#on one hand more for me but on the other hand eat my sardines boy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

katsu28 · 7 months

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can i please request this “ [ LAP ] sender pulls receiver into their lap” this with JJ?

please forgive for how long it took me to get to this, dear anon :')

jj maybank x reader, mentions of alcohol, 1.5k

“Attention, attention, this is your driver speaking, politely requesting that Y/N L/N get her ass in this van, effective immediately. Over.” John B had his hands cupped over his mouth as he slowed the Twinkie to a stop along the sidewalk you were making your way down, shit-eating grin very present on his face as he leaned across to the passenger side to catch your reaction.

“If that was polite, I’d hate to see what impolite looks like.”

“That would be just a good old fashioned kidnapping.” He replied, shrugging.

You stopped, turned to face the boy full on with your hands on your hips. “Right, because that’s never happened before.”

“That wasn’t kidnapping, that was a very enthusiastic welcome home party!” chimed in JJ from somewhere in the back, and you could imagine the smile that matched John B’s gracing his lips too.

“You guys grabbed me right out of my room!”

“Specificities don’t matter.” John B rolled his eyes, motioning for you to get in the van quickly.

“They do when you put a towel over my head.” You moved to open the passenger door since the seat was empty, but he swatted your hand through the open window before you could. “Ow, what the fuck?”

“Sarah’s sitting in the front.”

“Sarah’s not even here yet.”

“I know, but we’re getting her next and I promised she wouldn’t have to sit in the back again since JJ yacked all over her shoes after the last bonfire.”

JJ’s voice sounded out again, this time more exasperated than anything. “I told you, I got carsick from your driving! And I already apologized, so I really don’t see what the problem is.”

“Please, Y/N?” John B pleaded, clasping his hands together.

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes, pulling open the back door with a huff. The first thing you noticed was the giant keg occupying the seat you were planning on sitting in. The second was JJ, Kie, and Pope all crammed into the remaining space like sardines in a can, offering you identical sheepish smiles. “I…where am I supposed to sit?”

“I’m sure JJ won’t mind if you sit with him. Right, J?”

It was a ploy, you were sure of it. Take advantage of your crush on JJ Maybank by forcing you into the smallest space possible, see what happens. Your friends were smart, but not as smooth as they thought they were being.

Your eyes flicked to the blond boy, who merely grinned, scooting over and patting the open space next to him. “Come on in, seat buddy.”

You aimed a small smile at him as you stepped up into the cramped van, literally climbing over everyone else to squeeze yourself in next to him. Your thigh pressed against JJ’s as you settled in the half seat he gave you, both your elbows fighting for the space you barely had.

It was the most awkward of dances, trying to sit comfortably in one seat. His arm knocked into your head when you tried to lean back against the seat, you ended up kicking him trying to cross one leg over the other; nothing seemed to be working no matter what you both tried. You could tell Kie was trying not to crack up watching you and JJ fumble around like idiots, but she kept her cool.

“Hold on. Why don’t you just—” JJ pulled you onto his lap smoothly, arms wrapping loosely around your waist in one fluid motion before you could even react. “There. More space for everyone.”

“Uh, yeah—thanks, J.” You blurted, catching Kie’s now wide eyed gaze with one of your own. Even Pope’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but JJ stayed clueless, tapping out a mindless pattern atop your thighs as John B pulled back out onto the road.

He even helped you out of the van when you finally got to the boneyard, guiding you with a hand on the small of your back until your feet were planted firmly in the gravel before winking at you and going to help the boys unload the keg.

“I told you he liked you!” Kie hissed, materializing at your side. You clamped a hand over her mouth, checking to see that the boys hadn’t heard anything before yanking her a good distance down the beach. “Okay, that was uncalled for.”

“Sorry, I just—I don’t want JJ to know about how I feel.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s embarrassing? Because it would ruin our friendship? Because he doesn’t feel the same way? Pick a reason, Kie!” You shot back, counting them off on your fingers.

“I’m telling you, he feels the same way. He pulled you onto his freaking lap, bitch! He winked at you! D’you need your eyes checked or something, or are you just that stubborn?”

“No. No, I’m not gonna chance it.”

“Will you just live a little?”

“Drop it, Kie.”

“But—”

“It’s not gonna happen!”

“What’s not gonna happen?” JJ chimed in, looking between you and Kie with an arched brow.

“Nothing.” You said quickly, offering him what you hoped wasn’t too forced of a smile. If JJ noticed anything out of the ordinary, he didn’t say anything, instead just nodding and going to catch up with John B. You turned back to Kie, holding your hand out for her to take. “M’sorry for snapping at you. It’s just…complicated. I love you?”

“Love you too.” She sighed, linking her fingers through yours. “C’mon, let’s get a drink and forget about all this.” You obliged, happy to knock a few drinks back to get a certain someone to stop running circles in your mind for once.

You didn’t see JJ until much later in the night, after the sun had sunk below the horizon and the bonfire blazed bright in the darkness.

“Hey.” His voice was soft in your ear, causing you to shiver involuntarily at his sudden close proximity. You echoed his greeting, hoping your voice wasn’t as breathless as you felt. “Can we talk? Somewhere quieter maybe?”

You nodded, and he led you down the beach a little ways away. Not too far away from the crowd, but far enough so you could talk without having to yell over the noise. JJ’s palm on the small of your back was enough to burn a hole through the fabric of your top, radiating warmth through your body despite the cool breeze coming off the ocean.

“Right. So, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, and I really think I need to tell you before I explode. And uh, you can totally tell me to fuck off if I’ve read the situation all wrong.” He snatched the hat off his head, raking his fingers through his hair a few times before putting it back on. You’d come to learn that it was something he did any time he was nervous.

“Everything okay, J?”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m good.” He breathed, forcing out a chuckle. “I’m just—I’m just gonna come out and say it then. I’m into you. Like, a lot. And I know we have the whole ‘no Pogue on Pogue macking’ thing, so I get it if you don’t wanna make things weird—like, that’s cool, I just…felt like I needed to tell you.”

You were stunned beyond words. JJ felt the same way about you that you did about him. He loved you back.

JJ must’ve taken your silence as some sort of rejection because he forced out a hollow chuckle, linking his fingers behind his head, wandering a few paces away. He looked like he wanted to kick himself. “God, I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—this was a shitty idea and I’m just gonna go now so I don’t embarrass myself any more.”

He moved to walk past you back towards the bonfire, but you caught him by the arm before he could, surging forward and pressing your lips against his firmly.

If he was surprised he did a great job at hiding it, because the way he kissed you back felt like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. Much like most of the things JJ did, he put his everything into kissing you, cupping your face in his hands almost like it was second nature to hold you like he was.

As cliche as it sounded, it didn’t feel like a first kiss with him. It felt like you were attuned to each other, already subconsciously knowing what to do even though you’d never dared do it before.

JJ, albeit hesitantly, was the one to break away first, barely an inch between the two of you as his tongue darted out to wet his lips before daring to speak. “But…the rule?”

“When have you ever followed the rules, Maybank?” You tilted your head at him, raising an eyebrow in challenge. JJ held your gaze steady while his fingers danced a path down your arm.

“Never.”

“Then why start now?”

JJ perked up at your words, lips quirking into that damn troublemaker’s grin that endeared you to no end. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then. Cool.”

“Cool.”

Neither of you needed to put into words what you were going to be from now on, because it didn’t have to be said for it to be something. You knew. JJ knew. And when everyone else saw JJ’s arm slung around your shoulders the whole night, the way you looked at each other like two crazy kids in love, they knew too.

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#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank fic #outer banks

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soap143 · 4 months

Text

I had these two similar requests, so I decided to combine them into one. Whoever saw the other post… No you didn’t. Enjoy!

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3 “aww, you’re blushing”

6 “ are you…? oh my god. you are.”

69 “i don’t think i’ve ever seen your face so red.”

•• ━━━━━━━ •• ❖ •• ━━━━━━━ ••

Revenge

Lee!Han, Minho

Ler!Han, Minho

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“We have plenty of pictures on your phone! And plus, digital images are not fun.” Minsung were arguing over something dumb again. What could it be this time…

Han kept on insisting on taking more pictures together, because there is no such thing as too many. Minho, on the other hand, disagreed.

Jisung really wanted to go out that day. Like a mini date. They could grab some food, discover some new photo spots and just spend quality time together. But the main thing on his mind was to buy a camera. One that prints pictures right after taking them, to be specific.

Minho, obviously, wasn’t a big fan of the idea. He just wanted to completely waste his free day by watching TV and eating snacks all day long.

“Come onnn, hyung~ This is our only chance to go out, and you just wanna throw it away just like that?” the quokka bribed the older “I already said no. There is absolutely nothing that would make me change my mind.”

“Please, please, please~ I’ll literally do anything!” the leader of danceracha definetly underestimated his weakness againts whiny Jisung “No.” Minho really tried denying the offer. Even in his mind. But he was already convinced. Han only had to pull his arm up and down and complain childlishly to change the cat lover’s principles.

“So first we’re gonna go to the market and get some beutiful matching bracelets. Then I’m thinking about taking you to this super cute anime-japanese store, where we can buy delicious snacks and lastly we can eat at that fancy restaurant that we saw last week!”

“Hm… Sound like a lot of work…” Lee Know complained “More like a lot of fun! This is gonna be the best date ever!” the squirrel happily smiled, showing his toothy smile.

•• ━━━━━━━ •• ❖ •• ━━━━━━━ ••

“Minho hyung, come look at this!” Han exitedly called the older over “What is it?” “Just look at these necklaces! This one has a little cat, see? This one is going to be yours! And look at this cute quokka! I’ve never seen one on a piece of jewelry…”

Minho, once again, tiredly hummed, murmuring something under his breath. He just wanted to go home…

After paying for their new pendants, Minsung made their way to the anime shop. Jisung was very much looking forward to visiting this place. He had always wanted to go there, but always felt too nervous to go alone.

The whiny cat followed his owner for a while. The all-rounder kept on stopping and checking out different figurines, flipping thru mangas and begging the older to buy him some cute stickers and keychains.

Finally, after what felt like years of wandering around the massive building, the couple reched the exit. Minho was so exited to go buy some snacks and finish off their hang out with some delicious dinner. But one last thing caught the curious boy’s eye.

“Look, hyung. A photo booth! And it’s anime themed. Is this heaven?” the rapper exitedly walked towards the mentioned place “Wait, we’re not actually stopping here, are we?” Lee Know stood there with his mouth wide open.

“Why not? There are no people around. And it’s also an opportunity to get some more pictures together!” Jisung gripped the other boy’s arm and dragged him towards the dreaded place.

“Come on, you go first!” the squirrel like boy pushed his hyung into the tight space. When both them both entered the photo booth, Lee Know noticed how little space there was. He felt like a sardine with how close Han was. They were not just touching shoulders. They were basically sitting on eachother. Jisung was sitting on him to be specific.

“Now smile, hyung!” the maknae of 3racha encouraged the older as he inserted a coin into the machine. A loud clicking noise was heard and the lights set up inside shone bright into the boys eyes. Suddenly, a long piece of paper slid out right into Jisung’s hands.

“Look, it’s us!” the younger shoved the pictures into Minho’s face “Yah, I see them. Can we go now?” Han was about to agree, but then he looked closer into his souvenir.

“Wait… Did you not smile?” the spark in the boy’s eyes dissapeared. Minho almost felt bad “Well, you forced me to come with you, so why should I smile if I’m not happy?” “You little- I’ll make you smile!”

“YAHAHAHAHA DOHOHON’T!” the mischevious bunny was no longer worried about making his friend sad. He was now busy fighting Jisung’s long, tickly fingers off his ticklish sides.

“Aww, you’re blushing!” the quokka teased, only pressing his fingers deeper in “NOHOHOHO SUHUHUHNGIE PLEHEHEASE!” the worst part was that Minho was completely immobile. The tickler’s body weight combined with the tight space made it imposible to move any more than he was able to at the moment. Which wasn’t much.

“FUHUHUHUCK PLEHEHEASE NOHOHO!” Once the rapper reached his armpits, he knew it was over. Tears had started running down his cheeks by now. Lee Know definetly underestimated his sensitivity.

Ji on the other hand was very much enjoying himself. Not only did he get to have the most amazing day, but he also got to wreck the shit out of his hyung.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen your face so red.” the dancer’s toothy smile seemed to be permanently stuck on his beet-red face. But once the ler reached his preciou’s lee’s deathly ticklish thighs, Minho could tell that he was near his limit.

“H-HAHAHAHAN MEHEHEHEECY PLEHEHEHEASE…!” the poor boy was struggling to breathe. But he’d be dead wrong if he denied liking this.

Jisung wanted to check one last thing before finishing off with the older by lighly stroking his neck “are you…? oh my god. you are.” his theory was proven right when his victim elicited some of the sweetest giggles and scrunched up the sensitive body part.

“How many more places are you ticklish on!” Before Lee Know could push the younger off, Han had already dug his fingers into the older’s neck and collarbone area.

“Smilee, hyung~” the all-rounder threw yet another coin into the machine while scratching the cat mom’s neck. This time, he would most definetly be smiling.

After a few more seconds and some posing, the final and most perfect pictures came out “We look so cute! Look, Minho hyung. See, you’re smiling this time~” Han teased.

“Yah! Don’t think you can get away with this!” the bunny used both hands to poke Hannie, succesfully forcing him out of the photo booth.

•• ━━━━━━━ •• ❖ •• ━━━━━━━ ••

Minsung had filled their stomachs up and were sitting comfortably on the couch. Lee Know decided to visit the 3racha and Hyunjin dorm to watch a movie with Han.

They had already chosen the perfect movie to watch. About 30 minutes had passed and both of them were pretty invested. Especially Jisung. Which is exactly what Minho wanted.

“Are you enjoying this movie?” the cat man asked “Shut up, please” oh he was so going to make him regret that. The dancer listened to the younger. He seemed to really like the film, so the second oldest felt obligated to be nice for at least a little while. That was until he got bored.

“Remember what happened at the photo booth today?” this sentence made Han’s face redden up as he shyly nodded “Y-Yeah, of course I do…” Minho smiled hearing his bandmate’s shaky voice.

“You know, I might just want some revenge…” of course, the quokka knew this would happen. He has actually been anticipating it all day long “Um… I think that you might not need that.”

Jisung crossed his arms against his chest, trying to hide how flustered he was, the dark room making it pretty easy. To his disadvantage, the bunny knew him far too well “No need to pretend that you don’t want this, Sungie~” Lee Know teased, sliding closer to his future victim.

“I’m actually not t-ticklish” Han scoffed, turning his head cockily “Oh? Since when? Last time I checked you were the most ticklish person I know” Minho’s eyebrows raised upon hearing the statement “Well, you’ve got the wrong person, ‘cause I am not one bit… Y-You know what I mean” the maknae of 3racha evetually got far too shy to even say the dreaded word “Aww, how cute. You can’t even say it~ Let me help you with that.”

Soon enough, the leader of danceracha was wrestling with the other boy “Get ohohof mehehe! I already told you-ugh, I’m nohohot,- Yah! I tohold you to stop!” Both of them were equally as strong, but Han could be managed much easily when he was in a lee mood.

“Ohohok you win…” the shorter admited. I mean, he had to accept the truth, considering that the older had him completely pinned. He was stuck under his hyung, whom was sitting on hips, crushing his thighs with his. Not to mention that both his arms were also in the hands of the scary ler.

“Hmm… Now, where shall we start…? I have an idea! How about you tell me!” Minho had come with the most amazing idea. This was going to make the younger so shy “W-What do you mean…” “Stuttering already? Just tell me where and how you wanna be tickled! Not that complicated.”

“WHAT?! I cahahan’t do that!” “Sorry, but you mistake me for someone who cares. Now do what I told you or… I’m going to do that thing.” Han’s eyes widened in fear. Just a day or two ago, Minho had found Sung’s ultimate death spot. It was on the inside of his thigh, closer to his knee. When the older sat on his hips, with his back facing Jisung’s face, and vibrated his fingers into the dreaded spot, the rapper felt like he could confess his darkest secrets just so the ler would slow down.

“…” The younger simply did not respond. Both things were equally as flustering, he could’t choose “Well, looks like you prefer the second option”

Without a warning, Minho streched his hand behind his back, searching for the lee’s ticklish thigh “Stop squirming so much, I can’t get anything done like this…” Jisung was really testing his patience with all the movements he did just to avoid the scary fingers that creeped closer to his sensitive body part every second.

When the older finally reached his limit, he decided to turn his body to face Han’s lower half “Just say stop if it gets too much.”

Jisung gulped in fear. Soon enough, he felt Minho’s hand searching for the dreaded spot. Once they did, Han could only pray his ticklishess had gone away over night.

“Look, let’s talk about this like smart, elegant gentle-MEHEHEHEHEN” the wicked bunny wasted no time, digging his fingers in mercilessly into the ticklish flesh “We already did, Hannie.” the olders calmness was getting the quokka really badly.

“PLEHEHEHEASE HYUHUHUHUHNG DOHOHOHOHON’T!” Han whined in ticklish agony, thrashing around like a madman “I didn’t hear a stop~”

The younger’s current state looked rather… concerning. His whole face was a nice, deep cherry-red, with a vein popping out of the ticklish boy’s neck(which was equally as red). His upper body was swinging side to side. Han kept on slapping Minho’s back, but the tickler seemed to be nonchalant about it.

As ler continued the action, tears started streaming down Jisung’s neck, signaling that he was near his limit “P-PLEHEHEASE MIHIHIHINHO S-STOHOhohop…-“ As soon as Sungie’s wild cackling could no longer be heard, Lee Know stopped.

“Are you ok? Do you want to continue?” the concern in his voice was real “Y-Yeheah, j-just maybe not there anymohore…” the worry in the cat’s lover’s face quickly melted away and was replaced by mischeviousness “Then we should switch back to the first option…”

“W-What was the first option…” Jisung stuttered “Oh please, I know you remember~ Now tell me, where and how” Lee Know sweetly smiled down at the shorter “Do what?” Han tried to sound clueless “You’re being annoying. Where. And. How. Tell me this very moment or we’re going back to square one”

The rapper closed his eyes, hoping this was all a dream. He was not about to do a tutorial on how to tickle him “Look, we really don’t have to do this…” Minho gently placed his hand back onto the younger’s thigh “OKAY. Okahahay, I will do whatever you want, hyung…”

The bunny’s mouth extended into a wide grin “Oh no, Sungie! It seems to be that I’ve absolutely forgotten what tickling was! And how to do it! Can you show me? Please”

A sudden wave of heat attacked the lee’s face, rushing blood up into it “Um, so. Fuhuhuck I can’t. Hyung, I cannot do this.” Han covered his red face with his hands “Can’t do what? I don’t understand… Can you please answer my questions?!” Minho teased the younger by placing his skillful fingers onto his victim’s sensitive sides.

“Look, you’re doing great already. Juhuhust squeeze now and you will have t-tickled me” Jisung flusteredly instructed after seeing the older’s hand placement “Oh, like this?” the ler obeyed, pushing his fingers deeper into the flesh “Yehehehes, j-juhuhst like t-that”

“Are you sure, Jisung? Or should do it like this, or that, or maybe-“ Lee Know suddenly started poking, squeezing and wiggling at Han’s sides “NOHOHOHO MIHINHO DOHON’T!” said man just smiled “Where else are you… How do you call a person that very sensitive to tickles anyway, Sungie?” “YOU KNOHOHOW THAHAHAT ALREHEHEDY, STOHOHOP TEHEHEASING!”

“Just tell me~!” Minho whined, squeezing Jisung’s sides even faster “YAHAHAHA I-I WIHIHILL! JUHUHUST STOHOHOP!” with that, the taller slowed down “ticklish” the quokka mumbled under his breath “What? What do you call it?” the cat lover teased, inching his face dangerously quickly to his bandmate’s incredibly sensitive ears “Lee. Minho. Don’t get any closer!” Obviously, the ruthless tickler did not listen. Why would he?

“What did you say, Hannie~ What do you call it~” the way that Minho ticklishly blew air into the poor boy’s ears made him giggle like a maniac “Mihihinnie plehehehehehease stohohop i’ll tehehel you, juhuhuhst stohohop~”

Lee Know absolutely adored how Jisung didn’t even try stop him. He just firmly gripped his shoulders, lighly twitching his head.

He did stop, wanting to hear the “unknown” word “T-ticklish. That’s the word.” Han finally pushed the term out “Wow, that’s so interesting! You’re very ticklish, Jisungie, I wonder where else are you ticklish, you ticklish boy~” the quokka rolled his eyes. Minho was milking the hell out of that new word.

“Well, answer me. Where else are you ticklish?” the younger snapped out of his flustering thoughs after hearing his hyung’s request “W-what. Umm… I-I dohon’t know…” “How about… Here!” the ler’s sneaky fingers found their way to his lee’s soft tummy “Ehehehe thahat’s pretty bahahad…” Han snickered.

A sudden wave of confidence washed over the rapper’s mind. He could ask for any kind of tickles right now. No matter how much he denied it, he could’t hide how much he loved raspberries. And now was the perfect time to ask.

“Uhm, Minnie…” Han asked “What is it?” Minho slowed his movements down to hear the boy “I-I want you to g-give me rasp-raspberries… Can you?” Jisung have the best puppy eyes he could “Sure, we can go to the store to get some later!” the maknae of 3racha rolled his eyes at the second eldest’s obliviousness.

“Not those raspberries. The other ones. You know, the ones that you give me… Blowing them on my sides…” the squirrel like boy tried to guide the cat mom back to his skillful mind “I still don’t understand. You’ll have to explain it step by step~” Ji was getting more and more red by the second. He was so frustrated and fed up with the older’s teasing. Could’t he just give him what he wanted?

“Look, hyung, if you don’t stop teasing I swear I’ll lock in a photobooth with Chan-hyung!” Minho’s smile dropped for a second remembering what had happened just last week. Ever since then, he’s become photoboothphobic(i made that up btw).

To clear things up, he got wrecked really badly in there. He had been in an incredible lee mood all day long, and Chan just wanted to give what he wanted. He did satisfy the younger, but Minho didn’t want to be around the older for the next 48 hours.

“Alright, I’ll get to the point.” Lee Know shrugged. That’s when the real torture started. Minho wasn’t called the most skillful tickler of Stray Kids for nothing.

With one hand on Hannie’s hip and another wrapped around his sensitive thigh, the bunny knew what he was doing “OHOHOHO MAHAHAHA GOHOHOHSH PLEHEHEASE” “Nu-uh, you told me to stop teasing, so I won’t”

The most mischevious member combined all of his tickle knowledge into that one session. He definetly knew that Jisung’s knees were a really bad spot. So, he decided to focus on that.

“NOHOHOHOHO PLEHEHEHEASEE!” Han exclaimed, gripping onto the pillow that was on the couch. Lee Know did not stop. He used both hands, one squeezing the top and one concentrated on the top. This made the quokka absolutely mad.

“M-MIHIHIHNHO HYUHUHUHUHNG JUHUHUST LIHIHSTEN FOR A MIHIHINUTE!” for your information, the dancer didn’t even bat an eye, only switching spots. He went from mercilessly attacking the younger’s kneecaps to… His new invention, if you can call it that.

“Sungie, hide your arms behind your back for me. I have an idea” Although the rapper wasn’t so fond of his hyungs future idea, he decided to trust his next moves.

He learnt a very valueable lesson that day - never trust Lee Minho.

As soon as Jisung trapped his hands under his own torso, Lee Know laid on his exhausted body. The next thing he did made Sung regret everything.

“You ready?” Han innocently nodded. Soon enough, he felt the tickler showing all 10 of his fingers in his armpits, wiggling them around into the sensitive flesh “NAHAHAHAHA WHYYY HYUHHUHUHUHG PLEHEHEHEASE MEHEHERCY” the shorter quickly regreted believing the elder.

The cat man shoved his fingers deeper into the crevice with every. Single. Wiggle. His thumb was also massaging the area above the armpit, making the process much more agonizing.

When Jisung thought it couldn’t get any worse, Minho lowered his head and started nibbling at his neck. Not mention that the dancer’s hairs were also taking part in the ticklish process.

“M-MIHIHIHINHO PLEEHEHEHEASE TH-THIS IS TOHOHOHO MUCH!” the mischevious bunny simply shrugged. Since the younger’s laughter hadn’t gone silent and he also hadn’t used the safeword, he wasn’t worried “Just say the safeword, and it’ll be over, honey~” Han blushed at the nickname. Not like you could tell, because basically every single body part that was visible was completely red.

After some more time, the cat charmer got bored. Since Hannie seemed pretty tired and close to his limit, he wanted to satisfy one last request of his.

“How many ribs do you have?” Jisung knew what this meant. His ribs were about to be counted “Twelve! I-I hahave twelve rihibs…” Minho malevolently smirked, slowly getting off the shorter “That is how many raspberries you’re getting”

The brown-eyed boy’s face dropped. Yes, he wanted some raspberries, but that many.

“Oh? Afraid you can’t handle it? Well, I have this big machine. It’s my newest invention.” Lee Know smiled, doing the infamous finger guns “Oh god, what is it this time…” “The i-dont-care-in-ator! It showcases how I don’t care how ticklish you are. That is your problem.”

With that, Minho lowered his “tool”. He vibrated his finger-guns into Jisung’s ribs. If that wasn’t enough, he also decided to add some of the requested rapberries to the mix.

“One…Two…Three” the leader of danceracha painfully and slowly counted, as he blew one ticklish air bubble after another “I-I LOHOHOHOHOVE YOU HYUHUHUHUNG PLEHEHEHEASE STOHOHOP!”

Just as those words left Sungies mouth, Minho’s i-dont-care-inator lifted up from his body “I love you too, Ji!” Lee Know playfully peppered the younger’s face with kisses. Not directly onto his face, obviously.

“Thahahat was… A lot.” Jisung blushed, covering his face as a very flustered scream left his mouth “Well, did you like it?” Lee Know pondered “…Is it wrong that I did…?” the older jumped onto his favourite lee “That is the cutest thing ever! Please don’t ever change.”

“But please, go take a shower before bed. You’re very sweaty and stinky” the mischevious bunny sheepishly pointed out “Yah! That is your fault!”

“… So can you guys, maybe explain?”

Minsung were too busy having the most insane tickle fight to notice that the rest of the people living in the dorm were watching everything…

•• ━━━━━━━ •• ❖ •• ━━━━━━━ ••

Merry Christmas! Super long one for ya’ll. Took me long enough… At least some of you you got a teaser! Happy holidays, I hope you enjoy this very long fic as a special gift!

#tickle #rough tickles #stray kids #han jisung #lee know #lee!jisung #tickle community #sfw tickle community #ler!know #ler!minho #kpop tickle

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dannystheone · 1 year

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for some reason i cant see what im tying LMAO so apologies for any typos 😖 ANYWAY i love your fics sm ur so talented!! i was wondering if i could req a creek fic, maybe w tweek trying to work up the courage to tickle craig back since he keeps getting got. thanks! :) (this is literally a black screen for me idek what ive written lmao)

No you're good I hear you loud and clear! And thank you for the compliment! I love an excuse to write more precious boys :)) I hope you don't mind that I turned this into an Imp!Tweek and Pastor!Craig fic, I tried toying around with other ideas for the boys but this was really interesting to me.

ALSO THIS IS MY 30TH FICTION ON THIS WEBSITE I GOT TO WRITE FOR YOU GUYS!!

One Movie At A Time? (Lee Pastor!Craig/ Ler Imp!Tweek)

WARNINGS: Kids swearing! And kind of a long intro sorry teehee

Imp Tweek discovers what tickling is for the first time and Pastor Craig is his (un)fortunate victim!

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"Thanks, Father Maxi. I'll see you next Sunday, then." A young apprentice to the pastor of a local church exited an ornate office. Craig closed the wooden door behind him and shuffled along the cheap carpet of the hallway. Cables and printers lined the wall as he entered the nave and felt the chill of the empty church. The dust filled his nose as he walked up the steps to the altar.

The day was winding down, the golden glow of the evening shone through the stained glass windows. Patterns reflected off Craig's face as he knelt before the altar and mumbled a quick prayer. A certain character in his life he's been keeping quiet about was in his mind as he turned around and walked down the aisle of the church.

"Sardines...chocolate milk...ice cream...coffee...and shampoo. Why is he eating the shampoo again-" Craig read through the grocery list that was sent to him by his 'roommate' as he left the church and walked outside. How a pastor in training became roommate to a spawn of the devil was unbeknownst to him. Was it some sort of cosmic work of irony? At this point, it might as well be.

Craig had summoned an imp who he nicknamed 'Tweek' due to the imp taking the body of an anxious local boy in town for his host. Craig had never met the boy before he had the imp in his body, but his consciousness didn't weigh on him too much because of it. The imp himself was mischievous and cunning, while the personality of the boy still shone through. So Pastor Craig has an anxious ball of nerves experiencing the world for the first time on his hands while still dealing with school and pastor apprenticeship. He was lucky if he got three hours of sleep a night.

Craig walked through his front door and removed the clerical collar around his neck. "Tweek, Tweek I'm home! Come get the groceries." Craig called out. Craig heard feet pounding on his wooden floorboards and turned around to see the imp behind him.

The imp had taken the boy's form, with his golden mess of hair and ocean-blue eyes. He had kept his devilish horns and long red tail, however. That was always fun to conceal while in public and not a chore at all.

"GAH! Craig! I-I thought you were intruders! You can't do that to me, man! I just watched this movie called 'The Strangers' and they come in your home and kidnap you! GAHAH! I can't be kidnapped, I can't be!!" Are you sure you're an imp from hell... Craig wanted to ask. But he kept his mouth shut and walked into the kitchen with the grocery bags; Tweek following close behind.

"Don't worry Tweek, that was a movie. It's not for real. Here, I got the stuff you asked for. Do not eat the shampoo again." Craig passed over a grocery bag to Tweek across the kitchen island. Tweek hopped up on a stool, his tail waving slowly at the thought of fake movies. He winked in thought.

"B-But at the beginning of the movie, it read 'Based on true events'! ERK! What if something happens to us, and Hollywood makes a movie of us? Which actor will play me? They won't get my hair right! That is WAY too much pressure!!" Tweek's tail curled up as he hugged his can of sardines. Craig huffed as he turned around to place groceries in the cabinets.

"I can assure you Tweek, you're the least exciting thing to happen to this town. A movie will be made about an alien invasion, or mecha Barbra Streisand, or that imaginary characters exist-" Tweek started hiding his face and pulling at his hair.

"GAH! Those are things that happen in this town?! Why is it so chaotic?! Even Hell was more organized than this!" Tweek pulled on his horns while Craig leaned against the kitchen island.

"Well, sometimes those things happen. But mostly it's just a small town in snowy mountains. People live their daily lives here and make something of themselves. They have kids and buy houses and go to school, just like normal." Craig shrugged as Tweek started to calm down a little.

"Oh...alright. Urgh...I still have a lot to learn. I didn't think above-ground would be so confusing!" Tweek winked out of anxiety as he followed Craig into the living room to watch TV. Craig plopped on the couch and put his feet up after a long day. Tweek silently sat next to him, his tail waving in the air.

"Well, you're getting the hang of it. The remote control, anyway. How do I put parental supervision on this thing-" Craig messed around with the buttons on the remote as he switched the channel by accident. He looked up to the TV and just as quickly set his gaze back down to the remote, while Tweek continued to watch. Two cartoon characters were in the middle of a field rolling on top of each other. Were they rolling? Or fighting? It didn't look like either. Tweek winked at the TV and pulled on his shirt.

"Hey...hey Craig?" Tweek looked to Craig. Craig jerked his chin up in Tweek's direction while still fiddling with the remote. "Uh- urgh- what are they doing on the TV?" Tweek pointed to the characters on screen.

"Oh crap, did I change it to Cinemax on accident-" Craig was expecting to see something inappropriate on screen, but it was just two characters tickling each other. "Oh, they're just playing."

"It-It doesn't look like playing!" Tweek pulled on his shirt as he watched one character scribble his fingers all over his friend's tummy. The other character laughed in an animated fashion. It wasn't anything Tweek had ever seen before since he's been above ground. Craig quirked his lip as he sunk deeper in the couch to fiddle with the remote.

"Yeah, they're playing. They're tickling each other. It's a kid's game." Craig yawned and kept messing with the damn remote while Tweek was still curious.

"T-Tickling? What's that? Urgh- How do you play?" Craig's cheeks blushed a bit as he threw the remote to the side. He couldn't figure out where to find parental controls on the damn thing.

"Uh...there's not really any rules to it Tweek, you just kinda play, I guess." Ugh, this was on par with the birds and the bees talk they had last week in terms of embarrassment. "Humans are sensitive if you touch them a certain way in a certain place, 'cause of our nervous systems. Some people are really sensitive or not sensitive at all. Our bodies are different from each other. People tickle other people to see them laugh." Craig explained. Tweek held his fingers while he tried to process this confusing human game.

"So what's your body like Craig? ERK! Are-are you sensitive? If you're sensitive do people just come up to you randomly to play? That sounds horrible!" Tweek balled his fists in his pants while Craig toyed with a strand of his blue hat.

"No, no. People are usually respectful when people say they don't want to be tickled. But sometimes people ignore it and tickle them anyway. It can be annoying, but some people like it." Craig shrugged again, half-hoping that can be the end of the discussion. Tweek winked as he worked up the courage to ask his next question.

"C-Can I try? I wanna see what it's like." Craig blinked at Tweek blankly while on the inside he was screaming. Why did Tweek have to be so damn curious... But he looked genuinely interested. And Craig couldn't say no to his big blue eyes.

"Uh, I guess. Like I said, every person is different, so don't be surprised if you don't get a huge reaction out of me." Craig laid back on the couch, his midsection suddenly tense. He remembered getting tickled as a kid, but nothing too crazy. And being a pastor in training has taken away his time to participate in normal kid activities as well.

Tweek sat on Craig's jeaned thigh, his tail wagging out of curiosity. "Urgh...okay! I'm just gonna start like how I saw on the TV, 'cause I don't really know what to do-" Tweek was a lot more straightforward than Craig would have thought. Tweek followed the cartoon character's example and started scribbling his fingers in Craig's tummy. His impish traits gave him nails that resembled a woman's acrylics. Craig snorted from the sudden touching and started to squirm and laugh.

"Pffmt- T-Tweeheheek! Hehehey!" Craig giggled, his eyes narrowed in his laughs. His arms rested on his sides, despite his fists being balled up and resisting the urge to cover himself up. Tweek stopped immediately after he heard Craig protest.

"ACK! Craig, are you hurt? Are you dying?! I didn't mean to kill you, man!" Tweek held Craig's shoulder, his tail curling in worry, as Craig shook his head.

"Noho dude, you didn't hurt me at all. It just tickled, that's all." Craig said in his usual monotone voice. Tweek pulled on his tail in thought.

"Oh, so I was doing the right thing!" Tweek beamed and launched back into it before Craig could say anything.

"Yeah, I gue-HESS! Gihihive mehehe a wahaharning first!!" Craig laughed out as Tweek's fingers returned to his belly, the nails on Tweek's hands scritching the skin underneath Craig's black pastor uniform.

Tweek didn't answer. He's never seen Craig look this carefree. Craig's face was alight with his laughter, his cheeks blushed and his eyes squinting in his giggles. It was funny, even though Craig had no control over how he laughed, he still laughed in the same monotone register of voice.

"Does this tickle? Am-Am I doing it right?? Am I tickling you, Craig?" Tweek asked incessantly while his fingers scratched across Craig's tummy and ribs. Craig giggled and shifted all over the couch.

"Yehehes you ahahare! Yohohou're dohohoing ihihit a bihihit too wehehehell!" Craig tried putting his arms over his tummy to hug himself and keep Tweek's fingers away, but Tweek's reflexes were fast. Anytime Craig put his arm in the way, it was immediately set aside by Tweek. It was like he had four hands.

"Huh, this is- ERK! This is weird! You're laughing but nothing's funny! ACK!" Tweek twitched as he pressed his nails down harder into Craig's tummy for a bigger reaction.

"Ow- Ohohow Tweek! Nohohot sohohoho hahahahard!" The pastor called out to the imp. Tweek lessened his nails and kept it to a light scribble.

"Oh, sorry Craig! Like this??" Tweek shook and scribbled his nails over Craig's tummy and waist, his hands suddenly everywhere trying to find all of Craig's spots. Craig burst out in refreshed laughter as he started moving all over the furniture.

"Nohohoho nohohohot like thahahahat! Pffmt- heheheheh!" Craig's ears burned underneath his blue hat. A pastor in training getting tickled to pieces by an imp from hell. Was this biblical in a way, Craig wondered in the back of his head...

"Then how am I supposed to do it? ERK! I've never done this before!" Tweek began to worry. If you tickled someone incorrectly, did they die? How was Tweek supposed to know?? Tweek started using his index fingers and poked into Craig's hips to lessen the tickles even more to see if that helped. Craig's laughter turned heavy as he covered his hips with his hands.

"Gahahahaha! Stohohop thahahat! Tweeheheheek!" Craig tried pushing Tweek's hands away, but Tweek was still quicker than him every time.

"ACK- Sorry Craig, I'm just playing! I'm playing right?" Tweek's ten fingers scratched over Craig's waistline, which would have started to hurt if it weren't for Craig's shirt in the way. The sporadic use of different methods was starting to weigh down on Craig.

"I gue-hehehehehe! Gohoho sohohohomewhere ehehelse!" Craig called out. Tweek freaked out at this, which caused his fingers to go a little haywire.

"GAH! G-Go somewhere else?! Where am I supposed to go?? Just cause I was tickling you I have to leave?! ACK! Tickling is too intense!!" Tweek's fingers gripped Craig's hips in the middle of his freakout.

"NAHAHA-hahahow! I meheheheant ahaha diffeheherent spohohot! Dihihifferent tihihickle spohot!" Craig cried. Tweek didn't think he could have this much control over a man of God cause of something as simple as a child's game. The pastor in training was totally at his mercy...too much pressure.

"Oh-oh right. Uh, how about here?" Tweek moved down from his hips to squishing the tops of his thighs. Craig calmed down almost immediately but kept up a steady stream of giggles.

"Thahat-heeheheh- thahahat's okahahay." Craig rubbed his face with his hands, his body twitching every now and then with Tweek's squishing. Tweek looked up to see Craig's arms were raised and out of the way.

"Hey what's that?" Tweek asked out of the blue and shot up to stuff his hands up Craig's underarms out of curiosity.

"What's what- GOHOD! Hahahahaha stohohohop!" Craig shot his arms down and kept them close to his sides while Tweek's tail wagged in happiness. He was so close to Craig now, he could see his laugh and smile up close. Pastor Craig had blue braces, but Tweek didn't mind. He thought they looked cool. Tweek had never seen face wear like that before. Craig had a pink blush over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. Tweek's impish heart began to pump.

Craig's worn Converse drug across the couch as he tried to buck off the imp tickling him. A man of God at the mercy of an imp? What would the church think...

"Okahahay! Okay okay okahahay stohohohop stop stop!" Craig pleaded out. Tweek's fingers stilled; Craig's face was pink with residual giggles. "God save me..." Craig passed his hands over his face and steamed into them.

"ACK! Oh-Oh Satan, I didn't hurt you, did I?" Tweek hopped off Craig's waist, his tail twisting in worry. and waited by his side while Craig caught his breath on the couch.

"Ahehee- it's-it's okay Tweek. You didn't hurt me, you're just way more intense than I thought. But uh yeah- that's how you tickle, I guess. Also, you're not watching TV anymore. And don't tell anyone this happened, either." Tweek protested as Craig finally figured out the parental controls and blocked all of the kids channels and scary movies.

"Well, thanks for showing me Craig. Urgh...I thought you were cool." Tweek admitted. Craig blushed, not out of mirth but out of something else.

"Cool? How come?" He asked. Tweek shrugged, the leftover sunlight hitting his eyes.

"Ah, I don't know. You're just...mmph...words..." Tweek held his head in thought as Craig held Tweek's hand. Tweek looked up into Craig's smiling face.

"Thanks, Tweek. You're cool, too."

#south park #south park tickles #ler imp tweek #imp tweek #tweak tweek #lee pastor craig #pastor craig #craig tucker

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pitaparka · 3 years

Text

when you sleep with him for the first time headcanons

note—it gets a little suggestive during oberyn's part, but nothing too crazy. i use sleep here in it's purest form by the way, so enjoy! let me know if you have any ideas for the next one! me and the boys are open to suggestions ;)

MANDO

- mando has always allowed you his bunk to sleep, whenever you like

- when you stayed with him on the razor crest and watched the kid, he was always more than willing to give it up anytime you needed sleep

- he didn't sleep much anyway, and usually your sleeping schedules didn't overlap

- but boba fett's ship doesn't have much space to begin with, let alone enough space for all of the crew mates he's happened to find recently

- which mean's you and mando, having already been living together and already know each other, were sleeping together, in the same small bunk, at the same time

- he offered to sleep on the floor, or pressed up against the wall

- but you got mad at him for even suggesting such a thing

- there was more than enough space for the two of you to sleep, you argued, though there was barely enough room for one

- it was comical, trying to press up against him, and find a spot comfortable enough for the both of you to lay

- it was jarring to you when he removed a single pauldron for you to rest your head on his clothed shoulder

- you felt like you had violated him in some way, seeing him just the lightest bit more bare than usual

- though you were slightly uncomfortable from the rest of the beskar pressing up into your body, you were lulled to sleep in minutes from the sound of his steady heartbeat

EZRA

- the cots had never been a long term solution

- that you knew

- so when the morning comes around, and your cot drops your ass on the floor, you wish you gotten new sleeping arrangements the last time you were in town

- you were just wishing it had taken longer for them to fall apart the way they had

- there wasn't much on the green, in terms of furnishing markets

- the cots had been the only barrier between you and the floor, and now, there was nothing protecting you from the frigid, uninsulated ground of your broken down ship

- it was ezra who offered up the idea: put one blanket down on the floor, and use the other one to cover the both of you with

- you took a second to ponder it, thinking of any idea, any reason that could be used to save you from having to sleep next to ezra, the man who had been so warm and kind to you, but you had frozen him out, because of your ridiculous crush on him

- you offered up the idea of just disassembling the cots and using the cloths as protection from the cold

- but this wiseass pulls out the cloth from the cot and his blanket and compares the two, and there's no way the cloth is going to have any integrity making contact with the ground

- so you agree, and when nightfall comes, you're too exhausted from harvesting all day to fight with him

- he puts his blanket down as protection, and you all but collapse on top of in

- ezra does you the service of tucking you in, before climbing in next to you, and you're soothed by his warmth

- not soothed enough that you fall asleep immediately, still unnerved by the idea of sleeping so close to him, hearing him breathe, feeling him move

- but he throws his good arm over your body and pulls you into him, muttering something about the cold

- and your heart melts just a little bit as you fall asleep, pressed up against his chest

FRANKIE

- frankie had been upset for weeks after his divorce, which was to be expected

- but everything had been so stressful on him, and you were getting worried for his mental health

- he hadn't been answering calls, he'd cancelled plans with you last minute, which is something he never did, and he hadn't been doing anything for himself, just living in a rut of paperwork, sleeping, eating, and going to work

- so when he calls you up to ask you to go camping with him, you obviously say yes

- it's almost a two hour drive to the campsite, and frankie is fairly quite, which isn't usual, but you get some good music going and some good conversation going, and soon enough, you and frankie are laughing and singing your heads off on your way there

- it's getting dark when you arrive, and you make quick work of getting everything out of his car when he realizes something is off

- "oh no" he exclaims, and you fear the worst

- "what? what's wrong?"

- "I brought the small tent."

- "how small is the small tent?"

- "i brought the four-person tent, not the ten person tent."

- "are you kidding frankie? i'm sure we'll fit in a four-person—“

- "i'm telling you, it's not as big as you think it is, trust me."

- when the tent is complete, four-person is an exaggeration

- it's a four-person tent if the four-people were sardine packed and the size of children

- it's going to be just enough room for both you and frankie to lie down in with your sleeping bags

- but that's for a later time, because frankie has marshmallows to roast and lots of things to tell you after he's been ignoring you for a whole week

- he apologizes and you sit next to him at the firepit on your site, and you listen to him talk, and give him advice, and rest your head on his shoulder

- and when it's late into the night and you two go to retreat to bed, you have to squish up against his broad shoulders that seem so much broader in the small tent

- and when he wakes with nightmares of his fighting buddies and far too many sleepless nights, he pulls you close to him, and falls asleep again, until the sunlight streams through the front flap of the tent far too early in the morning

WHISKEY

- that day’s mission was harsh

- it had you spent, not only physically, but mentally as well

- as you lie awake in your bed, you realize you’re not getting to sleep tonight, whether or not you had another important mission that morning

- the hotel bed was creaky and entirely not your bed from home and the air conditioner was broken so it was freezing

- you figure there’s no better time than the present, and you’re well aware whiskey is right next door

- if he’s awake, you’ll ask him to have a drink with you, and if he’s asleep, you can just hop into bed with him

- he’s a deep sleeper anyway

- you’re careful turning the knob into his room, just in case he’s asleep, and you spot him in his bed, on his side, breathing softly, room cloaked in darkness

- you come around on his side of the bed and you whisper his name

- he stirs a little

- you debate going back to your room and just toughing it out, but he doesn’t give you the chance

- he’s up, groggy and hair tousled and in just a plain t-shirt

- “sweetheart? what are you doin’ here? what’s goin’ on?”

- you tell him you didn’t want to sleep alone tonight, and he wipes the sleep from his eyes and squints at you, using only the moonlight to help him see

- “what kind of gentleman would i be if i refused you my bed?”

- this makes you smile, and he lifts the covers for you to get in with him

- you plant your head on his shoulder and drape an arm over his chest, cozying up to him as close as possible

- his hand rests comfortably on your back, and he breathes rhythmically

- and you’re silently grateful he doesn’t ask questions, just lets you curl up into his side ands lets you fall asleep with him there

JAVIER PEÑA

- it happened in a flurry of passion and kisses, hands roaming his body and yours after a far too close dance with death

- if it had not been for his bulletproof vest, he'd be lying in a hospital or a morgue

- but he wasn't

- his body was warm and so was yours and the ride to his apartment was far too quiet for your liking and his

- it was only appropriate you accompanied him for a drink after such a great victory for the DEA, but it had taken a toll on both of you, mentally

- you more so than him, which is why you ended up drinking much more than you normally would have when you drank with javi

- he tried to laugh away the stress, complaining about his sore and bruised ribs, but the room was still tense

- emotions ran rampant through your body, and when he brings it up, tears start to pool in your eyes at the thought seeing him for the last time, in a suit, at his own funeral he wouldn't attend if he had the choice

- he sets his drink down and pulls you into his arms, holding your waist and cupping the back of your neck, stroking behind your ear as he listens to you cry softly in his shoulder

- he reassures you he's fine, nothing happened to him, and you pull away from him, grab his face, and stare into his eyes

- he smiles kindly at your own red ringed eyes, irritated from crying, as you try to memorize each streak of brown in his own

- it's too much for the both of you, and you pull him into a kiss

- his mouth is surprisingly soft compared to your own drunk passion, and as much as he'd love to take you right then and there on his couch, he knows he'd regret it if you woke up the next morning and regretted it too

- so he entertains the kiss, not that he minds, and leads you to his bedroom

- where the silk sheets and heavy comforter that smell so strongly of javier peña pull you to sleep next to him, faster than you'd like to admit

MARCUS MORENO

- missy and your daughter had always gotten along very well

- you were very familiar with marcus, and could even call yourselves friends to an extent

- your daughters were very intelligent little girls, and knew that if they got the two of you talking when you came to pick your daughter from his house, they would have at least another hour to play while you two chatted endlessly about boring adult things

- for missy's birthday party, she had wanted all of her friends over for a huge sleepover, and of course her father caved

- he couldn't say no to her no matter how much he tried

- marcus, the genius he was, figured that if the kids were all under one roof having fun, why not let the adults have fun too?

- everyone was invited

- the kids would have lots of different fun activities to choose from, from swimming, to games in the backyard, and a movie night under the stars outside

- and the adults were welcome to stay, chat, drink, and play adult card games marcus had saved for special occasions

- the night of the sleepover, a dozen children and adults were packed into his backyard, watching some new movie he had rented the missy was excited about

- but it was freezing, and you hadn't expected to be outside for so long

- marcus realizes this and he leans over quietly, so not to disturb the movie

- "are you cold?"

- "oh! no, it's okay, i'll be fine—“ you try to excuse yourself, but he gets up without a word, and returns with a sweatshirt of his

- it fits snugly over your head, and completely eliminated the chill in your bones

- it doesn't take long for your eyes to start getting heavy, and soon enough, you're passed out on marcus' shoulder

- "what if we camp out here for the night?" he suggests, and the kids are more than excited

- the adults know what he's up to

- but they let him anyway

- it'll be great to tease him about later, and besides, you guys are adorable together

MARCUS PIKE

- working together with marcus was always a joy

- he was always very respectful and funny

- you knew he had his heart broken more than once in the past, so even though you dropped hints that you'd want something more with marcus, you let him take it at his own pace

- when you dropped by his place that night, with important new documents you had received right before you left work and chinese food, you're ecstatic when he lets you in

- you spend hours pouring over the documents, making sure every single detail was covered and examined, when you realize how tired you are, and how loud the rain is coming down outside his window

- "it's getting really late. i should leave," you say, but marcus stops you

- "you could always, y'know, stay the night if you wanted. i'd let you have my bed."

- you smiled at him, but politely decline, as you wouldn't want to kick him out of his bed, but you yawn again

- "look, you're exhausted, and it's pouring" he points out, "you know most accidents happen by people falling asleep behind the wheel when it's raining?"

- you laugh at him

- "you just made that up,"

- "i did, but you should stay. if you don't want to i totally understand, but you'd be missing out. my bed is really comfortable."

- "is that why you're always late to work?" you quip, and close the files

- he gasps in mock shock

- "that was one time, and my alarm didn't go off," he claims, smiling at you

- he lends you a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and you pretend to not see a slight blush on his face when you walk out into his bedroom with them on

- marcus was right when he said his bed was really comfortable

- somehow, in the middle of the night, you two find each other, his face pressed into your shoulder, your arms wrapped around him, and the rain comes down even harder

MAX PHILLIPS

- "i just need some space from him, is all."

- that's all you had to tell him for max phillips to be on your side, rubbing your shoulder and telling you that all men suck anyway, you didn't need that jerk of a boyfriend to be happy

- well, now ex-boyfriend

- of course he had ulterior motives, and you knew this, but you didn’t care

- your heart wanted someone to watch movies with and eat a pint of ice cream out of the tub with you, and if max was the one who would do that, you’d settle with him for the night

- the way he pulled you into his arms, and pressed his body up against yours, was more than comforting

- he made funny jokes, tried tickling you, anything he could think of to get you to smile for him

- and for the most part, you did

- you were sick of your ex bringing the mood down the way he did, no matter how much you missed him

- the movie has gotten boring a long time ago, but you listened to max’s breathing, and felt his chest rise and fall behind you, and it was enough to lull you to sleep

- and he would’ve woken you up, to take you to his bed, but he was scared you’d leave to go home if he did

- so he took his couch throw, pulled it over the two of you, turned off the television, and settled back as you got comfortable on his chest

- this was a side of max phillips you’d never seen before, and you didn’t expect to see any time soon

- so you relished in it, and let sleep pull you in

MAXWELL LORD

- his head aches, and his eye is still bleeding on the plane back to washington d.c.

- the ride back is silent, save for the rumbling of the engine

- he rests his head against the wall of the airplane for most of the ride there, and you take comfort in knowing while he’s asleep, he’s not in pain

- when he starts getting restless, having what you think is a nightmare, you start holding his hand, stroking your thumb up and down his soft skin

- it takes him a minute, but he calms down, and you don’t let go of his hand

- with nothing to do but watch him sleep, you decide taking a nap too would be your best option

- which is when the plane hits a particularly rough patch of turbulence

- he bounces awake, nervous and alert, and you tell him it’s just the plane, everything’s fine

- when you pull him into your shoulder, he takes the opportunity to fall back asleep

- you can feel the tension in his neck just by having him rest his head on your shoulder

- you keep a firm grip on his hand, when your own eyes start to get heavy

- your head rests on his, and the rest of the ride there is smooth and painless

OBERYN MARTELL

- he had been pursuing you for quite some time

- as the second son of a king, he was more than accustomed to people saying yes to appease him

- he was forward with you, and you were forward back with him, and he liked that

- it was your words that told him you weren't looking for anything long term, that if he were to pleasure you, and you him, he would be nothing more than a simple one night stand

- boy did he prove you wrong

- your legs were so weak afterward, you couldn't bare to get up

- he took incredibly good care of you, squeezing your sore thighs and rubbing your aching muscles, pressing kisses up and down your back, brushing the hair out of your face

- it only increased your attraction to him when he brought in more people, caring for them and having them care for you, and by the time you had finished, you felt as though you couldn't physically go another round that night

- he purred in your ear that every night with him would be a night like this, and you whined back, making him grin and capture your mouth in a passionate kiss

- you didn't mean to fall sleep with him, but all the nibbling bites at your ear and the serotonin coursing through your veins had you spent for the night

- he let you sleep, and even stayed for a while before being summoned for an important meeting

- you made a mental note that eventually, you two would need to do that again, because you slept like a baby the whole night through

PERO TOVAR

- it's below freezing when you settle down for sleep that night

- no matter how much wind the tent tried to keep out, it just wasn't enough

- you're bundled up in all the clothes you had brought with you, the only blanket that could be spared, anything that could try to keep you warm, but nothing’s working

- the cold just bleeds through the blanket and your clothes, into your legs and chest and bones so that you can’t fall asleep if you tried

- you figure the only way you’ll be able to get any rest to be ready for the next day, is to go find a warmer place to sleep

- if the fire’s still going, you’ll rest there

- you shiver as you pick up your things, but your interrupted by tovar, who comes in with a thick fur blanket wrapped around his shoulders

- “where are you going?”

- “i was just going to sleep next to the fire,” you say, trying to keep the chill out of your voice

- “it’s going to be cold tonight. lay down.” he instructs, and you oblige

- he lays the blanket down over you and climbs underneath it next to you, so that your shoulders touch and watch him for a second before he turns over and tries to go to sleep without a word

- you pull the blanket up to your shoulders and you feel ten times warmer already, but it’s the heat from tovar that really entices you

- so you push back against him, your back against his, and fall asleep with the warmth of his muscles against yours

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blueskrugs · 3 years

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Airport Shenanigans | Matthew Tkachuk

this was @broadstbroskis‘s request! I’m not gonna lie, I wasn’t really feeling either number you asked for, but I decided to have some fun with this! I also wanted to have something new for his birthday today, so here we are. not my best, and also minimally edited, but I hope you guys still like it!

20. stuck in an airport in a snowstorm

length: 1.1K

Matthew had insisted you get to the airport early, for some fucking reason, which is why you’ve already been sitting around for an hour when he gets back from checking the flights board. You look at him expectantly, but he just shakes his head.

“Snowstorm back home, they’re not letting any flights into Lambert,” Matt says, and Brady groans from the floor next to you. The Sens had been in town for the last game before break, so he was flying back home to St. Louis with you and Matthew. You think he was already beginning to regret that decision.

The airport was crowded, being only a few days before Christmas, but the three of you had claimed a small corner of the terminal for yourselves, spreading out all your bags– which there really were a lot of. There was an entire large suitcase just dedicated to all the presents the three of you were having to lug across the border. (Matt wouldn’t let you just have them delivered to his parents house, claimed he didn’t want Taryn snooping.) Matt flopped onto the floor next to Brady.

“I call not calling Mom to tell her,” Brady says, still staring at the ceiling.

Matt groaned. “Fuck.” He tilted his head to pout up at you.

“No way, I love you, but she’s not my mom,” you told him. He groaned again.

You pulled out your phone to check the weather. Snowstorm was right; it covered most of Missouri on the radar, and definitely didn’t look like it would be stopping anytime soon. Except your flight had just been delayed, not cancelled, which meant you were stuck in limbo for the foreseeable future (and couldn’t go home, either).

“What’re you doing?” Matt asked, hauling himself into a chair next to you and resting his head on your shoulder.

“Checking for flights to Chicago instead. Maybe we could drive down,” you told him.

“No way in hell am I driving five hours in a car with you and Brady.”

“Then what’s your big plan to get us home for Christmas then?” you snapped. Matt sighed and didn’t respond.

“I’m getting food,” Brady announced.

“Bring me back popcorn!” you yelled after him.

Eating your popcorn turned into throwing it to Matthew because he wanted to catch it in his mouth, which turned into him and Brady just pelting it at each other. It only ended when they accidentally hit some woman carrying a baby. Boys.

“Cards Against Humanity?” you suggested. You knew Matthew had thrown it in his backpack.

“Boring,” Matt said.

“You’re boring,” Brady shot back.

“Hide and seek?”

“Sardines?”

“Yeah, and who’s gonna watch our stuff?”

All three of you turned to look at the only other person near you, a college-aged girl who had been engrossed in her book the whole time you guys had been in the airport. The girl definitely recognized Matthew, but she agreed to keep an eye on your bags.

The boys decided that you would be “it” first and wandered away while you tried to figure out where to hide. You dug out a Flames hat from Matt’s bag, and a book from yours before settling in a chair at a different gate, texted Matt that you were ready. You watched Matthew and Brady walk right past you no less than three times, trying and failing to look casual, and not like they were hopelessly lost.

Sardines lasted almost half an hour, until someone reported the boys for looking suspicious, and you got to watch them try and talk their way out of being chased by security.

You broke out TikTok around 11:30, lost yourself to the mindless scroll. Matt watched with you for a little bit, and you laughed at the crease between his eyebrows as he tried to follow the dances.

“Wanna do one?” you asked, waving your phone in Matt’s direction.

“Yeah, no.”

You hadn’t forgotten the meltdown the internet had had that time Taryn had gotten him to do a TikTok with her. You scrolled for a second. “Here, look, this one is easy,” you said, handing your phone to Matthew.

“I think you and I have different ideas of what’s easy, babe,” Matt said, unimpressed, but he watched the video three times.

Twenty minutes and more attempts than you could count later, Matthew collapsed on the floor with a groan. You nudged him with your foot; he swatted you away but didn’t open his eyes. You were rewatching the last clip you had taken. It wasn’t perfect, but you had hardly expected it to be.

“I’m posting this,” you told Matt. He waved his hand at you.

You filmed another one, too, of the two of you attempting the koala challenge, but on those moving sidewalks. It didn’t end well. (You weren’t sure it would have gone any better on solid ground, either.)

It was 1 AM, and the airport was deserted. You were in that weird space where time didn’t feel real, and you couldn’t honestly have said what day it was or how many hours you’d been in the airport. Brady was half-asleep on the floor, and Matt was stretched across three chairs with his head in your lap. Your flight had finally actually been rescheduled, and would be leaving in another hour or so, which meant you’d be getting in at an ungodly hour of the morning. You were trying to decide if it was worth it to try and sleep and destroy your sleep schedule, or to stay awake and suffer. You and Matt were people-watching, amusing yourselves by making up the life stories of the other poor souls stuck in an airport in Calgary at 1 AM. Most of Matthew’s were completely ridiculous, but you were so tired you weren’t making much sense either. The only sign you had that Brady was still awake was that he occasionally snickered at something one of you said.

Before you knew it, they were finally calling your flight to board. There weren’t many people left, between the long delay, and it not being a crowded flight to begin with. The three of you were in a row together, but there was no one in the row next to you, so Brady claimed it and sprawled out across it. You and Matt spent five minutes arguing over who got the window seat. (You won.) It didn’t really matter, because it was the middle of the night, and you were pretty sure you would both pass out not longer after the flight took off.

Matthew held your hand from the seat next to you. Sure, you hadn’t planned on being stuck at YYC for hours, but at least you’d had some fun in the process. You kissed Matt’s forehead when he rested his head on your shoulder. Yeah, there were worse people you could’ve gotten stuck with.

#cait's holiday prompts #cait writes things #matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic

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wwilloww · 4 years

Text

cliff diving pt. 2 | kth

CLIFF DIVING (m) | KTH 2 OF 3

genre: fluff. smut. nonidol!au. camping!au.

pairings: Taehyung | Reader

rating: 18+. NSFW. Explicit.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: cursing. talk of sex. skinny dipping. spooning. grinding. dirty talk.

summary: Every year as soon as the weather warms up, your friends haul ass out of the city to the mountains where you camp and hike in the shadow of giant rocks and ancient evergreens—and now apparently jump off of cliffs for fun. This time, an innocent round of truth or dare inspires you and Tae to play a mischievous game without getting caught by your friends.

a/n: ahh I had so much fun writing this chapter. If you liked it, please let me know! And if you want to be added to the tag list, leave a comment and you’ll be notified as soon as the finale is published!

<- previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter ->

WWILLOWW©️ DO NOT TRANSLATE, REPOST, OR COPY MY WORK

“Ah, shit,” Jimin curses, wiping his brow and stepping back to examine his hard work. “I think I grabbed the wrong tent on my way out. It seems too small.”

Jungkook is holding the tent bag. “It says it’s a five-person. But we know that’s never quite enough to fit daddy long legs over here.” Jungkook nods at Tae.

“We’ll squeeze,” Jin adds, unaffected, already unloading the sleeping bags from the car.

And you do. With your bellies full of s’mores and limbs tired from a long day in the sun, you’re all ready to crash. Tae and Jin each take an edge. Within ten minutes of climbing into the warm shelter, Jungkook is passed out on his back and sprawled half-in, half-out of his sleeping bag in a fashion that leaves the rest of you to sleep on your sides, squeezed like sardines. Jimin slides easily into the small space between Jungkook and Jin, throwing an arm languidly over Jungkook's snoring form.

You’re the last one to enter the tent. Taehyung smiles sleepily at you, patting the remaining spot between him and Jungkook. You smile shyly back at him, before turning away from the boys to slip out of your shirt and into an extra-large sleep shirt and shorts. You’ve done this a million times before: changing in front of them before a night out or when one of them decides to crash at your place. And yet, you find yourself covering your chest in a poor exercise of modesty and ducking your head as you crawl onto the sleeping mat in between Taehyung and Jungkook.

After the events of the day and this strange burning feeling you get every time you’re around Taehyung, you feel an uncomfortable mix of tension and excitement. You curl up into the smallest space that you can, facing away from Tae.

It seems like forever. The night drags on and snores rise up from your friends. But all you can think of is the small space of air between you and the long-limbed man behind you. There’s an unnamable energy that flows within the empty space, sending tingles down your spine.

It’s a while before you fall asleep, but as do, you can almost imagine rough fingerpads ghosting against your skin.

When you wake, there’s a crick in your neck, half of Jungkook’s body thrown over your leg, and one of Taehyung’s arms sprawled across your chest. When you try to untangle yourself from your friends, there’s a sharp pain in your scalp and you look down to find Taehyung’s fingers twisted into your hair.

“Ow.” You throw your head back on your makeshift pillow, attempting to push the two men off you. You manage to tip Jungkook off of you and he grunts, rolls over to his side, and quickly falls back asleep. Taehyung, on the other hand, is a notoriously heavy sleeper.

“Tae,” you groan, shoving your palm into his face. He groans and smacks his lips together, but doesn’t move any more than that. “Tae,” you hiss, shoving him again.

His eyes pop open and he turns to look at you. As he takes in your flustered look and his hand tangled in your hair his eyes widen.

“Oh-oh shit.” He does his best to release your hair from his grasp, in the meantime snagging several hairs. You wince. Once he’s freed, he brings the other hand up to smooth over your head. “Sorry,” he murmurs, patting your head.

“‘S okay.” You smile gently up at him.

His gaze traces your features, a little sleep-puffed, but still beautiful. Your eyelashes flutter sleepily and your cheeks and nose are reddened from the cold--and your hair, tangled, and spread out across your pillow, and perfect. He finds a smile creeping across his face.

“What are you looking at?”

“You,” he answers honestly. Your lips twitch in amusement.

“Okay.” You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as the word slips out.

Taehyung doesn’t touch you. Not all morning.

His gaze continues to flicker over to you as you hike. He helps you haul equipment in the morning and is your shadow as you prepare lunch. He doesn’t touch you, at least, not until you ask him to help spread the sunscreen onto your shoulder blades and back. His fingers linger a moment too long as he slathers your back in just a little too much of the white paste, but then his touch is gone, snatched away as if he had remembered something.

After an adventure-filled morning and a late lunch, the others head out to scope out some new climbing spots, leaving you and Tae alone at the campsite.

“There’s only one left!” you call over your shoulder. You are bent over the cooler, the ice quickly melting underneath the summer sun. “And we better eat it soon before it melts!”

Taehyung waves. “Eh, you have it. I’m still full from lunch.”

You beam at him and grab the popsicle out of the cooler, unpeeling it and carefully climbing up the boulder to where Tae is sprawled on his back, overlooking the small lake where your friends have set up camp for the week. He makes room for you as you reach the top, patting the spot beside him.

“You sure you don’t want it?” you tease, waving it under his nose. You slide a little closer to him, and he pulls away slightly, leaving a friendly distance between you two.

“I’m sure.”

“Alrighty! More for me!”

He watches you bite down on the popsicle, your lips rounding perfectly around the tip of the dessert. What would it be like if those pink, plump lips were wrapped around his—What the hell is wrong with me? He shakes his head, as if by doing so he can physically dispel the obscene images swilling through his mind. He doesn’t want to think about these kinds of things. He doesn’t want to tread over that invisible barrier between friendship and… whatever lays on the other side of that, not when he’s entirely unsure of where you stand.

Still, he can behave.

He brings himself back to you, back to your words and the way you beam and glow underneath the summer sun. He loves the way you talk when you’re excited. When you detail your most recent passion, your eyes always seem to drift somewhere far away and your hands fly around animatedly. It’s contagious. As much as he’s falling into the world you describe to him, still, god, still, his eyes are drawn to your lips where a drop of melted popsicle has collected.

“You—you have—,”

He reaches out to wipe the pink juice from your lips and before he knows it, his thumb is pressed deliciously to the corner of your lips. You stop in the middle of your sentence, eyes widening up at him.

He glides his hand away from your slack mouth and before he can consider the consequences of his actions, pops the edge of his thumb into his own mouth, sucking off the drop of sweet juice. A red flush starts to creep up your cheeks.

“God, sorry.” He runs his hand through his hair, unable to look at you. “That was weird.”

Your next inhale seems oddly loud, and the two of you are both aware that you’re both holding your breath.

“Ah,” you finally giggle, breaking out of your shock. The blush still hangs heavy on your round cheeks. “No, it’s kind of sweet.”

He sends a tight smile your way but still won’t meet your eyes.

You desperately search for anything to say to him, to break the horrible silence hanging between the two of you.

“Haveyouever beenina friends with benefits relationship?” you spurt.

Oh no, you think. Not the right question. Nope. Not after all that.

The blush on your cheeks lights anew.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I have,” he responds slowly, looking over to your shocked state. He gives you a light shove, hoping you chill out. “Didn’t last long though.”

“Why not?”

Stop. Stop asking these questions.

Despite the anxiety that rises in you, he answers your question without hesitation.

“Ah, she couldn’t withstand my ethereal beauty and got attached,” he says dramatically before laughing light-heartedly. “Nah, actually it was more than that. We were young. Things got messy, fast.” He shrugs.

You nod sagely, as if you understand—despite never having stood in his shoes.

“What about you?” Taehyung's deep voice breaks through your thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Have you ever been in a friends with benefits relationship?”

“Ah—uh, no, not really.”

“Why’s that?”

“Never really came about.” You fiddle with the popsicle stick in your hands, using it to trace random patterns on your legs.

Taehyung follows the swirls you trace, entranced by the small white trail that follows the pressure of the wood before disappearing into the soft flesh of your thigh. Is this the way your skin reacted last night, under his fingers? He gulps and pulls his gaze back to yours.

“What?” you ask.

Let me trace those patterns for you, let me press those pretty lips to my own, let me see you wrap them around my—

You search the incomprehensible look in his eyes, as he’s still not answering you. He’s just… he’s just staring at you, mouth hanging slightly open and still, fucking gorgeous.

That night in the tent, sleep teases you. It hovers at the edge of your consciousness, pushed back by the swirling thoughts of the day.

You reach up to graze over the corner of your lips where Taehyung’s thumb rested not so long ago. When you close your eyes, you can almost feel that slight pressure and the distant heat of his touch.

You nuzzle into your pillow, attempting to focus on anything but that. Anything but him. Anything but the thought of him slipping his thumb into your mouth, hooking against your lips, his face nearing and lips slightly pouted—stop.

You are split in half between the fire burning in your abdomen—the one that tells you there’s something there, there’s something to explore between the two of you—and the coldness of the knowledge that you couldn’t handle his rejection. He’s too dear, he’s too precious—the thought of losing him, of messing things up, is greater than the thrill of having him.

“Are you awake?” a low whisper brushes against the nape of your neck. You start at the sensation.

“Mhmm.”

“Are you… okay? You seem tense.”

“‘M fine,” you mumble back.

Taehyung has always been able to read you though, his sharp eyes tracking your every movement and expression. Even with your back turned to him, he knows exactly the face you’re making with your shoulders pushed all the way up to your ears.

You’re hiding from something.

“Come ‘ere.”

His arm snakes around your waist and pulls you flush against his body. The smallest of gasps brushes past your lips.

“Just relax,” he murmurs into your ear, his voice now dangerously low because of the proximity. “Is this about yesterday?”

You say nothing.

“Did I disappoint you?”

“What?”

“I know it isn’t ideal to be put in a position to pick between your friends, especially for something so… intimate… and I know I’m not your ideal choice, but—”

“That’s not it,” you flatline. “Not it at all.”

The two of you are quiet.

“I don’t think you could ever disappoint me,” you say softly.

Oh, Taehyung thinks. OH.

“So you’re saying… you would like to—” Taehung grins against your neck.

“Never said that.”

“But you also didn’t, not say it either.”

When you don’t reply, he brings his hand up to trace along the thin line of skin between your raggedy t-shirt and shorts, chuckling as you jump at the touch.

“Shut up,” you hiss, more in response to what you know he’s thinking than what he’s just said.

Gotcha, he smirks. Just this little touch has raised goosebumps on your skin, despite the warmth of the tent. It all makes sense. Your tenseness, your silence, your wide gaze wasn’t that of confusion or discomfort—it was one of want. But why are you holding back from me?

“You know, when I said that it could be worse, I wasn’t lying. I could do a lot worse than you.”

“Go to sleep, Tae,” you say, but he can see the blush creeping up the side of your face.

“Are you sure you want me to?” His hand sneaks under the edge of your t-shirt, palm flattening against your side. You would be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy this: Tae pressed so tightly against you, his hands wandering your body as if they belong there.

Your usual response is to pull away from this kind of pleasure. And you should. Especially from Taehyung: your friend, the cold voice in your head reprimands you.

But there’s a new voice alongside that one, the same one that whispers jump.

Something snaps in you.

You want this. There’s no denying that. You want his hands all over you, underneath your shirt, dipping underneath the band of your shorts. Wherever they go, you’ll follow.

You take a deep breath and release it, slowly. Closing your eyes, you slide your hand up your thigh until it rests atop his wrist. Without fully interlacing your fingers, you allow your fingers to slip between his, guiding his hand even further up.

He freezes.

“Tell me to stop,” you breathe, twisting your head back. It’s an invitation, an out—not an order.

He extracts his hand from yours to better trace intricate patterns against your flushing skin, knowing your face is flushing with the delicate attention. He draws his name on your skin.

With a sudden burst of confidence, you push your back against him. A small gasp slips out as you understand what’s resting against you: his hard cock.

You can feel his bulge press against your ass and when he moves to nudge away from you, you push your hips back, slowly trying to feel him against you again.

“Fuck,” he hisses when you roll your hips as if you’re readjusting. “Are you trying to kill me, woman?”

You feign innocence.

“What? What did I do?” you breathe, adding a beautifully executed note of concern to your voice. The thrill that rushes up your spine when his grip tightens around your arm makes it all worth it. “I’m just trying to get comfortable.”

You wouldn’t necessarily consider this comfortable, your ass pressed against his quickly hardening cock. The warmth and comforting presence of his body wrapped around yours, yes, you would consider that comfortable. But the growing ache in the valley of your belly—there is nothing comfortable about that.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?”

“Hmm,” you hum.

He nudges your hair away from your neck and breathes your name against your skin. “Before, I—,”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re doing but go the fuck to sleep,” Jin hisses from the other side of the tent.

You clasp your hand over your mouth, holding back your gasp of embarrassment. You can feel Tae shaking against your back, holding back laughter.

“Okay,” Tae whispers back to Jin.

His grip tightens around you and in the warmth of his arms, it’s not long before both of you are drifting off into sleep.

When you wake the sun has just started to peek above the horizon, casting a pink glow over the mountains. That crisp predawn chill still threads through the air, cutting through the thin lining of the tent and reddening your nose. But you’re surprisingly warm.

Tae is wrapped around you, but you don’t want to move. His warmth pulls you somewhere safe and secure. The feeling of his arms wrapped around you paints you in a glow that you can’t quite put a finger on. It’s effortless as you allow yourself to slip into it.

As your eyes grow heavy again, you reach down and wrap your hand around his wrist, tugging weakly.

“Tae, we should move,” you whisper. “The others…”

But he just tightens his grip and nuzzles your neck and soon your eyes are fluttering shut again, drawing you back to that easy, sweet place as you try—and fail—to write a mental note that quickly dissolves into sleep.

The next thing you know, your eyes are blinking open again, foggy with sleep. When they finally focus, you find dark, deep bunny eyes staring unwaveringly at you.

Jungkook. He’s got his head propped up on his elbow and he’s grinning at you.

“Shit,” you gasp, remembering where you. Who you are. You immediately try to untangle yourself from Tae. Since you were last awake, he’s nestled his nose into your neck and has somehow wrapped both of his arms around your torso, pulling you tightly against him. As you disentangle yourself from him, he groans and tries to pull you closer.

“Tae,” you hiss. “Let me go.”

Tae’s eyes finally pop open to find Jungkook staring at the pair with a frown on his face.

“y/n is such a cuddle whore.” He pouts. “Next time, come cuddle with me. I’m not a bony noodle-like Tae is. I do it better.” He winks.

“Fuck off,” Tae groans, flopping away from you and onto his back.

Today the group splits up.

Tae and Jungkook head off to hike while you, Jimin, and Jin split off from the rest to tackle some of the bouldering routes they scouted the day before.

This height feels different to you than that of the cliff. There’s a thrill in the ache of the challenge. You love the way you are entirely in your body as you scale the rock. In a way, it quiets the ricocheting thoughts of Tae, the spiraling sensation of his body wrapped around yours all night. You’re the last to pull yourself to the top and you quickly plop yourself in the center of the boys as they cheer you on.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Jin says, passing you a bottle of water as you sit atop the rock, looking down on a slope of evergreens. “What’s going on in that big, sexy brain of yours?”

You giggle at his phrasing. “Nothing much. Just stuck in my head a little.”

Jimin watches your expression carefully.

“Someone stuck in your head?” he asks slowly.

“No?” Jimin and Jin exchange glances, but say nothing. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” you smile sheepishly.

For the rest of the day, you push yourself hard, scaling the routes faster than ever, faster than either Jin or Jimin.

By the time you all return to the campsite from your separate adventures, laughing, a little sunburnt, and covered in dirt, you’re ready for a distraction. It’s getting dark and your muscles ache from pushing just a little too hard. You’re tired. Tired of the stirring in your chest. Tired of trying to unravel Taehyung’s indecipherable stares while your heart flutters endlessly. Excessively.

After you all head down to the shore to wash up after the long day, you help Jin with dinner. He’s always had a special touch in the kitchen, and even with the limitations of the great outdoors he manages to transform the campfire griddle into a Michelin star kitchen. Gratefully, you accept his instructions to stick to washing and chopping vegetables while he absent-mindedly flutters about the make-shift kitchen stirring and tasting and measuring. To him, this kind of magic is second nature.

Dinner is exquisite, as anticipated. You groan obscenely when the stew he's thrown together hits your tongue.

"Jin, you've done it again."

The chef blushes heartily from the praise, always a sucker for compliments.

You lean over to Jin, who’s sitting right beside you to pat him on the shoulder—but when you look over at Taehyung across the fire, his spoon is frozen halfway between his bowl and his mouth, jaw hanging open. As your eyes meet, he collects himself and throws a wink your way. You quickly look back down to your bowl, spooning more of the soupy goodness into your mouth.

You finish the meal in silence, a sign of a good, long day. Or sprouting, unreadable confusion.

Once the bowls are empty and the food is cleaned up and put away you return to the fire where you slump in your camp chair. The sound of the gentle lapping of lake waves and crickets stringing their song in the chilled air fills your head. Brings you some semblance of peace.

A peace which is very quickly broken by Jimin sprinting out of the tent wearing only his swim trunks.

"We're going swimming!" he commands, pulling you out of your chair and shoving you towards the tent to change. You laugh, never one to turn down a dip in the water. "Give the lady some privacy and then I expect every single one of you in your swimsuits and splashing in that divine lake.”

“But—it’s night time?” Jin says.

“All the better,” Jimin replies.

You laugh, hearing Jin's protests and Jungkook's excited chatter. Your heart swells with affection for your beautiful friends. Even with this new, uncanny twist of luck with the introduction of butterflies around Tae, you still feel a hard edge rise in your chest when you think about risking the friendships that have so unwaveringly supported you all these years. These people are your heart. They comprise the unending list of delights and joys that pepper your life.

It's silly, truly, to risk that all for the tension between your legs. Or the thing fluttering in your chest.

You quickly change into your bathing suit and rush out of the tent to meet Jimin in the water. He grabs your hand as you step tentatively into the cold water.

"Shit, that's freezing," you hiss.

"It's better once you're all the way in," Jimin reassures, tugging you deeper into the sun-warmed water.

He's right. Once you've gone in deep enough to duck your head under the water, it feels as if a switch is flicked.

The water surrounds you—soft, warm, reassuring.

You've always felt most comfortable in the water. There was something about the way it lifted the tension out of your bones and soothed your mind, as if when you submerged yourself within it you became connected to something larger. Larger than just you, your individuality, your problems.

Even the burning tension in your stomach that rises at the mere thought of Taehyung seems soothed by the darkness of the lake. You take a deep breath and flop belly up to float on the surface, fascinated by the split in sensation between the sharp, arid air and soft, cradling water.

The rest of the group joins you in the water, floating and splashing around. Jungkook is the last to join you, waddling to the edge of the water will a full donut inner tube and floaties.

It’s easy to fall into them. Into their crack-head humor and constant energy and endless affection. And if it weren’t for Taehyung’s lingering gaze, you could almost imagine all the events of the past twenty-four hours never happened. That you hadn’t backed yourself against the edge of some unknowable cliff in your friendship by calling out his name, by letting him wrap himself around you last night, by letting his gaze linger like this, letting it put a fiery brush to your cheeks.

How quickly you would come undone for him.

You snap out of your thoughts only to find that your gaze has been rooted on him the whole time. And his on you.

He sends you a wink and you almost scream in frustration. As much as you want to wink back this unrooted, ungrounded worry eats at you.

“Think I can make it all the way to the other bank?” you blurt out, suddenly feeling the need to shake out the feelings that are building up in your body.

“I hope you’re not expecting us to join you,” Jimin said as he floats languidly on his back.

“Nope, just need to move. See ya on the other side.” You blow an eyebrow-raised Jin a kiss and push off into the water. The water gets a little colder as you swim further out, and the chill starts to numb you, pushing out those burning, disastrous thoughts that—

“Hey! Hold up! I’m coming!” you hear an all too lovely voice call out from behind you.

So much for an escape. Well, if he’s going to be this way, you might as well push it.

“I’ll race you!” you yell over your shoulder. You kick off into the dark water. Taehyung grins and swims after your quickly disappearing figure.

The wind has died down from earlier and there’s little resistance as you glide forward, paddling sleekly through the water. With the darkness of the night, the water looks like the darkest of inks before you, a darkness only broken by threads of glossy silver moonlight on the ripples of the surface. You could be paddling through a painting for all you know.

Unfortunately for you, the splashing from behind you is getting louder—and closer.

You throw all of your energy into your stroke, the fire of exertion burning through you, cleansing you. Just as you’re finally nearing the opposite shore, something slimy slides up your leg and wraps around your thigh.

You scream bloody murder.

You shake your leg frantically, trying to get whatever the hell it is that is trying to eat you off of your fucking leg. You continue to splash and kick—until your foot hits something hard. There’s a loud splash immediately behind you and then a sharp, “Fuck!”

You whirl around to see Taehyung, clutching his face, one hand still holding onto a long green and slimy lake plant.

“Oh no, no, no,” you quickly swim over to him, trying to pry his hands away from his face. “Tae, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!”

He peeks out between his hands, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

“Gotcha.”

He’s fine. Your jaw drops and your concern quickly morphs into anger as you beat against his bare chest with clenched fists.

“Kim Taehyung! How dare you scare me like that!”

“Ow, ow!” He groans as he tries to pull you to where the water is shallow enough to stand, wrestling you around in the process so that your back is pressed against his torso and he’s got his arms crossed over your chest, capturing your wrists in a makeshift straight jacket.

“You know I have an irrational fear of lake monsters and you fucking used it against me!”

“Chill! Hey… just chill.” Taehyung cackles despite trying to soothe you. “I’m sorry, but oh my god your scream! You would have thought someone was trying to murder you.”

“You, you were trying to murder me!” you snap, squirming against his hold.

He’s still laughing, his voice echoing loudly around the lake, his chest shaking against your back.

“Ah! Tae, let me go.” You try to wiggle out of his grasp by dropping your weight and swimming underneath his arms, but in the process untie the thin straps of your swim top.

You don’t even realize it until you’ve re-emerged from the water and the cold air hits your chest.

“Oh shit,” the two of you intone.

Taehyung stays cool but immediately averts his gaze and dives below the surface to retrieve your top. It seems like forever before he resurfaces, facing away from you, eyes squeezed shut for the sake of your privacy. He blindly holds out your swimsuit to you.

There’s a moment where you consider pulling his face towards you, asking him to open his eyes to you.

Instead, you mumble a hasty “Thanks,” and turn away to press the material to your chest and re-tie it. Your fingers fumble and you can’t quite keep the material from slipping down. “Ah, Tae?” you ask.

“Yes, darling?” The pet name glides so smoothly off his tongue.

“Can you help me tie this?” You hold the fabric to your chest as you look over your shoulder at him.

“‘Course.” He swims over to you and nimbly ties the strings around your neck and your back, pulling them just tight enough. His fingers linger just a second too long on that final knot. “There, all better,” he pats your shoulders and spins you back around so you’re facing him.

Once you’re facing him though, you both go quiet. He doesn’t take his hands from your waist.

Taehyung is struck by the way the moon seems to slip down your hair, glossy and heavy with lake water. Even your dripping features seem illuminated by the thin light, as if you had captured the night and held it somewhere deep inside you to radiate outwards.

Taehyung has always known you were beautiful. Always admired your strength and your passion and loved your slap-stick humor. But the way you were looking at him now, that same half-smile from earlier gracing your lip— this is a new kind of beauty. One that has nothing to do with the lighting or your features.

His gaze has been resting on your lips for a moment too long.

“Fuck it. Can I—”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his.

For a moment you both melt into the sensation, allowing your bodies to relax against the other’s. And then his pillow-soft lips are moving against yours and everything seems to move into hyperdrive.

There is an unspoken urgency in your movements. You both press hard, desperate to release the building tension. But instead of allowing it to break and fall away from you, it seems that his lips against yours only adds to it.

He bites down on your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth.

It takes an impossible amount of strength, but you are finally able to move your lips to his cheeks to mumble, softly, “Should we stop?”

He pulls away, searching your face.

“Are you asking me to stop?”

“N-no, I’m not.”

“Good.”

You gasp as he moves his lips to your neck, biting and sucking in the most delightfully painful way.

“But the others—?”

“They can’t even imagine it,” he repeats Jungkook’s words, an edge in his voice. “They’ll be none the wiser.” He loves the thrill of a challenge, of destroying someone’s expectations. But he loves the thrill of holding you here, alone, just his, even more.

“I don’t want to mess anything up,” you say softly, even as your hands come to tangle in his hair.

He pulls back from your neck and tips your chin up so that you’re looking directly at him. “Does this feel like messing up to you?”

You chew on your lip as you think over his question.

“No. It doesn’t. It feels like something else.”

“I agree.” His eyes spark with joy as he leans down to capture your lips again. He wraps his hands around your ass, lifting you just enough so that your legs come to wrap naturally around his waist. You gasp softly as you feel his hardened bulge press against your core.

Gently, you roll your hips against his length and he grunts. Pleasure spikes as the tip of his cock slides against your clit, the thin fabric between you leaving little to the imagination. Slowly, you continue to grind up against you, egged on by the small moans slipping out from him. Hands wrapping even tighter around you,

As he continues kissing you, his hands slide down your spine, tracing each dip and bump, before pressing into the gentle valley of your lower back. Your back arches against the gentle touch. He smirks against your lips, tucking tracing into his back pocket for later.

“Does that feel good?”

“Mhmm,” you mumble, trying to chase his lips. But he pulls back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You like my cock sliding up against you? Is this what you were thinking about last night—while you were grinding with our friends sleeping right next to you?” You gasp as his teeth nip at your earlobe. “Do you know how hard you left me, that gorgeous ass pressed up against me?”

“N-no,” you gasp as he thrusts against your folds again.

“I bet there’s a part of you that wanted them to wake up and see you like that, my cock between your ass cheeks.”

“No—not like that.”

“No?” he smirks as his hips circle against you, building that singing feeling in your cunt. “Would you have stopped me if I slid those shorts to the side and just--just slipped inside you?” When you don’t answer, he pulls back and waits. “Hm?”

“No, no, I wouldn’t have.” You pull his face back to yours, kissing him fervently as he continues to thrust against you. “I wanted—,”

From the shore, you can hear Jin calling your names and you freeze. His voice sounds so distant, even though he couldn’t be more than a couple hundred feet away. You ignore it and lean into the sensation of Tae’s chilled touch, twirling your fingers into the tangles of his dark hair and pulling him closer.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want—,” But then Jin’s voice is much closer. Too close. “Shit,” you whisper against Tae’s mouth, sighing.

You ignore the frown that spreads across his face and peel his hands from your body, pushing away from him. You’ve barely just broken apart when Jin comes into view. You paddle quickly towards Jin where he stands in the shallows, still dripping, with a towel and a flashlight. You wince when he shines it directly into your eyes.

“Thank Jesus!” Jin cries. “I thought you drowned! You can’t just scream and then disappear in the dark in the lake and expect me not to b—What the hell are you doing?” he asks, suspiciously eyeing your guilty faces.

“I, uh, we—,” you stumble over your words as you emerge from the water, wrapping your arms around your chilled torso.

“YN lost her top. I was just helping her find it,” Tae flatlined.

“Ah, how very gentlemanly of you,” Jin narrows his eyes at Tae. Jin had always been protective of you, but it felt strange to have his protectiveness directed at one of the members of your own friend group.

Nonetheless, Jin wraps the towel around you and carefully escorts you back to the camp, leaving Tae slack-jawed and covering an unfortunate boner in the shallows.

tag list: @dontaskshhhhh @myimaginationsrunningwild @taehyoungmoney @taffyteffy @london-dreamer71 @satoujk @spicykoreantatertots

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fascination-street-writing · 3 years

Text

The Sea Isn’t Green, and I Love This Dream | Risotto Nero x Reader

Subtitled “Keep Smoking - I Still Love You”

If you were to look at him with those eyes of yours and smile in earnest, all for him, he would surely fall in love with you all over again. As if he ever stopped loving you in the first place.

- 2020 Holiday Gift - A Continuation of Sober to Death -

Content Warnings: Incidental Stalking, Unhealthy Smoking Habits, Past Relationships, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Angst, Regret, & Referenced Child Abuse

It is the summer of 1998. Risotto has not left his apartment in days, for he has found no reason to; there have been no new contracts, no paperwork in need of filing, and no immediate issues with the newest recruit. But today, he will venture out under the brazen sun and purchase groceries for the upcoming week. If not for the matter of his own sustenance, it will at least keep Prosciutto off his back. As if it is any of the blonde man’s business whether his Capo is eating adequately or not.

As he coasts through the aisles, searching for pre-packaged dried pasta, jarred sauce, and some kind of fresh vegetable – because Prosciutto said so –, he feels the condescending, fearful stares of patrons without needing to acknowledge them. If it is not for his stature, then certainly the peculiar coloring of his eyes. However, the ogling no longer bothers him, simply because he does not let it; after all, he is no longer the boy who once lived in Palermo.

There is a sale on pre-sliced bread. Yet, even after the discount, the name-brand loaf is still more expensive than the off-brand. He settles for the latter. It all tastes the same to him, anyways. And if he can save a thousand lire, then it is all the better. Prosciutto, he supposes, would disagree and insist that the off-brand bread is cheaper for a reason. Risotto is reminded of exactly why he does not live with the man anymore. But he still makes a conscious effort to buy fresh produce.

Basket filled, Risotto heads towards the check-out line. He knows that he has neglected to grab a bag of oranges, as denoted by the crumpled list in his hand, and he does not intend to return for them. The carton of berries and fresh figs he found along the way will be enough. Though, he does loathe forgetfulness.

The line, as he discovers and much to his dismay, is backed up. The brevity of the situation is simply that the grocery store has been understaffed as of late. Something about gang-violence and an attempted robbery – nothing that concerns him or his men. A person in his line of work fears little. Or at least, that is the theory. His thoughts linger to the new recruit, whom Prosciutto has taken under his guidance. He has always had more patience than Risotto regarding such matters.

The young Capo has lost track of exactly how long he has stood in line. Denoted by the telling grumbles of an older man behind him and the pleading of his wife to calm down, Risotto knows that it has been a while, and unreasonably so. Glancing down at his basket, a questionable consideration comes to his impatient mind: it would not be difficult to slip away, shroud himself with his Stand, and leave the grocery store with his would-be stolen goods.

It is certainly nothing to lose sleep over. In the end, however, he decides against it. Perhaps to salvage his honor and dignity, otherwise challenged by the temptation of petty thievery. Or perhaps because the line has finally moved, and it is too late to back out now. There are only two customers ahead of him now. In moments such as this, he likes to pretend that he is normal – that he might be shopping for a family that waits for him in a home somewhere in the suburbs of Napoli.

But these times have passed, and although only a man of twenty-five, he is complacent with the life as a ceaseless bachelor. A hitman does not make for a good husband, nor a father. In retrospect, Risotto hardly believes that he would want to become either. At least, not anymore.

“Merda,” the woman at the front of the line groans. She sets down the wad of cash in her hand. “I’m ₤15,000 short. Can you just put the oil back? And the sardines.”

The grocery clerk is decent at masking his annoyance with a tight smile and curt nod. It is a commendable skill, though there is room for improvement, Risotto thinks. “God, I’m so sorry. I just moved here for a new job, and my money still hasn’t transferred over to my new bank account. I should’ve taken more cash out to begin with.”

The next woman reaches into her purse and produces a neatly folded stack of lira. She taps the shoulder of the first woman, who turns. In this moment, Risotto believes he has been pummeled through the stomach. There is no other explanation to the tightening of his chest, and the heavy beating of his heart.

There you stand, as beautiful as ever, despite your apparent vexation at your own foolishness. The money quickly passes from the kind woman’s palm to that of the cashier. “Grazie, signora,” you tell her.

At first, Risotto feels nothing, as if he cannot process that which he sees before him. And then, regret – pure and unadulterated. He does not hear what the woman says to you, because the thrum of his mind has made him deaf to everything except for the ringing of his ears. You have not noticed him, unlike every other customer in the establishment, and he would like to keep it that way. You accept the bag of groceries from the cashier, but Risotto does not stick around to see it. He has already pushed past the perturbed husband and wife behind him, with every intention of finding a new line to stand in. He does not care how tedious it will be to make it out of the store. He does not care if the tub of gelato in his basket melts, or if the berries turn to mush.

Risotto will do anything to spare the fleeting glance of the only woman whom he ever loved. And if that means waiting another twenty minutes, then by god, he will wait.

He wonders, as he sits in his office with a blazing cigarette dangling from his lips, if you still smoke. In truth, he has always known that you only ever did it to impress him. He wishes you would not have indulged in this solidary habit – in fact, he wishes you had not done a lot of things, like becoming his closest friend and adolescent savior. His first kiss, or his first lament in the pitfall of countless others.

Clouds cling to the ceiling, seeping into the walls and furniture. If his landlord were not so intimidated by Risotto, then surely the parsimonious man might evict him for ruining the apartment with the stench of cigarettes and the occasional blood stain on the carpet. He supposes that he ought to at least open the window. Just beyond his reach atop the desk is his computer. If he wants to, he can find out every miniscule detail of your adult life and more that has collected over the past seven years, since the moment he left you a young, broken woman who did not mourn him. Every bank transaction, gas receipt, and occasional splurge for an object attributed to various degrees of pleasure – where you are working, where you live, and why you have come back to haunt him.

It is none of his concern, and he does not have the right to pry; not after the hurt he has done unto you, back when you were still two lovers who were, well, in love. He hopes you have found some semblance of happiness, and he will not impede on whatever that may be. But, like an incurable ailment, confliction strikes him. Indeed, he told himself that it is not his guile to cause you further grief. And yet, Risotto yearns for you all over again.

All this time spent living in a world wherein he does not exist to you, how often did thoughts of him cross your mind? Did you think of his ghastly red eyes whenever you have welcomed a new paramour into your bed, and compare the sizes of their hands to his? Did you think of him each time you drove that hand-me-down junker of your father’s, avoiding the backseat like the plague until the engine finally died and you had no choice but to purchase a new car? How long did it take you to scrub out the stains from the upholstery and your skin?

As it were, keeping the distance between you two is effortless. But unearthing unhealed wounds, all in some venture of self-retribution to heal them right, is just as inviting. There is simply too much that might go wrong again – the risks, far too great. Dissociation has served him well enough thus far. Surely, he can keep it up, this manneristic habit of his. It is funny, he finds; that as teenagers, you had once promised that you would always be there for him. It was an undeserving luxury, and one that he often took for granted. Now, though he recognizes in his heart that he still needs you, he wants you gone. For his sake or yours, he knows not.

But it would be nice to be held by you, one last time.

Breaking self-promises, like stepping on broken glass just to hear the crack, is an addiction. You are an addiction, and it was only a matter of time before Risotto had found himself in your company more often than he ought to. In any instance, he avoids your radar, and remarkably so. And yet, the tenacity of your existence drives him mad, and he finds himself asking – perchance under the steady trickle of water in the shower or as he lies in bed at night – if you are truly there, or nothing more than an apparition brought forth from his guilty conscious. That, though now he sees you comparing dress fabrics at the boutique across the street, it is conceivably not truly you but rather another woman – a stranger – with the same color hair.

Alas, you exist in both dreams and materiality.

Each moment that he stumbles upon you, from a respectable distance, he notices something irrevocably new: scuffed Mary Janes exchanged for pointed and polished kitten heels, and pleated skirts swapped for hand-tailored dress pants, creased to suggest your sophistication. As for him, he still wears torn jeans when in public. Unless of course, he is working – then it is a pair of striped pants reminiscent of a caricatured prison inmate’s uniform.

He notices, too, the greater attention taken to your hairstyling and makeup. Maturity is becoming of you, but he always thought you were pretty, even before you had learned how to properly apply eyeshadow and lip gloss. Your clumpy mascara never vied to drive him away. In fact, he rather liked it, but only because it was unapologetically you.

He does not mean to follow you to a café after you leave the boutique, arms cradling several shopping bags amongst your purse and a chic leather briefcase. Invisible to the human eye, Risotto falls in step at your side, so close that he can smell your perfume. It is no longer the olfactory copycat of whatever Versace musk you had always begged your mother to buy for you from the drugstore just down the street from your childhood home. Whatever it is now is unfamiliar, albeit comforting.

The café is quiet at this point in the afternoon. The baristas chatter amongst themselves at the counter, and the ambience music humming through the wall speakers is not unpleasant, although not entirely enjoyable, either. Unbeknownst to you, Risotto takes the seat across from you at the corner booth nearest to the window. It must be a coveted spot, he deduces, for the lighting here is impeccable. Mindful of the blackened coffee atop the table, you open your suitcase and produce a neatly pressed stack of photographs, clothing sketches, and glamour shots.

He observes all of it, and only then does he realize that the new career you spoke of to the grocery store clerk is one in the field of fashion design. And what better city in all of Italia to pursue such a thing than Napoli? He wishes he could have been there to witness the bloom of your success, first-hand – and more, he yearns to exist alone at your side for every last day that you both should live.

All of this at nothing more than your expense. Truly, something impermissibly unforgiveable, if he knew that his baggage – if his very being – is enough to hold you back from everything you deserve. It is why he left. At least now, he can see that his grievous mistake was not for naught.

Your coffee has gone cold. Too focused on correcting shading issues in your blueprints and selecting models for an upcoming show, you have neglected it. Did you even need the coffee, or was it just a show of your poise? How would you react, Risotto wonders, if he were to bring you a fresh cup and allow you to see him? Would you thank him – hug him even? Or scream, kick him away, and throw the scalding hot beverage in his face. He should pray for the former, though the latter would be the easiest to cope with. Because, if you were to look at him with those eyes of yours and smile in earnest, all for him, he would surely fall in love with you all over again. As if he ever stopped loving you in the first place.

He imagines what it must be like to be a part of your new life. He wants nothing more than to reach across the table, to place his shaken palm over the manicured hand clasped around the red felt-tip pen, and ask how your day has been. And the day before. And the day before even then. You might drop the pen too, only to lace your fingers with his and grin. “It’s been great, Ris,” you would say. “Really great, but even better now.”

Instead, you scribble notes in the margins with that same hand and tap your foot to the steady beat of music. How wonderful it must be for those who are capable of picking up where they once left off a lifetime ago. If, after all this time, you are so inclined to adore him again, then you must be the most winsome little fool in the world – but his, nonetheless.

Risotto cannot recall when last he received a contract from the Don, assigned explicitly to the silver-haired man. And so, rather than cooping himself away in the confines of his apartment, smoking until his stomach lurches and he might faint, he roams the city, pegging to the chance that he might find you. The fresh air – as fresh as the air in Napoli can possibly be – is good for him, anyways.

This afternoon, he finds you leaving the post office whilst balancing a packed cardboard box with outstretched arms. You are dressed down, just as he supposes that most normal people do on their days off. Curiosity baits him, like a bobble in the ocean; he shrouds himself and follows you up the cobblestone street ramp, past a row of municipal buildings, down the winding path behind one of many shopping plazas, and directly into the living room of your apartment. He never meant to get this far.

The smooth voice of Mina Mazzini echoes from the turntable atop a wrought-iron accent table placed beside an oak bookshelf containing more decorative figurines and houseplants than actual books. Certainly, your taste in music has not changed. Neither has your preference for caramel-scented candles. For a moment – ever so fleeting – he is a teenage boy again, standing just before bedroom window with his knuckles poised to rapt against the glass. He never told you, for he hid it well behind a stony expression, just how nervous he always felt before visiting you.

More than anything else in his adolescent life, he had feared that one day, you would turn him away. He scarcely cared when his mother verbalized her disgust and chastisement of the boy, or if his father struck him with the belt of his work jeans. Because, in the end, the abuse always gave him a reason to see you. You were his optimistic little silver lining,

Although your sense in interior design is far more elegant than your parents ever fancied, Risotto feels like he is finally home again. It must be the music and the candle – or perhaps it is just the grace of your presence in the setting of domesticity. You set the box on the coffee table and disappear into the kitchen, only to reappear with a stainless-steel knife. He understands his unwarranted intrusion, but just as he makes his way towards the door to leave, your cellphone rings.

“Ciao, Mamma!” you say as you switch to speakerphone. There is only static until your mother speaks to you.

She still sounds the same, though the strain of age weighs heavily on her tone. Suddenly, Risotto is throwing rocks at your window in the nighttime, avoiding the parched tithonias of your father’s garden with his battered sneakers. But this time, it is not you who beckons him in – it is your mother and her infectious altruism that he coveted because she cherished him more than his own mother ever did. She leads him to the dining room table, where you and your father wait, and presents to him a plate of pasta con le sarde.

“Ciao, bambina. Did you get that package I sent yet?”

No questions asked, unless only to inquire if he would like more to drink, or perhaps a second serving; your mother always made extra just in case he needed to get away from home for the night, or if his parents forgot to feed him. He misses his family – his real one, which he thwarted away for trifling revenge. The mere thought of it all sends pangs through his chest, and he thinks he has forgotten how to breathe properly. His mind veers into nothingness, but he knows that everything hurts.

“Mhm! It came today, actually. I’m opening it now.”

Petrified, he watches from across the room as you slice through the packing tape and begin sorting through the box’s contents – assorted bobbles and trinkets of your childhood that were unintentionally left behind after you had moved to Napoli. A few CDs, family photographs, and a work of ceramics-class pottery that had not survived its journey from Palermo. You do not seem bothered by it. Instead, you sweep away the fragmented pieces into a neat pile.

At the very bottom of the box is a scrapbook, ragged from the years of diligent pondering. Several of its pages have stuck together from excess globs of crafting glue. Risotto remembers your endearing hobby, and how embarrassed you had always been to show him your collection. And so, he never asked to see them, though not because he lacked the interest. It must be true that a person is shaped by their early experiences – you spent your youth collaging models with pretty clothes from the pages of magazines; now, you are a considerably successful fashion designer, given your age. Meanwhile, Risotto murdered a man at eighteen – and now, seven years later, he is Passione’s lead hitman. At least he is good at his job, too.

“Uh oh, that didn’t sound good. Don’t tell me that vase broke. I knew I should’ve wrapped it.”

Your dear mother: forgetful and heedless on occasion, though honest by it. You peel the scrapbook open and perch it on your lap, mindful of the delicate spine. Loose bits of glitter trickle from the pages and stick to your pants. Next falls a photograph, separated from the family ones, and wedged away for safe keeping. It is a still-shot of you and Risotto.

“Don’t worry about it! I can just glue it back together.”

However, to be honest, the vase is beyond repair; you have lied to your mother to soothe her guilt. Risotto’s attention has been taken by the photograph on the floor. There, you both sit on the floral-patterned couch that used to adorn your parents’ living room. You lean on his shoulder, beaming to the camera, as he stares ahead, stagnant. Truly, he wanted to smile and to throw his arm around you. He refrained; he did not want to look weak in front of your mother, who had taken the photograph that day.

Because his father never let him forget the vulnerability of emotions.

“Well, that’s good to hear. Listen, dolce, I’ve got to go. Tuo padre needs help in the workshop. But I’ll call you later. Ti amo, ti amo!”

In this moment, he lets his guard down, albeit inadvertently so. Metallica dissipates, and for the first time in what feels like forever – or at least, far too many years worth counting – Risotto Nero surmises that he might cry. As opposed to when you were both still young, it will be easier to run away now: no confrontation, and none of that selfish heartbreak. The gap between him and the door may be closed in two strides. In two strides, he will leave you again, for evermore. And even when he is gone, he will keep telling himself that this is for the best.

“Ti amo, Mamma.”

You reach down for the photograph. You had not meant to let it fall, though you suppose there is little use of it now, if not to keep it as a memento of your own perpetual loss. You dust it off and shake away the green and gold specks of glitter that adhere to the lamination. When the floorboards creak, you look up and meet the pleading gaze of the man whom you think you hate, and whom you think you love. You are good at pretending to do either. And thus, as you both wait in brooding quietude, you know not whether to call the police or to hurry into his arms. You are still, frozen in time – frozen in life.

As for Risotto, he longs for cicadas and katydids to break the terse silence that looms between you two.

Or maybe, just a cigarette.

| 3724 Words |

#risotto nero x reader #risotto x reader #risotto nero #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader

77 notes · View notes

fakeloveaskblog · 3 years

Note

Patty have you ever asked Janus to join for dinner when you meet him? Maybe that can somehow help Logan with his flirting? Or at least get Janus more relaxed?

(btw you're adorable ily!!)

(*cracks knuckles* Oh yeah baby we’ve gotten to the angst. Words: 2364 )

Patty: ": D Oh hello lil magical bird who just talked to me! I love you too!! I didn't want to barge in too much into their relationship but now when my honeypie has asked him out once already I guess I can help just a bit!"

Patty had sunglasses on to look like a secret agent. This was an important step in her plan, she swore on it. She sneaked into the open library while chuckling to herself.

She glanced around and almost immediately caught her eye on Janus standing in the reception. She did a few sneaky walks between the bookshelves before sliding up to him.

"Hello Janister!" She greeted with a bright smile while putting her elbows on the reception to lean closer.

"Hiya PatPat. Logan is off helping a customer but he'll be back soon"

"Oh silly I'm not looking for him right now. I am actually here to ask if you could come over to our place tonight. You see I'm planning on making Jambalaya but I always make too much! I'm talking leftovers up to the roof!! But if a third person was there maybe I would be able to make a perfect amount" She lied. She was making jambalaya for Janus purposes alone!

Janus' heartrate shot through the atmosphere "To- me?- your place?- tonight?- I uh- I don't know if I have time-"

She pouted and did her puppy eyes "You sure? You don't have to if you don't want to!! But it would be nice!"

He let out a happy sigh "Sure"

She took his hand and let out a sqeaul "aaah Great! It'll be so fun!!"

---

Logan was leaning down so Patty could help him with his bowtie. "Are you completely sure I look adequate?" He asked.

"Oh honeybee, You look super duper ultra adequate. You're literally wearing a sweater with a math pun on it!!"

"Hmm sound argument. I can not deny the sexiness of math puns"

A knock came on the door. The couple stared at each other. Logan stimmed out of nervousness. Patty gave him a quick kiss before pointing between him and the door. They did a good luck high five.

Logan combed his hair back and leaned on the wall to look cool as he opened the door. Janus stood on the other side looking like a sardine that had just been pressed into a can.

He had on a purple vest with embroidered flowers details and with a long sleeved black button up under. Also a very funky pair of stripped pants with even funkier yellow snake socks under.

"Greetings Jan. You are looking" Like a dream. Like someone he wanted to kiss right this moment. "Very good"

"Aww are you trying to be a snake charmer Log-boy" Janus replied with a smirk.

"I am not a log or a boy. I'm an adult man made out of meat"

"You better be because I'm starving" He had downed 2 shots of vodka before coming to try to and cool his extreme anxiety. He was a lightweight.

Logan lead him into the living room "Are....Are you implying cannibalism?"

Janus shrugged while smiling.

The apartement truly did look like a mismatch of the couple's personalities. The walls were filled with maps of constellations and uplifting cat posters. On the bookshelfs cook books and travel books were stacked next to thick philosophy books and essays. The decorations were either cute porcelain animals, magical anime girl figurines or figurines of characters from Lo's different hyperfixations. The sofa was filled with fluffy blankets and pillows and stuffies were scattered around the light blue carpet filling the living room.

“Do you want to watch star trek while eating?” Logan asked with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“As long as I get to watch your beautiful face as well” Janus flirted back while doing an unsteady fingergun.

“Oh- Of course” His crush’s sudden forwardness was making his heart flutter.

Janus curled up in the corner of the couch, making himself as small as possible. Logan sat down pretty far away from him.

He started the first episode. Janus had a constant smile on his face as he listened to Logan go between telling him facts and gushing over his favorite moments. All while he could hear Patty in the kitchen half singing along to dad rock.

“Does she want help with that?” Janus, known gentleman and also nervous wreck, asked.

“She’ll tell us if she need it. She likes cooking. I like baking. It usually works out”

Janus got an amused look on his face “You’re into baking? So all those times at work when you brought desserts, that was your making?”

“Yes. And they were delicious. Anything wrong with that?”

“No. No. I simply didn’t take you for the type”

“Well cooking involves creativity and there’s room for your own ideas. Baking doesn’t. It is only about following a structure and doing kitchen chemistry. Of course I love it” He lowered his voice “It is also tremendously good for when you need to flirt without words”

“Oh really? I better start looking up recipes then” He pulled in Logan's bowtie “You have any favorites?”

In his head he had the guts to say ‘Your lips against mine would be my favorite’ in reality he said “HehuHFKdjf jam drops in the shape of heart. The heart part is important. It adds to the taste”

“It usually does”

Janus slowly looked him up and down. And then he realized what the fuck he was doing. He shot back into his corner of the sofa like a naked rat. Logan sat still with blushing cheeks, staring at the tv but not taking in anything that was happening except his racing heart.

“Done!” Patty exclaimed, coming in with a big ass fucking pot of jambalaya and a just as big bottle of wine.

She saw the nervous state both of the guys were in and quickly made up a plan. She slammed the pot down onto the coffee table and moved the blankets so they took up about half of the couch. Then she sat down using up as much space as possible leaving the guys no choice but to move closer to each other, If both of them sat their hands down they would touch.

Patty cuddled up to her husband with a proud smile on her face. Logan moved his arm around her.

“It looks great sweetheart” He pressed a kiss to her cheek making her giggle.

“So do you!! And so does mr. star trek captain man!”

She enjoyed the hell out of her jambalaya while the two idiots sent each other awkward smiles. Janus downed his glass of wine in record speed. (He took it slower with the food, he didn’t want to seem disgusting).

The whole star trek episode went by. Logan asked Janus a thousand excited questions about how much he liked it. All of his answers made the nerd happy stim. They put on a documentary none of them were really interested in the background while continuing to chat. Patty went on a long epic story about how a kid at her daycare had tried to bite her finger off last week.

“Soooo” Patty sudenly changed the topic. She said it with an innocent tone “My nerdy lil honeypie over here had the biggest crush on Data for a while. It was adorable. ANd while we’re on the topic” The look she gave Janus was happy but it still sent shivers down his spine “You having any crushes lately? Just curious!”

Both of the men internally gasped at the audacity. The gall! The sheer power!! Janus was sweating like a naked rat who had just been clad for the first time.

“...Well.......I have actually been meaning to....Ask about the polyamourous thing?”

The couple exhanged knowing glances before looking back at him “Mhm yeah Mhm” “I am poly and also a thing so I am an expert in this”

“So...I totally haven’t fallen in love with 3 people. 2 of which I met in the span of around a week”

Patton did a double thumbs up. Logan took a long sip from his wine. “We’re all gossipy bitches here. Tell all about it”

“Well. The first one is Remy-”

“The one with the sunglasses?”

“...Yes...Are....Don’t tell me they’re a serial killer”

Patty broke up into a chuckle “Logie-bogie tried to kiss them while he was drunk once”

“I threw up on their shoes”

“He threw up on their shoes!”

Logan saw the terror in Janus’ face as he worried that maybe 2 of his crushes were exes and quickly added “We are only acquaintance and I was momentarily struck by the impressive lenght of their legs”

Janus went on to gush about Remy and Remus. Why he loved them. All the dates he had daydreamed about. And then finally his voice was shaking when he mentioned just having a third crush.

Patty let out a long yawn before he could say anything more. She stood up “Well looks like it’s time to snooze! I assume 2 big burly ultra masculine men like you two can handle the dishes”

“It will be a challenge but we shall do our best. Goodnight honey” Logan kissed her.

She leaned in and whispered “Good luck Logie-bear! You got this”

She giggled mischievously while going off into the bedroom. She closed the door behind her. Only the two lovebirds were left now.

“So the third crush? Who’s the lucky gentleman?” Logan asked.

Janus held onto his newly refilled wine glass so hard it nearly cracked. He forced a smile “Wouldn’t you want to hear about the fake couples counseling I go to together with Remus instead?”

“Fake what now?”

“Well me and Remus, who I am hopelessly in love with even though he clearly doesn’t feel the same way, started going to a therapist pretending we were a couple to see how long it would take before he realized we didn’t know each other. He hasn’t realized anything yet. It’s great!”

It looked like Logan’s eyes was about to bulge out of his skull “That sounds illegal. It should be. You are dragging shame onto the face of psychology you double dumbass!”

“I have done nothing wrong ever in my entire life and frankly I deserve to waste even more therapist’s time” Janus replied.

He let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose “Which therapist is it that you’re harassing exactly?”

“Dr. Picani”

Logan’s eyes widened and he shut his lips tightly “Emile Picani?”

“Yes.....Please don’t tell me he’s a serial killer”

He slowly looked away while taking a sip from his wine “I have had intercourse with that man”

Janus choked on his drink. He coughed while staring at his friend with wild eyes “YOU FUCKED MY THERAPIST????”

“No.......He fucked me” Logan replied in a quiet tone. “Besides he’s not even your real therapist”

“He is still a sort of therapist man to me! I told him I enjoy Lana Del Rey. That was a very intimate moment for me!”

“Well I had a very intimate moment with him too”

Janus looked at him with flushed cheeks and wide eyes. He let out a chuckle which turned into a laugh which turned into Logan not being able to not laugh along which turned into the room filling with nothing but flustered happiness and laughter.

Logan grabbed onto his crush’ arm just to have some contact with him while his eyes teared up from laughter. Janus leaned his head against his shoulder and curled up close to him while giggling so much his stomach hurt.

“Oh we’re idiots” Janus sighed.

“We are. We truly are”

They stayed sitting like that. So so close. Logan’s arm around him. Janus breathing being felt against the other man’s skin. Their hands touching. Only comfortable silence surrounded them.

A few minutes went by. Janus looked at him shuly. His thoughts worrying about everything and anything “Should we- ehm- the dishes?”

The moment broke. Logan moved away before standing up “I uh yeah- we should”

It was strange. Just dishing together with his crush made Logan happy. All he could think about was getting to be this close, this domestic, with him every day. Getting to wake up next to him. Kiss his knuckles. Share a morning with him.

“Who was the third crush by the way?” Logan asked, glancing over at his crush.

Janus stared down into the water “I- I can’t say it”

“Understandable”

He stopped and turned fully to look at Janus. He had never been more unsure of where to put his hands before.

“Well I can...Say it I mean....I....I...Janus.....You make me happy just by being near me...You are so wonderful...I....I love you”

Logan couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He took a step forward and cupped Janus’ cheeks. He leaned forward, so close, so close that their noses and foreheads were pressed against each other. It felt like had been starving for this.

Janus froze. His wide eyes stared in shock at the other man. His hand moved up to his chest on instinct, to try and push him away.

Logan noticed his reaction. Of course he did. It was blindingly obvious. He forced himself to move away. He forced the desire to kiss him to simmer out.

“I-I’m sorry-” He mumbled out.

“No....Lo..” Janus took his hand. Holding it so so lightly in his own “I know” He looked up at him “I know. I’m sorry. I should go”

A horrible feeling of guilt filled Logan’s throat “You don’t have to”

“I should go” He repeated, letting go of his hand.

Logan walked after him as he went to get his jacket “A date. Do you want to go on a date? Not just a hangout. Janus I- I want so badly to be close to you. We could go to the zoo, look at the snakes?”

Janus held his hand on the handle of the door. He didn’t look at Logan “Thanks for having me over”

He left. Logan stood alone in the hallway. His arms hanging helplessly at his sides.

#(:#loceit #mini fic #logicality #logan sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides #patton sanders

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painless-innit-colourful · 3 years

Text

‘Where I Go, Will You Still Follow?’ - A Clingyduo Fic from the Hunger Games AU

In the most ironic twist, I missed Tommy’s lore stream on Monday writing Clingyduo comfort/hurt (in that order). I wasn’t sure whether this fandom needed any more angst right now, but whatever, take this anyway. This fic is set in a Hunger Games AU where the characters of the Dream SMP reside in Panem and must compete in the Games. Only Tommy + Tubbo appear in this fic though. Angst reigns supreme on Reaping Day, where the boys face the possibility of being picked for the deadly Hunger Games for the first time. (Also I promise you don’t have to have read HG to get this.)

tw nothing really, they’re only being reaped here.

word count: 3102

On the morning of the reaping, two boys tread carefully through a desolate orchard.

At this time of year, the trees are mostly left to their own devices. In about six months their boughs will bear fruit, and there will be plenty of people scurrying to and fro beneath them collecting their bounty to be stored and sent to the Capitol. Those very boys will join them. However, on that late Spring morning there is no one about. During this season the trees require only the occasional pruning, and everyone’s still in bed this early anyway. No reason to get up on a day where you don’t need to. Public holidays like this are rare.

Tommy and Tubbo hold hands as they move through the trees. Old habit, they suppose, a defense mechanism against getting split up, for better or worse. With the number of people in their district it can make public gatherings hazardous for lonely children, and if there’s anything worse than getting caught alone in a stampede, it’s getting left behind in a chase. If one boy falls, so does the other. If one boy is caught with his hand in the larder, the other will be nearby. The two of them are a package deal: where one goes, the other follows.

They only stop when they’re sure they’re properly alone, deep in the orchard. It would take anyone hours to find them; it would take most people hours to get out from this point. But years spent traversing these paths - both from the ground and the branches above - have given them an instinctual knowledge on which way to go. They settle in beneath a large apple tree; lush and green now that the blossoms have since blown away. They go about unwrapping several grease paper packages that were previously weighing down their pockets as Tommy hums a tune to keep them company. Tubbo shuffles uncomfortably as they lay out a small breakfast of half a loaf of bread - dark and dotted with seeds, District 11’s signature - a petite disc of cheese that Tubbo suspects Tommy sat on at some point, and an apple each. Food they either squirreled away from the pantry at the orphanage or stole outright. The thought pinches Tubbo’s cheeks.

“What’s that sour face for?” Tommy asks him, flicking his eyes up every so often as he arranges the cheese on the bread with a tiny knife stashed in his boot and breaks the half-crescent of bread roughly in half. “You’re not still worried about getting caught.”

Tubbo sighs, and it tells Tommy all he needs to know. “C’mon! We covered our tracks and literally no one saw us.” When Tubbo’s expression doesn’t change, he puts a comforting hand on his friend’s arm. “Well, definitely no one saw you. I’ll take the hit for it, if they find out.”

“No, it’s- fine.”

“Your face says otherwise, my friend.” All the same, Tommy retracts his arm and finishes haphazardly spreading the cheese upon the bread. He nudges one of the apples towards Tubbo with his foot, “Here, start.”

“Excuse me, the apple comes after the main course, how dare you break tradition.”

“My apologies, my liege.”

The easy smile returns briefly to Tubbo’s face as they laugh, then quickly melts away again. Tommy fixes him with a sympathetic look. “What?” Tubbo asks, locking eyes with him as he finishes brutalising the cheese and hands him his half. “You’re worried about the reaping.”

“And you’re not?”

“Should I be?” When Tubbo gives him a sideways glare, Tommy shrugs. “Dude, it’s a tiny chance. Two in thousands and thousands. You’re more likely to get struck by lightning than have either of our names fished out of the bowl.” And though Tommy was likely skewing his numbers a bit, he supposed it was true. It was their first year of reapings and neither of them had taken any tesserae. They were about as safe as you could be between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Still…

“Besides,” Tommy continued. “If your name gets called, I’m sure someone would volunteer for you.” He barely makes it to the end of his sentence before Tubbo’s noise of dismissal drowns him out. “Yeah right. Let’s be realistic here.” Tommy leans back against the tree as he eats. Sunlight peeks through the branches at random intervals, illuminating him in softly glowing patches. He turns his head slightly and beckons Tubbo over with a nod. They shift their bodies and the food around until they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder between two large roots, and Tubbo finds that the sunlight is almost as warm as Tommy beside him.

They remain in that position for some time, eating their way through their swindled picnic. It’s a bit much for an ordinary breakfast, but it’s somewhat of a tradition to have something special on reaping day. Makes the hours standing in the square while the Mayor drones on about how it’s right to send two children to their deaths a bit more bearable. According to those traditions, you’re supposed to celebrate with a meal after the reaping too, though neither boy is quite sure where that convention came from. Not many in District 11 could afford it in any case.

At some point Tubbo drops a hand to the floor between them, and at some later instance Tommy places his where their fingers can interlace. “You’re nervous too.” Tubbo states without looking at his companion, instead remaining as he is, staring past the leaves to the clear blue sky. “No way.” Tubbo giggles at Tommy’s indignant tone. “A big man like me is not scared of being picked in the reaping.”

“Fearless he is, Big Man Tommy.”

“Too right!” They laugh, and the terror their giggles mask bubbles just beneath the surface, a pot mere seconds from boiling over.

“Look, Tommy,” Tubbo’s voice becomes serious, and Tommy’s laughter peters out. “It’s all well and good laughing and joking about it, but… In the event one of us is chosen…” Their eyes meet and Tubbo squeezes Tommy’s hand, to which Tommy returns the grip. “I need you to tell me you remember our promise.” In response, Tommy sighs, drops Tubbo’s hand, puts that arm around his best friend’s shoulder, pulls him close and runs his free hand through his hair, almost all simultaneously. “Yes of course I remember it.”

“And?” Tubbo replies expectantly.

“And what?”

“Say it, you dummy.” Tommy places his free hand over his heart like a salute. “I, Tommy Innit, promise my dearest friend Tubbo Underscore, that if he is chosen for the Hunger Games in this afternoon’s reaping, I will not volunteer to take his place.” He waits for Tubbo to relax, satisfied, before tacking on: “Thus letting him be led away to a faraway place to be on television then get brutally murdered, also on television. “ He can feel Tubbo’s eye roll without even looking. “You made me promise the same.”

“Yeah I did, didn’t I?” He admits quietly, leaning his head against his best friend’s, brown curls obscuring half his vision.

“It’ll be okay, right?”

“Yeah.” Tubbo’s hair smells faintly of apples, somehow. Tommy squeezes his best friend and hopes he won’t have to betray him.

Unbeknownst to him, Tubbo has the same thought.

---

The duo spend the hours before the reaping as they usually do: sleeping in each others embrace somewhere they technically shouldn’t be, pretending the clothes they have to change into back at the orphanage are any better than what they’re changing out of, and hogging the second floor bathroom for way longer than necessary. The black storm cloud that is the reaping casts a longer shadow than previous years, but they manage to ignore it for most of the morning with enough shenanigans to fill their quota for the year. The clouds threaten to burst however when the time reaches half twelve, and the parentless teenagers of the district begin to make their way towards the square where the ceremony will take place. The once-blue sky darkens as the crumbling facade of the Justice Building comes into view, as if nature were waiting for her cue, and Tommy wonders if he jinxed himself with his earlier comments about being struck by lightning.

He’s holding Tubbo’s hand again - standard crowd procedure - and he’s thankful for about the millionth time that they’re the same age. They head with the other twelve year old orphans to the corresponding pen for their age group, and find themselves sandwiched in the centre. Tubbo exchanges a few words with some of their peers, most likely to be ‘Good luck’, but Tommy’s not really concentrating. The square is already full and still there’s many more people to come, and with every person that joins the crowd there will only be more cramming the possible tributes together like sardines in a tin. There have been crushes at reapings before; they tell them in school about the reaping for the seventh games, where too many spectators packed the floor and there was a panic that killed four people, including one kid in the crowd. In an ironic twist, their name was later pulled from the ball, and their escort had to be informed live on stage in front of the entire nation that they’d died earlier that day.

Decidedly, the odds were not in their favour.

Tommy doesn’t like to admit it, but tight spaces get to him. And here, packed in by bodies with camera crews perched high on the rooftops over the crowd, scanning for the faces that will leave the district tonight, he feels like a fish in a barrel. “Hey-” Tubbo’s voice reaches him through the din of thousands of people talking at once, but he sounds a million miles away. He practically crushes Tubbo’s fingers with his own, and, in retaliation, Tubbo flicks him on the nose. He blinks at him angrily for a second, the distraction welcome despite his show of annoyance. “Breathe, Tommy.” He forces air in and out of his lungs for about thirty seconds just to make sure he still can. Tubbo traces stars on the back of his hand.

By the time the Mayor’s stepped up to the podium and began his yearly recitation of the history of Panem, Tommy thinks he’s calmed himself down somewhat. Tubbo still traces stars in little pentagram patterns on Tommy’s hand with his thumb, and though it’s starting to get a little irritating, something stops him from signalling him to knock it off. He glances briefly sideways to Tubbo, and though his expression is mostly blank, the two have gotten used to watching each other’s tics and tells, signs that are imperceptible to anyone else but them. The small twitch at the corner of his mouth, the way he scrunches his nose slightly when he blinks, even the way he presses a little too hard with his thumb, his patterns becoming less uniform and the edges of his nails leaving little scratches. He’s as scared as Tommy. So he lets him keep doing it, for both their sakes.

The Mayor finishes his history lecture, reads the list of past victors and then finally introduces the District 11 escort, a spritely-looking man in a bottle-green suit called Montaque. He’s been the district’s escort for a few years, and Tommy and Tubbo used to joke his mustache was so spiky-sharp looking you could win a Games by using it as a weapon. He seems to glide across the stage as he gives a speech about District pride or some nonsense, then utters the classic phrase, “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour.”

He crosses the stage to the front where two glass balls sit, holding thousands of tiny slips of paper. A lump forms in Tommy’s throat. Somewhere in one of those balls there’s two slips of paper that could serve as their one way ticket to the Capitol. He knows they’re somewhat lucky: some kids their age have many more slips thanks to tesserae, but Tommy feels a pang in his chest even as he thinks about it. Some kids have parents. Some kids have somewhere to put their tesserae so it won’t immediately get stolen. He and Tubbo may have considered it, but what use would they have for grain and oil when on most days they could barely hold onto their bedsheets? It was one less thing to worry about.

Montaque the Stupid sticks one of his disproportionately-large hands into the first glass ball, and retrieves a slip of paper, and Tommy begs inside his mind, not us not us not him. He reads the name, and the entire world suddenly stops spinning. Somewhere in the back of Tommy’s mind is a lag, like when one person in a chain of people passing produce from a field to a wagon disappears. The chain does its best to keep up, but it’s very quickly overwhelmed, leaving debris in the form of dropped vegetables and a backlog that needs to be attended to.

That’s how it feels inside Tommy’s head as the crowd parts for him, a sea of people craning their necks as they shuffle aside to form a runway for him towards the stage. This can’t be happening. His mind can’t catch up to the fact, doesn’t want to catch up to the fact that this is happening. He glances to his side and immediately regrets the action, for Tubbo stands beside him looking equal parts shell shocked and distressed. Their eyes meet, teary and desperate, and Tommy only has the strength to mouth ‘Promise’, before his feet start to carry him towards the stage alone, and his hand in Tubbo’s becomes an outstretched arm. When they finally let go Tommy can feel the ghost of his friend’s hand in his own, and knows that it will be one of the last kind touches he ever receives. He tries not to think of that as he half-marches towards the veranda. He doesn’t look back for fear it’ll set him off crying, but if he were to, he would see Tubbo standing impossibly alone in such a huge crowd, holding the hand that held Tommy’s to his chest.

He mounts the stage and looks out over the people of the district he calls home, a tiny voice in his head telling him to make the most of this last time. Last time. He searches for Tubbo in the crowd, spotting him easily by the empty pathway he just walked down being slowly absorbed back into the crowd. He can see even from here the tears shining on his cheeks, the way his whole body shakes with the effort of holding more back. There’s a couple orphanage kids looking like they’re trying to console him, and, if Tommy should weigh in, doing a pretty sh’it job. He looks away to watch Montaque snatch the second slip of paper from the glass ball, and he tenses every fibre of his being shouting internally please please please. The name is read, and this time Tommy finds himself still breathing and present as some older kid makes his own shaky way to the podium. He’s about fourteen, with a stocky build that betrays work in the crop fields. As he takes his place opposite Tommy, the young boy is reminded that the Games will be full of people like him. Stronger, older opponents. Tommy, at the monumental age of twelve, doesn’t stand a chance.

The moment lingers, and then it keeps lingering, and then Tommy turns to Montaque to find out why the da’mn moment won’t move on. He’s staring out into the crowd once more, and Tommy’s heart, already too heavy, drops straight into his boots as he follows Montaque’s gaze. The crowd parts once more, and Tubbo strides forward, a shaky confidence marking his every step. The murmurs around the square hush, as he comes to stand mere metres from the tributes. Tommy wants to catch his eye, shake his head, scream at him to stop, but Tubbo doesn’t look at him. Tommy knows exactly what he intends to do as he opens his mouth; Tommy mouths the words along with him.

“I volunteer as tribute.”

Now you’ve gone and done it.

Montaque, biggest pri’ck on the planet, waxes lyrical about courage and bravery while he arranges the exchange of the fourteen year old for Tubbo. As if he’d ever know what it is to be brave. As the Mayor takes over once more, reading the Treaty of Treason as he is bound by duty to do, Tommy tries to catch the attention of his best friend, who’s acting annoyingly aloof. He watches as Tubbo stares into the distance, looking alarmingly calm with the whole ordeal. Tommy wants to scream, and do a bit more than scream and call him all the foul names he can think of and demand he un-volunteer and why? You stupid bi’tch absolute idiot why would you volunteer when we had a promise, why did you betray the promise? Why? Why why why why why?

As the Mayor wraps up the Treaty bore-fest, he motions for the two tributes to shake hands. Tributes. Now bound unrelentingly for an arena where they will kill other people. Other children. Maybe even each other.

Tommy feels some comfort in how helpless their situation is. Odds are they’ll die long before each other are a threat. They’re going to be a team obviously, and Tommy’s going to protect Tubbo as long as he can. That’s what he promised him the day they met, and that’s what he intends to do.

They shake hands, and Tubbo finally looks at him. The tears have dried on his cheeks. They take a little longer than is necessary, conducting a silent conversation between them.

‘Sorry.’

‘I am so fu’cking mad at you.’

‘You thought I would really leave you?’

‘I hoped I was wrong.’

They stand for the anthem. They are carted into the Justice Building to wait for people to come and say goodbye. No one comes. They weren’t expecting anyone anyway. They are all they have; all they’ve ever had. And where one goes, the other follows.

Tommy waits alone in the Justice Building, trying to figure out if the first thing he’ll do when he’s alone with Tubbo is hug him or strangle him. Beyond that though, he has to protect his boy. He has to keep his promise. An uneasy feeling stirs his gut. One promise has already been broken today.

And the odds aren’t playing nice.

#hell yeah i finally posted it #honestly i don't have a lot to say other than i hope you enjoyed #let's keep rereading the fluffy parts right?? anyway #i'm distraught over current events on the dsmp and this is how i'm coping #dream smp #hg au #tommyinnit #tubbo #dsmp fic #dream smp fanfic #crim writes #real proud of this one #all in one go. never written 3000 words in a day before

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flowesona · 4 years

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The Fool - Yandere! Jungkook x reader

The Tarot Series

“Here, kitty cat.” Jungkook clicked his tongue, holding out his hand to the small creature curled up by the wall. The animal hissed, shrinking away.

The young boy huffed in frustration. If only the cat would come a bit closer he would be able to see the name-tag and find its phone number. But as soon as he had given up he got a new idea and rushed inside.

“Can I have some tuna?” He tugged at his mother’s skirt eagerly.

“Now, you shouldn’t eat between meals.” She frowned, ruffling his hair with one hand as she thumbed her book in the other.

“No, it’s for the cat! In the garden! He must be hungry!” Jungkook whined.

“Is it a stray? You shouldn’t play with it sweetie, it might be infested with fleas or-”

“No! I...I want to take care of h-him… he must be so scared…” Jungkook blubbered, eyes tearing up. His mother tutted in pity, wiping his eyes before walking over to one of the cupboards too high for Jungkook’s chubby hands to reach and finding the tin.

With a delightful treat for the cat Jungkook approaches it once more, holding the bowl out in front of him with his mother’s caution in mind. The cat was perfectly receptive of his offering and tucked in right away, giving Jungkook the slim opportunity to twist its collar around and peak at the name-tag. The series of numbers imprinted into the metal were just what he needed, yet there was no way a seven-year-old could remember such a pattern when he could barely count to 100.

Once the animal had finished its meal and was licking its lips, Jungkook lifted it up in his arms. There was a slight bit of hissing and some struggling but it was soon docile enough to be carried into their house.

“Jungkook, put that thing down!” His mother scolded, but he looked at her with such an intense stubbornness she didn’t try to snatch it away.

“There’s a phone number.” He showed her, still clutching the animal tightly to his chest.

Jungkook’s mother sighed before complacently picking up the phone.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

“Eliza!” The young boy cringed at the shrill voice, as the cat he had rescued was scooped up into the arms of a girl of a similar age.

“Eliza? That’s his name?” Jungkook butted in the the sentimental moment.

“Don’t be silly. Eliza’s a girl.” The girl smiled, nuzzling her nose into the beloved pet’s head. In the background, an adult woman was feverishly thanking Jungkook’s mother.

“(Y/N) has been completely distraught. I thought after one day it would return, but after three I just told her that Eliza had passed on and we would buy her another, but she refused.” She explained, watching her daughter’s delighted expression.

“We owe really owe you. Anything we could possibly give you, please just say the word. Now come on, (Y/N).”

Jungkook sniffled as the happy family left. He felt empty, dragging his heels as he went to his bedroom. He wanted the happiness, the companionship that (Y/N) had with her cat. He was tired of being lonely. And with that in mind, he knew what he wanted.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

The toy mouse was made out of felt and had no kind of embellishments but it was enough to keep Eliza entertained as Jungkook dangled it above her.

“Kids? I have some snacks!” (Y/N)’s mother placed the tray of milk and cookies next to the rug. Jungkook nodded politely but didn’t touch them, just watching Eliza. But he quickly grew bored, throwing the toy across the room as Eliza scarpered after it.

“It’s your turn to play now.” He said abruptly before picking up a cookie. Seeing her grumble and search for the discarded toy before fussing over her cat, Jungkook realised that observing was far more entertaining. Seeing the happiness on (Y/N)’s face, the mewls of Eliza was what delighted him. As if they were a happy family, like in one of his books.

“(Y/N)...” Jungkook started, shuffling closer on the carpet. “Do you think we can be friends?”

“As long as you stay clean.” (Y/N) wiped at the crumbs on the corner of his mouth with an embroidered handkerchief, tutting. “You can’t be my friend if you get crumbs all over the floor.”

“But we can be friends? And take care of each other and get married and live together?!” The excitement was uncontainable. Suddenly, Jungkook knew what he wanted to do in his future, and he couldn’t wait to grow up and live the perfect life.

(Y/N) paused, overwhelmed by his forwardness and all the foreign concepts but she nodded.

“Sure. Can I have the last cookie?” Jungkook eagerly nodded, pushing the plate towards her. He would always give her what she deserved.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

“What do you think about him?” A fifteen-year-old (Y/N) sighed, flipping her screen around so her best friend could peer at the picture.

Jungkook wrinkled his nose.

“He’s ugly and probably riddled with diseases.” He said, lightly easing the phone out of her hands. “I’ll get him to back off for you.”

“No, don’t do that. I like him, he’s cute.” (Y/N) tried to steal her phone back, but he used his height advantage to hold it far above her head. Her teenage hormones and desire for a boyfriend spurred (Y/N) to jump up on her tiptoes trying desperately to salvage her change of a date, but she was no match for Jungkook, who was already typing a scathing reply with one hand, the other pushing (Y/N)’s head down.

Once he’d sent it, he dropped the phone in (Y/N)’s hands apathetically.

“I swear why do you always get in the way of me getting a boyfriend? You’re so annoying Jungkookie.” She pouted, scanning the message of rejection he’d sent.

“You don’t need a boyfriend. You have me.” Jungkook couldn’t help but be irritated at her attitude. After he’d put aside his desires to maintain their relationship, to hold up on his promise to stay clean and care for each other, the way that (Y/N) disregarded his feelings and commitment stung.

“That doesn’t count.” (Y/N) groaned, flopping onto the bed with one hand outstretched to stroke a disgruntled elderly Eliza. “I need a real boyfriend.”

“Why do you want a boyfriend when you have a husband?” Jungkook muttered rhetorically under his breath, a renewed sense of confidence building up in the fight to win his girl.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

The old cat was happy enough chowing down on some sardines Jungkook had picked up from the convenience store, giving a happy purr as he ran a hand down her back. Despite the fight that the stubborn cat had put up in the first place, once food had been offered she was happy to stay with Jungkook for a while.

Finally, his phone started ringing. Once, and he let it go to voicemail. Then again, and after a few rings he picked up.

“Please, you have to help Jungkook, she’s gone missing, I don’t know where she’s wandered off to but it’s not safe, she could be hit by a car or worse-”

“Calm down, (Y/N). What happened?” Knowing full well that his plan was going just right, Jungkook was practically beaming.

“Eliza is gone, she’s not in any of her hiding spots, she’s not in our neighbour’s garden. Please, have you seen her?” (Y/N) wept, her heart pouring out over the phone line.

“I haven’t.” Jungkook answered simply, running a hand down Eliza’s tail as she stalked away from him to explore the rest of his bedroom.

“Can you help me find her? No matter the state she’s in, I just need to see her again.” (Y/N) begged. Jungkook could imagine the tears leaking from her beautiful eyes, yet he was silent for a moment, drawing out what he wanted from his girl. “I’ll owe you one. I swear, I’ll do anything if you can find her.”

Jungkook had to suppress his grin, standing up and reaching for the doorknob with one hand blocking Eliza from creeping out and blowing his cover.

“I’ll be there in two minutes.”

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

The search for (Y/N)’s cat had been, unsurprisingly, unsuccessful. After an hour of relentless calling and knocking on doors, they had retired to (Y/N)’s kitchen, with her mother providing the forlorn teenagers with a tray of home baked cookies.

(Y/N) didn’t even touch them, staring glumly ahead with her head resting on her arms. Meanwhile, her companion graciously reached out to accept the sugar boost.

“How’d you get that nasty scratch Jungkookie?” (Y/N) asked suddenly, as he followed her eyes to stare at the thin line running up his wrist. He cursed silently before an excuse popped into his head.

“I-I was moving some weeds to see if Eliza was hiding in my garden so I-I guess they scratched me.” The slight stutter panicked Jungkook, as he was now convinced it was only a matter of time before she found out his secret plan. “I need to go home, Mom is probably worried about me. I’ll try looking again later.”

With barely a farewell exchanged he had left the house and was walking back to his own, fear bubbling in his stomach. What if his mother had gone into his room and found Eliza, what if the cat had scratched all his belongings into oblivion, what if Eliza had actually died and he was going to break (Y/N)’s spirit rather than elate her?

With all the pondering in his head his pace quickened until he was at his home, dashing inside without greeting his mother and clambering up the stairs to burst into his room and find Eliza curled up on his bed, perfectly content. He breathed a deep sigh of relief before taking a seat next to the old animal on his bed.

“Are you ready to make (Y/N) the second happiest person in the world?” He asked rhetorically, scratching Eliza’s head affectionately. “I am.”

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

(Y/N) had been sat at her desk, staring at the wall instead of doing her homework, when her mother called her down, saying she had a visitor. She didn’t budge for a second.

“It’s someone you’ll want to see!” Her mother yelled, but (Y/N) still refused to leave her lethargic state.

There was some hushed whispering and the thump of clothed feet jogging up the stairs, before someone knocked at her door.

“Go away.” She groaned.

“(Y/N) I’m coming in.” Jungkook’s voice called out, before the door swung open.

“I’m not in the-” As she turned to face him, the sight of a bundle of fur in his arms elated her beyond belief.

“Oh my, oh, Eliza!” She instantly took the cat out of Jungkook’s arms and started cradling her in her own, despite the senior animal’s grunts. “Thank you so much Jungkookie, where on earth was she?”

“Hiding in a corner of my garden. I guess I missed her on my first look.” (Y/N) didn’t question his story for one second, instead choosing to cuddle her beloved companion to her chest.

“Eliza you must be starving! Here, you can get some food from Mommy.” She placed her cat on the ground for the first time since they’d been reunited, letting Eliza plod to the kitchen.

“Jungkookie I don’t know how I could ever repay you-”

“I do.” The fifteen-year-old had a cheeky grin on his face as he spoke all too quickly, his eyes sparkling. “I want a kiss.”

“A-a kiss? B-but it’ll be my first time!” Jungkook was jumping up and down with joy internally knowing that he would be her first.

“You said you would give me anything?” He pressed, and (Y/N) nodded courageously.

“O-okay.” She didn’t protest as he tilted her head so she could meet his lips, nor when he finally did the deed. He noted with delight that her lips were soft and tasted faintly of the comfort chocolate she kept stashed away in the bottom of her drawer. She was addictive, but he soon drew away. No doubt there would be more opportunities to kiss her than just this once; they had their whole life ahead of them, together.

“T-that was…” (Y/N) was at a loss for words.“Nice?”

Jungkook was a blushing mess when reality hit, that he had finally kissed the girl he was in love with, and that she liked it.

“C-Call me anytime you want to do it again.” He managed to say with some confidence to mask his giddy excitement.

All kinds of new plans were starting to unfold. He’d happily kidnap someone else close to her, even torture them, just to make her more grateful when they return. Eliza wouldn’t be around for much longer, but he had plenty of ideas on how to keep (Y/N) close to him, to reap her rewards until finally she could love him as his final reward.

#yandere kpop #kpop yandere #yandere bts #yandere x reader #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jeon jeongguk #yandere jeon jungkook #the tarot series #yandere oneshot #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader

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parfaitkiwi · 3 years

Text

Cheeky Crack Fic - “Looks Like It Is Your Problem”

A/N: The delightfully talented @stroblitz had an art stream today where they created our beloved Boris wearing tights and a skirt. During the stream I couldn’t help but notice that he kind of looked like Emily, and the chat got thinking about what would happen if were the case that he was in fact wearing Emily’s clothes...and so...here we are....crack fic incoming.

Additional Notes- I use original names here, with the exception of Tala, who...I can’t seem to call anything other than Tala. Also, there’s occasional strong language to follow. It is Boris, after all.

“No, no, no....you look really great, Borya, for real.”

Boris pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long breath.

This.

Out of all the things that they could have gotten him with over the years, it had to be this.

Boris stood in front of the full length mirror on the back of the Neoborg hotel room door, looking at himself, but not fully recognizing that it was him.

Sure, it looked like something he could wear.

It was red. It had snippy remark. It looked....not....the worst on him? But it definitely wasn’t his.

It was too tight, too short, and smelled too nice to belong to the very scary, very intimidating Boris Kuznetsov.

This was all her fault.

This was all Emily freaking York’s fault.

Of course she had scooted into the hotel laundry room at the same time as him.

Of course she had shoved her clothes into the dryer next to his, ignoring the other three machines.

Of course.

And of course....Boris hadn’t paid attention to which machine he had taken his clothes out of in his mad dash to collect his laundry before Ivan snuck into the shower before he got the chance.

And so, here he was.

Half naked in front of his teammates in sweatshirt that was the right amount of sassy and the wrong amount of small.

“So”, Sergei’s voice drawled from across the room, “are you going to give them back?”

“Of course I’m going to fucking give them back.”

“Yes, yes....he has to give them back. She probably misses, you know....absolutely all of her clothes,” said Ivan, as he appeared next to Boris in the mirror, leaning against the wall, mischievous look on his face.

Boris could practically see the shit-eating grin on Tala’s face before he heard his shit-eating voice.

“We can’t leave a lady waiting then, can we? You’d best go deliver them to her now.”

“And I will,” Boris said through clenched teeth “so long as one of you fuckers lends me something to wear.”

Emily truly had all of his clothes.

He’d never under pack again.

Fuck.

“And get your Boris-ness all over them? Gross.” Ivan scrunched his face back at Boris in the mirror.

“Not yours, you little worm.” Boris locked eyes with his two considerably taller teammates in the mirror.

“Nor either of ours”, Tala said as he met his eyes, “My legs are far to slender for you to get into any of my pants”. He bent one knee and stretched his leg up on the arm of the couch that Sergei was sitting on. “And Sergei’s are too big. You’d get lost in there, and Emily would never get her clothes back”.

“That, and last time you borrowed anything of mine, you spilled red wine all over yourself. That shirt is still stained”, Sergei droned, looking forlornly into the abyss of the hotel bathroom, mourning his shirt.

“If, god knows how, anything gets onto your clothes in the time it takes me to drop this shit off at her room and come back, I will do your laundry for the rest of life.”

“Based on your track record for laundry today? No thanks. I’d end up in one of Mao’s bras.”

Boris rolled his eyes. They said Kai was the drama queen? Sergei was about to usurp him.

“Then can’t on of you bozos deliver them to her yourself if you’re not going to lend me anything?”

“And subject us to the wrath of a woman who’s had her clothes swapped with tundra trekking outfits? No thanks.” Ivan said, sticking out his tongue.

“Then what the absolute hell do you wise guys suggest I do?”

“You’ve seen Emily before. She has pants.” said Tala as he removed his foot from the leg of the couch, turning on his heel and digging through the bag of still very fresh laundry that Boris lugged up from the hotel laundry room.

“Let’s see....aha! Oh...Oh, yes....These are just perfect.”

Oh no.

He scrunched his eyes together and briefly considered opening them until Ivan let out a sound akin to a dog eating too fast and choking and Sergei’s laugh thundered through the room.

He felt Tala’s hands reach around him holding up whichever pair of pants he had chosen up to Boris’ legs.

“Now, now. Take a look.”

He could hear the laughter on Tala’s voice, and he slowly opened his eyes.

Boris was pleasantly surprised.

They looked innocent enough.

Black? Check.

Stretchy? Check.

Were they workout leggings? He’d worn those before, and it wouldn’t be such a surprise if Emily had a pair or two. She was a beyblader, after all, and they were at a tournament.

“Fine.” Boris sighed, snatching the mysterious pants from Tala and stepping into them.

Wait....

Were those...feet?

No...They couldn’t be?

They were.

Boris briefly clocked this as a strange, but he’d worn stranger clothes in his day, and they were girl clothes...girl clothes were weird. He’d seen enough fashion magazine covers and gone out on enough dates to attest to this.

He pulled them further up his legs, happy that Tala had refused him any of his pants. He was right, of course. Boris’ legs would never fit into any pair of Tala’s jeans, skinny or not. These had a nice stretch, and he was pleasantly surprised at how the material glided over this calves.

The material was strange, though. Despite the initial stretch and glide, Boris sighed in exasperation when it began to bunch at his knees. Bending over, he began to inch it up over his legs, eventually being able to pull the waist band over his hips.

Letting out a deep breath after the unexpected exertion of putting on a pair of workout pants, he didn’t consider looking up at himself until he heard the raucous laughter behind him.

Pained, breathless, laughter of his teammates behind him.

Slowly looking up at himself, he turned what seemed like every shade of pink and red under the sun, eventually settling on one about the same shade as the vibrant sweatshirt he was wearing.

They were see through?

Were they fucking kidding.

They weren’t fucking leggings.

They were tights.

God damnit.

“Can’t send you out like that can we?” Ivan said as he wiped a tear from his eye, doubled over.

Boris saw Tala throw something at him from the spot against the wall he had taken up after he had collapsed from laughter after Boris’ grand reveal.

“Better put that on. She’s probably going to be mad enough that you stole her stuff, never mind the indecent exposure,” he managed to choke out as Sergei released a lengthy wheeze.

After what was probably a few minutes, but truly felt like days, Boris managed to position himself with his back against a wall and leaned to the side to pick up Tala’s very “thoughtful” gift.

“Stop fucking around!” he roared holding up the black mini skirt and waving it at the now blubbering group of boys.

Sergei wheezed again.

“Sorry, Borya. That’s all she has in there that can handle all of......well, that.” Tala said as he wiped a tear form his eyes and gestured vaguely at Boris’ body, which was squeezed for all it was worth into Emily’s much smaller clothes.

“Hey now, it’s not all bad” Ivan bravely walked over to Boris, shoulders jerking as he tried to stifle another fit of giggles. “It’s stretchy.” He tugged at the material lightly, and Boris swatted the little imp’s hand away.

Accepting his defeat, Boris bent down and pulled the skirt over his legs and looked at himself in the mirror.

“Perfect”, Tala sauntered over and placed a hand on Boris’ shoulder. “You look very pretty. See for yourself.”

He moved in front of Boris and gently placed his glasses on to his nose. Stepping out of the way, and making a swooping gesture with his hand, prompting Boris to look at himself clearly for the first time.

“The fuck is this”, he cursed, shock in his voice and on his face at the absolute state of the outfit stretched over his much taller and broader body. He had known that he would look ridiculous, but had been spared the detailed vision of himself looking like a sardine shoved into a can without his glasses.

“Your new look! Now get going. We don’t want to keep the nice lady waiting,” Sergei’s jovial voiced boomed from the couch.

Sighing, Boris shuffled to his side of the bed, pulling down the fabric of the skirt as he walked, eliciting chuckles from his now least favourite teammates (Kai now moving securely to first place), and stomped his feet into his slippers.

“Now those, really make the look,” Tala said as he opened the door for Boris and peaked down at the unexpectedly fluffy slippers that belonged to his teammate, as Sergei shoved the laundry bag into Boris’ hands.

“Yeah, yeah”, he grunted as he readjusted the weight of the bag in his hands while looking down the hall making sure that he didn’t have any chance encounters with other members of the BBA.

Boris began his shuffle to the elevator, praying that his skirt didn’t ride up more than it did.

This sweatshirt had lied to him.

It had become his problem.

#beyblade #crack fic #boris kuznetsov #bryan kuznetsov #neoborg #demolition boys #blitzkrieg boys #emily york #emily watson #clothing swap #sergei rybakov #ian papov #ivan papov #yuriy ivanov #tala ivanov #spencer petrov

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mirkwoodshewolf · 3 years

Text

Guardian of Creatures; AU! Queen x oc female x reader Chap. 12

*Author’s note*

Well this took some time and planning about what chapter I wanted to do next but I finally took a route and went with it. So NEW CAST MEMBER IS ADDED TO THIS LIST!!! It took me forever to figure out two of my top choices until I decided on how to use them both in a way. So for those that might not know his face, you MIGHT have heard his voice over work so the chosen one to play the Devil, Lucifer Morningstar himself, I’ve chosen Troy Baker. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and until the next update :)

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@queensdivas

@queen-paladin

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@kinole009x

@queendeakyy

@geek-and-proud

@glitter-at-the-panic

@wormzteef

__________________________________________________________

Chapter 12,

The search for Archimedes

*Serafina’s POV*

It took who knows how long but I finally arrived at the edge of the desert over a gorge where the Nile river ran it’s course. I got off my mare and stroked her nose.

“Time for you to return to the village. Thank you for your services Nefertiri.” She nickered lovingly and nipped at the ends of my hair. I stroked her powerful neck before she took off racing back to the village where we bought her and her mate. “Chile ehh? It’s been awhile since I’ve been in a Spanish speaking country but I hope I remember enough.”

I took a deep breath and focused my energy to shapeshift into a falcon so that I could take the long flight there. Soon I felt myself shrinking, feathers began to slowly peek out from my skin till finally I was flying through the air.

‘Alright! Now to fly all the way to Chile.’ I then took off over the Nile which would soon lead me to the Mediterranean Sea and from there I would be over the Atlantic ocean once more.

It took practically an entire day plus a few extra hours but finally I saw the mixture of both jungle rainforest and urban towns of Chile. I swooped down and managed to find a descent alleyway to hide away in to transform back into human form. I let out a tired groan as I collapsed against some old boxes and bins.

“Guess I need to use any bird shapeshifting longer than a few hours. Man I hadn’t been this exhausted since the first time Freddie took over John and mine’s training.” I muttered to myself. I heard the crash of a bin nearby and jumped but I relaxed once I saw it was just a street cat.

It looked pretty well-fed for a street cat and it didn’t seem to be as intimidated by me as most street cats can be.

“Hey boy, you friendly?” I made a small sardine appear on the ground and that’s when the tomcat slowly got closer and closer to it. He cautiously looked up at me. “Don’t worry this is not a trick. You can eat it.” He sniffed the sardine and immediately began chowing down on it. “Good boy, good boy.”

After eating his fill, he walked closer to me. I extended my hand and he gave me a sniff before rubbing his head against my hand and let out a soft purr. His caution now completely disappeared as he was now wanting pets, rubbing up against me and marking my knee with his scent glands.

My eyes shifted red as I now tried to reach inside the cat’s mind so that he and I could communicate.

‘Can you hear me?’ I asked.

‘Whoa what…..oh it’s you. The lady who gave me the Sardine. How is this happening?’

‘Long story short, I’m not really human. Well all human, I’m a witch.’

‘Ahh la bruja.’

‘Sí. You know I’m surprised you can speak good English.’

‘My humans were originally from Phoenix, Arizona. They shipped me here over a year ago when they got tired of me.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ He stretched himself out and said.

‘It happens. You scratch the curtains one too many times and next thing you know, you get the boot.’

‘Well it’s not right for them to have done that to you.’

‘Well some humans are like that señorita. Now what can I help you with? By giving me my first real meal in a while I’m honored to be any help I can for you.’

‘I don’t know if you can help me señor gato.’

‘Puss. My name is Puss.’ He told me.

‘Okay Puss.’

‘And maybe I might be able to help. I’ve been practically everywhere from the city to the rainforest, just tell me what or who you’re looking for and I might be able to help you.’

‘I’m seeking the former 3rd apprentice of Merlin. Archimedes the Wise.’ At this, Puss stopped his rubbing and stood still. He walked a couple feet away from me and he said.

‘Ahh now that. That is a dangerous path. Are you sure you wish to open that door señorita?’

‘Please Puss. I need to find him. I—’ I trailed off trying to think of what to say. I couldn’t blow my cover story, what if Puss knew Archimedes personally? It’d scare him and he’d go running off somewhere else. ‘He has secrets about my family bloodline. I deserve to know the truth.’

His tail curled around him and his ear twitched. He stood up and walked back towards me before hopping up on my lap.

‘I’ve heard uhh—what is it called uhh—rumors? Yes rumors from the local parakeets that fly by here. About a strange man who lives deep within the forests. A man who has the power to cure any sickness that any animal has, heal any injury. But—human must beware.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘There have been stories of people venturing too deep within those woods. Once they go in, they’re never found the same way they came in. Speaking about visions of their past, others speaking of their sins, or even seeing their worst fears. The people in the village call it-- el bosque de la locura.’ The forest of Madness huh.

‘Do you know where it is?’

‘I’ll take you as far as I can. But after that you’re on your own.’

‘All I want is the forest and you can be on your way.’ I stood up and quickly changed my Arabic attire to fit the Chilean culture. Puss lead me out of the alleyway and he hopped up onto my shoulder and told me just where to go.

After getting out of the village and hiking up a few steep hills, I felt that the air was starting to go thick, and the jungle was slowly going silent.

‘We’re getting close Serafina.’ Puss told me. We walked along the wide earthy path, both my feet and his paws crinkling under the dried up grass patches we’d walk along till finally he stopped. ‘Lo siento, but this is as far as I’ll go.’

‘Understandable. Thank you Puss.’ He bowed before taking off.

‘Serafina wait!’ he said after running a few feet away. I turned to face him and he gave me one final warning. ‘There’s said to be a path that the humans take. Stay on that path if you wish to remain sane. For once you leave it, you’ll never find it again.’

“Okay, thanks for the warning Puss.” He let out a meow before racing back to the village. I turned back towards the trail and took a deep breath before exhaling softly and continued on.

Before I knew it, I had arrived at the Forest of Madness. Hundreds of trees stood together. The wood itself rotted and decayed; the leaves dry without any moisture. But what struck me was the very magic seeping from this very forest. It felt—sick. As if a disease were upon it.

Just ahead of me I saw the opening of the forest and there I saw the path of stone and brick. The bricks were old and chipped away, and the stones almost buried underneath the dead leaves.

“Alright Serafina come on, you can do this. The fate of the world depends on finding him. You can’t turn back now.” I proceeded onward and entered the Forest of Madness.

Deeper and deeper into the woods I walked, soon enough any trace of the sun vanished from the winding branches above. I kept my eyes downward on the path and carefully felt around the ground once a corner turn would appear. Using my tracking abilities thanks to Brian, I was able to determine just where I had to go.

Of course it wasn’t easy. For soon the magic in this forest was really starting to seep its way into my head. First my vision started to go blurry. Not in the blindness sense, but like—well you know how when you first wake up after a long nap and your vision gets that hazy overview, that’s what I was seeing right now.

Then I started hearing whispers on the wind, even though there wasn’t any wind at all. No sunlight, no fresh air, not even the sound of birds or other animals.

Just trees. Trees and trees and more trees! Merlin’s beard is there no end to this damned forest! SNAP OUT OF IT SERAFINA!!

This forest is playing with your mind. Just—focus on the…..path? Where is it? Where’d it go? The path it just—disappeared from underneath my feet. No, no, no that’s not possible I did not leave the path once. I was-I was—I was standing right on the path! Did I move? I could’ve maybe—I don’t know! I need to find it, need to find it need to find the path again.

Trailing on ahead, the forest seemed to get even thicker and thicker as the trees seemed to come closer together. As I walked on I heard a deep, thunderous voice say.

“He was never good from the start!” No it—it couldn’t be. I raced over the high roots till I came what looked like a river. But it was probably the nastiest looking river I had ever seen. It was so black it practically looked like tar than water. Dustings of dead leaves floated on top, looking like a river itself. But a figure stood there.

A male figure with long black hair and wearing familiar robes that I knew very well.

“Father?”

“He’s a Deacon. He could get us all killed! Could get you killed!” but when he turned around I saw the most horrifying sight. His eyes were whitened over like death, dried up blood coated his lips, scars from a knife aligned each of his cheeks, and seeping from his robes was blood. I let out a scream and tried to push him away with my telekinesis but nothing came out.

I tried again but nothing. My hands weren’t even glowing red like they normally do. No it-it can’t be…..I’ve—I’ve lost my powers. In a blur, my dad went right from the lake and tackled me right down to the ground. His hands gripping my throat trying to strangle me.

“He was dangerous! His family DID THIS TO US!! And you left us to die!”

“I’m sorry……I didn’t—mean to leave!”

“Our whole family is gone! CAN YOU NOT SEE!?” suddenly I saw the vision of each of my family members dying. Instead of just seeing the flashes like in my recent dream, I saw it full on.

I heard the high pitched, psychotic laughter of Bellatrix as she fired shot after shot of the Cruciatus curse at my aunt Molly and uncle Arthur until finally she called the Avada Kedavra curse to finally end their suffering. Ronan stood over my cousin George who was already holding a dead Fred in his arms.

‘You could’ve saved us.’ My father’s voice echoed in my head. ‘But you abandoned us, like a frightened child.’ My cousins Ginny, Belle and Charlie were slaughtered by John’s uncle Lucius, Ronan’s cousin by actually setting them on fire (like the witches of the Salem witch trials).

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!” I screamed out as I held my arms out and soon all went quiet once more except for my harsh panting.

‘And soon they will follow suit.’ My father’s voice echoed hauntingly in the wind. When I opened my eyes, every one of my family was gone.

I looked around frantically but no one was there. The forest was once again dead silent. I shook my head and slapped myself a few times.

“It wasn’t real. It’s not real. It’s not real.”

‘Oh Serafina, this is just beginning.’ Another voice came out from the forest. I then heard a low growl coming from the trees and soon coming out were Thor and Seraffel.

However they didn’t look like them. Their skin was cold and pale, their eyes pure white and they had spears sticking out of their chests. Their dragon fangs and claws extended out as well as their wings (almost as if they were stuck in mid transformation).

Coming out from another part of the forest was Brian and Roger. Roger in his full Nokken form, an open, gaping wound bleeding from his abdomen, his hair now the famed sickly seaweed green instead of his luscious golden locks, and his hands dripping blood. While Brian looked deathly pale. In his Elvish armor, he held his sword out that was stained with blood, and his eyes pure soulless almost as if he were a zombie.

“I told you before of your visions.” Soon slithering out and walking beside him were Freddie and (Y/n). (Y/n), like Brian, their skin looked decaying and cracking away, and dirt and ash covered their chapped skin. Freddie had various scars across him.

One on his forehead that actually made blood seep down on either side of his nose, trailing down his eyes almost like he was crying out blood. A long gash across his stomach and a puncture wound just an inch above where the gash was.

“Freddie?” I asked bewildered.

“Everything you see before you, is all too real.” They all soon surrounded me, cutting off any chance of escape. “You will always be that frightened little witch that chose true love over her own family. And because of that, we have fallen as well.”

“No! I-I-I-I didn’t abandon you guys! Balthazar said I wasn’t abandoning you!”

“Well he lied. Just as all the Deacons do. Kill her.” He hissed. Soon to make the first strike was (Y/n). They used a spell on my but I quickly dodged out of the way. But soon piling on top of me with sharp teeth and claws were my own sons and Roger.

With my son’s dagger like teeth mixed with Roger’s serrated ones biting into my skin, it made me cry out in pure agony. It felt like they were pealing off my skin slowly with each bite and their claws, dug deep into my flesh like a knife to a roast. I tried to fight them off of me, trying to shapeshift into a lioness or a bear but not even my shapeshifting magic was working.

All I could do was scream and try to just push them off of me but it did me no good. Soon I felt a tackle behind me and I went forward down a steep, rocky drop. It felt like eternity that I was rolling over jagged rocks or hard solid earth until I landed hard on my back. I groaned as I tried to sit myself up.

“Yes! We’ve got her!” Freddie hissed from above as they all came sliding down the hill towards me. Brian took the first leap with his sword held high, ready to strike me down. As quick as I could I got up and ran just as he came down and struck his sword downward. Roger, Seraffel and Thor taking the chase. “You can’t hide from us! Where you go, we go!”

I felt Thor tackle me from behind, taking me straight down into the dirt. I quickly turned and grabbed the spear and pushed it deeper into him which made him scream and recoil inward in pain. I hated to see my baby boy hurt like that but I had no choice but to keep running.

But soon I was trapped by a closed off gorge. Nothing but rocks and boulders blocked my only way out. I turned to see everyone of my family getting closer, Roger and Seraffel’s roars, Freddie’s hissing sent chills up my spine.

Without any other choice, I proceeded to climb up. I climbed and climbed and climbed, I would even send a trail of rocks down towards them to try and deter them away. It only worked for a second till they would just wait at the bottom, almost as if they were wanting me to fall.

Exhausted, dizzy, and dehydrated I still tried my best to climb up the gorge. It seemed like every second I would find myself slipping, almost about to fall god knows how many feet to the dangerous animals down below. After an eternity, I was now dangling from the last few inches of finally being free, but a figure stood in my way between freedom and death.

The figure removed their black hood and I saw John standing above me. His face expressionless as he stared down at me.

“John!” I pleaded. I felt myself slipping from the edge. “My love, help me!” my feet kicking the side trying to stay up, rocks slipping down from underneath me. John continued to look down at me expressionlessly, almost like he didn’t even care whether or not I died.

From his robes he took out his grandfather’s wand and said the two most dangerous, horrifying word I’d never thought I’d hear him say to me.

“Avada Kedavra.” The wand flashed green and I felt the spell hit me. I felt every muscle and vein in my body slowly shut down as John crouched down in front of me and whispered, “The last of the Black family finally extinguished.”

My grip soon faltered and I felt myself falling to my death. I was frozen, the last thing I saw was my beloved John Deacon with the very wand he never wanted to inherit, and his eyes turning the same color as his grandfather’s. One brown while the other a ghostly white.

*3rd Person POV*

Down below a flash of a figure came running across the forest. It leaped up the gorge before grabbed Serafina before she could impact hard onto one of the many rocks which would soon cause an avalanche of boulders, surely killing her that way.

He leaped from rock to rock till he reached the top of the gorge, looking down at the young witch who was now paralyzed by the magic of the forest. He set her down and placed two fingers on her neck, checking to see if she still had a pulse. She did but it was faint.

He soon picked her up before racing off deeper into the forest. His body only a flashing blur with how fast he was moving.

*Serafina’s POV*

Darkness. That’s all I remember. Being in nothing but pure darkness. It was also cold, and I felt scared……scratch that terrified. But then out of nowhere I felt this—warmth. Surrounding me and a voice that I—I couldn’t recognize or put my money on but it felt—familiar to me.

I don’t know how long it took but finally I was able to open my eyes and the first thing I saw was some light from candles surrounding me. As my eyes tried to focus, I saw some flowers being placed beside me and a voice said.

“Well, look whose coming back to sanity.” It was true. I felt more aware of my surroundings. The magic that once had been weighing me down had finally been lifted off of me. I was no longer drowning in darkness or fear. And that voice—I looked to the foot of my bed and the figure was lit by the candle’s glow.

A devilishly handsome man with short, combed over sandy blonde hair. His piercing light blue eyes stared right at me as he did a cross between a light smirk and a genuine smile. A light beard crowned across his face, making his appearance seem even more handsomer than if he were clean shaven. He wore a fine suit with the jacket fully open and a couple of buttons from his white shirt unbuttoned, exposing a part of his chest.

And he was lounging, I mean really lounging on his seat with one foot crossed over his leg. His right hand decorated with a couple of rings similar to John’s and over his left hand was the Ouroboros tattoo (the snake eating its own tail).

I adjusted myself as I felt myself lying on probably the softest bed I had ever been on in my entire life. The smell of azaleas lingered in the air as well as the smell of a light lavender incense.

“Lucifer.”

“In the flesh and at your service my lady.” He said with a bow of his head, his hand going over his heart. I looked around and asked him.

“How long—how long was I in that forest?” at that his face grew solemn as he leaned down to take my hand and he said gravely.

“3 years.” Hearing that made my heart stop. My eyes grew wide in fear as I whispered in shock.

“What?” his solemn face stuck there for awhile till he grinned and chuckled, his shoulders shaking with his laughter. At that I rolled my eyes and took my hand back.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh so now you finally cave in on my offer. I must say Serafina you sure do keep a Devil waiting. It’s been on the table for what? 600 years?”

“700 actually. Belfast 1226.”

“Ahh yes. Back when I had black hair and had a different face.”

“At least back then you were a Brit. Now what you’ve gone American now?”

“Most of my clients have been America, plus have you been to Los Angeles? The Devil’s City I love it!” always the prideful one. Along with greedy and lustful. No wonder where Roger gets some of his sins from, he and Lucifer are practically cut from the same cloth (literally. Lucifer is like 50% responsible for the creation of Nokkens. Poseidon’s blood and Lucifer’s sins, that’s what created the sirens, nokks, kelpies, and merfolk).

My thoughts went back to the Forest of Madness. The magic that was surrounding it, Freddie said my magic was even more powerful that John’s yet it easily corrupted me.

“That magic……over the woods.” Lucifer’s teasing face turned back to solemn as he leaned back in his chair, but his eyes were focused right on me. “What was that? I’ve…..I was—sickening yet……heartbreaking.”

“If you didn’t have the support system you have today, yours and his magic would be cut from the same cloth.”

“Archimedes?” he nodded softly. I sighed heavily and continued, “Well……if you hadn’t shown up my mind would be just as twisted as my mother-in-law’s so……thank you.”

“Sorry what was that? I-I didn’t quite catch that last bit.” Lucifer teased as he leaned in closer putting his hand to the side of his ear. I shook my head and rolled my eyes but took his hand that had the Ouroboros tattoo and said as I looked him dead in the eye.

“Thank you. Lucifer Morningstar.” He smiled genuinely.

“You’re welcome.” He then cleared his throat as he once again lounged in his chair saying, “Besides; now this just means you owe me a favor.”

“You saved my life just so I could owe you a favor?”

“Well that and along with seeing that beautiful face of yours without that persistent husband and overprotective dragon sons of yours lingering over me.” His face then went sympathetic as he continued, “Oh sorry I……”

“Actually, we found them. My sons.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They were alive all this time. Sealed within that bloody urn John’s family tricked me to use.” I snarled the last part lowly as I sat myself up.

“You don’t say. So those boys of yours managed to stay sealed away at the hands of your in-laws?”

“That’s in the past now. All I care about is the fact that they’re alive and they’re back with John and I.”

“So why aren’t you with them now? In fact just what in the hell have you gotten yourselves into? Last I heard was that a wyvern came to attack you guys.”

“Well that part is true. But that’s when the boys came in and killed the wyvern along with Freddie.” At the mention of Freddie’s name I saw the corner of Lucifer’s lips curve into a smirk.

“That old son of a bitch always does like to show off his fighting skills, especially when it comes to the dragon species.”

“Stop it! I know what kind of fetish you’re thinking about so knock it off! He hasn’t once thought about you since the last time we met.” I warned him.

“Aww I’m hurt. Cause he’s all I think about.” He teased.

“Please Lucifer, you still believe that I’ll join in a threesome with you and Maz. And Maz wouldn’t touch you to stab you.” As I tried to stand up, Lucifer reached out to help me but I held my hand out telling him I didn’t need help. After getting my bearings together, I slowly stood up.

Slightly wobbling but soon I found my footing. I took a couple steps forward.

“In all seriousness Lucifer, how long was I in those woods? Clearly it hasn’t been a day if my legs are this wobbly.”

“2 weeks. And you were out for almost another whole week. Took almost every spell I knew to even get your mind back to sanity.” So it’s been 3 weeks since I last seen the others. “Now you didn’t answer my question; why are you here? I’ve never seen you this far from John’s side for as long as I’ve known you. And the only reason for that is if—”

“Yes Lucifer. It’s time.” I told him. His eyes narrowed.

“So, the human savior Fred spoke of has finally came into the picture.”

“Yes. And I also know the truth. The real truth about the fall of the 3 apprentices. Balthazar came to me in his true form and told me about Archimedes. I can only assume that since you’re here, you know where he is.”

“I might.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Don’t screw with me Lucifer!” he just looked at me. “I know about the Guardian of Creatures. About Wanda Arya Black.” His eyes widened for a brief second. “You knew her too?”

“Not personally but Roger is very descriptive. When I first met you, I had to do a double take because you were exactly how he described Wanda to be. But I guess reincarnation can exist among the wizarding community.”

“Lucifer I need to find him. A Guardian of Creatures must ascend. I need to train under him.” He sighed deeply.

“He already knows you’re here. Now whether or not he knows what your purpose for being here is, I don’t know.”

“Can you take me to him?” he stood up from his chair. He spoke not a word but walked out of the room. Without question I followed in his footsteps till we came out of house.

I noticed that is was at the peak hour of dawn where night was just about over but the sun had not yet risen. We walked through the forest trail, I noticed that this part of the forest wasn’t coated with that spell that surrounded the rest of the forest, probably making this section the ‘Eye of the Forest of Madness’. Like the eye of the storm where everything is calm and quiet before the second wave hits.

“Follow the trail North to where the Phoenix rises in the sky. There, you will find the Sorcerer you seek.” Lucifer told me as he pointed outward.

“But what if I get lost again? Lose the path and be driven mad again?” he turned towards me and walked up to me. His hand came to the back of my head and in a flash his lips crashed onto mine. My eyes widened and I pushed him off of me. “What the fuck Lucifer!?”

“You’ve now been given a protection spell from the Devil himself. No spell, not even by the great Sorcerer Supreme, can even touch you so long as you bare my seal.”

“You couldn’t have at least given me a pendant? Or spoke it verbally?”

“You and I could’ve had sex but I knew you’d say no to that.” I went to say something but he was right. Damn him! “And come on don’t tell me you at least didn’t enjoy it a little bit.”

“Shut up!” I snapped at him turning my head away, and I hate to admit this but I did feel a blush coming across my cheeks.

“Yeah I see that blush Sera.” Lucifer teased with that smug cheeky grin on his face.

“I said shut up!” I snapped at him louder before taking off to where he told me to go. The last thing I heard was his laughter ringing out. Merlin’s beard he could be a real dick at times.

As I walked along the trail I soon came to the entrance of a cave. Cautiously I entered in the cave and the first thing I was hit was an aura of ultimate power.

Another advantage of my telepathic powers is that I can sense the spiritual aura of another being. The powerful the creature/being, the powerful the aura. At times it’s overwhelming (like when I first got to see Freddie’s aura, and of course Lucifer’s) but overtime I’ve come to control of how it affects me.

This however—this was a magical aura I had never felt before. As I walked further into the cave, I noticed that there seemed to be drawings of some sorts. I wonder if I can now…..I focused on trying to summon a light with my red aura. But nothing came out.

“Worth a shot. Guess this whole place, even in the eye of this very forest is magic-proof.” Soon enough I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. The sunrise was finally coming.

I raced towards it and soon I came to an extended ledge that stood over the rest of the forest. For the first time in weeks I got to finally feel the rays of the sun hit my face and it felt like a wave of relief. I inhaled the clean air as deeply as I could as I extended my arms out, letting the sun’s rays embrace me.

Soon my ears heard the sound of a bird. It was unlike any muggle bird I’ve heard and it defiantly wasn’t a griffin or hippogriff. It was like heard a song, but it sounded heartbreaking. As the sun rose higher and higher into the sky, a figure soon emerged out of the sun itself.

It continued to let out a few more of it’s broken-hearted song-like cries as it came flying towards me, leaving a trail of fire in it’s wake. No way it—it was a phoenix.

It now hovered above me and that power I felt just before I entered the cave, it was now stronger. And it was coming from this phoenix. But wait, I knew phoenix’s carried such great power but this—this wasn’t any ordinary phoenix.

It’s eyes stared directly at me and it may have been the after affect of falling under the forest’s spell, but I could swear I was hearing voices singing a song. A choir of voices. It was very faint and I couldn’t quite make out the words but I could hear their song.

The phoenix swooped down and landed before me. Another thing that made this phoenix—well different was that it actually came up to the height of my waist. Phoenixes are actually fairly normal sized birds, no different than the size of a falcon.

The phoenix continued to stare at me and it even took a step closer to me. I backed my right foot away not surer what to do. Without any weapons on hand or my powers, I was defenseless against a bird that can easily set itself on fire. And speaking of which, the phoenix soon burst into flames, the fire shooting upward like a volcano.

I shielded myself as best as I could. The wind and fire mixed together created such power but it was when all went quiet once more that I now stood in shocked awe.

In the place of the phoenix was the silhouette of a man in a familiar yellow wizard robe. At his hip was a sword of Elvish made, only one blade would catch the light of the sun and make it shine like a star. His hood was up over his face but just based off this power he was giving out; I had a hunch of just who this was.

His hands reached for his hood and he revealed his face. The very face that has not aged since he was last seen alive by any Wizard. Those brown eyes looked at me in disbelief, his lips slightly parted as he gawked at me.

“Archimedes.” I spoke his name.

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mhafiction · 4 years

Text

Out & About (PT. 1)

Read Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Pairing: Bakugo x reader

Fluff/Friends to Lovers (?), lots and lots of pining.

Synopsis: Reader is very close friends with the Bakusquad, except for the aloof and mysterious Bakugo. He still intrigues them however, and a night out with the group might actually be the the push they need to really get the ball rolling on transitioning their awkward comradery into something a little- more.

Note: this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written, I’m very spooked. There’s a ton of stress out there in the world rn, and I’m trying to find comfort in writing. I hope you enjoy. (Also I’m sorry abt the formatting of this fic I don’t have a laptop to post from :0) -K.

“I’m so glad we could do this, guys!”

You beamed at your friends, excited to set out for the evening. The major exam everyone had been studying diligently for all week was finally over, and the Bakusquad agreed to celebrate by going into the city to enjoy the night life. To be completely honest, in the week leading up to the test, you had been strangely on edge-but not just because of the workload. The dormitory had become oddly quiet, with everyone either off in the library or retreating to hit the books in the silent comfort of their rooms. You missed the hustle and bustle of everyone chatting, eating Sato’s latest confectionary masterpieces, and most of all, the unbridled energy your friends provided. Well, most of them, anyway.

At least now you could finally relax for the weekend and enjoy a good meal with them.

“Right? It feels like forever since we’ve done something like this,” Mina groaned, leaning her head on your shoulder. Her spikey horns jabbed into your chin. The murmur of the station felt familiar, a calming setting for you and your friends.

Kirishima flashed one of his bright smiles. “Aw, it’s only been a couple of weeks!”

“Yeah but you know I’m clingy,” Mina pouted. “I need my favorite peeps or else I get sad and droopy.”

You chuckled, pushing her playfully off your shoulder. “You’re so dramatic, Mina.”

You were thankful for such cheerful and enthusiastic friends. They were all energetic, happy, and extroverted. They really brought you out of your shell at the beginning of the year, and you had gotten to know them all so well over late-night movie marathons or afternoons at the arcade. You surveyed your little group, watching Kaminari begrudgingly charge Sero’s phone, Mina laughing uproariously at his some joke Kiri cracked, and their general bubbly aura. Then, your eyes caught on a familiar pair of piercing red ones.

Scratch that. You had gotten to know most of them pretty well.

What could you say about Bakugo Katsuki? Well, he was impulsive. Talented. Aloof. Angry.

That was about it. How such a grumpy, quiet boy had attracted these walking rays of sunshine was beyond you. Not to say you hate Katsuki or anything. In fact, one might say that you like him.

He had that extreme sort of passion that you’d never seen before, in anyone. He had a keen eye for people’s strengths and weaknesses, both in combat and just in genral. He encouraged you through those traits to go beyond your limits. And though he was cruel and rude to others, the worst he had been to you was a little standoffish. You knew Bakugo was going to be a really great hero someday, and you wanted to get to know him better. Most days, it felt like you were getting to him; becoming something a person would call friends. Then he’d look you in the eye with those dark, stoic eyes and it felt like you knew nothing about him all over again. If eyes were the windows to the soul, Bakugo guarded his with a legion of soldiers and an iron gate.

It’s okay you mused to yourself. Nobody really knows him, to be fair. Except maybe Kiri and Deku. But he’s known Deku for years! And Kiri can get anyone out of their shell. Why would Bakugo want to be good friends with me? He’s not obligated to. I shouldn’t pester him. But I still want to get to know him! Damn.

“Oi, Y/N!”

You snapped out of your thoughts. Bakugo glared at you. Or maybe it was just the way his face naturally was. Maybe it was just you, but those red eyes seemed to soften a bit.

“C’mon, train’s here.”

You nodded following behind your chattering group. The car was nearly empty, and most of your friends darted for the seats. Kaminari laid across three, spreading out as if her were royalty. Chances are, he probably felt like it.

“This is the most luxurious thing I’ve ever experienced,” he sighed. Sero flicked the back of his head, causing Kaminari to shoot up with a yelp. “That’s sad, Denki. Scooch over.”

Kaminari turned to you, rubbing the his head where Sero had flicked him. “Not sitting, Y/N?”

“Nah. I’ve been sitting at a desk all week, I’d like to refrain from it for now. I’ll bet my postures’ shot.”

Denki shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he splayed over Sero’s lap. “But just know you’re missing out.”

“Don’t get too comfortable, Sparky,” Bakugo growled. “It’s almost rush hour. By the next station, this place’ll be packed.”

Bakugo took his place by one of the seats, opting to stand by the pole next to the door. He was close enough to the seats so that it was clear he was part of the Bakusquad , but just far enough to isolate himself from the conversation. You stranded almost directly across from him, allowing yourself to face the group so that you could converse with all of them, rather by being in a row side by side. Your hand gently held the plastic ring above your head. You all had fallen into a comfortable chatter, laughing about how well you did on the exam and the latest slip-up Kaminari had made in training. The train swayed gently, and all was well. Then came the next stop.

You gaped at the crowd that had accumulated at the doors, dreading when they’d open. All tired looking folks dressed in smart suits and clutching their briefcases. You were silently impressed by their sheer numbers. Living in isolated school dorms with the little student social bubble you had had made you forget how vast the city was. It made you miss your morning commute a little bit. But, when the doors finally opened, that feeling completely evaporated.

It was as if a sea of black ties, dress shirts, and loafers had washed over you. You looked down, determined to contain your bewildered expression. The others were not faring so well in that department. Their cartoonish expressions were accented by quiet (and sometimes loud) yelps at the office people trampling their toes. Bakugo remained unfazed. In the chaos, you loosened your grip on the plastic loop to check your phone. 5:00 PM on the dot. We really are kind of dumb. You wondered to yourself why Bakugo hadn’t said anything when you suggested the outing after class. He was usually so outspoken when it came to stuff like that. And it’s not like he hadn’t known. You sighed, putting your phone away. I should have checked the time before we left... if I had just suggested to go a little later, the crowd wouldn’t be this bad. Well what’s done is done.

As you slipped our phone into your pocket, you found yourself being sharply pushed by the crowd. Another swell of people had entered, and your loose grip didn’t serve you well in such a circumstance. Naturally, you fell forward. Right into Bakugo. Your head collided with his and you tried to reel backwards in pain- but Bakugo pulled you closer to him, grabbing your wrists with an impressive grip.

“Owwww...”

“Shut up, you’re making a scene,” He hissed, eyes scanning you with... worry? As if suddenly becoming aware of this, Bakugo quickly returned to his usual cold demeanor.

You groaned. “It’s not as if it’s my fault that I got pushed. Or that you have a such a hard skull.” You suddenly realized how close you two were. Most of your friends were pretty physically affectionate, and you had no discomfort hugging them or cuddling with them. But Bakugo was not a “cuddle” person. Hell, his if his attitude wasn’t enough, his hair said it all. He did not like being touched. But here you were, chest to chest, his hands gripping your wrists, faces just a nose apart.

If it bothered him, he didn’t show it. You turned to look at the spot you were just standing in, craning your neck just to get a peek. It was tough.

“It’s useless,” Bakugo sighed. “There’s three extras in the place you were. Bastards are glued to their phones.”

You shrugged, peering up at him. More and more people were cramming into the car like sardines. “Guess I’ll have to stay here for now. Sorry.”

Bakugo averted his stony gaze, a gentle agony lining his face. “S’okay.” The rest of your group seemed to take no notice of the state the two of you were in. Mina and Kiri has pushed themselves up against the wall in an effort to be as small as possible, Sero’s gangly frame was not doing him favors, and you swore you heard Kaminari sobbing somewhere, though his shock of blonde hair was out of sight. Somehow, aside from the awkwardness of being near Bakugo, you weren’t uncomfortable. He had stopped holding your wrists and instead kept his hands hovering near your waist in order to keep you from falling over or accidentally bumping into another passanger. Not that you needed it our anything. You knew it was because he felt uncomfortable putting his hands anywhere else. Your own arms were similarly placed, and in a weird way, it was as if you two were embracing. Probably as close to a hug from Katsuki that you’d ever get.

With nothing else to look at, you observed his features. You knew already that his eyes were something else altogether, but you released a short intake of breath. Bakugo was handsome. You had thought that when you first saw him, but you truly had taken it for granted. This close, his features were rendered beautifully. His jawline, the way his hair fell- it was sort of ethereal. He kept his eyes trained on everything but you, as if he were trying to forget you were there. But on top of all that...

“Bakugo, you smell like caramel?” His eyes darted back to your own, that vulnerability you had only seen recently shining through. It stayed a little longer than last time.

“Tch. It’s my quirk,” he tried to look away, but you pressed him further.

“Oh? I didn’t know that,” you hummed, trying to keep your composure. Talking this close to Katsuki was beyond your skill level. You patted yourself on the back internally for at least making it this far. “Does it have something to do with your parents’ quirks?” He flinched, and you worried you had gone too far. He never had been one for small talk. But he obliged, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. “Kind of. My mom sweats glycerin and my dad can make explosions with his hands. I sweat nitroglycerin, and it lets me make explosions. And nitroglycerin smells like burnt sugar, or-”

“Caramel,” you finished, grinning. That was probably the most he had ever said to you in one sentence. And, to your suprise, he smiled back. But this smile melted your heart. It was sweet and unassuming and he didn’t even seem aware of it. You tried to hide your shock. “Heh. Smart Y/N. You’re such a know-it-all.” He tapped your forehead with his fist, right at the spot you two had collided. You flinched. The injury was still tender. Bakugo’s face changed, but still remained vulnerable and kind. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He knelt to see you eye to eye, and examined your face. He had asked with a genuine concern you had never seen before. Those words seemed like they weren’t meant for his mouth. You felt your face flush. If he was just an inch closer you two would be-

What the fuck?? No way. No fucking way.

There was no way. It wasn’t possible that you could be falling for Bakugo fucking Katsuki. The explosive boy who cackled maniacally whenever he got to punch someone. The sport festival victor who beat up Uraraka, the human equivalent of a cinnamon roll, without an ounce of mercy. The student so notorious for his mean streak that the League of Villains had tried to recruit him.

But that internal part, deep within you knew that he was more than his surface-level outrage. That’s why you liked him so much, right? That’s why you wanted to be his friend. He was a boy who was passionate, ambitious, and honest. Not many could see that. Still, more than this, he displayed a tenderness you didn’t think he was capable of.

A tenderness that was only a nose away from meeting your lips.

“I’m fine, Bakugo.” You attempted to subtly scooch backwards, hoping to increase to distance at least by a smidge. If you stayed in a position like this after a revelation like that, you’d truly implode.

Bakugo was no idiot. He saw you squirm at the proximity, and drew back, his usual aura returning. Internally, he smacked himself. Idiot, idiot, idiot. How could you forget? At best, you two are just friends. Most of the time, you’re just acquaintances. Control yourself, Bakugo.

You two kept this awkward silence until your stop, cheeks ablaze. After what felt like forever, your destination was announced, and Mina gave a shout of joy and relief so loud it seemed like it shook the entire train. You and Bakugo squeezed past the suits, you offering up enough apologies to compensate the both of you for a lifetime of sin. When you reached the door, it felt as if you were finally getting your head above water. You sighed deeply, talking in the rhythms of the station.

“Wow. That was awful,” you breathed. Bakugo grunted. His eyes refused to meet yours, and your heart sank. This was the Bakugo that everyone knew. The grumpy and angry Bakugo and nothing more. Not the sweet boy with the soft eyes who had asked with the gentlest tone if you were ok. But you still liked him. What is wrong with me?!

Mina flopped on the floor like a beached whale. “Ughhhhhhhh.”

“Mina, get up! That’s so gross,” Sero stepped over her, disgusted.

Kiri checked the group, making sure everyone got off. “Where’s Kaminari?”

A distant screech sounded from the train, and Kaminari burst through the doors just as they were about to close, talking his place on the station floor beside Mina. You laughed. This happiness made you forget about Bakugo, if at least for a second. But his eyes were trained on you, watching you toss you head back in joy and look at everything with such a deep love.

You saw, for one second as you turned back towards him, that soft smirk he almost never had. And your heart beat faster.

“Okay everyone! Let’s go!”

#mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #x reader #bnha #sero hanta #kaminari denki #mina ashido #kirishima eijirou #mha x y/n #mha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha x y/n #bnha x reader #mha #katsuki bakugo x reader #long fic #yikes

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

The Colour of Our Voices [1]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 1.5 OR Chapter 2

➜ Words: 3.3k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

➜ Notes: I’m so excited to finally share this series. I’m pretty satisfied with how it turned out, so get ready for a rollercoaster, y’all.

cr.

The moving truck wakes you. It’s deafening. You can hear the slow ‘beep, beep, beep’ of the vehicle backing up. With one eye open, you grab your phone to check the time. It’s ten minutes before your alarm.

You begrudgingly rise, getting ready for the day and humming while you brush your teeth to warm up your throat. You change your clothes, then eat cereal in silence at your kitchen counter. Once you’re ready, you leave. But not two steps out your door are you clumsily tripping over a cardboard box. You make sure not to scream too loudly in case you draw attention. So with a muffled sound and your ankle throbbing at how it was twisted, you stand again. Someone’s moving in next door. There are messy boxes littering the hall, the door wide open, and from what you can see inside, the living space is empty. But you don’t dwell, making your own way down the hall to the stairwell. The timing is poor. By mere seconds, you miss the brunette boy sticking his head out the door with pouty lips and cute eyes, peeking down the hall to catch your retreating form. You limp to the station and as your shitty luck would have it, the train becomes delayed while you’re squished in the middle cart that’s packed like sweaty sardines. It halts suddenly, everyone jolting and you flinch when someone stomps on your right foot by accident. There’s no apology. “Hey, watch it,” the man beside you grumbles and you’re pushed again, at least with your foot free this time and throbbing inside of your worn shoe. “S-sorry.” The delay makes you late by the time you arrive in Time Square. You run through the street, shouting more apologies as you dive through the busy crowds and tourist groups. Once you make it to New 42nd Street Studios, you sprint down the stairs to the basement of the building. You nearly trip and tumble downwards to your death, but you catch yourself on the sticky railing. It’s three minutes past nine o’clock. “You’re late.” “I’m sorry.” “Sorry doesn’t make you earlier.” The director sighs and rolls his eyes. He turns away from you and claps his hands together, scanning the rest of the bustling crew. “Today’s the day folks! We have dress rehearsal and then the show begins at six sharp! It’s showtime! So let’s get moving. You there, intern, go get coffee. And try not to be late this time.” “Y-yes, sir.” Up the stairs you go again. It seems like you’re always running, whether it’s for this job or to this job. But you quickly remind yourself that it’s a privilege to be here. Years ago, you would’ve cried tears of happiness if you knew you’d be on the production team of Phantom of the Opera. Of course, you would’ve assumed you were performing. But being an intern was good enough. Everyone had to start somewhere. “Hi, can I get ten americanos, six iced and four hot, three chai tea lattes, four vanilla lattes, three espressos, seven cappuccinos, and a green tea?” The barista runs the company card into the side of her screen and then her eyes flicker up at you. “Sorry, it keeps saying declined. Do you have another method of payment?” “O-oh. Sorry about that.” You end up paying out of your own pocket for the drinks. There’s no point in telling the director the company card failed — he’ll find some excuse to pin the blame on you, and it’s a small problem not worth the trouble. You run back while balancing the plastic bags and cup holders in your hands, trying not to spill any of them. Once arrived, you hand them out to the crew members, actors, and actresses. “Intern! What’s this?!” The director approaches and sighs. You prepare yourself, already reading that expression on his face. “I said six hot and four iced americanos. You got the order wrong!” You bow your head. “S-sorry, my apologies.” “You and your apologies!” His teeth are gritted, face reddened in anger. “Apologies doesn’t make my americano hot does it?!” “I can go get another one if you need—” “Don’t waste my time more than you already have.” He waves you off, sighing, and you’re left to drown in the humiliation as the others around you snicker underneath their breaths. You release the air held in your throat and you narrow your eyes sharply into his backside as he walks away from you. You hold your tongue, reminding yourself that being here is a privilege. // The curtains draw. There’s bated breath held in the audience, a certain sense of anticipation that builds the suspense until everyone’s on the edge of their seats. The lair is shown, mist spiraling on the floor, candles all around. The phantom with his cloak and half-mask sits at the organ. Christine is enchanted, walking closer towards him slowly like she’s been bewitched by a spell. The actor recites his lines, and then the music begins. “Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation.” It’s a baritone voice, rich and seductive, but still sweet. “Darkness wakes and stirs imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses.” The violin strings pull as if echoing after the voice. You hold the microphone to your lips, singing and pulling the notes from deep in your stomach. The mic has been moved down several pitches to match the baritone vocal range that you wouldn’t be able to reach on your own, but the tone is rich and believable to be of the actor’s. After all, one of the biggest efforts the director made was to be able to pull this off. “.....the darkness of the music of the night.” Your eyes are shut, headphones on and you press the left side closer down to your ear, drowning in the lovely instrumental. “Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be.” The note is belted out, streaming out from your lips like silk. And when it’s over, you grin. It’s thrilling, a kind of pride blooming inside your chest that’s rare for you to experience. Even if you’ve done it so many times, it never fails to bring you delight — you’re unable to believe that you actually did it. Once the song is complete, there’s thunderous applause. A smile spreads into your cheeks, one that’s infectious but no one sees when you’re hidden behind the curtain. And had you been standing on the stage in the spotlight, you might’ve noticed the brunette boy with pouty lips and cute eyes amidst the crowd. He’s become enraptured by your voice. He’s enchanted, heart stuttering, speechless beyond words. This was the voice he was waiting for. This was it. The show eventually comes to a close and everyone holds hands to bow to the audience. You peek out from backstage to watch the curtains being brought down. “Good job everyone. Nice job crew. Taeyeon, beautiful job as Christine once again. You were lovely, darling. Your sound is like melted caramel.” The director continues with his praises, and the other girls playing more minor roles flock to Taeyeon’s side to also shower her with compliments. The whole gathering parade themselves into the dressing room, brushing right past you. “Oh, yes, there’s the star of our show! Kim Seokjin, you never cease to amaze me! Beautiful job as Phantom!” “Of course.” Seokjin grins, charismatic and charming as always. “You shouldn’t expect any less of me. With a face like this, how could I ever fail?!” There’s bellowing laughter that rings and pierces your eardrums. “You’re right!” You wait as they come closer. Your breath is held. Maybe today, you did a good enough job that he’ll acknowledge you— But then the director walks past you like you’re a plant. Wallpaper. A backstage prop. “I loved that emotion you expressed in the final piece. Almost moved me to tears.” “I tried to do a different interpretation of it this time…” Their voices fade off and you sigh. You’re envious. Kim Seokjin has a good face. He can act. He can dance. He has stage presence. He’s magnetizing and charming. But he just can’t sing. The man can’t hold a steady note for the life of him. You suspect he’s tone-deaf. Understandably, the director couldn’t give up on his godly face, so you became his voice. A ghost singer. It actually works out well. You don't have to be on stage in the spotlight where every single person can scrutinize you, but your voice can be heard. In a way, it’s like you’re performing. But you can still be comfortable. You just wish you were acknowledged. Even if it’s just a little. You’re suddenly shocked out of your thoughts when one of the crew members hands you a stick, clearing his throat obnoxiously. “Start sweeping.” You carry the broom and dustpan, beginning to brush away at the confetti that exploded, clearing the floor of dust and dirt. And you end up missing the boy who sneaks himself backstage, who looks around and slips into the shadows. He walks down the corridor, luckily finding the dressing rooms and he follows the nameplates until he discovers the one that reads ‘Kim Seokjin’. The boy knocks three times in rapid succession. He puts on his best smile and tries to push the wrinkles out of his suit jacket that’s too small and worn. The door opens. The laughter tapers off. Jin’s makeup and fake burnt skin have been removed. What’s left is pure godlike genes, and he’s blinded by the older man’s handsomeness, having to resist the urge to shield his eyes. “Who are you?” “M-My name is Park Jimin. I’m a fan, I-I absolutely loved your voice on the show.” “You want an autograph? Of course you do.” “Who’s that?” the director calls out, lounging on the sofa and drinking a glass of red wine. “A fan,” Seokjin turns his head to say, and then he grabs a piece of paper. He makes an enormous signature with permanent marker and several loops in his name. Once finished, he slaps it to Jimin’s chest before the younger can even breathe. “Thanks for your support.” “Wait. Mr. Kim.” Jimin puts his foot between the door before he can shut it. The actor raises his brow and looks at him. “My dream is to be on Broadway. I know this is a lot to ask of you, but can you please mentor me?” Jin stares at him and then frowns in annoyance. “Mentor you?” Jimin quickly adds, “I promise I’ll try my best. I am willing to give up anything and learn and you seem to be the best of the best. I haven’t heard such a great baritone voice like yours in so long. Please accept me as your student.” There’s an extended silence. “Sorry. I don’t accept students.” “W-wait. Please!” “Security!” Seokjin shouts outside the door. “Get him out of here!” Jimin’s shell-shocked, unable to move when his feet are rooted in the ground. His bones have been frozen. The precious image of his idol that he’s created in his own mind for the past two hours has shattered. He’s left in utter shame and disappointment. “Hey...you’re not allowed to be here!” One of the crew members suddenly points to him. And then a hand plops down onto his shoulder, a grip firm and intimidating. Jimin looks up to find a stocky security guard, and he sighs. He drags his own legs, shoulders slumped, escorted out. // It takes an hour to help the crew clean up. You assist them in sweeping and putting away the props, all while waiting patiently with your eyes pinned on the entrance of the corridor. You dust your hands off, and you’re lucky with your timing. The director is walking out with his bag slung over his shoulder, jacket over his arm, busy sipping on some warm tea. “Director Kang!” You stop right in front of him and he looks at you in boredom. “Why haven’t you gone home yet, intern?” You’ve been cleaning up the entire time, but you don’t bother telling him in case he tells you that you’re too slow to complete tasks. You’re too preoccupied anyways, catching your breath. It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for. “D-Director. I know we’ve talked about this before, b-but I really hope you’ll reconsider the referral.” He sighs, rolls his eyes, and continues walking. You follow beside him frantically while he pulls out his phone to message someone. “I think I’ve been trying my hardest at this job and I've been putting in a lot of hours. I’ve thought about what you said and your advice and I feel like I’ve improved in my singing, s-so….please give me a referral to an agent.” All you need is a referral. One measly call and you can be in touch with someone who could expand their hands and help you. You could finally make a break in the industry, make a debut on Broadway. It’s what you’ve been trying to achieve your entire life. It’s your dream. Your goal. The reason you left everything back and home and came all the way here. But he’s not paying any attention to your desperate pleas. “Director?” He’s irritated — you can tell with the way he huffs out. It makes you flinch, but he at least stops. “Intern, don’t make me repeat myself. You need to focus on what you’re doing now. Frankly, you’re not even good at this insignificant job. How are you supposed to achieve big things?” “B-But…” “You can’t take big leaps when you can’t even take small steps yet. You’re not ready. Not yet. If I happen to notice that you’re finally putting in some real effort and some hard grind, then I’ll think about it again. But now’s just not the time.” “I…” You’re at a loss, on the verge of sobbing. “Now if you’re finished, I have a call to make.” He presses his phone to his ear, a universal sign that he’s not continuing the conversation. You watch him get into his car, driving away, and you’re left there on the street in a cloud of his gas exhaust.

Jimin is at a loss. He paces around in his empty apartment room with still taped boxes scattered everywhere. He doesn’t feel like unpacking and putting away his belongings. Not when his mind was stuck on something else. He came all the way here to look for a mentor — having followed his community theater director’s instructions to work on his singing. But without a teacher he can’t make his big break. “What am I going to do now?” he sighs. Maybe he jumped the gun a little too soon. It was pretty intense of him to go to a show right on the day when he moved in when he probably should’ve gotten settled. But there’s no time to waste when time is of the essence! Maybe he could somehow convince Seokjin to take him as a student. He is pretty insistent and not one to give up just after a single rejection…. Jimin sits on his couch, the only piece of furniture intact in his home, and he folds his hands together. His brows are furrowed, in deep contemplation onto the next step. But then suddenly, he hears a voice. “—your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams.” It’s coming from the window. Sweet and melodic. Jimin’s captivated and stands on his feet, following the sound as if he was being gently tugged by a red string tied around his finger. “Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before.” He steps out barefoot onto his chilly balcony. His eyes are fixed on the balcony beside him, the tiny flower beds that are wilting, the warm lights that pour out from inside the home, how the doors are slightly open to welcome a breeze. “Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar!” He hangs onto the note, relishes in how it stirs his very soul, and then rushes out. “And you'll live as you've never lived before....” Jimin throws his front door open and then pounds onto the door next to his with his fist. Three beats. One — two — three. And it opens. He smiles. Then it falls. His line of sight comes a little lower than expected. He was anticipating a man singing, perhaps someone alike to Seokjin, lean and handsome. But instead, it’s a timid girl in pajamas — you. “H-hello?” you squeak, nervous. “H-Hi. I...I just….” He taps his ear, trying to explain himself. “I thought I heard…heard....never mind.” Jimin hitches his thumb over his shoulder and awkwardly tilts his body. “I just moved in.” “Y-Yeah. I saw this morning.” “So…it’s-uh-nice to meet you, I guess. I mean I don’t guess because it is great to meet you. I swear I’m not usually like this. What I mean is usually I’m not so direct. And, um, bad at speaking. We’ll be neighbors from now on. So I wanted to say hello, since usually, that’s the polite thing to do. Or at least what my mom tells me. She’s great. My mom. But right, I didn’t even tell you my name. My bad. I’m Park Jimin.” He extends and opens his hand. Then he realizes it’s idiotic for him to shake hands with you. It wasn’t like this was some sort of business transaction. So Jimin lowers his arm….right when you’re opening your palm. It’s a missed handshake, and he’s cringing so hard, he’s tempted to jump off the balcony. But instead, he musters up stiff laughter and raises his hand to shake yours. He muses how soft your skin is, but tries not to think about it too much in case that’s a weird thought. Which it is. God, he’s usually not this nervous. It’s a fucking mess. Yet, you still offer him a polite smile. “I’m Y/N.” “Nice name. I mean all names are nice, but yours in particular. Not that I mean anything by it. Like it’s quite normal, but not normal in the sense that it’s overused. Not that overused names are a bad thing.” It’s terribly awkward. That blank stare you’re giving him doesn’t help with his perspiration either. Jimin tries to smile to show that he’s not a freak. But it might also be doing the opposite effect. “Well, I should get going now. Lots to unpack.” “Okay.” You’re about to close the door, and he steps away. But in the last second, Jimin spins around before you can seal yourself inside. “Um, were you playing music?” You’re silent and you blink at him owlishly. “Sorry, I’ll try to keep it down.” Jimin nods. It’s not exactly what he meant — he wasn’t complaining. But he doesn’t linger to tell you so. He doesn’t want to make you feel tense and he feels like a creep enough. The last thing that Jimin wants is to be kicked out before he’s even fully settled in for being a complete weirdo. Typically he’s not this socially inept. But he accepts that he’s made a horrible first impression and shuts the door. Though as he leans on the smooth surface of it, he quirks his head to one side and his brows furrow. Strange. That voice sounded so familiar. And so tangible as if it were here and not a recording. But he doesn’t dwell, going on about his night. In the meanwhile, you try to sing quieter.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin scenario #I AM SO EXCITED TO PRESENT TO YOU: THE COLOUR OF OUR VOICES #deadass I feel proud of this one #was sobbing when I wrote the finale #it's like a softer version of LaLa Land #except there's a lot more trial and tribulations #anyways it's gonna be great #I can guarantee it

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peridot-tears · 4 years

Text

MDZS but it’s Percy Jackson

Idk. Consider this PT’s coming out of retirement to make her last contribution to the fanfiction world. Will be moved to AO3 soon. Enjoy.

The new boy could shoot better than Wen Ning.

Wei Ying, everyone called him. The “ying” stands for “baby” or “infant”; not “hawk,” as he first thought.

Strange. It was more a nickname than a proper name, but one look at his boyish, sunshine face, and it was evident that something more proper would be unsettlingly serious. He had a big, stupid grin that was equal parts coy and...more stupid.

“Earth to Lan Zhan.”

He startled. “Ge.”

Lan Huan smiled at him indulgently, which Lan Zhan knew to be his big-brother smile before he thrashed him like a normal sibling. “If you’re so into him, why don’t you go make friends with him?”

“Ge...,” he said, only changing the intonation half a dial.

Lan Huan’s smile changed serious, just a little bit. His eyes flicked towards the new boy, whose arrow flew across the sky, and struck the target dead—because of Wei Ying’s hawk-like eyes.

“A-Zhan,” he said. “You’ll be claimed someday, and move to a cabin other than Hermes’s, but they are still good to us for taking us in. And, it is prudent to have friends in other cabins. He’s already made friends with those two from Apollo’s cabin.”

Lan Zhan felt his lips thin.

He didn’t respond, didn’t need to. But when it was his turn to shoot, and the new boy whooped for him and called him, “Lan-er!” he did not ignore him; he spared him a glance, and then refocused on what was important there and then.

His arrow thudded into the target. Dead and center.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Wei Ying said to a boy next to him—someone Lan Zhan had seen with him before, attached at the hip—“let me go again, Jiang Cheng. Let me go, let me go, let me gooooooo.”

“My gods,” said the boy, rolling his eyes. “Fine, if it’ll make you stop whining.”

Wei Ying whooped; Lan Zhan hardly registered as he brushed past him to reach the spot he had been standing in seconds ago, because he was busy registering Wei Ying brushing past him. “That was a good shot, Lan-er,” he said.

Lan Zhan bit. “How do you know my name?”

“Who doesn’t know the great and refined Lan Zhan, brother of Lan Huan, who sleeps across my bunk in the cabin?” Wei Ying asked, eyes sparkling with mirth, like a naiad’s. “They say you’re the next Percy Jackson.”

Lan Zhan wasn’t sure that he liked the sound of that.

Wei Ying winked at him, like a naiad trying to seduce him, and turned back to face the target, nocking his arrow. “看好了蓝湛“，he said casually, in their shared language.

Without realizing it—no one else was shooting on the range, all eyes on Wei Ying, so of course he would too—he obeyed.

Wei Ying had chosen a classic bow, all wood and strung with something hand-coiled. He stretched it back, all angles between the bow, the taut string, the cock of his arm. The feather of the arrow moved over his profile. It slid past his eye.

With a smirk, he released.

That was why he had chosen to take up Lan Zhan’s target...before anyone could collect the arrow Lan Zhan had shot. Wei Ying’s arrow touched the end of his in the blink of an eye; in another blink, it had pierced his through.

Wei Ying was not done. Before any demigod had the chance to bring their hands together, he had pulled and fired again, twice, three times, until there was a neat stack of arrows pierced together in a pile against the center of the target.

“You can clap now,” he told the stunned demigods gathered around the range.

They did, breaking into claps. Wei Ying turned back, casting another glance at Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan felt his breath catch in his throat.

—

It was the first in a series of episodes in which Wei Ying played a game of Rile Him Up, with Lan Zhan as the main goal. And each time, it stirred up a raw feeling in him that made him go absolutely mad.

“He seems to want to make friends with you,” Lan Huan commented on their outing for strawberries.

Lan Zhan stopped their trudge up the hill—glide, more like, he refused to let his back bow more than necessary even on an upward incline—to sweep the horizon, the valley in the sunset. It was an orange sunset today, drowning Camp Half-Blood more than the sparkling sea in the distance could reach.

“He spilled my soup yesterday,” Lan Zhan said, and his older brother was kind enough to not add, But he immediately offered you his entire lunch and claimed he wasn’t hungry anyway. No, he just let it hang silently in the air instead. Lan Zhan had the best older brother in the world.

“He can be thoughtless at times, but still so thoughtful,” Lan Huan finally said, and this thought must have circulated in his mind for quite a while, because he said it after they had picked a basketful of strawberries in comfortable silence.

Sometimes, Lan Zhan thought he should be more talkative when they had these moments together; his brother was spending more and more time with that Meng Yao, also unclaimed, and if he were Wei Ying, he would probably be begging for Lan Huan’s attention back the way Wei Ying did Jiang Cheng. But he had such a secure attachment to his brother, who had been here when Lan Zhan was born silently as he lived. Lan Huan could go far, far away, but he would always come back for Lan Zhan to treat him with cold indifference. That was his love language, after all.

Why does Wei Ying want my attention?

Why does Wei Ying cringe at every mention of Cerberus, Hades’s hound?

Why does Jiang Cheng keep telling Wei Ying not to bother me, but then roll his eyes and look at me like I was the one bothering them?

Why am I thinking so much about Wei Ying?

“Didi,” Lan Huan said.

Out of it, Lan Zhan found his brother’s gaze. They were almost back at the Hermes cabin. “Ge.”

He just smiled. Lan Zhan was not sure whether to be annoyed or endeared. Well, it was his brother—so both.

The Hermes cabin was so loud this time of day, when everyone ought to be tired right before bed. But instead, it was crowded, and bustling, and there was one particularly guilty culprit in the middle of it all. Its name was Wei Ying, and its laughter could power an entire skyscraper in Monsters Inc.

Which he, of course, was narrating in great detail.

“Mike Wazowski is a Cyclops with amnesia!” he argued, while Jiang Cheng hovered in the background, rolling his eyes.

“Mike Wazowski took his girlfriend on a date to a sushi restaurant,” said another of the boys—Nie Huaisang, an actual, born son of Hermes. There had been a vague sense that he and his brother, Nie Mingjue would take on the legacy of the Stoll brothers as Cabin Eleven’s co-head counselors...until Mingjue had been claimed by Ares.

It was none of Lan Zhan’s business, but everyone wondered what kind of woman had managed to snag both Ares and Hermes as fathers to her children.

“Therefore,” Huaisang was continuing, seeming almost offended, “why would he eat fish? Poseiden’s pretty much all of them’s dad, that’s like eating his brother!”

“Well, yeah,” Wei Ying fired back, “that’s why he doesn’t know. Because amnesia!”

“The body remembers when the mind forgets!” Huaisang responded. “J.L. Moreno, the creator of psychodrama.”

“How do you even know that, when you can’t read?” Wei Ying fairly shrieked, obviously seconds away from calling his friend a nerd.

“You and I both have dyslexia, you know we can still read a little!” Huaisang actually shrieked.

Lan Huan cleared his throat.

All heads turned towards them. Lan Zhan wanted to be the younger brother rolling his eyes right now—Lan Huan had stage presence when he wanted to, didn’t he? But he had been taught to never, ever, ever roll his eyes, so he settled for giving everyone the cold shoulder as he walked away instead.

“We have procured some strawberries,” Lan Huan said goodnaturedly, and the entire cabin exploded in the sudden rush to gently wrest them from him before they were all gone.

“Me first!” Huaisang said, drowning somewhere in the middle. “I want to give some to my brother!”

“The Ares kids can pick their own strawberries!” Jiang Cheng huffed, strolling back to his bunk. He slept under Wei Ying. Wei Ying had the top bunk. And Lan Zhan had the next top bunk. They were next to each other.

Below him, the entire, considerable mass of Hermes demigods had turned into a sea of sardines. Had he and Lan Huan even picked enough?

Out of that sea exploded Wei Ying. “There aren’t anymore!” he exclaimed to the crowd that he was probably trampling his way out of right now. “No more, no more...sorry, guys...”

“You just put them all in your pocket!” one of the Hermes kids shouted. There was a split second of silence, before the shrieking cabin kids flung themselves at him. Those shrieks turned from accusing to disappointed as they realized...surprise, his pockets were flat and empty against his legs.

They pulled back, leaving him blinking innocently. “Why would I do that?” Wei Ying asked, sounding offended. “Why would I get more than my share? I don’t even like strawberries.”

“Uh-huh,” some of the demigods said, disbelievingly, but there was nothing else they could do. They drifted back to their beds, or the front stoop of the cabin, cradling their precious red-flavored catch of the day.

It was only once Wei Ying was left to his own devices that Lan Zhan turned his head to see him huddled with his brother and sister in the corner, gently pressing strawberries into their hands. Squint, and he could see them rolling from his sweater sleeves.

That clever little...

Truly, he was a son of Hermes. Lan Zhan could not wait until he found out who his father was, and he could finally go someplace where he would not have to hear Wei Ying snoring at night.

And yet, it was nine. Wei Ying was still huddled in the corner, giggling and whispering with his siblings. These sounds were keeping Lan Zhan awake, though his eyelids were heavy and he wanted to give in to that lull.

It was not until Wei Ying clambered his way into the bunk across Lan Zhan’s that his soft, happy snores filled their side of the cabin.

As he finally fell asleep, Lan Zhan realized that he had familiarized himself with the sound of Wei Ying’s snores.

—

Spring had finally burst into a full, ripened warmth that was gentle to them even at night. Wei Ying walked around in short sleeves now, which meant that he had to find a better way to hide things.

Lan Zhan sat by his brother as food appeared on his plate.

“Ah, your favorite! Watery soup!”

He twitched. “Wei Ying!” he said sternly, just barely stopping himself from covering his soup with his hands.

“Ah, I’m not gonna spill it this time, promise, promise!” Wei Ying said. “I said sorry for last time too, right? You can even have some of my food this time around! Or I could climb over and get some strawberries for you right now.”

Lan Zhan could feel his brother’s gaze on them both. “That will not be necessary,” he gritted out, picking up his spoon with deliberate care and slowness. And that would be the end of that.

According to him, not Wei Ying, who could not be stopped, “Ah, but those strawberries you and your brother picked the other day were so good. And you never got to taste them? What’s the point of a climb like that if you don’t even get a little bit? I could return the favor.”

“That will not be necessary,” Lan Zhan repeated. Maybe it would make him finally go away.

And on it went, Lan Zhan falling silent, Wei Ying bothering him still until his sister called him away.

“Sorry about that,” Jiang Cheng said, sounding not very sorry at all. “He’s adopted.”

Suddenly, there was a hush.

Lan Zhan could not describe it if he tried—the chattering camp fell silent, and he was compelled to follow. Nothing had happened. No sudden appearance of anything in particular. But he was sitting there next to his brother, all at once heavily aware of an uncomfortable silence.

He exchanged a glance with Lan Huan. It was not the sort of silence that led them to think there was some imminent attack oncoming, but he tensed slightly all the same.

At the front, Chiron stood, frowning slightly. He opened his mouth, but needn’t have bothered.

It became cold—the kind that felt like opening a refrigerator too fast on a steamy summer day. Lan Zhan was used to the coolness of clouds, but nothing like this. It was bone-deep, and that was how he knew who had come.

Not very far from him at all was Wei Ying, and Lan Zhan twisted his neck to see him let go of his siblings’ hands; he was standing between them, now staring straight at Lan Zhan as though confused. His eyebrows furrowed as he opened his mouth to speak, but for the first time, nothing came out. Black smoke furled gently from his clothes, rising above him, curling its tendons around them all. Lan Zhan refused to recoil when one touched him, and his unflinching bravery was met with a brief sense of...something. Resentment, maybe. Something dark. Something deeper than he could understand, though he understood perfectly.

As the wisps caressed his hands, his face, whatever smoke rose evaporated into a cloud above Wei Ying, whose eyes still never left Lan Zhan’s. He was stark, stark pale next to the black, and Lan Zhan was sure he looked much the same way.

Eventually, the cloud coiled into a shape. A crescent, though it stood like a tree.

A hush, for real this time.

Chiron trotted forward.

“All hail the son of Hades,” he said.

Wei Ying’s eyebrows dragged all the way up into his scattered bangs, as he finally blinked and looked around at anyone else that was not Lan Zhan.

Hades...the children of Hades rarely ever led happy lives, and yet here was Wei Ying, the brightest mark of light in anyone’s life.

But his large, puzzled doe eyes snapped back to Lan Zhan. Some part of them, Lan Zhan realized with a startle, was accepting. He even saw the hint of a smirk scratching the edge of his lip, like the revelation no longer troubled him. Like he embraced it, was excited for it.

“A-Zhan.”

Lan Huan. And, not just him, or Wei Ying—when Lan Zhan finally looked around, everyone was staring at him now. And he saw why, because his brother must be mirroring him: The two of them were surrounded by a reddish-brown glow, that slowly melted away. Nothing had changed otherwise, but there was viscerally something different—like his brother stood taller, his chin tilted higher.

“Oh,” someone gasped.

“Ah,” said Chiron. “All hail the sons of Aphrodite.”

—

[A/N: The “ying” in Wei Ying is a homophone for “hawk” and by extension, “eagle.” The more you know. I will be abusing the hell out of this wordplay.

This all started because of a talk I had with my good friend, whom I converted, and who I will love forever and ever. Crackhead culture? Mayhaps.]

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