, holding what looks like to be a silky pyjamas.

“I think this will do,” he trails. You take it, thanking him. “You can change here. I was going to open a bottle of wine. You want some?”

You shake your head.

Taehyung walks back in his room when you don't come out, holding one glass and minds turning off the lights on his way.

It takes him a couple of seconds to remark your silhouette on the other side of the curtains, standing in the balcony where you’re enjoying the weak, gentle breeze of this summer night.

He draws one curtain and immediately notices you’ve decided to do without the pants which pulls a knowing smile from him. It shouldn't surprise him. The shirt is long enough to work as a mini dress on you.

You look over your shoulder when you hear the door sliding. He’s staring longer than he’s meaning to but you find it adorable.

He comes to stand right by your side and takes a sip, looking for something to say.

“It’s so quiet.”

“You don’t like it.”

“You should put on some music.” You suggest, tilting your chin towards his phone in his pocket.

“What do you want to listen to?”

“I’m sure you got some exclusive sounds, I could brag about. It’s your chance to upgrade your raking.” You smile when you see him grin too as he goes through files. “You’re not working on anything?”

“I actually am. But it’s a secret for now. I’ve made... thirteen songs. But they’re still very rough. I don’t think we should listen to them.”

“Come on, you know I won’t judge you.”

He looks down with an embarrassed smile, frowning a little. “They’re really not good.”

“I’m not pressuring you. It’s just the two of us now.” You say softly, not breaking eye contact. “We can always find something else.”

He can’t hold your gaze long enough without feeling his face heat up. “Okay, I’ll share one or two.”

You look down at the streets when the first notes are heard, knowing he won’t want to meet your eyes.

“So where’s your manager?” You ask to ease his anxiety. You’re too aware of yourself trying not to sound too interested while keeping your gaze on the cars driving by. “I thought I’d see her at the concert.”

“Uh oh, we’re not working together anymore.” You hum in response. He explains,“conflicts of interests.”

You’re now hearing lyrics sung very softly, setting a comfortable atmosphere. “Does that mean…”

“Yeah, I’m basically managing myself.” He chuckles to himself, smiling a little at you. “I think there’s no other way if I want to live life the way I have in mind.”

You agree silently, not really knowing what to say back.

“I think she liked me. Too much.”

“You didn’t?”

“Of course I enjoyed being with her but not exactly for the same reason I think.”

The song is the only thing heard for a couple of seconds but Taehyung doesn’t seem to be minding it anymore.

“Are you and Shownu…?”

You instantly look up at him when you hear him mentioning his name and rephrase his question when he’s not finishing. “Are we a thing?” He nods slowly once. ”No. No, no, no. I mean he’s nice but... He’s not really… my type.”

He looks away, humming a quick acknowledgement. He finishes his glass. “What’s your type?”

You tilt your head away from him, smiling to yourself. His phone plays the second song.

“I wouldn't know how to describe it. I just know when I meet the person, you know?”

“Yeah, I- Me too.”

You hesitate a little before you speak again.

“Apparently,” you wait for him to look at you to show your innocent eyes. “You like me. A lot.”

He smiles but doesn’t flee your gaze, “who told you that?”

“I can’t reveal my source,” you turn your head away, closing your eyes. You open one to see him looking at you, amused. “I can only say it has the figure of a… little snoring cutiekins.”

He shakes his head to himself. “Of course.”

You find yourself staring at his gorgeous-looking profile, admiring the way his perfect hair falls around his face. “So… You like spending time with me?”

“It wasn’t obvious enough?” He gets shy again.

“Honestly, I can’t recall.”

“What?” He asks with surprise. “Are you being serious?”

“I mean, I was working for you. And we weren’t always on our own. Making assumptions about these things would have been wrong on my behalf. Especially with you. I didn’t want to risk my job.”

“I see.”

He looks down at his empty glass then back up at you when he hears you take in a deep breath.

“I also didn’t want to risk never seeing you or Hina ever again.”

You can see something kindle in his dark eyes, rendering you quiet and captivated. He doesn’t seem like he’s moving but you can definitely tell you’re both getting closer and closer.

“And now?” His voice sounds hopeful.

Your eyes gaze up and down, noticing his lips barely agape. “Now?”

You almost freeze when you feel his breath fanning you delicately. You both remain stagnant for a while which seems to last indefinitely, keeping yourselves apart from each other and foreign from what is to come if you were to give in to those tacit, forbidden desires.

Taehyung can feel his heart beating so vividly at the prospect of tasting your lips. You’re right there. Why is he suddenly feeling so bold? Why is he hesitating?

“_____-”

You don’t allow him to finish and choose to be the one to take the plunge.

The kiss is timorous at first, gentle, barely touching, yet ignites, as intimacy settles, a submerging feeling that diffuses into your two beings.

He��s the first to moan, you to grab onto him, each demanding more of that taste you can’t do without now that you’ve quickly come to like it.

You force yourself out of rapture with reluctance, testing the waters and it only draws him back in like a magnet, quietly surrendering to what you started.

His skin is soft against your face but his arms are strong around your back as they secure you against his chest. His scent overwhelms you, almost in a smothering way but it doesn’t feel wrong. It’s simply foreign. You’ve never got to smell so much of him this long, this strongly. You eventually moan in response.

Taehyung pushes his face harder against yours as a result, tilting your heads. He’s euphoric and he can feel it in his stomach, in his heart, in yours the longer he keeps you rooted against his body, sensing them pulsate in unison, frenzied.

You push back, blindly guiding him to one of the two reclining chairs he got settled for whenever good weather presents itself. He lets himself fall down but not too quickly, not if it means he’d have to break apart from you. You can feel him grip the back of your thighs and have your body straddling his.

You notice his mouth reaching again for yours when you eventually pull away for air. He allows you some respite, watching dazed as you rest your forehead against his, smiling to yourself a little.

When you open your eyes, you stare down at your hand beneath which his chest is heaving with desire.

You feel one of his hands reaching for your hip, under his borrowed shirt. Your eyes fall close again and your breath gets caught in your throat once spasms begin taking over your lower region because of the closeness of his touch.

“You okay?” His voice is barely above a whisper and you yearn for more of that intimacy.

You let out a shaky breath you weren’t aware of holding. “It felt good.”

His fingers squeeze you comfortingly. You meet his eyes and your core tightens on its own, hard. It’s dark out here and in spite of that you can see he’s craving you. So badly.

He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, impatiently.

Fuck.

“Kiss me, _______... Please.”

You stare back, fascinated by so much beauty and yearning. Your mouth falls agape and his eyes instantly glance down.

You chuckle lightly, “if someone saw us right now. You’d be in so much trouble.”

“I don’t fucking care.” He replies immediately, grabbing onto the nape of your neck. Your lips remain at a hair breadth from his now.

You never thought your self-control to be that easily challenged, you want to laugh at yourself. Who would’ve thought?

You poke your tongue to lick his bottom lip looking so inviting, leading him to capture your mouth in a deep kiss. You weave your fingers into his smooth locks, tugging them at the first caress of his tongue around yours.

Yes, you instantly think, fuck them all. This is what matters.

Your other hand takes his off your neck to have it latch on one of your breasts. He’s closing it gently around at the touch of it.

You break the sloppy kiss to trail wet pecks along his jaw and beneath his ear. You hastily unbutton the shirt. “Put your hands on me, Tae.”

He slides an arm around the small of your back at the sight of your bare torso for him to feast on and guides your crotch to push down against his.

Your heart suffers another sudden fit of palpitation at the feeling of his arousal pressing promisingly where you need it the most. His mouth is unsparing against your skin, kissing, licking, sucking it until it has you yielding to your own needs.

Taehyung stops and pants icy, hot air where his tongue wetted you at the feeling of your hips rocking with lustful urges.

He leans back on the chair, head thrown back with his eyes closed, relishing the delightful motions of your body.

“Oh… Fuck…” His nails dig in your ass the more you keep easing tension out of his hard shaft.

You tilt forward, closer, never stopping your sensual dance and he feels it. He gazes up at you under heavy lids, admiring the beautiful view of his shirt open on your naked chest, skin still moist with his saliva, nipples pointing enticingly.

He feels lightheaded.

You comb your hair back to allow yourself a view of the splendor that is Taehyung turned on.

You let out a small groan at the unexpected twitch of his cock. By now, you’re sure you’ve made an embarrassing mess of your panties and you’re also certain he can smell it.

You watch him reach for one of your breasts to suck on the sensitive nipple. You frown down at him, moaning as quiet as you can. He cranes his neck to lick his way up yours to your ear.

“You look great in my clothes.” You smile at his whisper.

“I want to see you too.”

He fulfills your wishes quickly, pulling the back of his tee-shirt above his head, serving you the tantalizing image of his muscular arms and shoulders. You bite your lip, sharing a smile and your hips pick up in pace.

You wrap your arms around his neck, cradling his head to your chest, while he hugs you to him tightly, looking into each other’s eyes. You’re both growing desperate.

“I want you so bad,” he can hear the hopelessness in your voice and it has him oozing more in his briefs. He never thought he’d ever hear you say those words to him. However, he hates how it reminds him of his neglect in equipping himself for the occasion. He never planned any of it.

He’s certain he doesn’t want to put an end to your bliss, not when you’re on top of him, ready to give yourself, not never.

Taehyung mouths at your cleavage, listening to the plethora of pleading escaping you the longer you keep rubbing yourselves together and struggles not to give in already.

The fresh breeze is long forgotten now, it feels hot and sweaty against his body but you’ve passed your point of no return. He’s felt your body becoming tense, seeking the peak of pleasure.

You manage to grunt in between gasps. “... Close…”

“Yeah?” He wonders quietly, trying to keep you on your stimulus.

You furrow your brow, seeing him gazing back with so much adoration it catches you unawares, triggering intense pleasure washing over you in waves. He helps muffling you, comforting your shaking body.

The forceful press of his erection overstimulates you in good pain. Your arms are tight around his shoulders, helping you root yourself while the final tremors wear off.

You don’t want to move away. He doesn’t want to let go either.

He reluctantly moves his arms only when he feels you trying to lean back. He breaks into a shy chuckle but you capture his lips in a needing kiss. You’re quickly out of breath.

“You’re shaking,” he trails softly. You weren’t even aware of it, lost again in his mesmerizing looks. “Was it okay?”

You nod subtly, cupping the back of his head to bring your faces closer. “Yeah… You?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You answer his gentle kiss. “Let’s go inside.”

***********************

You wake up alone in the gigantic bed, almost engulfed in the mess of sheets and thick covers. Yes, even in summer they’re of use, if you get to spend a night in his bedroom.

Your mind is fuddled, partly because of the short night you had but it’s also quick to remember flashes of it, having you musing on them with a blushing face.

You sit up and locate his tee-shirt, his borrowed shirt, your panties, his briefs thrown across the floor and your abashed smile comes again.

You’re walking down the corridor and can’t shake away the strangeness of it now that you’re seeing his home in broad daylight many months after, not as his bodyguard but as you. You stop before either Taehyung or Hina can notice your presence and take your time watching them be around each other, the way it was meant this whole time.

Your gaze travels from Hina’s back facing you to him and you mindlessly begin biting your lips, gawking at him working in the kitchen, attending to her needs and just being the best person for her. His messy hair and bare chest are a bonus.

He’s a natural. Your chest tightens at the sight of him and at the thought of it.

A heavy sigh escapes you.

“Mind joining us?”

You get startled by his voice and find them looking at you with big smiles. You shake your head to yourself.

Hina is elated raising her arms in the air from her seat for you to indulge into a tight hug. You don’t forget to kiss her cheek, unable to keep yourself from grinning from ear to ear at her sudden burst.

You sit on the stool across her where a bowl of rice and a full glass of orange juice have been placed. She can’t take her eyes off of you. You mind the frying pan he’s holding as he shakes a fried egg on top of the rice.

“‘Morning you,” he trails in a deep voice. He swiftly steals a kiss and walks away naturally.

You remain stunned a couple of seconds, processing the sudden gesture until you find Hina stifling a titter in her small hands.

#bts scenarios #bts smut #taehyung scenarios #taehyung smut #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #bts imagines #bts fanfic #taehyung x reader #taehyung x oc #bts reactions #bts x oc

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deniigi · 3 years

Note

Jack and the other folks at the gym; how they met, what their relationships are like, how they are with Matt etc.

For you, anon. I have an old fic that answers all of these questions.

It’s written from the perspective of Jack’s best friend and sparring partner Rudy DeLuca.

Title: Tape

Summary: There were two generations of devils at Fogwell’s Gym

Warnings: child abuse, physical abuse, references to drug use and suicide/suicide attempts, and foster care

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

There was a famed baby at the gym at the moment and Rudy was scheming how to get it into his arms when the old man caught him leaning on the front desk and told him that he had two whole grandbabies waitin’ for him at home.

Matty took that moment to fly in from the back room where he’d been harrassing the shit out of the new ‘clerk’ (as Fogwell called him) to ask if Tina had finally popped.

Rudy was caught off guard by the image of Tina beating the shit out of Matt for that and then by the wave of nostalgia that the kid’s sudden enthusiasm bought.

“Well, look who’s here?” he drawled instead, slowly turning around towards the beast. “Where you been, neighbor?”

Matt beamed at him.

He looked good.

Happy.

Far, far too happy.

Rudy squinted.

Matt waited a beat, then scrambled back into staff entrance and knocked shit over on the desk back there in his haste to go hide behind Fogwell.

Uh-huh.

Yeah.

That’s right, troublemaker, go hide behind Grandpa. He’ll protect you, you little shit.

The new gym baby was a full two months old. He was fat and grumpy and his papa’s pride and joy already. Rudy managed to snag an opportunity to get the thing into his arms when Bert and Kenny came in, signaling for the youths that the senior citizen shift had begun.

Fogwell was the most distinguished of the senior citizens, but, of course, he would wait his turn until the rest of them had finished lavishing attention upon his fiftieth great-grandbaby.

Baby’s papa was proud as a peacock.

“His name’s Henry,” he told Rudy, while Henry wrinkled his nose and eyes up at him.

Henry.

Ehn.

Terrible name.

“He looks like a John,” Rudy said.

Papa, who Rudy had forgotten the name of at least six times since he’d joined the gym, laughed.

“I thought about callin’ him Jack,” he said. “But my girl drew the line there.”

Ah.

Right.

This was that kid.

Kenny had gathered everyone into a group huddle in the changing room the other week to explain seriously how they all needed to avoid the fuck out of this guy. He’d said in a whisper that the guy was one of them people into vintage shit.

A hipster, he meant.

A fuckin’ hipster in their midst.

God, there were more and more of them in the gym every day.

Rudy lifted an eyebrow at baby Henry.

He didn’t deserve to be called Henry. He really did look more like a John. But, for the sake of the dead, Rudy decided that he’d squint for as hard and long as it took for him to become a Henry.

---

Fogwell’s had been legendary back in the day for producing pro boxers out of good-for-nothin’, trouble-makin’ guys with no other prospects.

Fogwell was that general from Mulan who made men out of boys (and the occasional girl. And the most recent kid who said that they weren’t a guy or a gal and if anyone wanted to throw down about it, they were posting their number on the cork board by the front desk).

Back in Rudy’s youth, that had been appealing as hell. And so he’d had a swagger on into the place, thinking that maybe he would pop his guns a bit in Fogwell’s direction and get the polishing he needed to make enough money to buy his girl a ring.

On the upside, Fogwell had, in fact, noticed him. But the downside was that Rudy had had no fucking clue what that actually meant, and so three years later, he’d found himself smoking only twice a week instead of every day, drinking goddamn protein shakes, and doing a daily fuckin’ jog like a military brat.

Fogwell had no time for dumb shit. He didn’t care if you wanted to kill yourself slowly with whatever vice you picked from the basket, but if you walked into the ring with his name on your back, then you would disgrace that name on pain of divine retribution.

It was way easier just to get one step ahead of the guy’s nit-picking than to suffer his judgemental silence.

That had been Fogwell back in the day, and that was still Fogwell in the now.

But as with any force of nature, even if the old man had planted his feet and announced his intention to rest there in that place for the next two millenia, the world around him still carried on spinning around.

Fogwell’s wasn’t just a facility for churning out pros these days. It wasn’t just legendary, now.

It was a fuckin’ institution.

God help them.

They were a tourist destination. Ghost hunters, folks on buses, sports fans, teen girls with a mighty need for a vintage-lookin’ selfie. You name it. They pressed their noses up against the yellowed glass to watch the people inside break their bodies down to build them up into something money-making.

It wasn’t an unwarranted curiosity, to be fair.

Fogwell had produced twenty pro boxers in the last several decades who’d really made it. Like, really, really made it.

Bert was one of them—to literally every one of the senior citizens’ surprise.

Bert had been a empty-headed wise-guy with a porn-stache at best way back when. And like, don’t get Rudy wrong, he was still an empty-headed wise-guy. He was just an empty-headed wise guy with a head like a helmet and a whole lot of money now.

Not that you’d have known it from lookin’ at him.

Bless him.

He was paying college tuition for all his kids and he was helping the older ones vet kindergartens with tuition or what the fuck ever, doing all that he could so that those babies didn’t have to live life out of Kraft Mac ‘n Cheese boxes like him.

Bert had made it. That was the dream.

The dream was just that, though. A shot in the dark. A drop in a bucket. Kenny had done alright, just like Rudy had done alright. They’d had their ten minutes of time in the spotlight. Had made enough to get by. Had made enough to be comfortable in Hell’s Kitchen. To retire and become personal trainers or sports commentators or whatever the fuck opportunity jumped up in their faces.

A lot of fellas hadn’t made it, though. And then there were the Almosts.

Jackie had been an Almost, god rest his soul.

This new hipster kid at the gym with his baby had latched onto Jack’s image, found in old magazines and grainy footage, and had decided that that whole vibe fit the image that he wanted to live in.

It made Rudy sick. It made Kenny angry—hence the group huddle.

There were about seven of them left who’d both known Jackie and who still used the gym on the regular. Eight if you included Fogwell.

Nine if you included Matty.

Jesus fuckin’ help them.

This dumbass hipster kid didn’t even know who Matty was. Most of the newcomers didn’t. He was just some bright, perky blind guy to them. He was Center-Left-Second-Back bag. That was his bag.

And he was good.

He was a curiosity to the newcomers and the people pressed against glass—one of a handful of middle-weights in a sea of heavyweights. He didn’t look like everyone else. He wasn’t packing muscle like everyone else. He was lithe and coiled and looked, honestly, a little out of place to folks who didn’t know the gym as Home #2.

He was interesting to the newcomers mostly because he was 100% Fogwell’s favorite. Fogwell doted on him by ribbing him and bullying him viciously, by bumping into him and throwing him off mark left and right, and all the while, Matty just beamed.

The newbies thought he got preferential treatment because he was blind. But that wasn’t it. Matty got treated that way because that was how his grandpa told him he loved him.

---

Before Jake and Carlos and Omar and Matty, Jack had been Fogwell’s favorite up-and-coming rookie.

It had been no secret. Well. To most people.

Jack had been horrified when he’d found out.

No one wanted to be Fogwell’s favorite. That’s how you went pro whether you liked it or fucking not.

Jack had pleaded with Kenny for hours to take his place, but there was nothing that could be done. Jackie was the youngest and Jackie had come from a shit home life and Jackie would do anything and everything Fogwell told him to do because he was just that kind of sweet and respectful.

Fogwell could smell Jack’s lack of a father-figure on him like Chanelle No. 5.

He could smell it miles away.

Jack had actually been at the gym before Rudy had joined up. He’d been around since he was about seventeen. He’d come in on the heels of his big brother who wanted to go pro.

It quickly became apparent to Fogwell that Tom Murdock didn’t have what it took to be a boxer. He was just a bully. But that little brother of his, Tom’s punching bag, now he had some talent. He had the diligence and respect that the game, in Fogwell’s opinion, was severely lacking.

So Fogwell did what he did best and drove a wedge slowly between Tom and baby Jackie, separating the two of them so that he could get his mitts on Jackie and do something with him before Tom and his junkie sister took Jackie down with them.

Rudy had met Jack soon after Jack’s eldest brother had been arrested for murdering his wife and stepdaughter.

The kid was a wreck. He’d just turned 18.

He didn’t talk. He just fought and fought and fought until he cried and cried and cried. All on his own, from 5pm to 1am, at Center-Left-Second-Back.

Fogwell let him.

Fogwell came over to put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed when he finally dropped from exhaustion.

It was hard to watch.

The older guard at the time had bared their teeth and clenched their jaws as Jackie had pummeled his heart out against that bag.

No one could help him.

Everyone but Rudy, at that time, had seen the man he’d walked into the gym with. They’d seen this coming a mile away. And over a few days of that, it become clear to Rudy that Jack didn’t have a home to go back to that didn’t scream at him from morning until night. At that time, the gym for him was Home #1.

---

It took about a year, but Rudy eventually got to know this weeping, heartbroken boy from the worst side of the Kitchen.

Rudy learned from the others about the Murdocks.

They were sinners and drunkards and addicts, word had it. The police were always in and out of their rooms, taking one of the five kids or one of the parents to jail for some damn reason or another. Neighbors wasted their hard-earned money on phone calls to the police for domestic disputes and violence and so on and so on. Everyone on the streets said to be careful of the Murdocks, especially them boys.

They got the devil in ‘em.

But not Jackie, Rudy learned.

He was shy, bless him. He wasn’t suited to those others’ kind of life.

Rudy actually had felt, for the second time in his life, strong brotherly feelings around this kid. He and his own sister didn’t get on until someone threatened the other. Then it was no-holds-barred, bear-like feelings. Just them against the world.

But Jack was different. He had puppy eyes with a constant black one and perpetually chapped lips. It had never occurred to him that he could spend a buck buying chapstick. It had never occurred to him that he could have friends that he didn’t have to smile at until his face hurt.

He didn’t really get what it meant to have relationships with other people and for the first six months of their acquaintance, Jack refused to meet Rudy’s eye, much less say more than five words to him.

He was more than respectful.

He was skittish.

The other guys, who were happy to haze Rudy, warned him that he if so much as looked at that kid, Fogwell would break his bones and his career would be over before it even started.

It had definitely turned into a kind of spite thing.

Rudy had absolutely been that kind of shithead back then.

He’d started by offering to hold Jack’s bag while he worked out his aggression. That had been a mistake.

He’d caught Fogwell snickering at him about ten minutes into it, after trying and failing that whole time to find a way to plant his feet that would let him actually hold onto the bag.

Jack had noticed.

Jack had gotten flustered and freaked out bad enough that Rudy had been forced to leave him be or else he’d hyperventilate or go hide in the backroom in a cupboard or something in self-flagellation.

It took some practice and some muscle, but they got there in the end.

Jack was a great sparring partner because he did not fucking go down. It was like trying to fight a pine tree sometimes. He would, could, and did take hit after hit without batting an eye.

And when it was his turn for offense?

Rudy was well aware that he’d signed up to be a human punching bag, but this? This was a lot.

Fogwell critiqued the fuck out of Jack’s everything.

His form.

His posture.

His aim.

His drive.

His commitment.

His tape.

His fucking hair.

Jack thought he was like that with everyone.

Rudy loved that kid like a brother, but he wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. Not by far.

That had become more clear when Kenny joined their mottley crew and, aggravatingly sharp, had taken to teasing Jack. That was more frustrating for Kenny than anyone else because Jackie didn’t get a single joke or jibe.

No, Jack didn’t know Seinfield. Or Friends. Or Charlie’s Angels. No, he didn’t know anything about cars. No, he didn’t know about physics or chemistry or math. What the fuck was English lit? Wait, what’s the difference between books and literature?

God.

Bless.

That.

Kid.

He wasn’t unintelligent, he just wasn’t academic.

He was sweet about it, though. The youngest of five, he had no choice but to be sweet because all his siblings called him hopeless and useless and stupid, so he had to be something and so pretty it was.

Rudy had never met someone who performed so well under pressure and around two years into their friendship and, suddenly privy to the full extent of Jack’s honestly horrific, borderline surreal upbringing, he finally got it.

But then along came Grace.

The Lord’s agent herself.

Jack was a good Catholic boy who saw a nun and dropped his eyes, but for some reason, this novice caught his gaze and he was gone.

He got dopey and dreamy the night after she and some friends had snuck out in their novice habits to see a load of guys in desperate need of the Lord hitting on each other.

It was tooth-decaying the way Jack swooned for that girl.

Her name was Margaret, she told him saucily at the church one street over from the one he’d grown up attending, but he could call her ‘Grace.’

Jack banged his melon on a locker a week later at the gym and the jolt make him realize that he was in love with her.

He cracked his head a second time with everyone watching him in a mix of pity, exhaustion, and indulgence and then scurried off to the bathroom to hyperventilate over a urinal.

“Someone go keep Baby M from drowning in a sink,” Horace Whalin, a professional beast at the start of his career, had sighed.

Everyone had looked right at Rudy.

---

Grace was the worst thing that could ever have happened to Jack.

Everyone at the gym knew it. Fogwell hated that girl with a cold passion.

She made Jack stupider than usual. Bolder than ever.

She made him think and made him question things and like, that was probably a good thing in terms of Jack’s life experience and mental health, but in terms of boxing?

Not good.

Fogwell was openly dreaming up schemes to break them up the day Jack came tearing into the gym and announced that he was getting married.

It took everything in Rudy not to start cackling right then and there. The entire gym’s necklines bulged with the effort not to fucking laugh. Fogwell went silent and blank.

He’d waved Jack in close and and when he came—because he would always come to Fogwell, no matter what—the old man set a hand on Jack’s shoulder and told him that if he brought that woman into the gym he’d kill him.

Jack stared up at him and said that they were getting married in a church, Coach. Why would he bring her to the gym?

At that point, it would have taken a saint not to laugh and the gym was full of only sinners.

---

Grace was the worst thing that had ever happened to Jack, but Matty was by far, the best thing.

Fogwell, after being vindicated upon Jack and Grace’s abrupt and tragic separation, found that Matt could be used as a motivator for his up-and-comer.

Matty, of course, played the part beautifully.

He was unfairly cute with those delicate, whispy red locks and them big hazel eyes. He was bubbly and chatty. An unrelenting troublemaker. Just a barrel of laughs.

Fogwell took to letting Jack put Matty’s carrier on a bench next to the ring or on one of the metal bleachers around the mats in the weights and sparring room. He found that if Matty started whining or crying, that Jack got twice as motivated to finish whatever task was at hand with maximum efficiency.

Matt was the best thing to ever happen to Jack’s boxing career, truly.

He also immediately became the gym’s darling because all the veterans there at that point were dads. Rudy himself had had his first girl Tina the year before, but unlike Jack, the rest of them had childcare arrangements and the money to maintain them.

---

It was just natural for people to gravitate towards the baby. Out of paternal instincts, yeah, but also because Matty was a source of constant entertainment.

He called everyone uncle until he was seven and he needed to be negotiated with to leave Fogwell be until he was nine. Fogwell didn’t mind him. Fogwell had unwittingly adopted him.

Matty didn’t meet his own uncles and grandpa. Jack couldn’t bear that. He took Matty to meet Bill, Jack’s eldest brother—the one who’d killed his wife—in jail and afterwards had been heart-broken and anxious for days.

Grace did not approve, it turned out.

Grace, who went by Maggie at that point, and who had given up her rights to be the mother of Jack’s child, remained one of Jack’s closest and dearest friends.

They still loved each other, and in Fogwell’s very correct opinion, that was nothing but trouble. He snatched Matty at every opportunity and informed him softly but firmly that he was not going to fall in love with a nun when he was big or there would be consequences.

Matt seemed to have come to understand this rule over time, but he never seemed to put together pieces as to why Fogwell was so insistent about it.

---

When Jack turned up murdered, everyone at the gym decided that it was their fault.

It was surreal.

Unbelieveable.

He’d been right there, just fine, laughing and smiling the day before. Rudy had held his bag and Jack had told him to tell the girls and Mel that he missed them.

And, in a moment of crushing realization back then, Rudy had understood the implications of those words and then remembered how good Jack had always been about smiling at people.

He knew how to make himself seem okay and unimportant. He knew how to fade into the background.

Fogwell took it hard.

He blamed himself for not recognizing how bad things had gotten at home for Jack and Matty. He blamed himself for not booking him for more jobs, for pushing him harder and harder on his form lately.

Matty was taken away by social services and his absence from the table at the gym the next day finally brought out the tears that Rudy hadn’t been able to let fall.

He tried.

He tried, he did.

Over the years, Matty had become a brother to Tina, Angie, and Penelope. He fit right in that two-year gap between Tina and Angie. Rudy had him over when Jack worked and Jack had the girls when Mel needed a break from the screaming and crying. And really, by then, everyone’s kids were everyone’s at the gym.

It wasn’t a matter of who belonged to who, it was more of a matter of when someone belonged to someone.

Rudy tried to get custody or at least foster rights. Mel gave herself an ulcer over it, trying to think of how to arrange things to make their home safe for Matt. Trying to think of how to make space for him. He could share a room with Tina. They were still young. They probably wouldn’t mind after some growing pains. But social services said that that wasn’t possible. Matt was too high-risk for them. They didn’t have enough experience with ‘his type of child.’

Which was bullshit.

Matt wasn’t high-risk, Matty was traumatized and scared and with people he didn’t know, who didn’t know him.

That was what made him high-risk.

He knew Rudy and Mel’s house. He knew their girls. He knew their neighborhood.

Still, nothing.

Fogwell himself tried. Shocked the shit out of everyone at the gym, but Social services sadly shook their heads.

By then, Matt had been placed out already.

---

Matt disappeared for five years. Just vanished completely. There was no sight of him until one day, Tina came home and said that ‘oh yeah, I saw Matty today’ while playing with her food at the dinner table.

Rudy and Mel had set down their forks.

Tina sighed and said that he was taller now, but he didn’t look good.

He looked sick, she said. With dark rings around his eyes and broken sunglasses. He’d been sleeping, leaning against the side of some stairs out in his school uniform at the Catholic highschool a few blocks away.

She’d poked at her chicken and then set down her fork and excused herself.

Rudy stroked her hair that night as she cried into her pillow for her lost brother.

---

Matt was, by fifteen, a troubled kid.

Rudy heard shouting one day from Clinton Church and stepped out to see what was happening. He was shocked to see that familiar ginger mop struggling in the arms of two cops, swearing that if these people took him back to wherever he’d come from, that he’d kill himself. He’d do it. Don’t try him.

The priest was called.

Matt was forced down to the ground and handcuffed, still fighting.

It was--it was a whole lot to see. Kenny swore softly behind him and Bert left them to go back inside. He went to the bathroom and didn’t join them out on the mats for a while.

---

Fogwell decided around then that enough was enough.

He went to the church and asked if he could borrow Matt for a while. He needed some help getting his accounts together and he knew Matt was a bright kid. Giving him a little work experience in a familiar and disciplined setting would be good for him.

But Matt wasn’t there.

---

The hospital didn’t allow anyone to visit Matt. He apparently hadn’t earned the privilege of visitors from anyone who wasn’t on his care team.

Rudy felt numb at the front desk.

Jack’s boy had tried to kill himself. He’d warned them all that he would do it.

He’d apparently screamed himself hoarse that he wanted to be with his dad in the ground.

He was still screaming.

This wasn’t the first time he’d done any of this, Rudy came to learn through a few whispered conversations with some nuns from St. Agnes.

Grace had found him after the three attempts the nuns knew of. This last one was just bad enough that she couldn’t bring him back from the edge.

Grace’s eldest younger sister had committed suicide. Grace had found her and then left home immediately become a novice. To find her own son as she’d once found her sister was cosmic and divine cruelty—enough that even Fogwell shook his head and said it just wasn’t right.

---

The first time Rudy saw Matty after the whole situation, he looked exactly as Tina said he did. Tired. With dark circles. Thin. His clothes threatened to fall off of him. They were threadbare and had holes in them here and there.

Matty didn’t talk.

He moved his head around a lot and jerked when anyone spoke to him or brushed against him, and he scrambled back and tripped sometimes if he was touched directly.

It was like looking at a smaller, thinner version of Jack all those years ago—this time with tightly bound wrists and a hospital bracelet that looked like it had been stretched and torn and chewed on.

Fogwell asked Matt if he thought he could do something with the accounts.

Matt said nothing.

Fogwell gave him a box of receipts and bits and bobs of payment cards and IOUs and Matt had frowned and put his hand into the box to touch its feathery contents. He’d lifted his face up in Fogwell’s direction and sneered.

“You can’t seriously live like this,” he’d said in a voice that almost brought tears to Rudy’s eyes. He’d heard Kenny clear his throat behind him.

---

Matty was the smartest person Rudy had ever met.

He set Fogwell’s accounts into order in an afternoon and then he fucked off for a few days, only to come back and digitize the whole thing after making the Big Man himself sit with him and read everything out individually to him as punishment for his nasty, twentieth-century ways.

Matt was disgusted with Grandpa’s living conditions.

He banged into every object in the backroom and swore like a sailor, loud enough that the folks hitting shit in the front room could hear him.

It was hard not to laugh.

“WHY?” Matt finally raged at Grandpa. “WHY. WHY. WHY?”

Grandpa shrugged.

Matt flailed at him in agitation at the lack of verbal answer and told him to get into the fartherest corner of the room and to get a pen, they were going to organize.

Matt was the reason that Fogwell’s Gym had survived for long enough to become a tourist trap.

Matt put every document in that place in order, ready for an audit. He made computer systems for payments and receipts and direct debits. He singlehandedly bullied Fogwell into the new century and made him get a card machine.

He bitched and moaned and belly-ached until Fogwell had interviewed a handful of tax people with actual, non-criminal reputations and picked one and once he was done with all that, Matt harrassed him to invest in a deep clean for the place and to make it accessible by ADA guidelines—the whole nine yards.

Matt, at fifteen, breathed new life into Fogwell’s Gym and it was kind of amazing how the place went from barely hanging on to a decent business once more.

---

After that, Matt seemed to be doing a lot better.

He didn’t have any more foster home placements. He didn’t try to hurt himself again. He decided, instead, that he was going to graduate highschool. He’d failed a fuckload of classes, though. Rudy found him despairing in the backroom over these and settled in across from him and asked to see the reports.

They weren’t good.

Matty’s teachers wrote constantly that Matt was extremely bright, but failed to participate in class or turn pretty much anything in for a grade. He slept in class. He seemed dazed. He didn’t ask for help or give any indication that he needed it.

His assigned para said that she found him challenging to work with. He was resistant to questions and seemed to be angry or, at best, uninterested in her speaking to him.

He was way behind.

Rudy had tapped the reports against the table back there and had taken a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” he told Matt. “We’ve got two years. We can make this work.”

And Matty’s head had jerked up from the table.

“We?” he’d asked in a small voice.

---

Matt really, really struggled with high school. Not because he wasn’t smart enough, but because his experience was so wildly different from other kids. He didn’t go home like they did. He went to St. Agnes’s. He didn’t play video games, he read books. He didn’t smoke cigarettes or joints. He didn’t drink. He was under constant surveillance.

He was bullied. Relentlessly.

Fogwell was quietly furious when Matt came in a few times a week to type away at the desk, inputting receipts for the new secretary to deal with later. Matt was always hurt. Always fighting.

He got his classwork done out of spite, seemingly, but then went home to the orphanage and got harrassed the whole way.

He fought his peers like the devil himself.

It was…

There was…

Something not quite right with him.

---

Bert pointed out when Matt was seventeen that he didn’t always use his stick like other blind folks. He forgot it sometimes and wandered around the gym like anyone else.

He didn’t trip over anything or keep fingers touching the wall like he usually did in other places.

They all chocked it up to him having grown up in the place.

Matt asked Fogwell to let him train.

Center-left-second-back.

That was Jack’s bag.

That was his son’s bag.

The veteran boxers all cycled through teaching Matt how to box. He knew—they all knew Matt already knew how, but there was always shit to learn.

Except that sometimes there wasn’t?

Matt seemed to already know everything that they taught him, including the nit-picky, little things. He listened to their descriptions, let them manipulate his hands and arms and hips, and then did what they asked immediately and with perfect form.

It was eerie.

It just wasn’t right. There was just something about it that wasn’t right. Rudy couldn’t put his finger on it.

---

Matt graduated highschool the year after Tina and it was only when Rudy saw the draft of the commencement program slip out of his bag on one of the benches that Rudy realized that Matty hadn’t mentioned it to anyone.

He picked up the program while Matt was attacking his bag and considered it, then did what was done in the gym and handed the program off to Fogwell who, in a booming voice, told Baby M to get the fuck over there, front and center.

Matt clung to his bag in terror at the sound. He, unlike his daddy, had the good sense to be reluctant to follow Fogwell’s orders. Eventually, with his tail between his legs, he skulked over and had his nose shoved in the program.

He pawed at it when Fogwell made him acknowledge it and mumbled something about not going.

Which was absurd.

“It’s not a big deal,” Matt said. “I’m not valedictorian or anything. It’s just highschool. And no one’s got time to go anyways, so what’s the point if it’s just me?”

God, this kid.

---

Matt’s graduation was very Catholic. Far more Catholic than Tina’s had been, but when Rudy looked over his shoulder, he was pretty sure that even a school this Catholic hadn’t been prepared for the influx of nuns hurrying down from Clinton’s church, all bustling and excited about young Matthew actually getting his diploma.

Between those four (aw, Grace. Look at you trying to play it smooth) and the seven boxing families who’d shown up, Matt was embarrassed to the point of tears. He’d hidden behind his mortarboard for the thirty minutes it took for people started calling folks up on stage.

He didn’t want to come out to take any pictures afterwards, but Tina wasn’t letting that happen. Her sisters leapt on board with the program and Rudy had managed at least one picture of the four of them smiling. Even better, he had one of Matt trying desperately to keep a smile while Fogwell stood stiffly next to him in stone-faced approval.

---

Matty was the first in the gym’s kid’s generation to graduate college, and then he was the only one to go on to law school.

It was only at that big graduation that Rudy finally saw Matt beaming like a loon—like he had up at Jack as a baby, but this time at the long-haired, chubby guy next to him.

This, legend had it, was the Roommate.

The one Matt refused to speak about to anyone at the gym.

Period.

At all.

There was no discussion.

That is, until he was forced by Fogwell standing menacingly over him in silent demand for a hug, to introduce them all to Foggy.

Foggy Nelson.

And then, just like that. It was exactly Jack all over again.

Veins bulging as everyone tried desperately not to laugh at Fogwell’s face at the realization that Matty had gone out and found a better, nicer Fog-person to be friends with.

---

Foggy Nelson—Edward Nelson from the hardware store’s son—was not fucking good enough for Matty, Fogwell decided. He’d begun a stoic campaign to introduce Matt to every available boxer’s son and daughter in the city in the hopes that a little nudge would get Matty away from all them conniving lawyer-folk. That was all fine and well with Matt because Matt, they’d all learned after a few years in his company again, was a horrendous flirt.

God, this boy.

Incorrigible.

He flirted with Tina and Angie and Penelope and got slapped every time.

He flirted with Bert’s daughter Becka.

He flirted with Becka’s husband.

He flirted with Kenny’s son’s best friend at the son’s wedding.

He flirted with the new secretary’s sister-in-law.

He was completely unstoppable.

Kenny approved.

But Kenny also asked Matt pointedly if he and his roommate had worked things out yet and that sent Matt scowling and shuffling off to go hide behind Fogwell, wherever he was, for emotional support.

---

Matt was Daredevil.

He had to be.

Everyone in the gym suspected this.

He was too good at fighting. To flexible. Too sturdy and relentless and angry to be anyone else. They all recogized his shoulders in those little blips of videos people posted online. They recognized how close he got to people from the way he get up in his bag’s imagined face.

He had some kind of superpower—some kind of 360 degree awareness was the best Rudy could describe it.

He felt like he remembered Jack freaking out about something like this a million years ago. Nattering on about super-senses in the aftermath of the accident.

Fogwell was the one who’d brought it up again after he’d noticed that Matt liked to come in at night and spar on his own.

One time, just once, he’d left one of the security cameras on, concerned that Matty might get mugged in the night on his own there.

But Matty wasn’t getting mugged anytime soon.

No, for real.

Matt was…maybe something a little beyond them.

The video Fogwell had shown the older guys before deleting it and telling everyone to mind their own fucking business had shown Matt throwing his weight at the bag—throwing legs and fists—in complicated, almost choreographed movements that spoke of lethal intent.

He moved like a weasel. Like a predator.

Like a devil.

God knew where he’d learned those moves. The boy had lived a lot of life in those few years he’d fallen off of the gym’s radar. There was no telling who he’d met or how he’d learned to be as he was, but things made a lot more sense after that.

Jackie had had a devil in him. It only made sense that his dramatic-ass kid had one, too.

Matty had made something more of himself than his daddy. In so many other things, but in this, too.

Fogwell’s Gym was protected. It was home to a devil in disguise.

---

The hipster Jack-fan appeared with baby Henry a few more times before Bert asked him if he knew that his hero’s kid, who’d lived the life baby Henry was currently living, was actually a regular at the gym.

Hipster-kid gaped and fell over himself trying to ask Bert if he could meet the guy.

Bert smirked. And then waved across the place over to where Matt had just slithered in with absurd orange sneakers that he was very proud of. He was clearly on the hunt to go show Fogwell so that he could be disgusted.

He froze when Bert called his name.

The hipster’s jaw dropped.

“Matty, come tell this man about your daddy,” Bert said.

Matt stared.

Then made a sad, aborted gesture with his free hand that said that he had very important annoyances to make of himself, so could this maybe wait?

“You’re—you’re--?” the hipster stammered.

“Matt Murdock,” Matt said hurriedly. “Great to meet you? You’re the one with the kid, right? Congrats. Have either of you seen Fogwell?”

The hipster blinked.

“Uh?” he said. “Not today?”

Matt scowled.

“He’s not escaping these,” he said, tapping his way angrily back to the door. “I got him a matching set. No one is escaping them.”

The gym at large watched him stalk back out the door, tapping away furiously, no doubt on the way down the block to Fogwell’s house.

“That’s Matt Murdock?” the hipster asked.

“Man, I thought he’d be taller,” another newbie said.

“Kid, that is the least of your problems when it comes to Matt Murdock,” Bert laughed. “Now, all of you, back to work. This ain’t a dog and pony show. Go on.”

---

#daredevil #fic #ficlet #jack murdock

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Text

Peeling Labels

Aspec Week, Day 7: Something New-- @aspecarchivesweek

an exploration of Jon and demisexuality! As a demisexual mspec person, a lot of this is based on my own anxieties as an aspec person and not being “ace enough.” (thanks to @ombreblossom for listening to me try to parse out how being demi feels and how to word it for the fic.)

Rated T for reference to a sex dream, but no explicit language/smut words used!

Jon has a weird relationship with labels. Labels are good, they categorize and compartmentalize feelings, situations, states of being. An archivist’s dream, really. But when they are applied to Jon, either by himself or someone else, they feel non-Newtonian, as if holding onto the word for too long causes it to slip through his fingers.

Usually, it’s fine. He knows that labels don’t really matter, but they still feel good. It’s comforting to know that he isn’t broken or a liar or confused; there are people in the world who share a word with him. They are bonded under a flag of black, white, purple, and grey.

Jon had set the precedent quickly, with Martin, on the first night they had been in Jon’s flat, pressed against a doorframe and exploring each other with gentle urgency. “I-ah, Martin,” he had broken away from Martin’s lips, eyes shining with a mix of adoration and anxiety. “I don’t think I’ve told you before, but I’m asexual. Just-uh, well. Thought you should know.”

Martin had nodded, eyes soft and full of understanding. “Okay. Do we have a boundary I should know?” The answer was yes: anything below the belt was strictly off limits, to give or to receive. And that was that. Martin was the perfect gentleman, checking in constantly whenever they were in the heat of a moment. The rule remained and was never crossed. Rules have labels and that label was: asexual.

Except, it wasn’t that easy. God forbid anything was easy for Jon. Labels are nice and they’re helpful to the part of Jon that craves structure, order. He’d found his ace identity while dating Georgie, after she gently asked him what was up after his third gentlemanly refusal of her advances. He had stammered out that he liked her, but didn’t want sex, at all, and he didn’t want her to be upset with him. And of course she wasn’t, because she’s Georgie, and she helped him find the word asexual, that glorious, blessed word that made so many frustrations and doubts slot into place.

Their romance didn’t end because of his aceness, far from it in fact. In fact, honestly, they were probably together as long as they were because their friendship was the strongest part of their relationship. But god, they were too similar to be in love. They were both too stubborn, too determined, unable to reach compromise when it came to the silliest things like movie nights (Jon found Georgie’s Lord of the Rings box set far too long and far too pretentious for his taste) or how their cupboards should be arranged. Their relationship was something they could win, and they were both determined to be the victor.

In the end, they both lost.

While Jon and Georgie had been a couple first, friends second, he and Martin had a foundation. There was friendship, shared trauma, a love that surpassed romantic and dug into something deeper. When they’re in bed and the dark is warm and heavy, limbs intertwined, Jon is reminded of the Greek myth of soulmates: a four armed, four legged being split in two, deemed to be too powerful by the gods. Sharing an essence, completing each other, making two halves whole. It makes Jon smile and kiss Martin’s forehead affectionately. They had been too powerful for the gods, hadn’t they? Unstoppable, really.

All this to say…what he has with Martin? It’s new. Something he has never experienced before. And it’s leading to a host of new, confusing experiences. He’s been in a relationship with Martin for nearly six months now. Jon really thought that at 32 years old, after battling down fear entity after fear entity in an apocalyptic hellscape, there were no new feelings he could experience. But here he was, lying awake, trying to trace patterns in the ceiling and understand the dream he had woken up from.

Not a nightmare. No, quite the opposite. Nightmares he knows how to deal with: slip out of bed, make a cup of tea or a glass of water, slip on the lamp by the bed, and cuddle into bed, reading quietly until sleep steals him away. But he does not know how to deal with this new dream of Martin, hovering above him, low voice stealing his breath and pressing kisses along his jaw, collarbone, shoulder as delicate, warm, strong hands brushed his body, dipping low with confidence. Jon woke up to a heat pooling in his core, tight and powerful, one he hadn’t experienced in such a way.

Jon has a libido, sure, but it’s always been a bodily desire, not a…what would you call this? Emotional one? He certainly never fantasized about another person, especially not someone he knew, that felt so invasive. He felt a flush heat his cheeks and chest as he pictured that image of Martin his subconscious has supplied him, above and around him with that concentration face he wears whenever he’s starting a puzzle or stuck on a particular difficult crossword, the one that always makes Jon grin and kiss his wrinkled forehead. But this one looked more heated, more filled with lust. And it… it affected him. Jon realized with a dawning that he liked it. A lot.

Jon glanced at the bedside clock and sighed at the blinking green 5:15 on the LED screen. Good a time as any to get a hot shower and let his feelings wash away with the soapy water. He extracted himself carefully from Martin’s warm arms and slipped into the ensuite, stripping to the sounds of water pounding from the showerhead and letting the steam and hot water envelop him. He scrubbed himself down harshly, watching suds rinse down his legs and down the drain, trying desperately to keep his mind off whatever that had been.

Once his skin was blotchy from heat, Jon decided he had enough. He slid into the flannel trousers he’d left abandoned on the floor of the loo and slipped back to bed, trying to do so without disrupting his sleeping boyfriend. Martin looked so lovely like this, auburn curls streaked with white plastered against the pillow and his forehead, mouth hung open and naked torso splayed so openly, so unguarded. He looked so lovely, the freckles smattered on his shoulders and stretch marks carving beautiful lines across his skin; the stars and the rivers below, a whole world in the work of art that is Martin Blackwood. How would he feel if he knew Jon had had that dream about him?

Jon’s staring, the lowercase-b-beholding of the man he loved was broken by Martin sleepily opening his eyes, a moment of confusion followed by focusing on Jon, who was kneeling on the edge of his side of the bed, captivated.

“Mmm. Hi there, love,” Martin mumbled, running a hand through his hair and sleepily glancing over at the clock. “You alright? Bad dream?”

Jon nodded; the spell broken. “Ah, yeah.” He couldn’t tell Martin, it was just a dream; he didn’t want to confuse Martin or worse, convince him he was a liar, that he wasn’t asexual, that it had all been to avoid-

Oh. Martin had spoken. He was staring at him expectantly, waiting for a response. “Sorry, say it again?” Jon asked meekly, sliding back under the covers.

“Do you want to talk about it, Jon?” The voice was patient, so patient. Jon shook his head and tucked himself into Martin’s side, tying up his damp, freshly brushed hair out of the way.

“I don’t really remember it anymore.” Lies. “It mustn’t have been that bad.” Martin’s hands were cool on his skin, still warm from the shower, as they brushed over the planes of his face in a slow way, stroking his nose and cheeks and forehead in the way Martin always did when he wanted Jon to go back to sleep. With some reservation, Jon let himself fall back against the pillows.

Jon thought about “The Dream” quite a bit in the week that followed. He wanted to understand it: why it had happened at all, but also, why it was still affecting him. Every so often, between emails sent and papers graded, his mind would drift back to the image of Martin, cheeks ruddy and eyes glassy, gazing down at him with such affection and Jon’s whole body would freeze up. Why was he suddenly attracted to Martin in such a new way? He loved that man with his whole being and yet, there was suddenly a new element, something unexpected, coming over the horizon. It’s been almost six months with Martin; why now?

The implications scared Jon. He had always identified as asexual; it was a core part of who he knew himself to be. Had it all been an unknowing lie? Had he just never been attracted to Georgie properly? Was it like when people get STIs; would he have to ring Georgie up and say, “hey, sorry to bother, I was never asexual, oops!”? He really didn’t want to have to do that. Would Martin be upset, angry that he had missed out on six months of potential sex just because Jon was…what? Prudish? Naïve? Afraid?

The worst part was that this…desire hadn’t come on all at once, he realized. He hadn’t even noticed the way his stomach would flip when Martin’s hands brushed his thighs, blaming his touch-based love language. It was in the way he stared at Martin when he couldn’t see it; eyes tracing his form and wondering what it would be like to feel every inch of him, in a way he had yet to experience.

God he…had to tell Martin, didn’t he? He didn’t want to feel like a pervert in his own relationship, observing and imagining from afar without Martin’s knowledge. It felt…dirty.

Jon made dinner, nine days after the dream. Nothing extreme, tikka masala, rice, and garlic naan. Martin’s favorite. As he cooked, he vacillated between trying to plan out what he wanted to say and very-much-not-thinking about how the evening could end. The worst outcome, he imagined, was Martin storming out, betrayed and heartbroken. That…that probably wouldn’t happen. No, he knew Martin Blackwood. Better than anyone else in the world. That definitely wouldn’t happen. Lo-fi techno crooned through the speakers as Jon cooked and he let his thoughts float away with the music, trying to focus on the spices of dish he was making and not the knowledge that Martin would be home in ten-

Oh. Jon heard the shhlik of the door sliding against the welcome mat and felt his whole body tense up.

“Jon? You making dinner?” Martin’s voice was warm as he called through the entrance, he didn’t know yet what Jon was going to tell him, that it was all a lie-

“Yes!” Jon called back, determined to keep his voice light and casual. “Your favorite. Be ready in five, so get out of your work clothes.”

“Smells delicious,” Martin was behind him now, voice low against the shell of his ear. Jon felt a shiver run down his spine, to where his stomach and pelvis met and a ball of electricity crackled there, unbidden. Martin kissed the crook of his neck chastely and Jon froze, unsure how to reciprocate.

“You okay?” Martin’s chin was on his shoulder now, voice soft.

“Fine, fine. You smell like crayons. The cerulean one.” Jon nudged Martin away casually, trying to pass off a witty remark.

“Hazard of the job, I suppose. You know you love it,” Martin mercifully pulled his hands from Jon’s waist and retreated to the bedroom, and Jon exhaled in relief.

Jon plated the masala. Martin poured the wine. They sat down to dinner. Jon felt it all happen, was there for it all, but it passed in strange jerky stop-motion, and he couldn’t seem to slow it down. He couldn’t see to find the words, so elected for none at all, eating silently. Eye-contact would give away the anxiety brimming inside him, so he kept his eyes on his plate and the wine and the sleeve of Martin’s sweatshirt, anything but Martin’s warm hazel eyes that he knew so well.

“Jon.” He could hear it in Martin’s voice, the gentle prompting. He could hear the worry, the confusion. God, it was going to happen wasn’t it? He was going to tell Martin and what happened happened and he couldn’t do anything to change that. “How was your day?”

“I-ah. Martin.” He said, voice jerky, unable to find a rhythm that felt right. “I have something to tell you.” The words fell from his mouth in a tumble.

“Oh?”

“I. I had a dream?” Martin’s eyes widened and he set his fork down. “N-not one of the Eye’s dreams,” Jon reassures quickly. He really wished dreams weren’t such a theme in his life. “Not a statement dream, but a… different kind of dream.”

“I…I don’t follow.” Martin was confused, eyes searching Jon’s face.

“A dream…about you?” he tried, unable to add the words “sex dream” into his vocabulary quite yet.

“Oh. Oh!” Martin understood at last, eyebrows raised and forehead that adorable, confused wrinkle. “That’s, well, nice, I guess?” Jon’s face must have given way to his thoughts, as Martin tried again. “O-or maybe not?”

“Martin,” Jon steeled himself. “I…I think I’m maybe not asexual.” The words rang sharp in his ears, grating; they didn’t feel right. But it was true, wasn’t it? He didn’t know what sort of explanation there could be.

When Jon dared to look into Martin’s face, he saw an expression he didn’t know how to parse. Furrowed eyebrows, eyes searching Jon’s face, head cocked slightly. “Okay. Because of the dream?”

“Um-kind of? But also…” Jon felt blood rush through his cheeks, was certain the Desolation had picked now to tear its way through him, and was grateful. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About you. In-in ways asexual people shouldn’t. A-and I thought you should know, because I didn’t want you to think I was lying to you and I don’t want to be having those thoughts without you knowing because that feels rude, in a way? Like I set a boundary but have been crossing it in my head this whole time?” Tears stung the corners of his eyes.

Martin’s voice was even, level, hard to parse as he spoke. “Jon, can I ask you a question? Only because you seem upset and I want to try to help you.” Jon was frustrated. Why wouldn’t he have the decency to be upset? At a nod, Martin’s chair scraped backwards, and Jon found Martin kneeling him beside him, hands on his knees as Jon swiveled to face him. Taking his pockmarked hands in his own, Martin rubbed Jon’s knuckles slowly, tenderly.

“Have you ever felt those feelings before?” Jon shook his head meekly, certain the lump in his throat would betray him. “Have you had those feelings the whole time we’ve known each other? Like, since the Institute?”

This time, Jon shook his head. “Not-not until after we were dating. The safehouse, maybe?”

“This one’s gonna sound a little rude, Jon, but bear with me. Do you think you’ve ever been as emotionally close to anyone else as you are with me?” He squeezed Jon’s hands warmly, adding: “And I am with you?”

Jon shook his head. Of course not. Martin was something new to him, something untapped in the world. A treasure, a diamond in the rough. There was nothing that compared to their relationship.

“Jon. I don’t want to tell you how you identify, that’s not my place, but I, I think you’re still asexual.” Jon’s eyes snapped to meet Martin’s; it was his turn to furrow his brow. “After you came out to me, remember? I started looking into asexuality. I wanted to be able to impress you at Pride this summer,” Martin ducked his head, wincing at the cheesiness of his words. “But did you know there’s a bunch of subtypes of asexuality?”

What? This was news to Jon. There’s wanting sex and not wanting sex, right? He shook his head numbly and felt a comforting, grounding squeeze of his hands again.

“There was one I researched a little extra, because it confused me, and I wanted to understand the difference,” Martin continued, moving a hand to stroke Jon’s cheekbone, to guide his face to meet his. “Demisexual, Jon. It’s a subtype of asexuality, and it’s when-” Martin’s eyes rolled back in his head, as they were want to do when he was struggling to recite something from memory. “-you don’t even have to option to feel sexual attraction until an emotional bond is established. And it’s not, like, a one-to-one thing, either. There was a woman talking about her experience on a forum and she basically explained it like sex being a door, right? And the door has a padlock on it. Emotional connection opens the padlock, but you still have to open the door.”

Jon’s mouth was agape. He…there were so many things to parse out here. “You…you looked all this up for me?”

Martin’s cheeks pinked slightly. “I wanted to make sure I understood asexuality. It’s a whole subgroup of its own; it was interesting.” Martin had been a Researcher for a reason, Jon supposed dimly.

“I. I want to research for myself, but demisexuality?” He rolled the word in his mouth as he spoke. It felt nice, weighty. “And it’s still asexual?”

Martin nodded, vehemently, pulling out his phone as he spoke. “Yeah! Its flag is the same colors too, just arranged differently.” He showed him the white and grey flag, divided with a smooth purple stripe and a black triangle on the edge. “A-and, I mean, if you realize you’re not asexual, or you’re something else, you know I’ll still support you regardless, right? I don’t love you because of your sexuality, or your identity. I love you because you’re Jonathan Sims, and everything else besides that is bonus.”

Jon exhaled, feeling the Choke release the hold on his chest. “Demisexual. I…Thank you, Martin. For listening and believing me. I love you too.” He pressed a kiss to Martin’s forehead, carding fingers through the tumbled curls. “Let’s eat, and maybe you can show me that forum afterwards?”

#cw: internalized acephobia #cw: sex dreams #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #georgie barker #fanfic to a tea #ace week #aspecarchivesweek #aspec archive week

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joontier · 4 years

Text

akin ka na lang (muli.) | drabble

translation: be mine (again.)

synopsis: Dr. Kim Taehyung, locally known for his successful cardio-thoracic surgeries. One thing he isn’t known for though, is that he’s your two-timing ex who’s come to visit you in the new hospital you work at.

pairings: taehyung x reader

rating: R (18+)

au: doctors!au; exes!au | genre: smut, slight angst, mentions of infidelity

warnings: exhibitionism, fingering, cunnilingus, degradation

word count: 2.2k

request: by @taemaknae “silakbo track feat. taehyung + doctor!au (because we need more doctor aus hehehe” SORRY IT TOOK A WHILE BABE!! but here ya gooo! I hope u enjoy it luv hehehhehe

g/n: this is part of The Paraluman Playlist - a drabble game we’re holding for the whole month of August!!! Send in your requests lovelies;; ((why do i get the feeling that this could be a good prologue too ajsdfhoaiwjef)) also,,, this might be a part of a fic crossover with one im working on right now with jk wOOPS

navi. | m.list

“And that concludes the reports for this month’s cardiac surgery reports.”

Ending your presentation with one last click of your pointer, you turn to your fellow doctors, resisting the strong urge to roll your eyes. Some of the seniors are already asleep, while those who are a closer to your age are obviously bored to the bone.

You’re seriously considering if you want to even bother asking the audience if they have any further questions when no one was listening in the first place anyways. Well, maybe except for the chairman who had been all ears the whole time.

Meetings like these are just a major waste of time – time you could have used to sleep your fatigue away after having completed a five-hour open heart surgery last night. If it only weren’t for the hospital’s board of directors that implemented this scheme.

The Ministry of Health and Welfare had only encouraged all hospitals to hold conferences like this to support medical-related research, but The Woocheon Group, after having been praised by the ministry itself for pioneering experimental medicine and clinical trials, upped its game, scheduling these quarterly conferences to monthly ones.

This plan would have sounded engaging to most third parties, but to those who were chosen to create reports, such as yourself, do not find these meetings most pleasant. After all, these month-end reports will also be uploaded to Woocheon’s online journals. Not that these doctors would even read any of those even if published both online or in paper. Unless of absolute necessity as reference, of course.

Your eyes scan over the audience consisting of at least forty doctors until you lock eyes with the one and only Kim Taehyung - infamous for his recently successful cardio-thoracic surgery on a twenty-two year old athlete back at Daegu Medical Center. Unfortunately for you, he’s also the same man who cheated on you for another colleague a few years back.

He was the reason you left DMC in the first place, unable to continue your career back at the center with such an unhealthy, hate-conducive environment. Obviously, you knew having to work with a cheater and having to face him for at least six days a week wasn’t going to do you any good. Hence, your moving to Seoul to officially pursue your fellowship at Woocheon Medical City. What you never expected though, was Taehyung coming all the way from Daegu to sit in with Woocheon’s internal conferences.

For what? Why was he here? What reason does he have to suddenly show up like this?

Whatever his business here was absolutely none of yours, and you promised yourself you were going to be the last person to concern yourself with such.

“Any further questions?”

You see Taehyung’s hand raise hesitantly, but retracts it quickly as another raises his hand. As you address the inquiry, you still feel Taehyung’s gaze locked on yours. Nobody dares to ask another question, not wanting to prolong the useless conference any longer. Thankfully, the hospital’s chairman ends the meeting shortly after that.

As you pack your things up while the rest of the crowd files out of the room, you feel someone approach you. In fact, you feel two - with both of the presences extremely familiar. When you look up from your desk, you see Taehyung and Chairman Jung Hoseok nearing the podium you stood behind from.

Taehyung lets the chairman approach you first. Good, at least the man still has a little bit of dignity left in him. “Dr. _______, great presentation today,” Hoseok applauds, “You are a blessing to this hospital,” the chairman adds, placing a hand on the small of your back.

“All in a day’s work, Chairman Jung,” you give the man a warm smile. Taehyung notices the small gesture and diverts his gaze quickly, as if he was caught watching something private. You smile inwardly, wanting to drop as many hints as possible to let the blonde-haired man he isn't welcome here.

The chairman finally takes notice of his presence as he turns around, much to your dismay. “Ah! Dr. Kim Taehyung! I wasn’t informed of your arrival… anyways, welcome to The Woocheon Medical City and may I introduce to you one of our best cardiology consultants here…”

“Dr. __________, of course.” A wide smile forms on Taehyung’s lips, reaching out his hand for a handshake. You hesitate for a split-second - torn between not wanting to be within arm’s reach of your traitorous ex-boyfriend, or maintaining your usual professional demeanor. Maybe it’s best for you to go with the latter, and pretend you two are meeting for the first time.

“We were colleagues back in Daegu Medical Center.”

Or maybe not.

Hoseok’s secretary comes over just in time, informing him of a friend who wishes to meet him outside as well as the rest of the day’s schedule. “Oh, guess I’ll have to meet that one then,” Hoseok says, turning to the both of you. “Well, I’ll have to leave you both for a moment. I’ll see you both around.” With a short wave, the chairman leaves the two of you to “catch up”.

“_________. Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Dr. Kim. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I still have plenty of things to do.” Deciding not to meet his eyes, you scan the room, sending a silent plea to the last doctor who was getting ready to leave, wishing that he won’t leave you alone with this man.

Taehyung blocks your sight with his body. Clenching your jaw, you tilt your head at him, waiting on what he has to say now. “Come back to me, please…” A scoff escapes your lips as you roll your eyes at Taehyung.

“I’d even beg on my knees, _______. I’ll do whatever you want, baby.”

“You on your knees?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I am a changed man.”

“Fuck you, Kim Taehyung.”

“By all means, ________, please.” Rolling your eyes at your two-timing ex, you continue packing up, making sure you won't forget anything else on the desk. Funny how he can even extract innuendos from your display of hatred. At this point, Taehyung had already rounded the table and is now standing beside you.

You figure he’s fiddling with the projector (for all you care), that is, until you feel his warm breath fanning against your nape. His close proximity instantly gives you a chill and before you can turn to face him, he already has you trapped between his body and the podium.

Taehyung can't hide the smirk that graces his lips when he sees you gulp. Fueled by your reaction, he proceeds to reach for the clicker by the opposite end of the desk, bending you a little bit forward, all the while pressing his erection against your ass.

When he feels you hold your breath in, it only spurs him on, slowly grinding against you. “T-Tae…” you whisper out brokenly, weakly pushing away his firm hold on your waist. “You’re not…” All coherent thoughts get drained from your head when he takes your breasts in his hands, kneading them gently through your shirt, “...s-supposed to do….”

The door opens all of a sudden and the janitor enters, holding a plastic roll in his hands. Taehyung abruptly takes his hands off you, placing them inside his pockets instead. Thankfully, the janitor only takes notice of you and Taehyung’s presence after checking the trash bin by the last row and not when the latter had his hands all over you. “Oh, sorry Doc! I thought everybody had left already. I’ll just come back later.” Bowing once in your direction, he leaves quickly just as he had arrived.

As you turn around to confront Taehyung about his brazen behavior, he’s already there, suddenly connecting his lips with yours. Nearly loosing your footing at the unexpected action, Taehyung instinctively places his hands on your back, pushing you further towards him. You place your palms against his chest, not wanting to get scandalized by making out with a guest. “Taehyung…”

The blonde-haired man pulls away from the kiss, only to attach his lips on that certain spot on your neck that ultimately gets you weak in the knees. ‘Does he remember?’ You think, mind getting hazy over the feeling of his pliant mouth on your skin after all these years. Then again, your mind betrays you with the vivid image of him fucking your friend in your very room – inside the same apartment you shared with that friend he cheated on you with.

Your judgment gets clouded once more as he fumbles with your shirt, unbuttoning the first one – enough to leave a hickey just above the valley of your breast. Taking your bottom lip between your teeth to hold in the moan the threatens to escape your mouth, your fist tightens around the fabric of his collar.

Sliding the swiveling chair from underneath, Taehyung pushes you down onto the cushion of the seat. As he kneels to the ground, your heart beats rapidly in your chest, the anticipation causing to form a few beads of sweat by your hairline. Pleasure shoots through your core as he hikes your skirt up, rubbing his hands all over your thighs.

Having him touch you like this after so many years ignited that fire inside you once more, the almost foreign feeling ultimately driving you close to madness.

Fuck, you missed this. Not him. Not Taehyung. Whatever thing this was with Taehyung that was so deliriously enticing: this magnetizing aura that drew everyone to him without him having to even try. Unfortunately for you, it had also drawn unwanted attention from perpetually thirsty women. You missed these feverish kisses, featherlight touches that sent electricity pulsing through your veins.

You repeat the phrase in your head like a fervent prayer. You miss the idea of this Taehyung, the Taehyung that ravished you on a regular basis, like you were the irresistible flame to the metaphorical moth that was him.

“Tell me to stop, baby, and I will,” Taehyung rasps, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“No panties? Still my naughty little slut I see,” Taehyung remarks, as he sees your naked core. It’s shameful how you’re embarrassingly wet within a short period of time, but you no longer put much thought on it, especially with a handsome man like Taehyung on his knees for you.

With dilated pupils, Taehyung looks up and you knew you had both reminisced the time this same scenario happened in his office at DMC. The infamous surgeon draws you out of your reverie as he plants kisses along the expanse of your thigh.

Urgently wanting to fully express his intentions, Taehyung wastes no time, bunching up your skirt by your hips and diving in to flatten his tongue against your wet core. You gasp at the contact and you practically feel him smile at your responsiveness.

Taehyung starts with a slow pace, letting his tongue swirl all over your cunt. “Oh!” you breath out when he flicks your nether bud with his tongue. Taehyung keeps your legs apart with left hand while he dips a finger between your folds with the other. As you shudder at the sensation, Taehyung continues his ministrations, pushing his finger in, reveling in the way your walls clench around his digit.

“You’re still so tight after all these years,” the man says, diving in once more as he familiarizes himself once more of your addictive essence, licking and sucking at your core for all its worth like it’s his last day on the planet.

Just as you were about to climax, three knocks on the door resonate throughout the empty room, and as you push your thighs together and signaling Taehyung to keep quiet underneath the table, the door opens one more time and the chairman’s head pokes through the side, eyes scanning the room to look for you. Fixing your appearance discreetly, you put on a smile on your face, ignoring the frustration that came with not being able to orgasm properly.

“Wanna go grab lunch with me, sweetheart?”

“Sure. I’ll be out in a few, babe. Just… gotta go through some emails,” comes your breathless answer. “Okay darling. I’ll be waiting for you by my office.” When you feel Taehyung’s fingers start to dance back up along your legs, you swat them away, the realization of your unfaithful acts finally dawning on you.

“Stop it Taehyung and get up from there,” you tell him, pulling down your silk skirt that’s shamelessly bunched up around your hips. As you tame the creases on your skirt, the light above you hits the rock on your fourth finger. The gleam hits your eyes perfectly, the diamond on your engagement ring seemingly mocking you of your infidelity.

For the sake of your sanity, you don’t say another word to Taehyung who also had his eyes trained on your ring. Quickly you grab your things off the desk, not sparing your dejected ex-boyfriend a look. As you reach the door, you rest your head on the hard plastic, “I’m happy now, Taehyung. Please respect that.” With a sigh, you open the door, not daring to take a look back.

Taehyung nods silently, looking away from your figure as a tear rolls down his cheek, regret and longingness weighing on him heavily.

#bts smut #taehyung smut #bangtanhq #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #btsguild #btsghostie #ksmutclub #paralumanplaylist #taehyung fluff #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader

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nightswithkookmin · 3 years

Text

JIKOOK: DEAR ARMY WE ARE IN LOVE

DISCLAIMER: I wouldn't take this particular post seriously. I mean it's something, but nothing at the same time. I just do these kinds of 'analysis' for fun and for my own personal amusement.

Do you see it? Or do you need me to connect the dots for you? Thought you'd never ask! Lol

I have always been fascinated by BTS's incorporation of fine art, poetry, metaphors, imageries, philosophical and psychological theories etc into their craft.

They are brilliant at expressing themselves and conveying their emotions through art and music. I have always found that challenging and mentally stimulating.

Take for example this whole Dear Army moments they shared with us on Weverse this week. Yes, it's a marketing strategy, the objective of which is to build an intimate connection with Army but most importantly hear feedback from Army on the struggles we are each facing in light of Covid 19 and also to provide feedback on why we love and stan BTS through their recommended hashtags.

Suga had already explained they were going to do this in that March YouTube live and so it's no brainer. The fun part for me, which of course is subjective, is the embedded meaning behind this whole Dear Army concept.

The progression from day to night, the use of contrast etc is all very reminiscent of the message of Bulletproof eternal- we are not seven with you. Especially with Suga and Hobi's postcard being taken directly from the BTS bonfire moment in Bonvoyage which made a cameo in Bulletproof eternal and the allusion to winter in both artworks.

The overall message of Dear Army is very simple: we had nothing but dreams, open our eyes to a foggy morning, so much pain too much crying; after seven winters and spring- we are all in this together, BTS and Army forever.

I also found the exploration of the cycle of life, the ambiguity of morning and night that blurs the line between evening and daybreak quite interesting. Its always been a recurring theme in their songs and arts. It's just them reassuring and connecting with us through their ingenuity as usual.

But of course this is just my opinion and my interpretation of their use of symbolism and allusions. And as much as I enjoy deconstructing BTS's musical genius, I'm just going to focus on Jikook's message- well not message, message but their artistic expressions in Dear Army.

JIKOOK'S MESSAGE

Now I already talked about the body text of Jimin's post and so I'm not going over that again. Jk's text is equally very much straightforward and is just a restatement of the message he shared in his recent YouTube live about rediscovering his purpose in life. So I won't focus on that either.

It's the artwork they chose that I am interested in and fascinated by. I was trying to ascertain whether the art work for the postcards where chosen randomly by staff or whether it was something the members themselves chose as at first glance it looked pretty generic- I wasn't able to confirm so...

Now from what Suga said about incorporating letters into their upcoming album, I'm just going to assume BTS themselves chose these images and the creative directors added their finishing touches to it- based on the tone and mood BTS had described.

Let's start with Jimin's. I clocked immediately I saw his postcard where the concept of that artwork or background image was from. I'll circle back to this hold on.

I value and pay alot of attention to the unique ways that each member of BTS expresses themselves. Those unadulterated, authentic expressions of self provides a better sense of who they are as Individuals rather than the perfectly curated, highly edited and performative versions of themselves we see screens. In my opinion.

Take Tae and JK for example. These two men are the kinds who'd write a song about their feelings and emotions when they are hurt. Lol. They deep for no reason. Bless them.

Jimin talks a lot. He is a verbal communicator. But hardly does he reveal any relevant details about himself that gives insight into his psyche and persona through his words. Again, in my opinion.

I keep saying his persona is very elusive to me. He tends to give us so much he ends up not giving us anything at all. Unlike Tae or even JK who write songs, recommend songs, or even GCF(JK) that gives us insight into their personal feelings, Jimin doesn't do covers as much and the songs he recommendes aren't as insightful into his deepest thoughts and feelings. He is very elusive that way.

That doesn't mean he doesn't express himself. He does, just not through his music like the others. In my opinion. Mostly he expresses his wants, his desires through his music but his sensuality through his dance.

It seems also that he explores his identity and expresses the exploration of that identity through the body arts he inks himself with temporarily or permanently.

Jk I find is the opposite. He doesn't explore his identity through his body art. Nor his sensuality through dance. Rather he expresses his values and the things he cherishes through his body art; his thoughts and feelings through his music and art.

And so while Jimin would be inking temptress, seductress, bigender on his body, JK would be inking- rather cool than dead and other symbols that represents his beliefs and values on his body.

I'm going off on a tangent, am I not? Sigh

Back to the post card. When I saw JM's postcard, it immediately reminded me of JK's GCF in Helsinki. [Couldn't attach image due to Tumblr but check it yourself]

It reminded me of JK's Frozen sunset theme, his use of warm and cold contrasting colors throughout that GCF and also the ending parts of GCF Helsinki where the sun is setting over the clouds just as in this post card- Frozen Sunset.

Jk also made an allusion to that frozen sunset in his song Still with you. I am particular about his use of the words Sky, clouds, sunset etc when they appear in his music, paintings or tattoos because he once said it's something he loves taking pictures of- that and of course Jimin.

I pay much attention to the things he says he loves and so I look for them in his self expressions to try and understand why he loves it and what it means to him.

Honestly, I didn't think much of JM's postcard art when I saw that use of the frozen sunset for his postcard. I thought, well staff could have picked it out randomly so I was waiting to see JK's postcard and the overall concept for Dear Army to see if this was something JM had done intentionally.

Part of me also felt those themes they presented in the post card art work were metaphors for the kind of songs they would be creating in the new Album just as Suga had said.

But JK's postcard art made me suspicious of JM's post card. JK's postcard art is the odd one out of all the artworks for the postcards. Sope had a similar complimentary art taken from the bonfire moment of Bulletproof Eternal as I mentioned earlier. The rest all had elements pertaining to nature- sky, parks etc except JK's.

Also the theme and symbolism of Jk's art convinces me he chose his artwork himself for that post- I mean I could be wrong but...

Remember when I talked about GCF Helsinki, Still with you and Never Not etc and I said they all had a similar theme- something about roads and paths, being mismatched, not being on the same page, not having the same goals etc?

GCF Helsinki- I'll take the desert, you take the coast to each his own.( moving in different paths)

Still with you: Though our steps may not go along together, I still want to walk this path with you.(again, mismatched paths repeated)

I was intrigued by that recurring theme of roads and paths leading in different directions in JK's music and art in this timeline especially as it contrasts heavily with the themes of his past timelines.

And I even speculated that I felt it was in reference to him and JM not meeting minds on the direction they wanted to take their relationship.

I have been waiting eagerly for him to release yet another cover or art since still with to see what that whole mismatched, separate roads thingy was all about but he didn't do his birthday cover this year- among other things.

It's thus funny to be that in this post card thingy he chose train tracks- intersecting train tracks to represent his feelings and coupled with the message of him rediscovering his passion- It doesn't feel like a coincidence to me or something staff would chose for him.

It certainly doesn't help my delusional brain cells, that JM flashed that Mickey Mouse during his VLive which again I felt was an allusion to their GCF in Tokyo.

First he is making allusions to GCF Tokyo, now GCF Helsinki, signing his name to JK's posts at Pop-ups...

Remember when I said that if JM was the one who had stopped JK from posting on his birthday, that he would come swinging hard on his Jikook agenda? Remember that?

If JK posting on his birthday was important to JM, chilee nothing would have stopped JM from logging into Twitter, posting and signing JK's damn name to his post- if saving face is what was important to him. It's not like he's not done that before. He could have done that and we wouldn't even know it wasn't from JK. Lol

He really is the one that stopped JK from posting on his birthday for whatever reason- wink. You know. Lol

Park Jimin is not the 'victim' in this birthday drama. He is guilty party your honor. Guilty per the books. Lol

Stay supporting Jikook, your life will be easier that way. Bless you.

Signed,

GOLDY

#jikook #jikook analysis #kookmin #jikooktheories #kookmintheories #kookmin analysis #goldy theories #goldy analysis #nightswithkookmin #goldy #jikook scenarios

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darkhymns-fic · 3 years

Text

Sword Games

Maybe it wasn't proper for her to play games so often, clothes scuffed by the dirt, her palms developing calluses from the toy weapons she and Lloyd used - but even an up-and-coming Chosen can only be a child once.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: This was written for Day 1: Childhood Friends of this year’s Colloyd Week! Starting off with my favorite trope :D This fic references a small comment made by Colette in Altamira about how her and Lloyd used to play sword games when they were little, and the image of it just wouldn't leave me.

During a routine prayer at the temple, Colette felt she owed her very life to Lloyd.

"Chosen, please read from the top of the page," spoke one priest, the eldest of the group of four who stood with her in a certain atrium of the temple, which was shadowed due to the thick curtains from the slit windows made in the stone. Martel's symbol was woven onto the fabric, faded with time, yet still the pattern so embedded into Colette's memory. There were few accessories for comfort in the Iselia Chapel, with only the assembled cobblestone at her feet, and the aged daises that had been placed in front of a corridor that led deeper into the temple.

But Colette could barely pay attention to any of that. Her eyes were fixated on the priest who had the bushiest eyebrows she had ever seen on a person! And she had recently met the funny dwarf that had come into town the other day, ruffling her hair with a warm hand.

She stared too long, resulting in a clearing of the throat from the elder. With a start, the eight-year old shook her head and stood up straight. "Yes, Father."

Colette took a breath as she looked at the book of Angels, which was held on a stand in front of her, too big for her small arms to carry. "Our Goddess Martel blesses us with the mana of heaven… When her Chosen prays before the seal of light…"

A sound to the right, one that an acolyte priest to her right noticed, but was unsure. Colette tried to hold back the excitement from her voice.

"The Angels descend to the earth, to lead the Chosen to heaven…"

"What was..?" The same priest wondered aloud, while the man next to him shushed him. Colette could barely pay attention to what she was reading.

“The earth will swallow up the Desians whole with a great roar…”

And once her recitation was answered with a loud yell, perhaps one or two priests that the description of the Oracle had finally come true.

"Sneak attack!"

A boy in red, suspenders holding up his dark shorts, his hair a mess of brown spikes and cow licks, jumped from a stone pillar and swung down two wooden swords that already had nicks along the edges. His shout echoed inside the atrium, bouncing across the walls.

As the flurry of old men scattered at the shout, Colette stood her ground...and reached down to grab a small staff (one of her grandmother's spare walking sticks) that she had hidden underneath the book stand before her lesson.

"Nope!" she yelled back, blocking Lloyd's double sword attack. The feel of it made her arms shake, spiking sudden adrenaline in her as she shoved him away. "Gotta do better than that!"

"No way!" Lloyd jumped back. One of the swords was cracked slightly, yet still he tried to brandish it with a flourish. Though his right hand was bandaged around the center of his palm, covering part of his knuckles, he held onto his weapon with barely a flinch as he rushed towards Colette. "I'm still going to win!"

She laughed as she blocked his attack. There was another satisfying thwack! sound, repeating each time their swords made contact. There was once a time when such play would slightly sting her hands, but she had long grown used to it now, holding her weapons with comfort.

"Chosen! This is preposterous!" The elder priest huffed, calling from the side of the room where he had run off earlier in fright. "And no one of the populace is to be allowed in the temple!"

Colette thought on such words, feeling guilty to have made her mentors so upset... and then rushed toward the direction of the exit. "Then we'll take this outside!"

"Hey, wait up!" Lloyd shouted, grinning with ecstatic glee. He kept waving around his swords, more than once nearly throwing them out of his hands.

"Chosen!" But even as the other priests shouted for her, she kept running, knowing that it was only Lloyd who would follow her all the way.

Down the moss-covered stairs of the temple, out onto the shoreline that she was typically not allowed near, both her and Lloyd continued their sword fights until both of their arms felt like they had been turned to jelly.

"No fair!" Lloyd was shouting as he tried to perfect his new technique on her! One that he had explained to her once of how he would charge up a spin in the air for extra power, but he mostly just stumbled on the sand instead. "You can't use double swords too!"

Colette stuck out her tongue at him. She held out a stick she had found in her backyard that morning and kept hidden in her dress at the side. "I want to use two just like you! I think it looks really cool."

The compliment completely changed Lloyd's tune, a flush on his cheeks. "Well...it is cool! You're right!"

Yet even with her newfound double sword power, neither could outmaneuver the other. The sound of the slamming wood punctured the air, so sharp, mingling with the cries of the seagulls that hovered near the water. Lloyd held his own, spinning and slashing with his swords, and she mimicked him, nearly always tumbling down before she righted herself up.

Until one time she didn't – and slammed her body right into Lloyd until both fell onto the sand in defeat.

"Heeey!" Lloyd whined, his swords falling out of his hands, far from reach. "No tackling!"

But Colette had lost her swords (staff and stick) as well, both of them stuck in the dunes far off to her right. And so with nothing left to hold, she gave herself to fall flat onto the ground, just a few inches from Lloyd who laid down next to her, his hair dusted with so, so much sand. Both of their arms were outstretched, taking in deep breaths of the sea-salt air.

"Sorry…" she said with a pant. Her eyes were directed to the sky, where the sun shone so bright, the waves crashing nearby. "I tripped again."

"You gotta be careful.." Lloyd's voice was gentle, losing the luster from before when exhaustion finally caught up with him. "So, who won this round then?"

"Well, we both dropped our swords at the same time." Colette scrunched her forehead, thinking of the hazy set of rules she and Lloyd had set up for their fight. "Maybe it's a tie!"

"Again?" Lloyd whined, and from her corner of her eyes, she could just barely make out a pout from him. "We need Genis to referee our next battle."

Colette kept taking in big breaths, watching the arc of sea birds fluttering in the air, occasionally blocking out the sun. "I think that would be nice."

"Hm, we'd have to explain the rules to him though." Lloyd was kicking the back of his shoes into the ground, scuffing up sand with each motion. "And he only knows about those ken… k… the kendo-whatever things he always uses instead of swords."

"I didn't know much about swords either." Colette made sure to turn around on her side to face him. "Not until you told me about them."

There was something then in the way he laid there, not too far from her, his face soaking up the sunshine. His arms and legs were already tanned from the outside, in comparison to her pale skin. She just liked noticing that, the small little differences between them. Every morning, her grandmother would painstakingly brush her hair until it was straight and reached down to the middle of her back, while Lloyd’s hair looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. And his clothes would be stained with dirt marks and remnants of grass, while her own would barely get a wrinkle… except for now…

"Yeah… and you're really good with them!" Lloyd grinned at her, the sight of it making her chest tighten in a very strange and new way. Maybe it was the way the sun hit his hair, or how his grin looked different from last week after losing one of his baby teeth.

"Only because you've been teaching me!" Colette gripped the sand between her fingers, letting them sift out again as she relaxed them. "Do you think I could have my own swords someday?"

"Yeah, why not? The only thing you're better at than swords are the frisbees you throw for Noishe".

To Colette, that was the highest compliment anyone had ever given her. She gazed at Lloyd, shuffling just a bit closer to him. There would be sand all over her clean dress, but she didn't care. "Really?"

"Yep!" At that, Lloyd moved until he was flat on his stomach instead, but kept his chin above the sand so that he could keep looking at Colette. "You're really cool, Colette."

Hearing that, Colette looked straight at him, seeing the wind pull at a lock of that messy hair.

"Why do you think that?" she asked, half-afraid of what he'd say. Because I'm the Chosen? It was all anyone ever called her first, her name second. She swallowed, unsure why there was sadness in her suddenly.

"Huh? Well… because you are!" Lloyd laughed, some of the sand getting onto his lips. "You're really funny, and you know about every dog there is… and you're the only one who'll play swords with me." At that last one, his voice had gone softer with half-shame. "Everyone else thinks I'm weird for bringing mine everywhere…"

"But it's not weird! It.. makes you look really cool, too." She shifted her legs in the sand, bare legs tickled by the feel of it. "And you always want to play with me and show me pictures of doggies, and.."

She started to hear herself and clamped up. A priest would tell her when she should trim her words down for the Goddess. The less said, the better, for the Martel didn't want empty words...

"Yeah, why wouldn't I want to play with you?” His laugh tickled her ears. “See, you really are funny when you talk like that, Colette."

It was such moments like these that Colette would keep with her until the day of the Oracle. The feel of the salt on her tongue from the nearby ocean that she wasn't allowed to swim in, the wind tugging at her collar, and the russet brown of Lloyd's eyes, always so warm and wide.

"You know, when you're like this...you look kinda like a turtle." She smiled at the thought, kicking her legs from side to side.

At that, Lloyd looked entirely confused. "Huh? But I'm not a turtle…"

"I meant like one, not that you are one! Because you're on your stomach, and have your head sticking out like they do."

"Why only turtles though?" Lloyd frowned, but she could still see the precious grin held in its shape. "I'm just laying down like Noishe does!"

"No, he lays like this!" Colette rolled onto her back again, holding up both arms and legs. Her dress fluttered in the wind, and in the back of her head, she could hear the word improper and childish echo, but the waves drowned it away, worries for another day. "See?"

"That's only when you're petting him!"

This conversation kept going in all its strange tangents until eventually they exhausted themselves, laughing themselves silly. And because of that, she suddenly wanted to ask him what had been on her mind since the priests handed her the scriptures to memorize.

"Hey, Lloyd?"

Lloyd was now making little sand piles with his hands, showing it off to Colette until her voice stopped him. "Yeah, what is it?"

"Do you think...you'll remember me?" she asked him, looking away. "And what we did today?"

All she did was keep confusing Lloyd, going by the blink of his eyes then. But even with that, Lloyd only did what he always did best - making her feel better without even realizing it.

"I won't ever forget you," Lloyd spoke with the confidence that only a nine-year old could ever have. "We're best friends!"

She knew, even as Lloyd laughed and she soaked in the sounds like a hand clutching her own, that this was a day she was going to remember. Even when eight years later, she'd walk up the stairs to the final seal by herself, she'd remember the splinters of the ‘swords’ on her palms, the grains of sand stuck in her hair.

Her childhood would have been more plain, much lonelier without Lloyd. And she thanked Martel for putting him in her life, if not for anything else.

"Yeah…" she told him, matching her grin to his. "I won't forget you either."

#tales of symphonia #colloyd #lloyd irving #colette brunel #colloydweek2021 #fanfiction #one shot

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soybeantree · 4 years

Text

when we must

pairing: johnny x (reader) genre/warning: fluff count: +1.9k description: there’s nothing like a good ol’ fashioned road trip to kick off the summer. even when johnny’s and your opinion of fun are two vastly different things.

Laying on the motel bed with maps sprawled out before you, you groan and run your hand through your hair. When Johnny had suggested an old fashioned road trip, you had jumped at the idea. Anything sounded better than a week at work. However, you failed to understand what Johnny meant by "old fashioned" road trip. While you're not traveling around in a horse drawn cart, you are traveling without the aid of phone or GPS. A knock on your door draws you away from your futile planning attempt. Johnny greets you with a smile and food. His smile nearly earns him a slap, but the food saves him. You snatch the bag from his hand and flop back on the bed. "This is impossible. We are going to get lost and die in the middle of nowhere, and no one will be able to find us because we have no phone for them to track." "We have a phone." Johnny corrects as he settles on the bed next to you and reaches into the bag for his food. You narrow your eyes. "That piece of plastic does not qualify as a phone." You glare at the flip phone sitting on the bedside table. "It can call people that qualifies it as a phone." He says around a mouthful of food.

"Whatever. My point still stands that this is impossible. I'm not a navigator. I don't know how maps work. It's a miracle we actually found a motel today." Johnny shakes his head and pulls the maps closer to him. "We just need to pick a destination, see how many miles are between here and there, determine how long it will take to get there, and then highlight the route." "That all sounds complicated. You know what doesn't sound complicated. Typing an address into a GPS." Your argument falls on deaf ears. The maps hold Johnny's attention. He can spend all the time he wants on them. You dig through the bag, pulling out food. He bought all your favorite snacks. With a sigh, you bite into the food and huddle next to him as you two plan out the next day’s trip. An hour later, you've eaten all the food and planned the route for the next day. "See that wasn't so hard." You smack him with a pillow at him as you roll your eyes. He laughs as he swats the pillow away. "Make sure you get plenty of sleep.” He says as he stands and heads for the door. “We have a full day of travel ahead of us." "I still don't understand why we have separate rooms." You comment as you climb off the bed and head for your suitcase. "Because this is an old fashioned road trip." He explains to your back. "That's not actually a thing. You're just making all of this up." He chuckles. "Goodnight, Y/N." You wave a hand in response. _________________________________________

The next day starts early, but at least, it starts with donuts. Johnny shows up with a box and coffee. You sip on the blessed liquid as you sit in the passenger seat. The sun has yet to rise. When you point that out to Johnny, he smiles and says that's the point. Exhaustion dampens your fighting spirit, so you curl up in your seat and continue to sip. Johnny drives, gaze on the horizon. As you watch him, the sun rises in his eyes. The light sets them on fire and his whole face glows in the warm light. "Suns up." He beams. "Doesn't this make getting up worth it." He turns to you, and you glance to the sunrise, blinking to clear his image. You mumble a reply and refuse to look back at him. You drain your coffee, hoping to wake up and bring yourself back to sanity.

You met Johnny during college and nearly killed him when you first met. You had been studying in the library, fully prepared to pull an all-nighter. Everyone else had returned to their dorms, and true silence had settled over the library. Or so you thought. Shortly after two, the loudest, most annoying singing had filled the stacks. You snapped your pencil in shock. The singing continued. You stood, chair flying back. Storming down the rows, you found Johnny in an alcove at the back of the library. He sat hunched over his own stack of books, headphones in his ears, mouth acting as a speaker. "If you're going to sing, then why wear headphones!" Your screech had pierced through the music. What followed was twenty minutes of you berating him and threatening him with your broken pencil. Johnny sat patiently through your tirade, and when you finished, suggested food. You two found the closest 24-hour convenience store and spent the rest of the night eating and talking. You've been best friends since then. You've also been in love with him since then.

"We should stop here." Johnny pulls your attention back to him. The here, he refers to, is a wide expanse of rocks which rise into cliffs. He pulls the car off the road, shifting into park. "You want to climb them?" He nods. "If you break anything, I'm leaving you here to die." "I'd expect nothing else." He grins before diving into the back seat. As he rummages through your bags, you climb out of the car. The sun sits overhead, bathing you in warmth. You stretch like a cat waking from a nap and survey your surroundings. The rocks do lend themselves to climbing. After a glance back at Johnny, whose behind is the only thing visible as he continues his rummaging, you start off towards the formations. "If you break anything, I'm leaving you here to die too." You hear him call as you reach the foothills of the cliffs. You shake your head and ignore him as you reach for the first hand hold. Your foot finds a crevice, and you push yourself up. “Look at that form. Good lines. Lean muscles. Fashion evaluation however not good. Those shoes, stylish but not good for climbing.” Glancing back over your shoulder, you find Johnny bellow you a video camera in his hand. He swivels around you, getting every unflattering angle. "Why do you have a video camera? This is supposed to be an old fashioned road trip." You growl as you hurriedly pull yourself on top of the rock. "They had video cameras on old fashion road trips." He says as he continues to film. "You really are just making up shit now." "My trip. My rules." He shrugs. You chunk a pebble at him, and he jumps back laughing. "Remember what happens if you break anything." "That includes the camera?" You chunk another pebble, but his long legs keep the camera safe. "I said anything." He grins up at you, his eyes squinting in the sunlight. You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at him. “Are you going to spend the entire day filming from down there or are you actually going to climb?” Closing the camera, he stows it in his backpack and follows the trail you blazed. He pulls himself up onto the ledge with you and stands. “Are you going to sit there all day or are you actually going to climb?” “I’m going to kick your ass. That’s what I’m going to do.” He darts off as you push yourself up. The afternoon is spent crawling around the rocks and filming your adventures. Johnny insists on finding every cinematic shot and forcing you to video him. He attempts to return the favor, but with the life of his camera hanging in the balance, he decides against it. As the sun sinks in the east, you and Johnny sit at the top of the rocks watching the sky blossom with shades of pink and purple. The night air fills with the sounds of clicks and croaks, the melodies blending together to create an evening song. “You know we didn’t even make it halfway to where we were going.” “I think we made it the whole way.” You glance over at him and find his gaze on you. Returning your attention to the sunset, you clear your throat. “We should head back before it gets too dark. After all we don’t have-” Flashlights was what you were going to say, but you trail off when Johnny pulls one from his backpack. “You were just prepared for everything weren’t you?” “Of course. I’m not going to half-ass a date.” That one word stills you, and you wait for him to laugh and take it back, but he doesn’t. He sets the flashlight on the ground next to him and zips up his pack. When he finally faces you again, he blinks at your expression. “What?” “This isn’t a date.” “Why not?” “Because we’re not dating.” “We're not?” “No!” "Oh,” he pauses his perfect lips puffing out in a pout. “This is awkward then, because I was going to propose to you at the end of this trip." "What?” Your heart races, but you force it to calm. Johnny’s joking, this is just the friendly banter you two always have. “You were not. We have to date before you propose." "How long?" "What?" "How long do we have to date before I can propose?"

Your heart kicks into high gear. "Why are you saying these things?" You refuse to look at him, focusing all of your attentions on the way the stones glisten in the fading sunlight. "Because I plan on marrying you." You dart up, mouth flapping but no sound comes out. "What if I don't plan on marrying you?" You stutter out. "Is it because I'm ugly?" "What? No." "So you find me attractive?" "Yes, no. Johnny, I am going to hit you. Stop talking." Fists clenched at your side, you fight back tears. Now is not the time to cry, but he’s so aggravating and stupid and you need him to shut up before he says something neither of you can come back from. Standing, he steps towards you and takes your hands in his. He waits until you meet his gaze. "You're my best friend. We've seen each other at our best and our worst. We survived an old fashioned road trip together. I think you're the most beautiful person in the world, and you said you think I'm attractive. So can we date for as long as you want to date and then get married?" "You can't spring stuff like this on people." You choke out, as those damn tears start to leak out. "You're right. I'm sorry. Should I give you time to think about this?" "I don't need time to think. The answer is 'yes'. I just need you to know there was a better way to do this." "We're dating then?" "Yes." "And I can kiss you." Your cheeks flame. "Ye-" A kiss swallows your answer. Johnny pulls back, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "You probably didn't mean right now, did you?" "I didn't mean not right now. I just - you're annoying, you know that Johnny Suh." You pull your hands from his and cross you arms. However, the blush still burning your cheeks foils your attempt at nonchalance. Stepping forward, you bury your face in his neck. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer. "Six months." "What?" He mumbles into your hair. "Let's date for six months. After that, I'll decide if I want to date longer or get married." He squeezes you tighter and places a kiss on your cheek.

#johnny #nct #nct 127 #johnny drabble #johnny suh #nct drabble #nct 127 drabble #johnny fanfiction #hmw

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t-lostinworlds · 5 years

Text

Found You (Shawn Mendes)

A/N: So since this amazing person known as @fourtristattoos is having this amazing festival, I thought I’d support and have a little participation too. Also wanted to try and write some dad!shawn sooo yeah, this is my first ever dad!shawn fic. And this ended up longer than expected lol. I hope you guys like it! <3

Summary: Shawn thinks it’s just a coincidence, but when his son seems to bump into you ever so often, he starts to think otherwise.

Prompts:

"Look at you, so big and tall, bet you're real proud of yourself, huh?"

"Pick that up and put it in the cart, please."

"I finally found you"

Warnings: Fluff and Typos

Word Count: 6.2k

Masterlist in Bio

-:-:-:-:-

"Buddy be careful!" Shawn exclaimed, eyebrows furrowed in worry as he watched his 4 year old son sprint towards the little playground his grandparents had in their backyard.

It was built just a couple of months ago, a gift for their first grandchild as Karen and Manny had said, their grandchild who was so spoiled to bits by his grandpa and grandma.

"He's fine Shawn. Don't be such a dad." Aaliyah teased as she ran towards her nephew, a big smile on her face once she reached the little guy, him erupting in giggles, excited to see his favorite aunt play all day with him.

"Well I am dad so I will worry all I want." Shawn huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched two of his favorite people in the world, laughing and enjoying as they ran up and down the slide, a smile breaking into his own lips, feeling so giddy and happy with the scene in front of him.

The sun rose high today in Pickering, the smell of grass and fresh air so soothing to Shawn in the best way possible, the cool air blowing on his skin just enough to make him sigh in pure content to be back home again.

"He's a beautiful child you know. You've raised him well." Shawn looked beside him to see his mother smiling widely at him, giving his arm a soft squeeze before casting her eyes back at the beautiful boy who was giggling loudly as his aunt Liyah pushed him gently on the swing.

Shawn wrapped an arm around his mother's shoulder, pulling her into a side hug and placing a soft kiss on top of her head. "Couldn't have done it without your help mum." A soft 'aww' escaped Karen's lips, her small hand rubbing circles on his back as she rested her weight onto her son, who was once his little boy, and now, has a little boy of his own.

What Shawn said was true. He couldn't have raised Angelo the best way possible, without the help of his parents.

Angelo Nathan Mendes.

The name of Shawn's sunshine, his everything, his angel.

It was rough having him when he was still so young since 22 wasn't exactly Shawn's ideal age on becoming a dad, and also given the fact that career wise, it wasn't the greatest idea. But what happened, happened and he was still thankful for it given that he now has such an adorable boy in his life, his son.

The moment Shawn found out that he was going to be a father, it wasn't exactly as joyous as he'd hope it to be. Only being with her for only a couple of months, it was an idiotic move of Shawn for not being extra careful but he kept a positive mindset, telling himself that this was a blessing in disguise. He thought she'd be happy too, just as he was, scared but happy nonetheless, but what Shawn got was the exact opposite.

At first she wanted to get rid of it off the bat, saying how she wasn't ready to be a mother, blaming him for ruining the future she has planned for herself, but after weeks of reassurance and begging from him, she finally gave in. Shawn was glad tour was over that time so he was able to disappear from the public eye to take great care of her, made her feel like a queen.

They've also managed to keep it on the down low the whole time, the fact that they haven't gone public helped in the greatest bit. Shawn telling the world that he was making an album during his disappearance to lessen the suspicion, to derive everyone from finding out what was actually going on. But of course he wasn't lying fully since he can never stop making music, and with him only posting bits of snaps from him in the studio, no one knew that he was actually going to be a father.

They were okay for the 9 months she's carried their child, Shawn expecting her to fall in love with being a mother as time goes by, that they'd be a happy family after everything, but what he didn't expect was that she'd leave right after Angelo was born, gone in a flash and leaving him to raise his child all on his own.

Shawn didn't bother to try and get a hold of her. She already made it clear that she wanted no part of it, even from the very start, so he lets her be. Angelo doesn't deserve that kind of woman in his life anyway, Shawn always wondering what he saw in her and how he ended up with someone like her in the first place.

However, Shawn knew he couldn't hide his secret for much longer. Sooner or later, people are going to get very suspicious on why he decided to extend his break for another year. Fans were getting worried, news outlets were starting to create false theories, and his career image was slowly turning sideways as the media keeps pushing that he was on drugs or something in the likes of.

So when his boy turned one and a half, Shawn posted this photo on his Instagram:

shawnmendes: My little boy, Angelo Mendes.

Let's just say Shawn broke the internet more so than when he released that Calvin Klein ad.

People were shock, happy, confused, surprised and everything in between. Then the questions on who the mother was started rolling in. Shawn never gave out a name, knowing how people are going to drag her especially if they find out what actually happened, he wouldn't do that her even if she wasn't in his good books. Shawn only stating that he was happy and content, that it was just him and his boy, and wherever she was right now, he wishes the best for her.

"Has he asked about that girl yet?" Karen asked, venom laced in her voice, still refusing to refer to her as 'Angelo's mom' but Shawn knew who she was talking about, the expression on his mother's face just says it all.

"Yeah, once."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him that she's somewhere out there. Then he just forgot about it instantly." Shawn chuckled, but a heavy feeling settled in his heart. He knew Angelo was going to ask more and more questions about his mom as he grows older, and Shawn doesn't know how to tell him the truth without breaking the little boy's heart.

Shawn doesn't want him to think that something was wrong with him that's why she left, or that he wasn't loved enough by his own mother for her to stay with them. Shawn is dreading that day to be honest, the day he's going to tell him about what really happened.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm sure he'll be fine. He's loved enough by you and more." Karen reassured as if she's read his mind, Shawn smiling down at her, grateful to have her every step of the way, from helping him learn how to change diapers to the secret of tucking a bouncing ball of energy to bed.

"Also, you need to get back on dating Shawn, you need a girlfriend." A groan erupted out of the curly boy's mouth, eyes rolling as he shook his head at what his mother had said. "What? I'm serious! You're not going to be 26 forever, date while you're still young."

"I'm happy as is mum. Angelo is all I need, you guys are all I need. I don't need to find a girlfriend, if someone is out there for me, then she'll come. Besides I don't think Angelo is old enough to understand. I don't want to confuse him by having a girl and then if we break up she'd be gone. It's too stressful. Not to mention I don't have the time."

"Well you've been avoiding every girl that comes your way, how do you know you're not avoiding the one?" Shawn lets out a defeated sigh. It was true though, he has been avoiding every girl. He just doesn't want to be bothered anymore, with his career, tour, his son, he just doesn't think he'd be able to find the time to have a girlfriend and treat her like she deserves.

Plus, not most people have the patience to be with someone with an extremely hectic life. A career like his, and a child added in the mix, most girls just don't want that in their lives.

"Besides, I think Angelo would want you to have someone. You've taken great care of him, I think it's time you find someone who will take great care of you too." Karen gave her son a sweet smile, only wanting nothing more than for him to have the best in life, and to have someone who'd be there for him and Angelo, his other half if you will.

"I'm okay mum. We're okay. And wherever the person I meant to be with, she'll come in her own time."

"But don't you think it's time to stop waiting and start looking?" Karen pressed, raising an eyebrow at Shawn with a knowing look. He only shook his head with a laugh. "No, it's not. Plus, I can't just be with any girl out there. My little man has to approve too you know."

"Hmm, maybe Angelo will be the one who'd find her for you since you're too lazy to do it. You know what they say, kids have a special sense."

Shawn couldn't help but roll his eyes, but before he could tell her mother that the theory is highly unlikely, a small voice interrupted them.

"Dada look! Look at me!" Shawn's heart grew ten times its size when he casted his eyes at his son, standing at the top of the tower with a wide smile, accompanied by his uncontrollable giggles as Aaliyah held him around the waist to make sure he doesn't fall off.

"Look at you, so big and tall, bet you're real proud of yourself, huh?" Shawn jogged over to them, now looking up at Angelo with a wide grin, the little boy's short tuff of hair getting on his face as the wind blows past it, but his smile never did waver

He loves it when he sees his son happy. Nothing can ever beat the feeling of hearing just seeing that precious smile every day. Shawn thought going on stage and playing his song all across the world would be his ultimate feeling of being high on life, but he was proven wrong the moment he saw Angelo smile. That feeling will always be Shawn's greatest high and more.

"I'm just like Dada! Tall and stwong and bwave!" Angelo roared, his cute little face all scrunched up as he gritted teeth, the beautiful sound of Shawn's laughter following suit.

"But are you brave enough to jump from up there bud?" Shawn challenged, walking a bit closer as he positioned himself on the right spot, giving Aaliyah a small nod to let her loosen his grip on the boy before smiling back up at him.

"Yes I am! Im'ma jump!" He huffed, but when he looked down, his little smile faltered.

"Come on buddy, Dada will catch you. I always will." Shawn reassures, opening up his arms. Angelo looked at his father and his smile came right back, this time even brighter with pure love and trust in his eyes and Shawn felt his heart skip a beat.

The little boy jumped with a squeal, Shawn catching him easily with a joyous laugh of his own, spinning him around as he smothered his tiny face with kisses.

The image in itself deserved its own museum, the love and bond of father and son too strong and powerful that no other could ever compare, but a little part of Shawn wished there was someone else with them, someone who could add more light to the picture, someone who'd treat them both with as much love as they would her, someone who could complete their little family.

Shawn couldn't help but think about his mother's words,

"Angelo will be the one who'd find her for you."

***

"Okay bud, get your favorite cereal and daddy will be right here on the opposite shelf okay?" The boy grinned widely with an excited nod, Shawn ruffling his hair with a chuckle before letting his son scour the shelves. Angelo already knew what he needed to do since Shawn has taken him grocery shopping every time. He knew were to get his favorite cereal, so when Shawn heard a box fall on the floor, he expected that the little boy found what he was looking for.

"Pick that up and put it in the cart, please." Shawn said, never letting his eyes leave the shelf of the packets of oatmeal, but when he didn't hear a response, his brows furrowed. "Angelo?" Shawn stood up straight, eyes scanning the aisle, the panic in him growing when he couldn't find his son. "Shit."

Shawn sprinted to the end of the aisle, looking both ways for any sign of the little boy, but he didn't need to look that far when he heard his little voice just by the next aisle.

"Hi! You so pwetty. Are you my momma?"

"Angelo!" Shawn's eyes grew wide as he heard what he just said, jogging towards his son but immediately slowing himself down when the girl his son was talking with knelt to his height with a bright smile, and Shawn could've sworn his heart stopped for a second.

"You are the sweetest, but no buddy, I'm not your momma." She stated gently with a soft giggle, giving Angelo's arm a soft squeeze. A soft 'oh okay' escaped the boys lips, and Shawn can hear the disappointment in it, his heart breaking for his boy, but before he could intrude, she spoke again,

"But I'm sure wherever she is right now, she's so lucky and proud to have a beautiful and sweet boy like you." Shawn couldn't help but swoon at her words, a smile growing on his face as he stared at the woman adoringly, but he quickly shook his head, are you seriously crushing on someone you don't know right now?

"Hi, I am so sorry. He doesn't usually run off like that, and he doesn't usually ask strangers that question out of the blue either." Shawn lets out a shy chuckle, scratching the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed, but she only gave him a wide smile, standing up to her full height as Shawn grabbed Angelo's hand, the boy smiling up at the two adults as if he knows something they don't.

"Oh no, it's okay really. Are you his dad?"

"Uh yeah, I'm Shawn." Shawn reached a hand out, a light blush growing on his face once she took it, her hands are so soft.

"(Y/N). Anyway, I have to get going; I'll see you around."

"Bye (Y/N)!" The young one exclaimed in delight, his little hand raised as he gave her a wave goodbye, a cute giggle coming out of her when she waved back. "Bye Angelo."

She and Shawn locked eyes for a moment, her flashing him a bright smile with a curt nod before turning on her heel and walking away, his eyes lingering on her back until he was staring at the space where she disappeared, finding it hard to wipe the grin off his face.

"She's so pwetty Dada."

"Yeah, she's something."

(Y/N).

Shawn wonders if he'll ever see her again.

***

"Okay, stay put while I order you some ice cream." The sweater covered boy nodded at his father with a smile, Shawn already picturing his mother, Karen, shaking her head at him for giving into his son's wishes. It was quite chilly out in Toronto, the park they were at only having a handful of people due to the weather, a clear sign that an ice cream isn't exactly a good idea, but how can Shawn say no when Angelo's all pouty and cute?

"Thanks man." Shawn paid for the ice creams, knowing that him and his son would be sitting on a bench somewhere while people watching, looking down only to find Angelo gone. "Oh fuck, not again." The dad groaned, utterly confused and worried as he started searching for his son, not knowing why Angelo seems to run off recently.

He's never been like this before, always scared to be far from his dad when they go out, but now, he seemed to have grown the courage to just walk away to somewhere, or rather someone.

"Angelo! Hi buddy." Shawn almost had a whiplash when he turned around at the sound of his son's name, and not to mention the sound of a familiar voice. Shawn blinked a couple times, his lips slightly parted as he couldn't believe his eyes when it landed on her.

She looked even cuter when she's all bundled up with a comfy coat and a scarf to match his, a wide smile painted on her face as she gave his son a soft and gentle hug. Shawn was so enthralled by her that he didn't notice them approaching, his little boy's hand engulfed in hers.

"Shawn." She greeted, her smile not wavering. Shawn found it odd how he seemed to be so captivated by her given the fact that he knows nothing about her and this is only the second time they've met. She just has this aura around her that he finds himself wondering what more could there be to this simple girl his son seems to run off to.

"Hey, it's you again."

"Yup, your son seemed to remember me."

"I mean, a beautiful girl like you is hard to forget." The words slipped out of Shawn's mouth before he could even stop himself, his cheeks turning crimson as he lets out an awkward chuckle.

(Y/N) couldn't stop herself from blushing as well, looking down at the boy by her side with curios eyes since he was sporting an oddly wide grin, before turning her eyes back to the father. "Uh, thank you."

"Dada can (Y/N) eat ice scweam with us?" Angelo butted in before Shawn could say another word, wondering what is going on inside this 4 year old's head.

"I uh, you can join us if you want, but you don't have to! I mean if you're busy it's okay, I don't want to ruin any of your plans." He rambled as he flashed her a small smile, because as much as Shawn doesn't mind, it wasn't really up to him. Maybe she's with someone, or maybe she has somewhere to get to.

"Sure, a little ice cream in this chilly weather probably won't hurt." She shot Shawn a knowing wink, a soft giggle escaping her lips before she looked down at the little boy, missing the way Shawn's cheeks turned even redder when she did that.

She really is something.

"Why don't you get your ice cream from your dad and come with me while I buy mine?" She spoke softly, Angelo letting out a squeal of joy, grabbing up at Shawn for his ice cream and then then dragging her back to the little ice cream shop.

Shawn watched in awe as the two walked away, his heart thumping in his chest loud and fast just seeing Angelo walk hand in hand with (Y/N) as she says something that made the little boy's laugh ring in the air.

What's with this girl that Angelo seems to be extremely comfortable with her in so little time? Shawn knew it probably wasn't the best idea to let his son walk with a person they know nothing about. But Angelo never just talks to random people, let alone actually walk up to them, and part of Shawn thinks there more to this than what actually meets the eye.

"Hey Shawn, you coming with us or what?" Shawn shook his head with a blink, chuckling to himself before jogging up towards the two of them before they were on the way on finding a good spot in the park where they can people watch.

The three sat on a bench, green trees dancing around them as the chilly wind of Toronto blew pass it leaves, the once still water of the little pond situated in front rippling, followed by the sound of laughter erupting out (Y/N)'s lips as Shawn tells her another dad joke, saying that he gets a pass now since he's technically a dad.

The two hit it off pretty quickly, having a conversation like they've known each other for some time, from the outside looking in, it would've looked liked a family, casually enjoying their time at a park bench, the little one who was sat in the middle smiling brightly at the two adults, sometimes chiming in his two sense in the conversation even if sometimes, he has no idea what they're talking about.

"Oh god, I need a breather." (Y/N) stuttered out as soon as she calmed down from her laughter all while wiping the tears from under her eyes. Shawn smiled proudly at himself, heart warm with his cheeks flushed ever since he heard her laugh the first time around. It was very uncommon for him to find someone extremely attractive in such a short time, but whatever this is, Shawn knows there has to have some kind of reason.

"Oh no, something came up, I need to go." Shawn didn't realize that his smile visibly dropped at her words until (Y/N) tilted her head to the side and gave him a curios look, her lips pursed as she try to contain her smile.

Shawn quickly looked away as he bit his bottom lip, chuckling to himself at how much he's being a teenager right now.

(Y/N) found it so cute how flushed his cheeks was getting, her heart beating rapidly against her rib cage but she maintained a calm composure on the outside, thinking that her younger self would have been fainting right there on the spot.

Of course she knew who he was, being that there was a huge billboard of his face on the highway, and his songs playing on the radio more than once, how can she not?

She was also a huge fangirl a while back, but, life happened. She grew up, moved on, and kinda distanced herself from the world behind the computer screen as she tries to be more present in the real world.

And Shawn knows too, that she knows about his career and all that jazz, it was one of the things they've talked about during their conversation, but none of them changed the way they see each other as they carried on, having a person to person interaction and nothing more.

(Y/N) stood up with a smile, Shawn mirroring her actions as they faced each other, ready to bid their goodbyes.

"It was nice hanging out with you." Shawn stood there awkwardly, not knowing if he should go for the hug or the hand shake, but before he could decide, she only nodded and said, "Yeah you too." then she was kneeling down to Angelo's height, her smile wide and bright as she raised her hand for a high five, Angelo connecting there palms with a cute giggle.

"Bye Angelo."

"Bye bye (Y/N)"

"I'll see you two around." And with that, (Y/N) stood back up, gave Shawn a smile and walked away again, a nagging voice inside Shawn's head telling him that he was forgetting something, that he's supposed to chase after her and asked for something, the nagging voice quickly turning into words by his one and only son.

"Dada why you not get her number?" Shawn looked down at the boy fully amused, brows furrowed with his mouth slightly parted.

"Bud, you're 4, what do you know about getting a girl's number?"

"I dunno. Uncle Brian said if she's pretty and you like her, you get her number." Shawn couldn't help but laugh. Of course, who else would Angelo get that from?

"Let's go home buddy."

Shawn wasn't sure if he was ready to date yet. That was the main reason why he didn't get her number. He doesn't know if he will ever be ready to try and have a girlfriend again, he's been single for 4 years, and a part of him is scared about how it will ended up.

Not only that, what if Angelo gets too attached to her and they don't work out in the long run? That would be another big problem Shawn doesn't want to face.

Yeah he does feel some kind of connection with her, but what if she isn't the one? What if them meeting up because of Angelo was just a coincidence?

Well, Shawn used to think that it was just coincidence, until it happened the third time around.

It was one early Saturday morning when Shawn decided to take Angelo out for breakfast, opting for that little café down the street. The sun rays were bright, the sound of a bell ringing when Shawn pulled the door open for his boy, the little one jogging inside and going straight for the counter.

Shawn was ordering their food when he heard the bell sound off again, turning around instinctively, Shawn expected someone to walk in, but his eyes grew wide when he saw Angelo walk out of the cafe, his little figure coming to view by the glass window.

"Shit!" Shawn was in a sprint in a matter of seconds, yanking the door open in a rush that it would've come off its hinges.

"Angelo get back here!" He called out, chasing the now running boy as fast as he could because even though with tiny legs, the little boy seemed to have gone farther than he expected. Shawn's heart thumped even faster when he saw his son round up the corner of the street, disappearing completely from his sight.

"Oh god." Shawn's panic grew, thinking that when he reaches that corner, Angelo would be nowhere to be seen, that he'd be too late and his son would be lost in this huge city.

Making a sharp turn, Shaw came to a complete stop just in time to see Angelo reach for a strangers hand, the girl stopping in confusion when he felt someone grab at her, but when she looked down, her eyes grew wide in shock, same as Shawn when he saw her face.

"No way."

(Y/N)'s gaze snapped at Shawn's voice, eyes staring at him in pure confusion as she looked down at he boy who was grinning like he didn't just give his father a heart attack.

"He ran off again?" She asked teasingly, taking in how Shawn seemed to be out of breath, little beads of sweat on his forehead glistening under the morning sun.

"Give me a sec." Shawn panted, hands resting on his knees as he tried to regain his breathing. Not that he was out of shape, but running wit your heart beating so fast out of fear that you might have lost your son would definitely knock the breath out of you.

"We got to stop meeting like this Shawn." She giggled, shaking her head at the dad who inhaled deeply before standing straight up with a huge exhale, and when Shawn finally took in her appearance, he felt like he couldn't breathe again.

It was obvious that she just went on an early morning jog, with hair up in a ponytail, tights hugging her legs paired with an equally tight tank top and running shoes, Shawn just couldn't seem to take his eyes off her.

Boy he was crushing so hard.

"I swear this doesn't always happen. But when it does, it's always you he finds." Shawn blurted, eyes leaving hers as it looked with his young man, was still smiling widely, eyes going back in forth between the two adults.

"Huh, what a coincidence." (Y/N) marveled, looking at Shawn with a curios glance.

I think not. Shawn knew that there was some kind of meaning behind this, maybe it's a sign that he should try it with her and see where it goes, and judging by the way Angelo seems to brighten up at the sight of her, Shawn knew it definitely was worth a shot.

"And you young man, stop giving your dad a hard time." She giggled, kneeling down to ruffle Angelo's little tuff of hair, the boy giggling a soft 'I'm sowwy' before sprinting towards his dad and hugging his legs.

"It's alright bud, just don't do it again." Shawn chuckled, giving his son a soft squeeze, and a kiss on top of his head, the sight making (Y/N)'s heart warm as she watched the two boys with adoration in her eyes.

She looked down with shake of her head, feeling like she was intruding with their moment, "Well, I better get going, I'll see you two around."

"Wait." (Y/N) stopped in heat tracks, turning back around to see Shawn walking up towards her, a nervous smile on his lips as his hand scratched the back of his neck while the other was interlaced with the little boy by his side.

"I uh, can I have you number? I'd like to see you again. Like not in this way where I always loss Angelo." Shawn chuckled shyly, cheeks all flush and (Y/N) couldn't help but smile at the man.

"Of course." She smiled brightly, Shawn seeming to find her even more gorgeous every time she does.

And with an exchange of contacts, they were waving goodbye again, but this time, Shawn was sure he'll be seeing her again.

"Finally." Angelo mumbled, Shawn completely taken aback by his son's comment, shaking his head with a scoff he said, "What do you mean finally?"

"You take so long to get her number Dada."

Shawn rolled his eyes, trying his best to wrap his mind that his son was four but he was already judging Shawn's game with girls. But nonetheless, Shawn was grateful for his son, because after that little encounter, (Y/N) and him grew closer, and Shawn felt happy to have someone by his side who not only understands his lifestyle, but also cares about Angelo as much as he does.

Months of dating turned into a year, her being such an amazing and supportive girlfriend that Shawn just keeps falling deeper and deeper in love with her. She's always there for both boys no matter what the cause, whether be it on tour or back at Shawn's condo when the three of them are all huddled up on the couch watching whatever Disney movie there was.

Karen loved her right off the bat when they met at Angelo's 5th birthday. The lovely woman knowing that (Y/N) fits perfectly with the two boys just by seeing the three of them together, it was like a picture perfect family, the joy and love radiating off of them that anyone close by would always have a smile on their faces.

It was when Shawn saw her in be with his family that he knew she was for keeps. Just seeing her laugh and bond with his mum, having inside jokes with Aaliyah, and even bond over sports with his dad, Shawn couldn’t have asked for a perfect girl in his life.

Shawn knew that he wanted (Y/N) for the long run, he was madly in love with her that he can see nothing else but a future with her. Shawn was deep into the hole that he knew he can never turn back. More so when he caught the little conversation Angelo and she had one Monday night.

It's been a week since (Y/N) finally decided to officially move in with them, and as she always does, she tucking Angelo into bed as Shawn cleaned up the toys that was littered in the living room, finishing just in time that when he walked towards Angelo's room, he heard the little boy's voice speak,

"(Y/N), will you be my momma?" Angelo questioned out of the blue with a tired smile, a tiny yawn following suit as he eyed the girl with hopeful eyes, (Y/N) halting her movements as she looked at the boy in complete surprise, heart racing as it was the first time Angelo's brought up that word.

She sat down gently on the edge of his bed, the little boy sporting his matching blue pajama set while he was well tucked underneath the cover. Her hand reaching out, she flashed the boy a bright smile, hand coming up to cup his cheek, her touch soft and gentle, just as a mother's should.

"I'll be whoever you want me to be bud." She stated gently, Shawn watching by the door with a huge grin on his face, the sight doing nothing but melting his heart over and over.

"I want you to be my Momma, Dada wants you to be my Momma too." (Y/N) couldn’t help but giggle, her heart warm and fuzzy as he looked at the young boy with so much love like he was her own. She loved Angelo with all her heart and she would gladly take a bullet for the young one anytime, just as much with the boy's dad.

"Is that so?"

"Hmm, are you my momma now?" (Y/N) smiled, recalling the first words Angelo said to her when they first met, back at the grocery store. She looked behind her when she heard the door creak, seeing Shawn leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, a wide grin on his lips as he gave (Y/N) a knowing nod, the girl giving Shawn an equally wide smile before turning her attention back to Angelo.

"Yes Angelo, I'm your Momma now." She whispered, Angelo's face lighting up more than ever before at her words as he jolted up and threw his arms around her neck, giving her the warmest embrace she has ever felt in her life, an embrace that made her feel welcomed, made her feel loved, and it took everything in her strength to keep the tears at bay.

"Good night momma, I love you." The little boy whispered as he went straight back to bed, eyes slowly fluttering close with the smile still on his lips. (Y/N) leaned down, her soft lips connecting with his forehead as she whispered back, "I love you too angel." With as soft sigh of content, she stood up, reaching over to Angelo's beside table to turn on his lamp, a cute little spinning one that illuminated the room with the shapes of moons and stars. She gave the boy one last glance before turning on her heel towards the door, her man smiling widely at her as he flicked the main light off, closing the door gently behind once she joined him outside.

(Y/N) didn't go that far down the hall when Shawn was quick to wrap his arms around her waist, turning her around with his head dipping as he captured her lips in his, a soft giggle coming out of her as she kissed him back immediately, her fingers getting lose in the curls in the back of his head, Shawn grinning wide at the beautiful sound, at the beautiful girl in his arms.

"I finally found you. Finally found the one." He whispered against her lips, a soft sigh of content leaving his lips as he pulled away, pressing his forehead against hers for him to look at her in the eyes, pure love swimming in his brown orbs. (Y/N) bit her lips with a knowing look, eyebrow raised as she shook her head lightly at the man she was so in love with.

"You didn’t find me mister, Angelo did, don't take the credit." Shawn laughed, but didn't bother to argue, it was true after all.

"Fine, I won't. But thank you (Y/N), thank you for completing my–well, our family." (Y/N) nudged the tip of her nose with his, eyes staring back in his with equally as much love as his show, "I'm honored to be a part of it." Shawn was quick to press his lips against hers again, him taking a sharp inhale of breath as he took her in, so happy to have her in his life, in both his and Angelo's lives.

"Say, should we try and give Angelo a younger sibling?" Shawn added cheekily, teeth nipping gently at her bottom lip as his hands slowly went down to cup her bum. (Y/N) giggled, "I don't see why not." She winked, Shawn wasting no time as he hoisted her up with ease with a deep chuckle, a small squeal escaping her lips with her legs wrapping around his waist securely as Shawn carried her to the bedroom, ready to make her feel all his love, in more ways than one.

-:-:-:-:-

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evalinkatrineberg · 4 years

Text

Grip

A/N: A short and bittersweet 3k words on the Bergs. I let Evalin say fuck. Merry Ficmas.

I could hear the rain hitting the metal roof of the car, see the dim lighting of the gas station in the distance. The sticky leather of June’s backseat clung to any exposed skin, burning as I peeled myself off of it in the same way it burns to rip off a bandaid. It smelled of rain with a hint of gasoline. There was no air in my lungs as fingers trailed across my chest, stopping only when I heard the faint click of a seatbelt being fastened.

All of these sensations, all at once, and yet, it felt like I was watching the memory all play out. I wasn’t the girl in the backseat. I was simply watching her, observing the way her blonde hair stuck to the damp window she now leaned her head on, the way her lip quivered ever so slightly. The boy who was about to change her life had an impish grin on his face as he got back in the passenger seat of the car, looking back at the girl in the backseat.

He wanted to take her home with him, he had said. To do what, exactly? The girl in the backseat didn’t want to know, and yet images of possible scenarios flooded her mind, none of them good.

I didn’t want to know.

I was the girl in the backseat.

I startled awake, my limbs flailing as my eyes flew open, seeing nothing in the dim lighting of the room I was in. The surface below my head was hard, and smelled faintly of wood and lysol, like somebody had cleaned it earlier this day. It was smooth, and I was able to pull my arms out from under my head, which had been resting upon them, with little effort. The fabric of my shirtsleeves slid across the surface with almost no resistance.

I blinked a few times once I had lifted my head, waiting for the world to come back into focus. My contact lenses were dry, like sheets of sandpaper on my eyeballs. After a few moments, though, I was able to make out my surroundings, knowing where I was the instant I saw the table below me.

The library. I had fallen asleep in the library, and awoken in a cold sweat, after the same dream, again.

I looked down at my watch, groaning to myself as I read the time. It wasn’t even midnight yet, and I had managed to pass out in the library, likely due to sheer exhaustion. The fatigue in and of itself had begun making it a bit too easy to fall asleep, which was both a blessing and a curse, but staying asleep was a whole different issue.

I looked down at my notes, which I had finished the day before, thankfully, and then at my computer, which was showing a pdf of next week’s readings. I had been planning on getting a jumpstart on that, if only to have more free time in the upcoming weeks. My plan made no sense, I had to admit. My family was here this week, and yet I wanted to do more work this week, so I could have less work next week. Maybe I was just trying to avoid my family. After what had happened last night, when Jen had received that initial text from Wylan, asking us to retrieve our siblings, I really couldn’t even blame myself. I loved my family dearly, but I was glad family week was coming to a close. They could be a bit overbearing, and I had grown so used to my usual routines at the palace. Their visit had been welcome, of course, but the manner in which it had thrown off my rhythm had not.

With a shaky breath, I began packing my books and my laptop into my backpack, slinging it over my shoulders and pushing my chair in when I was done. I shouldn’t complain. It hadn’t been all bad. I had slept more this week than I had in the previous weeks, in part because my family was here, and Lydia had decided to take up residence in my room, instead of the room the rest of my family had been provided. It was easier to retire to bed at a reasonable hour when you knew there was someone waiting up on you, holding you accountable. Still, it wasn’t a foolproof system.

Lydia would likely still be awake now, I realized as I made the trek back to my bedroom. A foolish part of me had hoped, that first night, that having her here would somehow make my nightmare go away. I hadn’t had it when I was in my childhood bedroom, which I shared with Lydia whenever she was home, so some foolish part of my brain had concluded that clearly, she was the missing link.

Instead, having her here just made it more difficult, because I didn’t want to explain to her why I was waking up in a cold sweat, breathing heavily, my heart racing, every night. She seemed so happy, now. Her smile every time she looked down at her hand was enough proof of that. I’d never seen that particular dopey grin light up her face ever before she had announced her engagement. It had almost sent a pang of sadness through me, the first time I had seen that, as if there had been another, more secret, side to my sister, that she had hidden from me all these years. She deserved to be happy - she deserved all the happiness in the world, if you asked me - but I just wanted to share in that happiness with her.

I loved being here, at the palace, in Angeles, but sometimes, I felt so isolated. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have friends - I was quick to refer to any of the other girls here as such - but friendship grew a bit difficult when you all were vying for the same man’s heart. Arin, while I felt I could confide in him, was also often busy between work and the Selection, and I didn’t want to think about adding to stress levels by sharing my woes with him. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure what to refer to him as - a friend? Something more? The lines had blurred. He didn’t have an answer, and I sure didn’t, either.

At the same time, I was isolated from my family, as well. Their lives were all going on, without me there, as if very little had changed. My own sister had started seriously dating someone without even bothering to tell me until she was engaged. I had never thought that we had secrets between us, but now, it was becoming apparent that we did. Her engagement, my nightmares of Lukas. Were there more? Probably.

I reached my room, carefully cracking open the door, hoping that maybe, by some miracle, Lydia wouldn’t be there. Right now, I was ready to just put on some pajamas, and curl up in my bed, alone. Space. I needed space. I needed to be left alone, unlike I had been, in the backseat of June’s car, when Lukas -

Lydia was there, and she wasn’t alone. I closed the door behind me as both her and Gabriel turned to face me, identical frowns on forming on their faces. Their brows furrowed. It was Gabriel who spoke first, his voice uncharacteristically soft and quiet. “Ev, are you okay? You look -” he paused, his eyes flickering up and down the length of my body “- pretty shaken up.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, even as I felt the first tears threaten to spill from my eyes. Fuck. Why was I doing this? I had told myself I was done crying. Lukas was a twat, who didn’t deserve any more of my tears.

“Fuck,” I repeated, throwing my backpack to the ground, and beelining towards the bathroom. If I was going to cry, I was going to do it alone, siblings be damned.

“Evalin,” Lydia called after me, standing up from where she had been sitting on my bed and striding across the room, coming to a stop only once she had grabbed my wrist. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head, pulling my wrist free from her grip, holding it close to my chest. There were no words, no matter how many times I opened and closed my mouth to speak. The only thing I could produce at the current moment was tears. Tears for the family who I had missed, that was about to leave again, tears for the secrets we all kept from each other, and tears for the girl in the backseat of her best friends car, about to have one of the last bits of her childhood naivety and innocence ripped away from her forever.

Lydia didn’t push for an answer, instead just pulling me close to her, placing one hand on the back of my head, and the other on my back. She slowly guided me towards the bed, all the while humming one song or another our grandmother had used to sing to us, before she passed away.

“What happened?” Gabriel asked, taking a seat on my bed, to my other side. He placed a hand on my shoulder blade, then slowly ran it up and down my back.

It was all I could do to shake my head, my breaths short and raspy as more tears fell. Where could I even begin? Telling Arin was one thing - he didn’t know Lukas, hadn’t seen how many times he had been over my house after what had happened. He had no way of knowing how close of friends I had still considered the two of us, or how utterly foolish I must have been to have just forgotten everything that had gone down in June’s car. My siblings, though, had seen all of that, though they were unaware of what happened that night. They likely wouldn’t believe a word I said, what with Lukas and I still being so buddy-buddy up until the night before I had left for Angeles.

There were about eight months between the night in June’s car, and the night I had shoved Lukas off of our front porch. Eight months, where I had invited Lukas to different events, studied with him, laughed with him, worked with him, without ever questioning what had happened that night. Lukas had been a friend. I had never assumed he would have done something so heinous.

I felt Lydia lift her head, right before she murmured, “I’m going to kill him.”

When I looked up, I saw her shaking her head as she stared at Gabriel. He narrowed his eyes back down at me, his brows knitted as he asked, “What did he do?”

Arin. They meant Arin. It hadn't been him, though. That wasn’t to say he had never done anything wrong, but he had done so much right, recently. He was blameless in this.

“Not Arin.” My voice was no more than a whisper as it left my mouth.

“Then who?” Lydia narrowed her eyes, looking down at me once more. With her thumb, she wiped away some more tears as they fell, before brushing my hair out of my face with her fingers.

I almost didn’t want to say his name.

“Lukas.”

It all poured out of me then - what had happened with Proctor, then with him, the warning I had given to our father, and the recent nightmares. I only stopped talking when my heart was empty, my chest lighter, as if the words had been lodged in there the entire time, just waiting for me to break the dam and release the flood. When I looked up, Gabriel’s face was blank, expressionless, his eyes glazed over and distant. Lydia’s own eyes were wide as she withdrew her hands to her lap, taking a shaky breath of her own.

She glanced over at Gabriel, her eyes searching for something in his face. Once she found it, she nodded, and then turned back to me. “We knew -” she pushed some hair behind her ears “- about Lukas, at least.”

The world stopped spinning, the only sound in my brain now white noise. “What?”

“We had known where you were really going, when you said you were going to sleep over at June’s.” She shook her head, a ghost of a smile flitting across her face. “Her parents knew, too. Gabriel, Father and I had gone over to their house around when we assumed you all were leaving the party. We had only intended to bust your chops a bit - Father wasn’t even mad - but when you and June walked through that door -” another shake of her head “- I’ll never forget it.”

Neither will I, now that I remember.

“I helped you up the stairs,” Gabriel continued, his eyes fixed on his hand, which was still on my back. “You were just crying uncontrollably, and carrying on. I could hardly understand a word, but Lydia managed to piece two and two together as she calmed you down.”

Another memory, the sensation of an arm around my back, under my shoulders, supporting me.

I frowned as I listened to their story, finding holes in the plot they were spinning. “That doesn’t make sense. If June was there, why would she still willingly hang out with Lukas after the fact?”

Lydia shook her head, picking the story back up. “She was downstairs, being chewed out by her father for going to the party. We didn’t want to add to any of her troubles. Plus, we figured you’d tell her when you woke up in the morning, but then you woke up, and claimed not to remember anything.”

Memories of every moment I had spent with Lukas for those eight months flashed through my head at lightning speed. We had laughed, we had enjoyed our time spent together, we had had a forced kiss under the mistletoe - all of it could have been avoided, if one tiny detail of that night had been different.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How,” Gabriel started, sighing loudly, “does one go about telling their sister that she was assaulted, but doesn’t remember any of it?”

Assaulted. I hadn’t used that word to describe the encounter - had actively avoided using it, actually. It sounded so final, so harsh. I had gotten off lucky. It could have been so much worse, had it continued. So many other people had gone through so much worse. Lukas’s kisses, as tarnished and disgusting as they made me feel, were nothing in comparison to what the word, “assault,” implied, to me.

“Besides,” Gabriel forged on, oblivious to the fact that I was lost in thought, “there was nothing we could do.”

“You could have told me,” I argued, my throat as dry as a desert as I attempted to speak. “There might have been something I could have done.”

“We were trying to figure out how to handle it, Ev.”

I felt something bubbling up within me, hot and fiery, filling my lungs like a bellows with a newfound burst of air and energy. “I’m not a child anymore, Gabriel. I can handle myself.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Can you?”

I could. It would be on my own terms, though.

The fire within me erupted, spewing ash and lava all throughout my body.

I turned from him to Lydia, staring them both down before pointing towards my bedroom door. “Get out.”

Gabriel was the first to stand, having heard my message loud and clear. Good. I glared at him as he took a few small, slow steps towards the door, his eyes darting between me and Lydia.

“Evalin,” my sister tried again.

I’d had enough. I whirled on her, letting the anger coarse through me as I pointed towards the door again, my arm shaking with some emotion I was too tired to identify. Rage, maybe. Frustration. Betrayal. All were likely candidates. “You can sleep with everybody else tonight. I said get out.” Solitude. I needed time, and space, to myself. Just this once.

She glared back at me for a few long moments, then stood up, reluctantly following after our brother. Her eyes were locked on mine until she stepped over the threshold, shutting the door behind her with a satisfying click of finality.

Can you handle yourself?

I stared at my wall for a moment, basking in the silence around me as I braced my arms on the edge of my bed. With a single push, I was on my feet, walking towards my backpack. My phone was right in the front compartment, where I had left it. Unlocking it, I opened the messages app, clicking on a thread started just last week, with only one message in it - my name, followed by a smiley face.

I could handle this, and I knew a good place to start.

I typed up the message to Arin, reading it over only once before hitting send.

Evalin: Take up my father on his offer to file a complaint against Lukas.

Something was missing.

Evalin: Please.

Satisfied, I plugged my phone into the charger by my nightstand, clicking it locked once more, before grabbing a pair of pajamas, and heading towards the bathroom to get ready for bed. I was going to get as much sleep tonight as I could, no matter how many times I woke up in between. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a start. The sleep would likely help me think clearer, anyway.

I didn’t check my phone to see if Arin responded. I just shut off the light, and climbed into bed. I could handle this, and right now, that meant sleeping.

#selectionoc

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